#<- tagging those because they’re the subjects of requests i have x

[palmerzy]

guys pls don’t send me a request and then also send it to another writer 🥲🥲 just choose one, i beg, because starting to write something and then seeing someone else uploading that exact same request is sooo demoralising (obviously not at the hands of the other writers!! nothing against them whatsoever, how are they to know)

but pleaaaaase just pick one person to send a request to. it’s so frustrating spending time on something & then not wanting to upload it because someone else already has and i don’t wanna look like i’m copying or trying to one-up another writer yk?!?

anyways rant over but yeah, some requests in my inbox won’t be answered because you can find it elsewhere, and i might just respond to those requests with links to other writers xoxo

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

First off I LOVE your writing, I’m so happy you’re taking requests again so, may I please request something with Ghost? Like the reader is part of the 141 and Ghost has a soft spot for her and is very protective of her and both having feelings for each other but not saying anything bc both think the other one deserves better or just something like that🥹😮‍💨💖🙏🏻 feel free to keep practicing smut for this one!👀✨

You’re awesome 🥰💞

Blood Was Its Avatar

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Getting close to you was never his plan, but when he can't stop his self-protective instincts from pushing you away, will he be able to repair your strange friendship? Or will his body have to speak for him? (18+)

WORD COUNT: 8.9k

WARNINGS: Angst, blood, wounds, stitches, death, smut, p in v, throat f-ing, degradation, dom/sub dynamics, implied pain kink, hair pulling, hate sex? but not really?, semi-clothed sex, vulgar language, fluff at the end, etc. just pure filth.

A/N: This is sub-par because I was up until 4 in the morning today and didn't have the energy to edit in-depth lmfao, but enjoy Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

All of Ghost’s problems started and ended with you. He was impressed with that fact, actually. 

They call you ‘Masque’ on account of the mission from years back, ‘07 Ghost recalls easily. When you’d been pinned down and surrounded, the dead bodies of your unit all around your feet. You’d chosen to act while the others had been yelling orders over the radio—rooting around the pooling blood on the ground and slathering your face with it; your body. 

You pretended to be dead. 

Quick thinking, Ghost had told you with a glint in his eye when you’d gotten back, those whites of your eyes ten times more noticeable. Like the moon hanging around a crimson-drowned sky. 

You’d cursed him out and said of course it was, quoting some poem from Edgar Allen Poe as a joke.

“Blood was its Avatar and its seal—the redness and the horror of blood.” The Masque of the Red Death. Your claim to survival apparently, as you had just read it a day before.

Ghost said you were bloody fucking crazy and found his eyes darkly watching the way you smirked at him. How the dried blood on your lips would splinter at your loud chuckle as you both entered the C17.

As he knew—all of his problems started and ended with you. Today was no different.

“Damn! Lookin�� good today Ghost, are those new gloves I spy?” You were always so…bubbly. 

“Masque,” the masked-man greats blandly, not even sparing you a look as you enter the meeting room. The screen on the far wall was hooked up to Price’s computer—broadcasting its news out into the dim lighting with images of mayhem and a loop of a video containing the bombing of an embassy building in the Netherlands. 

Profile pictures stain the screen of wanted subjects; captured or killed in the crossfire made no difference here, anyone could see it. 

You drop down into the seat beside his own with a huff, body shed of your usual black gear, and wearing casual fatigues instead—your tags jump on your chest and Ghost sees them glint in the light.

Your face shifts into a smile, prodding with a bump of your elbow. The Lieutenant turns and glares dryly while you carry on, “I asked if you got new gloves; they’re nice.” 

“Needed ‘em.” Ghost drawls, seeing no way out of this as he glances around at the multitude of other free seats. No one else was here yet, and Price had needed to step out for a moment to grab another report from his office one floor up. 

A small grunt echoes from his throat before his eyes dart back to yours. Shifting in his seat, his lax posture tenses before loosening. 

Raising a brow at Ghost, you stifle a laugh.

“That’s it?” He blinks at you slowly, those bright blues trapping you as they shine out from his skeletal visage; his great body hidden under layers of Kevlar and thick canvas cloth. Like some weird and deadly present. You tease him, “No attempt at a conversation, Ghosty? That hurts.”

You sarcastically put a hand to your chest. 

“Then suffer.” Ghost states like he’s reading the newspaper, stretching out one of his wrists by rolling it until it cracks the joints. Where was everyone else? “I’m not fuckin’ talking about bloody gloves, Masque.”

“It’s called a conversation starter!” Under the mask, he raises a dull eyebrow. You glower at him, but the smirk on your lips shows how much you enjoy this.  

“For who? Could have jus’ stayed quiet, then.” Scoffing, you roll your eyes and indulge him—pointedly going silent. Almost immediately an awkward nothingness covers the room with its metaphorical blanket and Ghost’s muscles slowly go stiff as he crosses his arms slowly over his chest. You bite your lip and stamp down a snort. 

A minute spreads like molasses. Two. Three. Five.

“Alright,” Ghost growls, breaking as you pick at your cuticles, humming horribly off-tune to a point where the Lieutenant’s ears were ringing and annoyance faired. “Fucking hell stop it, just say something already to shut up that noise. Sounds like my damn brakes squealin’.” 

You stop and laugh loudly, elbowing him again as he jerks away with a low grunt. Blue flashes, and his heart pounds.

“Jeez, Lieutenant, is my humming that bad for you?” The air rolls with tension.

“More effective than torture.” Ghost utters, his Manchester drawl violent and thick as it coats your ears. You take no offense—you’d been doing it on purpose, anyways; always the one to exploit cracks in the concrete. You'd found out a lot through your studies of the man beside you. Mostly, all of the small tics and unique qualities that made Ghost such a strange character. 

On the battlefield, the large man was resilient and patient. He could wait in one spot for days if he had to, sitting for a perfect shot. Nothing could break the line of purpose and authority he had over the units he was placed in or his fighting spirit. Gunbattles, torture, you name it he’d survived it. 

But he disliked anything below scalding hot tea, detested his objects and packs being messed with…and clenched his hidden jaw at small, repetitive, noises.

Low, horrible, humming, tapping fingers, tongues clicking over and over. You had no idea why, but the sight of making this experienced and handsome man glare at you with annoyance made your face heat up. 

You chuckle in the meeting room, eyes crinkling up at him before you reach for one of the pens and notepads on the table. Clicking the bottom, you shrug and start to scribble nothing into the side margins as blue ink bleeds like foreign blood. 

“What’s Price got for us today, then?” Your voice echoes, “We shipping out with the others or going Black again?” 

The Captain usually paired the two of you up for Black Ops for a reason—Ghost the strategic mastermind to your reckless bloodlust. Push and pull. 

Missions were rarely a failure. 

Ghost sighs, finally getting the sensation of control back into him. “Black,” he begins, “least for us. Old Man’s sending Garrick and Johnny out in hopes of drawin’ a few bastards out first. Netherlands. We slip in the back—off the books, ‘course.” 

He watches you from the side of his eye, gaze following your pen as you sketch out a small stick figure with a skull for a face. Ghost stifles a huff as he scratches at the side of his face.

“Well, of course,” you slyly tease, glancing at him before looking back to your pad. “Are we getting any soldiers?” 

“None. Just us.” 

“Ooo,” Ghost watches your lips curl and feels his body slowly still. “Sounds like fun.”

“It sounds like I’m going to have to babysit again,” you laugh again and dark blue seems to spark with some strange emotion. Ghost clears his throat and takes down a breath.

“Oh, please,” you chuckle, “I’ve saved your hide a few times before, Ghosty, be nice to me.”

“Nice isn’t in the job description, Masque.” 

“Well, it isn’t for you, grumpy. I think Johnny and Gaz are lovely.” Your nose tilts up teasingly as Ghost grumbles like a cat. “But that’s alright, I like you anyways.” Winking, you go back to your pointless scribbling as footsteps echo from the hallway. 

Ghost stares, his hands on the armrests slowly clenching into fists as he studies your expression. His eyes slid over scars and blemishes he’d already looked at a million times over, seeing in his mind’s eye the stains of blood and that every present smile—the burn of your presence beside him like a brand in his stomach. You never seemed to let him get too far away from you on Ops, but it wasn’t some form of obsession. It was worry; he’d seen it. 

You didn’t like it when you couldn’t see his back ahead of yours. Ghost guessed it had to do with your lost unit. He never pressed it. 

In fact, he’d noticed himself not eager to see you off himself. Had spent many a night in the onsite gym after missions because of it, where he’d given you the cold shoulder after. He didn’t like that feeling. That hesitation. 

Ghost knew only to trust people as much as he had to…so why did he like when you said nice things to him? His jaw clenches, shoulders rolling to dispel tension as he rips his eyes away from your body as if you were fire incarnate. Your head perks up at the sound of talking voices getting closer to the meeting room. 

Soap and Gaz enter a few moments later and Price shuffles in behind them. You smile warmly and greet them, shifting the notepad closer to yourself nonchalantly. 

Ghost grunts and stays stationary, straightening up when he realizes he's slightly leaned toward you during your conversation. His new gloves pull taunt over his knuckles and he suddenly wants to rip them off. 

—

You begin to wonder when you’ll be free from blood coating your fingers but know deep down you never will be. At least, not if this was how you’d be getting covered in it.

Sitting inside the hotel bedroom, you slowly extract a blood-coated bullet from Ghost's large thigh, grimacing when he grunts from over you. You’re in between his legs, kneeling, as the metal finally breaks free from the skin barrier—the entry wound is small but nonetheless dangerous. His pants were cut from thigh to knee, a long spit that showed pale, scarred skin. 

Keeping a tight grip on the forceps, you hum under your breath in satisfaction. 

“No bullet fragments—lucky you.” 

Ghost forces out, “Yeah, feelin’ proper lucky.” You chuckle, moving back and dropping the bullet to a food plate you’d put on the floor. Shuffling, you take up the rag placed over your upper arm and bring it back up. Patting the gushing wound, you frown and think back on the events that got you here as the Lieutenant shifts and bites his tongue. 

The intensity in his blue eyes burns into you, lungs deeply inhaling with a silent breath. Your fingers tingle, but you diligently press the fabric to the wound and try to ignore the heat from Ghost’s flesh or how his legs flinch with every trail of your nails. His muscles are pure iron around you, and you’re suddenly very aware of the position you’re in. 

Swallowing stiffly, you sigh and notice him slightly shiver when your breath caresses his upper leg. You stop immediately, lips going tight.

It had been fifteen minutes earlier when Soap and Gaz had set up in a far more open and less secluded hotel three blocks away—directly across from the base location for your gaggle of targets. As planned, you and Ghost would be off the books and go in when they were too distracted by the Sergeants’ in plain sight. 

Fire was supposed to be the cover story. Go in, take care of business, and set the place alight after the area was clear of civilians. But no one was counting on the targets being surrounded by three more friends. 

Of course, guns lead to bullets and bullets to flesh. You can still hear the ringing in your head when Ghost had jerked you to the slide and shoved you behind the far wall—skull snapping back to look in horror as his leg exploded with gore. 

Fucking bastard had been distracted by you and hadn’t had time to dodge. That wasn’t Ghost, but then again, Ghosty wasn’t quite the same, was he? Least, not to you.

“You’re a fool, you know that?” You huff, something swirling in your chest as your gloves peel the layer of cut pants farther down to see better. “You should have looked after yourself.”

“And what?” Ghost grumbles, letting you do what you wanted to him.  “Let you get fuckin’ shot, Masque—you have a bloody death wish?” His last word comes off with a growl as you press tighter into his thigh. 

His hand instantaneously snaps out to grasp the back of your hair tightly with an instinctual low groan. Naturally, a small whine exits your lips in retaliation.

You both freeze and the room jumps up to a hundred degrees; your lower body flips as your skin burns a million degrees. Fingers still, you feel your breath hitch when his calloused fingers scrape your scalp, your hair in his expansive palm. It was a pure reaction you knew, and when you’d asked him to let you help out with this problem you had thought this might happen—he’s a soldier after all, just like you.

But he hadn’t denied you. If anything, since six missions back, you were the only person who he wanted to work on him. He’d never said why. 

You look up at him from the side, eyes wide with shock and embarrassment. Ghost’s heart skips beats before he clears his throat, snapping his hand back immediately and slamming it to the mattress. A second of strained silence settles where you both try to forget what the fuck just happened.

“Keep bloody going then,” He says, deep and grating to a point where you shove down a shiver. Your head feels light off of his scent, and you have to ask yourself why you’re feeling so feverish all of a sudden. 

You bite your lip and nod, hand moving away to grab at the sanitized needle and thread with your forceps—dropping the rag back onto your forearm to let it hang. For once in your life you’re left mute by his actions. 

Mute to the fact that you’d liked them. 

Your face burns like a hidden fire; epidermis alight with the strength to rival the flames the two of you had started fifteen minutes ago. Lungs stutter and hands inside the gloves go clammy. It’s only after you were halfway done with the stitches that you mutter words.

“Shouldn’t have taken that bullet, Ghost.” He had been stone still the entire time, hands clenched beside him and his thighs like rocks. Feet firmly planted. It was like he was barely breathing, too. 

Ghost blankly stares, staying quiet as you continue. 

“You were distracted. That never happens.” His form was almost entirely shadowing you; great spanning shoulders from above tight like a looming statue. You dig the needle deeper with a push of the forceps, threading through yielding skin with quick punctures. He doesn’t even flinch. 

Ever since ‘07, there was an obvious aversion to partners stemming from you. You distanced yourself from forming close bonds with those who you hadn’t already known. In many ways, Ghost and the others of One-Four-One were the closest you could get to people now.

Ghost, you admit, was far closer than all the others combined. 

But this sentiment was known—both the aversion and the care you held. The Lieutenant wasn’t good with words, but he knew how to read you better than anyone; the way you carried yourself. He knew you didn’t like it when he got hurt in front of you. 

Ghost had to ask why he even bothered to shove you out of the way, regardless. You would have been fine. So why had his eyes gone wide and his iris flared with a dead glow when he’d seen the gun swivel in your direction? The man grunts at a deep dig from your sutures but you continue to mutter to yourself as he glares at the far wall, venom-like. 

His sin was that he had grown to care about you. His burden and his curse. 

This couldn’t continue. 

Ghost looks down at you with a sheen of distanced nonchalant-ness and when you lent back with a sigh of your lips, his body moved. You blink in surprise as you feel his muscles bunch and before you know it you’re being grabbed harshly by the arms and lightly shoved to the side. 

“Ghost!” You snap, eyes narrowing dangerously as he stands to his feet—blood training down his thigh and kneecap before disappearing back under the stained cargos. “What the fuck?! I’m not done with it.” 

Attempting to stomp closer, he swivels his head to you as his spine goes formal. Your feet stall from under you and your veins pump faster, forceps and slick gloves freezing mid-air. 

You blink. He’d only ever looked at you like that when you’d first met. 

Blue is a silent sheen of ice and cold death; black sockets behind his mask are more like voids holding chilled sapphires. 

Why was he looking at you like he didn’t know you? Once more you say, confused and suddenly small, “Ghost?” 

“Enough.” His voice was monotone and barky, the tone final. Your fingers tense at the sound. What…what was this? “You need to get your head back on, Masque. I can’t watch over you like a bloody Private every time you get stiff-legged, copy?” 

Your jaw slackens. Inside, your heart smashes itself into your ribs in a violent pang. There’s a moment of complete and utter silence in which Ghost remains standing with concrete tied to his feet. He sees the flash of confused hurt in your eyes, the way your muscles jump for a moment.

A suffocating wave of regret strikes him, but he felt like he had to do this—keep up boundaries. Even if his throat was closing in an attempt to make him shut up. 

Ghost’s accent makes him sound harsh and unforgiving. “Price’ll need us back in fifteen. Get your shit together.” 

He bends down and snatches bandages with a quick hand, beelining to the bathroom and closing the door with a firm hand. Blankly, you stare at the barrier as the wall rattles; face burning—unable to speak beyond a small sound in the back of your mouth. 

The two of you stay separated for the remainder of the time, not speaking, and not moving from your respective areas. 

When Ghost finally leaves ten minutes after he’d pushed back the self-loathing and guilt, freshly bandaged, he finds your stuff already gone. He glances around the area slowly, taking in the wails of the fire trucks from blocks away and the neighboring rooms of the hotel as residents speak in mutters from behind walls. The air is cold and lifeless. 

He grabs his things in total silence, swallowing down saliva paired with long breaths. Ghost’s eyes remain tight. Body wound and coated in rigidity that could rival a rhino’s armored plates.

Mind whirling, but still ever mute, he leaves the hotel and heads to the coordinates Price had given the two of you alone. The absence of your warm body beside his was more jarring than anything he’d expected to experience.

Ghost didn’t want to admit how many times his eyes trailed to the empty concrete at his left.

—

When you lose something in someone, you tend to lose it hard. Thus still, that was the case here. Ghost and you always jabbed at each other—it was in your nature to do so—but this was different. The Lieutenant could be cold, but…never to the extent to shove you away from helping him with his wounds. 

Both of you always did that with the other, if that be physically or just being in the same room, while getting fixed up. 

If Ghost didn’t want you around for whatever rage-inducing reason, you weren't going to grovel or beg. The sudden switch-up still stabbed you in the heart though. 

On the second week, it got easier. 

You passed by Ghost without a single comment, shifting into the meeting room once more. He grunts as you shimmy through the door right before him, his feet halting before he runs into you. 

“Fuckin’ ‘ell, Masque, you lost your bloody eyes or something?” You don’t answer, blankly walking to the end of the table and taking the single chair with steady steps; sitting down and dragging a notepad to your general area. 

Blinking, you look up at the projection and skim the small details they give over. 

Ghost stares from the doorway, clenching his jaw. After a moment, he slips inside and slowly strides to the table. 

The days had been difficult for him, struggling to re-situate himself to his isolation after you’d been with him for years. Sure he had Johnny, Gaz, and Price, but you were…

Ghost places a veiny hand on the back of a chair about four down from yours, knuckles white as he’d shed his gloves not five minutes ago. His eyes stay stuck to the tabletop, hips shifting. He hadn’t thought it would be this hard to push you out. Not only physically but mentally. 

He found himself thinking of your face at night. Like a phantom, it would snap into his consciousness when the lights went out and the shadows got long. Your smile and your skin. How your fingers would gently press into his flesh when you were threading a needle through him—shivers of pleasure and pain intertwined by the scrape of your nails. 

Ghost’s hand tightens on the chair, and you spare him a tense glance as he seemingly fights within his mind. 

The Lieutenant wonders at your willpower and your drive. He spent the weeks hating that he had gotten what he wanted, and then he hated himself more because of that fact. It was good to keep you away from him. Not only for himself but for you. 

You both were becoming too….attached. Ghost would have none of it. It had bled over into him using his own body to protect yours that was just…was just…

“...Those new tags, then?” You look away from the screen and shift your gaze to him as his voice bounces. 

Around your neck, the new reflective metal of your new dog tags glint. Your heart skips when he speaks to you, but he still doesn’t look your way.

“That an apology?” Deadpanning, your unimpressed gaze glares into his face as his hand strangles the chair. 

The room returns to strained silence. You huff.

“Pretty shitty one there, asshat.” Ghost’s shoulders roll under his gear, a great sigh quickly exiting him. Everyone had noticed the tension over time—it was becoming a detriment to the team.

The Lieutenant’s blue eyes darken, and in his body, a great heat was beginning to burn. Just looking at you provoked lucid and vulgar thoughts, and as the dim light from the projector makes shadows on your face, Ghost traces them with a chained desire. Being away from you was a physical pain to him, but he also knew that being around you was worse. 

All of Ghost’s problems may have started and ended with you, but they also grew in his own head. They’d been there in the back corners ever since he’d given you your nickname; found out he liked the way your face was wet with spilled blood and sweat. Your body. Your hands on the hard flesh of his upper thigh…trailing up... 

Ghost’s pants get tight as he stares without saying anything. Watching you scribble on your notepad. Glaring. 

“Why can’t I get you out of my fucking head?” Your ears twitch at the low growl as if coming from a beast; seconds later, your brain catches up to process the words. Your pen stops its pointless scrawling just as your breath does. Ghost spits out, seeing your form straighten in the chair, “Every bloody thought, you’re right there!” 

His boots stomp to the floor, and before you know it a hand is trapping the back of your head, fingers carding through hair to angle your chin up. Your breath gasps out as your wide eyes lock on Ghost’s, his hold tight but not uncomfortable; as if he knows the perfect amount of pressure to make your blood surge and your pupils expand.

You stare into volatile blue with silver flecks, a skeletal mask stained from dirt and blood. Ghost’s thumb digs into your scalp. 

“Answer me, Masque,” he grunts, accent so thick you momentarily struggle to string the words together in your stupor. 

Ghost’s nose is close to yours; breathing in each other’s air as the temperature rises. Your throat bobs with a swallow. Below you, you feel your legs clench together as the Lieutenant's fingers lightly pull on your roots when you don’t respond—small sparks of electricity run down your spine that make it straighten instinctually. A soft purr flies from your lips; face on fire as your lashes flutter. Your hands clench at the dull pulse in your lower body.

The Brit’s dead eyes stare down at you, glinting; studying you deeply with growing satisfaction in his heart and tension in his boxers. 

You both glare half-lidded, panting, and flesh heated. 

“Is this your apology?” He tightens his hand and you bite your lip, small whine meeting his ears as he represses a groan at the sound. Your voice was breathy but smug. 

“You fucking wanted this, you naughty little beast,” Ghost growls, moving even closer to tower over you. “You’re playin’ me.” You mold into him as you still sit in your chair, your chin set onto his upper abdomen as the midsection of your breasts presses into his crotch; brushing against his hardened bulge firmly. 

You shiver at the feeling, your core leaking out slippery fluids to stain through your pants one second at a time. Every twitch of his fingers leaves you wanting to arch into him. Feel him.

Ghost feels your hands go to wrap his open thighs, nails digging into the back of his pants as his mouth opens under the mask to force out air. 

“You liked me in between your legs, didn’t you?” Your tiny, teasing, voice serenades him as he quickly begins to lose control of his composure. 

“Shut it,” Ghost grunts, mind yelling at him to move away, “Shut your damn mouth.” 

Those pupils were so wide his eyes were almost entirely black, feral chest moving quickly. 

“I already know why you snapped at me…” One of your hands travels back to the Lieutenant’s front, skin tingling at the scratch of a belt and the rough fabric of his cargos. You leave it over his crotch and add a tight amount of pressure; mouth lightly opening at the weight and size of him as Ghost grunts deeply, thighs jerking forward. 

Blinking at his glassy eyes you breathe out into thick air and the veiled threat of something more. His hand in your hair is so tight that you feel your pulse under the tendrils—you enjoy every second of this cat-and-mouse game. 

After all, no one knew who the mouse was yet.

You rub your hand up and down and watch Ghost’s clothed dick, feeling his muscles straining to keep himself in control. He lets you continue as he watches with a clenched jaw, his pants getting gradually wet with precum; hips twitching. 

“...You can’t get enough of me touching you, can you?” Your statement ignites something immediately, and you’re being grabbed by your shoulders and forced to your feet. 

Staring wildly, you cringe at the soaking patch under your clothes but let Ghost place your backside on the table. He presses into your hips to keep you there—legs opened and feet planted to the floor below on their tip-toes.

The man breathes like a lion, nose in front of yours. You slightly smirk at the far-off haze in his eyes, lust and pleasure blending and bleeding into the almost bruising hold he uses to press you down.

He watches you for a minute or two—taking in your scent and the rabid instinct that infects the both of you now that everything was on the table. 

You knew you were right; he knew you were right. Licking your lips you look down and stare at his blatant hard-on hungrily. Your brow raises slowly.

“You going to let me take care of that, Ghosty?” He’s up and locking the door after he slims it shut.

“This is it,” Ghost grunts, “one time, Masque. That’s fucking it, you hear?” 

“Awe,” You cue, swishing your legs as he stomps back over, hand grasping his belt and whipping it off with a flex of his forearm. Your core tightens, hips trying to press back into the table. “That's so cute. You think once is enough.” 

A hand captures your jaw, “I said,” he breathes, the other hand going to shift up the bottom of his mask up to his nose. You gasp at the sight of blond stubble and milky scars. A strong jaw wound like a spring. Ghost’s musk invades your nose and you feel your palms so clammy. “...Shut it.”

Hard lips slam into yours.

Like some game between the two of you, your mouths fight one another with aggressive grunts stuck in your throats, sharp inhales of air between partings. Ghost’s lips mold and conform to yours, clinging around the supple flesh—there’s a deep-rooted intensity, a hunger, and a desire mixed with sweet stubbornness. The tang of metal and old canvas opens to you just as your mouth does when his teeth bite down at your skin.

Quickly sucking down breaths, you feel his tongue push past layers and slip into your awaiting clutch; Ghost groans lowly and explores as his hands bare down into your hips, one making its way to grip at your hair again. Your own dig into his waist as he leans over you. 

He latches onto your hair and peels you back from him, tongue sliding out of your mouth as he moves to nip at your chin—angling your head whichever way he wants to. Your skin burns as the man bites down at your neck, hot saliva stuck to your lips as your chest pants fast with a low whine at the mixture of pain and bliss. 

Below you, your legs are wide to allow Ghost to stand between you, his firmness leaving your hips canting at every hickey he leaves behind and how he shivers into you as you move against him. It was addicting to him—your taste and how your flesh yields to him as he clamps down on it ruthlessly and rapidly. In no time he’d traveled the length of the area behind your ear and down the swell of your shoulder; shirt pushed back by his nose.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, eyes glassy as you blankly stare into the far wall over the Lieutenant’s shoulder; your panties are soaked through and the evidence can be felt. A long whine exits your chest when Ghost licks at the deep marks he left behind, blown eyes coming back to stare at you head-on as if in a trance.

His lips are red and swollen, mouth open with silent, fast, breaths. His large chest moves quickly over yours. He orders you in a hoarse voice; strained, “Get on your knees.” 

Licking your lips your widened gaze stays locked on his, the hand in your hair tight and keeping you away from slamming your mouth back to his. The air is electric, both of your bodies yielding to one another's even if you don’t realize it. 

As much as you wanted to scoff and roll your eyes at the comment, to make him apologize to you for what he’s done, you realize that your body has already complied with the request. Slipping off the table, Ghost watches like a hawk and backs up two steps—feet splayed as you move for him. Your knees slowly lower you down to the floor, connecting with the carpet as you sag, fists clenched and shaking. 

There’s a small, heart-pounding, pause. “...Good girl.”

Your jaw drops at the smirk on Ghost’s face and those flashing dead eyes of his, blood thumping with a newly ingrained need. You swallow and feel your throat bob; legs shifting to push back the inner-body itch that grows by the second. 

“Now you can listen to me, yeah? Such a slut for it.” Ghost’s hands slowly trail to his pant’s zipper, sliding the piece down the teeth with barely audible metal on metal. Your fingers twitch at every small pop; how the zipper itself had to move forward with the strain of his sizable erection. You can’t even look away from it—how his pants are stiff against tense thighs and the sleeves of his shirt are rucked up to show the black ink of tattoos.

Ghost had tattoos. 

When the teeth had run out and the man’s hands grappled for the waistband of both his cargo and his boxers, you’d found out you’d been staring the entire time, pupils so wide they matched Ghost’s and the black stain of his face-paint. 

“Fuckin’ hell, Masque,” he grunts, knuckles white and going still, “bet your pretty little cunt is soaked and I ‘aven’t even shown you my bloody dick yet, eh? Well, the thing’ll ‘ave to wait, I’m puttin’ that mouth to good use first. Teaching it who to listen to.”

You startle back, blinking away the burning heat on your cheeks that leaves you uncharacteristically stuttering at the vulgar degradation. But Ghost doesn’t notice, doing what he can to move the various straps along his thighs and his upper hips to be able to free himself quickly—eager and dripping to be down your throat. 

The throat and mouth he’d fantasized about for ages. 

Stiffing down a whiny moan, you finally see the veiny girth of Ghost’s cock as it comes free over the top of the tight white cotton of his boxers; a happy trail extending up his visible abdomen when his wrist snatches it out. 

“Put to good use?” You breathe out, “Christ, you’re going to make me fucking mute, Ghosty.” 

“Well, Sweetheart,” he breathes a sigh of relief as he plays with the leaking tip with his thumb. Your hands itch to brush against your achy clit, the pressure in your chest almost enough to make you sob at the sheer nothingness. Sweat glistens over your forehead. Eyes glare at you as you watch thighs tense and loosen. “That’ll be fine by me. Don’t need you speaking when I’m paintin’ your damn cunt with my cum, do I?” 

Jesus, you both were in the fucking meeting room. Going to fuck in the meeting room. 

You lick your lips and stare as Ghost stalks close again, gripping your chin and opening your jaw with his thumb and first finger. His dick was right in front of you, and you can smell sex and sweat like an animalistic aphrodisiac as it coats your brain with lust as you moan out. 

Your arms tense with a want to reach and touch it, watch as Ghost falls apart below the twist of your wrist. It was so addictive you feel yourself clench at the visual, your body shivering violently. 

“Oi, fucking focus.” Your tongue sneaks out and licks Ghost’s finger and he feels his grip tighten on you with a puff of hot air. “Little brat.” 

He stares into your mouth and breathes deeply as a smirk peels the edges of your lip. Blue swirls with anticipation. 

“Keep it open, then.” Ghost’s hand drops from you and you easily keep your mouth open as his hand goes back to his cock, grasping it firmly as the other finds the top of your head. You shiver and shift your thighs under you, your body striking like a drum to oxycontin and adrenaline. “That’s a girl…” The Lieutenant growls, and the tip of his dick slips into your saliva-dripping mouth with hidden fever. “Fuck.” 

Your eyes flutter at the taste, letting him maneuver your face closer to the base as your hands snap to his thighs—nails digging in and eliciting a sharp inhale as you press into the two-week-old wound under his pants. Ghost curses under his breath but watches in flooding pleasure at the image of his cock disappearing farther and farther into you. Inch by inch you tell yourself to breathe through your nose; feeling the make of his veins and the mushroomed tip traveling farther and farther back. 

Moaning in the base of your neck, Ghost instinctually jerks his hips at the sound, feral grunts trapped in his chest. Your eyes go wide with the prickle of tears, not from pain but from the surprise as you gag. His hold on your hair tightens and you mewl as he continues to lose himself to the feeling of your wet heat. 

He was so big it was like your throat was ripping new sinews just for him, and you reveled in every moment of the feeling of his predatory gaze.

“So bloody tight for me—can’t wait to be in that cunt of yours…can’t be better than this. Have to test it.” He talks more when he’s horney. 

Slightly gagging again at the sheer size, his palming hand presses you deeper and you take him as well as you’re able, still space between your nose and his pelvis as your knees dig harder into the ground. Ghost groans gutturally, head slightly lulling back and panting like a dog, looking down at your red eyes and far-off gaze. Your hands kneed his upper thighs and he smirks slowly. 

Without another word and with sweat staining him under his uniform, bits and bobs from his gear start to clink together and dance as his hips set a rough pace; you find your head being puppeteered back and forth with his thrusts as your scalp flames from his hold. Tears burn immediately.

“Yeah, that’s it—such a good little slut for me, Masque. Gettin’ it down, fuck,” Ghost pants, as you hollow your cheeks, back arching into you and leaving your nostrils flaring to take down air for your spasming lungs. The sight above you was sinful. 

Your Lieutenant in full gear, pants and skin-tight boxers stretching and shoved down just under the clutch of his crotch. With every back-and-forth motion, the zipper grazes the underside of your engorged throat as every vein can be undoubtedly seared into your esophagus like a brand. 

Ghost’s eyes flutter and flinch, but never once does his hazy gaze leave your mouth as he continues to jerk your head back and forth. Saliva drips drown your chin and the nearly painful burn in your navel lets you know how true this was a relief not only for Ghost but for you as well. You wanted to touch yourself, but you can’t stop touching the Brit—not for a second. Shit, you think you could fall apart just by looking at this; you were sure Ghost was thinking the same thing. 

“Look at that, makin’ such a fucking mess of you.” His abdomen tightens and rolls with every jerk and rut, and your eyes roll back with a deep whine in the back of your throat when he hits the back of your throat. Sweat splatters down your temple as the air is steeped with animalistic desperation. Ghost whines thickly in answer and seems to speed up as your hands claw at his thighs. “You like that, pet? Huh? Being my little cock-sleeve.” 

Your nails dig deeper into his flesh and he shivers wildly; eyes flash at the sight of himself disappearing into you and exiting just after as the slap of wet skin reverberates. The tension in his chest increases and he starts to desperately kneed at your hair. 

“If I’d known you’d take it down like this, I’d-I’d have made you hate me sooner, yeah?” Tension fizzles up his jaw and you know he’s close by how he bites down into his lip and tilts his head back. 

