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black-dhalias · 8 months ago

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My Brother's Wife

Mary Stuart X F!Valois!Reader Warnings: mild violence, mentions of death/dying, murder, marital affairs

SMUT includes sexual depictions, nudity.

You duck out of the way of the wine glass that was thrown in your direction, as your brother reacts to your quip regarding his endeavors. Your laugh soars through the room, as he desperately tries to gather his clothes from the bedroom floor—the girl's eyes widen with shock at your exploits. If he wasn't smiling, she might have actually thought he was upset at you.

"Francis! We're supposed to be in the courtyard, greeting Queen Mary!" You toss the girl her dress, which she readily grasps and begins dressing quickly as your eyes turn back to Francis. He may be your twin, the perfect heir, but he seemed to be actively working against this marriage.

"What if I don't want to get married, Y/N?" You shrug, dumping the leftover wine from the second glass and pouring yourself a glass. You look up, downing the glass in one fell swoop—rolling your eyes in the process.

"Well, let's see—you get to marry a Queen. You get her nation. Her armies. Her resources" You count off on your fingers. "I'm sure she's beautiful." You pause, looking at your last finger, tutting a little. "Oh, and get this, you get a say in who you marry." Your mouth forms into a 'o', before you continue in your fun and pour yourself another glass. Francis sighs, pulling on the vest that goes over the white undershirt as finally smiles at the sister.

He holds out his arms, and your smile drops for a second before you take a final sip and set the wine glass onto the table and walk into his embrace. He holds you tight, kissing the top of your head.

"I surprisingly missed this." You pull away, straightening his collar so that it's not nearly as lopsided. "I missed you, Y/N."

"Trust me, I'm sure you're the only one." You tut a little, popping your lips and you head towards the door. Then look back, your smile is not as goofy as before, more sincere. "I missed you too."

Your father had sent you away to 'woo' Russia, hoping to close the deal with the great tsar's, but there was some tiny plot holes in that endeavor. Russia was in a state of terror, the tsar had instituted complete military control over the nobles and suddenly leaving was the only option. It was stupid of Henry to send you there, Catherine nearly had his head when she found out—but your mission almost succeeded. Had potential.

Leaving Francis's chambers, you head in the direction of the courtyard—a sense of bewilderment at how different everything seems now, it just doesn't seem like home anymore. You missed your family, well correction—you missed Francis and mother—you missed Bash and Claude, although you hadn't seen either since your return.

In fact, as your steps echo off the stone floors, you think about how Henry will probably send you off to another palace soon enough. He wants you married, desperate to capture control across Europe—if England's perverse Henry the Eighth was still alive, your so called father would probably sell you off as one of his many wives.

Henry wanted power and his many daughters would supply that to him through marriages, royal marriages that built alliances across the continent. You coming back was an unfortunate and unplanned detriment to his need for power. You spot mother moving in the direction of the courtyard—“mother!” You shout, her smile brightening as she spots you moving towards her. She embraces you warmly which contrasts her usually cold exterior, but you’re her daughter—in all your faults, you were still good like Francis.

Catherine’s hands rest on either side of your face, “I missed you sweet girl.” You are her dearest, her sweet Y/N. Not arrogant like Lisa, or reckless like Claude—her perfect angel. You smile brightly, cheeks squished between her hands before she lets you go.

You almost wished that you were here the entire time, instead of a world away—in an unfamiliar country, with unfamiliar people. However, in many ways, you respect yourself for managing so well in Russia. You were spoken of highly there, respected for the rooms you commanded and the time you spent with high ranked nobles. Not just anyone could do that, and you pride yourself on that ability—to command attention, it made for interesting fun.

Catherine's expression falls as she hears the bells, the sound of the arrival— "Now we must go greet the Queen of Scots." Her tone is exactly as you imagined it, distaste—in all honesty, mother never was good about hiding her feelings. She seemed easy to read to those who know her, and maybe that's where you get it from—your mother. Like you, she commanded rooms and respect.

"If we must..." You see the beam of pride as she turns, heading out of the main door where Henry is already there. At his side, his mistress Diane—you tighten your shoulders at the image of his whore, god you can hardly believe she's kept his attention after all these years. And while you love Bash, you absolutely hate his wretched mother.

