#one of the prettiest thus far!

[yakshaxiao]

fischl  ✦  ein immernachtstraum

[shoeistars]

— NO PHOTOS ! pt. 2

༺ feat. reo, barou, rin, sae, shidou

༺ outline. where the boys keep their slutty polas of you <3

༺ w. pro!players, 18+ content, minors dni, photos/polas, fem!reader, read at your own discretion as I don’t do individual tagging for element of surprise <3

༺ pt. 1 (isagi, bachira, chigiri, kunigami, nagi)

— REO ! car dash

When Reo got his hands on his first hypercar, his main priority was keeping the thing clean. No trash, no eating inside of the vehicle, you weren’t even allowed to do your makeup when you’re playing your role of passenger princess. He just wanted to keep the interior spotless, despite the fact that he could buy as many overpriced vehicles as he fucking desired

So, when you hopped into the car one day and noticed the pola of you that he had resting against the dash of his brand new Bugatti, you were stunned. He hadn’t even put a goddamn air freshener on the rearview yet

Whenever you got around to questioning him, all he did was shrug, a smug grin on his face as he drove you to your nail appointment. After all, he got bored when he was sitting in traffic. The picture of you, perched on his California king with the prettiest bra and panty set hugging your body juuust right was worth bending a few rules over

— BAROU ! wallet

The polaroid itself was your idea in the first place. He didn’t really understand what the hell the hype was about, but he’d bend over backwards to see that pretty smile you’d give him when you got your way. Whenever he saw the photo, however, his perspective was changed immediately

You’d been hiked up onto a bathroom sink, always getting way too horny for your own good at events where attendance mattered. He’d sneak you away when you’d start touching on him and whispering dirty shit in his ear, never able to say no to his queen

Thus the birth of the pola nestled in his wallet, right beside his bank card. The view of his thick dick stretching your tightness out was too good to pass up, milky ring of cream wrapped around his base and spilling out of your hole. He just had to have it with him at all times

— RIN ! under his pillow

Pushing the pussy whipped loser boy agenda for Rin because you’re most definitely his first love, the first girl he’s ever touched, fingered, fucked. Having popped his cherry, he can’t help but be completely enamored by you. The mere thought of you gets him hard and he hates that factor to his core

Which plays into why exactly he has a nasty polaroid of you tucked under his navy-clad pillow, right where he rests his head to sleep for the night. It’s safe there, it’s within easy reach for him to fuck his fist to when you’re too far away, which is too often for his own liking thanks to away games

The photo itself is his treasure, a simple one where you’re on your bruised knees, showing him what exactly a facial is. Although he loves you most barefaced, he can’t even lie and deny that your face dripping wet and sticky with his seed isn’t the hottest thing he’s ever laid his eyes on

— SAE ! checkbook

Weird place, sure, but there is nothing normal about Sae as a whole. In his eyes, there are three prizes in the world: wins, money, and you. The polaroid fits perfectly right where he has it

There’s nothing more rewarding to him than whipping out his checkbook to buy something big, just to be greeted with your cunt on full display, the photo clipped front and center onto the leather book cover

It’s a real looker of a photo too, his thumb spreading your glossy folds to show off the stream of his cum dripping out of your hole, coating your asshole in thick nut. All he can ever think about is how you whimpered when he licked it up after snapping the shot

— SHIDOU ! pola wall

The consequences of dating a shameless, unhinged individual consists of your nudes being shown off any and every possible chance presented to him. He’s sick, sometimes unreasonable, but you’re too goddamn pretty for him to just hide away

Hence why he’s got a nice slab of white wall in his bedroom, fully dedicated to you. He calls it romantic, of course. All sorts of polas are taped up as decoration, different positions and scenarios

Maybe it’s awkward for guests that just so happen to step into his bedroom for whatever reason, but you like being shown off, don’t you? He figured a slut like you would wanna be put on display, considering you’re just like him

[grimm-writings]

Hey! Can I request a falin x reader where reader is a lone researcher in the dungeon and stumbles into chimera falin and the two fall in love?

Maybe Like a 5 times the reader has met chimera falin and 1 time the two get to meet after she’s turned back type story?

beauty/beast

…ft! falin x gn! reader

…tags! 5+1 format, reader is like slightly unhinged, fluff with moments of angst, slight suggestiveness

…wc! 2789

…notes! grimm tries not to come off as a monsterkisser for nearly 2.7k words, the fic,,,, hope you enjoy!!!! i love chimera falin so bad… 

One

You can’t say you didn’t ask for this.

