#regency aus you say... | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tennessoui · 2 years

Note

i miss the regency au! plss can u add something to it?

hello hello!!! this is what i wrote instead of itching my tattoo :> something that i am being so strong and brave about even if it really itches.

anyway this takes place directly after this last regency snippet--or, well. morning after. what you have to know is alpha duke anakin meet omega obi-wan at a ball and they danced all the dances together and obi-wan went home and had a heat because they were so compatible. no one thought to let jocasta, the housekeeper, know to let a strange rich alpha know about the reasons behind obi-wan's condition, she just tells him that he does not want to see him/is currently occupied. by the time his heat is over, anakin believes obi-wan did not feel the same way about him, so the next ball that they both attend, obi-wan is excited and anxious to see anakin again and anakin is aloof and cold because he believes he's been rejected.

anyway this is 3k (squick tag: a/b/o)

Obi-Wan has been sat at the piano for two hours, hands resting lifelessly on the keys. Mostly he’s here to look distracted and like he absolutely cannot join in on the conversation happening adjacent to him.

His sisters want to discuss the ball. Qui-Gon had asked, mostly off-handedly, how the occasion had gone. He’d not attended a single one since Mace declared his intent to not marry, becoming perhaps accidentally, hte perfect chaperone for his younger siblings.

The question had been something banal, like was the flutist the same as the previous few gatherings? How many notes did he miss this time?

And Bant is now glaring across the table at Aayla, who has just accused her of the crime of focusing too much of her attention on the musicians and not enough on prospective partners.

Obi-Wan, well-versed in his siblings enough to know that it’s just a matter of time before one of them mentions something about musicians and how talented they are with their hands, shuffles the papers on the piano’s stand, trying to convince himself to play something so as not to be pulled into the argument.

He doesn’t want to play anything though. He thinks he’d quite like to just…go back to his rooms and put a pillow over his face and scream. Mace has been shooting him concerned, pitying looks since the quiet carriage ride home last night. Obi-Wan has spent just as long refusing to make eye contact. All he can think about is the garden, Duke Skywalker’s face, his harsh grip—his harsher words.

You were only ever in his field of vision because I danced with you that night.

An admittance that Obi-Wan hadn’t simply dreamt of those dances, the brush of a touch this side of appropriate, the inescapable eye contact….An admittance that it had happened, with no explanation of what had changed. What had made the alpha keep his distance, look at him so coldly.

And even worse, that had been a declaration as well, that the alpha thought so little of Obi-Wan as to believe that his only worth and desirability came from external sources—from who had touched him last.

He’s more than embarrassed. He’s mortified, both at what had happened in the garden, and at his own actions prior to the dance. How nervous he’d been, how flustered. And God, what he’d said to Mace…he’d been so wrong. He’d felt so…so hopeful, wondrous. He’d remembered Anakin’s hands on his waist and he’d worried that the alpha wouldn’t like his outfit. He never thought to wonder if he’d lost the alpha’s favor all together. Now he doesn’t know if he ever had it to begin with, and it’s all he can think about. He needs to think of something else.

So the piano. He looks down at his fingers on the ivory keys.

If he had slimmer hands, would Anakin have—

No. Nothing good lies down that road. He must believe the fault to lie with the alpha and not himself, or he will not survive the pain of last night. He’d left the duke in the garden, soon after he had come to blows with Richmond. He needs to leave all thoughts of the man there amongst the roses as well.

It is…much more difficult than he thinks it should be. There’s a part of him, small and indefinable, that refuses to let go of the memory of Anakin Skywalker, that insists—no. Not yet.

It’s quite inconvenient and it’s not even been a day—

“Sir, there is a caller,” their head servant announces from the entrance of the parlor. Six heads swivel around to look at her. They hardly ever get callers, and certainly not the morning after a ball. “An alpha caller,” Jocasta adds when no one moves.

Obi-Wan looks at his sisters with a furrowed eyebrow. Perhaps it’s Bant’s musician?

No—she’d never have talked with him long enough for him to feel comfortable calling upon the manor.

Perhaps Aayla? If anyone would make an impression, it could have been her with her striking blue eyes.

He shoots a glance at Mace, who’s frowning consideringly at Depa, looking distinctly unhappy.

“Who are they calling for?” Qui-Gon asks. He’s actually put down his paper to look across the room with more interest than he’s shown since his initial flutist question.

Obi-Wan has half the mind to tell him he shouldn’t sound so entertained as a casual observer, but before he can, Duke Skywalker appears in the open door with his hands clasped neatly behind him.

“Omega Kenobi,” the duke steps forward, past Jocasta and into the room itself. He extends a hand and it’s only then that Obi-Wan realizes that he’s stood up when he’d seen Anakin.

No. The duke.

Obi-Wan does not extend his own hand. He thinks that to allow the duke to touch him now would be ruinous.

And he was so close to being ruined last night that he’d rather not risk it in the light of the morning, when he can feel his family collectively looking at him in disbelief.

Because he’s being rude to a recognized Duke or because someone of that title has come to call upon him, he doesn’t know. It’s a nonissue. The duke will not be staying for long.

“I decline,” Obi-Wan says, turning his cheek away in dismissal. “Your grace.”

“Mr. Kenobi,” the duke steps even further into the room. It’s beyond improper, especially to impose upon a home so filled to the brim with omegas without being invited. His other hand comes out from behind his back, and for a second Obi-Wan is shocked to see him holding flowers. Roses.

Obi-Wan inhales sharply. “I do not know from which part of the land you hail, your grace, but one does not simply give red roses to omegas they do not know here.”

“And what of omegas that one wishes to know better?” Anakin asks, stopping just in front of his turned face.

“There are no omegas here who wish the same,” Obi-Wan replies icily, finally turning back to look at Anakin. The alpha looks just as rakish as he had in the garden last night when he had curled his fingers—fingers that had wrapped so carefully around Obi-Wan’s waist—into a fist and struck down another man.

“I do not wish to overstep my—”

“By my calculations you have taken at least seventeen grievous oversteps, from the front door to here in front of me. Correct them post-haste.”

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin says in an undertone, “I fear that I have made some error in my manner or words that I wish to correct—”

“Last night or the night we met?”

“Would you let me finish a damn—”

“Because I fear we may have different ideas of which errors were made. On my part, I never should have—”

“You vexing creature,” Anakin cuts through his words. His tone is so low that Obi-Wan is unsure if his family has heard him. They’re standing so close that Obi-Wan can see the rise and fall of Anakin’s chest through the gaping of his shirt. “Allow me to apologize.”

“Fine,” Obi-Wan snaps, mostly because he needs to take a step back. He needs to center himself and breathe free from the duke’s intoxicating smell. “Your grace.”

Anakin’s jaw works for several long seconds before he exhales and dips into a bow. The parlor is dead silent. “I apologize for my words last night. I did not mean to cause offense.”

“But you did mean them?” Obi-Wan asks, tilting his head up to glare at the slightly taller alpha.

The alpha’s eyes darken slightly. “Richmond is not and never will be worthy of your attentions,” he finally says. The hand still holding the roses have gone white with how tightly he’s gripping the stems. A part of Obi-Wan hopes he bleeds.

He has heard enough. He cannot bear it if Anakin were to repeat all his words from last night. To be told that he’s only worth attention because of some inter-alpha rivalry—by an alpha he had fancied himself…taken with—is mortifying enough. For his family to hear it is another thing entirely.

“I have changed my mind, your grace,” he interrupts any further explanation. “I am not accepting any callers today. Unless you have more cohorts who would desire my presence if only to needle at your own ego?”

“Don’t jest about such a thing,” Anakin says sharply.

Obi-Wan raises his chin even further. “Who’s laughing?” He asks, holding eye contact until the alpha turns his head away, exhaling the beginnings of a harsh groan. Buoyed by such a victory, Obi-Wan turns his back completely on the alpha—something both rude and unwise—making short passage back to the piano and sitting gracefully.

His hands start playing a loud, lively piece without his permission but most definitely with his approval. He glares outward, unseeing, as there’s silence behind him before heavy, frustrated footsteps, leading away.

Obi-Wan is relieved. He cannot afford to be anything but relieved, not when he knows his worth so very, terribly well.

One hand trails towards the higher keys, lightening the music and the volume of it. His family is very quiet. He knows that won’t last long, but Qui-Gon has instilled within them all an appreciation of music that is terribly hard to break, despite one’s curiosity.

“Sir,” Jocasta says from the doorway of the parlor, “there’s an alpha caller.”

Obi-Wan’s fingers hit a discordant note as he spins around with a frown. Duke Skywalker is standing there with a guileless expression upon his face, holding those same damn roses loosely in his hands.

“I thought I had made myself—” Obi-Wan snarls, standing.

“Omega Secura,” Anakin’s baritone of a respectful voice cuts him off and takes the wind out of every one of his sails. “Are you accepting visitors this morning?”

Obi-Wan’s head snaps to look at his sister, who blinks between him and the alpha. Nervously, she tucks a strand of unkempt hair from her face, as if that’ll detract from the marmalade she’s got stuck above the right side of her upper lip.

The vitriol in the thought surprises Obi-Wan.

It doubles when she slowly nods her head and stands.

Anakin smiles, that dashing, beautiful grin that Obi-Wan remembers from that first night, and extends an elbow for her to hook onto.

He’s not truly interested in you, Obi-Wan thinks spitefully. He called for me first.

“I apologize,” Anakin says, as he sits upon the couch that Aayla leads him to. That’s Obi-Wan’s favorite spot. How dare he. Now it will smell of Alpha. Had the duke known? Is this a new form of torture? “I must admit I only planned out things to say to your brother, but it appears he is not accepting any callers today.”

Aayla sits down next to him. “We think he had a bad night,” she tells him, not even trying to lower her voice or hide her words behind her hand.

“Aayla,” Mace warns sharply, cementing his place as Obi-Wan’s favorite sibling, even as he accepts the roses from the alpha.

“I think you may be right,” Anakin agrees. “Tell me, does your brother’s anger burn hot or cold?”

“He is very good at both,” Aayla hums, and oh, Obi-Wan plans to show her how good at both he can be. “I suppose I always hate when he ignores me the most. I’d rather have words with him.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” the duke says. “Having just felt how sharply your brother has honed his words, I’m not sure the silence is worse.”

“You have not experienced his silence for days at a time,” Depa says without looking up from where she’s nicked Qui-Gon’s paper.

Obi-Wan’s jaw jumps, and he looks over at Anakin just in time to see the man’s own reaction to such a statement. They make eye contact from across the room. “I must disagree,” Anakin replies, and Obi-Wan’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Though I would hate to repeat the experience.”

Obi-Wan turns his head back to the piano and sits down on its bench. If they are content with talking about him as if he is not there, then so be it.

He cannot convince his fingers to move on the keys.

“What do you mean?” Aayla sounds curious now. Obi-Wan’s inner omega snarls, even though he recognizes her as his sister.

“It is of no matter,” Anakin says. “I have only come around because I sought an audience with your brother. I fear I have…that he has misunderstood something that I told him, and I find—despite…ah. Well. I find that no matter how he views me, I cannot abide the thought that his view of himself has been negatively affected by my own carelessness.”

His fingers refuse to play one note. He doesn’t want to hear this. He knows it will be ruinous of him to hear this. That if he were to hear Duke Skywalker’s words, he’d never be able to go back to a time where he hadn’t heard them.

He can’t leave though. He feels attached to his seat, staring uselessly down at his lifeless hands.

“Well,” Aayla says slowly, “you’re right. My brother appears to not be accepting callers today. But if you were to leave a message with me, I would relay it to him.”

“Oh?” The duke sounds like he’s smiling. “Word for word?”

“As if he were listening to you himself,” Aayla promises.

“Well then,” Anakin sounds as if he’s grinning now. Obi-Wan wants so much to look at the way it spreads across his face. No. Ruinous. “I have never met an omega like your brother, Ms. Secura. Or, perhaps…I have never met anyone at all, not a single person in the entire world like him. I believe he is only half-aware of how…rare, how amazing he is. There are simply…no words I’ve learned in any language that accurately define his worth—his intrinsic worth—he…bewitches and shines and glimmers and seems unaware of the way people cannot help but stare at him. I—”

The duke cuts himself off with a hum, and Obi-Wan’s eyes rise from the piano to the alpha’s face, wondering why he stopped so abruptly. It must have been what the awful alpha was waiting for, because their eyes connect once again.

“I know that we will not be...romantically entangled,” Anakin tells him gently. Obi-Wan feels every word like a blow to his heart. “That is a wish that must be respected. I would never dream of taking such liberties—” his eyes darken and one hand draws into a fist on his thigh. He too must be thinking of Richmond, the alpha in the garden. “But I would like to be friends, Obi—ah. With your brother, Ms. Secura.”

Catching himself, Anakin turns his eyes upon Aayla, breaking their eye contact for the second time today.

This time, Obi-Wan allows himself to identify the emotion he feels at the loss of such intensity. Bereft.

“I dare not take up anymore of your time, Ms. Secura,” the duke says, clearing his throat and standing. “I trust you will make sure these words find themselves into the proper ears?”

“I will,” Aayla agrees. “And if my brother were to find his anger burnt out, where should he find you, your grace?”

Obi-Wan sees the quirk of Anakin’s lips from the corner of his eyes. It’s a sort of self-deprecating smirk that sits unnaturally upon that proud bone structure.

“I’ll leave a calling card with your servant,” he tells her. “But pardon me if this time I take my hopes with me.”

He bows over Aayla’s hand, brushing the slightest of kisses on the back of it—Obi-Wan doesn’t watch, for he doesn’t care. The alpha gets halfway to the door before he changes directions completely and approaches the piano.

Obi-Wan had swung around to watch him go and now finds himself looking at a kneeling alpha, one who takes his hand in both of his and glides his lips over his knuckles.

Privately, just for the two of them, Anakin murmurs against his skin, “Burn me or freeze me, I hardly care. I would have you near me, given any choice at all.”

Then, like some sort of mirage or fantastical dream, the alpha stands and strides out the door of the parlor. Obi-Wan stares after his retreating figure, straining his ears to hear the low voices of Jocasta and the duke, before the front door opens and closes.

Blinking, he turns dumbly around, intent on perhaps finally practicing his music, only to be greeted by five wide-eyed stares.

Oh bother.

#asks #regency au #obi-wan: i can't believe the nerve of this alpha saying that this other alpha only wanted me because he saw him with me #also obi-wan to his own sister: ugh he only wanted to see you because i told him know #(you know. like a hypocrite. a bitchy #regency era hypocrite)#squick tag: a/b/o #also anakin is dropping so many hints that hes a bit grumpy that he got turned away from seeing obi-wan so many times #he's like 'uh yeah i have experienced your brother's cold silence and it broke my heart and i wrote twenty-three angsty poems about it #also my sister ahsoka banned ink wells from the house so that i would be forced to stop'

138 notes · View notes

naw-naw-honeyimgood · 6 months

Text

i know im the dumb bitch that's first thought to what fic i can write off a media is either a soulmate au or a daemon au BUT

I'm reading a harry potter fanfic (dont look at me like that 1) its a crossover and 2)fanfics can just as easily be a ceremony where we dance around a fire thats burning source material okay) and i mean

tbf i didnt CHECK but has anyone considered that a person's animagi form is just what their daemon would be? cuz the mc of this fic is about to realize that the weird-ass dog he's seen around campus is an animagus and i was like

you know, when ur writing a daemon au, one staple is that a trait for people with dog daemons is loyalty. so i thought it was kinda funny that someone who's a dog animagus was framed for disloyalty and all that

then i thought of a daemon au where there's like a whole faction of people STILL, twelve years later, debating whether sirius black was REALLY guilty. because he has a dog daemon, so there's no way he'd betray his BEST FRIENDS, who he was LOYAL to, right? ('in fact' some of that faction would mutter to each other 'that action far better befits the rat daemon whose death he was accused of' conspiracy theorists who?)

or a group thats adjacent to THEM who insist he was playing a long con from the beginning: he was planning to serve voldemort from the get-go, so he PRETENDED to have his daemon settle as a dog in order to have an in with the Order of the Phoenix, who would obviously trust someone with a dog daemon. his daemon isnt ACTUALLY a dog, the claim.

but one thing i hate about writing daemon aus is that u have to come up with a daemon for EVERYONE and then NAME them all, which i hate, so this is an open offer to anyone who actually wants to write it

i mean i guess i could write a tiny little thing??? i dunno- if i actually wrote this it would ONLY have this stuff in it so idk if it would be worth writing

(i could see conspiracy theorist parvarti or lavender tho- divintation fanatics they are 🤔)

#harry potter #fanfiction #daemon au #like i mean just saying #my favorite part about writing daemon aus is thinking on how making them a thing would change or effect the setting #like a dungeon crawler or a regency setting (ask me about those if u want ;) )#so like thered def be some wizards who are essentially psychologists just for majoring in daemon form meanings and What They Say About You #and you could make voldemort looking like a snake in his new body make actual SENSE #cuz you could make his daemon a snake and it makes more sense that his body will take on features of his soul #hell you could make nagini his daemon and say that instead of her being a horcrux shes literally just a piece of his soul in a different wa #it would show how corrupted his soul really is for having 6/7 horcruxes when he lives past his DAEMON getting decapitated #or i guess i mean- maybe his daemon died when he tried to kill harry but when he tried making nagini a horcrux #she basically became his new daemon? or some weird hybrid? idk artistic liberties and all that #and then while fawkes's lament at dumbledore's funeral was 'touching' and all that u could makes fawkes HIS daemon and they both die #not like fawkes has any story relevance after dumbedore's death anyway #idk theres options!

4 notes · View notes

wereshrew-admirer · 2 years

Note

have you read a lady for a duke by alexis hall? the premise reminds me a lot of your chine/duvall regency au (which i absolutely have not stopped thinking about, it’s so good)

i hate to say it but i haven't read a book book in at least 8 years :'( It looks good though! it's fantastic that there are books with trans characters that aren't completely exploitative out there now (<- making it obvious that i don't read anymore, i'm sure there's been plenty of good books for a long time now)

But! i HAVE been writing a lot!! the tenses are all over the place and it's got no editing, but here's something:

It had been a long time, years, since he’d tussled with a local lord or lady who decided to use his lingering accent or association with the devils of his homeland as a cheap barb against him, but Duvall still felt the tension waiting between his shoulder-blades whenever surrounded by a group likely to be bored by another drab party and desperate to wring some entertainment from him.

Always, it began with someone asking for clarification on a point he’d made in a recent paper. He should know better by now, but they usually do an alright imitation of the genuine curiosity that he craves, and his self control still isn’t where it should be for a man his age, in his position. And so more times then not he engages with them despite knowing that with each new listener that gathers around the questions will become more and more obviously designed to amuse one another with his answers, rather than to engage with his research as peers.

