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jezebelblues · 1 month ago

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forsaken | h.s

summary: florence 1583. a woman of fire, a man of fuel.

cw: smut18+ penetration (piv), oral fem!receiving, parent death, fem!reader, unedited. unrealistic happy ending if u seek tragedy 😔

world count: approx 17.2k

| omg will be writing more on these 2, renaissancerry is my heart <3 not rlly thinking a series, more like extras on them fosho. ps: am not a historian or time traveler–if u see something incorrect no u didn’t

masterlist

Florence, 1583

Harry Edward Styles was born to a mother, an older sister, and two fathers—one of blood, one of choice.

The man that bore his blood to the two Styles children preferred the sound of the way glasses of ale would clink in warm evenings, the twinkle of gold coins in the sunlight. Children were the continuation of a name, a bloodline—and that’s all he thought them to be. The only fathering a man was made to do was the ritual of burying their seed in a woman, her duty was to grow them.

So, after a son with his same eyes drew his first breath, he rose a dagger and marked his heel with one singular, vertical dash.

He had done the same when his sister was brought into this world, but he marked her with a horizontal dash.

Their mother, Anne, didn’t understand why—and hated it with every fiber in her being—watching her newborns cry for any other reason then being pulled from the comfort of their mother’s womb.

Once their father left after Harry’s first week on earth, she understood why, his words messily printed with ink on parchment.

Dearest Anne,

Thank you for bringing my own flesh and blood into this world. You are a woman I entrust most with them, having been chosen by God to bear such souls.

Which is why I must leave. A man has more to do with his time on this Earth than to nurture, I shall pour my being into others and bring forth more Brothers and Sisters for sweet Gemma and Harry.

My blood with course through this nation and find itself basking within the kingdom of heaven. I’ve marked my children to find them when God finally calls us forth.

Your womb is a gift from the angels above.

Until then,

– Desmond.

For a while, she mourned the loss of her lover and children’s father. But as time continued, as it always does, she realized that she had dodged the fatal strike of a sword.

She was unsure of the crimes committed by the hands of their father, but she remembers hearing the news of him being hung in the southernmost village of their country.

On Harry’s second birthday, she had fallen in love with a woodmaker, Robin. Shortly after, they moved to Wiltshire and Robin was always known as their papa.

Of course, Harry and Gemma had learnt their true parentage before the dawn of Gemma’s thirteenth birthday, but it was hard to mourn a man you had never known.

Anne would have never told them he was hung in a town’s square, but ascended to heaven of natural causes—the inevitable kiss of an angel.

The scent of turpentine and drying oils had long become as familiar to Harry as the earth beneath his feet. In the cool stillness of his studio, he paused, fingers stained with ochres and umbers, to stare at the remnants of his father’s brush—the one he had used all those years ago, before the fever came.

Harry’s father had been no renowned artist. He was a man of simple trades, a woodworker from the hills of Wiltshire, far from the splendor of Florence’s sunlit domes. But in the evenings, when the day’s labors were done, his father would sit by the window, painting quietly by candlelight. It was there, beside him, that Harry had first seen the magic of creation—colors flowing like rivers across rough wood and fraying canvas, ordinary scenes transformed by the wild, unspoken emotion in every stroke.

His father had painted not for fame, but for peace.

Harry had only been fourteen when his father’s hands, once steady and sure, began to tremble with sickness. His chest had grown tight, his breaths shallow, until finally they stopped altogether. He remembers the way the pads of his fingertips would prune from bringing a water soaked rag to his lips, how his father would drink from the drops of it.

For a while, he hated the color red and grey. His father’s lips would crack with peaks of crimson, leaving faint stains of red on the water rag in its wake. His skin greyed in a speed he didn’t think possible once his heart fell absent of a beat.

In the days that followed, the house had filled with the clamor of neighbors, mourners, and merchants, but Harry could only hear the quiet absence in the stillness.

In the flickering silence, he had picked up his father’s brush.

The years after his father’s death were a blur of movement, as though he had been running from some unseen ghost. He had wandered south, across valleys and mountains, always chasing the sun. By the time he arrived in Florence, he was a man of twenty three and had little more than the clothes on his back and a single paintbrush to his name.

Florence had embraced him like a reluctant lover. The city’s streets were gilded with Renaissance splendor, yet heavy with the weight of expectation. It was a place of grandeur and art, where even beauty was a form of currency—where the Medici and other noble families wore their wealth as a crown and commissioned artists to immortalize their names in frescoes and portraits.

Harry’s talent had bloomed in these streets, but it had come at a price. Every stroke of his brush, every commission, felt like an unspoken promise to a father who would never see what his son had become. The bright colors of his palette were often mixed with the shadow of his grief, and though his name was now whispered in the gilded halls of Florence’s elite, Harry felt as though he were forever painting in the twilight between joy and sorrow.

Sometimes his mind would wonder to the possibility of if he was an angel banished by God, his punishment being to bear the pain of not having lost one, but two fathers.

Three if he counted the absence of Jesus in his life. He felt fatherless, in all senses of the word.

Or maybe it was all well circulated fairytale, conjured in the thoughts of his father’s, the one he shared blood with, brain.

He had grown to resent the mark on his foot, and in the depths of his heart he would refer it as the the kiss of the devil, rather than the mark of God.

He would blame his struggle with faith on his fathers, the three men who sat behind the title.

Desmond, for abandoning his family.

Robin, who loved him like a son and died in front of his eyes.

And Jesus, who had ignored his prayers for his papa to stay and to take him instead.

But it was the pain, the deep and gnawing ache within him, that had given his art its soul. His patrons spoke in reverence of his ability to capture more than a face—how he painted the delicate tremor of a moment, a fleeting look, a breath before the breaking. His works were praised as vibrant, yes, but they also carried something deeper, something tragic. A hidden sadness, like the ghost of a love lost too soon.

In his heart, he knew: he painted because the world was filled with such unrelenting beauty, and that beauty was fleeting. To capture it was to hold on, however briefly, to something that could not last.

One afternoon, as golden light filtered through the shutters, a letter arrived. The wax seal bore the mark of a powerful house—the Candela family. A commission for their daughter’s portrait. A noble request, one that might cement his place among Florence’s greatest. But it was not the promise of riches or recognition that made Harry’s heart stir with something close to fear. It was the girl herself, the rebellious daughter who, rumor had it, could not be tamed by family or duty.

As Harry read the letter, his thoughts drifted back to the girl he had once seen in the Candela gardens. Her eyes had been bright, but wild. Free. In that moment, he knew what she was—a living echo of the spirit he had long tried to capture in his art: untamable, elusive, yet heartbreakingly beautiful.

It was a portrait that might change everything. Or destroy him.

He set the letter down and turned back to the canvas, but his hands trembled once more, just as his father’s had in those final days. A reminder of mortality. A reminder that every brushstroke was borrowed time.

But still, he would paint.

The heavy velvet curtains of the Candela palazzo had long felt like a prison to her. Born into one of Florence’s oldest and wealthiest families, Y/N had spent her life in the shadow of their legacy—one that was both gilded with fortune and bound by duty. From the moment she took her first breath, her future had been decided for her. Her days were filled with lessons in etiquette, music, embroidery, and diplomacy, while her nights were a symphony of forced pleasantries at banquets and balls, always under the watchful eyes of her mother and the judgment of the city’s elite.

But from a young age, Y/N knew she was not made for such a life. Beneath the layers of silks and jewels, beneath the carefully orchestrated smiles and curtsies, there was a fire burning in her—one that she had learned to hide from everyone around her, for fear it would consume her entirely.

Her earliest memories were not of the marble halls of the palazzo, but of the gardens beyond its walls, the wild olive groves that stretched out toward the hills. It was there, in the quiet spaces between her responsibilities, that she found her freedom. She had spent her childhood escaping into the fields, where the wind would tear through her hair and her laughter would echo through the trees, free from the rules that shackled her in the world of men.

Her father, the head of the family, was a cold and distant man, more concerned with his political alliances than with his children. He rarely spoke to her except to remind her of her place—her duty to the family, her obligation to marry into another powerful house and secure the Candela legacy. Y/N’s mother was no different, though her scoldings came wrapped in sweet, deceptive smiles. She had been raised to be an ornament, a living testament to her family’s wealth and power, and Y/N was expected to do the same.

But she refused to be molded by their expectations.

She had always been different from the other girls of her station. Where they dreamed of betrothals and courtly love, she dreamed of escape. She would slip out of the palazzo at night, dressed in the simple clothes of a servant, and wander the streets of Florence, blending into the crowd, invisible for the first time in her life. In the dim glow of lanterns, she would listen to the street musicians, watch the painters in the piazza, and breathe in the freedom that was denied to her by daylight.

By the time she reached womanhood, her spirit had only grown wilder. Her parents, exasperated by her refusal to marry the suitors they paraded before her, tightened their grip on her life. But the more they tried to contain her, the more fiercely she fought to break free. She began to push the boundaries of what was expected of a noblewoman—her wit was too sharp, her temper too bold, her opinions too dangerous. Whispers spread through the Florentine courts, branding her rebellious, unfit for the delicate role of a noble wife.

It was not that Y/N wanted to be unwed. She simply refused to give her life to a man who would cage her like a bird. She longed for something more than what Florence could offer her, more than a life of duty and appearance. There were moments—fleeting though they were—when she felt she could see the world as it truly was, raw and beautiful, and she wanted to live in that truth, not the carefully constructed illusion of noble society.

That was when her mother decided it was time to have her portrait painted, a desperate attempt to remind the world of her beauty, her value. It was, of course, more for show than for art—another piece in the game of noble alliances, another way to lure in potential suitors. But Y/N saw it for what it was: a final effort to tame her.

And that was when she had first heard his name—Harry, the painter from the north.

Her mother spoke of him with the same dismissive tone she used for all the artisans they employed, but there was something about this Harry that intrigued her. He was not born of noble blood, and yet his name carried weight in the circles that mattered. The Medici spoke of him with admiration, and even the Pope had once commissioned his work. His paintings, it was said, had a rare quality—they revealed not just the outward beauty of a subject, but the soul beneath.

Y/N had seen one of his works in the home of a distant cousin, a portrait of a young woman who had died tragically young. The face had been serene, the colors soft and gentle, but the eyes—the eyes had told a story of longing and loss that no courtly painter would dare to capture. It had haunted her ever since.

For days, she tried to convince herself it was just another scheme of her parents—another attempt to make her fit the mold she had spent her life breaking. Yet, she could not deny the flicker of curiosity that sparked within her. What would this man see in her? Would he, too, try to make her into something she was not? Or would he paint the fire she had spent her whole life hiding?

The day her mother informed her of the first sitting, Y/N had felt the familiar weight of resignation settle over her. She would sit for this portrait because she had no choice. She would smile, she would pose, and in the end, her mother would hang the portrait in some grand hall for every eligible bachelor to admire. It was all part of the game they had been playing for years.

But when the day came, and she finally entered the makeshift studio lended to Harry for the length of his time here, she felt a shift in the air, as though the fates had turned their gaze upon her.

Harry was not what she expected. He was younger, rougher around the edges than the other artists her family had employed. His dark curls were wild, and there was a certain sadness in his eyes, something she recognized all too well. He was no stranger to loss, that much was clear. His eyes were a vibrant green she had not seen before, unless she counted the gardens that sat in a rainy haze. Perhaps he was a painting himself. And he, too, seemed out of place in the glittering world of Florence’s elite. It was as though he was merely passing through, as though he belonged somewhere quieter, more distant.

Draped in heavy silks, with eyes as sharp as a hawk and a posture that suggested defiance rather than decorum, the daughter of the noble Candela family was unlike any of his previous subjects. Her name was Y/N, and she exuded an air of mischief that the delicate ladies of Florence rarely allowed themselves to entertain.

He did not greet her with flowery pleasantries, as other painters had. Instead, he regarded her quietly for a moment, his eyes flickering over her face—not in judgment, but as if he were searching for something hidden beneath the surface.

“You’re the one they cannot tame.” He said at last, his voice low, almost amused. His accent confirmed he did not have deep roots in Italy, it sounded more of the English suitors her mother would introduce.

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. And somehow, in that moment, Y/N knew that he had already seen more of her than her family ever had.

She smirked, meeting his gaze without hesitation. “That depends on what you believe needs taming.”

Harry’s lips quirked into a half-smile, and for the first time in years, Y/N felt as though she could breathe just from the few seconds in his presence.

Her eyes gaze around the studio as she waltzes further in, her lips in a closed smile. Her skin held the glow of the sun beautifully, hair bouncing with the scent of lavender. Her fingers feather across a few empty canvasses he has on stilts, messes of paint and brushes scattered onto a table. “They say Hephaestus molded your flesh and bones before sending you to Earth.” She eased, a smile still on her reddened lips. Her steps clicked closer to where Harry stood, eyes still drawn out the windows surrounded by nature. “I heard Aphrodite herself kissed your wrist, frame still soft with clay.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle, though her tone soft, there was anything but sincere admiration laced in her words. “I assure you that there’s no markings of her kiss pressed unto me—m’just a man with a brush.”

She hummed, rounding the stilt between them and watching the sunlight glimmer in his eye as the sun would in the waves. There was no denying the shift in the air between them, an unspoken understanding that went beyond the typical dance of polite conversation. In this studio, amidst the scent of oils and pigment, they were stripped of the titles and roles society had thrust upon them.

“A man with a brush.” She repeated softly, almost to herself. She reached out, her fingers grazing the surface of one of the unfinished canvases. The texture of it was rough, still raw with potential, much like her own life—full of promise, but still undefined. “I wonder,” she continued, her voice barely above a whisper, “what you see when you look at me.”

Harry’s hands, stained with the colors of his art, stilled for a moment. He had painted many faces, each one a portrait of both beauty and sorrow, but this woman—this subject—was different. There was something about Y/N that made him hesitate. She was not like the others who sat for him with plastered smiles, eager to be frozen in time, their beauty immortalized for the world to see.

No, Y/N did not want to be captured in that way. She wanted something more, something truer. Her spirit was restless, untamed, and her gaze held a challenge, as though daring him to see beyond the layers of silks and expectations. To see the woman beneath.

Slowly, Harry moved closer to her, the distance between them shrinking. He studied her face, not with the detached gaze of an artist trying to perfect his subject’s likeness, but with a quiet intensity that sent a ripple through the stillness of the room. His voice, when it came, was low and deliberate.

“I see a woman who was never meant t’be caged.” He mumbled. “I see fire and wind—a calm in an eye of a storm that would bring no ruin; something wild, something the world doesn’t understand.”

Y/N’s breath hitched slightly at his words. It was as if, in a single moment, he had unraveled all the masks she had carefully worn her entire life. The world she had known, the roles she had played, felt fragile and false in the face of this raw truth.

“And yet,” Harry continued, his voice dipping lower, “they try to fit you into a frame, don’t they? As if y’could ever be captured.”

For the first time in what felt like years, Y/N let herself be vulnerable. She turned away from the canvases, facing him fully, the light catching the strands of her hair like molten gold. Her eyes met his, no longer guarded, no longer deflecting.

“I don’t belong in that frame.” She whispered, the words slipping past her lips like a confession. “But they’ve been trying to fit me into one for as long as I can remember.”

Harry nodded, his gaze never wavering from hers. “I know.” He said simply. “I’ve spent my life painting what people want to see. But you–”

He trailed off, as though the thought itself was too bold, too dangerous to speak aloud.

“Me?” she pressed, her heart beginning to race in her chest. She stepped closer, drawn to him in a way that felt both terrifying and inevitable.

“With you,” Harry continued, his voice a hushed murmur, “I want t’paint what the world can’t see.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The tension between them was palpable, charged with the weight of unspoken desires, and the world outside the studio seemed to fade away. In that small, sunlit room, there were no titles, no expectations, only two souls who had somehow found one another in a world that had tried to break them.

Y/N’s hand hovered near Harry’s arm, and then, slowly, as if testing the waters of some forbidden sea, she let her fingers brush against his. The contact was light, fleeting, but it sent a shockwave through both of them.

“I want that too,” she whispered, her voice trembling with the vulnerability of the admission.

Harry swallowed, the pulse of his heartbeat thrumming in his ears. He had never felt this way about a subject before, had never let himself blur the lines between artist and muse. But with Y/N, those lines had already been crossed the moment she had walked into his studio.

They stood there for a moment longer, hands barely touching, eyes locked in a silent conversation. And then, as if by unspoken agreement, they both pulled back—just enough to remind themselves of the roles they were meant to play, even as those roles were beginning to crumble.

Harry stepped away first, turning back to his easel, his voice steady as he spoke. “We’ll begin the portrait today. But I won’t paint what they expect.” He nodded toward her, “A caged dove to be set free.”

Y/N’s lips curved into a soft smile, her heart still pounding in her chest. She knew, in that moment, that whatever Harry painted, it would be the truest version of herself she had ever seen. And it would bind them together in ways neither of them could yet understand.

“This will displease them.” She smiled, pausing her words. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Her voice carried the weight of a promise, though she wasn’t sure who it was meant for—him, or herself.

Without another word, he jutted his chin toward the chair in the center of the room. “Sit.” He instructed, his tone soft but firm.

She followed his gesture, looking toward the seat and ambling toward it silently. She sat, keeping her spine stiff—something that was embedded into her through her training over the years. His eyes narrowed onto her face, cataloging each curve, line, and hint of emotion that sat in her eyes.

Their sittings became a ritual over the last month—an escape from the suffocating demands of her family, from the world that sought to control her. Each time she stepped into his studio, it was as though she left the weight of her name behind, shedding it like a heavy cloak. Here, she was not the Candela daughter, not the rebellious heiress trapped by duty. She was simply Y/N, a woman with dreams and desires that no one had ever cared to ask about.

Harry painted in near silence, his brush moving with a precision that bordered on reverence. But as the days passed, the silences grew warmer, more comfortable, and slowly, they began to talk. He spoke of his father, of the quiet life in England he had left behind, and of how he had found himself in Florence, painting for men who would never understand the depth of what he was trying to capture.

And she, for the first time, spoke of her own longing. Not for marriage or jewels, but for freedom. For the wildness of the world outside the palazzo gates. She told him of the nights she wandered the streets alone, the moments when she felt most alive, when the weight of her name fell away and she became just another face in the crowd.

With every word, with every glance, they both knew they were crossing a line—one that could never be uncrossed. Their relationship was not one of artist and subject. It was something deeper, more dangerous. And Florence, with all its grandeur, was not kind to those who broke its rules.

As Harry’s brush moved over the canvas, he realized he was no longer painting just a portrait. He was capturing the essence of a woman who had lived her entire life behind a mask, forced into roles she never wanted to play. With each stroke, he revealed her fire, her vulnerability, her defiance.

And Y/N, who had spent her life being told what she should be, saw herself reflected in his eyes—not as the noble daughter, not as the prize her family sought to offer to the highest bidder, but as she truly was.

In those stolen moments, as the sunlight filtered through the shutters and the world outside seemed to fall away, they became something Florence would never understand. They were freedom itself—dangerous, fleeting, and unbearably beautiful.

Y/N’s portrait only neared its finish as time continued to pass. They would always meet three times a week for about an hour or two. She would never say it out loud, but it began to become a favorite part of her weeks—meeting Harry. His soul was anything unlike she’s ever known, and all she wanted to do was linger.

They sat outside the cobblestone studio, lying upon a blanket adorned with fresh vegetables, cheeses and meats. Her mother and Father had been out for the day, and she thought it’d be a perfect opportunity to see Harry as he is, rather than the painter.

He spoke of his travels as he would eagerly show her he could catch the bites of cheese he would throw into his mouth—and he would order her to rank each catch one through ten.

Harry lied back, weight on his elbow as his curls tousled perfectly in the warm breeze. Y/N lied on her belly, kicking her feet in the air behind her as she lie her head on her folded arms.

The afternoon sun peaked from the trees above them, catching the light in her eyes perfectly. Harry always found her to be beautiful, but at this moment she looked ethereal.

He tossed another piece of cheese into the air, leaning his head back and catching it deftly with his mouth, smiling proudly as he chewed. “Well?” He asked, his voice teasing. “What say you? Surely that was a ten.”

Y/N laughed, the sound as bright as the sun and as sweet as the strawberry he head earlier. “A six, perhaps.” She grinned, voice lilting with playful challenge. “Surely you could do better.”

His smirk widened, and he threw another piece of cheese, catching it again with exaggerated flourish. “A six indeed.” He mumbled, feigning offense. “I think you’re quite mistaken, my lady.”

She bit her lip to suppress another laugh, shaking her head against her forearms. “Perhaps your talents lie elsewhere.” She mused, her voice dripping to a soft, flirtatious murmur as she gazed at him through her lashes. “Catching cheese seems beneath you.”

His eyes sparkled with mischief, but there was something else in them too—something she hadn’t seem from him yet, something that sent a shiver down her spine. "And what talents might you suggest, then?" he asked, his voice low and teasing, though the undertone was laden with meaning.

Y/N's breath caught for a moment, her heart fluttering in her chest as the playful banter between them took on a new edge. Her gaze lingered on his lips before she tore it away, focusing on the light streaming through the leaves above them. "I think you know the answer to that.” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, the world seemed to still around them. The laughter and lightness faded, replaced by the palpable tension that had been simmering between them for weeks. It hung in the air now, thick and undeniable. Harry shifted beside her, his playful grin fading into something more serious as he watched her carefully, as though waiting for her to give him permission to step closer to that edge.

He wanted to toss away the platter that lay between them, to grab her waist and flip her onto her back and show her the talents he possessed. It made his heart go into a sputtered mess, to cloud his gaze with need. He wondered if she knew how beautiful she was in that moment.

“Did you hear me?”

Harry blinked, shaking his head before letting a sheepish smile spread across his lips. “No. I suppose not.”

“Have you ever thought of leaving Florence, H? Of leaving all of this behind?"

Harry narrowed his eyes, the question pulling him from whatever unspoken thought had been lingering on his lips. He exhaled softly, rolling onto his back and staring up at the sky. "I've thought of it," he admitted after a moment, his voice quieter now, thoughtful. "But Florence has become something of a home. Even if it binds me, l've learned t’live within those bounds."

Y/N frowned, her heart tightening at his words.

"But don't you wish for more? Don't you long for freedom?"

He turned his head to look at her, and in his eyes, she saw a reflection of her own yearning, the quiet desperation that they had both been trying to ignore. "Of course I do," he murmured. "But freedom is not something easily won. Especially not for people like us."

She swallowed, the weight of his words settling over her like a shroud. She had always believed that Harry, in some way, was freer than she could ever be—an artist, a man without title or the crushing expectations of nobility. But now, she saw the truth. He was as trapped as she was, bound by the invisible chains of his station, his livelihood tied to the whims of men like her father, men who would never derstand the depths of what he truly wanted create.

"And you?" he asked, his voice soft but filled with quiet intensity. "If you could go anywhere, if you could leave all this behind, where would you go?"

She hesitated, the question stirring something deep within her, a longing she had never dared to voice. "Anywhere," she whispered, her gaze distant. "Anywhere but here. I want to see the world, to lose myself in it. I want to go where no one knows my name, where I can be just Y/N—not the daughter of Candela, not someone's prize to be won."

Harry's gaze softened, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke. The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the garden, but the air between them crackled with an intensity that neither of them could ignore.

"And if l asked you to go with me?" she said suddenly, her voice trembling with the weight of the question. "Would you?"

Harry's breath hitched, and for a moment, he didn't answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost pained. "If you asked me, I would follow you anywhere."

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest, the enormity of his words settling over her like a heavy cloak. The desire to reach out, to cross the boundary they had been skirting for weeks, pulsed through her veins. But fear-fear of the consequences, of what they would beer if they gave in to this—held her back. Harry could feel the weight of her thoughts, the far away look in his eye. He sighed gently, propping himself back onto his elbow as he took a cheese from the platter, lightly throwing it toward Y/N.

It pulled her from her thoughts with a smile as it bounced from her shoulder onto the blanket spread beneath him. He laughed, leaning across the space between them and stealing the cheese for himself. “That’s a zero, I’m afraid.”

Before meeting Harry around the same time she had been, she brought forth a bowl of fruits from the kitchen—both a snack and a small gift. The heat was unforgiving today, adorned with the same silk gown she was supposed to wear during these sessions, but her feet were bare. The ground was cold beneath her, blades of grass leaving kisses from the dew left behind.

The temporary studio Harry resided in was across the courtyard, a small, cobblestone building hidden between trees and a small pond.

As she reached the studio, the door slightly ajar, she paused, listening. Inside, she could hear the faint sound of Harry moving, his footsteps light as he adjusted the easel or mixed colors on his palette. Her heart quickened, not out of nervousness, but out of anticipation. Each day spent with him had become an escape, a release from the weight of her family’s expectations.

Pushing the door open with her hip, Y/N entered the room, the bowl of fruit balanced in her hands. Harry was bent over his canvas, his shirt sleeves rolled up, revealing the sinew of his forearms, streaked with paint. His dark curls were unruly, as though he had been running his fingers through them absentmindedly. When he looked up and saw her, a smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

“You’re early today, my dove.” He grinned, his voice warm, the familiar hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.

“I brought something.”Y/N murmured, holding up the bowl of fruit. “A peace offering, perhaps.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, setting his brush down and wiping his hands on a nearby rag. He stepped toward her, his eyes flicking from the bowl of fruit to her face, as though trying to discern the real reason for her gift. But there was no pretense between them here, only the quiet truth of what they had started to build—a fragile, unspoken connection that neither of them dared to name.

“I did not understand us to be at war.” Harry teased gently, his voice dropping to that low, familiar murmur that always seemed to make Y/N’s pulse quicken.

She smiled, setting the bowl down on a nearby table. “In these walls, we are always at war.” Her tone was soft, the weight of her words lingering in the air. Her gaze shifted to the canvas behind him, where her likeness had slowly begun to take shape. He was capturing her in a way no one had before—not as the carefully polished daughter of Florence’s elite, but as the restless, untamed spirit she had always been. She stepped closer to the easel, studying the way he had painted her eyes, the intensity of her gaze, the subtle fire that simmered beneath the surface.

“You paint me as though you know me.” She paused, her voice barely above a whisper.

Harry’s eyes softened, his expression unreadable as he stood beside her. “I am beginning to.”

Her heart skipped a beat at the quiet intimacy of his words. She felt exposed, vulnerable in a way she had never allowed herself to be before. For so long, she had worn her defiance as armor, a shield against the world that sought to control her. But here, with Harry, she didn’t need that armor. She could be raw, unguarded, free.

Y/N turned to face him fully, her bare feet making no sound on the cold stone floor. She had spent her life being afraid—afraid of disappointing her family, afraid of not living up to their expectations, afraid of being trapped in a life that wasn’t her own. But standing here, inches away from Harry, she realized that the only thing she was truly afraid of was losing this—this feeling, this connection, this fleeting glimpse of what life could be like outside the constraints of duty and decorum. “I am no artist, but your own beauty belongs on canvas.”

For a moment, Harry’s hand hovered near hers, as though he was about to reach out, to close the distance between them. But instead, he stepped back, turning to the easel once more, a breathy chuckle escaping him. “Okay, Shakespeare. Let us thank our lucky stars that you are not.”

She laughs with him, placing the bowl of fruit on the table beside the paint. She shook her head, popping a grape into her mouth. “Here I thought you to whisper me something poetic—we all have an art about us, we are art ourselves.” She mocked in his accent, rolling her eyes.

“Well that would be simply untrue.” He grinned, adjusting the canvas before him. “I am much too talented for you to compare your hand to my own.”

She scoffed, though it was humorous. Through her feigned offense, his lips only spread wider. “Show me to be wrong.”

“Show you wrong?” She raised her eyebrow, parting her lips. “You want me to paint you?”

He nodded, glancing at the blank canvases behind him. She only rolled her eyes as she gently grabbed his wrist, pulling him to the chair into the center of the room. He sat expectantly, his dimple cratering his cheeks as she retreated back toward the bowl of fruit, fishing out a deep red cherry, skipping back toward him. He knit his brows in confusion, but Y/N’s lips parted to speak before him. “You are to be my canvas.” She smiled, bring the cherry to his lips like a challenge. His expression was amused, though he couldn’t deny the way she made his chest tighten with tension. His eyes flickered between both her eyes and the fruit as he gently bit into the fruit, his lips brushing against her fingertips.

It was slow, deliberately intimate. Their eyes still burrowed into each others, she watched as the bead of crimson juice dribble down his chin. She thumbed it away, her touch light and fleeting before she feathers the fruit across the apples of his cheeks, adding to the already flushed pigment. Hesitantly, she pressed her fingers into the glistening flesh, patting it in and leaving his cheeks and lips painted red.

She steps back ever so slightly, putting the rest of the cherry into her mouth and letting a quiet laugh escape her lips. “Consider yourself to be painted.”

He shook his head, his cherry red lips widening into a smile as he stood. “Somehow, I don’t think that’s how it works.” Harry leaned in close, his breath a whisper against her cheek, but he made no move to wipe the remnants of cherry from his skin. His eyes, still dancing with amusement, searched hers, lingering with a quiet intensity. “I’ll grant you this.” He murmured, his voice low, carrying the hint of a jest. “Your methods are..most unconventional.”

She smirked, refusing to be daunted by his nearness. “Unconventional?” she quipped, her chin rising with a flicker of defiance. “I would call it a work of art. Would you not?”

Harry raised a brow, feigning deep thought as he smeared the red juice across his chin with a casual flick of his finger. “A work of art, you say? If by that you mean I appear as though I’ve just stumbled from a duel with a fruit cart, then aye, I’ll concede to your genius.”

Her laughter rang through the studio, a sharp contrast to the quiet that had hung heavy in the room moments before. It echoed off the stone walls, a sound so free that it banished all thoughts of duty, of propriety. The half-finished portrait on the easel, the weight of her family’s name—all of it melted away. In that moment, it was just them. Two souls bound in a fleeting absurdity, lost in shared laughter.

“Delicate sensibilities,” she teased, her brow arching as she wiped the last of the cherry’s stain from her hand. “I never thought to find such in a man.”

Harry’s lips curled into a slow, wicked grin. “Delicate, am I?” He drawled, his voice thick with mischief. In a single swift motion, he swiped his thumb across her cheek, leaving a streak of red in its wake. “There. Now we are even.”

She gasped in mock indignation, taking a step back as her fingers flew to the sticky mark on her face. “You’ll rue this day, Harry Styles.”

“Will I?” he challenged, his tone now deep and laden with mischief of its own.

Y/N moved closer, closing the space between them with a deliberate slowness. Her heart raced, but not with the trepidation that had gripped her so often in this room. No, this was something far more exhilarating. The world outside this studio—the rules, the expectations, the rigid walls of her life—it all felt distant, unimportant.

“I’ve never claimed to be a master of painting,” she whispered, her voice dropping like the edge of a velvet curtain. She took a few steps backward, reaching into the bowl and pulling out a plum. She looks at it expectantly in the gleam of sunlight, trotting back toward the painter. “Yet I do believe the best art thrives with a hint of chaos.”

Before he could form a reply, she bit the dark fruit pressed it hard against his chest. The plum burst, sending dark juice cascading down his tunic, staining it deep purple.

Harry blinked in astonishment, his expression hanging in the space between disbelief and amusement. But the moment of shock passed swiftly, and his laughter came, full and bright. “Your peace offering was a coup!” he declared, lunging forward with a handful of cherries.

Y/N shrieked and darted away, her laughter filling the air as she dodged him. They circled the room, the once-serene studio descending into joyful chaos. Fruit flew, staining the floors, the easel, their clothes—a riot of color and recklessness.

By the grace of God the portrait remained untouched through the ordeal.

It was madness. Glorious, reckless madness. And for the first time in her life, Y/N felt utterly, completely free. Free from the chains of decorum, free from the burden of her family’s name. In that riot of fruit and laughter, she was simply alive.

When at last they collapsed onto the floor, breathless and sticky, the room a ruin of color and laughter, neither of them could stop smiling.

Harry lay beside her, still chuckling as he tugged at the ruined tunic. “If my patrons could see me now, they’d see me cast out of Florence faster than y’could say ‘masterpiece.’”

Y/N propped herself up on her elbow, a grin dancing across her lips. “Then we shall flee to the hills. I’ll hide you amongst the olive groves. We’ll live like rogues, artists and outlaws.”

“Artists and outlaws,” Harry echoed, his smile softening, his eyes lingering on hers with a look that carried something far deeper than the playfulness of a moment before. “I think I could grow fond of such a life.”

And in that quiet, as their laughter ebbed into the late afternoon light, Y/N felt the air shift between them. What had started as a game, as flirtation, had become something real. Something undeniable.

And try as they might, neither could outrun it.

As they lay there amidst the chaos, the moment stretched on, teetering on the edge of something neither could fully name. Y/N’s pulse thrummed in her ears, her heart racing not from the frivolity of their earlier play, but from the weight of his gaze on her. The air between them had thickened, laden with an unspoken tension that neither laughter nor fruit could break.

Just as her lips parted to speak—to say something, anything to diffuse the intensity—a sound, sharp and echoing, pierced the air.

The door to the studio had swung open, and there, silhouetted by the fading light of the late afternoon, stood Y/N’s mother, Lady Candela, her presence a sudden, jarring intrusion into their world of fleeting freedom.

Her eyes, dark and sharp as the blade of a dagger, took in the scene before her: the floor littered with the remnants of their childish game, the streaks of fruit staining both their clothes and skin, the disheveled state of her daughter and the painter. And in an instant, the mask of propriety that Y/N had so desperately sought to tear away snapped back into place.

“Y/N.” Her mother’s voice was cold, clipped, a tone that could freeze the blood in one’s veins. “What, in God’s name, is the meaning of this?”

Y/N scrambled to her feet, her breath catching in her throat, but her defiance flickered in her eyes. She had been caught, but she would not cower. “Mother,” she began, her voice steady despite the racing of her heart, “it was nothing—just—”

“Nothing?” Lady Candela stepped forward, her posture rigid, her lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval. “This disgrace is nothing? You, a daughter of the Candela family, covered in filth like a common servant? Is this how you choose to honor your name?”

Harry, who had risen to his feet beside Y/N, cleared his throat, stepping forward as if to shield her from the wrath of her mother. “My Lady, it was my doing,” he lied smoothly, his voice respectful but firm. “I allowed myself to get carried away during our session. The fault is mine.”

Lady Candela’s eyes flickered to him, her disdain barely concealed. “And you—an artist—think you can speak on matters of decorum in this house? You are here to paint, not to play the fool.”

Harry’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing more. He could feel Y/N tense beside him, her fists clenched at her sides. The silence that followed was thick with tension, the weight of Lady Candela’s expectations pressing down on them both like a vice.

But Y/N, ever the rebel, would not be silenced.

“I am not a child, Mother,” she said quietly, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. “I will not be tamed.”

Lady Candela’s gaze snapped to her daughter, her eyes narrowing. “You will be what this family needs you to be, YN. This behavior—this foolishness—ends now. You are to be married, and your actions today have only made that more urgent.”

Y/N’s heart sank, the reality of her mother’s words hitting her like a blow. Marriage. The cage she had spent her entire life trying to escape was closing in around her, tighter and tighter.

She glanced at Harry, her chest tightening. The fleeting freedom they had found in one another was slipping away, vanishing like a mirage in the desert. And yet, she knew she could not let it end like this.

“Perhaps I wished for something more than just another hollow painting to hang on the walls of your prison,” Y/N said, her voice stronger than she felt inside. She could see Harry stiffen at her side, his gaze flickering between her and Lady Candela, but he stayed silent, letting her words hang in the air.

Her mother’s mouth tightened into a thin line. She took a deliberate step forward, her eyes narrowing as they bore into Y/N. “A prison?” she hissed, her voice dropping dangerously low. “You speak of this house as if it were a cage, when all we have done—all I have done—is ensure you live in luxury, surrounded by the finest of Florence. Yet here you are, acting the fool with a common painter.” She spat the word like venom, her eyes flicking toward Harry before returning to her daughter. “Do you want to ruin yourself? To become nothing but a scandal whispered about in the courts?”

Y/N’s fists clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms, but she kept her voice level. “What you call ruin, I call freedom.”

Her mother’s eyes blazed, her nostrils flaring, but before she could retort, Harry stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. “My Lady, if I may—”

“You may not,” Lady Candela snapped, cutting him off with a sharp glare. “You are here to paint. Nothing more. Your thoughts and opinions are of no concern to me.”

Harry’s jaw tightened, but he bowed his head, stepping back in silent acquiescence.

The silence that followed was thick with tension, each breath Y/N took feeling heavier than the last. Her mother’s gaze never wavered, cold and unyielding, but Y/N refused to back down. Not this time.

“Mother,” Y/N began again, her voice softer now, though no less resolute. “I do not wish to ruin the family’s name. But I also do not wish to be something I am not. I have given you my obedience for years, attended every ball, entertained every suitor you’ve paraded before me. But I cannot—will not—live a life that is not my own.”

For a brief moment, something flickered in Lady Candela’s eyes—something that looked almost like uncertainty, or perhaps a recognition of her daughter’s growing resolve. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by that same cold, unyielding stare.

