my scottish prince

“Sir Thomas. From England” Thomas Sangster Imagine

Kingdoms AU omg

Request: I don’t know if you take these kind of requests, but I was wondering if you would write a TBS imagine where (it’s set in the time of kingdoms) Y/N is a princess and he is one of her possible suitors and he sees her and immediately falls for her so he has to impress her. He tries to be sweet and everything in the beginning, but sees how the other boys are treating her (sexual looks, etc.) and tries to get her that way and she wanted to pleasure him anyway and fluff? Thanks :) 

Warnings: umm. It’s mostly safe I think? there’s just one nsfw scene somewhere close to the end, nothing too graphic

A/N: I LOVED THIS REQUEST SO MUCH bless your soul for this idea, Anon. I really hope my lovely readers will enjoy reading this story as much as i enjoyed writing it! 

“Prince Dylan from the north of Romania, second heir to the throne in the O’Brien kindred” the boy smiles, obviously proud of what he just said. “Excuse my audacity, Princess, but I am truly and utterly impressed by Your beauty. All the pretty words I’ve heard about You were nowhere near Your real-life mesmerizing image”

Cheeky. You’re pretty sure you’ve heard these exact same words from someone else a few months ago, when yet another bunch of your so-called suitors got fully rejected.

You go through this almost every two or three months. A crowd of boys compliment you in hopes to get your dad’s fortune and you have to spend full five days in their company to get to know them. Fun, isn’t it?

Nonetheless, back to this Dylan boy and his well-practiced speech. You wonder do they all go to the same teacher to learn how to flirt with princesses?

Unwillingly you chuckle out loud at your thoughts and earn a nudge from your nanny standing on your right.

“Mais Mademoiselle! C’est rude to laugh at people when they complement Vous” she hisses with her thick French accent.

Your face twitches in light pain and you speak up “It’s nice to meet You, Prince Dylan”

He nods a brief nod and walks towards the group of other princes and lords and dans, stopping in between Prince Ki the third Hong – the last representative of Korean Lee dynasty and Prince William Junior, the youngest member of Scottish royal family of Poulter’s.

Your eyes then focus on the next boy, approaching your throne with an effortlessly light walk.

He’s quite tall, from afar you notice the dirty-blondish color of his hair. He’s dressed in a different manner than everyone over here – more strict and slinky with the amount of plain black color in his whole outfit taking the superiority over the lack of accessories.

Well at least something new in months. For the first time in forever you actually find yourself mildly interested.

“Good afternoon, Your Majesty” he venerates. The sound of his odd accent rebounds from the cold walls of the hall as he says “Sir Thomas. From England”

You arch an eyebrow at him as he lets out a brief cough to then speak up again “Sir Thomas the second, son of Lord Mark Sangster from the noble family of Brodie’s in the west of England”

“I didn’t see Your carriage?” you hear your dad scoff, shifting around in his throne. He isn’t really fond of non-princes.

“Oh, that’s not quite the way I prefer traveling, Your Highness. I ride a horse”

“A horse?” the king raises an eyebrow.

“A horse.” the boy confirms. An elegant shadow of a smile creeps on his face “His name is Bike. Your servants kindly promised to take care of him after I arrived”

“Ah yes. Of course” your dad turns to face you, expecting to hear the same old shabby phrase you say to everyone on the first day – ‘nice to meet you’.

You part your lips to talk and the sentence you didn’t mean to pronounce out loud slips from your tongue. 

“I like Your accent”

Realizing what you just spat out, you rush to add something so it doesn’t look like you surprised yourself by voicing that phrase. “It’s truly fascinating”

A smug expression plasters on his face, he knows he’s the first ever suitor you willingly talked to on the first day and didn’t just send him away with a ‘nice to meet you’.

“Well, Princess, it’s rather ironic how You said that. Considering that ‘fascinating’ was the exact one word that crossed my mind as soon as my eyes met Your beauty. However unlike…” he pauses for a split second “…unlike others, I’m not quite sticking to the spilling-out-compliments-on-the-very-first-minute-of-the-very-first-meeting tactics” his glance quickly meets Prince Dylan and he smirks, satisfied with himself. “I admit I do prefer reserving the sweet words for more intimate talks”

A cheeky wink is shot in your direction and you roll your eyes.

“It’s nice to meet You, Sir Thomas” you fake a yawn and cringe, knowing for sure you overacted. It probably looked way too fake from aside. Whatever.

