And At The Same Time It's Haunting A True Nightmare Story And I Can't Get Enough - Tumblr Posts

Heyy can i please request clavis x fem reader with the prompt nightmare?

A/N: And we're back to angst. Hi @aceuuuuu here you go! I hope you like it 💜Thank you for the request!

Clavis x f! reader

Word Count: circa 1600

Sleep found you easily that night, rocking you in its arms until you fell into a deep and peaceful slumber. What dreams found you were pleasant, drifting in and out of your mind like iridescent bubbles following a light breeze. At the moment, your mind has taken you to a far-away beach. White sand is warm under your bare feet. The salty air tickles your nose. The gentle lapping of the waves soothes your body as you sink slowly into the deeper, darker parts of sleep.......except there, off in the distance, something is pulling at the threads of your peaceful dreaming. You try to ignore it but it is insistent. A tugging at your sleeve. A knocking at a door. A chime that won’t stop ringing. The beach fades away, despite your desperate desire to stay in that warm, safe place. The tugging is more insistent. The knocking grows louder. The chiming fills your mind until you are jerked completely out of sleep’s embrace......to the fitful sounds of your lover in crisis.

Clavis Lelouch

When royalty marries, there are no limits. The already beautiful palace is transformed into something out of a dream: soft, romantic garlands made from only the most perfectly formed pink and white roses are hung from every archway. White drapery, sheer as a fairy’s wings and just as delicate, bedeck the walls. Everyone is gathered in the ballroom, now full of plush, navy blue and gold chairs for its guests. The ornate walls with their silken tapestries are illuminated by hundreds of white taper candles. The nobility is dressed in its very finest, a sea of sumptuous satin, soft velvet, and glittering jewels. Clavis spots the dark, hunter green of Jade. The stormy black of Obsidian. The sea blue of Benitoite. And even more exotic gems and nobles: the sunset orange of Tanzanite. The deep, cobalt blue of Ionite. The world has gathered to witness this event.

Chevalier stands under the arched trellis covered in blood-red roses. He is resplendent in crisp white and blue. His sword hangs at his side, but it will go thirsty today. It is there in an ornamental nature only. His expression is neutral. One who does not know him might even say he looks bored. But Clavis notices the way his white-gloved fingers clench and unclench, minute movements lost on the crowd. He also notes the quick, subtle glances at the ornate double-doors. 

And when those doors finally open, when the figure adorned in swathes of white silk and that heavily embroidered floral veil steps through and into the ballroom, he notices how Chevalier’s shoulders straighten even more. His hawk-like attention is solely focused on the woman in white gliding towards him. Some of the nobility holds its breath, some sigh at the romance of it all. But with each step she takes, Clavis feels his stomach twist. Could it be.....No.....you said you loved him. It can’t be....

She arrives at Chevalier’s side, taking his arm. That scent, the familiar mixture of lavender and roses, hits Clavis’s nose and nausea blossoms within his stomach. No. It can’t be. No. The wedding officiant speaks, unaware of the storm tearing through him, the wild winds of despair and disbelief ripping his rice-paper heart to shreds as Chevalier slowly lifts the opaque veil to reveal YOU. Your beloved face, flushed pink with pleasure, your bright eyes full of stars because they are fixed on him. Your smile, the Northern star guiding him to your boundless well of love and acceptance and desire. His hands take yours in his, his thumbs running lightly over your bare skin. 

The officiant’s words have no shape, no coherent form. Clavis barely registers what is being said as his brother’s face takes on a foreign softness, his head tilting down to gaze into the springtime of your smile. You continue to beam up at the king. Nausea overwhelms the third prince as the remains of his heart are tempest-tossed within his heaving chest. 

