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jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets · 3 years

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The Ever Handsome and Always Charming Dean Winchester

Title: The Ever Handsome and Always Charming Dean Winchester

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Destiel

Rating: Everyone :)

Tags: fluff

Summary: Just a cute little something I wrote for a friend :) @thebridgekid <3 A perfectly simple Dean and Cas wedding!

AO3

*** My works are not to be posted on any sites without my permission! But comments and reblogs are love! <3 Please and thanks!!

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Cas looked around the church they were standing in while they waited for the man they were there to meet, one of the Fathers of the church. It had been a while since he had been in one, since he had been in a house built for his father, at least not since he had decided to take off and leave his creation to fend for themselves. Being back inside one was… odd, to say the least. He was still angry with his father for leaving, for abandoning them when they needed him the most, and all those years before he had taken off while the planet almost died several times over.

“Agents,” the Father they were waiting for walked up to them, “how can I help you this fine day?”

“We were wondering if you could give us some information on a member of your church,” Dean spoke, easily slipping into his agent persona, “Mark Marsden. He went missing a few days ago and was last seen here. Just wondering if we can ask you a few questions.”

“Of course, Agents, if you'll follow me to my office we can speak there.”

The Father led them through the church and through another set of large double doors, the room on the other side packed full and decorated to the nines.

“I'll ask you to be quiet as we pass through,” the Father whispered to them, “one of our young couples is getting married. We’ll keep to the side and sneak into the back.”

They both nodded, following the Father back to his office, but as they did Cas kept his eyes on the scene at the front of the church. He watched as they passed as everyone in their seats had their eyes glued to the couple at the front, many of them dabbing tears from their eyes as the Pastor spoke of their joining in the eyes of God. As they reached the front of the room where the Fathers office was hidden at the back, Cas remained outside the door while Dean went inside to ask the questions he needed to ask, and watched the remainder of the ceremony. He stood silently at the side and listened as the young man and woman recited their vows to one another, the longing he could see in their eyes as they did reminded him of green eyes staring back at him.

Dean finished up with the Father and left his office just in time to catch the end of the wedding, and just in time to see how intensely Cas was watching it all. The couple at the altar exchanged rings, and it didn't miss Dean's eyes when Cas clasped his hands together, very clearly rubbing his left ring finger as he did. And as the wedding came to a close, Dean's eyes were on Cas as the couple kissed to seal the deal. Cas had yet to take his eyes off of them, and the way Cas was staring at them when they kissed, there was something in his eyes that Dean had never seen before, a look that had him wondering if maybe…

The couple pulled back from each other and the church erupted in cheers and whistles as they walked hand in hand down the aisle and outside, their guests following them out. It was enough to pull Dean out of his mind, so he pushed off his spot on the wall and walked over to nudge Cas with his elbow.

“Ready to go, man? We gotta go tell Sam what we found out.”

Cas just nodded and followed Dean out of the church and back into the impala.

~~~~~~~~~~~

They found themselves back in the church not too long after. They had gotten another small lead on their suspect from before, but they needed the Fathers help again, so here they were. Though this time the church was empty. The wedding party had long since filed out, surely to head to their reception, but Cas found himself being drawn to the altar at the front, standing at the bottom of the stairs just below it. He was only a few steps away from where the young couple had been standing not too long ago, professing their love for one another in the eyes of his father.

“Well, the good Father’s not here, no one is actually. We must have just missed everyone…” He stopped, finding Cas standing there, staring up at the flowery archway with that same strange look in his eyes from before, “Cas…?”

“The idea of being joined with another being,” he began, eyes not moving from the archway in front of him, his voice almost a whisper, “to prove the strength of your bond, in front of the eyes of my Father... It's one that I never thought would matter to me but, after watching the wedding today I find myself feeling that perhaps it does matter to me.”

“Cas,” Dean smiled to himself as he moved closer to Cas, standing beside him now, “are you, in your own weird way, asking me to marry you?”

Cas still didn't turn to look at Dean, but let go a small smile himself, “I know my Father is not truly here, but wherever he is, he is always watching, listening. And our bond, Dean, is stronger than any bond ever formed or created in this universe. If any bond should be recognized by the eyes of God, it should be ours.”

“So you are asking me to marry you,” Dean reached out and took Cas’s chin between his fingers, turning him to face him finally, “so why don't we do it right now then?”

“Right now?” Cas quirked a brow at him.

Dean shrugged, “You want to prove our bond in the eyes of God right? And like you said, he's always watching. So whether we do it here and now, or somewhere else, who cares?”

“But there is no minister to officiate the joining.”

“Do we really need one?” He asked, and Cas tilted his head in this typical Cas fashion that Dean loved so much. “The whole point of having a minister is because they are connected to God, right, but you're an Angel, one of God's children. I don't think it gets any closer to God then that.”

“So right here, right now, just the two of us, you wanna get married?”

“If you want to, Cas, then yes,” he nodded, his smile growing brighter and wider with every second, “we don't need anything big or fancy with hundreds of people we barely know. Just us, that's all we've ever needed.”

Dean took another step closer to Cas, laying his head gently on his as he asked, “So, do you want to marry me, Cas?”

Cas’s smile grew so impossibly wide he thought he might explode. Never had he ever thought he would be here, about to marry the love of his life. “Yes,” he breathed against Dean's lips, “I do want to marry you, Dean.”

“Okay then, let's do this.”

He turned and held out his arm to Cas who took it instantly, and then he walked them up the few steps to stand at the top under the archway. Once they were there, he turned and took both of Cas's hands in his own and readied to make this Angel his in their own private little ceremony, just the two of them. Little did they both know, it wasn't as private as they had originally thought it was.

Sam had entered the church not too long after Dean and Cas had. He saw the impala out front and knew they were both still there, and had walked in just in time to see the two of them walk up the steps together, and come to stand face to face under the archway. He had come to tell them that he had found a major break in the case and that they no longer needed the Fathers help. But when he found them up there together like that, holding hands and very obviously doing what he thought they were doing, he didn't have the heart to interrupt what he thought was a very long time coming. So he opted to stay quietly at the back of the room, and leaned against the wall to watch unnoticed by them.

“So,” Cas spoke after a few moments of just staring at each other, “where do we start?”

“Let's skip the, ‘we are gathered here today’, and jump straight to the vows.”

Cas nodded eagerly, “I would like to go first, Dean.”

Dean smiled at his eagerness and nodded in return, “Sure thing, Cas.”

Cas squared himself and took a deep breath, holding Dean's hands a little tighter in his as he began, “Dean, I knew from the moment I laid a hand on your soul in hell that I was lost. I have been alive for millenia, and yet in all my many years, nothing has ever changed me the way you have in such a short time. The brightness of your soul, and the strength of our bond have made me into a better Angel then I ever thought I could be. You make me smile, you make me laugh, you make me finally feel loved and whole. I wouldn't be who I am right now without you, Dean. I love you.”

Dean wasn’t one to cry at these kinds of things, not usually, but he would be lying if he said he wasn't a little choked up at Cas’s words. He knew that the Angel over the years had caused a monumental change in himself, but he never realized how much he had done the same for Cas.

“Ok, my turn,” he cleared his throat before he spoke, holding tighter to Cas’s hands and feeling the tears welling in his eyes, but he didn't care, “in my life I have thought, many times, that I knew what true love felt like, but as soon as I saw you walking through those barn doors for the first time, I knew that all those other times I was so very wrong. The profound bond we share is something I have never felt, ever, in my entire life. And I don't think anyone, past, present, or future, will ever be lucky enough to feel the way we do, how strongly we do, through that bond. And I know it took me a long time to admit it, because we both know I'm a stubborn ass, but I have always known that I never want to be without you, Cas. I'm not the same when you're not around, I feel empty when you're gone, even if it's just for a few hours, I never want to be without you. And with you in my arms forever, I know I will be the happiest man on Earth. I love you, Cas.”

Neither of them could resist any longer as the tears forced their way past their last defenses, streaming down their cheeks. “And now?” Cas forced past the lump in his throat.

“And now,” Dean let go of Cas's hands for a second to wipe at his eyes, then to reach down into his pants pocket and pulled out a small wooden box. Cas’s eyes went wide as Dean opened it to reveal a beautiful silver ring, with a feathered line of black running through the center. “I've been carrying this around for a while now. I made it myself, but I wasn't sure if weddings or marriage was something that was for us, so I haven't said anything yet, but I was going to give this to you regardless of what we decided, at some point when I got the nerve up to give it to you,” he shook his head with a light chuckle and pulled himself out of his rambling, then held out his hand, “anyways, give me your left hand, Cas.”

Dean’s shaking hands reached out to take Cas’s and clumsily slipped the ring on his finger. He admired it on Cas’s hand for a moment, before bringing his hand up to his mouth and pressing a light kiss to the ring. Cas smiled at the action, bringing his hand up to his face to admire the ring himself before something dawned on him that kind of upset him, “Dean, I do not have a ring for you.”

“It's alright, Cas,” he shook his head, still smiling at his Angel, “I don't need one.”

“But,” he frowned looking down at the ring on his finger, “this ring symbolizes that I am the other half of your bond, you have nothing to symbolize that you are the other half of mine.”

“Okay, how ‘bout this then,” he took the ring off his right hand that he always wore, and gave it to Cas, “we’ll use this one as a placeholder for now, and then when we get back to the bunker you can make one like I did.”

Cas smiled and accepted the ring, slipping it onto Dean’s left hand, copying Dean's action and placing a sweet kiss on it. “There, now everyone will know that you and I belong to each other.”

“And now we have one more thing to do,” he took both of Cas's hands in his again and pulled him a little closer as he asked, “Castiel, do you take the ever handsome and always charming Dean Winchester to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do take you, Dean,” Cas took another step closer, now chest to chest with Dean, “and do you, Dean, take me to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I definitely do, Cas. And now I pronounce us-”

“Wait!”

“What?” A small surge of panic shot through Dean.

“Last names,” Cas stated so simply, and Dean let out a breath of relief and a slight chuckle, “I don't have one, what do we do?”

“What do you want to do? It's your call.”

Without any hesitation, Cas blurted out, “I want to take yours.”

“I was hoping you would say that,” Dean whispered and leaned in to press their foreheads together, “in that case, I now pronounce us husbands, Mr Dean and Castiel Winchester,” Cas smiled at the use of his new full name, “and now I’m gunna kiss my very handsome groom.”

“Please do.”

Dean took no time in closing the small gap between them and pressing his lips firmly against Cas's, his husband. And as his lips moved in perfect sync against Cas’s he couldn’t think of anything else except finally, finally Cas was his husband, finally they were married, and finally he was Castiel Winchester. Forever his Angel.

Sam had managed to remain quiet and unseen for the entire little ceremony. It was perfectly Dean and Cas, a secret wedding, just the two of them. And even though Sam wasn't supposed to be there, he was honoured that he was able to bear witness to the most perfect wedding he had ever seen.

He stood there long enough to watch them seal their joining with a kiss, and when it was obvious that they weren't going to be separating anytime soon, he decided to slowly back out of the room and let them have their time together. Besides, while they were distracted with each other, he had some work to do.

