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gyuuberryy · 3 months ago
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prince charming's mismatch
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pairing: prince!heeseung x princess!reader
synopsis: you and prince heeseung have been rivals for as long as you can remember. what began as childhood clashes has grown into a deep-seated animosity over the years. but when your sister runs away on her wedding day, you're forced to take her place and marry heeseung—the last person you ever wanted to call your husband.
now bound in an unwanted marriage, you’re faced with navigating the tension between your unresolved hatred and an unexpected attraction. as palace intrigue and looming threats surround you both, you must confront the truth of your feelings. will the bitterness between you tear you apart, or will it ignite something far more powerful?
genre: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, arranged marriage au
warnings: highly suggestive content!!! kissing, hee and reader are mean at first, insecurities, jealous!hee
note: i've been meaning to write this plot for an year now, im happy with how it turned out! e2l with hee is always soo fun to write. enjoyy
word count: 11.5k
royally yours masterlist | next: jay
if you liked it please reblog or comment to give me your feedback! <3
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the first time you met prince heeseung, it was at a grand summer garden party hosted by your parents in the palace’s sprawling grounds. you were barely six years old, and he wasn’t much older, yet even then, the air between you crackled with something akin to competition. your governess had dressed you in your finest lace frock, with your hair tied in perfect ribbons, but none of that mattered. you were too busy building a grand sandcastle near the fountain, your little fingers carefully patting the turrets into shape.
that was when heeseung appeared, his shadow falling over your castle like a storm cloud. he crouched beside you without so much as a polite greeting, his royal title apparently excusing his lack of manners. his eyes, sharp for a child, surveyed your handiwork critically.
“that’s not right,” he declared, reaching out to touch one of your towers. “the walls need to be thicker, or it’ll fall.”
you frowned, already bristling at the unsolicited advice. “it’s my castle. i know what i’m doing.”
he smirked, a small, superior thing that made your blood simmer even at that tender age. without asking, he began "fixing" it, his hands too rough as he demolished what you had so carefully crafted.
“stop!” you cried, shoving him back with all the strength your little body could muster. heeseung stumbled, landing awkwardly on the grass, but instead of being chastened, he merely laughed.
“see?” he said, gesturing at the collapsed sandcastle. “i told you it would fall.”
tears of frustration welled in your eyes as you glared at him. “you ruined it! i didn’t ask for your help!”
heeseung stood, dusting off his fine clothes, a boyish smirk still plastered on his face. “you should thank me. i was doing you a favour.”
from that day forward, any time your families met, it was as if an unspoken rule had been established—whenever you were in the same room, you and heeseung would find something to argue about. it didn’t matter if it was who deserved the biggest slice of cake or who could recite their latin conjugations faster; the two of you were constantly at odds.
as the years passed, your mutual disdain only deepened. by the time you were ten, heeseung had already earned a reputation as the golden boy of his kingdom, a future king who excelled in everything he touched. your own accomplishments were always impressive—your parents had ensured you were well-versed in languages, history, and the fine arts—but whenever heeseung was around, it felt as though all your achievements paled in comparison.
“did you hear?” one of your tutors asked one morning as you sat in the drawing room, diligently practising your embroidery. “prince heeseung has been awarded top marks in his studies again. he’s to receive a commendation from the royal academy.”
you didn’t look up, but your needle paused for the briefest of moments. “how wonderful for him,” you muttered, the words heavy with sarcasm.
that evening, at another royal banquet, you couldn’t help but bring up your own accomplishments, eager for even a crumb of recognition.
“i’ve been practising my archery,” you said proudly to the gathered guests, though your eyes couldn’t help but flick toward heeseung, who lounged nearby, looking as regal and aloof as ever. “i managed to hit the bullseye several times this week.”
heeseung glanced up lazily, catching your eye with that familiar, insufferable smirk. “impressive,” he said in a bored tone, “though archery isn’t quite the same as, say, fencing. that requires real skill.”
your fists clenched under the table, your pride wounded by his casual dismissal. but this was the way it always went. no matter what you did, heeseung always found a way to make it seem insignificant, as though he were the sun and you were merely a star dimmed by his brilliance.
by the time you were both teenagers, the animosity between you had grown more complicated, though no less intense. you found yourselves at the same royal gatherings, balls, and court functions, and each time, it was as if the entire room held its breath, waiting to see what you and heeseung would clash over next.
at one particularly grand ball, you had been feeling proud of your debut. you wore a gown of the finest silk, and you’d received more than a few admiring glances from the eligible noblemen in attendance. you were certain this was your night to shine—until heeseung approached.
“you look well enough,” he said, his voice smooth but with an edge that set your teeth on edge. “though i hope you don’t trip during the quadrille like last time.”
your cheeks flushed, remembering all too well the minor misstep you’d taken at a previous ball. “i won’t,” you snapped, glaring at him. “and even if i did, it’s better than fencing yourself into a corner like you did at the tournament last month.”
his smile faltered for just a second, but that was enough to make you feel victorious.
yet, despite the constant barbs, there was something else simmering beneath the surface now—a tension you refused to name. you hated the way your heart raced whenever heeseung was near, the way his presence seemed to fill every corner of a room. and, though you’d never admit it, you hated even more that part of you missed the old days when your squabbles were simple, childish things.
it all changed the day your sister’s engagement to heeseung was announced. the prince who had been your lifelong nemesis was now to become your sister’s husband, the future king of your kingdom. it was a match made for political alliance, but it felt like a betrayal. you had expected more from him—well, not more kindness, but certainly more rebellion. yet, heeseung accepted the engagement with the same cool composure he did everything else.
for the first time in years, he stopped seeking you out, stopped picking those fights you had come to expect. he no longer bothered with sharp remarks or smug smiles. instead, he kept his distance, as though you were beneath his notice.
you told yourself it didn’t matter. after all, what did you care if heeseung ignored you now? he was going to be your brother-in-law, and that was enough reason to keep things civil. and yet, a strange, hollow feeling settled in your chest whenever you saw him and your sister together. he was colder now, more mature, but somehow more distant than ever.
little did you know, your rivalry with prince heeseung was far from over. if anything, it was only just beginning.
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the night your world fell apart, it started with a simple knock on your chamber door. the palace had been abuzz with preparations—florists arranging garlands, tailors hemming gowns, and courtiers whispering about the grand union that would strengthen two kingdoms. you had spent the evening rehearsing your duties as maid of honour, biting back any remnants of bitterness that still clung to your feelings about the match. it didn’t matter that you had spent your entire life despising heeseung; your sister loved him, or at least, she was supposed to.
you were preparing to retire, brushing your hair by the dim glow of candlelight, when your sister slipped into the room, her face pale and eyes wide with fear. you’d never seen her look so frantic. your heart sank before she even said a word.
“i’m not going to marry him,” she whispered, wringing her hands in the folds of her silk nightgown. her voice trembled, but it was steady enough for you to know she wasn’t joking.
your heart lurched. “what are you talking about? the wedding is tomorrow!”
her wide eyes darted to the door as if she feared someone might overhear. she leaned in closer, gripping your wrist with trembling fingers. “i can’t marry heeseung,” she said urgently. “i don’t love him. i’m leaving tonight.”
the words hit you like a physical blow. “you’re what?”
“i’m eloping,” she said, her voice firmer now, as if saying it out loud gave her courage. “with lucien.”
lucien. you barely knew the man, a minor noble from another court, but he had charmed your sister quickly. he was handsome and witty, but far beneath her station. you stared at her, disbelief mixing with fury.
“lucien? are you mad? you can’t just abandon your duty for—”
“for love?” she interrupted, her voice rising in defiance. “yes, i can. i won’t be trapped in a loveless marriage with a man who cares nothing for me.”
you swallowed hard, your mind racing. heeseung, distant and cold as he had been with you, had shown no signs of affection for your sister either, but this was bigger than personal feelings. the marriage was political, a union meant to secure alliances, peace, and power. your sister fleeing would bring nothing but chaos.
“you’ll ruin everything,” you whispered, your voice thick with the weight of the consequences. “our families, the kingdoms—this is bigger than you.”
her eyes softened with a mix of guilt and determination. “i know. but i can’t live my life for duty, not like this.” she stood, gathering a small satchel you hadn’t noticed before, already packed and ready for her escape.
“you won’t stop me, will you?” she asked, her gaze pleading.
you wanted to scream, to shake her out of this madness, but your throat tightened. she was your sister. you loved her. and you knew, deep down, that nothing you said would change her mind.
“i should,” you said, your voice quiet, brittle. “but no. i won’t.”
your sister smiled, a fragile, relieved thing, before pulling you into a tight embrace. the hug felt final, like the end of something neither of you could come back from. when she finally let go, you stood frozen in the middle of her room as she slipped out the window and into the night, her footsteps fading into the shadows.
the palace remained blissfully unaware of the catastrophe until morning, when your mother’s scream shattered the early dawn peace.
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the palace was in chaos the next morning. servants rushed through the halls, panic etched on their faces as whispers spread like wildfire—the bride had run away. you stayed in your chambers as long as possible, trying to gather your thoughts, your emotions, trying to prepare for the inevitable fallout.
when the summons came from your father, it felt like a death knell. the walk to the throne room felt endless, each step heavier than the last. the moment you stepped through the grand doors, you saw heeseung standing beside your parents. his face was a mask of icy calm, but his eyes…his eyes were darker than you’d ever seen them, cold and unforgiving.
he didn’t even glance at you as your father spoke.
“your sister has disgraced this family,” your father’s voice boomed, his tone laced with anger and disappointment. “but the marriage cannot be abandoned. the alliance with heeseung’s kingdom is too important.”
you stood still, your stomach churning as you braced for what was coming.
“therefore,” your father continued, his gaze hard as stone, “you will take her place.”
for a moment, the words didn’t register. you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. you? marry heeseung? no, it wasn’t possible. you had spent your entire life in a silent war with him. the idea of marrying the man who had been your nemesis since childhood was unthinkable.
your mother’s voice, soft but firm, broke the silence. “the arrangements have already been made. the wedding will proceed as planned. you will become heeseung’s bride.”
“no.” the word slipped from your lips before you could stop it, your heart racing. “i can’t.”
your father’s eyes narrowed, and your mother’s expression hardened with disappointment. “you will do your duty,” your father said coldly. “this is not up for discussion.”
duty. it always came down to that. your entire life, you had been prepared for moments like this, but not this moment. not like this.
finally, you turned to heeseung, desperate for any sign of protest, for him to say something—anything—that would stop this madness. but he was silent. his face remained expressionless, as though none of this affected him. he looked at you as if you were just a piece of the puzzle, another part of the kingdom’s grand design.
“is that all i am to you?” you asked, your voice shaking. “just a replacement? a stand-in for the bride who ran away?”
for the first time, heeseung’s gaze met yours, and for a brief moment, something flickered in his eyes—something unreadable, buried deep beneath the coldness. but his words cut through you like ice.
“you’re a princess,” he said, his voice quiet but sharp. “your role is to serve your kingdom. that’s all that matters.”
a bitter laugh escaped your throat. “you’ve hated me for years, heeseung. and now you expect me to just—what? pretend none of that matters?”
his jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond. instead, he turned away, his indifference stinging more than any of the insults you had traded over the years.
your father spoke again, his tone final. “the marriage will happen. prepare yourself.”
the grand hall was suffused with the glow of flickering candles and soft sunlight filtering through stained glass windows. the scent of fresh roses—your sister’s favourite, not yours—hung heavily in the air, mocking the gravity of the moment. you stood at the entrance of the hall, your hands clenched so tightly around the bouquet that your knuckles were white. the murmurs of the courtiers echoed around you, a constant hum of speculation and judgement. no matter how well you carried yourself today, the whispers wouldn’t stop.
the switch of the bride was the scandal of the century, and you were at the centre of it.
ahead of you, heeseung stood tall, his face as unreadable as stone. the same detachment was in his eyes, his expression cool and composed as if this marriage was merely another political manoeuvre for him, another step toward the throne. he didn’t look at you with warmth, or even a hint of care. to him, you weren’t his wife—you were the replacement for the woman who had run away.
you walked down the aisle, every step heavier than the last, the reality of your situation crushing you. heeseung’s gaze was steady as you approached, but it wasn’t the gaze of a man looking at his bride. it was a look of cold calculation, a man who had resigned himself to duty.
when you finally reached him, your heart thudding loudly in your chest, you barely registered the priest's words. the vows—sacred, binding—felt hollow, like a cruel twist of fate. how could you stand here, repeating the words meant for your sister? they weren't meant for you. you were never supposed to be the bride.
heeseung took your hand, and the warmth of his skin was a sharp contrast to the chill that ran down your spine. his grip was firm, not gentle, but not cruel either—just dutiful. he spoke his vows with a steady voice, each word sounding rehearsed, as though they meant nothing to him beyond their formality.
and then it was your turn. you hesitated, the weight of the kingdom on your shoulders, your pulse quickening. your voice trembled slightly as you repeated the vows, feeling the eyes of everyone in the hall on you—expecting you to fulfil your role, to be the perfect princess. you could barely choke out the words, but somehow, you managed. and with every word, you felt the invisible chains of your new life tightening around you.
when the priest finally pronounced you husband and wife, heeseung’s lips brushed yours in the briefest of kisses—so cold and devoid of feeling that it felt more like a business transaction than the union of two people. the cheers of the court erupted around you, but in that moment, the applause sounded like the closing of a cage. you were trapped, bound to him, to this life.
as you turned to leave the altar, heeseung offered his arm, the tension between you palpable. his eyes flickered to yours for a brief moment, but there was no warmth there. just that cold, resigned look you had grown accustomed to. you were both playing your roles, just as you had been trained to do your whole lives.
but this wasn’t a game. this was your future, and it felt like a noose tightening around your neck.
the wedding feast had been a blur—a cacophony of forced smiles, hollow congratulations, and polite toasts that masked the underlying tension. you had barely spoken a word to heeseung throughout the entire affair. he hadn’t made any attempt to speak to you either, remaining as distant and composed as ever.
now, as you stood alone in the chambers that were to be yours and heeseung’s, the reality of your new life settled heavily on your chest. the palace chambers were far too quiet, the air thick with the tension that had been building between you and heeseung for years. as you stood in the centre of the room, staring at the enormous bed draped in rich fabrics, it felt like the walls were closing in. the room was elegantly decorated—ornate tapestries hung on the walls, and the grand four-poster bed was fit for a queen. but none of it mattered. the splendour felt like a mockery of the situation you found yourself in. tonight, this room was not a sanctuary but a gilded cage.
your breath caught in your throat as the door creaked open. heeseung entered, his presence commanding even in the subdued candlelight. the tension between you was palpable, stretching like a thin, fragile thread that could snap at any moment. his gaze flicked toward you briefly, but he didn’t speak, and the silence that followed was suffocating.
heeseung moved with practised grace, his movements calm and deliberate. he began undoing the buttons on his ceremonial jacket, the fine fabric sliding off his shoulders and landing in a careless heap on the chair by the vanity. you stood frozen, unsure of what to say, what to do. this wasn’t how you had imagined a wedding night would feel—though you had never dreamed this night would be with heeseung, of all people.
his back was to you now, his broad shoulders tense, though he did nothing to betray any emotion. you could feel the distance between you both, even though he was just across the room. heeseung had always been composed, guarded, but tonight, his coldness cut even deeper than usual.
he finally broke the silence, his voice low but steady. “it’s late. you should rest.” there was no affection in his tone, just the same sense of duty that had hung over the entire day. you weren’t his bride by choice, and he wasn’t your husband by desire.
you bit back a bitter laugh. rest? as if you could simply close your eyes and pretend this was normal. pretend that this marriage was something other than a trap. “is that it, then?” you asked, your voice sharper than intended. “we go to bed and pretend everything is fine?”
heeseung turned to face you, his expression as unreadable as ever. he didn’t answer right away, as if weighing his response carefully. “what do you want me to say?” his tone was measured, but there was an edge to it, a hint of frustration that matched your own.
“i don’t know,” you admitted, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions. “this wasn’t supposed to happen. i wasn’t supposed to marry you.”
something flickered in heeseung’s eyes, though it disappeared as quickly as it came. he regarded you for a moment, his gaze unreadable, before he spoke again. “do you think i wanted this?” his words were quiet but laced with a bitterness that surprised you. “i didn’t ask for this any more than you did.”
you swallowed, feeling a lump rise in your throat. you hadn’t expected this admission from him, hadn’t expected him to show any vulnerability. “then what are we supposed to do?” your voice was softer now, the anger ebbing away, replaced by uncertainty. “how are we supposed to live like this?”
heeseung sighed, running a hand through his hair, a rare moment of frustration breaking through his calm facade. “we do what’s expected of us,” he said, though there was a heaviness to his words, as if he was trying to convince himself as much as you. “we fulfill our duties. that’s all we can do.”
“duties.” the word tasted bitter on your tongue. it had always come down to that, hadn’t it? duty to the crown, to the kingdom, to your family. and now, duty to heeseung.
the silence stretched on, thick and uncomfortable. heeseung turned away, moving toward the window where the heavy drapes framed the view of the darkened palace gardens. his silhouette was stark against the faint glow of moonlight, his posture stiff, almost defensive.
after a long moment, he spoke again, his voice softer this time. “i’ll sleep over there.” he gestured to the chaise near the window, a fine piece of furniture that now seemed woefully out of place in this awkward, tension-filled room. “you can have the bed.”
you blinked, surprised by his offer. it was the last thing you expected from him, but it was a relief nonetheless. “you don’t have to—”
“i’m not doing this for you,” he interrupted, his voice firm, but not unkind. “i just don’t want to make this any more difficult than it already is.”
with that, he moved toward the chaise, gathering a pillow and blanket from the wardrobe. his actions were efficient, almost mechanical, as if he had already resigned himself to this fate. he didn’t look at you as he arranged the blanket over the chaise.
you stood there, feeling a strange mix of emotions—relief, awkwardness, and something else, something heavier that you couldn’t quite place. this was your wedding night, but it was nothing like you had ever imagined. there was no closeness, no warmth—just two people bound together by obligation and circumstance.
finally, you moved toward the bed, the thick carpets muffling your steps. the soft fabric of your gown felt heavy as you climbed beneath the covers, though they provided no comfort. you lay there, staring up at the intricate canopy above, your mind racing. this bed, this room—none of it felt like yours.
heeseung settled on the chaise, his back to you, the distance between you both feeling vast despite the small room. the silence was oppressive, each second dragging on longer than the last. you wondered if he was as uneasy as you were, or if he had already steeled himself to this new reality.
for a long while, neither of you spoke, the only sound in the room the faint rustling of fabric as you shifted beneath the covers. the weight of the day, of the vows, of your new title, pressed down on you, making it hard to breathe.
finally, you couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “heeseung,” you whispered, unsure if you even wanted him to respond.
he didn’t turn, but his voice was low and steady when he answered. “what?”
you hesitated, searching for the right words. “do you think... do you think this will ever get easier?”
there was a long pause before he responded, his voice quiet, almost resigned. “i don’t know.”
and with that, the conversation ended. heeseung remained silent, his back still turned to you, and you knew there was nothing more to say. you turned onto your side, pulling the blankets tighter around you, though they offered little warmth. the room felt too big, too empty, despite his presence.
eventually, exhaustion crept in, dulling the sharp edges of your thoughts. but even as sleep began to claim you, a cold, sinking feeling settled in your chest. this was your life now—bound to a man you barely knew, a man who had been your enemy for years, and yet, somehow, your husband.
and as you drifted off into uneasy sleep, the last thought that crossed your mind was how strange it felt to be lying just feet away from heeseung, yet feeling as though he was a world away.
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the morning after the wedding dawned cold and gray, mirroring the lingering tension between you and heeseung. you woke up in the large, empty bed, the space next to you untouched, a stark reminder of the distance that had been established on your wedding night. the air in the room felt thick, suffocating, as if the very walls were pressing in on you, reminding you of your new reality.
as you sat up, the unfamiliarity of your surroundings only worsened the tightness in your chest. this was your new life. not just this bed, but this room, this palace—heeseung’s palace—and you would share it with a man who barely spoke to you, who looked at you with that same cold distance he had always shown.
you dressed quickly, your movements mechanical, trying not to think too much. the maids moved around you silently, well-trained and efficient, but you could feel their eyes on you. it was impossible to escape the fact that everyone knew. the entire kingdom knew the story—the princess who had run away, and her sister forced to take her place. the whispers would never stop.
when you finally made your way downstairs to the grand dining room, heeseung was already seated at the long table, a plate of food in front of him. he didn’t look up when you entered, simply continued cutting into his meal with precise, practised movements. you hesitated for a moment, then took your seat across from him.
the silence was unbearable.
you picked at your food, barely tasting it, glancing at heeseung from time to time. his expression was as unreadable as ever, his attention focused on the papers beside his plate—likely matters of the kingdom that required his attention. he was already immersed in his duties, the weight of his impending kingship pressing down on him just as heavily as your new role as his wife weighed on you.
finally, you couldn’t stand it any longer. “do you plan to ignore me for the rest of our lives?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended.
heeseung didn’t look up immediately, taking his time to finish his bite and set down his utensils with deliberate care. when he finally met your gaze, his expression was cool, detached. “i’m not ignoring you.”
you scoffed, unable to hide your frustration. “you’ve barely spoken to me since the wedding.”
he raised an eyebrow, his tone as calm as ever. “what would you like me to say?”
the question took you off guard. you hadn’t expected him to be so blunt. you opened your mouth, then closed it again, unsure of how to respond. what did you want him to say? that he regretted everything as much as you did? that he hated this arrangement, too? or perhaps you wanted him to acknowledge the years of bitterness between you, to admit that this marriage was a farce.
instead, you said, “we’re married now, heeseung. we have to live together. we can’t keep pretending the other doesn’t exist.”
his jaw tightened ever so slightly, but his voice remained calm. “i’m aware of that.”
you waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. the silence stretched on once again, thicker than before, suffocating in its awkwardness. you pushed your plate away, no longer interested in eating. “fine,” you muttered under your breath, standing abruptly. “i suppose i’ll just get used to it, then.”
you turned to leave, but his voice stopped you. “you don’t have to like this any more than i do, but we have responsibilities now.”
you paused, your back to him, your hands clenched at your sides. “responsibilities,” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper. it seemed like that was all your life had ever been reduced to—duty, obligation, and responsibilities.
without another word, you left the dining room, the heavy doors closing behind you with a soft thud. you could feel the weight of the situation bearing down on you even more as you walked through the halls of the palace, each step echoing in the vast emptiness. you weren’t just trapped in this marriage—you were trapped in this life.
days passed, and though you and heeseung were forced to share the same space, your interactions remained minimal, stilted. in the mornings, you would find him already at the breakfast table, poring over documents and barely acknowledging your presence. he would spend his days attending council meetings and handling matters of state, leaving you to navigate the palace on your own, feeling more like a guest in your own home than its mistress.
at night, he would retire to the chambers late, often when you were already lying in bed, pretending to sleep. he would quietly take his place on the chaise near the window, far enough away to avoid any awkwardness, but close enough that his presence was a constant reminder of the divide between you.
it was during these nights that the loneliness settled in most heavily. the silence of the room, broken only by the occasional rustling of fabric or the soft crackle of the fireplace, was suffocating. you had grown accustomed to sleeping alone, but now, knowing heeseung was just a few feet away, the distance between you felt almost unbearable. there was an unspoken understanding that neither of you wanted to bridge the gap.
one evening, after yet another day of awkward meals and tense silences, you found yourself in the library, one of the few places in the palace where you felt at peace. the vast room was filled with shelves upon shelves of books, their spines worn and familiar. you had always loved to read, finding solace in the stories and histories of others when your own life felt too overwhelming.
you were seated by the window, the late afternoon sun casting a soft glow over the pages of your book, when the door creaked open. you looked up, surprised to see heeseung standing in the doorway. he paused for a moment, as if uncertain whether to enter or leave, his eyes scanning the room before they settled on you.
“may i join you?” he asked, his voice unusually soft.
you blinked, caught off guard by his request. this was the first time he had sought you out since the wedding, and the suddenness of it left you momentarily speechless. you nodded, unsure of what else to do. “of course.”
heeseung crossed the room, moving with his usual grace, and took a seat in the armchair opposite you. for a moment, neither of you spoke, the quiet of the library enveloping you both. he seemed content to sit in silence, his gaze wandering to the bookshelves that lined the walls.
finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke. “this is... one of the quieter rooms.”
you raised an eyebrow, a small, incredulous smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “it’s a library, heeseung. of course it’s quiet.”
to your surprise, he chuckled softly, though it was a dry, humourless sound. “fair enough.”
silence fell again, but this time it wasn’t as suffocating. there was something almost... peaceful about it, the weight of your shared presence not as unbearable as it had been before. you watched him out of the corner of your eye, noticing how tired he looked. the weight of his responsibilities was evident in the slight furrow of his brow, the way his shoulders sagged ever so slightly.
after a while, you set your book down on your lap, deciding to break the silence. “it must be difficult,” you said quietly. “taking on so much.”
heeseung didn’t answer right away, his gaze still focused on the shelves, but eventually, he nodded. “it is.”
you hesitated for a moment, then spoke again, softer this time. “you don’t have to carry it all alone, you know.”
he turned to look at you then, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—something softer than the cold indifference you had grown accustomed to.
“and what would you suggest?” he asked, his voice quiet but not unkind.
“i don’t know,” you admitted. “but we’re in this together, whether we like it or not.”
heeseung’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, and then he nodded, a small, almost imperceptible movement. it wasn’t much, but it was the first step—however small—toward something more than just forced cohabitation.