This boy indeed is interesting. You watch him walk towards the little crowd of other five princes and you can’t help but simper at the sight of Dylan giving a dead glance to his new British rival.

The next five days are going to be interesting.

Day one. Let the sweet torture begin.

You look down on your plate of soup, just shuffling the spoon inside it. You know if you look up you’ll meet the hungry gaze of your new six suitors and you aren’t exactly in the mood for that.  

“So” a voice coughs and you sigh, having to tilt your head up. It was Dylan talking. Well of course. “What should we blame for the lack of appetite?”

You blink at him, confusion readable on your face for a split second but then it clicks. You haven’t touched your soup at all.

“I don’t know”

“Well I guess I can dare to try and make my Princess smile” he grins, so happy with himself it’s actually quite annoying.

His hands reach out for the air and come together in a festive clap. Immediately after the gesture, a servant runs into the room with a little wooden box in his skinny hands.

“I, Prince Dylan from the kindred of O’Brien’s, am happy to present my Princess as a matter of fact tiny gift, brought to You all the way from my faraway homeland Romania” he smiles, taking the box in his hands and standing up from his seat.

His figure approaches you within seconds, handing the patterned box to you with a slight bend of his body.

You squint your eyes in hesitation but eventually take the wood and put it on the table in front of you. Your hands carefully open the surprisingly light-weighed cover to reveal a shiny bright golden something inside.

You gasp at the beauty in front of you, taking the rose-shaped gold in your hands.

“This mini-statue made of pure gold is only for Your pretty eyes to witness, I wholeheartedly hope it will make You happy, my Princess”

“I love it” it takes you effort to look away from the rose to Dylan’s eyes and say the words.

“Well, if we’re going there…” you hear a low bass speak up. Prince Nickolay from Russia stands up with something white and puffy in his hands. “This is what we call ‘shuba’ in Mother Russia. I hunted down the polar tiger for this fur coat with my own hands, my Princess, in the vast forests of Siberia” he approaches you with the fluffy fabric on his huge buff arms.

When the boy is close enough, you lift yourself up from your chair a little to let him throw the beautiful coat over your shoulders. It is so warm and pretty, you want to bury your face in it and use it as a pillow.

“This is beautiful” you sigh, running your hands all over the fur on your shoulders “You truly didn’t have to bring me presents. As much as I love them, I find it pretty rude to accept such valuable gifts from young men, when only one of them or maybe even none is going to be the one I choose”

“My Princess” the Scottish Prince Will raises his hand.

You now see different covered-up gifts in front of each of them. Except for Sir Thomas.

“It is pure pleasure to make You happy with these little things, please don’t even think about denying my present, that will be offensive” he smiles for his words not to sound in a harsh way. “I chose these for You myself, I know You’re a big lover”

You take the long weird box from his hands and open it quickly. A pair of… ah! Gloves! A pair of murrey-colored beauties are literally beaming right in front of your eyes.

You have a grand collection of long gloves and these are a perfect addition to it.

“Oh, dear God” you whisper, pulling your own gloves off immediately to feel the cold touch of the silk on your knuckles, as the new clothing is being slid up your sleeves.

You stretch out your hands to admire your new loves, ignoring Will’s shining smug smirk, when another one of the princes starts talking.

“My Princess” Prince Ki Hong has the biggest box in his hands “Allow me to help you open my modest present, as You see it’s a bit bigger than the others in the size”

A proud grin creeps on his face as he opens up the plain wooden box. A puppy-sized little girl is now looking at you right from the inside.

“My porcelain artisans are famous for their golden hands. I ordered the best of them to make this doll for You. It’s fragile but beautiful, just like You” whilst the Korean Prince is talking, you carefully take the doll in your hands, admiring its beauty.

It almost looks real, her brown locks of hair cascading around the distended shoulders of its tiny yet mesmerizingly stunning dress. The blush on her cheeks, her huge blue eyes, long dark eyelashes, it seems like the doll is a sample of a perfect human.

“I see You admire the beauty” prince Dominic from Italy speaks, making you look up to him “My Princess, the doll is indeed pretty and worthy of all the time You can spend admiring it. However, believe me or not, I know another perfect creature on planet Earth and trust me this doll’s beauty is nothing compared to her”

He approaches his gift covered in plain black fabric, settling it right in front of you. 

“Prepare Yourself to see with your own eyes the most perfect creature You will ever find in the world” he proudy annonces and seconds after the fabric is slid away, you see your own eyes looking back at you.