However, as you watch the Queen of Scots leave the carriage, you are not greeted with the same girl as before. She is much taller, and older, and more beautiful than you would expect of a Scot.

You watch Mary from the other side of the grand room, your eyes following every movement as she catches your eye briefly. Your heartbeat picks up as you realize she is stunning in that black dress—absolutely the most beautiful thing in this room. Everytime she spins, her eyes would meet your intent gaze and the world would spin out of focus for her. And for a second, she would forget how to breathe.

Yet the poor fool stumbles through the steps and you smirk a little, and unexpectedly watch as the Queen excuses herself. Yet the smirk wears off the moment she turns her attention towards you, and your stomach does a little flip.

The world could disappear for all you care, no amount of suitors could compare to the woman walking towards you. There is urgency as she brushes past you, eye contact not breaking until you get a flash of her raven hair.

Gods I'm done for, you think to yourself as you turn on your heel and follow after her—watching as the skirt of her dress ripples. You speed up, closing the distance—feeling every breath you inhale. Palms sweating as you see her turn the corner.

You barely reach out your hand, and what were you supposed to do? What was supposed to happen then?

You were always going to grab her wrist, pulling her into your arms before pinning her to the wall. Your lips on hers, urgency in her touch as she grabs the base of your corset to pull you close.

Her lips taste of raspberries and vanilla, the sweet taste becoming an addiction as you pour all your affections into your touch. One hand resting on the base of her neck, thumb running along the lower part of her jaw. The skin is just as soft as you imagined, absolutely flawless. While your other hand is firmly holding onto her hip.

You half expected her to push you away, but for her, your lips are just as addictive—they taste of wine, and the way your eyes closed. She had your face memorized, every curve and feature. Your eyelashes, how they brush the top of your cheeks... Mary can feel your hand reaching for the handle, to push it in and let you into one of the unused chambers. You separate yourself for a second, shutting the door, which gives you a second to examine Mary's expression.

Her big round brown eyes, the way she seems to be reaching out to you as you approach—her hands melding into your own as you turn her, so that her back is pressing into your chest. One arm encircling her waist, while your other hand brushes the hair away from her shoulder to kiss the flesh there right where shoulder turns into the neck.

The urgency returns as her arm reaches behind to tangle in your hair, but also pull you much closer than before. She deepens the sensation, tilting her head to expose more skin—the little sounds she makes, every inhale and exhale. You bite down, not hard, and the gasp she makes is like music to your ears—a smile dances your lips; may candle light be the only way you ever see Mary.

Your fingers work the laces of her corset, cheek resting against her hair—lips resting just above her ear, as you whisper. "Tell me how much you want this?" Was she expecting you to turn the other cheek when she tried to kiss your cheek earlier today, but instead kissed the corner of your lip? Did she think you would not notice the way she seemed to always try to catch your eye?

Did she think you would not notice the way Francis looked at her, but she, in all her jealousy, could only ever look at you?

Your fingers drag the strings, taking your time—enjoying the sensation of her corset loosening and her body falling into you. The ribbons loop around your fingers as you feel the hunger returning, apexing just as the corset drops—completely forgotten. Unneeded.

When you drop her onto the mattress, you stand completely upright and recall one truth. A single, and perfect thought—Mary is the most radiant woman you ever seen, and as she beacons you close.

“I’ve never wanted anyone like this.” Her words do not echo, they are a breathless whisper shared and it sends a wave of pleasure to your core.

Her beauty is proof that angels must exist, and as you kiss the supple curve of her breast—her body becomes your place of worship. Fingers dragging along her arms and then torso, as your lips find a home pressing kisses to her thighs. Bathing in her warmth, body curving beneath, but it only draws you closer.

Should you have stopped it there? Ended this runaway affair long before anyone caught on—probably, but you were never good at cards. You always raised the stakes, and dared yourself closer to the sun.

No one caught onto the glances, or the rendezvous—because who would think twice of the princess and her brothers wife? It was easy to imagine a much more kosher meeting, than to think it was even a thought.

Even as tensions rose between Catholics and Protestants, as the world of French Court became ever more complicated—you never hesitated to be at her side. The doting sister in law, mother hated it.

“Y/N?” You perk at mother’s tone, hmming as you shut the book in front of you. Your morning routine of breakfast had become tedious, but she insisted you come today. “You need to end your affair with Mary.”