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the shift in your relationship came faster than you expected. it started with a challenge—a reckless, unspoken dare that neither of you could resist.
it had been a clear, crisp day, the first after several weeks of rain. you were restless, tired of the palace walls and the constant burden of your new role. you had gone to the stables, hoping to take one of the horses out for a ride, needing to feel the wind in your hair and the ground beneath you. but when you arrived, heeseung was already there, adjusting the reins of his own horse.
you paused in the doorway, surprised to see him. “you ride?”
he glanced up, one eyebrow raised. “you sound surprised.”
“i am,” you admitted. “i’ve never seen you ride before.”
he chuckled softly, his eyes glinting with amusement. “there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
the challenge in his voice was unmistakable, and you couldn’t resist rising to it. “care to prove it?” you asked, moving toward your own horse.
heeseung’s smirk widened. “what do you have in mind?”
you mounted your horse swiftly, the thrill of the challenge already coursing through your veins. “a race.”
heeseung raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “you think you can beat me?”
“i know i can,” you shot back, turning your horse toward the open field beyond the stables.
without another word, you spurred your horse into motion, not waiting for his response. behind you, you heard heeseung’s laughter, low and rich, before the sound of hooves thundering against the ground told you he had accepted the challenge.
you raced through the fields, the wind whipping through your hair, the thrill of the chase making your heart race. heeseung was right behind you, and you could feel the tension building, the competitive edge between you sparking like fire. it was like being children again, challenging each other at every turn, pushing each other to the limit.
but this time, it was different. the stakes were higher, the tension thicker, and the way heeseung looked at you when he finally caught up to you sent a shiver down your spine.
when he finally pulled his horse beside yours, you were both breathless, your faces flushed with adrenaline. you glanced over at him, and the look in his eyes—intense, dark, heated—made your pulse quicken.
“not bad,” he said, his voice low, rough around the edges.
you smirked, trying to ignore the way your heart was pounding. “you almost kept up.”
heeseung leaned in just slightly, his gaze locking with yours. “almost?” he murmured, his voice sending a jolt through you.
you swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. the space between you was too close, the air charged with something you weren’t quite ready to name. his eyes lingered on your lips for just a moment too long, and you could feel the heat of his presence, the tension that had always existed between you now manifesting in a way that was far more dangerous.
before either of you could say anything, heeseung pulled back, his smirk returning as if nothing had happened. “we’ll call it a draw,” he said, though there was a teasing edge to his voice.
you let out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding, shaking your head with a laugh. “you wish.”
but as you rode back to the palace, the tension between you remained, simmering beneath the surface. it was no longer the resentment of old enemies, but something far more complex, far more dangerous. and for the first time, you found yourself wondering what would happen if that tension ever boiled over.
later that night, the air was thick with the remnants of the day’s energy. you couldn’t sleep, your mind still racing from the ride and the way heeseung had looked at you—how close he had come, how your heart had nearly betrayed you in that moment of suspended anticipation.
you wandered the halls of the palace aimlessly, your footsteps soft against the marble floors. the palace at night was a different place, quiet and still, the shadows long and heavy. it felt like a place where secrets lingered in every corner, where the walls whispered of things that could never be said aloud.
as you passed by the study, you noticed the faint glow of light beneath the door. curiosity piqued, you pushed the door open just enough to peek inside. heeseung was there, seated at the desk, bathed in the warm glow of candlelight. he was reading, his brow furrowed in concentration, his lips slightly parted as he focused on the page in front of him.
you hesitated, but before you could turn away, he looked up, catching sight of you. for a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence between you heavy with unspoken words. then, without breaking eye contact, heeseung set the book aside.
“couldn’t sleep?” he asked, his voice low, intimate in the quiet of the room.
you shook your head, stepping into the room. “no. you?”
heeseung’s gaze flicked over you, his eyes lingering on you in a way that made your skin heat under his scrutiny. “i’ve been thinking,” he said, his tone soft but laced with that same dangerous tension that had been building all day.
“about what?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper as you moved closer, drawn to him in a way you couldn’t quite explain.
heeseung’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. “about you,” he said quietly. “about us.”
the weight of his words settled in the space between you, thick and intoxicating. about you. about us. it echoed in your mind, stirring something deep within you that you had tried to ignore for far too long. you weren’t sure if it was the late hour, the dim candlelight, or the fact that you had been dancing around each other for weeks now, but something inside you snapped.
your breath hitched as you looked at him, his eyes dark and full of something you couldn’t quite name. but it was there—undeniable, pulsing in the space between you. and now that it had been spoken into existence, you couldn’t unsee it.
“what about us?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. it wasn’t just curiosity anymore. it was a challenge.
heeseung’s gaze flicked to your lips, and the tension in the room intensified, coiling tighter and tighter until it felt like the air itself might shatter from the pressure. he stood slowly, his movements deliberate, and took a step toward you, closing the already-small distance between you.
“there’s always been something between us,” he said, his voice low, rough. his eyes never left yours, burning with intensity. “even when we hated each other.”
your heart was pounding now, so loud you were sure he could hear it. you wanted to deny it, to tell him that he was wrong, that it had always been pure hatred. but that would’ve been a lie. you knew it as well as he did—whatever had always been there between you, it had never been simple.
“and what is it now?” you asked, forcing yourself to meet his gaze even though every instinct told you to look away. to run.
heeseung took another step closer, his hand reaching up slowly, as though giving you the chance to pull away. but you didn’t. you couldn’t. his fingers brushed against your cheek, the touch so light it sent a shiver down your spine. his hand lingered there, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw.
“maybe we’ve been fighting the wrong battle,” he murmured, his voice softer now, almost tender. the warmth of his breath ghosted over your skin, and you felt your pulse quicken.
your throat tightened. every word he said felt like a dangerous line, one that you were teetering on the edge of crossing. the tension between you had always been a fire—burning too hot, too fast. and now, it felt like it was about to consume you both.
heeseung’s thumb brushed over your bottom lip, and your breath caught in your throat. his touch was tentative, as though he wasn’t quite sure if this was real or if you would pull away at any moment.
but you didn’t.
instead, you took a step closer, closing the gap completely. the air between you was charged, thick with unspoken desire and the weight of all the years you had spent fighting against each other. your body was betraying you, leaning into him, drawn by a force you had denied for too long.
heeseung’s eyes darkened as he leaned in, his lips barely an inch from yours, the heat between you almost unbearable now. you could feel the tension in every muscle, the way his hand trembled slightly as it cupped your cheek, the way your own body was responding without your permission.
then, in a breathless moment that felt like it stretched on forever, he closed the distance.
his lips pressed against yours—soft at first, testing, as though he wasn’t sure you would let him. but the moment your lips met his, something ignited between you. the kiss deepened, filled with all the pent-up frustration and longing that had been building for so long. it was a clash of emotions—anger, desire, need—all colliding in that single moment.
you responded instantly, your hands reaching up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more. the kiss was rough, almost desperate, as though you were both trying to make up for years of missed chances in that single moment.
his hands slid down to your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you gasped against his lips at the feeling of his body pressed so close to yours. the intensity of it was overwhelming, but you didn’t want it to stop. you didn’t want to think. you just wanted to feel.
but then, as quickly as it started, heeseung pulled back, his breathing ragged, his forehead resting against yours. his hands still gripped your waist, holding you in place as though he couldn’t quite let go yet.
“this isn’t... what i expected,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. his breath was warm against your skin, and his eyes searched yours, as though he was looking for an answer in your gaze.
you swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing, trying to make sense of what had just happened. “what did you expect?” you asked softly, your fingers still tangled in his hair.
heeseung’s grip on your waist tightened for a moment, his eyes darkening once again. “i didn’t expect you to feel this way.” his voice was low, almost a growl, filled with the same intensity that had been building between you all night.
you opened your mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. you had no idea what to say, no idea how to explain the maelstrom of emotions swirling inside you. all you knew was that everything had changed in that kiss.
“i don’t know what i feel,” you admitted quietly, your voice barely audible in the heavy silence of the room.
heeseung’s lips twitched into a small, almost sad smile. “neither do i.” he stepped back, finally breaking the physical contact between you, and you immediately missed the warmth of his body against yours.
“but whatever this is... it’s dangerous,” he continued, his eyes locked on yours, as though warning you. “we’ve always been enemies. we don’t know how to be anything else.”
you felt a lump form in your throat at his words, because deep down, you knew he was right. but that didn’t stop the ache in your chest, the desire for something more—for the possibility of what could be.
“i don’t want to be your enemy anymore,” you said softly, the confession surprising even you.
heeseung’s eyes widened slightly at your words, his expression unreadable. for a moment, you thought he might say something—might admit that he didn’t want to be your enemy either. but then, he shook his head, the walls between you coming back up, brick by brick.
“this doesn’t change anything,” he said quietly, but the look in his eyes said otherwise.
and with that, he turned and left the room, leaving you standing there in the soft glow of candlelight, your heart pounding and your mind reeling from the kiss that had shifted the entire balance between you.
as the door closed softly behind him, you exhaled a shaky breath, your fingers brushing your lips where his had been moments before.
everything had changed.
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the royal court was buzzing with tension, and for once, the tension wasn’t between you and heeseung. the kingdom was on edge, not from war or rebellion, but from something far more insidious—political manoeuvring. rival noble houses were plotting against heeseung’s rule, questioning his right to ascend to the throne, especially after the sudden marriage to you. the whispers had grown louder over the past few weeks, the courtiers’ gazes sharper, waiting for the first misstep.
you had known court life would be full of power plays and alliances, but this was different. it was personal. every snide comment, every hushed conversation behind closed doors, felt like an attack on your marriage, on your family’s legacy. and worst of all, it felt like an attack on you.
one afternoon, as you made your way through the palace corridors, you overheard a group of nobles—close to your family—voicing their displeasure over your sudden marriage to heeseung. it was the same old song—how your sister should have been the bride, how you were never meant for this role, how heeseung marrying you was a strategic disaster.
you felt your blood run cold, but you kept walking, your head held high. you had grown used to these remarks, but today, they stung deeper. not because they questioned your worth, but because they reflected the deep-seated insecurity you had always carried.
that night, you found yourself alone in the study, staring out the window at the darkening sky. the weight of the court’s judgement, the impossible standards, the constant comparisons to your sister—they were suffocating. and then there was heeseung, whose coldness had thawed just enough to show you glimpses of something deeper, something real. but he was still heeseung—your husband, your childhood rival, and now the man who held your future in his hands.
the door creaked open behind you, and you didn’t need to turn to know it was him. you had grown attuned to his presence, the way the air shifted whenever he entered a room.
“what’s wrong?” his voice was quieter than usual, but still carrying that edge of command. he always knew when something was off, as if he could sense the turmoil swirling inside you.
you didn’t answer immediately, your gaze fixed on the stars outside. “they’re saying we’re not suited for each other,” you murmured, finally turning to face him. “that i’m not fit to be queen. that you made a mistake.”
heeseung’s jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek. he stepped closer, his eyes narrowing in that familiar way, but this time, it wasn’t directed at you.
“let them talk,” he said flatly. “they’re just waiting for us to fail.”
“and what if they’re right?” the words slipped out before you could stop them, the fear and doubt bubbling to the surface. “i was never meant to marry you. this isn’t the life i was prepared for.”
heeseung stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable. then, to your surprise, he closed the distance between you, his hands gripping your shoulders firmly, forcing you to meet his gaze.
“i didn’t choose you because you were an easy choice,” he said, his voice low but intense. “i chose you because you’re stronger than you realise.”
you blinked, taken aback by the conviction in his words. heeseung wasn’t one to offer praise lightly, and hearing it now, in this moment, felt more intimate than anything he had ever said to you before.
“there are plenty of people who want to see us fail,” he continued, his grip tightening slightly. “but they don’t matter. what matters is that we don’t give them the satisfaction. we fight together.”
the intensity in his eyes sent a shiver down your spine, and for the first time, you saw beyond the cold exterior he had always shown you. there was something deeper there, something raw and unspoken. a partnership.
but the closeness also brought something else—a heat that had always been there between you, simmering beneath the surface. his hands lingered on your shoulders, his thumbs brushing the bare skin just above your collarbone, and suddenly the room felt smaller, the air thicker.
“you think i’m strong?” you asked, your voice quieter now, tinged with something more vulnerable. something real.
heeseung’s gaze flicked down to your lips, just for a moment, before returning to your eyes. his voice was rough when he spoke, low and filled with an unspoken promise. “i’ve always known.”
the charged air between you was impossible to ignore now. his fingers slid from your shoulders to your arms, the touch sending a jolt of warmth through you. it wasn’t just the weight of responsibility pressing down on you—it was him, his closeness, the undeniable pull you had both been dancing around for weeks.
you could feel the tension in every inch of your body, your heart racing as heeseung’s hands rested on your waist, pulling you closer, but still leaving just enough space for doubt. he hesitated, as if waiting for you to push him away, to remind him of the enmity that had defined your relationship for so long.
but you didn’t. instead, you leaned into him, your hands tentatively reaching up to rest on his chest. the fabric of his shirt was soft under your fingers, but beneath it, you could feel the steady beat of his heart, as rapid as your own.
“maybe i’ve been wrong about you,” you whispered, your breath hitching as the tension between you reached a breaking point.
heeseung’s eyes darkened at your words, his lips hovering just inches from yours. “maybe you have,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. but there was something softer there too, something almost tender.
before you could talk yourself out of it, you closed the distance between you and kissed him.
the kiss was like nothing you had ever experienced—fierce, desperate, and full of the years of unresolved tension between you. it was as if all the walls you had built around yourselves were crumbling in an instant, leaving nothing but the raw, undeniable attraction that had always simmered beneath the surface.
heeseung responded instantly, his hands tightening on your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened. his lips moved against yours with a hunger that matched your own, and you could feel the heat radiating off him, his body pressing against yours as if he couldn’t bear to let you go.
it was overwhelming, the intensity of the moment, the way your bodies seemed to fit perfectly together, the way every touch sent a shockwave of desire coursing through you. you had spent so long fighting him, fighting this, and now, as his hands slid up your back, holding you close, you wondered why you had ever resisted.
when you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. heeseung’s grip on your waist didn’t loosen, and you could feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest, his heartbeat as wild as your own.
“we can’t keep pretending,” you whispered, your voice shaky, your lips still tingling from the kiss.
heeseung’s eyes met yours, the vulnerability and uncertainty in his gaze mirroring your own. “no, we can’t,” he agreed, his voice rough with emotion.
for a moment, the world hung in the balance. you had crossed a line, and there was no going back. everything between you had shifted, and the question now wasn’t whether you would move forward—it was how.
heeseung’s thumb brushed gently against your cheek, his touch so tender it nearly broke you. “we’re in this together,” he said softly, the weight of his words heavy with meaning.
this time, there was no need to say anything more. you both understood what had changed between you, even if neither of you was ready to fully admit it. and though the path ahead was uncertain, you knew one thing for sure: you weren’t facing it alone anymore.
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weeks passed, and with each passing day, things between you and heeseung slowly shifted. the cold, sharp walls that had once kept you apart were crumbling, revealing a warmth and understanding that neither of you had anticipated. where there had once been biting words and icy glares, there was now laughter, quiet conversations, and small gestures of affection.
the palace felt different. it was lighter now, with the growing sense of partnership between you and heeseung. your bickering had been replaced with genuine care, and though the wounds of the past hadn't fully healed, you were both learning to forgive. but it wasn’t just the emotional connection that was shifting—there was something deeper brewing beneath the surface. unspoken feelings, simmering tension.
it wasn’t until a grand banquet in honour of a visiting prince from a neighbouring kingdom that these feelings came to a head. you stood at the centre of the ballroom, dressed in a gown that glimmered under the candlelight. it hugged your figure perfectly, catching the attention of more than just heeseung. the prince—prince seojun—had been particularly charming throughout the evening, his eyes lingering on you a little too long, his compliments a little too bold.
“you are by far the most captivating presence in this room, your highness,” seojun murmured, his voice low as he leaned in slightly, a smirk playing on his lips. “if i had known such beauty awaited me here, i would have visited sooner.”
you laughed politely, glancing over your shoulder, searching for heeseung in the crowd. he was across the room, deep in conversation with some nobles, but even from the distance, you could feel his gaze on you, sharp and intense.
seojun continued, his hand brushing lightly against your arm as he leaned closer. “perhaps we could steal a moment away from the crowd? i would love to know more about the woman behind such an enchanting smile.”
before you could respond, a sudden shift in the air caught your attention. heeseung appeared at your side, his posture tense, his expression a mix of barely contained irritation and something else—something more possessive.
“princess,” heeseung’s voice was smooth, but there was a dangerous edge to it. his hand slid around your waist, pulling you firmly against his side. the claim was unmistakable. “i believe your dance card is full for the evening.”
seojun’s smirk faltered slightly as he glanced between the two of you, sensing the tension. heeseung’s eyes never left the prince, cold and unyielding.
“of course,” seojun replied, raising his hands in mock surrender. “i wouldn’t dream of overstepping. after all,” his gaze flickered to you, then back to heeseung, “she’s your wife.”
the words hung in the air for a moment, charged with unspoken meaning. seojun bowed slightly, a smirk still playing on his lips, before taking his leave. but even as he walked away, you could feel the lingering weight of his gaze.
you turned to heeseung, about to make a light-hearted remark about the interaction, but the look on his face stopped you. his eyes were dark, his jaw clenched, and his grip on your waist was firm—almost possessive.
“did he touch you?” heeseung asked, his voice low and tight.
you raised an eyebrow, surprised by his tone. “barely,” you replied, trying to play it off with a soft laugh. “why? are you jealous?”
his eyes flickered with something dangerous as he leaned down, his breath warm against your ear. “you’re my wife. i don’t like other men thinking they can take what’s mine.”
your heart skipped a beat at his words. the possessiveness in his tone, the way his body pressed protectively against yours—it was unlike anything you had ever experienced with heeseung. you had always seen him as cold, distant, but this... this was different. there was fire in his eyes, and you could feel it burning between you, a tension that neither of you had acknowledged until now.
“and what if i enjoy a little attention now and then?” you teased, testing the boundaries, wanting to see how far he would go.
heeseung’s eyes darkened even more, and in one swift motion, he pulled you even closer, his hand cupping the back of your neck as he leaned in, his lips barely grazing the shell of your ear. “i don’t care how many men look at you, but remember this—” his voice dropped, sending shivers down your spine, “you belong to me and i belong to you.”
a thrill ran through you at his words, and for a moment, you were speechless, your mind spinning from the intensity of his claim. the ballroom, the crowd, even prince seojun—all of it faded away as heeseung’s gaze held you captive. you could feel the heat of his body against yours, the possessiveness in his touch, and for the first time, you realised that this wasn’t just some marriage of convenience anymore.
heeseung cared—more than he was willing to admit.
your breath hitched as you looked up at him, your eyes searching his, trying to read the emotions flickering behind them. “and what about you, heeseung?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “do you want me to be yours?”
his eyes softened for just a moment, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his features before he leaned in, his lips brushing lightly against your temple. “you already are,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. “and i’m not letting you forget it.”
the banquet had left the air between you and heeseung charged with an intensity that neither of you could ignore. his possessiveness, the fierce look in his eyes when he claimed you as his wife in front of prince seojun, had stirred something inside you—something that had been simmering for far too long.
as the last of the guests departed and the palace quieted down for the night, the tension remained, lingering like an unspoken promise. heeseung walked beside you in silence as you both made your way through the dimly lit corridors toward your chambers. though no words passed between you, the air was thick with anticipation, the unspoken pull between you stronger than ever.
when you reached your shared chambers, heeseung opened the door for you, his gaze never leaving you as you stepped inside. you could feel his eyes on you, burning with a need that matched your own. the soft glow of the candlelight cast long shadows across the room, but all you could focus on was the man standing behind you, his presence overwhelming.
you moved toward the vanity, fingers trembling slightly as you began to remove your jewellery. you were acutely aware of heeseung standing behind you, the weight of his gaze almost tangible as he watched your every movement. his silence spoke volumes, filled with desire and unspoken emotions that neither of you had fully confronted until now.
the tension was unbearable. finally, unable to stand the silence any longer, you glanced at him through the reflection in the mirror, your voice soft but steady. “you’ve been quiet,” you murmured, meeting his intense gaze. “what’s on your mind?”
he didn’t answer immediately. instead, he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to brush against the bare skin of your shoulder. the touch was light, tentative, but it sent a shiver down your spine. his fingers lingered, tracing the delicate curve of your shoulder before he leaned in, his breath warm against your neck.
“i didn’t like how he looked at you,” heeseung finally admitted, his voice low and rough with suppressed emotion. his eyes met yours in the mirror, dark with jealousy and something more—something deeper. “or the way he made you laugh.”
your heart raced at the possessiveness in his tone. you turned to face him, taking in the tension in his jaw, the way his eyes blazed with something primal. his emotions were raw, laid bare before you in a way that heeseung had never allowed himself to show before.
“it was harmless,” you replied, stepping closer to him, your voice softening. “but i can’t say i minded the way you stepped in.”
his gaze darkened, his hand moving to your waist, pulling you flush against him. you could feel the heat of his body seeping into yours, the hard lines of his frame pressing against your softness. his eyes locked onto yours, filled with unspoken desire, but also with something more—something tender.
“i’m not the kind of man who likes to share,” he said, his voice a low growl as he leaned in, his lips hovering just above yours. “especially not when it comes to you.”
your breath hitched at his words, your pulse quickening as the fire between you flared even hotter. you couldn’t deny the thrill that ran through you at his possessive tone, the way his hands gripped you as though he couldn’t bear to let you go.
“and what are you going to do about it?” you whispered, your voice daring, testing the boundaries as your lips brushed his, teasingly close but not quite touching.
heeseung’s response was immediate. his lips crashed against yours, fierce and hungry, as if he had been holding back for far too long. the kiss was searing, filled with all the emotions you had both kept hidden. his hands roamed over your body, possessive yet tender, as though he was staking his claim but also worshipping every inch of you.
you responded just as fiercely, your hands tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer, needing to feel every part of him against you. the tension between you, the unspoken desire, it all poured out in that kiss, in the way his body pressed against yours with a need that matched your own.
heeseung’s hands slid down to your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as he carried you toward the bed. the air between you was electric, charged with desire and the intensity of emotions that neither of you had allowed to surface until now. he laid you down gently, his eyes never leaving yours, his gaze dark and filled with a hunger that made your heart race.
for a moment, he paused, his fingers brushing over your cheek with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the intensity of what had just passed between you. his eyes softened, and for the first time, you saw the vulnerability behind them—the raw emotion that he had been hiding behind his cold exterior for so long.
“are you sure?” he asked, his voice husky but laced with care, as if he was giving you one last chance to pull away, to stop this before it went too far.
you gazed up at him, your heart swelling with the overwhelming emotions coursing through you. heeseung, the man you had once considered your rival, your enemy, was now looking at you with a tenderness that took your breath away. you reached up, cupping his face in your hands, your thumb brushing softly over his cheek.
“i’m sure,” you whispered, pulling him down into another kiss, softer this time, but no less filled with the emotions swirling between you.
what followed was slow, deliberate, and filled with a tenderness that you had never expected from heeseung. his hands moved over your body with care, as though he was savouring every touch, every breath. the fierceness from earlier softened into something more intimate, more meaningful, as he explored you with reverence, his lips following the path of his hands.
your name fell from his lips like a prayer, whispered against your skin in the quiet moments between kisses. heeseung’s touch was both possessive and gentle, as though he was claiming you but also offering himself to you in return. the intensity of the moment was overwhelming, but it was the tenderness in his gaze, the softness of his touch, that made your heart ache with something deeper than mere desire.
and as the night stretched on, your bodies moving together in perfect harmony, you realised that this wasn’t just about passion—it was about the connection you had been fighting against for so long. the rivalry, the bickering, the walls you had both built between you—it all crumbled away, leaving only the raw truth of what you felt for one another.
when it was over, you lay beside each other, your breathing heavy, your bodies tangled in the sheets. the room was quiet now, the only sound was the soft rustle of the fabric and the faint crackle of the dying fire in the hearth.
heeseung turned to you, his hand reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair from your face. his eyes, once so cold and guarded, were warm now, filled with an emotion that made your heart skip a beat. he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you and holding you against his chest as though he couldn’t bear to let you go.
you rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. it was comforting, grounding you in the quiet aftermath of everything that had just passed between you. his fingers traced lazy patterns on your back, soothing and gentle, as he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head.
neither of you spoke, but words weren’t necessary. the silence was filled with a sense of peace, of contentment that neither of you had known before. heeseung’s touch was soft now, filled with care as he held you close, his body warm and protective against yours.
and in that quiet, intimate moment, you realised something: this was more than just passion, more than just desire. it was something real, something lasting.
heeseung’s hand continued to trace gentle patterns on your back, his lips brushing your temple as he whispered softly, “are you alright?”
you smiled against his chest, your heart swelling with warmth at the tenderness in his voice. “more than alright,” you murmured, snuggling closer to him.
heeseung let out a soft sigh, his arms tightening around you as if he never wanted to let go. and as you drifted off to sleep in his arms, the weight of the past finally lifted, leaving only the warmth of the present and the promise of a future you were both ready to embrace.
the next morning, you woke to find heeseung already up, standing by the window of your shared chambers, his silhouette framed by the soft glow of the early morning light. he looked deep in thought, his expression pensive as he gazed out over the kingdom.
quietly, you approached him, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind. he stiffened for a moment at the contact but quickly relaxed, his hands covering yours as he let out a soft sigh.
“you’re up early,” you murmured, resting your cheek against his back.
“i couldn’t sleep,” he replied, his voice thoughtful. “i was thinking about everything that’s changed.”
you smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder. “a lot has changed, hasn’t it?”
heeseung turned in your arms, his expression soft as he looked down at you. “i never thought this would work,” he admitted, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “but i’m glad i was wrong.”
you gazed up at him, your heart swelling with warmth. the man standing before you was the same heeseung you had known all your life, but now, you saw him for who he truly was—not your enemy, not your rival, but your partner. your husband.