~~~~~~~~~~~

They stayed in the church for a while, standing under the archway, kissing, holding each other, calling each other husband. Dean wasn't sure how long they had been standing there when things started to get a little intense. Their kisses turned heated and hands were starting to wander, so Dean pulled back from Cas who chased him with his lips, and was disappointed when Dean pulled back even further. “Cas, wait a second,” Dean laughed at the whine he let out while still trying desperately to get to his lips, “Cas, let's go back to the motel, we can lock Sam out and have a mini honeymoon.”

Cas stopped trying to chase after Dean and pulled back to look at him. Dean wiggled his eyebrows at him and all he could do was nod enthusiastically while practically dragging Dean towards the front doors of the church. “Yeah, let's do that!”

“We should let Sam know that we are married now,” Cas added as they exited the church and made way for the car, “but after our mini honeymoon.”

Dean stopped dead in the middle of the parking lot, causing Cas to jerk to a stop beside him and look at him with a furrowed brow. “Something tells me he already knows,” he groaned and ran a hand down his face.

Cas turned away from Dean and looked over at the car, and yeah, Sam definitely knew. The impala was completely decked out from hood to trunk. There were white streamers and paper doves all over the hood and roof, the entire ground surrounding the car was littered with confetti, empty beer cans from the trunk had been strung to the bumper, and the back window was painted with the words ‘FINALLY hitched!”

They slowly walked up to the car, not exactly sure what to do about it, or how to even get in. Dean eyed a piece of paper stuck under the windshield wipers, and just as he grabbed it the devil himself drove by in his own car. He honked wildly at them as he passed, waving his hand out the window, then sped off down the road and out of sight.

Dean just shook his head and groaned, “Oh god,” as he opened the note and read it out loud, “Honestly, it's about time guys! Seriously! I'm really happy you both finally did this. I stopped by the church to tell you guys that I had a new lead on the case but I ended up being just in time to see your private wedding, and now you have an official witness. Also, don't worry about the case, I got this one. I made you two a reservation at an actual hotel in town, the Royal Stay Hotel, in the honeymoon suite, you can check in any time. The reservation ends Monday afternoon, so enjoy your four days off! Have fun newlyweds! Love, sam."

“That was very nice of him,” Cas looked up at Dean, trying to gauge his reaction and smiled when Dean did too.

“Yeah, it was. We’ll call and thank him later, but right now I just want to get you to that hotel room and get this honeymoon started!”

“Should we get going then?” Cas smirked at him, giving him the same wiggle of his eyebrows that Dean had given him before. Dean just laughed and opened the door for Cas to get in, then ran to the other side to hop in.

He put the car in reverse and turned to pull out of the lot, and got a look at the back seat, “Oh my god,” he sighed, but couldn't even help the laugh that escaped him, encompassing his whole body as Cas looked back too.

Sam had not only taken the time to decorate the outside of the car, but also the inside. There was more confetti and streamers in the back seat, along with bottles of champagne, several cases of beer, and a very unnecessary amount of condoms scattered all over the back of the car.

It took them awhile to stop laughing at the state of the back seat, both had tears streaming down their faces before they were able to catch their breaths again. And after their fit of laughter, Dean leaned over the seat to put his hand around the back of Cas's neck and pulled him in close. “You know, he is right about one thing.

“What's that?”

Dean smiled, leaning in to rub his nose against his husband’s, “Finally.”

“Finally,” Cas agreed, and moved in to kiss Dean soundly once more, before taking his hand while Dean drove out of the parking lot.

End

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A/N: Hope y’all enjoyed it, always more to come <3 And if you wanna be tagged for furture Destiel posts just let me know <3

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

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The Handmaiden🌹1

Warnings: eventual dark elements (tags to be added as fic continues)

This is dark!(king)Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: Princess Madeline has left her homeland to marry a king. On her journey, she has brought her most trusted handmaiden. Little do either of them know how perilous their new home will be.

Note: Alright, here’s another medieval AU ft. King Steve. His darkness will build as we go and we’re gonna ride those vibes, thots. I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Madeline was the fairest woman you’d ever seen. Her strawberry blonde waves flowed like water down her back and shoulders. Her jaw was etched by the gods themselves and her lips were soft to the eye and as you guessed, the touch. Her eyes were like gems and her figure was graceful and lithe. Her voice was a melody and her laugh like the pluck of a string.

How could she not be perfect? Porcelain and precious. She was a princess. The eldest of Eddor.

It would be unnatural not to envy her. Not to compare your ordinary features with her extraordinary ones. Not to measure your circumstance against hers. You had grown up in her shadow. Once a playmate, now a maid. You served as her closest companion and attendant. A mere servant, you were but another accessory among many.

Your jealousy was not spiteful. Many a peasant lived a life worse than yours. You did not complain or want. It was the order of things. The world as it was.

She was serene, often intimidatingly calm. That day, you could see the nervous tension in her cheek. Not many others would notice but you did. You didn’t blame her. She was to meet her betrothed at last. A man more than ten years here elder; of the few men grander than her in prestige; a widower and king.

You stood just a few steps away, hands folded and head slightly bowed in deference. If she needed you, she would call to you. You were glad for the camouflage of your low standing. Among the foreign court, on such a significant day, you were nothing; just another witness.

Your journey was long. A month at sea, a fortnight in a draughty northern castle, a week upon the road, and finally you were in the capital; Halder’s Arch. A night spent awaiting the first meeting and a further hour for the king’s appearance. The other servants were growing restless; Madeline’s ladies, too.

It would be a sad and heartless act to send a princess out upon her own. Sybil and Lucille were the only noblewoman to accompany Madeline. They were to remain at the foreign court and seek their own suitors. Her guards, her priest, and her physician were also among the party as well. Her retinue was finely outfitted.

Finally, the doors shifted and the armoured guards hit their staffs on the stone to announce the arrival. As the hall opened up, you held your breath as Madeline did the same. She raised her chin slightly and rose with the rest to receive her betrothed. A line of lords preceded their king, hidden by the group of men.

The Princess of Eddor was announced first. Her crest bearer spoke loudly for all the people to hear. Then it was the king’s turn. Steven, first of his name, son of Stewart, ruler of Anglhem and its territories. The lords broke and formed two rows as they stood at attention.

King Steven strode between them, as proud and stoic as the princess he would wed. You kept your chin down but watched him below your lashes. His dark blonde hair was thick above a trimmed beard. He wore a simple golden crown without stones, his jacket a turquoise brocade slashes with citrine. A chain of golden links hung from his shoulders with a single sapphire upon it.

It was simple but bespoke a man of intent; of standing. His simplicity said it all. You suspected he dressed for the occasion; a very deliberate impression for his future wife. The capital, the castle, the lords, did not suggest a ruler without extravagance.

The king stopped before Madeline and bowed to her; she curtsied to him in kind. He seemed pleased as he took her hand and kissed it. His eyes flicked all over as he considered his new wife; his second. The first had come to a tragic end during a summer plague not two years past.

“Princess,” He greeted. “It is a privilege and a pleasure to meet you at last. The painter did you an injustice for no canvas could capture such beauty.”

“And you, my king,” She said evenly. “I did hear of a handsome and noble king but the accounts do leave much untold.”

You were always rather amused by such empty courtesies. These words were rehearsed and recited without thought. It was what was expected. A princess could not come off as appalled by her suitor, even if she were, and a king could not be disappointed in a princess, even for a crooked nose or blotchy complexion. It was all an act. You did not envy the fallacy of status.

Your eyes wandered as the royals went about their performance. The audience was rapt and marvelled at the perfect pair; a stately king and a beautiful princess. You bit down to keep from grinning wryly. Your amusement was stifled completely as your eyes were caught by a pair most unexpected.

As Steven was offered a chair to sit with his queen, his gaze strayed from her. You withheld your surprise and assured yourself he was merely distracted by the portrait behind you or perhaps a nick in the stone. It couldn’t be you. Servants were like windows; transparent.

His brow twitched and he looked back to the princess. Her ladies were dazzled by the king’s stature, the lords were pleased by the princess’ grace. All seemed to be in a trance; all but those who held their attention.

Madeline held her veneer only because the cracks could not be noticed by strangers. Steven’s matched hers though you saw no flaw. You only saw a man sure of himself because he knew what to say. To him, it was a ritual, each step another closer to the end.

You straightened at the subtle signal from the princess. She wanted wine. You went to her and took the ewer from the table beside her. You filled the king’s goblet first and presented it to him with a bow. He took it and you repeated the steps for the princess. She thanked you and you didn’t miss the king’s eye. He was watching you. Why?

You resumed your vigil along the wall with the other servants. Your gown differed from no other. The blue-grey wool was plain enough that it could’ve been another stone in the wall. Your cap hid your hair and no ornament sparkled at throat or wrist. You lowered your head as the king turned his goblet in his hand and gazed over at the princess.

You wanted to laugh at yourself. It was preposterous. He hadn’t looked at you for any reason but what you offered; a cup of wine. How could one ignore a figure right before them? You did long for it to be over for the sake of your weary mind. Your travel had left you endlessly exhausted. It was clearly affecting your judgement.

Yet, you peeked up again and the king squinted over at you. You blinked as he grinned and leaned back. He drank from his goblet and returned his gaze to Madeline. She presented him the letter sealed with her father’s crest. He accepted it and she seemed not to notice his wandering eyes.

Maybe because they did not wander. Maybe because he had been thinking and they averted to follow his thoughts. Or he was listening and did consider her words as he considered the room.

You twined your hands together behind your back. You were trained, you were patient, you were attentive. You could bear yet another royal meeting. You could cling to your duty and see it through. You only had to resist the nagging fatigue that caused your mind to drift.

You needed to focus as the princess’ goblet was empty.

🌹

The wedding was already well-prepared. Both parties had settled their arrangements long before that fateful meeting. Steven and his advisers had the date, the feast, the ceremony, all plotted carefully for the next week. Madeline had her gown in her trunk and her virtue intact. Or so it was written in their betrothal.