Oh, a mirror. Well that was smooth. You tilt your head to a side, pretty much enjoying the sight of you in a white fur coat with a golden rose in your hand. Cristal white and red precious stones are covering the frame of your new gift and you can’t help but gasp at its shining beauty.

“I suppose we’re done with the presents” Prince Dylan laughs, glancing at Sir Thomas, still sitting calmly, without anything even distantly looking alike a gift.

“Your Majesty” the British boy says stonily, however a tiny smile decorating his words.

As if that was some kind of a password, a pair of servants immediately appears in the hall with something entirely huge in their hands. It, just like the mirror, is covered in a thick black fabric.

The height of the ‘something’ is impressive, approximately 6 feet and maybe 5 inches long and about 3 feet wide, perhaps a little less. It’s very flat, that’s all you can see for now.

“What is this? My Princess isn’t this flat if that’s a statue” Prince Will laughs, everyone in the room expect you and Sir Thomas joining him with simpers.

Without saying a word, Sir Thomas tugs on the black fabric, slowly pulling it off.

The room falls silent for a whole minute as you see a huge square frame with your portrait inside of it.

The fur coat slides down your shoulders as you stand up unwillingly, shoving your chair back with the movement. The golden rose is now on the table with all the other things they gave to you, and your feet, as if controlled by their own brain, make their way straight to the stunning picture.

The bright colors of your dress, the curves and patterns on the large skirt, your long white gloves… this is the clothing you wore yesterday, when you first met them.

“Oh my God” you whisper, your hand immediately reaching out to feel the beauty under your touch.

As your index finger’s tip makes a slight contact with the colorful cloth, trying to make sure that this is not a magic trick, you feel the portrait still alive under your tender dab. It leaves a little vivid blue mark on your new glove. Prince Will shifts around in his seat, discontented.

“Oh no, don’t touch it, Your Highness” the British accent massages your ears.

“It’s still wet” you say, turning around to face the boy.

“I finished it only this morning, it should indeed be wet”

“You drew this?” you ask, stunned.

He nods, venerating. All his movements contain this unexplainable grace, something you’ve never seen before in any of your suitors. 

“This is unreal” you say, unable to contain your mesmerized state.

He smiles at you, as you keep studying the weirdly soothing colors of the painting, wondering how are they so soft yet so bright at the same time.

“I want this on top of my bed, in my room” you finally say, turning around abruptly and walking in the direction of the door “Thank You for the lovely presents, darlings” you do a brief reverence, before leaving the room.

You hear your servants shuffling around, struggling with the size of the painting to move it.

Day two. You go out on hunting with your suitors. God, Prince Nickolay is a pretty impressive hunter.

In the evening you eat the pork he shot for dinner and enjoy Prince Dominic’s smooth language as he tells pretty Italian words intertwined into a soothing rhyme. Although you understand zero, you do admire the prettiness of Italian language, still.

Day Three. The picnic with the boys does go surprisingly well. Oh, Prince Ki Hong carries you around the valley in his strong arms, making you giggle every now and then with his jokes. He woos you all day long, making everyone around very, I repeat very annoyed, but you don’t care. You enjoy his company a lot.

Day Four. The ball! Oh, the ball! This is your absolute favorite part. You give your first dance to Prince Will, circling around on the cold surface of floor with his hand around your waist. You have your eyes closed, enjoying the story he’s telling you. The evening was lovely, indeed.

Day Five. It’s evening. You walk down the stairs in a purple light dress with a wide skirt without the usual supporting metallic thing that made it look volumetric. You simply couldn’t be arsed with that today. The hue of your long pretty gloves matches the lace of your skirt perfectly and you just can’t help the self-satisfied happy little grin on your face.

“Good evening, Your Highness” you suddenly feel a familiar accent say.

“What are You doing here?” you turn around abruptly to face Sir Thomas. He caught you off guard.

The sight of his handsome tiny smile makes your heart sink. You have admitted to yourself on the third day that you like him. For the first time in your entire life you actually do like someone that’s meant to be your husband.

And that scares you. It scares you to death because what if that feeling is deceptive, what if he’s not the one? You’ve only known him for five days after all.

“Nothing in particular, really. Just wandering around, hoping to come across the pretty princess” he winks at you, just like he did on the very first day.

You force out a cough to cover your little gasp and pretend to roll your eyes “I thought You weren’t exactly fond of, I quote ‘spilling out compliments’” your one brow arches at his smirk.