Instinctual tears travel down your sweat-slick face, the thought of being used like this vulgar and as dirty as the sounds that echo in your throat and strike down your spine. 

“Fucking hell,” Ghost gasps, and his pace stutters as he twists your locks. Your teeth graze along his flesh as you dig your thumb into his wound to steady yourself. Whining loudly, the action seems to get to the man using your mouth for his pleasure, as not three rough thrusts later the warm feeling of his cum splatters the back of your throat in thick, hot, spurts. 

Choking for a moment, the widening of your eyes meets Ghost’s fluttering lashes from above. His free hand goes behind you to slam onto the tabletop; back curved over you as he shakes and sputters as he rides out his high. 

Cum drips out of the seams of your stretched lips, and with a deep breath through your nose, your hand lowers from Ghost’s thighs as you carefully pull your face back from his pelvis. The sensation of his cock leaving your mouth and bringing saliva and his fluids with it was animalistic at best, they spill to the floor and off of your chin like a small river. 

Licking your lips, you swallow what you can and try to catch your breath as your chest rages. Blinking rapidly, your eye twitches as you bring a hand up to your sore and ragged throat, Ghost’s heaving body stiff and hunched as he stares at the table blankly. Sweat dribbles down the side of his nose, sneaking out from under the top side of his mask. 

There’s a long minute of nothingness as you both try to breathe and understand the gravity of what you’ve both done. And then you both lock eyes and stare. 

The air stills over as Ghost’s large pupils stare at the mess on your face—seeing it drip down your throat as you tilt your chin up to him. His chest purrs like a cat and you don’t even think he realizes that he does it. 

Two seconds later you’re being manhandled up to the top of the table, backside hitting it as a hand goes to your belt. Lips connect with yours and groan at the taste, the clinking of metal hitting your ears as you submit to his prodding tongue as it licks along your inner flesh. 

Your fingers snap to trail around Ghost’s neck, moaning into him as he slips his hands into your pants, pulling back and ordering, “Up.” Eager and filled with lust, you raise your legs and he rips them down to your knees, dragging you closer to the edge. 

“Good girl.” He smirks, black-smeared eyes creased. If you could speak you’d tell him to shut up and fuck you already. 

Your slick skin meets the air and you gasp, Ghost’s hands waste no time trailing up the flesh of your hips, pitching to make you jump. Glaring, you try to drag him back into you but he’s built like stone, clicking his tongue. When his fingers collect the fluids that drip out of you, you whimper at the stimulation—two calloused fingers getting entranced by that as they stop at your clit. You stare desperately into amused blue eyes as he pressed deep, your thighs tensing as they jerk. 

“Any more of this and you’ll stain the table, won’t you, Sweetheart? I get you this worked up, yeah? Bloody hell.” You pant, and lines form on your forehead at the indecent circling of his fingers; not being gentle as he sees your mouth open and your lungs gasp. Sharp spikes form in your thighs, and they move in tandem with Ghost. “Look at that…” 

Deep chuckles mock you, but you both know this has to be fast—and with how worked up you were, it would be. 

“Alright, then, brat,” Ghost takes his hand away and you whimper before he grunts and grips you by the shoulders. Your lust turns to confusion. “Suppose you did well. Let’s make this quick, eh? Got work to do.” 

Flipped around, you squeak as your clothed chest meets the table, ass presented as your feet scramble to connect with the floor. Surprised, you whip your head to the side to stare back at a highly smug Ghost as one of his hands goes to grab onto your supple flesh, massaging it before it sneaks to your hip. 

“Easy with it, I’ll take care of you, Masque.” In little to no time he’s lining himself up with your dripping pussy, so wet it’s easy except for the fact that he’s huge enough to make you mute by a blowjob. Your back arches into the table with a long moan as the length slowly spears you open, instinctually widening your legs as best as you’re able. 

Closing your eyes, you press one of your hands to your mouth to stifle your noises, thighs spasming as Ghost curses under his breath; gear clinking into each other.

“So bloody tight.” With a swift thrust and a knock of your pelvis to the edge of the table, your eyes burn with the feeling of holding Ghost in your most intimate area and the knowledge that he would completely wreck it for anyone else. Your lungs fight for air, but a long mewl exits your fingers as the man shakes over you with restraint. “Christ.”

Tight wasn’t the way to describe it—you were like a fucking noose. Your sensitive walls know every vein and bulge, the scrape and dig, far more intimately than your throat ever could. Like a carved stamp, they’re reforming to Ghost’s dick every second. 

Tapping the side of your forehead to the table, the man can’t help himself anymore and starts to thrust into you; feral squelching and fluids staining the top of his pants. Your face burns, the rocking of the table hypnotic as your toes fight to stay on the ground. The sensation of being so full truthfully made your mind go blank, fingers twitching as Ghost continued to palm at your hip—his other hand going to press into your spine, keeping you stapled to the table. 

His gear slammed and rubbed into your ass, bruising it no doubt, but you found you didn’t care at all. Pleasure rocked down with every ruthless intrusion. 

“Can feel ya ‘round my cock,” you keen at the words, tears dribbling down the side of your face as you try to hold back sobs of pleasure. Ghost increases his pace, rabid slapping echoing off the walls as he feels his sole focus on your mind-shattering bliss. “Can’t have ‘em hear how loud you are, now, can we? Can’t let ‘em know I’m shagging you in their meeting room like a little fucktoy, eh?” 

He angles his hips higher, pushing your farther up the table as his hands only drag you back. Every moment leaves your core tightening even more; molten heat pooling as the edge gets closer. 

Footsteps echo down the hall outside, but both of you are too focused on the other and the ache that only increases like a pair of cuffs. Your mouth lets loose insistent gasps and moans while Ghost breathily groans at every other interval of his ravaging cock as it brushes your cervix. 

You whine loudly, spine arching and legs desperately trying to close. Ghost chuckles and your reaction spurs him on—hitting that same spot over and over again as you sob. 

“Right there, yeah? That it, Masque?” You nod rapidly, and the Lieutenant's grip tightens with a loud grunt, “Fuck, that’s it, bloody slut.” 

The coil in your gut gets tighter, shining with desperate shakes of your body and the numb way you try to meet Ghost’s thrusts before you entirely lose the plot of reality. 

“You’re close,” he breathes, feeling your pussy trying to keep him in, slick trailing down the insides of your thighs and transferring to the Brit’s clothes. His boxers were soaked. “C’mon, then. Don’t disappoint me, Masque. Lemme see you cum on my cock before I fill you up like the good girl you are, yeah?”

Your body spasms, thighs tensing and toes curling at the floor; fingers scratching down the table as you press over your mouth harder in a last-ditch effort to remain in control of yourself. The coil snaps and suddenly you’re digging your forehead into the wood below you, orgasm ripping through you like a knife as cum paints Ghost’s dick as he continues his relentless chase of his second release.

“There it is, fuck, look at all that, Love. Paintin’ me like a naughty fuckin’ portrait.” Ghost gasps, a hand coming up to connect to the table by your head, feeling you completely flood his pelvis—he doesn’t stop even when you whine in overstimulation, fucked-out eyes wide and mouth dripping drool into a small pool. The milky ring at his root grows and grows. With a loud moan, he looks down and watches the vulgar sight rabidly, pounding into your heat as his own end gets closer and closer. 

“Shite,” His forehead hits your spine, taking the skin into his teeth and biting hickeys as his open mouth leaves trails of saliva. “Took me so bloody well, cunt was made just for me.” 

His body shakes and with one last shove from his hips, he spills into you with a loud whimper muffled into your flesh. Teeth biting down so hard that you moan in turn, the spent releases dribble out of you like a stuffed bird. You feel his chest atop you as he places his weight slowly down; the fast-panting mirroring your own. 

Sweat connects the two of you as it bleeds through your clothes, the smell in the air and the scent of delirious sex staining your bodies. 

Your mouth remains open and hoarse, scraped dry. Ghost above you moves delicately as he pulls back up, moving back to peel your messy hair away from your blown eyes. After a moment his small voice hits you—the accent deep. 

“All good?” Your eyes slowly rove to him as he kisses your forehead, shivering violently as he slips out of you; the wet drip of cum hits the carpet in the still silence as you whimper at the feeling. “...Masque?”

Dull concern emanates from his tone and you blink back. You clear your throat and utter in a torn voice, “...P-pretty good apology, Ghosty…S…shit.” 

Smugness burns in his orbs, but the roll of his eyes hides it quickly. The puff of his chest couldn’t be hidden from you, though. 

His hands reach down and hike up your panties and cargos—both items completely wrecked. The large splotch on Ghost’s own clothes showed you that you weren't alone in that aspect. 

As he carefully flips your limp form back over and pulls you up by your arms, you groan in annoyance but shut up when his hands go to zip your zipper and clip back your belt. 

“Couldn’t have had a revelation in your barracks room?” You huff, itching at your throat. “You’re buying me cough drops, you ass.” The state of your voice was laughable. Anyone would know what happened if they spoke to you. 

Ghost sighs and begins with his own clothes, stuffing himself back into his boxers and growling at the chilled fluids on his pants as he pulls them back up. He goes and retrieves his belt before walking back. 

“Acting like you weren’t beggin’ for it.” He slides you a smirk before he grabs onto his mask and begins to cover his jaw. 

Your hand snaps out and stops him. Ghost startles, eyes flashing before his muscles stiffen. You raise a brow and he slightly calms. 

Scoffing, you lean in and place a final kiss on his lips—a tinier and tender kiss. Gaze wide, the man stares off as his heart starts to beat fast again at the firm press. After you’re done your hand goes up and grasps the fabric yourself, carefully re-shrouding the mystery of a man with a smile. 

He watches blankly.

“We okay?” You ask, tilting your head as your lower body aches when you shift on the table. “I miss my annoyingly gruff Ghost. This new one’s a jerk.” A small laugh graces your ears, and it makes you beam. “I know why you did it,” you admit, and hold out a hand between your bodies. “But pushing me away will only hurt the both of us. Let's try this, Ghost. Please.” 

“...You’re makin’ it seem like a good deal, Love…is it?” He holds out a hand of his own, large and scarred hands that had gripped you so tight before utterly loose and awaiting. 

“No clue,” you admit with a smirk, “Wanna figure it out?” Ghost watches as he always does and always will, searching into your eyes for any hint of hesitance or denial. 

“Always liked a challenge.” He grunts and encompasses his hand with yours. You squeeze it and nod, chest light as your normal breath comes back.

“You know what a real challenge is? Trying to take down your fucking dic—” The meeting room handle jiggles and you both snap into action. 

Ghost tosses you your notepad and you slide a shoved-away chair his way on shaky legs, slipping into a free seat with failing knees. You both sit side by side on the opposite side of the table, shoulders bumping and faces hot not three seconds later. Ears twitch at the sound of a key entering the slot. 

You try to act normal and begin messing around with your notepad, stealing a pen from Ghost’s gear as Price opens the door. At the sight of the two of you, he pauses and stands in the doorway.

“Ghost…Masque.” With a squint, Price looks around the room slowly, confused at the rod-straight spine from his Lieutenant and the way you awkwardly scribble nothing onto your pad. 

“Price,” Ghost utters as you look up and fake smile, waving as you tighten your hips under the table in an attempt to hide the evidence spilling out of you. 

The Captain continues to stare, scrutiny in his eyes, for at least a full minute. 

“Problem, then?” The Lieutenant asks. Price’s lips thin and he gains a sheen of deep annoyance. You groan under your breath and knock your head to the table at the next comment.

“In the fucking meeting room?!”

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[dancinglikebutterflywings]

Nowhere Else to Go.

-> Pairing: Han Jisung x Reader

-> Request: This is a repost from my old account

-> Synopsis: With nowhere else to turn, Y/N finds herself on the doorstep of her childhood rival.

-> Warnings: mentions of being enemies and rivals, boyfriend and best friend cheating with each other, losing a job, parents being disappointed.

-> Word Count: 577

-> Requests: Closed. I will make a post when they're open again.

Han Jisung Masterlist

©️ 2024 dancinglikebutterflywings - do not copy/modify/repost anywhere. Likes, comments & reblogs are welcomed and appreciated, thank you. 

Tears in her eyes, Y/N finds herself standing at the front door of the home that belongs to the one person she despises most in the world. He also just so happens to be the only person she feels like she has left.    

Y/L/N Y/N and Han Jisung have been enemies since elementary school. In school they were always competing to see who was the better of the two of them in all subjects and activities they were both in. Even now, as adults, when they see each other, they feel the need to prove that their lives were so much better than the others. Y/N can’t remember how it started or even why. She’s beginning to feel like they’re only the way they are because they’ve been like it for so many years that it’s engrained in them.    

Despite everything that’s happened between them, she also finds herself keeping up to date on all of Jisung’s (and Stray Kids) accomplishments. But she won’t admit that to anyone let alone Jisung himself.    

After debating with herself for a few minutes, she knocks on the door, half hoping he won’t answer. She quickly wipes away the tears that have fallen only to be replaced with a fresh set. Feeling stupid when he doesn't answer, she starts to walk away. 

“What are you doing here?” She hears his voice, his tone filled with annoyance and a hint of confusion. She hadn't heard the door open as she turned around. 

"I had nowhere else to go," she tells him, keeping her back to him.   

“Last I checked, you’ve got friends,” he sighs. She can pictured the look of annoyance on his face. 

She takes a deep breath, trying to compose herself as the reality of her situation hits her. "I shouldn't have come here." 

"But you did," he says. "So, why?" 

Trying to get rid of her tears that won't stop falling, she hastily wipes them away before turning back around to face him. “Did you know you’re the only person who’s always been honest with me? I could really use some of that honesty right now.”  

Jisung's expression softens as he takes in her tear-stained face. "What's going on, Y/N?" 

"My life is falling apart," she begins. "My life is falling apart," she begins. "My boyfriend cheated with my best friend and all my so-called friends knew and didn't tell me. I lost my job because of those two and now my family is disappointed. My mum won't talk to me." 

Jisung listens intently, his eyes filled with empathy. "I'm so sorry, Y/N. We might not get along but even I can say that you don't deserve any of that. Do you want to come in for a drink? I have beer and Soju." 

Y/N hesitates for a moment before nodding. Jisung stands aside, motioning for her to come in. He closes the door behind them after she walks inside. He walks to the fridge. “Soju or beer?” he asks opening the fridge door. 

“Soju, please,” she replies taking a seat on the couch. 

He grabs a bottle of Soju and two glasses from the cupboard before joining her on the couch. 

As they sit together, drinking the night away, they end up bonding over everything going wrong in their lives right now and realize they have more in common than they thought. This unexpected turn of events leads to a newfound friendship that neither of them saw coming. 

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[farfromstrange]

Hello!

I read Angel on the Roof and that was AMAZING. I was feeling like that way and honestly that was exactly what I needed to read. Thank you for writing!

I have a request! Maybe alternate ending + sequel of the fic if you are interested/have time, where Matt did notice it and in this universe it’s going to be more comforting. OR maybe whole new story where reader is having mental illness, angst but comfort in the end?

Again I LOVE your writing can’t wait for another Matt fics!!! Thank youuuu !!!

Okay, nonnie, first of all, I hope you're doing okay! I hope you're feeling better, too. I know how hard it can be to feel this way and I wrote that fic when I was at one of the lowest points in my life. I'm glad you liked it, but I also hope you're taking good care of yourself! I love you. Now to your request, I re-read Angel On The Roof and I remembered why it was so sad, and I'm so glad you requested a comfort version. I decided to do it from Reader's POV since the original was Matt's POV and I've changed the ending, so it's still the same foundation, but you've also got a whole new fic. I hope you like the way I did it!

Angel On The Roof (Your Version)

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader (she/her)

Summary: What if Matt saved you from your own demons instead of being too late?

Warnings: TW: SELF-HARM, graphic descriptions of self-harm, blood, scars, ANGST, mental illness, suicide attempt, hurt/comfort, happy ending, fix it fic for a fic

Word Count: 3k

A/n: So you can read "Angel On The Roof" here. Like I said before, this is the mentioned fic from your POV but with a twist so that it ends without Reader committing suicide. If the above-mentioned topics trigger you, please don't read! Not tagging because this is a sensitive subject and I go really into detail.

18+ THIS IS HEAVY STUFF!

Mental illness speaks in silence. 

Unlike a broken leg, you can’t see a sickness of the mind. There is no physical proof for the scary truth that something is going not quite right inside of your brain. And because people can’t see it, they have a hard time believing the truth. They have a hard time believing that being sick in the head could even affect you this much, so they try to sell your pain as worth less than it is. How could thoughts possibly turn paralyzing? How could someone’s mind make them feel worthless to the point the affected person sees no other way out but to inflict pain onto themselves? Attention whores, it’s what those people like to call the struggling ones. Lazy, weak, selfish… every mentally ill person has heard one of those words being used to describe them one way or another. 

Mental illness speaks in silence because if we spoke louder, people would only sneer and turn their backs on us. Mental illness speaks in silence because suffering alone seems better than burdening someone else. And mental illness speaks in silence because those who are mentally ill live in a different world. Their heads work differently. Mental illness speaks in silence because pain paralyzes, and silent acts are the only way someone so stuck in the claws of the faceless monster knows how to ask for help. By the time people consider questioning certain behavior though, it is often too late, and the person soon enough feels as if they’re being a burden once more because the judging looks are worse than admitting you need help in the first place. 

The monster that is mental illness is cruel and it has no regard for you or the people around you. It has set out to destroy you, and you feel helpless as it tears a knife through your soul and picks your heart apart piece by piece. And those who say, ‘Just ask for help’ or ‘Don’t be scared to speak up’ clearly don’t know how hard it can be to break out of such a circle once you’re already active in it. 

Self-harm is considered a serious addiction on the roster, but most people see it merely as a symptom of many personality disorders or mood disorders. Those who seemingly know nothing about mental illness even like to call it a call for attention. As if self-mutilation would ever be a conscious choice made by anyone. You try to fight a pain that no one can see and only you can feel, and sometimes, when you feel so much - too much - it gets deafening and you need another pain to balance it out. 

Drugs aren’t the only thing hurting you that can result in addiction. There is a long list of things that harm the mind and body, and that is often used as a coping mechanism for the terrible things most people are forced to feel inside. 

You don’t remember when it started. You only remember that you were merely a child when you first started feeling this way. Helpless, alone, and with a pain deep inside of your chest that had claws and sharp teeth, ready to eat you whole. The monster ate away at you for years, but you ignored it. 

People told you it was just hormones, that this was part of growing up. Meanwhile, you only got sicker. Your mind turned against you. You became your own worst bully, and the voices in your head started taking you apart one by one. 

You reached a point where you loathed yourself so much, all you wanted was to scratch your eyes out and tear your skin off. You hated looking in the mirror and seeing the same miserable face every day. You hated being the friend that was the least fun and being stuck inside with this hurt consuming you. It made it harder to breathe, it made your heart stop in your chest, and yet you never physically died. Inside, you were long gone, but you ignored it because no one seemed to care. 

You tried drugs and alcohol, but that wasn’t enough to kill your pain, and you never fully managed to end it all. Your existence became a nuisance. 

You never believed in God. The constant self-pity, shame, guilt, and blame became your best friends. In your mind, you fucked up your own life. Your mind was fucked up, so you were automatically at fault. You ended up being in so much blood-boiling pain, you tried to find a way to inflict pain in other ways to distract you from the numbness that burned your insides like acid would burn the cells of your skin in an instant, and the toxic waste ended up in your bloodstream, then your mind and in the end, it poisoned your heart and your soul. 

You truly believed you were rotten inside, and there was nothing that seemed to help.

You turned to cutting, the blood running from your wrists a testament to your pain, and it made breathing so much easier for just a moment. The razor blades were the brush with which you painted the tiles of your bathroom floor red almost every night. You weren’t proud of it, but you had no one to listen, no one to help you and you just felt so fucking numb– You had to find something to relieve you of this pain for a simple moment, and a moment was all it took to get you hooked on the feeling. It was a different kind of pain, and your wrists looked mutilated, even long after you were done, but whenever you brushed over the scars, you felt the need to do it again, and so you did. 

One summer night, you found your way to one of the rooftops in Hell’s Kitchen. You didn’t want to jump, but having the choice to do so filled your body with a certain sense of relief. If you had jumped, you would have died. You could have broken your neck and ended it all. You would have died on your way down already, probably, or maybe you would have passed out. 

The world seemed so small from up there, but you were still alone. 

That night, you felt his presence for the first time. He wore a black mask; you had seen him on the news a while back, but word on the streets had it that the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen disappeared. After Wilson Fisk got imprisoned, he must have found his way back. 

“I don’t want to jump,” you assured him. “I just want to feel.” It wasn’t a lie. Your heart beat slow and steady in your chest and against your ribcage. The wind in your hair cooled the sheen of sweat from the early summer heat. 

He didn’t talk, he simply stood by your side. You were too tired to ask him why. When you sat down, he followed shoulder to shoulder, together. Your tears had dried on your cheeks and you watched the clouds pass by, hide and reveal new stars, and you pointed out the constellations in your head. He wouldn’t let you fall, it seemed, and so you simply stayed there. It was the first time someone seemed to care without trying to fix you. 

You were okay.

He walked you home before sunrise and asked you again, “Are you gonna be okay?”

“Yes,” you answered. In the moment, you usually were. 

You smiled and thanked him, and he told you, “If you ever need to talk, well… you know I’ll find you if you call for me.”

One day, after finding you on the roof again (at this point, you weren’t sure why you were doing it anymore), it started to rain. He offered to walk you home and asked you if you were okay again. You offered him to stay. 

“Who hurt you?” he asked you once you bid him inside. 

You brewed some tea, offering him a mug. He took it. You shrugged as an answer to his question. The numbness settled back in. You had no tears left to shed. Did he care? You weren’t sure. People often liked to ask for no reason whatsoever, and you knew if you told them, they would have called you crazy. 

“I hurt myself,” you said. 

He caught your wrist when you tried to walk away. His fingers dug into the fresh scars without trying to, but it hurt and it functioned as a cruel reminder of what your arms looked like. Of what you did. Instead of numbness, what you felt was guilt, and when his mouth contorted, you knew he realized something wasn’t right. 

You were so stupid, you thought and pulled away from him. How could anyone ever care or love a broken mess of nothingness like you? You weren’t worthy of anyone’s affection. This – the scars on your wrists and the hole in your chest – was what you deserved. 

He didn’t run though. The stranger tilted his head as if to understand you.

“Why?” he asked. 

It made you think. Why, exactly, were you doing this? 

“Because I need to feel something other than this pain that is numbing me,” you admitted. 

You were so honest with him that night, and it seemed to surprise him, but he also listened to every last word coming out of your mouth. 

He let go of your wrist then and said, “Have you ever asked someone for help?” 

“Why would I?” you asked. 

“Because there are people who can help when you’re hurting.” 

Fixing you, that was what he meant. There were people who could fix you, but you didn’t want to be fixed. You couldn’t be fixed. Everyone always tried to fix you and you were so sick and tired of being the one everyone deemed broken all the time. 

“Perhaps you should go,” you said and opened the door for him. You had to end it there. 

One night, you cut too deep, and the world caved in on you. You had no choice but to endure it, but you broke under the weight like a fragile vase. You cut too deep, and the blood mingled on the floor with your tears. It hurt – the cuts weren’t the worst part because they only thudded numbly in sync with your pulse; the worst part was the bomb in your chest exploding and sending all these feelings hurdling around. 

God, you hated yourself. 

You always kept your windows unlocked. What you didn’t expect was for him to climb through your window. Only when he kicked the door down did you look up, your face stained with tears. He tilted his head, seemingly smelling the air, before he knelt beside you and wrapped towels around your bleeding wrists. The essence of your heart was on the floor now, the vase broken, and he cleaned it up without hesitation. 

You didn’t deserve such gentle treatment. 

You sobbed into his strong arms until there was nothing left to give. Instead of leaving though, he stayed. He took you to bed and bandaged your wrists, still keeping the black mask right where it was. It was you curious, and you hadn’t felt curious in quite a while. 

He stopped the bleeding without problems, and then he lay beside you as you regained some sense of self. 

“Why do you keep doing it?” he asked eventually. His finger ran over the bandage he had applied earlier. “Why do you keep hurting yourself?”

You shivered. “It wouldn’t make sense even if I told you,” you said. 

Because even to you, it didn’t make sense.

“Try me.”

“No, you wouldn’t understand. You barely even know me and I don’t know you. Why do you keep doing this, D?”

“Matthew,” he told her. “That is my name.”

It was the first display of trust he showed you, and you were a little taken aback. 

Your lips parted and you whispered your name into the darkness. He smiled softly, taking your weak hand into his.

“Nice to meet you,” he said. 

You stared at him for a while before asking something that almost came naturally. “Can you stay?” your voice was barely above a whisper. 

He battled with himself before giving in, agreeing to stay, and you felt something in your heart turn around. A candle was lit. Was that the scent of hope you could smell? You weren’t sure, but the fact he held your hand as you tried to find your way into a restless sleep and never once waivered with his support filled you with a sense of safety, and finally, for once in your life, the voices went quiet. You focused on his heartbeat and breathing, and you finally felt less alone. 

The next morning, your window was closed again and he was gone, probably disappearing in the middle of the night. You found a note on the dining table, poorly scribbled, but you could decipher what he wrote. 

It’s because I care about you, Angel.

He cared. About you. You broke down crying, not used to this much affection, but it was also then you realized that it was what you desperately needed. 

You looked at your bandaged wrist, then your reflection in the metallic shimmer of your fridge, and you made a decision you should have made from the beginning. 

You waited on the rooftop again that night, this time the one of your apartment complex. He appeared not long after you whispered his name into the humid night air. Cars passed by and the city grew louder by the minute, but he still came. 

He wore his mask again. 

“Will I ever see your face?” you wondered aloud.

He chuckled. “It wouldn’t be a good idea.”

The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen knowingly never did home visits. 

“Can you see mine?” you asked. 

“No,” he said. “I can’t see yours.”

Your breath shuddered. 

“What’s wrong?”

“You changed something in me last night.”

Matthew seemed to pipe up at your admission, and he took a step closer. “Oh yeah?” he asked.

“Yes,” you breathed. 

“What did I change?”

“You saved my life.”

“I only came because you needed someone.”

You asked, “Is that why you always come to these rooftops?” 

He shrugged. “You call, I come,” Matthew said. “That’s all there is to it.”

But it wasn’t all. 

With a weak sniffle, you closed the distance between you and fell into his arms. He caught you, holding you close to him. His heart thudded in your ear like the night before, and you couldn’t hold it back anymore. Years of pain, sadness, and anger fell off your shoulders, leaving you even more broken than before, but for the first time, you felt it all. And you knew you couldn’t live like this any longer. 

“I need–” you choked on a sob. It burned in your lungs. 

His grip tightened. “What do you need, Angel?”

“I need help,” it was the first time you said it, but the moment the words left your mouth, Matthew vowed to stay by your side. 

That night, he took his mask off for the first time after taking you home. You saw his face, and you felt a sense of relief. He was beautiful, inside and out, but he was also incredibly human. His blind eyes were unfocused, but you only touched his cheek with tender fingers. You owed him your life, and you made sure to show him that. 

“Matt Murdock,” he introduced himself. 

You gave him the courtesy of doing the same. 

He smiled, and you saw something in his eyes that would end up changing your entire life. 

Love. 

That cruel time of finding back to yourself after years of self-harm and depression is in the past, it has been for a while now.

The sun stands high in the sky above New York. A long time ago, summer filled you with dread. As you’re staring out through the windows of your home now, all you can think about is how beautiful the world is. The city stands tall in the distance, and you find yourself smiling into your cup of chamomile tea. 

The light reflects off the golden wedding band on your ring finger. Your name stands in Braille letters next to his with a heart of diamonds. It’s unique, special, just like your love story. 

When you first met him, you never thought you would end up here, but he woke you up from your coma and you found your way back to the light. He helped you, he supported you and he made sure you would always have someone to turn to. 

Years later now, you’re wearing his name and ring on your finger, and you have a home that truly feels like one because he is in it with you. He is your home, your haven, your sanctuary, and you owe him more than he will ever know. 

A pair of arms snakes around your waist and pull you back into a sturdy chest. You smile even more. “Hi,” you whisper. 

Matt presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Hi,” he says. 

“The sun is out.”

“I know, I can feel it.”

“Right. Even after all these years, I still tend to forget I’m married to a superhero,” you say, albeit teasing, but your words also hold a mountain of truth. 

He chuckles. “You’re forgiven, Mrs. Murdock.”

“Oh, I’m glad.”

Matt’s hold on you tightens. Now that he has you, he refuses to let you go. “What were you thinking about just then?” he asks. 

You lick your lips, closing your eyes as your body melts into his almost naturally. “You and me,” you say, “and how far we’ve come.”

“Mhm.”

“And that I can’t wait to start a family with you one day and give our children the support I’ve never had.”

He tears up a little at that, you can hear it in his voice when he whispers, “I love you,” and he turns you around to capture your lips in a loving kiss. 

You realize it then for the millionth time since that night you first ran into the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen on the roof; Getting help was the best choice of your life, and no scar on his or your body matter now that you’ve got each other.

You belong in each other’s arms, today, tomorrow, and forever and always. Just like you said in your vows – there is nothing you can’t overcome, as long as you’re doing it together. 

[sopefulheart]

this love

→ pair: yoongi x female oc

→ tags: yoongi x oc, female oc, royalty au, original character, forbidden love, no smut, bodyguard to lover lol, salt and pepper yoongi, older men k!nk ig

→ warnings: parental issues, forbidden love????

→ word count: 3.9k

Yeah, Haneul’s in love with some guy.

Some guy that’s literally her bodyguard because—oh yeah—she’s a Princess.

The princess is in love with her bodyguard. And let’s face it, he’s a little older than her, like, eight years. But it’s fine.

Because they can’t date anyway.

Haneul finally stepped into her role as Princess at eighteen. Her parents had decided it was finally time for her to step up and start making decisions that could affect, well, the entire province of Joseon.

Nevertheless, that was when Yoongi came into her life.

“Your Highness.”

She snaps out of her thoughts and realizes her bodyguard is holding a glass of champagne.

“Thanks,” she says, taking a sip. “How much longer?”

Yoongi checks his watch almost robotically. “You may leave now if you’re not feeling up to staying.”

“My parents would hate that. I don’t really feel like saying my goodbyes right now.”

“It’s okay,” he whispers when he draws closer. Haneul can feel his hot breath on her cheek.

“I swear I’ll cover for you.”

God, he thinks. Did that sound like too much?

He clears his throat. “Highness.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

After setting down her drink, Yoongi and Haneul walk arm in arm out of the party and down the halls of the palace.

“You know,” Yoongi says after a while, a soft smile on his face. “I can’t help but think of when I first met you.”

“Three years ago.”

“You were but a teenager, Highness.”

Haneul laughs softly. “I really do feel like I still am. I’m twenty-one now.”

“Right.”

God.

There’s this feeling in Yoongi’s chest and he can’t decide whether it’s guilt or, well, something else.

“Yoongi-ssi?”

He looks back at her, a concerned look on Haneul’s face. “Highness.”

“Are you alright? You seem… off.”

“I just remembered something I needed to speak to Namjoon-ssi about. No worries.”

Haneul hums in answer. The two stop in front of her chamber door, taking a moment to gaze at each other.

“Have a good night’s rest, your Highness.” Yoongi bows and practically sprints back in the direction of the ballroom.

“Okay then,” she whispers to herself when she gets into her room.

What would people honestly think if Haneul were to marry Yoongi? What would her subjects think about something like this? Her parents, even?

Maybe she’s sick? Maybe she’s out of her damn mind?

Those are merely two thoughts out of a million that each subject in the province could have.

Haneul removes the ribbons holding her hair up and massages her scalp as she considers her dilemma.

If only Yoongi could do that for her.

He’s the only one that pays her any mind. The only one she could turn to for advice, help, emotional support, even physical support. He’s probably the only one that would take better care of her than even her own-

Haneul. What the hell?

Shaking her head to get rid of her thoughts, Haneul blows out her candles and gets into bed.

Meanwhile, a flustered Yoongi walks back into the ballroom.

“Hyung,” Namjoon says as soon as he approaches. “Where’s the princess?”

“She’s turned in already.

“She’s what? Her parents have been searching for her. What the hell am I supposed to say?”

“Namjoon-ssi, it’s fine. I can handle it.”

“It’s her party,” he says in a hushed tone.

“I know, just please don’t make a scene right now.”

“Fine. They’re requesting for her to speak to her guests.” Namjoon brushes past Yoongi, who walks up to where the king and queen are sitting.

“Yoongi-ssi,” the queen says. “Are you not with Haneul?”

He bows. “I apologize, your Majesty. Haneul fell sick and requested to retire to her room immediately.”

The king groans. “Of course she did.”

“I deeply apologize.”

“She couldn’t wait five minutes to say goodbye to her royal subjects?”