“You have a duty, Y/N,” her mother said, her voice flat, as though the very word—duty—was the end of any argument. “To this family. To this city. And if you cannot understand that, then you are more lost than I thought.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, the weight of her mother’s words pressing down on her like a heavy cloak. But before she could speak, her mother turned sharply on her heel, heading toward the door.

“You will be expected at dinner,” Lady Candela called over her shoulder, her tone dismissive. “We will discuss your upcoming engagement. I suggest you clean yourself up and remember who you are.”

With that, she swept from the room, leaving Y/N and Harry standing in the wreckage of what had once been a moment of shared joy, the heavy door closing behind her with a finality that echoed through the studio.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Y/N could still feel the burn of her mother’s words, each one a reminder of the gilded cage she had been trying to escape her entire life. She swallowed hard, turning toward Harry, who was watching her with a mixture of concern and something else she couldn’t quite place.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “You shouldn’t have been involved in that.”

Harry shook his head, his eyes softening as he stepped closer. “You don’t have to apologize, Y/N. I knew what I was stepping into when I took this commission.”

Y/N let out a soft, bitter laugh. “Did you? Did you know you’d be caught in the middle of a battle between duty and freedom?”

Harry smiled, but it was a sad, knowing smile. “In a way, yes. I’ve seen it before. This city—this life—demands so much from those born into its upper echelons. But I think you are stronger than you know.”

Y/N met his gaze, her heart twisting painfully in her chest. She wanted to believe him, to believe that she could somehow break free from the chains that bound her. But the reality of her situation felt suffocating, as if the walls of the studio were closing in around her.

“I don’t know what to do,” she admitted, her voice cracking slightly. “I don’t want to be trapped in a marriage I never wanted. But I don’t see a way out.”

Harry reached out, his hand gently brushing her arm, a small gesture of comfort. “There’s always a way out,” he said quietly. “But it’s not always easy.”

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes searching his face for some kind of answer, some hint of hope. But all she saw was the same uncertainty that gnawed at her heart.

“I don’t know if I’m brave enough,” she whispered.

Harry’s grip on her arm tightened, just slightly, and when he spoke, his voice was soft, but full of quiet conviction. “You are. You’ve already proven that.”

For a moment, they stood there in the quiet, the weight of the world pressing down on them, but together, they felt just a little lighter. The path ahead was uncertain, and Y/N knew the battle was far from over. But for now, in this small, sunlit room, with Harry by her side, she felt just a little bit stronger.

And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough.

The heavy, golden hour light had faded, replaced by the muted grays of twilight, casting long shadows across the stone walls of the palazzo. Y/N stood before the mirror in her chambers, her reflection staring back at her, cold and distant. She had shed the stained silk gown and washed the remnants of the fruit from her skin, but no amount of scrubbing could remove the weight of her mother’s words or the tension coiled tight in her chest.

Dinner. The final act of the day’s charade, where her mother’s sharp gaze and her father’s stony silence would frame yet another conversation about her future—a future she had no say in. The idea of sitting through another meal where her fate was decided without her input made her stomach twist with dread.

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts, and her maid, Lucrezia, entered the room, her face a mask of quiet concern. “My lady,” she said softly, “your mother has requested your presence in the dining hall.”

Y/N let out a slow breath, her hands gripping the edge of the vanity as she steadied herself. “Of course she has,” she muttered, her voice thick with resignation.

Lucrezia stepped forward, her hands moving to adjust Y/N’s gown—another silk creation, pristine and flawless, as if nothing untoward had happened earlier. “Shall I tell her you are not feeling well?” the maid asked gently, her fingers lingering on the delicate fabric.

Y/N smiled weakly, shaking her head. “No, Lucrezia. I must face it. I always must.”

The maid nodded, though her eyes were filled with sympathy. She knew the weight that rested on Y/N’s shoulders, the burdens placed upon her by a family that demanded perfection at all times. But even Lucrezia, with her quiet understanding, could not offer a solution to the problem that had no easy answer.

With a final glance in the mirror, Y/N straightened her posture and lifted her chin. She would face this evening the way she had faced every other trial in her life—head on, even if it tore her apart inside.

The walk to the dining hall felt longer than usual, each step echoing in the vast, empty corridors. The palazzo, so grand and full of splendor, felt like a prison tonight, its marble floors cold beneath her feet, its towering walls closing in on her with every breath.

When she reached the dining hall, she paused just outside the door, gathering her courage. She could hear the faint clinking of silverware and the low murmur of voices—her mother’s sharp, clear tones and her father’s deep, measured replies. It was the sound of a family accustomed to routine, to the rigid structures of their world.

Taking one last breath, Y/N pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The dining room was grand, as always, with high ceilings adorned with intricate frescoes and a long, gleaming table set with the finest china and crystal. Her father, Lord Candela, sat at the head of the table, his expression unreadable as he idly cut into his meat. Her mother sat opposite him, her posture perfect, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her eyes sharp as they flicked up to meet Y/N’s.

“You’re late,” Lady Candela remarked, her tone light but edged with reproach.

Y/N forced a tight smile, lowering herself into the seat that had been prepared for her. “I apologize, Mother. I lost track of time.”

Her mother’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she said nothing more, her gaze lingering on Y/N for a moment before turning back to her plate. The silence that followed was thick and uncomfortable, broken only by the clinking of silverware and the occasional murmur of servants as they moved in and out of the room.

For a few minutes, Y/N focused on her meal, her appetite nonexistent but her movements precise, each cut of the knife and placement of the fork a carefully rehearsed act of decorum. It was a routine she had perfected over the years, a mask she wore to survive these dinners, to navigate the unspoken landmines of her family’s expectations.

But tonight, the weight of that mask felt heavier than ever.

It wasn’t long before her mother broke the silence, her voice smooth but laden with intent. “Y/N, your father and I have spoken, and we believe it is time to move forward with your betrothal.”

Y/N’s fork froze halfway to her mouth, her pulse quickening as she set it down with deliberate care. She had known this conversation was coming—she had felt it looming over her for weeks, like a storm gathering on the horizon. But now that it was here, the reality of it hit her like a blow to the chest.

“Engagement?” she echoed, her voice steady but her heart racing.

Lady Candela nodded, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction as though she had just solved some great puzzle. “Yes. We have received an offer from the Montellini family. Lord Montellini is a man of considerable influence, and his son, Leonardo, is a fine match for you.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her hands gripping the edge of the table as she fought to keep her composure. Leonardo Montellini. She had met him once, at a banquet—a young man with slicked-back hair and an air of arrogance that made her skin crawl. He had looked at her the way one might look at a prized horse at auction, and the thought of spending her life chained to him made her stomach churn.

“Mother, I—” Y/N began, her voice faltering for a moment as she searched for the right words, something that would convey the storm of emotions rising within her without sparking her mother’s ire. “I do not wish to marry Leonardo Montellini.”

Lady Candela’s fork paused, her eyes narrowing slightly as she regarded her daughter. “What you wish is irrelevant, Y/N. This is a matter of duty. Of ensuring the future of our family. You cannot afford to be selfish in this.”

Her father, who had been silent until now, cleared his throat, his deep voice rumbling through the room. “Your mother is right, Y/N. This marriage is important. The Montellini family’s wealth and influence will secure our place in Florence for generations to come.”

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing as she tried to find a way out, a way to make them understand. But how could she make them see that she couldn’t—wouldn’t—live her life in a cage, bound to a man she didn’t love, trapped in a world that suffocated her?

“I understand the importance of family, Father.” Y/N said carefully, her voice measured, though her hands trembled slightly in her lap. “But I cannot marry a man I do not love. I cannot live my life as something I am not.”

Her mother’s gaze hardened, her lips curling into a faint sneer. “Love,” she scoffed, the word dripping with disdain. “What nonsense. Love is a fleeting thing, Y/N, a frivolous notion for those who have the luxury to indulge in it. We are not those people.”

Y/N’s chest tightened, her breath shallow as she fought to hold back the rising tide of panic. She could feel the walls closing in on her, the future her parents were trying to force upon her looming like a prison, cold and suffocating.

“But I am not you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but full of quiet defiance.

The silence that followed was thick, the tension between mother and daughter palpable as they stared at one another across the table. Lady Candela’s expression remained cold, unyielding, but Y/N could see the flicker of frustration in her eyes.

“You will marry Leonardo Montellini,” her mother said at last, her voice like steel. “And you will do so without further complaint. That is the end of this discussion.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, her heart sinking as the weight of her mother’s words settled over her like a heavy shroud. She felt trapped, suffocated by the life they were trying to force her into, and for the first time, she wasn’t sure if she was strong enough to fight it.

As the servants moved quietly around the table, clearing the plates and refilling the wine, Y/N stared down at her hands, her mind racing. She knew she couldn’t do this. She couldn’t marry Leonardo. But how could she escape a future that had already been decided for her?

Her thoughts drifted, unbidden, to Harry—to the quiet strength in his eyes, to the way he had seen her, truly seen her, in a way no one else ever had. There was something in him, something that stirred in her a desire for more—for freedom, for choice, for a life lived on her own terms.

But that life felt impossibly far away, separated by the vast chasm of her family’s expectations and the iron grip of tradition.

And as the dinner dragged on, Y/N sat in silence, her heart heavy with the knowledge that, for now, she was still very much trapped. The clinking of silverware and the quiet hum of conversation felt distant to Y/N, as if she were trapped in a cage of sound, separate from everything around her. Her mother, satisfied that her edict had been given, spoke no more of the engagement. Instead, she shifted her attention to her father, discussing household matters and social engagements as if Y/N’s entire future hadn’t just been decided without her consent.

Y/N’s mind, however, was far from the table. It kept circling back to Harry, to the moments in his studio where, for the first time in her life, she had felt something close to freedom. His presence had stirred something within her—a quiet rebellion, a fire that had been smoldering beneath the surface for so long it had almost gone unnoticed. Until now.

As her mother droned on about the upcoming ball and the importance of making a good impression, Y/N’s fingers tightened around the stem of her wine glass. The thought of standing beside Leonardo Montellini, paraded like a prized possession for Florence’s elite to admire, made her stomach turn. She had seen his eyes on her before—hungry, possessive, as though she were nothing more than a means to an end for him. The Montellinis wanted to solidify their power, and she was the key to that door.

She could feel the bile rising in her throat, the suffocating weight of her family’s expectations pressing down on her like a vice. How many more dinners like this would she endure? How many more nights would she be forced to smile, nod, and pretend that her life was something she could control?

No. She wouldn’t accept this.

“Y/N,” her mother’s voice cut through her thoughts like a blade, sharp and sudden. Y/N blinked, realizing she had been staring down at her untouched plate for far too long. Her mother’s gaze was fixed on her, cool and assessing. “What fare you? You have been rather quiet.”

Y/N looked up, her heart racing as she met her mother’s eyes. For a brief moment, she considered telling her the truth—telling her that she wasn’t well, that she couldn’t bear the thought of marrying Leonardo, that the life they had planned for her was suffocating her.

But the words died in her throat. Her mother would never understand. To Lady Candela, duty was everything, and love was nothing more than a foolish indulgence.

Y/N straightened her spine, steeling herself against the rising tide of emotions that threatened to betray her in front of her family. Her voice, when it finally came, was measured and cool. “I am well, Mother. Merely tired.”

Her mother’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she did not press further, turning her attention back to the meal with a dismissive wave of her hand. Y/N, however, could feel the weight of her father’s gaze lingering on her for just a moment longer. He was quieter than her mother, but no less powerful in his expectations.

The remainder of the dinner passed in a blur, with Y/N’s mind distant from the conversation at the table. As soon as the final course was cleared and her parents rose from their seats, she made her excuses and slipped away, retreating to the sanctuary of her chambers.

Once inside, Y/N locked the door behind her and pressed her back against it, her heart pounding in her chest. The events of the evening, the threat of her future being sealed with a man like Leonardo, weighed heavily on her. She crossed the room to the window, her hands trembling as she gripped the edge of the sill and stared out into the night.

The city of Florence lay before her, bathed in the soft glow of lanterns and moonlight. From her window, it looked peaceful, almost serene, but Y/N knew better. The world outside her family’s palazzo was teeming with life, with freedom that she could only dream of.

And in that world, somewhere amidst the winding streets and narrow alleyways, was Harry.

Her thoughts drifted to him once again, to the way his eyes had softened when he spoke to her, the quiet understanding that passed between them without words. In his studio, she had felt something she had never known before—something raw and unburdened by the chains of her family’s name. It wasn’t just attraction, though she couldn’t deny the pull she felt toward him. It was more than that. It was the promise of escape, of possibility. With him, she could breathe.

Y/N closed her eyes, letting the cool night air wash over her as she made a decision.

She could not stay in this gilded prison any longer. She could not marry Leonardo. She would not be used as a pawn in her family’s games. And if there was anyone who could help her find a way out, it was Harry.

Her heart raced at the thought, a mixture of fear and excitement coursing through her veins. It was reckless, perhaps even dangerous, but she had no other choice. She had to act before it was too late, before her fate was sealed by forces beyond her control.

Without another moment’s hesitation, Y/N slipped into a simple cloak, pulling the hood over her head to shield her face. She moved quickly and quietly, slipping through the darkened corridors of the palazzo until she reached a small, hidden door that led to the courtyard.

As she stepped outside, the cool night air wrapped around her like a cloak of freedom. She paused for a moment, glancing back at the towering walls of her family’s home, the place that had held her captive for so long. And then, with a determined breath, she turned and disappeared into the shadows of the city, her feet carrying her toward Harry’s studio.

The narrow streets of Florence were quiet at this hour, save for the occasional flicker of lamplight or the soft murmur of voices carried on the breeze. Y/N kept her hood low, her steps quick and purposeful as she moved through the labyrinth of alleyways. She had walked these streets before—many times in the dark of night—but tonight felt different. Tonight, the weight of her decision pressed down on her like the stone arches above.

As she neared Harry’s studio, her heart raced with a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty. What was she even doing? She had no plan, no real escape beyond the hope that Harry would understand, that he might offer her a path out of this life she couldn’t bear. A reckless hope, she knew, but it was the only thing she had left.

The studio was tucked away behind a row of trees, secluded from the main roads. The small building, though unremarkable to most, had become a haven for her—one of the few places where she could let go of the expectations that had weighed her down for so long. And Harry, with his quiet strength and sad, knowing eyes, had become the embodiment of the freedom she craved.

As Y/N reached the door, her breath hitched in her chest. She hesitated for a moment, her hand hovering over the handle. What if she had misread everything? What if Harry did not want to be a part of her rebellion, her escape?

Yet she stood at his door anyway.

She pushed the door open, the familiar creak breaking the stillness of the night. Inside, the soft glow of a few candles lit the room, casting long shadows over the walls. The scent of drying oils and turpentine filled the air, mingling with the earthy smell of wet canvas. Harry was at his easel, his back to the door, lost in the rhythm of his work.

For a moment, Y/N stood there, watching him in the golden light. His dark curls fell over his brow, and his hand moved with a kind of precision that made her chest tighten. He was absorbed, unaware of her presence, and the sight of him in his element, so quietly powerful, made her heart ache with something she couldn’t name.

“Harry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible in the stillness.

He froze for a moment, his brush poised in mid-air. Slowly, he turned to face her, his eyes widening in surprise as he took in the sight of her standing there, cloaked in shadow. “Dove?” His voice was soft, but there was an edge of concern in it. “What are you doing here?”

She stepped further into the room, her hands trembling beneath the folds of her cloak. “I had to see you.”

His brow furrowed, and he set his brush down, wiping his hands on a rag before crossing the room toward her. “It’s late. If anyone sees you—”

“I bear no sentiment to it,” she interrupted, her voice sharper than she intended. Her breath came quickly, the weight of everything catching up with her all at once. “I cannot stay there any longer, Harry. I can’t marry Leonardo Montellini. I cannot live that life.”

He studied her for a moment, his green eyes searching hers, and she saw the conflict in his gaze—the pull between wanting to help her and knowing the dangers of what she was asking. “What are you saying, Y/N?” he asked quietly, though there was a heaviness in his tone.

“I’m saying I need to leave. I need to escape before they lock me into a life I never wanted.” Her voice trembled with the intensity of the confession, and she took a step closer to him. “I don’t know where to go or how to do it, but I cannot stay here.”

Harry’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, he said nothing. His eyes flickered with something—worry, perhaps, or fear for what this might mean for both of them. He glanced at the door, then back to her, the weight of her words sinking in.”

“Do you know what you’re asking?” he said, his voice low. “If you leave, there’s no going back. Your family—Florence—”

“I know,” Y/N whispered, her eyes pleading with him to understand. “But what is the alternative? To be sold off to a man who does not care about me? To live my life in a cage, pretending to be something I am not? I cannot bear it, Harry. I won’t.”

He took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair as he tried to process what she was saying. She could see the battle in his eyes, the part of him that wanted to protect her warring with the part that understood the gravity of the situation. “And what do you desire from me?” he asked softly, though she could hear the strain in his voice.

Y/N stepped closer, her heart pounding in her chest as she met his gaze. “I want you to come with me.”

The words hung in the air between them, charged with a kind of desperate hope. She knew it was asking too much, knew that she had no right to pull him into her escape, but in that moment, Harry was the only person she trusted. The only person who understood her enough to help her break free.

Harry’s eyes softened, and for a moment, he looked as though he might say yes. His hand reached out, brushing against hers in a gesture so small, so intimate, it made her chest tighten.

But then he pulled away, shaking his head. “Y/N, I—”

“I know it’s reckless,” she cut him off, her voice filled with a kind of raw vulnerability she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in years. “But I can’t do this alone. I need you.”

Harry’s expression was torn, his hand still hovering near hers as if he wanted to take it, to pull her into his arms and promise her everything. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice heavy with regret. “If we run, they will come after us. Your family will not let you go so easily. You know this.”

Tears stung at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them back, refusing to let the weight of his words crush her hope. “Then we’ll be careful. We’ll go somewhere they can’t find us. Please, Harry.” Her voice broke, and she reached out, gripping his arm as though she could will him to say yes. “I know not of heaven nor hell. I know not of Lucifer or God, I know only what I see before me, and If i were to draw my last breath tomorrow, I would perish with all this regret—my soul bound to my grave for eternity.”

For a long moment, Harry didn’t move. He stood there, staring down at her with an expression so conflicted it made her heart ache. And then, finally, he sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly in defeat.

“We’ll need to leave before first light,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Pack only what y’can carry.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, a mixture of relief and disbelief washing over her as his words sank in. “You’ll come with me?”

Harry met her gaze, and though his eyes were filled with uncertainty, there was a quiet determination in them as well. “Wherever.” He murmured. “But we must be careful.”

A flood of emotions rushed through Y/N all at once—relief, fear, gratitude, and something else she couldn’t quite name. She threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest as tears of both joy and fear slipped down her cheeks.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice muffled against him. “Thank you, Harry.”

He held her for a moment, his hand resting on the back of her head as if trying to steady them both in the face of what they were about to do. “We shall figure it out,” he said quietly, though she could hear the weight of the uncertainty in his voice.

But for the first time in what felt like forever, Y/N believed him.

As they stood there in the quiet of the studio, the world outside slowly fading into darkness, Y/N felt a small spark of hope flicker to life within her. She didn’t know what the future would hold, but for now, she wasn’t alone.

The night air outside the palazzo was thick with the scent of jasmine and damp stone, but to Y/N, it felt more like freedom than anything else. The distant sounds of Florence, the murmur of distant conversations and the soft rush of water from the Arno, filled the silence as she made her way through the narrow streets, her bag slung over her shoulder. Her heart raced, but her steps were sure now. This was her choice, her rebellion.

The moon hung high in the sky, casting its pale light over the winding alleys and quiet courtyards as Y/N hurried back to Harry’s studio. Her thoughts were a whirlwind—but she couldn’t think of it now. The only thing that mattered was what lay ahead. She had to believe that there was a life waiting for her beyond the walls of Florence, beyond the expectations that had shackled her for so long. And with Harry by her side, perhaps—just perhaps—she could find it.

As she reached the secluded courtyard where Harry’s studio stood, Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. The small building was bathed in moonlight, its wooden door slightly ajar, as if waiting for her. She paused for a moment, her hand resting on the doorframe, listening to the soft rustle of the wind in the olive trees.

Inside, the studio was quiet, save for the gentle flicker of the remaining candle on the windowsill. Harry stood at the far end of the room, packing his own bag—his movements careful and deliberate. When he heard her enter, he turned, his eyes immediately meeting hers. There was no need for words; he could see the decision in her gaze, the finality of it. She was here, and there was no going back.

“You are prepared?” His voice was soft, but there was an edge of tension there, a quiet understanding of what they were about to do.

Y/N nodded, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. “I am.”

Harry’s eyes softened as he crossed the room toward her, his hand reaching out to brush against her arm in a gesture of comfort. “We shall be leaving soon. I’ve made arrangements to head south, toward Siena. s’not far, but far enough. We will be out of reach, at least for now.”

Siena. The name sounded distant and unfamiliar to Y/N, but it didn’t matter. Anywhere was better than here, better than the fate that awaited her if she stayed. She met Harry’s gaze, a flicker of gratitude in her eyes as she nodded.

“I trust you,” she whispered, the weight of her words hanging in the air between them.

Harry held her gaze for a moment longer, his green eyes full of that quiet, steady strength that had always made her feel safe. “Then we’ll make it through this,” he said softly. “Together.”

He moved to the door, pulling it fully open and stepping outside into the cool night air. Y/N followed close behind, her heart pounding in her chest as the reality of what they were about to do sank in. They were running. Not just from Florence, but from the lives they had known, from the expectations and the rules that had governed them for so long.

The streets of Florence stretched out before them, dark and silent, like a sleeping beast. They would have to move quickly, before the city woke, before her family realized she was gone. Harry led the way, his pace measured but urgent as they slipped through the narrow alleyways, avoiding the more well-lit streets where guards might patrol.

Y/N kept her hood pulled low over her face, her heart racing with every step they took. She glanced over her shoulder more than once, half-expecting to see her father or Leonardo rounding the corner, chasing her down. But the streets were empty, save for the occasional whisper of the wind.

They moved in silence, the weight of their decision hanging heavy between them, but there was no hesitation now. They had crossed the line, and there was no turning back.

It wasn’t long before they reached the outskirts of the city, where the walls of Florence loomed high above them, casting long shadows over the ground. The gates were closed, but Harry had anticipated this. He led Y/N to a small passageway, hidden between the stones and covered with vines. It was narrow, barely wide enough for one person at a time, but it led out of the city—an old smuggler’s route, known only to a few.

“This way.” Harry whispered, glancing over his shoulder to make sure they hadn’t been followed.

Y/N nodded, following him through the narrow gap in the wall, her heart pounding in her chest as they squeezed through the passage. The air was cooler on the other side, the scent of the open countryside replacing the dense smell of the city. When they finally emerged, they found themselves on a small, winding road that led away from Florence, disappearing into the hills beyond.

Y/N paused for a moment, turning back to look at the city she was leaving behind. The towering domes and spires of Florence rose into the night sky, bathed in moonlight. It was beautiful—so beautiful it made her chest ache. But it was also a prison, a place that had tried to shape her into something she could never be.

She turned back to Harry, her breath catching as she realized the full weight of what they had done. They were free. But freedom came with a price—a price they had only just begun to pay.

Harry met her gaze, his expression soft but serious. “There’s no going back now,” he said quietly, as if reading the thoughts running through her mind.

Y/N nodded, her hand instinctively reaching for his, their fingers brushing in the cool night air. “I know,” she whispered. “And I am ready.”

Together, they turned and started down the road, leaving Florence behind them—its walls, its expectations, its suffocating weight—everything. The future was uncertain, full of dangers and unknowns. But for the first time in her life, Y/N felt a spark of hope flicker within her. She was free. And with Harry by her side, perhaps—just perhaps—she could build a life that was truly her own.

As they walked through the quiet countryside, the stars above them shining like tiny, distant beacons, Y/N knew that they were only at the beginning of their journey. There would be challenges ahead, and dangers they couldn’t yet foresee. But for now, she allowed herself to breathe in the cool night air, to feel the weight of the past slowly lift from her shoulders.

She glanced at Harry, his face illuminated by the soft glow of the moon, and felt a sense of calm wash over her. Whatever lay ahead, they would face it together. And that, she thought, was more than enough.

It had been two days since they left Florence behind, and the journey had been long, filled with the quiet tension of fear that someone might catch up to them, might discover their flight. The sun had dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the rolling hills as Y/N and Harry approached a small inn nestled at the edge of a sleepy village. The inn was humble, tucked between groves of olive trees and fields dotted with grazing sheep. It wasn’t much—just a small stone building with weathered shutters and a modest stable for travelers’ horses—but it was enough. For the first time since leaving the city, they could breathe.

Inside, the inn was warm, the smell of bread baking in the hearth mingling with the faint scent of wood smoke. The innkeeper, a woman with kind eyes and silver streaks in her hair, greeted them with little more than a nod, motioning them toward the narrow staircase that led to their room.

As they climbed the stairs, the weight of the past two days seemed to settle over Y/N like a heavy cloak. The adrenaline that had carried her through the journey was fading, replaced by the quiet realization of what they had done. They had left everything behind—their lives, their families, their very identities—and now, here they were, standing on the precipice of a future they had yet to define.

Their room was small, with a single window that overlooked the fields beyond the village. A modest bed stood against one wall, and a small wooden table with two chairs sat near the hearth. The fire had already been lit, the flames flickering softly in the dim light of the evening.

Harry set their bags down by the door, glancing around the room before turning to Y/N. His expression was calm, but there was a tension in his eyes—a quiet awareness that they had crossed a line they could never uncross.

Y/N crossed the room to the window, her fingers brushing against the cool glass as she looked out at the fading light. The sky was a deep, dusky blue, and the first stars were beginning to appear, faint and far away. For a moment, she said nothing, her thoughts swirling like leaves caught in the wind.

Y/N finally broke the silence, her voice soft and uncertain. "Do you think we made the right choice?"

Harry turned from the window, his gaze settling on her. His green eyes, illuminated by the firelight, were filled with something unreadable-fear, perhaps, but also a quiet determination. He stepped closer, the floorboards creaking beneath his boots as he walked toward her.

"There was no other choice, Y/N.” He said gently, kneeling beside her. His hand reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against hers, grounding her in the reality of their shared decision. "Not for you, not for me. Remaining in Florence..it would have destroyed you.”

She looked up at him, her heart aching with the weight of his words. "But what have we done, Harry?" she whispered “I–” her voice trembling. "I have abandoned my family, my name. What if they find us? What if–" Her words trailed off, the enormity of their flight catching up with her. Her thoughts tangled in Fear. Fear of what might come, fear of the unknown future they now faced together.

Harry's gaze softened, and he took her hand fully in his, his thumb brushing over her knuckles in a soothing motion. "I do not know what will come," he admitted, his voice low and steady. "But I know that staying in Florence vould have been a life you could not live. You would have been chained, Y/N, to a life of duty, of expectations that would have suffocated you. What we have now, it may be uncertain, but it is ours."

She blinked, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "And you, Harry? What have you given up for me?"

Harry smiled faintly, shaking his head as if the question was unnecessary. "Florence never belonged to me.” He murmured. "| painted for men who looked down on me, for families who never saw what I could truly do. l've left behind nothing of importance." He paused, his gaze deepening as he looked into her eyes. "But y–you are the first thing that's ever felt real to me."

Y/N's breath caught at his words, her heart thudding in her chest. She had never expected this-never imagined that leaving Florence would mean finding something, someone, who saw her not as the Candela daughter but as herself, YN, in all her flawed and wild glory. "And what do we do now?" she asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "We are not nobility here, Harry. We bear no titles, no claims to protect us."

Harry stood then, his hand still holding hers as he pulled her gently to her feet. His expression softened, though there was a hint of something deeper in his eyes, something that made her pulse quicken. "We live Y/N.” he said simply, his voice low and intimate. “For the first time, we live as we choose. I have land in Siena, now—it isn’t much, but it’s a roof and four walls.”

He drew her closer, their bodies inches apart, the warmth from the fire mingling with the heat of his presence. Y/N could feel her heart pounding in her chest, her breath hitching as his gaze settled on her lips for a brief, tantalizing moment. “You are free now.” Harry murmured, his voice a whisper in the quiet of the room. "Whatever comes next, we face it together."

Y/N swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling deep within her. She could feel the walls between them crumbling, the barriers they had built around themselves dissolving in the heat of the fire. And as she looked up at him, her heart in her throat, she knew that whatever lay ahead, she wanted him beside her—no matter the cost.

Slowly, tentatively, she reached up, her fingers brushing against his jaw, feeling the roughness of his stubble beneath her touch. Harry inhaled sharply, his hand sliding to her waist, pulling her closer still. The air between them seemed to crackle, the unspoken tension that had simmered for so long finally rising to the surface. "Y/N," he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. "Are you sure?"

She nodded, drawing her lips closer to his. Their kiss is slow, appreciative—full of months that had gone without it. He cupped her cheek as he parted briefly, holding her eyes into her own before he smiled. Harry's lips crashed against hers in a fierce, desperate kiss, his hands tangling in her hair as he pulled her closer still. Y/N gasped against his mouth, her fingers gripping his tunic as the heat of the fire surrounded them, enveloping them in warmth. The kiss deepened, becoming something raw, something that spoke of all the things they had left unsaid —their fear, their hope, their unspoken love.

They stumbled back toward the hearth, their bodies pressed together as Harry's hands roamed over her, pulling at the ties of her gown, freeing her from the constraints of fabric. Y/N's breath hitched as the cool air touched her bare skin, but Harry's warmth, his touch, was all she needed. He held her close, his lips tracing a path down her neck, sending shivers of pleasure through her body.

The heat between them became unbearable, a fire that consumed all reason. Harry's hands moved with purpose, deftly undoing the ties of Y/ N's gown, his fingertips brushing against her skin with a tenderness that belied the hunger in his gaze. Her breath came in shallow gasps as the fabric fell away, baring her to him. His eyes, darkened with desire, roamed over her with reverence, as though he was seeing her not as a woman of noble birth, but as someone entirely his, a secret kept only for him.

Her pulse quickened under the weight of his gaze, and her hands, trembling slightly, moved to the front of his tunic. She tugged at the laces, fumbling as her fingers brushed the hard planes of his chest beneath the linen. Harry let out a low groan, his own need palpable in the way his breath hitched, the way his body responded to her touch. He shrugged out of his tunic, tossing it aside, revealing the lean, muscled form that had been hidden beneath.

For a moment, they simply stood there, the space between them charged with a tension that was nearly unbearable. The firelight flickered across their skin, casting shadows that danced along the stone walls of the inn, but all Y/N could focus on was Harry—the way his chest rose and fell with each labored breath, the way his eyes darkened as they traced the curves of her body. Her heart pounded in her chest as she reached for him, her hands sliup his arms, feeling the strength in his muscles. Their breaths mingled, and as Harry leaned in to kiss her, the tension between them reached a breaking point. His lips were soft but insistent, claiming hers with a need that mirrored her own.

Y/N's hands found his hair, pulling him closer, desperate to feel him against her, to erase the distance that had always lingered between them until now.

He guided her down onto the fur-lined rug before the fire, his hands caressing her with a tenderness that made her breath catch. The warmth of the flames flickered around them, casting their shadows on the walls, but in this moment, there was only the heat between them, the way their bodies fit together as if they had been made for this. They had stripped away the layers of propriety, both figuratively and literally, leaving only the raw desire that now pulsed between them. Y/N's heart raced as Harry’s body hovered over hers, his eyes dark with a hunger she had never seen before. Her skin flushed under his gaze, the anticipation swirling in her belly like a storm.

He kissed her softly, his lips moving against hers with a tenderness that made her melt into him, but there was something else in his touch—something deeper, something more primal. As his hands roamed her body, tracing every curve and dip, Y/N felt a strange mix of excitement and nerves coiling inside her. She had never known this kind of intimacy before, never been touched in such a way.

Harry pulled back slightly, his breath warm against her neck as he pressed a trail of soft, lingering kisses down her throat, over her collarbone, and lower still, to the curve of her breasts. His hands slid down her sides, gently parting her legs as he kissed his way lower, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. Y/N's breath hitched, her body trembling beneath his touch, and she instinctively pressed her thighs together.

Harry paused, his lips hovering just above her skin, his hands still resting on her hips as he looked up at her with a soft, knowing smile. "Do you trust me?" he asked, his voice low, rough with desire but tender, too.

Y/N nodded, her breath trembling as she met his gaze, the flickering firelight casting shadows across his face. “I do, H." She whispered.

Harry's smile deepened, and he pressed a soft kiss to her inner thigh, his hands gently coaxing her legs apart once more. "I got you, dove. Promise.” He murmured, his voice a quiet, confident assurance that sent a shiver of anticipation through her.

Y/N's pulse quickened as Harry kissed his way higher, his lips brushing her skin in a way that made her body ache with a need she had never known before. Her hands gripped the fur beneath her as his mouth hovered just above her most intimate place, and when his lips finally made contact, a gasp escaped her, her body tensing with the unfamiliar sensation. It was unlike anything she had ever felt—a warmth, a softness, and then the slow, deliberate flick of his tongue against her bud, sending a jolt of pleasure through her core.

Y/N's head fell back, her breath catching in her throat as Harry continued, his mouth working with skill and precision. He moved with confidence, as though he knew exactly what she needed, exactly how to coax the pleasure from her body.

Harry's hands slid up her thighs, his fingers pressing gently into her skin, grounding her in the moment. His tongue moved in slow, teasing strokes, building a rhythm that made Y/N's body tremble with each touch. Her hips moved instinctively toward him, a soft moan escaping her lips as the pleasure began to build, layer upon layer, each stroke of his tongue pushing her closer to a place she had never been.

"Harry," she gasped, her voice breathless, her fingers tangling in his hair as she arched her back, the heat between her legs overwhelming. She had never imagined this kind of pleasure, had never known it was even possible.

Harry hummed softly against her, the vibrations sending another wave of pleasure through her as his tongue moved faster, more insistently. His hands gripped her hips, pulling her closer to his mouth, and Y/N's entire body shuddered with the intensity of it, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The world around her blurred, the crackle of the fire fading into the background as she became lost in the sensation of his mouth, his tongue, his touch.

The tension in her belly coiled tighter and tighter, the pleasure building with every movement of his lips, every flick of his tongue. Y/N had never felt anything like it before—this burning, all-consuming need that made her body tremble, her breath catch, her heart race. She was on the edge, teetering between control and surrender, and with one final, skilled movement of his tongue, she fell.

A cry tore from her lips as the pleasure crested, washing over her in waves that left her breathless, her body trembling beneath him. Her fingers tightened in his hair, her hips lifting off the rug as the pleasure pulsed through her, intense and overwhelming. Harry didn't stop, his mouth working her through the height of her release, his hands holding her steady as she writhed beneath him, lost in the sensation.

When the waves of pleasure finally began to ebb, Y/N collapsed back onto the rug, her body spent, her chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. Her limbs felt heavy, her skin flushed and sensitive, and as Harry pressed a final, soft kiss to her inner thigh, she shivered, her body still tingling from the intensity of it all.

Slowly, Harry rose, his hands sliding up her body as he kissed his way back up to her lips, his breath warm and soft against her skin. He settled beside her, pulling her into his arms, his lips brushing her forehead as she nestled against his chest, her heart still pounding from the intensity of her release. “Told you I had you, hm?” He cooed, combing his fingers through her disheveled hair.

She nodded, the sound of her heart thumping in her ears as she cupped his cheek, pulling him into another kiss. His hands roamed from her hips to her breasts, rolling back on top of her with a smirk. His hands roamed her body, caressing, exploring, a though trying to commit every inch of her to memory.

Y/N arched beneath him, her body responding to his touch with a need that had been building for weeks, months even. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, desperate for the connection she had longed for, and Harry groaned, his body trembling with the weight of his desire. Slowly, reverently, he guided himself into her, his movements gentle, careful, as though afraid to break the fragile spell between them. She gasped at the sensation, her fingers gripping his shoulders as he filled her, their bodies finally coming together in a way that felt inevitable, as if they had been meant for this moment all along.

For a heartbeat, they stayed like that, perfectly still, their breaths mingling, their hearts pounding in unison. He was entranced by the feeling of her walls fluttering around his cock, the way she stretched around him.

Then, slowly, Harry began to move, his hips rocking against hers in a rhythm that sent waves of pleasure coursing through her body. Y/N’s head fell back further into the rug, a moan escaping her lips as she gave herself over to the sensation, to the connection that seemed to bind them together more deeply than any words ever could.

Harry's movements were slow at first, deliberate, each thrust sending a jolt of pleasure through her body, but soon the restraint he had tried to maintain began to slip. His pace quickened, his body moving against hers with a raw, desperate need that matched her own. The sound of their breathing, of their bodies moving together, filled the room, mingling with the crackle of the fire and the whisper of the wind outside.

Y/N's fingers dug into his back, her nails leaving faint marks on his skin as her body arched beneath him, her breath coming in gasps. Every touch, every kiss, every thrust was a promise, a declaration that neither of them could speak but both understood.