“i’m glad too,” you whispered, reaching up to cup his cheek. he leaned into your touch, his eyes closing for a moment, a small smile playing on his lips.
and in that moment, you knew that this was your new beginning. the past, with all its bitterness and tension, was behind you. what lay ahead was a future you hadn’t expected but one you were ready to embrace—together.
as heeseung pulled you into a gentle kiss, the warmth of the morning sun streaming through the window, you knew that this was the start of something beautiful. your marriage, once forged out of obligation and resentment, had grown into something real, something lasting.
and as you stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, you realised that sometimes, the best love stories were the ones you never saw coming.
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taglist: @punchbug9-blog @firstclassjaylee @capri-cuntz @addictedtohobi @jaysfavoritegirl
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gallusrostromegalus · 11 months ago
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When you studied German in high-school, how much did the class joke about the German word for a mobile-phone being "mein Handy"?
About two minutes because Frau Roesenthal knew the best way through 00's High School Boy Humor was to push to the point of discomfort and then keep going so the first time Justin or whoever giggled about it, she pulled out her lesson plan on Prepositions and Directives by doing an entire Kahoots game about the class's Stock Characters Frieda and Johan and their cell phones- sharing with friends, using them in inappropriate settings, telling someone to call someone else and so on, but every sentence could get misconstrued sexually.
It was *extremely* funny because it was a well-constructed lesson that actually did teach me how to tell Frieda to give Johan and all six of his brothers a Handy in church for Christmas, and more importantly, made Justin regret being alive because he had to stand up and conjugate every line because he started it.
Unfortunately, I had Dengue fever in 2009 that obliterated nearly my entire understanding of German and I haven't been able to get a hold of her to ask her for the lesson plan since.
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theostrophywife · 1 year ago
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the crush theory.
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pairing: lorenzo berkshire x reader.
song inspiration: london boy by taylor swift.
author’s note: this is just a cute indulgent coffee shop! au with my sweetheart enzo. majorly inspired by all the boyfriend vibes louis has been serving with miss olivia lately. let’s not even talk about the ass grab with his big hands and rings…🫣
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Enzo Berkshire never quite managed to master the language of love. 
Despite being a polyglot and a linguistics major, romance remained a complete mystery to him. It wasn't like he could craft a conjugation chart to help him not make a fool of himself in front of the girl of his dreams. When it came to matters of the heart, Enzo often found himself at a loss for words. Perhaps that was the reason why he never mustered up the courage to speak to you. 
Until that one fateful fall morning. 
The kiss of autumn arrived on campus a few weeks into the semester, freeing the city from the grips of the summer heat and bringing with it the changing of leaves and the distinct scent of cinnamon and apples. Enzo shoved his hands into the pockets of his burnt orange corduroy trousers and savored the sound of the jewel toned leaves crunching underneath his loafers. As the wind picked up, he wrapped his chunky knit cardigan tighter around himself to shield against the chilly breeze. 
The ivy covered brick buildings and cobblestone streets faded into the background as he walked past the quad. Deja Brew, the little hole in the wall cafe that Enzo frequented, greeted him like an old friend. The coffee shop was located on the outskirts of campus and was only a short walk from his dorm, which made it the ideal place to conduct his tutoring sessions. Not only was it convenient, but the cozy and quiet ambience provided the perfect setting for Enzo to teach his fellow struggling students. 
As time went on, the choice of location became less about convenience and more about catching a glimpse of you—the surly barista that worked the morning shift. For the past few months, Enzo developed a rather embarrassing crush on you. There was something about your scowl and no bullshit attitude that drew him to you like a moth to a flame. Though in his case, Enzo was perfectly content to hover a safe distance from the proverbial light of your fancy French cigarette lest he get burned. 
Upon first glance, anyone would have been intimidated by you. With your faded band tees, ripped jeans, and scuffed leather boots, Enzo was well aware that a girl like you would never be interested in a bloke who's wardrobe consisted of sweaters with elbow patches, floral print button downs, and neatly pressed pleated trousers. Needless to say, you were way too cool for him. 
Enzo was resigned to merely admiring you from afar, but fate seemed to have other ideas. The bell above the door tinkled softly as he made his way into Deja Brew only to stop dead in his tracks when he spotted you at the register. Usually, you were behind the bar manning the espresso machine during the early morning rush, but not today.
Today, you were front and center. 
Part of him considered walking out the door, but given the fact that the shop was nearly empty, a hasty exit would definitely not go unnoticed. Enzo had no choice but to suck it up and approach the register with resignation. The minute he opened his mouth, he was sure he’d muck things up. 
Enzo swallowed thickly and pushed his round framed glasses further up the bridge of his nose; a nervous habit he developed when he was younger. The erratic beat of his heart echoed in Enzo’s ears as his gaze flickered up to your face, expecting to be greeted with a frown. To his surprise, your lips curved into a small smile once you spotted him. 
“Lemon balm tea with two pumps of peach syrup and a dollop of honey, right?” 
Enzo blinked at the melodious sound of your voice, nearly missing the fact that you’d recited his exact order, which shouldn’t have been surprising given the fact that you’ve been making it for him for months. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a little warm inside as you looked at him expectantly. He stared in stunned silence for a moment. 
You furrowed your brow in doubt. “Did I get that wrong?” 
“No, no, it’s right. It’s great. It’s perfect—“ Enzo cleared his throat, mentally kicking himself for rambling. “I’m just surprised that you remembered it.” 
“Of course I remember it, you’re one of my regulars. I’d be a pretty shit barista if I forgot your order.” You cocked your head, tapping your lips thoughtfully. “Speaking of which, do you want your croissant warmed up, Lorenzo?” 
“You know my name?” 
Enzo hadn’t meant to sound so starstruck, but hearing his name come out of your mouth made his heart skip a beat.
“And your social security number too,” you deadpanned. Enzo’s eyes widened, which made you chuckle. “I’m just having a laugh. I promise I won’t commit identity theft against you. Unless you piss me off.” 
You accompanied the statement with a cheeky wink, which only made Enzo even more nervous. 
"Don't look so nervous, peach. I swear I don't bite."
“Right. Sure. Of course,” he stammered. “The tea and the croissant sounds good, Y/N.” The realization that you’ve never told him your name came a beat too late. “It’s on your chest. The name tag, I mean. I wasn’t just staring at your chest. Though I’m sure it’s very nice. Bloody hell, I’ll stop talking now.” 
Enzo cringed at himself, but eased when you laughed. “You’re a strange bloke, Lorenzo.” You said as you began making his drink. “But I’ve got to admit, it’s oddly charming.” 
He chuckled, trying to hide the flush coloring his cheeks. “That seems to be my sweet spot.” 
"As sweet as peaches," you retorted as you added two pumps of peach syrup into his tea. "You'll have to excuse the fruit references. Before I knew your name, I referred to you solely as the peach guy."
"Is that good or bad?"
Enzo hiked his backpack over his shoulder and meandered down the end of the counter where you were topping off his tea with a dollop of honey. You swirled it into a heart pattern before sliding the warm cup into a sleeve. 
"Well, I've never met anyone who's preferred drink could constitute as a dessert, so it's certainly something. You're an enigma, Lorenzo," you said thoughtfully. "Though I think I like peach better. You don't really strike me as a Lorenzo."
“You can call me Enzo. I prefer it over my full name. It sounds so stuffy.” 
“We certainly can’t have that,” you said with a smirk. “Enzo. I like it. It’s rather becoming. Not stuffy at all.” He chuckled as you handed him a brown bag. "I might still call you peach from time to time. Force of habit. You understand, right?"
"Of course," Enzo replied. "El loro viejo no aprende a hablar."
"You kiss your mum with that mouth, peach?"
Enzo flushed. "It's Spanish for the old parrot does not learn to talk. Basically their equivalent of you can't teach an old dog new tricks." He shifted his weight onto his other foot. "What I'm trying to say is, I don't mind if you call me peach or Enzo or whatever else you'd like."
"You're giving me way too much freedom, Enzo. I intend on taking full advantage." You winked as you slid his drink over to him. “Enjoy your croissant. I put a little something extra in there for you.” 
Enzo peered into the bag and saw an extra pastry wrapped in black cellophane next to his croissant. The brownie didn’t look like any of the ones behind the counter, which meant that it was probably homemade. Strange, he wouldn’t have pegged you for a baker. 
“Oh, you really don’t have to—” 
“Nonsense,” you countered, waving off his protests. “Really, you’d be doing me a favor. It’s an experimental recipe of mine, which makes you my guinea pig. As payment, I expect a full report on the brownie tomorrow morning. Don’t hold back either, peach. I want a brutally honest review.”
“I’m sure it’ll be great,” Enzo said in reassurance. “In any case, your guinea pig will take ample notes.” 
“That would be much appreciated,” you said with a serious nod. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Enzo-not-Lorenzo.”
Enzo couldn’t help but grin. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N.” 
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Enzo rubbed his temples, willing the headache forming behind his eyes to vanish. Unfortunately for him, his last tutoring session with Flint seemed to have left a permanent mark. While Enzo usually enjoyed teaching French, Marcus was proving to be a rather difficult case. Not only was Flint unwilling to do the work, the knobhead also spent the entire session leering at you instead of studying the conjugation chart that Enzo poured his blood, sweat, and tears on. 
“Merlin, I have no idea how you deal with rich, smarmy arseholes all day.” 
Enzo looked up to find you seated across the table, sliding a sandwich, a fruit cup, and a bag of crisps towards him without missing a beat. He hadn’t even realized it was already an hour past lunch until his stomach grumbled at the sight of food.
“One could argue that I’m also a rich, smarmy arsehole,” Enzo countered, picking up a grape and popping it into his mouth with a slight smile. “Yet you seem to have no problems dealing with me.” 
“Yes, well, everyone knows I’m just using you for your body. Specifically, your taste buds.” Enzo shook his head in amusement before taking a bite out of the sandwich. Peanut butter and jelly, his favorite. “Besides, how else am I supposed to learn new insults in different languages if I hadn’t met you? Speaking of which, I believe I’m completely justified in saying that Flint is a total gehirnverweigerer.”
“Marcus isn’t so bad. He just needs a bit of a push,” Enzo replied rather unconvincingly. 
“If by a push you mean my boot against his arse, then I wholeheartedly agree.” 
“The French have this saying, petit à petit, l’oiseau fait son nid. In English, it roughly translates to: little by little, the bird builds its nest.” 
“Except Flint isn’t a bird, he’s a twat,” you deadpanned. “The bloke was too busy staring at my arse to even pick up a lick of French. To think, you even made this cute little chart and everything. You have the patience of a saint, Enz.” 
“One of us has to,” Enzo replied as he tore open the bag of wotsits. “Given your proclivity to violence.” 
“Don’t make me take your crisps away, Lorenzo.” 
Shielding his wotsits from your vengeful wrath, Enzo flashed you a saccharine smile. For good measure, he even batted his pretty honey eyes at you. The audacity. “Have I ever told you that you’re my favorite person in the whole entire world?” 
You rolled your eyes fondly. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Berkshire. Now finish your lunch or else I’ll be very cross with you.” 
Enzo smiled to himself, wondering at the fact you were complete strangers until a few weeks ago. Ever since you gifted him with the best brownie he’s ever tasted in his entire life, he became your designated taste tester. Every morning, Enzo would start his day off with his usual lemon tea and whatever new pastry recipe you had chosen to tackle that week. Between the scones and muffins, Enzo learned that you intended on opening your own bakery after uni. Hence, his very important role of reviewing your recipes. 
Granted, Enzo didn’t know how much of a help he actually was given the fact that he thought everything you made was amazing. Still, the novelty of finding a fresh pastry in his bag with a handwritten note from you never failed to brighten his morning. Especially since you signed each one with a crimson kiss print that made him blush every time he laid his eyes upon it. It was safe to say his crush had only gotten worse the more he got to know you. 
As you settled behind the counter to help with the afternoon rush, Enzo attempted to get some work done before classes started for the day. With finals fast approaching, he was caught up on making sure he had everything in order. It wasn’t until Enzo heard a familiar voice when he finally tore his gaze away from his laptop screen. 
Enzo froze as he watched one of his best mates saunter up to the counter. Even from his seat by the window, he could tell that Mattheo was flirting with you. In hindsight, his friend seemed exactly like the type of guy you would go for. The broody bad boy who probably listened to all the obscure bands that you often talked to him about. As Mattheo directed his smoldering gaze at you, Enzo thought he might be violently ill. 
Squinting across the coffee shop, Enzo angrily shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers in an attempt to keep himself from strangling his curly headed friend. 
In a tone that was at least an octave deeper than his regular voice, Mattheo drawled a question at you. “What’s good here?” 
You stared at him pointedly before waving a hand towards the menu. “There’s coffee, there’s pastries. It’s really not rocket science.”
The deadpan delivery combined with the utterly unenthused expression on your face nearly made Enzo snort out loud. It might’ve been an arsehole move to rejoice at Mattheo’s fumble, but he found it immensely satisfying that you seemed to be immune to the infamous Riddle charm. 
“A bit feisty today aren’t we, love? I just wanted to see what the pretty lady behind the counter recommends.” 
Enzo watched in amusement as you slipped on your signature scowl, the one that made him fall for you in the first place. “The pretty lady recommends that you stop holding up the line so she can get to the other customers who actually know what they want.” 
Hiding his smirk, Enzo feigned surprise as a dejected Mattheo plopped down across from him. “Merlin, that was brutal. Is the barista always this mean? I complimented her pins and she stared at me like I’d grown an extra head.” 
“Y/N isn’t really a people person,” Enzo supplied. 
“No shit, Berkshire.” Mattheo tapped his fingers on the counter. “Let’s just get to class before I embarrass myself any further.”
“That’s probably for the best,” replied Enzo. 
Ignoring Mattheo’s glare, Enzo packed up his laptop and put his tray away. He followed his mate through the throng of people, which had thinned out once more. They were a few steps away from the door when you called out his name. With a raised brow, you held out a pink box. Enzo smiled sheepishly in return. He couldn’t believe he’d almost forgotten the dessert of the day. 
“One lemon berry scone. Less tart, per your critique last week.” He took the box from your hands, blushing furiously when your fingers brushed against his. “Have a good class, peach.” 
“Thanks, Y/N. I’ll have your full report ready tomorrow.” 
“You better.” Enzo nearly dropped the box when you winked at him. “Later, Berkshire.” 
Smiling to himself, Enzo came face to face with a gaping Mattheo. “For Salazar’s sake, it’s like I don’t even exist.” He muttered before breaking out into a grin. “No wonder my moves had no effect. Mate, she obviously fancies you.” 
Enzo’s cheeks immediately heated as he pushed out into the quad. “What? No. Y/N and I are just really good friends.” 
“Now I understand why you come here so often,” Mattheo remarked. “If the mean hot barista plied me with baked goods and called me peach, I’d be coming here every day.” 
“It's an inside joke about my drink order..." Enzo tried to explain. "The point is, Y/N isn’t mean. She’s actually really nice.” 
“Yeah, because she likes you.” 
“No, she doesn’t.”
“Does too.” Mattheo countered. “Why else would she bake you a scone?” 
“She wants to own a bakery someday. Obviously, that means she needs someone to test her recipes out on,” Enzo explained. “It’s how we became friends.” 
“Right,” Mattheo said with a shit eating grin. “Friends.” 
Enzo rolled his eyes. “Can we just please get to class?” 
“Whatever you say, peach.” 
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“I have a theory,” Mattheo announced. 
Enzo sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Not this again, mate.” 
The rest of their friends perked up, abandoning their laptop screens and textbooks in favor of the newest piece of gossip. The little corner of the library that their group had claimed was fairly quiet, which was supposed to be optimal for revising, but Mattheo couldn’t seem to let his conspiracy theory go. He'd been badgering Enzo about it for a week.
“Berkshire here refuses to believe me, but I have it on good authority that Y/N has a crush on him. 
“Y/N,” Theo started, “You mean his mean barista friend? She’s proper fit.” 
“Don’t call her fit,” Enzo replied rather defensively. 
“A little touchy there, Berkshire.” Regulus said with a chuckle. “Is that jealousy I sense?” 
“For the millionth time, Y/N and I are just friends.” 
“Is that the same friend that makes all those tasty pastries for you?” Draco asked with a raised brow. “I’ve seen the cute little notes she leaves for you posted all around your dorm. With the adorable kiss prints and hearts. Seems to me like Mattheo’s right. Y/N’s sweet on you, cousin.” 
“Do me a favour and stop being a snooping twat, cousin.” Enzo retorted with a frown. “Y/N’s just being nice. It’s what friends do.”
“None of my mates have ever gone out of their way to bake me a bloody thing,” Blaise declared in feigned offense as he wrapped an arm around Pansy. 
“Yes, well, none of your mates even know where the oven is located, let alone how to operate it,” replied his girlfriend. Pansy smiled at Enzo. “Besides, I think their friendship is sweet.” 
“Thanks, Pans.” 
“So you don’t fancy Y/N?” Theo asked. Enzo opened his mouth then closed it. He was well aware that his friend was baiting him, but he refused to fall into Theo’s trap. 
“Like I said, we’re friends.” 
“In that case, you wouldn’t mind if I asked for her number, right?” 
As a matter of fact, Enzo did fucking mind. He minded very much. Too much, probably. But he couldn’t very well say that out loud. Instead, he masked his scowl and returned his attention to revising. 
“Knock yourself out, mate.” 
Theo smirked. “Alright then, let’s go.” 
“Go where?” Enzo asked disinterestedly, flipping through his study sheet for Latin. 
“To Deja Brew,” Theo replied smugly. “We all need a study break, anyways.” 
“You want to go there? Right now?” With each question, Enzo’s death grip tightened on his notes. “To ask for Y/N’s number?” 
“That shouldn’t be a problem, right? In fact, maybe you could introduce us.” 
Enzo would rather walk on hot coals. “I think I'll pass. I've already seen her turn Mattheo down and that was brutal enough as it is. I don’t need an encore.”
“Riddle’s probably not her type.” 
Mattheo frowned, crossing his arms. “I’m everyone’s type.” 
Theo chuckled. “Apparently not hers. Perhaps she’d prefer a handsome Italian, no?” 
Mattheo rolled his eyes. “In your dreams, Nott.” 
“Now I’m intrigued,” exclaimed Blaise. “I’d never miss an opportunity to witness Theodore get humbled. Are you sure you’re ready for a woman like Y/N, Nott?” 
“Please,” Theo scoffed. “I was born ready.” 
Against his will, Enzo found himself at Deja Brew ten minutes later. In his usual corner by the window, he brooded like a petulant child. This was a horrible, terrible, and idiotic idea. All he wanted to do was revise and now his study session had been hijacked just so he could watch Theo flirt with the girl he fancied. 
“You know, you can put a stop to this any time you’d like,” Mattheo said in a sing-songy voice. “Just admit that my theory is right. Y/N has a crush on you and I’m willing to bet that the feeling is mutual. Isn’t it, Berkshire?” 
Enzo crossed his arms, rolling his eyes. Instead of giving into Mattheo’s childish pursuits, he opened his laptop and pretended to be immersed with Russian translations. 
“Have it your way, Enzo.” Regulus declared, nodding towards the register. “Nott’s about to give us a show.” 
As irritated as he was with his friends, Enzo couldn’t tear his gaze away. Theo marched up to the counter with swagger and confidence, slipping on his signature smirk. You looked up from your phone screen, giving the tall and lanky boy a sweeping gaze. The unenthused expression on your face screamed that you weren’t at all impressed.
“Y/N, is it?” Theo drawled, squinting at the nametag pinned to your apron. “A pretty name for a pretty lady.” 
“Thanks,” you deadpanned. “My parents gave it to me. Now what can I get started for you?” 
“Aren’t you going to ask me for my name?” 
“I know who you are,” you replied dismissively. “One of Enzo’s friends, right? I heard about your little stunt in the fountain. You know, December’s not really a smart time to go skinny dipping.” Theo flushed as your eyes trailed down to his crotch. “Certain parts shrivel in the cold, Nott.” 
“I assure you, my parts were perfectly intact.” 
“That’s not what Katie Bell said,” you countered, tapping your lips thoughtfully. “I believe I heard something about shrinkage.” Theo opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water. “I’ll tell you what, Theodore. Why don’t I fix you up a cappuccino? It’ll help keep you and your parts warm and cozy.” 
Enzo bit his lip to keep himself from bursting into laughter. The rest of his friends snickered as they watched a dejected Theo return to the table. 
Regulus snorted as he sat back down in defeat. “Merlin, that was hard to watch. Absolutely brutal, really.” 
Theo glared at Regulus in response. “I’d like to see you do better, Black.” 
Regulus winked. “Watch and learn, boys.” 
The older boy had about as much luck as Theo. Though the attempts had put him in a foul mood at first, Enzo was absolutely elated as he watched you turn down his friends. Regulus received an eye roll while Draco reeled from the head to toe once-over that humbled the absolute hell out of him. 
“It’s useless,” his cousin mumbled. “She hates everyone.” 
“Or maybe Y/N just doesn’t appreciate random blokes chatting her up while she’s trying to do her job,” Pansy said with an eye roll. 
“Oh bloody hell, here she comes.” Regulus muttered under his breath. “I don’t think my ego can take another hit.” 
The boys cowered as you came closer, but you didn’t pay them any mind. Instead, you set a fresh mug of tea and a lemon scone down in front of Enzo. 
“Last one, I promise. It’s finally perfect this time.” 
“You said that the last three times,” Enzo said with a chuckle. “They were all brilliant, by the way. Not that you listen to my well crafted reviews.” 
“You say that about everything I make, Enz. Honestly, a girl bakes you a couple of treats and suddenly I’m the best thing since sliced bread.” 
“I’m just being honest,” he replied with a shrug. “You couldn’t bake a single bad pastry if you tried.” 
“I’d like to try a pastry,” Mattheo interjected. 
You tore your attention away from Enzo. The smile that you reserved for him transformed into a scowl, your entire body language turning stern. “I’m sorry. Who are you again?” 
“Riddle,” Mattheo supplied. “Mattheo Riddle.” 
“Right,” you said slowly, as if speaking to a small child. “My pastries aren’t for sale. You’re more than welcome to try the day-old brownie behind the counter though. If you can manage to chew through it.” 
Mattheo sputtered, but you paid no mind to his aghast expression. Enzo fought the urge to kiss you right then and there. 
“Closing again tonight?” he asked, ignoring the blatant stares from the rest of his friends. 
“Unfortunately. Diggory bailed again. Probably too busy snogging Cho to come in for his shift,” you said with an eye roll. 
“Leave those lovebirds alone,” Enzo quipped back. “They’re in their honeymoon phase.” 
“I can’t for the life of me understand how they aren’t sick of each other by now.” 
“That’s because you’re a mean old grump.” You glared at him, which only made Enzo smile. “Luckily for you, that doesn’t deter me. I’ll come keep you company if you want. I promise to be way more entertaining than Cedric.” 
“It’s not a hard task to accomplish, but I’ll take you up on it nonetheless.” 
“I thought you might say that,” he said with a small smile. “I’ll meet you back here after my last class. Pad Thai tonight?” 
You nodded and grinned back. “This is why you’re my favorite, peach.” 
The boys gaped as you ruffled his hair in parting. They waited until you were out of earshot before launching into a tirade. 
“What the bloody hell was that?”
“Just friends my arse.”
“I can’t believe she actually smiled at you!” 
“It’s strange how treating Y/N like an actual human being instead of pestering her while she’s trying to work yields such positive results,” Pansy retorted. “I think you all need to start following Enzo’s example. Clearly he’s had more success than you lot.” 
Blaise patted Enzo on the back. “Mate, you might be the most oblivious bloke in all of Britain, but you’d have to be an absolute knobhead not to see what’s right in front of you.” 
He hummed in response, glancing up at the exact same time that your gaze met his from across the room. You winked, making him blush furiously. Merlin, you were pretty. It was honestly unfair. Maybe Zabini was onto something.
When it came to you, even Enzo had to agree that he was a total and absolute knobhead.
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Later that night, Enzo helped you clear the plates and mugs as the last customers trickled out of Deja Brew. The soft sounds of your perfectly curated playlist trickled over the speakers as you flipped the sign to closed. He watched with a small smile as you hopped up onto the counter and beckoned him over. The fairy lights twinkled above the ceiling, illuminating your smile as Enzo took his place next to you. 
The sight of you grinning up at him tugged at his heartstrings. There were coffee stains on your jeans and apron, your thick hair was falling out of its braid, and a cold bowl of Pad Thai awaited in your lap and yet he’d never seen anything more beautiful in his life. 
“Aren’t you glad Cedric bailed?” Enzo teased, knocking his shoulder with yours. “Now you get to enjoy cold noodles with your favorite person.” 
You chuckled, nudging him back. “I suppose this is nicer than listening to Diggory ramble on about Quidditch. It’s always bludger this, bludger that. I honestly considered bludgeoning him myself.” 
“To be fair, the man could merely breathe and you’d still find a way to be annoyed by it.” 
“No one needs to inhale that much oxygen.”
“I rest my case, you mean old grump.” 
You rolled your eyes affectionately. “You know, if anyone else called me that I’d poke their eye out with a fork.” Enzo chuckled as you stabbed into your bowl of noodles. “Besides, I have every right to be grumpy. It’s been a long day. Thanks to your incessant little friends.” 
“I’m sorry about the guys,” he said earnestly. “I tried to talk them out of flirting with you, but they’ve got this crazy theory.” 
“Oh?” You asked, raising a brow. “What’s the theory, then?” 
Enzo flushed, avoiding your gaze. “They uh…” He cleared his throat and stared at his shoes. “They think you fancy me.” 
“Hmm,” you hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe they’re not idiots after all. Your friends are right. I do fancy you.” 
White noise rushed through his ears. Enzo’s mouth fell open as he met your gaze. Surely, he hadn’t heard you correctly. 