And so when a hush fell over the ballroom one evening and his tormentors turned their attention elsewhere, his first reaction had been relief and gratitude. His second reaction was to raid the buffet of sugary tarts and biscuits that were usually gone by the time he made his way through the crowd of party-goers to collect any food for himself.

feeling a little guilty at just how little of what he’d collected was actual food, duvall pauses and chooses a few small hors d'oeuvres in addition to the fancy desserts he’d been coveting, and takes his plate out to the balcony to eat alone. It takes him a long time to realize that the relative silence has gone on longer than he’d expect even from the most unusual distraction, and he’s almost tempted to go back inside and see for himself when lye lychen joins him in the cooling night air.

Lyke comes to stand beside him and lights a cigarette, taking a long drag before wordlessly offering it to duvall, who refuses. Lye has known him long enough to have expected no different, so duvall isn't surprised when he instead uses the reach of his hand into duvall’s space to snatch a pastry from duvall’s plate. Duvall doesn’t even bother complaining, only does his best to fix Lyke with an unamused stare as his friend blows a smoke ring and, always a showoff, tosses the pastry through it and into his mouth.

He chews briefly before grinning at duvall, his teeth crooked, unevenly eroded gums making them appear larger than they should be in some places - he’s an infuriatingly charming man and duvall’s air of annoyance is hard to maintain.

“So!” lyke says, cheerful, “You not interested in meeting the newest member of our most exclusive-est high society?”

Duvall rolls his eyes, “i doubt it. Why - should i be?”

“Dunno!” Lyke eyes duvall’s plate and for a moment duvall considers pulling it away from him, but sighs and offers it out instead, “Some mystery military type, fresh back from San Fiel and looking exactly as you’d expect someone to look after spending time in a place that our lovely working folk call the blood fields.” his hand hovers over the plate, index finger waving in circles as if playing an eenie-meenie-minie-moe game in his head before picking his next treat - a strip of salami rolled around smoked cheese.

“Sounds enchanting” duvall deadpans, looking in through the tall glass doors as if he could see anything past the wall of bodies crowded round the dance floor, “where’s Es? Shouldn’t you be hanging off her arm at this time of night?”

“She’s getting the scoop, wouldn’t want to miss out on the freshest gossip, would she?” He punctuates the word scoop with a dipping motion of his hand, taking another savory snack that duvall is secretly grateful not to have to eat.

‘Oh, no. definitely couldn’t have that” Duvall doesn’t have to try hard to put on a flat tone now, his disinterest genuine, “would hate to not hear all about the latest duke’s son returning from his glory campaign. I would never wish her a fate so cruel as that”

Lyke laughs and punches duvall lightly on the shoulder. Duvall laughs along with him, appreciative of his lack of decorum. Lye grins down at him and they both notice the conspicuous piece of something stuck between his teeth at the same time. before duvall has the chance to point it out lyke sucks at it loudly and duvall reconsiders his take on lyke’s manners as the tall man finishes picking it free and flicks whatever it was out over the railing and into the garden below. he continues as if nothing happened, “nah, this guy looks pretty gnarly. They’re covered in an annoying amount of medals but it looks like there’s a decent chance at least a few of them were earned”

Lyke leans down and into duvall’s space, opening one eye wide and squeezing the other shut, “got some wicked face injury, i can’t tell if his eye is glass or what but it looks pretty sick.”

“Sick” duvall echoes, unimpressed.

“Hell yeah, i actually am pretty excited to talk to them, you can just tell there are some good stories rattling around up in there” Lyke stands back up and tapps his head. His smile softens around the edges and duvall hears the doors behind him open.

the lady Es comes to stand between them, Lyke taking a few quick steps backwards to give her space to rest her arms neatly on the railing. She smiles primly at lyke before grinning at duvall, speaking low and conspiratorial in their native tongue, “i’ve got some information that might actually interest you: the man has no family, he doesn’t even pretend to have a claim to any local house and will only give a first name”

Lyke leans his chin on her head and she tips her face up, switching to common as if they didn’t all know that Lyke understood Aldominian perfectly well. Her voice is rich and smooth, but her smile is small and sharp, “they claim only to be a child of Eastern Folly - of Blackwick - and says their ties to the land grant him as much a right to be here as any of us.”

Lyke laughs, “as if anyone would ever try to throw a guy like that out”

“His sword does hang openly at his side - true. But i think the reason it’s unlikely that that anyone would challenge them is because to succeed would be to rid us all of the most interesting thing to happen in years, and we wouldn’t want that”

Duvall releases a long breath, trying to mentally prepare himself for a season of exhausting conversations, “no, we wouldn’t want that”

chapter one

It might have been petty of him, but duvall was privately satisfied that he’d thus far managed to avoid any contact with the general that had caught the attention of every person of class in town. He hadn’t even seen them let alone been introduced, and making a game of it was about the only thing keeping him sane at the weekly parties he was obligated to attend, for the talk was inescapable:

The issue of their name remained. If anything the general had doubled down on his insistence that their ties to the land were enough to add value to their name - their singular name. “Chine” was the most that was given and the most that any had ever heard, but he was well-recognized among returning soldiers who were bursting with pride to discover that they were grown from the same stock as their admired leader.

Indeed, whenever asked, these soldiers all but fell over each other in their excitement to brag of the impossible feats of strength and fortitude that they’d witnessed from Chine on the battlefield. They didn’t seem at all interested in the obvious question of why no-one remembered him from their civilian lives prior to joining the army. Chine wasn’t so much older than the majority of those returning from war that none should possess stories of their youth - and yet eager as they were to associate themselves with the general, not one of those who knew him out on the bloodfields could tie themselves to him in blackwick county.

The story that each end every one of them did tell was thus: it was said that in their first assignment as a head officer Chine had by either luck or improbable reflexes dodged a bullet that should have blown his brains out. It had torn through their face instead, but instead of seeking medical treatment as would any reasonable man, the general had actually run ahead to join the lowest of their rank to lead them all to victory.

In the wildest versions chine breaches enemy lines to find the specific individual who had fired the bullet that hit them. So-called witnesses take great joy in describing the terror in the enemy soldier’s eyes as chine snarled in their face, spraying them with his own blood before killing them bare handed. One person, a drunk, swore that chine had bitten the enemy soldier’s face clean off in retaliation, chewing and spitting the flesh back at them as they bled out on the muddy ground - That account was generally dismissed as gross exaggeration, but chine themself had yet to deny it.

publicly, chine allowed fact and fiction to mix freely, it seemed. every month one or two young people would come home on leave and bring with them new stories of the general’s success. many were believable if exaggerated, but at least a quarter of them were so ridiculous that duvall only knew their endings if lyke or es recounted them to him later, for if he didn’t walk away when people spread such falsities he’d make enemies of those enjoying themselves and he did at least have enough restraint to avoid that.

The only part of it duvall put any faith on was that the general, at some point, had been shot in the face, and that his refusal of swift medical intervention had caused an infection that had nearly killed them. It had cost them the sight in their eye and had almost certainly left them with quite a bit of nerve damage, too. That the ordeal had also won them the hearts of all under his command also appeared true, though duvall struggled to understand why anyone would idealize a fool too stubborn to accept help.

The thought of it scared him a little, if he’s honest. Duvall is far from squeamish, but a man so reckless and willing to die - how many under them had suffered for it, too? Those who had commissions that kept them from the front lines and who survived to praise Chine did so with what sounded like genuine admiration, but Duvall’s stomach churned thinking of the common folk that were conscripted into the war, held to the same expectations of sacrifice as those who had joined willingly.

And so, when forced to listen to the third story in a row of some miraculous victory chine had won, the thing that most reliably kept his mouth shut (there’s simply no way that an entire battalion surrendered at the sight of chine, no matter how frightening he might be) was the satisfaction that at the very least there was one person here who would give this terrible man neither respect nor common courtesy, and that it should be him.

Eventually, Lyke caught on to his game. The good lady Es was explaining to them both how clever the general was, really, to stick to the story of having no name of his own - the temptation was that if he would bring no name to a match, any marriage would result in the spouse’s family absorbing all of their status and apparent wealth without diluting the strength of their line. They were a gift with no strings attached - except for the general themself, who was intimidating, to say the least. Even this, though, gained him suitors - for few young nobles could resist a challenge

“Or it would be clever, if they appeared interested in courting” Es closes her fan and taps it against her lip, considering, “he accepts dances readily enough, but rarely keeps the same partner twice. I suppose they could be fanning the flames on purpose, but they’re exceptionally hard to read, I-”

“Our dear friend duvall doesn’t want to hear about it, Es. can’t you see you’re just making him insufferably smug about being immune to the captain’s… well, charm might not be the word here..”

“gravity?” Es suggests, “that would certainly describe the pull we all feel to his story, if not to the general himself.” she smiles at duvall, almost pitying, “and it would describe something worth being proud of resisting”

“sure, sure. the word isn’t really important anyway,” lyke says, “ it’s that mr duvall thinks he’s above us because he claims to be unimpressed.”

“i never said that”

“but you think it!” lyke laughs, “it’s all a ruse though, i think you’re just afraid of him.” he looks at es, grinning, “i think he’s just afraid of him, don’t you?”

es takes a moment to consider duvall, who struggles to figure out the appropriate expression to make that would communicate that fear has nothing to do with it, but aware that es would be looking for signs of bluster, and faltering because of it.

“i think lord duvall is within his rights to focus his attention elsewhere.” she says, slowly, “how is your research coming along?”

lyke groans loudly, but duvall instantly relaxes, grateful to have a friend in her.

—————-

“ok but did you see the look on Dayward’s face when he realized chine had left the floor as soon as they passed him off? he came back ‘round and just stood there! if he wasn’t already red, he’d-

“no”

“no?”

“no, i didn’t see.” duvall doesn’t turn from the buffet, looking his best as if he cared which olive he was going to pretend to enjoy eating later, “i haven’t cared much for dancing lately.”

“huh”

lyke is making the face he does when he’s trying not to laugh; lips stretched wide but pressed together, wobbling at the edges like his smile is about to burst out. duvall puts down his olive, sighing, “what?”

“i just thought you’d find that funny”

“oh, sure.” duvall takes his plate and walks to his favorite hiding place, lyke following close behind, “it is funny. and i’m grateful that he’s managed to keep everyone’s attention this long”

the door opens out onto a balcony that’s been used for storage. it’s got the same large glass doors and is no smaller than the rest, but the piles of empty pots and gardening supplies block one door completely and fill about half of the space.

duvall reaches into one of the larger pots and pulls out a book. he grins and waives it at lyke, “the peace and quiet has been wonderful for my nerves”

lyke huffs a laugh, “you’re going to regret it if you hole yourself up like this. remember how long it took you to get the steps to <dance name> right after you got back from your last excursion?”

“excursion” duvall glares at lyke, hands flexing on his book, “it was an expedition, and one you saw profit from! your last paper would have been nothing without the artifacts i -!”

“-woa now, i never said i wasn’t grateful. thank you, duvall.” lyke leans on the balcony, looking back into the party, “i only mean to remind you that your eccentricities, while endearing to me, are in danger of eclipsing your good reputation.”

“Thanks. I really needed that reminder.”

“I’m just looking out for you! Showing you i care!”

“I-”

The unblocked door creeks open and es leans out. She’s smiling and her hair is partially falling about her shoulders, “would one of you escort me to the dance floor? I’m afraid my dear mr Ode has had enough of the floor tonight but the music is fantastic and i should like to be out in it.”

Duvall feels the dreadful certainty that he’s been trapped, but Lyke speaks up before he can, yawning dramatically, “Oh i’m afraid i’m much too tired tonight Es, but Duvall was just talking about feeling left out this season.”

Es glances between them

#asks #chine/duvall regency au #my writing #WIP...thursday #i would really love a day of uninterrupted allowed-to-write time........#or uninterrupted allowed-to-anything time hahahaha #but thank you anon #i struggle to maintain conversations but periodic reminder that i'm not stranger-shy and am happy to talk to anyone most of the time #which is to say i'd love to exchange thoughts and ideas whenever

3 notes · View notes

crushcandles · 2 years

Note

😂 What’s the funniest comment someone has left on a fic of yours? and 🙅‍♀️ What is one trope you refuse to ever write?

😂 What’s the funniest comment someone has left on a fic of yours?

First off, me, non-local idiot who reblogged this very ask game: why cry-laughing emoji?? WHY IS JIN LAUGHING AT ME AUGH WHAT HAVE I DONE.

I am clearly your smartest friend. As for the actual question, I'm always tickled by the you are personally attacking me how dare you fic comments. The I stayed up too late because of yous, the I skipped class because of this storys, the I hate you I love yous. People can get so creative with them and the playful viciousness people load them with always make me laugh.

🙅‍♀️ What is one trope you refuse to ever write?

The lowball on this is something like high school AU. I'm 9000 years old (how do you do, fellow kids) and no one even wants that from me, so easy pass. The more interesting answer, and one that makes me wince because people absolutely love them, is Regency and/or Victorian AUs. I'm not mad about them, the tide has just never come in on them for me. Love to see them make other people happy, but almost never read them and am never going to write one (and you wouldn't want me to. Me vs most historical knowledge is a war I've been losing for years).

By royal decree, ask me these fun emoji writing questions!

#thank you for ask even if i'm a goofus #crushcandles answers YOUR asks #samstree #💕#i hate saying never to stuff but after 20 years of going oh! no thank you! 😬 when someone offers me a regency/victorian AU #it's time to admit defeat #i can sometimes convince myself to like things by writing them #(forever tantalized by answering 'how would /i/ do this?')#but i'm too dumb to write one of these AUs #so i will remain forever on the outs #sorry 2 anyone hanging onto hope i'll hit my historical AU period

5 notes · View notes

lighthouseborn · 6 months

Text

tag drop 3

arc i — the dawn of a new day waking (youth. )

arc ii — never give in never give it up ( teen. )

arc iii — as the dead man's tale is told ( movie. )

arc iv — i have learned to travel light ( travel. )

arc v — love them through and through and through ( shipwreck. )

arc vi — henry turner: girl dad. i don't know if this is a real verse or not.

alt i — the city that sank into the sea ( port royal. )

alt ii — mysterious fathoms below ( the carinae sea. )

au — a wild thing may say wild things ( regency / bridgerton. )

au — & do the next right thing ( detroit: become human. )

au — the seeds fall far from this earthbound town ( descendants. )

au — chase the sky into the ocean ( high fantasy. )

au — with you in my heart i can bear everything ( his dark materials. )

au — the wind will set me racing ( modern. )

au — the ghosts that we knew ( modern ii. )

#drop.#arc i — the dawn of a new day waking (youth. )#arc ii — never give in never give it up ( teen. )#arc iii — as the dead man's tale is told ( movie. )#arc iv — i have learned to travel light ( travel. )#arc v — love them through and through and through ( shipwreck. )#alt i — the city that sank into the sea ( port royal. )#alt ii — mysterious fathoms below ( the carinae sea. )#au — a wild thing may say wild things ( regency / bridgerton. )#au — & do the next right thing ( detroit: become human. )#au — the seeds fall far from this earthbound town ( descendants. )#au — chase the sky into the ocean ( high fantasy. )#au — with you in my heart i can bear everything ( his dark materials. )#au — the wind will set me racing ( modern. )#au — the ghosts that we knew ( modern ii. )

0 notes

haruchuiyo · 10 days

Text

struck with love

the duke and you. will the relationship blossom into something more than just a friendship?

content: SUGGESTIVE! + regency au + duke!blade + duke’s daughter!reader (you’re not blades daughter!) + fem!reader + blade gets called yingxing + pining + second chance + heartbreak + groveling + make out + loads of kisses + fluff + jing yuan and the princess cameo (same characters from my jing yuan fic) + happy ending!!

word count: 11k (I got to into it but it’s a fast fast read I promise!)

hope you enjoy ><

—

The Duke of Stellaron.

This is the first time you’ve seen the man in the flesh aside from hearing about him. He was walking up from behind Prince Jing Yuan. He bows to the princess beside you before addressing Jing Yuan before he stands beside him, you give him a curt bow with a gentle smile.

“Your Grace.” You address him as he bows curtly back at you. Then you see how he looks between you and the princess. The princess immediately figured what was going on.

“Your Grace, this is my most beloved friend. The daughter of the Duke of Navalia.”

“My lady.” You can’t help the lingering look you give him. He’s a handsome man, quite stoic and almost devoid of any emotions except from the polite look on his face. As he chats to Jing Yuan, you see how he glances back at you and your eyes slightly widens when yours meet his crimson eyes before hastily looking away.

“So, Your Highness. How does it feel to have been crowned as a prince?” You throw the question at Jing Yuan who started to look bashful. You grin as you hear the princess, who’s also his wife, giggle beside you. As you grinned, you failed to notice a pair of crimson eyes laying their sight upon how your big smile lightens up your face, thinking how beautiful you are.

“It certainly feels weird.” Jing Yuan says and you hear the princess dramatically gasp from beside you. “That’s not what you said yesterday, my love. I thought you were ecstatic.” She lightly pouts and Jing Yuan immediately grasps onto her hand.

“Of course I’m ecstatic my heart, but I can’t deny it feels weird to be addressed as ‘Your Highness’ than the title of my military rank.” His voice was gentle and the way he kissed his wife’s knuckles softly, has you envy their relationship. Their love was truly so fated. As you glance away from their interaction, you look at the Duke who was quiet the entire time.

“How’s you stay here in Xianzhou, Your Grace?” You ask, feeling shy when you see him look at you. He gives a light nod.

“Quite different from the almost quiet live in Stellaron.” He responds, his reply making you giggle. You nod your head. “Xianzhou is quite-“ you pause as you think of a word.

“Lively.” You hear the Duke's deep voice. You look at him and nod in agreement. “Quite indeed.” You smile at him, finding him quite lively as well.

“Have you been to Stellaron, my lady?” You don’t know why you felt surprised he asked you a question about yourself, but you did. But you found yourself quite liking it.

“I have actually. Though I suppose you weren’t there.” You ponder on if you actually met him the time you visited Stellaron. “I’m sure I’d remember you if I was there.” He lightly chuckles.

“I feel flattered, Your Grace.” You grin at him and you missed how his eyes widened when you flashed him your big smile. Looking away from him, you see how the princess and prince started walking away, arms locked in together, chatting amongst themselves.

“It seems our pair of monarchs have left us.” You playfully sigh before holding onto a little bit of your dress to rise the gown up a bit, missing the way the duke’s eyes lowered themselves to glance at your legs.

“Let’s hurry shall we?” You ask the Duke as he looks at you for a moment before nodding his head.

