third year to timeskip!hinata x fem!reader, a tad suggestive
It’s Shoyo’s fault.
You don’t join Shoyo’s outings often; most of them are volleyball-related anyway, and you didn’t want to get in the way. But right now, it’s just the third years, and Shoyo had begged so sweetly with round eyes that you would be cruel to even think about denying him.
Kageyama sits on your other side, stiff and polite, jostled here and there by Shoyo pressing up against you. Tsukishima, Yamaguchi, and Yachi sit on the other side of the table. Conversation is light and comfortable. They don’t exclude you even when talking about practice matches and lineups—Yamaguchi asks you about your own club ever so often, too.
Yamaguchi claps his hand, forcing everyone’s attention on him. Except Shoyo, who’s busy tracing stars on your hand. “Do you guys want to watch a movie this weekend? I heard they’re releasing a sequel of the one we watched back in first year.”
Yachi emits a wordless sound of excitement, easily agreeing. Kageyama and Tsukishima begrudgingly agree at the same time, then sneer at each other. Then they all turn to you and Shoyo.
Shoyo grins. “Sorry, I got plans already.”
“You get a girlfriend, and suddenly you forget about us,” Yamaguchi mourns. Shoyo laughs while you get flustered and assure them that you’re not keeping your boyfriend hostage. Kageyama says that they know Hinata is the one doing it.
“You’re going to watch our match next week, though, right?” Shoyo asks you in a low whisper, as the other three dutifully settle in their own world.
“You don’t even need to ask, Shoyo,” you tell him. “Of course.”
Shoyo’s eyes brighten impossibly, face split into a grin. He looks like he wants to push you down onto the floor to kiss you in front of his friends, but he doesn’t. You knew he wouldn’t.
It’s Shoyo’s fault.
Really. Seriously this time. Specifically, Hinata Shoyo from third year. He’s changed from first year, gained more confidence, but he’s still shy and soft-spoken with you, which you expected from someone as sweet as him. It set your expectations for him and what your relationship would look like in the years and years that you’ll spend with him: bearing that first love kind of shyness.
It takes about two years to prove you wrong.
When Shoyo came back from Brazil, the first thing he did was kiss you breathless in front of everyone in the airport.
His strong arms around your waist, pulling you up—which you had to think ‘thank God’ for because your knees have definitely buckled. You don’t think too much about it, because he’s been gone for two years—two!!—and you’ve missed each other too much.
But when Hinata’s mouth descends to your jaw, you have to push him by the chest and exclaim (albeit weakly), “Shoyo—there are still people behind us!”
Shoyo blinks and pulls off, his eyes fogged over with heat that makes you have to look away, having to remind yourself that you’re in public and you do not want to beg for him to continue. Thankfully, his friends yelling his name seems to have snapped him out of it.
But his palm never left your side, splayed over your hip like a mark.
It gets worse at his homecoming party thrown by his teammates back at Karasuno. You’re familiar with them, and they’re familiar with you, so of course, it wasn’t a problem when Shoyo was pulled away to greet everyone. You made friendly conversation with Sugawara-san, caught up with Nishinoya, and joked around all night with Yamaguchi and Tsukishima.
“You called each other every night?” Yamaguchi’s brows have shot up all the way to his hairline.
You smile. “I mean—isn’t it normal for people in a relationship?”
Tsukishima shrugs. “Hinata loves you as much as he loves volleyball, I’m not surprised.”
Yamaguchi considers it. “Hmm, I guess.”
“Hinata’s waiting for you,” Kageyama mutters from behind you, appearing out of nowhere. His brows are stitched together, and his mouth is pulled in his ever-permanent Kageyama pout. “His staring is pissing me off. Can you go get him?”
“He’s not a dog, Tobio,” you chide lightly but grin all the same when you turn to your side and see Hinata Shoyo’s eyes drilling holes into your head.
He’s not mouthing anything. Shoyo stays seated on the loveseat, looking entirely isolated from the crowd around him. His eyes say it all: come here.
Helpless to his whims, you obey.
“Shoyo,” you murmur as soon as you reach him.
He pulls you to his lap. “Baby.”
