Francis Valois - Tumblr Posts
season 2 of reign is so PAINFUL i hate it hereeee
The Two Towers
Francis Valois X Reader 
You lay in the bed you share with Francis, body shielded by the heavy plush duvets. Smooth against your skin, brushing as you shift. He marries her tomorrow, Queen Mary of Scotland will be his wife, and it leaves you in a predicament. As the daughter of an unimportant lord, your place in court is secured only by your long term relationship with Francis. Mary wondered what would happen when he married, would he give you up or would he be like his father? So many questions, and you wondered how the answers would play out. Have a mistress throughout his marriage, and his reign. When you feel the bed shift, you look over at him, who is actually looking over at you. Maybe you won’t admit it to him, look in those blue eyes and say the truth; but even you wondered what would happen after the wedding.
“Do you-“ Your father always said marry for money, but you don’t any rich man would take you. “My dearest Y/N… Will you stay with me, even after tomorrow?” He pauses. “You mean so much to me, I can’t imagine a forever that doesn’t have you in it.” His soft brush against your cheek, the way his fingers are without imperfection.
“I don’t believe that’s a choice I can make.” You are a nothing compared to him… He is the future king of France, and you will always come second to him. If he chooses to keep you in his bed, in his arms—then he’d be keeping scandal close to court. Instead of staying far from the scandal.
The way his lips brush against your temple, your eyes close. “My love, it is a choice ONLY you can make.” Is it though? You really are not sure what it means to make that choice.
When he is at the end of the aisle, it is not Mary in here white he is looking at, but you in your emerald ensemble. Your eyes glittering as you smile at him. Your Francis. He has always been yours, and last night, when faced with the choice of walking away—you really couldn’t leave. Because you are as much his as he is yours. You nod. He can marry for the good of France, but you will stay until you are unable to stay. And even then. You would choose Francis in any lifetime and you cannot imagine a lifetime without him. He will marry for the good of country, for France—but you will love him for his sake, and your own. You love him. You have loved him since he met you in the music room.
When he saw you, your music tutor absolutely infuriated by your inability to pay them any mind, or any attention to the written notes. You sing what you want to sing, and do as you please—you laugh as the tutors cheeks turn red with anger. You smile as you sing another octave higher. To which the tutor responds by stomping off. Francis applauded, you remember that clearly… “Ive never seen him so upset.” “Oh he loathes me.” You laugh again, “I’m Y/N.”
Francis feverishly glances over at you as Mary, his wife, moves towards you rapidly. Not unkempt, just faster than a brisk walk. You were always respectful before the marriage, especially in public; never spoke to him out of turn, never even danced, and never overshadowed Mary. Because it is not your intention to make her feel like Francis prefers you, that’s not fair.
You swallow, but stand your ground and smile before you bow lowly in respect. “Queen Mary.” She smiles, a beautiful smile, one that makes you wonder. Beautiful.
“Lady Y/N! I wanted to ask you a favor…” A favor? You can hardly imagine what good asking you a favor could do, when she’s the Queen of Scotland. But you nod, and take her extended arm.
“Dance with Francis—he’s an absolute bore at these parties, all he does is stare at you and act like he wasn’t staring at you when someone notices.” Your eyes widen, as you truly begin to realize where she is leading you to—who. Francis is so close, you can see the shimmer of lights hitting his golden halo of curls.
“But Mary…”
“No buts… God will need to help us all if he spends another party pouting in the corner.”
“I never meant to…” She slows her walk, looking at you with a soft and kind smile.
“Y/N… You were here years before I was. And you’ll likely far exceed my time here. I always knew it was you.” Your nerves are seemingly melting away as you glance over at her. Hardly able to believe what she is saying, “I married him for country, but he loves you.” She doesn’t stop smiling, beginning to walk through the crowd of movement. “Y/N. I want us to be friends. To work together. A united front.”
The wife and the mistress… A united front of support for the future king, maybe it could be strong, but you worry about the differences. You don’t have a country, or any stake in this without Francis—you will always be able to put him first. Without any thoughts. “But for now—just dance with the lovesick puppy.” You nod, walking in the direction of Francis, beautiful blonde curls that frame his features so perfectly.
“What-?” His expression is one of shock, and a tad worried; he can’t remember the last time you broke your one rule. You always swore you would never overstep, despite his insistence that it is okay. So why now? Why the evening of his wedding did you decide you were okay with not playing pretend. You shush him, and take him by the arm—dragging him towards the center floor.
“Just dance with me, love.” It sounds so easy, and it is—he pulls you in close, the deep black tone of his overcoat clashing with the emerald shade of your dress. The gold adornments standing out against the deep colors. His hand at the small of your back, he holds on tight and takes your hand into his. This is more than just a dance for him, it means the world. It makes the whole world stop, and just like that—you are his bride. He didn’t marry Mary, but instead, it was the wedding of his dreams with you as the center of everyone’s attention.
“I think I can manage that.”
So you dance, and for every look you receive—Francis’ smile only grows. It heals the wounds those stares intend to leave you with, and makes them simply obsolete things in your peripheral. You smile, and he smiles—and you dance until your feet hurt. You love him, and that’s okay. He loves you—you glance at Mary, who is smiling at you both, talking with Lola. He loves you, and that’s okay.
Yet those smiles have almost completely faded over the last few years, as you try to force a smile while you finish your breakfast. Tension thick, and you just keep your gaze on your book… Francis and Mary have always made an effort to take breakfast together, with you sitting to Francis right and them both at the heads of the table. Usually, one or two of Mary’s ladies would join—or Catherine. But this time it is just you, and them.