—

After that day of your first meeting with the Duke of Stellaron, you found yourself enjoying his stoic presence. But he isn’t as stoic as you thought he’d be, he’s very lively in his own way. Randomly saying some sassy remarks which has you gasping and lightly swatting his arm, his arm he so offered for you to hold onto. Or if you didn’t know well enough, you’d miss how he is actually pulling jokes when he sounds so serious.

“Yingxing!” You waved at him as you lightly skipped away from the princess to him.

“My Lady.” He greets you with a smile you’d grown to love. “Ugh, not again! I told you to call me by name.” You pout. You hear him lightly chuckle as you see him offer his arm to you. And then you hear him call you by your name, which makes a smile appear on your face, joy so evident.

Gratefully, you place your hand on his arm and you two start walking away from Jing Yuan and the princess, unbeknownst to you two, missing the way they look at you two with a knowing look on their face.

“So tell me, why are you called Blade?” You ask. “I sometimes hear Jing Yuan calling you that, but never had the opportunity to ask why.” You explain to him and Blade sighs. You look at him confused.

“It’s a nickname I received during the military training, which I was so unfortunate to have at the same time as Jing Yuan.” He says and you giggle.

“Did you perhaps do something cool?” You grin at him and he lets out a breathy laugh.

“According to Jing Yuan and the others, me hitting bullseye ten times in a row with blades, was very cool.” He tells you and you gasp.

“Bullseye ten times in a row? Yingxing, that’s extremely amazing!” You squeeze his arms and he chuckles. “Well, if you say so. Then perhaps it is.”

“I’m sure you did many more amazing stuff with blades.” You tell him and he nods. “I did actually. I was quite proficient in using blades.” He remarks. “And swords as well.” He adds on and you giggle.

“I’m smelling some foul stench of flaunting here.” You tease him and he grins at you, which makes your heart flutter. He looks so much more beautiful like this than the stoic demeanour he always puts on. You look one last time at his pretty smile before looking away, pointing at some nearby big bird flying by, trying to ignore this butterfly mess feeling in your body.

—

The Princess was hosting a ball to welcome the new season. And here you were standing amongst the punch drinks, deciding wether you should pick the raspberry flavour or the watermelon one. Though the way the watermelon punch drinks was decorated is quite cute with the small bites of the fruit sitting atop the rim of the glass.

“I see you’re having a difficult time.” You hear a familiar voice which instantly makes your heartbeat go faster and the fluttery mess in your body go off again. You turn to look at him and as soon as you do, a lovely smile appears on Blade’s face as he softly says ‘hi’ and calls you by your name in that soft deep voice of his.

“Hi, Yingxing.” You say shyly, thinking of the way he greeted you.

“I’d recommend the watermelon one, it’s quite delicious.” At his words, you turn surprised then a quiet laugh bursts out from you. “Then I shall pick that one.” You tell him as you grab onto the watermelon punch glass.

“When you’re done drinking, may I have a dance with you?” You hear him ask and you felt streams of joy spread inside your body. This is gonna be your first dance with the man you’ve had the opportunity to get to know better over the past few weeks.

“You may.” You gracefully accept his invitation.

As you chat amongst yourselves, sipping on the last bit of your punch, you place the empty glass on a passing waiter's metal board. And as you do that, you hear the musicians change the music. You look at Blade, who then looks at you with his hand reached out.

He takes you to the dance floor. As you stand in front of him, you place your left hand on his shoulder and the other one holding his left hand. Then you feel his right hand on your back and you can’t help the slight shiver that comes up in your body. It doesn’t help the fact your gown is kind of backless and you feel his bare hand on the place between your neck and upper back.

You glance up at him then he leads you, moving to the steps of how waltz go. Left foot back, right foot to the side and step forward. The dance suddenly making you nervous by the close proximity, you almost squeeze your hold on his shoulder. You breathe deeply as you look at his chest instead of him, if you did that, he’d definitely be able to hear your quick heartbeats.

“Look at me.” You hear him softly whisper and you do. You do as he say and when you look at him, you wish you didn’t.

How dare he be so beautiful? How dare he look at you with those beautiful crimson eyes? The audacity he has to be so beautiful in anything he does, even in the way he is leading the dance.

“You okay?” He hear him ask and you smile. “Yes, I was just thinking about how we should do two more dances.” You say, lying through your teeth, feeling like you’d rather do this than tell him of your actual thoughts.

“Two more dances?” He asks, almost bewildered. “Yes, or perhaps, three more if you’d like it to be.” You grin at him as he sighs.

“My lady.” He says with almost a stern voice as he tilts his head.

“Your Grace.” You mimicked the way he said but a little more mischievously while also tilting your own head.

“Three it is.” He sighs out while smiling and you grin at him. “No chance to back out, Your Grace, it was you who invited me for a dance after all.” You lightly stick out your tongue to tease him.

He lets out a quiet laugh to hide the way he was looking at your mouth, how moist your lower lip seems to be after you stuck your tongue out at him. To hide the fact that if he leans in a bit closer, he could touch and taste you with his own mouth. He lightly shakes his head and leads you to the final part of the dance before the music changes.

The next two dances was more upbeat and lively, spinning and dancing with the other people in the ballroom before you went back to your original dance partner. As you do, the music changes, to a more intimate and slower tune and you suddenly felt nervous, feeling how your laugh from the previous dances dissipate when you see how Blade is wrapping his arms around your waist. And you know he didn’t fully place his hands on your body, but instead held his own hands and placed his intertwined hands on you.

His arms around your body does something to you. Streams of nervousness and also joy shoots up your body. You feel your hands tremble and almost sweat as you place them on his neck. You avoid looking at him now. Cause this time if you did, he would definitely hear how fast your heartbeat is.

You look at anywhere but his face, this time at his chest again, specifically the white shirt below his black suit jacket. You swear you could see his chest heave up and down quite harshly, his shirt straining against his body. Subconsciously, you slightly leaned your head forward and lightly breathed in his scent. He smells so good, like a man.

And then you still in your actions. Because you felt one of his hands press down on your lower back and lightly push you into him. Softly gasping, you look up at him to find him looking at you. You know that he saw what you’ve done by the way his eyes flickers all over your face before stopping to stare at your lips and you do the same. Your lips slightly part and you see how Blade subtly licks his mouth, his eyes turning almost hazy. You feel yourself almost squeeze his neck and him digging lightly onto your back with his hands.

When the music stops, it’s like you two got out of a trance and looked at each other with surprise evident on your faces. You hastily unclasp your hold on his neck, swearing you could see your handprint on his neck, but brushing it off as something your mind made up to scare you off. You back away from Blade, in turn making him lose his hold on your body, which you so dearly miss though you can sense a phantom lingering feel of his touch on your body.

“Your Grace.” You give a curt bow before walking away, not bothering to let him address you as well.

You walked hastily away, breathing heavily, you ignored your best friend, the princess, who called out for you in worry. You shake your head at her, brushing it off as some kind of problem with the heat and walked past her too before reaching a balcony far away from where the ball was hosted.

Reaching the thick marble fence of the balcony, you grip onto it as you breathe out heavily. You close your eyes as you soak in the summers night cold air then you think about how good Blade smelt, his hands on your body and the way he looked at you with such desire in his eyes. A strange feeling builds up in your abdomen and you try to fan yourself with your hand when you hear steps from behind you. Turning around, there’s the man who’s the object of your thoughts.

“Oh.” Is what you could say. You see Blade close the balcony doors before facing you.

“Care to tell me what that was about?” He asks, he didn’t sound gentle but almost frustrated.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.” You blabber off more apologies then your eyes land on his neck and you do see a faint hint of your hand print there. And you immediately take a step towards him, reaching a hand out to touch his neck.

“My apologies, I shouldn’t have squeezed your neck, I left a mark. I’m so sorry.” Feeling panic build up inside you as you touch his neck, feeling his skin on your fingers tips, a larger hand wraps around your wrist and you feel a hand on your lower back, pulling you in to him again.

“Your Grace.” You softly mumble.

“Yingxing.” He says.

“Yingxing.” You repeat softly, tears welling up in your eyes. “I’m sorry.” You tell him again.

“You’re not at fault at here, I did something too.” His voice is soft as you feel him rub on your lower back. His hold on your wrist loosens as he goes to hold onto your face. You lean your face into his touch, nuzzling into his palm, ignoring the way his breath hitches.

“I don’t know what to make of what transpired between us.” You hear him say and you dryly chuckle. “Me neither, but in my case, it makes sense to me.”

“What do you mean by that?” His brow are raised and he clearly looks confused. You smile sadly at him. You place a hand over his palm that’s holding your face.

“I have feelings for you.” You confess softly. Blades eyes slightly widens in surprise, he didn’t expect to hear that at all.

“Feelings?” He repeats, speechless.

“I’m in love with you, Yingxing.” You blurt out, seeing how he’s still shocked and quiet at your confession. “I don’t know when it started, but it did someday. I catch myself thinking about you a lot, I want a lot more from you. I want to be with-“

“I’m gonna have to refuse.”

“—you.” you finish your sentence then you comprehended his words. “Refuse?” Your heart beats fast this time, but for other reasons. Blade’s hold on your face and back lowers themselves to beside his own body and he looks at you with that stoic look you saw the first time you met him.

“Why? what—“

“I’m not interested in you like that.” He sounds so mean. So mean. He can’t mean that. This is not the Yingxing you got to know. Tears well up in your eyes and you miss the way his hands form into tight fists by his side. Vision blurry, you wipe your eyes but the tears are streaming down still.

“A ‘no’ would’ve sufficed but you had to add the part with me in it.” You chuckle, not being able to believe his words. He sounds rude. You wipe off the remaining tears with a nod to your face and exhale deeply.

“I understand, Your Grace. I’m sorry to have taken up so much of your time. Have a lovely night.” You give him one last polite bow before leaving him alone in the balcony.

Blade stood there alone, staring off at the view in front of him. He’d usually say something about it. With you. But now it looks bleak and gloomy. His hands still in a fist, he feels agonised. But he was honest. Yes, he was honest about his feelings. He does not feel the same way as you. No. He totally does not want something more from you. No no. He does not see a future with you. He definitely doesn’t miss your touch on him. Yes. He was honest.

Very honest.

—

He was lounging on the porch with Jing Yuan. Trying to bask in the heat of the summer, he cannot do that. He hears your laugh, the way your eyes shape into cute moon crescents and the way your nose scrunches up as you throw your head back laughing. His body itches to move towards you but he can’t. He remembers the time he approached you, he was met with a demeanour of yours he did not like. You were so polite, extremely so. Like you two never had conversed before this or that the night in the balcony didn’t happen.

Blade taps his fingers in a fast pace against the armrest of the chair he’s sitting on. He hears Jing Yuan groan from beside him.

“Can you stop that already?” He asks exasperated. “No.” Blade shortly says as his eyes follow your every move, how you run after your best friend in some silly game.

“You know, you could join them if you want to.” He hears Jing Yuan say and he stops his tapping to look at him. “What?” He asks.

“You can join them if you want to, Yingxing.” Jing Yuan repeats what he said. But all he could think of is the way you used to call him ‘Yingxing’ as well but now it’s ‘Your Grace’.

He hates himself for that.

“There’s no need.” He looks away from his friend to look at you once more and begins his tapping once again. He hears Jing Yuan sigh.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

“It’s clearly not nothing by how my wife’s best friend, whose company you clearly enjoy, has been avoiding you like the plague.” Jing Yuan points out. Blade sighs. He can’t hide anything from his friend and his sharp eyes. He wasn’t a general for nothing.

“I rejected her.”

“What?” Jing Yuan almost jumped out of his seat. He looks bewildered at his friend. “You rejected her? I thought—“

“Enough. It is done and I cannot do anything about it now.” Blade cuts his friend off. Clearly knowing what he’s gonna say.

“You’re lying to yourself, Yingxing.” Jing Yuan starts. “There’s clearly ways to fix this.” He adds on.

“What ways? All I’m gonna do is hurt her again and again, and I don’t want that. Hurting her pains me.” Blade retorts with gritting teeth. “I felt agonised the day I refused her feelings. Seeing her cry, oh believe me, those blades my nickname is derived from, I wanted to hit a bullseye on myself more than ten times. It’s awful seeing her hurt. So no, I can’t do anything about this.” Now he’s gripping onto the armrest, feeling envious of the princess who gets to laugh freely with you. His heart aches.

“Yingxing, you’re in love with her, aren’t you?” Jing Yuan asks softly.

“It’s too late.” His voice wavered.

He sees Jing Yuan step up from his chair from his peripheral vision. Then feels his friend pat his shoulder.

“It’s never too late, my friend.”

—

Ever since the day you played a game of tag with your best friend the princess and saw her husband approach you two, leaving Blade alone. It’s like something switched in Blade’s brain.

He’s been there every time you needed help. Or anything of that sort. Small simplistic stuff like dropping your handkerchief, he’s there to pick it up and give you his instead of making you use your dirty handkerchief. But you refused that.

Or when you were going down the stairs and held up your dress but almost tripped, he was there to catch you. Though if you tripped, you’d land on grass not stone. You’d be fine.

So what’s wrong with him?

Just now, he’s ordering a dessert from the servant, your favorite, during an outing with the princess and the prince. You look at your best friend confused with your hands in a fist. She knows what happened, so all she does is shaking her head lightly while patting your fist softly. “It’s okay, just a dessert.” She had whispered.

It’s infuriating. It’s like he’s completely ignoring the wordless request of space you asked of him.

After a luncheon one day, you took a walk in the park with the princess.

“It’s hard to ignore him.” You sigh. The princess giggles. You look at her irritated. “I didn’t know my suffering was so fun to you, Your Highness.” You poke at her side making her giggle again.

“Oh it’s not like that, stop it!” She giggles still. “But why not give him a chance? He’s clearly trying to mend the pain he caused.” The princess softly said. You shake your head.

“There’s no point. He clearly said he is not interested in me. Me.” You point out. His words still hurt to this day. He had to add in the ‘you’.

“What if he has a reason. Did you ask him?” At her words, you quiet down. You shake your head lightly. “No I didn’t, but that doesn’t give him an excuse to hurt me like that.” You pout. You feel your best friend gently pat your cheek.

“He’s invited us over to Stellaron for a weekend, so maybe have a talk with him then, alright?” You sigh but nod anyway. Your best friend does have a point. Ignoring the man and acting like he’s nothing but just a Duke to you, won’t do any good. It’s just leaving the mess to slowly get bigger and bigger.

Switching to a different topic than just crying over a man who rejected you, you speak of something with the princess when you suddenly feel how the wind got so strong it blew your hat off your head, making it fly away. Your best friend gasps and you giggle as you run to retrieve it.

Then it dropped on the grassy ground near someone’s shoes and as you look up to see who it is, it’s Blade. The man who rejected you. Feeling your giggles and smile vanish, you see him pick up your hat for you.

“My lady.” He lightly bows his head. You nod yours. “Your Grace.” You gently say. You see him look at your hat before looking at you, then he hands it over. Taking it from him, you don’t miss the way your fingers brushed against each other and you held your breath before letting it out slightly when you put the hat on your head.

“Thank you. Have a nice day, Your Grace.” You give him a curt smile, feeling your heart ache as you walked away. Unbeknownst to you, the man who rejected your love for him, stared at your form longingly with an ache in his own heart. Little did you know, he saw your smile drop and your giggle vanish as soon as you saw him. He felt like his soul got crushed in pieces by a hammer and that same hammer crushed the pieces into more pieces.

To think he used to make you smile despite his stoic demeanour, the way a beautiful smile lightened up your lovely face and a beautiful laugh escape your pretty mouth. Just for it to turn polite like he was any other man of polite society.

He wasn’t honest after all.

—

Arriving at the Stellaron mansion after a day ride in the carriage, you’re exhausted. You step out from the carriage with the help of your footman. You walk towards the carriage your best friend and her husband is sitting in. As soon as you arrive, they walk out. You hastily grab onto your best friends arm as she startled in surprise.

“Sorry but I can’t walk up alone.” You whisper to her and she giggles. You hear Jing Yuan lightly groan.

“And now I can’t have my wife to myself.” He sighs in disappointment. You see your best friend swat Jing Yuan shoulder before he grabs her hand to gently place a kiss atop her gloved knuckles.

Then you look up and see Blade at the top of the stairs at the entry to his mansion. He looks good. So good, the suns beaming down on his hair beautifully, showcasing his blue hair. He walks down the stairs to greet us all.

“Your highnesses, welcome to the Stellaron mansion.” Blade bows curtly to Jing Yuan and the princess. They thank equally as grateful then Blade’s eyes lands on you. Heartbeat quickens in pace as usual in any proximity with that man, especially when he looks at you.

“My lady, I hope you enjoy your stay here once more.” He walks towards you, taking your gloved hand in his own, pressing a soft kiss atop your knuckles. Your breath hitches and you give an awkward smile, unbeknownst to how Blade’s hand stretched after he let go.

“I shall, Your Grace. Thank you for extending the invitation to me.” You give a curt nod and he smiles at you.

“Of course.” His eye lingered on you for far too long, you’d think he wanted to say something more but he looked away.

Then he leads you all up the stairs and you walk behind the men with your best friend, arm looped in with hers.

“Oh that man is enamoured with you.” You hear your best friend whisper. You frown at her. “No he isn’t, stop putting ideas in my head.” You shake your head and she giggles. “Oh so you have thought the same.” She does a ‘ohhh’ sound as she teases you and you just sigh at her.

When you arrive in the guest bedroom, you flop down on the bed and stare up at the wall. The maids in the bedroom arrange your suitcases and a bath. You tap your fingers on the mattress pondering on how to approach Blade and talk about, no, more like discuss with him. In a civil proper manner.

Then you sigh, not coming up with any ideas. Then you hear a knock on the door and you tell the maids you take care of it. When you open the door, you lightly get surprised.

“Your Grace.” You say breathily, not expecting him to be there. It’s as if he knew you were thinking about him.

“Just coming to ask if the bedrooms alright and to your liking.” Blade asks, his face looking expectant and you almost wanted to burst out into laughter but decided to spare your laugh for him.

“Oh yes, it is fine. Very fine indeed!” You tell him as politely as you could but probably failed miserably. There was a hint of amusement in his eyes as he nods his head. “Then I’m glad.” Is he all he says before he turns quiet and his gaze linger on you once more. It’s quite worrying, the only time he did this was the day you met him for the first time. But now he’s staring at you. Getting a little conscious, you let out an awkward chuckle.

“Was there anything else, Your Grace?” You ask him and you see how his face winces. You don’t know what for but you can’t be bothered to ask even if you want to.