“Affair?”

“Don’t bother denying. I’ve known of your preferences since you were six, but others are beginning to question your marriage prospects.” You take a bite, rolling your eyes at that matter—you had hoped with fathers untimely death, that your marriage requirement died with him.

“I’d wager everyone is none the wiser. That you simply hate that it’s Mary.”

“So you won’t even deny it?”

“You said yourself, don’t bother denying—so I’m not.”

“Mary is dangerous.”

“Mother, they say the same for you.”

“She will be the death of your brother and the undoing of France?!” You push away your plate roughly, “I will not let her have you too!”

“It is much too early to be dealing with your mood swings.” You give a smile, pushing away from the table and beginning to walk towards the door. “I tolerate your outbursts, but blind accusations, I refuse to acknowledge them any more.”

“I have no intention of marrying a daughter, let alone the twin sister to the King of France—to a Bourbon prince.”

This had once been a quiet conversation shared between yourself and Mary in the dark of a corridor, although your thoughts lingered on her warmth rather than words. It was a good thought, a lot of pretty words that could help the country.

“It’s more of a prospect, one that could bring Catholics and Protestants closer than before.” Mary asserted, you see your mother’s eyes shift around the room, guaranteeing that no one else could hear.

“It’s a way to keep your urges at bay.”

“Mother—it was my idea. A good prospect and a good match for France.” She glares at you, and for the first time, you truly feel she might mean it.

“Oh sweet girl, if only you understood… All Mary wants is for you to be whisked away.” And in the same breath, you mean it too—glaring at her.

“Actually it would keep me close as Conde plans to remain in French Court.” Every time you glanced at Mary, you’d note the way the necklace compliments her neck—then you’d note the frown your mother wore. The crease in her brow.

“Would it make a difference if I said I loved him?” Her hands embrace your face, running her fingers along your cheeks—her lips seemed to smile but you saw through it. Could hear it as she began to speak.

“My dear—if I believed you capable of loving him, let alone a man—” She leans forward to whisper in your ear. Her tone biting. “I’d have married you off the minute you chose to bed her.”

#reign imagine #reign tv show #reign cw #reign #queen mary x reader #imagines #imagine #requests are open #fandom request #imagine requests #x reader #mary stuart x reader #reign x reader #Spotify

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black-dhalias · 2 years ago

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Hiii I really appreciate ur writing and I would like to make a request for a reader and bash from reign smut where u use the quote “ are u a virgin? But how?” And “ are u scared?”

Little Bird

Bash De Poitiers X F!Reader

Warning: SMUT, language, mentions of arranged marriages

History is not written by the forgotten because history is only written by the heroes, the survivors, the victors. In a world full of royals, kings and queens and countries-- only the strongest will be remembered. All others will fall.

You are far from the young girl who visited the French Court those years ago; now, you are a queen and while country thrives under your rule, you are known as ruthless. You move with purpose, your own guards not far behind you as you walk towards the throne room-- ignoring the whispers of the familiar walls. The memories that cling to every crevice of this palace. When you left, you left suddenly in the night, having received a letter from your mother-- dead. Your father was dead and so was your brother, and you were now queen and immediately required back in Genovia.

You slip between the halls, your hand tugging Bash along with you, as you look back and smile. Perhaps too much of your time centers around your time with the bastard son of King Henry, but something about him is too interesting to ignore. While Mary Queen of Scots is constantly surrounded by her ladies, the princess of Genovia is often feels ignored by her French allies. Not even first in line to your throne, it seems as though King Henry views you as dead weight, but not Bash.

With him at your side, you felt as though you had a friend in this court of lies and deception, and villains. "Sebastian-- c'mon." You whisper shout, urging him to move faster and keep up with you as you slip into one of the secret passages. Once the door slips closed behind you, Bash holds your hand a little tighter as if to keep you from slipping away into the dark tunnels. Outside of Nostradamus, you are most familiar with the French palaces secret tunnels and Bash knew if you disappeared, you'd get away from him. But the his slight pull was a shock, one you were unprepared for and moved backwards into him.