It’s a death sentence to traverse into a dungeon on your own, especially with your lack of combat skills.  If you were sane, you’d have hired a bodyguard to help take down monsters you couldn’t handle.  Fortunately, you are not, and decided instead you could very well handle monsters in a pacifistic way.

Any companion you told this to chose to stare at you like you admitted to dark magic.

So, you’ll simply prove the nay-sayers wrong!  After all, how hard can it be to tame some monsters?

Very hard, actually.  Like… incredibly.

You had to pride yourself in how you managed to sweet-talk some petty thieves for advice on monsters in the floor you’re currently on, even how to avoid orcs!  At least that much is out of the way.

As for fighting, well, sometimes a very sharp slap to the head with a book, or even the sharp tip of a pen can subdue anyone, if just to give you enough time to run.

Besides, blood makes for some extra ink if you just happened to come by a dead body!

Going purely on efficiency alone, you’re doing tremendous work!  When it comes to your study?  Not so much.

The purpose of coming all the way down here is that you have a very specific urge.  That being, to tame a beast.  Some researchers gained the will to try and do the same to elemental spirits, why not other monsters?

One of the most common rebuttals you receive is that monsters are animals, they can’t be tamed at all, and you shouldn’t even try lest you want your head bitten off.  Considering thus far you only got bitten by a walking mushroom, you think you’re doing rather well!  (You did take an hour to contemplate to yourself how a walking mushroom seemingly has teeth, though.)

That brings you now later to the fourth floor, trying to shield your notes from the water as you lament losing more ink.  Sure, you might write a little bit more than should be necessary, but you surely can’t be out already!

So, delight fills you as you peer past a doorway to see the top half of a woman face down on the floor.  Haha, you can likely drain her pretty easily for some ink!  Looks fresh enough, and some patches of her are already damp with red!

You skip over, humming as you do so, when all at once the woman jerks and looks up at you.  Her golden eyes pierce your own, making you freeze in place.  You wonder if something had gotten mixed up and a succubus ended up making its way to an upper floor, when the walls of the small tower the woman is inhabiting collapses.

A chimera screeches at you, as if telling you to leave it alone.  If you weren’t so awestruck, you would have tried to shush it, lure it towards you and petted its oddly human head.  Alas, you let the chicken-legged thing go, finding a safe haven for itself.

Day 1: I have found a beast in its purest form. I must pursue it. I must tame it.

Two

‘Obsession’ would be putting your experience lightly.

You had never wanted to gaze upon a monster as much as you wished to see the chimera again.  Unique is its proportions, the lower body of a dragon and the torso and head of an adult tallwoman.

To anyone else, its face must be more of a lure.  With the prettiest face and… great assets to boot, like a fish drawn to an angler fish's light, a blindsided adventurer comes near.

You had tried to navigate where the beast has gone, observing the damages of certain areas to lead you closer to it.

Thoughts course through your mind like speckles of a daydream as you walk and walk and walk, trying to sneak past other enemies and adventurers as you do so.  What would its feathers feel like?  Is it different from the mop of blonde hair on its head?  You didn’t get the chance to observe its eyes – are they human or monster?  What of its body heat?  What is its diet?

Ah.  Diet.

Your own body stops walking in realisation.  By all means, comparing their mouth to the rest of their body, it’s ultimately impossible for the chimera to have a stable diet in this dungeon, correct?

Perhaps… you need to make a lure of your own.

Even after days of navigating the dungeon, you still have plenty of rations from the surface remaining in your bag.  Hopefully the chimera likes the most noble meal one can fit inside a lunchbox — meats and pasta with the richest sauce.  One could say your taste in meals is unique, eliciting a morbid curiosity.  If the beast is more in tune with its human side, it will react the same.

You don’t know what tempted you to arrange a table with two chairs on either side.  It’s not like the chimera could fit, but it was only suitable for your first formal meeting with it!  Oh, how you can’t wait to observe it eating, and so close…!

If you’re lucky, it may even attempt to taste you.

You promptly shake off the thought.

What you focus on now is to draw the chimera near.  It seems to favour secluded areas, but has been seemingly chased around.  Aw, is it scared of humans?  That’s just adorable!  Or, maybe, it’s resting before setting off on a search…  Now that’d be some juicy stuff!  Who’s the chimera’s prey?  Another monster, or humans?