“You alright there, peach?” 
“You…” Enzo trailed off, his voice tinged with disbelief. “You like me?” 
You chuckled. “I have for a bit. Thanks for finally noticing.” 
“How?” Enzo muttered. “What?” He cocked his head, trying to search for the proper words. “Why?” 
At the moment, it appeared that one syllable words were the full extent of his vocabulary. All those languages in his head and yet he couldn’t form a single coherent sentence. 
“Enz, I know your drink order by heart,” you explained softly. “I make you cupcakes and muffins. I write you notes every day. I thought I made myself pretty obvious.” 
“Gods,” he breathed, silently reprimanding himself. “I really am the most oblivious bloke in Britain.” Enzo licked his lips, turning over to look at you. “I just thought you were being nice.” 
“Lorenzo, when have I ever been nice to anyone?” 
“I am a bloody idiot.” 
“You never made a move, so I just thought you didn’t see me that way. Which is fine, by the way. I don’t mind being friends.” 
Enzo turned so fast he nearly smacked into the register. “Are you kidding? I’ve had a crush on you for months. You’re the best part of my day. Waking up and knowing that I get to see you every morning is the only thing that gets me out of bed.”
“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
“Because,” he stated matter-of-factly. “You’re out of my league. You’re smart and funny and not to mention way too cool. Honestly, I thought you’d go for someone like Mattheo or Theo or literally anyone else but me. Someone a little more…” he trailed off, waving a hand over you. 
“Scary?” 
“No! Well, yes. Someone more confident and intimidating.” 
“Bad boys aren’t really my type.”
He scrunched his eyebrows together in confusion. “They’re not?” 
“No,” you said, setting down your food and turning over to face him. “My type is a nerdy linguistics major who teaches me how to curse in six different languages and who makes cute little conjugation charts and orders drinks that should quite frankly classify as a dessert.” 
Enzo’s smile grew wider. "I like you too, you know. A lot. Like, embarrassingly so. With your grumpy little scowl and all black wardrobe and dry humor. I like all of it."
You beamed as Enzo leaned closer, tracing your lips like he was trying to commit the curves of your smile to his memory. His heart pounded in his chest as your eyes flickered up to meet his.
"Then kiss me like you mean it, Enzo."
Despite your confidence, the air left your lungs as soon as Enzo cradled your face in his hands. The twinkling lights made his brown eyes shimmer like pools of honey in the dark. The tension stretched between you as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing yours ever so gently. They briefly closed around yours—tasting, testing, taunting. Then the dam broke free.
Enzo pressed you closer and kissed you like his life depended on it. You smiled against his lips, melting into his touch as he tilted your head back for more. Butterflies erupted in your stomach as Enzo sighed into your mouth, his lips molding perfectly against yours. The once shy and experimental kisses turned needy and passionate, making you feel slightly lightheaded. Enzo savored your soft sighs, kissing you over and over again to elicit more.
It wasn't until you felt like the air had been depleted from your lungs when he finally relented. He pressed his forehead against yours, noses brushing as you both grinned at each other. It felt right to be this close. It felt like you were made to do this all along. Enzo brushed his thumb over your cheek, looking dazed as he pulled back to look at you. 
“It’s about time, Berkshire.” 
“Hey,” Enzo grumbled, pecking at your lips. “You can’t blame me. I couldn’t even look at you without blushing and making a fool of myself. You’re so intimidating.” 
“Not so scary now, am I?” 
“Oh no, I’m still terrified of you. But I’ve also seen you cry during the Notebook, so I know that deep down inside, you’re just a big softie.” 
You started to protest, but Enzo just leaned in and kissed you again. With his lips pressed against yours, you couldn’t even remember what you were about to say. As he pulled you into his lap, you heard cheers coming from outside. Behind the glass window, his friends were cheering and wolf-whistling rather obnoxiously on the street. 
Enzo responded by flicking them off and kissing you even harder, pressing your bodies together as you giggled. He hauled you to your feet, his arms circling around your waist as he dipped you for a better angle. Your back hit the counter as you raised to your tiptoes, winding your arms around his neck and mussing up his hair as you arched for more. The hollering only grew more incessant when Enzo grabbed your ass and squeezed. The groan that escaped from his mouth made you dizzy with desire.
If one kiss could elicit such a response out of you, it was almost scary to think what else Enzo had in his arsenal. A cheeky little smile curved against his lips as though he knew exactly what you were thinking. You basked under the warmth of his gaze, feeling flushed and flustered. That pretty face had you entirely fooled. Enzo was far from innocent.
“Gods, I really fucking fancy you.”
With a smile, you kissed the tip of his nose. “I really fucking fancy you too, peach.” 
Despite the many languages in Enzo's arsenal, no phrase or saying could convey how he felt better than his lips against yours. Maybe he hadn't quite mastered the language of love, but he had a feeling that you'd be more than willing to teach him.
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lucysarah-c · 7 months ago
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Scratches down his back
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Summary: Repeat after me, nothing good happens in the common showers unless it’s Levi sandwiching you with the wet wall. Sadly, this is not the case. So, nothing good will happen.  Author's Note: I'm revisiting this piece, my second-ever Levi fanfiction, after Tumblr inexplicably removed it. I've made a few alterations, so if you recall the original, you might notice some differences. I've attempted to recreate it to the best of my memory. Despite initially intending it to be full NSFW, I've reconsidered; it doesn't quite match the tone I'm aiming for. This leans more towards being a Crack fic than an NSFW one. Warning: This story contains suggestive themes but nothing explicit. Word Count: 2.8k
She lotioned up, fingers deftly twisting and knotting the towel around her body to keep it from slipping. Annoying groans echoed in the humid tiled space as she struggled to finish her routine while maintaining modesty and not taking up too much space. 
"Holy Sheena," a voice called from her right, making her turn around hastily. 
"What?" she responded. 
Hange walked closer, seeming less concerned about covering up after coming out of the shower. "Those bruises... tell Shorty he's supposed to fuck you, not try to kill you," they joked. 
She sighed intently and found the well-marked fingertips around her hips, washing away marks around her wrists and the obvious hickeys and bite marks on her inner thighs and lower collarbone to conceal them from daily life. Y/N couldn't help but chuckle. 
"Forgot I had those," she commented, momentarily happy before furrowing her brow again. "I can't find anything here!" 
The former HQ of the scouts lacked a pumping water system, everything (despite her boyfriend's attempts) smelled of mold and humidity. The place was freezing due to the tall ceilings and lack of proper insulation, especially in the middle of the forest where temperatures dropped the lowest. Having to shower there, under shaky candlelight, with buckets of water and a cup to pour it on her body was a nightmare. 
"How could you forget?" Hange seemed less stressed about the shower situation, either because they had fewer steps in their routine or because they were less ashamed. 
"I got used to it, and I usually don't share bathrooms, so no one can see me naked," she explained, searching among her personal hygiene items for the next step in her routine. "I forgot how impractical communal showers were." 
"Ah, yes, because you and your hubby have all the space for yourselves," the brunette joked, making kissing sounds to annoy her further. 
"You're just jealous that my love life is very active," she retorted. 
"Don't point those fingers at me, save those assumptions for Erwin," Hange teased. 
Their banter made her laugh and nod slightly in agreement. "Speaking of which, did he send you here to help with something?" 
"Supervise a bit of the situation for him and fill out reports for the MPs and the military board," Y/N explained casually as she started to put on comfy clothes. 
"So, basically... a conjugal visit so Levi doesn't get blue balls," They quipped. 
Coughing loudly as the foam from the toothpaste made her choke in shock, she spat into the sink before looking up, blushing deeply. "HANGE!" 
The squad leader chuckled, unfazed by the outburst. "Your marks tell me I'm right. You arrived last night, and he jumped on you like a beast in heat." 
She scoffed, not saying a word as her mouth was still full of toothpaste. Frowning slightly at the squad leader and shooting them an askance look, but Hange didn't seem offended, taking the conversation lightheartedly. 
As they finished their dental routines, Y/N was surprised by Hange's efficiency. They clearly had different notions of after-shower routines. 
"Don't be so hard on him," Y/N defended her boyfriend tenderly as she rinsed the toothpaste residue. "He's stressed about the whole Titan boy situation. He needed to unwind." 
Both walked out of the room lethargically, as if neither had anywhere urgent to be. "That's the excuse Shorty gave you? But if Eren is so meek around Levi..." Hange argued back between chuckles. 
The empty corridors of the former HQ made her shiver, quickly losing the warmth of the shower as they strolled. When the name of the new cadet in Levi's squad was dropped, Y/N couldn't help but grimace and bite her bottom lip to hold back a chuckle. 
"What's so funny?" Hange asked. 
"Nothing," she replied. 
"Come on, just tell me!" 
"Fine..." she relented, "but this stays between us." 
"You know I can't promise that," Hange joked, indicating that juicy information wouldn't stay secret for long. "Just spit it out." 
"I met Eren earlier today..." she began. 
"Yeah, and?" Hange prompted. 
Y/N's subtle, almost innocent blush didn't match her sassy chuckles. "He's hella cute." 
Hange's loud gasp echoed in the empty hallways, prompting Y/N to hush them intensely. "You're a taken woman, Y/N!" the brunette argued, albeit without seriousness. "And... He's a kid. Have some decency, you creep." 
"Hey!" Y/N quickly protested. "I never said I was going to sleep with him or something like that! Can't a girl admit when a boy is cute? I mean, did you see his eyes? He's going to be turning heads around here before you know it." 
Hange chuckled, "If he survives..." 
"What a depressing thought, Hange, for Sheena's sake," both continued walking. "Mark my words, he's going to be handsome and will have girls swooning over him." 
"Including you?" Hange teased. 
Y/N shook her head softly, regretting telling the squad leader about it. "I could teach him a thing or two," she joked back, earning a shallow laugh from her companion. 
"Don't let Shorty hear you say that," Hange warned. 
"I'm joking, I'm joking," she assured. 
The heavy stone walls seemed to catch every little molecule of dust between the bricks as she swung the door open to the basement kitchen, probably designed to keep the cold temperature for food storage. Or perhaps it was an old castle, and the staff was secluded to the forgotten and unpleasant part of the architecture. Once inside, Petra and Eren were cutting potatoes while sitting on big, chipped wooden boxes. 
"Hey," Y/N greeted, rubbing her arms over her clothes as the humidity and coldness of the place seemed to penetrate every piece of clothing. "The bathroom is free if you want to take a shower." 
Y/N chuckled softly at her own words. "Well, 'shower' is a bold word for sitting down and throwing buckets of water on yourself," she clarified, jokingly. 
Petra seemed to understand, smiled at Eren, and stood up to clean her hands before leaving. They were taking turns for showers, mostly because the former HQ lacked a water pumping system, so they had to fetch water early in the day. For showers, the water had to be warmed up by the stove and then carried to one of the rooms they had chosen as a bathroom. Neither room was ideal because of the wooden floors, but they made do. 
She noticed the big, almost innocent eyes of the cadet looking up at her, both seemingly waiting for the other to make the next move. Eren continued with his task silently until she cleared her throat. 
"So... have you taken a shower yet, Eren?" 
"No, ma'am," Eren replied stiffly, making her scoff. 
"You can call me Y/N," she said, taking a spot next to him on the box. "Here, let me help you, or we'll be having potatoes for dinner the day after tomorrow." 
Her hands began to peel the potatoes with expertise. "You're good at this," he commented, looking down at his own pile and noticing a good part of the peel had taken the potato with it. 
She chuckled, "Ugh, you know how many potatoes I peeled before I was promoted," she joked. "You're showering after dinner? Make sure to rinse the water out of your hair if you're going straight to bed; you might catch a cold otherwise." 
Eren seemed surprised by the comment, or perhaps by the interaction overall. "Yes, ma'am," he replied with less self-assurance. "Captain Levi said the rest should go ahead, and then we'll go... I feel bad that he had to wait to take his turn because of me." 
"You're showering with Levi?" she asked, entertained, cutting off a bit of the self-hate speech that the cadet was about to embark on. "You're not planning on stealing my man, are you?" 
Oh, how quickly the blood rushed to his cheeks. It was priceless. "N-NO! I-I, no. I'll n-never," the poor boy began to stutter. She playfully patted his back while having a blast. 
"Relax, Eren. I'm messing with you," she said between chuckles. "It's just a silly shower, sweetie. Levi goes to bed very late, so showering last doesn't affect him." 
"But Oluo said–" 
"Ohhh, please," she interrupted him again, rolling her eyes as she returned to her task of peeling potatoes. Momentarily pointing at him with the knife, as if to emphasize her point, she continued, "Do not listen to him. Oluo is like one of those very tiny little dogs. They bark and bark and may even bite more than a regular-sized dog, but they actually hold no power." 
It was time for the cadet to have a short chuckle at her comparison. "Mr. Oluo isn't going to like that." 
"Well, I'm higher in command than him so." 
There was a brief calm silence as both of them continued to prepare dinner. "You're too nice to me, Squad Leader," Eren murmured, slightly ashamed. "The rest of Captain Levi's squad is nice too, but I can feel their fear..." 
Y/N couldn't help but find it endearing, the little pout on his face. "Oh sweetie, I'm the one who brings the first paperwork of the day to Erwin, and sometimes I even have to wake him up. There's nothing you could do that could scare me after that," she said while reaching forward to pinch his right cheek while wrinkling her nose. "You're a cutie." 
The side smile mixed with a not subtle blush that extended to his ears and the subtle shame in his eyes. Everything in his attitude screamed 'I'm not a girl or a kid, don't call me that.' 
But that was exactly what he was in her eyes: a kid. 
Clicking his tongue, cursing under his breath, he moved the shaking candle around, trying to find a good lighting spot against the old mirror while passing the razor close to his skin. The flame shook under the little insulation of the old rooms, and the humidity of the showers didn’t help as it rained little drops of condensation too close to it. Unlike Eren, who had finished showering and looked around ashamed, unsure how to even begin to dress up for bed without looking awkward (he could start by not standing still in the middle of the room), Levi seemed rather relaxed. Apparently, his only problem was shaving under that type of light. 
The Captain looked over his shoulder, found the cadet looking as if he wished the earth could swallow him. “Come on, brat. We don’t have all night. Get dressed so I can take you to the basement,” Levi spoke up. “Don't be so tense. I cleaned the place myself.” 
‘The cleanliness is not my problem,’ Eren thought to himself as he tried to carry on. But keeping the towel around his hips while trying to put clothes on that stuck to his humid body, nothing was going according to plan. 
“I bet you shared showers in worse conditions at the training camps,” Levi kept his usual stoic face as he cleaned the residues of shaving cream from his face and carried on unaffected by the situation. 
But Eren couldn’t unglue his eyes as soon as he noticed them. Yes, them. The red striking scratches down the back of his superior. Well-marked, five on each side decorating his shoulder blades. Eren swore he was trying not to pay them any mind, trying to remember to breathe or even to stop the saliva as his mouth hung open looking at them. 
Levi mentioning the shared showers at the training camps didn't help. Because all he could hear repeating endlessly in his mind were the stupid conversations Reiner and Jean would have about the hypothetical chicks they were planning to lay with. How they throw their heads back as they moan your name. Their nails sinking in your back as you pounded into them. 
‘Think of something else, Eren. Think of something else,’ 
“S-sorry,” he stuttered out a reply as the object he was picking up slipped from his clumsy hands, gathering his superior's attention, who was now staring at him as he kneeled to pick it up with his face as red as a tomato and nervous eyes. 
Levi raised a silent eyebrow for a split second before slightly shaking his head, not giving it much thought. ‘Teenagers,’ he thought to himself while sighing. 
Eren wished he could stop his own mind because it wasn’t just Reiner’s voice playing in his head but the created mental images of what he thought, in his inexperience, it looked like: his superior—no—his hero, fucking the sweet, caring woman who had just been peeling potatoes with him. Her hands that pinching his cheeks, sinking its nails into his squad leader’s back while moaning his name. Wrinkling his eyes closed, trying to erase the mental images as he could feel the blood pumping. ‘You’re not planning on stealing my man, are you?’ her voice echoing in the walls of his head, pumped lips and sultry eyes as she looked back at him playfully. 
‘Think of something else!’ 
“What could you probably be thinking of?” Levi’s voice echoed as his worst nightmare. Had he said that out loud? This time Levi had turned around to face him, left hand resting on the sink as he had his trousers on but hanging loosely on his hips as he was halfway getting dressed. He didn’t seem friendly, and his dead glance demanded an explanation. 
“Ehm- I,” Eren began to stutter, trying to find a logical explanation. His mind was racing miles per hour, how to explain. He was peeling potatoes, she made a joke, now he knows they are dating, Levi had his back scratched by her. She, her nails, her joke, her pretty lips— 
“Y-Y/N,” 
Ah- He shouldn’t have said that, but it was the first word that came to his mind. 
“What?” Levi’s voice seemed to source from hell itself. 
Heavy steps again on the floor, as he rushed back to his room. “Oi, where are you going so angry, shorty?” Hange rested against the wood frame while drinking a cup of tea. They had heavy under-eye circles and despite the dose of caffeine from their drinks, they seemed very lethargic. 
“Tch, to talk to my girlfriend about not messing around with my subordinates,” Levi had a heavy frown on his face as his hair still leaked little drops of water. “I just had the most uncomfortable conversation with Eren,” Levi said between clenched teeth, barely modulating. 
Hange chuckled while raising an eyebrow, blinking a couple of times. “Y/N told you she thinks Eren is a cutie? I’m surprised...” 
Levi, who had never stopped facing down the hall to his room, not even when he began his conversation with the other squad leader, slowly turned around to face the brunette as he heard that with a clearly confused face that turned into a frown as the information sank in. “What?” he spat out. 
Hange began to chuckle as they feared that they had misunderstood, “Ha ha... didn’t you say you had an uncomfortable conversation about Eren?” 
“Clean up your filthy ears or go to sleep already, four eyes,” the captain said calmly before clarifying, “I said a fucking uncomfortable conversation WITH Eren.” 
“Now, tell me what the hell you meant by that and make it quick because I already stood in a leaky bathroom for easily half an hour hearing Eren stutter apologize after he said my girlfriend’s name with a fucking hard on.” 
Observing out of the window as she admired how calm the deep forest was at the former HQ. It was rather cold, but she had only her nightgown on, a sheer translucent piece of cloth. The door of the room swung open, revealing an extremely angry Levi. He shut his door close and walked up to her. 
“What's gotten into you?” She questioned, confused. But before she could even reply, he was grabbing her face, pressing her cheeks together, and slightly raising her face to have it inches away from his. 
“You’ve forgotten your manners. I’ve been too soft with you,” Levi groaned, “First of all, you don’t go around playing cheeky with my subordinates.” 
She could feel the tug from his grip, pressing her closer as her hands touched his arm. Breathing heavily, humming a moan at his words. “Second, you truly think you could have a brat like him when I can already tell you’re dropping with the idea of me teaching you your place again?” 
“Lev-” 
“Your next words should be ‘Yes, sir’ if you know what's good for you,” he let go of her face just to slap her ass, “Go to bed and ass up, baby girl.” 
She moved excitedly in the direction he indicated but turned around as she bit her bottom lip, watching as he grabbed a belt from his uniform, “and that?” she asked curiously. 
“To make sure I’m the only one who leaves marks behind.” 
Link to my masterlist and my other works if you feel like checking them out.
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directdogman · 11 hours ago
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Hi, I hope this isn't a bother. I'm trying to make a dating sim and want to have a section where the player inputs their pronouns (like you gave the option to in Dial Town). Despite my hours of effort though, I can't figure out how to do it. I'm using Visual Novel Machinery for Unreal Engine (because Unreal is required for the class I'm making this for). Even if you aren't familiar with it though, just the basic 'pull code from here and input there' would be so helpful. I'm sure I can piece it together in a way Unreal will understand with a bit of help. Legit though, I made unreal crash twice when I tried to run the initial code for it, so I'm at a loss. Side note: Your games are so awesome and a big part of why I want to make a dating sim to begin with. I wish you all the peace and love on planet earth!
Hello hello:
The trick is using a string for every instance of a pronoun in player dialogue (which is just a variable set of letters.) They, them, their, theirs, etc. Be careful when you set the system up as some pronouns don't conjugate for all cases. For instance, their and theirs are separate words, as are her/hers, but his uses the same word for both pronouns.
You also have to account for case too. This is how I set it up (this is all done right when the pronoun is first entered btw):
1)let the user input a pronoun for each option. each pronoun is a different string, one for each pronoun type (you'll see my list below)
2)i then use a script command right after that to turn all of the pronoun strings entered to lower case. This is account for players possibly capitalizing the first letter in the pronoun instinctively. IE: characters won't say: "Hey, where's He going?" instead of "he going?", which is correct.
How you convert to lowercase is different for each programming language, but I bet there's an equivalent command in UE.
3)Then I copy each pronoun twice, essentially creating two duplicates for each lower case pronoun (so there's now 3 identical pronouns for her, three for hers, etc.)
4)For the second set, I run a command that capitalizes the first and only first letter of each separately (this is useful for if a sentence starts with a pronoun, meaning the first letter would be upper case in that sentence. EG: His cowboy hat looks RIDICULOUS.)
5)for the third set, i then turn the whole string upper case. this is useful for if a character speaks in all caps or if the character is shouting/emphasizing. (EG: "Where's HE going?!")
At the end, this is what my list of strings looks like, hopefully helping you visualize what I've done:
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Then, when a pronoun is referenced in dialogue, I use the string that matches the correct version of the pronoun I need. So for he, i use #6 normally, #12 if it's the start of a sentence and #18 if the character is shouting. it's good to keep a list like this handy so you don't have to go looking every time you write dialogue.
The big other thing to watch out for is how plural pronouns affect verbs. He and she IS, but they ARE. I have the player tell the game whether or not their pronoun of choice is plural after they're entered it in and then simply load two separate versions of each sentence with one set for ises and one for ares.
You can also make some more blank name variables to use for verbs and have the game check if the pronoun's plural and then reference a string like with the pronouns (ie, having a string for is that changes to are if plural and using that in dialogue.) Both solutions generally work and I use both for different situations in dialogue.
Beyond that, I can't really give any engine specific advice, but this is how I do it. Best of luck with your game! :)
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moralesmilesanhour · 6 months ago
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mad props! 05
summary: you learn a couple new things about Miles as you fall into your new study routine. wc: 1.1k start from the beginning prev next a/n: probs won't update regularly if i'm being transparent but i gotta wrap the story up! so expect more in the coming weeks probably. and before you ask no this does not mean i'm returning to writing reader insert i am just finishing what i started bc i feel like i owe it to my audience ! much love <3
The auditorium was empty during lunchtime, which meant that no one was there to spectate as the sound of your voice echoed through the rows of unoccupied seats. You were working on one of the numbers from the second act.
“It’s not up to me…Just let me be…Legally–”
“I knew I’d find you here.”
You sighed, not needing to look up to know who it was.
“Have you come to take me away?” you asked dryly as you descended down the steps and trudged over to where Miles stood in the middle of the aisle with a smug look on his face.
“You can finish your song, if you want.”
You brushed right past him towards the double doors.
“Stop pretending to be nice.”
Essentially being a teacher’s assistant, Miles had elevator privileges that removed the hassle of climbing up five flights of stairs to reach Mr. Sanchez’s classroom, making it the most (and perhaps the only) pleasant part of the experience.
Sanchez was digging into a bowl of salad when the two of you arrived.
“Ah! Buenas tardes,” he greeted hastily through a mouthful of lettuce. “Thank you for being on time.”
You shoved past Miles and rushed over to the professor’s desk.
“I just have to make up for last week’s missing homework and a couple quizzes, right?”
“Well, yes, but there’s also–”
“Can I just do that at home, then? All due respect, but I really don’t need a partner to–”
“Hold on,” he held up a hand to stop you. “You also have some gaps in understanding when it comes to grammatical concepts such as presente and futuro, missing assignments notwithstanding. You’ll go over those with Miles first before making up last Friday’s quiz independently. Comprende?”
You visibly deflated where you stood. To tell the truth, the different tenses were never your strong suit, but you were able to get away with that with flawless vocabulary memorization and verb conjugation (in the present tense, of course). Now? Not so much.
“Comprende,” you groaned before turning away to grab a seat.
Miles had already taken a chair and pulled it up to one of the desks in the front, and was sitting on it backwards with his notebook in front of him.
“Ready, partner?” he said with a wide, mocking grin. He knew you couldn’t tell him to shut up in front of Sanchez.
You rolled your eyes and sat down with a slump.
“Let’s get it over with.”
He opened his notebook and flipped through a few messy pages before landing on a blank sheet. Sloppily ripping it free from its binding, he took out a Sharpie (which he uncapped with his teeth) and began to draw a line down the middle. 
“What are you doing?”
He began writing a series of words down either side of the line.
“Helping you.”
Miles slid the piece of paper towards you.
It was a verb conjugation chart, labeled ‘Past Tense’ in his strange handwriting that made no distinction between upper and lower-case letters.
“I’m gonna give you a sentence, and you repeat it back to me in the past tense. Then we’re gonna do the same thing in futuro.”
You sulked, “How come you don’t have to memorize anything? You said you don’t even study.”
He gave you a blank, ‘are-you-stupid’ look.
“I speak Spanish.”
“No duh, I mean in every other class. You know the whole periodic table front-to-back.”
“Huh? Oh, photographic memory. I only need to read something once,” he tapped his forehead, “then it’s locked in.”
Stunned, you could do nothing but lean back in your chair and slowly shake your head.
“Absolutely ridiculous.”
The rest of that week had you repeating the same song and dance of trudging into Sanchez’s classroom and running drills with Miles and his impromptu conjugation charts. For every wrong answer, Miles made an incredibly irritating sound that was meant to imitate a game show buzzer, which forced you to pay more attention to minimize how often you had to hear it.