You freeze. He’s never called you that before—his expression isn’t shy at all, too, just expectant. Heat crawls down your body as he tugs your back to his chest, resting his chin on your shoulder. Shoyo’s own warmth is a burning sensation. You feel lightheaded.
“Ah—well, um.” You pinch your arm. “Are you feeling okay? Did you drink?”
“There’s no alcohol here.”
“I’m pretty sure I saw Sugawara-san holding a bottle.”
“Ah, well. Sugawara-san.”
You understand. What you don’t understand is what happened in those two years to have Shoyo’s hand crawling on your thigh, a scorching mark on only that part of your skin. To have Shoyo’s breath on the nape of your neck without him flushing and flinching away. To have Shoyo have this air of confidence around him that’s usually in volleyball suddenly translate to you.
“Did you miss me this much?”
“You have no idea, don’t you?” The implications are clear: I could show you how much, if you want.
Still, this development is very sudden. You squirm on his lap, but Shoyo doesn’t relent. He keeps you there, a puddle in his hands. Nobody is watching—or maybe they’re just being respectful, but you feel flustered facing this side of Shoyo in public.
“Shoyo,” you warn. “Not here.”
It’s Heitor’s fault.
Ever since Hinata had met Heitor and Nice and witnessed how unapologetically intimate they were with each other, Hinata became envious. He wanted that, too. He wanted that with you.
“Well, why wouldn’t you?” Heitor asked when Hinata lamented to him.
Hinata made a pitiful noise, like a deflating balloon. “I don’t know. I think she just thinks I’m too cute to take that seriously.”
Heitor laughs. “Shoyo. Trust me. You’ll drive your girl crazy if you’re confident with it.”
It’s Heitor’s fault, and Hinata is eternally grateful for it, seeing your wide-eyed face beneath him like this. He loves it when he surprises people, but yours might be a different kind of thrill that he’s already addicted to.
blue lock ! royal / fantasy au series featuring : michael kaiser x fem! reader
warning(s) : 1k , none this one is quite cute , lmk if there are any !!
prev. next.
TWO. THE WRATH SING, O GODDESS
the next time you see him, you are seated in the windowed alcove of the palace library, hidden behind the imposing shelves of mahogany wood. you could feel the thick knitted blankets and fox furs beneath your thighs, a fluffy cushion left of your waist.
you leaned against the window, ornate and elegant, cut in frames to let in squares of golden sun. the smooth cover of the book is familiar under your fingerpads, a beloved relic from your father. even with your gaze cast towards the window, you could envision the wine-dark cover in your hands, embossed with a deep gold; the methodical lettering forming words that you could recite like water spilling down the rumbling falls.
faintly, suddenly, like a whisper in the wind, the air changed. the soft hum of divinity, maybe, but you could not have known what that was. it only felt stronger as golden hair came into vision, reflecting off the glass planes of the windows. you blinked, straightening your back. you had thought it to be a trick of the light, but it was apparent how real he was with each languid step he took, steady and sure.
kaiser was not a god, but you can scarcely imagine anything more perfect than him. wherever he went, he drew everything to him like a great flame. and although your spitefulness refused to let you look at him, it could not be helped how your gaze traced his features reflected on the window, the brightness of his hair so lustrous it was lit from within, the steady curve of his face, and the arc of his rose-coloured lips.
you hear his feet stop before you, and his mouth opens, poised and self-assured. "this place belongs to me."
he was referring to this cosy little alcove, and you chide yourself for not noticing how personalised this place was, blanketed in wools and the highest quality of furs and goose-feathered pillows.
only then you look back at him, features screwed with slight displeasure. under his pointed stare, you swing your legs down from the wood carved into the window to face him properly, freeing up half the space. "this is a library. it doesn't belong to anyone," you say with narrowed eyes.
he looks almost like he can't believe the words coming out of your mouth. his arms move to cross over his chest. "the gods have decreed me to be emperor of kings. everything that treads the ground will belong to me one day." he does not say it boastfully, or arrogantly. it is fact to him as much as the stars circle the sky each night.
your lips twitch in search of a response, "not yet," you say weakly, and you stare into the endless blue of his eyes. your tone is stronger; "you are no emperor yet. you have no right to ask me to leave."