"Harry," she whispered, her voice trembling with the intensity of her need, with the overwhelming sensation building inside her. "I–” But she couldn't finish the sentence. Words seemed inadequate to describe what she felt, the way her body and soul seemed to be unraveling in his arms.

Harry's lips found hers again, silencing her with a kiss that was all-consuming, his body moving against hers with an urgency that mirrored her own. He groaned against her mouth, his breath ragged, his hands gripping her hips as though afraid to let her go. “Y’like that, huh?” He grunted, bottoming out with each thrust. “Sound so pretty, the way you sing f’me.”

She nodded, eyes glossed over in pleasure as she wraps her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder with whimpers of praises. And then, with one final, desperate thrust, Y/N felt herself fall over the edge, her body trembling with release as the pleasure crashed over her like a wave. She cried out, her fingers tangled in his curls, her heart pounding in her chest as the world seemed to fall away around her.

In that moment, Harry pulled away, his breath hot against her neck as he pressed his forehead against her shoulder, his body shuddering with restraint. His hands tightened on her hips as he pulled back, separating them just before the inevitable.

A moan fell from his lips, and Y/N swore it was the prettiest melody she’s ever heard.

He fisted his cock, coaxing his hand back and forth before he lets out a low whimper, spilling himself right onto her abdomen—decorating her in opaque that marked her as his.

His sigh was heavy as he fell back beside her, placing a kiss to her temple as she lie there breathlessly. For a moment, they lay there in the quiet, their bodies still trembling from the intensity of it all, the only sound in the room the soft crackling of the fire. Y/N's chest rose and fell with the aftershocks of pleasure, her heart still racing, but she felt safe. “S’warm.” She giggled, his release glistening in the flames of the fire.

He couldn’t help but smile as he maneuvered his arm beneath her neck, turning to his side as he rested his chin atop her head. “Promise I’ll clean y’up.” He chuckled, draping his other arm across her chest, to which she reaches up and holds his bicep with a smile.

He presses a kiss into her hair, breathing her in. “Ad vitam aeternam.” He murmured, listening to the fire crackle and her even breaths.

Her eyebrows furrowed, recognizing some of the words but she figured the meanings are different, because what she interpreted made no sense at all. He tilted her head back, looking at the man expectantly as he shifted his own head ever so slightly to place a soft kiss against her lips. “To eternal life.”

Her cheeks flushed as she stared into him, the color almost as red as the cherries from the other day. She runs her fingers through his curls, a small smile spreading across her lips.

His own eyes searches hers, the tips of their nose almost touching. His hands cup her face, thumbing gentle strokes onto her cheek. “What?”

She lied her hand atop the one on her face, dipping the tips of her fingers to hold onto his grasp. “I’m falling in love with you.”

He exhales through his nose, a chuckle laced with content emitting from his mouth. He nudges his nose with hers, brushing their lips together softly before pressing it into a kiss. He smiles, pulling back after a beat. “I already have.”

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aychama · 10 days ago

Text

Bearer of the Red Crown's Birthday

"These pompous assholes." Narinder opened the door to escape outside and take a breather.

"They were never taught to shut the hell up were they?" He rubbed his temples and wondered why was their birthday gift to him was a headeache.

The calm but obnoxiously loud people inside the greathall had gathered to congradulate the King's birthday. Of course it was a big event and many of the nobles were attending. Some even travveled from the other kingdoms.

But to Narinder it was just a nuisance, just like how it was every year.

They had gathered to make connections, threaten eachother covertly or simply suck up to Narinder. He had to put up with these people and act like they wouldn't turn on him with the twirl of any one of his siblings finger.

He was just looking for a place to hide now but it seemed his hiding place was occupied by a slouched figure.

"Lambert?" Narinder noticed the figure in the corner next to the flower bushes.

"BAH!" They shout out a short bleat and turned towards him. Their funny noise and freaked out face was like a cold fresh water being splashed on Narinder's hot and aching head.

"My King! Please, you need to stop sneaking up on me..." Lambert sighed and got up.

Were they getting away from people too? That wasn't good. He had specifically told them to use this oppurtunity to make connections so they could have people helping them with their new lands troubles.

Just as he was about to start his lecture he noticed the neatly folded fabric in Lambert's hands.

"Is this..." he saw the little bow it was wrapped with.

A gift.

Lambert looked at the item in their hands, hesitated a little and presented it towards him.

"For you, yes."Narinder's fingers brushed Lambert's as he took it and started examining it. It was a red and white scarf.

"Aym and Baal said that you get cold easily so... I was actually going to knit it myself but it was way harder to do than I thought it would be. Haha..." They let out a defeated sigh hidden with a tired smile.

"I-it's not an expensive item I know but I-"

"It's made out of your wool." Narinder cut them off as he took off the bow and ran his fingers through the fabric. It was so, oh so soft. He didn't even have to bring his nose closer to it to know it smell like them.

"You can tell?" Lambert's face looked horrified, their smile dropping down as they looked up at him.

They suddenly reached out towards the scarf and started to pull it out of Narinder's hands.

"That's just weird isn't it? I-I knew it would be weird argh stupid Berith-"

"Wh- No!"Narinder did not let go of the scarf and it stretched between the two."Lambert no it's not weird." He looked at them hoping he sounded genuine.

"It's no secret that I like wool and this is perfect." Lambert stopped pulling and looked at Narinder, unsure.

He had gotten many presents today. So many that he lost count. So many things that he did not care. Jewelry, expensive items, some magical crystals, decorative weapons. Presents that were given to a King so that they wouldn't lose face or even worse, so that the noble families could look at eachother and say 'Look at how rich I am. The King surely likes me more than all of you so I can use him to scare you and get my way'. It was all so obvious and so shallow that he thought the amount of jewelry and necklaces were going to stuf his throat so much that he could drown without water.

But this,

This was from Lambert.

And it didn't have any underlying intentions.

Narinder slowly pulled the scarf from Lambert's hesitant hands.

"I remember reading a book when I was young."

He wrapped the scarf around his neck.

"It was about the culture of our folk."

He adjusted the scarf and both ends hung over his shoulders lovingly.

"And I remember reading that sheep-folk would give eachother gifts made out of their own wool to show their appreciation for eachother." He adjusted the scarf and looked at them to see the curiosity color their pretty face.

"Really?" Lambert asked and he nodded softly.

Narinder knew that Lambert wasn't taught of their own culture. It was...sad... but not unexpected. There wasn't really any sheep-folk in the 5 kingdoms other than them.

To think Shamura's old books he randomly decided to read would have a lot about sheep-folk in them. Too bad that wretched younger brother of his burnt down Shamura's library just because he was jealous Shamura would read books with Narinder... Narinder wishes that Shamura would have killed Leshy right then and there but they didn't. Soft hearted fool who went easy on all of their siblings but not on their enemies. And that included Narinder too.

Narinder shook his head to get rid of the hatred starting to boil up in his gut and focused on the scarf and Lambert. Their smell and their soft wool was all around him, quickly calming him down as he lowered his head to bury the bottom half of his face into the scarf.

He heard the softest giggle.

"You look silly."

Narinder opened his eyes, he didn't even know when he had closed them, and looked at Lambert.

They were smiling so soft and warmly at him. His throat clogged up again but he wasn't feeling bad this time.

"It's clashing with the rest of the jewelry badly."

He couldn't take his eyes off of Lambert's smile as they talked.

He thanked God that he always had his veil because he didn't think he could explain why he was looking at Lambert's smile like it was the only thing in the world.

"And it looks funny with your fancy clothes. Maybe I should have told Berith to make it look more expensive." Lambert laughed. If he could eat their voice he bet it would taste like fluffy candy, he thought.

The two heard some people talking about where the king has gone from inside and Narinder sighed.

Lambert reached towards Narinder's neck and tugged at the scarf.

"You need to go back in right? You can't just look like this in front of everyone. I'll put it next to the pile of gifts-"

He grabbed their arm and stopped them from taking the scarf.

"No." He said firmly.

"But-"

"Who said I would be going in alone? I remember telling a certain someone that they need to make connections because their poor decisions while ruling their own land had left them in a troubling state." He turned the conversation towards Lambert seemlessly to cover up whatever he was feeling right now.

"A-ah that! I have a little bit of a-no actually a big headache from talking with so many- soooo many people yknow?" Lambert stumbled over their words.

Narinder let the silence fall between them to show them he did not believe them.

"Let's go. I suppose I have to be the one to intruduce you to people." Narinder pulled Lambert by the arm that he had grabbed and walked towards the door.

"I'm- My King! You shouldn''t- you don't need to pull me!"

#narilamb #royal au #cotl #cult of the lamb #aychama #cotl lamb #cotl narinder #mini fic #fluff #fanfiction #i be writing

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thehighpriestess1 · 1 year ago

Text

Be Mine : The meeting

Summary : After finally waiting for 20 years Gojo Satoru finally met the woman he has been in love with. But love is not easy to conquer even for the strongest.

Pairing : Yandere King Gojo x Knight reader

Warning: Yandere themes. Mentions of violence and death. Minors do not interact!

Master list : Ask Box

It was not unusual for a woman to be a knight or a soldier. Although it was a bit unfair to those of your kind. In this kingdom were two kinds of people, one who had power, the sorcerers, not the kind of power that comes with a position but the kind you are born with. Power that is used to protect the others against the army of curses that have plagued the world for centuries. No one knows where these curses come from. No one knows how to eradicate them forever. But as goes the law of balance, there are people that are born with the power to kill these curses and the most powerful of them all, the man who is said to possess the kind of power that comes once in a century, the king, Gojo Satoru.

The second kinds, your kind, people who are born without power. Even if they are born into the wealthiest of families they are bound to live in the shadows of sorcerers. You were neither born into a noble clan nor did you have any power. All you had was your strength and grit.

You joined the forces to fight against the curses. What use were you to the kingdom without power? They always needed people like you to do the menial tasks during the war and use your sword to the best of your abilities. That you did very well. In a span of four years you climbed through the ranks fighting against the sexism and the casual disdain against you. It has changed you, hardened you. Now you were a rebel amongst legends and infamous amongst the infantry.

But unbeknownst to you, there was someone who was watching your every move. Before the time you joined the ranks to the day of your knighthood. You were good. Fearless. Kind. But you were too far. Too far for his liking.The only way to fix that was to bring you closer to him. He wished he could reach out to you when he saw you on the battlefield. While he did protect you on the field with his powers, he wished desperately to be able to mend your wounds and kiss the pain away. But it was not ideal for the king to run across the battlefield and cradle a foot soldier. He wished he could lay next to you and wipe your tears but he could only watch from his ivory tower. It was the best use of his six eyes. When he was presented with the list of names to be considered for King’s knight he didn’t even look at it and presented his own recommendation. Who dared reject the king’s recommendation?

Gojo lay on the silk bed sheets as the moonlight filtered through the curtains. He stared at the ceiling with a smile on his face. Tomorrow he will finally have you close to him. He still remembered the first time he met you, 20 years ago. He was out in the kingdom with his father and had run off from the procession and snuck into a back alley of a bakery. There instead of sweet delicacies he ran into the sweetest girl he had ever seen. She sat at the steps of the bakery in a red dress with two pigtails with a white ribbon tied at the end. Gojo was dumbfounded and simply stared at her. Was she the fairies his mother told him about?

“ The bakery is closed! Come after 2 PM”. She said as she took a bite of her cupcake.

“What’s your name?”. He asked as he stepped towards her.

“My grandma told me not to talk to strangers”.

Gojo was dumbfounded. He stared at her blankly.

The girl rolled her eyes, “What do you want?”.

Gojo snapped out of his thoughts. “I…I want to buy…I want…I want what you are having”.

She got off the steps and stood in front of him. She extended the half eaten cupcake and shrugged. “This is the last one and the bakery is closed”.

Gojo stared at the cupcake, he had never eaten a half eaten cake. Heck he had never had to share anything in his life. But he stretched his arm forward to grab the cupcake and right before he could grab hold of the sweet delicacy the girl withdrew her arm and shoved the entire cupcake in her mouth. She grinned with lips littered with crumbs and mouth full of cupcakes. To his surprise instead of anger or contempt his heart was filled with this foreign feeling. It made him feel warm and he smiled at her.She was the embodiment of light, her toothy smile made his heart race and time stop. Before he could ask her name or give her his’ the guards surrounded him and led him back to his father. Before they could drag him away he stretched out his arm and grab hold of one of the silk ribbons.That’s all he had of hers now. For years Gojo tied that ribbon on his wrist. When it got too small for his wrist he tied it to his bedpost. The Kingdom grew and wars were won but he remembered the bakery and he remembered her. She never left his mind and once he was old enough to command power he had her details in front of her. Y/n L/n.

-X-

Gojo stared at his reflection in the mirror. After two hours of going through an array of clothes, he finally decided on the staple navy blue with velvet red cape. He looked at the watch and realized there were still hours before the ceremony. It was getting harder for him to wait any longer, he had to see you once so he took the cape and the medals off and wore a long black trench coat and snuck out of his room.

He knew where all the to-be-guards would be waiting. He stood behind the curtains at the entrance and scanned the room for you but he didn’t see you. Did you refuse the position last minute? Did something happen to you on the way? He frowned and turned around to walk back to his room but stopped in his tracks when he saw you walking next to another man. Your hair was toed back neatly and your smile…it made time stop.But rage filled his nerves as she saw you laugh and punch the other man on the shoulder. Why were you touching him? Why was he making you laugh? Your silver batch, indicating your knighthood, shone brightly as you walked past him without sparing him another glance. His heart broke. You had forgotten him. He spent every day of the last 20 years thinking about you and you didn’t even remember him! Your scent lingered in the air as he stood there basking in it. Was he that forgettable? What was he going to do now? With anger in his eyes and sadness in his veins he was about to walk away.

“Oi!”. Someone called out from behind but Gojo was so lost in his thoughts he ignored it.

“Oi white hair!”.

Gojo frowned and clenched his jaw. Who dared speak to him like that. He turned around ready to order his men to behead the imbecile but his anger evaporated when he saw you standing behind him with a smirk on your face. You were talking to him. You were talking to him!

“Ye…Yes?”. He asked hesitantly. Unsure of whether you knew who he was or not.

“I owe you this''. You extended your hand forward and held a cupcake in your hand.

Gojo stared dumbfounded at the cupcake. His heart raced faster than the best horses in the kingdom. You remembered him. All those years of planning to get you here was not a waste. You remembered him. He looked at you and let out a shuddered breath at how beautiful you looked. Your hair was in a neat ponytail above your head, even the metal armor you wore looked so delicate. Your eyes held the same hope and your smile, Gojo was ready to wage wars for that smile.

“You…you..remember me?”.

You chuckled, “Of course I do! Do you want this one or should I shove it in my mouth?”.

Gojo chuckled and took the cupcake from your hand. “Thanks”. You looked different up close. Better. Prettier. You carried the same light within you as you did 20 years ago.

“Are you here for the ceremony as well?”. You chirped.

“Yes…kind of”.

You nodded your head and looked at him. He was just the same. Shy. Timid. “You have really pretty eyes''. You said absentmindedly. You didn’t know how the words fell out of your mouth but god were they true.

Gojo’s eyes widened. You just complimented him? This was the first time you had complimented him!

“Ummm yeah..thank..thank you”. He said, too shy to meet your eyes. He didn’t know what was happening to him. He wanted to be confident and strong for you and yet he was stuttering like a child.”What are you doing here?”. He feigned ignorance.

“I am about to be knighted to be the King’s personal guard”.

“Congratulations”. He smiled politely.

“Thank you. What about you? I haven’t seen you in the ranks so…I guess you are not a knight”.

Gojo cursed himself mentally. “Umm yeah. I work in ….administration”. Not a lie, Gojo thought to himself.

“Nice.By the way, have you ever met the king? I’ve heard some pretty interesting things about him”.

“No…I haven’t met the king..”. Gojo said, confused. Who was spreading rumors about him to you? Before he could ask any further about the baseless rumors another man came from behind him and wrapped his arms around you.

“Niko! My man! So good to see you!”. You said as you returned the hug.

Gojo watched you exchange formalities with Niko. When Niko had taken his leave you turned towards Gojo once again. “You were saying something?”.

“Is that guy your….man?”.

You frowned and looked at Niko, “oh him? No. I mean not like that. We have been in the ranks together since the beginning and he has saved my ass so many times!”.

Gojo smiled and looked down at his feet. If only you knew how many times he saved you from getting killed. “I see…what were you saying about the king?”.

“Oh right! I have heard that he thinks only those with curse techniques deserve to occupy the ranks! Can you even believe him?! What a jerk! If that was true then people like me would always be treated like shit and would never get a chance to fight those curses!”.

Gojo hummed. Though it was true that he believed that, you were here weren’t you? Though he believed it would never be acted on because he understood the importance of balance. “But..If that were true then…you wouldn’t be here”.

“You see that’s where you’re wrong. It’s not about what he does. That fact that he says those things gives sorcerers even more reasons to..to bully us. Because now their ideology aligns with that of the king and the so called sorcerer king can never be wrong. What a joke!”.

Gojo chuckled nervously. That stung Gojo. But you were right. It’s not only actions but also his words that have a ripple effect and eventually hurt the one he loves.

“But..wait…how do you know that I am not a sorcerer?”.

“I can tell”. Gojo added immediately, cursing himself. “Why did you join ranks?”. He asked immediately, hoping to change the conversation. Though he had a faint idea about it.

You smiled sadly,”You remember the bakery? It was owned by my grandmother. When the war began, the curses destroyed the town and ..killed her. So I decided that I will fight them until I am satisfied that I have avenged her”.

Gojo sighed. He remembered that war. Many died and many went missing. He was about 20 that time. The war had lasted for over a week and after a week he was able to create a shield around the kingdom to prevent any curses from getting in. He felt guilty now, if only he would have been strong enough back then he would have been able to save the bakery and you wouldn’t be risking your life everyday. “I’m sorry to hear that”.

You sighed and shrugged. “That’s alright. Anyway we should go before the so-called ‘strongest’ arrives”.

“I have something to take care of, you should go. I’ll see you soon”.

“Okaaaay. What’s your name though? Or would you rather I call you snow white?”.

Gojo smiled fondly and took a bite off the cupcake. “You can call me whatever you want”. He winked and turned around and walked aways.

“Who was that?”. Niko asked you when you finally joined him and the others.

“Just some nobel guy I met years ago”.

“Ooooh you are fishing already?”. Niko smirked.

“Oh! Fuck off! I am just happy to make friends”.

“He seems weird”.

“Maybe, he was just nervous. It is a pretty important day”.

Amante, another woman in your ranks joined in, “I think he was quite handsome”. She smiled sweetly. But that was Amante, she was too sweet and too polite to be in this line of work.

Niko shrugged, “You know what they say about these noble guys right? They don’t last long in bed! His handsomeness alone is not enough”.

You rolled your eyes at his comments. “Don’t listen to him, Amante. If you want I will happily introduce you to him and you are right, he is quite handsome”.

“Do you really think so?”. Niko asked, sipping from his chalice. He stood tall next to you, his brown hair neatly combed back and his sharp jawline freshly shaved. But from this angle you could tell the places he nicked himself. His brown eyes looked like honey in this light and though you would never admit it, you were jealous of his eyelashes.

“Yeah. I think he was quite good looking”.

“Better than me?”. Niko smirked.

You shook your head and ignored his comment. He was just being..Niko.

-X-

It was a closed ceremony, only those to be knighted to be king’s guards were allowed to be there. The other ranks were commemorated by the chief of troops while you waited at the back and watched with pride as your friends got their lapel decorated. You wondered when it would be your turn and would you get to meet the king today? It came as a surprise that you were the only one appointed as the King’s guard, a non sorcerer vowing to protect the sorcerer king. Suddenly it didn’t feel right.

“Ma’am, he’s waiting for you”.

You turned and looked at the older man bowing next to you. “Who is waiting for me?”.

“His highness the King”.

You blinked blankly and looked at your friends in the other end of the room. You nodded your head and got up to follow the man.

You walked two steps behind the man wondering why was your coronation held separately and why couldn’t the king take some time off to know the people who swore to protect him a few rooms down the hall.

“What’s your name?”. You asked, looking around and admiring the heavy velvet curtains.

“Ijichi”. The man replied in a tired tone.

“How do I address you?”.

“You may call me Ijichi”.

You hummed. “May I ask you a question Ijichi-san?”.

“Yes”.

“What is the king like?”.

“He is the strongest sorcerer”.

You chuckled. That's what everyone says anyway. “I mean…as a person”.

Ijichi let out a tired sigh that made you wonder whether he didn’t like the king or he didn’t like you. “He is ..Eccentric”.

“Eccentric?”. You corked a brow.

“Yes. You will find out soon”.

You didn’t want to trouble him anymore so continued to follow him quietly.

Soon you found yourself outside a large wooden door with gold handles. Ijichi turned towards you and smiled, “His highness is waiting inside. If you need anything, you may call me anytime”.

“Thank you, Ijichi-san”.

“-and…The King is a good person. So don’t be hasty in making your judgment”. Ijichi smiled.

It was probably the first time you heard a little life in his voice. You smiled and nodded your head. “I’ll keep that in mind”.

Ijichci took his leave and you stood outside the door staring at the gold inlay, wondering why would the strongest sorcerer appoint a non-sorcerer as the King’s guard?. Your heart was beating loudly and fear crept into your heart. You fought curses with just your sword and yet you were questioning yourself, it didn’t make any sense.

“I can sense you standing outside”. The voice echoed from inside making you jolt backwards. He knew you were here. There was no going back now.So you took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

“Snowwhite?”. You chuckled as you saw the back of the head of your old friend but when he turned around your smile dropped and eyes widened. You saw the medals on his lapel and the seal on his collar. Your eyes drifted to the crown kept on a stand nearby and your throat ran dry. You immediately kneeled on one knee and brought your fist to your heart and bowed in greeting to the king. “Your Highness”.

“Stand up, y/n”.

You got up but refused to look him in the eye. You could sense that he was walking towards you and suddenly the rose on the carpet was covered by a pair of black boots.

Gojo placed his index finger below your chin and tilted it up, to look closely at the face he has been dreaming about. “Hello, y/n”.

You took a step back and stomped your feet. “It’s an honor to meet you, your highness”.

Gojo sighed, “Drop it already, will you?”.

You looked up at him, confused. “I..don’t understand you-”.

“Drop the formalities. We are friends. You can call me Satoru”.

You bit the inside of your cheeks. “I..I am sorry your highness…for..what I said”.

“Why? You were right”.

“I..meant the terms I used to describe you..”

Gojo laughed. “That’s alright. You are my friend so that’s okay”.

“I am supposed to be your guard, your highness”. You said sternly.

Gojo realized it will take time for you to open up to him, he had waited years now, he could wait a little more.

“Alright, do what feels right for you. If you have any questions then do not hesitate to ask me”. Gojo smiled as he clasped his hands behind his back.

“I do have one…question”.

“Go ahead”.

“Why did you choose me to be your guard? I am not a sorcerer and you are the strongest sorcerer”.

Gojo smiled to himself. He had expected this question which is why he prompted you to ask in the first place. “Because you are capable. You are more capable than some of the sorcerers. It is not the curses I need the protection from, it is non-sorcerers”.

His response left a bittersweet feeling in your heart. “I don’t have any more questions, your highness”.

“Are you sure?”. Gojo corked a brow.

“Yes, Your Highness”.

“So you don’t want to know what I was doing at the bakery that day and why do I remember you?”.

You were taken by surprise. You had heard of his powers but many were still hidden, was mind reading one of his powers?. Regardless, you were determined to keep things professional between the two of you, you had already offended him enough. “Your Highness is kind enough to remember me”.

Gojo’s jaw clenched in irritation. This was not his kindness. This was his love. You were his love. But of course how could you know that? For you, you had met him after two decades. Unlike him you were not aware of his life. “It’s more than kindness y/n. You were the second person ever to treat me like an equal. I consider you my friend and friends , protect each other”.

You smiled politely, “Yes, Your Highness”.

Gojo smiled and straightened up. “Let’s get to business shall we?”.

“Yes, Your Highness”.

“First things first, I do not place much value on the old rituals of reading out your duties and having you take the oath. You are an honorable woman and I trust you that you will do your duty diligently”.

You stomped your right foot and pressed your fist to your heart, “Yes, Your highness. I promise you I will put my life on the line for-”.

“Everything except that”. Gojo cut you off. “I don’t want you to put your life on the line for me. Do not even think about sacrificing your life for me. Just stay by my side and…that’s it”.

You gulped nervously. “Ye..Yes, Your Highness”.

“Now, where were we?...right! You don’t need to wear that heavy armor anymore. I have asked the atelier to take your measurement and have your uniform ready. Ijichi will show you your room after your fitting, you can rest today and explore the palace grounds, in the evening we will meet at the stable where you will get to pick your horse, then you will join me for dinner. Is that clear?”.

“Yes, You-”.

“Just a yes will do”.

“Ye..yes. Clear”.

Gojo smiled. “Good. Tomorrow you will show up at my office at 7:00 AM and accompany me throughout the day”.

“Yes”.

-X-

You walked towards his office in your newly fitted uniform. It was eerily similar to his’. Navy trousers paired with a white shirt and a heavy navy blue overcoat. Your Knight’s badge shone on the left lapel and your cufflinks were just like his’. You wondered if it was on his demand or was just a norm. But your favorite part of the uniform were the stitched white roses on the inside of the overcoat. Absolutely hidden from the outside world, they were your own personal ornament. Your horse too was the same as his. A beautiful white beast with flowing silver hair. When standing side by side it was hard to differentiate between the two horses. When you asked Ijichi, he informed you that the other horse, the female counterpart, was bred and trained to be a companion to the male counterpart and Gojo had forbidden everyone from riding it. A part of you thought that he was saving her for you but that can’t be true right? How was he to know that you would meet after all these years. It was a surprise that he even remembered you.

Even your old sword was replaced with a newer one. To fight the curse, every non-sorcerer needed a special blade which needed to be pierced in the head of the curse to eradicate it. As the soldier moved up the ranks the sword was replaced by a more powerful one. As a King’s personal guard you were sure this was the most powerful blade to exist. But fighting alone was not enough. To protect yourself from the attack, you had a shield embedded in your amulet. All you needed to do was unclasp the lock on your inner wrist and a tiny amulet was turned into a full sized shield. Your new amulet was made out of white gold and had roses carved into them. It made a pretty shield.

Your room was thrice the size of your old house. It was too spacious and you couldn’t believe that it was all yours. Everything from the carpet to curtains was made out of finest quality material. Your bed was soft as a cloud and your wardrobe was filled with your uniforms for different occasions. Your tattered leather bag seemed out of place in this opulence. You walked to the window and to your surprise you could see right on the King’s balcony. Maybe it was a security measure. You thought about him, how he treated you like an old friend even after all the things you said about him. He was not how others, especially Niko, had painted him out to be. He wasn’t aggressive, or crazy. He was gentle, Kind, and considerate. You didn’t realize you were staring at his balcony until he walked out and you immediately stepped back, hoping he didn’t notice you.

After a long sleepless night of thinking you decided that it would be best to stick to your rules rather than obey his’. He might be kind and considerate but he was still a King, a sorcerer king, and a sorcerer and non-sorcerer can never be friends. You had never hated sorcerers. Not until the war. When you saw your grandmother lying unconscious on the floor you developed a deep seeded hatred for sorcerers. If only this was a world without sorcerers and curses then your grandma would still be alive. You joined the ranks because the only thing you hated more than sorcerers was curses.

You knocked on the door sternly, “Your Highness, may I enter?”. You asked. You could almost hear him sigh on the other end before granting you the permission to enter.

“I told you not to call me that”. He chuckled and shook his head. He sat behind the oak desk resting his chin on his knuckles.

“That’s the appropriate way to address-”.

“”I decide what is appropriate”. Gojo cut you off.

“As you say, your highness”. You smiled and took your place next to him. You stood with your hands pressed to your sides and your gaze fixed on the door in front.

“Are you going to stand all day?”.

“Yes”.

“What if I ask you to sit?”. He looked up at you.

“I can best react to a threat in this position”.

Gojo bit the inside of his cheeks, “Threat? What threat is there now?”.

“A threat does not extend an invitation…not even to the king”.

Gojo clenched his jaw. Who turned you against him? Everything was fine yesterday, whom did you meet? What did they say?. He frowned and cleared his throat. “I don’t need you to protect me”.

“I see”. You hummed. “So I am just an accessory here”.

Gojo stood up immediately and turned you towards him. By protocol, you refused to meet his eyes. He placed an index finger below your jaw and tildted your head up, “Look at me”. He whispered.

You slowly lifted your gaze up and looked into his deep blue ones. “I apologize for my rudeness ,your highness”.

“Did someone say something to you?”.

“No, your highness”.

“Y/n… I want you to remember that no one, in this entire kingdom holds any power over you. No one can remove you from my side, not without my permission…and that I would never grant. So tell me now, what happened?”.

“Nothing happened, your highness”. You said, it was hard to avert your gaze from his eyes. They were hypnotic, like they held the secrets buried deep beneath the oceans. If you looked long enough, you were sure you could count each speckle. They changed color when he moved his head, you had never seen anything of such beauty. You had heard about the secrets of six eyes, the power they held. But now you wondered, maybe their biggest power is their beauty. Anyone who looks deep enough would find themselves trapped in the infinite void.

“Y/n,?”. Gojo called out to you, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You jolted and stepped back immediately, “I apologize, your highness!”.

“What were you thinking?”. Gojo asked, sitting on the edge of the table.

“Nothing, your highness!”.

“I order you to tell me the truth”. Gojo smiled. If you were going to abide by the protocol then so would he.

“I..I just..You have beautiful eyes, your highness!”. You declared like you were rallying a message instead of speaking your mind.

Gojo smiled to himself. It was the second time you had complimented his eyes.. “You have told me that already but thank you. Now I order you to speak freely to me. Tell me every thought that crosses your mind, is that clear?”.

“Yes..your highness!”.

Gojo raised a brow and tilted his head, indicating you to speak up.

“Firstly, I am sorry for what I said to you yesterday outside the hall. Clearly I did not know whom I was talking to. Secondly….”. You bit the inside of your cheeks. Your rebel attitude might have gotten you far in troops but this is the King you are talking to. He can blow a hole through your body.

“Secondly?”. Gojo asked.

Aahh well fuck it. If you die then you die speaking the truth. “It was your fault!”.

“My fault?”. Gojo asked, confused.

“Yes! What were you doing there? Why were you sneaking around in your own palace? Are you that bored? Why didn’t you tell me that you were the king? Or were you spying on me? Did you have fun teasing me?”. You blurted out in one breath, prepared to take your last any minute now.

Gojo chuckled. Then he laughed. “Wow…okay. You’re right. It was my fault. I apologize”.

Your breath hitched and you looked around hesitantly. Did he just… Did the king just apologize? To you?

“What else is bothering you?”. He asked.

You scoffed, “I didn’t realize this was a therapy session”.

Gojo chuckled. “This is…get to know my guard session”.

“Speaking of guards…I know why I am here. By your side”.

Gojo’s heart skipped a beat. Did you really…

“Why is that?”.

You took a deep breath, “I heard the counsel talking … while I was going back to my room. I didn’t mean to snitch! And I am not complaining either!”.

“What..what did they say?”. Gojo asked irritatedly. He hated the counsel, always breathing down his neck, interfering with his work, demanding answers, but above all he hated them because of their mindset. Now he had another reason on his list.

“Well…They said that the only reason you chose me was because if you had chosen someone more powerful..a sorcerer then it would have become easier for them to keep you in line. So to keep them at bay you chose me because of my reputation but also because I am of absolute no use to you..”. You looked down at your hands clasped in front. “…or anyone actually”.

Gojo gritted his teeth. Those rotten old raisins dared make you feel this way. He was going to avenge you. It was only fair. He sent a signal, invisible to your eyes and sat back in his chair. “Take your position, we are going to punish them”. Gojo winked.

“But you don’t even know who they were. I don’t even know they were”.

“Only two people will have the audacity to say something like that”.

Soon two men walked in with their heads bowed down. “Your highness”.

You watched them keenly. It was definitely them. But you wondered what Gojo would do.

“Hizashi-san! I have good news for you!”.

The taller one out of the two straightened up. “Your highness you have honored me enough”. The old man smiled politely. He looked at you sideways and Gojo wanted to gouge his eyes out.

“Clearly not enough, Hizashi-san”. Gojo added. “Would Hizashi-san and Kyoshi-san appreciate the opportunity to help advance our understanding of curse techniques?”.

The other man stood up and looked at Gojo wide eyed. The last time Gojo had presented this opportunity to someone, That man was sent on a tour around the world and became a millionaire overnight. No one would dare refuse this opportunity.

The two men exchanged glances. Having been partners in crime for over two decades the two of them had the same vision in mind, leave the conservative kingdom and their annoying families behind and travel the world to meet exotic women! All they had to do in return was write a small thesis which they could fake because who was going to verify it anyway. They agreed right away and after discussing other small matters with him they left with a satisfied smile on their faces.

“I didn’t think you would reward them”. You commented with a sour taste in your mouth.

Gojo chuckled. “No. I did not reward them. Tonight when my soldiers will go to pick them up, they will be expecting to be led to the royal ship and begin their world travel. I am sure they would soon spread the news and before lunch everyone would know about it. But my soldiers will not lead them to the royal ship”.

You bit the inside of your lip, “Where will they be going then?”.

“They will be led to a dungeon outside the palace walls, where they will be thrown in with curses”.

“But they are sorcerers, experienced sorcerers?”.

“I am sure you are aware that even sorcerers have grades, the curses they will come across will be far beyond their imagination. I can assure you they won’t survive the torture till morning”.

“Torture?!”. You gasped.

Gojo smiled. Your innocence was sweeter than any honey head tasted. “Not every curse wants to ..kill. Some just want revenge from humans that created them. Death is too easy of a punishment for such…people”.

-X-

You lay awake at night in your bed. Thinking about how Gojo just condemned two people to death by torture only because they insulted you. You couldn’t sleep, thinking about the two men, who would now be on their way to death, blissfully unaware, excited by the prospects ahead of them. It dawned on you that the curses were not the that would torture them, it was Gojo. You groaned in your pillow. You needed a drink.

The communal kitchen was open at all hours of the day. It was mostly used by guards looking for a late night snack after the night shift or sleepless guards who needed a drink to wash away the events of the day. You remained quiet as you poured the wine from a wooden flask into a glass. It was strictly against the rules to take away any eatables and wine back to the room but you were oh so tempted to take the entire flask back to your room. So you did. The rules be damned.

If you had the ability to sense curse energies then the surprise awaiting you would have been spoiled and maybe you could have saved the flask of wine. But as soon as you opened the door, you saw the white haired sorcerer standing near your window with his hands behind his back, and the flask slipped from your hand, spilling the wine between the two of you, creating a small puddle of red. “Your Highness! I..I didn’t get your summon!”.

Gojo shifted his gaze from the puddle of wine to you. “Tough night?”. He smiled.

“I’m sorry. I know it is against the rules but I..needed something strong. I was going to return the flask! I swear!”.

Gojo chuckled. “I understand. But now I feel guilty for ruining your plans”. He smiled.

“Oh no. I..I can clean it up in no time”. You rubbed the back of your neck. “Did you need anything, Your Highness?”.

Gojo suddenly realized that he did need a reason to see you. He couldn’t tell you that it was getting tough for him to sleep without you.”Oh! Right! I uh..I could not sleep either …..so..I..do you want to drink together?”.

“Now?”. You asked, wide eyed. There were no rules about drinking with the king so maybe it was allowed..

“Yes. I can get someone to clean up your room”.

You bit your lip nervously as you considered the offer. “I don’t know…I have to work tomorrow and…”.

“I am sure I can convince your boss to let you arrive a little late”. Gojo smiled his victory smile which left a fluttering feeling in your stomach. In moments like this it didn’t feel like he was the king. He felt like a friend. You liked that feeling.

-X-

You sat on the floor with Gojo, your head resting against the couch, giggling like long lost friends. One empty bottle of wine and one half filled bottle stood tall between the two of you.

“Tell me more about your life”. Gojo prompted.

“It is quite boring”. You added and took a sip from the crystal glass.

“Not to me”.

"Are you that bored of your life?”. You raised a brow.

“Not bored of my life, just interested in yours”.

“Well then, what would you like to know?”.

Gojo hummed and thought for a second, “Have you ever been married?”. Gojo asked. He knew the answer to that but he couldn’t ask directly if you had a boyfriend.

Your smile dropped for a second and Gojo’s heart sank. “I didn’t mean to-”.

“It’s fine”. You cut him off with a smile. “It was quite long ago so it doesn’t matter anymore”. You shrugged and took a sip.

“So you were….married?”.

“Engaged. Well..almost engaged”.

Gojo’s heart was now beating loudly against his chest. How did he miss this?. “Why not, completely engaged?”. He asked, trying to keep his anger out of his words.

“Well because the guy…he cheated on me”.

“What?!”. Gojo frowned. How could he miss such an important detail? Who was this vermin who caused you so much pain?