The princess seemed pleased with her husband. That night she watched herself in the mirror as you brushed out her hair. She touched her long neck and her fingers trailed down to her collarbone. She let out a wearisome sigh.

“Do you think he was taken by me?” She asked. “He was cordial but a marriage cannot survive on cordial.”

“I’ve never known a man who wasn’t taken by you, your highness,” You dragged the bristles through her lush strands. “A king could not hope for a better princess.”

“Oh, so they say,” She preened. “I am told he sent his painter to at least a dozen courts to paint their princesses. Then he was presented with their likeness and he chose me himself.”

“And you were deemed the worthiest to share his crown then,” You said. “I see not how he could be disappointed.”

“And I cannot say I am,” She smiled and batted her lashes. “He is very handsome. I feared when they said he was older than me.”

“He doesn’t appear to suffer from it,” You assured her. “His step is as sure as any youth.”

She was silent as you finished brushing out her hair and you parted it. You began to braid her long tresses before she found her voice again. When she was thoughtful, she was often plotting.

“And the wedding night?” She ventured quietly. “Do you think he will be pleased with me then?”

“I… am certain he should be,” You said stiffly. “I see not how any man cannot be pleased with his wife in such a way.”

She giggled and played with the buttons of her sleeping gown. She eyed you and looked away guiltily. You tilted your head at her and tied up the end of her braid.

“What is it?” You asked.

“Oh, you know,” She stood and turned to you. “I was always told servants were more experienced in those matters, but you are always so modest.”

“As I have served you loyally, when should I have had time to take experience in such matters?”

She laughed and pulled a stray thread from your cap.

“Much too loyal,” She chided. “Let us retire for the night. This kingdom is still strange to me and I do wish to know it better before I am bound to it entirely.”

🌹

Madeline was not to see her betrothed again until the wedding day. Their separation was tradition and ensured the legitimacy of the marriage. Thus, the princess could only emerge from her chambers when she was assured the king was engaged and the corridors were clear.

On the first day after their introduction, she took to the gardens, dewy with the early spring dampness. The second she explored the wing within which her rooms were. On the third, she was warned to stay in as the king was to attend to the wedding’s final arrangements. She was irritated by her exile but not unhappy. It would end soon enough and this would be her castle to reign as she wished.

As you had since you were children, you slept beside her and woke before her. You touched her shoulder and advised her to wake but she stirred only a little. You dressed and left the lanterns unlit as the sun streamed in through the windows. You hid your hair beneath your cap and allowed yourself a moment of vanity as you adjusted your skirts in the mirror.

The best way to rouse the princess was food. You closed the heavy door behind you and greeted the guards who stood in the corridor. Lawrence and Hal were selected by Madeline’s own father and had served her since she was a girl. You knew them well and they were little disturbed by the mousy maid upon her duties.

You carefully counted the corners as you still found the castle unfamiliar and confounding. The day before, you’d become so lost, you had to ask another servant how to find your way back. You loathed a repeat but it was likely as you already felt entirely displaced.

You came upon the lower floors where the kitchens resided. You were confident that your destination was close but found yourself in a hall you’d never been before. A round door was open to the cool morning air and voices mingled with the scent of horses. You cursed under your breath and looked back over your shoulder. You must’ve turned the wrong way at the stairs.

You were kept from righting your course as the voices grew louder and a shadow appeared in the doorway. A lord, vaguely familiar from among those who had accompanied the king, strolled through as he laughed over his shoulder. You skirted against the wall and bowed your head in deference.

You peaked up through your lashes as he was followed by another. You recognised King Steven as he yawned behind his hand.

“You disturbed me so early for--” He complained but paused as his eyes fell upon you. “...nothing.” He finished slowly as he nodded at you.

He carried on as he caught stride with his companion who reprimanded him for his grumbles. They were bawdy and the king took no offence to the remonstrance. You kept your head down until you heard them turn the corner. You wondered little at the reason for the king’s visit to the stables; you only wanted to retreat before the stench lurked in any further.

#Steve Rogers #king!steve #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers x reader #medieval au #au #fic #series #dark!fic #dark fic #the handmaiden #mcu #marvel #captain america

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noodlecupcakeswritings · 4 years

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Ownership - Chapter 3 (A Kylo RenxOC AU)

Cora Ardmore and Kylo Ren work for rival companies, but they don’t know that until after they spend the night together. Once their identities are revealed to each other it’s a question of who will cave first?

This fic is pure porn, pure kinky porn.

Please leave comments, kudos and reblogs if you like it. If you would like to be tagged let me know. You can find my AO3 here

Warnings: Sexting, Harassment, Dirty talk, Sexual tension, Kylo Ren is a warning, Begging, Pet names, Ground rules, The start of a beautiful BDSM relationship is coming, Teasing

Chapter 3

Cora Ardmore

Two weeks and Kylo Ren was still harassing me through text messages. Two weeks and he was still not getting the hint. Two weeks and I was unable to stop myself thinking about him. Work hadn’t been easy with the constant distraction and having to keep this a secret. If this came out to my co-workers I’d be mortified as well as the talk of the office. Fucking someone when you’re supposed to be representing your company was probably a fireable offence. And I would not lose this job, they could pry it from my cold dead hands. My phone lit up, showing me another text notification. Cautiously in my empty office I glanced at the closed door before reaching for the device. Kylo Ren I can’t stop thinking about how good your cunt tastes.

I blinked, having to do a double take. His texts were getting more and more dirty. Heat flared across my cheeks and between my legs. Your so vulgar. Looks like work was going on the back burner yet again. I crossed and uncrossed my legs hoping the heat didn’t grow into an ache. Kylo Ren I’m just honest. If you weren’t so stubborn this could be fun for the both of us. My stubbornness was a result of how wrong it would be. Yet I had to admire his determination. Perhaps I’d indulge him, just a little. Who says I’m not having fun? I added a winking emoji at the end. The second after I sent it, I knew I was likely going to regret it.

But I’d be lying if I said he hadn’t been occupying most of my thoughts lately. Honestly, he was hard not to think about. I’d been going over our night together like it was one of my favourite films, desperately clinging to all the good parts and the fine details. He was hot, that was the understatement of century, he was single, he was rich and didn’t care about spending his money and he was unbelievable in bed. That gentleman charm he’d demonstrated that night was now gone…but maybe I liked how demanding his was, maybe I liked how dirty he was. I’m sure he’d be smirking cockily if he found out I’d touched myself at least three times since our encounter. It was hard not to when I was led in bed at night with only thoughts.

Kylo Ren Careful. It wouldn’t be wise to tease me. Biting at my bottom lip I quickly typed out a response. Why not? What would happen? Fuck it. There was nothing saying I couldn’t have a purely sexual relationship with him. So long as work didn’t get involve it shouldn’t be an issue. I’d never wanted someone so badly as I wanted him. Kylo Ren Why don’t you stop by my place tonight and find out? Or would you prefer dinner first? Dinner wasn’t a bad idea. If it went well then, I would go back to his place, if it didn’t then that would be the end of it. Perhaps I wanted an excuse to dress up and impress him. Dinner sounds good, perhaps if you’re on your best behaviour I’ll go back to your place for dessert. Kylo Ren I’ll pick you up from your place at 6. I’m happy that you’ve finally made the right choice.

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Deciding on an outfit was no easy feat, my bed was currently littered with clothes. I’d settled on a black lace bodysuit for my underwear, probably because it was the sexiest underwear I owned and even then, I knew it wasn’t that impressive. However I couldn’t just go out in this. Something at the back of my wardrobe caught my eye like a magpie spots something shiny. I held out the garment, considering my options. This was the only thing I’d gotten a good feeling about. Slipping into the old dress was easier than expected, the material clinging to my body perfectly. The black inner dress was covered in a layer of black lace complete with long lace sleeves. The dress stopped above my knee and would be complete with some strappy black heels.

Makeup was applied and I tied my hair in a high ponytail. I checked myself over before glancing at the clock. I had enough time to put the essentials into a smaller handbag. Purse, keys, lipstick, mints. Wait, should I pack an overnight bag? Or would that seem too desperate? Too confident? The doorbell rang, giving my answer. No time for an overnight bag, he was here. Taking a deep breath, I headed for the door. I opened the door finding Kylo Ren stood outside in another expensive suit, holding a dozen red roses. Oh. It had been a long time since I’d received flowers romantically. Perhaps he was turning up the gentleman charm again. Either way I appreciated the gesture. His eyes greedily took in every inch of my body, looking about ready to throw himself at me but he remained composed. A part of me wished he had thrown me up against the nearest surface.

I took the flowers from him and placed them inside in the kitchen where I would tend to them later. They’d survive out of water until tomorrow morning. “You look very tempting. I’m considering skipping dinner,” Kylo confessed. Pride filled me; all this effort had paid off. But I couldn’t let him have his way so easy. He’d played a game with me; I’d play one with him. Perhaps he’d make me regret it. “You promised me dinner. I expect you to uphold your end of the bargain,” I said matter of factly. “And you think you’re in a position to make demands?” There was a hint of a warning in his tone. That predatory gaze was back but I remained confident. “At the moment, yeah,” I smirked.

The tension had grown, neither of us backing down. For a moment I thought this would be it, he would definitely drag me in my home by my hair and put me over his knee. Instead he stepped back, allowing me to exit my home and lock up. He opened the passenger car door for me, and I climbed into the Mercedes. Once comfortable in the driver’s seat, Kylo started the engine and put the car into drive. The journey was smooth and comfortable. My gaze settled on his large hands as they gripped the wheel. One hand was big enough to wrap entirely around my wrist or maybe my neck. The thick prominent veins on the backs of his hands made me feel a certain type of way, much like the thickness and length of his fingers. I wanted to take one in my mouth or perhaps take them elsewhere. My body was already craving his touch and he hadn't done a thing. I wanted him to put one of those hands on my knee or maybe my thigh. Just some form of contact during this journey.

The car came to a stop, Kylo coming round to my side of the car to let me out. He led me inside a restaurant named ‘The Oval Room'. It was well known for its fine food and a perfect place to host a business dinner. Kylo gave his name to the front of house and we were led to a small intimate corner table. A place where we wouldn’t be bothered, nobody was sat near us thankfully. I opened up a menu, scanning the pages. I made a choice, now giving the man across from me my full attention. Conversation topics suddenly escaped me and I sat there awkwardly silent. I should have thought of a topic of conversation instead of him fucking me senseless. “How was your day?” I asked. Typically boring question. But I suppose it would get conversation flowing. “Difficult. All I could think about was you,” He answered as if it were the most causal thing in the world. “Oh?”