“Oh? Oh. No, nothing.” Is not what he wanted to say. He wanted to ask if you wanted to take a promenade with him, show you the beautiful lake at the back garden of the mansion and the pretty swans swimming around or the lotus flowers blooming. His hands that’s placed behind his back is tightened into frustrated fists and when he sees you give him an awkward smile, he just can’t stand it. So he sighs.

He sighed. And you don’t know what to make of it. Growing almost annoyed at his sudden weird behaviour, you nod your head at him.

“Then I see you at dinner, Your Grace.” And you shut the door. Standing against the door, exasperated, you let out a deep exhale before you see how the maids are looking at you.

“Does the Duke always act like this?” You ask, quite curious as to what they would say. They looked amongst themselves, not sure if they should say it when one of them shook their head.

“It’s the first time actually, My Lady.” She said and you nod your head.

“It’s quite weird.” You mutter and the maids nod their heads as well.

“The Duke doesn’t like to stare, but he does always start a conversation with us to not make the current circumstances awkward.” A maid tells you and the other agreed with her.

“So he does have the ability to talk and not just stare.” You let out a breathy sound.

“The Duke has been the most gracious to all of us, My Lady. And he’s also never brought a lady here, not even chaperoned, which is kind of a wonder in itself.” And they all agreed in unison once more.

At the last bit of information, questions swirl in your head. Then no wonder, he’s never been seen by society much at all. Those who do catch him, are very few. Then he stayed in Xianzhou for far longer than he intended. Then one wonders why he did just that.

—

Putting on your necklace as a finishing touch, you realize you’re a few minutes late to dinner. Feeling embarrassed for having taking so long, you left your bedroom and hurriedly went downstairs. A servant lead you to the dining room. And when you arrived, the table was set quite closely and it fit four people just fine.

“Oh here you are!” You hear your best friend chime in and you let out an embarrassed giggle. “So sorry for the tardiness.” You say as a servant helps you onto your chair. You say a quick grateful thank you before looking at the men at the table and greeting them as well.

Jing Yuan greets back, complimenting how your gown suits you just finely while your best friend agreed wholeheartedly. Feeling bashful at their sincere compliments, you cover your mouth smiling then looking up to see Blade looking at you.

Or admiring you if you looked properly. It probably is just what your best friend said. He is enamoured with you because he clearly looks like it right now. Heat spreads around your body and your hands starts feel a bit sweaty.

“You do look beautiful, my lady. I agree with your friends here.” No idea on how to react to that, all you could do was smile at him and say a ‘thank you’ while your heart feels like it’s gonna run out of its place in your ribcage than beat out of it.

The food got placed on the table and in the meanwhile, you made eye contact with your best friend and she gave you a knowing look and mouths a ‘told you so’ while you roll your eyes at her which in turn makes her giggle, catching the attention of her husband.

Dinner went smoothly, the conversations was pleasant. And the topic of how the princess caught her husband in her father’s, the king, clutches was such a heartwarming story. After dinner, all four of you got to the sitting room and hung around for a little until the princess and prince decided to retire for the night.

As soon as they decided to do so, you decided to take the moment to leave as well, feeling nervous in Blade’s presence.

“I shall retire-“ you feel someone lightly hold onto your fingers from behind and your first instinct was to hold his hand back but denied yourself to do so.

“Wait.” His voice was soft from behind you and desperate. You turn to face him and retrieve your hand back from his hold, which he furrow his brows at, like it’s agonising to not hold you.

“Do you perhaps wanna take a walk?” He sounds nervous, which is unlike him. You tilt your head to hide your nervousness and instead look confused. “It’s pretty late, Your Grace.” You say simply and he gives a slight smile, nodding his head.

“Yeah you’re right, but do you want to? Maybe we could—“ he ponders off on what to say next. “—perhaps talk?” He finishes off and you looked him slightly surprised but found yourself accepting his offer to walk.

—

He took you to the back of the garden, which was stunning even in the night. You can’t help but think to come back here in the morning, knowing it’d be double the beauty in daytime.

You managed to catch a bloomed lotus flower at the lake and couldn’t help but point it out to Blade, who was walking behind you all in silence.

“It’s so beautiful.” You say as you crouch down and look at the pretty flower, not bothering to look at Blade. “Indeed it is.” Which in turn made you miss the way he looked at you as he agreed at your statement.

You’re absolutely radiant in the moonlight, your gown looks like diamonds the way it’s sparkling in the dark. As you stand and continue walking ahead, your body looks like it’d fit perfectly in Blade’s arms. The way you gently fiddle with your hands as you walk, makes Blade’s own hands itch to hold them so you could fiddle with his hands than your own. Keep yourself occupied with him.

Under the moonlight, Blade sees you look up at the sky, at the moon with a small serene smile on your face. And that’s when he saw the lone stray of hair that fell out of place from your hairdo. Not wasting a chance, he reached his hand out and carefully placed it behind your ear then twirled it around your hairdo. All the while, he did not miss how your body was still in shock.

“What are you doing?” You ask, nervously but deeply.

“I missed you.” He ignores your question, which infuriates you. You harshly turn your head to look at him with furrowed brows and an annoyed expression.

“What do you think you’re doing, Your Grace?” You ask once again and Blade sighs. “I’m fixing your hair.” He says your name at the end and you clutch your dress with your own hands.

“It didn’t need fixing.” You simply say and walk away.

“Please, stop walking away from me.” He says from behind you, pleading for you to stop. You let out a humourless laugh but continue to walk. “Do give me a reason as to why I should stop walking, Your Grace. Maybe then I shall stop doing so.” You retort back.

But your body harshly gets turned around by how Blade grabbed your arm and pulled you against his body.

“Don’t do this to me.” You push at his chest but it’s to no avail, he’s much stronger than you. Somehow, he was quick enough to place his arms around your body and keep you caged in his arms. Maybe you’d appreciate it months ago, but you don’t do it now. It’s agonizing.

“Please listen to me. You at least owe me that.” He says and you scoff. “I don’t owe you anything whatsoever.” You glare at him, holding back tears. You feel his hands trail up your back to cup your face. As if it’s a pure instinct, your body nuzzles into his touch and you hate how much you love this. How much you love and miss his touch on you.

“I know. You’re right. You don’t owe me anything.”

“Then let go of me.” You tell him and he shakes his head.

“I already did that once and I won’t do it again.”

“What’s so different this time, Your Grace? You sound like you might return my feelings this time.” At your words, he stills. As if in a moment of clarity. You look at him and scoff once more. Taking the moment of his stillness, you push him and walk away.

“Leave me alone. I know that face. That’s the exact same face you did the day at the balcony. I’ve been refused once by you, can’t have it happen once more, can we?” You huff out a laugh, finding it absolutely ridiculous. Refused by the same man, twice? Maybe you should take a dive into the lake, it’s definitely still cold. As you were nearing the mansion, it starts to rain. About to hurry in, Blade grabs you by the arm again.

“Why don’t you just listen to me?” He asks loudly over the pouring harsh rain. His wet hair sticking to his skin and the raindrops streaming down his face.

“Last time I did that, you said you were not interested in me like that!” You yell from over the rain. “I'd lose it if I get rejected by you once again, Your Grace. So no, I won’t listen.”

“Then let me explain, please I beg you.” His grip on your arm was tight, you swear you’d get a bruise by it my morning. “Then explain yourself.” You tell him.

He was gonna speak up, but then he sees you shiver. And he sees how strongly he’s holding onto your arm and he lets go immediately. He instantly takes his suit jacket off and places it around your body.

“I’m fine, Your Grace. The mansion is just a few meters away.” He shakes his head, refusing to heed your words. You sigh out, letting him do what he wants this time. When he properly put the jacket around you, even tied the arms into a knot as if it would fall off anytime.

“Let’s get back inside, you’re shivering.” He says and grabs your hand. You stumbled just a few steps as you walked. Then just a few second later, you were up in the air, facing the back garden and smelling the familiar scent of Blade’s natural scent and in his arms. He’s carrying you. Then you feel him tuck you against his chest as if to shield you from the rain even if you’re already soaked through.

Arriving inside the mansion, you hear the surprised and worried voices of the servants and Blade ordering them to prepare a warm bath for you. All while he strides up the stairs, with you still in his arms. And all you could do was hold onto him as if he was your safety net. At some point you found yourself almost burrowing your head onto his chest, feeling safe and content in his arms, his scent surrounding all your senses.

Then you were put on a chair in your guest bedroom. The servants hurriedly prepared the bath. One gave you a blanket then hurried to help her colleagues prepare the bath. You didn’t realize that Blade was still in the room when he had spoken up.

“You may leave this room, I’ll take care her.” At their dukes surprising orders, all the servants could do was bow their head and dismiss themselves.

Then as you sit on the chair, you’re ignoring him. But he knows just how to make you look at him. So he does that. He kneels in front of you, which does make you turn and look at him confused.

“What are you doing?” You ask but lightly gasp when you feel him grasp your leg gently.

When he slides your soaked dress up your legs, you feel extra conscious of your close proximity. He stops sliding your dress up when he reaches the hem of your stockings. Heavy breaths escapes your mouth and your hands tremble on your lap.

“Hold onto your dress, my love.” He softly says, lightly startling at the name he used for you but you did what he said nonetheless. Dress now bunched up and held in place by you, your stocking covered legs are on full display. This act feels intimate to you and it is for sure intimate. But knowing how he feels about you, you don’t know what to make of this. Should you be happy he’s giving signs that he care for you or should you beat yourself up over the fact this may be an act of kindness, not cause he may return your feelings.

He places your heel clad feet on his knee, unties the string connected to your shoes. He looks at you time to time and sees you breathe heavily, your chest rising up and down with a lovely expression. Your eyes are on him, lips parted in shock and the expression tells him you’re surprised to see him do this. Have him touch you. To see the Duke of Stellaron on his knees, helping you. Though you two are of the same social standing. You’re two unmarried people in a room alone together without a chaperone.

He takes your heel off your foot and you can feel his clothed knee even through your stocking. You clutch onto your dress on your lap as you see him touch your stocking softly. Gentle as if you’re a precious doll. Your heart beats fast but it aches. How can he do this after the rejection. After the arguing.

Your breath hitches when you feel him touch the hem of your stocking and slowly slides it down your bare leg. You grab onto his hand midway, shaking your head.

“Why are you doing this?” You softly ask again. He shakes his head. “If you stay in those soaked clothes a moment more, you will catch a fever. So I’m helping you out.” At his words, you turn speechless.

He manages to slip down the stocking and gently puts it on the armrest of the chair you’re sitting on. Thinking about his words and how they’re bothering you, you feel him touch your bare leg, sliding a finger up and down your skin as if he’s mesmerized. You turn quiet and watch him still. He’s confusing. Extremely so.

To work on the other stocking, he gotta grab your other leg. Blade feels happy doing this. Helping you out. The thought of you catching a fever itches at his skin. He doesn’t like the thought of you feverish and in pain. Then if you do catch a fever, you’d have to stay in this mansion until you get better. That thought doesn’t seem so bad to Blade.

Grabbing your other leg, the feel of your bare skin on his fingertips is entrancing. Feeling how your stocking slide down your pretty bare leg and revealing more of your skin, it makes his thoughts wander further and further. Further to were those legs lead up to. Up to your thighs and if he just spread your legs a little and bunched up your dress on your lap, he’d see the apex of your thighs and he almost felt lightheaded. Your scoff burst his little thought bubble of you. He looks up as he finally slid down the entire stocking of your leg.

“Helping me out, you said.” You say, scoffing once again. “It’s ironic, Your Grace.” To hear you address him like and not by his name, he physically flinched.

“You aren’t helping anything at all. Wasn’t our argument just a few moment ago not helping?” You ask him, astonished.

“You’ve been acting so weird ever since the day you rejected me. Your Grace, it’s not been a week since that day, it’s been months. Surely you have seen how you’ve behaved towards me.”

“You’re speaking as if I’ve acted in an evil manner towards you.” He says almost offended and you let out a humorless laugh.

“You don’t find it evil how you been at my beck and call, doing things a man who courts someone does after rejecting me evil?” At your words, his heart shattered. About to speak up, you beat him to it.

“It hurts.” He sees your eyes glisten up in tears as your voice wavers. “It hurts so much, here.” You place your hand at the spot of your heart. His hands trembles, itching to touch you, to hold you.

“I’ve given you my bare heart just for you to refuse it, then now you’re behaving as if you never rejected me.” Tears fall down your face, Blade hates seeing you cry like that. How many times he’s probably done that, he doesn’t wanna think about it.

“Why did you reject me?” You ask and Blade stands on his knees and holds your face gently. He wipes your tears off with his thumb.

“I have no other reasons than just that I don’t want to be in a relationship. I can’t. I’m scared.” His answer infuriates you, but at least he’s honest. Brutally so. You lightly scoff though there’s tears streaming down your face.

“Then why still make me think you might feel the same after the way you’ve behaved? Why give me mixed signals?”

“Because I realized too late.” His words now confusing you. Realizing too late about what? You see how his eyes flicker all over your face and how his grip on your head feels almost rough. “Realized what?” You ask, confused.

“That I love you. I realized too late that the moment you smiled at me you’ve had my heart ever since. I still loved you the day I rejected you. That’s what I realized too late about.” You’re speechless. Not knowing what else to say, you feel his thumbs rub your cheeks gently, he flashes you a sad smile.

“It was stupid of me to do that. The day you walked away from me after almost losing your hat, that’s when I knew.”

“How?”

“Because at that moment, I didn’t make you happy. Your lovely smile didn’t appear on your pretty face. Your eyes didn’t almost glimmer in joy. The thought of you unhappy, it ate me up from the inside.” His voice is wavering and you feel his hand on your face shake.

“I wanted to run after you that day at the balcony, but I thought it was too late. There was no way to mend what I had caused.” His eyes well up in tears and you look at him stunned.

“I’m so sorry. I hurt you so much, I shouldn’t have said i wasn’t interested in you. Because I am. Every day I imagine a life with you, every day I long to touch you, to hold your body in my arms and cage you in and keep you to myself. Everyday I want to see you smile and hear your pretty laughs. A day without you, it was tormenting me.” A few tears fell down his face and you immediately go to wipe it off.

“If you had just said that to me that day at the balcony, we wouldn’t have to do this.” You tell him and Blade looks at you sadly, truly regretful.

“I’m so sorry, baby, I shouldn’t have said those awful words to you.” He shakes his head as he earnestly looks into your eyes, truly apologetic. “I am in love with you, most ardently. A day without you is torture, it’s way worse than the Mara that’s been found lately at Xianzhou.” He bemoaned, which makes a tiny giggle leave your mouth. You see how Blade’s eyes lightens up at the sound, watching your mouth expecting more of that sound to come out.

Him staring so shamelessly at your lips, has you flustered and you were about remove your hands from face when Blade, in a haste, out his own on top of yours. He shakes his head, looking defeated.

“Don’t leave, please?” He pleads and your heart races. “I’m not gonna leave, I just felt nervous at the way you were staring at me like that.” You mumble out and Blade’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Why are you staring at me so much anyway? And you always sigh too.” You lightly pout and Blade flashes you a bashful smile.

“Because you’re bewitching. One look at you, it gets me in a trance.” He explains. “But that don’t explain the sigh.” You try to ignore the fluttery mess of your heart at his honest confession of his staring.

“Because it’s absolutely outstanding that someone as enchanting as you is walking on this earth, with mere mortals.” He says and you giggle. “That sounds ridiculous, Yingxing.” You shake your head at his silly words. As you shook your head, you look down at your lap and see how Blade is situated in between your thighs. The position looks quite…scandalous. Your bare legs don’t help it either.

“I love it when you call me that.” He tells you and you nod your head. “Feels better to hear that than my title.” He adds on and you chuckle.

“Now that I know, I might call you that if you wrong me again.” You tease, saying the words in a lighthearted way but Blade turned serious.

“I will never wrong you again, my love. I stand by that promise.” He is saying it like it’s some knightly honour, which is endearing. “That’s impossible, we’re bound to come to disagreement but we shall talk it out than leave it be.” You tell him. He nods his head in agreement.

“Wronging you is something I stand by not ever doing again.” That was final and his sincerity makes you shy.

“The water is getting cold, the servants stressed to prepare this for me.” You shyly mutter out and Blade nods his head. He leans his head in to nuzzle his nose against yours. As Blade was about to pull away, he sees how he’s seated inbetween your thighs and he gulps on air.

You also saw where his eyes went and you feel how his hands moves down to your thighs. As if dazed, he places his bare palms on your skin and you lightly sigh at the touch. As he runs his hands up and down your thighs, he traces his nose down below your face, when he reaches your neck he breathes in your scent there. “You smell heavenly, my love. I can’t get enough of it.” You hear him groan against your neck as his hands squeeze your thighs and your hands clutch onto his shoulders.

“Yingxing, the water.” You manage to breath out and Blade immediately pulls away. His face is flushed and his hair a mess. You let to go off your hold on his shoulders.

“You’re right, I shall leave you alone as you bathe. Call for me when you’re done, yeah?” He’s so gentle. He’s now softly holding your neck and strokes his noses against your own before pressing a kiss on your forehead. His actions leaving you completely stunned, all you could do was nod and you were alone in the room.

You took your gown off and entered your peach scented bath. Then you remembered Blade’s confession, his touches and the way he caressed your legs. You touch your legs as if remembering his touch then you feel embarrassed before soaking your entire body in the bathtub.

—

Putting on a nightgown after your bath. You pace around the room for a moment. Debating on if you should go sleep and pretend to forget Blade told you to call for him. Then how can you call for him anyhow? You’d have to go to his bedroom personally.

At that thought, you get a sudden realization and your body flushes in warmth. Going to his bedroom at night feels nerve racking but at the thought of being alone with him, makes you feel elated.

You were tiptoeing outside your room, mindful of your surroundings but somehow not catching there was a door ajar, seeing what you’re doing. As you were walking down the hall barefooted, you realized you don’t know where his bedroom is. You sigh to yourself for your stupidity and was about to walk away when you hear footsteps from down the hall.

A tall figure emerges and your eyes lightens in joy at seeing Blade.

“Hi.” You softly whisper and he smiles at you like you hold the world. “Hi.” He greets you back and softly takes your hand in his.

“Remembered there’s no way for you to call for me than going to my bedroom, so I came to check up on you.” He whispers to you and you muffle your giggle with your unoccupied hand, nodding in agreement.

“Come, let’s go back.” He says, dragging you to the direction your bedroom is. You stand put, not following along. As Blade sees what you’re doing, he turns confused but when he sees you shake your head slightly when placing your other hand over your intertwined ones, he understood.