What a selfish pair of people. They don’t give a shit about their own daughter.

“How is this supposed to look to our subjects now,” the king protested. “Horrible girl.”

Yoongi bows again and walks away. He stays off to a corner, observing drunken guests as well as staff trying desperately to help them sober up.

If only he could slip away to Haneul’s chamber and hold her. She isn’t even sick but it’d be nice to just hold her.

Yoongi’s hands on her soft pearl skin. His lips on them.

And yet it feels so wrong.

Twenty-nine. He’s twenty-nine for god’s sake.

Yoongi brushes back his long hair and wipes the sweat from his brow. It’s time for a little bit of fresh air. As soon as he steps into the courtyard, Yoongi lights a cigarette.

He breathes in relaxation, breathes out his anxious thoughts. And yes, he does this quite frequently. So it’s honestly a wonder he doesn’t always smell like smoke.

-

Yoongi hears a knock at his chamber door just as he finishes getting ready for bed. Upon opening the door, he bows reflexively.

“Yoongi-ssi?”

“Your Highness,” he says as he raises up. “It’s late.”

Haneul stands there in a nightgown, her bangs falling in her face. She’s fidgeting with the necklace the queen gave her on her most recent birthday.

“I know. I can’t sleep.”

“Is everything okay?” Yoongi moves out of the way so that she can walk in.

“No.”

He closes the door and gestures to the bed. “Sit down, Highness.”

She sighs and obeys. “I’m just so anxious about this. I can’t be a princess, Yoongi-ssi, I mean…”

“Sure you can.”

“What makes you think that? I’m a child, I can’t rule all of Joseon.”

Yoongi takes a seat next to her. “Listen, I think you’re incredibly intelligent. You are very fit to rule both physically and emotionally. You’ve matured greatly ever since I met you.”

He takes her hand and leans in. “Highness, you’re unlike any other girl I’ve ever met.”

“But Yoo—”

Yoongi silences her with a soft tender kiss.

When he pulls away, Haneul cups his cheek and looks into his eyes for a moment. She looks as if she’s searching for a sign that this is right. She gives in and kisses him again, as Yoongi tilts her jaw to kiss her deeper.

And, oh god, he tastes like honey.

Haneul slides her tongue over his upper lip while Yoongi’s hands slip down to her waist. His warm hands burn through the fabric of her nightgown.

“Yoongi-ssi,” she says when she pulls away.

He shushes her softly and kisses down her jaw, open-mouthed and deep.

“Mm.”

A knock startles Haneul awake.

She quickly stretches her arm out to find the bed empty. Confused, she searches the room only to find out that it was all a dream.

Disappointed but relieved, Haneul answers the door.

There stands Yoongi, in his usual black suit and tie, ready to escort her to the daily royal brunch that her mother demands they must have.

Haneul feels herself getting warm.

He bows. “Your Highness. You’re not dressed.”

“I guess I overslept. Give me a minute?” Yoongi hums and she closes the door.

Haneul has no idea why she wants to be with Yoongi so badly. And it’s not fair because her parents recently started setting her up with these princes from who knows where.

‘Introducing Prince blah blah of the Province of blah.’

They’re cute, it’s just… Yoongi.

Those princes are all her age, of course. And it’s not like Yoongi wants her back.

Right? Haneul shakes her head. No. There’s no way he wants me too.

When she’s done getting ready, she opens her door. “Yoongi-ssi.”

He gulps. “You, you look…”

She tilts her head.

“Great,” he clears his throat and links their arms. “Breakfast will start any minute now.”

It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking.

The mere thought that Yoongi may like her is simply eating Haneul alive.

“Something wrong?”

She inhales deeply and looks up at him. “Yoongi-ssi, I need to ask you something.”

“Anything, Princess.”

Oh.

If she wasn’t flustered before…

“I don’t know how to ask this without sounding weird or intrusive but… have you ever had a girlfriend?”

Have I ever had a what now, Yoongi thinks. Now why the hell would she ask me a question like that? How am I even supposed to answer?

“Why of course,” he says, trying to sound as if he wasn’t completely thrown off.

“I’m sorry if this is inappropriate or someth—”

“It’s okay,” he says quickly. “We’ve known each other for a while so I feel it’s alright.”

Haneul hesitates. “Do you want a girlfriend?”

Yoongi’s eyes widen. “Uh—”

Namjoon rushes up to them just then. “God, hyung, where have you been?”

He stammers. “I—I was just—”

“Well it doesn’t matter anymore because we apparently have a guest.”

A guest?

“Wait,” Haneul says. “Namjoon-ssi, what did you say?”

Both doors open to the dining room, where two seats wait for Haneul and Yoongi. Then there’s another empty seat.

“I apologize I’m late, everyone.”

“Lee Haneul, it's about time.” The king’s voice is laced with sarcasm. “Finally done with your makeup, dear?”

“Father, please.”

Yoongi and Haneul unlink their arms as they take their seats across from each other.

“Who’s the empty seat for?”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. Prince blah blah of the province of blah blah again, isn’t it?

“I’m glad you asked,” the queen says happily. “Haneul, this is Prince Kim Taehyung of—“

Yoongi quietly seethes in his chair. Why of course it is. He doesn’t even hear what province this guy is from, mind you. Nor does he care.

Because Haneul is too good for him.

Taehyung walks in all elegant of course. His bodyguard walks him to the empty seat and retreats to stand by the door.

He’s cute, at least that’s what Haneul observes.

Yoongi shoots him a menacing look.

It’s not his fault he’s liked her for about a year. It’s the way she carries herself.

Haneul’s quiet demeanor and shy nature is what made Yoongi fall for her initially. No doubt they’ve spent a considerable amount of time together over the years. This is considering Yoongi’s position as bodyguard.

And this is his job. There is no way he could give it all up for this girl.

“So Princess,” Taehyung says. “What have you been interested in lately?”

Haneul swallows her piece of omelet. “I’ve been doing a bit of reading lately. Sewing is also something I’m fond of.”

Taehyung snorts. “Oh so, like, girly things.”

Yeah, Yoongi thinks. She must officially not like this guy.

“I guess so,” Haneul says slowly. She might as well have added a question mark to the end.

Nothing but the clinking of forks and chopsticks on dishes was heard after that.

And when breakfast was finally over after what seemed like forever…

“It was nice meeting you,” Haneul says with the most bored expression.

“You too, your Highness.” Taehyung smirks and walks out with his bodyguard and Haneul turns to Yoongi.

“That was ridiculous,” she whispers.

Yoongi smiles. “He’s not the one?”

“You bet he’s not,” she says when she punches him in the arm playfully. She smiles huge as she walks off to talk to her parents.

And Yoongi can’t help but think she’s perfect.

She gets him. And he wants her.

Badly.

-

“Your Highness.”

Yoongi walks out to the courtyard and sees Haneul standing there, gazing at the gardens. Her back is turned to him, her face not visible from where he’s standing.

“You’re supposed to be at the ball. Is something wrong?”

Her voice is shaky. “I don’t want to do this anymore, Yoongi-ssi.”

“What do you mean?”

“Every single ball and every single event is made just to set me up. I don’t want to be set up with jerks anymore. I don’t want to be set up, period.” She sniffles.

He draws closer to her. “It’ll be okay.”

“No it won’t. I’m tired.”

“I know,” he says when he puts a hand on her shoulder. Haneul flinches but leans into the touch quickly. “I know, princess.”

He takes her in his arms and rubs gentle circles on her back. “I’m right here. You’re okay.”

When Haneul retires to her room at the end of the night, it’s like a lightbulb goes off in her head.

She may not be very bright, or so she thinks.

But Yoongi hugging her and letting her cry in his arms does not seem like something someone would do if A. you aren’t their best friend, or B. they don’t somehow like the person. More than normal ‘like.’

But how would she know if Yoongi actually likes her?

She did see how he was shooting filthy looks at Taehyung during the whole breakfast the other morning.

Maybe she could use that jerk to make Yoongi jealous…

Sure, it would mean sharing an unpleasant amount of time together. But it’s for the most valid reason.

Haneul wakes up to a new day in what seems like the blink of an eye.

Taehyung is supposed to be coming for dinner tonight. That’s when she plans to talk to him about this Yoongi thing, which will go smoothly by the way.

If Taehyung even agrees to do it.

That’s the problem. He is so entirely full of himself that he probably has never done anything selfless in his life.

“But if there’s something in it for me..,” Taehyung says when Haneul pitches the idea.

“Please? I need help here.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes.

“We literally hate each other, Taehyung-ssi. I would never date you even if my life depended on it.”

“I mean, that sounds like even more reason to not help you.”

She groans. “I’m sorry, you’re right.”

They sit in silence together in the courtyard, with Haneul racking her brain to figure out how to humor Taehyung.

“I can set you up with my cousin. She’s pretty. Is that alright with you?”

Taehyung snaps his fingers. “Deal.”

She groans. Men.

“Let’s just go back inside.” Haneul quickly grabs his hand and pulls him back inside to the dining room.

Yoongi immediately approaches the two. “Is everything okay, your Highness?”

“Everything’s fine,” Taehyung says when he puts his arm around Haneul and pulls her closer. “She’s fine. I can take care of her without needing you to do it.”

Yoongi inhales deeply and smooths out his hair, trying to seem unbothered. “If you say so.” He puts his hands in his pockets and walks away.

Haneul elbows Taehyung in the side and flashes a look of anger at him. “What the hell,” she whispers.

He grunts and his hand flies up to the area immediately. “What?”

“I didn’t ask you to be an asshole too.”

“Damn it! This hurts like hell.”

“Let me guess, you don’t believe women are strong too?”

He shakes his head and looks away. “Please.”

“And this is one of the reasons why I’m in love with Yoongi and not you,” Haneul mutters.

Taehyung practically breaks his neck to look back at Haneul. “You didn’t say you were in love with him. You just said you thought he liked you.”

“Why do you think I staged all this just to find out? If I didn’t like him, then I couldn’t care less.”

He hums. “I guess it makes sense.”

“So you’re an idiot too?”

He steps away from her. “I still have the choice to just quit all of this, you know.”

Haneul smirks. “My cousin.”

He links their arms. “Right.”

Meanwhile, Yoongi is standing off to the side and seething with…

Jealousy.

She hates this guy. Haneul simply loathes this idiot.

Taehyung is so narrow-minded that it physically pains her to even be in his vicinity. He’s misogynistic, he only cares about girls, he has no respect for others…

Yoongi could go on. So there is no way in hell that these two are dating and they certainly will never date.

Right?

A cigarette would be good right about now.

If only Yoongi didn’t have to agonizingly watch Haneul flirt with this absolute imbecile, then he could have some kind of relief.

He crosses his arms and leans against the doors of the dining room. He’s gotta figure something out.

Yoongi has to do something to show Haneul he’s in love with her. But what if she doesn’t love him back?

It’d be weird. She’d tell her parents. He’d get fired. And worse.

God damn it.

A little later after the dinner, Yoongi escorts Haneul back to her room. He somehow convinced Taehyung that he could do this on his own.

To top it all off, the lovely prince was able to get a drink or two in her. This is only the second time she’s had alcohol, let alone the first time she’s had more than one glass in one hour.

Yoongi wasn’t sure what exactly it was, but whatever Taehyung had given Haneul was very strong. And now, Haneul’s barely standing up on her own. Half her weight has been on Yoongi the whole time they’ve been walking.

“You’re sure you’re alright?”

Haneul drunkenly giggles. “I’m fine, Yoongi-ssi.”

“Do you remember what you had to drink?”

“No…”

“Your Highness, this may not be my place to judge. But I know that guy is bad news.”

She hums. “How protective of you.”

They stop in front of her chamber and Yoongi looks her dead in the eye. “I’m serious. However, I realize you are not able to have a serious conversation as of now.”

Haneul opens her door and looks back at Yoongi before going inside. “Goodnight, Yoongi-ssi.”

“Goodnight, your Highness.”

She closes the door and immediately tries to undress, having difficulty taking off her dress in particular.

“Come on, come on.” She groans as she tries in vain to reach around her back to where the buttons of the dress lay. “Yoongi-ssi? Are you still there?”

“Yes, your Highness?”

“Can you please unbutton this dress? I can’t do it.”

He hesitates. Oh.

“Well— sure.” Yoongi successfully unbuttons the first few. Her porcelain skin distracts him as he goes.

The desire to run his hand along her spine is so irresistible and yet, he overcomes it.

Haneul stops him quickly. “You… you don’t have to do all of them if you don’t feel comfortable.”

Yoongi softly laughs. “What else would I be here for—”

Haneul whips her head around.

The blood drains from his face immediately. Shit.

However, he recovers quickly. “I mean, I’m here to assist you, your Highness.”

“Right.”

“Right,” he repeats.

There’s a pause where neither one of them is quite sure what to do.

Fuck it, Yoongi thinks.

He can let himself have this, at least.

He takes his time unbuttoning each button, feeling the silky fabric beneath his fingers. His knuckles brush her bare skin and Haneul can feel herself getting warm.

He undoes button after button, making his way halfway down her back. His hands grow slower, nervously making it to the small of her back, pausing.

Yoongi gives in to the urge to touch, just a little, bringing a finger up to slowly trail along the line of her spine. He sighs.

Her breath hitches.

His fingers linger at the exposed sliver of soft skin. If he undoes any more buttons, he would be able to see the curve of her—

He banishes the thought from his mind and clears his throat.

Haneul jolts.

“I— I can take it from here,” she stammers.

She’s sure her face is burning at this point.

He breathes a silent sigh of relief and turns around in case she may need more help. He immediately misses the feel of her warmth under his fingertips.

She ties her hair up into a ponytail with her ribbon and begins undressing again.

“Highness? Is there anything going on between you and the prince?”

Haneul freezes. She hates the thought of lying to Yoongi. “Yeah.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, exasperated. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“What? What’s the problem?”

“I simply cannot have this conversation while I’m facing the door, Haneul.”

“Fine.” Yoongi hears some shuffling behind him until she speaks again. “You can turn around.”

She’s in her silk nightgown now, her arms crossed.

“That guy is such a fucking idiot,” he hisses.

“He’s not.”

“Don’t tell me you’re acting this stupid,” Yoongi whisper-yells.

She points to herself and takes his tone. “I’m not stupid. I am the only one that knows what is best for me. Who the hell are you to tell me what’s best for me?”

“I just can’t believe this decision you made. I can’t believe you would do this.”

“God— do what?! I like him.” She says this somewhat unconvincingly.

“But you don’t. I don’t understand, you said you freaking hated him.”

She quiets. “Things change. I was judging him before I got to know him.”

“That’s bull and you know it.”

“Seriously,” she crosses her arms. “Who the hell are you to tell me what to do?”

“I’m the one who takes care of you. Your father couldn’t care less.”

She scoffs, laughing softly. “Yoongi-ssi. My god.”

“I’m sorry. It wasn’t my place.”

“No it certainly was not,” she pauses to think. “You’re— I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with you right now.”

They’ve been moving closer to each other throughout the argument, their faces are mere inches away.

Her hands are on her hips and she’s shaking her head, smirking. “You want me so bad, don’t you? Don’t you, Yoongi-ssi?”

He quiets.

How— how does she know? Am I that obvious?

There are two options at this point.

One. Tell the truth. Confess his feelings and lay his heart bare.

Yeah, right.

Two. Lie to her face and possibly lose the chance to ever get what he wants.

How selfish.

Option three— she’s bluffing. Call her out on it.

As if. That’s too much of a risk right now.

He takes a breath.

“You're right.”

She freezes again. And with that, Yoongi kisses her hard.

Haneul can’t believe this is happening. She has dreamt about this ever since the day she met him.

His warm hands slip down to her waist, just like in her dream. She wraps her arms around his neck loosely and returns the kiss.

Yoongi pulls away and lets their foreheads touch. “What about Taeh—”

“Forget him.” She kisses him again and he really does taste like honey. Haneul pulls Yoongi in for a hug—a long hug.

He kisses her exposed collarbone, like he’d wanted to do moments before when unbuttoning her dress.

“I love you, Yoongi-ssi. I’ve loved you for so long.”

“I love you too.”

She hesitates. “But my parents. We have to hide this from my parents.”

“Haneul…”

“We can’t tell them, Yoongi-ssi. We can’t. They’re gonna kill me.”

“You? They’ll absolutely murder me. They’ll think I pursued this and I’m… well…”

She tilts her head, eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

“I’m considerably older than you.”

“That’s fine.”

Yoongi looks at his shoes. “Right, for you and I. We need to figure this out. It shouldn’t be that hard since we’re already always together.”

She eyes his lips and cups his cheeks. “Do you think we could talk about this later?”

“Later?”

Haneul kisses him sweetly. “Mmhm.”

Yoongi can feel himself getting warm. “We can’t… Haneul, we can’t just make out in your chamber—”

“Why not? My parents don’t pay attention to me anyhow.”

He sighs. “We can’t take the chance. Not right now. Literally anyone could just walk in here.”

“Fine.”

[fernandopiastri28]

Requesting literally anything to do you with Oscar or lando or both I’m obsessed with everything you write

thank you so much! that means so much to me <333 also, this is a piece from a WHILE back that i've been wanting to post for a while, so i thought- 2 birds, 1 stone.

also, there will be more parts, i'm not just leaving it here- dw)

tags: f2 alpine oscar x mark webber's daughter

Anyone but webber - Oscar Piastri

Rule 1. Don’t fuck around with the bosses daughter.

That’s practically common sense, is it not? That shouldn’t have to be explicitly said, it should just be a given. A rule so obvious it should be engraved in one’s mind. It’s foolish, no matter how convinced you are that no one will find out, and we’re different from the others, we’ll be okay, you just don’t do that shit. 

That idea that it’s just this once, it’ll be okay, is just about the stupidest thing a person can believe.

Unless of course you’re Mr Oscar FIA rookie of the year Piastri, then naturally, those rules don’t seem to apply to you.

On the flipside, as the daughter of said boss, you also shouldn’t go ahead and date the racecar driver your dad manages, because as someone who’s grown up in and around the formula 1 scene, and more into the publicity and PR aspects of it, you should know better than anyone about the implications of that relationship dynamic.

It’s not the first time it’s happened in the sport, and probably won’t be the last.

But of course, that’s unless your dad is Mark Webber, and you’ve fallen for McLaren Driver, Oscar Piastri, because that’s clearly the exception. 

The two initially met in late 2020, when the COVID-19 restrictions finally eased up enough that Mark could finally see his precious protégé in person. 

To say she had a hatred for Oscar was possibly an overstatement, but his name alone drove her near insane. “Oscar this, Oscar that”, the up and coming Australian driver’s name stained the four walls of her house, all his achievements praised as if they were one of Mark’s own children, as if he was her, Mark’s second chance at fatherhood- having a child that did something with themself.

It was enough to make the most rational person go insane.

Did she hate that he got all of the attention over herself? No. Not at all. 

Well, maybe just a little, just in the slightest.

Well, yeah, one thousand percent.

Of fucking course she despised it. She was insanely jealous, craved the sort of admiration and pride her father showered Oscar with. The mere fact that Oscar was hardly 3 months older than her made it way worse. While it seemed he had his whole life planned out, she was still floundering- struggling with her subject selections for university after a spontaneous senior year where she’d put zero thought into her future.

But jealousy isn’t a good look on her, or anyone for that matter, so when he comes over one Friday night for a ‘family’ dinner, she bites her tongue to hold back the comment of ‘why’s he here if he quite literally isn’t a part of the family?’. Instead she gives him a polite smile when she opens the door to him.

He’s taller than she expected, and he smells good. Slightly bitter, a woody and peppery cologne that she knows the smell will haunt her if she’s ever to walk past someone else who wears the same one. 

His teeth are the next thing she notices. After having braces for so many years of her early teenage life, it's natural that she does. They’re not perfect, clearly not having been through the torture of weekly dentist appointments and nightly retainers, but they’re surprisingly flattering, cute and uneven.

She’s a teenage girl after all, she’s not immune to the charm of a cute boy. 

Her eyes study him as he sits at the head of the table, across from her dad. Mark speaks in such an animated manner when he speaks to Oscar, his mouth moving at a million kilometres an hour as he spits off into a passionate debate about his ‘glory days’ at Red Bull. Oscar seems polite, sipping slowly at his water and chewing his food for clearly too long just so Mark can keep talking.

Oscar’s particularly articulate in the way he speaks, his natural smarts shining through the way he presents himself. He’s an anomaly to her, he’s so different to all the other boys her age. She’s fawning over him, but she may as well if this is going to be a common thing that he joins in on their family events. She’s gonna need to learn to enjoy these dinners and interactions with Oscar, learn to coexist with him, so she may aswell just allow herself to take an interest in him.

Being an only child to a single parent is often , so having a third person at their usually uncrowded and lonely dining table is a welcomed change, even if she’d been skeptical in the beginning. His presence alone fills a gap that lingers heavily at the best of times. 

Just being them so is sad, it is depressing. That’s not to say it’s not sometimes just being the two of them, just having each other, but there’s always the feeling that someone’s missing. 

And as long as Oscar continues to keep putting that boyish grin on her father’s face as the two of them engage in the most boring conversations about ‘understeer versus oversteer’ and whatever the fuck ‘tire degradation’ is, she’ll gladly deal with feeling second to the boy for a chance to see her dad happy and having someone to talk race with.

She feels like she’s doing something wrong the next time she speaks to Oscar, it’s as if she shouldn’t be around him, shouldn’t be engaging in anything Piastri related that her father isn’t directly asking her to. It’s at the first F2 race she’s watching live, half being dragged along by her father to come support Oscar, half genuinely wanting to find a passion in it. She was going to be involved in the support for the rest of her life whether she wanted it or not, so may as well learn a thing or two.

She doesn’t notice that she’s being watched until she’s prodding at the squishy foam of her Alpine earmuffs, trying to make them fit more comfortably around her ears, until when she feels someone gentle touching her shoulder, then a tap to her bicep. 

As she turns her head, she’s met with an eyeful of Oscar, so close to her that her senses are filled with that rich and warm cologne of his again. “Hey,” His close cropped hair sticks to his forehead, the sleeves of his team supplied polo stretched tight over his muscles. “Is your Dad around?” Not even Mark, her dad. 

The way he says it makes her feel like a child who need supervision, even though she’s hardly a few months his junior. It makes it sound like she doesn’t deserve to be here, that she’s some kid tagging along with her parent. She’s embarrassed to admit how uncomfortable it makes her, she wants anything but for Oscar to think of her like a kid.

 “Uh, probably,” She leans forward, looking far over to the left of the Alpine garage. “Shouldn’t he be with you already?” Not sure why he’d assume she’d just hover around her dad at all times, if anything, it was more likely for Mark to be with Oscar over her.

Oscar’s lips twist into this weird half smile, which just includes the left corner of his mouth stretching out and his cheek poking out with the motion. He looks a bit like a frog, her mind supplies. “Should be,” He laughs, the noise slightly muffled by her half-on earmuffs. 

She turns her whole body back to face him, her eyes flicking down to her worn out sneakers when she realises just how long she’s been staring at him and how hot her face is getting. The details of her shoes are peeling off, grey staining the white and scuff marks decorating all across the rubber. They look awful and she regrets not making more of an effort when she knew she’d be seeing Oscar today.

“You alright?” His voice brings her back to reality, not having even realised that she’d zoned out and ignored everything he’d just been saying. Her eyes snap up to look at him, filled with embarrassment and confusion. He had been talking to her, and she’d clearly missed out on that. “Sorry- I was asking if you were interested in this whole motorsports scene,”

The question seems obvious, of course she is. Her dad was a formula one driver, he was the rival/teammate/whatever the fuck they were of the 4 time world champion, Sebastian Vettel. Even now, her dad manages junior drivers, just as Oscar is, and does interviews in the occasional grand prix. It’s difficult to not be somewhat invested in the sport, it’s practically a second home for her.

Her arms cross over her chest, her bottom lip tucking under her top teeth momentarily. “Yeah, kinda have to be- you know?” It’s snarkier than it had sounded in her head, not a great look for someone trying to impress a guy she likes. “But yeah, I’ve never watched too much of anything besides F1, so I’m interested in how different F2 is,” 

He nods absently, his eyes wandering across the stretch of the paddock in front of them. “Yeah, yeah. So you never got into karting or anything, then?” His eyes draw back to hers, meeting in a tight stare. 

Her nostrils pinch upwards, wrinkling, and her eyebrows furrow, “Nah, I did a little when I was young but.. I guess I didn’t inherit the Webber love for racing,” She shrugs a bit, discarding the conversation before it’s even really started. “You excited for the race today?” She steers away from herself and back onto him.

There’s a smile that creeps across his face, “Definitely, I’m feeling confident about the car and the track today- it’s all looking good,” His voice gets slightly rushed, pitched higher as he gets excited. He sort of just exudes confidence and self assurance. She can tell why her dad is so certain about Oscar’s future as a very possible world champion contender.

 It’s just like every other driver she’s ever spoken to- Jenson, Nico, Fernando. He’s got the eagerness and passion of a future world champion, she can see that.

It’s difficult not to grin just as wide as he is, it’s contagious how his dark eyes light up like stars, how his teeth tuck over his bottom lip, the way his hands gesture to match each word that comes tumbling out of his mouth. He’s like a cartoon character, and it's infectious how cute and excited he is. 

He goes on talking about the track for today’s race, talking about each turn and sector. It’s certainly more interesting when he speaks about it over anyone else. The way he describes every aspect of it makes the sport so much more appealing to her, electric and enthralling in all the ways it really is, just that she’s never seen or experienced. It actually brings her a proper appreciation for the sport that no one else has ever really brought her.

“Spider?” Someone calls out from behind her, and Oscar frowns at the nickname, craning his neck to look around for the person saying it. Sure enough, it’s the man, the myth, the ‘legend’, Mark Alan Webber. He’s making his way over, stacks of paper tucked under his arm as he strolls toward his beloved and his daughter.

“Spider?” Oscar asks hesitantly, confused by the nickname she’s getting.

“Webber, web, spiderweb, spider,” Her face shifts into pure embarrassment. Why on earth is her father parading around and letting everyone know that that’s the nickname she gets called a million times over her real name?

“It’s cute,”

Her face burns hot, another tidal wave of embarrassment crashing over her. Her chest even feels warm. “It’s not,” Her voice comes out as barely a squeak. She stares at the floor, wishing she could shut up and crawl into the ground. She’d been doing so well honestly, talking to Oscar without even getting the slightest bit flustered, and then her dad had to ruin that.

“It is,” Oscar needs to shut up too but he seems to get some sense of satisfaction and amusement out of adding fuel to the fire. She’s mortified by it, but Oscar seems to move on pretty quick. 

“Hi Mark,” Oscar’s tone is unchanged and plain as he smiles at her father. He’s so annoying like that, he’s like a rubber band- snapping back to normal so easy. Mark stops just in between the two, his head turning to look at both of them a few times over. He can probably tell he’s impeded on their conversation, yet he doesn’t leave them to get back to it or anything.

“Hello, Oscar. Hi, Spider,” He hands a few of the stapled booklets to the younger Australian, who tucks them under his own armpit. “Glad to see you two are getting on well. Whatcha been talking about?” He looks more impressed with her right now than he ever has. All it took was chatting with Oscar. That’s just kinda sad.

Keeping silent, she hopes Oscar will answer for her. That’s probably what Mark is hoping too, looking for any excuse to start a conversation with Oscar, even if it’s pointless, just for the sake of talking to him. Oscar doesn’t though, instead turns to look at her with an eyebrow slightly raised, teasingly. 

“Just.. F2, and the race today,” Her voice lacks a huge amount of enthusiasm, but her father’s eyes still widen, looking ecstatic to talk about F2, at a F2 race. 

He’s a simple man, she’ll give him that.   

“Mhm,” Oscar hums, his attention already fading from the conversation and towards sifting through one of the packets of papers. “What’s this about?” He hardly looks up, his eyes scanning through a block of hardly separated italic lettering. 

Mark leans in closer to him, his eyes moving in tandem with Oscar’s to follow along with him, clearly eager to jump into the conversation that has now effectively shut her out. She’s left in the dark out of a conversation that had only started because  Oscar sparked up with her, he wanted to talk to her, not her dad. 

The awkwardness intensifies as she stands there, feeling more like an outsider in this exchange between her father and Oscar. She doesn’t want to just stand around, waiting for them to acknowledge her again. “I’m gonna go walk around for a bit, see you guys later,” There’s not much recognition for that beyond a small wave from Oscar, his attention mainly on the papers. 

She places her earmuffs and handbag down in the garage, reserving her spot, before stepping out to get some fresh air. It’s a bit confusing, navigating her way around. She knows the area to a certain extent, but it’s not like she’s really been to that many grand prixs. Most of her time spent involved in the sport has actually been going to galas and sitting down with a bunch of retired drivers, enduring hours of listening to them talk over each other for hours on end. 

It was worth it back then though, her dad would be pleased with her for coming out with him and being by his side, and she’d be rewarded with any fast food of her choice at the end of the night because the food at events was usually too mature and out there for her tastebuds.  Now, there’s no reward at the end of the day, no incentive from her father. She’s here for one reason: to see a cute boy. And it makes her feel stupid. She is really just there for her dad, no purpose to actually be in the garage. She doesn’t add anything, and next time, she’ll just stay home and avoid the embarrassment that the end of her and Oscar’s conversation caused her.

y/n.webber

liked by bsf/n, aussiegrit and 3,105 others

y/n.webber impromptu beach trip + some fast cars

bsf/n pls bring me to the next race

-> y/n.webber omfg i actually need to pls

user8 ur hair is gorg

user11 fave new wag?

-> user14 whos she dating? f1 or f2?

-> user7 she's not dating any driver (at least i don't think she is) but her dad is mark webber (an ex f1 driver) so thats why she's at the race

oscarpiastri

liked by robertshwartzman, aussiegrit and 32,471 others

oscarpiastri First weekend in F2 and a win all in one! Hopefully got a few more coming.

frederikvestiofficial congrats mate!

-> oscarpiastri thanks fred!

user3 YAYYY

user5 mark is gonna be proud

user13 mark webber reincarnate

-> user2 nah, kimi räikkönen definitely

dennis_hauger good one oscar! congratulations!

-> oscarpiastri cheers dennis! thank you

next part

[romanticandupsetting]

PLATO KEYCHAIN

kise ryota x gn!reader ; soulmate!au

a soulmate au where your dreams are your soulmate’s memories. also, enemies to lovers.

warnings: reader cusses, like, once , mentions of food , mentions of academic pressure , little blood (a nosebleed is mentioned once) , fainting , kise being dumb

request by @carinacassiopeiae​​:  Hii! Yes please, go write knb fics ahhhh and please tag me!! Umm, for a request, soulmate au with kise?? But like at the start, they're enemies so cue the angst and whatnot, but they find out they're soulmates so yeah thank youu

word count: 3363

this is my first request and first one shot so i got kinda enthusiastic and ended up writing it immediately lol. i try to make the reader gender neutral, unless someone requests me a specific gender so if i accidentally typed a pronoun other than they/them for the reader here, please tell me :>>

Light blue hair.

Ah, you’re having another dream.

Dreams were pretty rare for you these past few weeks―maybe even months―all because studying hindered your sleep, messed with your energy, and you’re too tired to even dream.

But that doesn’t matter right now, clearly your mind feels good enough to show you a story in your sleep.

A tall boy with green hair and glasses took a small wooden box from his school bag.

Oh, his fingers are taped? What a weird guy.

“I wanted to thank you for letting me copy your notebook,” he said. “These are custom-made rolly pencils used as a last resort for tests.”

“Rolly pencils?!”

A cute girl with pink hair accepted them, smiling as she did.

“Custom means you made it yourself?” said your person.

The green-haired boy grins, lifting his glasses. “That’s what giving your utmost best is all about.”

“Nah,” your hand shook, denying what he said. “You put on airs and say all that stuff, but it’s still super lame!”

Who the hell is your soulmate. You can’t tell if he’s funny or mean.

“Ah! There are three of them! I’ll give you one, Tetsu-kun,” the girl said, handing one pencil to a boy with blue hair.

“Oh, are you sure?” asked he.

“Yeah!” the girl nods. “Studying for tests will be tough with a sprained wrist, right? So, it’s a little gift to cheer you on!”

The boy smiles, looking at the pencil. “I’ll take it then.”

You wake up with a sigh.

It was an adorable dream, honestly. You couldn’t help but be happy for your soulmate who had such fun friends.

Well, it was fun while it lasted. You wish you had those kinds of friends. Must be nice…

You shake the dream out of your head and started getting ready for school. You take a glance at your study table, still messy from your nightly study sessions that you force on yourself before you go to sleep. There are even nights when you don’t allow yourself to rest if you didn’t study at least three subjects.

It’s okay, though. Studying is necessary and you should be mature enough to understand and accept that. Yes, be mature, y/n. messing around wouldn’t get you anywhere in life.