You try not to show the fear that bubbles inside of your chest, being back here seems to bring back every thought. Every struggle. The pain and the happiness, and it makes it difficult to concentrate on the task at hand. However, when the throne room doors open and you see him immediately. No amount of preempted focus could have brought you back because he is exactly how you remember. Only now, he is married and you are queen, which change everything, but looking at him... You feel as though nothing has changed, not him, not you, and not your feelings for him.

There is a shocking hmph as you bump into his chest, but you do not move and neither does he; instead, you feel his hand slip down to rest on your waist while the other rests on your neck. Through the darkness you see his eyes shut, the warmth of his hands and then there is his lips. Soft and sweet, and just as warm as you had imagined; although you know this is far from okay, so what? It feels right enough.

However, you bring yourself back to reality as quickly as you can manage and smile at the newly crowned King Francis. "Sorry I couldn't make it to the coronation-- long may you reign." He nods and gives a little smile, coming down from the throne and you see your guards tense up at the sudden movement. "Oh please, I don't think he wants one of his first acts as King to be starting a war." Neither of them relax despite your whisper to them, but you accept the embrace of Francis and pull away smiling.

"Well you made it now." You nod, giving a little shrug.

"I felt as though us both being relatively new to our thrones, we should talk about continuing the French and Genovian alliance." Scanning your eyes across the throne room, you see Mary—you see Catherine and others you recognize, but it's all a cover so you have an excuse to look at him again. He stands at the right hand side of the King's throne, the King's deputy, which makes sense. You make a note of the woman to his right though. Pretty little thing.

Where you were, Bash always seemed to find his way to your side—whether riding, walking through the grounds, or dancing as you are now. Being a princess means suitors, which pleases your mother, but displeases you: "So Princess, what do you think about French weather being from such a cold land?" You raise an eyebrow as he spins you, and with as much grace as you can muster, you come back to him and give a rather forced smile.

Perhaps petty, you begin to lead, which gives him a little shock-- his footing begins to slip up and he stumbles to keep up with you: "Well, for your information, Genovia is south of France, so I'd say your weather is quite cold, you..." Maybe for the best, Bash is tapping on the counts shoulder and he happily hands you off to Bash. You puff out a breath, irritation still bubbling in your stomach and begging to be released.

"Ignore them..." You bite the inside of your cheek as Bash twirls you around the floor, completely at ease and you follow his steps effortlessly. Familiar with how he moves, how he dances; you'd say you were pretty familiar with everything about him.

"How do they expect to court me, if they don't even know where my country is? Honestly, it's just disgraceful." He gives a little laugh, twirling you quickly before bringing you back in, but this time much closer.

"Well the longer I have you here, the better." His comment, rather than comfort, strikes a little nerve.

"You know, I've had a thought. Why don't you marry me?" You two haven't really spoken about the idea, having mutually decided it just would not work out, but now... now you think otherwise.

Francis nods approvingly, "I think that is a fitting thought." He holds out his arm to you, "Shall we?" You finally find clarity in the fact that Bash is now married and nod, taking Francis's arm. As he guides, you pass by Bash and you pause slightly, biting your lip before smiling at him.

"Congratulations on your marriage, Sebastian." Unlike everyone else, you called him by his name to irritate him and at some point, he began to find it endearing. You see the familiarity in those eyes, but it is only a second as he gives a tight smile and Francis continues to lead you towards one of the studies. You always thought that when you returned, he'd still be there waiting and maybe, just maybe—you could finally have that wedding.

Some part of you is angry at yourself for saying anything at all, and Francis must have noticed because he speaks up. "Don't be too hard on him, or yourself, I'll explain in more detail later, but he didn't have a choice in marrying Kenna." So that's her name, Kenna... That's one of Queen Mary's ladies, although she has grown quite a bit. So have you...

"Well when is a marriage ever a choice in French court." You try to make light of it, your own suffering, joking although there is a bitter truth to the comment. When you get inside of the small room, Francis and you spend quite a while discussing the politics of trade and possibility, but then conversation shifts to your marriage.

"A little bird told me you have a marriage alliance of your own blooming, with my distant Italian relatives.” Your smile tightens and Francis’ brow furrows, your reaction seeming to confuse the new King. “Not a marriage I assume.”