that surprised him. he tilts his head at you curiously, like a little sparrow. you may be the daughter of nobility, but he is the prince. he probably had all the rights in the world and more. like a tamed beast, he sits down next to you. he smells of roses and white jasmine, and you dare not to turn your head, glancing at him nervously from the corner of your eye. his gaze darts to your hand.
he shifts again, pressing his head on your shoulder as you fight down a flinch. a strand of hair falls over his eyes, and he blows it away with a huff. cerulean eyes stare up at you intently. like this, he reminds you of those sleek felines in the estate.
"read to me." it was a command, but the way he said it did not feel like one. to you, it was soft but distinct, easy as how one would utter their own name.
your mouth feels parched, but still, you crack the book open, the pages yellowed from their age. the familiar words ease you slightly, and your voice hangs in the air like the willows over a curving pond.
'the wrath sing, o goddess, of peleus' son
achilles'
his eyelashes flutter like the wings of a butterfly, fanning against his cheeks. he blinks slowly, relaxed. your gaze darts from the book to him like a school of fish in the water, but you hardly need to reference the pages, the words carved into your heart like a searing iron.
his golden hair curls around his head, the longer strands pooling at the dips of his collarbone and down the edge of your own shoulder. it drew your eye, glimmering like starlight, so bright against the sun the locks glowed white. carelessly, your fingers smooth over a strand of hair covering the side of his face, flipping the ends up to marvel at the way they lit up in the light. you had no sooner realised your mistake than when his jewelled eyes darted towards you, causing you to release his hair with a jerk of your hand. "i'm sorry, i didn't -"
he silences you with a yawn, pink tongue flashing against white teeth. his lashes flutter again, shifting his head closer to you. then, his eyes close with sleep. it's almost cute, in a way. you know that he is not actually asleep, but you also realise this is his way of permitting you to continue.
hesitantly, your fingers twitch in longing, at his unavoidable beauty, written by the poets. you wipe your hands harshly on your skirt, fearful that the beading sweat might stick to his glorious hair. with trembling hands, your fingers card through the streaming gold strands, smoothing over the top of his head. he makes a soft sound of pleasure, which makes you smile slightly.
you tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, and you can't help but think that his beauty is fine as a girl's. his lashes open again, jade white skin parting to reveal the hanging jewels of his eyes, a shifting, dazzling blue.
his eyes crinkle a secretive smile. under the light of the sun, you smile back.
blue lock ! royal / fantasy au series featuring : michael kaiser x fem! reader
warning(s): 1.1k , asshole ism , more traditional feminine roles , arranged marriage , lmk if there are more !!
a/n: how r we feeling
ONE. CHILD OF PROPHECY
in the reign of the first emperors, or so said the tales, the child of god is born — in silver moonlight and touched with the whisper of divinity.
they said that in his birth, the muses came and told it to his half-nymph mother, a beloved daughter of the water gods. they landed kisses on her sweat-sheened temple and sang each unravelling prophecy with the golden strings of their lyres; chosen by god, they purred, the emperor of kings.
they did not stay for long, but they had no need to. word travels swiftly in the whirling halls of the palace.
michael, gift of god, whom the divine had gingerly formed in their image, golden and jewel-eyed. the one who will fell men like wheat beneath a scythe and have them all crouching at his heel.
a godly son means haste to find a wife to carry on the bloodline, hungry in hopes that the gods will shine their divine light again with each beautiful son to come. and thus, the one they chose is you, daughter of house adalheidis, rumoured to have had divine blood from a sea nymph mixed in aeons ago. a nymph is the least of the lesser gods, but still a god, nonetheless, and divine blood purified the muddy dust of the human race to mould saints and heroes.
the divine blood of your house has long been watered down, with no traces of any deific features that might make an appearance in fables or folklore. but still, it is enough.
nymph, in the olden languages, is the same word for bride.
so perhaps your fate had been preordained long ago.
and so, when you first meet god, you are just short of thirteen years old.