A server came over, ready to take our order and cutting the conversation short. Kylo recited his order without looking at the menu meaning he was a regular here. Salmon tartare for an appetizer and beef tenderloin for his entrée. The server turned his attention to me, and I gave them my order. Chicken salad and then crab cakes. The server left, Kylo taking the opportunity to lean in a little closer. “Can I ask, what made you change your mind?” He questioned. I should have expected this question and I knew giving him the truth would go straight to his ego. But perhaps I could have some fun with it. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you either. Especially late at night when I’m alone in bed,” I teased. This definitely got his interest, now giving me one hundred percent of his attention. “And have you touched yourself?” Kylo asked.

I don’t know how he had this level of confidence. How he could ask that in the middle of a restaurant. My cheeks burned at the question. I didn’t have it in me to be so forward, just teasing and suggestive. I was subtle, he was not. “Yes,” I confessed. “How many times?” My fingers curled around the hem of my dress and I chewed the inside of my cheek. Perhaps teasing hadn't been a good idea. It was very obvious I wasn’t good at this game. “Three times,” I finally gave my answer. A hint of a smile played at the corners of his lips as he leaned back in his chair, contemplating my answer for while. “You’ll have to be punished for that. I’m the only one who makes you cum from now on,” he said matter of factly. I opened my mouth to respond but my brain had since flat lined and couldn’t think of a response. Heat flared between my legs and I crossed them to try and ignore the feeling.

“Do you understand?” He asked, determined to get a response from me. “Y-yes.” He furrowed his brow in a way that meant he wasn’t completely happy with what I’d said. “Yes, sir,” I tried again. “Ground rules, if you want this relationship to work you belong to me and only me. You will refer to me as sir and you will answer to kitten. I expect you to be at my place from Friday evening to Sunday afternoon unless I state otherwise. Our work lives are to be kept separate at all times. Any questions?” He listed. Firstly I needed to wrap my head around the rules. All of them seemed reasonable and easy to follow. Although the pet name was going to take some getting used too. Wait, scratch that, all of this was going to take some getting used too.

“Not at the moment,” I answered. “Good. There's some smaller rules I expect you to follow as well. If I send you clothing or underwear, I expect it to be worn the next time we see each other. Every fortnight you’ll go for a routine grooming session, ranging from waxing to manicure. All of which will be prepaid for by me.” I frowned, that seemed a little controlling. I didn’t like that having my appearance altered was a rule. “Do I get a say in some of these rules? Because I’m not keen on the idea of you changing how I look to suit your fantasies,” I argued. It was his turn to frown, “I never said that. None of my previous toys never had any issues with this rule. They saw it as a gift, a pampering session so to speak.” “I’m not like most women.”

“No. No you’re not. I expect my toys to look their best at all times. And if you want me then you’ll accept that rule.” I scoffed, fine. I’d pretend to go if it got him off my case. I’d never had an interest in having my nails done and I wasn’t about to start just for him. Our appetizers arrived and we ate in a comfortable silence. “Are they any rules you have for me?” He asked. I hadn't considered it until now. I hadn't expected rules overall, I’d just expected a sort of friends with benefits relationship. But it seemed I was in for more than that. “It’s not a rule per say. More just that I ask you go easy on me. In case you haven’t already guessed I am terribly vanilla, and I’m not used to all of…this,” I explained. “Oh I knew that the moment I met you, I could see how innocent you were. In all honesty it makes me want you more, seeing you get all flushed and embarrassed as I talk to you.”

Conversation was thankfully cut short again as our entrees arrived. I was on the verge of rubbing my thighs together for some kind of friction. Kylo took a small bite of his beef, his eyes on me the whole time. “You know I’d much rather be eating your pussy right now,” He stated. I almost choked on my mouthful, a few other tables turning to see if I was alright. Kylo was doing nothing to hide his smirk as he poured me a glass of water from the jug. I took the glass from him and swallowed a few mouthfuls before glaring at him. “Stop it,” I mumbled, now more self-conscious about the nosey diners around us. “Why? You don’t like the thought of me laying you out on this table and eating you out like you’re the best meal I’ve ever had? I bet your dripping at the thought right now. I’d have you running down my chin by the time I’m done with you,” Kylo smirked.

Thankfully this time I didn’t choke on my food. But the sooner I finished this meal the better. Kylo took his time, cutting tiny chunks off his tenderloin and savouring every bite. He wanted to drag this out as long as he could. He literally wanted to make me squirm. “Or would you prefer it if I bent you over the table and fucked you? Which one have you missed more? My tongue or my cock?” He asked. My bottom lip was trapped between my teeth as I did my best to remain calm and composed. But he was not making this easy. Perhaps if I asked nicely enough, he’d take me back to his. He’d want to hear me beg for it. “Sir, please. Please take me back to your place and fuck me,” I gave him my sweetest voice. Kylo smiled triumphantly before calling for the cheque.

Taglist: @sweetfictionalworld, @sweetsec-93, @cltex84, @momobaby227, @jana-banana-fana, @dark-night-sky-99

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eagesoldartblog · 4 years

Note

Not sure if you remember but you reblogged a post a while back (and tagged it #antagonist au if that helps) and talked in the tags abt Lewis trying and failing to be a villain and like. I'd love to hear more abt that

Ay! So fun fact! I accidentally mish-mashed a bunch of aus together so have fun~

EDIT: ALSO! Please be sure to check out the tags for the Trigger warnings!

Antagonistic Lewis

I can be a villain, Lewis reassures himself, taking quick, long paces as he circled the dark, Stoney room. You’ve done this plenty of times before! Sure that was on stage, everyone knew their part- but you can do this…!

If he still had a neck, a throat, he’d be gulping back his worry. But unfortunately that form of him hardly came up and right now, he wasn’t sure how to deal with the ordeal that would have been needed to bring up his face.

Unless. Lewis pauses for just a moment, eyes snapping over to a chair in the middle of the room. Well, not just a chair, it just so happened to be holding the very man who forced Lewis into a position such as this. Killed him, snatched a life of opportunity away. If it was to show him, then maybe. Maybe he could shove aside the swamped feeling of despair, inturn for the reward of watching his killers face becomes contorting with the knowledge that his victim was back. Then Arthur would know. He would be able to comprehend just how serious he was.

Bitterness almost drips from the ceiling and clings to his clothes and skull like glue, fueling his thoughts to spiral and grow restless and angry, how He wanted to be a father and have a family, Kingsmen. A family where you were in it.

His fist tightens, glare honing in so much he could see the hairs on the back of Arthurs neck stand on end. How his shoulders shake and tremble and rise with shallow breaths. Earlier Lewis had been worried he had restrained too tight. But now? Lewis wanted to grab the knotted ends of the rope, and pull and pull until he could watch Arthur’s organs come up his throat.

No. No… not yet. Lewis hisses to himself, shoving his rage and making it subside into something more manageable. Disdain. Sure, annoyance and hatred threatened to climb up his body and consume him entirely in a sheet of flame. Flash out and have the roar echo against the walls. But he forced himself to stay silent, calm. It was better to keep his bitterness hidden for now.

Not yet. Lewis reminds himself, echoing it through his head like a mantra and Lewis takes slow, careful steps. Relishing the click, click, click of his heels. Each one marking the smallest jolt in his captives’ shoulders, who slowly began to sir.

Wait until he was conscious. And show him the true meaning of fear.

Lewis’s smile stretches across his cheeks, listening to the smallest moan creeping out of Arthurs mouth. Able to watch that peaceful expression become one of confusion, disbelief, and slowly blink to awakeness. Lewis could almost commend himself on the dramatic timing, because just as Arthur lifted his head, he gasps, eyes snapping up to meet his expression. Fear and confusion taking hold of his body, covering his face like a rat stuck in a trap.

It fills Lewis with a glee so immense he could giggle with delight. Jitteriness taking hold of his entire body.

”Good evening, Arthur,” He hums, unable to make out the euphoric feeling of finally being able to speak these words for real now. No more reciting, no more imagining. Arthurs racing heartbeat was real and Lewis could feel its pound in every part of their small room, ”I’m so glad we could finally meet in person. No more running away, hiding away in that van of yours,” Oh yes, Arthur will pay handsomely, one for taking away his life and spitting on it with the pathetic excuse of a search, and two, for wasting all of his precious time.

His smile tightens, teeth grinding and straining against his jaw. The noise grinding into his ears and making his body nearly convulse. Had he cared just a bit more for himself and his bony form, he would have paid it more mind.

Instead.

SLAM. Arthur screams, jerking his body like he was trying to leap away, only to be bound by the tight ropes around his chest and the hand gripping his shoulder. The fist- had it been lacking a glove- would be noticeably growing red. Knuckles would have bulged out from his skin. And if Lewis was being serious, he wouldn’t doubt it if the bone ripped through. That’s just how anger was.

And, just like how he imagined, so many times before, it hurt.

When he grabbed it, Arthur had most likely gasped, tried to wriggle out. Now his shoulder was clamped to the chair and Lewis was inches away from his face. Unable to properly examine how Arthurs eyes snap from him to his shoulder, make out how he desperately tries to push and wriggle his arm out. So much that he slams his elbow against the chair to force it out. But to no avail.

Now to deliver his next lines, ”You know, I was thinking of how I should kill you ever since you trespassed onto my property.” he made sure to whisper, low and soft, to drive home just how little he cared, as if being quiet would show this despicable man how serious lewis is.

His grip tightens. ”I’ve been imagining every possible death I could bestow upon you. Should it be the way I died? Should it be in a bathtub?” As he speaks, his hand latches to Arthurs chin and jerks his head to the side. The room shifted, morphed, the walls opening up and staining with water-damaged wallpaper. A single tub, covered in rust standing at the furthest wall.

Drops of tears hit Lewis’s fingers, snatching his attention down before directing his gaze to Arthur’s face- his eyes were wide and his neck strains, breath coming out in shallow, panicky breaths. The severity of the situation finally hitting him.

To think, Suddenly, A voice in the back of Lewis’s head whispers, you had to save him from many of these types of situations before.

…Huh?

Lewis couldn’t help but blink, eyebrows screwing together as his mind suddenly freezes. Frozen- not like he’s been hit by a bullet, but instead watching a travesty occur and being unable to process any of it. And for a moment, Lewis can’t help but be shocked at the tone of it. Indifference? Boredom? Ple-

“P-please stop it-” Arthur chokes out. His eyes squinting shut as tears fill his eyes and begin to drip, rolling down his cheeks and- and suddenly Lewis’s thoughts stall. His plan, his- his script jumbled and losing itself in a wave of confusion and-

What is he doing? Why are they there- ”Why should I? I’m dead, don’t you remember?”