“A necessary one.” You pinch the top of the figures that represent a horse, and glance down at the map. Before placing the horse just east of Genovia, on the Italian border. “There’s an Italian stronghold near this border, there’s been attacks on farms from Italian peasants. If I marry an Italian, specifically a member of this family—then I stand a chance at protecting them.” You swallow, “Just another reason to bolster a French alliance, you’ll learn quickly that only displays of power can protect your country.”

Francis nods, smiling sadly at his old friend—someone he cared for deeply all those years ago. “Well, do not worry—France is not an enemy of Genovia, and under my rule, you have no need to question our honesty.” Gratefulness fills the pit of your stomach, the one that had only seemed to grow as you stayed in French Court. Every hour chipped away at your inner self.

Negotiations with Francis went quick, the grimey politics melted away as you simply spoke with your friend. It made it better, and much simpler meeting than these tended to be amongst royal agreements. He asked for very few things, but mainly that despite you being a protestant nation—you remain loyal to France and Scotland, rather than England.

It was easy to agree to such a simple request.

However, the walk to your rooms is not as long as it once was—Kings and Queens are housed exuberantly, but you used to live so far from it all. You miss those days sometimes. These walls hold so many stories. You were almost unaware of the steps following you, or how his hand felt on your waist as it pulled you in. Or how familiar his sterling eyes were as you looked up at him. While you think of pulling away completely, you are not able to bring yourself to do so.

"You are more beautiful than I remember." Only the walls do not speak, and neither do you. Not even as he runs his hand along your cheek. You are frozen, recalling every memory and knowing that the familiarity is built into his touch. "I did not believe God chose Kings and Queens until I saw you in the throne room." Even standing next to his wife, his next words are bittersweet. "Y/N, you are an angel amongst mortals." Something snaps back into place as you push him away, shaking your head.

"No. Absolutely not. Sebastian, you are married and I do not have time for petty affairs." You reconcile your dignity and stiffen your lip, you are Queen. By your own birthright, and loss.

"Admit it, you feel it too." He steps towards you, and you go back, never breaking eye contact. Knowing that the way he seemed to flinch, your movement to get away hurt him. It hurt you too. "You're more than a petty affair to me, Y/N. You've never been anything less."

You fold your arms over themselves, shaking your head. "I am a reigning Queen... Chosen by God, and revered by my people. You said so yourself." The last bit is more pointed. "I am not an affair, or a passing moment." You pause. "Not even for you."

With that, you leave him alone in the hall and retreat to your room. To wonder what would have been, what could still be, and how it's a terrible idea to linger on the past.

The next days are long, you can hardly wait to go home. You missed the grandeur of French Court a long time ago, but now it does not feel like home. It is too much.

You bid farewell to Francis and Mary, "I believe next year, we'll be travelling to see you." You smile, knowing all eyes are on the future. A wedding.

"Perhaps sooner." Just as you step into the carriage, you glance up at the balcony to see Sebastian. To see him watching you. Your soft smile sends his heart into a flurry of confusion and certainty. Even when the carriage leaves his view, he knows one thing: he would do anything to be your husband.

A warm summer breeze touches your cheeks, it dusts your nose and your smile grows. To be married, it seems so much more distant than it should. You should be giddy, but your future King Consort is nowhere near the one you imagine.

"One more night..." You wonder if you could run now, turn your back on the wedding and just leave. Find another way to protect your country against all odds.

You breathe out deeply, grasp the handles of the balcony doors and shut them tight. Ignoring the arrival of the French convoy, knowing that it would not just be the King and Queen of France in attendance.

Francis had tried to convince Bash to not come, to not torture himself further with the image of you marrying another. To not let him torture you. But the bastard was insistent, so much so that Francis knew it was going to come to something.

"I object..." He murmurs under his breath, it seemed to repeat over—"Wait!" He hardly remembers shouting, just that he did and all eyes turned to him. Yours wide as he moves closer. "Y/N..." He swallows. "You can't marry him." What was supposed to be your husband curses, eyes narrow and harsh. Only they do not scare Sebastian in the slightest. "You know as well as I do. We were as good as promised to each other before your brother died." There is much truth in those words, your parents had come around to the idea and so had your brother. It seemed simple, a way to keep France close and to give you this last thing.

"Silence!" The Italian is seething, chest rounding and cheeks turned a flustered and bright red.

You turn your eyes to him, "Do not command him, as that is as certain as commanding me. I am neither soldier, nor Italian. And neither is he." You pause. "This is my palace." You look at Bash, exhaling and he continues.