You head out, feeling a little relaxed thanks to that one good sleep you’ve had in months.

The sky has the most perfect looking clouds, the wind feels nice as it moves past you, the neighbor’s dog is asleep, you didn’t forget anything at home.

You smile slightly as you walk.

Kise Ryota woke up with heavy breaths.

What was that dream? Oh, god, he just woke up and he’s already sweating.

As he gets dressed in his usual uniform and packed his things, he can’t get that dream out of his head.

No, no, it should be a nightmare, right? Why is that… oh god, I hope they’re okay.

During morning practice he ranted to his friend.

“Isn’t it horrible, Kasamatsu-senpai?” He pouts, sitting on the bench as he wipes his face. “Even Greek philosophers wouldn’t study so much that they’d black out.”

“Since when did you know anything about Greek philosophers?” his senpai spouts.

Kise blinked. Right, since when did he know about those? “Maybe it was in my dream? Oh, there was that one cute Plato keychain my soulmate has…” He smiles dreamily, thinking of how cute the keychain looked. “No, that’s not important! What’s important is that my soulmate had a nose bleed and fainted because they were overworking―oh my god, they could be dead by now!”

“They’re not, you moron. Shut up already.”

In the classroom, you stare at the window past the boy to your left. You know you should be studying right now for your next class but you wanted to tone it down since you were still scared of exceeding your own limitations.

You wouldn’t forget how humiliating that hospital room is. You should’ve known better.

“Staring at me, l/n-chan?”

“Oh, how annoying,” you speak in a monotone voice. “I was admiring how beautiful the view is if only you weren’t there. Mind moving, Kise-kun?” You scowl at him.

“Tsk, tsk, l/n-san you should learn your manners. We’re in high school, we should be mature.” The blond grins, lifting his chin up.

“Huh? What do you know about maturing, you muscle for brains? I don’t think you can even spell that word. You piss me off, could you leave right now piss hair?”

He gives you a dirty look and sighs. “Back then, you avoided me and now you’re bullying me? Aren’t your academics making your head kinda big?”

“Hmm…” you cross your arms. “And what are your idiot brain cells doing? Playing basketball with your brain?”

The science teacher walked in before he could make a comeback.

You turn your back to him, honestly, why the hell is it so upsetting to argue with him?

He’s so irritating.

“I’ll return your pop quizzes now,” the teachers announced as the abundance of sighs mixed together in the classroom.

Your nerves started getting to you. What if you did horribly? What if you answered an obviously easy question wrong? But you study hard every day, there’s no way you could do poorly on such a simple quiz.

You take your paper and sigh in relief that you got a perfect score.

The blonde peeked at your result and pouted. “Perfect, as always.”

You smile at him. “Well, yeah, I’m not you.”

He glares at you. Why did you have to rub it in like that? You’re a genius, he gets it, so what? He scoffs.

“So what if I have low scores? At least I don’t validate myself using high grades,” he mutters.

Oh, but you heard it. God, his voice was so clear in your earshot.

You glare at him, which he felt. You felt anger, rage, hate, vexation, and every other synonym for those words.

How dare he talk about you like that? You never liked him form the start because you thought he was just a dumb jock. You got seated next to each other in class and sure, there was this banter on the both of you and you thought to yourself, it’s pretty cute, maybe he’s not that bad, but how dare he say those words.

It hurts because it’s true but it also hurts because it came from him.

“You wouldn’t understand it, Kise,” you spit out, your voice felt dark and meant for him. “You’re talented.”

It hurts.

Chest feeling empty and tears threatening to pour out, you both avoided looking at each other.

As you walk home, the sky still had the most perfect looking clouds, the wind cool as it blows past you, the dog is quietly wagging its tail in the front yard, and you didn’t forget anything.

You don’t feel good anymore.

There was a bitter taste in the back of your throat, your legs feel sluggish, and your bag feels a little heavier that it did this morning. You should study as soon as you get home, snacks are irrelevant as of now. So long as you don’t faint, you’re good.

The next morning, you wake up not caring about the fact that you didn’t have a dream.

Kise took a glance to his right, seeing you quietly study during break time. Were you not going to mock him as usual? You’re not even heading out to buy a snack or a drink.

Was it his fault?

Maybe what he said was too far.

Honestly, the daily arguments with you always felt so bittersweet. He looked forward to talking to you during breaks even if all that talking are just petty fights. He wished it was different, that you both would talk to each other about your day or how you’re craving for a certain item at the cafeteria, but no.

He just has to fight back like that every single time and look where it led him.

Kise remembers the dream he had.

Oh god, he feels even worse about it now. What if that was also how you act behind closed doors? No, wait…

You act like that even when you’re right beside him.

Always studying, not even taking a snack break, hell―you’re doing it right now.

He tries looking at you discreetly.

Did you get thinner? No, he’s imagining it. You don’t look well but you don’t look sick.

At least, not yet.

Kise is scared but as he was punching himself in his mind, he took notice of your open bag and his eyes―usually playful, fun, with a soft gaze, only serious when he’s playing basketball―went wide. He exhaled sharply, trying to look calm. He shouldn’t bother nor alarm you but you…

Your Plato keychain.

He placed his arms on the table and buried his head in it, biting his lower lip harshly just to stop whatever noise he’ll make that would signify his desperate need to stop himself from crying.

He’s going to apologize―

 ―is what he thought but Kise Ryota has no idea how. He, or his friends, never truly apologized for what happened in middle school, and he’s not even familiar with this kind of feeling because he never really gets into emotional quarrels.

He’s actually thinking now. So that’s why your arguments felt so bittersweet.

L/n-chan’s my soulmate and I… I did that.

He failed you.

“Kise, what are you doing?! Stand up already!”

The sounds of his teammates and coach calling for him felt like background noise at this point.

Ah, he’s thinking too much, his brain is gonna hurt.

“And what are your idiot brain cells doing? Playing basketball with your brain?”

Kise clearly remembers your sneer as you said that.

He should really get on the court now but how in the world is he going to confess to you when all he’s ever experienced is being confessed to? If that’s not enough of a challenge, you literally hate him right now.

You look at the time on your phone.

6:01 AM

Gosh, you forgot to sleep.

You honestly feel so tired but that doesn’t matter right now. You need to do better. You need to do so much better so that stupid dumb blonde can’t even speak in your direction anymore.

You need to be better than him. You have to beat the audacity that his talents gave him. It’s fine if you don’t play basketball but you are going to have to be better than him in everything else. As for now, nothing matters but making him shut up.

So you walk to school not noticing the weather or the dog.

Kise fidgets in his seat. He’s imagined the scenario a million times in his head now.

He can do it. The technique is to strike first.

But when he saw you walk inside the classroom, his face felt frozen.

You look so tired.

Did you even sleep? Why are you… it’s his fault. It’s his fault, oh my god, shame on him. He’s going to talk to you now.

“L/n-chan!” he exclaims as soon as you take a seat, making you jolt on your chair. He faces you with a serious expression. Good, you’re looking at him, even if you’re looking like he’s an ugly blob fish that your uncle brought home after a long day of fishing. It’s fine. He has your attention.

“I’m challenging you to a battle!” He points his finger at you. “In the next two weeks, I’ll beat your scores in the exams.”

Ha?

What is he talking about? God, he really is arrogant. Defeat you? Your scores? In the exams? It’s like he knew that you wanted to shut him up and is now wanting to make you shut up.

You glare at him.

His whole-body freezes but recovers immediately.

Why did he say that?! Wasn’t he supposed to apologize and confess to you? Oh my god, Ryota, how in the world are you so famous with girls?

He clears his throat. “I-I won’t lose so… there!” And immediately turned his back to you.

If I win, I’ll tell them how I feel.

Oh, but he has to study now.

But just to make sure, he grabbed his phone from his bag and sent an email to his friend.

‘Kurokocchi can I please please borrow your rolly pencil next next week?? >.<’

Thank god his friend agreed after three days of him begging because there was no way in hell Midorimacchi would lend him his.

Despite the rolly pencil, he still studied his hardest for the remaining days even during his break time in practice. Kasamatsu didn’t have the heart to kick him for it because it was shocking to his friend studying no matter how many times he saw it.

You slouched as you deadpanned the big poster revealing everyone’s exam results.

Of course he didn’t defeat you―actually, he wasn’t even close.

You were at first place and he was at 29.

Now, where was the idiot who decided to challenge you? Ah, he’s behind the tree.

You stare at Kise, waiting for him to reveal himself but he didn’t. He stayed behind that tree and was late on 4th period.

When lunch time arrived, you smiled. “Congratulations on 29th place, Kise-kun.”

He felt like crying but his lips remained in a pout as he ate his lunch. Kasamatsu might look for him right now because he’s been slacking with practice but he doubts his senpai would go out of his way during lunch.

“I really thought you had some sort of genius hiding in that skull of yours. Is all that’s in there is a deflated basketball?” You mocked a laugh. “It must be, it even suits your posture right now.”

He kept blinking, trying to block your mocking voice.

Why the hell do you sound so sweet? He knows he lost but right now he’s honestly just feeling so giddy that you’re talking to him, though upset that you’re still making fun of him as always.

Maybe he should just be the dumb guy if it means you’re going to talk to him again, though.

Well, he is the dumb guy.

“I swear, if you hate me, just say it to my face. You don’t have to go to such drastic measures―”

“L/n-chan, I like you! What are you talking about?!” he exclaimed, eyes wide. You thought he hates you? Why would you think that? “Even if all we really do is fight, I absolutely adore you! I didn’t really get it myself at first but the more I tried to think, the more I realized how much I like you.” He sniffles.

“Fucking pardon?” Kise flinches. Why does your voice sound like that? He thought even if you didn’t like him very much, the fact that your soulmates would at least make your reaction a little nicer. Why do you sound so angry?

The nerve! Oh my god, for how long could his arrogance make him live in this earth? Surely, he must be running out, right? But he said he likes you and he sounds like he means it.

Who cares? He’s pompous, stupidly tall, and just overall stupid! How dare he challenge you only to then declare his feelings after losing?

Do jocks really not have any manners?

But you wouldn’t deny that it felt nice to hear his feelings for you.

Just maybe…

“‘At the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet’,” you recite. “Plato once said that.”

“Huh?”

“But clearly, you can’t be one even if you’re in love,” you sigh. “Denied.”

“Huh?”

Who are you kidding? Even if, let’s say, he’s your soulmate, you wouldn’t want to be in a relationship with a man who can’t even get to the top ten in the charts.

“L/n-chan?”

You give him a sharp glare. “You’re really expecting me to be all blushy and kind just because you said you like me? You must be kidding. Aren’t you supposed to beat me first before you confess your feelings?”

He blinks, then he blinks again.

And again.

And again.

“T-then…” Stupid Ryota! You should’ve known this is how they are! They literally tease you whenever they look at your direction and does nothing else, of course this won’t be easy! “could you help me out?”

You chuckled. “Now you have the nerve to make me help you? What chivalry!”

You relax in your seat, still facing the flustered blonde, not removing the smirk on your face. “But, well… can you even keep up with me?”

The fact that he reached 29th place is nowhere near impressive for you but the improvement of his scores is definitely noticeable. This guy usually fails all his exams.

His face brightened.

“What? Too much of a dummy to speak?”

“I’ll follow you forever y/ncchi!” he beams. “I promise I’ll do my hardest even if all you do is teach me while mocking me―”

“Kise!” The booming voice of his senpai suddenly shook him out of his lovesickness.

“Uh―Kasamatsu-senpai?! Why…?”

“Exams are over so you can practice now, right…?”

Oh god, he can feel his senpai’s anger to the point that Kise’s considering jumping out of the window.

He looks at you, readying his pouty face so that you’d help him only to see your sneering face. “Oh my, oh my, you should go talk to your teammate, Kise-kun~”

Should’ve known you’d react like this.

“Yes, senpai!” the blonde huffs and jogs toward his upperclassman.

“Say y/ncchi,” Kise spoke as he takes your bag. “Can we stop by somewhere? It won’t be far, I promise.”

“Where is it?” you ask. “It’s only been two days and you already want to take me somewhere?” You grin as you wiggle your eyebrows.

He laughs. “It’s not like that―”

“At least take me to dinner first, honestly, how are you so popular with girls? Is the only requirement being an athlete and a model?” you grumble while crossing your arms.

He smiles softly at you. It’s honestly funny how you both still get into petty arguments but instead of that bittersweet feeling, he’s now really happy to have a nonsensical banter with you.

“I swear, my intentions are pure.” He raises his right hand to a salute and continued on walking with you. “I just have to return something to a friend.”

You hum in response.

“Ah, but if you want, we could stop by for dinner,” he mumbles, looking down while playing with his fingers. “I mean… if you want to, of course, but if you wanna go home that’s totally fine too!”

“Oh, but I have to study today,” said you. You took a peek at his expression and it was obvious that he was about to pout but is stopping himself from doing so. “Kidding,” you giggle.

He softly chuckles. “Well, let’s go now.”

“Are you sure I can wait beside you?” you mumble.

“It’s fine, it’s fine! Kurokocchi wouldn’t mind meeting you―”

“Good afternoon,” a soft voice suddenly greets.

Blue hair?

“Kurokocchi! Here’s your rolly pencil,” Kise chimed, handing him the pencil. “Thanks for letting me borrow it.”

“It’s no problem. Did you get the perfect score you were aiming for?” the boy, ‘Kurokocchi,’ asked in which the blonde sighs.

“No, but I have y/ncchi helping me study now!” Your friend smiles, pulling you closer to him by your shoulder. “This is l/n y/n-chan, y/ncchi, he’s Kuroko Tetsuya-kun.”

“It’s nice to meet you, l/n-san,” the boy greets.

“Yes, nice to meet you too, Kuroko-kun…”

Tetsuya-kun…

“It’s nice meeting the both of you but I’ll be going now. I’ll see you both some time.”

“Yeah,” Kise nods. “Let’s hang out sometime with Midorimacchi!”

The blue haired boy smiles and nods as he walks away.

You stare at that shade of blue until he slowly disappears in the distance.

“Hey, Ryota-kun,” you call.

“Hm?” he looks at you, you look back.

“Are we soulmates?”

“Huh?”

“It’s just… that Kuroko Tetsuya-kun and the rolly pencils…”

“Huh… so that’s what you dreamed about me?”

“What? You know? That we’re soulmates―wait, we’re actually soulmates?”

He blinks. “Did I not tell you?”

[sanisse]

An Unusual Request | Thranduil x Lindir

For @medusas-hairband per a bunch of different conversations we’ve been having and a particularly interesting ask they dropped in my inbox. “Thranduil and Lindir. You pointed out they're an explosive duo, so maybe we can put consent play in here? I asked about it some time ago (and am glad you include discussions beforehand, and aftercare!), I thought just now that it could happen in Mirkwood - or on the slopes of the Misty Mountains, if you're feeling adventurous - and oh if Lindir wants to get out bruised. Scratches on his face and hands, small bruises on his hips and backside from the other's grip, bite marks all over; the whole package. Also, I see L wanting to know that the other is T, as some sort of power play.”

This concept really has me no thoughts head empty and has been pinging around like a microsoft screensaver. So I had to get this out on paper. Lindir/Thranduil is such a spicy rarepair and this is such an interesting kink for them. 

🚨⚠️ STRONG CONTENT ADVISORY: this fic contains depictions of consent play between two consenting adults that some readers may be sensitive to or find upsetting, meaning there will be consensual dub-con veering into consensual non-con with social power imbalance in play. This fic contains depictions of kink negotiation, setting up of boundaries, use of a safeword, and aftercare. Please stay safe and consume your online content responsibly 🚨⚠️  

Spice Level (1-5): 🌶🌶🌶🌶🌶 🌶🌶🌶🌶🌶 how many warnings can I put on this fic that this is intense & not for the faint of heart. 

Pairing: Thranduil/Lindir (background Elrond/Celebrían/Lindir/Thranduil polycule) 

Warnings/tags: rough sex, oral sex, impact play, restraints, servant/master dynamics, power imbalance, possessive behavior, praise kink, degradation kink, hair pulling, subspace, *slaps roof of fic*, you can fit so many kinks in this bad boy. 

⚠️One last CW for consent play. Please consume this content responsibly⚠️  

No Lindirs were harmed in the making of this fic. He’s having the time of his life and he gets loads of aftercare at the end of the fic. 

This is quite a bit longer than I normally do but that’s because of the consent-aftercare sandwich necessary for the subject matter. 

Minors DNI. Your media consumption is your own responsibility.

AO3 link in case anyone wants to read more comfortably or easily bookmark 

-

The thought won’t leave him. He turned it around, considering it over and over again the whole journey to Mirkwood. Thranduil’s hosting the Autumn Equinox festival this year-- and perhaps it’s a bad time, he must be so busy and Lindir would never want to be an imposition. He wouldn’t dream of being an imposition...

But he doesn’t know who else to ask. Thranduil can be a rough, demanding, adventurous lover like so few can. Something tells Lindir that maybe his instinct isn’t too far off. Maybe, just maybe-- he won’t make a fool of himself.

He approaches Thranduil’s chambers when the moon is high. His hands are shaking. The door guard lets him in because they assume that Elrond has sent him on some important errand. They don’t ask why he’s here. Lindir is grateful that he doesn’t have to lie.

Thranduil is standing alone at the mantle of the great fireplace at the far end of the room, silhouetted in red flame, tall as an oak tree. The firelight glints off his hair. He has a wine glass poised in his hand, his body wrapped in one of those black, elegant dressing gowns he so favors. He is so beautiful. Linder always feels like a mouse next to him. Completely undeserving of attention. 

When he spots Lindir, there’s a flicker of surprise.

“What does Elrond want with me at this hour of the night?” 

Lindir winces, wrings his hands, glances at the door.

“My lord did not send me, my king. I--I came on my own.” 

Thranduil waits for him to elaborate and mulls his wine in his glass.

Lindir takes a nervous step forward onto the rug and just as quickly rescinds it. Hazards a glance at the door, considering just leaving. This is so foolish-- 

“I--” he flushes red. “I must confess that I-- I greatly enjoyed the last time you joined my Lord and my Lady and I in Imladris and-- I should-- I should very much like to do it again. If...it would...if my king would have me.”

The silence that stretches between them is deafening. Thranduil regards him, gaze sharp and curious and almost...

“Sweet thing,” he mutters fondly into his wine glass. He takes another sip. “I do not think you would enjoy my games, Lindir.” 

Lindir colors an even darker shade of red. He chews on his lip and ventures: “It is your games that interest me, my king.” 

Thranduil eyes him over the rim of his glass, then says: “I would devour you.” 

Lindir shivers. Wets his lips and parts them. Takes one emboldened step toward Thranduil. “That is what I came here for. I-- I want--” he swallows. His nostrils flare as he sucks in a sharp breath and then says: “I want to be fucked.” 

He thinks he sees Thranduil’s eyes glimmer in the firelight. 

“As I recall,” Thranduil begins, “Celebrían fucked you quite thoroughly. Elrond, too. So I cannot imagine that you have waited all this time simply for me to wreck you. So tell me, sweet thing: what is it you are really asking for?” 

The question hangs between them. Lindir swallows. He isn’t sure how to ask.

“I--” he wets his lips again: a nervous habit. He shrinks. His voice is small and shy when he goes on. “I--I wish...I wish to be taken.” 

A delicious shudder slides down his spine as he says it aloud. Thranduil’s eyes glitter again with something akin to surprise, then fascination. He still waits for Lindir to elaborate.

“I wish to be taken the way...a king--” a significant look cast Thranduil’s way. “Might take a servant.” 

Thranduil cocks his head. He sets his wine glass down on the mantlepiece and closes the space between them in three easy strides. He towers over Lindir, a full head and shoulders taller than him, staring down at him. Lindir can feel his breath ghosting across his hair, imagines pressing his palms to the flat, strong planes of Thranduil’s chest. He’s remembering the way Thranduil’s mouth feels dragging down his neck. The sounds he makes when he’s fucking Elrond into their mattress for Celebrían’s amusement. The pure, whipcord power that infuses his every movement. If Lindir’s honest he’s been fantasizing about this for quite some time. He has always had these...unusual desires, but they had never worn a face until now. 

Thranduil studies him. He seems to be thinking very hard. Lindir hardly dares to breathe. 

“A king might not ask before taking what he wants,” Thranduil says carefully.

All of the air rushes out of Lindir at once. Relief. Excitement. He isn’t sure which. “A king should not have to,” he whispers back. “The servant would know his place. The servant would take whatever he was given, no matter the discomfort. No matter the insults rightfully cast upon him. No matter how humiliating.”

He hopes that Thranduil understands.

That hope is confirmed when Thranduil rumbles a half-feral sound in response. If Lindir isn’t careful, he’s going to get hard from this conversation alone. 

Thranduil presses a hand beneath his chin, prompting Lindir to look at him. The expression in his eyes is so intense that Lindir feels he might swallow him whole.

“I am not gentle, Lindir. I can be. But I will not be in this.”

Lindir shivers again. “I am not fragile, my king.”  

“Thranduil,” Thranduil insists. 

“Thranduil,” Lindir corrects. It feels strange in his mouth. 

“In this conversation we are equals, Lindir,” Thranduil says. His voice is stern, firm, still imperious, but there’s a touch of concern to it too. “I would know that you truly want this. I would know that you would tell me if at any time you wished to stop.” 

Lindir swallows. Nods frantically. He can hardly believe Thranduil’s even considering this. That Thranduil might want him. 

“Shall we use the signal Elrond and Celebrían use?” Thranduil asks. 

The set of colors. Lindir is very well acquainted with them. He nods again. “Red to truly stop. Orange to take things a little slower. Green means that I am enjoying myself. In this scenario--” his eyes flick to his shoes. He’s blushing again. “Even if I ask you to stop I-- I don’t want you to. Only if I say red.” 

“Elrond would not do this with you,” Thranduil muses. 

It isn’t a question. Lindir still nods his agreement. That’s why he’s grateful for this rare constellation the four of them have. Lindir would never ask Elrond for such a thing. He already knows the answer would be no. Even Celebrían would struggle with such a role. 

“When?” Thranduil asks. 

When? Lindir had been hoping Thranduil would set the time. Lindir is busy, to be sure. Thranduil is infinitely moreso. “Elrond has no need of me in the capacity of a steward tomorrow,” he offers.

The corner of Thranduil’s mouth turns up in a half-smirk. That glimmer is back in his eyes. 

“Then you shall hear from me in the afternoon. I shall not give you the exact time now.” 

Lindir breathes a sigh of relief. It’s really happening. He can’t believe it’s really happening. “Thank you.” 

Thranduil takes his chin between his thumb and forefinger and dips to kiss him. Soft. Dripping with passion. “Until tomorrow, sweet thing.” 

-

True to his word, Thranduil summons Lindir around mid-afternoon. Or rather, the word comes: Elrond has summoned him to Thranduil’s chamber. They’re having a conversation. He wishes Lindir to bring a certain map Elrond had safely packed away in their luggage.

Elrond has no such map. Lindir pretends anyway, grabbing the nearest map he can find and following the guard down the hall to Thranduil’s chamber, his heart thundering away in his chest.

When he is let in, the room is empty save for Thranduil. The door shuts behind Lindir and he hears the bolt slide into place with a click that makes him jump. He’s locked in. The realization hits him with a sharp, twisting chill-- like jumping into an ice-cold lake. He’s shaking, he can hardly contain his excitement. 

Thranduil waits. Giving him a chance to back out. Lindir takes a deep breath and fidgets with the map in his hands and says: “Lord Elrond wished for his map. Where is he?” 

A slow, wicked smile slides its way across Thranduil’s face which makes Lindir’s heart race. Thranduil starts for him, takes the map from his hands and sets it aside.

“He is not here.”

“Then-- I should--” Lindir falters, thinking of what he would say, if this was not a game. “I should go to him--” 

“Stay.”

The command is icy, sharp. All of the warmth has leached out of Thranduil’s expression and instead he simply looks ravenous. Lindir chews on his lip.

“I apologize--” he breathes. “I do not understand.” 

Thranduil crowds him right up against the door. Leans down into his space so that their noses almost brush, and hisses: “Elrond wastes you.” 

He is so much bigger than him. Barring him easily. If he really tried, he could slip out from between Thranduil and the door. He doesn’t want to try. Instead, he bites back a moan and remembers his character at the last second. Lindir squirms, tries to hotly say: “My king-- I should go-- I shouldn’t be here--”

Thranduil strikes like a snake. Closes his fist around Lindir’s throat. “I think you should. Would you correct your king?”

“No--” Lindir chokes out. He’s starting to ache between his legs. Can’t stop thinking about the way Thranduil’s towering over him. About how it’s going to feel with Thranduil finally pins him down and fucks him. “--I would never dream of it--”

Thranduil pushes Lindir’s head back, exposing his jawline. He nips at it, sending pinpricks of delicious pleasure-pain spiraling down Lindir’s spine. “Such a pretty little thing,” he hisses. “With such pretty little holes. Do you know, I asked Elrond? I am nothing if not considerate of another lord’s things.” 

Lindir makes a choked, surprised, horribly aroused noise in the back of his throat. Thranduil watches him. Studies him. Makes sure he hasn’t gone too far. Lindir’s just desperately hanging onto this new piece of the fantasy Thranduil’s spinning for him, shuddering under the hand that’s pinning him to the door by his neck, hopelessly turned on and trying not to turn into jelly. 

“Yes,” Thranduil says when Lindir makes no protest. The grin that spreads across his face is wolfish. “He assured me that you know how to serve your betters. You’ve got such a sweet little mouth on you. You know your place.” 

Lindir melts. 

The thought of Elrond giving him to someone else to use is scrambling his brain. It adds an extra layer to this dynamic, this delicious feeling that he is nothing more than a toy to be batted between greater men. He feels so hot he might combust and Thranduil’s hardly touched him yet.

“Please--” he whispers. He means to ask please fuck me, but that would hardly be in character. Instead, he swallows it back, pretending he was about to ask to be released and then thought better of it, because he is a servant and he would never dare to think for himself.

He’s sinking into that sweet spot he so likes: the spot where things go a little hazy. Where he can stop thinking about all the things he has to do. When he is no longer Lindir with all of his responsibilities and schedules and ledgerbooks. Just a hole. He so loves to be used.

He lets his body go slack in Thranduil’s grip. Lets his eyes fall submissively to the floor. Who is he to struggle? To deny a king? 

Thranduil’s chuckle is dark. He swaps his grip to Lindir’s hair and simply drags him away from the door, down toward his bed, and yanks on Lindir’s hair so hard his legs buckle and he has to kneel.

The rush that hits him at the position is intoxicating. Lindir whines in excitement again. Looks up at Thranduil with unfiltered adoration. Thranduil soaks it in before snapping: “Open your mouth.”

Lindir does without hesitation. Thranduil pulls himself out of his trousers in one deft motion and plunges straight into Lindir’s mouth up to the hilt. There’s no preamble, no pause before he starts to use his throat, holding Lindir’s head in place and fucking him. 

The best part is that he doesn’t even look at Lindir while he’s doing it. Thranduil’s gaze is hazy with lust. He’s fully focused on how fucking good it feels having Lindir wrapped around his cock and he uses him as a tool to masturbate with, and it’s all Lindir can do to try to breathe, stay conscious, and not come all over Thranduil’s boots.

Thranduil finally takes mercy on him and pulls out. A trail of Thranduil’s own fluids and Lindir’s spit ties them together. Thranduil collects it and pushes it back into Lindir’s bruising mouth. 

“All that time serving your lord, and still you have not learned how to properly suck cock?” Thranduil scolds coldly before driving back down into Lindir’s throat.

Lindir mewls, chokes, half-apologizes and tries to suck. It’s just that Elrond is so rarely this aggressive about it. Lindir doesn’t care. He’s so hard, leaking into his trousers, because it’s so utterly delicious the way Thranduil’s playing this and Lindir’s completely over the moon about it. He wants Thranduil to wreck his throat. 

Thranduil comes down his throat without any sort of warning, filling him up. Lindir chokes on it, writhes, squirms, eyes pricking with tears at the way his throat constricts and his stomach rebels and his lungs scream for air. Thranduil just pins him there until Lindir’s vision blurs and flashes white and he’s floating. 

When he comes back to his body, he’s still on his knees on the ground. He’s come straight into his trousers. He’s wet with it. Thranduil is circling him, cock already starting to harden again-- if he flagged at all.

The question comes to his mind, bright with sunlight and green growing things. 

Color? 

Thranduil. Lindir reaches out to say: Green. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.

Thranduil dives like a falcon and pushes him to the ground. 

Lindir tries to crawl, to beg: “My king, please-- please. I have served you, let me go. I must return to my lord--” 

He loves the way his voice sounds fucked-raw and weak, even to his own ears.

Thranduil drives his boot down into Lindir’s shoulder to stop him, pinning him to the floor like a butterfly to a corkboard. It’s going to bruise, Lindir thinks in delight. It’s going to bruise.

Thranduil says: “Oh, I am not done using you yet, pet.” 

If he hadn’t come earlier when Thranduil was fucking his throat, then he could have come from this alone. Lindir shakes and presses his head to the carpet to muffle the intoxicated moan that slips out of him. 

It’s even better when Thranduil keeps him there, immobilized on the rug on his stomach, and climbs on top of him. Lindir’s heart is racing so fast he can’t think, too possessed with lust while Thranduil all but rips his clothes off and finds the toy Lindir’s prepared himself with.

He took his time that morning, working himself open with as many fingers as he could fit. Filling his hole with lubrication. Working it in. Plugging it up. He wanted the fantasy: wanted Thranduil to simply take him. To shove inside without any care for Lindir’s own comfort. 

Thranduil moans in his ear and pulls the toy free, and Lindir trembles, keeps squirming as something blunt and large presses against his hole. 

Color? The question comes again.

Green! Lindir all but shouts back. Please. Please fuck me. 

Thranduil covers his mouth with one large hand, pinching his nose shut, cutting off his air, and then shoves inside of him.

Lindir cries out into Thranduil’s hand: a sharp, delighted, tortured sound. Thranduil groans and sinks his teeth into Lindir’s ear as he starts to fuck him.

“You really are made for this,” he moans out, “See how your body sucks me in? It knows what you were made for.” 

Lindir mewls and lets his head fall forward, screaming into Thranduil’s hand with each thrust Thranduil gives him, fingers curling in the rug just for something to hold onto. When Thranduil lets him go in favor of cuffing him by his hair, yanking his head back until the curve of his spine is almost painful, Lindir lets out another ruined whimper and manages: “Please-- ah! Please, my king--please-- it’s too much. It hurts--” 

He feels Thranduil pause for just a millisecond. To reassure him, Lindir pushes his hips back toward him, driving himself back onto Thranduil’s cock.

Thranduil takes the hint and gives him a particularly rough thrust that wrenches a scream from Lindir’s throat.

“Do you think your pleasure matters to me?” 

“No,” Lindir babbles back, bubbling with ecstasy because this is exactly how he imagined it-- but it’s so much better, so, so much better. “No, no I would not dare to presume--” 

Thranduil bears his full weight down onto him. Smothering him. Wrapping a hand around his throat and squeezing. “You are nothing,” he hisses out. “You’re just a toy. Just a sweet little set of holes to be used. You like that? You love it. Of course you do, you filthy wanton little creature.” 

He hits that spot inside Lindir that makes stars burst across his vision. Makes his fingers go white-knuckled in the rug. Hits it again and again and again until Lindir dissolves into one boneless, endless cry of thank you, thank you, thank you and please come, please come inside me-- because he’s too far gone at this point to hold the scene. He’s so happy he could die. In this moment, Thranduil owns him, nothing else matters. He lets himself go limp, lets his mind blank out, becomes nothing but a  sleeve for Thranduil to use until he comes. It’s what Thranduil deserves. He’s a mighty king of power, and Lindir knows his place.

The pleasure is starting to overtake him. Hot and unforgiving and perfect. His cock is trapped between his body and the rug and Thranduil won’t stop hitting that place inside of him, gripping him with fingers that are going to leave bruises in the shape of Thranduil’s hands and Lindir will be honored to wear those marks. 

When Thranduil bursts inside Lindir a second time, that’s enough to tip Lindir over the edge into his next orgasm. Thranduil smothers the scream that follows, clamping his hand over Lindir’s mouth again and fucking him straight through it until Lindir’s writhing, shaking, and the friction is verging on pain. 

Orange, he says. 

Thranduil slows. Circles his hips. Nips the back of Lindir’s ear. He just stays like that a minute longer, seated inside of him, softening.

At last he pulls out. Then he spreads Lindir’s cheeks apart, inspecting his handiwork. Lindir moans and turns his head to the side, resting it against the floor, trying to imagine what it looks like: his hole dripping with Thranduil’s spend. He lets out another ruined sound. Elrond is going to see the marks later and it’s going to make him so possessive. He hopes Elrond will cover them with some marks of his own making. 

“So pretty,” Thranduil muses. 