Arthur throws his shoulder again. But to no avail. His eyebrows twist up, and he looks up at Lewis once more and a pleading look is all that Lewis can make out. Except instead of filling Lewis with rage, it throws him further into the murky depths of confusion. Is-is he seeing this right now? Why-

He didn’t even notice, but his grip loosened. So much so that Lewis took a step back- floated away and he could barely make out his hand simply dangling there.

“I just- I just want to find my fr-friend.” Arthur chokes out, more tears rolling down his face as he dissolves into that awkward shuddery sob. Unable to breathe but with so much trying to leap out of your throat and there’s nothing else you can do to lock it up.

It was… pathetic. Horribly pathetic. But- …

Lewis shakes his head, reminding himself that there was no way this bastard is being honest! He lied for years- excellently crafted a lie beyond any logic that ultimately ended in shoving him off a cliff and to his doom-

And he continues to lie? Even- even fucking now?

But Arthur doesn’t stop crying, his shoulders shaking and the rest of his body beginning to tremble. The only thing preventing him from slumping over and really seal the deal of his supposive despair was the rope that Lewis was now seriously regretting.

…What was he thinking? Lewis demands of himself, tearing through his thoughts as he circles the side of Arthur and his fingers lace the ridges of the rope.

”H-hey, I’m sorry, Arthur.. I didn’t mean to- fuck- I shouldn’t have done that-” He stumbles over his words, fumbling with the intonation, as well as whether or not he had the right to even apologize for- for kidnapping him! For threatening him with death-! Lewis should be ashamed of his actions. The rope unravels, and disintegrates. Arthur brings up his arms slowly, eyeing his palms in shock before he’s up and standing and turning to Lewis. Distrust covering his face as he backs away like a frightened cat and almost pressing himself against the wall behind him.

Lewis, wasn’t exactly sure how to respond. Something about this scenario was off, it was wrong, and he couldn’t tell what exactly it was. Perhaps it was just the guilt that was already beginning to swell.

He- he’s seen this before, hasn’t he? Lewis could only recall a faint image- when they were much younger. Lewis was trying to practice for his role in a play, and Arthur had come over to help.

Lewis was a villain, and they were dangerous. He was dangerous. He only- took out his frustration through his roles.. And…

Lewis faintly could remember the scream. Arthur begging him to stop because he was hurt.

How did Arthur ever forgive him for breaking his arm-?

“Wh-here’s the exit?” Arthur asked, his voice wavers and Lewis is once again forced to see the sorrow etched into his exhausted face, and Lewis had to remind himself that things were different now. He-

Silencing his thoughts, shooing away the memories, Lewis sighs and nods to the door just a yard away from Arthurs feet, keeping his head down. ”Down the hall, then take a left and go up some stairs, the exit will be on your left.”

He flicks his wrist, and several deadbeats fizz into existence, ”here, they’ll guide you out-

Click

BANG!

There’s an explosion. One that rocks through the room, and tears into him. Somehow Lewis was still standing, but that could have been the shock, as his eyes flicker down and peer at his chest… and make out.. A hole.

A small one, barely big enough to chip anything major- being his anchor and ribs- but… a hole. That’s for sure.

Lewis blinks, slowly raising his gaze and…. Only able to make out…

Arthur. Has a gun. A gun that is pointed directly at him now. Smoking lightly and shaking even more. Matching the look of complete, utter terror on his face.

”Ar-”

Another bang, but this time Lewis was plunged into a world of black.

#Mystery skulls animated #Msa #Mystery skulls Fanfics #Lewis pepper #Arthur kingsmen #Eage writing #Anonymous #So fun fact I fuckin #pressed enter too early #bc i was worried i wouldnt tag it #whoops #Well anywAY HERE U Go #tw captivity #tw torture #tw drowning #threaten to drown #tw rope #tw gun violence #tw gore mention

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grapefruitsketches · 4 years

Text

Chapter 6, Bliss (Day 28)

Part of my Songxiao post-canon fix-it fic series, started under the Untamed Spring Fest 2020 event:

Please see the reblogged version of this under the my-writing and songxiao-fix-it-series tags on my blog - soon to be a pinned post once I figure that out - for links to previous chapters/the Ao3 version!

3,302 words

Chapter 6: Life on the mountain now seemed more like a story he knew rather than a memory he had lived.

Wei Wuxian sometimes referred to his post-revival life as a second life. Xiao Xingchen had found himself thinking in those terms too, even though he placed the division between his first and second life earlier than might have been expected.

Placing the end of his first life at the moment his body stopped breathing, or starting his second life when it started again in Cloud Recesses, was unfair, too convenient. His years in the spirit pouch had not been what made him who he was now, nor had it been his reawakening to a community of strangers, thrust into a family like a newborn. These were certainly important experiences in this second life, but the formative years began before all that, sometime after he had met a cheerful young pickpocket, and before he had turned Shuanghua’s blade on himself. Sometime between those two points, his first life had ended, and this life had begun. The Xiao Xingchen he remembered, that this new family admired, that Zichen loved? That Xiao Xingchen had died. And he was now living as whatever had been reborn his place, wondering how long he could keep pretending nothing had changed before the others realized that he was an imposter. For unlike the first Xiao Xingchen, he had not been raised in a place of immortality, but rather a place known best for death.

Life on the mountain now seemed more like a story he knew rather than a memory he had lived. He knew it had been a peaceful time. It had been a life full of hard work and involved a tough training regiment, to be sure, but it was consistent, predictable. Xingchen knew what would happen each day, and recognized each face he saw. Xingchen liked the routine, woke each morning knowing what to expect, and went to bed comfortable that his expectations had been met. He had existed mostly at a distance from his fellow disciples, friendly, but never close. He supposed some would have called him a friend, but the word always seemed too intimate for the simple casual conversations, shared chores, and sparring practices that had defined most of his interactions with fellow disciples. Baoshan Sanren ensured she had frequent one-on-one discussions with each of her disciples, and Xingchen supposed that these progress checks meant he had shared more about himself to Baoshan Sanren than he had revealed to anyone else, but she was their immortal sect leader, not to mention the closest thing most of the disciples had to a parent. He had no doubt that she cared about him, but their relationship could hardly have been described as friendship. He tried to avoid burdening her with any of his struggles, knowing she had so many other disciples to deal with, but still, he would go to her if there was ever anything too big for him to deal with alone. Meanwhile, she certainly had never shared her innermost thoughts or biggest troubles with him.

Baoshan Sanren sometimes asked if he felt lonely, but he always shook his head, smiling. He spent a lot of time alone, but loneliness had never seemed to be much of a problem for him. Baoshan Sanren nodded approvingly each time. She spoke often about the dangers of investing one’s self too much with others, that one could control oneself, but couldn’t control the actions of others. That getting involved could affect your judgment. Xingchen sometimes felt guilty in accepting her approval. He privately harboured certain romantic ideas about companionship, ones that ran counter to these teachings. He was endlessly intrigued by the kind of companionship he learned about in the history books and stories he read at night. He liked his disciple siblings well enough, and certainly cared about them, but he never felt any deeper resonance that would draw him closer to one or another. So keeping himself at a distance had never been a problem. But reading about intimate understandings between two people, bonds that led them to do extraordinary things, to dedicate or sacrifice themselves to greater deeds than either could have accomplished alone, he could not help but feel a sense of longing. He read of soulmates, of people inevitably drawn to each other’s sides, whose fates were so intricately linked that the history of one could not be told without including the other’s. These stories seemed fantastical to him, though, and so he was able to set them aside, filing them away with other childish dreams about impossible things.

He noticed, as he grew older, that some disciples spoke almost as though they had experienced such a connection. Baoshan Sanren never disapproved, and never contradicted these assertions, she merely cautioned and advised. But Xingchen privately wondered if these disciples truly felt something so extraordinary as what they and his books described, or if this was merely wishful thinking, hyperbole inspired by the very same stories that called to him. Or perhaps, he thought, somewhat more grimly, that closeness was meant for other people, but not for him. He supposed he was ok with that. Perhaps he was meant to always stay on friendly, not intimate, terms with those around him. It made it easier to focus on his cultivation, and that was something he thought could truly help him ease, even if in a small way, the troubles of the world outside the mountain one day. He did not need a partner to help him achieve these goals, even if he believed it would be nice to share a union like that with another.

When he had left the mountain, he was scared. He knew that Baoshan Sanren wanted him to stay – to continue to cultivate towards immortality in her way. She had never been shy in expressing her feelings on such matters. He remembered how she spoke of the corrupting influences of politics, of power, of methods of cultivation that drew even the strongest and most righteous to their downfall. He had overheard her after she had received news of Cangse Sanren’s death, had quietly beckoned younger disciples away from her chambers so they wouldn’t hear. But he had heard her mournful wails, could never forget them. They had lasted precisely twelve hours before she had emerged, looking as though nothing had happened, not a puffy face or red eye in sight, and had simply asked him how his poetry recitation was faring.

So of course he had been scared. Scared that if he made the wrong move, he would be the cause of more grief, canceling out his efforts to only be a help, not a hindrance, to his master. But the very dangers and struggles of the outside that Baoshan Sanren warned of were precisely what drew him away from the safety of his home. He wanted to share her teachings with the world, to pass them on to anyone who wanted to hear them, and if not, to otherwise help however he could. So when he was confident enough in his values, he decided it was time to leave. He was painfully aware of how few disciples had left the mountain, of how little the outside world knew of his sect leader, and of how much awe what little they did know of her inspired. As long as he could keep himself from the corruption she so feared, as long as he lived by her principles, ensuring that the corruption she spoke of could not reach her through him, he could only hope to avoid bringing her shame, and, if he worked hard, perhaps he could bring her pride. Maybe he could show her that there was less to fear than she seemed to believe.

The fear was overwhelmed by his determination and excitement. Based on the maps he had perused, on the histories he had studied, his sect, his whole world, was smaller than some of the wealthier residences. And multiple such residences could exist within one city. There would be so many people out there. So much space. So much to see, to learn. So many ways he could help. He felt like the hero at the beginning of the tales that would be shared over dinner, or recorded in old scrolls – not knowing what adventures lay before him, but knowing that there must be some where he was going. He didn’t deign to consider himself a hero, of course, but hoped that in the vastness of the world he would newly adopt as his own, he could find a way that he could make some small difference.

Baoshan Sanren’s last words to him as he departed would echo often in his mind throughout his first life: I believe in you, but not in the world you are leaving us for. The words at first made him wary, jumping at every unfamiliar rustle, reaching for his sword as he turned every blind corner. But eventually, he would be both amused and saddened by her fears. The world he encountered throughout his travels was strange and imposing in its vastness, but always beautiful.