—

He gently leads you into his bedroom and you feel all sorts of emotions at once. You see him light the candle by his desk then turns around to face you. The room being lit by only the candle with you two in it, your heart definitely skipped out of its place.

Blade looking at you, it’s like his crimson eyes felt darker in the candlelit room and you decided to do anything else than look at the man.

“So…” you start off as you walk towards his bookshelves in the room, pretending to examine the titles. “You read books!” You chime awkwardly and Blade looks at you amused.

“I do, I’ve told you that before, my love.” He softly tells you as he starts to approach you. Your widens and you quickly speak up.

“No, stop right there!” You exclaim then quickly cover your mouth for being too loud. Blade stops walking instantly, confused as to why you told him to stay there.

“I—why?” He tilts his head and your breath feels almost like it’s staggering.

“It’s the proximity.” You tell him.

“Proximity?”

“Yes.” You nod your head.

“Or is it me?” Blade sees your lips part in surprise before you slightly nod your head. His heart flutters at the thought of you being flustered in his closeness. He takes a step forward and he sees you back slowly against the bookshelf, he smiles at the sight.

When he got close to you, finally, he softly tugs on your hands before clasping them together with his own. He brings them to his lips, kisses the top of your fingers gently, all while keeping an eye contact with you. Your breath staggers and you wet your lower lip.

“I was honest in everything I said today.” He mumbles against your hand and your eyes slightly widens. He smiles again. “I know it’s hard to believe me after I rejected you so cruelly that day.” You shake your head.

“I do believe you.” You softly mutter, loving the way he kisses your fingertips. “I’m happy that you do.” He says before he unclasps your hands to cup your face. He backs you against the bookshelf, making you tilt your head to look at him. He leans down, pressing his forehead against yours.

“I wanted to kiss you since our last dance.” He mumbles and you sigh as you rub your nose against his. “Do you still want to?” You shyly ask and he chuckles.

“Oh my love, such an obvious question you’re asking me.” He nuzzles his nose against your cheek before you feel his mouth pressing open mouthed kisses on your face except the place you want them to press down against.

“Then kiss me.” You whisper before you felt a pair of soft lips upon yours. You sigh into the kiss as you trail your hands up over his firm chest to hold him by his neck.

His lips moves so softly against yours but his grip on your face is tight and desperate. When you feel his tongue in your mouth, you gasp into the kiss at the same time as you squeeze his neck. He takes the moment to nibble on your lower lip as his hands moves down your back to place themselves them on your waist, his fingertips close to your backside.

Then he takes your mouth in another kiss, teeth clashing against each other in a desperate and hungry attempt to kiss deeper and deeper. He continues to kiss you as if he hasn’t had enough until you had to pull away, breathless. Blade is panting himself but can’t stop himself from reaching your mouth again and press kisses on the corner of your mouth down to your jaw to your pulse point, all of that making your grip on his neck tighten and soft moans leaving your lips.

“So this is how it feels to kiss you?” You hear him breathe out, chest heaving up and down. You let out a small chuckle. Blade noses the spot between your neck and shoulder, before trailing chaste kisses down your throat to your collarbone, breathing in your scent. All while grabbing onto your thighs, as if in reflex, you pull your thighs up and he automatically lifts you and pins you against the bookshelves. His hands are now below the material of your nightgown and you can’t stop the constant sighs and soft moans that escapes your mouth with the way he’s pressing kisses on your skin.

As you wrap your thighs around his lithe waist, you feel Blade’s hands close to the inner parts of your thighs and you still in surprise. Your hands reflexively gently push his chest and he stops his kisses on your skin.

Blade sees your widened eyes and he feels where his hands wandered to and his own eyes widens as well.

“I wasn’t supposed to go that far.” He says almost if he got caught for committing a very heinous crime. You lightly shake your head, your hands clutch onto his shirt on his chest.

“No, it’s okay. I was just…shocked. That’s all.” You reassure him softly and he nods.

“I won’t do anything you won’t like.” You hear Blade say and you smile at him, genuinely. Your heart feels full of love for him. When Blade sees you smile at him so lovingly, he can’t help but kiss you on the mouth for a few moments more.

“You haven’t done anything I’ve disliked.” You mutter against his mouth during the kiss. You feel Blade smile against your lips, then you feel his hands that are still on your thighs, squeeze you as if he liked the words you just said.

You feel how your back isn’t pressed against the bookshelf anymore, but rather pressing against nothing, so you immediately wrap your arms around his neck. Then you realize Blade is walking with you in his arms, towards the bed. Then you lightly flop down on the mattress from when Blade gently released you.

When Blade sees your hair splattered across his pillows, your nightgown sliding up your thighs with your legs lightly crossed. And with the way you look up at him with such pretty eyes, he loves it. He loves the sight of you on his bed, at his mercy and now in between his arms as he caged you in on the bed.

Then he kisses you all over your face in a haste, making giggles and bunch of soft ‘stop, it tickles’ go past your pretty mouth. He loves this too. Being alone with you, having you all to himself as he gets to press his mouth against anywhere on your soft body. And when he feels you hold his shoulders and your thighs wrapped around him, he feels at ease and fulfilled. Life couldn’t get any better than this.

“I love you.” You hear him say. His voice so soft and gentle, so in love and awe to be able to say these three words to you. You heart just cannot stop beating faster and faster, body heating up even more at his words. You softly nod your head, then you feel him lean down to nuzzle his nose against yours, muttering the three words again and again.

“I love you.” You tell him back then he kisses you on the mouth, saying ‘i love you’ with the way his lips moves against yours leisurely and in unbridled joy.

—

“It’s okay, you can leave it here.” You hear muffled voices from beneath the blanket and you feel the sun beams on your face. You snuggle up closer to the blanket, sighing in content at the familiar scent of Blade on the blanket. You smile sleepily against the material before you feel the bed dip beside you. You turn around and see Blade look down at you with such a soft way in his eyes, full of love.

If it was possible for your body to flush in warmth all the time around this man, your body would be constantly in that state.

“Good morning, my dove.” He leans down to press a kiss on your forehead. You pout and shake your head, puckering your lips and you hear Blade giggle. Then you feel his mouth upon yours and you smile into the kiss. Your arms go around his neck and you push his entire upper body on yourself, feeling his entire weight on your body but you love it even though he’s heavy.

“Good morning, Yingxing.” Blade can't get enough of the way his name leaves your lips. The way you say it, he loves it. The day he won’t hear his name past your mouth, he’s a dead man.

“Let’s get up, it’s morning and there’s breakfast for you.” You nod your head at his words and you feel his hands on your hips before he moves you up against the headboard of the bed and makes you sit up straight. You giggle at the way he manhandled you and he presses a soft kiss on your mouth.

“Did you sleep well?” You ask as he hands you a sandwich. He nods his head as he softly runs his hand down your hair.

“I missed out on a lot of the times you weren’t asleep in my arms.” He grins as you giggle, feeling him put a strand of hair behind your ear. “Don’t tell me you stared at me as I slept.” You look suspiciously at him and he puts his hands up as if he got caught.

“You can’t blame me, you look absolutely beautiful as you sleep.” He tells you. You pout. “I drool when I sleep.” Blade chuckles. “Then I be there to wipe it off for you if you do.”

Your heart flutters at his words and you shake your head embarrassedly. “You and your silly words.” You tell him as you take the last piece of sandwich in your mouth. Blade rubs your mouth, wiping off crumbs then eats the little crumb himself.

“Only you will hear those silly words, my love.” He tells you and you playfully groan. “Oh no, that’s torture.” You cover your face as you grin. You hear Blade laugh as he then climbs up on the bed to hover over you on the bed.

“Oh, then this won’t be torture then?” He asks. And you uncover your face, wondering what he means. “What won’t be?” You ask him back.

Then he kisses you.

Oh this is definitely not torture.

—

Your arm were looped in with your best friends as you two take a stroll in the back garden of the Stellaron Mansion.

“So, what’d I tell you?” You hear your best friend chime in amusedly and you lightly roll your eyes. “That he was enamoured with me.” You repeat her words and she nods, proud of herself.

“And he most certainly is, he can’t stop looking at you ever since you two got out from his bedroom.” She emphasised ‘his’ which makes your eyes get big and you look at her surprised.

“You knew?!” You almost shriek and she giggles. “I saw you two at night, tiptoeing and whispering around then he dragged you to his bedroom.” The way she described it is funny to you, so you can’t help the laugh that escapes your mouth.

“He didn’t drag me. I was the one who asked him to take me there.” You tell her and your best friend oh’s entertained and you giggle at her antics.

“I didn’t know you had it in you.” She lightly pushes your shoulder and you shrug your shoulders playfully. “Well, I did learn from the best, didn’t I?” You whisper to her and the princess laughs. If one has to know, your best friend the princess, sneaked down to her husband, former bodyguard of hers, bedroom after a ball.

“Alright, let’s go back, I can feel Bladie’s stare on us for millions away.” Your best friend says and you giggle. Because he is indeed looking your way. When you see him, you wave and he waved back. He is so endearing.

—

“I will court you properly and ask for your hand once we get back to Xianzhou. How does that sound, my dove?” You hear Blade ask from below the steps to the carriage.

“I love it.” You smile at him as he takes your hand in his and kisses your knuckles softly. He wished he kissed you on the mouth but with so many watching, he decided to spare it for another time.

As he lets go off your hand, you take your fan and unravel it.

“Come closer.” You whisper to him, Blade looks confused then he feels you grab by his collar before covering the view of your faces to everyone with the fan. Then he feels your soft lips on top of his and he smiles. He feels most wholeheartedly happy. You giggle against his mouth when he leans back in to kiss you more when you lean away.

“Okay, no more.” You tell him and he lightly pouts, looking saddened and you pat your hand against his cheek.

“You get to kiss me as much as you want once I’m your wife.” At the mention of you being his wife, his eyes lightens up. He takes a step closer to the carriage.

“And I’m your husband.” He whispers before pressing one last kiss on your mouth, making you lightly gasp and him grin happily.

To think you’d make such a stoic man get so soft around you, is astonishing but you love it.

—

phew! thanks for reading it this far, hopefully you liked it ><

please leave a like and reblog if you did, that would be most appreciated! <3

551 notes · View notes

ghouljams · 4 months

Text

Courting (Letters from Lt. Riley)

tags: regency au, Ghost x f!reader/OC, courting, letters, Ghost flirting and also being so weird with it, courting gifts

summary: You told Ghost he could write you. He does.

The maids drop off the letter while you're in the study. The wax seal on the front is unbroken, which you find strange. Aren't parents normally supposed inspect courting letters? You suppose you should be thankful your mother isn't a noble by birth, she doesn't have the same care for propriety you know others do. She's always maintained that love is for the people involved and no one else. Though, love is a far stretch for your feelings as far as you're concerned.

Ghost seems to go out of his way to aggravate and annoy you. You will say... you've never enjoyed conversations quite so much as you enjoy them with him, and you've never had a man entertain your debating so well, and you suppose his eyes are rather warm and honeyed enough to catch attention. You like that you can see the curve of his lips under his mask when he smiles, and that the lines beside his eyes crease when he looks at you. And you like his hands, you suppose, if you had to pick something.

You break the seal of the letter and unfold the thick paper. There's a thin sheet of silver paper covering the actual writing and you scoff at the precaution. Surely the man isn't saying anything so scandalous as to need more protection from prying eyes. Still, you're careful removing the tissue-y layer.

Your breath catches in your throat, fingers hovering to trace carefully over the lines of charcoal covering the page. It dirties your glove and you're quick to avoid touching the paper directly, lest you sully the careful work of portraiture. It's you, your profile staring determined off into the distance, a slight frown on your lovingly shaped lips and a gentle crease to your brow. You wonder what your charcoal double must be thinking to have such an expression. You recognize the necklace he's haphazardly rendered, a gift from your mother you wore at the first party of the season.

How long has he been thinking of you?

There's tight cursive at the bottom of the page, "I have nothing to say, except that you're the most beautiful creature I've ever had the misfortune of knowing. -Lt. Riley"

Your heart flutters so hard, batters so aggressively against your rib cage, that you don't even notice the heat in your cheeks. You call rush to find pen and paper to write back.

You're having breakfast with your parents when the maid brings you a letter. You recognize the red wax seal immediately and slide your fingers under the paper's fold to break it quickly. The crack of wax fills the silent room, and you look up from your work to see your parents watching you. You father rests his chin on his laced fingers, and your mother quietly sips her tea. The letter is carefully placed to the side and your mother smiles, setting down her cup to draw one of your father's hands into her own grip.

"Don't let us keep you," You father rumbles, you can't tell if he's upset or pleased. His voice carefully neutral.

"It can wait until after breakfast," You tell him peaceably, picking up your fork again.

"Give it a read now dear, you'll upset your stomach rushing through meals." Your mother, ever the doctor, encourages. You tamp down your smile and unfold the letter, your fingers feeling for another sheet of silver paper. You're almost disappointed not to find one. You suppose you can't expect a gift of that quality every time. Once again the actual letter is short and neatly penned,

"Arguing with me won't make me march down there princess. Not that the idea hasn't crossed my mind, but I'd be gone as soon as I saw you, lost as soon as you opened your mouth. You make me lose all rational thought, and yet you consume my every waking moment. There is no distance I could travel that I would not still be haunted by the memory of you. If I'd never been assigned to your escort I would have been a saner man, miserable for never having known you. Argue with that.

Did you miss every one of your penmanship lessons?

Lt. Riley"

You smile to yourself, your thumb rubbing against the paper. He's pressed little flowers into the folds, their colors bleeding into the page and their petals falling into your lap. You pluck them carefully from your skirt, dutifully avoiding thoughts of your suitor, and place them back in the folds of Ghost's letter. You'll have to write him later, you know he's egging you on, but really he should know better than to criticize a lady's calligraphy.

You look up from your work and meet your parent's stares. Your mother's thumb rubs against the back of your father's hand, you've always hoped for a match like theirs.

"Something nice?" Your mother asks, and you smile at her.

"Never," You tell her, "Lieutenant Riley is as rude in his letters as he was as an escort."

Your father hums, but you think you see the edge of a smile under his beard.

There's very little awkwardness in the letters between you and Ghost. He writes better than he speaks, but the bluntness is still there, the charm that made you first agree to this courtship. He makes your stomach clench, makes your heart flutter. He's rude and argumentative, and you find yourself hoping for every letter he sends you.

He's sweet.

He's terrible.

You hide his letters under your pillows, the ones that talk about kissing you, "Everywhere but your mouth," he writes, "so that I can still hear you." You sit on the chaise and chew your thumb reading the letters that promise you devotion, "you'd never worry where I was, I never wish to stray from your side." You hear your friends discussing suitor gifts, the scandalous things that pass through their aunt's inspection first, that their fathers shake their head at.

You think of the modesty panel laced into your stays, the carefully inked words along the edge of the gift, "if my lips were here they'd never leave."

You pluck Ghost's letter from the tray before your maid can even offer it. Your fingers quick to break the wax seal before you even find a place to sit. He never writes as much as you do, but he's purposeful with his words in a way that makes your heart sing.

"If it's the Scot I think it is your friend is fine. We can discuss when I pick you up this afternoon. Wear walking shoes. Love, Lt. Riley"

You snort, quite a way with words your lover. You nearly trip on your way up the stairs staring at his signature. "Love" be still your heart.

#x reader #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #x oc #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod x oc #ghost mw2 #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #ghost cod #oc: goose #regency au #return of ghost being an artist which is my personal favorite thing

1K notes · View notes

luxeslore · 23 days

Text

fit for a diamond | john price

word count -> 1.2k

content + warnings -> 18+ CONTENT, MDNI. REGENCY ERA / COURTING!AU, f!reader, implied age gap, slight corruption, sneaking around, budding romance, no smut.

notes from yours truly — the first part of my drabble series based around this post. all parts will be linked at the end of each drabble once finished. fair disclaimer that this is not perfect as it was mostly lead and guided by BTON brainrot.

“And how’s my diamond?”

Graciously, you curtsy before you can even formulate an answer. You’re dizzy. It could be how flustered you’ve become from being put on the spot, or how tight your corset is beneath your gown— you’re struggling to hold yourself together one way or another. Her diamond. All her’s and the ton’s to rip to shreds if you make one wrong gesture.

You can feel your mother’s eyes on you. You’re sure she’s thrilled. Bursting at the seams with some kind of wretched excitement because this is what you’ve been raised for since the second you were born. The uneasy feeling in your stomach forces you to get the words out at last.

“I’m splendid, your majesty,” your cheeks warm with feigned coyness; it’s something you’ve gotten quite good at, “Thank you for such an exquisite ball.”

She hums in approval. Clearly happy with how her harsh selection process has yet to fail her. It’s her time to shine and make the rounds, however. While she saunters away you’re wondering what everyone is mumbling about you, what will be printed and passed around town tomorrow morning. You fiddle with your gloved hands. It’s expensive silk that covers your trembling fingers while mother’s try to convince their sons to ask you for a dance.

No one looks promising, as rude as it may sound.

You already expressed that to your family earlier this week— claiming you’re unsure that this season will be beneficial for anyone, which is true. If you have to sit in the drawing room and endure another round of men visiting you may be sick. Their efforts to make you swoon lead to dead ends as the grandfather clock ticks and time slips away.

Is remaining unwed so unfavorable? You ponder to yourself as you often do, not noticing the gentleman across the room who’s fixated on your every move.

Lord Price smells of cigar smoke. That’s the first thing you notice when he steps into the room, along with the fact that his presence alone demands everyone’s attention. Your older brothers murmur something to each other before your mother demands they must leave— in her own way, mentioning there’s surely something better they can busy themselves with today. She looks at you as expectantly as the older man in front of you does, even more so.

You’ve barely glanced at the arrangement of flowers in his hand. Surprisingly pretty— Gardenias and baby’s breath, pale in color but not lackluster in the slightest. You’re used to being offered brightly colored roses and tulips and sweet peas. Beautiful in their own way, yes. But you haven’t received something so pure and refreshing yet. Despite his stoicism he’s already set himself apart from the others in a few ways, and you’re dumbfounded that his age is at the bottom of the list.

“Lord Price,” your mother says before you have the chance to, inviting him into the room whilst you smooth your hands over your gown.

He eyes the arrangement of refreshments laid out for todays visitors. Although you don’t take him for the floral tea and lemon macaron type— “Have there been other callers today?”

The cheek to ask such a thing nearly has you floored. Gives you the push you need to speak up, “I’m afraid not, my lord.”

“Surprising for a diamond.”

Your mother laughs nervously at that and you consider it to be the sound of your fate being sealed. You’re sure you’ll be forced into promenades and dancing at balls with this man before you can blink.