Lindir’s fucked raw. Sore. Limp. He’s not sure he can scrape himself off of Thranduil’s floor even if Thranduil commanded him to.

Thankfully, Thranduil doesn’t. He peels Lindir upright himself and carries him straight into the royal bed like he doesn’t weigh a thing, drawing back the covers, tucking a pillow beneath his head. Then, he sits on the edge of it and traces a line over Lindir’s cheekbone with the crook of his finger.

The touch is gentle and infused with warmth. Lindir leans into it.

“Was I good for you?” he asks softly, voice hoarse. 

“You were very good, sweet one,” Thranduil says softly. “You took it so well for me.” 

Lindir makes a soft, euphoric noise in the back of his throat and lets his eyes flutter shut. He’s so happy. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs. 

“I must admit I enjoyed myself,” Thranduil says with that same almost wicked, fond half-smirk. “Thank you. You are such a divine creature. I do so enjoy making a mess of you.” 

Lindir melts at the praise, hardly able to believe that Thranduil --of all people-- would say such a thing. “I want to do it again,” He mumbles sleepily. Not now, obviously. But he can already imagine how the scenario might go a second time. He’s already aching for it.

“Not now.” Thranduil sounds amused.

Lindir shakes his head in agreement. 

Thranduil leaves him for a brief moment. Returns with a glass of water and a damp washcloth. He hikes Lindir upright and has him drink some water while he wipes him down, and it feels strange-- having a king look after him like this. But he supposes Thranduil really meant it: in this, they are equals.

He rests his head in the crook of Thranduil’s neck. Thranduil sets both the glass and the washcloth aside and holds him, stroking the curve of his spine. 

“You did so well,” he reassures.

Lindir sighs, exhausted, too happy for words, body still humming from pleasure, blissfully sore in certain places. He opens his eyes and reaches down, tracing the shape of Thranduil’s handprints on his hips. 

Thranduil’s hand joins his, soothing over the marks. He kisses Lindir’s hair, his cheek, then his mouth. Each kiss is soft, more tender than Lindir could imagine him to be.

Lindir drifts off to sleep still buttressed against Thranduil’s chest. The next thing he’s aware of, he’s clean. His hair has been braided back for him, and Thranduil is wrapped back up in one of his dressing gowns and setting a tray with some hot chocolate and various snacks on the table.

Lindir sits up. Thranduil shoots him that same smug smile. “Elrond mentioned you liked hot chocolate. Here,” he takes the steaming cup and passes it to him. Lindir takes it, sips, lets it warm him from the inside out. When he’s through with that and munched on a scone, he curls back up into Thranduil’s side. 

Thranduil holds him without complaint, and lets him sleep. 

[double-hoe-seven]

Little Touches

Request:  Person A tracing their fingertips over Person B’s face as they watch (lovingly/quietly). And kissing him all over his face?? Pairing: Slade Wilson/Deathstroke x Reader Word Count: 620 Fandom: DCEU/Justice League (Snyder Cut) Warnings: Sexual references

"What do you think you're doing?" Your partner asked lazily as he felt the fingers that had been playing with his hair fall and slowly trace an invisible path down the side of his face and along his jawline. "I don't know, committing every detail of your face to memory," you answered with a soft hum. "Why would you wanna go and do something like that?" He asked, a slightly amused chuckle coming from him. "Is it a crime to wanna remember my husband's face?" You asked sarcastically. "Maybe, I mean, if you were ever captured, you'd be able to paint a pretty perfect picture of me without my mask," he said while his hand moved up to trace lines along your spine. "Slade, you've tied me up and made me beg enough times to know how much it takes for me to give in," you proudly smirked a bit at the way his gaze flickered instantly to meet yours.

"That reminds me of our weekend in Perissa, where we stayed at that little villa on the beach and just went at it like a couple of horny teenagers," he recalled with a fond smile and a chuckle. "Was that the trip where we broke the bed AND the dining table or the one where we ran into each other while we were fighting and hate fucked in the cheap hotel downtown?" You asked with a hum, still tracing the scars on his face with a feather-light touch. "The cheap hotel was in Kyoto, and the broken bed and dining table was in Berlin. Perissa was where we went for our anniversary, we spent more time on the beach and in the hot tub than the bed," he corrected with a smug grin, his eye lighting up at the memories. Your fingertips gently grazed the light scars around his right eye leftover from when he lost it.

He watched your focused expression with an admiring look on his face. You peppered kisses all around his face before finally reaching his lips. It was a gentle kiss, more gentle than he normally was but his beard provided a rougher, more rugged feel. "I love you so much, Slade," you muttered softly against his lips, cupping his cheek with one hand while the other rested firmly on his bare chest. "I love you too, hon, more than I ever thought I was capable of," he admitted, folding his arm to support his head as he leaned against the headboard, the other snaking around your exposed waist. "Because of everything that happened with..." you asked cautiously. He nodded once, his gaze falling down some.

"I'm sorry, babe, I shouldn't have brought them up," you immediately apologized. He offered a halfhearted smile "it's okay. I know you mean well."  "Still, I know it's a touchy subject," you said sheepishly. "Hey, it's fine," he promised, kissing you softly but quickly. He cupped your cheek and tilted your head up to meet his gaze "I love you and you've made me feel things I didn't think I'd ever feel after what happened with Adeline. You've made me see with my own eyes that I'm-" "You mean your eye?" You interrupted with a teasing grin. "Watch it, baby, just because we're married doesn't mean I won't put you over my knee and spank your ass raw until your sobbing. Or maybe I'll tie you to the bed and do whatever I want like we did in New Orleans," he warned. "Are those threats or promises? Because I remember New Orleans as being very fun," you countered. "They're both. They're threats I promise to carry out," was his smug answer. "Oh no," came your sarcastic reply with a challenging smirk gracing your lips.

Tag Team: @honey-im-hotdog​ @bdffkierenwalker​

[meganlpie]

20 Questions

Based on this request: Can you do a Ketch x Reader where they are stuck in a room during a hunt and they can’t get out so they play 20 questions to get to know each other better and in the end confess their feelings for each other

Here you are, lovelies! *I do not own ANY SPN characters. They belong to the writers/creators of the show.*

Warnings: Trapped Together, fluff-ish?

Pairings: Arthur Ketch x reader

It was a good thing you didn't hate Ketch. Really it was. Because if you'd hated him, he wouldn't survive the night. He was driving you batty, pacing like a caged tiger. You understood why. You didn't much appreciate being trapped either, but it was that or become a monster's plaything. At least you'd been able to get into a place where you could ward against everything and the horde of demons couldn't get in.

"Ketch! Please just sit down, you're driving me nuts!" He paused long enough to glare at you before resuming his pacing. He didn't like being stuck in one space for too long. That much was obvious. Not to mention you were both exhausted from the hunt followed by the demon chase. They'd come out of nowhere after the two of you had taken out a vampire nest.

"Please. I know you're anxious to get out of here, but could you please settle down? We're safe in here for now and I called the boys. They're sending Jody and Donna to come help us." Ketch hummed before finally sitting in the only other chair in the room. It was then that you noticed the injury to his arm. "Were you bitten?" He shook his head. "No. That was from one of the demons." You hummed in response and then it got quiet again. Normally that didn't bother you, but stuck in one tiny room, the silence was almost stifling.

"Alright, rather than sitting here doing nothing, I think we should get to know each other better. If we're going to be hunting together more often, we may as well." Ketch's eyes flickered over to you for a moment before he asked, "What did you have in mind?" You felt a smile stretch over your lips. At least he was willing. You were certain you were going to have to practically pull teeth to get him to talk. From what you'd seen, Ketch was a pretty closed off man. Not that you blamed him after what he'd gone through.

"20 Questions. It's the easiest way I can think of." Ketch nodded once, his eyes regarding you as you shifted to try and get more comfortable. "Are you going to sit or stand there all night?" He arched a brow at your teasing tone. "Is that one of your questions? I must say, I expected more from you." You rolled your eyes and gave a sarcastic laugh. "Haha. Jokes. Who knew you had it in you? Now rules: once the game starts it doesn't stop until we've both asked 20 questions. The questions can be anything from the most simple to the most deep that require thought. And we must answer truthfully. Ready?" At Ketch's nod, you proceeded to start the game.

"I'll start with a basic question. Favorite color?" A small smirk made its way onto Ketch's lips as he shook his head at you. "Purple." You let out a small noise of surprise. "I would have suspected red or black." It was Ketch's turn to roll his eyes as he replied, "Purple is the color of royalty, darling. Now, I believe it's my turn. What would you be doing if you weren't a hunter?" You laughed lightly and had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

*time skip*

You and Ketch had spent what felt like hours asking questions back and forth. Not that you minded. It was nice getting an inside look into his mind. Although, your heart hurt for all the torture he'd gone through as a child and into his adulthood. By the time you got to the last round of questions, you wanted nothing more than to wrap the man up in a hug. Unfortunately, you were also at your last question.

You glance up into Ketch's eyes and asked the question you'd been avoiding. You weren't sure how he'd react in all honesty, but you were running out of questions at the moment. "Have you ever been in love?" Ketch's small smile faltered a bit. His brows lowered over his eyes as he tried to think. His gaze flickered over to you then back toward the door. For a moment, it didn't look like he was going to answer the question.

"Perhaps." It was your turn to look confused, prompting him to sigh. "Love is considered a…weakness in Kendrick's. It isn't something encouraged. That being said, I am uncertain as to what love feels like. It is possible I've been in love without realizing." His eyes met your again and you swore they were boring into your soul. You swallowed thickly, suddenly feeling the air in the room thicken with the tension he was causing.

"My last question then, is it?" he asked suddenly. The moment between you was broken in an instant. You nodded. You honestly thought you were going to get whiplash at the pace he changed the subject. Ketch stood and placed one hand in his pocket. You'd been around him long enough to know he only did that when he was grabbing a weapon or feeling unsure of himself. No one else had noticed it. They just thought it was a normal mannerism of his.

His eyes met yours again and he asked, "Do you think, after all I've done for the old men, that someone could love me? Help me have the happiness everyone around me seems to desire so much…Could you?" You blinked in surprise. That was not the question you were expecting. Ketch was very, very good at masking his feelings. There were rarely any signs of vulnerability in the man, though you were able to catch them here and there. Your mind was in a state of confusion so you said the first thing you could think of.

"That's two questions." Ketch scoffed lightly, but looked away from you. Even from his profile you could tell he was upset. You rose from your seat and closed the space between you. He turned his head so he could look at you once more. Without taking your eyes off his, you gently took the hand that wasn't in his pocket in your hand. "Truth?" you asked and he nodded. "Those were the rules after all, were they not?"

"I do. I know someone could love you. Someone doeslove you, Ke-Arthur." The only sign that Ketch was caught off guard was the slight tightening of his hand around yours. "Really?" he asked, disbelief lacing his voice. You never heard him sound so insecure before. It was odd. Still, you smiled. "Really." Your free hand moved up to cup his cheek.

You felt your heart hammering in your chest as a smirk replaced his look of disbelief. "I thought so. The sentiment is returned, darling." You wanted to be mad at him. He'd gotten you to admit something that you were petrified to admit. Still, with him so close, it was hard to think about anything other than having him as close as possible.

Just as Ketch's lips were about to meet yours, the doors burst open. The two of you sprang apart like two teenagers being caught making out on the parent's couch. "Oh, um…carry on," Donna's voice came from the doorway. She ushered Jody out, saying, "Nothing to see here, Jody. Move along." You felt your face heat up as Ketch let out a laugh, prompting you to do the same. You knew you'd never hear the end of this from Jody. Ketch took your hand again, placing a kiss to the back of it, before leading you out to the car.

(a/n: I hope you liked it!)

Forever Tags: @fizzyxcustard @brewsthespirit-blog @sirkekselord @aikibriarrose @lady-of-lies @esoltis280 @stories-by-shanna-p @motleymoose @dark-angel-is-back

SPN Tags: @jotink78

[missdawnandherdusk]

Beautiful Ghosts

Ghost!Reader X Draco

Summary: Request: @sydthekid1518​: I had an Idea for a draco fic, where y/n is a ghost that’s fairly popular with the students and staff, and draco falls for her and stuff? And then maybe y/n and Harry create a plan that would allow reader to come back to life and stuff and be with draco.

A/N: Happy spooky season to all and to all a good night filled with Draco Malfoy. I’m so excited about how this turned out and that I got it done before Halloween because the odds weren’t looking to hot not gonna lie, but here it is and it’s beautiful. As always, let me know what y’all think,,,

“Y/n, please don’t disturb my students,” Snape droned with a monotone voice.

“You’ve got no power over me, Severus,” I laughed, ghosting away from his Slytherins working on Polyjuice potion.

“But I do have control in this classroom, dead or not Miss Y/n, this is my domain,” Snape argued, ruffled.

“I’m eternally bonded to this school. It’s my domain more than it is yours,” I countered, perched on his desk.

“Blasted ghosts,” A boy muttered, catching my attention, “No respect for authority,”

Tilting my head, I made my way over to him, studying the young Slytherin. He was about the age that I was when I had died, moved on, crossed the veil—whatever. His steady grey eyes and twisted sneer told me all that I needed to know about him.

“Another Malfoy,” I mused. “Interesting... And where’s your respect for the dead Mr. Malfoy?”

His eyes went wide at the idea that I was addressing him at all. Like I spooked him. Imagine that, a ghost spooking someone.

“Enough Ms. Y/n. Kindly refrain from scaring my students if you must stay,” Snape intervened. “I’m not scared,” Malfoy shot back.

“Boo!” I teased before passing through the walls of the dungeon and into my favorite spot in the entire castle, even living: the library.

I never had so much time on my hands before being dead, and now I could just take a book and read. Pince had been able to enchant them in such a way that I was able to hold them and turn their pages still. I was in the middle of a riveting tale about a boy who never grew up and had his destiny forced upon him and could fly. Perched on one of the tops of the shelves, I was lost in another world of magic.

“I didn’t know you could read,” I heard the same condescending voice from Severus’ potions class earlier that day.

“Little Malfoy,” I smiled down at him, closing my book. “And why would you assume that? I don’t look that stupid, do I?”

“Well, no,” He fumbled. “But you’re a ghost, you’re dead,”

“Yes, and I like to read, anything else?” I raised an eyebrow at him.

“Don’t call me little Malfoy. My name’s Draco,” He huffed.

“But it annoys you,” I mocked a pout. “And you are a little Malfoy, a bit taller than your father, but young all the same,”

“Who are you calling young? We’re the same age,” His voice raised enough that Pince had to shush him.

“I was born in 1776, I think you’re a little young,”

“1776!?” Draco’s eyes bulged. “But... how? You’re...” Pince hushed him again. I floated down and perched on the desk, trying and failing to contain my laughter.

“Oh, so now you care little Malfoy?” I teased lightly. “What happened to your dismissal of spirits not hours ago?” He didn’t have an answer for that. He just stared and didn’t dare to meet my eyes. “If you really want to know, I’ll tell you some time, but you’re going to be late for McGonagall if you don’t get going,”

Flustered, Draco headed out of the library and I watched him go. Knowing that Remus had a class this hour with the infamous Harry Potter, I headed over and perched on a desk in the back.

“Miss Y/n,” Remus acknowledged, “Perhaps you’d like to aid us today as we learn about ghosts and spirits?” Even though he had grown quite a bit over the years, there was still the same shine in his eyes when he was able to teach—even if it wasn’t a rag-tag group of marauders.

“So... you’re a ghost?” A young Hermione asked, a girl who spent a lot of hours in my library.

“Yes,” I smiled at her. “There are different types of ghosts however,”

“Oh, yes, Poltergeists, Funnels, Whisps, Orbs, and Shades,” She said matter-of-factly.

“Exactly, and Hogwarts has them all,” I looked to Remus who nodded for me to continue. “Most of you know that Peeves is a Poltergeist, a trickster loud ghost. Sometimes they were loud and violent, sometimes... well sometimes you have something like Peeves.” The class laughed.

“I’m sure you all have heard of the Grey Lady?” Remus interjected. “Helena Ravenclaw was murdered by the Bloody Baron and spends the rest of her days here at Hogwarts, they are both what we classify as Funnel ghosts. Ghosts who visit loved ones or loved places,”

“What about Whisps?” An intrigued Weasley asked.

“Well, most others are Whisps,” I explained. “Nearly Headless Nick, the Fat Friar, and most others you see strolling about. There is no strict reason that they’re here, other than they chose not to move on, or felt their work on earth was not completed.”

“Orbs are normally the spirits of animals or humans travelling about,” I continued, “They mainly show up in photographs. It wasn’t till after I died that cameras were invented, and they were found,”

“Any what kind of ghost are you?” A shy kid in the back asked. The class of kids turned to me, all expectant.

“I’m a Shade,” I explained. “It means that when I died, I wasn’t meant to. My soul knowing that, remained, and here I am,”

“Shades are very rare in the Wizarding World,” Remus cut in, “Not many are killed before their time, and many of them are very young,”

“Aren’t Shades allowed to come back though?” Hermione asked. “Because they were wrongfully killed? Doesn’t fate allow them another chance?”

Remus and I shared a look. I remembered when he had asked me that same question when he was no more than a third year as well. There was a solemn sorrow in his eyes.

“Yes,” I answered hesitantly. “There is a possibility, but the odds are almost impossible. Most of them have to do around prophecies.”

Class had ended, and Hermione waved as she went to leave. I lingered behind a bit with Remus for old times’ sake. He was one who had always been kind to me. I was one who never judged him for being a werewolf before he found his marauders.

“Sirius escaped from Azkaban,” He whispered softly, his gaze fixed on the papers on his desk. “I... I thought I was over it. Over him. He had my best friends killed,”

Pity flooded my chest as I hovered over to him, my hand ghosting above his.

“That wasn’t your fault Remus...” Was I going to give away the truth that I knew? Or would I keep it a secret? “And it wasn’t Sirius’ either,”

“How can you say that!” Remus slammed his hand on the desk. “He gave away Lily and James’ location! Then he killed Peter!”

“Remus,” I shook my head. “I can’t tell you everything, because it’s not in the stars, but... your friend isn’t who you think he is,”

A quiet moment passed between us and rather than get upset at me like I had thought he would, he spoke softly and surely.

“You’re... you’re saying there’s hope?”

“There’s always hope,” I offered a soft smile. “For all of us... even me,”

“How are you doing with that? The prophecy?” He asked.

I sighed and shook my head. “I might really be stuck like this for the rest of... forever...” 

“Is there anything...?”

“No,” I denied softly. “Interfering with a prophecy can ruin it,”

“Can,” Remus stressed. “Not that it will,”

“But is it worth that risk?” I countered. “I could lose my one shot to come back. To be human again,”

“If I could be human again, I’d take any chance I could,” Remus’ eyes held a sadness that very few could sympathize with. One of those was me.

“Perhaps you’re right,” I murmured and let him be, drifting around the halls for a bit then back to the library to think some more and maybe find the right answer.

What I didn’t expect to find however was Draco, fast asleep where we had spoken earlier, draped over a few books and handwritten notes. I hadn’t noticed the late hour, sometimes time did elude me, and the days seemed to run together.

I didn’t want to wake the young Malfoy, instead, I peered at the books underneath him. Potions books, it seemed. Supposing that a Slytherin might have a partiality to Snape’s class, there was no need to question why he’d rather work on this subject than the others. Knowing Pince would chase Draco out of the library if he didn’t wake, my notion to not disturb him fell to the wayside.

“Malfoy!” I whispered loudly. “Draco, wake up!”

It was useless to try and shake him awake, I wasn’t able to. I could however pull the book out from under his resting head. So, I did.

“Bloody hell,” Draco grumbled, rubbing his eyes. “What’d you do that for?” 

“You fell asleep?”

“And that was the only way you know how to wake a person?” He snapped, blinking into consciousness.

I gave him a flat look and reached out to touch him. He shied away, but it was in vain because my hand passed right through his material body.

“Oh,” He muttered. “But you can touch the books?”

“Pince and I worked on that together,” I informed him. “Did you think I would spend eternity and not figure out how to read?”

“I... uh,” He stammered, blushing a bit. “How come I’ve never met a ghost like you before?” 

“And that means?” I pressed, perching on the desk.

“Well, all of the other ghosts are... I don’t know... stuck in their ways? Not sad about being ghosts? Haven’t kept up on things like reading?”

“You think I’m sad about being a ghost?” I mused.

“I... you—I mean,” He stammered, looking down in embarrassment. “You just seem... optimistically hopeless,” It was almost mumbled through his exhaustion.

“You know those words have opposite meaning, right?” I teased softly. “And... I’m a Shade. I doubt you’ve met another before like me,”

“A Shade?”

“Do you not pay attention in Remus’ class?” I raised an eyebrow at him.

“I don’t have his class until tomorrow,” Draco dismayed. “And it’s a stupid class anyway,”

“Defense against the dark arts isn’t stupid,” I refuted. “Especially with Remus teaching it,”

“You knew him then... when he went here. Professor Lupin,” Draco noted.

“Yes,” Lost in thought, a quietness passed before I spoke again. “When you learn what a Shade is, you’ll understand,”

“You could just tell me,” Draco whined, listlessly tired.

“But then you won’t pay attention in class,” I smiled. “Go on to bed, Draco. I’m not going anywhere,”

____________________________

Draco sulked in bed that night, thinking about you. Thinking about what a Shade was. Of course, he didn’t wait for class in the morning, instead he took out his DADA book and began to read up on ghosts. And he read. And read. And read. And barely found anything about what a Shade was. All that he knew was that you died when before your time. Maybe that was why he saw the sadness in your eyes.

He had every intention to be at Lupin’s class that day, but having Mythical Creatures beforehand, things hadn’t gone as planned.

“There’s always one,” Your voice sounded amused. “Why am I not surprised it was you, Little Malfoy?”

“It was the bloody hippogriff,” Draco snapped back.

“And somehow I don’t think that’s the entire truth,” You mused, hovering at his bedside. Until Pomfrey gave him the clear to leave, he was stuck with you.

“Won’t you just leave me alone?” He groaned, closing his eyes and laying back on the lumpy pillows of the hospital cot.

“Did you not want to learn about Shades? You’re going to miss Remus’ class after all,” The smile he heard in your voice made him look over to you, skeptical.

Your offer was tempting. Very tempting. He didn’t care much about magic other than excelling at it, therefore things that didn’t pertain to his advancement—mythical creatures and the like— held no inkling to him. And yet, you were a mystery he didn’t mind learning about. He wanted to know more about you. And you specifically.

“I guess, since I’m stuck here,” He tried to play it off as nonchalance, but you raised an eyebrow at him, seeing right through his charade.

“Well, Little Malfoy,” You hovered and perched on the end of his bed. “What do you know?”

“I... uh. Shades are people who have died before their time,” He stammered, not sure why he was so nervous.

“Quite,” You nodded. “Anything else?”

“Our book didn’t have anything else,” He admitted.

You went pensive a moment then nodded. “I suppose that you’d learn more about me in Divination than the Dark Arts,”

“Divination? You’ve got to be bloody joking! That class is a circus!” Draco exclaimed, wincing when he moved his arm too much.

“Perhaps,” You didn’t berate him, but seemed to be lost in thought once more. “But all Shades are tied to prophecies.”

“All of them?” Draco pressed.

“The fates understand that these souls left before their time, and give them another chance, a prophecy... to come back and live one more time.”

“So, you have the chance to live again?” His genuine curiosity seemed to shock both of you. “How?”

“If the prophecy is fulfilled, then I get to live again,” You said it as if it were obvious. 

“So, why haven’t you, I don’t know... fulfilled it?” Draco asked.

You laughed something sad and soft. “Don’t you think I’ve tried? I’ve read every prophecy, every book, every scribble. I’ve tried everything... after so many centuries, you give up hope and accept your fate,”

“But this wasn’t your fate,” He argued back. “You were meant to live, back then, whatever that life was,”

“Do you know what happened when I was young, before I died, Little Malfoy?” You spoke, and he could hear the age in your voice though you liked no older than he was. It was your sorrow that aged you. He waited for you to continue. “I was born in 1776, the year the Americans went to war with the King of England. At the time we were living in the French countryside with my aunt because my father had gone to fight in the war. He was a general,” A smile ghosted your lips. “My father died in the war... the battle of Yorktown... that’s what it’s called today. Back then it was just a letter and inheritance money that went to my brother,”

“Hang on, you’re saying that your father fought in the American War of Independence? Under the king?”

“So, he can be taught,” You smiled at him. “Yes, the king at the time was a wizard and until parliament and the ministry were born and declared that muggles and wizards should rule themselves. Of course, the ministry was formed in the beginning of that century, but it took the war for them to call the final straw.”

“So, your father died in the war, that doesn’t explain what happened to you,” Draco pointed out, deeply invested.

“Well, tell me, what happened in France after that war ended?”

“The French Revolution,”

Your warm smile had the same effect as the sun. “Yes, and as I said, I was in France at the time, being tutored at home for the summer. Muggle girls weren’t allowed to go to school back then... I travelled to Hogwarts to receive schooling and even then, I was only allowed to learn Herbology and Potions. At least those two classes stayed the same,” You sounded sad and wistful. “But the revolutionists were going for the rich, any sort of rich. And at the time, they saw knowledge as wealth and power, and I had a reputation for being able to read and attending a private school out of the country and well...”

“They killed you because you knew how to read?” Draco distressed, sitting up, enraptured by your tale. “That’s so... stupid,”

“It was. But perhaps it was my own fault, I wouldn’t deny that I could read. I was proud.” Your smile faded again as melancholy settled on your face. “Now it seems that’s all I do. Fate is funny like that...”

“You’re free to go Mr. Malfoy,” Madam Pomfrey’s voice seemed to draw you both from whatever world had been created with your words.

He had to blink a few times to come to grips with the fact that he was currently in the hospital wing at Hogwarts, and not centuries behind, trying to imagine death for the reason of knowledge. There was an awkward moment between the two of you as you both seemed to realize that you were no longer int eh late eighteenth century. You offered a smile and left without another word, a curious look on your face as you left.

That was the last time he saw you that day, and that week for that matter, but he always wondered what you were doing. What were you reading today? What was your prophecy? Was it really as hopeless as you said it was? Was there a reason that he found himself caring?

______________________

“Oh, hello Harry,” I stood from the corner of Remus’ office, intrigued that the young Potter had come. He looked so much like his father that my heart ached for Remus and to imagine what he felt when he saw Harry.

“Y/n,” Harry seemed surprised. “I... uh... you know Professor Lupin?”

“Well I was here when he went to Hogwarts himself, so yes, I’m quite fond of him if you can believe it,” I smiled as Remus eyed the situation.

“Is there something that you needed Harry?” Remus asked, trying to sound professional, but I could hear the sentiment in his voice.

“The map...” Harry turned slightly pink.

A smile grew on my face. “You have the Marauder’s Map?” I almost laughed. “How in the world did you get that? Oh, if your father knew,” I did laugh this time.

Remus shot me a sharp look and Harry looked at me in wonder.

“My father? You knew my father?” The realization seemed to dawn him.

“Yes, well,” Remus interjected sharply. “Don’t get caught again Potter,”

“Why haven’t you told him?” I demanded as soon as Harry left. “Remus, come on, that’s not fair to Harry,”

“I’m not the one to tell him though! I can’t be!” He protested and I could hear the anxiety in his voice.

“Remus, I’ve known you a long time. And I’ve known James and Lily. They would want you to talk to him. They would want you apart of his life,” I argued, or perhaps encouraged softly.

“Maybe you’re right,” Remus mumbled.

“Of course, I am,” I smiled. “It’ll work out Re, with Sirius, and with Harry,” 

“I hope you’re right,”

I left him to his thoughts and on my way to the library, I was ambushed by the younger Potter. Not that I wasn’t expecting it, I knew that Harry would have questions for me as soon as he knew I knew his father.

“Hello Harry,” I smiled.

“You know about my dad,” He burst out, hope in his eyes and tone.

“And your mother,” I smiled and perched on the windowsill nearby.

“Can you tell me about them? Please?” His eyes went glossy with tears that he blinked away.

“Your mother was bold, but still kind and gentle. She looked out for the little guy. She rooted for the underdog and protected the younger years of any House. She was always kind to me. Her and Remus both.” The memory was fond, if it was a memory. Did ghosts have memories after they were dead?

“And my dad?” He clung to every word.

“He... was a bit like you. Always finding trouble whether it was his fault or not. Totally deserved to be smacked a few times... but the war changed him. He grew up rather quickly. Into a protective caring young man. Almost everyone had eyes for him, but he only saw your mother,”

“Do... you think they would be proud of me?” His gaze dropped to his beat-up sneakers. 

“Harry,” I called his attention. “You’re their son, they’ll always be proud of you,” 

“But—”

“No buts,” I interjected. “That’s all it takes for you to make them proud, I promise,”

He nodded and mumbled a thanks before taking off toward the Gryffindor dorm. Finding solace in the library, I began to read again. Maybe a week had passed. Perhaps two. I wasn’t sure. I was so wrapped up in my books that I became lost to time. Until a blond-haired boy came in, his nose stuck in a book.

“I was wondering when I’d see you again Little Malfoy,” I smiled, from my perch in the library. He didn’t acknowledge me, causing me to frown. “Draco?” I ghosted down and perched on the table next to him. “Are you ghosting a ghost?”

Though he ignored me I could see the smile that twitched at his lips. That gave me little hope. “Is everything alright?” I asked, genuine concern coloring my voice.

“Ask Potter,” Draco snapped. “You seem to fancy him lately,”

“Excuse me?” I was taken aback. “Harry? He just wanted to know about his parents, that’s all,” 

Draco frowned at this and he finally looked at me. “His parents?”

“Yes,” I rolled my eyes. “It’s not like he has a lot of people who know his parents and are willing to tell him anything. Dumbledore has made almost everyone vow not to talk to him, but what good is a vow to someone who’s already in the grave?” I shrugged. “Poor kid knows nothing,”

“I...” Draco didn’t seem to have the words. Instead he looked back down at his book. I smiled and rolled my eyes at his antics.

“If you care that much, you are still my favorite Little Malfoy,” His cheeks tinged pink and I laughed. “You’re something else Malfoy, you know that?”

“Says the girl who died for admitting that she could read instead of lying,” He raised an eyebrow at me. I chuckled and shrugged.

“Says the boy who avoided me for what, two weeks, because I talked to a boy about his dead parents,” I mused.

“It wasn’t two weeks,” Draco grumbled. “Nine days,” 

“Oh, forgive me,” I laughed. “Nine days.”

He smiled and looked back down at his notes. I think it was the first time I had ever seen him smile and not sneer.

“So, nine days,” He prompted. “I assume you haven’t left the library... read anything interesting?”

I laughed and somehow the hours passed as Draco and I spoke about books and stories we had read as kids, and the ones we were currently invested in. It shocked me to know that he was an avid reader, of fantasy novels, nonetheless. Though I had read just about everyone that he had mentioned, there were a few that I added to my mental list of his that I said I would check out. He seemed sincerely happy at my interest of the books he read.

“Father thought they were childish,” He muttered when I asked him about it. “Fairytales and fantasies,”

“That’s stupid,” I scoffed, and Draco gaped at me, aghast that I would dare to call something his father said ‘stupid.’ It made me pause. “You... you know you don’t have to always agree with your parents,”

His gaze cast downward. “I don’t want to disappoint them,”

My face furrowed. “You’re they’re son, that’s enough for them to be proud,”

“You don’t know my parents,” He scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “I think the last time they were proud of me, is when I was sorted into Slytherin.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” I protested.

“You don’t know my parents,” Draco argued again.

“I do,” I retorted. “Or I did,”

The notion seemed to dawn on Draco as he stared up at me with wonder in his eyes. 

“You did,” He realized. “Can you tell me about them... have they always been so...” 

“Strict?” I offered.

“Suffocating,” Draco supplied.

I pressed my lips together and thought a moment.

“Your father, perhaps. I never spoke to him much, and he never paid me mind. But you mother,” I smiled at the memories that came flooding back. “She was bold, cunning. She loved her sisters with a fierce passion.” My smile. “The three of them were some of the brightest witches I’d ever seen,” I glanced over to him. “You have her eyes, her same spirit,”

A smile drew on his lips as his face turned a soft shade of pink. “Do you know that because you’re a ghost?” He mused.

“No, I’m just a girl who can read character pretty well. After seeing so many faces pass through here, and reading so many stories, there are those who stand out and stay with you. Your mother... she stood out to me. And I can see her in your eyes,” My demeanor softened as I realized the words I was saying and if I could have, I would have blushed.

“Thank you,” He whispered as the clock chimed a late hour.

“You should head back,” I sighed softly. “Get some rest,”

“Why don’t I ever see you near the Slytherin dorm?” Draco asked, gathering his things. 

“I’d rather not cross paths with the Baron,” I admitted.

“The Baron? Why?” Draco frowned; his bag slung over his shoulder.