“Yeah. We were together for quite some time but we managed to keep it hidden from everyone around us. When I decided to join the ranks he…didn’t like it. We had plans, you see. We wanted to work together to save enough money and re-build the bakery, get married, and all the other rosy-dosy stuff. I wanted to join the ranks because building the bakery was not enough for me. I wanted to avenge my grandma. Anyway, One day I returned from my training and found him with one of my friends..and I knew I couldn’t stay there anymore”. You took a deep breath and sniffled. “So I left the place and stayed with the troops and here I am”.

Gojo remained silent. He knew you were currently in a legal battle with a man over the bakery but he did not know that this was the back story. He could have the bakery renovated and signed over to you before the sun rises but that would only drive you away. He wanted you to share these things with him so he could freely help you and gain your trust. “What happened to the bakery?”.

You swallowed painfully. “He took it from me. When I left, he forged the papers and took the bakery from me. He comes from a strong clan and I couldn’t do anything. I filed a case two years ago and there have hardly been four hearings”. You gave a defeated shrug, “It is highly unlikely it will go in my favor”.

Gojo hummed. Now he could make his move.

“Enough about me, If I may be bold enough to ask, have you ever been in love, your-highness?”.

Gojo smiled to himself, “Yes. I have. In fact I am still in love with her”.

For some reason, the last part left a bitter feeling in your heart. You felt sad. But you shook it off to too much wine. “And..will we be getting a queen soon?”.

Gojo chuckled. “It is not going to be easy. I am not sure whether she feels the same”.

“Who can reject you?”. You spoke almost too immediately, making Gojo laugh.

“You think so?”.

“Yes! I mean.. You seem like a good person and you are…good looking and of course you are the king”.

“The problem is that I am the king”.

You straightened up immediately and looked at him wide-eyed. “Is she a commoner? Or from a different kingdom?”.

“She is not from a different kingdom”. Gojo added.

“Wow!..you are in love with a commoner”.

“She is not a commoner either”. Gojo chuckled. He was having too much fun teasing you.

You frowned and looked confused. “So..if she is a noble-woman then what’s the problem? You can just go up to her and tell her that you love her”.

“Can I really do that?”. Gojo took a sip and looked at you from behind the rim of the glass.

Even though you were slightly drunk, you were sure you felt the atmosphere shift. His voice turned an octave lower and the way he looked at you left your nerves tingling.

“I mean..yeah..Only a fool would reject such an offer”. You stuttered.

“I want her to love me but not because I am the king”.

“Wow..you are really something. Respect!”.

Gojo threw his head back and laughed.

“Wait! Is that why you appointed me? So you could ask me for tips to impress a woman? Oh my god your-highness!”. You laughed and shook your head. “Such a terrible decision!”. You shook your head and continued to laugh.

Gojo looked at you, it had been years since he last laughed like this. Since he was this happy. He watched your curly dance in the air as you shook your head, how your lips were tainted wine red and he was sure they would taste heavenly, the blush on your cheeks had his head spinning. He couldn’t believe that this was finally happening. He had waited twenty years for this moment and he was glad he did.

“Alright, Your highness, I should leave now. Can’t be drunk and sleep deprived on duty”. You began to stand up and Gojo followed. Blood rushed to your head and dark spots lined your vision and you tripped backwards but instead of falling back you balanced yourself in the last second, leaving Gojo’s arm hanging behind you. “Woopsie! Sorry about that”. You chuckled and kept your glass on the side table.

Gojo smiled and shook his head. Sometimes he forgot that this is all new for you. He had to be cautious and earn your trust the right way. One wrong move can push you away and he could not afford that. “Goodnight, y/n”.

“Goodnight, your-highness”.

Gojo stood on his balcony, leaning against the marble railing and sipping the last of wine but from your glass. Somehow it tasted sweeter. He watched your window keenly, waiting for you to reach. When the lights flicked on, he smiled to himself. He waited until the lights turned off and walked back in with a smile on his face.

-X-

The sun shone bright in the sky as you and Gojo sat under the shade of the tent and watched other soldiers spar. It was part of the regular training and it was his duty as the King to be present and motivate the soldiers. You sat next to him in a less ornamented chair and watched keenly. Few years ago you had been one of them, though you doubted if Gojo ever came to see you fight. But regardless, two hunks sparing was a sight to behold. Yes you were on duty but you could indulge in some eye candy. The soldiers fought in only loose trousers hanging low on the hip, you watched as their muscles flexed and relaxed under the sun.

“Y/n..”. Gojo called out to you but you seem distracted. “..y/n!”. He called out again and you snapped your head in his direction.

“Yes! Your-highness!”.

“Enjoying the show?”. Gojo asked, frowning at the slight blush on your cheeks.

“Who wouldn’t?”. You retorted.

Gojo bit the inside of his cheek and nodded. He turned his head towards the soldiers and cursed himself for bringing you here. What was he thinking, letting you watch half-naked soldiers brawl with each other? He stood up and started unbuttoning his coat.

You stood up behind him, “Your-highness, what are you doing?”.

“I think it would be really motivating for the troops to see me fight, don’t you agree?”. Gojo smirked as he handed you the coat and began unbuttoning his shirt.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea”.

“Why not?”. Gojo asked, struggling with one particular button.

“It can be dangerous”.

Goojo paused and stared at the ground. It was a massive hit on his ego. You thought him to be weak. “What did you say?”.

You sucked in a sharp breath and clutched his coat in your hand. “I..I mean that, you are a sorcerer and these men are not. It wouldn’t be a fair fight”.

“Who said that I was going to use any curse techniques?” He frowned.

You could sense that you had offended him to some degree but there was no going back. He had an innate ability to sense lies and you did not want to risk lying on top of insulting him. “These men have relied only on their capabilities and strength to survive on battlefields. That’s all they know”.

Gojo hummed. “Pick one”.

“Pick one..what?”.

Gojo turned towards you with his shirt half buttoned and you had to fight every instinct to not avert your gaze. “Pick the strongest soldier”.

“I don’t think that’s a good-”.

“y/n…Pick one.Now”. Gojo spoke sternly.

You remained silent, your quick tongue had gotten you into this place. You stared at him blankly, hoping that he would give up his pursuit soon. “You are the strong-”.

“Y/n!”. Gojo yelled, you flinched, everyone stopped and stared.

You let out a shuddered breath and looked at the row of soldiers, standing tall with their hands behind their back. Each of them seemed capable, yet your eyes landed on the one at the very end. He was almost as tall as Gojo and twice his size.You were unsure if you should really pick him or go for someone slightly weaker. But, Gojo had caught your gaze, he looked at the man and smiled like a devil. “Him? You think he is the strongest?”.

“Ye–yes, your-highness”. You admitted.

Gojo hummed and gestured for the man to step forward. He removed his shirt over his head in one quick motion and threw it on the chair. When you saw just how physically fit he was, it felt like someone punched all the air out of you. Who, in a million, years would have guessed that this existed beneath all those layers of clothes. Sure he was tall and broad but who could have guessed that he was this fit? You had spent years in camps with some of the strongest men in the kingdom but you knew now that they didn’t call him the strongest for his curse techniques alone. When Gojo stood opposite to the other soldier, you suddenly felt bad for the poor man. Gojo not only, towered over the man but also there was hardly any difference in their physical form.

They shook hands and bowed curtly and began. You were erect in your place, like a statue of a shell-shocked woman. As you watched Gojo deflect and attack in the same breath you wondered if it was even possible to do so.It was a move you had tried many times but failed to perfect and Gojo did it like it was as easy as breathing .The dust from the ground now clung to his skin and when the two men locked hands you knew it was over for the other guy. You realized…witnessed the difference between size and strength. Though you were no sorcerer, it was evident that Gojo was not using any curse techniques. Everything was raw and real. You could see the other soldier struggling to retain balance as Gojo landed one attack after another, hardly letting the other man catch his breath. The soldier was getting angry too, you could tell it was a matter of self respect for him as well and he was really giving it his all.You looked at Gojo and swallowed painfully, He was angry .A gust of wind had you covering your eye with the back of your hand to shield it from the dust, when the wind settled and you brought your hand down, you heard cheering and clapping. Amidst the cloud of dust you saw Gojo walking towards you, he had no expression on his face. He wasn’t happy that he won. People were cheering for him and yet it didn’t faze him. He refused to look at you and took the coat from your hand and walked away.

“Your-highness!”. You yelled as you chased after him. He didn’t even bother to look back as you ran through the corridors after him. “Your-highness!”. You huffed as you caught up to him but he refused to stop and kept walking. You tried your best to keep up with his long strides but it wasn’t easy. He had never walked this fast. “I..I apologize for my-“.

Before you could finish that sentence, with one flick of his finger Gojo shut the door on your face. You stepped back and stared at the door. He was mad at you. “Fuck”. You muttered under your breath and took your place outside the door.

Gojo rested his head against the rim of the marble tub and closed his eyes. His anger was slowly fading away with the ache in his muscle. He had to do it, he thought to himself, he had to show you that he wasn’t physically weak only because he had cursed techniques. It hurt him that you undermined him. It hurt him that you thought he needed protection when it was his job to protect you. He remembered the glint in your eyes as you saw the men fight, it was only natural for a fellow soldier to admire and respect the strength of others but it hurt him. Only he deserved to be admired by you. It hurt him to not see you the entire day, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t bear the look of admiration for another man in your eye.

Gojo stepped on the balcony in his velvet robe and looked at your window, the lights were off. It was well past dinner time and usually this was the time you would be in your room, reading a book. Then why are your lights off? Why weren’t you in your room? Were you out with someone else? Your friend, Niko? Or one of the men you met today? His blood boiled and he stormed out of his room and walked down the hallway connecting his bedroom and office through a back door. He was hoping to find you in the office, waiting for him with a bottle of wine but he found the office just as dark and empty as your bedroom. He sighed and ran his hands through his hair.His mistakes finally caught up to him and now he couldn’t shake off the look on your face when he yelled at you. He closed his eyes shut and cursed himself, he treated you badly. He realized that now. He had to apologize to you, He had to correct his mistakes.He was about to send a signal to locate you when he heard a faint noise coming from the other side of the door.

Gojo walked slowly towards the door, immediately turning on his infinity. He pressed his palm flatly against the wood, trying to catch a hint of curse energy but found nothing. He frowned and slowly opened the door.

“Your-highness!”. You straightened up immediately when you saw Gojo through the crack in the door.

“Y/n?”.Gojo frowned. “Yes, your-highness!”.

Gojo opened the door completely and looked either way but found no one. “What..what are you doing here?”.

You bit your lip nervously as you tried to keep your eyes away from his partially exposed chest. Now that you had seen him, it was hard to not imagine what lies underneath the robe. “You haven’t dismissed me yet, your-highness?”.

Gojo opened his mouth to say something but shook his head, “You..you have been here all day..because I didn’t dismiss you for the day?”.

“Yes,your-highness!”.

Gojo’s heart sank to his stomach. He looked at you, even in the dim lights, he could tell you were tired. “You are dismissed for the day”. Gojo added. He could see your posture relax as you indeed and gave a curt bow.

“Goodnight, your-highness”. You turned around to walk away but Gojo was quick to grab your wrist.

“Stay”. He said.

You turned around, and glared at him,”Why?”.

Gojo let go of your wrist and took a deep breath. “Have dinner with me”.

“Is that an order?”.

Gojo sighed, “No. It’s a..request”.

You raised a brow, “It didn’t sound like one”.

“Will you…please…have dinner with me?”. Gojo asked, hesitantly. This was probably the fourth time in his life he had to request something.

“Are you still mad at me?”. Gojo asked, as he watched you finish your second bowl of rice”.

“Yes”. You replied, not looking at him and leaning over to grab the bowl of soup.

“Why?”. Gojo whined and slid the soup bowl towards you.

“You yelled at me!”. You said, slamming the bowl on the table

“You undermined me in front of everyone”. Gojo added.

“I didn’t undermine you. I was just protecting you. That’s my job!”. You replied, while struggling to open the bottle of wine.

“No! You..you thought that I was not strong enough!”. Gojo grabbed the bottle from you and opened it in one go.

“And you proved me wrong so congratulations you won!”. You huffed, pouring the wine in two goblets.

“Then why are you still mad at me?!”.

“Because…you slammed the door in my face, refused to listen to me, and made me stand out there all day!”.

Uncomfortable silence lingered in the air. Gojo could see how hurt you were and it pained him. He didn’t touch his food because he was convinced that he didn’t deserve to eat.

“I..I’m sorry.. I should not have done that”. Gojo said.

“It’s not like it matters anyway”. You bit your lip and looked away from him.

“It does. It hurts me that I have hurt you. So please forgive me y/n. Tell me how do I make it up to you?”.

You looked at him with a frown on your face and then it hit you. Your frown turned into amusement and you stood up slamming your palm on the table, “Train with me!”.

“What?”. Gojo chuckled.

“If you want to make it up to me then train with me”. You shrugged.

Gojo threw his head back and laughed.Were you really asking him to physically brawl with him? Like he could even bring his body to attack you. .“That’s not possible”. He added, shaking his head.

“Why not?”. You leaned forward, slamming your fist on the table. “If you can spar with those men then why not with me?”.

“Because..you are..you!”.

You poked your cheek with your tongue and nodded your head as you sat back down. “I see. Is it because you are the King?”.

Gojo looked at you, he wished he could tell you that it was because he cannot bring himself to hurt you even if it was for practice. “Yes..”.

You hummed in response. Obviously a King could not just train with you. It didn’t make any sense and you felt silly for even asking, “I guess then I will have to ask one of those men to train with me. I can’t-”.

“But I will make an exception for you!”. Gojo cut you off. The moment you said that his mind went into a frenzy. Another man sparring with you? Touching you? Throwing you on the ground? No. No. No. This was the perfect chance for him to get close to you.

“Seriously? Would you really?”. You asked, wide-eyed and excited.

“Yes. If it means that you forgive me”.

You smiled widely, “forgive you for what? You didn’t do anything wrong! You are the best King ever!”. You squealed with excitement.

Gojo laughed at how adorable you were. He rested his chin on his hand and watched you excitedly drink wine. “So you agree that I am strong?”.

“Oh! Don’t even get me started on that! I don’t usually enjoy being proven wrong but I was pleasantly surprised!”.

Gojo watched with a satisfied smile as you went on to describe every move he made animatedly and how you wished you could do that instead. He didn’t even need to touch his wine to get drunk. Your words, your eyes, your smile was more intoxicating than all the wine of of the Kingdom combined.

@arisucat @bubera974 @ritsatoru @yevene @sofi786 @mokonasenpaiposts @allofffmypeaches @monsieurgucchi

@lilith412426

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maryleclerc · 2 years ago

Text

𝐫𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲 — charles leclerc

pairing: prince!charles leclerc x reader

summary: in which prince charles and princess y/n of monte carlo announce their pregnancy of their first royal baby

vote for the royal baby name here ❤️

warning: english is not my native language and i did use google translation also i did not know much about the royal rule so please don’t take it serious, i’ll be grateful if you leave comment to let me know about my writing if i needed to fix anything

read previous part: 𝐫𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥 𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 > 𝐫𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠

charles_leclerc with y/n_leclerc

Liked by y/n_leclerc, lorenzotl and 174,730,461 others

charles_leclerc We are really happy to announce that we are expecting our first child. Y/n and i decided to not appear in any public event until the birth of our child for safety of my wife and baby. And we also receive lots and lots of congrat and with all the best wishes for both of us and baby

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y/n_leclerc ❤️❤️

sofiagraace Love you both

heismydreamman She will join the Christmas Night ceremony with the royal and we’ll see her bump show

princessy/nmyheart Am i the only one here thinks she’s going to name her child Anne?

jessicalauree So freaking adorable!!!!

y/n_leclerc

Liked by charles_leclerc and others

y/n_leclerc Throwback to our wedding day and honeymoon ❤️ @charles_leclerc

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theroyalnews

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theroyalnews

The Prince and Princess of Monte Carlo first public appearence since the announcement of Princess Y/n pregnancy. Princess Y/n appeared in public today with a long, flowing black velvet dress to hide her pregnant belly, it seems that Prince Charles has become a protective husband to his pregnant wife when he repeatedly refused to stand for too long at today's ceremony. Towards the end of the session, we had a chance to ask a few questions with Prince Charles and Princess Y/n.

"Prince Charles, how do you feel about today's ceremony?" “Well I feel very happy and excited at the ceremony today, it is a very important ceremony for my mother Queen Pascale” Prince Charles said, and I ask Princess Y/n “And Princess Y/n, how do you feel?” She answered “Since I'm pregnant right now, it's natural to feel tired but this is only a side effect and the main part is that we can enjoy this happy time together with the Royal Family”, “I have Just a few short questions, can the Prince and Princess answer a few questions for me?" “Of course” They both replied at the same time. “First question, surely you also know that the announcement of the pregnancy has shaken all the people with joy, right? So a few people emailed us asking us to ask you about the baby's gender was? Is this information that is allowed to be revealed?” Prince Charles nodded his head and answered my question “I know this is information that everyone is curious about, although we are the Prince and Princess of Monte Carlo, we must always adhere to the principles given by the royal family", Princess Y/n replied, "But of course we'll let everyone know as soon as we have the baby." She laughed, then I continued to ask the last question "Then Prince Charles and Princess Y/n have come up with any name for the royal baby yet?”, Princess Y/n replied, “Charles and I haven't come up with any name yet but we plan to name the baby with our traditional royal name", "Because she likes traditional names, I like more modern names, but I love her and the baby so the name will be decided by her" Charles said then both of them laughed.

What do think the Prince and Princess will name their baby? Leave us a comment about what you are thinking!

tag charles leclerc , y/n_leclerc

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diwkjd_ I guess they will name it Charlotte or Carlotta, easily Charlotte is a tradition name and its also Charlotte is female version of the name Charles… isn’t it cute

unclejamees I don’t know what they’ll name him/her but i just love the fact Princess Y/n chose to name their baby with royal tradition name

penelopejanes It’s definitly gonna be named Charlotte

⤷ jaada How are you so sure?

⤷ penelopejanes Idk, just so easy to guess, i mean Charlotte also royal tradition name tho

beaniw I got the opportunity today to talk with Prince Charles and Princess Y/n and they’re super nice and Charles is super protective of his wife lately

#charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc blurb #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fanfiction #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc instagram au #f1 instagram au #f1 driver imagine #f1 x reader #royal!charles leclerc #prince!charles leclerc

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strawwiibernyy · 4 months ago

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Ice Prince - Park S.

____________________

[Prince!Sunghoon x Princess!Reader]

warnings! suggestive, cursing, family issues, violence (a slap), other idols mentioned (yuna, wonyoung).

words: 6k

╰┈➤ You didn’t choose to be a princess. All you wanted was to be free, but that would never happen. Especially now, that they chose you among the ten princesses battling for Park Sunghoon. Everyone feared him, expect you. Will you be able to warm the prince’s cold heart?

____________________

Park Sunghoon is South Korea's most handsome prince.

Everyone knew him for his perfect face, decorated by beauty marks. Also his nice shaped body, taller than most boys at his age. A lot of princesses had fallen into his mysterious trap. However, that wasn't the case with you.

You disliked Park Sunghoon. In your eyes, he was a cold-hearted prince who looked down upon others because of his handsome face. His grades were average and his social skills poor. So what was Park Sunghoon other than a handsome face?

And to think that you were chosen as one of the ten princesses to become his future wife was even worse.

Hours and hours, you were sitting at your castle's library, reading the same romance novels over and over again. You were jealous of the protagonists's freedom, while your entire life was in the hands of your parents.

You didn't want to disappoint them. That's why you followed every rule. However, there were times you wanted to escape.

Every time you would step a foot outside of the kingdom, your father would yell at you. At the age of five, you received your first punishment.

"When will you understand that you are a princess? You are not allowed to do anything before I tell you to!" He shouted, his hand coming in contact with your cheek. A loud slap was heard, marking a big print on you.

The moment you left the room, you noticed people were standing outside. First, your maid looking at you with pitiful eyes. On the other hand, your two older brothers were red from their anger. However, they should know better than to go against the king. Your father.

"Ready?" Your maid asked, snapping you out of your thoughts. In your mind, the man you would marry would love you so much that he would sacrifice himself for you. But which prince in their right mind would sacrifice themselves for a stranger?

"I think so." A sigh left your mouth, twirling around the mirror. You weren't a teenager anymore. Now you were eighteen years old and ready to fight for your marriage.

The dark blue dress you were wearing played around with the wind and a smile overtook your lips. Your hair was curled and pulled half up-half down. You looked gorgeous. But for the wrong guy.

"Oh, come on!" Your maid said, noticing your sadness behind your eyes. "Park Sunghoon is extremely handsome and the wealthiest out of all them. Any princess should be thankful to God for having a change with him."

"Yes, till he starts completely ignoring her." You turned around to look at the older women, leaning back on the small table behind you. "When I met him at eleven years old, I thought he was mute. Handsome, but very antisocial. Oh, and very prideful!"

"Mr. Darcy from Pride and Prejudice was also like that, but you didn't seem to mind it." She mentioned, and you both giggled at her comment. You lowered your head in defeat, hearing your favorite character’s name.

"Alright. Ready now?" She asked one last time, opening your bedroom's door.

"Ready."

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．*Time Skip*

"Your highness, we have arrived." The man on the horses said, giving them a last whip. You frowned at the harsh action, and suddenly your door was open. You had to abandon the carriage that protected you.

With one step on the ground, you felt your heart beat raise dangerously. You mustn't feel so eager to see Sunghoon's pretty face, but you are.

"Your highness." The only bodyguard who was accompanying you stretched out his hand. Placing your palm on his strong shoulder instead, he curled it back to him.

Numerous voices had already filled the palace, and you had arrived five minutes earlier. The tall door in front of you was open, two guards at each side of it. They bowed when you stepped foot, and you gave them a smile.

The place was enormous. Nothing like the rest of the palaces you had visited. You knew Sunghoon's kingdom was the wealthiest, yet you weren't ready for what you were about to see.

The walls were light brown, while gold details were decorating it. A line of flowers hung on the celling, creating a cross with the other one which started from the other side.

Lastly, a big white-clothed table was next to the door. Your stomach groaned seeing the delicious food, and you decided to pay it a visit.

"Ah, he is gonna choose her for sure!" A woman next to you at the table said. She was holding a glass of red wine, drinking small sips here and there. The other women in front of her had signifying cat eyes.

"Don't say that. You are like one of the prettiest princesses in South Korea as well." The cat-eyed women comforted her, taking a sip from her white wine. None was eating like you did, and the bread in your hand fell back down when you noticed it.

"Not when she is here!" The complaining women replied, pointing at someone with her finger. Your eyes went by themselves in the direction, curiosity washing over you.

And you recognised the princess by the minute you led eyes on her. Jang Wonyoung. The most beautiful princess of South Korea.

Her parents, along with Sunghoon's ones, had already decided a long time ago to pair them together. Their unmatched beauty and witty mind would create the perfect future kingdom.

That's when you realized that this ball was only typical. The wife had already been chosen, the rest of you had come here for the humiliation.

"Welcome people. I am so delighted with your visit to celebrate together my son's twenty birthday." The king of the palace took everyone's attention, and the once loud room fell silent.

"And, of course." He continued. "To find his future wife." The man was sitting at the throne at the back of the room. Next to him was his wife, and then Sunghoon.

The king was so sure about his first son that he didn't make more like the rest of the kings usually did. Sunghoon's cold gaze found his father, and then his guests.

His eyes alone made you shiver. It was like an invisible armor protected him, making him feel better than others. Well, more sure than others. He had the face, and that's all he needed to win.

"The dance may start!" And with that, the piano began playing. And the violin next to it joined as well. The eyes of the ten princesses for Park Sunghoon, were on him.

He must choose a princess to dance with.

People hadn't started yet to feel the music. All eager and curious about his decision. Sunghoon's eyes wondered around the princesses. Starting from the first till the last. However, he gave clues with his gaze which stopped a bit on certain ones.

And guess what, his eyes almost completely skipped you. He was quick to move to the one next to you, not even moved by your friendly smile. You scoffed under your breath, and the princess next to you heard it.

"I know, right?" The women who was complaining from before whispered to you. Now that you could take a proper look at her, you saw how pretty she actually was. And you also finally recognized her.

"Princess Yuna, you are prettier than her." And you didn't lie. In your eyes, she was gorgeous. Shin Yuna smiled at you, her face titling to the side.

"Thank you!" Was all she replied and turned back to Sunghoon. You felt a little annoyed that she didn't return the compliment, but you brushed it off.

"Jang Wonyoung."

"Perfect! Let's dance!" Wonyoung's smile reached her ears, rushing to the black-haired prince. He didn't return the smile. He stayed cold like always.

"Of course the ice prince would choose her. We can't compete against Wonyoung." Yuna turned to you again, her previous smile long gone.

"Wait, how did you call him?"

"Ice prince. You didn't know? Everyone calls him like that." No, it was your first time hearing it. However, a tiny smile creeped on your lips. 'Yes, the nickname suited him perfectly.' you thought.

"Yuna, what do you say for a walk around the garden?" You asked, wanting to leave the crowded room. Even if you didn't like Sunghoon's personality, your chest hurt to see him dancing with another princess.

"Yes, please!"

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．*Time Skip*

"He is a dick!" Yuna suddenly shouted, your eyes becoming wide. "But a very handsome dick." She sighed and furrowed when she noticed your surprised state. "What? Princesses can't curse? My father is not here anyway. I can do whatever I want."

She scoffed and started walking towards a bench. It was outside of the ballroom, and the music flew through the walls. You clenched your jaw, pictures of Sunghoon and Wonyoung flying back in your mind. And Yuna seemed to have the same memories, because her eyes became watery.

"No, Yuna-"

"Are we really that average next to Jang Wonyoung?!" She shouted, her hands shaped into fists. You didn't know what to reply. Yuna was breaking down in front of you and all you could do was stare. But after that, she felt better.

She cried a few tears, yet after that she was so happy. Her suppressed emotions escaped her chest. Now she was back in her calm state, a small smile on her lips.

Maybe if you express those emotions too, you wouldn't feel that hurt.

"But he is so handsome-"

"And what? What else is he?" You stood up from the bench and Yuna's eyes got wide. "He is nothing more than a handsome face. It's really annoying how he thinks he rules the world because he was born pretty. But you know what? He is dump and boring!"

"No Y/N-"

"His face doesn't cover for his falling grades and his poor etiquette skills. He is rude to everyone and looks us down. But you know what? Park Sunghoon is the dump one for thinking his face can solve anything!"

"Y/N stop-"

"Someone has to bring that ice prince back into reality! Make him realize that he is nothing else than a rude asshole!"

"Ice prince?" The male voice behind you made you froze. Yuna stood up, big-eyed, to see the man behind you. Looking at Yuna, frightened, she nodded at you, and you didn't want anything else to understand who was behind you.

"Prince Sunghoon." Yuna bowed, raising up the edges of her dress. Slowly turning around, you took some steps back, realizing how actually close he had come. His hands were interlocked behind his back, while his head had leaned down at your height.

Your breath got caught at the back of your throat seeing him. Maybe you were lucky enough, and he hadn't heard his name. However, his gaze told you something different. It wasn't his cold, usual one.

He was burning your face with his dark brown orbs. Every part of it turning into ash. You swallowed a hard knot down your neck, not daring to compete against his intense eye contact.

"And who are you exactly?" He asked, a teasing tone hiding in his voice. You couldn't believe in your unluckiness. The one moment you decided to talk. Yuna minutes before was saying even harsher things, yet now she was silent in front of him.

"I asked you a question." He repeated when your mouth stayed close. You wanted to ask him what was he doing out here. Wasn't he supposed to dance with his future wife? But clearly in the situation you were, you couldn't even form a word.

"P-princess Y/L Y/N."

"Mmh." He hummed in approval, straightening his back. His eyes looked at you up and down with his usual critical gaze. His chin was raised, looking down at you like he was doing to everyone.

"Um, I-i am sorry." Suddenly Yuna interrupted, going to stand in front of me. "I am princess Shin Yuna. My kingdom is-"

"I don't care." His words shut Yuna's mouth, a gasp escaping from her. Even if you could only see her back, you could imagine her glittery eyes. She wanted to marry Park Sunghoon more than anyone else, despite her prior words.

Sunghoon took the road back to the ballroom, leaving me and Yuna behind. Yuna spun around, her jaw hanging open. You didn't look at her, your eyes instead on the grass. The humiliation from before wasn't enough. When he almost completely skipped you.

You were sure that you were the princess he had noticed the least. He didn't even know you, or your name. And after your words, he wouldn't even consider you as a friend.

"The ceremony is starting soon. We should go." Yuna informed you, and you nodded. The ceremony in which Park Sunghoon will pick the princess he wants to be with. The princess that is going to accompany him from now on till forever.

The ten princesses were in line in front of him, while his parents sat at the thrones behind him. He knew what he should do. Jang Wonyoung was smiling warmly at him. She knew too.

"So, my son. Which princess are you choosing to create memories with and born the next king after you?" The king said, a smile on his lips. They knew already the results. Yet his final answer shocked everyone.

"Princess Y/L Y/N."

"What?!"

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．*Time Skip*

"Welcome to our palace, your highness." A butler said, pushing open the door. You could tell from everyone's expression that they didn't expect you here.

"Your room is next to the prince's. Let us settle your things." The butler took from your hands roughly the suitcase, rushing with the maid up the stairs.

Your maid had informed you that the palace had been deep cleaning since yesterday morning. The glasses were glittering against the sunlight and the floor was still slippery.

All those preparations. Yet they weren't for you. They had made a deal and Sunghoon broke it. People probably still wonder what you are doing here instead of Wonyoung. But to be honest, you didn't know what you were doing here either.

"You arrived." The queen acknowledge you, her son standing behind her. You bowed at her majesty, nodding at her words. Your gaze immediately went on Sunghoon, whose stone cold expression never left his face.

"Sunghoon, once our maid is done, you shall show her the bedroom. We choose the best one for you."

"Thank you so much, appreciate it." And with that, the queen left. Now you and Sunghoon could talk freely, without hiding behind your masks.

"Why did you choose me?" You hurried to ask him. Judging from his face, he was waiting for that question. It stayed exactly the same, not a muscle moved. It had already become tiring trying to read past him.

"Not even a good morning, or a bow?" He asked ironically, stepping closer. Whatever you did, it felt like he was above you. The power he held was stronger than anyone's and it made you weak on your knees.

"Good morning. Why did you choose me?" You repeated, and he frowned at the pressure. 'A good achievement for a starter.' you thought. "I-i mean, I said a-all those things."

"That's none of your business." He was quick to end the conversation, not giving you any more space. It felt so weird. Minutes before, the dress you were wearing was enough to warm you, yet now it felt too light.

He was really the ice prince.

"Prince Sunghoon." The maid from before came down, gaining Sunghoon's attention. He took some steps back from you, turning towards her. "Her room is ready."

Your nose scratched in annoyance at the maid. She was in a lower class that you, but she called you 'her'. Even the workers here didn't want you.

It made you sad. Your chest was heavy as you walked up the stairs, trailing behind Sunghoon. You would live here alone, without even your dear maid or your brothers. Here, everyone hated you.

'Sunghoon, I hate you.'

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．*Time Skip*

Life with Sunghoon was better than you thought. On the first days, you cried yourself to sleep. Gripping the blankets, trying to drown your sobs. However, as the time passed, people seemed to get more comfortable with you here. Sunghoon as well.

"You play the piano too?" His long fingers gently pushed on the piano's buttons, creating the melody that was currently entertaining you.

You had gone to the library to pick up a romance novel. Something good to pass your time, since Sunghoon wasn't the most talkative person. His schedule was full anyway, so you barely saw him through the day.

This moment was one of the few ones that you caught a glimpse of Sunghoon. A piano was laying across the library, next to the bookshelf that contained your favorite novels.

"Of course I do. Every prince should know at least two instruments." He replied, taking his eyes off of the piano for a moment to look at you. "You don't?" His gaze travelled up and down, raising an eyebrow at you.

"Um, my father made me learn harp, but I must admit I am not good at it." You scratched the back of your neck, an awkward smile on your lips.

Suddenly, you felt self-conscious about your lack of knowledge. Usually you didn't fear admitting that you only played piano. Instead, you supported your unusual decision.

However, seeing how perfect was Sunghoon, made you feel worthless for him.

"Alright." Was the only thing he said, turning back to his work. Seeing him so peacefully hitting the notes made your stomach twirl. The sunlight was caressing his face. But its warmth annoyed him and he closed the curtain.

"W-what are you doing?" Your figure slipped next to his, pushing him aside a little to sit next to him. Your bodies were stuck together at the small seat, your bare arm brushing against his clothed one.

Your finger tapped on the button, creating a noise. Once you got more comfortable, you began playing normally. You tried to copy Sunghoon's prior melody, waiting for him to join you. Yet that moment never came.

Sunghoon could feel his heart beating fast. It was the first time another person made him feel nervous. He was used to making others feel uncomfortable with just his presence. Now his cheeks were on fire, and the fear that you would notice got over him.

He stood up, turning his back to you in order to hide himself. That's when you realized what you had done. You stood up as well, looking at his back.

"I-i am sorry." You said, not knowing what to do. "Continue playing. I am gonna find a book." You rushed back to the shelves, before you could hear what Sunghoon had to say to you.

This was not good. You had started liking Sunghoon, and it was not good.

Going back to your room, you made a promise to yourself.

'Don't fall for Park Sunghoon.'

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．*Time Skip*

The promise soon enough broke when today's incident happened.

"I am sorry. Do you know where prince Sunghoon is?" You stopped a maid, placing a hand on her shoulder. She was holding a basket of dirty clothes against her right hip. Glancing at them, you recognised the suit as Park Sunghoon's.

"Yes, he currently takes a bath, your highness."

"Alright, thank you so much." You let her go, sighing to yourself. The butler had told you to call Park Sunghoon, because they have to talk about something.

Going down to inform him about where the prince was, he replied that it was okay. He even mentioned that once he was out, it would be a pleasure for him to call Sunghoon down.

So that's what you did. You waited some minutes and went up to his room.

First knock, nothing. Second knock, nothing. Your hands began to sweat, thinking that maybe you should wait for him down. However, the door opened without needing Park Sunghoon.

'He had left it open? Or the maid from before?'

Taking slow steps inside, you looked around. It was empty, and the running water indicated that he was still showering. With that on mind, you should have left. But instead, you walked further to his room.

It was way bigger than yours. His bed was in the center of the room and next to each side was one small table. To the one in the left had a candle and a letter. The one on the right was empty.

Your fingertips brushed on the letter, feeling the hard paper. It was plain white and already opened. The paper from inside was peaking, begging you to read it.

You bit down on your lip, shaking off the sinful thoughts. One step back to exit his room, only for you to rush back in. The water was still running. Maybe you had time. You wouldn't read it whole, just the name of the sender.

What strange power had pushed you to do that? Any second Sunghoon could walk in, and then all those friendly feelings would vanish. But you shouldn't care, you don't like him anyway.

Then if you don't, why your heart dropped at the name?

"Jang Wonyoung?"

"What are you doing here?" You hadn't noticed how the water was no longer heard. The letter flew out of your hands, falling on the floor instead of the table you were aiming for.

Sunghoon was right in front of you. Only a towel hanging around his waist. Water was still dripping down his body, caressing his hard abs.

You knew Sunghoon was very fit. He did horse riding every day and practiced dancing three times a week. Your gaze wouldn't leave his figure when his clothes were too tight on his body. Plus points if he was wearing a white shirt.

A lot of fantasies had taken over your head at the sight of him. Imagining how his body looked like under those heavy clothes. And how his skin would feel under your hand.

"Sunghoon!" You covered your eyes, cheeks red as dirty thoughts filled your head. On the other hand, Sunghoon didn't mind that you saw him like this. He even seemed to enjoy your flustered state. You swore you could see a smirk growing before closing your eyes.

That made your will to open them bigger. You were so eager to see Sunghoon pull off another expression. Actually, that was your only comfort and entertainment here. But now you were guilty, and your eyes wouldn't open.

"What is that?" He asked, the smirk from his lips dropping. His attention went on the letter scattered on the floor and his eyebrows furrowed. "Did you read it?"

"No, I swear! I-i am so sorry. Your butler asked me to call you and-" You stopped once you felt his hot breath hitting your neck. Your eyes were still closed, yet the warmth he brought you burned into your skin.

'Could the ice prince be more than just a cold prince?'

The water drops from his hair landed on your face, rolling down from your cheek till your jaw. Your fingers parted, leaving a small line open. Only to make eye contact with Sunghoon. His bored eyes were gazing into yours.

He lowered his body down. Right hand holding the towel, while the other going down with him. Your hands left your face, seeing his fingers hold the letter. 'Oh no.'

"Are you sure you didn't?" He asked once again, standing up to wave the letter in your face. You could see it from his eyes. He didn't believe you. However, you wouldn't let your guard down. You swallowed a hard knot, your eyes pinned on the floor.

"Y-yes."

"Did you see who send it?"

"N-no."

"Stop lying." He came closer to you, his fingers brushing the skin of your hands. It was meaningless to lie to him. He already knew the truth. Sunghoon had seen how fast your eyes went by the letter. And how wide they got once you saw her name.