"I had not told you, but our fathers had contracts prepared and signed... Two kings... It took a while, but I found the original." His eyes turn to the Italian. Your eyes wide, as you hold out your hand for the parchment. "If this document is verified, then it means you can't marry him. Because you have to marry me."

It was enough to stop the ceremony, no one could condone a marriage without verifying if the will of two kings would be defied. Even dead kings have power.

You pace the hall outside of Sebastian’s chambers, every step echoes, but you do not care. An inner turmoil having found itself rooted in the pit of your stomach, to love Sebastian had been as easy as breathing. You knew him as well as you knew yourself.

“Y/N?” You jump, grasping your shaking palms together as you tuck them behind your back. Trying to seem unassuming, as if you hadn’t been at his door for some time. Only as he takes in your nerves, the way your eyes flit about—Sebastian is very aware, and smirks. The kind of smirk that used to tell you that he knew. “I was just about to go find you.”

Honestly, you believe that to be true, he seemed determined when he opened his chambers door. The way he closed the distance in two long strides, his arm snaked around your waist and pressing himself as close as possible.

So close you forgot how to breathe, wondering if you needed breath at all. Without air, your words were strained—the warmth of his hand trailing up your arm was distracting. “You could have warned me.”

“I planned to, only you never gave me a chance.” You recall sending your younger sister greeting the French carriage, shutting your door tight to keep all temptation locked away.

“I guess—” The words trail off your tongue as he begins pulling you into his chambers, and this time you do not resist. Temptation or not, Sebastian has always been just out of reach. Suddenly, he’s as close skin to skin can allow.

Breathless, you kiss him—not soft or tenderly, but desperate to know what it’s like to taste him again. To feel his lips on yours. Sharing kisses used to be frequent, but it had been so long and you had wondered if they’d taste the same.

They did. His lips were as familiar as his touch. The caress of his fingers against your body had all, but left you breathless—there was no space for air between you, nothing more than clothes.

Even those were falling away, you don’t remember his shirt disappearing or when your robe hit the floor. You don’t recall anything other than his lips, his determination to kiss every bit of skin that became visible.

“Perfection…” He hums the word as he braces you on the bed, admiring you—your bare chest and soft eyes, the way your gaze seemed to draw him in. “Absolute…” Sebastian comes closer, leaning over you, warmth surrounding. His face framed by the fire’s light. “Perfection.”

As his hands begin to run along your waist, your back arches and he lingers there—holding you close, his head bent over as he begins to kiss your neck. Letting his lips travel down as you bend into his grip, a soft moan escapes your lips.

“Don’t—” You pant, a shiver going down your body as he kisses the spot above your breast. “Don’t stop.” If your eyes were not shut, head tilted back, you wonder if you could see the ghost of his smile just as well as you feel it against you.

Sebastian pauses, “Are you—”, his lips seeming to stop as he spoke. “Are you still a virgin?” You sit up, his question taking you aback; however, comfortable you are with him. You didn’t expect him to ask so boldly.

You want this, you know that for certain—you’ve wanted him ever since you were young. Those eyes haunted your dreams, knew your own just as well as the sky knows the stars.

“Would you stop if I said yes?”

“Only if you asked… But how?” You bring yourself close, leaning forward to wrap your arms around his neck. Lips hovering above his own.

“Then it doesn’t matter if I am. Just don’t stop.” That was enough for Bash as he regained his vigor, kissing your earnestly and desperately.

You could hardly imagine anything more perfect than the way he held you. The way he embraced you. The way, you moan his name—leaning back as he lowers you onto him.

His movements slow, careful and steady, most of your weight being held in his arms as he begins to move.

“Just don’t stop.” You whisper, leaning against his body—your lips resting beside his ear, you felt his grasp tighten as he began to move more rhythmically.

AN: I definitely don’t do smut typically, don’t get me wrong. I do read it, but I am not skilled at writing it. So it’s more sensual than sexual, maybe I’ll get better in the future. But I hope you like this.

#imagines #imagine #fandom request #imagine requests #x reader #requests #love #reader insert #reign tv show #reign imagines #reign imagine #bash x reader #sebastian de poitiers #sebastian x reader #reign x reader

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