they twine your hair with ribbons and strings of pearls, silent tittering as they dusted a pearly powder over your cheeks, an incandescent glow illuminating against the bronze mirror. your head lolls to the rhythm of their chatter, following the direction your hair was gently tugged at, eyes slow and blinking, not quite shed of the silvery sleep.
when you arrive, the sun shines brightly in the transparent sky, casting a golden glow over the white plaster of the palace architecture. banners hang from the ceiling, a royal blue, fluttering in the wind; your gaze climbs upwards, following the inscriptions of ancient fables, the effigies of the gods carved into the ceiling. the sunlight dancing in the curve of their marble eyes was so fervid you tore your gaze away in fear they might come alive.
a servant you had not caught the name of led you through the halls. he looked your age, maybe slightly older; not quite grown out into his lanky frame, eyes downcast and shy.
the emperor was not present, he had told you with nervous hands, and so you were being brought directly to the son of god himself.
your steps halt at a side door in the northernmost part of the palace. from what you could see, it was not as grand as the throne room you had passed by earlier, but it was obvious how pampered this boy prince was; before you, arched pillars loomed over the doors of imported oakwood, engraved with gentle carvings of even more obscure fables of prophetical sons and warrior kings.
he is lying on his side on a wide, pillowed bench, thick furs strewn all over the velvety couch. his eyes were half closed, lashes fluttering against his cheeks each time he blinked.
at the purposeful scuffing of your sandals against the floor, he glanced up briefly, lolling his head to the side to look at you.
lazily, his hands stroked the majestic forest cat on his lap, golden fur streaked like a lion, mirroring its owner. but no — it would be wrong to compare it as such. his hair was entirely different, lit by the sun with a spring honey lustre, spun from threads of gold. if you looked closer, within it glints the golden circlet of a prince, nearly black against the brightness of his hair.
you felt your breaths slow, gaping at the cold shock of his beauty. he was not much older than you, but incomparable with the boys your age; of jewel blue eyes sharp as a beast, cheeks and mouth tinted a cherubic rose, painted by the careful muses themselves.
if you were not a child of noble birth, you're quite sure your jaw would have been hanging slack by now. instead, you pressed your lips together and tore your gaze to the floor.
you can feel his eyes on you, and hear a slight shuffle of him leaning more forward to regard you. "what is your name?" his voice is silken, tinged with the slight crackle of sleep and boredom. you keep your gaze screwed to the ground out of spite, a muscle in your jaw ticking. your family was one of the great pillars of the empire, flourishing in trade and commerce. you were his arranged bride, to be the empress of his nation. and yet he still did not know you.
now, he sits up completely, cat yowling faintly in his lap. he speaks again, louder, clear as the glacial waters of the north. "what is your name?" the first lapse of silence was excusable, perhaps you had not heard. now, the boy prince demands an answer.
and so, you level your gaze with his, staring with all the conviction and animosity of a noble girl who had never experienced such blatant disregard. you speak your name as if casting a spell, each syllable strong and resonant, muttered with intention — to engrave your name in his mind, to make sure he could not forget it even if he wanted.
"of house adalheidis," you added in finality.
he's focused on you now, silvery blue gaze as cutting as a knife. he tips his chin up, staring downwards. "my name is michael," he purrs, "kaiser." the side of his mouth quirked slightly at the intensity of your stare. from the corner of your eyes, you faintly notice the dimples appearing at the sides of his face.
you both held the other's gaze in silence. the amusement on his face was obvious, and your brows melded together in confusion for a split second.
then he blinked, mouth cracked open like a yawning cat, mirroring the feline on his lap.
kaiser's interest came as quickly as it left, as if everything was a divine comedy preened before him to garner his delight. he no longer was looking at you.
"welcome to the palace."
you were raised in court, and you knew dismissal when you heard it. you lowered your head with clenched fingers, bruising the crushed silk of your dress.