"Y-yes. I am sorry." A breathy giggle left from his chest. Looking out of the window, then back at you while licking his lips. The smirk came back. Oh, how much more it suited him than his bitter expression.

"And what? Are you jealous?" It was happening. There were all the signs. His head leaning closer to yours, then titling it to the side. Plump lips coming closer to yours, until you pushed him away.

"I am so sorry. I am going now!"

You didn't want to disappoint your parents, but the freedom tasted better. Settling for your parents' standards wouldn't bring that. Maybe that's the moment you have been waiting for.

Rushing back in your room, you reminded yourself of the promise you had made.

'I won't let myself fall into the ice prince's trap.'

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．*Time Skip*

"My butler advised me that we should sleep together tonight."

"What?!" A shout escaped your mouth at his words. After what happened yesterday in his bedroom, you were scared to even talk to him.

The maids had noticed that too. Every time Sunghoon tried to approach you, your body moved away. And every time he questioned you, and you couldn't escape the conversation, your reply would contain only one word. That word was either yes or a no.

You could see from Sunghoon's face that he was getting annoyed. When you ignored him, he would frown or clench his jaw. You admitted it that you felt bad for him. But involving yourself with him would result in unwanted emotions.

Sunghoon opened his bedroom's door, stepping aside to let you in. After his butler's demand, you couldn't do anything other than follow. It would be very suspicious for a couple to not want to sleep together.

"I am gonna change. Please settle yourself as I do." He said, disappearing into the bathroom. The room had stayed the same since last time. Simple and neat. Expect that the letter on the small table was gone.

He must have hidden it in his drawers. After you noticed it, he couldn't do anything else. But you wondered why would he choose you if he wanted Wonyoung instead. Or maybe he choose you, but regretted it?

It doesn't matter. You don't like him in reality as well. And tonight, you will prove it once again. At least that was your first plan.

"You can go change. I am ready." Sunghoon stepped out of the bathroom, revealing his pajamas. It was the first time you saw him in something other than his prince's suit. And he still looked gorgeous. Dark blue satin pajamas, covering him from head to toe.

Seeing his pajamas, you were too shy to wear yours. It was a cute night wear dress. Pink with lace at the edges. At least it reached down your knees, and it wasn't that short. However, one wrong move on the bed and it would ride up.

You swallowed a gulp, slowly stepping out of the bathroom. Sunghoon was sitting at the edge of the right side, a book in his hands. When he heard the door cracking, he raised his gaze to you. And his cheeks reddened.

He froze in place, eyeing you up and down. You had crossed your hands behind your back, your gaze firmly down. You let his eyes wonder on you, and you shifted awkwardly.

"Um, on w-which side of the bed you sleep?" He asked after clearing his throat. You noticed he had already claimed the right side, so you replied left.

"No, it's alright. You can continue reading." You said, watching Sunghoon closing the book and leaving it aside.

"No, I had finished the chapter anyway." He explained, adjusting himself on the bed. You walked to your side, sitting down. Then one leg came up, following the other, and your hand holding the edge of the night wear.

"Um, if you fell uncomfortable, ah. We don't have to do this."

"No, it's alright." It was your change to escape, but as the time passed you were only falling deeper into his sweet trap. He was fighting himself to keep his gaze away from you, till you covered your body under the blankets.

He couldn't believe he had you next to him. His body was already so warm, and with the blankets, it felt like he was on fire. Sunghoon pushed them a little lower from his chest, letting himself breathe.

That was not good. It was easy for him to contain his calmness before, but now he was losing control.

You turned your back to him, curling in your spot. It was obvious that you didn't want to sleep next to him, and his heart dropped. Looking around his bedroom, he finally closed the lights.

He was thankful you were so cold towards him, because if you weren't, he didn't know what he would do. The images in his mind were already sinful enough, and your excitement would make it worse.

"Goodnight." Your faint voice was heard, and his head turned towards you. A smile creeped on his lips, a smile that none had seen. You would kill to see that smile, but he did it only when you weren't looking.

"Goodnight." He replied, turning his back to you.

Morning came fast. A loud knock woke up Sunghoon while you were still sleeping.

"Yes?" He said, rubbing his eyes. It was his maid. She was announcing that you must come down for breakfast. Sunghoon promised you will be down in a minute, and her footsteps faded.

The hand rubbing his eyes went back to its place, humming a bit before closing his eyes. Yet they popped open when he felt exactly what he was touching.

He was still shocked about how you ended up between in his arms. Your small body curled up in his chest, your hands resting on it. He had wrapped his hands around your body. One under your head, caressing softly your hair, while the other on your back.

Sunghoon took his hand away from your back, sitting up a little. He was breathing fast. And he placed his free hand on his chest to calm himself down.

You shifted a bit, and his eyes got wide. His body fell back on the bed, afraid to wake you up.

He shouldn't have chosen you. He knew this might happen, but he didn't think it would be so soon. However, he liked it. Sunghoon's fingertips began twirling the strands of your hair, and you hummed at his touch.

The smile on his lips was getting bigger while his hand discovered more of you. From your hair, it went on your cheek. Drawing a variety of shapes on your skin, your eyes finally opened.

The last shape was a heart, before you flew up. Escaping from his hands, you sat up. Sunghoon mimicked your action, both looking at each other. You were big-eyed, and he had that smile. Your heart skipped at the sight, cheeks heating up.

His smile only added to his beauty. One that you could stare at forever.

"Sunghoon-"

"Breakfast is ready!" The maid cut you off, knocking again at the door. Sunghoon's smile dropped, fixing his hair before standing up. He had forgotten about that.

"We will talk about it another time, Y/N."

"What time?" Sunghoon took his freshly washed clothes, entering the bathroom.

"Today, at 7:00 am, garden." He said, closing the door behind him. Your finger checked your pulse, which was speeding up dangerously fast.

Maybe a future with Sunghoon wouldn't be so bad after all?

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．*Time Skip*

You had come five minutes earlier, curiosity eating you out. Biting your nails, you reminded yourself that you were a princess. But who cares? You didn't want that title.

"Hello." Sunghoon behind you said, and you turned around. The sun hit his face, turning his dark brown eyes into a honey like colour. His hair was messy, and he was in his horse riding uniform.

You liked that side of him. The raw beauty of Park Sunghoon, and not the unrealistic one the rest saw. Under the sun, some face scars were visible, and small pores on his nose. Like a normal person, and not a porcelain doll.

"If I remember right, you had mentioned something about wanting to try horse riding?" Your eyes widened, realizing the reason for his appearance.

It was true; you had told him that you would like to try horse riding. However, you weren't allowed to do so since you were a female. But you loved horses. They looked so elegant and were so kind.

"No, Sunghoon-"

"Oh, don't worry. I will help you." He said, taking your hand in his. Then he drove you towards the stable, where all the horses were. "That's mine." His finger pointed at the only black horse on the stable, and a giggle left your mouth.

'Of course he would choose this one.'

"Choose your horse, and we are ready to go." Your eyes travelled around the thousand horses. You didn't have any particular colour in mind, but the plain white one caught your eye.

"I will take the one that its colour is the opposite of yours." You said, smiling teasingly at Sunghoon. He smirked in response, going towards the one you wanted.

"Was that supposed to imply something?" He asked, bringing the horse close to you.

"Maybe."

"Yes, but you should know that love and hate are two sides of the same coin. With simllar way we can perceive white and black." You caressed softly the horse, and Sunghoon handed you a carrot.

"Mmh, and which one are you, Sunghoon? White or black?" He didn't reply, instead he smirked wider at you.

Sunghoon guided you to feed the horse, then put on the equipment, and helped you settle on it. At first, you were terrified. Your hands were trembling, gripping as hard as you could the saddle. Sunghoon was laughing at you, and your hand pushed playfully on his shoulder.

You thought he wouldn't look prettier after you saw his smile, but his laugh was angelic.

"Are you alright?" Sunghoon got more serious now, since you were ready to start your ride. Your fingers were still twitching, scared at the new experience. Yet you comforted him with a thumbs up, and the ride began.

Sunghoon was patient, going unbearably slow for you. The green paths you crossed were everything, and you whished you could ingrave them forever in your mind. You whished you had practiced more in drawing. So you could carry the scenery on the paper forever.

The sun started going down, and by the time you came back, it was night. The moon had replaced the sun, indicating it was time to go back. You were sure the maids would have gotten worried, but Sunghoon didn't care about it.

It was the first time you saw Sunghoon so free. And the first time you felt so free.

"Here." Sunghoon stretched out his hand, and you placed yours into his. You gave him a tight squeeze, and the other held his right shoulder. Once your feet were on the ground, you raised your gaze at Sunghoon.

He wasn't leaving your touch. His hand still interlocked with yours, while his other was on your arm. You blushed, clearing your throat. Your hands tried to move, but Sunghoon's grip was stronger.

"Y/N, why don't you give me a change?" He blurted, and your eyes popped open in surprise.

"W-what?"

"Since day one, you have been distant from me. Don't you think this could work out?" Emotions flooded in your heart. A unique experience for you.

You thought you could manage it. You thought that a relationship with Sunghoon would be good. But now that he says all those things to you, no words come from your mouth.

"Y/N-"

"Why Wonyoung send you a letter?" The question you wanted to ask since you saw her letter. It finally left your mouth, taking Sunghoon aback. He furrowed, anger building up in him.

"You don't think I secretly talk with Wonyoung or something?"

"I don't know what to think." You replied, and his grip loosened up a little. His hands left yours and fell to his sides. You shouldn't have said it, but you needed an explanation.

"She send me this letter, because I was supposed to choose her. I mean, everyone knew about our parents' deal. But I didn't reply back to her."

"Why?"

"Because I love you." Your shoulders tensed up, looking at Sunghoon's raw emotions drowning him. The ice prince had opened up, and his feelings were anything but cold.

"Sunghoon, I don't want to be a princess."

"Then don't be."

"But what about you?" Sunghoon stepped closer to you, leaning to your eye level.

"I will follow you."

"No, Sunghoon. I don't want to hold you back-"

"You won't." He cut you off, taking your hand back into his. Then he brought it closer to his lips and placed on it a light kiss. You couldn't stop the hot tears rolling down your cheeks, but Sunghoon kissed them all away. One by one.

"Sunghoon, I love you too. But I want my freedom."

"And?" He asked, his hand leaving yours. That same hand then rested on your waist, while the other brushed off some strands of your hair behind your ear.

"Y/N, let's be free together."

And with that, he smashed his lips on yours.

___________________

A/N: Fun fact; this whole one shot was insipired by a tik tok edit. To be honest, I rushed a little the ending bc otherwise it would be way too longggg. That's it, requests are open!

#park sunghoon #sunghoon #sunghoon x reader #park sunghoon x reader #sunghoon imagines #sunghoon one shot #prince sunghoon #enhypen #enhypen x reader #sunghoon x you #park sunghoon x you #enhypen x you #enhypen fluff #sunghoon fluff #royal au #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen oneshots #enhypen imagines #enhypen sunghoon

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eveningepiphany · 1 year ago

Text

pirates gold, masterlist——✶

↳ pirate!harry x royal!reader

series summary: being a royal, you always knew you were meant to keep your wits about you. despite never fitting into your status, a lapse of your judgement leads you to getting taken captive by a group of pirates, and their captain, harry.

series warnings: getting captured by pirates, descriptions and talk of kidnapping, mentions of weapons and death, violent and heavy themes, alcohol, sexual tension, swearing, enemies to lovers. there will be smut!!

all parts will have individual warnings as we go

——✶——

↳[PART ONE]

published!

after you’re taken captive, you wake in a cell, and are trying to gauge exactly how much danger you’re really in being stuck on this ship.

❝Nice to see you’re awake, princess. Can you open up them eyes for me?❞

harry is a stubborn— but awfully attractive— captain. you are an equally stubborn prisoner. the two of you are very quickly figuring out just how far you’re willing go to get out of this situation.

——✶——

↳[PART TWO]

published!

challengers are arising as life on the ship continues. not only that, but all kinds of tension is building between you and harry. good and bad… and something that feels forbidden to even entertain in your minds eye.

❝You’re infuriating, you know? Unbelievably so. And I feel it all the way in my stomach.❞

yet somehow through all of this, you unexpectedly find a glimmer of hope. just not how you thought you would.

——✶——

↳[PART THREE]

published!

finally, a break from the ship is in sight. you and harry end up in a very pirate-y bar, but even a good night can’t last forever. and seemingly, neither can uncomplicated feelings.

“Does that scare you?” He asks, and then asks deeper, “Do I scare you?”

jealousy, protectiveness and a sense of undeniable wanting are no such feelings harry wants to have for someone he’s holding captive. yet he’s stuck with them nonetheless.

——✶——

↳[PART FOUR]

to be published!

summary is to be developed and written out. but this will be updated when it’s in production <3

I look forward to seeing how you all like this series! and thank you again from the bottom of my heart for your never ending support.

——✶——

to be added to the taglist, let me know in the replies and you’ll be tagged in ever part uploaded of this series in the future🤍

you can find my full masterlist here!

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles series #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles masterlist #piraterry #pirate harry styles #harry styles oneshot #royal y/n #harry styles writing

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thef1diary · 3 months ago

Text

Royally Fucked | One

— Guarded Encounter

series masterlist

wc: 2.9k

here it is, my first ever oc and au story with my beloved ofc!! Let’s hop in to a world of royalty, romance, and restrictions. Thank you sm to @chilling-seavey for proofreading and letting me talk about Juliette and Daniel for hoursss, this story literally wouldn’t be written without your support <3

─────────── ♛ ───────────

The morning sun cast a golden glow over the secluded outdoor training grounds of the palace, filtering through the lush canopy of ancient oak trees, creating intricate patterns of light and shadow on the freshly mowed lawn. The spring air was crisp and fresh, carrying the faint scent of blooming jasmine and the distant murmur of the bubbling fountain that had rested in the courtyard for centuries.

Juliette stood alone in this tranquil space, a considerable distance from the bustling palace. The noise of the palace–where maids were likely preparing for the day and guards stood watchful at every corridor–was a stark contrast to the serene quietude of the training grounds. Here, in the calm early morning, she found a fleeting sense of peace before the grounds would be teeming with activity. The only sounds were the gentle rustling of the leaves in the breeze and the soft, rhythmic thud of her arrows hitting the target.

Juliette drew another arrow from her finely crafted quiver, its polished wood glinting in the sunlight. With practiced grace, she nocked the arrow and drew back the string of her elegant bow, the tension humming in her ears. She took a deep breath, the cool morning air filling her lungs, and focused intently on the distant target. The world around her seemed to fade away, leaving only the bow, the arrow, and her steady heartbeat.

As she released the arrow, it soared through the air with a faint whisper, striking the bullseye with a satisfying thud. Juliette allowed herself a small, triumphant smile, her eyes lingering on the target for a moment longer before she heard footsteps approaching from behind.

Drawing another arrow from her quiver, she spoke without turning around, her voice steady and tinged with mild annoyance. “You’re late.”

“Apologies, Your Royal Highness,” came an unfamiliar accented voice, smooth and respectful.

Startled by the unexpected voice, Juliette spun around, bow still in hand, nocked with an arrow, and instinctively pointed it at the source of the unknown voice. Before her stood a man in a sharply tailored suit, his attire crisp and formal. A pair of dark sunglasses concealed his eyes, but the cheeky glint in them was betrayed by the playful smile that tugged at his lips. His curly hair, slightly tousled and catching the morning light, added an effortless charm to his otherwise polished appearance.

He raised his hands in a placating gesture, his expression calm and slightly amused, a hint of cheerfulness in his demeanour that seemed at odds with the seriousness of the situation.

“I was not informed you would be here, so it took me a while to find you,” the man continued, crossing his arms for a moment before pointing at the weapon in Juliette’s hand. “Do you always point a bow and arrow at your bodyguard?”

“Who are you? Where’s Oliver?” Juliette demanded, her gaze sharp as she assessed the stranger before her.

“I’m Daniel Ricciardo, Your Royal Highness.”

“That doesn’t explain who you are.”

“I’m pretty sure telling you my name does,” Daniel said with a slight smile, crossing his arms again confidently. “But to clarify, I’m your new bodyguard.”

“New bodyguard?” Juliette asked, still not lowering her guard entirely.

Daniel smiled, nodding. “I’m here to fill in for Oliver while he’s on paternity leave.”

“Paternity leave?” She repeated, incredulously. “And no one thought to inform me?”

“It appears so, Your Royal Highness,” Daniel replied, a hint of amusement in his tone. “I understand the surprise, but I assure you, I am qualified to protect you. Now will you lower the bow?”

The princess, still not convinced, cast a skeptical glance towards the palace doors, which stood a fair distance away. A few other guards were stationed there, ever vigilant. Her voice carried an authoritative tone as she called out, “guards.”

Two of the palace guards approached, maintaining their respectful distance. Juliette pointed towards Daniel, her eyes narrowing. “Is he my new bodyguard?”

Daniel, noticing the guards, gave them a playful wave, his lips curling into a friendly smile as he muttered their names in acknowledgement.

One of the guards, nodding, confirmed, “yes, Your Royal Highness. Your previous bodyguard is on paternity leave for one year starting today. Daniel Ricciardo has been assigned as your temporary guard.”

Juliette scrutinized Daniel for a moment longer before dismissing the guards with a curt nod and a wave. “Very well. You may stay,” she directed at Daniel.

As the guards returned to their posts, Juliette resumed her archery practice, her movements precise and fluid. Occasionally, she glanced towards Daniel, who watched her with an encouraging smile, his demeanour relaxed yet attentive.

Determined to test his capabilities, Juliette decided to issue a challenge. She turned to Daniel, her expression a mix of curiosity and skeptism. “Show me what you’ve got. Let’s see if you can match my aim.”

Daniel’s eyes twinkled with mischief as he removed his sunglasses, revealing a spark of playful confidence. “As you wish, Your Royal Highness.”

As he took the bow from her, Juliette caught a hint of his cologne–a subtle, sophisticated scent that lingered in the air, adding an unexpected touch of elegance to the moment. Daniel took careful aim, and with a fluid practiced motion, released the arrow. It flew straight and true, hitting the target dead center. The arrow quivered in the bullseye, a perfect shot.

Juliette raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching slightly in surprise, though she did her best to mask it. “Beginner’s luck,” she said, maintaining her composure.

“Perhaps,” Daniel replied, handing the bow back to her with a grin. “But I’m confident I can keep up with you.”

The sun began to climb higher in the sky, casting longer shadows across the training grounds. The peaceful solitude of the early hours was gradually being replaced by the sounds of the palace stirring to life. Juliette could hear the distant chatter of servants as they wandered around the garden, completing their tasks one by one.

As she released the next arrow, she felt Daniel’s presence close behind her, a silent, watchful guardian. There was no need for conversation, save for the occasional words of encouragement and compliments from Daniel. Juliette appreciated that he understood the importance of remaining as quiet as possible, even though she preferred complete silence. It was a change she would have to adjust to, no matter how irritating, since Daniel was an unorthodox bodyguard, different compared to what she was used to with Oliver.

Oliver had been stoic and reserved, his demeanor always serious and focused. He rarely spoke unless absolutely necessary, blending into the background and providing a comforting, silent presence. Daniel, on the other hand, was cheerful and approachable, exuding a relaxed yet attentive confidence. His occasional light-hearted comments were a stark contrast to Oliver’s predictability, adding a new dynamic Juliette wasn’t sure how to handle yet.

─────────── ♛ ───────────

As Juliette walked through the grand halls of the palace, the opulence and history that surrounded her were unmistakable. Ornate chandeliers hung from high, vaulted ceilings, casting a warm golden light that danced off the marble floors. Tapestries depicting the kingdom’s rich history adorned the walls, their vibrant colours a stark contrast to the cool, elegant stone. Large windows allowed the waning sunlight to stream in, creating a serene yet majestic atmosphere.

The palace was a hive of activity, with maids bustling about, preparing for the evening, while guards remained vigilant at their posts. The air was filled with the aroma of the fresh flowers set in vases, and a hint of lavender that Juliette favoured. Noting the time, Juliette knew the hustle inside the palace would calm down as the day would go on, like clockwork.

As she continued her determined march, she finally spotted King Albert returning from a diplomatic trip. She quickened her pace, Daniel trailing a few steps behind, his presence a constant, reassuring shadow.

“Father, I should know about my bodyguard’s whereabouts as much as he should know about mine,” she started without properly greeting her father, following him into a room before glancing at Daniel pointedly. “So why wasn’t I informed about the change from Oliver to Daniel?”

The king, sensing her distress, gestured for Daniel to leave. Daniel nodded at both her and the king before stepping outside the room, giving them privacy.

Once the door clicked shut, the king turned to his daughter, his expression softening. “I know Oliver was like a close friend as much as a protector to you, but his absence was unavoidable. I personally appointed Daniel because he is the best of the best. I would not trust just anyone to protect you, and you know that.”

Juliette frowned, still unhappy but reassured by her father’s confidence in Daniel. “I just wish I’d been informed.”

“I understand,” King Albert said gently. “I should have informed you myself. WIth everything happening, it slipped my mind. But believe me, Daniel is exceptional. He’s not just skilled; he’s loyal and trustworthy. Give him a chance. You’ll see he’s more than capable.”

Juliette nodded in agreement, deciding to try her best to adjust to an unfamiliarity in her structured routine. Her father’s words lingered in her mind, softening her resistance, but she couldn’t shake off the irritation of not being informed. If he trusted Daniel, then perhaps she should give him a fair chance. Yet, the thought of replacing Oliver, who was like a close friend, gnawed at her. How could Daniel, with his cheerful demeanor, fit into the role of her protector?

As she left the room, Daniel perked up, falling into step behind her.

“Your Royal Highness,” Daniel said softly as they walked. She turned to face him, her expression void of any emotion. “I’m sorry for the abrupt introduction earlier. I assure you, in a couple days, you won’t feel the difference between Oliver and I at all.”

Juliette studied him for a moment before nodding, “We’ll see, Daniel, in a few days, how true that is.”

Deciding to test Daniel’s capabilities and patience, she thought of assigning him a series of errands. “Follow me to the library,” she ordered.

To Juliette, the library was one of the most majestic rooms in the palace, a sanctuary of knowledge and history. High, vaulted ceilings adorned with intricate frescoes depicting scenes from the kingdom’s past loomed overhead. The walls were lined with dark mahogany bookshelves that stretched from floor to ceiling, filled with an extensive collection of leather-bound volumes, ancient manuscripts, and modern texts. Each shelf was meticulously organized, reflecting the care and reverence given to the collection.

Juliette led Daniel through the vast room, the faint scent of aged paper and leather filling the air. She moved with ease among the towering bookshelves, her fingers occasionally brushing against the spines of the volumes she knew so well. This library was more than just a repository of knowledge; it was a sanctuary, a place where she spent countless hours lost in thought or absorbed in a book. After the training grounds, it was her second home.

“If you ever can’t find me anywhere else in the palace, I’m most likely here,” Juliette said, her voice soft but certain. She paused by the ladder on wheels and pointed to a stack of books perched on a particularly high shelf, their spines gleaming in the soft, golden light.

Daniel smoothly maneuvered the ladder, retrieving the requested volumes with practiced ease. As he handed her the books, he glanced around the library, taking in the room’s opulence and the sheer number of books. “Are you an avid reader, Your Royal Highness?” he asked, curiosity tinged his tone.

Juliette shrugged slightly, a faint smile playing on her lips. “I love organizing this place as much as I adore reading the books here,” she admitted. “There’s something soothing about the order and tranquility of this room. It’s a world of its own, away from the chaos and demands of palace life.”

“Well, it certainly is an impressive collection,” Daniel replied, his tone genuine as he scanned the shelves.

Juliette decided to push a little further. “Since you’re so eager to help, Daniel, could you arrange these books alphabetically by author? And then by genre, within each section.”

Daniel looked at the towering shelves, each packed with numerous books, and nodded without hesitation. “Of course, Your Royal Highness.”

Juliette watched as he began the task, moving efficiently yet carefully, his focus unwavering. She threw in more specific instructions as he worked. “The historical texts should go over there, and make sure the classics are separated from the modern literature.”

Daniel complied without complaint, even as the tasks grew more intricate. His demeanor remained calm and cheerful, never showing signs of irritation or frustration. He took her detailed directions in stride, organizing the books with precision.

After a while, satisfied with her experiment, Juliette decided to up the ante. “Could you also retrieve the books from the highest shelves over there? I’ve been meaning to reorganize them.”

Daniel nodded, moving to the next set of shelves with the same unwavering dedication. As he climbed the ladder, the scent of his cologne wafted through the air, a subtle blend of cedar and spice, adding an unfamiliar but not unwelcome layer to the library’s familiar aromas.

As Daniel continued his work, Juliette couldn’t help but feel a grudging respect for his patience and efficiency. He didn’t just tolerate the tasks; he embraced them, showing no sign of annoyance or fatigue. When he finally finished, she realized he had passed her test with flying colors.

“Impressive,” she said, unable to hide her approval. “You handled that well.”

“Thank you, Your Royal Highness,” Daniel replied, playfully winking at her. “I’m here to serve.”

As evening fell and it was time to return to her chambers, Juliette walked in front of Daniel, glancing at him a couple of times, noting how he noticed everything around him, always on alert. His presence was a constant, reassuring shadow, even if his cheerful demeanor was unorthodox for a bodyguard.

“So, Daniel,” she said, breaking the silence, “what exactly qualifies you to be my bodyguard?”

Daniel met her gaze steadily. “I’ve had extensive training in combat, strategic planning, and diplomatic negotiation. I’ve protected several dignitaries in high-risk environments.”

Juliette raised an eyebrow. “And what do you know about protecting a princess?”

Daniel smiled slightly, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. “It requires vigilance, discretion, and understanding the unique challenges of your position. Trust must be earned.”

Suddenly, she threw a blade directed at him, thinking he was distracted with their conversation. It was a small, sharp knife she had discreetly picked up from the kitchen as they passed through. But she was proven wrong when he caught it by the handle, right before it stabbed him. He glanced at it and chuckled before looking at her. “Did I pass all your tests now?”

The princess smirked, clearly impressed but unwilling to show it too much. “You’ve proven yourself capable, for now,” she said, her tone still guarded. “But trust is earned over time, not in a single day.”

Daniel nodded, handing the blade back to her handle-first. “I understand, Your Royal Highness. I’ll continue to prove my worth.”

As they reached her chambers, she paused at the door, turning to face him. “Be ready to escort me to our private plane in the morning, let’s see how well you do on an international trip.”

“Understood, Your Highness. I’ll be ready to escort you in the morning,” Daniel said with a nod.

“Also, I’m not sure if you know, but you don’t have to follow me around the palace. You just have to be there when I need you, mainly when I leave the grounds. You’re free to roam around otherwise, do whatever you’d like,” Juliette explained.

“If it is alright with you,” Daniel said, “I would like to stay by your side until you’re used to my presence and until I know your routine, then I can bother the other guards.”

The princess raised an eyebrow. “Bother the other guards? They might not thank me for that.”

Daniel grinned. “Well, I’ll make sure they get used to me. I’ll even bring them pastries from the kitchen as a peace offering.”

She laughed softly, “and that’ll work?”

“I’ll try,” Daniel replied. “Besides, a little charm and a few pastries go a long way in a royal palace.”

Juliette shook her head, still smiling. “I suppose we’ll see how well you handle the job. Just make sure you don’t distract the other guards from their duties.”

Daniel placed a hand over his heart, feigning a dramatic hurt expression. “Me? A distraction? Never.”

The princess raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips. “We’ll see about that. For now, try to stay out of trouble.”

“Trouble and I are old friends,” Daniel said with a mischievous grin. “But I’ll do my best to keep it at bay.”

Juliette chuckled, her expression softening. “Alright then. Goodnight, Daniel.”

“Goodnight, Your Highness,” Daniel said, bowing slightly, then looking up at her before winking playfully.

As Juliette entered her room, a small, amused smile played on her lips. Daniel’s playful demeanour and easy charm were a stark contrast to the seriousness she was used to with her previous bodyguard, Oliver. Despite the initial irritation she felt at his unconventional approach, Juliette found herself intrigued by Daniel’s personality. His cheerfulness, though odd for a bodyguard, seemed to be a breath of fresh air amidst the palace’s often stifling formality. Perhaps, she mused, it was a change she could grow to appreciate.

─────────── ♛ ───────────

NO TAGLIST

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jarofstyles · 11 months ago

Note

prince harry and common girl lover (best friends since childhood) + “we can’t keep hiding like this”

OH YES!!!! A bit of forbidden love.

Check out our Patreon!

------

The wind billowed the edge of the blanket they laid on, hiding underneath the willow tree as the sun got a bit lower in the sky. Being wrapped in Harry's arms was the most safe she ever felt, despite the fact it was the most dangerous place to be. His heart thumped steadily against her cheek, fingers running over the opposite as she felt his eyes burning a hole into her.

"We can't keep hiding like this." His voice rasped, lips turned downward. "I can't handle it anymore, Petal. I've been trying to find ways to be alright with hiding how much of my heart that you own but I keep hitting a wall. I believe it's because something is telling me I shouldn't hide you." He gently ran his knuckle over the bridge of her nose. "I want to tell them. Everyone."

Y/N's eyes burned as she closed them, trying to control the shaky exhale she released. It didn't work. She knew he was an optimist, her beautiful sunshine prince, but he had too much to lose. She couldn't be selfish with him, not when the entire kingdom would rely on him one day. "You know we shouldn't, Harry. You've been promised to someone else since the day you were noticed in your mother's belly." It was hard to control her voice, the weakness of it giving it away to Harry that she was struggling.

Nudging her up, he cupped the side of her face and thumbed over the high round of her cheek. Eyes scanned her face, taking in her slightly wobbly bottom lip and the glaze over her eyes that wrecked him. It shouldn't be this difficult. He shouldn't have to hide the person he loved with his entire being, so much so that she consumed him. He knew his mother would understand, but his father would be resistant. He would tell him that a future king had to make decisions they didn't like, and he would need to abide by the arrangement.

"I want to marry you, Petal." He whispered, connecting their lips at the end of the word. It was a pained kiss, one he was trying to melt into softness. Take away the brittle edges and file them down smoothly, let her feel the way he did. His sweet girl was so afraid, so nervous of what would become of them but Harry couldn't fathom a world without her at his side. "I want you to lay next to me at night, I want your hand in mine, your lips to only ever feel the shape of my own. I crave you every single second you are away from me. Don't you understand? How I yearn for you, I ache. Not just to be inside of you, but to be with you. To listen to your breaths as you sleep, just knowing that you're there." He swallowed thickly, nudging his nose against her own and took another kiss. Harder this time, a harsh breath leaving his nose as he pulled her, moving her dress so she could straddle his lap.

"My love, my sweet, my Petal. Please... allow me to take the risk." He pleaded. "Allow me to tell them of us, let me take the punishments if need be. I will do anything for you." His words were whimpered as he pressed frantic kisses to her lips, her cheeks, her forehead. "I feel like I'm going insane. As the day of the engagement party grows closer, I feel the walls of the castle getting smaller. I feel suffocated. The only time I can breathe is with you." His hands clutched her close, almost as if to prevent her from slipping through his fingers.

"Oh, Harry." She whispered sadly, watching his eyes water. It was unlike him, her sunshine prince. He was so bright, so warm. To see the storm clouds settle over the sun was alarming and she hated the sight. It wasn't right. "Do you think I don't feel the same? That I'm not physically ill at the idea of you bedding someone other than me, even if it is only to provide an heir? Do you think I don't cry in my bed after I leave the sparkling stars and you, wishing I could crawl back to you? But I feel so selfish." She pecked his nose, letting their foreheads rest together. "So, so selfish. What if they strip your title? What if they banish you? What if it's forced regardless and there's a rift between you and your family? I cannot bear the idea of ruining your life. I can't take the sunshine away from you."

The world was quiet. The birds chirped and the branches moved, leaves rustling in the wind, but the only sound they could hear was each others breaths and their own heartbeats in their ears.

"I would let them." He whispered after a moment. "I would let them take it all away from me before I let them take you. I don't think you grasp how much you mean to me. You are my heart." His eyes burned as he looked at her. "I would run with you, I would find us somewhere and build a life with you. Nothing else matters more than you." He sniffled, pressing his lips back against her and laying repetitive kisses to her lips. It was hard to convey just how much he truly loved her. How she had his heart in her hands and his should wrapped around her finger.

"Harry..." She laughed through a tear, looking down at the hand holding her waist tight. "I hope you know I feel the same for you. You're what I need." Her fingers brushed the hair that had fallen into his face, the soft curls unfairly highlighted caramel in the sunlight that bled through the leaves. He was inhumanly handsome. "I'm afraid for you."

"I'm afraid for myself if I don't admit my love for you. I can't be trapped in a loveless marriage when I have a love. The greatest lover there is. I want children with you, I want you by my side. Whether I'm king or not, having you would be my biggest accomplishment." He meant every word. Every beat of his heart belonged to her. "I'm going to tell them. I'm going to make you my wife, regardless of the cost. All I'll ever need is you."

#jarofstyles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry styles blurb #harry drabble #harry styles imagine #harry writing #harry styles writing #prince harry styles #royal harry styles #harry styles fanfics #harry styles fic #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry angst #harry smut #harry fluff

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lanabuckybarnes · 5 months ago

Text

| Lady Blue |

Falling in love with your best friend wasn't something you ever anticipated, you had a role to fulfil and your hand was sold. Yet your heart longed for him.

✧Pairing✧ Knight!Steve Rogers x Princess!Reader (Fem)

✧Warnings✧ Fluff, A Little Angst, Talks of Arranged marriage, John Walker (ew), Name Calling, like the teeniest bit of violence, Hurt, Brief mention of injury, Sweet ending

✧Word Count✧ 2.1k

✧Author Note ✧ I WROTE SOMETHING THAT ISNT SMUT!! — happy birthday Stevie Rogers 🥳

You don’t know when it happened, when that little crush became something more, when the hugs became intimate and the kisses were on the lips rather than on the cheeks.

Steve Rogers, your best friend. You’d been born beds apart, your mother a queen and her best friend a noblewoman. You weren’t sure if they planned it or it was fate but they both ended up with child and gave birth almost exactly on the same day.

Steve was headstrong, and a leader. He always made sure you were safe and protected, it was cute how doting he was because ‘he was older’. You were quick to comment how it was only by a few hours.

You were inseparable as kids, spending most of your time in the fields of blue flowers that decorated the walk to the large castle. It’s how you earned the name, Lady Blue - a flower crown of blue atop your head always.

Your infatuation grew for him as you aged into a teen, you weren’t around each other as much because of duties taking up most of your time but you remembered something about absence making the heart grow fonder and you could attest to that.

Steve was away most of the time on the other end of the city, training in the ring to become a knight, his dream. You were stuck in the palace, studying history and languages to be a great queen although you spent much of your time staring out of the window and imagining you and Steve doing the same things you did as kids. Living.

You lied.

You remember exactly when it happened.

Steve's graduation, he finally wore his purple cloak and had his royal etched sword around his hip. Drinks flowed left and right, the night filled with laughter and singing, all muffled behind the thick glass doors leading out to the courtyard where you and Steve sat watching the birds bathe in the fountain.

“How was it?” You asked, both hands soothing over his larger, calloused one, running over each scar and healing wound he donned.

He breathed out slowly, as though you were one of the small birds that he had to tiptoe around so he didn’t scare them off. He knew that you would never be scared of him but he couldn’t shake that feeling, you were so dainty beside him. To think that once upon a time you were a head taller than him.

“It was fine, made some friends” he nodded off to a pair of iron-clad men clinging to each other singing an old folk tune. “Sam and Bucky, they’re wild but they are good guys.”

The air around you thickened if it were possible, something going unsaid between you two, a rope pulled taut that threatened to snap. Steve’s eyes studied you, thoroughly enjoying the sight of you by his side. You looked beautiful, eyes twinkling in the moonlight as your eyes returned to the fountain, your hair shining. You had grown up and become such a beautiful soul that he knew you were.

“I missed you.”

“Hm?” You looked up at him, confusion and curiosity carved onto your features.

“I thought of you all the time being out there, when it got tough and I needed some of those princess bear hugs you gave me” You giggled at his words, bringing about his chuckle. Your knees knocked as you leaned closer, resting your head against his shoulder.

“I missed you too Stevie.”

“Princess” he murmured after a moment, taking a few deep breaths to quieten his pounding heart, although when he looked down at you it skipped beat after beat anyway.

“Ser Rogers” you teased with a cheeky smirk, the sparkle in your hues growing as you almost challenged him to speak. I dare you, your eyes cried out to him.

Steve was never one to back down from a dare.

His lips were on yours before you could even think, embracing yours in a way that left you dizzy before shocking you into action and kissing back with the same ferocity.

Snap, that rope between you broke.

After that night you’d both chosen to keep your love a secret, your father was strict and unforgiving, he would not stand for his daughter dating someone lower than a future heir despite it not being your choice. Even years later, both of you adults still sneaked around like you did when you were teens.

Your door shook with heavy knocks, Ser Barnes’ voice booming from the other end.

“My Princess, the King wishes to see you at once.”