You take your last bite of biscuit and the last sip of your juice, and close the book you have vainly kept in front of you. Your smile is tense, as you finally glance between the pair and begin to speak: “Well I believe I am going to take my leave now. As I am not qualified to be your marriage counselor.” You stand.
“No Y/N. Sit down.” You sit. Her words are harsh and fiery, and you don’t like it, but you listen because she is your Queen. Maybe they’ll stop, or maybe they will let you leave, but you are stuck for now. Between the feuding royals, and whatever happened between them over the last few weeks.
“Honestly, I really do think I should go…” But it is all in vain, as Francis tries to ignore it all by focusing on his breakfast.
“Tell them how you locked me in a tower.” She hmmms, and you groan—you told Francis that was an idiotic plan when he ran it by you one night. As a hypothetical, but now you know that it was never a hypothetical question. It was a reality for the Queen of Scots, but you just don’t understand why he would do such a rash thing. Francis is usually smarter than that. “How it was for my own good, when the truth is—you were just upset I was going to Scotland.”
It was always her intention to go back to Scotland, and Francis always seemed supportive of that intention. You try to read him, but his expression is even. Unmoving. “Francis-?” He hushes you, his eyes have grown darker than you expected them to be. He’s never like this.
“Mary, did you expect me to let you run off with your lover to Scotland? Wives don’t have the same graces as husbands. And Queens don’t get to runaway just because they’re lonely.”
“You’ve given me no choice, Francis!”
“Mary-?” You don’t even know who to address, and wish you were far away from this conflict.
“No. I am alone in this marriage. I have been from the beginning.” She is seething. “You have always had your Y/N… I needed that, and that was Conde!” That’s why you were here, because you were the center of this fight without ever intending to be. So much for a united front.
“You don’t understand what that means.”
“Oh Francis—I understand perfectly. Y/N-“
“Don’t bring Y/N into this!” You should have just left, but instead you lean back into your chair, feeling smaller than before. Maybe you made the wrong choice that night.
“How can I not? When I don’t get to have what you have.”
“You just can’t-“
“Y/N deserves better. And so do I.”
She is gone, and you are left with Francis in silence. Your throat is tight and you just have to face the silence head on, without worry. But you don’t. You sit there in your chair, looking at the table with disdain.
“Y/N…” You shake your head, eyes misted over as you try to process everything that was said. He locked her in a tower. You have grown to respect Mary, she’s good to have at your side in moments of crisis—especially when your back is pressed against the wall. She’s a survivor.
Maybe you should speak, explain what’s happening in your head, but you can’t. You push up from the table and walk away without another word, you have to find Mary. Or an empty room. Whichever comes first.
Once both women have left the room, Francis leans his head into his palms—chest heaving. He had to do it. That’s what he tells himself, it’s the only thing that keeps him grounded at the moment as he swallows. “Well well, your majesty. Quite a feat to piss off the wife and the mistress, all before breakfast.” Narcisse. He hates him, that bastard Lord who has tortured him these last weeks. He has forced him to make decisions that have put incredible distance between him, and the two closest people he has. His Y/N, and his wife. Created a rift that will never heal over the same as before.
“Go away Narcisse.” Francis can hear the smirk, the snide smile of the devil that occupies French Court. He is never far away, but always close and always up to something.
“Mmmmm, now why would I do that? When I need you to do something, for me. I mean, France.” More sneaky lies, that will cost him everything that is good. This has defined what kind of King he will be, and it is not the kind he ever intended to be.
Without you my heart is closed as tight as a fist
Francis II, King of France to his wfie Mary Stuart
Every episode of Reign: 1x02 "-She even smells nice. -I know."
"When we were younger we thought Everyone was on our side Then we grew a little bit And romanticized the time I saw Flowers in your hair" (x)
Every episode of Reign: 1x04 "That half-blind portrait artist didn't realize I was sitting in a chair while my sister was standing, and now, half of Europe thinks I'm a dwarf." "Well I met you by the mill Where your heart went still Sparrow swung down and he took shape and form And it rose, rose like a storm" (x)
Every episode of Reign: 1x05 "-I would probably try to kiss you. -And I probably wouldn't let you. At first." " I'll go wherever you go I would never leave without letting you know Don't you give up on me" (x)
Every episode of Reign: 1x06 "I've warned you of the stakes of life at court. I told you that we can't act on whim, on feeling. You didn't listen."
"Take me down to corner of a million miles Where time is a waste of time" (x)
1x19 Francis tries to enlist Bash for the war to get Calais back, but Bash has other things on his mind...
Francis: Bash, come on, we are going to war
Bash: (distracted) Hmm, sex?
Francis: Sex? Urgh. N-No, WAR as in fighting. Something you're good at and I need that right now
Bash: Hmm, I'm also good at sex and well, I need that right now. It's been months since I last got laid. And actually, looks like my schedule has suddenly been filled up for... the next three months
Francis:
Bash: Do you understand what I'm trying to say?
Francis:
Bash: I really hate to be doing this to you on such short notice but I'm taking my deserved vacation days. And my honeymoon time off. You know what? Throw in Christmas, I deserve a break, or three. Sorry, not sorry
Francis: Well, we will see who's the favourite son when I come back, shall we?
toby regbo in every episode ever of reign
↳ 1x18 no exit
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