Yet… in the same tortuous breath, you find yourself unable to look away from him as he makes polite remarks and chats on. He’s well put together. From his facial hair to his carefully tailored suit, you can’t find a single thing out of place. Which leads you to wonder how he’s been able to sit under the ton’s nose, being unmarried for so long.

Maybe he’s now desperate for an heir. Something bitter spreads over your tongue at the thought.

You’ve found you have a lot to learn from Lord Price, after swallowing the initial taste in your mouth.

It’s only been weeks and he’s already shown you how to sneak away during balls and galas, how to fade into the background just enough so you two can meet up elsewhere. You thought it was impossible until you met him. You believed many things were too good to be true, in actuality. A real sense of desire being one of them.

Now, there’s only so much passion that can be felt during a simple supervised walk down Rotten Row, but there’s something in the way he grins at you. In the way he takes your hand for dances. In the passing touches to your waist. You don’t mind the hushed whispers surrounding the two of you. Nor the long, questioning glances.

“There you are, my lady.” Lord Price sighs with relief, quickly taking your gloved hand in his as you gingerly step into the garden. You look over your shoulder and silently pray no one is watching, “I must say, I thought you would leave me waiting tonight.”

“Not in my wildest dreams, Lord Price,” you chirp back.

You’re being pulled behind the hedges in an instant.

He’s lucky you don’t trip over your gown– a tear in the material would be enough evidence to have you shunned for the rest of the season. He seems rather boyish tonight, but he’s always appeared spry for his age. He’s smirking as he holds your hands to his chest with fondness. The crinkles residing next to his eyes as his expression grows causes your heart to skip a beat.

“I believe I told you to call me John, didn’t I?”

“And I believe I told you a proposal was in order, if that’s what you want.”

He dips his face closer to yours. His scent has grown familiar to you— it’s something smokey that causes the faintest of tingles in your nose, a mixture of oak and brandy that you assume comes from sitting in his study most of the day. His breath fans over your lips and you’ve never felt so improper in your entire life as it goes against everything your were taught about proper courtship. Your stomach churns. Not with fear or disgust but something you’re not used to yet.

“There may be… other ways I can get you to call me by my name, hm?” He whispers. You feel as though you could melt under his gaze and the ardor that’s pooling in his crystal blue irises, illuminated by the dim light in the garden.

“Whatever do you mean?” You can’t help but ask, rather incredulously. After all you’ve never been so close to a man. Let alone one of such status and stature.

Lord Price’s nose nudges your own, guiding you to tilt your head so he can place a gentle kiss upon your lips. His hands fist at your frock, right where your hips are underneath the satin and tule. It doesn’t shock you when you feel his firm hands snatch up your waist, yet you still find yourself gasping into his mouth.

He doesn’t allow you to shy away, pulling you against him until your chest is flush with his. You’re left studying him, staring up at him with wide eyes once he backs away the smallest amount— “You’re going to earn us a scandal, John.”

That’s all you can say. Struggling to find your voice in the process. And he has the nerve to laugh at you, directly in your heated little face until it folds into a frown.

“Only means we’ll have to meet at the altar sooner, darling.”

OTHER PARTS:

viscount riley

duke garrick

baron mactavish

©LUXESLORE 2024 — 18+ CONTENT, MDNI ♥︎ copying, modifying or reposting my work is not permitted.

#⌨️.luxe's writing #genuinely cannot believe i accidentally deleted the first one #captain john price x reader #captain john price x you #john price x reader #john price x you #price x reader #price x you #call of duty x reader #call of duty x you #cod x reader #cod x you

428 notes · View notes

jeonghantis · 1 year

Text

✧ — HEAVEN ANGEL (y.jh)

PAIRING ⇝ yoon jeonghan x reader.

SUMMARY ⇝

beautiful, everyone had called you. the compliment lost its charm on you, knowing fully well it’s paid only for the surface-level appearance you kept up and nothing else you had to offer. irritating, he had called you. you let him fuck you.

TAGS ⇝ uni!au, fratboy!jeonghan, fwb, smut, a dash of angst (oopsy!).

WARNINGS ⇝ language, fem!reader (she/her), houseparty scene (not exactly detailed), gossip, explicit sexual content (MINORS DNI!), bathroom (mirror) sex, unrequited crush (or is it?), reader has commitment issues, reader is kinda mean, mentions of p*ss and sh*t but not in a sexual manner, just for jokes.

WORD COUNT ⇝ 4.1k words.

note: funnily enough, i had two requests specifically for house party sex with yoon jeonghan. i lost the ask for them both (accidentally deleted while my laptop glitched). i am insane. and before anyone asks, yes there'll be a part two/prequel :) and also this is somewhat connected to my upcoming cheol fic. so i hope you stay tuned! proofread by the star of my life @cheolhub. sar fr put up with every version and my constant anxiety over every paragraph. i couldn't have done it without them. i love u so much. @szakias was also helpful in keeping me sane as i wrote this out 🙇 i love u so bad. loosely based on the song heaven angel by the driver era. don't think it'd go with the fic but you know :)

reblogs & comments are very much appreciated.

explicit tags under the cut.

EXPLICIT TAGS ⇝ semi-public setting (bathroom sex while there's a party), unprotected sex, dom/sub dynamics, mean dom!jeonghan, sub!reader, dumbification, teasing, petnames (angel), degradation (whore, bitch), dacryphilia, marking, briefest thigh-fucking, clit stimulation, cumming inside, squirting, light overstimulation, (a little) aftercare.

A strange rumor went around the campus. A rumor of a person whose beauty was so out of this world that it was terrifying.

Unreal. Everyone had said. You won’t be able to look her in the eyes!

But beyond that angelic beauty was a personality so sour, no one dared thought to approach her. Those that tried their luck had it beaten right out of them and they came to hate her to hide their broken hearts.

What a bitch, they had said. Does she think she’s all that?

Yoon Jeonghan, for one, thought they were being overly dramatic. It was a strange and interesting phenomenon how gossip can evolve to add in such theatrics. It was like living in one of those regency novels his sister owned which he had perused over on one particularly boring day. Had these people really had nothing better to do with their lives? Were they trying to live in a novel of their own? Jeonghan never understood them, neither cared for these kinds of things. He’d much rather form his opinions. He had better things to do than to dabble in such frivolity.

What a stuck-up, one would say. What better things could Jeonghan be doing that puts him above everyone else?

Oh, fucking the subject of the rumors of course.

“How irritating,” Jeonghan sighed, abruptly ceasing his thrusts inside you to harshly yank you back by your hair.

You yelp, a deer in the headlights, when your neck is forcibly craned back, made to look up at his looming figure. You looked pathetic from where you were pinned against the wall, exposed breasts pressed flush against the cool tiles and your mini skirt flipped upwards to reveal the swell of your bare ass flattened against his hip bone.

“I said to keep your voice down,” he tuts. “Do you want the whole house to hear you?”

“I’m s-sorry,” you stammer out, throat raw and chest heaving.

“Are you?” He mused with a raised brow, mocking and unbelieving.

You couldn’t meet his gaze, or at least you tried to. Jeonghan liked to make eye contact, he once told you, for he loved to see your sanity visibly ebb away from your eyes, leaving you a mindless, glassy-eyed whore. You had not reached that stage, not yet, not when some semblance of your being remained clear in your gaze, dilated pupils fearfully wavering back and forth between his simpering face and the bathroom door where a rather large, booming frat party laid beyond.

He cocked his head to the side and tightened his grip on your hair, forcing your eyes back on him. He leaned forward until he’s breathing your air, and all you could do is stare up at him pitifully with quivering lips. “Or…” he starts, his lips twisting cruelly. “Do you want them to hear you? Want them hear how good you’re being fucked right now?”

You remain silent, the lump on your throat bobbing as you swallow hard. But your walls tighten around him and Jeonghan couldn’t help the curve of his lips.

“You’re really weird, you know that?” Jeonghan sighed, releasing his hold on you. A lithe finger curls a lock behind your ear, the gesture jarringly affectionate from his prior cruelty, before his mouth moves to hover over it, his warm breath tickling. “You moan loudly when I tell you to shut up. You shut up when I ask you questions. Have I fucked you stupid already? Or have you always been stupid?”

You let out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry.”

“Is that all you know what to say?” Jeonghan laughs. “A renowned bitch, known to reject her admirers without so much of a second thought, now reduced into this pathetic bitch in heat. What would everyone else think, hm?”

His derogatory spats clamored down to your bones, making you shake with emotions that you couldn’t quite place with your hazed mind. At one point, with the last bit of pride you had left, you’re irritated, and it’s shown in the twitch of your eye and narrowed gaze. Then there’s embarrassment, shown by how your face warms and flushes. There was no denying how fucking dazed and desperate you had been, that much was true, and the demeaning tone of his voice did its job of filling you with shame. The twisted part of it all is that you enjoyed every minute of this ridicule thanks to pure, carnal desire. You couldn’t care less about what other people would say about you, what matters now is when the fuck would Jeonghan move his dick inside you.

But Jeonghan being Jeonghan, he wanted his answers. His last question was rhetoric. You knew. He knew. And yet he looks down at you with cruel expectancy masked in the sweetest, angelic smile that has fooled so many, and had once fooled you.

“I-I don’t care,” you say, deciding to be honest. “Who the fuck cares what they think?”

“Oh, but I’d like to know,” Jeonghan said. He hums for a moment, looking you over in consideration, before speaking again. “But you’re right. They don’t matter right now, do they?”

You release a breath you hadn’t known you were holding.

And Jeonghan watched, amused. He wasn’t done speaking. “But I’d at least like to know what you think.”

You blinked. “What?”

Before you could question him some more, Jeonghan pulls out of you, leaving your weeping cunt fluttering around nothing. You cry out, high and broken, from having pleasure ripped away with such cruelty. Jeonghan ignores it and his own throbbing problem as he goes to peel you off the wall with a rough tug on your arm. He has you by over the sink, has you staring at yourself through the vanity mirror. Jeonghan casts a smile at you through the reflection, his gaze weighted as he drinks in the sight of you as well.

Jeonghan had to admit, the rumors weren’t all baseless. You were stunningly beautiful, there was no denying that when anyone with functioning eyes could see it. The way you carried yourself tells him you’re well aware of it too. You held confidence with a raised chin, an allure with your own posture and stance even in this vulnerable position you were forced in, looking as disheveled as you are with tufts of your hair sticking out in every direction, framing your flushed face. Your blouse had been carefully unbuttoned despite how desperately urgent you both had been for each other the moment the bathroom door shut closed, but the rush was evident in how your bralette had been roughly tugged down enough for your perked breasts to spill over. Jeonghan had been anything but kind to your skin, having left angry red splotches blossoming all over your chest; you weren’t either on his, knowing if Jeonghan had craned his neck enough from behind you, they’d find similar markings on his throat, though considerably less in quantity.

Jeonghan also looked considerably less damning. He had not made moves to remove any of his upper clothing and so he remained presentable with his black varsity over a loose white shirt. Even his long hair had not looked loosened from where it’s tied up. But below, away from the mirror’s sight, his dark jeans had been unbuttoned and unzipped for his curved dick to spring out freely, for it now to rub over your ass teasingly.

“So?” Jeonghan asks. “What do you think of yourself?”

You glare at him through the mirror. “Fucking awful.”

“Of course you’d see it that way,” he laughs, resting his chin on your shoulder. “For me, I think this is the most beautiful you’ve ever been.”

It’s your turn to look unbelieving, but your pulse rouses.

Jeonghan grinned. “Ask me why.”

You reluctantly indulge him, “Why?”

“Because you finally look fucking awful,” Jeonghan said cheerfully. You turn to glower at him but stop when he lifts a hand to trace a line over your chest, mapping out the marks adorning you with a nimble finger. “And because I’m the reason for it.”

“A little vain, don’t you think?” You remark, albeit breathily, your face heated.

“I can be proud of my work,” he quipped, pressing his smile against your skin. He looks you over once more, taking in every detail down to the last freckle, and something deep in him thrums sweetly. “And I had a beautiful canvas to begin with.”

“How charming,” you sighed, derisive, as you threw your head back against his shoulder so you could look at him with batting lashes. “Can you fuck me now?”

“But I mean it,” Jeonghan murmured and relented, reaching around you so he could press a roughened finger over your swollen clit.

“Mean what?” You ask, but you’re barely listening, not when your focus is narrowed to the deft circles he’s making on your sweet nerves.

Jeonghan guides his length between your thighs, letting it glide languidly right under your weeping and throbbing cunt at a lazy pace. His lips are still curled, his eyes bright when he gazes down at you before he’s responding, “You’re absolutely beautiful.”

Sincerity was not something you’re used to when it came to the ever sarcastic Yoon Jeonghan, and yet here it was, bleeding into his tone in its purest form. Never in the entire three months of sleeping with him had he ever complimented the way he had just now, and if he had uttered any, it was quickly followed with ridicule or said with ridicule.

Good, he called you when you were obedient.

Cute, he called you when you were crying.

Beautiful. It was new. From him at least.

It was a temporary moment of clarity in your lust-addled head as you blink at him, making sense of what he had said, making sense of the warmth that starts to bloom throughout your chest. And temporary it remained as Jeonghan led his cockhead right back to your entrance, pushing himself in without so much of a warning, and the bare grasp you had on lucidity loosened.

You gasp out loudly, doubling over the bathroom counter as your walls tense and quiver painfully from the sudden breach, but still yield around him nonetheless. Jeonghan was quick to catch you, to force you right back up with his long fingers encircling your throat.

“Again?” Jeonghan barked out a laugh but it’s hoarse. “You really want everyone to hear you.”

“I c-can’t help it,” you whined, your head resting weakly against his shoulder, warm breath puffing over his marred skin.

Jeonghan looked unimpressed. “Well, help it.”

“Oh, fuck!” you cry out when he starts driving into you with no sense of leniency, your body thrown fully forward and voice shaking from the repeated impact that clatters your bones.

“You’re horrible at this,” he cackled. He grips at your hips this time, pulling you hard against him, balls slapping heavily against your ass. He's practically pulling and pushing your cunt onto his cock as if you weighed nothing, as if you were nothing but a cocksleeve for him to enjoy. Each decadent slide of his length in your heat draws out breathy grunts from him, his head drunk with pleasure.

You weren’t faring any better. Your head is thrown back to reveal flushed skin stained with tears that drip from closed eyes as you try desperately to hold yourself up with palms flat against the cold marble counter. There was nothing else for you to do but feel it, feel his cock stretch your pussy, its silken insides practically making way for him with each piston that has you crying out more in volume and pitch.

“Open your eyes.” His hot, staggered breath wafted over your ear. His thrusts ease its pace, slowing into something more languorous and teasing. “Open your eyes and look at me.”

You whine but your eyelids flutter open. Glassy, unfocused eyes find Jeonghan.

A devious smile splinters across his face.

There you are.

“Please,” you whimper, your hand reaching to paw at his nape.

“What is it, angel?” His tone is sweet but it rolls off his tongue sharply. “I n-need - ”

Jeonghan laughed cruelly. “I don’t think you’re in the position to demand something from me when you can’t even listen to my one demand.”

You grab at the ends of his hair and rock your hips back into him, fucking your cunt right on his dick in a faster, but struggling, rhythm.

“Hannie,” you mewl. “You feel too good. Please, please, just fuck me. I can’t help it, I just - Please? I’ll b-be good. Just please fuck me, Hannie.”

Jeonghan doesn’t respond right away to your pleas, allowing himself to revel in the broken desperation you display with an amused smile and delighted throbs made inside your velvety walls. Perhaps Jeonghan should be used to this sight now. He’s seen you in much messier and miserable states, ruined you far worse than he had now. And yet he’s plenty invigorated than he’s ever been, pure excitement searing his veins.

What would everyone else think, hm?

Jeonghan thought it was rhetoric. Jeonghan said it didn’t matter.

It wasn’t. It did.

“I don’t think you can be good,” he began as a hand inches forward between your legs, “But if you’re going to be loud, then at least use my name. That way, everyone will know who’s fucking you so good.”

“H-Hannie!” You mewl, oh so pitchy, as your frame jerks from the brush of the roughened pads of his fingers on your clit, pleasure flickering up your abdomen so wildly that you could not easily bear through it.

“There we go,” he crooned, pride gleaming in his eyes. Jeonghan was much too familiar with your body by now, so it’s easy when his hips brings back its pace, fucking at your insides at an angle so the length of him glides over your sweet nerves with each impact.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you sob out like a mantra, spreading your legs a little wider to accommodate his brutality, your channel tightening around his throbbing girth. “Ngh, Jeonghan, right there! Oh my god - !”

The nectar that leaks out of you coated his shaft with an amazingly significant amount that makes the slides so much easier and louder, the wet noises bouncing off the four walls and meshing with your own cries of his name like he wanted. It was almost enough to drown out the muffled music of the party that seemed many worlds away now.

Jeonghan soon enough joined in this sinful chorus, letting out panted moans of his own. Some were incoherent but when it wasn’t, it was mostly your name, just in case everyone couldn’t tell who was screaming his name like a wailing prayer. How he’s managed to keep himself restrained and sane for this long was a strong feat in itself. Your everything put him in a trance, every touch of you—nails, fingers, and obviously your tight cunt, was a little too much, it was dizzying.

Even at your seemingly waning state, your hips somehow finds itself moving back against him, undulating with the same force and rhythm. You’re driven by the tightness both in your chest and in your abdomen, white flashing across your vision the more you keep up your pace, your moan becoming more muddled as your thoughts were. And when balance fails you, having you bow back down and lean all your weight on your forearm, Jeonghan inclines with you, his chest pressed right against your back and you could feel his raging heartbeat that very well matched your own.

“How are you holding up, angel?” He chuckled and pressed his face against your neck, his breathing hard and warm on your skin, as his thrusts become more shallow. “Doing okay?”

“I-I’m close,” you whimper. “Please, Hannie - ”

“I’ve got you,” he whispered back as nails dig crescents on your waist, muscles flexing as the intensity of his strokes inside you extends once again and remains at the same tempo. He doesn’t know what came over him the next moment, his senses just completely overtaken and all he could do was be at awe at all this perfect bliss you’re bringing him, and only him. “You’re mine tonight,” he breathed. “I’m going to fucking ruin you for everyone, angel, you understand that? You’re mine.”

There it was again. The clarity. The warmth. It all happened in a single moment.

You turn your head and stare up at him. Jeonghan stared right back at you. A completely indecipherable expression confronts another.

Where it had been temporary then, it intensified now. Where there had been questions, suspicions took its place.

Then came fear.

Jeonghan catches a glimpse of it in your eyes and for the very first time, his stomach sank at the sight of it.

But his facade is flawless. It comes too naturally before he’s fully aware—a sweet curl of lip, the faintest crinkle at the corners of his eyes. He’s fooled too many. He could fool you again.