Unfortunately, it would only be in his second life, when he was reborn in the very world she mistrusted, that her words truly made sense.

And so, Shuanghua slung onto his back, he left the mountain. He wandered. He did make a difference in the lives of individuals. He was easily able to find little problems he could fix, troubled spirits to heal or violent ghosts to disperse. It crossed his mind as he did so that he had not run into any of the cultivators he understood to be populating this world. He found it odd, but assumed that it must be because this world was so unimaginably large that he would be very lucky indeed to run into another cultivator. Perhaps they had not heard about all these struggles faced by the people he helped. Or worse, perhaps this world had so many troubles that the various sects were too overwhelmed to address even a small portion of them.

Zichen had laughed when Xingchen had first wondered this aloud to him. Xingchen could only laugh along, happy to have inspired the affectionate burst of laughter from his newfound travelling companion, but not yet getting the joke.

Zichen.

It had been the night of his first meeting with Zichen when he had realized, with a shock, that conversation with Zichen flowed more easily than any he had had before. Zichen, unlike some of the nobility Xingchen had encountered so far, didn’t seem annoyed by Xingchen’s blunt style of speech, or his inattention or ignorance to courtesies that hadn’t existed on the mountain. He, in fact, remarked on Xingchen’s politeness, his kindness, on how rare it was to run into another cultivator also working in these small villages. He had been intrigued to hear Xingchen’s philosophies, ideas Xingchen had grown up believing commonplace. Xingchen, in turn, had been fascinated to hear about Zichen’s travels, the differences between Zichen’s childhood and his own. They had talked for hours on their first meeting, and Xingchen could only blink in surprise when Zichen softly suggested they each return to their respective inn rooms. Xingchen had not realized until then that it had gotten dark, or that the inn’s tea shop was nearly vacant.

It had seemed natural for the two of them to leave the small town together. They had both heard the same rumours from just one town over, and it did seem like a job better suited to two cultivators. Of course they should go together. They travelled in this way for months, Xingchen relieved each time Zichen just happened to be traveling the same way, or Xingchen was curious about the mysteries whispered of from one town over and Zichen offered to provide back up, just in case. After a while, Xingchen finally felt comfortable admitting to himself that their companionship was no longer incidental, convenient, and perhaps never had been. That they both had chose and were choosing to follow in each other’s paths. Slowly, he began to understand that perhaps this, was what being truly close to someone felt like. Instinctual, unquestioning trust. Mutual respect and knowledge that if one ever needed assistance, the other would be there. A desire for companionship that trumped any question of purpose or convenience in remaining side by side.

He had been surprised the first time they had been recognized in a town they had never visited before. Especially surprised, given how recently he had himself had realized this, that the two had been recognized as a pair. (Shuanghua?? Fuxue?? The other inn guest had remarked reverently to his companion, who had turned and gasped, Could it be… the Gentle Breeze and the Cold Frost??) But Xingchen had simply smiled at the two guests and affirmed their assumptions, introducing himself and Zichen and inviting them for a drink if they would like. Zichen had seemed amused, and Xingchen understood that this meant that this was another thing that was Not Usually Done, but the excitement and gratitude with which the other guests had accepted his invitation made it worth it. Still, Xingchen as always made sure not to ever leave Zichen alone with even friendly strangers, knowing that Zichen’s amusement and admiration of Xingchen’s quirks would be strained if they led to any need for Zichen to make small talk.

And so they moved through the world together. Meeting Zichen’s friends and family at Baixue Temple. Meeting the occasional cultivators, some even seeming to share their ideals, an occurrence which Xingchen was increasingly understanding the rarity of. He remembered the night when he and Zichen had quietly, excitedly, first whispered ideas about the sect they would build together one day. The slow journey to letting himself admit to himself that the love he felt for Zichen was different from what he felt for other friends he had made. The even slower, sometimes painful, but ultimately joyful realization that Zichen held this same distinction for him. These moments were the ones he reflected on when he reminisced about this first life. Sometimes the teasing laughter of a young girl pretending to be more blind than she was entered his memories, but memories of her were far too close to… It was dangerous to think on her for too long. Dwelling on those memories for too long inevitably lead to memories surrounding events that had ended this first, idyllic life.

There had of course been moments, even before the very end, of his first life that were not happy. But he could not regret those. After he had separated from Zichen, there was not a moment that he didn’t miss the easy companionship in the day, the warm presence in their bed at night, the constancy and understanding and trust that had marked their years together. But if Zichen did not want him by his side, Xingchen could make sure to be anywhere else in this world, unable to make things right but able to avoid further damage. He always smiled as he readjusted the bandages on his face, knowing that it meant that Zichen would not have to do the same. He learned to navigate by touch, by sound, by smell, to appreciate these senses that he had previously taken for granted. It was like he was entering a new world yet again, and there was a certain excitement to this new experience too. There was always a slight twinge in his chest when he remembered his last moments of sight. Baoshan Sanren’s face looking discomposed, tearful. She had not looked angry or disapproving, just deeply mournful. It was the first time he had seen her looking anything short of noble, regal and would be the last time he would ever see her at all. She seemed resigned to his decision, apparently understanding well that nothing she could say to change his mind.

But his last moments of sight had also included Zichen lying prone in front of him, unconscious, waking only in short bursts of pained delirium. And if Baoshan Sanren’s expression had inspired any second thoughts at all, Zichen’s feverish cries for help, cries for the pain to stop, cries for his Shifu, had quashed such thoughts in short order.

These moments in his first life had been unfortunate, of course. Xingchen wished they hadn’t had to happen, but given the events preceding these decisions, he couldn’t contemplate a world where he didn’t repeat the same decisions every time.

This was Zichen. And it had been in Xingchen’s name that he had suffered.

I could do just one. Baoshan Sanren had whispered, hesitantly hopeful, He would regain his sight and you would not have to lose yours.

No. Xingchen had said resolutely, looking into the empty places where Zichen’s eyes should be, My whole sight is the least I can give up, his whole sight is the least I can give back, after what he’s lost for me.

Baoshan Sanren had, on his request, sedated Zichen before sedating him, and Xingchen had gently moved Zichen’s eyelids to cover the place where Xingchen’s eyes would live from now on. The lids sagged a bit unnaturally without the support of eyes behind them, but ignoring the small indiscrepency, Xingchen was able to smile. The last thing he ever saw was a Zichen who seemed to be peacefully slumbering. And for Xingchen, as Baoshan Sanren skillfully administered the needles to sedate him as well, it was the most beautiful final image he could hope for.

His first life had continued for some time, devoid of a specific purpose, and he had admittedly foolishly hoped to hear an affectionate “Xingchen!” call after him as he moved along a lonely path, or traveled through a remote village. But at some point, even this imitation of peaceful wandering had ended. And shortly after, so had his first life. He was not sure when, but he knew how. He could not accept that a child raised as Baoshan Sanren’s disciple, a man meant to defend her principles, a representative among so few of what ideals his master had shared, could have performed the acts he learned had been done by Shuanghua, by his hand. So the Xiao Xingchen who had benefited from the kindnesses and the privileges of a childhood on Baoshan Sanren’s mountain must have died the moment such actions were taken. The subsequent physical death was only the natural and merciful confirmation that this Xiao Xingchen was long gone.

And so his second life had begun, with violence.

And now, lying as he was now next to Zichen once again, nestled cozily in bed in a farmhouse owned by a pair he had crossed paths with only once in his first life, he realized how naïve he had been. How could he have believed that the eleven years he had spent slowly reassembling himself, the months of physical recovery and readapting the world he had worked through, that these insignificant trials supported by uncountable luxuries could have possibly mitigate his abhorrent beginning? Now that he could walk, could smile, could help tend to a garden, now that a rhythm had established itself in his second life, he even dared to remember moments of his first life, moments he didn’t regret. When they were alone in their room at night, he would brush a hand over Zichen’s face, over his closed eyes, feeling the resistance offered by eyes that had once been his, and would smile. But he still had to work to maintain his smile when he let his hands travel down to Zichen’s lips, aware of the space behind them. Further evidence of the things Zichen had given up, had lost, and that Xingchen had taken, in his second and current life.

Things he could never repay.

Next: Chapter 7, Stream: Xiao Xingchen has some long needed one-on-one treatment sessions with Wen Ning, where Wen Ning will try to get Xingchen to talk about his experiences back in Yi City.

Also: I’m sure many of you have forgotten about this fic since it’s been so long! But I’m happy to report that part of fixing the issues I was having with this chapter was fully finishing and editing the remaining 2 chapters as well, which I will post this Wednesday and Friday! We’re in the home stretch <3

#songxiao #the untamed #cql #xiao xingchen #song lan #also featuring baoshan sanren very briefly but I love her #my writing #songxiao fix it series

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montmartrasse · 7 years

Text

Jehanparnasse 2017 - Haunted

1.3k words

cw: alcohol, creepy mansion, house of usher (9th grade me would need this warning, dont look at me), and teeth rotting sweetnes

beta’d by @in-love-and-liberty and i think they are possibly the best beta a person could ever ask for, i am thankful

read on ao3

“Would you ever like to spend Halloween with your friends, love?”

“I don’t wish to be anywhere else but by you, sweetcheeks.”

Jehan squeezed Montparnasse’s hand. They were both wearing gloves but Jehan could feel Montparnasse’s bony fingers underneath the layers of wool and leather.

“I’m telling you the truth, ‘Parnasse, if I wanted to be with my friends on our anniversary, I’d tell you.” Jehan said.

Jehan and Montparnasse met and started seeing each other four years ago at a Halloween party at Courfeyrac and Combeferre’s house, where Éponine decided to bring Montparnasse along. Jehan remembers drinking too many colorful shots of alcohol and seeing the prettiest man they’d ever laid eyes on in their life. The event’s of the party were a haze in Jehan’s mind as they got very drunk, and apparently started reciting poetry to Montparnasse about his face.

They’ve been together since then.

Every Halloween, Montparnasse would surprise Jehan with a trip to somewhere spooky. It was mostly abandoned manors and old fashioned graveyards. Last year, Montparnasse took

Jehan to Paris so they could spend their anniversary and Halloween at the catacombs. It was the best anniversary Jehan could hope for.

This year, Montparnasse told Jehan to dress warmly and comfortably for a little walk in the woods. Jehan was not afraid of many things, but the forest kept many secrets inside it and some secrets were better off undiscovered. With Montparnasse by their side, they felt safe.

They’ve been walking for a while now and Jehan was growing more and more impatient for what Montparnasse planned this year.