Oh, of course you’ll use yourself as bait.  You’re not a coward!

You know basic enough spells that you won’t be entirely drained of mana upon use, lighting up a route to catch the chimera’s attention upon spotting it.  Down you lead it, making yourself look as bright and delectable as possible, before sitting in your seat, your meal readily prepared for the chimera.

You smile up at her as she pokes at the food you prepared, and she begins to eat.

Day 3: The beast was very hungry upon encounter.  Even when she finished the meal, she insisted on having something more.  I complied, and soon I had emptied my entire share of rations.  The chimera eats food made for humans easily. This elicits curiosity – it might be proof enough that the chimera’s existence in this dungeon is unnatural.  Even now, it looks too… human.  I feel uncomfortable now referring to the beast as such – an ‘it’. Thus, I will refer to the chimera as ‘she’ from here on.  It suits her.  She truly is magnificent.   All signs point to her being an attempt at creating a ‘beast-kin’, but instead of using the soul of a monster and body of a human, it’s as if it’s a mesh of both.  A disgustingly beautiful transformation.  To compare, it is not dissimilar to the breeding of a pug.  Deliberately done to appease someone, something.  A selfish birth. Someone must be wanting to do the same as I to the chimera – tame her to their whims. …I’ll have to look further into this.

Three

You feel less in control of your studies these days.

The more you hang around the dungeon, scavenging for food and following your muse, the more insane you feel.  But, for the sake of research, you power through.

The chimera, she has been opening herself up to you.  When she gets anxious, her feathers ruffle, and you shush her with pets.  She calms down occasionally.  Once, you had encountered her, blood on her body and under her fingernails.  You cleaned her using the mana-infused water.  She had never looked so calm.

She doesn’t feel like a monster you have tamed, but a friend.

This scares you.

Sure, there’s the possibility that the chimera is an unnatural phenomenon, and isn’t even a monster.

But that also means you’re losing your resolve.

The chimera sits with you, as you scrub her red-scaled talons free of dirt and blood.  Her upper body leans on you, resting.  You can even hear little chirps slipping from her lips.

She’s so cute.

Even as her golden eyes soften, the small slits in them dilating to exhibit relaxation, she smiles at you.  You don’t flinch when her hands take your face to look at you.  She’s a bird after all – she might be trying to memorise you, how you look, so she knows not to hurt you in the future.

You were nearly about to reminisce on your further embarrassment when the chimera speaks.

Four words.  She spoke four words in the common language, leaving you staring at her.  You’re speechless.  She must know that she’s caught you off guard as she slowly tucks your hair behind your ear and moves away.

The moment is quickly ruined.  “Dragon!”  A boyish voice calls.  “There you are.  You’ve been leaving my side so frequently.  There’s no time to–”

An elf in a cloak freezes upon noticing you.  His heavy eye bags rival your own as he glares down at your sitting position.

You don’t do anything, merely looking up at your friend in confusion.  She is back to being silent again, reaching her arms out to the elf, as if about to pick him up.  He swats at her, before pointing at you.

“Kill them,” he demands her.

She hesitates.  You also find yourself unable to move.  So the chimera is under someone’s control after all.  This elf, forcing you apart from your friend.

You hardly process your friend lifting you off the floor, her fingers closing in around your throat.  Tighter and tighter.  Your eyes can barely make out her empty expression as she squeezes the life out of your lungs.

Snap.

You fall onto the floor, and the mad mage leaves with his dragon in tow.

Day ??: “My name is Falin.” The chimera told me this last time we encountered one another.  She has a name.  A beautiful name that belongs just to her.  Falin. …I would say ‘my Falin’, but she is not.  She is under the control of that elf.  I wouldn’t want her to be my Falin anyway. She shouldn’t belong to anyone. I was revived by a kindly Eastern woman, who is accompanying a group of retainers following their lord.  They are joined by another party, also recently revived. Apparently, in my revival, I had uttered her name, “Falin,” and captured the attention of the malnourished lord. He is looking for her. …I was informed she is his love. Pushing personal feelings aside, I asked to come along.  I neglected to mention Falin’s current state.  I couldn’t do that to him right now.  Maybe once he sleeps, or eats… but not now. Falin, I wish to save you.  That is my goal now. You are not a monster to be tamed.

Four

Today, you met Laios Touden.

He is Falin’s older brother, you learn.