You hated to admit it, but at some point you began to retain the tenses with more ease than before and noticed a steady increase in your quiz grades as a result. 
Thursday after school saw you arrive at an empty auditorium, thirty minutes before rehearsal. Any normal student would spend this extra time studying or doing homework, but you had seen enough flashcards and charts to last you a lifetime. Instead, you pulled out your highlighted copy of the sheet music for ‘Chip on My Shoulder’ and began rehearsing as a one-man ensemble.
Your singing today felt more difficult than usual; the lyrics suddenly felt heavy on your tongue, the notes coming out strained and forced. In the middle of a line, the double doors swung open just as your voice cracked.
“Damn, were you lip-syncing this whole time? You sound rough.”
You rolled your eyes. Of course it had to be him.
Miles sounded nearly out-of-breath as he strolled past you, his uniform rumpled shirt and un-tucked, as if he’d just put it on. The band-aid on his forehead was joined by another, more colorful one on his cheek. 
“As if you could do better,” you scoffed as you watched him toss his bag onto an empty chair two seats away from where you sat.
He looked up with a mischievous grin.
“I could.”
“Oh?” You smirked and shoved the sheet music into his face. “Try it, then.”
Miles squinted at it before pushing it away.
“Pfft, this song is lightwork. I don’t need that.”
“Alright, then recite your lines. I’ll start,” you inhaled deeply and held up the lyrics. “ ‘You came out here–’”
“‘To follow a man? Harvard Law was part of that plan? Man, what rich, romantic planet are you from?’”
Startled by his near-perfect pitch, you stuttered, lowering the sheet of paper a bit to give Miles an odd look. 
He continued, “ ‘Instead of lying outside by the pool, you stalk some guy to an Ivy League School’...et cetera.”
You blinked in utter disbelief. Miles’ voice had a tone as clear as a bell, and flawless diction to match. If he had auditioned, he would’ve been a shoe-in.
“...Huh. You sing? Like, actually?”
He shrugged, “I used to lead the choir at church, but not anymore.”
Just as he finished his sentence, Sarah followed by a handful of tech kids began trickling into the auditorium.
“Oh, sweet, you guys are early!” Sarah nodded, making two check marks on her clipboard as her bag hung off of one shoulder. “Miles, d’you wanna help figure out the lighting situation for the show? Josh said you were good with color.”
“Sure, not a problem.”
“You’re amazing, dude. I don’t know how we would’ve gotten those sets done without you.”
“All in a day’s work!”
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rhenysz · 1 year ago
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Your Dead Eyes - Chapter 1
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Summary: Lifeless eyes were what haunted your all your life, many people say that death was lurking around your eyes, maybe it's true. Maybe you just see things that other people don't.
Pairing: Azriel x Archeron! reader fem.
A/n: This took longer than expected and isn't even half as long as I would have liked, but I've finally finished the first book and let's get to the real story! Thank you for the positive feedback 🙌🏻 This chapter was more about the sisters' bond, the next ones will be different. I think the Reader has an emotional dependence on Feyre 😥
*English is NOT my native language, this fanfic was translated with the help of an AI, any grammatical errors please let me know*
Word count: 2.5k
Warnings: Scars, family abandonment, mentioned death.
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"Do you not think you're exaggerating?" Elain asked you with forced gentleness. The sound of her sipping tea tickled your ears. Dropping your own teacup on the living room's coffee table – causing some splashes to stain the surface – you placed a hand on your chest in mock indignation, perhaps not entirely fake.
"I'd rather be thrown to the wolves than face the conjugal bed, and I must say I'm terrified of those animals." Your lips curled downward, "Men, in this case."
Elain's eyes crinkled at the corners, and the curve of her lips lifted even as she tried to dispel the amusement she felt.
"I understand. But maybe you should consider, I bet Feyre would return in time for your wedding." She spoke with her eyes lowered to the tea.
No, she wouldn't return. You wanted to shout out to Elain. Hardly would that beast willingly let your sister go, that is if she wasn't already in the belly of those faeries.
"I have no interest in getting married, sister. And who in their right mind would be interested in someone with my condition?" Your voice was soft, not a hint of resentment showing in your features.
Having a man in your life was not something you desired. They were rough, lazy, and smelled bad. Not even the twisted relationship Feyre had with that man could make you want one too.
"Maybe... you just haven't looked in the right place," Elain commented. Looked? Have holy patience. You were hardly going to look at anything, let alone a man. Realizing her bluntness, Elain widened her eyes towards you, "I didn't mean it that way, sister, it was just a figure of speech—"
Your laughter cut off Elain's awkward attempt to apologize. Your shoulders shook with the intensity of your laughter. Elain sighed in relief and awkwardly joined in.
Feyre didn't treat you as if you were about to burst into tears.
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After that interesting conversation with Elain, Nesta barged into the room, interrupting – rather rudely – to announce that a luxurious carriage was approaching.
You could hear the rustle of Elain's skirts as she tried to beautify herself even more. Despite Nesta feigning an indifferent facade, she was also discreetly arranging her hair.
Laughing to yourself, you wondered how you must look in your supposed light blue dress. A hand grabbed your arm and gently lifted you from the sofa. Nesta, you could tell the difference. Elain had rougher hands from gardening, and Nesta's hands were colder.
"Let's go. Can you manage on your own?" Nesta asked. You appreciated that she allowed you to have your own autonomy. Nodding, you reached for the edge of the sofa where your cane rested and grabbed it.
When you heard the door opening, your head turned towards the sound and you went, dragging the golden tip of the cane across the floor, which hit the furniture warning you to dodge, and slowly going after your sisters – who were walking significantly slower to wait for you.
His cane hit the front door step. Carefully, you placed your foot in front to descend. The breeze made your hair flutter, and it felt so good; the wind kissed your skin like a longing lover.
"Welcome to our home... Lady." You heard Nesta as you finally caught up with your sisters. A brief moment of silence followed, soon to be cut by an extremely familiar laughter
.Your heart raced, and your free hand crumpled the dress you were wearing. Your lifeless eyes turned, trying to find the source of the voice.
"Nesta," she laughed, "doesn't recognize her own sister?" The air was expelled from your lungs, Feyre. A burning sensation started in your eyes, and without you realizing, fat tears streamed down your flushed cheeks. No matter how or where, you would always, always recognize your sister's voice.
The crunching of dried leaves alerted you that someone was approaching, a calm breath was blown on your face. Your trembling lips also parted as you tried to find the right words. Nothing came to mind; it was as if your brain had turned to jelly.
"My snowflake..." Feyre stepped forward, using her fingers to wipe away your tears. She missed you so much while she was with Tamlin. Her chest weighed every time she thought of you, her dearest sister.
Closing your eyes tightly, you let out a sob and threw yourself into Feyre's arms. Discarding the cane without care, your hands reached the back of your sister, pulling her into a tight and emotional embrace.
Feyre staggered under your weight and laughed. She laughed as she nestled in your arms and continued to laugh even as she felt Nesta's eyes drilling holes into her head.
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You couldn't physically move away from Feyre while your sisters talked with her. Your hand clung to hers in the hope that if you held on tight enough, she wouldn't leave again.
But not even all the happiness you were feeling could make you ignore Feyre's excuse. Taking care of Aunt Ripleigh? You distinctly remembered that it wasn't Aunt Ripleigh who tore the door off the old cabin.
As expected, Nesta was cautious, hovering over you and Elain as if Feyre would reveal her true intentions at any moment. She declined Elain's invitation to go to the garden, seeing Feyre there made her physically sick, so she withdrew to avoid conflicts in front of her sisters.
You were focused on Feyre and Elain's conversation, desperately wanting her to talk about what happened.
Feyre tensed when Elain casually mentioned – distracted by the flowers – that Nesta visited her at Aunt Ripleigh's. Another lie.
You felt Feyre's breath near your face: "How have you been?"
Fine. You were fine, but not well enough to disguise the suspicion in your expression. Feyre quickly noticed and stepped back slightly.
"Why are you lying to us?" You were direct, no more beating around the bush. You needed answers, and not even Elain's presence would distract you from your goal.
Feyre widened her eyes toward Elain and was relieved to see that she was far enough away not to hear. Biting her lips, she grabbed your wrist and pulled you toward the exit, giving a brief goodbye to Elain, who was so fascinated by the new petunia seedlings that she didn't care.
You were guided through a few doors until you reached a room that Feyre considered safe from curious ears.
You crossed your arms over your chest and impatiently waited for Feyre, who ran her hand through her hair and sighed, not knowing where to start. Then she decided to start with the worst.
"I– I'm in love with the High Lord of Prythian."
If you weren't already blind, you could swear your vision blurred at that moment.
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And then Feyre told you, told about how the other side of the wall was breathtaking, told about the peculiar creatures that existed there, told about her frenemy Lucien, and told about how she fell in love with the beast that turned out to be so loving to her.
And to your dismay, she detailed the night of passion she had before being – gently – sent home.
"I didn't need to know that. I have a vivid imagination, and I hate myself for it." You spoke with disgust; Feyre chuckled and approached you, taking your hand and bringing it to her face.
"I haven't told you everything," you murmured for her to continue. Your fingers traced the contours of her face. She looked so different but at the same time so familiar. Perhaps she had become healthy.
"There was a male who threatened Tamlin, he was handsome, maybe the most beautiful male I've ever seen," she commented absentmindedly, "he asked for my name... Clare Beddor."
Clare Beddor, the name weighed on your tongue. Clare, your former neighbor who was killed in such a horrendous way that no one could bear to look for too long, according to your gossip source – Elain.
Feyre had given a false name to the fairy assassin. And you could swear she didn't know what had happened to that poor girl. And perhaps you weren't the most suitable person to tell her about the event; Feyre seemed happy sharing her new experiences. And you? You would allow yourself to be selfish for a moment.
"I understand."
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Your sisters and your father went to the seasonal ball, and despite Elain's insistence, that wasn't your place. Your place was anywhere as long as it was far from high society. You certainly didn't fit the standards imposed by them, even though those who looked at you were dazzled.
"A beauty never seen before."
"I would die for features as delicate as yours."
"It's truly a shame…"
Feyre promised to come back early, just like you; she didn't like crowds and pompous people. Feyre promised to come back early.
So you did the only thing that was possible – you waited. Waited while eating, waited while talking to some servants, waited while invading Elain's garden, and waited until you got tired and chose the living room sofa as a great place to rest.
Inevitably, your eyes began to weigh, and before you realized it, sleep completely took you, plunging you into a deep state of peace, unable to hear the hurried steps through the house and the slam of the door closing.
Feyre promised to come back early.
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Feyre hated goodbyes.
Perhaps, just perhaps, you should have already imagined that this would happen. Feyre was in love with the beast, and people in love tend to do foolish things.
That didn't ease the chest pain you felt when the next morning you were informed that she had returned to the fae lands in search of her High Lord. The feelings of betrayal and sadness walked hand in hand.
At the same time, you couldn't find the strength to harbor resentment towards her. Why would you? For the first time in her life, your sister was dedicating herself to something that truly made her happy. It didn't matter if she was leaving her family behind, right? No, that mattered to you.
Nesta hated dealing with your whirlwind of emotions; she hated that you depended on someone to be happy, and she made it clear when you woke up.
"Feyre is not responsible for what you feel. You are allowing yourself to stay in this state. Stop depending on her to live."
Despite being harsh, Nesta was spot-on with her words. Feyre was finally living her dream life; it was time for you to start living yours too, without anyone dictating how you should feel.
And thinking about this led you to where you were now, with your hands covered in clay – and probably not just your hands – trying to give some shape to that earthy mass on the spinning table in the studio.
Your mind wandered through all the possibilities of sculpture. Sculpting things your fingers had memorized or even inventing new forms to call conceptual. It would be ironic if your sculptures became famous.
Humming to yourself, your fingers gently moved over the clay's edges, shaping a small sphere; you pulled five points out and rounded the edges.
"They look like fingers." Merina's voice made you jump on the stool; Merina was one of the maids you had become close to, she had such a calm and gentle voice that, if you let her, could lull you to sleep.
"Well, I hope so. I'd be very upset if they looked like something else." You laughed, still molding your supposed fingers. Merina dragged a stool to join you, after, of course, looking down the hall to make sure no one was approaching.
She looked amazed at your hands giving life to the clay. Inevitably, her mind wandered, how? How were you capable? Feeling where your mind wandered, you chuckled softly and tilted your head in a silent invitation. Merina cleared her throat and asked:
"Why a hand?"
You subtly widened your eyes; that certainly wasn't the question you were expecting. A hum came from your throat before you answered Merina.
"It's with my hands that I see; they are my eyes to the world," you replied, licking your lips as you pondered, "I don't know how I manage it; I fear there's no logical explanation for it."
Merina didn't say anything, just grunted in response. Extending your hand, you searched the table until you found a small knife; bringing it close to the sculpture, you began making small fillets with it all along the hand's length.
Merina turned to you curiously, not understanding why you were deforming the piece. She gently nudged you with a – painfully pointed – question.
"Hmm, I've been thinking about it lately, hands with scars," you made one final cut and dropped the knife. Merina reached for an old cloth to help you clean your hands, "thank you. What would it be like to see with these hands? Would the texture of things be different? Or would the sensitivity be greater?" You rambled to her.
There were so many questions to consider, and in your opinion, you could already be considered a hands expert. That made you laugh.
Merina took the cloth from your hands and brought it toward your face, cleaning some clay splatters that had strayed there.
"I hope you don't have the answers on your own. It must be a horrible pain to have your hands torn apart." She commented, lowering the cloth.
A horrible pain? Makes sense. Whoever has hands like that must have a melancholic story behind them.
"You're right."
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As promised, you lived your life the best way possible, and sculptures paved the way to your heart. Over time, your clay skills became refined, even daring to sculpt the features of your sisters; Nesta was your biggest supporter, even if she didn't admit it, there wasn't a day she didn't pass by to make sure your stock was full.
Each sister had their own shelf containing everything you thought resembled them. Elain had sculpted flowers and cakes, Nesta had books and red jewels, and Feyre had an arrow – just a sculpture, but it was the one you dedicated the most time to, whether smoothing the edges or trying to paint in the right places.
Because even though Feyre was a million miles away, you would love her all the way, and even if she never came back, you would find your way to her through the heart.
You wouldn't wait for her, but you wouldn't forget everything you had been through together.
And you might not even believe she would come back, but that tingling you felt in your fingers when you heard a knock on the door made you doubt your mental state.
It may be that besides being blind, you're also becoming deaf because hearing your sister's name from Elain's lips after so long is not a sign of good auditory nostalgia.
"Feyre?"
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envy-of-the-apple · 1 year ago
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Hello! I love your writing, especially that mad dog Drabble! Could you maybe do something similar for Oikawa? Noncon if you’re comfortable with that too. Thank you so much!
I wrote this awhile ago and then I never got around to publishing it and now I refuse to reread it because i cringe at my old writing but i remember spending a shit ton of time on this so here's my three year old trash fic. enjoy.
(Warnings: dark content, non-con touching, rape, non-con/sexual harassment, verbal degradation, forced orgasms, public-sex, overstimulation) 
18+ content 
 Tutoring Sessions 
You knew Spanish. 
Not an expert by any means, but you could probably get by if you were stranded in a Spanish-speaking country. You were good at it. Decent. 
You just weren’t the teaching type. You could barely learn, let alone, pass your skills on to someone else. Teaching required patience and diligence. That wasn’t you. 
But, really, what could you say when the Captain of the volleyball team himself asked you to tutor him? He looked so desperate too, looking down at you with pleading eyes. He asked for an hour-no-just thirty minutes. All you had to do was correct his grammar, jot a few vocabulary words for him, and maybe teach him extra conjugations. 
Looking back, you should have declined. You should have made any bullshit excuse you could think of. You should have laughed nervously, apologized- have done anything to get out of his attention. 
You shouldn’t have let him coax you into the fourth floor of the library, trapping you with his tall body in an isolated booth. 
At least then his hand wouldn’t be currently rubbing your thigh.
His movements were slow, casual, as his fingers made lazy circles up and down your leg. You couldn’t tell if it was intentional if he was touching you on purpose or mindlessly moving his hands. His face betrayed nothing, solely staring forward at the sheets of paper. 
“So, I just replace the ‘ar’ with ‘aron’?” He asked, his hand slowly moving higher and higher, “Why can’t I use ‘aban’?” 
You bit your lip, “Because it has a definite ending. The-the sentence is ‘they spoke with me yesterday’. The action ended yesterday, that’s-that’s why we use the preterit form.” 
Your breath hitched when his hand trailed underneath your skirt, skimming across your panties. Your hand balled into a shaking fist. 
You wanted to tell him to move, you wanted to shove his hand off you, but you weren’t confrontational. Instead, you elected to push down the feeling of unease in your chest, trying your best to ignore his ministrations, praying that he’d drop his hand by himself.
He didn’t.
“Right, you use preterit form for a definite ending,” He’s murmuring now, a sultry rumble that sends shivers down your spine, “I keep forgetting that." His laugh twinkles through the air. It's a jarring contrast to his warm hands.
“So ‘Hablaron me ayer’?” 
He took that moment to slide past your panties, lightly rocking on your heat. You sucked in a short breath, gritting your teeth. You couldn’t pretend like he didn’t know what he was doing, not when his fingers were sinking deeper and deeper-
A finger tapped on your inner thigh. Play along.
“It’s-it’s ‘me habl-ah-hablaron ayer’. The object comes first-” You flinched when his pointer finger stroked over your hot skin, “And-and then the subject.” 
You wished he’d stop making you talk. You wished you could just push him off you. You wished so many things, things Oikawa wouldn’t grant you. 
“Okay,” He’s grinning now, a little less put together. His breathing is a little ragged, hitching whenever you uncomfortably shift. Though he’s still resolutely staring at the pages before him, his eyes are shining. Eager, “-makes sense,” 
You just realized how empty the library is. 
You can feel his calloused fingers crawling under you, searching for something. His middle finger curls a little, softly brushing over your sensitive clit. 
You stumble forward. He says something, but you’re not listening. Not when his fingers are hovering over your hot button, delving down to push and prod. 
Your reached up to cover your mouth, instantly silencing any noises you knew would come spilling out. He laughs at that, finally finally breaking the act of playing innocent. 
Or maybe it wasn’t such a good thing. He’s looking at you now, a knowing smirk on his pretty face. 
Repulsion burns through you. It’s quickly replaced by humiliation as a wet squelch erupts from the place he’s touching you, making you lurch. 
“I wasn’t expecting that,” He hums in satisfaction, “You already dripping? You must really want this, huh?” 
He stares at you, daring you to reply, knowing fully well you won’t. No, you wouldn’t say anything, you wouldn’t do anything either. You would just sit there and take it. 
Exactly what he wants. 
He’s moving at a rhythm now, rubbing your clit with his thumb as his fingers inch down your folds. Your nails are digging into your trembling palm, but you don’t tell him to stop. You don’t say a word. No, that would be acknowledging what he’s doing. It would make it real-
your thoughts vanish as a slender finger sinks into your pussy. Your sigh is muffled by your clammy hand, digging further into your mouth as he starts fucking you in earnest. He’s going too fast; your mind is spinning. You can’t keep up with the waves of pleasure coming in and out and in and out and in again. 
Your hand slips and the moan that escapes your mouth surprise you. It was loud and so dirty, you couldn’t believe it was your voice-it was you who made that noise. 
His finger curls, bending in your tight walls and you feel like wailing. Oikawa strokes against a spot deep inside you that has you seeing stars. 
You unconsciously lean against him. Oikawa draws you in closer, forcing you to rest against his shoulder as a second finger sinks into your heat. You whine as it pushes through your sopping walls, completely stretching you out. 
You think you hear him snarl a quiet fuck but you’re not paying attention. Your head is pounding, matching the brutal thrusts of his fingers. It’s devouring you it’s too much and you want to stop, you want to breathe. Oikawa isn’t keen on helping, not when he’s rubbing fast circles on your clit, stretching his fingers inside you when he feels you’re not making enough noise. He wants something from you. 
And you’re forced to give it to him. 
There’s a hitch in your breath, the tiniest pause, before you clench around his fingers with a muffled scream. He hushes you, allowing you to bury your face into his shoulder as he keeps fucking your pussy until you collapse in his chest. 
You’re panting when he finally removes his fingers, wiping the slick haphazardly on your inner thigh. You shift uncomfortably when he pulls away, feeling your hole clench again. The orgasm fades away and all you’re left with is the shock of what you’ve done and utter humiliation. 
He lifts your chin, forcing you to look at him. His brown eyes were dark, coated in lust. He’s sneering at you. 
The kiss surprises you. You weren’t expecting his lips to be soft as he gently melts into yours. It’s so tender, a stark contrast to what he was like before. Maybe it was because you didn’t really put up a fight, your lips falling open when he stroked his thumb on your sensitive skin. 
It’s still intense and when he pulls away, you take your first real breath. 
“See?” He hums, a hand settling on yours, “That wasn’t so bad, right?” 
“Oikawa-” 
He’s pulling you out of your seat before you can finish your sentence, dragging you away from the abandoned table filled with unused highlighters. Your legs are still weak, you stumble around a little. Oikawa doesn’t mind, towing you like he’s carrying nothing but air. 
He slips into an empty storage closet, with you reluctantly trailing behind him. The door closes behind you with a dull thud, and you’re forced to stand with him in the darkness. 
When the light comes back on, he’s towering above you. His chest presses against yours, pinning you against the wall. His smile is manic, filled with a hunger that you know won’t be satisfied with just one taste. 
No, he wants to devour you whole. 
It’s the realization, that he will ruin you, that make your eyes sting. Hot tears creep down your cheeks as your lips waver. 
He coos at that, “Don’t cry, baby. You’ll be okay. I took care of you, right? I made you feel so good?” He shuffles closer and you can feel something hard and stiff press against your thigh. 
“Now you gotta’ do the same for me. It’s a fair trade, right?” 
He’s kissing you again. It’s rough, this time, as he bites on your bottom lip, hard enough to tear skin. Your yelp is muffled as he shoves his tongue into your drooling mouth. You taste the smallest hint of something metallic. 
His lips move down, covering your jaw with soft butterfly kisses that made your head spin. When they find your neck, he clamps down on your soft flesh, licking at biting at everything he could taste. Your breath hitches, a sound that’s in between a gasp and a moan. The sensation of his teeth against your neck causes you to lean your head against the wall, reluctantly giving him room. He purrs at that.
“Good girl.”
His hands are fiddling with your buttons. You barely have time to speak before he impatiently rips your shirt, sending the round objects scattering.
A half-hearted apology is mumbled into your skin. His fingers skitter over your bra, you cry out when his cold hands push the material up to feel your tits.
It’s still not enough. His body is feverish, you feel so hot against him, so pliant, so beautiful. You’re crying, whimpering, softly whispering for him to stop but do you even know how desperate you sound? Your voice sounds so needy, it’s hard to be sated from just touching.
Oikawa yanks down your skirt, letting them pool at your ankles. Your thighs are still glistening from his previous ministrations and your panties are wet, still soaked.
He feels pure euphoria watching them slide down your legs, landing on the ground next to the other piles of clothing.
You’re standing before him, barely clothed, shivering. He gives you a chaste kiss on the cheek, mumbling a soft ‘be good for me, okay’, before he reaches down to his pants.
He doesn’t pull it down all the way, just enough to reach inside and pull out his throbbing cock. It’s already an angry red, a single drop of precum leaking at the tip.
He gives it a few cursory pumps, before he stills.
“I really wanted to see you cum, bet you looked so pretty. Do you mind doing that again, just for me pretty please?”
He grinned when you didn’t reply. You can’t understand how someone so beautiful could hide so much cruelty. 
“No? That’s okay, I’ll just make you. Again.”
In one single movement, he hikes your leg against his hip and thrusts his cock inside you.
You wail as he pushes himself inside, already starting to set a rough pace. It hurts, much bigger than two fingers. Whatever he did before clearly didn’t help make it feel any less painful. You give a choked scream, hot tears clouding your vision.
He’s not quiet either, leaning his forehead against the wall behind you, moaning shamelessly. He’s saying your name like a prayer, repeating it over and over again until it sounds like that’s the only thing he can say.
“You have to relax, baby-fuck you’re so tight.” Oikawa hisses, hiking your leg higher to fuck you deeper.
The pain fades. You wish it stayed, keeping you sober while he pushes you against the wall, greedily palming your tits, sucking on your neck.
But it disappears and a loud moan leaves your lips, too breathy to be made from anything but pleasure.
You instinctively cover your mouth, trying to muffle the sounds your traitorous body is making.
“Nope, not this time,” He cheerily says, ripping your hand away, “I wanna hear you scream.” 
He angles his hips, his cock sinking into that spot and you do scream.
The pleasure that waves up and down your body blinds you. Your body isn’t listening to you, anymore. Your cunt keeps sucking him back in with each thrust. You can feel beads of precum roll down your thigh. Oikawa’s head is resting on your shoulder now. His weight makes your shaky legs buckle, digging your back further into the hard concrete.
He kisses your hand, encouraging you to drape it on his shoulder. It limply falls beside his neck, barely brushing against his hair.
You shift your hips and his cock stutters almost stopping his rhythm before Oikawa’s cooing something dirty into your ear, reaching down to rub your clit until you’re crying out again.
It’s addicting, he realizes, having your cunt flutter around him like this, leaking out his precum. It’s a feeling that makes him piston himself into you over and over again, relishing in the way your pussy tries to suck him in, like you were begging for more.
“O-oikawa,” You finally gasp when you finally regain the ability to speak, “Slow down please please slow-slow down.”
His laugh is breathy, “You want me to slow down, angel? What, are you close again?”
You don’t respond, but it’s enough to make him go faster, ignoring your pleas in search of your gradually rising voice.
He hisses when his knee hits the wall, grimacing.