“We are almost there, love.” Montparnasse said as if he read Jehan’s mind.

After five minutes of more walking, they reached an opening of trees.

In front of them, stood a gigantic mansion that looked like a simple breeze of wind could knock over. There was no source of light except for the moon above the house. The mansion had black windows frames that somehow still stood unbroken and stone walls. The windows were so big and thoroughly placed that Jehan felt like a face was staring at them. Bare, dead trees surrounded the mansion and an absence of patio that made the house even more unwelcoming to the visitors.

Montparnasse spoke after allowing Jehan to take it all in. “They say the house has been untouched since the 17th century. Recently, it was opened for visit. Of course, the spirits of the dead has been here for the whole time.” he explained.

Montparnasse did not believe in the spirits or the ghosts - he was just adding a touch of drama for the sake of Halloween.

“This is so beautiful - and scary. We can go in, right?” Jehan was still amazed by the grace of the house stood before them.

“Of course love.”

They walked closer to the house, noticing that unlike the rest of the forest, there were no yellow or orange leaves on the ground. Everything here has been dead for a while.

“There is some light coming out,” Jehan observed. The second floor of the mansion was dimly lit.

“People leave candles there, in hopes releasing souls. They are only inviting big fires and risking ruining this beauty.”

“I’d candles if I knew!” Jehan sounded a little upset about the missed opportunity. Not that they had any souls that needed to be released.

The area around the house was not covered by any kind of fence or walls, however, the metal gate in front of the house was gigantic. It had to be at least nine feet tall, Jehan assumed. There were intricate details on it, mostly just carvings of random shapes but Jehan’s eye caught the two engravings of two crossed roses. The door was not locked as Montparnasse held the door like a gentleman for Jehan.

The first floor was simply breathtaking. There was almost no furniture or whatsoever but the wallpaper and the wooden floor looked as good as knew, if not, a little faded. The huge windows allowed the moonlight to peak through the house. Jehan entered a room assuming it to be the living room or the main dining room. They still held Montparnasse’s hand, dragging him behind themselves, until they saw a dusty grand piano. Untangling their hand from Montparnasse’s, Jehan pressed a note on the piano only to discover it is badly out of tune.

“I assume the spirits does not know how to enjoy a piano.” Montparnasse said behind Jehan.

“Let’s see the upstairs, shall we?”

“Sure,” Jehan walked past Montparnasse to the stairs.

When they reached upstairs, it was true that there were candles but none of them seemed like random visitors left them there. There were all kinds of candles there, all kinds Jehan liked. And roses, maybe hundreds of red roses, scattered on desks, the floor, by the candles. Roses everywhere. Jehan walked forward, to pick up one of the roses from the desk and smell it.

When they turned back to look at Montparnasse, they saw that he was on one knee, holding out a small box.

“Whats - going on?” Jehan managed to ask and stepped closer to Montparnasse.

“Jehan Prouvaire, for the last four years, you’ve shown me beauty, peace and excitement. Before you, I believed in only survival and death. Now you’ve made me realize that those are not the only things a man needs in his life, no. With you, I’ve experienced love and passion.” At this point, Montparnasse could see tears rolling down Jehan’s cheeks but he continued nonetheless. “Everything about you is worthy of love, and I am not the one with the words for romance, I’m not the poet but here I stand, well, kneel,” Jehan giggled, tears still streaking down their cheeks, “asking you to marry me because there is no other person I’d like to spend the rest of my life with.” He took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a second and then looked at Jehan’s tear filled eyes deeply, “Jehan Prouvaire, will you marry me?”

Jehan looked wordless for a few seconds but they quickly managed to say the words that would bind themselves to Montparnasse forever.

“Yes. Yes I will marry you!”

Montparnasse rose to his feet as Jehan answered and took out the ring from the box. It was one of those clear rings that had real, dried flowers in them. The tiny flowers were red and blue, a perfect fit for Jehan. He slipped the ring to Jehan’s ring finger. It looked so perfect.

Montparnasse kissed Jehan slowly as he wiped out the tears from Jehan’s cheeks.

“I thought you were going to say no for a moment.” Montparnasse smiled between kisses.

“I thought I was dreaming.” Jehan said.

Montparnasse slipped the ring to Jehan’s ring finger. It looked so perfect.

Neither of the two could believe they had such ethereal beings by themselves, this time bounded forever to each other. Two of them were imperfectly perfect and they matched like puzzle pieces; so different yet so fitting.

They spent the rest of their evening exploring the house, making up stories of people who lived there and Jehan even managed to quote a few lines from Edgar Allan Poe without Montparnasse realizing.

Near the morning, they decided to visit the Halloween party that was happening at Café Musain and Jehan proudly showed off their engagement ring. A few people even managed to hug Montparnasse.

Everyone was so happy, yet unsurprised about the engagement. Courfeyrac said that he’d seen it coming, but he’d been saying that for the last three years now. Grantaire was happy that his best friend was marrying his close friend. Couple of people called dibs on being the best man for Jehan. There was a tough choice in their future, Jehan sensed.

Jehan had never felt so content before. With the love of their life and their best friends beside them, they never had a perfect Halloween like this.

i’ve seen brooklyn nine nine’s HalLOVEen episode 9 times now, blame the show for this sappy romantic shit.

also, i, a person with no romantic feelings, tried to write a romantic proposal and probably failed dramatically, so if you cringed reading that, i am sorry,

thank you for reading and reblogging and tagging and even just looking !! i appreciate everything!

#i know its not 31st in most places #but its 1am here #and ive been listening to spooky scary skeletons on repeat for an hour and a half now #i cant feel my brain #s #there should be an s somehwere #when will i sleep #anyway #les mis #les miserables #jehanparnasse #jehanparnasse 2017 #jehan prouvaire #montparnasse #my writing

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 years

Text

tapestry 👑 II

Warnings: eventual dark elements (tags to be added as fic continues)

This is dark!(king)Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: King Steven had a wandering eye but you never thought it would fall upon you.

This Chapter: The reader finds herself drawn into courtly intrigue.

Note: Here’s part 2. I’m having fun and I have so many ideas for this. Yes, this is inspired by lots of medieval shows like the Tudor and the White Queen etc. but this will be 100% gratuitous whatever I want it to be so hold onto to your panties. I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply! Love ya!

Rose played with the pearl at her throat. You watched her fingers as she toyed with the small orb. The queen’s voice filled the small chambers as she read the poem in a gentle rhythm. You hadn’t caught enough words to string them together.

You tore your eyes away and watched your hands smooth out your charcoal coloured skirts. Your drab attire stuck out grossly among the pale silks and rich satins. You father loathed your plainness, your insistence on simplicity. But he hadn’t enough money for seamstresses and you made your own dresses or altered your sister’s worn garments. You didn’t mind simple. You didn’t need beading or gilted embroidery. No pearl or jewel hung at your throat.

The spectre of your father loomed in your mind. You’d received a letter that morning with news of your sister’s labour. A boy. Healthy. Your father would be pleased but when he returned, your own failure would be even more stark in his mind.

You had no husband, no prospects either. You could not spend your life as one of the queen’s pets. Especially given the events of the banquet. A day passed since but the scene remained in the minds of the court. The queen betrayed little concern but Rose was all too obvious in her newly found spite for you. You only wanted to hide behind your hood and be forgotten.

“My lady,” The queen’s voice drew your attention. She looked at you with kind eyes. Perhaps she didn’t begrudge you the king’s fleeting eye. Perhaps, you reassured yourself, she knew it was little more than a show. “I know you do prefer this ode, would you grace us with a reading?”

You stared back at the queen. She was talking to you but you wondered why. The ladies took turns at recitation but you weren’t a favoured narrator. You liked to listen and found your voice too brittle to compare to Eleanor’s refined evocation.

“As you wish, your highness,” You stood and stepped forward to take the book from her. You cleared your throat and resumed your seat as you eyed the verse. ‘Upon the morrow she waits…’

You kept your voice as steady as you could. Spoke to the room instead of your chest. Your habit of tucking your chin in threatened to lower your head.

“Listen to her…” The whisper underlined your voice but you ignored it. “Sounds like a dying sparrow.”

You refused to look at Rose as she simpered. As she muttered her displeasure. A hush came from the other side of the room, you suspected the queen’s gentle breath. You were thankful for her diligence.

You spoke to the ceiling, not the ladies. Pretended you were some great jester regailing a tribe of travelling knights. Imagined you were anywhere but here. And when you finished, you were dragged back to the insufferable room of ladies.

You held the book open and offered it back to the queen with a small thank you. She nodded and took it. You sat and held back a sigh. Rose sneered at you from across the room and leaned over to whisper to Beatrice. You turned to watch the queen give the book to Mabel. You folded your hands together and listened.

You lowered your head and the dread rose again. Your father would return shortly and what would he think? You prayed that the voices turned to other matters. That the rumours continued to swirl around Rose and left you alone. She relished in the courtly gossip, eager to be the inspiration for such tales. You wilted at too much light and felt yourself much too exposed already.

Some time, during your ruminations, Mabel’s voice was replaced again with the queen’s. Eleanor read another lyric and closed the book. You glanced up as she dismissed the circle of ladies, bidding them to ready for the evening’s meal. No banquet that night, a simple gathering in the queen’s receiving chamber followed by your night prayers.

The ladies stood and you waited for the others to shuffle out. Their skirts filled the space and pressed against each other as they made their exit. You made to follow but a familiar voice called your name. As you turned back, another peeked too. Rose’s blue eye was sharp as she took note of the request.

You turned and smiled at the queen. Your lips quivered nervously as the skirts continued to whish out the door. Finally, the hinges whined and the wood clattered. You were left alone with Eleanor.

“My lady, would you sit with me a moment?” She asked as she resumed her seat on the cushioned bench.

“Your highness,” You approached and sat next to her. Her green eyes shone like emeralds in her oval face. “I would be most pleased.”

“You…” She paused and her lips parted as she chose her words. “You are a sweet girl. Quiet, naive.”

You swallowed and your smile threatened to crack. You nodded intently.

“That is not meant as an abuse, you understand? I mean it as a compliment. I say it out of concern.” She shifted closer and touched your hand. “Because there are people at this court who should wish to take advantage of such a kind person as yourself.”

“Your highness, I--”

“You’re honest. I’ve always admired that in you. You speak when it is necessary, not merely to please.” The sapphire on her ring finger shone in the lantern light. “So I would ask that you are truthful with me. That you humour me and tell me what it is my husband said to you two nights past.”