You met a lot of people, actually.  You met Falin’s party, an elf who Falin went to school with, as well as Laios Touden.

“You’ve seen Falin?”  He asks you, brow creased.  He had leaned forward in interest.  Lord Toshiro, Kabru, and Asebi were also listening to you with intrigue.

You nod.  “Yes, but I fear the situation might be a little more than you have bargained for,” you vaguely inform.

Your words would be interrupted by Laios’ request to talk privately with Toshiro, to which you comply.  You do already have a feeling of what's being said, something Kabru seems to pick up on as he glances over at you.

“Falin… isn’t faring well, is she?”

“Not in the traditional sense,” you reply.  Kabru grimaces, clearly not appreciating your rather… erratic way of conversing.  You add before he could talk back, “she’ll come back for me.”

Kabru furrows his brow.  “Excuse me?”

His question remains unanswered until you are swept up in a heated battle.  Looks of horror cross everyone’s faces at the bloody acts committed by the chimera.

You merely smile.

“Hello beauty,” you whisper when she turns to you.  Falin steps forward, cornering you.  You welcome her with open arms – and the world becomes dark again.

Day ??: Scorned though I may be by Lord Toshiro, I know myself not to be mad, but in love. Yes, I am in love.  I know this now for certain. I know that he, too, is in love.  I do not see his wishes badly.  In fact, from a sane man’s mouth, it is perfectly understandable.  Dark magic is dangerous.  As is love.  He’s risking his own reputation for it, even if others don’t appear to see things the way he does. But when push comes to shove, I am not that sane man.  I am joining Laios Touden’s party in the retrieval of Falin. The aftermath of the battle consisted of a hearty meal.  Who knew monsters could taste so nice?  Keep this in mind for the next adventure. I had figured this all came from the result of black magic.  Marcille Donato is a much more interesting woman than I thought.  I’m sure I could learn a lot from her. Hence, we march forward.  I know you aren’t in your right mind, Falin, but trust that I am. I will risk it all for you, beauty.

Five

The ice is cold underneath your fingertips.  The woman encased inside is relaxed, as if she’s merely asleep.  To see her completely separated from the lower half of the chimera body was something uncanny to you, so used to seeing her towering over you, able to squash you like a bug.

You turn to Marcille as she approaches.  “You had the right mind, keeping her fresh like this.  Deep down, you really did want to follow through with the plan!”

The blonde elf is sheepish.  “I did end up causing a right mess in the end.  It… It was selfish of me.”

“It was love,” you reply.

“Not the love Falin needs, though,” she finishes.

You both stare up at her in silence.  If you were delusional enough, you could swear you could see Falin breathing.

“I love her,” you admit, quieter than you have ever been.  “Is that alright with you?”

Marcille turns to you, her eyes wide.  For such a gossip, she really hasn’t picked up on it?

“I…”  She hesitates.  Her hands reach her trousers, and she scrunches up the fabric in her hands.  “It’s not my choice what – or who – Falin chooses.  I don’t think I have the right to decide anything for her.”

You nod, graciously taking Marcille’s word to heart.

You feel you’ve also changed throughout your journey.  Volatile as you may be, you appreciate Falin as she is.  An untamed beauty.  Not for anyone to claim or put their ideals onto.

She’s simply Falin.

“Come on,” Marcille takes your hand.  She has the kind of look on her face where you know she accepts you readily.  “Let’s go eat, okay?  For Falin.”

You smile back.  “For Falin.”

I don’t care about the day anymore. Falin is being revived today.  Soon, I’ll have a chance to meet the real her.  The beauty behind the beast. Ha.  I haven’t called her that for a while. Maybe I’ll follow Toshiro’s way and propose immediately too?  No, Marcille may accept me, but that might result in another need for revival. I can’t wait to get to know you.

the first time

Falin opens the door with a dazed expression, not expecting the crowd waiting around the door.  Of course, this resulted in quite the hoo-ha.  People running around, celebrating the successful revival of Falin Touden.  You wait patiently for you to be welcomed once more.

The woman is sitting calmly at her bed.  Some of her features are still feathered, but you’ve always liked how they felt underneath your fingertips.

She glances up at you, examining your form.

You’re taller than she thought.

“Hi,” you say, handing over a random blade of grass you picked.

Falin takes it.  Her fingers brush against your own.  She starts twirling the natural green between her fingers.  She smiles warmly.  “Hello,” her soft, tired voice returns.  It’s so sweet that you might melt.  “My name is Falin.  It’s nice to meet you.”