“-Wanted to do this at a bed, you know,” He grunted, “Somewhere soft. But-but I didn’t wanna-hah-scare you, you’re so anxious it was so-fuck- hard choosing a place-place you’d actually show up in.” 
He rubs your clit, feeling your walls grow tighter and tighter. He pulls back to look at you, eyes shut, your lip caught between your teeth, your face filled with lustful pleasure.
“Cum for me, baby. Show me how perfect you are.”
You follow his orders, your orgasm making you cry in ecstasy. It makes you go limp and you almost sink to the floor before Oikawa catches you, keeping you upright as he chases his own end.
He doesn’t stop, not even when you beg him to slow down that it’s too much. No, he just hushes you again, stumbling over a tensed ‘Just a little more’, before he’s going faster and faster until you feel something warm, wet, and sobering fill your cunt. 
He’s slows down then, his eyes shut in bliss as he rocks his hips forward, milking as much as he could. When he finally pulls out, he does it with a hiss, making you flinch as his skin hits your sensitive clit. 
He doesn’t catch you this time, letting you drop to the floor. You tumble to the ground, your hands barely catching your fall. The tile is so cool against your sensitive skin, it almost makes you forget the milky liquid spread on your legs, the finger-print shaped bruises on your thigh. 
You don’t think you have anymore tears left, but they still fall, running down your cheeks. 
He’s instantly over you, brushing a hand down your face. 
“Oh, don’t cry, baby, you did such a good job,” Oikawa cooed, wiping your tears away. 
He’s not comforting you. His smile is too satisfied to make you think he had any semblance of pity. You briefly wonder what he’s seeing. You, exhaustedly crumpled against the wall, your legs curled, cum seeping out, your neck and chest littered with teeth marks. No wonder he looks so pleased.  
He pets your hair, shifting it back in place and it’s so domestic-so loving that it makes you sick. 
Oikawa grins, showing teeth. “How about next time we study at my place.”
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ryiju-muunie · 6 months ago
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Kiss Tomorrow Goodbye
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18+ viewer discretion is advised
Fem!reader/inmate!Toji Fushiguro Warnings: established relationship, slight angst, mentions of abuse, conjugal visit, breeding, breeding kink, missionary, cream pie, DILF Toji, Toji has a BD ;) Word Count: 3343 DESC: Your last visit until your boyfriend gets out of jail takes a spicy turns AKA idk how conjugal visits work so bear with me
Hi sorry IVE BEEN GONE! I see your requests and I'm getting there I promise!
It had been a year since your boyfriend decided to defend you in public. And a year since his sentence. That whole day was a mess from start to finish, and you wished you could take it all back. It started innocently enough, a family trip with him and his son, Megumi, at the local mall. Megumi clung to your hand more than Toji’s, causing your comments to start. To you, they were all jokes and to Megumi, they were hilarious. Little things like, “Aw, I guess Daddy’s not the favorite anymore!” Or, “Guess you need to put a ring on it sooner, babe.” It was supposed to be sweet fun, but it was getting to him. Maybe it was his rough childhood speaking or his insecurity as a parent, but your snide remarks weren’t helping his soured mood. Now that you looked back on it, it was your fault that he snapped. 
That man did nothing wrong other than come up to you and begin to gently compliment your outfit while you watched Megumi play in the child's play area. He did nothing that warranted your boyfriend coming up and grabbing him by the shirt collar, and socking him dead in the jaw. He did nothing wrong as he fell to his knees, and as your boyfriend kicked him in the gut. The man did nothing as he was viciously assaulted for merely hitting on a woman he didn’t know was taken. You were horrified as you watched your boyfriend send punch after punch his way, deforming his face with his fists. Megumi was terrified to see his dad do such a thing. 
But Toji heard nothing, saw nothing other than the fact a man was threatening his position as your loving boyfriend. And he was loving. Yet, something made him snap. It was a long time coming with his aggressive behavior in general. Especially with men who even looked in your direction. Call it possessiveness, call it love; You felt sick. Your hand covered Megumi’s eyes and slowly you began to walk backward, staring at the man you said you loved. Once he finished his punches, his hands covered in blood, he looked back at you two. He was hollow, a shell of who he was. He always was after his explosive anger attacks. They came and took hold of that man and made him instantly regret ever being alive. He watched the two of you back away in fear, as the security guards detained him. 
You did love him, you couldn’t help it. Even if he punched that man for no reason in your eyes, to him he was about to lose you. Toji was a sad man who came from a traumatic home, but you didn’t know that. He never let you in on why he was the way he was, or why he had that damn scar on the side of his mouth. The man never let you in and told you about how he got it, or why he was so protective of you. In his eyes, any man could take you away and leave him alone with nothing but a bottle in his hand. 
It took you a month before you decided to visit him in jail. You didn’t want to take Megumi because you knew it would take him a while to warm up to the idea of seeing his father after what he witnessed. You were patted down and inspected, told to take off your shoes and all that fun stuff. It felt like a lunch room, rather than what you had seen on TV. You sat at a round table, with a few decks of cards sprawled in the middle. Toji wasn’t there yet, but he was aware you were visiting. And you knew he’d be pissed you hadn’t come sooner. You figured he’d be all cocky and give you the silent treatment like the bitch he was. So you didn’t expect to see him look so … defeated. He walked into the room with two guards beside him, just for security. They motioned to your table and he looked at you. Your boyfriend looked … dead. Bags under his eyes and a hollow expression. The same expression you saw on that day. Regret and remorse for his actions in a way you hadn’t seen before. There was something different in his eyes when he saw you, a glimmer of hope. Maybe all wasn’t lost. Maybe he still had you. 
You stood up and swallowed, watching him come toward you in his tan jumpsuit. Your arms opened involuntarily and he pulled you into a very quick hug, probably protocol. He smelled different, he felt different. There was a stiff movement about his motions as he sat down across from you, his hands on top of the table. Was he … shaking? Like an abused pitbull, he stared at you and waited for you to speak. 
“Toji…” You began, hesitating before resting your hands atop the table as well, “Megumi isn’t ready to see you yet,” he nodded and looked away. 
“You came to see me. I thought you’d never come back after that day,” his eyes met yours again and you felt a wave of sadness. This wasn’t the cocky man you fell in love with. This was a shell of that man. “I’m sorry baby,” he rasped, voice strained against his throat. 
“Why did you do it?” Was all you could ask. If you got some clarity, and some answers, then you’d be able to figure out what to do after that. You’d be able to figure out how to address your relationship. You still loved him, we know this, but was it worth it? Was waiting for him while he rotted worth it? The man was silent for a few moments, staring at the table between your hands. Your hands were atop each other, near his but far enough you two wouldn’t get in trouble. You wanted to touch him as badly as he wanted to touch you, to break the distance and tell him everything would be okay. He needed it, you could tell. 
“When I was a kid, my brothers threw me into a pit of snakes,” he didn’t look up, “And my parents … laughed,” a defeated laugh came out of his lips, “No one treated me like how you do,” then Toji looked up at you, a dry edge taking to his voice. His eyes were like glass, staring at you with his soul naked to yours, “I can’t lose you or ‘Gumi- I can’t lose you,” then he took your hands, just for a second to squeeze them before he let go. The touch was fleeting, and it burned. Your skin ached where he touched it, and you longed to hold him. To tell him it was okay. Never in your relationship had he ever let you see this side of him, the side of him that was about to cry. The side of him that was truly vulnerable. Even with just a few short words you knew there was more to his childhood than he led on, more horrific stories than that one. His skin was all you wanted to feel, as you saw the tears pool up in his eyes. This wasn’t him, this wasn’t the Toji you knew. This was him at his lowest level, begging for help. Begging for … you. 
You weren’t going to let go of him that easily. 
Every weekend, you visited him. Sunday, at noon, you’d come and greet him with a smile. You didn’t understand how much it affected his mental state just to see you. It gave your boyfriend something to wake up for in the morning, it gave him motivation to work out and help out around the jail. He wanted to be with you, touch you, smell your hair, anything. Even if he couldn’t, and even if he could only see you for a few hours, that was all he needed. You saw his improvement slowly but surely, every time you’d come over. His skin brightened and his smirk was wide. Toji was getting his personality back slowly, but surely. Megumi visited him shortly after you began your weekly visits. You let the two of them talk alone, watching from afar. It was heartbreaking to see how your step-son perspective of the world had shifted all from one incident. It was heartbreaking to see him become cautious around the man who had been there since his birth. But Fushiguro knew this all too well, and he understood things would be different until the trust was built. 
There were two months until Toji would be released with parole. You weren’t able to hide how excited you were, just to be able to see him and hold him. That’s all you wanted. Just to taste his mouth and run your hands through his hair, which had gotten shaggier now. Your boyfriend’s physical appearance had definitely changed, in one way or another. Whether that was his muscles or the fact he had a new tattoo he didn’t want to tell you about. You didn’t really notice the changes, since you hadn’t seen him without that bulky jumper off in … a year. You didn’t want to admit how sexually frustrated you had been since that day. Nothing could replace his fingers, or his big cock thrusting into you. Not even a dildo, not even your fingers. No vibrator was as good as his tongue and no pillow was as plush as his thighs. You had to face it, you were desperate for him to leave. Two months were going by too slowly, and it was killing you. 
Until one of your friends had mentioned something offhandedly. A conjugal visit. You weren’t sure what it was until you did a bit of research, then you knew you were on board. A personal, one-on-one visit with just you and your boyfriend. You knew you didn’t have to ask him, of course, he’d agree. Toji was just as pent-up as you, more so in fact. It was hard, to see you in those perfect outfits and to see your perfect fact, and not being able to do anything. He couldn’t hug you, he couldn’t hold you, and he surely couldn’t fuck you. So when one of the guards came to him on a Monday and told him you had scheduled a conjugal visit for that day, he was intrigued, to say the least. Your boyfriend had heard about it from some of his cell friends, but he didn’t think you were that desperate. He thought if anything he would be the one going crazy while you took this like a champ, he had no idea you were lusting as much as he was. 
You were issued a trailer with a bed, a small bathroom, and a nightstand full of condoms and lubricant. It was spacious and quite clean for being used for sex regularly. You found yourself seated on the bed as you waited for Toji to come with an escort. Once that door closed it would just be the two of you, ready to do whatever the hell you wanted for hours upon hours. The door jiggled a few times before you saw him. 
Never had you seen him that excited to see you, as he slammed the door behind him. He peaked around a bit before he saw you on the bed, waiting for him. A genuine smile appeared on his lips, pulling at that scar and making the skin around his eyes crinkle. “I miss you,” he muttered, strolling into the mini bedroom. You looked up and felt the bed dip down under his weight as he flopped down onto his stomach, “And I missed laying on a damn bed.” You laughed and looked down at him, putting your hand in his hair. It was soft and longer than he usually kept it. Your fingers ran through his locks and lightly played with the strands in a way that made him melt. This touch was bliss, utter bliss. And you hadn’t even gotten started yet. He looked over at you and put his hand on your hip, using his thumb to rub a small circle in your skin. It was intimate without even trying. 
“C’mere,” you motioned, leaning back onto the headboard. Your legs were slightly spread as you invited him to lay between them. He didn’t have to be told twice, practically tripping on himself to seat himself on his front and in between your legs. Toji was warm, as he wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his chin on your lower abdomen. 
Your hands tangled into his hair as you let out a small breath, “Two months and you’ll be out… I’m so excited,” you smiled, “And I was thinking, you know, Megumi wants a sister.” That caught his attention from dozing off, from your supple touch. Toji’s head perked up and his eyes trained on your face. He was listening. 
“I think a good present for me, and Megumi, could be giving him a sister,” you continued, looking away with a shy expression. It felt so right, being this close to him. You needed him in so many ways it was starting to burn again. The way his hands lingered on your hips, and as they slowly started to play with the hem of your pants. And how one hand trailed up the small of your back, making you shiver intently. 
“Right now, princess?” A low purr escaped his lips, as he slowly got up from his lying position to sit in front of you. There was an unmistakable lust building in his eyes, in a way you missed. Oh how you missed it, to hear him mutter filthy fucking things in your ear. And how you missed how he’d manhandle you like it was nothing, using you like the whore you were. You bit onto your bottom lip and nodded, letting your boyfriend do the rest of the work. You didn’t have to speak or tell him twice, as his lips found yours. A tightening feeling arose in your chest, along with a warm, arousing fire that was building in your pussy. His lips molded against yours and kissed you like this was the first time in a year, which it was. Sure, you gave him a quick peck every time you’d see him. But it was never enough. Nothing was enough. Not even kissing him would be enough to satiate the yearning that had been building in your body for months. Your hands made a home on his back, digging into his jumpsuit and then moving to ruffle his hair. 
He tasted like smoke, and like home. This was your Toji. The Toji that took hold and took charge, roughing you around and pushing you to your limits. His tongue slid into your mouth and you couldn’t suppress the noise that came along with it. It was pleasurable, how it rolled and explored your own mouth. It ran along your bottom lip and then touched your own tongue, which tried to battle against it. But nothing could win against his dominance. His hands went to work, unzipping the front of your jeans and slowly sliding them off, with help from you lifting your perfect hips. Of course, you were wet. You were easy to please with him. And it didn’t help you had been waiting for this for practically ever. Every moment you touched yourself in your shared bedroom you envisioned this. The first time having sex after Toji had been gone. You pictured how he’d finger fuck you, then how he’d tongue fuck you, before finally forcefully stretching you with his dick. His perfect dick, the dick you could never fully take in your mouth. The best dick you had ever fucked. You could practically feel it then, as he broke away from the kiss to pull down your underwear.
Your hands moved to cup his face, “No…” A pout formed on your lips, “Fuck me.. Please.. I want it .. so bad…” It was all you had to say before he was unzipping his jumper. He was built, more than before. Muscles flexing in his neck from seeing your dripping pussy on display. Toji stood to fully take it off, watching as you began to touch yourself. You couldn’t help it, you were needy for him. Your fingers played with your clit as you watched him, seeing his jaw clench from the small noises you made. 
“You’re a fucking tease, you know that?” He grunted, kicking off his jumpsuit and pulling down his underwear. There it was, the thing you had been waiting for. He was hard and throbbing for you, begging to nestle into your wetness and fuck you until you sobbed. Fushiguro crawled back onto the bed and grabbed your jaw with one of his hands, “Open your mouth.” He whispered, a seductive tone filling his voice. Your whine filled the air as you complied and he spat into your mouth. You missed being used like a little slut and being forced to do whatever he wanted, just for his own pleasure. 
He didn’t put you on your stomach as you thought he would, instead opting for a very close missionary. It was nice, to see his face as he slid into your warmth. Toji could’ve come then and there from it. How you were tight and how you were dripping for him. All after some kissing? You were so desperate it hurt. Your skin was on fire as he pressed his body against you and rested his face into the crook of your neck. Your boyfriend’s mouth wandered, biting the skin and sucking to leave you with a mark you could show off for days. Toji thrust into you, letting out a noise you hadn’t heard before. It was … a whimper. He was so horny for you that he was at the point of whimpering, how pathetic. 
“M… mm.. I’m gonna.. F-ffuck.. Make you a mommy, a pretty.. mm fuck.. A pretty little mo-mommy,” he groaned, beginning to thrust into your pussy at a good pace. You bit your lip and tried not to make too much noise, but it was hard when he was hitting that perfect spot. It was hot, how he fucked into you like he was in heat. You felt so good it was hard not to just fuck you until he came … and that’s what he was doing. You wanted Toji to make you a mommy and fill you up with his seed until you were bulging in your tummy. You wanted him to make you a pretty little mommy, a whore just for him. And you were. You would do anything for him if he asked.
“Pl-please,” you whined, hands wrapped around his shoulders as he humped into your cunt, “H…harder .. mm.. Sh-shitt..” It was hard not to cum when he was abusing your pretty little spot. You were almost there, and hearing him whimper from each squelch was making it harder not to unravel. You had never heard Toji make such desperate sounds until he was balls deep into your warmth and taking it all in. Then you did cum, gasping and grunting at the sensation. Your walls clenched as you felt the pleasure wash over your cunt a few times before filling the rest of your body in orgasmic waves of bliss. That was enough for him, crying out before letting his cum paint your pretty walls white. Ropes of cum covered your insides and filled you up, making it almost hard to breathe. 
It wasn’t uncomfortable, it was all you wanted. You loved that man and you wanted his kids. Even if he had some baggage, everyone did. You made a vow to love him and you were going to keep it. And so was he. Toji wasn’t going to lose you no matter what.
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anna-scribbles · 11 months ago
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thirteen update 🎄⭐️🤕🩸
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chapter 3: December
chapter summary:
“Has that been happening a lot?” Adrien asked quietly. “Your dad, getting sick like that?”
Felix’s eyes trailed slowly back over to him, face impassive.
“Yeah.”
“Me too. Well, with my maman, I mean.”
Felix’s eyes went wide, and he sat up quickly. He looked at Adrien, alarmed.
“Your mum?” He asked frantically. “Adrien, your mum’s been getting sick?”
excerpt:
It was snowing outside and Adrien couldn’t remember the English word for “exhausted.”
“Try again,” said his tutor, Mr. Ferrel, in bored English. Frown lines creased along his brow. “Tell me about your ambitions. Why don’t you tell me how you feel about your exciting modeling opportunities, Adrien?”
Big fluffy snowflakes kept getting stuck to the tall windows on the other side of his room, painting his periphery in white. He thought distantly of old winters when he was little, when he’d beg to go lay down in the snow and make angels.
“I have many ambitions,” Adrien began, trying to translate and conjugate the English verbs before they left his mouth. “I like to be a student because I like reading and learning new subjects. It is very interesting. Now, I spend many time modeling, so this is one of my ambitions too.”
His English lessons had doubled in length recently, ever since Adrien had made a fool of himself in last week’s Teen Vogue interview. When asked about school, he’d mentioned that he was studying two languages, and flubbed the bit of English he’d been prompted to demonstrate. Adrien didn’t mind the extra lessons so much—he really did like learning languages—but by the end of the three hours, his brain was always swimming in words.
“Much time modeling,” Mr. Ferrel corrected. “Or ‘a lot of.’ Not ‘many.’”
“Sorry,” Adrien responded. “I do much time modeling—”
“It’s ‘spend,’ not ‘do.’” Mr. Ferrel frowned. “‘Doing time,’ in English, makes it sound like you are in prison. I believe you are supposed to like modeling.”
“I like it.” Adrien’s cheeks burned. “I like spending a lot of time modeling—”
The door to his bedroom flew open, saving him from further embarrassment, and Adrien and Mr. Ferrel both turned their heads. Maman glided through the doorway like a glimmer of light. She was dressed casually, in simple black jeans and a thick white sweater, her golden hair braided loosely to the side. A bright smile lit up her face.
“Adrien, darling!” she cried. “Come downstairs, it’s time!”
read on ao3
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augiewrites · 1 year ago
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"secret admirer" - dead poets society (part 3)
summary: y/n joins meeks and pitts for a study session
pairing: anonymous!dead poet x gender neutral reader
word count: 977
previous | next
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Y/N approached the bespectacled boy before they could lose their nerve.
“Hey—Meeks, right?”
“Yeah,” he stumbled a bit, surprised to be approached by his usually reserved classmate, “you’re Y/N.”
Y/N chuckled, “that I am.”
He signaled to the taller boy waiting for him by the door—Pitts, Y/N remembered—before he gave them an easy smile, "what can I do for you?"
“You tutor Latin, right? I could use a study partner that actually knows what they're doing,” a laugh, "if you have the time, of course.”
"Oh, sure," he glanced at his watch, “Pitts and I are going to the library during common hour if you want to meet us there.”
Y/N touched Meek’s arm briefly, “thanks, Steven. You're a lifesaver.” 
The boy turned a shade of red that rivaled his hair and excused himself.
Relief bloomed in Y/N’s chest as they released a breath they didn’t realize they were holding. Their half-cocked plan was in motion.
_________________________________________
“So much for ‘we’re just going to have to wait and find out’ huh?” Quinn mocked Y/N from their seat at the lunch table.
“Well I can’t just let him be the only player in this whole thing,” Y/N shook the latest letter around, “if he wants to play a game, I want to be the one winning.”
“Y/N, the man is infatuated with you. I wouldn’t exactly call it a game.”
Y/N huffed as they shoved the letter back into their bag, “these things are starting to get annoying.”
“Oh, yeah,” Quinn rolled their eyes, “it must be such a burden to have Whitman reincarnate writing you love letters.”
“Whatever.”
“So, what is your plan, exactly?” Quinn asked around a mouthful of pasta.
Y/N was suddenly bashful, “I honestly didn’t think I would get this far.”
Quinn stared blankly back at Y/N.
“This is the part where you tell me what to do, Quinnie.”
“Torture. Medieval style. Get your answers.”
“You’re truly unbelievable,” Y/N ran a hand through their hair and stood from the table, “I’m going to be nice, and I’m going to study latin. Roll with the punches.”
_________________________________________
Meeks was mildly surprised when Y/N actually showed up at the library. He was well aware that Y/N wasn’t struggling with the subject matter—Welton made sure that its students knew who was at the top of the academic food chain. He was one of the rare lucky ones to be among them. He was curious why Y/N sought him out, but he knew better than to push the subject.
It took nearly all of common hour before Y/N started to feel at ease around the two boys. It seemed the feeling was mutual.
“So, Y/N,” Pitts started, looking bored by his trig homework, “have any hobbies?”
“A few,” Y/N muttered as they finished their last verb conjugation, “I like to read and write. I used to draw, but I barely have time to breathe outside of schoolwork.”
The boys shared a glance that Y/N couldn’t quite decode.
“Welton isn’t exactly a breeding ground for creativity,” Meeks sighed.
“That’s an understatement,” Y/N scoffed, “Welton is where creativity comes to die.”
Another look between the boys.
“Touché,” Meeks drawled, “so…you’re roommates with Quinn, right?”
Pitts grinned as a blush tinted Meeks’ cheeks.
Y/N raised their eyebrows, breaking into a cheeky smile, “yeah, I am.”
Meeks was suddenly very interested in the wall, the bookshelves, his textbook—anything other than Y/N, really.
“Are they…seeing anybody?”
Pitts laughed, earning a scolding hush from the librarian.
“No, they’re not,” Y/N smiled, “I’ll put in a good word for you, Meeks.”
Relief flooded the boy’s features and he was finally able to look at Y/N again, “thanks. I—”
“Like you could pin down someone like Quinn.”
Charlie Dalton had a habit of showing up at the worst times.
“Very nice, Dalton,” Y/N closed their book and slid it into their bag, “that’s my cue to leave.”
“Oh, please. I—”
“Don’t let him get in your head, Meeks,” Y/N looked between their study partners, “see you two around.”
Before Y/N could leave, Pitts called out, “we’re usually here during common hour,” he laughed and nudged Meeks with his elbow, “maybe you could bring Quinn next time.”
Meek’s head turned to Y/N so fast they thought his neck would snap, “could you?”
They grinned, “I’ll see what I can do.”
Y/N could hear the three boy’s rushed whispers as the door closed behind them.
_________________________________________
“So you don’t think it’s either of them? Why?”
Y/N turned onto their side in bed, facing Quinn, who was doing the same.
“I don’t know,” Y/N looked at their nails, “I could just tell they weren’t interested like that.”
Quinn scoffed, “well, we’ve established that you aren’t exactly aware when people are interested like that.”
“Well, they gave me a pretty open invitation to join them again,” Y/N smirked, “maybe you could come and run interference.”
“You’re not taking this seriously enough, Y/N.”
“Whatever,” Y/N flipped to face the wall, “goodnight.”
Y/N couldn’t fall asleep, though.
The issue with infatuation is that it’s nearly impossible to not let it consume you at all times. It burrows deep into the fibers of your very being and suddenly you’re fully engulfed by the idea of that person.
And that’s all this was, really—an idea of a person. Y/N didn’t know what their admirer looked like, how they acted, or even if their proclamations were truthful. Could reality meet the expectations being set by the letters? Y/N didn’t want to admit it to themselves, but they were afraid to find out.
Y/N dreamed of a faceless poet that night. 
Their heart ached in the morning.
~~~
part four
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spanishskulduggery · 10 months ago
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Just in case anyone needs to hear this - there was a time when I was REALLY bad at Spanish... I wanted to be good at it, but I wasn't
I have a core memory of me of sitting on my bed surrounded by flashcards and just crying out of frustration because I really did want to learn Spanish and be able to understand it, but I was not there
Whenever I got something wrong or messed something up or couldn't remember a word or just plain didn't know the answer to something I felt like such a failure and that all the work I was doing wasn't getting me anywhere
I think a part of me wanted to be really good at Spanish and if I wasn't perfect then I wasn't good, if that makes sense... and there were times when I wanted to give up but I also knew I couldn't or wouldn't give up
I don't know if this is determination on my part or stubbornness but as much as I despaired thinking I was never going to know Spanish, I also felt in me that I could not walk away from it, at least not for good
I don't know when the despair started to fade away... I think it was when I was starting to tutor people at school, or when I was understanding the grammar more - at least things I had already learned
Some of it was just the memorization of tenses and conjugations where it wasn't a struggle in every way at every moment
And then I started to get to the point where I was good enough to read things, and I could look up answers on my own with a dictionary and I could find other people discussing the grammar I had struggled with, or trying to find context I didn't have for some phrases I was seeing
I got to a point where I was more comfortable, but still didn't know as much as I wanted... all I knew was that people were struggling with things I already knew, which meant that I had learned it, and that I knew what I didn't know so that helped immensely because it made me feel like I had something to gauge my progress
So again if you see me and think "wow they know so much I'll never get there", don't compare yourself to me - I've been studying for close to two decades now and I still don't know everything about everything
Grammar I know because I took lots of classes and read A LOT, and not just books I mean I was reading grammar sites and dictionaries to try and figure out things like "what's that se mean?" or "why is this word feminine if it has the masculine article?" or "why are these two conjugations different but okay to use?"