Music, discordant and jarring, begins playing as Chevalier leans down and you lean up and time seems to accelerate, everything rushing forward at breakneck speed: You are wrapping your arms around his neck and he’s pulling you against his body and your mouths are pressed together, opening and closing passionately as you kiss each other hungrily and his hands slide down, pulling you harder against him and you are gasping and eager and ready and not at all bothered that you are in front of a crowd that cheers and hollers and claps as if it is normal for the groom to begin ravishing his bride right then and there, his hands impatiently pulling on your dress to your excited, encouraging gasps, his mouth leaving a trail of rose-colored kisses as it travels down your neck, down your collarbones, down to the neckline of your dress which is falling with each passing second—

“Clavis....Clavis!” You repeat his name, hands on his shoulders to keep him from thrashing any further. You try his name one more time, this time louder than before, worry surpassing the concern of being too loud in the quiet of the midnight hour. His eyes fly open, his breath ragged as he adjusts from the shock of his dreams to the reality of your bedroom, enveloped in night’s shadows. You wait, your hands still on his shoulders, anchoring him. He blinks and then pulls away from you, rising and stumbling from your bed. His name is a question whispered to the dark but he does not answer. He makes his way to one of the large windows, reaching over and then flings it open, allowing in a burst of cool air. It is a balm to his overheated skin, to the wild drumming of his heart which feels like it may burst from his chest if he does not manage to claim a few steady lungsful of air.

Frowning, you reach for your dressing gown, wrapping the soft lavender velvet around yourself before walking over to where he is standing, bracing himself on the window sill. “Clavis?” Your voice sounds small even to your own ears. “Are you ok?” His eyes are closed. He’s breathing slowly. Normally he would turn, paint a smile on his face and ask why ever would you be concerned about someone as clever as him? But not this time. He is shaken. His hands tremble as they push his soft hair, damp with sweat, out of his face. You watch the muscles of his abdomen rise and fall with each tremulous breath, the play of soft moonlight over his skin, the way it adds a silvery sheen to his midnight hair. It feels like it is caressing him too, trying to comfort the man you love as much as you want to.

Finally his eyes open, seeking out the night sky. He has not turned to look at you yet. When he speaks, his voice sounds tight, as if there is an invisible hand wrapped around his throat, slowly squeezing. “You.....want this, right? Us?” The shock of his words stings, as if you have been slapped without a moment to brace yourself. Your feet are carrying you toward him before you can think about it. You reach out, taking his hands and turn him away from the window and towards you. Your grip is firm, forcing his mind to focus on it. On you. “Why would you even ask me that?” Shadows have chased the light from his eyes and your heart sinks as he lowers his gaze. He looks ashamed. He looks scared. “I dreamt.....you married the king.” He doesn’t need to say his name. Or what the weight of that kind of dream would have, and the way it would crush his heart.

You swallow hard against the instinct to say that that would never happen. That it was only a dream. Instead you gently use your grip on him to pull him closer. You release his hands only because yours slide around his waist, palms coming to rest against the small of his back. Your head is tilted up to look at him, refusing to look away until he finally meets your gaze.

“Where am I?” you ask quietly. He seems rather caught off guard, but even in his darkest moments, an intriguing question manages to snag his attention. “Your room,” he answers slowly. You nod encouragingly. “What time is it?” He now glances at the small wooden clock on your desk. “Half past one.” Again you nod, adjusting your embrace so that you can step even closer. “And who is in my arms?” He meets your gaze, his brilliant eyes so beautiful even in shadow. “I am,” he whispers. You nod once more. “That’s right. You are. You and only you. Right now. And ever more.” 

There is sunrise in his gaze, a light slowly returning as your words sink in, soothing the scratches across his heart, calming its panicked beat. Your hands slide over the bare skin of his back, warm and comforting and tender. Your gaze never leaves him. You hold him there, physically with your arms, emotionally with the echo of your words, the open love in your soft expression. Time is suspended, the space between the twinkle of stars, and then he leans down, gathering you against him, hoarsely whispering your name before he kisses you. You yield to his roughness, his urgency, your body curving into his, your lips parting. Anything he needs, he can take from you. You would give him the very breath from your lungs, the beat of your heart, if he asked for it. 

Anything, you think as you stumble with him back toward the bed, locked in his impassioned, desperate embrace, anything for the man you love.

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