You know from the way she glances up at you that she already remembers you quite well.

Feeling the happiest you’ve ever been, you fall into Falin, pulling her into the tightest of hugs.

“It’s so wonderful to meet you too, beauty.”

Today, she asked me if she could belong to me. I said yes, but only if she belonged to herself first. She accepted.

[wuffgang-ameowdeus-moozart]

Robin never really got boys talk.

When Sarah turned 14 she invited all the girls in band for a sleepover. It started out fun. After her parents went to bed they put on a creepy horror movie and watched it in a huge cuddle pile. They braided each other's hair and did each other's nails and squeezed each other during tense scenes and muffled their shrieks after a sudden jumpscare.

After that they watched another one. This time Sarah sneaked her mother's makeup kit down to the living room, and so lipstick and eyeshadow joined the mess of nail polish, hair clips and snacks already on the floor.

The second movie was different. In the first one, the blood was obviously fake and the acting wasn't the best (to say the least). But the second one was tense through and through. The cries of pain were so visceral that Robin shuddered, and in the end everyone was terrified. It was silently and unanimously agreed upon that everyone had had enough TV for the night. It was already 3 in the morning, but tomorrow was the weekend and right now Robin wouldn't be able to sleep even if she wanted to, and thus began Robin's first real boys talk.

It was funny at first. Sarah pretended to die of heartbreak when "the blond hot one" was unfortunately the second to die. Heather said the nerdy one with glasses and abs was cuter, which started a very heated discussion of whether blond or brown is the more attractive hair color. Robin had to defend her correct "redheads" opinion all by herself.

(When the others got into a stalemate Sarah turned to Robin. "C'mon", she pleaded, "you know that the blond one was hotter. Just tell us which one you found prettier! And don't forget that this is my birthday party."

Robin laughed at the ribbing, played a bit hard to get, until she finally admitted. "I actually found the first one who died the prettiest." Sarah was already halfway through her victory dance, when Robin corrected her. "No, I don't mean the dude. I mean the first one. The girl with the pink purse."

Everything was silent for a moment.

Then Emma laughed. "You don't have to be jealous Robin", she consoled, "you are also very pretty."

"Yeah, especially after our makeover!"

Robin laughed and agreed and continued on as if her world just hadn't been turned on its axis. Because she knew that the stirring in her gut and the beating of her heart had nothing to do with jealousy. She didn't find the blond one hot or the brunet one cute. That was the first time she really knew it. She liked the girl.)

It was a bit funny the first time, even though she couldn't really join. It got less funny the more it went on. Suddenly boys was the only thing everyone wanted to talk about. And worse: it wasn't just unreachable famous boys like singers or actors anymore. Suddenly it was all "oh, Steve Harrington is sooooo cute" or "oh my god, Tommy Hagan had suuuuuuch a glowup" and "I want to lick the sweat of his body after basketball practice" (this last one was applicable to multiple different people, including Steve and Tommy. It was not applicable for Chrissy when she exited cheerleading practice or Beth after football.)

She thought it would get better when Emma finally confessed to her crush and they actually got together, but no. It somehow got worse. Because "normal boy talk" turned into "experienced boy talk", and Robin wasn't allowed to admit that the only thing that got wet when she thought of Billy Hargrove was her mouth, because he made her want to throw up.

At first she'd say that she didn't have crushes. After a while of people refusing to believe her (even if she was telling the truth! Sometimes.) she started pretending to be into Steve Harrington. Every girl had a crush on Steve, so it made sense that she'd been embarrassed to admit that she was just like everybody else. He was way too far above her league for her friends to force her to "confess" and she could stare without fear when he passed by in the halls with the beautiful Tammy Thompson in his arms. Truly, it was a brilliant plan. It didn't stop the boys talk, though.

So she became a tomboy. She joined football and she hung out with boys and she cut her long hair into a bob. She lost a bit of touch with Emma and Sarah and the others, but she tried not to think about it too much. Instead she threw herself into sports and started hanging out more and more with Matt, the second trumpet in band.

And that was that. Sometimes she missed wearing dresses, but it was a relief not to have her mother insisting she "do something about that hair" anymore. She and Matt became best friends. She even considered telling him for a while. Until he sat her down and confessed his feelings.

She tried to let him down as gently as possible, and they never talked again. The cycle would repeat for multiple times.