“I would never lie to you, my queen.” You pled and your smile fell at last. “I didn’t--”

“I am not accusing you. I know it was not of your desire to draw the king’s eye. I shall listen without contempt.”

You breathed in. So deeply you feared you may faint. You nodded again and mustered your voice. “He...The king asked how long I’ve been at court. I answered him honestly and he… apologized for his oversight. Then he asked after my father. And then…” You thought back and blinked. “He said I did not belong here. At court.”

“Oh,” The queen considered you and her straight brows drew together. “You understand his intent, my lady?”

You stared at her. Too embarrassed to reveal your thoughts. Not foolish enough to think he truly wanted you, but too ashamed to admit that.

“Lady Rose,” She smiled venomously. “He is playing his game with her. My husband may act a stranger but I know him well. He revels in the power he holds over women. I suppose it is why he is not so fond of me.

“And so, forgive me for being blunt, but he would spark her envy by overlooking her for a much plainer lady. A more modest lady. Very unlike herself. So unlike her that she is insecure and his hold over her is reinforced. Do you understand?”

“I do, your highness. I am aware of myself. Of my shortcomings. My station is clear to me.” You assured her. You spoke evenly and without emotion. You looked into her eyes and she smiled. There was something within; a momentary commiseration.

“You’re a very intelligent girl,” She mused as she rescinded her hand. “But you don’t let on.”

She stood and you did too. She swept away from you and twisted the ring on her finger as she thought. She laughed softly to herself.

“I suspect you’re smarter than Lady Rose, dare I say it, the king too.” She looked to you again. “My lady, I did not intend this as remonstrance. I hold no ill will towards you, only seek to help you, should you need it.”

“Your highness.” You bowed your head.

“You may go,” She said softly. “I shall see you at supper.”

“Thank you, your highness.”

“Very well.”

She dismissed you as her attention flitted away to her thoughts. You took it in stride and found your way to the door. You were reassured that it would all soon fade away. That your part in this theatre was done.

The corridor was airy as you strolled through it. The heavy tapestries hugged the stone and the padding of your slippers echoed along the corners. At the first corner, you slid to a halt. A figure in peach silk appeared before you.

Rose approached you haughtily as she pushed out her chest. She looked down her nose at you and pouted her round lips.

“How amusing,” She purred.

You frowned and watched her slink towards you like an angry cat. “What do you mean?”

“The queen. Does she really concern herself with you? To think you any true contest to me?” She batted he lashes. “Eleanor may think me a fool, but I am not. I know the king was only toying with me.” She smirked. “Though I did wonder if you had wit enough to realize he was also toying with you?”

“I have no intent towards the king. No misconceptions. And no obligation to you, my lady,” You replied. A surge of anger, unfamiliar and uncomfortable, straightened your spine. “You might lay with the king but it does not make you a queen.”

She scoffed and her delicate features contorted. “Rest assured he hasn’t any intent towards you either. Be it known that it was my bed he visited last night. Not yours. Not his frigid queen’s. Mine.” She gloated and stepped closer.

“I know as well as the rest of court of your liaisons,” You were surprised by yourself. “If you’re fortunate, some countryside earl may not have heard and may even marry you on the promise of a new mare.”

Rose’s face paled and her hand grasped her chest with a gasp. “You’re vile.” She spat. “I always knew you were a beast. You can fool the rest of them but not me.”

You stared at her. You shook your head and grabbed your skirts. There was nothing to say to this woman. So self-assured, so convinced of her own importance. Let her think what she may, it did not change what was.

“Where are you going?” She whined as you sidestepped her.

“To ready for supper,” You didn’t stop, nor did you look back. “I am much too hungry to listen to your tripe.”

👑

You were quiet at supper. That wasn’t unusual. The tension, however, was. Before you weren’t concerned enough to notice, but now you were the crux of it. Eleanor maintained her usual stony demeanour towards Rose but Rose made no pretense of restraining her irritation with you. You weren’t a queen, thus she could openly display her displeasure.

Her whispers carried. You acted as if you couldn’t hear them as Eleanor sent an empathetic glance your way. She could hear and she easily changed the discussion to the harvest celebration. The first day of autumn approached and was to be marked with yet another feast.

You were thankful for the diversion but it did nothing for your mind. You thought of your father’s reaction. He’d surely hear about his daughter dancing with the king and even if it meant nothing, it would to him. It meant that you could be the enemy of the queen. And to follow in the footsteps of a dozen women before you would ensure your failure as his daughter.

When at last the meal ended and you said your prayers, you were dismissed. You returned to your chambers with the ladies. Those yet to be wed, shared their board. There were three other girls in your room; Joan, Sybil, and Marion. Rose roomed with Beatrice and Mary. She snarled as she passed your door.

The door was barely closed when a knock sounded. You looked to the other ladies and Joan opened the door. Without, a slender man stood patiently. The king’s footman, Hugh, was short and his dark hair was laced with silver. The wrinkles under his eyes betrayed his endless duty.

“Mister Hugh,” Joan greeted, confused.

“My lady,” He bowed his head cordially, “The king has sent me to bid for the lady.”

“Have you the wrong chamber?” Joan smiled. “Rose--”

“The king does not seek Lady Rose.” Hugh interjected. “Forgive my interruption, lady, but he calls for another.”

You looked to the other women. Each of you baffled though the tickle along your spine nipped at your doubts. It couldn’t possibly be you. After such an uneventful dance. A whole day between without disturbance. It must be a mistake.

Hugh said your name firmly. He looked to Sybil, blonde and beautiful, but was surprised when you stepped forward.

“That would be me,” You said. “May I inquire as to why the king requests my presence?”

“I am merely the king’s messenger. I only know he wishes a private audience with the lady.” Hugh said dimly.

It was as if he was used to the routine. The none-so-subtle invitations. You’d seen him before at the next door as he awaited Rose; at this very door when her predecessor had slept there. You pushed your shoulders back as you sensed the other ladies listening.

“Private audience?” You repeated, “Well, sir, you can return to the king and inform him that as a lady, it would be improper for me to attend an audience with him unaccompanied. So it is, I must respectfully and regretfully decline his invitation.”

Hugh look as if he’d been struck. For the first time his grey eyes lit up and his surprise deepened his wrinkles.

“My lady?” He blinked. “You would refuse? A king’s invitation?”

“An invitation, not a command, as I understand it.” You remained stern. You thought of Eleanor, of how she would hold herself, how she would speak. “So it cannot be treasonous. But I will not risk my honour as a lady. As a maiden.”

The man frowned. Then he nodded as if only then understanding you. He hooked a thumb in his belt and bowed his head. “Your lady. I shall carry your answer to the king. I apologize for disturbing you.”

“Thank you, Mister Hugh.” You bent your head and watched him turn slowly down the hall. He walked stiffly as if fighting himself.

You closed the door and leaned against the inside. Joan was awestruck and the other two ladies shook their heads, astonished. You kept your head up and went to the chest at the end of your bed.

“You just...refused the king?” Joan said at last. “You...no one says no to King Steven.”

“It was...just an invitation,” You said as you opened the chest and took out a sleeping gown. “It wouldn’t be proper to accept.”

“Proper? It is a slight to deny the king.” Joan cried.

“My father would not approve. And as custom would have it--”

“Are you daft?” Sybil spoke up.

“Not at all,” You dropped your nightgown on your bed. “In fact, were I to have accepted, where do you think that would get me? Even if it was not for illicit means, it would be interpreted as such. I will not marry a second son, not if I can help it.”

“You’re mad,” Marion hissed. “Absolutely mad.”

“Perhaps, but with my honour in tact.”

👑

The night was sleepless. Even after the other ladies settled down and finally blew out the candle, you couldn’t sleep. The more you thought about it, the worse you felt about your refusal. Not because you wanted to meet with the king, but because you only then considered the consequence of it. Or that you didn’t know exactly what that would be.

It was an hour, maybe two, after the ladies started to snore. What if the king was angered by your response and exiled you from court for not playing along? What if he waited until your father returned and punished him? But what if you had said yes?

A knock came at the door. Soft. You weren’t sure at first if it was truly a knock or your imagination. Then it came again and you slowly pushed yourself up. You listened, a third rap, and urged yourself to rise. You took the dressing robe from over your chest and pulled it around yourself.

Could you refuse the king’s footman a second time or would your anxiety eat away your resolve?

You went to the door and unhooked the latch. You eased it open, just an inch to look through into the corridor. You kept your body hidden behind the door as you peered out at your visitor. You gasped as the king’s hand grabbed the door and kept it from closing. The lantern he held shone down on you through the crack of the door.

“Your highness,” You whispered sharply.

“My lady,” He greeted coolly but something about his demeanour seemed riled. “Did I wake you?”

“Yes,” You lied. “But I would not begrudge you for it.”

He nodded as his eyes searched yours. As he tried to see through the wood that separated you.

“Why did you refuse my invitation?” He asked suddenly. “Did I offend you?”

“No, you’ve not offended me, your highness,” You said. “Did your footman not convey my reasons? It wouldn’t be proper for me to--”

“Propriety?” He grumbled and rolled his eyes. He wasn’t the cheerful king who stomped the boards at feasts or harried his steed at the hunt. He was upset and it was your fault. “I requested an audience, my lady, not your virtue.”

You gulped at his insinuation. You pushed on the door but he held it in place. “Your highness, you must understand my need to protect my reputation.”

His eyes narrowed and he tilted his head. His middle finger tapped on the wood of the door as he frowned. “Will you not come out to speak with me? I would hate to disturb the other ladies.”

“I am not in a state to come out, your highness.” You protested. “If you would wait for me to dress--”

He sighed. “You distrust me. You treat me as a lecher.”

“It is not distrust, your highness. Merely caution.” You returned. “If any, I distrust the court and the rumours they would dispel at anything so innocent as a conversation.”

His blue eyes flicked up and he thought. His jaw squared and he hesitantly removed his hand from the door. He looked at you again and the tension left his face. The sparkle returned to his eyes and he bowed his head.

“You are wise, my lady, to keep yourself above disrepute. It is admirable.” He stood straight and his broad figure cast a shadow over you. “I apologize for my impropriety. Forgive me.”

“Your highness, I hold no displeasure towards you.” You assured him.

“I am thankful for your benevolence,” He backed away. “Perhaps we shall meet in more tolerable circumstances...Good night, my lady.”

“Good night, your highness.” You mimicked him softly.

He turned away and you closed the door. The click was terribly loud as the dark embraced you. You leaned against the door and listened for his departure. His footsteps tarried, just a moment, before he carried on. You let out your breath and felt your way back to your bed. The ladies snored still but their soft snorts offered little comfort to your racing heart.

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