“Never you mind,” I smiled. “Get to bed Little Malfoy,”

“Don’t call me that,” He grumbled, trudging out of the library.

The night progressed as did the month and I went from one book to another, soon searching for a book I hadn’t in a long time. My diary from when I was alive. Published as its own book that I had found a few decades ago. Tucked into the pages was what held my fate. My prophecy.

I went to the shelf in which I knew my book had its home, but it wasn’t there. Instead a sliver of time carved away by my missing book. Drifting over to Pince I asked her about where my book had gone. She told me that Malfoy had checked it out and had it for about a week—since the day we spent in the infirmary together.

For the first time in a long time I felt... embarrassed that my story and thoughts were on display for anyone to read. I never cared before, but this felt different.

Cursing the late hour, I knew that there was no way to get to Draco now. The Bloody Baron was protective about other ghosts coming into the Slytherin dorms. I’d have to find him in the morning then. I considered loitering outside the Slytherin portrait, but I also did not want to go anywhere near the Bloody Baron. I had heard and read enough.

So instead I headed to the Astronomy Tower to watch the stars again, having silent conversations with them, wondering if they’d ever grant me life again.

“You’re glowing,”

The voice startled me enough that I actually jumped. The irony of scaring a ghost. I turned to see Draco behind me, his eyes glued to my shimmering skin.

“Yes, all ghosts do it under the moon and stars,” I noted. “By the way, can I have my book back?” I stood, going over to him.

“Your book?” He questioned.

“My book,” I restressed. “My diary? That you have from the library? The one that has my—” I stopped myself.

“Your prophecy.” Draco finished, offering me the book that he had drawn from his robes. “Yeah, I know.”

I stared at him curiously, pulling the book back into the security of my arms, where it belonged. That uncertain feeling returned to my chest.

“You know it’s rude to read a girl’s diary,” I retorted, defensive.

“It’s a published book in the library, anyone can read it,” Draco rolled his eyes. I gave him a flat look and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “So, have you figured out what it means?”

I sighed softly and shook my head in defeat. “The only thing I’m sure of is the great star is Sirius,”

“Sirius, like Sirius Black? Escaped Azkaban criminal?” Draco exasperated.

“Well, the star is his name sake. But I’m sure you of all people know that Draco,” I raised an eyebrow at him. “Your family has a knack for celestial namesakes. If I remember correctly, Sirius is your mother’s cousin,”

“What?” Draco demanded. “No! There is no way!”

“Draco,” I reached out for him in vain as he paced in anger and confusion. “Draco will you calm down?” I nearly shouted.

“Calm down!? How can I when I know that I’m related to that criminal!?” He demanded.

“Sirius isn’t a criminal!” I argued back. “He didn’t kill Peter or those people!” I gasped, covering my mouth in shame, my eyes wide. That was a secret that I wasn’t supposed to tell.

“What do you mean he didn’t kill those people?” Draco sneered, stalking up to me.

“I—I’m not supposed to...” I took a step back, ghostly tears welling in my eyes. “I wasn’t supposed to... Merlin,” I cried, sliding to the ground.

Draco’s demeanor changed from anger to worried and concerned. Not that I noticed through my distress. I felt as if I had just betrayed one of my best friends.

“Y/n, what... what in the world are you talking about?” Draco asked sitting beside me, a failed attempt to reach out and comfort me.

“I promised. I promised I wouldn’t tell what I knew until the time was right,” I sobbed. “Bloody hell, he’ll never trust me again,” I squeaked.

“Who?” Draco demanded.

I looked at him, wide eyed with fear, shaking my head softly. “I... I can’t. I’m sorry Draco,”

I dematerialized and rematerialized in a quiet portion of the castle grounds, away from the rest of the students, among the woods. The trees welcomed me and the further I walked in, the less tied to the castle I felt. I came to a lake and sat beside it. Crying tears that would never fall in my undead state, I stared at the water and my lack of reflection.

“I’m so sorry Sirius,” I wept softly. “I didn’t mean to tell him... I was just defending you,”

“I’m surprised you kept the secret this long,”

Again, I jumped, startled by the voice behind me.

“Hey there Spooks,” Sirius gave a lopsided smile, the years in Azkaban resting in his eyes and in the lines on his face.

“Sirius,” I gasped. “What are you doing? It’s not safe here!” I protested.

“I couldn’t leave my girl to cry, now could I?” He smirked, before his expression sobered.

 “You should,” I sniffed. “I’m so sorry Sirius, it slipped out,”

“I know,” He held his hands up in a calming effort. “I knew it would, and it’s okay. Who did you tell? It wasn’t Moony was it?”

“No,” I looked down. “But you need to tell him Sirius, he deserves to know,”

“He won’t even talk to me. He thinks that I betrayed James and Lily and killed all of his friends,” Sirius toed at the dirt—the same tick he had in his Hogwarts years when he had been caught in a lie or prank.

“But you didn’t,” I protested. “He still loves you Sirius, I can see it in his eyes and when he talks about you and James...”

“He—no,” Sirius shook his head. “That’s not for you to worry about,”

“Do not make me mother you,” I threatened. “Talk to Remus,”

“I will,” Sirius sighed. “When the time is right,”

“As a girl who’s waited for centuries for the right time... talk to him as soon as you can,” There was a pity-filled look on his face that I brushed off.

“Any luck with that? Your prophecy?” He seemed almost hopeful.

“No,” I sighed. “But there is one who took the time to ask this year. Like Remus did his first year,” The memory was a soft spot for both of us.

“You were his first friend,” Sirius smiled at the same memory. “So, who is it this year?” 

“Little Malfoy,”

Sirius snorted. “We both know you don’t have a sense of humor, drop the act,”

“I’m ser—” He gave me a look and I paused to rephrase. “I’m telling the truth. It was Draco who asked, who read my diary, and knows about the prophecy,” I hesitated. “He’s also the one I told,” My gaze dropped to the ground waiting for the backlash.

“Malfoy!?” Sirius demanded. “You told Malfoy!?”

“I’m sorry! I told you I was sorry!” I shouted back, bristling, feeling my body shudder. Sirius seemed to notice and took a few paces away and composed himself.

I dared to speak. “All he knows is that you didn’t kill Peter. That’s all. I’m so sorry Sirius,” I turned, and he was gone. “Fine! Leave!” I shouted. “Like always... like everyone...”

I let out a scream of frustration that was carried away with the wind. Letting out a sigh of defeat I wandered up to the castle again.

“Y/n?” For the third time tonight, I jumped at the call of my name. It was Draco again.

 “Draco, look,” I started. “I...”

“No,” He stopped me softly. “I’m sorry... I...” He shook his head and took off down the hall towards the Slytherin dorms. Chasing after him, he was too far gone, and I was face to face with the Baron.

“Oh, could this night get any worse?” I shouted to no one in particular. “I don’t mean to trespass, apologies.”

“Stay out of my territory and away from my students, you little harlot,” The Baron sneered. 

“Gladly,” I growled back. “Arse,” I muttered as I ghosted back to the upper levels of the castle.

Utterly lost on what to do, I found myself by the Black Lake, staring up at the moon and stars. I stayed there until the sun rose over the dark waters, painting the valleys in a golden light. I remained there, watching the sun and moon dance in the sky in an unchangeable waltz that continued for eternity.

“They said you were out here,”

I didn’t jump this time at the sound of his voice as the moon rose to her duet again.

“Hello, Draco,” I murmured softly. “Come to watch the stars with me?”

“Sure,” I could hear the smile in his voice as he sat beside me on the bank of the lake, the only sound was the music of the night, the lake lapping at the small beach, and his gentle breaths.

“I... I’m really sorry,” He murmured softly. “For that night, I didn’t mean to get so angry. I wasn’t upset with you...” Silence fell softly between us. “My parents never told me... I wrote to my mother...” My eyes widened as I gazed over at him, his pale skin almost having the same affect that mine did in the moon light. “I never knew...”

“I’m sorry,” I offered.

“Merlin don’t apologize to me,” He laughed hopelessly.

“Well I did sort of freak out on you, so... sorry.”

He shrugged and his gaze fixed on the moonlit water. “My father thinks it’s absurd that I’m talking to you... and I think my mother is slightly worried about me for it,”

“Any particular reason?” I mused.

“Father has always been against those different than him in any way... my mother probably worries that I’m not making friends...talking to ghosts...” A smile toyed at his lips at the mention of his mother.

“Are we not friends then?” I teased lightly, causing him to laugh.

“Sure,” He rolled his eyes at me, this time causing me to laugh. “Do you miss them?” He asked after a quiet moment.

“Who?”

“Your parents... your family?” He seemed almost afraid to ask.

I pondered the question. “Yes, sometimes... but I’ve spent a lot of years wasting tears that will never fall over people I can never see again... you move on and learn to live after a while... well as much as a ghost can live,”

“You can’t cry, can you?” He came to the fact easier and saner than most did.

I shook my head. “I can feel bitter sorrow, the worst loss, but I can never shed a tear,” I chuckled humorlessly. “The irony, I have the most to mourn and I can’t even cry,”

“I’m sorry,”

I shrugged. “I’ve lived a long time without being able to cry... just reminds me that I’ll never be quite human again,”

“But you could be,” He had more hope than I ever had about the fact. 

“Yeah,” I scoffed. “That stupid prophecy,”

“I don’t think it’s stupid,”

“You’ve haven’t spent centuries wondering what it meant,” I argued back:

“In the days when evil lurks around every corner; 

The condemned will become innocent; 

And the innocent will become condemned; 

True love can reanimate a deceased heart; 

Under the star of Great Dog; 

She will become alive as time is altered; 

Two souls will be set free that day as the star takes her place.”

“True love,” I scoffed again; my lips pressed together. “Like some sort of stupid fairytale,” 

“I thought you said that fairytales weren’t stupid,” Draco raised an eyebrow at me smirking.

“They’re not,” I rolled my eyes. “Believing that there’s true love out there to save me? That’s stupid,”

“Then maybe there’s no hope for any of us,” Draco sighed. “If someone like you can’t find true love, where’s the hope for the rest of us,”

A smile ghosted me lips at his words as I looked over to him, his eyes still trained on the water.

“You’re really sweet sometimes, you know that Malfoy?” His eyes darted to mine as his cheeks tinged pink.

“Will you come back inside?” He asked softly. “The library isn’t as interesting without you there,”

“Sure,” I smiled warmly at him.

Fall turned to winter turned to spring, and Draco and I spent a lot more time together than I cared to admit. He was almost easier to talk to than anyone else I had met. And that was saying something, because I knew Remus Lupin, who was fascinated with my fascination of the young Malfoy.

But all the same, I found myself crave Draco’s company more and more and cursing the Baron for not letting me see him while he was in his dorm. It was rough when he came down with a cold and I wasn’t able to see him for a week. No number of books could distract me from the fact that he wasn’t there to talk to. That he wasn’t here to talk to me. I had never missed anyone like this before.

But when he felt better, we’d press curfew to mere minutes just to get another word in with each other. Then he’d have to be human and I’d have to remember that I didn’t belong in his world and never could. It didn’t stop me, however, from finding and talking to him the next day. Or the day after that. Or the day after that.

Then there was a day in late spring that caught my attention as Sirius had finally gotten to Harry and his friends, but things had gone from bad to worse as I watched the scene unfold, doing the only thing I could think of, I spirited away to find Remus. He would know what to do, he would know how to help.

After I had explained what I had seen, Remus grabbed his wand and took off towards the Whomping Willow. I followed him, and as soon as I left the castle, I felt the dark presence of the dementors around me.

“No!” I shouted, going up to meet them, and for the first time in a long time gave into my spiritual power, long enough to hold them off and let Remus pass through safely.

I hovered over the Shrieking Shack, keeping the dementors as bay, away from Sirius, away from Remus. They didn’t dare to go near my pure light that was amplified by the full moon. Soon I saw the three of them emerge, Peter in chains, when the light of the full moon hit my little Remus.

With a cry of desperation, I did my best to keep the dementors away as I watched the horrors unfold before me before I couldn’t take it any long and chased after Remus, who was not a wolf into the wood.

“Remus!?” I shouted; my voice lost with the wind. “Remus, it’s me! Please come out!” I caught sight of Hermione and Harry and gestured that they should leave, and quickly. “Remus!?”

I heard a growl and turned, seeing golden scared eyes. 

“Hey,” I cooed softly. “You’re alright, you can’t hurt me,” 

A pained howl left his lips.

“I know,” I replied. “But you’re going to be alright, let get you back, yeah? To Prongs and Pads, they’re waiting for you.” Tears I wanted to cry weren’t shed at the pitiful heartbreaking whine that left his lips.

But he let me lead him back to the Shrieking Shack all the same. I stayed with him until McGonagall and Dumbledore came. There was a soft thank you from the both of them. I drifted back to the castle, pacing in anxiety.

“Y/n?” It was Draco’s voice. I turned.

“Draco, it’s not safe!” I squeaked. “What are you doing out of bed!?”

“I had to see you,” He confessed. “There are rumors, about Black and Lupin... I thought you’d... Are you alright?”

“Draco, really,” I glanced around, cursing that I couldn’t drag him inside to where it was safer. “It’s not safe for you out here,”

“Bloody hell, Y/n, what about you!?”

“I’m already dead! So, unless you’d like to join me!” I shouted, realizing after the fact what I had said. “Draco, I didn’t mean that,”

“You’re keeping things from me,” It was a broken accusation. “About Sirius, about Remus,”

“Draco, please,” I pulled away. “I... I have to go, I have to make sure that he’s alright,” My eyes trailed up to the top of the tower, knowing that I may have been the reason that Sirius was in chains again.

“No!” Draco shouted, drawing my attention.

He had never demanded anything of me before, not like this. It wasn’t the fact that he told me to stop, it was the notion that he had found his own voice in it that caused me to pause. I waited for him to continue.

“I’ve spent all year, all of my three years here, knowing you, and getting to know you and I’m not going to let you walk away again! I want to know! I don’t want this you can’t tell me act. If anyone, you can tell me. Can’t you trust me? Please,” His voice broke, unshed tears in his eyes.

“Draco,” My non-material heart broke a bit as he stood before me, vulnerable. Shaking and terrified I nodded. “Remus... is a werewolf. Sirius is an Animagus. Peter betrayed the Potters, and Sirius went to confront him. Peter faked his death and killed all those people and it was blamed on Sirius...” In my nervousness I began to ramble:

“...and Sirius and Remus confronted Peter tonight and Harry and his friends were there and I had to fight off dementors so that Sirius would be okay because I couldn’t bear to see him get hurt for something he didn’t do and then I had to go and help Remus because it’s a full moon and he won’t hurt me but for the love of merlin he will hurt you so will you please go inside!”

Draco gaped at me, in utter disbelief.

“Please Draco, go inside,”

“Only if you come with me,” He recovered.

My thoughts for Sirius were forgotten as I took a step closer to him. Instead, all I could see and focus on was the heartbreak on his face and the hand that he held out for me. A hand that I wanted to accept but knew that I couldn’t because I would phase right through him. Never had I loathed being dead so much but in that moment when all I wanted to do was comfort him.

For the first time in almost two hundred years, tears slid down my cheeks. I barely noticed. 

“Please,” His voice shook as did his hand as it remained extended to me. “Please, Y/n,” 

The moon fell behind the mountains as the sun shed her first light onto us.

And with reckless abandon, I reached out for him, for his hand. In desperation and false hope, closing my eyes, knowing my heart would never break more that in the next few moments for not being a part of his world.

Then my hand felt softness and warmth.

I gasped and jerked back, and Draco seemed to realize this as I did.

“You just...” He stammered.

“I...” Trembling, I held my hand up, the sunlight no longer passing through it but refracting off of it. I finally reached up and felt the wetness of tears on my cheeks as I gasped in pure joy.

“I’m human,” I laughed, “I’m human!” I marveled at my rosy skin and the soft green fabric of my dress as I felt the grass beneath my feet. After a moment, I, at last, looked to Draco, who seemed to be frozen in a state of wonder and disbelief, and almost... scared.

“Draco,” I called softly, “It’s me,” I offered my hand to him, the grin not leaving my face. 

“You’re... and...”

I nodded and smiled, taking a step closer to him. “Not scared of ghosts, are you?” I teased softly.

He finally laughed and took my hand, pulling me close, into the comfort of his arms. I began to cry again because for the first time in two hundred and fifty years, I was hugged. I clung to him, my fingers marveling at the softness of his shirt, trailing up into his hair.

“Merlin,” Draco pulled away softly. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this,”

Before I could ask him what he meant—or argue that I had been waiting longer than he ever had—he pressed his lips to mine, and in that moment, I swear I could have died all over again in his arms.

.

In the days when evil lurks around every corner, 

The condemned will become innocent,

And the innocent will become condemned.

True love can reanimate a deceased heart, 

Under the star of Great Dog,

She will become alive as time is altered; 

Two souls will be set free that day as the star takes her place.

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hufflepuff series

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[thefanficmonster]

Bouquet

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: None

Genre: FLUFF, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Having come clean about being single for a very long time now and considering herself completely out of the dating scene, Y/N’s confession is taken and responded to with a ton of kindness, especially from a special someone...

Requested by Anon. Hi hun! Thank you so much for your lovely request, it was such a joy to write! I’m so sorry for the long wait you had to go through but the fic is finally here and I hope you enjoy reading it! Love, Vy ❤

I roll out of bed with little to no desire to start my day. We haven’t got a scheduled stream for today and the clouds glooming in the sky seem to be promising rain so really what do I have to get up for except that it’s a rule society installed?

Just kidding, I’m basically stalling and that’s all.

So what happened was the streamer gang and I were playing Among Us last night and our conversation during the pause between rounds somehow swerved into relationship territory. I stayed quiet the majority of if not all the time because I had no valid input to offer. 

If you know me you know I’m not one of the performers on the dating scene. I have never really confirmed it with my fans - well, until last night, that is - but I bet they have picked up on that fact considering I’ve been on YouTube for around a decade and have never had a partner. That being said, I’d have to also mention that I have in fact dated but someone but it was before my YouTube era started. Me choosing this career path, which back then was just a hobby, had nothing to do with the relationship ending but it still motivated me to not to actively look for a relationship while I’m still focused on my career. It’s too much work, too much stress and requires a lot of balance I most certainly either don’t have or I don’t have the energy to put in balancing my romantic and professional lives. Luckily, no one’s ever pressured me into finding a significant other, not yet at least, so no societal pressure for me!

But I gotta admit I felt real awkward admitting all this last night.

“Hey Y/N what do you think? You’ve been awfully quiet?“ Rae asks, causing me to jolt in my seat from where I’ve been reading my chat for the past five minutes, my mic muted.

I quickly unmute to reply, blushing ever so slightly, “Um, sorry I was reading my chat. What do I think about what?”

“The gesture of giving flowers to your significant other, is it romantic or a waste of money and plant murder?“ Rae explains, still managing to catch me off-guard with her question.

I ponder what my response should be for a little bit before deciding to level it to a neutral level where I almost sound indifferent, “It is in fact plant murder basically and artificial flowers would definitely be a better gift - plus they’ll last longer.”

“Mhmm yeah that’s true.“ Poki agrees with me, “But there’s still the question of whether it’s a romantic gesture or not. I personally don’t think it’s overrated or cheesy, I actually quite like it. What about you, Y/N?“

And now she’s got me in a real trap that I can’t wiggle out of without speaking my truth. I don’t know where this sudden anxiety around the subject came from but it now resides within me rent free and makes me feel self-conscious and embarrassed of the confession I’m inevitably make.

“Um, I wouldn’t know for certain, I’ve never received flowers myself...“ I say sheepishly, cringing at the sound of my own voice, “It’s not like I’ve dated plenty of people and the one guy I did date wasn’t really romantic or anything, I mean - we were teenagers, after all. But when I think about it in theory I think I’d like the gesture: it’s thoughtful, plus you get a temporary but beautiful piece of décor out of it.“

I’m gonna hope I didn’t sound too pitiful or desperate. Of course I’m not gonna check afterward on the stream cause I’d rather live in the illusion of having sounded humorous rather than be given the confirmation that I didn’t.

“Wait, wait, wait, did you date your last boyfriend like a decade ago?“ Corpse is now the one talking and that makes me feel even more anxious. This is not the impression one would want to give to their crush, is it? Oh well, no turning back now.

“Correct.“ I reply with a laugh that I hope didn’t sound as nervous as it was.

“And you’ve never, like in your whole life, received flowers from someone?“ He sounds astonished which sort of makes me want to shrink up in my shell like a turtle. Too bad I don’t have a shell though. I’m genuinely thinking of the option to rip the router out of the outlet right now to save me the troubles but I’m not that immature. I’m surprised I’m even reacting this way - this topic doesn’t usually bother me at all but now for some reason I’m red as a tomato and shrinking in my chair. 

I know what the obvious answer is but I’d rather die than admit to it.

“Yeah, yeah, I know it sounds bad but I really don’t care.“ I make an attempt at changing the subject, swerving it back to the main topic rather than my lack of a love life, “I do, in fact, find the gesture sweet - it adds vibrancy to the relationship just like the flowers would add vibrancy and color to the space they’re put in.“

“Oh my gosh, that’s such a cool analogy!“ Rae gushes, “You’re totally right, it might be an old trick, but it’s aged like fine wine.“

Phew, God bless you Rae.

“Exactly, exactly.“ Corpse agrees as well but I don’t think he’s fully heard what Rae said since he sounds to have fallen in deep thought.

At least I got away with it with only making a SLIGHT nervous wreck of myself.

Yikes, was that horrible, though I don’t people will remember it for long. Sure, my fans have sent me thousands of lovely messages and pictures of bouquets and will maybe continue sending them for another day or two - which I highly appreciate, don’t get me wrong. I’m severely touched by this gesture of theirs and it almost makes me glad I finally ‘came clean’ about my romance-less life - however, it’ll fade overtime. I mean, who the heck cares if I’m single or not?

As I pour the milk over my cheerios which I’ve been snacking on dry for the past half hour as I rifled through the many notifications clogging up my lock screen, I hear the doorbell ring. I’m understandably puzzled by this, seeing as how I never get visitors so that doorbell rings only when I’ve ordered something, be it takeout or a random item off Amazon. However, I can’t remember ordering anything, at least not anything that should be arriving at the moment or even anytime soon - that glow-in-the dark curtain isn’t supposed to arrive until next week.  I make my way to the door, unbothered by the fact I’m still in my pajamas, and take a look through the peephole.

It’s a delivery guy...and he happens to be holding a huge-ass bouquet.

“What the...“ I mutter to myself as I unlock and swing open the door in the blink of an eye, “Hi?“

“Hi there, are you Y/N L/N?“ The delivery guy, who I’ve seen many times before and who I’m on pretty friendly terms with, asks me jokingly, sending a wink my way.

“I sure am.“ I reply, my gaze fixated on the breathtaking flowers he’s holding, “But those can’t be for me, that’s for sure.“

He fishes looks at his clipboard one more time, nodding before he looks back at me, “I double and triple checked, Y/N, they’re for you. Here, have a look if you don’t believe me.” He turns the clipboard  for me to see and he is actually telling the truth. I mean, I doubt he’d have any reason to lie to me but mix-ups happen all the time.

“Um, ok thanks. Sorry for the halt, it’s just...I’d hate to be the recipient of the flowers meant for another girl.” I apologize as I take the bouquet for him, still in awe of the fact I’m the one it was made and meant for and sent to.

I say a quick ‘bye’ to the delivery guy before practically running inside to inspect this bouquet for a card from the sender. I have my guesses: it has to be someone who was present during the stream last night and someone who knows my address. Hopefully it’s someone from my friend group and not a fan who watched the stream and just happens to know my address. I’d still appreciate the gesture, but I’d also install security cameras if that was the case.

Something about the color scheme of the flowers - pink and black - gives me Rae vibes since she constantly teases me about my aesthetics contradicting each other. But then again, Poki does it too so it could be her as well....

Oh...OH GOD IT’S NEITHER OF THEM

                                                               ~ ~ ~

I’ve been sitting here, keeping myself a safe distance from my phone so I’m not the first one to send her a text. So I don’t ask if she got what I sent her. So I don’t ask what she thought of it, how the bouquet looks in her living room, how it smells, how it makes her feel. I have so many questions so that phone is best off at a major distance from me. I’m the one who’s better off with such a huge distance between me and the device, to be perfectly honest.

Was it a bad idea? Should I have slept on it - or just thought about it longer cause sleep and I don’t get along? Should I have at least waited a day or two? Should I-

My phone vibrates with a notification and I practically fly to it from across the room, grabbing it and unlocking it asap. My heart sinks and takes off like a rocket simultaneously when I see I’ve been tagged in Y/N’s Instagram story. I nervously tap the notification that sends me to the picture of the bouquet I sent her with some text written over it.

“Thank you, Romeo ;)“

Somehow that one sentence answers all those aforementioned questions.

Is this what people refer to as butterflies in one’s stomach? Cause it feels significantly more like a crush...oh wait.

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[jean-does-not-have-a-horseface]

Would you do a Jean x Reader x Reiner one? The reader felt so betrayed by Reiner being a titan shifter and when he left she felt so confused whether she can loves him or not after finding out the truth. Jean comfort her and they eventually fall in love. Or you can do a modern au one where Reiner cheated on the reader and Jean begin to see his chance with the reader then they both had a relationship. But she still can't forget Reiner. I truly love your writing! Have a good day ! ♥

i was wondering if you could do a modern au jean x reader. where the reader is very stressed for a test of some kind, and jean and the reader end up skipping the test and spend the whole day together instead, where towards the end of the day jean confesses his feelings for the reader. a lot of fluff please if you could i am obsessed sorry by @cj-sparkss

A/N: So i decided to merge those two requests because they fit really good together in my head! I hope ou guys like this! I strongly recommend listening to any song in Halsey's album, Manic while reading.

Pairing: Jean/ Reader, some past Reiner/ reader if you squint

Tags: college!au, art school au, fluff all the way

Warnings: Jean being way too cute for his own sake, seriously

Sketches Of You

Your head was burning.

Your eyes were stinging; tiny little little blood vessels were popping here and there, throbbing profoundly as they merged together, rushing their way to your irises. You didn't know for how long you had been awake, mostly because a few days had passed and you didn't remember falling asleep or waking up on your once comfortable desk chair.

Before you laid numerous books open in different pages, most of the writting they held emphasized by your favorite pastel highlighter. What felt like your lamp buzzed, burning a canary yellow light over the mahogany material of your desk, warming up the spot where your hand used to lay. A pen in your hand was all you could bring yourself to hold with your numb, frozen fingers, the plastic edges of its tube sunk into your skin, carving bumps to mark their spot in your hand.

Wait, oh no, you thought as you looked around this wasn't your dorm, this was the university's library.

The library around you was extremely quiet as you laid face down on one book, your mouth slightly part and your lips dry save for the little ribbon of drool that moistened a line down your right cheek. Only for one more minute, you told yourself, deciding to shut your eyes together just to allow them sometime to rest, ignoring how such request was what had caused you to drift off to such extend in the first place. Stinging tears escaped the corners of your eyelids, signifying how tired and dry your irises had grown to be. Letting out a huge sigh you tried to lift your head, at least this could be an attempt to get your life together for the day.

Your scattered books came to close quietly under your palms, the numerous pieces of papers and notes being tucked messily in between pages, your own fatigue causing you to break your own rules when it came to being as neat as you could with your notes. Another sigh left you as you sank into the back the plastic chair, your books firmly standing on top of eachother and into your palms.

This test was going to end you. You knew it. Despite having tried to memorise all the information that was required for you to even try to get a five -seriously, a five would be absolutely godsent if you could at least get that grade- all you were left with was your brain feeling mushy and muddy without any actual knowledge of the subject you had been studying for. Why on earth was gothic architecture an essential class in your first year in art school was beyond you. Was this university never supposed to let you graduate on top of trying to prevent you getting in for numerous years?

Resisting the urge to scream or pull your hair off your head you decided that it was time to get up, your knees straightening slightly at the your brain's command, only to be sent back into the blue plastic of your chair, your whole body growling in fatigue. Your chest heavied as you let out a whine, bringing your hands to your eyes to scrub away the stinging ache you were feeling.

"You good?"

Your head turned to the direction of the voice maniacally, your eyes shooting wide as you practically ripped your hands off of your face. Looking up, your (e/c) orbs met with hazel ones, little specs of yellow and green stared back at you through thick eyelashes, adorned with a complex of worry plastered on dark chestnut eyebrows.

"Yeah Jean, I'm just studying."

"Oh it's Mr Ackerman's test right?"

"Hm" you hummed in response, another whine coming out of your lips.

"Yeah I remember how that class went for me. He's pretty nice if you get to know him though. I have to submit a few sketches for tomorrow, can I sit with you or were you leaving?"

"No, I'll keep you company, I need a break from whatever.." your eyes wandered at the books in your hands and the numerous note sheets peaking out from anywhere you could lay your gaze on "..this is."

Extending a hand Jean reached out for the head of the chair right next to you, pulling it back in order to let himself sink into the dark blue plastic seat, similarly to you. His lips pushed into a thin line as he looked at you, his cheek puffing up in the action. A hand came to your shoulder comfortingly as another one pulled out his sketchbook from his run down and way too littered with dry paint tote bag.

"Are those for Moblit's workshop?"

"Mhm." Jean confirmed. "You got any 0.8 tipped inks?"

"Yeah, I do."

Setting the leather covered sketchbook on the mahogany table Jean turned his head to you again, pointing his eyes onto the black pencil case in front of you. In response you shrugged your shoulders, your palms shooting up to your eyes once again. Jean's hand grabbed on your case, his long fingers digging through the numerous inking pens and markers that overlapped each other.

"I can't believe you have the Sakura Pens when you know I don't like them." Jean whined, hands roaming through your belongings still.

"Jean," you said, a deep chuckle escaping you in the process "I happen to like them, you know."

"They're yikes."

"You just can't use them correctly."

"How do you use an inking pen correctly. Enlighten me." Jean mocked, his fingers throwing signs in the air to accentuate his words.

Resting his head on his fist Jean opened his sketchbook, swiping through numerous ivory cold pressed pages, filled with inked sketches. Your eye twitched as you tried to keep up with many of the drawings you could spot; you had seen the contents of this sketchbook a thousand times, admiring Jean's skill with ink. His professor, Mister Moblit had one of the most interesting workshops for students who specialised in inks, and you aspired to take his classes in your following year in art school, supposing you could pass your classes this very semester.

"What are you supposed to be drawing?"

"Anything, mostly things that make us feel like they are important to draw." Jean said.

"Oh and library is important?"

"Sasha said you'll be here, so yup. And I want to draw my hands actually "

You clicked your tongue, shaking your head in borderline disbelief. Honestly, if you weren't that bummed about your test and your recent break up you could have laughed at Jean's sly arrogance. Your eyes traveled to Jean, examining his quiet form as he studied his palms. Inevitably your eyes studied them as well.

His fingers were long and tan and harsh to look at, scrapped in most places with tints of Indian ink. They stuggled to manage with your pencil case, his pinkies and thumbs couldn't even begin to fit in the little object and it made you wonder how he even managed to work his inking pens correctly with such enormous hands. Some veins popped from here and there, accentuating his bulky joints perfectly; they run from the back of his palms to his wrist, mingling with more of their blue kind in his calfs and biceps. The occasional blotches of dried paint were decorating them. Even some paint covered hairs spiked as the light contracted his form.

You smiled miscellaneously.

Your own finger traveled without remorse towards them, poking at a few hairs that were littered with paint. By pinching one, Jean shot back in half pain, his brows furrowing in confusion as he stared at you. "Hey, what they fuck!"

"You do that to me all the time when i have paint in my hands!" You half laughed, shooting him a mocking furrowed look as well.

“You’re so cruel!” Jean grinned.

“To pay you back with your own penny right?”

Jean cocked his eyebrow at you, a few lines begging to make an appearance on his forehead. He shook his head a couple of times, throwing a few shaggy strands of hair away from his face, his forehead immediately lighting up as his ashy blond locks overlapped just above his ears. You mimicked him, using a hand to move your feathery bangs away from your face as to not have them intertwining with your vision.

Jean brought a digit to his mouth, biting at the bulky knuckle while wrapping his lips around it to suck at the sore spot, dramatically mourning the loss of one single hair. It made you laugh harder than it should have and you told him off, quickly grabbing his hand by the wrist to pull it further away from his mouth.

"Ew you idiot are your hands even washed!? Don't put them in your mouth!"

Jean's smile faded gradually as he nodded its only reminder remaining in his eyes as they softened with each passing second they looked at you. You bobbed your head to the side, taking in the way he was looking at you and you felt your gut grunting in the anxiety you had managed to drown at one time.

You definitely knew that look.

"So how are you after... The whole Reiner thing?"