“ turn him into the stars and form a constellation in his image
his face will make the heavens so beautiful
the world will fall in love with night and forget the garish sun . “
— shakespeare , romeo & juliet
blue lock ! royal / fantasy au series featuring : michael kaiser x fem! reader
warning(s): fluff at the start then it quickly turns to angst , some comfort , insanity everywhere , death , violence , i might get stoned to death after this , lmk if there are more !!
doomed romance , arranged marriage , childhood friends to enemies to lovers
fictional noble houses , VERY historically inaccurate for the territories i made everything up they r not in the same time period !! , mythological references , circe / illiad coded
“ turn him into the stars and form a constellation in his image
his face will make the heavens so beautiful
the world will fall in love with night and forget the garish sun . “
— shakespeare , romeo & juliet
blue lock ! royal / fantasy au series featuring : michael kaiser x fem! reader
warning(s): fluff at the start then it quickly turns to angst , some comfort , insanity everywhere , death , violence , i might get stoned to death after this , lmk if there are more !!
doomed romance , arranged marriage , childhood friends to enemies to lovers
fictional noble houses , VERY historically inaccurate for the territories i made everything up they r not in the same time period !! , mythological references , circe / illiad coded
blue lock ! royal / fantasy au series featuring : michael kaiser x fem! reader
warning(s): 1.1k , asshole ism , more traditional feminine roles , arranged marriage , lmk if there are more !!
a/n: how r we feeling
ONE. CHILD OF PROPHECY
in the reign of the first emperors, or so said the tales, the child of god is born — in silver moonlight and touched with the whisper of divinity.
they said that in his birth, the muses came and told it to his half-nymph mother, a beloved daughter of the water gods. they landed kisses on her sweat-sheened temple and sang each unravelling prophecy with the golden strings of their lyres; chosen by god, they purred, the emperor of kings.
they did not stay for long, but they had no need to. word travels swiftly in the whirling halls of the palace.
michael, gift of god, whom the divine had gingerly formed in their image, golden and jewel-eyed. the one who will fell men like wheat beneath a scythe and have them all crouching at his heel.
a godly son means haste to find a wife to carry on the bloodline, hungry in hopes that the gods will shine their divine light again with each beautiful son to come. and thus, the one they chose is you, daughter of house adalheidis, rumoured to have had divine blood from a sea nymph mixed in aeons ago. a nymph is the least of the lesser gods, but still a god, nonetheless, and divine blood purified the muddy dust of the human race to mould saints and heroes.
the divine blood of your house has long been watered down, with no traces of any deific features that might make an appearance in fables or folklore. but still, it is enough.
nymph, in the olden languages, is the same word for bride.
so perhaps your fate had been preordained long ago.
and so, when you first meet god, you are just short of thirteen years old.
they twine your hair with ribbons and strings of pearls, silent tittering as they dusted a pearly powder over your cheeks, an incandescent glow illuminating against the bronze mirror. your head lolls to the rhythm of their chatter, following the direction your hair was gently tugged at, eyes slow and blinking, not quite shed of the silvery sleep.
when you arrive, the sun shines brightly in the transparent sky, casting a golden glow over the white plaster of the palace architecture. banners hang from the ceiling, a royal blue, fluttering in the wind; your gaze climbs upwards, following the inscriptions of ancient fables, the effigies of the gods carved into the ceiling. the sunlight dancing in the curve of their marble eyes was so fervid you tore your gaze away in fear they might come alive.
a servant you had not caught the name of led you through the halls. he looked your age, maybe slightly older; not quite grown out into his lanky frame, eyes downcast and shy.
the emperor was not present, he had told you with nervous hands, and so you were being brought directly to the son of god himself.
your steps halt at a side door in the northernmost part of the palace. from what you could see, it was not as grand as the throne room you had passed by earlier, but it was obvious how pampered this boy prince was; before you, arched pillars loomed over the doors of imported oakwood, engraved with gentle carvings of even more obscure fables of prophetical sons and warrior kings.
he is lying on his side on a wide, pillowed bench, thick furs strewn all over the velvety couch. his eyes were half closed, lashes fluttering against his cheeks each time he blinked.
at the purposeful scuffing of your sandals against the floor, he glanced up briefly, lolling his head to the side to look at you.
lazily, his hands stroked the majestic forest cat on his lap, golden fur streaked like a lion, mirroring its owner. but no — it would be wrong to compare it as such. his hair was entirely different, lit by the sun with a spring honey lustre, spun from threads of gold. if you looked closer, within it glints the golden circlet of a prince, nearly black against the brightness of his hair.