“I said I reserve them for more intimate situations” he takes a step forward, kneeling in front of you “May I?”

You sigh a little too dramatically, pretending to be annoyed, however stretching out your hand in front of his face.

You pray to god you aren’t overacting with the annoyance attitude.

A sudden gasp escapes your throat as you feel him take your hand in his and instead of just kissing it, he starts to pull your glove off.

You gulp, not knowing if you should stop him until it’s too late. The purple fabric is now in his hand and he leans in, pressing his lips against the skin of your knuckles.

Damn it, you like this boy. He’s different from the others. He’s challenging and you find yourself enjoying that.

His lips feel soft and cold against your hand and you close your eyes, imagining how would that touch feel on the other parts of your body.

You gulp again at your thought and open your eyes, pulling your hand away quickly. It’s profoundly weird how a kiss on a hand can make you feel this way.

His eyes are dazed as he looks up at you, still in a kneeled position.

“Come with me” you say suddenly, walking forward with confidence.

With your glove still in his hand, he stands up and follows you silently.

You walk fast and noiselessly, thousands of thoughts spinning around in your head. The decision to take him there came unexpectedly and you went for it straight away, but now when you’re on your way to the place, you feel kind of hesitant.

You’ve only known the boy for a few days but look at you, leading him to the place you promised to yourself that only your real prince will step in.

What were you even thinking about? One tender touch and you want to choose him already? This is stupid! You are stupid!

Anyhow it’s way too late to back up now. You’re standing in front of the door, listening to his loud breathing.

Without any unnecessary talking, you walk into the room and gently close the door after he’s inside too.

“Here. I spent my childhood here with my nanny. She used to read for me French stories about love.. about lucky princesses finding their ‘happy ever after’. She told me that when I find my real prince, I’ll feel it my heart straight away. When I was little I promised to myself that no one except him will step into this room. Ever”

Sir Thomas looks fascinated. His eyes are wide with excitement.

God damn it, y/n! You’re being too darn easy! You’re not supposed to be such an easy target. You were proud to have refused dozens of princes, waiting for the right one and now this British boy with an accent appears out of nowhere and you jump into his embrace, bringing him to a place you shouldn’t have brought a boy you only just met.

You need to test him first. You can’t just choose him right now and right here, it’s not supposed to be this easy.

“Sir Thomas” you say, snapping out of your thoughts “I brought You here for a reason”

He smiles, nodding at you, so you would continue talking.

“Tell me” you start to walk around the room slowly “What do You think of Prince Dylan?”

His face falls immediately, expressing nothing but pure shock and frustration. This is exactly what you were aiming for.

“What?” he asks, not trusting his ears.

“What do You think about Prince Dylan? You know, the handsome tall guy from Romania” you repeat, smirking in victory “I’m thinking to choose him”

He blinks fast a few times before answering “I do not dare to have an opinion on that” he clears his throat in that aristocratic way inherent only in British people “Within these past few days I didn’t get the chance to get to know him”

“Oh, snap it, Thomas!” you say, raising your hand.

He arches an eyebrow, confused.

“I just want a friendly advice. Keep the fancy talking for your homeplace, I got it, you’re cool in that. Now tell me, who do you think is worth choosing?”

“Hmm” he slowly makes a circle around you “You see, y/n” he starts and you sigh at the sound of your own name. All the ‘Mademoiselles’, ‘Your majesties’, ‘Your highnesses’ have really annoyed you by now.

“That Dylan guy. He’s actually nice” he raises his hands. “I’m bettin’ you will love him walkin’ round and acting as if he’s your boss. The William boy’s a nice option, really. Haven’t you seen them dirty looks he was giving you in the morning. Roaahh!” his hands wave around as if he’s hot “Dominic would be a pretty rad pet” his shoulders rise and fall in a shrug “Oh, I like Nickolay! He looks like a great family guy, I reckon you’d have a bunch of kids. 12 is a great number. He might want more though”

You look at him confused, wondering where is he leading.

“But you know what, love” he says, suddenly stepping close to you so that now there’s a tiny gap in between your chests.

His head leans in close with his hands resting on your shoulders. His tongue reaches out for your lobe and you gasp, raising your hand to slap him but he stops you with one easy movement of his muscly arm. 

“None of them can make you feel as good as I can” his rough, husky whisper sends a wave of pleasant vibrations all the way down to your bottoms.

You close your eyes as he leans away.

“If you’re still unsure of your final decision, let me show you something to help you out, darling” the boy presses his hand against the front of your skirt and you let out a moan unwillingly.