Someone out there is laughing their ass off because who would have thought that the dude she pretended to have a crush on would turn out to be the missing half of her soul?

It started out like always. She teased him, he laughed. They suffered through customer service together. He was funny and surprisingly in touch with his emotions and apparently babysat a bunch of middle schoolers, which was equally hilarious and adorable to watch. They both enjoy sports and they both hate Billy Hargrove with a passion and Robin is heartbroken because she knows she can't get attached. She has already been through this too many times to allow it to happen again. She gets close with a guy, they become best friends, he confesses, she can't reciprocate, they never talk again.

This is what is going to happen. She should already be used to it, but it still hurts. It's better for her to keep her distance. To encourage him to flirt with other girls, even if she can see that he mostly does it to amuse her.

And then they uncover an actual real life Russian spy network right beneath their place of work like some fucking blockbuster. And then they are pumped up with drugs and the next thing she knows is that they are both throwing up in a cinema bathroom.

And then it happens. Of course it happens.

He starts his little speech and her heart is already breaking. She surprises herself when she realizes how much she started enjoying Steve's company. He is a dingus, but she is also a dingus and they just fit.

She is already preparing her apology in her head (oh fuck work is going to be so awkward), but what comes out instead is what she wishes she could've said every time this happened. What she wished she could have said every time she got close to another person, every time her parents questioned if she finally found a boyfriend. Something she really tried not to feel ashamed of, but it was so fucking hard when you had to keep it hidden all the time.

(She remembers when she used to train in front of the mirror. She would stare at herself and repeat again and again "I am Robin Buckley and I am a lesbian. I am a lesbian. I am-")

She doesn't breathe as she waits for what she knows what comes next. What has to come next. There is a reason she never told anyone, always kept it hidden and to herself even if she wanted to scream it into the world. He will mock her and he will out her and he will be disgusted and-

"Tammy Thompson?!"

Instead they have girls talk. And Robin finally gets it.

[disneyprincemuke]

where the fun begins, 4 * ls2 (ms47)

pairings: frat!logan x reader, college!mick x reader

word count: 2.8k

notes: surprise! hello gaiz i finally (poorly) finished fratlogan pls dont come for me gn

(f1 masterlist)

| one | two | three | four |

“yeah?” logan perks up with a scoff at you. “can’t pick who to nurse?”

you stand by frederik, shaking your head at logan in utter disbelief. you’ve always known that he’s always been a bit of an idiot, but never to this extent. it’s not often that you see logan battered up but you’re surprised that it had taken this long.

“oh, come off it,” you scoff. you look around your surroundings, only then noticing the several pairs of eyes on the 3 of you. you refuse to be the campus gossip on how you choose to handle the situation. you throw your arms in the air. “what are you looking at? go have your party!”

surprisingly, it works. perhaps it’s the fact that the quiet girl is asking them to scramble off that made everyone walk off. they knew there wouldn’t be much to gain from you anyway, considering how low you’ve been laying since you stopped talking to logan.

logan watches you walk across the lawn, shooting him a quick disapproving look before you approach mick. he scoffs softly to himself, moving liam’s hand away from him. he continues to hold the tissue against his nose, pulling it away to glance at the blood that its collected.

he returns it to his nose as he watches you take mick’s hand into yours across the backyard. he doesn’t even notice that frederik has walked towards him with questions spilling past his lips.

“hey, what happened?” your voice is gentle as you finally stop in front of mick. you take his hand into yours, gazing your fingertips over his knuckles that just only forming a bruise. you gently drop his hand and start scanning him. “did he hit you?”

mick’s gaze on you softens as he shivers every time you touch him. he shakes his head, still blinking rapidly as he tries to ground himself. in all honesty, he doesn’t know what came over him either. he’s not typically one to throw the first punch at all — every fight he’s gotten into thus far was born from the sheer need to defend himself after getting decked.

it feels like he had let logan get too comfortable speaking on your name that it had escalated to feeling the need to throw the first punch. he was going to simply walk away if you asked him, but hearing logan talk about you like that to him knowing that he’s seeing you only made him wonder about the things he’d tell his ratty friends.

for the record and in logan’s defence, he never speaks ill of you. and if you were to ask oscar, his theory is that logan’s ego is simply too big for him to lay his weapons down and admit that he’s fallen in love with you.

logan’s never said it, but oscar knows. oscar’s not stupid.

mick felt like he had to throw a punch just to remind logan who he was talking about — the girl that he was once also changing his lifestyle for. the girl that’s been cruising about campus without a problem until logan had swooped in way before he could muster the courage to talk to the prettiest girl he thinks he’s ever seen.