Jeonghan takes advantage of your moment of daze to toy once again with your clit, and is relieved at how immediate your body reacts.

“Ngh, J-Jeonghan!” You keen high as you reach a hand to cup over to where his fingers flicks and pinches at the delicate bud, pressing down on him for added pressure to alleviate your own self. Oh, how embarrassingly easy it was for your thoughts to be completely overwritten by your own lustful desires, but as you have learned, it always prevails, doesn’t it?

Your thighs seize up from the overwhelming pleasure crawling up your spine; while your rhythm falters from it, Jeonghan’s is relentless even when his own breathing turned ragged and his body strained from the effort. It all becomes so much so fast; the feverish heat spreads under your skin, tightening up coils in your abdomen, but your frame is trembling, as if a chill settled so deeply into your bones.

“Hannie, Hannie, I’m going to -”

“I know,” Jeonghan grunts as his face falls in the juncture of your neck, lips pressed right over your pulse point. He can feel your walls start to restrict around his twitching girth, and it did little to aid his own self-control. “Let go for me, angel. C’mon. Let me hear you. Let them hear you.”

And you do. With the most shrilling wail, you come, your warm release spilling onto his cock and, much to your surprise, squirting onto themselves, their clothes, and his hand.

“Holy shit,” Jeonghan marveled under his breath. If he could burn a memory into his brain, this would be fucking it. Just you shivering and quivering around his dick. Your back prettily arched back with tits hardened and perked. The fluids spurting all over yourself and him so shamelessly and so intensely until you're convulsing back down on your front from it all.

Watching this whole brilliance of you, just reminded Jeonghan of how lucky he truly was to have you like this, to be able to make you this fucked out with crossed eyes, pupils blown wide out of proportion. Hidden concerns were washed away by this single glance, replaced with nothing but gratitude, pride, and true bliss. And with all that and a poorly thrown out warning, he’s thrown over the edge. A moan is punched out of his gut as he’s releasing inside you with one last valiant thrust, his cum white and hot as it spurts and paints your walls.

And poor you having to tolerate this continued abuse of your insides that pushes you close into the sphere of overstimulation. You’re spent, fatigue already ebbing into your consciousness, but you stay still for him, letting him use you for all your worth until the last few twitches of cock, until the last few spews of his cum is fucked back into you.

For the next few moments, only a dulled bass fills the air as two heaving bodies try to steady themselves. When the remnants of carnality wane, Jeonghan finally pulls out of you, your channel left with nothing but their shared release dripping out of you, beading down your legs. There’s a crack of a smile thrown your way through the reflection just as you feel a light tap made over your cunt. You resist the urge to roll your eyes at the gesture. And to rock back into it.

“If I clean you up,” Jeonghan began, eyeing the puddle on the floor, “could you help me with the rest of your mess?”

Now you did roll your eyes. “Ever the gentleman.”

“Hey, I just thought I should ask. It’s a lot.”

Your face warmed up. “Forget it, I’ll clean myself up. You clean the floor.” You move to lift yourself up from the counter, but catch yourself as your muscles start to strain, limbs shaking.

Jeonghan raised a brow.

You winced. “Can you help me over to the toilet?”

“Need to piss it all out again?” He jests and takes a hold of your arm to gently pick you up.

You sneered. “That wasn’t piss, asshat.”

Jeonghan laughed. “I know it wasn’t. But it was hot as hell.”

“Shut the hell up.”

That only made him laugh again.

Then came a knock, a very aggressive one.

“Yoon Jeonghan, are you done fucking in there?” Said a male voice beyond the door, sounding just as irritated as his knock was.

“Ah, damn,” Jeonghan muttered quietly to himself, then raised his voice at the door, “There are other bathrooms, Cheol!”

Choi Seungcheol, you now recognized Jeonghan’s fellow frat brother, responded right away. “All occupied! Can you hurry your shit up?”

“No!” said Jeonghan, but he’s quick to guide you over next to the toilet with an arm now encircling your waist; you tell yourself this was just a helpful gesture, but there’s no helping how your skin heats up under his touch. From where you stand leaning against the wall, you watch him rush around the bathroom, first cleaning himself up and shoving his dick back in his jeans before he throws a clean towel down on the floor to soak up your mess.

“I’ll leave first,” Jeonghan explained as he sauntered back to you with soap and another fresh towel in hand, setting them down where it’s within your reach. “I’ll appease Cheol first and buy you some time to clean up.”

“Is he always so impatient?” You asked.

“Always,” he sighed, “but once I explain, he’ll understand. I don’t know why he’s fussier than usual though.”

“Maybe he needs to shit.”

“Shitting at a party? That’s disgusting of him.”

“He has no respect for the partygoers out there.”

You exchange grins with each other.

Then another round of knocking came around.

“In a minute!” Jeonghan called back, trying to sound calm but his face was scowling. He lowers his voice when he speaks to you again, “Are you sure you don’t want any help? Now I just want to make him wait.”

“Go,” you tell him and wave him off. “He sounds like he’s about to kick the door open. I’d rather not have that.”

Jeonghan huffed a laugh at that. “I wouldn’t put it past him.”

Jeonghan turned to leave. Your heart lurched from your chest.

“Jeonghan?” You call out before you could stop yourself.

He looked back. “Hm?”

“Do we…” You didn’t know what to say, how to phrase it. “Should we talk about it?”

It was miniscule, but you caught his wince. “Talk about what?”

“About what you said?”

“Angel, I said a lot of things.”

“Don’t play stupid with me. You said - ”

Another loud knock, quickly followed by Seungcheol yelling. “Jeonghan! Hurry up!”

Jeonghan let out another sigh, a mix of annoyance with a tinge of relief. “We’ll have to talk about it another time.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Jeonghan - ”

“We will talk about it,” he said firmly, his tone spoke of sincerity, but his face said otherwise. “Just not now. Not yet.”

You gave him a skeptical look.

He tried for a smile, perfectly saccharine. You saw right through it.

“Fine,” you relented.

Jeonghan gave you a grateful nod of his head and made a move to leave again. You watch again with the strangest restriction in your chest.

“Cheol, you have got to learn patience,” Jeonghan said once he cracked the door open.

“And you have got to learn to be quiet,” the disembodied voice of Seungcheol parried back. “I’m sure the people passing the hallway could hear you both.”

“Well, we were trying to get the whole house to hear us.” Jeonghan spared a quick glance your way and grinned. You wanted to punch his teeth in.

Seungcheol groaned. “Of course you fucking were.”

Jeonghan laughed and finally stepped out of the bathroom. “At least I’m getting my dick wet. You haven’t been with anyone since - Oh, I spoke too soon. Cheol, you sneaky son of a - ”

The door shut closed behind him, leaving you all alone, and you buried your face in your hands.

#seventeen smut #svt smut #seventeen fanfic #svt fanfic #jeonghan smut #yoon jeonghan smut #jeonghan fanfic #keir.rqst

3K notes · View notes

tennessoui · 2 years

Note

It's been a while but I still stuck in regency au. Like how long will it take Obi-wan's temper to die down? What will be their first word when they meet again? etc, etc. Also, do you think Obi-wan siblings will insist on accompany him to Anakin's place? and then when Obi-wan is announced, Anakin will stand up like Mr. Darcy did. So Ahsoka, Rex, Cody (who are there for afternoon tea or sth) and Obi-wan's siblings are looking at each other with knowing eyes 👀. Like they're so obvious to everyone in the room except themselves. 😂

no worries omg i am actually trying to work on a lil snippet that would take place perhaps a day after anakin leaves the house, where obi-wan goes calling on him because he can't get regency!Anakin's earnest eyes out of his head and he's been so absolutely horrid to poor aayla who really did not ask for any fraction of Duke Skywalker's attention, please. come on, obi-wan. be reasonable.

(but what everyone is slowly beginning to learn is that it's simply impossible for Obi-Wan Kenobi + Duke Skywalker to be reasonable about one another.)

(and it only gets worse from here.)

#oh!!! you!! you came??? you came!!#i am calling upon ms ahsoka tano the duke's sister #pardon my language but like hell i will dear sister >:(#asks #no ok i will spoil the next ficlet #and say the first thing obi-wan says upon entering anakin's house and anakin seeing him #and going #is #just for you know #petty reasons #he'll probably make anakin chaperone them around the gardens standing like 6 feet away from them at all times #regency au #squick tag: a/b/o #ahsoka would be like 'brother dear if it bothers you so terribly you can simply go inside'#and anakin is (grrumpily) like

26 notes · View notes

1644s · 2 months

Text

ruination

warnings/tags: minors DNI, dark themes, Bridgerton!AU, woc!reader, playing fast and loose w/ how things work in the regency era, Prince!Charles, soft dark!Charles, manipulation, peer pressure, possessive behavior, these tags are not exhaustive

wc: 6.4k (this is so aksdfljas)

summary: Royalty and greed go hand in hand. Prince Charles is no exception to this rule. If he must ruin you to have you, then so be it.

dividers by @/cafekitsune

rewatched Bridgerton, thought about Charles, and here we are :) obligatory unedited, unbeta'd etc. please let me know your thoughts! and happy reading :P

You wonder how one finds themselves in a position such as your present one.

He is dripping water onto your floors but your other choice was to leave him to his devices and so really, there was no choice at all. You can only hope your cousins remain engrossed in their conversations with the King and his ensemble. Though, you are certain they would find much more enjoyment in finding out you’ve snuck a boy into your quarters right underneath your parents’ noses.

You bring him all of the towels you have and thrust them into his arms. “The bathroom is over there. I left some of my cousin’s clothes in there but…” you trail off, unsure of how to tell him they might be too big. Your cousin was quite testy at this age and you do not wish to further ruin this boy’s day.

“Thank you,” he says politely, a far cry from the bumbling boy you were ushering into your room just minutes ago. The red in his cheeks hasn’t faded away yet but he no longer resembles a tomato.

You sit on your bed, feet dangling, as you wait for him. Luckily, the day is warm and sunny so his clothes will be dry within the hour. Unluckily, you do not know if you have an hour to spare.

Chewing on your cheek, you wonder how you’ll manage to keep this boy hidden for so long and without suspicion. You are due for lunch soon but there should be a delay due to the royal family coming for a visit. Your father is a man unable to not try and seize every opportunity given to him and these types of opportunities can only be taken advantage of with the absence of children.

The bathroom door opens. There’s a disgruntled look on the boy’s face as he tries to adjust his sleeves to no avail. They hang limply over his hands and it takes every ounce of your etiquette training to not giggle.

“Don’t worry. Your clothes will be dry soon,” you say. Unfortunately, nothing can be done about the wrinkles that are certain to appear. But that is an issue he must deal with so you don’t bother to apologize for it.

“Oh, sorry about the water,” he says, noticing the puddle by your vanity. He drops one of the damp towels on top and half heartedly wipes it away with his shoe.

“It’s fine. I think.” The dirt at the bottom of his shoe is going to leave a mark but you’ll worry about that later. The dress your mother put you in has ensured that you won’t be able to do anything other than breathe carefully and sit upright until the King and his entourage leave.

“If it’s not, I can let my father know and he’ll find a way to fix it,” he says unhelpfully. An almost resigned expression flits across his face but he quickly smooths out the wrinkle of his nose with a bland smile.

For some reason, his immediate assumption that you will take him up on it irritates you. He will be long gone by the time a punishment comes if one is to come. Instead of acknowledging his offer, you ask, “How did you end up in the fountain?”

He blinks, surprised. Then he averts his eyes. “I tripped.”

You twist a loose strand from your bed covers around your finger. “Ah.” If only you had come by five minutes earlier, you would’ve had something to laugh about during lunch. “You aren’t bleeding anywhere, right?”

“No.” But he’s looking over himself as he answers you. “No,” he repeats, more assured. “Mother would’ve killed me if I showed up to lunch with my clothes in disarray. Again.”

“You’re going to the lunch too?” you ask, tilting your head. As far as you know, your family and the King’s immediate family are the only ones allowed. Surely, one of the King’s own wouldn’t find himself in such a silly position.

He cuts you an aghast look. “I’m the Prince.”

You can’t help yourself from giving him a once over. “Are you?”

His clothes are quite nice, you will admit to this. It was the first thing you noticed when you saw him toppled over in the water. But what sort of prince falls into a fountain? And wouldn’t the King ensure his sons are by his side his entire time? You glance out your window as if you’ll suddenly see the Kingsguard crawling up the walls and to your room.

“Yes! I am,” he says, flustered.

He seems sure of himself so you choose to believe him. Maybe the kingdom of Monaco is a much more relaxed place than you have been led to believe. “Alright,” you shrug.

“I’m Charles,” he introduces. Charles stands expectantly as if awaiting a dramatic reaction.

It takes a second for his name to register. The spare as he’s been so crudely called.

You give him your name easily. Your father is a lesser known Earl. He’s clawed his way into his position so you aren’t surprised when there is no flare of recognition in Charles’ eyes. Your title hardly matters as you are merely a pawn for your father to move around the board as he sees fit.

“That…makes sense,” he says after a moment. “I was wondering why you were in the garden without a chaperone.”

Distaste sours your mouth. Ever since your first cycle, you have not been left alone without someone to watch over you whenever guests are around. Fortunately, your estate is not plagued with visitors but it is annoying having to seek out one of your cousins when your family does find itself with visitors. You tend to avoid any man older than you by default so you believe you have more than earned the right to wander your own home no matter how improper your mother finds it.

“Speaking of chaperones, where are your guards?”

At the reminder, he scoffs. “I snuck away from them.”

It’s nice to know even the prince feels smothered at times. “And here I thought you lived a charmed life.”

He wavers and then sits a polite distance from you. It should feel illicit—because it is illicit—but the shame never comes.

“I’m old enough to be on my own,” he complains. “It’s not as if Father forces me to train because he thinks I find it fun.”

“Do you find it fun?”

“I do. But that is not the point,” he huffs.

“What a trial it is to have a father that loves you,” you say with a hand to your chest. “Oh, the travesty!”

Your dramatics earn an amused scrunch of his nose. He flops on your bed, head just below your pillows. He tucks an arm underneath his head and sighs. “It sounds bad when I put it like that, huh?”

“No. I get it.” However, to a lesser degree. For all the freedoms Charles is granted in comparison to you, there are restrictions you can not even imagine that he must have. “Somewhat.”

The bed creaks as he shifts to his side. “Really?” he asks.

“Really,” you confirm with a nod. And then you shrug. “But it will not be forever.”

“It will not,” he agrees quietly. “Once I’m of age…”

You wait for him to finish but he doesn’t continue. But it doesn’t matter for you hear your maid knock on your door with three rapid raps. You scramble off of your bed and hold the door closed.

“I’m coming,” you call, hoping the reediness in your voice isn’t noticeable.

The handle stops turning. “Hurry.” With that, she leaves.

You exhale. You do not want to imagine what would have come if Karina had barged in as she usually does.

“You should leave first,” you say. The spike of anxiety has yet to retreat so you sound harsher than you intend.

Charles does not need to be told twice. His gait is stiff as he leaves. He looks back at you before he disappears around the corner.

After a respectable amount of time passes, you walk to the dining room. You can hear your mother chiding one of your cousins and pray she is too distracted by whatever mischief they’ve gotten into to notice your late arrival. And because you are not known for your luck, you accidentally come across Charles and his mother as they enter.

“Why are your clothes damp?”

You’re close enough to catch the Queen’s question to her son. Charles tries to wave it off but she pinches a cuff between her fingers and asks again.

The resigned downward curve of his mouth is what drives you to interrupt them. “It is my fault, Your Majesty. I was getting a drink of water and managed to spill it on His Highness. I am terribly sorry for the inconvenience.”

Her eyebrows raise. She inspects her son further. Something about him must amuse her for she smiles in that knowing way all mothers do and says, “It is fine, my dear. Let us go eat.”

Charles tries to catch your eyes during lunch but you keep your gaze steadfast on your cousins whenever you speak. It is only when the adults turn their attentions away from your section of the table that you meet Charles’ earnest gaze with a smile. You tip your chin in the direction of your father and give the barest hint at a shake of your head.

Before he and his family depart, Charles pulls you aside. Your parents are too focused on saying their farewells to the King and Queen to notice you’ve been sequestered away. Unfortunately, Charles draws the attention of his older brother much to your horror. Your urge to stomp on his foot is only quelled when Lorenzo shakes his head with a little laugh and holds a finger to his lips.

“Write to me,” Charles says in one breath. “Please.”

“Your Highness,” you say, unsure.

“Charles,” he corrects. He digs into his pocket and slips a folded piece of paper into your hand. He closes your fingers around it. “I’ll await your letters, my lady.”

He’s hurried off to his family before you can say another word. Shaking off your bewilderment, you tuck the paper given to you into your sleeve, and go to join your parents in wishing the Leclercs a safe journey home.

Hours later, when you are finally alone are you able to unfold and read what Charles has written you. It is an address with instructions on how to write it so that any letter of yours arrives at his personal quarters.

You press your tongue at the back of your molars, a little impressed at his confidence. It is not unfounded as that same night, you pull out a piece of paper and begin writing to him.

It is seven long years before you see Charles and his family again. But it is as if no time has passed as you and Charles exchange letters in your time apart.

You were able to conceal your correspondence with Charles with the simple lie of having befriended one of the maids the Leclerc’s brought along with them. Guilt did not swirl in your stomach at the disappointment in your father’s face when he realized the sturdy letter in his hands did not come from the King or Queen asking for your hand in marriage whenever you were eligible. It is pure luck you happened upon your father receiving the mail and were able to extinguish his hopes with a nonchalant lie.

He’s funnier than a prince ought to be. It doesn’t take long for you to forget you are talking to a prince and not one of your peers and formality becomes a thing of the past. By the end of that year, you considered Charles one of your closest friends.

You were one of the first to find out about his father’s passing. It took hours of convincing and a smidge of bribery to coax your cousin into bringing a gift to Charles from you the next time he went in for training at the palace along with your condolences. Letters from Charles ceased for a handful of months understandably but you sent your weekly letters faithfully. You detailed everything from your days to your studies to the little warm pockets of memories you had of his father and his kindness to whatever else crossed your mind. You didn’t know how else to comfort him from so far but when Charles finally returned his pen to the page, it was to thank you for allowing him some respite during the worst of his grieving period.

The years pass and while communication becomes strained as you two come to grow into your respective roles, you still consider Charles a very good friend. He’s one of the first to hear about your woes on your upcoming debut into society. You are approaching your twenty first year and you are sweating at the thought of what’s to come. You detail to him the families that have begun sniffing around you as if to test the waters of what sort of prestige your father is expecting. It is taxing but you deal with it well. You have no other choice after all.