You’ve never felt this way before, the tension in the room is pressuring you hard. Some kind of a sick tremble makes your legs feel sloppy.

He smirks, lifting up your glove he still held in his hand and placing it in between your teeth.

“Now we don’t want anyone hearing us, do we?” he asks, simpering and shoving the fabric in deeper.

You squeeze it in your mouth, gulping. Your brain still tries to process the fact that you, Princess Y/N, elder daughter of King Edgar the Third, are letting this boy to do this with you.

He kneels, tugging on the hem of your wide skirt and pulling it up. You notice him smirking before his figure disappears under your huge clothing.

A muted moan rips your throat apart when you feel something wet glide its way up your thighs.

Your breathing is heavy and fast, you desperately gasp for air, knowing that he hasn’t even started, but you’re already losing it.

A little drop of your wetness drips down your leg from your already soaked underwear but he licks it away on his way up to your heat.

His tongue teasingly brushes on top of your underwear’s fabric, only slightly touching it but still enough to make you want to scream and push his face in deeper. Luckily the glove in your mouth subdues your voice.

His both hands are now rested in the inside parts of your thighs as his thumbs massage your skin soothingly. His wet muscle keeps dancing around against your core and you stretch your hands out in hopes to find some kind of a support and lean on it.

The sensation is completely new, your body shudders crankily and you don’t realize how your hands reach out to cup your breasts. You make soothing circles, tugging on your nipples through the silk fabric of your dress to balance the mixed emotions filling you up.

Your dripping wet underwear is now pulled down on the level of your knees and his tongue is toying on your clit, adding on the wave of pleasure.

The wet touch makes its way down back lower as his thumb takes the place of his tongue on your clit. The boy pulls on your skin, vibrating his finger up there and you feel the struggling moan burn down your throat.

Just when you thought you more or less adjusted to the feeling, you feel a finger enter you and your clit twitches under his touch.

You can feel the pleasure building up inside you as your breath pace goes completely cray. Your eyes are shut close, you’re too afraid to make any move.

Two more of his fingers ease in as his hand moves faster and faster and faster, the purple piece of clothing slips out of your graze with the loud echo of his name tearing your vocal cords apart, you scream it out loud and clear, finally taking a deep breath in with your mouth.

The consequences of your climax drip down your legs as you feel him pulling your underwear back up.

His body appears in your sight from under your skirt and you want to say something but the door shoots open with your nanny storming in.

“Mademoiselle!!! Mon Dieu, êtes-Vous alive??” she squeals with her half-French, half-English.

Before you can talk, Thomas stands up on his feet, handling you the glove he picked up from the ground “Dropped this, Your Majesty”

“Jeanétte, I’m okay” you say, still trying to even your breath out.

“Mais are You sure, Mademoiselle? I thought I heard You-”

“No I’m fine” you say with a look that lets her know you want her to leave.

She nods slightly, glancing at Sir Thomas for a second, and walking out of the room.

You have no idea what to say or do, daze has taken over your mind as you just stare goofily into the boy’s eyes.

“Did it feel good, Your Highness?” he asks, venerating again and placing a brief kiss on your hand. The cheeky smile refuses to quite his face.

“Thom- Sir Thomas. I…”

“Wait” he suddenly says, lowering his intonation. “Before you answer I want you to know. I didn’t do that to provoke or manipulate you, y/n. I find our chemistry fascinating. I felt a connection between us and please don’t deny that you did too. I see it” he takes a step forward, taking your hands in his.

The air is filled with heavy oxygen and the awkward kind of silence. Sir Thomas never lets your eye contact break, sweat dripping down his forehead in thin dribbles.

“I am in love with you” he finally says, sucking a deep breath in. “I state that with confidence, you stole my heart, y/n. I’ve never felt this way before. You’re…… You- I don’t know what you do to me. You make me happy. It was the moment i came in, the moment i saw you, i knew you’re different. I knew i want you more than anything I’ve ever wanted. You are so beautiful and smart and kind yet strict, that drives me crazy! Look, please y/n, look me in the eye. I love you. Princess, i love you! I love you with this stone heart of mine, I love…”

He gets cut off by the sudden movement of your hands pulling him close to you. Your fingers lock behind his back, grappling him in an embrace.

He still tries to realize what did just happen without even hugging you back when the whisper escapes your lips.

You say it confidently, without hesitation. You know you’re saying the right words to the right person.

“I choose you, Thomas”

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