“i’m sorry,” mick finally whispers. he drops his head slightly, trying to meet your gaze. when he does, he tilts his head at the way you furrow your eyebrows in confusion and tilt your head.

“what are you sorry for?” you turn his hand over once more and graze your fingertips over his knuckles. “we should really get you an ice pack. your hand must be hurting like crazy. come on, babe.”

you tug on his arm towards the house, but mick just stays in his spot. “hey, what’s wrong? talk to me, mick.”

“i’m sorry,” he repeats, shaking his head. he sucks in a deep breath, glancing over at logan across the backyard, still surrounded by his frat brothers to nurse his bleeding nose. “i don’t know what came over me. but he was talking about you and in the moment, i felt like i had to do something. you should have–”

the warmth of your hand against his cheek cuts him off mid-sentence, his breath slowly steadying when your eyes meet his again. “it’s okay. why are you apologising? the important thing is that you’re alright.”

“you’re not at all curious why i’m untouched while logan’s sat there with a bloody nose.”

you press your lips together and shake your head. “you don’t expect to always be so calm, do you? these things happen, mick.”

but mick shakes his head at your response. these things happen, yes, but not to him. he should have just walked away. the last thing he needs is for him to let his anger consume him, causing him to act irrationally.

he feels you squeeze his hand. “hey.” your tone is firm, his gaze softening when he meets your eyes. “it’s okay. let’s just get you back to my apartment, okay?”

he nods, feeling his chest feel less constricted at the way you pulled him towards the house. you smile at lily. “are you coming home tonight? or are you spending the night with oscar?”

oscar smiles at you. “i can drive you guys back. i didn’t drink at all tonight.” he pats mick’s shoulder and sighs. “sorry again for logan’s behaviour, mate. i really don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

“ah, it’s alright.” mick takes one last glance at logan across the lawn before he disappears into the house with you completely. “you should probably ask him if he’s okay, babe.”

“he’ll be okay. we have a house full of first-aid trained brothers,” oscar waves mick’s concerns away, nudging both of you towards the front door.

mick stands his ground though, not moving when oscar expects him to. you glance at lily, eyebrow raised and she shrugs in return. you look at mick again, “what is it?”

“i really think you should talk to him,” mick says softly. “clear the air or something. or at least just ask if he’s okay.”

“mick.”

“i’m serious.” his breathing is steady and he no longer sways side to side. the pain after throwing the punch had sobered him up more than he wished, now suddenly seeing the bigger picture.

he doesn’t actually know what had gone down between you and logan. all he knew was that you had left one of logan’s parties early one evening and he offered to drive you home. he got your number, and suddenly 3 weeks later, he scored himself a date with you.

you barely uttered logan’s name, or even explained what had happened. though, he really has to thank george for finding out if you’re single. he had george ask alex, who then asked logan when they ran into him in the gym before he decided to ask you out on a date.

but seeing the way logan was so bothered, it must not have ended as well as you tried to brush it off. and judging by the way he acted in the bowling alley a week ago, it doesn’t take a genius to know that logan misses you.

“just talk to him. it might do him some good,” mick whispers with a grin. “i’ll be on the couch waiting.”

“see, i don’t think this is a very smart decision,” oscar whispers, tapping his finger on his lips. “this is logan we’re talking about. you want her to talk to logan alone? you literally just met the guy.”

mick shrugs, eyes still boring into yours with a certain assurance in his stance. he knows what he’s asking you to do — if you suddenly change your mind and decide that logan is the one for you, then he will not stop you. after all, he cannot dictate what’s good for you or not.

though the thought of you running back scares him slightly. he had spent so long mustering the courage to ask you out, get you in his arms, only for logan to throw a fit over something he had failed to cherish when he had it.

but you nod, shocking oscar and lily. “are you sure about this?”

“i’ll just ask him if he’s okay,” you say firmly, lips pressed into a thin line as you flash mick a small grin. “i’ll see you at the couch, okay?”

mick nods, letting oscar and lily whisk him away. it doesn’t take long for you to find logan — this isn’t the first time logan’s gotten into a fight during one of their parties. the american being a hothead is more of a common occurrence than not. just as you expected, logan is in one of the bathrooms upstairs with frederik and liam by his side.