you felt your breaths slow, gaping at the cold shock of his beauty. he was not much older than you, but incomparable with the boys your age; of jewel blue eyes sharp as a beast, cheeks and mouth tinted a cherubic rose, painted by the careful muses themselves.
if you were not a child of noble birth, you're quite sure your jaw would have been hanging slack by now. instead, you pressed your lips together and tore your gaze to the floor.
you can feel his eyes on you, and hear a slight shuffle of him leaning more forward to regard you. "what is your name?" his voice is silken, tinged with the slight crackle of sleep and boredom. you keep your gaze screwed to the ground out of spite, a muscle in your jaw ticking. your family was one of the great pillars of the empire, flourishing in trade and commerce. you were his arranged bride, to be the empress of his nation. and yet he still did not know you.
now, he sits up completely, cat yowling faintly in his lap. he speaks again, louder, clear as the glacial waters of the north. "what is your name?" the first lapse of silence was excusable, perhaps you had not heard. now, the boy prince demands an answer.
and so, you level your gaze with his, staring with all the conviction and animosity of a noble girl who had never experienced such blatant disregard. you speak your name as if casting a spell, each syllable strong and resonant, muttered with intention — to engrave your name in his mind, to make sure he could not forget it even if he wanted.
"of house adalheidis," you added in finality.
he's focused on you now, silvery blue gaze as cutting as a knife. he tips his chin up, staring downwards. "my name is michael," he purrs, "kaiser." the side of his mouth quirked slightly at the intensity of your stare. from the corner of your eyes, you faintly notice the dimples appearing at the sides of his face.
you both held the other's gaze in silence. the amusement on his face was obvious, and your brows melded together in confusion for a split second.
then he blinked, mouth cracked open like a yawning cat, mirroring the feline on his lap.
kaiser's interest came as quickly as it left, as if everything was a divine comedy preened before him to garner his delight. he no longer was looking at you.
"welcome to the palace."
you were raised in court, and you knew dismissal when you heard it. you lowered your head with clenched fingers, bruising the crushed silk of your dress.
blue lock ! royal / fantasy au series featuring : michael kaiser x fem! reader
warning(s): 1.1k , asshole ism , more traditional feminine roles , arranged marriage , lmk if there are more !!
a/n: how r we feeling
next.
ONE. CHILD OF PROPHECY
in the reign of the first emperors, or so said the tales, the child of god is born — in silver moonlight and touched with the whisper of divinity.
they said that in his birth, the muses came and told it to his half-nymph mother, a beloved daughter of the water gods. they landed kisses on her sweat-sheened temple and sang each unravelling prophecy with the golden strings of their lyres; chosen by god, they purred, the emperor of kings.
they did not stay for long, but they had no need to. word travels swiftly in the whirling halls of the palace.
michael, gift of god, whom the divine had gingerly formed in their image, golden and jewel-eyed. the one who will fell men like wheat beneath a scythe and have them all crouching at his heel.
a godly son means haste to find a wife to carry on the bloodline, hungry in hopes that the gods will shine their divine light again with each beautiful son to come. and thus, the one they chose is you, daughter of house adalheidis, rumoured to have had divine blood from a sea nymph mixed in aeons ago. a nymph is the least of the lesser gods, but still a god, nonetheless, and divine blood purified the muddy dust of the human race to mould saints and heroes.
the divine blood of your house has long been watered down, with no traces of any deific features that might make an appearance in fables or folklore. but still, it is enough.
nymph, in the olden languages, is the same word for bride.
so perhaps your fate had been preordained long ago.
and so, when you first meet god, you are just short of thirteen years old.
they twine your hair with ribbons and strings of pearls, silent tittering as they dusted a pearly powder over your cheeks, an incandescent glow illuminating against the bronze mirror. your head lolls to the rhythm of their chatter, following the direction your hair was gently tugged at, eyes slow and blinking, not quite shed of the silvery sleep.