You groaned and let your eyes fall shut again until soft kisses trailing up your shoulder and neck brought a smile upon your face.

“Come on Lady Blue, can’t disappoint Father now” he joked, deep voice raspy from sleep, vibrating against your ear.

Even after all these years each moment you spent with him felt like you were falling in love with him for the first time, diving straight off the deep end and into your sheets with him.

You stood, helping him into his gear so he could slink off and allow your handmaidens in to help you dress.

“I love you” he whispered into the top of your head, placing a chaste kiss there before tilting your chin up to slant his lips against your own. Despite the shortness of it, you were left breathless when he parted, turning on his heel professionally and making his exit.

A ball of dread settled in your stomach at the thought of today’s meeting with your father. For months now he’d been adamant that you were to be married by the end of the year and set about finding suitors, each time you rejected them he’d bring up another. But you loved Steve too much.

You knew it wouldn’t last forever, it couldn’t. You were noble, bound to marry a prince and join two kingdoms in matrimony. He was a knight, he swore an oath to protect you from harm, nothing more.

All of that knowledge didn’t help it hurt any less when you stepped into the throne room, your eyes landing on potentially the worst prince your father had brought to you yet.

The king from the neighbouring place and his son, John Walker. A self-proclaimed prophet that was bound to rule all over the land.

“You will marry Prince John Walker” your father announced, the smug sneer on the prince’s face had you wishing you’d had breakfast before coming here so you could have something in your stomach to throw up.

You were bound to marry a pompous, arrogant, narcissistic man and leave the man who’d loved you since day dot.

You wouldn’t stand for it.

“I will not marry John” You challenged, something you’d only done a handful of times in your life. Your father’s nostrils flared, his jaw clenching and eyes wild.

“Excuse me?”

“I will not marry him” You repeated.

“You don’t have a choice young lady” he rose from his throne, stomping down the steps until his face was in yours. Your legs wobbled as you tried to stand your ground against your father's presence.

“You will marry Prince Walker, you will join our kingdoms and you will bear his heirs, I am sick of you rejecting everyone I introduce you to so I made the decision myself.”

“I won’t” you yelled this time, hurt and angry bubbling into rage “because I love another.”

The words slipped out your mouth, your hand slapping around your face far too slow to catch them.

The room fell silent. Pin drop silent. Steve stood at the entrance of the hall, head hung low to hide the reddening of his face, his hands clamping into fists at his side.

“Who?” Your father’s hand clamped onto your chin, your jaw throbbing in pain at the hold.

“Ser Rogers” you hissed, falling into a pile of clothes and pain when your father’s hand let you go.

“You wench!” he spat in disgust.

You tried to argue, tried to plead with your father but he shrugged you off.

“Ser Barnes, take my daughter back to her room, I want some time with Ser Rogers. Alone.”

You didn’t struggle as Ser Barnes picked you up from the floor, hoisting you over his shoulder. You couldn’t even look at Steve when you walked by.

Ser Barnes set you down on your bed softly, patting the top of your head as you stared off into space, tears rolling down your cheeks. He left and came back with a small glass of water and a muffin which you refused to eat.

Once Bucky left you crawled up to the head of your bed, stuffing your face into your pillow and staining it with black from your mascara. Your door was on constant watch in case you got any big ideas. The Blue Daisy’s had bloomed but you couldn’t leave, you weren’t allowed to leave.

As day turned into night you shifted to look out at the setting sun. Your dinner lay untouched on your table, your focus set firmly on the world outside, families rushing to pack up their markets before the evening rain.

“Lady Blue” you recognised the voice.

“Bucky?”

“Can I come in?” He asked. You hummed your confirmation and the huge brunette slipped in.

“Steve—he’s being shipped off. Tonight.” He explained his stormy eyes on you, watching you process the information.

“So what? It’s not like I can stop it” You answered bitterly, a shell of the woman you usually were. There was no hint of cheer or teasing in your tone like there once was, it had all been left in that throne room.

You took note of his heavy sigh before he inched further into the room, Only then did you gaze up at him. In his hands was a set of clothes, the kind commoners wore along with a large black cloak and a purple velvet pouch.

“Do you love him?” He asked, eyes searching yours.

“More than anything” you replied without hesitation.

“Then we better move.”

“W-what do you mean?” You stood, head tilted and brows furrowed. You just barely caught the clothes that Bucky threw at you.

“His ship leaves in an hour, if you don’t hurry and get changed we’ll miss it”.

You could’ve kissed Bucky.

The shipyards reeked of fish and shit, but you couldn’t care about that. Not now. Hopping off of Bucky’s white steed you pat its neck before looking up at him.

“Thank you, Buck, I don’t know how I can repay you.”

He smiled, taking your hand in his and kissing your knuckles.

“You can get on that ship and live your life Lady Blue. I’ll see you soon” he flashed you one of his pearly white smiles and turned the horse, setting off the way he’d come.

You darted onto the ship, eyes scanning the faces of workers and guests until they fell on the man that you were doing all of this for. Any doubt that boiled in your stomach melted away leaving only one thing remaining, that deep love that Steve gave you. He didn’t turn until you were standing in front of him.

“Princess?” his shocked voice sounded as he looked up at you. He looked tired, his skin pale and a nasty bruise was forming over his cheekbone. No doubt thanks to your father.

“I’m here” you squeaked as he pulled you down into his arms, his warm body and vanilla scent putting you at ease instantly despite the incessant rocking of the ship.

“You're here” he replied, words vibrating against your hairline before he tilted your chin up and stole your lips in a kiss. Just like he had stolen your heart.

“So you do that…yep and then you twist the stalk around…that’s it!!” You cheered as your son finally wrapped the flower correctly, his big blue eyes almost disappearing behind his lids as he squealed in excitement.

“What’s all the yelling about huh?” Steve emerged, tanned skin glowing, covered in a layer of sweat and dirt, an axe resting over his shoulder.

“Daddy look” your son preened, raising the bundle of blue flowers high in the air so the blonde could see.

“Ahhh is Mama teaching you her old tricks huh?” He smiled, kneeling to place a soft kiss on his forehead before doing the same to you.

“Mhmm gotta make sure he can help me every year, isn’t that right baby?” You plopped your finished flower crown onto Steve’s head before ruffling your son's curly locks.

Despite the running, the fighting and the endless struggle to get to where you were now, you could say you’d do it all again to be sat between your handsome husband and his doppelgänger son—in a field of blue daisies. You would do it all again to be home.

I DO NOT give permission to have my work copied, translated or reposted. If you see my work anywhere else except on this page I have not given consent for it to be used.

Comments, Reblogs, Likes & Asks are always appreciated, although if you liked this fic please consider reblogging so it can reach a wider audience. They let me know that you are enjoying what you read and give me motivation to write more.

Thanks for reading~

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aisiedaisie · 1 day ago

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hiiii ʚ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ɞ i just found your page this morning and read through your entire masterlist and i loveeee your writing! is it possible to get royal poly!marauders at a ball or something and they catch sight of the reader (can be whatever role you wanna give them) and they are like 'damn'

Hello hello~!!!

First of all, thank you so much for patiently waiting for me to get to your request. Life has been pretty hectic on my end, so writing had to take a back seat for a little while. But today, I finally had some time to sit down and write!

Now, let me just say— this idea is absolutely amazing! I’m completely in love with royal and historical AUs, so there’s a good chance I’ll revisit this concept and or turn it into a series of drabbles. (Not that I’m particularly skilled at keeping things short!!!)

I really hope you enjoy my take on your idea 💖

edit: I got a bit carried away-

Pairing: Poly!Marauders x Fem!Reader WC: 3.7k

The night after the neighboring kingdom’s delegation arrives, the Griffyn Kingdom buzzes with anticipation. To honor their esteemed guests— especially the visiting princess —the King and Queen have announced a grand ball. This celebration is more than an act of hospitality; it is a shining declaration of unity, a glittering prelude to alliances and promises that will shape their shared future.

You find yourself standing in Princess Lily’s chambers, the soft glow of candlelight casting flickering shadows against the ornate walls.

Before you, Lily examines herself in a floor-length mirror, her emerald-green gown a masterpiece of silk and embroidery. You and Mary fuss over the gathered fabric at her hips, smoothing it into place with careful precision.

“I can manage the rest,” Lily murmurs, her voice gentle but decisive. She steps away, gliding toward the gilded jewelry box on her dressing table. Its lid is open, revealing an array of jewels she brought for the journey— diamonds, emeralds, and sapphires glittering alongside an assortment of tiaras.

“You two should get ready as well,” she adds, her tone as light as the shimmering necklace she picks up, its facets catching the firelight.

You pause, caught off guard. “What?” The word escapes before you can stop yourself.

Normally, Marlene would stand guard in her knightly uniform, Mary would accompany Lily throughout the event, and you would remain behind— content to watch the festivities from a quiet corner of the castle, keeping a vigilant eye on the princess’s chambers.

“There’s no need for that tonight,” Mary says, her voice warm with reassurance. She steps forward, deftly fastening the diamond necklace around Lily’s neck. The glittering stones resting perfectly against the princess’s pale freckled skin. “We’re on excellent terms with the Potters. No one here will mean us harm.”

The words hang in the air, both an assurance and an invitation. Tonight is different, you realize.

A diamond tiara rests atop Lily’s head, its intricate design sparkling like a constellation of stars nestled in her fiery red locks. She adjusts it briefly, her reflection regal and resplendent. “You rarely get a chance to enjoy yourself during visits like this,” she says softly, her tone kind but firm. “Go on, get ready.”

You nod, a small smile playing on your lips, touched by Lily’s thoughtfulness. Her generosity warms you in a way words could never fully express.

With her gentle urging, you retreat to your own room to prepare. A quick bath washes away the lingering weariness of the day, and you do your best to ready yourself for the night ahead.

Despite your efforts, a sense of inadequacy lingers.

For such grand occasions, it’s expected that the lady's maids and companions are impeccably dressed, each carrying at least one formal gown for travels like these.

You do have such a dress— a blush colored piece gifted to you by your mother when you first joined the palace as Lily’s lady’s maid.

The fabric clings just a little too tightly at the waist, its once flawless seams now strained from years of careful reuse. The soft blush color, though elegant, has faded slightly with time, its original vibrancy dulled by repeated wear. The bodice is adorned with modest embroidery— delicate vines and blossoms stitched in pale gold thread that catches the light just enough to hint at refinement. The skirt, while gracefully cut, feels heavier than you remember, its weight pulling at your movements as if to remind you of the weight of high society.

It was the best your family could afford when you first came to the palace— a gift from your mother, its fabric chosen to honor both simplicity and a touch of nobility. Back then, it had been a symbol of hope, a token of pride for a baroness’s daughter stepping into the royal household.

Now, however, standing before the mirror, you can’t help but feel its inadequacy in the face of tonight’s grandeur.

Even so, you smooth the skirt with steady hands, letting your fingers trace the faint ridges of the embroidery. This night, you remind yourself, is not about the richness of your gown, but the confidence you bring and the memories you make.

Perfection may elude you, but presence—your presence—is more than enough.

When you step back into Lily’s chambers, it’s clear everyone is ready to go. Lily, as expected, looks effortlessly regal in her emerald green dress, the rich color complementing her fiery red hair that cascades down her back in elegant waves. Mary, ever composed, is radiant in a soft yellow gown that perfectly flatters her figure, her dark hair neatly arranged in a low bun at the nape of her neck.

“You look darling,” Lily murmurs, stepping forward to gently brush a stray lock of hair from your forehead. Her touch is as light as her tone, her emerald eyes warm with affection.

You roll your eyes playfully, unable to suppress a grin. “Says the actual goddess standing before me.”

“Truly,” Mary chimes in, her voice sweet as she adjusts the clasp of your necklace, ensuring it sits perfectly centered. “You’ll be the belle of the ball.”

Before you can protest their kind words, a knock at the door interrupts the moment. Marlene peeks her head in, her light blonde hair swept back into a tidy low ponytail. “Ladies,” she announces with a bright grin, “it’s time to head down.”

Excitement ripples through the room as the evening’s promise beckons.

_____

You weren’t quite sure what to do once you stepped onto the crowded ballroom floor. Back home, state balls were familiar territory, their routines and customs etched into your memory. But here, in a foreign kingdom, uncertainty clouded your thoughts.

Was the etiquette the same?

Would it be seen as rude to linger by the walls, content to watch the swirl of color and movement before you?

Must you be drawn into the heart of the celebration?

Apparently so.

You stand near one of the grand marble pillars circling the ballroom, the cool stone a comforting anchor amidst the overwhelming splendor. A glass of white wine rests in your hand, a half-hearted shield against your unease. From the corner of your eye, you notice movement—a man approaching with easy confidence. His dark hair is tied into a loose, messy bun, strands slipping free to frame his sharp features. His attire marks him as a knight of the Griffyn Kingdom, though the smirk curling at his lips carries a roguish charm and confidence uncommon in most knights you’ve met.

“You must be part of the delegation,” he says, his voice smooth, his smirk deepening as his gray eyes fix on yours.

You hesitate, biting back the urge to fidget. He’s handsome, undeniably so, but you can’t quite place why he’s chosen to speak to you. With a soft sigh, you nod. “I am.”

“I thought so,” he replies, a playful lilt to his tone. “I remember seeing you earlier, standing just behind the little princess. So, why aren’t you out there, dancing?” He gestures toward the center of the room, where couples spin and sway beneath glittering chandeliers.

“I’m not particularly fond of dancing,” you say, your voice quieter than intended. It’s not entirely true, but you hope the excuse is convincing enough to deter him.

“Nonsense,” he says with a laugh, his hand extending toward you. “Anyone can see you want to. Prove me wrong, if you’d like.”

The invitation lingers between you, daring yet strangely kind.

You hesitate for just a moment, glancing at the glass in your hand before setting it down on the corner of the nearest table. Then, with a small breath of resolve, you place your hand in his. “Don’t get mad if my heels end up on your toes,” you quip, a touch of nervousness slipping into your tone.

“Trust me, I’m quite nimble. Dodging danger is part of the job,” he replies with an easy smirk, already guiding you toward the dance floor with a confidence that leaves little room for argument.

Normally, you might have countered with a quick remark of your own, but your mind is too distracted. The pounding of your heart fills your ears, drowning out coherent thought.

The lull in the music amplifies every other sound—the clack of your heels against the polished marble, the low hum of whispered voices as heads turn to watch you pass. The weight of their gazes burns into your skin, and your hands tremble slightly as the knight clears a path through the crowd, his presence commanding in a way that both unsettles and reassures you.

Other couples filter onto the dance floor as the musicians shuffle their sheet music, preparing for the next song. The murmurs of the room settle, anticipation hanging in the air.

“Well,” you manage, your voice soft as you cling to anything that might distract you from the dozens of eyes still following your every move, “it seems you’re rather popular.”

“What can I say?” he responds, a teasing lilt in his voice. “I am rather handsome.” The smirk that accompanies his words is maddeningly self-assured.

Before you can respond, his hand presses gently against the middle of your back, drawing you closer. His other hand takes yours in a firm yet careful clasp, guiding you into the proper frame with a natural grace that makes it seem effortless. You barely notice the band striking the first notes of the song, your attention fixed on the storm gray eyes studying you with something close to intrigue.

You set your hand clumsily on his shoulder, your fingers brushing the smooth fabric of his maroon jacket. He doesn’t seem to mind your hesitation, his movements assured and steady as he begins to lead you through a simple waltz.

To your relief, the steps come naturally, your body quickly attuning to the rhythm of the music and the gentle guidance of his lead.

“What’s your name?” he asks, his voice soft, nearly lost beneath the rising swell of the orchestra.

You glance up at him, your voice barely above a whisper as you give your name.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful lady,” he replies smoothly, his lips curving into a charming smile paired with a wink that, despite yourself, pulls a smile to your face.

“And you?” you counter, a touch of playfulness creeping into your tone. “Who might this oh-so-charming knight be standing before me?”

His eyes glint with amusement, their gray depths catching the light like polished steel. “Sirius,” he says simply, the name rolling off his tongue with a quiet confidence.

You nod thoughtfully, letting the music and his lead guide you effortlessly across the floor. “An attention grabbing star for an attention grabbing knight,” you muse aloud, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “Seems fitting, I suppose.”

His laugh is low and warm, the sound wrapping around you like the melody. “Well, I do strive to live up to my name.”

“I doubt you have any trouble with that,” you say, a soft smile playing on your lips as you hold his gaze.

The music begins to fade, the elegant notes giving way to the quiet hum of conversations around you. As the dance slows to a stop, you take a small step back, though his presence still lingers like the warmth of the ballroom’s golden glow.

“So much for not being a dancer,” he teases, his smirk as effortless as the steps he led you through.

You turn to him, unable to suppress your grin. “Maybe you were just that good of a lead,” you say sweetly, your voice light with sincerity. But before he can respond, you catch sight of Mary and Lily across the room.

“I ought to check in on my lady,” you add, inclining your head slightly. “Thank you for the dance, Sir Sirius—”

“Sirius,” he interrupts gently, his tone almost playful. “Just Sirius is fine.”

You nod, your smile softening as you take a small step back. “Fine, then. Thank you for the dance, Sirius. It was... unexpected, but I truly enjoyed it.”

With a final glance, you turn and make your way toward Mary and Lily, weaving through the gathered crowd. The warmth of his hand on yours still lingers faintly, and his name echoes in your thoughts like the fading strains of the music— a memory you suspect will stay with you far longer than the evening itself.

_____

James and Remus stepped out of the nearest sitting room, the faint hum of ballroom music echoing down the corridor. Remus, ever meticulous, adjusted James’s slightly askew collar, his fingers deftly hiding the newly formed love bites that marked the prince’s neck—evidence of their brief but heated absence.

“We need to get back before anyone notices,” James murmured, his voice low but tinged with amusement as he fixed his tousled hair.

Remus smirked. “We’re already late. Let’s hope Sirius hasn’t set the place on fire in our absence.”

But as they approached the ballroom’s grand entrance, what they saw made both men falter. There, on the dancefloor, Sirius Black was leading a woman in a waltz.

The sight itself was striking. Her blush colored dress stood out in gentle contrast against the bold, jewel toned gowns of the others swirling around her. The simplicity of her attire only seemed to magnify her elegance, and for once, Sirius appeared utterly focused, his usual roguishness tempered by something softer.

“Sirius never asks a woman to dance,” a sharp voice cut through the hum of the crowd. James and Remus glanced toward a cluster of women, their faces half hidden behind delicate feathered fans. The speaker, a haughty looking noblewoman, tilted her head knowingly, her words drawing murmurs of agreement from those around her.

Remus’s brows knit together. Sirius was notorious for politely but firmly declining the endless stream of invitations to dance he received at events like these. Yet, watching him now, Remus found he could understand why Sirius had sought out this particular partner.

She was... radiant.

“Well, isn’t she a sight to see,” James murmured, his voice just low enough for Remus to hear.

Remus nodded, his hazel eyes tracking the woman’s graceful movements. “If I’m not mistaken, she’s one of Princess Lily’s lady’s maids,” he said, his tone thoughtful.

James’s eyes widened slightly in recognition, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Is that so?” he drawled, the spark of an idea lighting his gaze.

Remus sighed, already sensing trouble. “What are you thinking, James?”

The prince’s grin only grew. “I think,” he said, “we should pay a visit to the princess. Seems like her lady’s maid could use some... royal introductions.”

_____

After reuniting with a gushing Mary and Lily, a server approaches, bowing their head politely before handing you a fresh glass of wine. You thank them quietly, though you can’t help but find their deference a little peculiar. Still, you accept the drink, shifting your attention back to the princess as she launches into a spirited account of your performance on the dance floor.

“You looked absolutely stunning out there,” Lily exclaims, her cheeks slightly flushed from the excitement of the evening—or perhaps the wine.

“She’s right,” Mary agrees with a hum, a bright smile lighting her face. “Everyone was watching. You two were the talk of the room.”

Both women had taken their turns dancing with high-ranking gentlemen throughout the night. Suitors vying for the honor of even a single waltz. Yet, they seemed convinced that your dance was the highlight.

“He’s quite a talented dancer for a knight,” Mary observes, taking a sip from her own glass.

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I figured he’d be good, considering how confident he seemed. But he led me effortlessly. I barely had to think about the steps.”

“Well,” Lily interjects with a soft laugh, her hand fluttering to her lips as though trying to stifle her amusement, “that’s hardly surprising. He’s a noble, after all.”

“What?” Both you and Mary turn to her in confusion, the notion catching you both off guard. Nobles rarely became knights, considering the station beneath them. Sirius hardly seemed the exception, yet here you were.

“He’s the son of Duchess Black,” Lily explains with a slight grimace, lowering her voice. “Her sons are far more tolerable than she ever will be.”

“Lily!” Mary scolds, her eyes darting around to ensure no one overheard the princess’s blunt critique. Fortunately, the surrounding hum of conversation seemed to swallow the comment whole.

“But...” you trail off, your brows furrowing as you ask. “Did you not just dance with the heir to the duchy?”

“That would be my younger brother,” a smooth, familiar voice cuts into the conversation, making you turn sharply.

Sirius stands behind you, his easy smirk firmly in place, though there’s a glimmer of amusement in his gray eyes. Heat rushes to your cheeks, and you instinctively dip your head in greeting, murmuring, “Sir Sirius.”

“Sirius,” he corrects lightly, his gaze softening as it lingers on you.

“Sirius,” you murmur, correcting yourself softly.

His smirk softens into something warmer. “You danced with Regulus, Your Highness?”

“Lily,” the princess corrects, her tone mirroring his own.

Sirius chuckles, his attention shifting to her. “Of course, Lily. So, you danced with Reg?”

“As I always do, Sirius,” she replies with a sigh, clearly anticipating where the conversation might lead. Her expression brightens, however, as her gaze lands beyond him. “Oh, James, Remus! A pleasure to see you.”

Both Mary and you instinctively bow your heads, mirroring Lily’s graceful greeting as two men approach.

“Leave the formalities for the elders,” James teases, waving his hand dismissively. “Raise your heads, ladies.”

James Potter is every bit the image of royalty, dressed in a pristine white suit adorned with a red sash. The high collar adds to his regal air, but it’s his confident posture and easy smile —so warm and almost boyish—that truly captivate.

Beside him stands a tall, broad shouldered man with tousled brown hair. The scars that trace his skin catch your eye briefly before you hastily return your attention to the prince, unwilling to appear rude. Yet, the man’s hazel gaze, calm and piercing, seems to notice everything.

“Are you all enjoying the ball?” James asks, his voice warm and smooth as his signature smile graces his lips.

Lily answers first, her response polite and poised as ever. Her agreement prompts Mary and you to nod along.

“Glad to hear it,” James replies, his smile widening. “I know Sirius was enjoying himself not too long ago,” he adds with a teasing lilt, his hand clapping Sirius on the shoulder and lingering there in a way that seems deliberate.

“It was one dance,” Sirius groans, tilting his head toward the prince in exasperation.

“One dance more than usual,” Remus chimes in, his deep, steady voice carrying a hint of humor. His hazel eyes flicker to Sirius, glinting with quiet amusement as he observes his discomfort.

James turns his gaze to you, his teasing grin softening into something gentler. “He didn’t step on your toes, did he, my lady?” he asks, the mock solemnity of his tone bringing a smile to your lips.

You shake your head, your amusement showing clearly. “Of course not.”

James bursts into laughter, the sound rich and full, drawing a few curious glances from those nearby.

“Having women cover for your clumsy footwork now— what a shame,” Remus adds, his tone dripping with mock disappointment as he shakes his head.

Sirius turns to you, lips curling into an exaggerated pout. “Now look what you’ve done. You’ve egged them on.”

You shrug, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Now, why would I do that, Sirius?”

“You’re killing me, doll,” he groans dramatically, prompting laughter to ripple through the small group.

The conversation shifts back to something closer to polite, though the teasing undercurrent remains. Mary moves subtly closer to you, her hand brushing comfortingly over your back. It’s then you notice the weight of the many gazes lingering on your group, a pressure you hadn’t fully realized until now.

Your eyes lower to the polished marble floor as you focus on listening to James and Lily’s easy banter, their words melding with the hum of the ballroom.

“You alright?” Remus’s voice pulls your attention. He steps closer, his question soft, laced with genuine concern.

You nod lightly. “It seems all of a sudden I’ve run out of energy,” you say, a polite fib. The truth is, this entire night has been draining, though you don’t want him to think he’s dull company. “I’m not used to parties like this,” you add quickly to clarify.

Remus’s lips curve into a smile, his expression warm and understanding. “We have lounges on the top floor for guests who need a break. You’d be welcome to rest there if you’d like.”

You shake your head gently. “I really shouldn’t, but thank you for the suggestion–”

“That’s a great idea,” Lily interjects with an encouraging smile. “Let’s rest our feet for a while.”

“I’ll let Marlene know we’re heading upstairs,” Mary offers before slipping away, likely toward one of the food tables where Marlene is undoubtedly stationed.

“We’ll escort you,” Sirius says smoothly, but Lily raises a hand, declining the offer with a polite smile.

“We’ll be fine on our own, but thank you,” she assures him.

“Of course,” James replies, bowing his head slightly.

Mary returns soon after, accompanied by Marlene, who carries a golden plate piled high with delicate finger foods.

“Enjoy your rest,” James says with a gracious nod, his tone sincere though his smile holds a trace of teasing warmth.

The women dip their heads in thanks before retreating upstairs to find a quiet lounge.

_____

As soon as they’re out of earshot, James turns to Sirius with a mischievous smirk. “Well, wasn’t she a sweetheart?” he asks, his teasing tone unmistakable.

“She’s polite but knows how to hold her own. I’d say you’ve chosen well, Sirius,” Remus adds with an approving nod.

“If you two hadn’t left me—” Sirius starts, a hint of irritation coloring his words.

“We did say you could join us,” James cuts in, raising his hand as if to defend himself.

“And you know damn well if all three of us disappeared, people would notice,” Sirius counters, arching an eyebrow.

James shrugs, entirely unbothered. “Your loss.”

“Not entirely,” Sirius says with a wolfish grin. “It just means we can take our time later.”

“No visible marks,” Remus warns, his voice carrying the weight of experience. “We’ll have guests for a while.”

Sirius rolls his eyes, his grin unwavering. “It’ll be fine—it’s never stopped us before.”

Remus sighs, his lips twitching upward despite himself. “Fair enough.”

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firenati0n · 1 month ago

Text

feeling your heart beating, wondering what you're dreaming

by firenati0n on ao3

M | 5.7k

tags: alternate universe, childhood friends to lovers, only one bed, alex pov, brief ellen pov, brief henry pov, sleeping together, cuddling, tipsy love confessions, first kiss, arthur fox lives and is a wonderful parent, mutual pining, 5+1 things

But Friday nights are just for them. People no longer make fun of Henry’s accent the way they used to in elementary school—they look at him now. It’s weird, and it makes something in Alex’s jaw hurt. “Oh shit, it’s late and I know we have Bea’s piano recital in the morning. Should probably go to bed, yeah?” Alex pulls his shirt off and slides under the covers before yanking it down on Henry’s side for him, an invitation. Henry doesn’t move, though—instead, he’s chewing his bottom lip and staring at the floor, pointedly not looking at Alex.

Or, five times childhood best friends Alex and Henry share a bed platonically, and the one time (of many) they do as something more.

xoxo roop

my @flufftober fic for day 17: only one bed! :)

tagging the rest of the collection crew: @thesleepyskipper @theprinceandagcd @caterpills @kj-bee @exitariel000

@shesfromboston @msmarvelouswinchester @dani-dabbles @jafffacakess

#rwrb fic #fics #rwrb #rwrb fanfiction #roop writes #fic: one bed fluff #attempted a childhood friends to lovers au with the one bed trope YEEHAW!#anyway i hope you enjoy!!!! xoxoxoxoxoxo <3 #flufftober2024 #day 17 #red white and royal blue #firstprince #only one bed

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imfoive · 22 days ago

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Crystal Bird - Chapter 8

Crown Prince! Chan x Princess (fem.) Genre: Royal au! Angst, Romance, Historical, hidden identity, slow-burn Warnings: mentions of war, assassination, animal hunting/cruelty, disease, death, somewhat proofread WC: 6.3k A/N: god I loved writing this chapter!! I’m so excited for the next one! Feedback, Reblogs, Likes are greatly appreciated! Happy reading! ── MASTERLIST

Synopsis: The Crown Prince is saved by the Princess of a rival kingdom, and he swears his second life to his savior. A forbidden friendship no one knew of, grows deeper with every secret meeting. As the two are kept apart, memories of their sunset playdates by the serene river, begin blossoming into something beautiful. Cheeks blushed, stomach butterflies fluttered at the thought of each other. Years of yearning and imagining had only made them crave a sweeter reunion. And finally meeting at a Royal banquet, he could only stare at the now grown Princess, taken by her beauty, while she only watches as he gives his heart to the wrong princess.

Missed a chapter? - Prologue / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7

CHAPTER 8 ───────────────────

The sound of horses trotting echoed through the Grand Forest, the terrain suddenly foreign yet familiar to Chris who had visited briefly on his first day in Elysium. Tell-tale signs of his carvings that he had marked the trees with, still vaguely visible against the wood, but this time, he felt out of place.

Surrounded by haughty noble lords who laughed among themselves, he spotted Prince Ian ahead, engrossed in conversation with his friends. The foreign princes remained silent on their horses, observing and waiting at the rear end of the group.

Glancing at Hyunjin, Chris noted the way the Sylvancrest Prince took in the foreign greenery, clearly amazed. It seemed he had reverted to his polite, naive demeanor, as if their tense game of chess had never occurred. Hyunjin caught Chris’ gaze, his lips curving into a smile that irritated the Nightshade Prince, prompting him to quickly look away.

Their guards, Han and Seungmin, lingered several yards back among the Elysium Knights accompanying their hunting party, their attention fixed on their respective princes.

Han felt uneasy, acutely aware that Minho was somewhere in the forest, perhaps in the midst of completing his own mission. Chris’ earlier remark about the possibility of an ambush, even if meant as a joke, lingered in his mind, an unsettling thought that something dangerous could unfold hadn’t left his mind.

The warrior guard would have taken a deep breath to rid him of his anxious thoughts. He would have convinced himself that nothing unusual would happen that afternoon. But a sudden stench of blood filled his nose. A distant, but lingering smell that made him stare straight ahead to his Prince’s form, aware that Prince Christopher had probably picked up on it as well.

The Nightshade Prince’s eyes narrowed, his sharp gaze suddenly scanning the lush greenery around them, instantly guarded as he caught a whiff.

The metallic stench of blood hung faintly in the air, a looming scent that only the Nightshade Warriors seemed to detect, it seemed. Hyunjin remained absorbed in the foliage, while Ian and his entourage appeared completely unbothered, laughing and chatting as if nothing was amiss.

“Are you ready princes?” One of the young lords exclaimed as the group gathered, their horses forming a circle.

They began discussing what was to come.

The rules were straightforward. The more kills, the more points. Bigger kills earned double points, and the winner would receive a thousand gold coins.

“Last year, Prince Ian got a moose!” Another young noble had exclaimed, impressed anew as he recalled the memory.

Chris and Hyunjin exchanged glances as they watched Ian try to downplay his achievement. Yet the grin on his face and the smug expression betrayed his pride.

“Knowing Prince Hyunjin’s nature from the brief time I’ve had to observe him, it’s safe to say he isn’t particularly skilled with a bow. Isn’t that right, Prince Hyunjin?” Ian almost snickered, turning to the Sylvancrest prince.

Hyunjin maintained his calm demeanor, his lips thinning into a smile.

“Maybe. I’m not very competitive so your observation might be accurate indeed.” Hyunjin replied, his words dripping with politeness.

The other young nobles erupted in “Ohhh’s,” clearly amused by his calm retort.

All this was pre-game banter. Jabs that were meant to rile everyone up, to make them unleash their rage through hunting.

Ian’s laughter gradually faded as he turned his attention to the Nightshade Prince. Chris, focused on identifying the source of the lingering stench of blood, didn’t have any particular interest in this small talk, let alone have anything to snicker about.

“I’m very intrigued to see what kind of game our ferocious warrior prince will bring us.” Ian taunted next, locking eyes with Prince Christopher.

Chris sat upright, his expression impassive, though he raised an eyebrow in response.

“I fought a bear once, back in Nightshade. Who knows what creatures I might encounter here on your Elysium soil?” He delivered the words with a laugh, but Ian’s gaze sharpened, sensing the subtle slight in Chris’ tone.

With a final muttering of, “We’ll see,” from Prince Ian, an Elysium guard, who was the referee for this god-awful hunting sport, approached them. The game had officially begun. Each participant slung a pouch of arrows across their back, gripping their bows tightly in hand.

At the sound of a horn, the noble and royal men dispersed, the atmosphere shifting from playful banter to a sudden seriousness. The competitiveness that had previously masked itself as a leisurely excursion, now surged to the forefront, each hunter focused on claiming victory in the hunt.

They were all prideful, a common personality trait amongst Elysium society it seemed.

Of course Chris couldn’t fall behind, glancing back at his personal guard, who sat stiffly in the distance, before nodding and urging his horse to pick up its pace.

As Prince Christopher disappeared into the greenery of tall trees, Han turned to Seungmin, who remained silent, his narrowed gaze fixed on the direction where his own prince had galloped off in.

“Aren’t you worried.” Han found himself asking, the earlier talk of ambushes and poison creeping into his thoughts, the lingering stench of blood still sharp in his nose.

Seungmin shot him a brief glance before returning his focus to the dense greenery of the forest.

“My prince is quite capable.” His words were curt, almost mumbled, but just loud enough for Han to catch, suddenly making him realize it was the first time he had heard Seungmin speak.

Han blinked, looking around at the Elysium knights, especially Ian’s head knight, who lingered at the edge of the forest marking the starting line. It was clear they took this game seriously. Even the guards were not allowed to intrude, as if there were no threats in these woods. But for Ian and his noble friends, who could barely handle a bow, it seemed safe. For the foreign princes, however, even the snap of a twig could pose a threat in this unfamiliar territory of the Grand Forest.

Deeper into the forest, there was a stillness, a quiet calm that enveloped the Warrior Prince, eyes wandering around at every rustle of bushes, of leaves underneath the gallop of horses.

“Why are you following me?” Chris muttered, turning to spare a glance at Prince Hyunjin trailing behind.

The Sylvancrest Prince broke into a smile, speeding up to ride alongside him.

“I’m not very good at hunting animals.” He confessed, looking around.

Chris couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle at his honest words, surprised that this man was the same one that played chess with him earlier that day. He had been slightly competitive back then, slightly something else. With a look in his eyes that was not present now. Instead looking at the Warrior Prince with a friendly, playful gaze.

“I don’t think anyone here is as good at hunting as they claim to be.” Chris replied, exhaling in slight frustration as he recalled lord what’s-his-face asking which hand to pull the arrow with.

This time the Sylvancrest Prince laughed lightly, his eyes still wide with wonder at the lush foliage of the Grand Forest.

“Then maybe I’ll have a chance to easily catch a moose myself.” He mused, still fascinated by a scenery he wouldn’t find back in Sylvancrest.

Chris didn’t respond, his attention focused on the trail ahead. He studied the path, still trying to pinpoint the source of the distant blood scent. His senses heightened, he remained alert, ready to fight if the situation demanded it.

“Prince Ian seemed to be quite skilled, though. At least skilled enough to graze the second princess with his arrow.” Hyunjin said casually, but it was enough to make Chris pull the reins of his horse to a halt.

“She seemed fine earlier. Did she have any complaints?—Is she in pain?” The Nightshade Prince’s words were laced with concern, his gaze betraying a hint of worry.

Hyunjin blinked, surprised by Chris’ reaction, before his brows relaxed.

“She didn’t mention any pain. I was just recalling her unusual behavior from last night.” He replied, referring to her stumbling in the dining hall corridors from the injured shoulder.

Except recalling last night, all Chris could think about was the chill of the night air as he snuck into her chambers. Her wide eyes filled with shock. Her lips trembling under his touch.

Suddenly anger bubbled up inside him all over again, darkening his expression.

Hyunjin noticed the change, his eyes widening in confusion anew.

“Did something I say make you uncomfortable?” His voice cut through Chris’ thoughts, causing the Nightshade Prince to tighten his grip on the reins as he glanced at him.

Then there was this Eastern Sea prince, this man who was becoming increasingly annoying. His riddle-like conversations and air-headed demeanor, which Chris suspected was feigned, his constant hovering around the second princess, all began to grate on his nerves.

“Focus on the game. I’m going to find my moose.” Chris muttered, a dark glint flashed in his eyes.

With a spirited “yip!” Chris spurred his horse into a swift gallop, leaving the Sylvancrest prince behind, who watched the Nightshade Prince’s figure disappear into the greenery, a mix of suspicion and curiosity lingering in his expression.

Yet, only a few minutes later, Chris began to falter, his horse slowing to a stop. He sniffed the air, his narrowed gaze scanning the surroundings as the scent of blood grew stronger. It seemed he was getting closer to whatever had been slain, the heavy stench hitting him with increasing intensity.

Finally, as he approached a suspicious heap, his eyes took in the sight of the dead animal underneath the tall weeds and grass.