Charles is strangely reticent at the topic of your debut. He offers a sympathetic ear but struggles to reassure you in ways that don’t make you vaguely uncomfortable. You can’t quite put your finger on why but his insistent claims that you will not have to worry about the men circling you like vultures does not set you at ease as you suspect he thinks it does. It reeks slightly of ownership but you brush it off as surely his written word is more one dimensional than his thoughts. It is far more likely Charles thinks to soothe you by the implication of an order of protection as he has no way to actually prevent someone asking for your hand. It is the thought that counts, you think.

This time around, the Leclerc’s visit is rather unexpected. You are due to travel to Monaco in a week’s time to make your debut but you cannot say you do not welcome the chance to see your old friend sooner.

Except, he is not the Charles you have kept so dear to your heart over the years. He is a man grown now. And you do not recognize him.

“Hello, Your Highness,” you greet, curtsying as suited for your station. You do not let yourself linger on him, to soak in how much he’s changed over these years.

It feels like a slap in the face even though it is to be expected. With your correspondence spanning from childhood until now, it should not come as a surprise to see Charles as the prince he is. But foolishly, you’ve held onto the image of him as the boy whose sleeves were a tad too long and whose smile hadn’t quite grown into the charming one he’s sporting now. Before, you could trick yourself into believing Charles was a friend of equal standing. But now you know that has never been the case.

He has always been Prince Charles Leclerc.

You greet his younger brother next, dutifully reciting your introductions to one another. A flash of recognition crosses his expression and his eyes flick to Charles for a moment. You pretend you do not notice.

His older brother, the king, makes idle conversation with your parents. Your fingers twitch against the fabric of your lehenga. The weight of your necklace is suddenly stifling and you bring your hand up to adjust it.

“Are you excited about your debut?” Arthur asks politely.

Seeing as your parents and the king have left the three of you to your own devices but within their eyesight, your shoulders loosen. “If my mother asks, I told you I’ve never been more excited in my life,” you say, sharing a conspiring smile with him. There is little doubt in your mind that Arthur is expected to happen upon a wife during this ball somehow.

“And if I ask?”

Charles’ voice is smooth and playful. He is not someone you can ignore regardless but you wish he made it a little easier to look at him without feeling blinded by his beauty.

“I am dreading it,” you confess. And he is well aware of that.

“Still scared no one will ask you for your dance card?” Charles teases.

You look up as if considering the possibility. The thought crossed your mind months ago but your mother had quickly assuaged those fears. “No,” you say. It isn’t arrogance that fuels your adamant denial. It will be a shock if not one man approaches you for a dance at your debut of all things. “More that I am scared my father will throw me to the first man who extends his hand.”

Your dry confession wipes the smile off of Charles’ face. “He would not do that.”

Arthur looks aghast. “Would he?”

“He would,” you say seriously. “We all have our duties do we not?”

You manage to shut Charles up while encouraging Arthur to complain about how his mother plans to spring a bride upon him to keep her wayward son home. Said mother beckons to him after ten minutes to point him towards Lorenzo’s guard, leaving you and Charles with the illusion that you two are alone. Hyperaware of his presence, you take a step back. You may not be searching for a husband but it does not mean you can tarnish your reputation by being careless. You turn to head back to your room with the intention of feigning ill. Except, a set of footsteps echo your own.

Charles follows after you. “Would you like to join me for lunch?”

Not particularly, you think but force the thought into the recesses of your mind. “While that sounds lovely, your Highness, I really must go.”

His hand wraps around your wrist before you can take another step away from him. “Must you be so cold?”

“Your Highness,” you whisper warningly. Your voice pitches at the end as your eyes dart around the two of you. There are eyes in every corner and none are to be trusted.

“Charles,” he corrects. “I’m Charles.”

His grip isn’t so tight that you cannot pull away and yet, you do not make an attempt. You stand there with his hand around your wrist and your heart in your throat like a fool. “We cannot be alone, Charles.”

“We’ll sneak off then,” he implores. His voice lowers. “Please. I’ve missed you.” The words linger as if he has more to say but he limits himself to this vulnerability.

The ache in his voice threads through your ribs until it wraps around your heart and squeezes. You chew on your lip for a moment you do not have to spare and then admit defeat. “Wait for me in my room,” you whisper. “I trust you remember how to get there?”

A boyish grin tugs at his lips. “How could I forget?” And then he is off, walking through the halls as if they are all he’s ever known.

You make your way to the kitchen with half a mind to sneak off into the gardens on your own. But you banish the thought, having briefly imagined the disappointment on Charles’ face if you do not show up. You quickly pack lunch and loop your arm through the handle of the basket.

It’s easy enough to get to your room without any prying eyes but you can never be too cautious. You peek around yourself, angling the basket so it looks smaller than it is to a wandering eye, before opening your door. Charles is digging through your vanity and spins around when he hears the creak of your door.

There’s something crumpled in his hand that he quickly shoves into a pocket. He grimaces. “You are back.”

You shoot him an unimpressed look. “I am. Are you ready for lunch?” You do not have the patience to question what he’s taken as a souvenir. It is likely something innocuous and something you’d give to him without thought anyway. Nothing you have is of value to a prince of all people.

“Are we to eat in here?”

You shake the basket hanging from your arm. “Of course not. We shall eat in the garden.” Eyeing the worn out throw on your couch, you point to it. “Take that so we may sit on it.”

Charles acquiesces, carefully bundling it in his arms. The hallway is empty and there are no echoes of hurried footsteps so you motion for Charles to follow you. Instead of leaving how you came, you lead Charles towards the rarely used back hallway. With two quick turns, the two of you find yourselves near the unused lower quarters.

Charles glances around himself, mildly surprised. “I was not aware these were here. Even from the outside it looks so…”

“Decayed?” you offer, amused at how he doesn’t correct you. “My grandfather never bothered to include these in the renovations so they remain empty. Every once in a while, someone will come down and clean it but if anyone is down here, it’s either me or my cousins.” You think it’s haunted as well but you don’t tell Charles that.

Pushing open a door with your back, you bring Charles to the very edge of your mother’s garden. A quaint pond sits off to the side, hidden from view.

Once the two of you are settled atop of your blanket with food in your hands, you ask, “Is this the season you intend on finding a wife?”

Charles chokes on his sandwich. You jerk back, nearly dropping your own due to his coughing fit. He thumps at his chest a few times before clearing his throat. With watery eyes and a raw voice, he says, “No. It is not the right time yet.”

Charles is twenty two to your twenty. He is considered young in a way you are not granted. Envy begins to drip into you but you quickly cauterize the entry point of it. The freedom you long for is no fault of Charles.

“You do love your dalliances,” you agree teasingly.

Embarrassment scalds his face to a deep red. You are confident if you were to hold your hand up an inch from his cheek, you would feel the residual heat.

He splutters, unable to form a string of words in defense for himself.

You laugh loudly. His reputation as a rake has preceded him. You don’t think it to be as scandalous as higher society wishes to believe but there must be some kernel of truth mixed in with the rumors. Despite the rumors circulation, it certainly hasn’t affected his value on the marriage market.

“I don’t—“ Charles presses his lips together and sighs. “Okay, that is true. To an extent.”

“Oh, is it now?”

He throws a piece of carrot at you. The red in his cheeks is receding but not by much. “I’m young,” he defends. “And I am trying to be patient for her sake. Or else, I would already have a betrothal in the works by now.”

Your ears perk up. “There is someone you wish to wed?” you repeat excitedly. He has not mentioned anyone in particular to you but perhaps they are someone he wishes to keep close to his heart until the match is secured. While so far none of your letters to each other have been placed into the wrong hands, some subjects are too delicate to risk the chance.

Charles looks off to the distance and then back to you. A crumb rests on the corner of his mouth and the casualness of it is at odds with the severity that pinches his face. “Yes.”

“Do they know of your intentions?” You try to think back on if Charles has accidentally hinted at someone being in the picture but you are drawing a blank.

He scoffs. He sounds almost bitter but when you look at him, the purse of his lips is closer to self-deprecating. “Not in the slightest. She would run in the other direction if she knew.”

“Oh please, you are a prince,” you say, exasperated. “You will be hard pressed to find a woman who wouldn’t swoon at a proposal from you.”

“You would be surprised.”

You knock your shoulder against his. Many dream of becoming a part of the royal family and romanticize it to an extreme degree. The insight Charles has given you over the years has proven it is anything but and you do not envy the women who will find themselves by the Leclerc’s sides.

“I am surprised. Besides being a prince, you’re charming too,” you say thoughtfully.

“And handsome.”

“And handsome,” you agree much to his delight.

“See? I knew it. I knew you thought this as well.”

“So then you understand why I think it is absurd you are so hesitant. You’ve always been brave. But maybe that is a testament to how fond you are of her.” You will have to make sure to keep a careful eye on who captures Charles’ attention at the ball. Perhaps, you may even need to deploy Arthur to gather some intel.

“I am very fond,” he says softly.

You look up at him to find his eyes already trained on you. Unease weaves itself through you, opening a pit in your belly. But you ignore it. “Hopefully, you will invite me to the wedding.”

He is silent for a long enough time that you fear you’ve overstepped some boundary you weren’t aware was in place. Before you can apologize, Charles brings his hand up. For a moment, you think he will lay his hand against your cheek and you begin to move away. But he merely picks a stray rose petal that has somehow found flight in the wind and tangled itself in your hair.

Whatever look is on your face softens him and the intensity radiating from him peters off into something less stifling. He leans back and examines the petal in his hand. It’s ruby red and faintly fragrant. It seems to center him for Charles says to you, “Save me a dance?”

Your answer is an easy, “Of course, Your Highness.”

Seven short days later, you find yourself in Charles’ home. The ballroom is stunning but its beauty cannot take away the nerves that have overtaken you. Your bones feel soft and weak and you fear you won’t have the strength to stand in front of the Queen. You long to hold your mother’s arm, clinging to her as a child once more, but you force yourself to take each step into the ballroom by yourself. You take a cursory look around, relief overlaying your anxiety at how many other nervous debutantes there are. Your anxiety is fully extinguished once you see Charles chatting with who you believe is Pierre. As if sensing your attention, he slowly turns to your direction and finds you almost instantly.

You give him a mockery of a curtsy.

He gives you a wink.

And so, your debut comes and goes with Charles dominating your dance card. Arthur manages to sneak himself on there as well as Pierre but other than the Leclerc brothers, Pierre, and a few others, your dance card is barren of any of the men your father hoped to potentially marry you off to.

A sticky sort of relief coats your lungs at managing to delay the inevitable for a while longer.

“Last night would have been awful if not for you. Thank you.”

You must head back to your home this afternoon but somehow, you have managed to carve out some time after breakfast to sneak away to say your goodbyes. It took the length of one dance to convince Charles to abandon his duties to allow you to say goodbye. It makes you think perhaps it is a good thing Charles was not the first born.

The glances you keep taking over your shoulder are more instinctual than anything. According to him, this part of the castle is secluded.

“I am indebted to you.”

Charles puts a hand on the ledge to lean forward until he’s all you can see. This close, you can the brown ring around his irises. He studies you, studies how you can’t help but sneak a peek at his mouth, and hums.

“I’ll be sure to collect my debt then.”

You enter your twenty fourth year with no prospects in sight. It horrifies your father.

You have become accustomed to it. The disappointment used to sit bitterly in your stomach but now you’re able to set it aside and put acceptance in its place. You’ve joined your younger cousin for her debut as her chaperone. The castle is as you remember it and so you’re able to impart onto her the two places she can go to for a breather if the chance arises and is needed.

She’s already danced with three gentlemen when she makes her way back to your side. You almost shoo her away but she grabs at you insistently. “The Prince is looking at you,” Sarish whispers.

“He’s probably looking at you,” you whisper back, distracted. You’re tempted to rip your bracelet from the thread it’s caught upon but with your luck, you’ll end up unraveling a good portion of the delicate seam work your mother labored over.

“No, he is not. Look,” she says urgently.

To appease her, you look around until you find one of the younger Leclerc brothers. Arthur has been coerced into a dance with another young woman but Charles remains off to the side. As Sarish says, he is looking at you.

He raises his champagne flute to you, earning the attention of those around him as he does. People crane their neck to see who has caught the eye of the ever elusive Prince Charles Leclerc.

Thankfully, the ballroom is so full, it is impossible to pick out who Charles motioned towards. You have learned to be grateful for the little things and that does not stop now.

“See!”

“I see,” you say through gritted teeth. “Oh look, more gentlemen are coming.” And then you leave your cousin to the swarm of men coming her way because while you are a chaperone, you never promised to be a good one.

It is surprisingly easy to escape to the backyard. Fleetingly, you think they should have more guards around but the lack of them works out in your favor.

You head towards the fountain a few feet away. The gentle lapping of the water soothes you and you take a fortifying breath. Charles can afford to be reckless but you cannot.

Gravel crunches beneath someone’s feet behind you and you whirl around, a hand to your heart. But you find that it is only Charles.

“I hear another betrothal is in the works for you,” Charles says after the silence stretches on for a moment too long. He adjusts his cuff links, smile thin and eyes devoid of all feeling.

You cast a wary glance over his shoulder. The party is in full swing and the guests haven’t quite yet begun to trickle into the backyard. “You called me out here to speak to me about rumors?” you ask doubtfully. Your father, a greedy man with an even greedier extended family, has been anguishing over your lack of proposals. The few courtships you’ve had have extinguished before they could get off the ground. And it is not for a lack of trying on your behalf either. Marriage may not excite you but you see its practicality. It helps that marriage will mean you are no longer be under your father’s thumb and beholden to his politics.

As the months drag and your various suitor’s indecision remains, your father’s hopes at finding a match lessened until he’s now grasping at straws.

“Your father has sent a letter to Carlos,” Charles informs you in a tight voice. “Expressing his interest in potentially being a foothold for the Sainz in Monaco.”

You close your eyes, cursing your father. He must truly be desperate if he thinks to weaponize his little influence to sway an outsider. “The Sainz are a smart family. They will not entertain such a clumsy scheme.”

The gravel shifts underneath his shoes. “Do not worry. I am the only one who saw the letter and I do not think your father so stupid as to think he can insert himself into matters such as this. Desperate, yes, but not stupid.”

The ironclad grip on your heart releases. “Thank you.”

“You have met Carlos though.”

He does not frame it as a question but you answer it like one anyway.

“Yes.” It had been a peculiar week when the Duke’s son found himself at your family home. An accident you still find hard to believe. You smile at the memory.

Charles grinds his teeth. “He is considering making his own offer for your hand.”

That stops you short. “What?”

“He sent the letter before your father’s arrived. The Duke was kind enough to inform me of your father’s…lapse in judgment. He also let me know of his son’s intentions.”

You did not think you left such an impression on Carlos but alas, maybe your luck is looking upwards for once. You cannot control the grin that graces your mouth at this information. If you must marry, you suppose he is a fine choice for a husband. He is certainly someone you know you can come to love and it would be far from a chore to do so. “I see,” you say diplomatically.

“Will you marry anyone then?”

His tone is disapproving and it immediately makes your hackles rise. Charles is a second prince and with his nephew’s arrival, he is no longer considered the spare. He is free to choose who he wants rather than what is good for the nation. Surely nothing holds him back from marrying the girl he loves he mentioned just a scant four years ago.

“I will marry anyone my father finds suitable,” you correct coolly. “It seems you forget my station.”

He rubs his mouth angrily. “Why haven’t you considered me?”

One second you are capable of breath and in the next, you feel as if your lungs have been compressed. The corset is much too tight and there is a sudden lack of air.

“Pardon?”

Charles steps towards you. A perverse sort of torment crosses his face. “Have you not thought of me as I have thought of you?” Another step. “Not even once?”

You must not hide your expression quick enough for his eyes light up. “Charles,” you say with a touch of warning.

“You must have,” he decides, advancing forward. A pleased smile stretches across his mouth.

“If I have, it was fleeting,” you say, taking an equal step back. “I do not dare to wish for more than I can be granted.”

“But you can be granted me.”

“But I don’t wish to be a part of your family, Charles.” Your head is spinning. “I am ill suited. I cannot be your wife. I cannot handle those expectations with grace, Charles.”

“And I cannot bear to be without you,” he interrupts desperately. “I tire of waiting. I tire of waiting for you to come to your senses.” He says your name, a longing whisper on his lips. “I tire of you refusing me.”

Your blood turns to ice. There is a brief swoop of your stomach as you take another step back from Charles. The back of your heels hit the fountain and you nearly buckle backwards.

“I think you should go inside now, Your Highness,” you say, voice caught in the back of your throat.

Charles has no care for your personal space and neither your propriety for he comes closer. He cups your cheek with a too warm hand despite your flinch. This point of contact is damning. “Why would I do that?”

“Charles, I don’t have a chaperone.” The music is winding down and perhaps that is why your heartbeat sounds deafening in your ears. It will be no time at all before the guests begin to trickle out to enjoy the night air.

If Charles will not course correct, you will. You have every intention of slipping off and fueling a different type of rumor but Charles doesn’t move out of your way. Instead, his thumb rubs across your bottom lip with reverence. His touch anchors you to your spot.

Dread runs sluggishly through your veins when his eyes trail down your face. You are beginning to understand that there is only one way this night will end. And you are a fool for not realizing it the moment Charles stepped foot in this courtyard.

Your ankle scrapes against a sharp edge on the fountain, reminding you of your place. You have nowhere to go and nowhere to hide from Charles. He’s set the trap and you’ve found yourself a willing participant in your demise.

“You haven’t had a chaperone with me for years, my lady,” he points out softly. “Must you start now?”

Charles doesn’t wait for an answer.

For all of Charles’ gentle appearance, he kisses you like he’s starved. He dips you slightly, placing his other hand flat against the small of your back for stability. Without his foresight, you might’ve taken you both into the fountain.

Your hands weakly push at his chest but he pays no mind. Instead, he deepens the kiss. Scandalized does not cover what you feel when his tongue slips past the seam of your mouth.

A gasp is what allows you to pull away from Charles. Shock still clings to you, making your limbs stiff and your reaction delayed. His hand cradles your face even as you turn your head ever so slightly to gauge the damage.

And with the multiple pairs of eyes staring back at you, all with varying degrees of incredulity, you know there is no way for you to sweep this under the rug.

He gently turns your face back to him. A satisfied smile rests upon his mouth. Victory lurks behind his smile as he says, “Spring is a lovely time for a wedding, mon amour.”

this fic is finished. there will never be a part 2. thanks!

#charles leclerc #Charles Leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fic #Charles leclerc imagine #soft dark!charles leclerc #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 imagine #x reader #dark fic #writing: charles leclerc

696 notes · View notes