It feels like it takes forever to get there, but learning Spanish to the degree that I have feels like a real achievement for me - it's not something I lucked into or got right on the first try, it's something I earned myself for myself
It's going to take time but if you put in the effort and if you really want it, you can get there too
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twohearts-hs · 2 months ago
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Defying The Odds: 2 - Michael Scofield x Reader Series
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Words in Total: 3.1k
Pairings: Michael Scofield x Reader: afab x reader
Synopsis: Y/N was a victim of the mob since the age of fifteen, however, falling in love with the wrong guy and having an argument got her 25 years in prison for murder. She had a plan to get out in faith of her husband until she met Michael Scofield, who, despite his plan, fell in love with her. Now she has the mob and Michael Scofield's escape to worry about.
Warnings: Swearing, Prison, Murder, etc. you know the deal...
A/N: this is a complete series of ~105k words. Based on Season 1 & 2.
Hope you enjoy :)
Masterlist
From the conversation in the yard on the bleaches, Y/N learnt the logistics of the prison in terms of gangs and groups. She learnt Michael was under Abruzzi’s care and since she made an alliance with Michael, she would be under his care as well.
            Y/N knew of Abruzzi. He was a mobster in Chicago. She was part of the New York mob where Sebastian was in charge. However, she moved to Chicago this year on an assignment from Sebastian where it ended up making her go to Fox River. However, she knew when Abruzzi finds out she was not only part of Sebastian’s mob, but she was his wife…she knew there would be trouble. She could not tell Michael that.
            Additionally, when Michael was walking her back to her cell after yard time, they learnt she was next to his. Which made her feel just a little more special…like the universe was on her side.
            “Y/L/N, you have a visitor, lucky you,” a guard said.
            She was sitting on the bed, a book in hand she got from the library when she heard the announcement from the guard.
            “I don’t have family,” she said. “Therefore, I am not interested in seeing this person.”
            The guard chuckled. “You don’t call the shots, Y/L/N. Now, come.”
            Y/N sighed. “Who is it?”
            “That I cannot say,” the guard said.
            Y/N glanced down to the book in front of her…a random fiction novel she grabbed from the library before glancing up to the guard in front of her. Closing it, she walked to the bars where the alarm sounded, and it opened. Instantly, she was cuffed with her hands behind her back as the guards escorted her down the hall.
            She walked by Michael��s cell where he watched her being taken down the hall. Next to him was a Hispanic man, sitting on the bottom bunk with Michael next to them as they haltered their conversation.
            Michael’s brows furrowed and she gave him a curt nod in response.
            Inmates muttered words of harassment as they walked by. However, the guards continued to escort her. The guards pulled her, their boots echoing against the corridor. Eventually, she got to the door of the conjugal room which swung open with a loud creak. Y/N stepped inside, scanning the sparse room. One bed, one small table and two chairs. However, sitting in one of them, looking as calm and collected as ever is Sebastian.
            His tailored suit is immaculate, as if he did not belong in the grim outside word, much less in a prison. He looked like business, worthiness and importance and not like he runs one of the deadliest mobs to exist. His dark hair is slicked back, eyes sharp and calculating as they land of her. He stood when she entered, a half-smile tugging at his lips.
            “Doll,” he announced her nickname.
            “Don’t,” she said, voice pained.
            The sound of his voice, once so familiar, intimate and now sent spikes of bitterness through her.
            “Twenty minutes. Don’t do anything stupid.” The guard uncuffed her.
            The door closes, leaving them alone.
            Y/N stood, refusing to sit. She stood staring at him with an icy gaze. The tension between them is thick, choking the air in the room. For a moment, neither of them speaks, silence buzzing with unsaid words.
            “Don’t pretend we are like we were six months ago.” Sebastian took a deep breath. He was about to open his mouth, but she beat him to it. “What the hell are you doing here, Sebastian?”
            He exhales as if he was expecting this. Slowly, Sebastian walked around the table, moving closer, but still keeping his distance.
            “I came to see you. I know it’s been…a long time.”
            Y/N’s lips twisted into a bitter smile, her eyes burning with fury. She took a step forward, her voice dangerously calm.
            “Long time? You mean since you had me locked up for the murder of your men? The same ones you ordered me to kill?”
            “At least it’s six and not the real count.”
            “You made me into a murderer. I was fifteen when I met you when you were in your late twenties. I ran drugs for you. I did favours for you. For you to groom me into being your pretty, but murderous wife who became known as Black Beauty and a deadly killer. I did everything. There was not an ounce of evidence, but you…you dropped my name and here we are.”
            “At least its twenty-five years and not life or the death penalty. I paid for a damn good lawyer-“
            “You’re getting me out of here.”
            “Y/N,” he tsked, “darling, doll. I can’t.”
            “You got me here.”
            “I didn’t have a choice. It was you, doll. However,” he smirked coming to her and dragging a finger down her face. “I am glad you kept everything a secret from the court, so I am safe, the mob is safe. You are a star. Taking one for the team.”
            Y/N laughed bitterly, the sound cold and hollow.
            “I know how this works, alright? Throw me under the bus, let me rot in here and now you show up? For what? To gloat? To remind me that you’re the reason I’m in his hellhole?” she barked.
            Sebastian took a step back, pinching his nose before looking at her. “Do you really think I wanted this?” he yelled back, voice loud. “I love you!”             “Love me? You betrayed me! Tomorrow, the courts can decide I get the death penalty.”
            “I played these cards right. You’re a smart girl. You will figure it out.”
            Y/N walked over to the chairs, pulled it out and sat down. “Why are you here? This is buttfuck nowhere in Illinois and you live in New York.”
            “I came to apologise,” he whispered. “Because I love you. I want a life with you. But, the mob comes first and-“
            “-I don’t want your apology, Sebastian. I want a divorce. You chose your empire, your men – over me. Your wife.”
            Sebastian’s expression flickers with something – regret, guilt. It’s there for just a moment before he buries it again beneath the mask he always wears.
            “No. No divorce. If we divorce, I can’t see you. I can’t care for you. There are men in this prison that can take care-“
            “I don’t need that. I made relationships where it is needed.”
            “Who?” he barked.
            “It does not matter.”
            “There are men I know in here.”
            “Do you really think they are going to listen to you…the minute these scums find out I was an assassin for the New York Mob, and I am married to the man that heads it…I am dead. That or I win.”
            He sighed. Sebastian’s jaw clenched at last words, his cool demeanour cracking for a brief moment. He stared at her as if assessing whether her defiance was a challenge or a cry for help.
            “I can protect you,” he said slowly, each word dripping with self-assurance, as though he was presenting a fact, not a possibility.
            Y/N laughed; a sound devoid of any real humour. “You’re still trying to control me, even from outside. But here’s the thing, Sebastian…” she said leaning close to him. “I don’t need your protection. Not anymore. This place…it’s brutal, but it’s honest. You? You’re the real danger.”
            Sebastian’s eyes flickered, the mask he wore momentarily faltering, his polished, calculated veneer giving way to something raw and unspoken. “You’ll die in here without me,” he said, his voice lowering to a whisper as if the weight of his words could anchor her back to him.
            Y/N stood, her chair scraping against the concrete floor as she squared her shoulders. She met his gaze head-on, unyielding.
            “I’ve already died, Sebastian,” she said quietly, her voice grim and resolute. “The moment you betrayed me, I became a ghost. This place? It’s just a grave. But here’s the difference between you and I – I’ll rise from it. You? You’ll rot in your own hell.”
            His smirk returned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Doll, you’re as dramatic as ever. But I know you better than anyone. You’ll come crawling back, just like always. You’re mine.”
            Y/N stepped closer; her chin lifted in defiance. “Not anymore,” she hissed. “You might own the mob, you might own the world – but you’ll never own me again.”
            Sebastian’s smile faded completely. He leaned forward, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin.
            “We’ll see about that,” he whispered menacingly.
            As he turned and walked to the door, a guard swung it open and before stepping out, Sebastian paused, looking back over his shoulder at her.
            “Oh, and doll? This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.”
            The door clanged shut, leaving Y/N alone in the cold, empty room. Her hands balled into fists as she fought to steady her breathing, her heart pounding in her chest. She had survived Sebastian’s web before, and she would again.
            But as the heavy sounds of boots echoed down the hall, leading her back to her cell, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this time, it would take everything she had to stay ahead of him.
            Y/N passed Michael’s cell again where he stood to look at her and she nodded to him. Sitting down on her bed, she heard the alarm before the door closed. The bed was firm, and her book sat next to her, she went to grab it before her name was called out from beside.          
            “Y/N?” Michael said.
            “Yeah?”
            “You ok?” he asked, his voice low and careful.
            “I am,” she responded eventually. However, her tone was off slightly making Michael want to question more, but from what he knew about her…he knew to drop it.
-
Her first night was the loneliest she had ever had. The lights were dark, the bed was uncomfortable, and inmates whispered her name out loud throughout the night…especially T-Bag who mumbled and whined her name.
            The prison was quiet, the kind of stillness that felt heavy, like the weight of the past pressing down on everyone confined within its walls. Most inmates had long drifted off to sleep, the rhythmic sounds of their snores and restless movements filling the darkness, but not Y/N.
            She laid on the cold cement floor of her cell, a thin blanket bunched beneath her back as she propped up a book in her hands. The dim lights that seeped in from the hallways barely illuminated the pages, but it was enough. Sleep had been elusive, like it always was in this place. The noise in her head was louder than the silence around her – memories of Sebastian, the betrayal, the trial, everything she had lost.
            Turning a page, she tried to focus on the words, letting the story pull her away from reality, even if only for a little while. But after hours of reading, her eyes burned, and her mind began to wander.
            A soft rustle caught her attention, barely audible through the concrete wall that separated her from the cell next door.
            “You can’t sleep either, huh?”
            The voice startled her. She knew that voice – Michael Scofield. His cell was right next to hers. They had exchanged a few glances and brief words since she had arrived, but nothing more. He kept to himself, which was fine by her as she did the same. Everyone had their secrets here, and she was not one to pry. But now, in the stillness of the night, his voice sounded almost…kind.
            Y/N hesitated before answering, her eyes fixed on the page in front of her. “No,” she said quietly. “Can’t sleep.”
            There was a pause. Then, the soft scrape of movement from his side, like he was getting closer to the wall between them. “What are you reading?”
            She glanced at the book’s cover, even though she already knew the answer. “Dostoevsky. Crime and Punishment.”
            Michael let out a quiet chuckle. “Fitting.”
            Y/N’s lips quirked into a faint smile despite herself. “Yeah. Seemed appropriate.”
            “Big reader?” he asked.
            She smiled softly. “If I didn’t choose the life I did, I would’ve been a writer. I love books,” she admitted.
            A comfortable silence stretched between them, punctuated by the occasional distant clang of metal or the shifting of someone in a nearby cell. Y/N set the book down beside her, drawing her knees up to her chest as she leaned against the cold wall. She could feel the tension easing, just slightly, like the barrier between them was not as impenetrable as it had seemed before.
            “What was that? The life you chose?” he asked.
            “Crime,” she mumbled. “Wrong person at the wrong time.”
            Y/N exhaled slowly, her mind immediately flashing back to that fateful night – the blood, the chaos, the way it had all unravelled. The details were still sharp in her mind, like an unhealed wound.
            “What are you in for then?” Michael asked softly, his tone gentle but curious. It was not an accusation, just a question.
            “Six murders,” she replied, the words falling from her lips with practiced indifference, as if they did not belong to her. “Mob related. They said I was involved in a hit.”
            “Mob?”
            “New York. I married the wrong man who betrayed me. I got caught in the crossfire.”
            There was a pause, as though Michael was processing her words. She did not tell him she had not done it. Not because she was guilty, but because in here, it did not matter. In this place, guilt was irrelevant. It was all about survival. Admitting innocence made you look weak, and weak people did not last long.
            “They said you did it,” Michael repeated, picking up on the subtle way she had phrased it. “But you didn’t.”
            Y/N’s lips twitched. She had expected him to accept her answer as face value, but of course, Michael was not like the others. He saw things most people missed.
            “I didn’t,” she said quietly, the admission hanging in the air between them. “But it doesn’t matter. My loving husband made sure the evidence pointed on me. Got me locked up, and now I’m stuck in this hellhole while he’s out there living his life. He betrayed me.”
            Her voice cracked, just slightly, but she quickly masked it with a cough. She was not going to break. Not here. Not now. But it felt…strange, saying it out loud to someone who was not connected to that world. Someone who was not out to use her or punish her.
            Michael was quiet for a moment. When he finally spoke, there was a quiet understanding in his voice. “You didn’t deserve that.”
            “I’m not going to stay married for very long. My whole last fifteen years of my life have been intertwined with this mob, and I am done. I don’t want anything to do with him. Twenty-five years, it got me because of connections, and I wished I got the chair as I am a target in here as not only am I a woman, but a wife to a mobster who has wronged a lot of people. I’m going to die in here either by the hands of an inmate, a corrupt CO, my husband or if the judge changes their minds and I do get the chair.”
            Michael heard every word, and it was the first time she was honest. However, as he was about to respond she interrupted.
            “That was a lot, I’m sorry.”
            “You still don’t deserve this life,” he said.
            She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head even though he could not see it. “Michael, I don’t know what you did, but you don’t deserve to be here either. You have kind eyes and that’s something special.”
            Michael shifted again, and she could almost picture him sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall just like she was. “I robbed a bank,” he said, surprising her with the sudden admission.
            “What did you need the money for?” she asked.
            He chuckled. “I don’t. I had a great job before this. I was a structural engineer.”
            Her brows furrowed. “Then why did you rob a bank?” she whispered.
            “To get in here. My brother, Lincoln…he’s on death row for a crime he didn’t commit. I’m going to break him out.”
            Y/N blinked, momentarily stunned by his honesty. A bank robbery to get into prison? And a prison break plan on top of that? Most people in here did not share their schemes, not this openly. But something about Michael – his calmness, his methodical nature – made her believe he was not just telling stories. He actually meant it.
            “You’re serious,” she said, more a statement than a question.
            “I am,” he replied simply.
            Y/N leaned her head back against the wall, staring up at the dark ceiling of her cell. “Sounds like one hell of a plan.”
            “I’m working on it,” he said with a soft chuckle, the warmth in his voice making her smile despite herself. “Could be worse, right?”
            “Could be worse,” she echoed, her smile lingering. It felt good talking to him like this – honestly, without the usual games and lies that came with being connected to the mob.
            For a long moment, neither of them spoke, just the quiet rhythm of their breathing and the distant hum of the prison. But it was not an awkward silence. It was…comfortable.
            “What would write about?” he asked. “You said you would be a writer.”
            She smiled. “It’s cliché, but I would write love. Love is incredibly powerful emotion, and you would do anything for that person. Love makes us do a lot of things we shouldn’t do, Michael.”
            He chuckled. “Yeah, that’s true.”
            “Any form of love whether it’s romance, familial, friendship. It’s a toxic drug.”
            “And your husband?” he asked.
            “I loved him, but he betrayed me. I asked for a divorce today,” she told him.
            Michael nodded. “He was your visitor?”
            “Unfortunately, he was. He wanted to apologise. I told him to go to hell,” she said with a chuckle. “He didn’t like that.”
            “Y/N,” he whispered name after moments.
            “Michael?”
            “It’s nice to have a friend,” he whispered, and she smiled as well.
            “Likewise.”
            “You’re not alone, Y/N. Remember that.”
            Y/N closed her eyes, letting his words settle over her like a blanket, comforting in a way she had not felt in a long time. For the first time in what felt like forever, she felt like she might have found someone she could trust.
            Even in the darkest of places, a little light could still break through.
-
I hope you enjoyed! I had so much fun writing this.
Let me know your thoughts, opinions and comments! :)
Lots of love,
Ava <3
-
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daddy-dotcom · 1 year ago
Text
The Visit
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Spencer Reid x Female Reader
Summary: Things aren’t looking good for Spencer after his visit to Mexico. So you decide to prepare for the worst, and you knew getting married was the only surefire way to stay connected while he was locked up.
Rating: M
Words: 5,333
Warnings: Language, typical canon violence, smut (fingering, p in v, breeding kink if you squint, unprotected sex)
*Disclaimer: Major inaccuracies for how the American prison system works lol*
TL;DR: Spencer and Reader get married so that they can have conjugal visits while he's in prison.
__________________________________________
I couldn’t bear to see him like this. Even worse, I couldnt bear to not be able to hold him and tell him everything was okay. Seeing him behind bars, alone, was enough to make me fight back tears. I’ve seen him hurt before, but this was different. It was almost as if I were staring at the ghost of Spencer Reid. I knew going to Mexico to get his mother’s medication was risky, but I had no idea that he’d end up in this much trouble. I should have stopped him. I should have gone with him. But no matter how guilty I was feeling, the damage was already done. With no concrete evidence that he was framed, it looked like Spencer was most likely going to be found guilty for murder. The love of my life was going to prison and I was completely helpless in the situation. At least I thought I was. . .until an idea struck me. An insane idea, and somewhat of a long shot, but an idea nonetheless, some small way to help Spencer keep his sanity while he was locked up. I wasn’t sure if he would go for it, but I had to try.
“hey, Spence,” I said with my face pressed against the cool metal of the bars.
“hi, (Y/N)” he said with the faintest hint of a smile on his lips.
“you’re looking more like yourself, baby. And they’re letting you come home with us on the jet.”
He slowly nodded his head in agreement, unsure of what else to say. For a man who typically had so much to say, it was eerie to be in such a silent room.
It’s now or never.
“So Spence, you know I was thinking, in case the…the unthinkable happens, and you aren’t acquitted…” I was fighting back the tears, trying to get my idea across,
“…maybe we should…I think it might be a good idea if we…get married?”
He immediately looked up to meet my gaze, looking more alive than he has the entire time we’ve been in Mexico.
“Married?” he said softly.
“Well it would only be so I can visit you, Spence. I mean like visit you visit you, without all the guards watching us and in a place where I can actually hold you and spend more time with you. Hell, I can’t even hug you for more than a couple seconds during a regular visit”
I could see the gears turning in his mind, something I’ve seen a million times, but I couldn’t tell if he was actually considering my offer.
“It’s been a year Spence, it’s not like we haven’t talked about it.”
It’s true. We’ve been dating for over a year now, and we’ve both made it clear that we’d like to marry each other some day. But we never imagined it would be this soon and under these circumstances.
Spencer got up from the bench he’d been sitting on and came over to hold my hand through the bars.
“Even if I weren’t facing prison time…it would be an absolute honor to marry you, (Y/N)”
All of the tension in my body melted away now that I knew he was on board with my proposition. I gave him a warm smile as he gently cupped my face in his hands. He planted a soft kiss on my forehead and held onto my hand before getting down on one knee.
“If we’re going to do this, I’d at least like to propose to you properly,” he said, with as much of a smile as he could muster.
“(YFN/YLN), will you marry me?” he asked.
The dam finally broke and I couldn’t fight back the tears any longer. They began to stream down my face as I let out a firm and resounding “Yes.”
______________________________
I was practically squirming in my seat on the plane ride home. It was almost impossible to keep this secret and it took everything I had not to blurt out our plan. I knew that I had to tell them soon, since we were going to need their help to make this happen. With a deep breath, I pulled Spencer up from our seats and marched over to the rest of the team.
“Guys, Spencer and I have an announcement to make,”
“Oh my god you’re not pregnant, are you?” said JJ.
“No! No, it’s not that,” I replied, I hesitated before dropping the bomb.
“Spencer and I are getting married.”
Prentiss and JJ exchanged a confused look while Alvez’s mouth hung open in shock. Rossi, however, seemed to know exactly what was going on.
“Oh I get it, you two want to get married so that (Y/N) can request ‘family visits.’” The implications of putting the word ‘family visits’ in airquotes was not lost on me. “You all might of heard of what they used to call them back in the day: conjugal visits.”
“Actually the practice conjugal visits have evolved into a more family oriented experience. Modern family visits usually last the weekend and include children and other family members besides just a spouse.”
“Glad to see you’re almost back to normal, kid” quipped Rossi.
“Well if we’re going to do this, we’re going to need some help. Prentiss, do you have anyone that can meet us at Quantico and marry us on such short notice?” I asked.
“I’m already making the call.”
“Does anyone else think this is just a little bit crazy? There’s a good chance that Spence won’t even go to prison at all,” JJ said.
Alvez snapped out of his daze and interjected.
“I agree, but if Reid and (Y/N) get to spend some alone-time together in the event that he does go, I don’t see the harm. I mean come on, Rossi’s been married like what, five times?”
“Hey, it’s only been three times,” Rossi responded.
“Look, JJ, you would do it for Will, wouldn’t you?”
She paused for a minute, pondering my question.
With a sympathetic look, JJ responded
“of course I would.”
_________________________________
As soon as we landed, we were greeted by Garcia and the court officiant who Prentiss had called on the plane. Garcia nearly tackled us coming out of the elevator, completely overjoyed to see Spencer home in one piece.
“Oh I’m so glad you’re all home safe!” she said squeezing us in a tight embrace.“But I can’t believe I had to find out about your engagement via a text from Alvez!”
“Sorry Penn, it was super last minute,” I said with a shrug.
“I brought you some things while you were on the plane ride home. (Y/N), for you I got a white dress, sorry I had to guess on the size, and Reid I asked your mom’s nurse if it was okay to grab a clean suit from your apartment.”
“Oh Penn, you didn’t have to do all this. Where did you even find a dress on such short notice?”
“Emily’s not the only one with connections sweet cheeks,” she said with a wink.
“Thank you so much, really Penn I appreciate it.”
“No need to thank me, now you and boy-wonder go get dressed so we can get you hitched.”
I took the bag from Penelope and inspected its contents once inside the bathroom. It was a simple but gorgeous white gown. It came down to about my calves, and it had white cap sleeves with a sweetheart neckline.
Classy. The woman has good taste.
I took a deep breath before exiting the stall, and I was greeted by Penelope, Emily, and JJ standing by the sink.
They all turned their heads towards me and gasped before looking me up and down.
“You look absolutely stunning,” said Emily.
“Spence is definitely gonna cry when he sees how gorgeous you look,” added JJ.
The tears had already started streaming down Penelope’s face as she walked over to me and placed one of her bracelets on my wrist.
“There, now you have your something blue,” she said with teary eyes. “You make the most beautiful bride (Y/N)”
“I’d love to stay in here and continue this little bachelorette party but our court official is waiting out there to marry our two lovebirds,” said Emily.
With one final look in the mirror, I took a deep breath and headed out the door, on my way to officially become Mrs. Spencer Reid. The reality of marriage hadn't hit me until just now. Who can blame me? I'd only become someone's fiancé about 5 hours ago. My palms began to sweat as my priorities shifted towards my impending marriage. Even if I wasn't ready, it was my idea in the first place and I intended to keep my end of the bargain. I, however, was more worried about Spencer. What if he was having second thoughts? I barely brought the idea up to him a few hours ago, and he was coming off of drugs in a Mexican jail cell when he agreed. Just as I was begging to spiral, a hand grazed the side of my waist and Spencer appeared. He cleaned up surprisingly well given the circumstances, looking incredibly handsome in his suit.
"Nervous?" he asked. As a profiler and a genius, there was no way I was going to be able to conceal my nerves from him.
"Spence, don't you know you're not supposed to see me in my dress before the ceremony?" I joked.
"(Y/N), you know I don't believe in superstitions," he said wryly.
"But yes, I am little nervous, mostly because I was afraid you might be having second thoughts."
He smiled warmly, the same way he had done when he agreed to marry me earlier in the day.
"Living in Vegas, and working with Rossi, I've known quite a bit of people who've gotten married on a whim. While it might be a little sooner than we thought, it's giving me a chance to hold you close in case I..." his voice began to crack and I could see his eyes welling up, "...in case I get taken into custody. But trust me, (Y/N), there was never a doubt in my mind about marrying you, especially now that I'm seeing how beautiful you look in a wedding dress."
I was tearing up too, at this point, for about the fifth time today. I took both of his hands in mine and simply said "I love you Spence,"
"I love you too, (Y/N)."
____________________________________________
We walked hand in hand into the briefing room where everyone was waiting anxiously for us and Spencer and I took our place across from each other in front of the court official. We joined hands once more and I could see Penelope shoot me a thumbs while Alvez gave Spence a reassuring pat on the back. The official began to speak which caused my heart to practically beat out of my chest.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here tonight to join this man and this woman in matrimony."
He turns toward Spencer before speaking again.
“Spencer, do you take this woman to be your wife, to live together in matrimony, to love her, to honor her, to comfort her, and to keep her in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?”
“I do” he said while maintaining my gaze. I could see tears start to form in the corners of his eyes, causing my eyes to well up too. But I couldn’t cry, because if I started now, I wouldn’t be able to stop.
“(Y/N), do you take this man to be your husband, to live together in matrimony, to love him, to honor him, to comfort him, and to keep him in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?"
“I do,” I manage to say with a lump forming in my throat.
The court official turns back to Spencer and asks him to repeat after him.
"I, Spencer Reid, take you (Y/N), to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer,” I could hear his voice start to crack as he fought back more tears, “in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part."
He said this with such conviction that there was no doubt in my mind that I wanted to marry this man. I’d never seen his eyes so full of love before. It was those kind eyes looking back at me that turned one of the worst days into the happiest day of my life. Now, it was my turn to recite my vows and officially become Mrs. Reid.
“I, (YFN/YLN), take you, Spencer Reid, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part."
It took everything in my power not to become a blubbering mess during my vows. Penelope, however, had no problem letting the tears flow freely down her rosy pink cheeks.
"By virtue of the authority vested in me under the laws of the District of Columbia, I now pronounce you husband and wife."
The court official gave a small smile before turning to Spencer and saying “you may kiss the bride."