The slain moose lie lifeless on the cold forest ground in a pool of its own blood. Multiple arrows were lodged in the body that Chris’ eyes flitted over, catching sight of the bright purple ribbons tied to their tails. The vibrant color stood out starkly against the greenery. Arrows that belonged to Prince Ian, marking his claim on the kill.

Except Ian hadn’t shot a single arrow, let alone killed anything.

He had been too busy gloating and boasting to his friends. How could he claim this kill when the hunt had just begun? Unless he had the skills of an archery master, or this moose had simply been waiting for him to arrive and take its life. Both scenarios were so ridiculous, Chris could laugh.

It was a clear conclusion to come to, a guess anyone could make in such a situation.

This moose was killed beforehand, to stage a grand win for the crown prince, who not only sucked at archery, but was perhaps one of the biggest losers Chris had met.

Maybe he should laugh out loud.

But of course, he didn’t laugh. The approaching sound of hoofbeats forced him to hide, moving out of sight.

It was Prince Ian, the star of this show. He had entered the stage, knowing exactly where he should stand, where he would find the animal he supposedly killed.

The Elysium Crown Prince dismounted, hands on his hips, staring down at the slain creature. He crouched to count his arrows, making a disgusted face as he did so, his chuckles echoing in the stillness of the forest before he stood. The sound made Chris’ expression harden, anger rising as he watched Ian gloat over the dead animal. Staring at Ian looking down at this dead animal.

He suddenly recalled how Ian looked down at everyone he deemed beneath him,

How he looked down on Y/N, his smug smile, villainous as he struck her with that arrow.

Chris watched, his gaze intent. That of a ferocious beast.

A predator locking onto his prey.

A Nightshade Warrior staring at his moose.

Prince Christopher’s hands had moved on their own, as if he had no control over them. One hand gripped the bow, while the other pulled an arrow taut. And with a single exhale he let go, the arrow instantly released into the air, slicing the silence of the forest before the sharp thud of its impact resonated through the trees.

Prince Ian froze, his eyes widening as he stared at the arrow that had pierced the tree in front of him, just inches from where he stood. Staring at the arrow that shook to a still, the phantom sensation of its swift passage by his ear, still lingered on him. As he exhaled, his breath trembled, fear etched on his face as he grasped just how narrowly he had escaped a deadly strike.

Then his eyes darted to the ribbon tied on the end. The bright red color that had been assigned to the Nightshade Prince was vibrant against the tree. The sound of hooves approached, pulling him from his thoughts. His legs trembled slightly from the near-death experience as he turned to face Prince Christopher, looking up to his figure mounted on his dark horse. Chris still held his bow, staring down with a unreadable intensity at the stunned Elysium Prince. A slight smirk tugged at his lips, but he quickly lowered his head to mask his amusement.

The Warrior Prince finally let out a loud “tsk”, looking back up.

“You are such a skilled archer indeed, Prince Ian. Striking that moose before I could even nock my arrow.” Chris’ lies flowed effortlessly through his lips as he gazed down at the shaken prince.

Except his made-up scenario only made Ian stiffen further, the color draining from his face. Before he could utter a response, before he could even accuse the foreign prince of anything, the group of the other lords approached, their expressions a mix of shock and disbelief as they took in the scene they stumbled upon.

The fallen moose. The countless arrows that stuck out of it. The single arrow lodged in the tree just behind their crown prince.

Their eyes flickered around, settling on the Nightshade Prince who was still mounted on his horse, awaiting for answers. Answers that easily left Chris’ lips, upturned into a gentle smile now.

“Prince Ian’s aim is far superior to mine. How did he manage to hit this large fellow while my shot barely missed?” He glanced at the arrow embedded in the tree, an action mirrored by the young nobles.

Ian opened his mouth to respond, but no words came. Instead, he felt the weight of their stares, their cheers and praises echoing in his ears.

He remained silent. Acknowledging this made up scenario, perhaps even an act of an assassination that had been attempted. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to speak out against it.

His pride was too large. So, he thinned his lips into a smile, masking the turmoil within.

────────────────────────

Y/N stared at Anna, who had just returned from running errands in town. Areas which Y/N would have snuck out herself to find solace from the suffocating environment of the palace grounds, but couldn’t due to the personal knight that seemed to not leave her tail. Especially since her mother learned of the arrow incident, berating her knight for leaving her alone after the royal dinner the previous evening.

The older woman had entered her chambers with a fury unsurprising, yet she didn’t know if she should scold her daughter for being an idiotic fool for her bold actions the previous afternoon. Or if she should glance over her wound to ensure that she was alright.

Perhaps Lady Katherine’s motherly instincts had kicked in.

Or maybe it was the fear of losing her ticket to a golden life that kept her anger at bay.

Instead of reprimanding Y/N, she insisted her daughter stay confined to her chambers.

With Sienna summoned to the Queen’s court and no tasks to occupy the second princess, it was an easy arrangement. It was for her own apparent good, for her chance to recover. The mother had claimed, despite Y/N’s protests, that she felt fine, thanks to the Nightshade medicine tucked in the drawers of her dresser.

But alas, she was not allowed out unless summoned. Now, Y/N sat with a new concern as she observed her personal maid. Her mind had been clouded with Sienna’s sad gaze and the words exchanged during their earlier walk, but Anna’s entrance shifted her focus. The girl’s usual cheerful demeanor had darkened, replaced by a solemn expression, as if something weighed heavily on her mind. Y/N couldn’t help but wonder what had happened in town, given that Anna had been bubbly right until she left.

“What bad news has come to you?” Y/N asked, her thoughts slipping out easily between them.

Anna, busy unwrapping various items she’d brought from town, blinked rapidly at her princess’s words before furrowing her brows. She glanced toward the grand bedroom doors, where Y/N’s personal knight stood watch.

“You know you can speak freely in the privacy of my chambers. Worry not.” Y/N reassured her, easily reading the maid’s doubt.

Anna sighed, shaking her head as she settled into the open chair.

“It’s the usual. The townspeople are quite upset with the royal family for not addressing the ongoing Fading Ill sickness spreading in the slums. They’re afraid it might reach them and have been trying to urge the King’s court to take action.” Her mood had visibly soured from the whispers and murmurs she’d heard from merchants and shopkeepers.

Y/N fell into her own deep thoughts, recalling the illness Anna had mentioned.

Fading Ill.

The Second Princess had first heard about it in Melgarde, when she had snuck out of the estate and into the town square. There, people had openly discussed the sickness that seemed to emerge from nowhere. They blamed the harsh winters, the slum dwellers. The poor, who couldn’t care for themselves, spread the disease. After returning to the capital, she had stumbled upon the kitchen maids gossiping about the sickness and the royal court’s apathy, too preoccupied with preparations for celebrations while their citizens suffered.

Y/N pondered whether there was a way for her to help. She had even tried to gather information about the Fading Ill, but nothing useful had surfaced. Eventually, her responsibilities caught up with her, and the whispers of the sickness began to dwindle down as well.

She had assumed her father had taken action, but now, hearing Anna’s recounting of the news, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt. Burdened by the weight of this situation. Responsibilities that weren’t hers to address, to solve.

“My lady, it’s time for you to apply your medicine.” Anna said with a final sigh, as if resolving to let go of the troubling news from town.

Y/N nodded and as she began to undress, her eyes suddenly lit up. An idea making her stare with wide eyes of enthusiasm at Anna. The young girl who had already understood what that look meant, was quick to settle her back into her seat.

“Let us apply this salve first. Else you will dash out and forget about your own wounds.” She pointed, rushed fingers already undoing the ties of Y/N’s dress before the princess decided it could wait.

The Second Princess begrudgingly agreed, allowing for the young maid to tend to her.

Her eyes started in fascination, peering down to look at her healing wound as best as she could. It truly felt like magic. The wounded area was no longer tender, now dry, and the skin looked significantly improved from what she remembered that morning. The Nightshade were indeed masters of the healing arts.

The Nightshade Kingdom held the exact solution this ambitious second princess had been searching for.

────────────────────────

Ian had been seething. In anger, in embarrassment, that coursed through him. The smug expression of that Nightshade Prince flashed before his eyes, a reminder of his humiliation in the forest. After downing an entire bottle of liquor, the intense rage still simmered within him, refusing to ease. He had stumbled into the royal library, unsure how he had even arrived there, but it was silent and dark, allowing him to stew in his fury.

The hour was late, and Ian struggled to recall what had transpired after winning the hunting game. An achievement that should have filled him with elation and pride. Instead, all he could think about was Prince Christopher. His lies, the arrow that had grazed past him, and the mockery hidden in that smirk. The victory felt hollow, overshadowed by the humiliation he couldn’t shake off.

The library doors creaked open, a sliver of light spilling in from the brightly-lit corridors outside, before the darkness reclaimed the space as the doors closed.

“I knew I would find you holed up here.” The Queen’s voice pierced through Ian’s inner turmoil, her commanding tone shattering the stillness of the dimly lit library.

“No one besides that stupid bastard-girl frequents this place.” He muttered, taking another swig from his bottle of liquor.

The Queen Mother inhaled sharply, her eyes darting around the seemingly empty library. His words were true. This wing of the royal library was primarily visited by the second princess and the occasional curious guest. Yet it was here that her son sought refuge in the late hours every now and then, drawn to the lightly guarded doors that allowed him to drink himself into a mess.

“What is bothering you so that you’re drinking here like a fool?” The Queen’s words were curt, her narrowed eyes fixed on her son with a mix of annoyance and concern.

A bolt of thunder crashed outside, illuminating the library for a brief moment through the grand floor-to ceiling windows. The tumultuous weather seemed to mirror Ian’s emotions that had been bubbling within him all evening.

“That Nightshade Prince.” He spat, his words dripping with venom.

It was clear something had happened. The Queen Mother had heard that Prince Ian had won today’s hunt, but his current state made it evident that the victory meant little to him.

“He thinks he’s all high and mighty for being a warrior. And those stupid nobles look at him with admiration that they try to mask in my presence. I just know it.” The Crown Prince spat, taking another swig from his bottle.

The Queen only observed him, the sound of rain pattering against the windows echoed loudly in the tense atmosphere of the library.

It seemed that Prince Ian was feeling insecure, that much she could tell.

But Ian’s thoughts drifted back to this afternoon in the Grand Forest. While he had to stage a win, the Warrior Prince had effortlessly shot an arrow at him.

Missing him on purpose.

Something he couldn’t even voice out loud from embarrassment. It made him even angrier.

“They supposedly hold disdain for him and his kind, yet behind my back, I’m sure they compare us. What comparison is there to make with a barbarian?” Ian’s eyes shot up to meet his mother’s grim expression.

“Who dares to compare?” The Queen’s tone had hardened, yet there was no answer to the question he had asked.

Perhaps she thought her son was indeed less than the Nightshade Prince, true in many ways.

It wouldn’t be surprising.

The Warrior Prince was the perfect example of a future ruler. He spoke when it mattered, fit into any situation, and had sharp observational skills. His impressive defense mechanisms only highlighted what the Elysium Prince lacked.

Ian scoffed at her counter question, at her lack of an answer, dropping his gaze to the wood of the table he was slumped over. His expression darkened as he slowly glanced back up to meet the Queen Mother’s gaze.

“Mother, when do we get rid of him.”

The Queen inhaled deeply, glancing around the room once again, before settling her gaze on her hunched over son.

“Soon. You need not worry. Focus on your upcoming marriage.” Her reply was cold, cutting through the heavy atmosphere.

Another jolt of thunder and lightning ricocheted through the room.

In the shadows at the back of the seemingly empty library, behind the large bookcases, Princess Y/N stood frozen, hands pressed against her lips to muffle any sound. Her downcast eyes widened as she stared at the tiles that glimmered under the flashes of thunder. Her face drained of color, mind reeling as whatever she overheard sank in.

The Second Princess had always been an expert at slipping away, and had done just that earlier in the evening.

Anna had warned her it wasn’t a good idea, that she should listen to her mother this one time and settle in for the night to allow her shoulder to recover. But, of course, the steadfast princess had decided she wanted to do some research. Perhaps she could uncover details about the Fading Ill sickness in the Nightshade texts housed in the royal library. Though the collection was limited, Y/N knew exactly where to find them, recalling the few times she had pulled them from the shelves.

Anna had sighed but reluctantly agreed to help with the escapade. She too had been worried about the spreading disease, especially after what she had heard out in town. Except they wondered how she would sneak out.

But it turned out to be an easy task.

The young maid peered out into the hall and caught a glimpse of the young knight standing rigid at his post. Upon closer inspection, she realized he had fallen asleep.

It made sense.

Ever since he was assigned to guard the second princess, who had no real threats posed against her, he had stood alone all night, often dozing off while keeping watch over a forgotten princess. Every night he had stood guarding against nothing. And he had quickly became comfortable. He had even perfected the art of sleeping on duty, appearing to stand guard.

If Anna had caught him any other time, she would have berated him for daring to look away from the princess. But tonight, she could only roll her eyes, feeling slightly grateful that he felt safe enough to neglect his duties and fall asleep.

That was how Y/N found herself sneaking into the library, a single handheld candlestick in her grip, glancing back every once and then as she cut through the rose garden to arrive without being seen. The library was easy to access, the palace knights stationed in this wing, mostly lingered by the King’s study, briefly passing by the part of the library only Y/N frequented. It was why she enjoyed coming here, able to scour books for hours without disturbance.

Once behind the large bookcases at the back, she began raking through the titles on the shelves, pulling out a few that might be helpful, settling on the ground as she flipped pages.

The loud creak of the library doors jolted her from her studious trance. She quickly scurried to her feet, instinctively blowing out the candle that provided her light. Pressing her back against the bookshelf, she held her breath, grateful for the shadows that concealed her.

Prince Ian’s voice broke the silence, laced with curses, followed by the sounds of chairs and stools being knocked about before he settled atop a table. The hidden princess strained to catch his mutterings, but couldn’t quite grasp them, only hearing more curses and the sloshing of liquor in a bottle.

She expected to remain hidden for as long as Ian lamented whatever had driven him to drink, to come in here. She planned to sneak out once he finished his cursing, either leaving swiftly after him or after he drank himself to sleep.

But she didn’t expect to overhear such vile plans. The words made her heart hammer against her chest, her throat going dry.

The thunder continued to roar in the night sky, its echo jolting the hidden princess out of her trance.

Now there she stood, concealed, processing everything she had overheard in that brief moment between Prince Ian and the Queen Mother. The implied words that made her heart race and her breath quicken.

There were some more murmurs and words exchanged between the Queen and the Crown Prince, but Y/N was too preoccupied with her own worries. The fear of getting caught and the weight of their insinuations clouded her mind.

“You shall endure it, and entertain him for just a little longer.” The Queen’s final words came out with authority, words her son begrudgingly accepted.

Y/N stiffened as she heard more loud shuffling, her head shooting toward the edge of the bookcase to peek out of the shadows. She caught a glimpse of Prince Ian’s back as he followed the Queen Mother out, before the library doors closed with an echoing thud.

The silence that followed was eerie. Y/N found that she had been holding her breath and finally exhaled, leaning against the large bookcase to steady herself. Her heart raced, her ears rang from the tension, and tears welled in her eyes.

What did he mean by “get rid of him?”

His tone, his words, replayed in her mind.

Her thoughts darted back and forth, trying to decipher Ian’s vague words.

Surely he meant to send the Warrior Prince back, to rid Elysium of his presence and urge him to return to Nightshade.

Princess Y/N’s heart tried to comfort her. But her mind, the sharper part of her, the part that was always thinking, always curious, understood the implications of that conversation between the two royals.

Get rid of him.

Breach the peace agreement. Perhaps start a war.

Assassinate the Nightshade Crown Prince.

Kill her Chan.

Y/N’s hands flew to her mouth again as the realization hit her, her heart pounding in the heavy silence. She held back a sob, gripping her dress for support as she leaned against the bookcase. Her eyes darted toward the large doors that had just closed, emerging slowly from the darkness. She was trying to figure out what to do with the shocking information she had uncovered.

She had come to the library seeking a solution to a different problem, but now her mind reeled with the new mess she found herself in. The justice-driven princess couldn’t allow the Elysium royals to assassinate Prince Christopher simply because Ian felt inferior.

Teary-eyed, she glanced around the now eerie library before her gaze settled outside, watching the rain pour against the glass. Each flash of lightning illuminated the darkened room.

Y/N inhaled deeply, bracing herself. She had made her decision.

She couldn’t let them kill the man she loved.

But she didn’t know what to do. Her mind raced, her heart pounded. Anxiety gripped her as she hurried out of the library, glancing over her shoulder in the now-darkened corridors.

The Second Princess inhaled, backtracking to hide behind a column, catching sight of a flickering fire ahead. It was a patrol guard, making his rounds of this area before he headed back to the second floor where the King’s study was. Sure there was no reason for her to hide, she was a Princess and he was a guard on duty. Yet what frightened her the most was the whispers of her presence here tonight reaching the Queen’s ears. Putting her in the library, the place where the royals had discussed about the Nightshade Prince openly.

Princess Y/N had never stayed out this late. She had never let herself become so engrossed in her books that she lost track of time. Especially on a night like this, with rain pattering loudly against the windows.

She gulped, waiting for the guard’s footsteps to fade into silence. When the corridor was quiet again, illuminated only by a few flickering wall sconces, she moved cautiously forward.

Perhaps she should have listened to Anna, or even her mother, as the young maid had urged her to do. It was a part of her nature that often led her into trouble. Yet as she stepped into the outdoor corridors, the heavy rain drumming in her ears, she convinced herself eavesdropping had been worth it.

The shortcut through the garden was treacherous, especially on dreary nights like tonight. The rain-soaked mud squelched beneath her feet as she navigated through the dark foliage. The shadows seemed to envelop her, the storm masking the sounds of her hasty movements.

The Second Princess thought she was safe, hidden from the patrol guards off the main path. But then, a sudden presence loomed behind her. A masked man pressed against her, one hand covering her mouth to stifle her scream, the other gripping her waist, pulling her close.

Y/N’s wide, fearful eyes locked onto his. Even in the darkness, in this unforgiving downpour, she recognized that piercing gaze.

Chan’s gaze bore into hers.

Eyes darting over her before narrowing, as he took a quick glance in the direction she emerged from, to ensure no one was on her trail. He pulled down the fabric that masked the lower half of his face.

“Princess…” His voice carried a hint of frustration, mixed with an emotion she couldn’t quite place.

Realizing he still had her pressed against him, his hand resting on her back, he instinctively recoiled. Yet his eyes that held those unknown emotions stared down at her with a new intensity.

Y/N took in the sight of him, standing in the rain amidst the maze of tall bushes and shrubbery. Her eye raked over his all-black attire, the mask concealing his identity, soaked from head to toe. Suggesting he was out in the night with questionable intentions.

An enemy princess would have summoned the palace knights.

A capable princess would have accused him of treachery, questioning the Foreign Prince’s suspicious presence here, his motives.

A competent princess wouldn’t have been sneaking around in the first place.

Instead, Y/N’s face contorted, and she finally let out her cries that she tried her best to push back as she looked at him.

Looked at her childhood friend, the man she was enamored with.

The man whose life was in danger, a target of vile plans.

Chris’ eyes widened at her expression, at the tears streaming down her cheeks amidst her sobs. He watched as she pressed her hands over her eyes, shielding them from the rain. Confusion flickered in him for a moment, reaching out but instantly faltering. Her shivering form, her cries were enough to urge him to reach out, gripping her arms tightly.

“Are you hurt? Did someone do something? Princess Y/N, tell me what happened!” He sounded frantic, eyes raking over her to ensure she wasn’t hurt, raking over her shoulder to check if the injury there left her in pain.

The Second Princess grasped the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer into a hug that left the Warrior Prince stunned. He could feel his heart racing in his chest, and amidst the sound of rain pouring all around them, he was certain she could hear it too.

But it wasn’t just her hug that made his heart clench, it was the sight of her crying in his arms that filled him with a sudden sense of helplessness.

Chris pulled back slightly, enough to gaze down at her tear-streaked face, drenched by both rain and sorrow. His hands cupped her jaw, his touch gentle and tender. Like the soft touches from the night before, when he had brushed his fingers against her wounded flesh.

The Warrior Prince didn’t question his actions, gazing down at Y/N with the gentlest expression he had ever worn. A twinge of desperation stirred within him as he tried to figure out what had driven her to run through the rain in this dark, like a wild thing, now crying in his arms.

Y/N locked her eyes onto his, letting them drift over his features. His furrowed brows, his parted lips. Slowly, her expression softened as she took in his warmth. She calmed, breaking free from the anxious thoughts that had plagued her, all thanks to his presence and the comfort of his touch. His grip was both gentle and firm, her eyes raking over at the raindrops clinging to the ends of his hair, his chest rising and falling with each breath.

“You must leave Prince Christopher.” Her whispered words were enough to break his worrisome silence, eyebrows relaxing as he took in the sight of her hardened expression staring up at him.

Here stood the Second Princess of Elysium, the steadfast and stubborn princess who always managed to irk him. The vulnerable girl he had glimpsed was gone.

And here she was telling him to leave, yet her hands gripped tightly at his shirt. Clinging to him, pulling him closer.

Prince Christopher felt something snap. Something not in the world around them, but rather something within himself, had finally come undone.

His fingers, still cradling her jaw, drew her face nearer, diving in to meet her in the middle. His lips finally pressing against hers.

It was a kiss that felt achingly real.

A kiss that Y/N found herself falling into with ease, her hands tugging at him with a hint of desperation, yearning to kiss him deeper, to pull him closer, flush against her.

Chris felt himself drowning in her as well. Her arms, her lips, the kiss that left him breathless. The Warrior Prince pulled back just enough to glance over her closed eyes, gaze scouring over her serene expression. Her lips let out a shaky breath and the enemy prince found himself leaning in for a second kiss.

The thunder roared loudly in the dark sky. Yet, even such a loud sound was not enough to bring them back to reality.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ to be continued.

── ask to be tagged! - @stayceebs97, @palindrome969, @tsunderelino, @solandiszale, @fixation-dump, @ellelabelle, @gaslasyttune, @qwonyoung23, @minh0scat, @candyquokka, @sellomaybe, @kat-unzel, @gujter, @aeri-skzver, @hefflez8 (please ask to be tagged if you intend on interacting!)

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upat4amwiththemoon · 3 months ago

Text

As free as an avis | 7

Summary: A princess and a commoner falling in love was a scandal on itself, but them both being women just adds fuel to the fire.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

Warnings: this story will deal with homophobia and sexism, this story is mostly historically inaccurate

Word count: 2359

a/n: lets pretend that it hasn’t been ages since I wrote the last chapter (this series is still my baby)

Tags: @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @themagnificentmx @raven-reyes-wife @spongebobtentacles @friskyfisher @thought-of-you-and-me @rafecameronswhore @sayah13 @wandsmxmff @emsmultiverse @natashamaximoff69 @scarsw1fe

masterlists | guidelines

All parts: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8

Ever since Y/N and Wanda said they loved each other, they have gotten braver and braver to show that love to one another, though it still happens behind closed doors, the people of the castle have started noticing their attachment to each other. At this point, it seems like a pair of two overly attached friends. It is inappropriate in many of the castle servant’s eyes, after all, a princess and the lady’s maid should not be so close, but none of them speak of it, as they know the Princess’s stubborn nature.

As the servants don’t speak of their relationship, they have also given up on stopping the Princess from leaving the castle without permission.

Which is exactly what she is doing right now, with Wanda.

“Would you say this is a good area?” Y/N lowers her hood as she glances at Wanda, who is studying their surroundings.

They are a bit away from the bustling city, near nature. The area is wide and open, full of unused fields and a couple of abandoned wooden sheds.

“I know it’s a walk away from the city, but I would make sure carriages would drive here, and there is a future possibility of building a shop near by.”

“Y/N.” Wanda turns to look at Y/N with a gentle smile. “It’s amazing. The walk isn’t too long, building so many homes will create a lot of jobs, this…” she gestures at the nature, “this is a beautiful place.”

Y/N nods and lets out a relieved sigh. She smiles as she takes hold of Wanda’s hand squeezing it softly. Her approval means everything to her. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” Wanda giggles, glancing around before planting a kiss on her cheek.

The two of them are alone—besides the carriage driver waiting where he can’t see them—but they know to be careful wherever they may be, there’s always a chance of someone watching them.

“When will you start building?”

Y/N looks around with a proud smile. “Once I find trustworthy builders, so my involvement won’t go back to my parents.”

“You know all the townspeople would field loyalty to you in a heartbeat, no one has love for the King and Queen like they do to you.”

“You know every single townsperson?”

Rolling her eyes, Wanda links their arms together as they start making their way back to the carriage. “Obviously not.” A small grin adorns her face. “But people talk, and my brother is such a gossip.”

“And you aren’t?” Y/N laughs, pulling Wanda closer. “I’ve heard you speaking with Yelena, you leave no detail behind.”

“That is totally different.” She raises her brows, but can’t hide the small smile growing on her face. “Yelena is brutal with her words, I’m slightly afraid she’ll yell at me if I do not tell her everything I know.”

The skin around Y/N’s eyes wrinkle as she laughs. “She’s merely fun scary.”

“What does that even mean?”

Y/N shrugs, “she’s more fun than scary. She wouldn’t hurt you.”

“But she could hurt me.”

“Oh, without a doubt.”

Wanda lets out a quiet huff, gently pushing Y/N’s side as they untangle their arms, having come near enough of the carriage to see it.

The driver opens the carriage door, bowing his head as Y/N climbs in with Wanda right behind her. The door closes and the carriage starts moving soon after.

The woman sit opposite of each other, smiling and talking silently so the driver wouldn’t accidentally overhear them. Their feet bump against one another’s, giggles fill the carriage every once in a while.

“There’s a quiet corner in the garden where no one else goes to, we could go there after we get back?” One of Y/N’s feet move under the hem of Wanda’s dress, gently tapping against her ankle.

Wanda smiles, “I still need to do my duties, you know, cleaning up and such?”

She rolls her eyes and sighs. Of course she had her own duties to attend to as well, but she’d much rather bail on them and spend all her time with Wanda. “After those duties then?”

“Yes, after we both are done with our duties.”

The Princess’ duties are a bore, at least in her eyes. Besides reading books about being a good wife and baby making, it involves meeting potential suitors. Men, who are supposed to be the next King if they marry. Men, who will take over ruling, because the woman cannot be the one making the decisions, even if she is the rightful heir—to her parents’ dismay.

Y/N sits around a table, one parent on each side and Lord Scott Lang opposite of her, a man over twice her age, which seemed to surprise Scott himself. A nice man over all, but not one she would like to marry.

Most of the discussion has gone through Y/N’s ears, though it doesn’t necessarily affect anything, as her parents will are the one doing the ‘interviewing’ and choosing, it’s only her future after all.

“Darling,” the Queen pinches Y/N’s thigh under the table, causing her to bring her attention back to the conversation, “do you have anything to say to Lord Lang?”

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Lord Lang.” Y/N gives him a polite smile, clearly wanting to get out of the room and back into Wanda’s warm embrace.

Scott nods with a smile, slightly put off by the Princess. “The pleasure was all mine.”

One of the servant guide him out of the room. The Queen lets out a sigh, rubbing the spot between her brows. “She will not be marrying, Lord Lang, he was too…aloof. Maybe we will have her meet Lord Barnes next.”

“I agree.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, leaning back on her chair as her parents talk about her inevitable marriage over her.

“And having a daughter out of wedlock,” the King scoffs, “unacceptable for a king to be.”

“At least he seems to genuinely love her.” Y/N mumbles, mostly speaking to herself, but not really caring anymore if her parents hear her.

Her mother’s cold glare turns to her. “What was that?”

“I said,” she turns to look at her, “that he seems to genuinely care about her, at least judging by the way he spoke so highly of her.”

“What is your problem?”

“I thought I’ve made my problems very clear.” Y/N states, narrowing her eyes. She might as well start a fight. She lifts a finger, “number one is you two,” she lifts another, “number two is becoming queen. Number three-“

“Oh, you need to grow up.” The Queen interrupts, her voice raising in pitch. “You have known what your job in this castle is ever since you were born. You have had all these years to deal with the fact you will be the new queen, but you still haven’t. You know why? Because you’re childish and refuse to make best of your situation. This is a problem you have created and if you don’t get over it, we will be forced to do something drastic.”

Y/N stares at her mother, a frown on her face. She never liked losing arguments. “Whatever.”

The King lets out a sigh and stands up, causing the Queen to follow along. “Listen to your mother, Y/N. It’s time to start acting like the future queen.” The two walk out of the room, leaving Y/N to sit alone, wallowing in her feelings.

“Are you sure no one will see us here?” Wanda looks around the garden as she gets dragged through it by Y/N. She is holding a picnic basket and a blanket in her free hand.

“I’m sure, Wanda.” She slows down her pace as they arrive to a more hidden corner of the garden.

The spot is shaded by an old oak tree and surrounded by tall flower bushes, giving it a private feel. The wind rustles the oak leaves, some falling down as a stronger gush pushes them. Though it’s already evening, the bees and butterflies still fly around the flowers, at times stopping on top of them, and birds communicate to each other, their words coming out as a delightful song.

Y/N and Wanda set the blanket under the oak tree’s branches, small slivers of the lowering sun hitting their face as they sit down. “Well?” The Princess turns to look at Wanda with a smile.

“It’s lovely, very peaceful.” Wanda sets the basket in front of them. It’s filled with different berries and pastries.

“It’s the perfect place for us.”

They set the snacks and drinks onto the blanket in front of them, enjoying them while they speak of everything and nothing in particular.

“You seemed upset.” Wanda mumbles, glancing at Y/N as she bites into a strawberry. “Earlier today, I mean. Before we came here.”

Y/N lets out a sigh, “it’s nothing, just my parents being themselves again.”

“Another suitor?”

She hums and nods, picking up a cupcake. “They’re really starting to push the idea of marriage on me, I think they’re getting desperate.”

“I’m sorry.” Wanda mumbles. She feels bad for not knowing how to comfort Y/N better in these situations.

“It’s fine.” Y/N smiles gently, gently bumping her shoulder against Wanda’s. “I don’t want to think about marriages when I’m with you.”

Wanda bumps her shoulder back, grabbing a handful of blueberries as she drops the subject.

Soon the sun fully sets down, the evening darkness slowly starting to engulf the garden. Wanda and Y/N move the blanket away from the oak tree, so they could lay on it and watch the stars.

“Which one do you want to go to?” Y/N asks softly after a moment of silence.

“What do you mean?”

“When we met, you said you’d like to travel to a stars.” She states, her gaze on the sky. It’s not fully dark yet, but the brightest stars are already visible. “Which one would you like to go to?”

Wanda hums. “I don’t know the names of the stars.”

“We have some astronomy books in the library, I’ll get them for you.” Y/N mumbles, turning her head to the side to look at Wanda.

Her side profile is ethereal. Y/N doesn’t know if she’s ever seen something so effortlessly beautiful. A small smile adorns her face, she swears she can see the twinkle of the stars in Wanda’s eyes, she’s sure Wanda’s eyes are the stars.

“Really?” Wanda turning her head to look at her makes her come out of her thoughts.

“Yeah,” she whispers, “I’d do anything for you.” Y/N raises up to lean on her elbows, the upper half of her body over Wanda’s. They stare at each other for a moment, before she slowly lowers her face closer, pressing their lips together in a soft and slow kiss.

One of Wanda’s hands moves around Y/N’s waist, rubbing the dress covered skin gently.

They pull away, though their faces are still close enough to feel the other’s warm breath on their faces. Y/N feels like her heart is beating out of her chest. “Do you want to run away with me?” The question comes out so quietly Wanda almost doesn’t understand it.

Her eyes widen and she sits up properly, bringing Y/N up with her. “What?”

“I…I want to run away with you. Go someplace where no one knows me, where we don’t have to be careful or hide.” The heartbeat is almost deafening in her ears.

“Do you mean that?”

“Of course I do.”

A silence falls. Wanda stares at Y/N with slightly furrowed brows, her hands shaking at the prospect of running away with her, leaving her family and friends behind. They would understand, but could she really do it.

“I’m sorry.” Y/N clears her throat, her gaze falling after the silence continues. “It was a stupid idea. Our whole lives are here and w-“

“Yes.”

“What?”

Wanda sets her hands on Y/N’s cheeks, pulling their faces closer together. A smile grows on her face, one of those that hurt her cheeks but she can’t stop. “I’ll run away with you.”

Letting out a laugh, whether of shock or relief Y/N doesn’t know, she sets her hands on top of Wanda’s. “You’re perfect.”

The laughter is contagious. Giddiness and a sense of freedom fill their bodies as Wanda drops back down on her back, pulling Y/N down with her. Her other hand goes to the back of the Princess’ neck, bringing their lips together, their teeth almost clashing together.

They stay like that for a moment, hands wondering and occasional giggles interrupting their kisses. When they finally pull apart, they’re panting, huge smiles on their faces.

“When are we leaving?” Wanda whispers, moving a strand of Y/N’s hair behind her ear.

“Soon. We just need to get ready, say our goodbyes, and make sure my parents won’t do anything.” She lets out a shaky breath, the weight of their decision settling in her chest. “But it’ll be good, I’m certain Natasha and Yelena will help us.”

“My family too.” Wanda smiles, her thumb rubbing Y/N’s cheek. She can sense the nerves in her. “I can’t think of anything better than spending my whole life with you.”

Y/N’s leans her head against Wanda’s shoulder as they lay on the blanket. “Me neither.”

Another silence falls over them, a comforting one. They stay close to each other, Wanda looking at the sky and Y/N listening to the beat of her heart.

A small rustle breaks the atmosphere.

They practically fly away from each other, both of their eyes moving to the direction of the sound. There’s just a flower bush there, no insects, no other movement. Just in case, they stay quiet for a moment, waiting for any kind of disturbance.

“Probably just a bird.” Y/N whispers, fearful of raising her voice.

“Yeah…”

Nonetheless, they gather up the blanket and basket, making their way back to the castle.

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ponderingmoonlight · 7 months ago

Text

Chapter 3: Entangled Ambitions - A Pact Sealed in Royal Halls

Pairing: Gojo x fem!reader

Warnings: reader's death, language

Genre: Isekai, Romance, Fantasy

Synopsis: Your life takes a tragic turn as you perish in a car crash, only to awaken in a whimsical world of fantasy with none other than Jujustu Kaisen characters as its main protagonists. But as if that wasn't enough, you're about to marry the prince version of Gojo Satoru. How will you navigate through this world of history and fantasy? Does your life take the same sudden twist of fate as that of your favorite characters?

<- Previous Chapter l Next Chapter ->

Satoru’s heart stops beating for a moment, eyes widen at the harsh words you just spit at him. How would someone like you know about his powers? He was always keen to hide them, never used his abilities in the presence of someone apart from Suguru and his family. He doesn’t even know you that well. You, the daughter of Naobito Zenin. How on earth did you find out?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You clear your throat, nerves threatening to fail you. This is the only chance you have left. If Gojo Satoru doesn’t rethink his decision…No, there is no way you’ll die again.

“I am talking about your ability to manipulate the area around you freely, the fact that you can distort space. You are also able to create barriers and voids that nullify any incoming attacks, which makes you almost invincible in battle and is responsible for your great reputation as a fighter. But if your followers get to know about the real reason behind your skills…You know how great the fear of people with special powers is in this country, that all of them get executed. Not even Your Majesty will be spared from this.”

You are walking on thin ice. He is the prince, after all. So much higher in his rank that it would be easy for him to get you executed due to false accusations. But this might be the only card you have left, your last spark of hope. If Gojo Satoru won’t marry you, your father will let you get killed. And apart from that, this might be the only chance you’ll get to meet your favourite characters. What about Geto and Nanami? If Naoya and Gojo exist, they are definitely somewhere in this world as well. You are literally living the dream of every anmie and manga fan.

Well, except for the stinging fact that you call Naobito your father and Naoya your stinky brother.

“That are some heavy accusations you’re throwing at me, Lady (y/n). You know as well as I do that I could get you executed right on the sport for your unwise words despite the fact that you are a daughter of the Zenin family”, he replies.

The way he crosses his legs while smiling down at you arrogantly makes the urge to fall onto your knees and beg him for forgiveness grow louder and louder. But no, this is exactly what he wants. At the moment, all Prince Satoru does is playing and testing you. You can’t allow yourself to be messed with. After all, he has absolutely zero clue about what he is in your old world, that you actually died and reincarnated here. He definitely does know that your life depends on his mercy, though. And that your proposal benefits both of you.

“Why did you decide on marrying me in the first place? Was it because you fell in love with my portrait or rather because your family forced you to choose a wife and you thought I wouldn’t cause trouble because I’m a Zenin, because you considered I would urge to get away from my possessing family as soon as possible?”

Threatening him any further has no use. After all, Gojo is aware of the fact that you know about his hidden talent. Instead, you should focus on things you can actually prove, things that are obvious.

“You are a very loudmouthed young lady. I expected you to be more sublime. As a member of the famous Zenin family, you sure got taught etiquette and obedience from a young age, didn’t you?”