When Jean let the sentence out, he instantly regretted it. Biting back the inside of his lip, his teeth dug into his soft, fleshy gum, the tiny specks of spiky under lip hair he had poking through his chin. You could see the regret plastered on his face, yet you ignored it with a sigh, pushing your stern further back into the chair again.

Of course Jean would ask about that. Reiner and you had broken up a little less that a month ago and it was stressful enough to send your anxiety over the roof. Coming home to find him drapped in the sheets with someone else was still burning through your brain like a hot iron, marking the fleshy crevices by piercing your skull.

Jean and you hadn't had a chance to talk about your break up yet; in the midst of it being a spontaneous reaction to Reiner's anathema and your upcoming mid-terms, you had chosen to indulge yourself fully with the everlasting pleasure of delving into studying.

And now, as you tried to utter your awaited words your stomach clenched at the foreshaken memory that you had tried to bury in the depths of your soul, your hands sweating just a tiny bit as you gulped down on some saliva to dumpen your dry throat. Jean's hazel orbs were set on you with curiosity and reluctance, his skin tingling inside his crewneck sweater.

"I mean, Eren told us about it and then we fought on who would punch Reiner first you know."

You oggled at him as he spoke awkwardly, your lashes batting rapidly as a wave of confusion washed through you.

"You don't have to hit Reiner you know, we all make our choices and he made his."

"Ah," Jean sighed heavily "I suppose so. I'm here for you though, you can talk to me."

"You're actually doing an assignment at the moment" you said and pointed your finger onto his sharp nose, giving him a playful push to the side. "No need to talk about my sorry love life."

"Your love life isn't pitiful, don't talk about it like that!"

"It's not pitiful, just sad." You sighed, reaching out to your pencil case. "Just sad."

Your fingers run through the case even though your eyes weren't fixated on the action, your sense of touch working its way to let you know which object you were seeking. The tips of your fingers caught on the thick Posca marker quickly and you locked it in a grasp between your pointer and middle finger, bringing it up through the zip up opening.

"Give me your hand." You ordered at Jean as you clapped your fingers to your palm in a 'come here' motion.

"It could always get better you know." Jean spoke and threw his hand to you.

Slowly the cap was off the market with a snap and you slid it up towards it's butt to pop it on there as to not lose it in any case it feel off of the desk and onto the mosaic floor.

Jean's nose lit up in a faint scarlet and his ears followed right next, lighting up in a deeper shade of the color on his nose which made his hand snap away from you in a matter of seconds. With puckered lips he stared at the corner of the room that was in the opposite direction of yours, his gut drenching him in short tempered anxiety.

"You done painting my nails with the posca pen?" Jean remarked, lips still puckered as he turned to face you. "When's your exam?"

"Three o'clock."

"Wanna ditch?"

Your eyes goggled in his for a second. The luminous morning light that peaked through the library binds fell onto him dearly, caressing a few of his features in a lemony colored mellow way, your gaze traveled into anywhere on his face as you tried to examine his expression while your gut was beginning to churn at the sly thought of agreeing with his query.

Weighting your options wasn't a seriously hard thing to do; if you took the test you were most likely going to fail, but if you didn't take it you'd have to live with the guilt of not even putting the minimal effort in it for a few weeks. But, you had tried so hard to pass all of your other classes so why shouldn't you slack off for one that was bound to end in a fiasco?

You found yourself nodding to Jean before you could actually give more thought to it. His face immediately lit up, ashy blond locks flying over his eyes as he shook his head in excitement. With one move his sketchbook was closed again, left to mourn over the non existent scribbles Jean could have made during all this time he was sitting next to you.

The hard cover protected sketching pages were thrown into to his tote bag once again, the sound of the sketchbook colliding and clashing with a few more objects he had in the bag filling the silent air of the library.

"Put your books in here!" He offered, opening the sides of the tote bag right on front of your face, signaling you to do as he suggested.

By taking a long sigh you took a turn in throwing your books and pencil case in the bag, one object following another on the pursuit of finding their own place in Jean's crammed bag. A shy smile adorned your features as you looked at him, the mischievous little devil on your shoulder smiling proudly at your actions as if you were a high schooler skipping school.

_____

Black Cat was a notorious cafe among art university students for numerous reasons. For example, it featured a decent amount of of beautiful contemporary art that was meticulously merged with the soft, cobblestone-cottagecore-home-during-the-winter aesthetic and all of their tables, stools and booths were artist-friendly to the max. Additionally it played Nirvana and Metallica for most of the day and on top of that they actually had a chunky and extremely cuddly black cat roaming around the store that you often found on your lap during your time there.

Oh, and the batwoman made amazing custom cocktails.

Really was there anything else anyone needed in a store?

The soft tangerine light flickered open as the sun outside started to hide it's shy low lights under the peak of a mountain you couldn't recall the name of, the soft smell of apple pie filling your nostrils as you sipped lightly from your earl gray tea occasionally, stealing a few glances of Jean's focused expression. A knowingly half smile went up to your face as you looked at the scenery outside before fixing your eyes back onto the bright screen of your phone.

Jean cooed in his leathery chair for the upteenth time today, his gaze fixated on the sketchbook on his hands. You had spend last hour in absolute silence; you had decided to roam around in your phone for references for an assigned collage you had to do in Photoshop as Jean had settled on drawing the horizon from outside the window to practice on his perspective while finishing up the sketches he had to submit.

Your day had passed by pretty fast; you had visited an urban side of the town that was flooded with art supply stores and you had delved into every single one roaming around to find any kind of supplies you were short on, or just generally needed. As Jean correctly had said, you are always short on art supplies.

Thus, you had ended up with a bag filled with complementary acrylic colors in tubes of 20ml mostly because they costed a dollar each, and also because as art students you got to receive twenty percent off of all your supply bills. Jean had only bought a new set of watercolors and a few Edding inks and 0.7 tipped poscas, as he was sure he would ruin your expensive Sakura Liners in his attempts to finish his project.

Then you had decided to cram your place for some much needed lunch before heading off to Black Cat to have some tea and coffee while Jean would finish off his last few of the sketches he had been drawing throughout the day.

"So" Jean awkwardly spoke as in to break the deep silence, his thumb pressing over the edge of the page his drawing was placed as he closed the sketchbook carefully "I wanted to ask, because ahem, I'm your friend and I'm worried about you... Do you want to vent about Reiner?"

"Ah, no" you shook your head and fixed your gaze onto the auburn colored liquor in your cup as you reluctantly lift it up to bring it to your lips before speaking "I mean, I got so sad you know. And I haven't gotten over it, of course, I mean I liked Reiner. A lot."

"I came see it in your eyes. But I'm here for-"

"And he's a bitch you know? He could have told me if he was bothered by anything I did or if it wasn't going well for him. I'd gladly work anything out or even break up peacefully."

"You know," Jean sighed, he too bringing his cup of coffee to his lips to take a sip before gulping it down. "My opinion is obviously biased here, but I support you. I've took a psychology class and we were actually delving into as to why some people cheat, there are many reasons as to why it could have happened."

Your heart slightly aches as you looked at him, a few veins in your hand twitching slightly as he continued rambling about all things he had grasped from his class. Your stomach growled angrily in anxiety, warning you to put an halt to your friend's words but you couldn't bring yourself to do so.

Not knowing the reason as to why Reiner had chosen to see someone else behind your back had hurt you beyond repair. Deep inside you still felt the need to get some closure, although with your stress on your exams you had been sure you would most likely give in to anything Reiner would say and this wasn't who you were.

You could go on without having any closure, it shouldn't have mattered so much to you in any way.

And to some extent it didn't.

"I'm hurt, but I'm the other hand I don't really care about anything you know?"

"Mhm, yeah, look at you getting over it so quickly!" Jean said semi enthusiastically. "You need to be able to share your pain in order for it to become small and eventually non-existent."

"You know, for someone who takes such sophisticated classes you talk like you haven't slept in ages!"

"Give me a break, as if you don't."

The two of you burst into bubbling laughter, your chests heaving and falling as the sounds of joy left you one by one. Jean's hand had come to rest on top of yours softly, giving you a couple of squeezes as his eyes squinted in synch with yours.

And then, in a moment that seemed like it was forced out of a coffee shop au fanfiction, Jean's hand rubbed a few soothing circles over yours. Slowly his laughter was begging to set into a silent harmony, the woody brown specs of his eyes providing the slightest tint of warmth into his gaze.

"This is why I love you so much."

The choice of words was supposed to be naive whether it was intentional or not, or that's what you tried to tell yourself because you thought you knew Jean better than anyone. The look in his eyes, the soft upwards curves of his eyebrows, the way his top lip overlapped go bottom one as his eyes glimmered into yours; this wasn't a very casual look for Jean, it was the look he had on when he was looking at something that mesmerised him. And you knew he meant exactly what he had said.

But did you like Jean?

Well, was there anyone who could spend so much time with Jean and not fall for him, even without realising it?

At one time it had become obvious that he liked you, although he'd never act upon it. You knew it in his movements, in the little ways he looked at you or cared for you like no one else actually did while hiding behind the mask of being a friend. Eren had been one to tease him for it restlessly and you had been able to catch upon that too but you had never let it be known that you had been able to see through his facade.

"Forget it I shouldn't even have had-"

With curious eyes you stared back, your gaze never truly leaving him. When he suddenly shook his hand off of yours you found your other hand pressing on top of his, trapping the limb in place as you tried to open your mouth to utter any word. It was still hard to find the right choice of words, ones that wouldn't hurt to be heard.

"Jean... I-"

"No, forget it, it just slipped, shit."

"Look Jean shut up for a second please I want to speak okay?" You huffed half playfully, despairate to stop Jean's mumbling "I know."

"You know?" Jean cursed under his breath.

"Yeah, I do, it's obvious. And I've had this huge crush on you ever since fifth grade you know? I never really got over you because I spent all of my teen years thinking we'd end up together."

You watched as Jean's face lit up at your words, a new glimmer adorning his eyes just as the sky turned a sheer violet as the sun retreated deeper into a non visible horizon.

"And then we kissed in eighth grade and we fought about it and we stopped hanging out because I asked for space since I just could believe what was happening. But we're friends again and it's the best thing to happen to me in years."

You continued, your hand never leaving his while soothing circles were rubbed onto his palm.

"But I'm not going to ask you for space this time."

"You're not?"

"No. Just a little patience. I'm still getting over Reiner and I don't want to be unfair to you and rip you off of something that you might ask from me."

Jean snapped his hand away from yours and you retreated your hands back to yourself shyly, a bitter mouth leaking into your mouth as you tried to swallow it down fast to no avail. Somehow your heart felt a strong stinging, the pulling of your heartstrings at steak while your heart was sprawled before you.

Was that your last chance with Jean? You had told yourself that time and space between you would be right one day, but that day seemed to stray further away now, slipping right off your hands because you couldn't forget Reiner fast enough.

"I'm not fourteen anymore, so don't be afraid about me straying away. I just wanted to show you something."

Jean's worked through the pages of his sketchbook, taking a few seconds before they landed where they wanted to. Flipping the sketchbook to match your point of view, he revealed the sketches he had been scribbling all day. They depicted you in majority. The look on your face as you picked a tube of paint, your hands as they grabbed through numerous brushes and sketchbooks. Even the way you stared at your phone as you sat across him was perfectly sketched on the paper and hatched in indian ink, adorned by Jean's raw drawing style.

"Jean, that's me!"

"Mister Moblit told us to draw things that were personally important to us. So, I hope you don't mind."

Damn, you felt like tearing up.

In the midst of trying to get your stupid heart to calm down from the impossible rhythm in which it was beating at and stating at Jean's sketches so hard that your eyes felt like they'd pop out and any given moment your would felt like setting fire to your whole being while your tears were restlessly trying to put it out. It was even outdated to feel like that about Jean, your younger self told you but there was no way you could help it.

With rivers of tears running from the corners of your eyes you looked up at the hazel orbs that were set on you, feeling your heart want up by their luminous gaze.

"Jean I-"

"Shush, you don't have to say anything. Just let me know if I can hug you."

"I'd love that." You said shyly under your breath.

Next thing you knew Jean had gotten up from his seat and had plopped himself right next to you, pushing your head deep in his chest. The song in the background faded gradually as you felt serenity wash through you, despite your heart hammering in your chest beyond a point you could actually feel it.

And for now all that mattered was that you could listen to Jean's heart beat nearly as fast as yours while his words played inside your head.

Maybe, just maybe time and space between the two of you was right this time.

taglist: @sasageyowrites @levisbrat25 @ackermans-freedom-inc @melancholicmonologue @berrijam @callmepromise @nobody-knows-anymore 

[megsironthrone]

A Change of Fate

Based on this request:  hiiii could i request one with Gendry, she’s a high born lady and they’re in love but shes married off to someone else because her family don’t approve of him her husband dies and when she finds out Gendrys alive they reunite. He’s legitimatised and they go off to storms end together?

Here you are, my lovelies! I do not own ANY Game of Thrones characters!

Warnings: Angst? Arranged marriage, death, FLUFF!! Some suggested steaminess??

Pairings/Characters: Gendry Water/Baratheon x fem!reader, Samwell Tarly

"Please don't make me do this," you begged. Your heart sank to your feet as your pleas fell on deaf ears yet again. "Father, please. I can't marry him. Please don't make me." Your father finally turned his eyes on you. "Y/N, you are going to marry young Dickon Tarly. There will be no question about it.'

         "But I can't! I can't marry him when I love someone else. Father, I beg of you to listen!" You felt foolish, like a child, arguing with him. You knew it was inevitable. You were going to have to marry Dickon. Once your father made up his mind, there was no stopping him. "You will not be seeing that blacksmith ever again, Y/N. Now, I don't want to hear another word on the subject." After pleading once more to at least let you tell your lover yourself, you ran off to see Gendry for the last time.

         Years had passed since you'd been forced to marry into House Tarly. Dickon was truly a good man, despite his father, who you loathed. And Dickon was a good husband. If your heart hadn't been in taken by Gendry all those years before, you might have been able to come to love Dickon. As it was, there would be no chance to find out.

         You sank to your knees as the messenger told you the news. Your husband was dead. Executed for standing with his father against the Dragon Queen. While you hadn't loved him in the way he had loved you, he was still your closest friend and confidant. The messenger continued on in the background, talking about how the Dragon Queen was heading to Winterfell and to help against the Army of the Dead. He said there were rumors that she was with Ned Stark's bastard son, Tyrion Lannister, the Hound, and…

         "Bastard Baratheon? I thought Cersei killed them all," your good mother said. Your ears perked up. There was only one Baratheon bastard you knew that had survived against Cersei's wrath. He had escaped thanks to Ned Stark. "Apparently not, My Lady. There is one left. Worked as a blacksmith I believe." You had to hold back a gasp. He really was alive?! And headed for Winterfell. If it was true, you knew what you had to do.

         In the dead of night, you packed up a few things, saddled your horse, and rode North. You hoped you'd make it in time. You had no desire to bend the knee to Daenerys Targaryen, but you had to see Gendry again. Some people might accuse you of not caring that your husband had just died, but you knew he would have understood. He had been in love with someone else before you married too.

         You rode as quickly and safely as you could, arriving in Winterfell just days before a battle was about to take place. The stronghold was armed and ready for a fight. The guards at the gate nearly didn't let you in. It was only thanks to two familiar faces that they moved aside. "Y/N?" The guards turned and you were able to catch a glimpse of your good brother. "Samwell!" The guards moved to let you through. You threw your arms around Sam and squeezed him tightly, thanking the gods he too was alive. It was then that you let your gaze wander to his companion.

         "G-Gendry?" You cursed yourself for stuttering. His piercing blue eyes stared back at you as if he couldn't believe it himself. "You're here." You let go of Sam to get a good look at the love your life. He was a bit taller, broader. And he'd cut off most of his hair. You met his gaze again to see that he had been doing the same to you. "This is the…? Oh. I'll, uh, leave you to it then, shall I?" Sam said, knowing who you and Gendry used to be to one another.  

         "You're alive," you whispered. Gendry nodded. "And you're here alone. Shouldn't your husband be looking after you?" You glared at him. "You know damn well I never needed anyone looking after me," you hissed. Gendry chuckled softly and shook his head. "I know that, Y/N. But seriously, what are you doing here? Does he know you're here?"

         "His name was Dickon and he's dead. Queen Daenerys executed him and his father." Gendry at least had the decency to look embarrassed. "Sorry," he muttered. You softened a bit. "It wasn't your fault. And he wouldn't have cared that I came here. He knew I didn't love him. How could I? I gave my heart to someone else a long time again. A blacksmith with noble blood and a bastard name." It seemed to take him a minute to make the connection, but once he did, his eyes widened almost comically.

         "Me? You traveled all this way to find me?" You nodded. "Once I heard you might still be alive, I had to see for myself. Even if…if you no longer love me. Even if you despise me. I had to know that you're safe." You looked up at him, waiting for him to say something.

         What you got wasn't words. That wasn't Gendry's way. So, it came as no surprise when you suddenly felt his arms wrap around you. His gaze flickered down to your lips and then back up to your eyes, silently asking permission. As soon as you consented, Gendry's lips were on yours, attacking your lips fervently. If not for the sudden cheers, you would have forgotten anyone else was there. Gendry pulled away, took your hand in his, and pulled you after him toward his chambers.

         Once inside, Gendry's lips were on yours again, but they didn't stay there. He kissed you all over your face, making you giggle. "I love you, Gendry." Gendry pulled you close. "I want to be with you," you continued. "What about your parents? I'm still a bastard. Still a blacksmith." You shook your head against his chest. "I don't care. I've never cared. If you'll have me, I want you." Gendry chuckled. "If I'll have you? Y/N, I'll always have you. In every way you let me." You felt your skin flush as his warm breath tickled your ear.

*time skip*                                                            

         You sat next to Gendry, practically clinging to him. After the battle with the Night King's Army, you were so grateful that you were both alive. From the moment you both saw that the other had survived, you had been nearly impossible to separate. It was probably annoying and somewhat nauseating to the people around you, but you didn’t care. You had missed out on so much time together and then you both nearly died in battle. You weren't about to let one another go for a while. It wasn't until Queen Daenerys spoke directly to Gendry that you even paid attention to anyone else.

         You could hardly believe it when Daenerys pronounced that Gendry was no longer a bastard. He would be given the Baratheon name as well as all the lands of Storm's End and the title of "Lord". He thanked her profusely before turning to you. You let him lead you from the room once all the cheers had died down and everyone had stopped staring at him.

         "Can you believe it? I'm a lord! I'm not a bastard anymore." You beamed at him. It wasn't like him to get so elated about things, so you were happy to let him enjoy the moment. "I can marry you," he said suddenly. He pulled you close to him again. "Marry me? Please say you'll marry me? We waited long enough." You laughed and nodded. "Of course I'll marry you, Gendry. You didn't even have to ask. Now come here and kiss your future bride."

         Samwell married you and Gendry the night before the army was to leave for King's Landing. He'd had enough training and study with the Maesters to at least do that. You and Gendry decided to travel to Storm's End instead. "I think, if Dickon were alive, he'd want you to be happy," Sam had told you when you had asked him. You and Gendry headed out the next morning, blissfully happy in your new life. Together.

(a/n: I hope you like it!)

Forever Tags: @fizzyxcustard @brewsthespirit-blog​ @etherealpotter​ @line-viper​ @frozenhuntress67​ @cd1242​ @smalltownbigheart​ @gruffle1​ @igotmadskills​

[fanfics4all]

Arranged Marriage

Request: Yes / No 

Requests are closed <3 Have a nice day/night

Draco Malfoy x Fem!Parkinson!Reader 

Word count: 2320

Warnings: Nothing I think?

Y/N: Your Name 

A/N: Possibly making this into a short series.  Bingo card made by @slyttherins

PLEASE DO NOT STEAL MY WORK, I WORK HARD ON MY FICS AND IT’S NOT COOL TO STEAL SOMEONE ELSE’S WORK! 

If you want to be on the tag list for anything (My series fics, specific character fics, or just all of them) All you have to do is send me an ask and I will add you! 

Masterlist 

(Not my photo, credit to whoever made it!)

I had a free period and like most I spent it in the Great Hall reading a book. My slightly older sister was sitting with her friends at the other end of the table. They all hated me since I was the complete opposite of Pansy. She was mean, loud, had to be the center of attention, dramatic, and wasn’t incredibly bright. Despite all that I still loved her, even if I was one of her victims. The two of us only shared one thing, our crush on Draco Malfoy. Although she never knew about that and I would never tell her. 

I was enjoying my book when a letter landed in front of me. I closed my book and glanced at it confused. My family’s owl sat on the table in front of me. I picked up the letter with my family’s crest stamped in emerald green wax and opened it. 

‘Y/N,

Your Mother and I decided to arrange a marriage for you. We are concerned that if you make a decision like this on your own, you will make the wrong decision. It is no secret that we are disappointed in your association choices. Because of that, you are going to marry Draco Malfoy. Next time you return home, you will be engaged. Once you both graduate you will be married and produce heirs for both our households. This is to ensure the blood-line. 

~Philip’

I stared at the letter with wide eyes. I glanced over at Draco, who was reading a letter of his own. I turned my attention back to my book and decided to ignore the letter until I returned home. 

“What’s in the letter Drakie?” Pansy asked and I rolled my eyes at her horrid nickname for him. 

“Nothing, just Father informing me of a dinner party we’ll be having next time I return home.” He answered her. I was surprised he didn’t tell her, or maybe his family didn’t tell him his fate yet… 

Later that night, after all classes and dinner had been finished, I was sitting in the corner of the common room working on homework. It was really just me in here, besides a few first years. However, when the door opened and Draco walked in everyone’s eyes were on him. 

“Everyone out.” He said and all the first years scurried off to who knows where. I simply stayed in my place, ignoring his command. 

“Parkinson.” He said and I glanced up to find him standing in front of me now. 

“Can I help you?” I asked. 

“I’m sure you got a letter telling you about our situations as well.” He said and I simply nodded. So he did just choose not to tell my sister. Interesting… 

“You better not tell anyone about this.” He said and I looked back down at my homework. 

“I wasn’t planning on it.” I said, simply. 

“Because if you do- wait, what?” He asked, cutting himself off. 

“I said I wasn’t planning on it. My Father didn’t tell my sister for a reason and honestly I’d rather her not know until it’s too late. I don’t need her bullying to get any worse, or yours for that matter. So, we can just pretend it isn’t happening until the dinner, then we’ll figure it out from there. I wouldn’t want to stain your reputation you’ve worked so hard to preserve.” I said, not even sparing him a glance. I wanted him to know I didn’t care, even though I was a bit excited to be marrying him. 

“Um, right. Well then, till the dinner.” He said and left me to be. 

The months leading up to the dinner felt like nothing had changed. I suppose nothing has changed yet. Draco was still a bully along with his friends and I was their helpless victim. My sister still clung to Draco any chance and he was still annoyed by her actions. A very small part of me wanted to rub it in her face that I was the one to be marrying him, but I wasn’t that type of person. When it was finally time to return home for a short time, I spent the whole train ride thinking about the dinner to come. When everyone stepped off the train, Pansy hugged Draco goodbye and then she made her way over to our parents. 

“Girls! How has school been?” Mother asked with a smile. 

“It’s been alright, that Potter boy is incredibly annoying. Just because he ‘survived’ the Dark Lord’s attack he’s special? He was a bloody baby.” Pansy said, rolling her eyes. 

“He doesn’t want the fame.” I said. 

“You would know, traitor!” She hissed. 

“Enough girls!” Father said and I bowed my head. 

“Sorry Father…” I said, even though I never truly did anything wrong I always felt like I needed to apologize constantly. 

“There will be no fighting while you are home, is that understood?” He said. 

“Yes Father.” We said in unison. 

“Good, now let’s go home.” He said. 

A few days had gone by and my parents hadn’t mentioned anything about the dinner to me. I was sitting in the den reading, while my Mother was having a cup of tea and my Father was reading the paper. 

“Pansy, come down here please!” Father called her. 

“Yes?” She asked, walking into the room. 

“Aunt Paisley wanted to take you shopping tonight, would you like to go?” He asked. 

“Is Y/N coming?” She asked. 

“No, just you.” He answered and her eyes lit up. 

“Really? Just me and Auntie?” She asked and Father nodded. 

“Oh yes! I’d love to go!” She said and rushed upstairs to get ready. 

“Hurry dear! Your Aunt is already waiting for you!” Mother called. 

“I’ll be finished in a moment!” She called back. Sure enough after ten minus she was back downstairs, dressed to go out. It was the fastest I’ve ever seen her get ready.

“Right, take some floo powder and go to her house, she’s waiting for you there.” Father said and she nodded. 

“She said you can stay the night if you’d like.” Mother mentioned. 

“Oh yes please!” Pansy said, happily. She gave me a nasty smirk before taking some powder and saying our Aunt’s house. Off she went to have a nice night out with our Aunt. 

“Now, you go upstairs and get ready, your Mother picked out a dress for you to wear tonight.” Father said and I looked at my parents confused. 

“Ready for what?” I asked. 

“The dinner, we’re going to Malfoy Manor.” He answered and I was even more confused. 

“Why isn’t Pansy coming?” I asked. 

“Because, as much as we love your sister, we don’t want to hear her complain about your engagement for the rest of our lives. So she’ll find out when we’ve already planned the wedding and you two are getting married.” He answered and I couldn’t hold back my smile. 

“You’re lucky Draco didn’t tell her when he got his letter.” I said, placing my book on the table and went off to my room. Laying on my bed was a simple emerald green dress, with a slit down the side, and silver accents on both wrists. There were a pair of simple silver heels to match. I smiled at the outfit, it was really quite beautiful. Once I was dressed I did a simple spell to get my hair and makeup perfect. 

I walked downstairs and my parents were both ready to go. My Mother offered me her hand which I accepted and the three of us apparated to Malfoy Manor. The sky was already starting to darken, but the sun still peaked out, giving the sky a beautiful painting of pinks, purples, oranges, and yellows. We walked up the steps and my Father knocked on the door. A house-elf answered and I smiled, earring a glare from my Father. I bowed my head, he never liked how well I treated them. He always said those creatures deserve no kindness. I thought differently, house-elves deserved plenty of kindness, after all they’re very helpful. I always snuck into the kitchen at night and had lovely conversations with our house-elves, being careful not to catch the attention of anyone else in the house. 

“Mr. Parkinson, Mrs. Parkinson, Miss. Parkinson, please come in.” The little house-elf said. 

“Wolkey will inform Master of your arrival.” He said and left to get the Malfoys. 

“Ah, Philip, Oliva, Y/N, so glad you could make it.” Lucius said while shaking my Father’s hand. 

“What a lovely dress Y/N, don’t you think so Draco.” Narcissa said, gently nudging her son. 

“Yes, it’s a very lovely color on you.” He smiled, but it didn’t quite meet his eyes. 

“Thank you.” I smiled. 

The dinner was normal, our parents discussing business relations while Draco and I simply ate. It wasn’t until dinner was cleared and dessert was being served that the atmosphere changed. 

“I believe Draco has something to ask you Y/N.” Narcissa said with a smile. Draco cleared his throat and walked over to me on the other side of the table. He gently grabbed my hand and kept his other in his pocket. 

“Y/N, we’ve known each other since we were children and you’ve always been such a beauty. We’ve been friends for a while, but now I feel we should be more. Will you do me the honor of being my wife?” He asked. I could tell they weren’t his words, but they still made my heart flutter. Everyone looked at me expectantly, like I could say anything other than yes. 

“Yes Draco, I’d love to.” I smiled. Draco smiled and took out a sliver snake ring with a small emerald, the Malfoy family crest engraved on the bottom. 

Draco took my hand and placed the ring on my finger. 

“Draco, why don’t you take Y/N into the garden, I’m sure she’ll love it.” Narcissa said and Draco nodded. He gently helped me up and led me outside to the porch, looking over the garden. 

“That was all my Mother.” He stated as soon as we were away from our families. 

“I know.” I smiled at him and he looked at me confused. 

“How can you smile in a moment like this? You’re being forced into a marriage.” He asked confused. 

“I can tell you Mother picked out all the flowers.” I said, changing the subject. Before he could say anything I walked down the steps into the garden. 

“Hey! Wait!” He said and followed after me. 

“Will you answer my question?” He said, slightly annoyed. 

“Have you ever looked around here and really took notice of the beauty in your backyard?” I asked. 

“I’ve looked around here plenty if that’s what you’re asking.” He said, rolling his eyes. 

“Oh look, you have some wilting flowers.” I frowned. I kneeled down and cupped the flowers gently. 

“What are you doing? You’ll get your dress dirty.” He said, but I ignored him. 

“Herbivicus” I whispered and the flowers grew to their original form. I stood up and smiled, glancing at Draco who had a shocked expression on his face. 

“Where did you learn that?” He asked. 

“A book I read.” I answered. 

“You learned that just from a book?” He asked. 

“Yes, I have an eidetic memory. I remember everything I’ve read or what people have said to me.” I answered and looked down at my dress. There were some dirt spots, my parents would be upset with me. 

“Scourgify” I said and my dress was good as new. 

“The reason I can smile about our situation is because I’ll be making my parents proud for the first time since they’ve heard I’m friends with people they call traitors. I love my family, even my sister, shocking as that is, family is important to me and I’d like to make them proud of me. So if marrying you is what it takes then so be it. Perhaps we could even fall in love with each other, or even just be friends.” I finally answered his question. 

“You really are quite strange, aren’t you?” He said after a moment. 

“I just think on the positive side.” I smiled at him. 

“We can’t tell my sister until the very last minute, by the way, my parents don’t want to hear her complaints.” I mentioned and he gave a light chuckle. 

“I suppose even they don’t enjoy her company.” He said and I shook my head. 

“They love her, but yes, sometimes they don’t enjoy her complaining.” I answered. 

“How are you going to explain the ring?” He asked. 

“A surprise gift from my Aunt, that’s where Pansy is right now.” I answered and he gave another light chuckle. 

“Smart.” He said. 

“What if she tries to take it from you?” He asked. 

“You know my sister well.” I giggled. 

“My Father is going to spell the ring so only you or I can take it off. And if I need to take it off for whatever reason I have a spelled jewelry box, she’ll need my voice, DNA, and wand to get it open.” I answered with a smirk. 

“Very smart.” He said, slightly shocked. 

“I like to take caution when it comes to my sister. It’s a very beautiful ring, thank you.” I smiled.

“It’s tradition that the Malfoy proposing makes a special ring with the crest engraved on it. My Mother had it made, but asked for my opinion before it was finished.” He said and I smiled at him. 

“Still think this is a bad thing?” I asked. 

“Suppose there could be worse people to be forced to marry…” He said. 

“I’ll take that as a complement.” I said and stared down at the ring that fit perfectly on my finger. This was really happening. I was going to marry Draco Malfoy.

Tag list: @les-bio-lie​ @tashy-bear​ @ashwarren32​ @hollie-blogs-blog1​ @schisbro87​ @lover-of-books-and-teas​ @nerdygaloresposts​ @teenwolfbitches2​ @genius2050​ @drw0301bieber​ @lady-of-lies​ @ravenmoore14​ @ravenempress101​ @cillianchamp​ @rowanthomasknapp​ @rachelxwayne​ @in-slytherin-we-trust​ @accio-rogers​ @sambucky8​ @bruisedfists-and-splitlips @answer-the-sirens​ @andreasworlsboring101​ @vanessa-kom-skaikru​ @impulse-anchor​ @dracoswhvre​

[ackerfics]

so this is love — annie leonhart

— annie leonhart x female reader

— request by anon: I kinda have a request. How about royal au? Where 2 kingdoms are at war with each other, and reader is the heir of the throne of one kingdom (but they’re not the spoiled type of heir, more like the solider one?) and then the kingdoms decided a truce. Reader will have to marry the heir of the other kingdom which is Annie. Idk maybe those arranged marriages that they never get along at first? Kinda like they were enemies bc they never get along until some development of feelings happen along the way. Maybe Annie will realize that she has feelings when reader got injured since they’re a soldier

— warnings: mentions of war, slight angst if you squint, just two idiots falling in love with each other :))

— summary: you were sent off to another kingdom as a sign of a truce, promising to yourself that the engagement is close to death at how you got off on the wrong foot with your betrothed. it was hell at first but who knows? maybe, unbeknownst to you, the two of you are a match made by the gods.

— word count: 7.5k

— author’s notes: i am so sorry this came out so long :((( we just finished our exams and we have a case study to write as our midterm for a subject. i hope this will still quench your annie fic cravings. and by the way, i fashioned the kingdom of idylle to mondstadt because genshin impact is my stress reliever right now and a kingdom built upon freedom sounds like a gem. plus, the glass castle of the reader is based off of the castle of cinderella, which is the reason for the title hhhhhh happy reading !!!

so this didn’t appear in the tags so i reposted it :”(((

Corsets were abominations that needed to be burned.