Spencer wasted no time moving his hands to sit comfortably on my hips and I pulled his face in close for a kiss. This was something we’d done a million times before, but never for an audience. As soon as his lips touched mine, however, it felt as if we were the only two people in the room. All the exhaustion, pain, and suffering from the events of Mexico seemed to melt away as we kissed. He continued to press his lips more forcefully against mine and I could feel the slightest brush of his tongue before a voice spoke up from the crowd.
“Alright you two save it for the honeymoon,” Rossi joked.
We slowly pulled away and both our our cheeks began to blush like teenagers who’d just been caught by their parents. One by one, our team members came over to congratulate us and Penelope and JJ wanted a million pictures. We spent the rest of our night talking, laughing, and even dancing with our team members, just happy to find joy in this moment of darkness. Little did we know, Mexico was only the beginning of our troubles.
________________________________
Our wedding celebrations were cut short with the announcement that the FBI would not be legally representing Spencer since he broke protocol and didn’t inform them of his trip to Mexico. Once he went to trial, we still had no concrete evidence that he was framed, and his DNA was found on the murder weapon. Our worst nightmare had finally come true. Spencer was taken into custody and and whisked away to prison. A small part of me was grateful that I was now legally his wife, but I still wished that it didn’t have to happen under these circumstances. The day he was taken to prison, I immediately applied to be granted family visits and I begged Prentiss and Alvez to call in every favor they could to get moved up the waitlist. It was going to take a couple of months for Spencer to prove he was behaving in prison, but I could still visit him regularly before then. A couple of weeks after he was taken into custody, he was finally allowed to have visitors, and the team all unanimously agreed that I should be his first one. I wasn’t granted a family visit just yet, but I needed to see his face and finally be able to talk to him.
As I walked into the Millburn Correctional Facility, I was searched, went through a metal detector, and searched again before I was led into a room filled with a long partition and chairs on either side. I found a seat in the corner that had no one on either side of me and waited for Spencer to arrive. I nervously tapped my finger on the table as I anxiously waited to see my husband for the first time since he was taken to prison. I turned my head to see a tall, lanky figure in a white t-shirt and blue pants with a matching blue button up walking towards me. I could see his eyes light up when he spotted me and I could feel my entire being do the same.
“Hi baby,” I said, just happy to finally see him.
“Hi my love,” he replied with a ghost of a smile creeping up on his lips. I could tell he was slightly thinner and probably not sleeping well. However, his casual outfit combined with his shaggy hair and the growing stubble on his face somehow made him even more attractive.
“You look good baby, you holding up okay so far?”
“I'm doing okay, given the circumstances. How's my mom? Is she doing alright?"
"She's doing fine actually, Cassie said that she was having a really good day yesterday."
"Where did you, uh, tell her I was?"
"Uh, the beach," I told him with a chuckle, "well she asked if that's where you were and it seemed to make her happy so..."
"Good."
There was a pause and I couldn't tear my eyes away from his gaze. He wasn't breaking eye contact either and I could feel the love behind his stare.
"I, uh, I'm really happy to see you," he said, "I kind of wish you hadn't come, it's uh, not the best idea."
His words hurt slightly, but I knew the state that his mind was in. He didn't want to become a target and he definitely didn't want me to see him like this.
"Sorry Spence, but you're stuck with me," I said with a smile, "you got stuck with me the day you agreed to be my husband. And the last time I saw you, we promised for better or for worse. Besides, this is just the beginning, I've already applied for family visit privileges and we should be getting a date any day now. You don't know how badly I wish I could just hug you, Spence."
I saw him look down, I'm assuming in an attempt to fight back tears, before he spoke again.
"Thank you, (Y/N). I'm so grateful everyday that you're now my wife. But if you're here, that means you're not out working on a case, and I don't want to be a burden."
"That's nonsense Spence, you could never be a burden to me."
"Tell me about the case then, it will help get my mind off... all this."
I proceeded to give him the details of our latest case and I assured him that the rest of the team would be coming by to check in on him and visit him as well. It pained me that I couldn't hug or kiss him goodbye, but I held out hope that it wouldn't be long before I finally could.
While our team members were busy taking turns visiting Spencer in prison, I decided to start writing him letters. Most of them consisted of me catching him up on cases and my personal life, or lack thereof, while others were love letters that expressed just how much I truly missed him. Even though Spencer Reid is a certified genius and an excellent agent, at the end of the day he was still just a man and I knew that the stress that came with being in prison combined with not being able to touch me everyday was likely driving him insane. Luckily, our prayers had been answered and all of the favors from Prentiss and Alvez came through. I finally received a date for my family visit with Spencer, which would be three weeks from now. In the meantime, I began penning a letter to Spencer to tell him the good news. But this wouldn't be one of our typical letters; this letter was going to be much dirtier in nature. I had to admit that I too was starting to feel the effects from the lack of physical contact. So in my letter, I was going to tell him exactly what I wanted to do with him at our "family visit."
_______________________________
The day had finally arrived. Not only was I going to be able to see my husband, I was going to be able to hug him, touch him, hold him, and kiss him…among other things. In all honesty, I was just excited to see him with some semblance of normalcy. I had been researching spousal visits for the past three weeks, and the general consensus was that all of these women were dressing to impress. So I put on my nicest skirt, tight-fitting one that I had previously purchased with the intention of wearing to work but it was slightly too short for the office, and a floral blouse with spaghetti straps that was just low-cut enough to see the top of my cleavage. I paired the outfit with nude stilettos and fixed up my hair and makeup as nicely as I could. While my outfit certainly didn’t leave everything to the imagination, I still had to maintain a certain level of modesty. After all, I was still a federal agent.
The search process for spousal visits was much more intense, so much so that I couldn’t even bring my phone into the room with me. I was, however, allowed to bring books and a chess set for Spencer. I made my way through a longer hallway than the one I had gone through the last time, which led out to a courtyard where a row of temporary buildings sat. I was then escorted into one of the 4 rooms in the building and I was instructed to wait for the guards to bring Spencer in. I sat with my legs crossed on the bed in the middle of the room, which was unsurprisingly bare. The room resembled a somewhat nice motel room, with a kitchenette in one corner, a couch in the other, and a separate bathroom. The only sounds I could hear in the room were the ticking of the clock on the wall and the pounding of my heart in my chest. I wasn't nervous to see my husband, it was actually just the opposite. I was positively inpatient at the thought of finally being able to make physical contact with the love of my life. In an effort to distract myself, I poked around the bedside table, knowing damn well what I was going to find. There were more innocent items in the drawer, like soap and toothpaste, and right next to it were lubricant and condoms. We won't be needing those, I thought to myself with a smirk forming at the corner of my lips. I was startled by a knock at the door and quickly shut the door. I quickly adjusted my top and fixed my hair before replying.
"Come in!"
The door slowly swung open to reveal a handcuff-free Spencer standing in the doorway. He stood frozen in place, looking at me in disbelief that I was actually here. I stood up from my spot on the bed and ran over to give him the biggest hug. I squeezed my arms around his torso and buried my face in his chest. We stood like this for a moment, in the doorway, just familiarizing ourselves with each other once again.
"You don't know how long I've been waiting to do that, Spence."
I finally lifted my head up to get a good look at him while snaking my hands up to cup is face.
"Trust me, I've probably been more desperate to hug you than you have,"
"Oh really?" I asked with raised eyebrows, "you know this isn't a competition right?"
"Oh, I know. But if it was, I would win," he said, with the slightest hint of a playful smirk.
I took Spencer's hand in mine and pulled him over to my spot where I was sitting when he arrived. Our hands stayed connected as we sat side by side on the edge of the bed. While I was admittedly aroused at the thought of finally being able to make love again, all of those thoughts melted away when I finally saw him. Truthfully, I was just happy to spend some quality time with him and give him a break from this awful situation.
"How have you been since the last time I saw you, love?"
"I've been doing okay, mostly trying to keep my head down. I guess you could say I made a friend, though. His name is Calvin Shaw-"
"The agent who killed his informant?!" I exclaimed.
"Well yes, but he's the only one who knows I'm a federal agent and he's been pretty generous. Getting me moved to my own cell, giving me books and playing chess with me."
I gently placed a kiss on his forehead and began to stroke his beautiful veiny hand with my thumb.
"I'm just happy you're not completely alone in there baby"
"I've managed to make some connections, but what's been keeping me going is the thought of seeing you. I've actually been looking forward to this since the last time we spoke. . . and I haven't been able to stop thinking about that letter you sent me."
A wicked smile crept onto my lips as I realized which letter exactly he was referring to.
"Oh that letter! I'm glad you enjoyed it baby, I meant every word. I've been missing you in more ways than one. . ." I said, moving my free hand to his thigh. He inhaled deeply at my touch and his gaze was locked on mine.
"Well you don't have to miss me anymore, love, I'm right here. If we're being honest, I don't think I'll be able to focus on our conversation until I've had my way with you," he said, moving one hand to slide his fingers into my hair. I melted into his touch then I leaned forward to whisper in his ear.
"You can have me, baby, any way you want," I replied, trying my best to look up at him with doe eyes.
He forcefully leaned in to place his lips on mine, and now both of his hands were tugging at my hair. This kiss was passionate, but in a way we've never experienced before. Since we've met, we've never spent more than a few days apart. This kiss was different, it was filled with longing and desperation. Months of going without physical contact has finally led to this moment. The moment when dam finally breaks and the sexual tension that's been building in our written correspondence comes to the surface.
One hand stayed pulling my hair while the other made its way to my breast. Equally touch starved, I moved my hand up his thigh to palm the now evident bulge forming in his pants. He hissed in response and I used then opportunity to force my tongue further into his mouth. He began to suck on it and I moaned into him at the feeling. He abruptly moved from my mouth and started working down towards my neck."
"You know," he said, breathlessly, between kisses "after you sent me that letter, I couldn't help myself. I'm lucky I have my own cell, I had to get some relief or else I would've gone insane."
"You're not the only one baby, " I replied in a daze as he continued tome further down my neck, "I would touch myself at night wishing it was your fingers inside of me."
He grunted at my words and buried his face in my breasts.
"You wore this top just for me didn't you?"
"Mhm, just for you."
"I think it's time we see what's underneath," he said as he pulled the shirt swiftly over my head. My lips crashed back into his and I made quick work of undoing the buttons on his shirt. I wasn't used to seeing Spencer in a white t-shirt, so I soaked up the image as best I could before pulling his shirt off and discarding it on the floor.
"You said you missed my fingers, baby?" I sighed a resounding "yes" before he moved his hands up my skirt, barely brushing his fingertips against my panties. I moaned at the contact, and I felt him smirk against my lips before pushing my panties aside and inserting a digit into my wet folds.
"Fuck, Spencer" I groaned as his long fingers stretched inside me.
"You're so tight, love. You really did miss me stretching you out, didn't you?"
"Yes!" I yelled and he began to pump his fingers in and out.
The room filled with the sounds of our moans and Spencer pumping in and out of me. I could feel a familiar pressure tightening in my abdomen, but I needed more of him. I knew he needed me too because I could see his erection straining through his pants. It's almost as if he read my mind because he removed his fingers and placed them in my mouth.
"Fuck, I need you so badly, (Y/N)," he said as I sucked on his fingers.
Not bothering to take off my skirt, I laid back on the bed as he pushed up the fabric and pulled off my panties. He undid his own pants and threw them haphazardly onto the floor along with his underwear. He brushed his fingers along my now exposed cunt, gathering my arousal on his fingertips.
"You're so wet for me baby, it's driving me insane."
He slid his hard length along my pussy, which earned a moan from the both of us before he pushed the tip into me.
"Oh my god, Spence," I whined. He was stretching me out so well since I haven't had him inside me in weeks.
"Baby you're so tight," he said, letting his mouth hang open in pleasure.
"Please, Spence. . .fuck me," I pleaded. He wasted no time and began to give me deep strokes. I moaned at every thrust, which only motivated him to thrust harder and deeper. His pace became relentless as the tip of his length was now hitting my cervix.
"Fuck, Spencer, come for me. I want you to fill me up, baby."
"Anything for you, love," he said, giving me everything he has.
"I want your babies Spencer, please!" I screamed, knowing full well that I was on the pill and that wasn't going to happen. . . yet.
That was all it took for him to spill his load inside of me. We both became moaning messes as he came. Once he was finished, he rolled off of me and ran to the bathroom to help me clean up. I went to pee, and when I returned, Spencer laid his head on my chest and we sat, cuddled in silence, until nightfall. Under the cover of darkness, I could hear quiet sobs coming from Spencer and I felt little drops of tears on my breasts.
"Baby are you okay? What's wrong my love?" I said, raking my hands through his soft wavy locks.
"I don't want to go back in there," he said, like a child, in barely more than a whisper.
"I wish I could stay here with you indefinitely. I wish I never had to sleep apart from you again. I was trying to be strong for you, (Y/N), but it's so much worse than I imagined."
I didn't press him for details, but I couldn't help but begin to cry in sympathy.
"Listen to me, Spence. I can't even being to understand what you're going through, but you are the strongest person I know. I also know that you have a team of people behind you who love you and will stop at nothing to prove you're innocent. Just remember that every time you're lonely or scared, baby. And we'll keep visiting you and sending you letters and books, anything we can do to keep your mind busy."
"Thank you, my love," he said, slowly rising up to plant a kiss on my lips.
"For better or for worse remember?"
"For better or for worse."
He spent the rest of the night lying on my chest as I stroked his hair and lulled him to sleep, avoiding the dread of being separated in the morning for as long as we could.
_________________________________________
AN: Finally finished this fic omg it was a long time coming. But I've been busy in medical assisting school and this one required a lot more research than my previous works lol. But finally happy with the result and please show it some love. Thanks to all my moots for believing in this :)
Taglist:
@reidscaffeine @swaggysagiewagie@v-i-o-l-e-t@louderfortheback
@sadroses98@lauravegann @coldoaftoadzipper-blog@avis-writeshq@inkwriter122 @bitchysweetskitty @cryingoverfelix@whyisitdifferent@namjoonspinkytoenail@thatsonezesty13 @singinghamtaro-blog@abbeyskeff@cassie444
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psychhound · 10 months ago
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d&d 5e languages and gender
i know this is already a very nerdy blog but please indulge me a moment,,
for my homegame i've been fleshing out how different languages in the game deal with gender / pronouns based on their cultures (some of them are canon languages but some are for our setting) and it made the little nerd in me very happy so i wanted to make some headcanons for the rest of the dnd languages and share it for anyone who'd like to steal / take inspo
feel absolutely free to use these in homegames but if you use for anything streamed or for your own ttrpg/homebrew/fics then crediting/linking back is appreciated :o)
disclaimer: this blog is run by a genderqueer trans man and any queerphobic interaction will immediately be blocked
common
common started off with the standard he, she, & they pronouns but simply Loves a good loanword and so its not uncommon to hear people using pronouns from other languages in otherwise entirely common dialogue. there is some Fighting about whether this is appropriative based on the individuals culture or whether its unfair to people who only speak common to keep up with them all
dwarvish
not too much variety in what most people would consider pronouns, it tends to be more one singular neutral pronoun for someone you don't know / don't know well, and then variations that are more like honorifics than anything else. their pronoun might translate more readily to "skilled with a hammer" than anything regarding a gender
elvish
lots of pronoun options that explore different presentations of gender but they are also age/experience locked. a feminine male elf would use different pronouns as a child, teen, young adult, young adult with job, middle age, middle aged with children, etc. using pronouns from a different life experience bracket from you is incredibly frowned upon and people just dont do it
giant
there is one pronoun for giants & kin and one pronoun for not giants and the one for not giants is not derogatory at all, its just used to differentiate who is part of the family or not (individuals adopted by giants tend to use the giant pronoun)
gnomish
LOTS of variation in pronouns. gnomes love inventing new pronouns. there are general grammatical rules that they follow to Signify that its a pronoun but hearing three new pronouns a day is like. not uncommon. lots of gnomish teens go through a phase of making up at least four new pronouns they want to go by. uncommon to only go by one set. typically introduced along with your name
(more under the cut)
goblin
no gendered pronouns, all pronouns are instead structured around relations between individuals. so one person would use brother pronoun with one person, son pronoun with another, best friend pronoun to another. the family pronouns are not locked to actual family, just what the relationship is like. if you don't know someone well, its "cousin", "niece/nephew", "auntie/uncle", or "grandparent" depending on their age
halfling
pronouns are split between public and private use. in general in the community or with outsiders, there's a single pronoun that translates loosely to "friend". actual individual pronouns are only known to and used with close friends and family. there's a small handful of them and only some of them have gendered connotations
orc
there are only four categories of pronouns: masculine, feminine, both/mixed, and neither. but there's a decent amount of variations because there are varying levels of formality for each of them. there are ways to conjugate them so they're more formal and respectful, but also lots of diminutives to make them more affectionate and closely-bonded
abyssal
no use of pronouns. lots of very specific derogatory terms that are used in place of them. i shant elaborate.
celestial
lots of variations in pronouns. they are not very closely tied to gender, but are tied to very specific aesthetics. instead of having individual pronoun words, in celestial you just use root words. so one person might use the root word for things that are soft and gentle and natural for their pronoun, while another person might use the root word for things associated with dark and murky and mysterious things for theirs. tend to be tied to domains
draconic
no use of pronouns, only names and titles. if you happen to share a name with another individual who speaks draconic, you would need a unique title to go after it. the full name and full title is said at every reference of someone
deep speech
deep speech has pronouns probably but hearing them for any individual you dont share a close identity group with makes you violently nauseous and then the word immediately leaves your mind so it's just really hard to learn them
infernal
there are words for "you", "me", "us", "we", "this one", "that one", "those ones" etc but no classic pronouns as far as individual usage goes. if someone really needs to be specific they would use whatever pronoun that individual uses in their native language. tieflings have introduced a Lot of neopronouns into infernal but theyre all borrowed from other languages and then reworked into infernal grammar and tend to be localized to communities
primordial
individuals are referred to their elemental type (or "none") rather than pronouns tied to gender. so it would be more like "the windy one" or "the rocky one" than anything like he or she
sylvan
no standard gendered pronouns, it's entirely nounself. so basically infinite amount of pronouns that are easily understood by anyone familiar with that noun. so you would have things like pebble pronoun, teapot pronoun, sword pronoun, with some general affiliations with presentation but less so with gender
undercommon
pronouns are based on level of respect and not gender, but there are also pronouns specifically used for children. like craftsmen would typically all use the same pronoun unless one was incredibly successful and respected, or had a very bad reputation, etc. there are pronouns used only for royalty and pronouns used only for deities
speak with animals
when translated into common, tends to just be translated as the animal's bio sex, but it can go a little screwy when speaking about creatures who have biological sexes so outside the humanoid concept of sex and gender that even magic dont fuckin know how to translate it. kind of just makes a weird bubbly noise in its place
if you read this far thank you thank you and if you end up using these in your campaign lore or fics i would love to know :o)
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bulkyphrase · 7 days ago
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Post-CACW Stony: a fic rec list
I've been on a Captain America: Civil War kick lately, and since I know that Steve-friendly CW Stony fic can be hard to find, I've put together a rec list!
I am thoroughly team cap, but these range from being anti-accords to just not getting into the issue, and all are Steve-friendly as long as you can accept a lot little loving Steve-whump.
Atlas by nanasekei (@elcorhamletlive) (Not Rated, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, 11,505 words)
Summary: They don't hear each other.
Eigengrau by vorkosigan (@the-vorkosigan) (Teen And Up Audiences, 16,811 words)
Summary: Tony is captured; he doesn't know by whom, or why. He doesn't know how much time has passed since. What he knows is, he can now hear something in the adjacent cell, and that 'something' sounds a lot like Steve Rogers.
Nights When the Wolves Are Silent, and Only the Moon Howls by Cluegirl, Defiler_Wyrm (@cluegrrl) (Mature, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, 77,612 words)
Note: has a Stucky element too, but the relationship between Steve and Tony is the main focus.
Summary: “Could you drop all that stoic shit and be my freaking-the-hell-out wingman for just like, five seconds here?” Steve wasn’t sure he could think of anything he wanted less to do than to freak out about his wounds just then though, so he reached across his chest and gingerly patted Sam’s clenched knuckles. “It’ll be fine,” he promised, believing it. “Serum’s handled worse.” “You know, I actually believe you,” Sam allowed after a long second of glaring. “Which is deeply alarming, considering how much of your connective tissue I’ve touched in the last 4 hours. Now you wanna tell me what Russoff’s men did to you that made it look like you got mauled by a bear?” Steve flinched, then breathed the memory down to size. “Not a bear,” he murmured. “Wolves.”
More below the cut!
(trust me when i say) i'll get back to you by machi_kun (@machi-kun) (General Audiences, 1,549 words)
Summary: “Me and Rogers are not on speaking terms anymore.”
An Infinite Number Of Monkeys At Typewriters (Or, Steve and Tony Finally Get It Right) by JenTheSweetie (@jenthesweetie) (Mature, 18,864 words)
Summary: Tony blinked up at the face staring down at him. This was impossible. This was definitely 100% not possible, he had not just started giving a good morning handy to - “Steve?” After the events of Civil War, Tony and Steve wake up in bed next to each other in an alternate universe. It goes about as well as you'd expect it to.
And Miles to Go Before I Sleep by Cluegirl (@cluegrrl) (Mature, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, 152,765 words)
Summary: They all made mistakes. They all have regrets. They all have nightmares, suspicions, and questions they'd like to ask. And they all left business behind them that was never quite finished. This is the story of how the Avengers ask those questions, get their answers, and come together like fucking adults to make things right again.
Bring Him Home by seventymilestobabylon (@seventymilestobabylon) (Explicit, 13,769 words)
Summary: Tony misses Steve very badly after the Accords. Some days he deals with it better than other days. (a fic featuring the booty call flip phone, minor kidnappings, and time jumps between chapters because the election has been happening and my brain has been too mush to make a proper plot)
Conjugal Visits by xtricks (Explicit, 4,252 words)
Summary: AU: Steve Rogers gets captured fairly soon after Civil War and sent to the Raft. Tony discovers that trying to appease your enemies doesn’t work and ends up a prisoner too.
Down Came the Rain by captainoutoftime (@captain-outoftime) (Explicit, 75,274 words)
Summary: A mission goes badly for Natasha, who is discovered de-aged to three years old. She recognizes no one, but every kid knows Captain America. When Tony grudgingly makes a call, Steve makes good on his promise to answer. Steve has to work together with Tony to take care of a traumatized child and figure out how to turn their itsy bitsy spider back into a Black Widow. Neither of them really want to talk about what happened in Siberia, but living in close quarters, they have to come to some sort of peace - even if it means addressing some feelings they'd rather not admit to having. As they work together to solve the problem of a re-emerging Red Room, Steve uncovers something he never expected to find again: family.
Hating Steve Rogers by nanasekei (@elcorhamletlive) (Not Rated, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, 16,243 words)
Summary: The thing about hating Steve Rogers is that it shouldn’t be easy - but it really, really is.
I Have Questions by YourFadedGlory (HisNameWasAce) (@yourfadedglory) (Not Rated, 2,808 words)
Summary: There is only so much that Steve can carry. His legs quiver and his heart aches, he looks skyward, and in a startling moment of clarity he lets the shield go. Gouged and battered, it rings like a bell when it hits the stone floor. He wonders for a split moment if it will weigh on Tony the way it has weighed on him.
The Crying Game by fohatic (@fohatic) (Explicit, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, 36,403 words)
Summary: Steve Rogers stared at the dimly glowing digital screen of the little burner phone, rereading the text message as if it might somehow give away something he missed the first dozen times he scrutinized it. His frown only deepened, though, brows drawing together with consternation as the 88 characters only left him with an even more ponderous sense of uncertainty. If you meant what you wrote, I'll be at the Swissotel Sarajevo, 4/18. Presidential Suite. 9pm. Come alone. ...Nearly a year after Steve and Tony's fallout—and only weeks after press rumors that Tony and Pepper's engagement was inexplicably called off—Steve gets a message on the dedicated burner phone. Despite his instinctive reservations, he's compelled to answer the mysterious call. An approximately canon-compliant story.
the hope that kills you by meidui (@meidui) (Mature, 1,227 words)
Summary: Steve used to go on so much about freedom and choice. If we sign this, we surrender our right to choose. Some of the freedom he loved was big, big enough for him to lay his life down for over and over, and some of the freedom he loved was small, like the wind in his hair when he took his motorcycle out, but now he has to sob and take it when Tony sucks a deep flowering bruise where his prison uniform couldn’t possibly cover and whispers in his ear, “Who’s gonna help you now? Where are you gonna run?”
live for the hope of it all by meidui (@meidui) (Mature, No Archive Warnings Apply, 1,880 words)
Note: This is a sequel to the hope that kills you
Summary: “You can keep me here, can’t you?” Steve asks a little desperately as Tony kneels over him, spreading himself out all the better for Tony to take. He must have really hated his cell on the Raft, Tony thinks before he loses himself in Steve’s body, and for a little while, everything is the same as it has been for the past six months. It’s only after, in the dark and quiet of his own bedroom with Steve sprawled sleepy and heavy across his chest that Tony realises— This is their cell now.
The Phone by AvengersNewB (@avengersnewb) (Mature, 9,039 words)
Summary: Tony hates the flip phone Steve sends him, but he keeps it close at all times, and it never rings until it finally does and the news might help put things into perspective - Captain America : Civil War fix-it. or The phone can't take the place of your smile. [podfic added as chapter 2]
the things we invent when we are scared by nanasekei (@elcorhamletlive) (Not Rated, 18,305 words)
Summary: Steve is trapped in a dream machine, programmed to make him believe he's living his happiest fantasy. Tony goes inside to wake him up, but what he finds is a lot more complicated than he expected.
there's nothing but blue skies by Meatball42 (Mature, Major Character Death, 647 words)
Summary: “This isn’t good,” Steve said grimly.
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