He can’t help himself. Just one look into your glimmering lavender eyes makes him provocative you even further. Of course, every little thing you said is true. Yes, your words are a serious threat on his way to the throne. Yes, his family does in fact urge him every single day to decide on a wife. Your proposal is the best solution for both of you, allows him to carry on with his unbothered life without the responsibility to satisfy his finance’s needs. But still…

“I couldn’t care less about my ancestry, Prince Satoru. All I care about is my own freedom”, you clarify, determination dripping from each and every pore of your face.

“And if you don’t decide on helping me, I have to find another gentleman who suits my requirements better.”

“Another gentleman? You are aware of the fact that I’m the prince, right?”

Out of all the arguments you brought up in this conversation, this one is the one that bugs him the most. Out of some strange reason, the sheer thought of you getting promised to another man doesn’t sit right with Satoru.

“As a prince, you are far above my status anyway. If it weren’t for politics and the reliability when it comes to the advanced weapon technology of my family, I wouldn’t even be considered as your fiancé”, you argue in all seriousness.

“What if I don’t allow you to marry another man?”

“Then I will find my ways to do so.”

“Fine, I will propose to you at the ball this weekend.”

Wait…what? After all the arguments, the discussions and the stinging fact that he stares at you with narrowed eyes, he actually agreed on it? Just when you’re about to thank him and leave, he gets up and opens his full mouth.

“But I want to re-arrange the conditions to suit my needs as well.”

Your pounding heart almost stops inside of your chest. For a moment, you just sit there and stare at him plainly like an idiot. Gojo Satoru, having conditions? This definitely doesn’t sound appealing at all. But do you really have another chance? It might be true that you are able to find another gentleman, the anger of your father will carry on, though. And who knows if he wouldn’t kill you even if you marry another wealthy man. No, this engagement is your best and eventually only option.

“What conditions are we talking about, precisely?”

“Once a week, I am allowed to present you as my fiancée in a way I will decide on my own. As the prince and future ruler of this country, I need to reflect a strong relationship with my future queen to the outside. It has to be credible. Everyone must think that we are deeply in love with each other, Lady (y/n).”

Shivers run down your spine before you’re able to stop them. Just one look into his blue thirsty eyes…This man won’t touch you even in your sleep. Doesn’t he have multiple young women just waiting for a chance to hit on him? Playing his wife for an additional day of the week. How wasteful, considering that you’ll never be more than his fiancée, that this engagement will get cancelled the minute it doesn’t benefit both of you anymore.

“I will fulfil my role over the span our engagement last and accept your addition, Prince Satoru.”

“Great! Now that this is out of the way, let me tell you one last thing.”

Before you’re even able to react any further, he grabs your arm and pulls you close. For a moment, you forget how to breathe, your nose tingling by the exquisite scent that radiates from him. You actually never wondered about the way he smells. But now that he is so close you would be able to touch him, so close that you can feel his breath brushing over the bare skin of your face, heat begins to crawl up your spine. Suddenly you feel like fainting, the immense presence of him standing this closely to you simply taking your breath away.

“If you decide on betraying me by telling anyone about my secret, I will execute you. There are no real feelings between us, I won’t even bat an eyelash.”

“First, make sure you keep your end of the bargain, Prince”, you bite back out of instinct, holding his gaze without any mercy.

Does he really think you’re scared of him? He might be Gojo Satoru, the honoured one, the strongest, the prince of this country. You might have been surprised by the way he grabbed you out of thin air. You are still (y/n), still you.

Instead of backing up, you take another step towards him and grab the collar of his elegant jacket. But you know all of his dirty little secrets, parts of his past and future. You are definitely no one to be messed with as well.

“And make sure you don’t disappoint me.”

You let go of him as sudden as you grabbed him, creating a safe distance between both of you by crossing the room and coming to a stand in front of the exit.

“Send me an invitation to the ball along with a pricy bouquet of lavender flowers. It was an honour to visit you, Your Majesty. I am looking forward to our next meeting.”

One last polite curtsy, one last elegant smile. But just when you’re about to call the waiter in order to open the door for you, it swings open by itself.

And your cheek clashes into something particularly hard.

“Oh no, I am beyond sorry My Lady! I wasn’t aware of your presence!”

That voice…You get greeted by a pair of the manliest hands you’ve ever seen, hands gliding up his definitely toned arms. He lifts you off the ground as fast as you stumbled onto his, arms holding you into place tightly.

“You must be Lady (y/n), what a pleasure to finally meet you. I am Sir Geto Suguru, the steward of Your Majesty.”

“S-Suguru?”

Your widen eyes focus on his face in an instant, heart almost beating out of your chest. All those times you admired his drawing, the way he acted so elegantly. The countless fanfictions you’ve read with this exact first meeting.

Only to end up with him in bed later on.

“That is my name”, the man in front of you replies along with a small laughter.

That smile. That oh so charismatic smile. And that manly smell, a mix of mint and leather. You force yourself to gift him with a smile and create a safe distance between both of you. So this is him, the best friend of Gojo Satoru. Even in this world, you can tell how close they are to each other.

Will it stay like this, though?

“I’m sorry, I must have hit my head a little too heart”, you comment, finally ripping your eyes away from his brown ones.

“Do you know each other?”, the firm voice of Prince Satoru interrupts.

A look into his face tells you that he isn’t amused by this sudden meeting at all.

“I’ve never seen Lady (y/n) apart from the portrait that was sent to you, Prince Satoru. But may I say, you look even more mesmerising in person.”

“Weren’t you about to leave when Sir Geto arrived, Lady (y/n)?”

Gojo smiles at you without his eyes, a cold glare decorating his face that is definitely supposed to intimidate you.

But instead of backing up, you take a risky step towards Geto Suguru and bow oh so sweetly.

“Oh Sir Geto, I don’t deserve your kind words. After all, it is you who is a feast for my eyes. No excuse me gentlemen, I still have lessons to attend. I hope we’ll meet each other again this weekend, Sir Geto. Have a nice week, Prince Satoru.”

Without gifting him another single look, you turn on your heel and walk out the door.

You did it. You convinced him to propose to you. But…is this really what you want? Is Gojo Satoru really what you want? Just the way he stared at you with arrogance dripping from each and every poor. Urgh, you fucking hate him. There’s no way to deny that he’s driving you over the edge. Why on earth does it have to be him? Why not Geto, what about Nanami?

Why does it have to be Gojo Satoru?

“She seems like a really nice young lady”, Suguru comments visibly amused while sitting in your former place.

“What your tongue, Suguru. She will me my fiancé after this week is over.”

Tags: @m0k0k0 @lees-chaotic-brain @sanicsmut @risuola @fire-loving-siren

@sunshine7queen @gatitam @kentocalls @hellkaiserinphoenix @skylarlyn823

@livmarauder @nothisispatrick300 @haileycannotcometothephonern @xstom @byakuya61085

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amethystarachnid · 29 days ago

Note

Hey! I'd like to make a request for your Marvel Multiverse: Royal AU with tony stark x fem!reader

Anything with a very happy married couple, reader telling him that they are expecting their first child and tony being the best husband (and dad), I need some fluff and I appreciate your writing

THE CROWN'S HEART

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance and fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Multiverse

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 6.5k

ᯓ★ Summary: you and Tony are king and queen, your life is full of duties but also full of love, love that doubles once you discover that you're with child.

ᯓ★ TW(s): pregnancy and childbirth

ᯓ★ AU:Royal but not modern royal

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ᯓ★ My Masterlist

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The grand halls of the palace gleam under the soft glow of the afternoon sun. Tall windows allow beams of light to filter through, illuminating the royal tapestries and gold-gilded furniture. The air is calm, peaceful—just like your heart. You walk through the corridors, your hand grazing the stone walls as you make your way to the council chamber. There’s a nervous excitement bubbling inside you, but the smile on your face is soft and serene.

This moment—this secret you’ve carried with you all morning—it feels like a miracle. You can hardly contain it anymore. It’s time to tell him.

As you approach the grand wooden doors, two guards step aside, bowing deeply. You nod at them graciously before entering the chamber. The room is lined with advisors, but all eyes are on the man at the head of the table. King Anthony Stark, your husband, is leaning back in his chair, dressed in his royal tunic, the crimson cloak draped over his broad shoulders. His crown rests on his dark hair, slightly tilted, and he flashes one of his signature grins as he listens to a noble’s report on trade routes. But as soon as he sees you enter, his entire demeanor softens.

“My queen,” Tony says, standing up. His tone, though formal for the sake of the council, holds an unmistakable warmth that only you are privileged to receive. His brown eyes sparkle, and you can’t help but feel your heart flutter.

“Your Majesty,” you greet, smiling as you approach him. The formalities between you are but a veil, hiding the deep affection that has only grown stronger with each passing year. You and Tony have ruled the kingdom side by side, an inseparable pair, beloved by your people. You’ve always been each other's greatest strength, and now, your bond is about to grow even more profound.

You give the council a quick glance, knowing that what you are about to say is for Tony's ears only. “Might I have a moment with the king?”

The advisors exchange looks, then rise, bowing before excusing themselves. Tony watches them file out, and once the door closes behind the last of them, his playful smirk returns. He steps closer, taking your hand in his. "To what do I owe the pleasure, my queen? Sneaking away from your duties just to see me? I thought I was the one who couldn't keep away."

You chuckle softly, feeling his thumb gently caress your knuckles. “There is something I must tell you,” you begin, suddenly realizing how emotional the words make you feel. But Tony senses the shift in your tone before you can say more. His smile falters, replaced by concern, and he brings his other hand to your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly across your skin.

“What is it?” he asks, his voice low, tender. “Are you alright?”

You nod, the smile returning to your lips. “I am more than alright, Tony. In fact, I’m… happier than I ever thought possible.”

His brow furrows slightly, but there’s a hopeful light in his eyes. “Y/N, you’re killing me with suspense. What is it?”

You take a deep breath, your heart swelling with the joy of what you’re about to share. “I’m with child, Tony. We’re going to have a baby.”

For a moment, it seems as though the entire world stills. Tony blinks, his eyes widening as he processes your words. His hands, still holding yours, tighten ever so slightly as if he’s afraid to let go. “Y-You’re…” He trails off, his voice a whisper.

You nod, your eyes shining. “Yes, my love. We’re going to be parents.”

A beat passes, and then—suddenly, a wide, joyous grin breaks across Tony’s face. He lets out a breathless laugh, his hand immediately dropping to your waist as he pulls you into a tight embrace. “A baby? We’re having a baby?” he repeats, his voice incredulous, filled with awe and wonder.

You laugh, your arms wrapping around his neck. “Yes, Tony. We’re going to have a child. An heir to the throne.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his face alight with a joy you’ve never seen before. “You… you’ve just made me the happiest man in the world.” His voice is thick with emotion, and for a moment, you think you see tears in his eyes, though he quickly blinks them away. “Our child… I—” He lets out a soft laugh again, shaking his head as though he can’t believe it. “I love you. I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” you whisper, your heart full. “And this child will be so loved, so cherished. By both of us.”

Tony kisses you then, his lips capturing yours in a way that feels like both a promise and a celebration. When he pulls away, his hands rest on your waist, his eyes scanning your face as if committing every part of you to memory in this perfect moment. “I’m going to be a father,” he says again, more to himself this time, a mixture of wonder and pride in his voice.

“And you’ll be the best father,” you say softly, running your fingers through his hair.

Tony lets out a deep breath, then presses his forehead to yours. “Our kingdom… our family. Everything I’ve ever wanted is right here with you. We’re going to raise the future of this kingdom together.”

You nod, your heart swelling with emotion. Together, you’ve built a kingdom that thrives under your love and leadership, and now, you’ll build a family. The future feels brighter than ever.

Outside, in the courtyard below, the sound of life continues—knights training, children playing, merchants trading. But in this moment, in this room, it’s just the two of you, holding the promise of a future filled with love, laughter, and the tiny life growing inside you.

Days pass, and the secret between you and Tony feels like a precious gem that only the two of you are allowed to admire. Every glance, every brush of his hand when no one is looking, holds a deeper meaning now. In private, Tony can barely contain his excitement. He dotes on you constantly—making sure you’re resting, eating well, even having the kitchen prepare your favorite dishes with special care. His teasing remarks have softened into something gentler, more intimate. And every night, when the palace quiets down and it’s just the two of you, his hands drift to your belly as though already protecting what lies within.

But in public, you both maintain the dignified roles of king and queen. Tony is ever the charismatic leader—confident, sharp, and beloved by the people. You, regal and poised, stand beside him, both of you perfectly composed. Yet, there’s a shared secret in every look exchanged, every whispered word when no one is listening.

Finally, the day arrives when the news can no longer be kept hidden. Tony has insisted on a grand announcement, one that will not only share the joy but allow the entire kingdom to celebrate the future of their monarchy. It is to be a day of feasting, music, and revelry, and preparations have been underway since sunrise.

Now, standing in the royal balcony that overlooks the central square, you feel the weight of the moment pressing down on you—not with anxiety, but with awe. You glance at Tony beside you, his hand resting subtly on the small of your back, hidden by his cloak. He is every bit the king today—his crown shining brightly in the midday sun, his posture commanding respect, and yet, beneath it all, you can see the excited flicker in his eyes.

“Are you ready, my queen?” he murmurs softly, his lips barely moving as he leans in, just close enough for only you to hear.

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. “With you by my side, always.”

His smile turns a bit warmer, and though it’s a public moment, he gently squeezes your waist in silent affection. Then, Tony steps forward, raising his hand to signal for silence among the crowd below. The bustling marketplace, already filled with anticipation, stills as the people of your kingdom turn their eyes to their rulers.

Tony’s voice rings out clearly, commanding attention but also filled with warmth. “People of Starkhaven,” he begins, his voice carrying across the square, “Today is a day unlike any other. You have honored us with your loyalty and your trust, and in return, we have worked tirelessly to build a kingdom that thrives—a kingdom of peace, strength, and unity.”

There’s a cheer from the crowd, a roar of approval and pride. You can see the faces of your people below, filled with adoration. They love Tony. They love you. The sense of responsibility that comes with that love is overwhelming, but in this moment, it’s not just a burden—it’s a bond, a connection between ruler and subject.

Tony waits for the noise to settle before continuing, his hand returning to your back as if to steady you. “And today,” he says, his voice softer now, more intimate, “we share with you a personal joy. A joy that belongs to both your queen and myself, but also to each and every one of you.”

You take a deep breath, your heart racing as the words you’ve held inside for so long are about to be released into the world. Tony turns to you, his eyes shining with pride and love, silently inviting you to speak.

You step forward slightly, your voice steady despite the emotion rising in your chest. “The kingdom you have helped us build, the peace we all cherish… it will continue long after we are gone. For we are blessed to announce that we are expecting our first child.”

There is a moment of silence as the words sink in, and then, as if the entire kingdom has taken a collective breath, the square erupts in cheers. The sound is deafening but joyous, and you can see the people below clapping, shouting, hugging one another. It’s as if your news has given them a reason to celebrate not just your future, but their own.

Tony steps closer to you, his arm now fully around your waist, his thumb brushing against your side in a rare display of public affection. His grin is wide, genuine, and as he looks out over the cheering crowd, he raises his hand once more. “Let the kingdom rejoice!” he declares, his voice booming with pride. “For today, we celebrate not just our future heir but the strength and unity of our people. Let there be a feast in every home, music in every street, and joy in every heart!”

The crowd roars in approval, and already, musicians begin to play in the square below. Market stalls burst into activity, their owners calling out to sell food and drink for the festivities that will last long into the night. From your vantage point, you can see the entire kingdom come alive, as though the news of your child has brought with it a wave of hope and happiness.

Tony turns to you, his hand cupping your cheek briefly before he remembers the eyes on both of you. He leans in and whispers against your ear, his voice filled with nothing but adoration. “Look at them, Y/N. You’ve given them a reason to hope. You’ve given me everything I could ever dream of.”

You smile, feeling the emotion welling up again. “It’s not just me, Tony. We’ve done this together.”

His eyes are soft as they meet yours, and for a moment, it feels like the world has faded away, leaving only the two of you in this perfect, shared moment. “Together,” he repeats, his voice thick with emotion. “Always.”

As the music swells and the people of Starkhaven celebrate below, you stand beside Tony, your king, your love. And in this moment, surrounded by the joy of your kingdom, you know without a doubt that your reign will be one of peace, prosperity, and love—not just for your people, but for the family you are about to begin.

The soft light of the late afternoon filters through the curtains of your private chambers, casting a warm glow over the room. It’s a quiet moment, the kind you’ve come to treasure now more than ever. The palace may be grand, bustling with life and duty, but here, in the sanctuary of your shared space with Tony, it feels as though the rest of the world has faded away.

You sit by the window, hand resting on the growing swell of your belly, your back cushioned by soft pillows that Tony insisted be brought in for your comfort. Your gown, loose and flowing, rests easily over your now-round belly, and you can feel the faint fluttering of movement inside, a reminder that life is growing within you.

You close your eyes for a moment, breathing in the peaceful silence, when you hear the soft creak of the door. You don’t need to open your eyes to know it’s him. Tony’s presence fills the room even before he speaks.

“Caught you daydreaming again,” his voice is playful, though softer than usual, as though he’s afraid to break the stillness of the moment.

You smile without turning. “I was just thinking… about how much has changed in the last few months.”

Tony walks toward you, his boots barely making a sound on the thick rug. When he reaches your side, he doesn’t sit immediately. Instead, he kneels in front of you, his hands finding your knees, his touch gentle. “All good changes, I hope,” he teases, though the affection in his voice is undeniable.

“All good,” you assure him, reaching down to thread your fingers through his hair, an intimate gesture that speaks of the trust and love between you.

Tony’s eyes, warm and dark, drift to your belly, and as he does every time he sees you now, his hands move to rest on the curve of your stomach. His touch is reverent, as though the life growing within you is something sacred. “I still can’t believe it sometimes,” he murmurs, his thumb lightly brushing over the fabric of your gown. “That our child is in there.”

You chuckle softly, watching him as he gazes at your belly with a mixture of awe and tenderness. “I think I believe it a little more each day,” you say, shifting slightly. “Our child is starting to make their presence known more and more.”

Tony looks up at you, his eyes bright with excitement. “Still kicking?” he asks, his tone light but hopeful.

You nod. “Yes, every now and then. Sometimes at night when you’re already asleep.”

Tony’s brow furrows in mock dismay. “They’re already plotting to keep me out of the loop, huh?” He leans forward, pressing his ear gently to your belly. “Hey, little one,” he says in a low, affectionate tone. “Your father’s right here. Anytime you want to give me a sign, I’m all ears.”

You smile down at him, your heart swelling with affection. He’s always been playful, always had that sharp wit and charm that you adore, but there’s something different about him now. Something softer, more vulnerable. It’s as if the realization that he’s about to become a father has unlocked a new side of him, one that dotes on you constantly, one that speaks to your growing belly like the child can already hear and understand every word.

“I think they already know they have you wrapped around their little finger,” you tease, brushing a lock of dark hair from Tony’s forehead.

He grins, sitting back on his heels but keeping one hand on your belly. “They definitely do. Just like you do.” There’s no teasing in his voice now, only a quiet, sincere love that makes your heart ache in the best way.

Tony stands, gently pulling you up with him, guiding you to the plush couch where you both often spend your evenings. He sits first, then tugs you down beside him, arranging pillows so you can lean back comfortably. His arm immediately finds its place around you, pulling you close as your head rests on his shoulder.

He’s careful with you, always mindful of your growing belly, never letting you lift a finger more than necessary. At first, you tried to insist you were perfectly capable of doing things yourself, but Tony wouldn’t hear it. “You’re carrying our future,” he’d said one night with a smirk. “You get to relax. I’ll handle everything else.”

Now, you’ve grown used to his doting, even finding it endearing. The way he watches over you, the way he insists on fetching things for you or helping you sit down—it’s all part of his way of showing love, and you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

“Do you ever wonder what they’ll be like?” you ask softly, your hand resting over Tony’s where it rests on your belly. “Our child.”

“All the time,” Tony replies, his voice low, thoughtful. “I wonder if they’ll have your kindness, your strength. Or maybe they’ll be a stubborn little thing like their father.” He chuckles, but there’s a fondness in his tone that makes your heart swell.

You turn your head slightly to look up at him. “I hope they get your sense of humor. This kingdom could use a little more laughter.”

Tony grins. “Oh, they’ll definitely get that. Can’t be a Stark without a sharp wit.”

You laugh softly, feeling the warmth of his body against yours, his hand still gently caressing your belly. There’s a peace between you now, a contentment that feels like it could stretch on forever. You don’t need grand gestures or declarations in these moments—it’s the simple intimacy that means the most.

“I wonder if they’ll look like you,” you muse quietly, your fingers tracing lazy circles over Tony’s hand. “Dark hair, sharp eyes. They’ll be beautiful.”

Tony’s eyes soften, and he presses a kiss to your temple. “If they look anything like you, they’ll be perfect,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “But no matter what, they’ll have us. And we’ll love them more than anything.”

You close your eyes, leaning further into him, feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing beneath you. “They’re going to be so lucky,” you whisper. “To have you as a father.”

Tony lets out a soft laugh, but there’s a vulnerable edge to it. “I don’t know about that,” he says quietly, his fingers stilling on your belly for a moment. “But I do know that I’m going to do everything I can to be the best father I can be. For them. And for you.”

You tilt your head up, your eyes meeting his. “You already are, Tony.”

His gaze holds yours for a long moment before he leans down, capturing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. When he pulls away, his hand slips beneath your gown to rest directly on your belly, skin to skin. The gesture feels intimate, grounding, as though he’s trying to connect with both you and the child within you all at once.

“I can’t wait to meet them,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your skin gently. “But for now… I’ll just keep talking to them. Let them know how much we love them already.”

You smile, resting your hand over his. “They know, Tony. They know.”

And in the quiet warmth of your chambers, with Tony’s arm wrapped protectively around you and the soft fluttering of life growing inside you, you feel that your future is brighter than you ever could have imagined.

The air in the royal chambers is thick with anticipation. Candles flicker in the dim light of the early morning, casting long shadows on the stone walls. Outside, the palace is quiet, but inside, there’s an electric charge in the air—an expectant hum that courses through every servant, every healer, and certainly through you. The time has come.

You grip the edge of the bed, breathing deeply, as a fresh wave of pain washes over you. Tony is right by your side, his hand clasping yours, his face a mixture of concern and awe. He’s been here with you for hours now, refusing to leave your side even when the royal healers suggested he might be better off waiting in the antechamber. But Tony wouldn’t hear of it. “She’s my queen,” he’d said, his voice firm, eyes unwavering. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And he hasn’t.

His thumb brushes over your knuckles now, his grip warm and strong, grounding you through the pain. “You’re doing amazing,” he murmurs, leaning close, his forehead brushing against yours. His voice is gentle, but there’s an edge of tension in it, like he’s holding his breath. “Just a little longer, my love. Just a little longer.”

You nod, though your breath comes in quick, shallow bursts as another contraction takes hold. You’ve never felt anything quite like this—the intensity, the overwhelming ache—and yet, you feel Tony’s unwavering presence beside you, his love wrapping around you like a protective shield.

Time seems to stretch and warp, each moment bleeding into the next until finally, with a final push and a cry that feels like it comes from the very depths of your soul, it’s over.

And then—a sound. The tiny, piercing wail of a newborn fills the air.

The room seems to still, and for a moment, everything else falls away. All you can focus on is that sound—the first cry of your child, the life that you and Tony have created together.

The healer, her face flushed but smiling, wraps the newborn in soft linens and steps forward, offering the child to you. “Your Majesty,” she says, her voice soft with reverence. “It’s a girl.”

A girl.

You blink, the words sinking in slowly, and then—there she is. A tiny, perfect bundle, her face scrunched up, her fists waving in the air as if already determined to make her presence known in the world. You feel an overwhelming surge of emotion, a love so fierce it takes your breath away.

You look at Tony, whose eyes are wide, glistening with unshed tears as he gazes down at your daughter. “A girl,” he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper, as though he’s afraid to break the fragile magic of the moment.

The healer gently places the baby in your arms, and as soon as you feel the weight of her against your chest, something inside you shifts. This is your daughter. Your child. The heir to the throne.

Tony leans in, his arm wrapping around you as he gazes down at the tiny girl in your arms. His fingers brush over her cheek, so delicate, so impossibly small. “She’s perfect,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re perfect.”

You laugh softly, though it’s mixed with tears. “We did it, Tony,” you whisper, unable to take your eyes off your daughter. “She’s here.”

He kisses the side of your head, his lips lingering against your hair. “You did it,” he corrects gently, his voice filled with awe. “You brought her into this world, and I… I’m just… I can’t believe it.” His hand rests on her tiny head, cradling her with the same tenderness he always shows you.

“She’s the first girl,” you murmur after a moment, the realization settling in. “In all of Starkhaven’s history… no woman has ever inherited the throne.” The weight of it—the sheer magnitude of what this means for your daughter, for the kingdom—hits you. A girl. The firstborn. The future queen.

Tony, however, doesn’t seem concerned with politics right now. His eyes are locked on your daughter, a soft, almost boyish grin spreading across his face. “Well,” he says, his tone light, “then it’s about time a woman ruled, don’t you think?”

You look up at him, surprised by how easily he says it, how little it seems to matter to him that this breaks centuries of tradition. But that’s Tony. When it comes to you, to your family, he’s never been one to follow the rules. His love for you, for your daughter, eclipses everything else. Politics, history—they’re just details. Right now, all that matters is that you’re here, safe, with your child.

“She’s going to be a force to be reckoned with,” he says, his voice soft but full of pride. “Just like her mother.”

You smile, your heart swelling as you look down at your baby girl. Her tiny fingers curl around yours, and you feel that connection—the bond between mother and child that is stronger than anything you’ve ever known. “She’ll have your strength too,” you whisper. “Your heart. And we’ll raise her together. She’ll be loved, so deeply.”

Tony nods, his hand still resting on her head, his thumb brushing over her soft skin. “We’ll raise her to be kind and wise. She’ll be a queen, but more than that, she’ll be everything this kingdom needs.”

You glance at him, seeing the love and pride etched into every line of his face. “But we need to give her a name,” you say softly, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Our daughter deserves the perfect name.”

Tony leans back slightly, his eyes narrowing in playful thought. “Hmm, I was thinking something strong. Something royal, like…” He pauses for dramatic effect. “Antonia.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Tony, no.”

He grins. “What? It has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? Queen Antonia Stark. I think she’d appreciate being named after her incredibly charming father.”

“I think not,” you tease, though the warmth in your voice makes it clear you’re in no hurry to rush this moment. “We need something unique. Something that will honor the future she’ll shape.”

You both fall silent, thinking. The room is still, save for the soft sound of your daughter’s breathing. And then, an idea comes to you. “What about Lyanna?” you suggest quietly. “After my grandmother. She was a woman of strength and wisdom, much like I hope our daughter will be.”

Tony’s eyes light up, and he nods slowly, as if tasting the name on his tongue. “Lyanna,” he repeats, his voice soft. “It’s beautiful. Just like her.”

You smile, feeling the weight of the name settle over your daughter, a name that carries history but also hope for the future. “Lyanna Stark,” you whisper. “Our daughter. Our future queen.”

Tony presses another kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as if sealing the moment in time. “She’s going to change everything,” he murmurs. “And we’ll be right there with her, every step of the way.”

You nod, your heart full as you gaze down at your newborn daughter, her tiny chest rising and falling with each breath. She is everything you never knew you needed. And in this moment, surrounded by love, you know that whatever challenges the future holds, you will face them together. The three of you—Tony, you, and your daughter—are a family. A new legacy begins with her.

And Starkhaven will never be the same again.

The day has finally come.

The throne room is alive with anticipation, a hum of excitement running through the gathered nobles, advisors, and esteemed citizens who have been invited to witness the long-awaited announcement. It’s been months since the birth of your daughter, Princess Lyanna, but for her safety, she has remained mostly hidden from the public eye, known only to a few close confidants.

Today, that changes. Today, the kingdom will meet their future queen.

You stand beside Tony at the grand entrance to the room, dressed in your royal finery. He wears his crown and the deep crimson and gold of Starkhaven, his posture straight and confident, but there’s a warmth in his eyes as he gazes at you and the tiny figure you hold in your arms. Lyanna, swaddled in silk embroidered with the royal crest, her dark hair already showing beneath her cap, is the picture of serenity, her little body tucked safely against you.

Tony leans in slightly, his hand resting at the small of your back, his voice low and affectionate. “Are you ready for this, my queen?”

You smile, glancing up at him. “I’ve been ready for months, but it’s our little one who’s the star today.”

He grins, his eyes flicking to your daughter with a mixture of pride and amusement. “She’s going to steal the hearts of the entire kingdom, you know. Just like her mother did.”

The herald steps forward to announce the arrival of the royal family, his voice booming through the hall. “Presenting Their Majesties, King Anthony and Queen Y/N of Starkhaven, and their firstborn child, the heir to the throne…”

There’s a pause, a beat of silence that seems to stretch forever.

“… Princess Lyanna Stark.”

The room erupts into a murmur of disbelief. Whispers ripple through the crowd, shock and confusion passing through the assembled faces. It’s no secret that Starkhaven has never had a queen inherit the throne. For generations, the kingdom has always been ruled by men, and the people had likely expected the king and queen’s firstborn to follow that tradition.

You take a deep breath, stepping forward with Tony at your side, Lyanna held securely in your arms. As you move to the dais, you feel the weight of centuries of tradition pressing against you, but it doesn’t crush you. Not when you know that this moment will change everything—for you, for Tony, and for your daughter.

When you reach the top, you turn to face the crowd. Tony is the first to speak.

“My people,” he begins, his voice clear and strong, echoing through the hall. “Today, we stand at the crossroads of history. You have served this kingdom with loyalty and devotion, and in return, it has been our greatest honor to serve as your king and queen.”

He pauses, glancing at you with a warm, reassuring smile before continuing. “Today, we introduce to you the heir to the throne of Starkhaven. Our daughter, Princess Lyanna.”

Another wave of murmurs sweeps through the crowd, but this time there’s something else beneath the initial shock—curiosity, intrigue, and slowly, acceptance.

Tony holds up a hand, and the room quiets once more. “For centuries, our kingdom has been ruled by kings, but that does not mean that only a son is fit to wear the crown. We are entering a new age, an age where strength and wisdom are not confined by tradition, but by the heart. And I tell you this with all the conviction of a king and a father—there is no one more suited to lead Starkhaven into the future than my daughter, your future queen.”

He looks to you, and you step forward, gently pulling back the silken cloth to reveal Lyanna’s face to the gathered crowd. Her eyes are closed, her tiny fist resting against her cheek, completely unaware of the history being made around her.

There’s a collective intake of breath, and then—slowly, as if in a ripple—applause begins. First hesitant, but then growing stronger, until the room is filled with the sound of hands clapping, feet stamping, and voices raised in approval. You see the surprise in the faces of some of the older nobles, but you also catch the bright, inspired gazes of the younger women in the room. They look at Lyanna with wide, hopeful eyes, as though seeing their own futures reflected in her.

Tony beams beside you, the pride unmistakable in his expression, and you can’t help but smile, your heart swelling with love for him and for the little girl cradled in your arms.

Then, a voice from the crowd rings out, clear and full of emotion. “Long live Princess Lyanna! Long live the future queen!”

The chant is picked up by others, and soon the entire hall is resounding with the cry: “Long live Princess Lyanna!”

It is a moment of pure triumph, a declaration that the kingdom is ready to embrace change, ready to follow a queen. You can see it in the faces of the women present, how the news of a female heir brings a light to their eyes that wasn’t there before. They whisper to one another, standing a little straighter, with a sense of pride and possibility.

You meet Tony’s gaze, and the warmth there is overwhelming. He leans in close, his voice barely above a whisper as he says, “I told you she’d change everything.”

You laugh softly, your heart full. “She’s barely a few months old, and already she’s a legend.”

Tony smiles, his eyes glinting with that familiar mischievous charm. “Of course she is. She’s a Stark.”

As the crowd continues to chant Lyanna’s name, the applause growing louder, the music begins to swell, signaling the start of a grand feast in her honor. The kingdom has embraced her, your daughter, their future queen. And though the road ahead may be filled with challenges, you know in this moment that Lyanna’s reign will be one of strength, unity, and hope.

You and Tony step down from the dais, moving through the crowd, accepting their well-wishes and smiles as they bow in respect. Lyanna stirs in your arms, her tiny eyes blinking open for the first time since the announcement. She gazes up at you with wide, curious eyes, and a soft smile spreads across your lips as you whisper, “Look, little one. Your kingdom awaits.”

It’s a quiet afternoon in the royal gardens, the air warm and filled with the scent of blooming flowers. Sunlight streams through the treetops, casting a soft, golden glow over the garden. You sit on a cushioned bench, one hand resting on the gentle curve of your belly, watching with a smile as Tony chases Lyanna through the grass.

Lyanna, now a bright and spirited toddler, squeals with laughter as her father chases her, his steps deliberately exaggerated and clumsy as he pretends to struggle to catch her. She’s dressed in a light gown, though her little crown keeps slipping as she runs, her curls bouncing with each step. Her laughter echoes through the garden, infectious and pure, and you feel your heart swell watching them together.

“Careful, Princess,” Tony calls, his voice filled with playful warmth. He’s down on one knee now, arms spread wide, beckoning her to run into his grasp. “Come here, or I’ll have to send the knights to capture you!”

Lyanna giggles, spinning in a tight circle before darting toward him. She’s full of energy and confidence, even at this age, already carrying herself with a natural grace that leaves no doubt she’ll make a fine queen one day. But right now, she’s only a little girl, wrapped up in the joy of playing with her father.

When she finally reaches Tony, he scoops her up, lifting her high above his head and spinning her around. She shrieks in delight, clutching onto his shoulders as he holds her tight. He pulls her close, dropping a gentle kiss on her forehead before lowering her back to the ground.

“Did you catch the princess?” you ask, your voice light with amusement as Tony guides her back toward you.

“I did,” he says, setting her down beside you with a flourish. “But I think she let herself get caught.” He winks at you, a playful glint in his eye, then turns back to Lyanna. “Isn’t that right, little one?”

Lyanna grins, clutching onto his hand and leaning against your knee as she gazes up at you. Her eyes—so much like Tony’s—are bright with joy, and she reaches a tiny hand out to rest it gently on your belly.

“Baby,” she says softly, her voice full of wonder. She’s been enchanted by the idea of a sibling ever since you and Tony shared the news, though you know she doesn’t fully understand it yet. But she pats your belly with a look of pride, like she’s already the protective big sister.

“Yes, love,” you say, covering her hand with yours. “There’s a baby in there. Your little brother or sister.” You glance up at Tony, and the two of you share a smile, a silent exchange of love and joy.

Tony kneels beside Lyanna, his arm slipping around her shoulders as he gazes at you, his eyes soft. “Do you think they’ll be as mischievous as this one?” he teases, pulling Lyanna in for a quick hug.

“Oh, I have no doubt,” you reply, chuckling. “With you as their father, I expect nothing less.”

Tony laughs, feigning a look of shock. “Me? Mischievous? You wound me, my queen.”

You smile, reaching out to brush a hand along his cheek. “But you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

His eyes soften, and he takes your hand in his, pressing a kiss to your palm. “No,” he says quietly, “I wouldn’t. These are the days I cherish most. Watching her grow, knowing our family is growing…” His gaze shifts to Lyanna, who’s now plucking at some flowers at your feet, utterly oblivious to the depth of her father’s love.

He watches her for a long moment, a look of pride and wonder on his face. He’s smitten with her, just as much as the rest of the kingdom. She’s the beloved princess, already adored by the people and known throughout Starkhaven for her kindness and spirited nature. You know it won’t be long before they start whispering about the future queen she’ll become, but for now, she’s just Lyanna—your daughter, his little girl.

As the sun dips lower in the sky, Tony pulls Lyanna into his lap, and she curls up against his chest, her little fingers toying with the chain around his neck. He looks over at you, his free hand resting on your growing belly, his gaze filled with a love that seems almost too vast for words.

“She’s our legacy,” he says softly, his voice a gentle rumble as he holds Lyanna close. “And so is the one on the way.” He looks at you, his eyes shining. “But you—you’re the heart of it all, my queen. You’re the one who makes this kingdom feel like home.”

Your heart warms, and you lean over, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “And you’re the one who keeps us all laughing,” you murmur, your voice filled with affection. “The one who makes it all feel safe.”

The three of you sit there in the fading light, a peaceful, perfect little family. Lyanna drifts off in Tony’s arms, her tiny hand clutching his tunic, her face nestled against his shoulder. He cradles her with infinite tenderness, his fingers tracing patterns along her back as he watches her sleep.

In this moment, with the sun setting and the future bright before you, you know that whatever may come, your family is the legacy that will endure. Starkhaven will be safe, guided by the love, strength, and laughter that have already shaped its future.

And with Tony by your side, your daughter in your arms, and another on the way, you feel like the luckiest woman in the world.

I love love royal AUs, especially the ones set in historical royalties like this one, idk why, it feels so magical I guess. If you liked the story don't forget to like, reblog and drop a follow if you want to learn more! <3

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