when you arrive, the sun shines brightly in the transparent sky, casting a golden glow over the white plaster of the palace architecture. banners hang from the ceiling, a royal blue, fluttering in the wind; your gaze climbs upwards, following the inscriptions of ancient fables, the effigies of the gods carved into the ceiling. the sunlight dancing in the curve of their marble eyes was so fervid you tore your gaze away in fear they might come alive.
a servant you had not caught the name of led you through the halls. he looked your age, maybe slightly older; not quite grown out into his lanky frame, eyes downcast and shy.
the emperor was not present, he had told you with nervous hands, and so you were being brought directly to the son of god himself.
your steps halt at a side door in the northernmost part of the palace. from what you could see, it was not as grand as the throne room you had passed by earlier, but it was obvious how pampered this boy prince was; before you, arched pillars loomed over the doors of imported oakwood, engraved with gentle carvings of even more obscure fables of prophetical sons and warrior kings.
he is lying on his side on a wide, pillowed bench, thick furs strewn all over the velvety couch. his eyes were half closed, lashes fluttering against his cheeks each time he blinked.
at the purposeful scuffing of your sandals against the floor, he glanced up briefly, lolling his head to the side to look at you.
lazily, his hands stroked the majestic forest cat on his lap, golden fur streaked like a lion, mirroring its owner. but no — it would be wrong to compare it as such. his hair was entirely different, lit by the sun with a spring honey lustre, spun from threads of gold. if you looked closer, within it glints the golden circlet of a prince, nearly black against the brightness of his hair.
you felt your breaths slow, gaping at the cold shock of his beauty. he was not much older than you, but incomparable with the boys your age; of jewel blue eyes sharp as a beast, cheeks and mouth tinted a cherubic rose, painted by the careful muses themselves.
if you were not a child of noble birth, you're quite sure your jaw would have been hanging slack by now. instead, you pressed your lips together and tore your gaze to the floor.
you can feel his eyes on you, and hear a slight shuffle of him leaning more forward to regard you. "what is your name?" his voice is silken, tinged with the slight crackle of sleep and boredom. you keep your gaze screwed to the ground out of spite, a muscle in your jaw ticking. your family was one of the great pillars of the empire, flourishing in trade and commerce. you were his arranged bride, to be the empress of his nation. and yet he still did not know you.
now, he sits up completely, cat yowling faintly in his lap. he speaks again, louder, clear as the glacial waters of the north. "what is your name?" the first lapse of silence was excusable, perhaps you had not heard. now, the boy prince demands an answer.
and so, you level your gaze with his, staring with all the conviction and animosity of a noble girl who had never experienced such blatant disregard. you speak your name as if casting a spell, each syllable strong and resonant, muttered with intention — to engrave your name in his mind, to make sure he could not forget it even if he wanted.
"of house adalheidis," you added in finality.
he's focused on you now, silvery blue gaze as cutting as a knife. he tips his chin up, staring downwards. "my name is michael," he purrs, "kaiser." the side of his mouth quirked slightly at the intensity of your stare. from the corner of your eyes, you faintly notice the dimples appearing at the sides of his face.
you both held the other's gaze in silence. the amusement on his face was obvious, and your brows melded together in confusion for a split second.
then he blinked, mouth cracked open like a yawning cat, mirroring the feline on his lap.
kaiser's interest came as quickly as it left, as if everything was a divine comedy preened before him to garner his delight. he no longer was looking at you.
"welcome to the palace."
you were raised in court, and you knew dismissal when you heard it. you lowered your head with clenched fingers, bruising the crushed silk of your dress.
“ turn him into the stars and form a constellation in his image
his face will make the heavens so beautiful
the world will fall in love with night and forget the garish sun . “
— shakespeare , romeo & juliet
blue lock ! royal / fantasy au series featuring : michael kaiser x fem! reader
warning(s): fluff at the start then it quickly turns to angst , some comfort , insanity everywhere , death , violence , i might get stoned to death after this , lmk if there are more !!
doomed romance , arranged marriage , childhood friends to enemies to lovers
fictional noble houses , VERY historically inaccurate for the territories i made everything up they r not in the same time period !! , mythological references , circe / illiad coded
pixelskylines
stormborns
theartofmadeline
vaporwave
2087
blakekathryn