The girl with your features staring at you from the mirror was someone you couldn’t recognize from all the preparations your chambermaid did on your figure. The make-up was appalling and thick that you could see a smear on the back of your hand when you tried rubbing your itching nose. Your hair was done in a half up-do with too many decorative pins sticking out, creating a makeshift crown of silver roses, one of the symbols of your kingdom. The dress your mother expected you in was straight-up ridiculous, you couldn’t move from the tightness of the corset and the heaviness of your skirts was hindering you from moving freely. You couldn’t even deny that it was a lovely gown but its inconvenience was irking you at the slightest turn or stretch.

Dressing up this lavishly was rare for you, the Crown Princess of the kingdom boring flags of silver and lilac. You very much preferred the heaviness of your armor and your title as one of your kingdom’s Commendatore rather than the ladylike image your mother has been forcing you on the past few weeks.

You were livid when your parents renounced from the ten-year war that was purging the continent with just a sign on a piece of paper — one that included your name and your honor. Everything was brutal, carnage dotting every town and village of the two kingdoms throwing spears and fire cannons, and you witnessed it all firsthand when you started being one of your kingdom’s soldiers four years ago — a sixteen-year-old girl throwing orders that gave you an advantage from your enemies wearing the crest of the kingdom that painted your lands a heart-wrenching red. Of all solutions that your parents and the other kingdom could come up with, it involved you in the most unacceptable way possible. Officially entering your twenties this year, your parents thought it necessary to offer you as a bride that signified peace to the warring nation right beyond the border. The idea made your vision red, an outburst coming out of your mouth mere seconds after the proposal was announced in the council meeting.

A soldier, a knight, a commander — that’s what you are.

Not some forsaken young woman ready to be shipped off to your rival nation because it was the only way out of this bloody mess.

You had no choice.

The only way for you to grasp the final moments in your kingdom was relishing the touches of the chambermaid and taking in the décor of your room — the small trinkets scattered on your nightstands, the books you escaped to, the jewelry that boasted the colors of your family, and the stuffed animals your nanny sewed for you when you were a toddler. You closed your eyes and let the feathery fingers of the people around you lull you into a prayer for the gods in their celestial thrones, asking for their blessing in this far travel. In the middle of reciting an ode dedicated to the goddess of divine bravery, you felt a cool pendant carefully slide over your collarbones.

Your mother’s face appeared beside the watery princess of the mirror, a forced smile pulling on the corners of her lips. Your distinctly colored irises flickered down on the necklace your mother placed upon the exposed parts of your body. It was a flower-pressed necklace, the gold plate carefully protecting the flower representing your birth. The golden chain holding the necklace together was so thin that you worried for a moment that the fragile piece of jewelry might break in less than an hour while you meet your partner-to-be. You met your mother’s gaze in the mirror — from a chivalrous princess of armor to a dignified queen ruling within a land of eternal spring.

“You look so beautiful,” your mother breathed your name, holding your arms tightly against her ring-adorned hands. Tears blossomed her eyes, trickling down her cheeks akin to the lavender flowers’ petals of the large white tree in your backyard. “You look like the queen you were supposed to be.”

You tried smiling but your wobbly lips made you falter. You can only purse your lips in a tight, flat smile as you face your mother, face set in a kind expression. “Please don’t cry, Mother,” you murmured, placing your palm on top of hers, squeezing it for reassurance. “They wouldn’t do anything to me.”

They, meaning the kingdom you were at war with, the nation that claimed they needed a bride for their Crown Heir. In your world, there was freedom even in marriage — with the kingdoms pairing their sons with the sons of their enemies all for the sake of a truce, especially if the two of them were firstborns. This is very much your situation at the moment. The kingdom of Idylle was a beautiful haven of songs dedicated to the god of the winds, very contrasting to their military power that could take down a good number of your soldiers. You heard stories from some villages in your nation that Idylle was a hoax, that they were bloodthirsty warmongers hungry for the spilled blood of the people of Glaieul, your kingdom. You couldn’t help but believe their words. That was the only addition to your knowledge of Idylle except for their battle tactics and placement of soldiers on the battlefield.

“We’ll pray to the deities that they will do just that,” your mother laughed a little despite the tears. “Or else your father will wage war if they so much scratched you.”

“He wouldn’t do that, Mother,” you shook your head with a slight smile. “You two have worked so hard for this peace treaty. If I ever scratched myself in Idyllic lands, trust me that it would most likely be my fault. Not theirs.”

Your mother’s laugh twinkled in the room, painting everything in a light that erased the heaviness shrouding in every corner of your chambers. “I suppose so. You and your love for your sword are unrivaled. I can still remember the time when you first got the weapon, you were so thrilled for a six-year-old that one would think you were born in the barracks. I have to admit, you looked adorable swinging your sword until the greeting of the night and its stars.” She wistfully sighed, looking down at the necklace she gave you. “Your father was so proud when you came back for dinner that night.”

“My sword has always been a lifelong companion. I will even bring it to their castle.”

Your mother placed a hand on top of her chest, over her heart. “I hope you don’t unsheathe it in front of their royal family.”

You breathed a laugh. “No promises.”

The two of you talk about all the things that happened in your childhood, your laughs echoing through the hallways. The maids and the butlers bade you goodbye and safe travels as you passed by, never forgetting to nod in their direction in acknowledgment. You will miss their company for they saw you grow up before you decided to partake in the war. Almost all of them fussed over the mess you made while practicing your swordplay, cleaning up the broken vases and the mud on the carpeted floors. Even one of the apprentices of the Keeper of Books residing in the palace, Armin, enthusiastically waved at you, his friends flanking him for a visit in the kitchens. You didn’t miss how Eren directed an incredulous stare towards the blonde man, with Mikasa looking shocked at how easily the apprentice interacted with you in a public setting since your times with them only happened behind prying eyes.

You gave the three of them a huge smile that gave their faces a pretty rose shade.

Upon reaching the foyer, your father stood at the foot of the stairs along with the soldiers you acquainted in your time on the battlefield, sending a wave of warmth through your chest. His silver coat lined with gold details was a beacon and his white breeches were tucked in a pair of knee-length boots. His chest was decorated with his sash full of medallions, the kingdom insignia of lilac gladioluses and silver roses pinned on top of his heart. The king of Glaieul softened his eyes, crinkles appearing at the corners, at the sight of you and your mother descending on the stairs.

“My little flower,” was his greeting to you when you reached him.

“Father,” you breathed, picking up your skirts to settle in the embrace of waiting arms. You buried your figure against him, inhaling his scent of pine and rosewater, creating the last memory you will have of him. The two of you pulled away for a moment, your eyes watering at the sad visage your father sported. You felt the lightest brush of his kiss on your forehead. 

“Now I’m becoming reluctant in sending you off,” he told you. “I felt guilty when I saw you fight against this during the council meeting. But it is what they offered and I have no say in the matter.”

“I know.”

“May the eternal spring never waver in your soul.”

You nodded before taking a step back, bowing with your knees on the marble floors. Your crown glinted against the light from the stained-glass windows, your hair forming a curtain around your face as you replied, “I will let it fester among the ballads and idylls they will offer. I will carry the name of Glaieul with faithfulness, honor, and grace.” You raised your head to meet your father’s eyes. “I promise to never deter the eternal spring.”

It would be that way until your last years in that kingdom. And as you rode the carriage with the soldiers you fought with guarding the vehicle with their lives on the line, you could only sigh and offer another round of prayers that this swerves in a more positive direction than what you were expecting. After a hefty journey across the bustling capital (people stopped by and waved your carriage goodbye, offering you flowers that one of the captains of the fleet, Levi, scowled at — you coaxed him that it was alright, though) to the hectares of meadows in the countryside, the sight of flowers mixed with emerald turned into a sea of teal as you entered the outskirts of Idylle, your betrothed’s home. Everything was bathed with the endemic species of grass solely blessed by the god of the winds on Idylle — legends say that it was because He wanted the kingdom that worshipped him to look different than the rest. No matter how much you deny it, it was beautiful.

“How are you faring, princess?”

Your daze was interrupted by a baritone voice, deep enough to alert some of the men around the carriage. His gray eyes provided you support during the war. You couldn’t help but smile at the onyx-haired man riding by your right window. “Hello, Captain Levi.”

“Tch. Drop the title, brat. You and I both know that the war made us friends somewhat.”

You let out a small laugh. “Well, Levi, to answer your question, I’m quite fine even though my parents just sold me to gain peace.”

Levi rose an eyebrow at the remark. “I am not one to have the capabilities to comfort someone but think of this as a way for you to help the kingdom without sacrificing your life for once. A nation without its heir is just like losing its king. I’ve seen you train when you’re starting as a squire and to the point when you got the position you deserve. This would be like a small walk in the gardens of your mother.” He fixated his stare on you, eyes dull yet determined to get his point across. “You have a role in every part of your life and this time, this is what the gods crafted for you. Do not fret, princess, you have more chances of being on the battlefield again.”

The words Levi spoke settled in you until you reached the capital of Idylle, a small island in the middle of a clear azure lake with walls resembling a huge castle. The bridge leading to the gates was lined with guards bearing the kingdom’s crest, all of them standing under the flapping flags bearing the symbol and colors of the royal family they serve — a harp surrounded by the colors of gold and blue. Their eyes warily followed the series of carriages, postures becoming stiff in the realization that the entourage holds the visitor their rivaling country sent. That was still the scenario when the series of carriages and horses passed by the marketplace, the vicinity on the lowest part of the walled capital, as if the wind even ceased to let the people gawk at the brightly-colored entourage making its way to the highest tier depicting mansions and the main plaza where their patron god stood tall and proud in front of the palace’s gates.

Everything looked magnificent.

It was a breath of fresh air from the glass castle you grew up in. Whereas your kingdom built a white, blinding home that withstood for hundreds of years, Idylle’s palace blended with the brick walls with its leveled mansard roofs and turrets. The gates were made of gold, welcoming you into a huge square of maze-like hedges, a fountain sitting in the middle of the labyrinth. Some gardeners stopped their daily chores to greet the carriages with a wave of their hat, seeing as you were going to be an addition to the royal family after the wedding in a few months. The steps leading to the main doors loomed in front of you with only a few servants waiting for you to step out of the carriage.

You took in a deep breath, nodding at Levi to open the door. When it swung open, you placed your hand on top of Levi’s as he guided you down the propped steps on the side of the carriage.

“Well,” Levi hummed from behind you, making you glance at him with a curious eye. “May the eternal spring never waver in your soul, Your Highness.” He bowed in front of you, only a dip of his head, a firm hand on his heart, and yet that was enough for you to reciprocate it with a kind smile.  

“Safe travels back, Captain Levi. May the gods protect you.”

The servant boys standing on top of the stairs jumped an inch in the air, going down in fleeting steps to get your luggage when they realized they were staring too long at you. You smiled at them in gratitude before stepping inside the palace as the guards opened the huge, gilded double doors in front of you.

The inside was just elegant as the exterior appearance of the entire capital. Everything was bathed in gold that seemed to rival the Sun and it made you look away for a moment. The grand hall followed the kingdom’s colors, from the turquoise carpets leading towards two winding staircases to the golden ceilings decorated with paintings of cherubs and the story of how their god of the winds came to be. One of the servant boys slightly cleared his throat, snapping you out of your curiosity of the myths laid on the ceiling. You turned to him with raised eyebrows, spurring him to whisper a faint, “Follow us, Your Highness.” They led you through hallways hung with tapestries and paintings, drawing rooms where the queen hosted her tea parties (Levi would have loved it), and ballrooms that have the same aesthetic as the foyer. Finally, you stopped in front of one of the apartments in the palace, the servant boy who told you to follow them brightened at the guard stationed there.

“Reiner!”

You waited patiently and let your eyes roam across the hallway.

“Hello, Falco, Udo.” The man, Reiner, smiled at the young boys before turning to you. He placed a hand on his heart and bowed. “Welcome to Gale, the capital of Idylle, Your Highness.”

“Thank you for the welcome,” you replied, motioning for him that it was quite alright to straighten his posture. “The palace looks lovely.”

“Indeed, it is.” Reiner opened the doors of your room and once again bowed with an outstretched hand towards the room. “Here are your chambers and I will be your guard for the entirety of your stay here in the palace, Your Highness.” You muttered a faint ‘thank you’ as you entered a drawing room with a door to the private chambers on the left and the bathrooms to the right. There was a table fit for two people, armchairs, and drawers with vases on top. A huge floor-to-ceiling window illuminated the room, your feet carrying you there to open them, and letting the wind caress the curtains as they danced in the breeze. “If you ever need anything, you can call for my name and I will be here in an instant. Your chambermaid will be up here in a moment to help you prepare for the family dinner. For now, rest well, Your Highness.”

“Thank you, Reiner, Falco, Udo,” you smiled, retreating towards the private chambers.

You let out a sigh and stared at nothing for a few moments. It came down to this. To think that you were in enemy lands and was treated so well without any degradation came as a shock to you. The people so far that radiated negativity at your arrival were the guards stationed at the bridge and some of the townsfolk and nobles parading in the streets. As you think about the servant boys and Reiner’s calmness in receiving you in the palace, you immediately thought that it would be better than you expected.

You took off your heels under your dress, mind racing that this wouldn’t be so bad, and plopped on top of your canopied bed, its baby blue curtains protecting you from unknown disturbances and drowning you in a rapid of dreams.

-

The dinner didn’t go so well as you expected.

You donned a more suitable dress for indoor use, something that doesn’t include forcing your figure in a tight corset and yet presentable enough to be shown in the family dinner. You even placed a circlet of silver flowers on your head to compensate for the dull dress you chose, the description fitting after one of the chambermaids expressed their perplexity at how simple regarding design your dress has. Your light blue skirts fanned out around you as you made your way to one of the grand dining rooms reserved for family use. The choice of the color of the dress should be enough to express that you are willing to be on good terms with the family of the person you will marry.

But your first meeting with Annie Leonhart was interestingly disappointing.

Before departing from your kingdom, you learned the royal family and even Idylle’s customs. You learned how they always valued freedom and expression above all else, compared to your home that valued their ties with the gods more than the idea of getting rid of the shackles placed by your deities. You learned how they have this festival dedicated to celebrating the love they share with their patron god and how it spanned for half a month.

Finally, you learned about the indifferent Crown Heir of Idylle, the young woman with the piercing blue oceanic eyes sitting in front of you at the dinner table. She was known for building up walls that discouraged some of her engagements with other royalties across the continent. She was so closed off that she didn’t even glance in your direction for one second. Her hair was done in an elaborate bun wrapping around her head in a braid, her small, thin diadem resting against her golden hair. Annie kept her gaze on her plate, even playing with her food mindlessly for a couple of minutes before sighing and taking a bite of the chicken the maids served. No conversation was exchanged and the dinner ultimately became one of the most awkward meals you had. The king even tried to engage his daughter for casual talk but Annie dismissed them with a hum.

The queen had to apologize to you several times after the dinner, with Annie huffing at the back and eager to get out of the room. Despite how much she was against this engagement, you still bowed at her before you retreated to your room.

Now dressed in your nightgown, you stared at the canopy of your bed, already missing your home the more you fixed your attention on the bundled-up curtains. You badly needed to hit a straw dummy with your sword to let out your frustrations. Of all the royalties present in your continent, why did it have to be you that was shipped to this measly forced marriage? There were still so many solutions that could lead to a peace treaty but why was this the only one the kings and queens could present to their courts? A sigh escaped your chest once again at the thought of actually getting to know Annie. You laid on your side, curling your legs towards your chest and prayed that the god of dreams will visit you sooner than expected.

A knock reverberated through your chambers, the sound making you sit up.

You went to the receiving room and opened the door. You kept the small hitch of your breath in your chest at the sight of Annie and her half-lidded eyes. There was no one in the hallways. You figured that she sent Reiner away for some privacy, meeting the blue irises you likened to brilliant sapphires. 

“What brings you here, Your Highness?” you asked, opening the door wider.

“Annie.” She saw how your eyebrows raised in surprise. “Call me Annie, we’re betrothed after all.”

“Of course.” You smiled. “Annie,” you tested her name softly, missing the way she inhaled too sharply at your voice. 

Annie reciprocated the gesture by saying your name. The two of you stared at each other and it felt like an eternity before she looked away to focus on the receiving room behind you. She noticed how your eyes held kindness underneath the star-like shine even though she showed hostility during your first dinner with her family. Your hair was disheveled and it didn’t take her a minute to realize she might have woken you up from a good night’s rest. The journey from Glaieul to Idylle was a long one. You deserve all the rest you can get, “I apologize if I woke you up but I feel like I should do this before dragging it out.” You once again raised an eyebrow so she took out a leather box, opening it to reveal a ring with a holographic gem showing teal and pink in the middle. The Leonhart family ring. “Here.”

“Oh.”

You were gawking at the beautiful piece of jewelry, with Annie taking the matter in her own hands. She took the ring out of the box and pocketed the container. Her hand reached out to hold your palm against hers, sliding the ring in your ring finger. Your hand still hovered in front of you after Annie retracted hers to find their place by her side. She continued to eye your mesmerized visage with a half-lidded gaze, clearing her throat to catch your attention. You turned to her with a small apology for spacing out.

“It’s fine,” Annie waved off. “It’s yours starting today.” She turned away from you and went down the hallways but not before saying a “Good night, [Name].”

-

The entire week of your stay in Idylle was uneventful, to say the least.

Annie kept her distance from you after that night she gave you their family ring. It left you thinking that you should also gift her the [Last Name] ring your family treasured for centuries. The ring was placed in a small cushioned jewelry box that you opened and propped on one of your night tables. Your conscience was telling you to give it to her but there wasn’t exactly any moment alone with her let alone just passing by her in the hallways. The blonde princess made it her mission to never let your fates meet the more time you spent in the capital. You then decided that she probably didn’t want this engagement to happen.

But she gave you the ring. Wasn’t that a strong signal that Annie accepted you as her betrothed, unlike the others before you?

You shook that thought as you focused on giving consecutive hits on the dummy in front of you. Two days before, you proposed to the king to let you have a moment alone in the training grounds for about two hours or so to keep you in shape. He reluctantly agreed, but not without a side stare at the queen. They heard of your glorious feats during the war, how you managed to become one of the Commanders of a battalion of soldiers tasked with being in the frontlines and how you won constant ambushes against Idylle’s numbers. Two hours of training became three until here you are, still not stopping as you finished every single dummy in the private training grounds. With your day spent outside, you thought it would be nice to have a nice dip in the bathtub before dinner.

In your walk towards your chambers, you spotted Annie in one of the drawing rooms, sitting in the window seats with a book of war tactics in hand. You recognized the author as one of the revolutionaries mentioned to you by your tutor. 

“That’s a nice book,” you couldn’t help but mention. Annie turned to you unfazed by your interruption though there was a glint of interest in her eyes. “The book mostly describes battle formations but I think the author likened it to every situation on the battlefield. For instance, the phalanx was native to the empire of Great Findara and it was great for preventing casualties until it was overpowered by the infantry tactic of the city nation of Khisfire where every man has a role and a weapon depending on their group. The latter was more on the long-range yet melee way of taking back the territory.”

Annie hummed. “Do royal tutors of Glaieul teach this to their students?”

“Oh, no. I learned it while taking on the role of a squire.”

She once again hummed. “It completely slipped my mind that you are one of the Commanders in your military. You were ruthless as the folks in the noble plaza say, blood tainting your hands from doing raids in the border villages of Idylle.” Her tone was like a jab to your side, like an arrow tearing through your skin. “I know it was a time of war and desperate times call for desperate measures but our people didn’t deserve to experience the massacres.”

“They were far from being massacres,” you gritted your teeth.

Annie scoffed. “Then what were they? Because that’s what it looks like to me. I can still remember the story two years ago of a young girl wearing her lilac cape in the bloodbath, eyes so dull that you can see your reflection on it. What’s to say that this engagement is a hoax plotted by your parents to assassinate my family for you to win a territory you greatly needed because of the resources?” She closed her book with too much force, bitterly spitting out the next words, “The apple doesn’t fall from the tree as the saying goes.”

“If you question my being here then why did you give me your family ring, Annie?” you asked, your body now facing the tense young woman by the window. You cursed at how the light made her look angelic like the girl the god of the winds sacrificed his life to before he ascended to the heavens. “This peace treaty is everything my family wanted even though hundreds of our soldiers died in vain for not meeting the ends of what they fought for. If you’re saying that my parents placed me in an undercover predicament to add to the weight of deaths on my shoulders, I suggest you tell your father to put a stop to our betrothal. Because I don’t even want to be here, Your Highness, and it would do me such a huge honor. I would rather spend my time out with my fellow soldiers than pretending I’m some dainty princess my family sheltered when in fact, I was anything but that.

“Have a good day and I hope you enjoy the rest of the book. Chapter ten was a personal favorite of mine,” you dismissed, turning towards the direction of the apartments.

Once you reached your door, Reiner straightened his posture, faltering for a second when he noticed the cross look on your face. He chose not to say anything as he opened the door for you. You took off your boots right beside one of the armchairs of the receiving room and immediately went inside your private chambers. The glint of the ring on your night table mocked you. You stomped over the furniture and forcefully closed the small jewelry box, throwing the container inside one of the drawers.

Maybe sleep will be much kinder to you, the sheets enveloping you in an embrace you wish your mother can only give in this time of need.

-

You were radiant under the harsh heat of the Sun.

Annie was scheduled to have a free slot in her timetable after being included in one of the court meetings regarding the resiliency plan of some of the villages in the borders that managed to survive the Glaieulian raids. She suggested that the villages should be moved to one of the more remote villages nearer the capital, where the terrain is suitable for growing crops and starting small farms. There wouldn’t be an issue with overpopulation because the recommended village was home to the elderly and children. The newly situated families will also aid the old people as they go about their mundane activities. It was a sound suggestion and her father was also considering it. Annie hoped that would be the case as she scribbled a small note on a piece of paper. After the meeting, she stopped by one of the windows overlooking the training grounds, and there you are.

Your small argument that happened a few days before stirred some guilt in Annie’s stomach. 

You weren’t even part of the raids she was talking about. They were led by a commander by the name of Erwin Smith. The stories about you that she heard were from Idyllic soldiers that suffered a lot during the war, not from the people of the villages Erwin raided. Annie couldn’t deny it but she did step out of the line by accusing you of being an assassin. That was too far-fetched. She was just stuck in her suspicions when she was supposed to be getting to know you.

All she knew about you was that you were adept with a sword and can name any tactic written in books about wars.

Annie saw a maid cleaning one of the vases in the hallway. “Miranda.”

The maid turned around, curtsying in a haste before patting her uniform. “What can I do for you, Your Highness?”

“Can you prepare a tray of iced apple juice and some cakes?”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

Annie nodded. “And can you place this note on the tray and deliver it to [Name]’s room?”

The maid was taken aback. “Well, it would be my pleasure, Princess.”

“Thank you.” With that, Annie walked away without a glance back.

Curious eyes followed the princess’ form, the maid finding herself looking at your figure sparring with Reiner and a smile instantly greeted her face. This could be a turning point in the betrothal because she could’ve sworn Annie had a small blush on her cheeks at the mention of the other princess. 

After your training, a tray of sweets and a pitcher with glasses of apple juice awaited you in your receiving room. You wanted to ask Reiner if he asked some of the chambermaids to prepare the afternoon snack but a folded note caught your eye. With one hand gripping the towel around your shoulders, you read the note, your face warming up at the short yet endearing sentence.

Indulge in these, they taste better after a good training session.

Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all, you thought as you munched on a sprinkled cookie.

-

Her eyes kept following a trail of gold tulle, silks, and laces, never looking away the moment her blue eyes laid themselves upon a beauty that rivaled the goddess of oneiric realms, the most ethereal goddess of the heavens. You were dressed in an off-shoulder gown with loose sleeves reaching your elbow, the bodice carefully wrapping around your torso in the most flattering way possible, and skirts adorned with silver gems. In a sea of aristocrats with fabulous dresses, you were a sight to behold in this ball dedicated to commemorate the truce between Glaieul and Idylle as well as announce the engagement between the two countries. You were starlight personified, shining in Annie’s eyes under the lights of tens of chandeliers in the ballroom. 

You were on the other side of the ballroom, laughing with your friends from your home kingdom. There was a tall brunette that seemed to be star-struck because of you just like Annie, a black-haired young woman who was smiling slightly, and a blonde who was engaged in an animated conversation with you. Your smiles were refreshing, to say the least, Annie seeing it for the first time since you came to their palace. Your laughs are genuine and it came out of you so easily when in the company of your friends.

Annie visibly stiffened when you turned around and smiled at her, gesturing for her to come to join the small huddle. Your three friends tensed noticeably at her half-lidded stare, with you reassuring them that she’s not that indifferent all the time. 

As if sensing Annie’s hesitance, Reiner chuckled behind her. “You know, it wouldn’t hurt to introduce yourself to them, Your Highness.”

“I’m getting to that, Reiner.”

A laugh came from the blonde man. “She’s good for you. That much I can tell. The kindest soul I’ve ever met in my life.”

Again, guilt pooled in Annie’s chest. Those words are the opposite of what she spewed out to you the last time you talked. She called you a power-hungry monster who ravaged the war with no care on your shoulders. She didn’t even apologize yet. Annie sighed, “I know.” Then, she pulled up her skirts, navigated the ballroom, and stopped directly beside you. Her blue eyes scrutinized the three people you grew up with, with the brunette and black-haired woman stepping a small step forward to assert their dominance while the blonde pinched their backs to warn them not to step out of line in another kingdom. “Hello.” She transferred her eyes on you afterward, placing a gentle hand on the small of your back and rubbing it in a comforting motion. “I hope you enjoyed the ball so far.” Those words were directed to you.

You only nodded with a smile. “Annie, this is Eren, Mikasa, and Armin. They’re my friends when I was growing up in the glass castle.” Annie nodded. “Everyone, this is Annie, my fiancé.”

“We know,” Eren, the long-haired man in a low ponytail murmured with his arms crossed over his broad chest.

“Eren,” Armin reprimanded. He smiled at a stone-faced Annie. “Thank you for making [Name] happy! I can sense that she has a different air around her while we talked. It must be because of you.”

Annie stayed quiet, her hand coming into a still on the small of your back. It was a good thing her left hand was hidden away because they would immediately think that you didn’t accept the engagement. She glanced at the ring nestling in your finger, a perfect match against the golden train of your dress. Realizing that she created an awkward stretch of silence, Annie could only nod wordlessly before shifting her attention to you again. It seems like you’re the only one who can calm her nerves down inside the vast ballroom. She never took her gaze on you even as you continued the conversation between your friends.

Her mind was fogged with thoughts of only you throughout the ball.

The two of you excused yourself from the trio when Annie’s father called for everyone’s attention from the front of the huge chambers. “Everyone, kind souls and pure-hearted people of the continent, since tonight is all for enjoyment, the waltz of the ball will now commence.” His blue eyes went to his daughter, standing at the side of his throne. “The moment everyone is waiting for — the first waltz.”

She rehearsed this too many times for when a proper betrothal comes into play but why is her hand shaking when she outstretched it in front of you? You must have felt it because you flashed a comforting smile her way. The two of you went to the middle of the ballroom, the guests staring expectantly at the birth of a romance. They were wrong because you hate her and she hates you. Right? Her hatred for you will never waver for killing her people even though you look like a descended goddess with the lights of the chandeliers raining on you. Hatred must be fueling her heart to beat faster than ever, why she seemed to trip over her skirts and how her words stumbled in her tongue. That must be it.

The dance slowly made its way to the part where she struggled, dipping you as gracefully as she can. Before it happened, you whispered to her, “Please don’t make me fall.”

Annie’s voice was soft, for your ears only. “I promise, my princess.”

It truly was a birth of a romance, the two of you unaware of it all.

-

“Come on, Reiner!” You shouted at him from across the training field. “Come at me with all you’ve got.”

The blonde man hesitantly shifted into position as he eyed you. “Are you sure, princess? I wouldn’t want to hurt you.” He remembered the threatening look he received from Annie before this training session and he would like all of his limbs intact, thank you very much. “I just don’t want your chambermaid to nag me again after last time.” He managed a cut on your arm your previous session and you had to wear a long-sleeved dress in such stifling weather.

You scoffed lightheartedly. “I can handle it, Reiner. You don’t have to worry about it. Plus, I can dress my wounds perfectly.”

Reiner didn’t believe that. Your skills in covering up your wounds were lacking despite being a soldier. The most you could do was apply some salve on your bruises, that was it. He had no choice because the past month he spent his days with you, you were like a persistent little child that reminded him of his younger cousin. He hoped that you two wouldn’t meet. “Alright, here I go, Your Highness.”

Parry after parry could be heard in the private training field. You were doing fine in deflecting Reiner’s sword but your ankle immediately ached after shifting your body, leaning back to avoid the sharp edge of the knight’s weapon. You let out a huff as you dropped on the ground, jolting when Reiner called for you to stay alert. Seeing the glint of his sword, you rolled away and the pain on your ankle flared, even more, traveling through your calf. It also didn’t help that you received a cut on the side of your bandaged arm. You picked yourself up despite the throbbing pain on your ankle and arm, now being on the defensive as Reiner continuously struck you with his sword. He then circled his weapon around yours, throwing your sword on the side and pushing you to the ground with the tip of his weapon. That was the time where your ankle finally twisted into a sprain.

“Ah!”

“Princess?” Reiner’s tone became alarmed, dropping to your level and taking off your boots in an instant. His hands ghosted around your swollen ankle, not knowing what to do. “Gods, Annie’s going to kill me!”

“Annie?” You asked between pants. “What does this have to do with her?”

He only shook his head, carrying you in his arms and into the palace. His steps were hurried and the maids gasped at the sight of your red ankle. “Please prepare a bucket of ice and bring it to Princess [Name]’s private chambers.” He turned to you. “Hang on for a moment, Your Highness, we’re nearing your room. Just a little bit more.” Reiner entered your room and gently placed you on your bed. “I’m going to be taking off your other shoe, Your Highness.”

“Reiner, I think I’ll take it from here.”

Reiner stiffened, slowly turning his head to the entrance of your private chambers. Annie was impatiently standing with a bucket of ice in both hands, eyes glacially set on the blonde man kneeling on the floor in front of your confused form. She didn’t care if Reiner trembled in front of her. She vividly remembered telling the knight to never hurt you (she didn’t see the cut you had last training session because Annie was in another court meeting involving the incoming tax collection of various villages). Annie glanced at your ankle, barely grimacing at the state of it before gesturing for Reiner to get out of the room. The large blonde man took his leave, bowing at the two of your hastily and closing the doors with finality.

Annie mimicked Reiner’s position, kneeling in one knee to place your injured foot on her thigh. She didn’t wear any dresses for the day and it made her look dashing. The image implanted itself in your brain. Her hands are gentle against your skin, your cheeks flaring at the contact. Her features were contorted in a downturned one that showed how bothered she was. 

“How did this happen?”

Your eyes settled on the top drawer of your nightstand. “I dodged Reiner’s blow and I twisted my ankle in the process.”

“You should be more careful.”

“I’m always careful.”

Annie scoffed. “That’s clearly obvious.” She said nothing more while dipping your foot in the ice bath. She lifted her head too fast when you winced at the coldness of the water. “Deal with it. We wouldn’t want this to be worse than it already is.”

“Thanks for the concern,” you dryly mentioned.

“What makes you think that my being worried is all fake?” You’re silent, Annie choosing the moment to continue the words she didn’t have any control over. “When the maids prepared this bucket of ice in the kitchens, I was out of the council meeting. When I saw then bringing this up to your chambers, I was alarmed and my mind was a mess of thoughts concerning what happened to you.” At each word, her face held a multitude of emotions that you never saw on her. Her lips became pursed whilst you wordlessly stared at her. “I am not pretending to care for you. How could I pretend when I’m already feeling foreign emotions when it comes to you? It’s my first time feeling this way so I don’t know if I can categorize this as falling in love. But it feels like it. So, for the love of the gods, can’t you see that I’m rambling because of you?”

You didn’t reply, instead, you reached out to the drawer where you kept that ring.

“What are you doing? You should be still right now.”

You pulled out the jewelry box and flipped it open, showing the blonde the ring fashioned in a vine, the centerpiece being a group of small gladiolus flowers with diamonds in their centers. 

Annie’s cheeks reddened, flustered at the pretty jewelry. “What?”

Words never came out of you as you took Annie’s left hand. The ring looked pretty on her, the two of you admiring it after you slid the engagement jewelry in her ring finger.

“I now accept you as my fiancé, my future lover, and holder of my heart. Annie Leonhart, may our eternal spring bloom for centuries, and may your god of the winds bless us with his idyllic ballads.” Annie’s eyes were wide and you can see your reflection on them, along with constellations that lit up her irises. You placed your forehead against hers, looking straight into her flushed face. “They were right, this is the birth of a romance.”

And as you two kissed for the first time, the gods were rejoicing in their thrones, each of your prayers answered — your love finally etched in a whimsical melody.