“oh.” liam slowly drops his hands, surprised to see that you knew where they’d resided after yanking a drunk logan away from the backyard. “do you want to–”

logan immediately sees you through the mirror, just as shocked to see that you’ve come to him.

“yeah, can i have a moment with him?” you say softly, shyly pointing at the boy sitting on the sink top. “i just wanna talk to him for a bit.”

“are you sure?” frederik asks, ignoring the way logan looks at him in shock, flabbergasted at the way that it seems most of his friends are against him at this very moment. “do you need me to stay? he’s had quite a bit to drink.”

“i’ll be okay,” you grin with a nod.

frederik shoots you one last stare, in which you pat his arm to reassure him. he whispers to you after liam walks out that he’ll be right outside if you need him. and that leaves you with logan, in the crammy and clean bathroom of the house.

you can hear the music from the party softly, groups of friends cheering at the beer pong table and laughter from those on the dance floor. your breathing consumes the room, but one question remains in logan’s head: what the hell are you doing here?

you take a step forward, grabbing the damp towel that liam had hung on the rack. you take the ice pack lying next to his body and take another step towards logan, pressing it against his nose.

“why are you here?” logan says softly, barely able to look at you as you try and nurse him. if you just asked him, he had been wondering if you were going to walk to him instead of mick when you first stepped out of the house. he had gotten used to that scene whenever he got into a fight.

it’s comforting to see you here next to him.

“are you okay?” you ask, pulling your head slightly to meet his eyes. “your head must be pounding after that.”

he shrugs. “a little. but it’s nothing i haven’t gone through before. i’ll be okay.”

you nod when his hand comes up to hold the ice pack in place, his fingers barely grazing yours. you take a step back and hold your hands behind your back, pressing your lips together in a thin line as you tried to find the words.

there should be more to say than just asking him if he’s alright after mick punched him in the face. you didn’t say another word to him after you left that night you overheard him speaking to someone on the phone — you had just disappeared and removed yourself from the narrative.

“this doesn’t mean anything. i just wanted to see if you’re okay,” you whisper, now looking down to avoid his gaze. you glance at him, opening his mouth to say something before you cut him off. “and i wanted to explain why i ghosted you.”

he closes his mouth, sitting up slightly straighter at your words. this, he is interested in hearing. because to him, he had played his cards right.

“i overheard you on the phone with somebody at my last party here.” you try not to think of what happened often. whenever you did, it fills you with a kind of rage that you don’t usually feel. it just makes you so mad when you think of the way you finally let yourself be with someone and you found out that he had double crossed you in some way. “you were seeing someone while you were with me?”

logan feels his heart drop. he can instantly remember what phone call you’re talking about. he had left his room after he hung up, about 30 seconds after you overheard him and abruptly ran off to go home, then went back down to liam saying that you had left early.

he didn’t know you were there.

“let me explain,” logan sighs, shaking his head. he hops off the sink and takes a step forward, but retracts when he sees you press yourself against the wall behind you. “just hear me out — we weren’t together at the time.”

“that’s unfair of you to say,” you say, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “you never asked me to be your girlfriend. you just strung me along for months without a label.”

“i was going to. please, believe me. i just had so much going on.”

“it’s not fair of you to use that as an excuse. do you take me for some idiot, logan?” you fold your arms over your chest and take a deep breath. “what did you do with her?”

logan stares at you. the guilt of what happened that night eats him up, even after you had decided to leave him for good. “it was at a party. one of the nights you didn’t attend because you had something early the next morning.”

“i didn’t ask you when it happened. i asked you what you did with her.”

“it was just a kiss,” logan mutters, shaking his head. “it was just a kiss. it didn’t mean anything. i was so drunk. i don’t know.”

he holds his hands out, hopeful to hold you as he tried to explain himself. you hold your hands up to stop him in his tracks, jaw clenched. you blink, “why? logan, i tried to fit your lifestyle. you asked me out first — why would you do that to me?”

he slumps his shoulders. “i don’t know.”

“that’s not a good enough answer,” you take another breath, “say something besides that.”

“i don’t know,” he shakes his head. “you were never meant to find out. it was a mistake.”

“not good enough.”

logan takes a breath. “i’m sorry.”

and if he had said this earlier, maybe you would have given him another chance. “i don’t care if you’re sorry.”

he contemplates, but he says it anyway: “i love you.”

“you don’t get to say that to me!” your response is instinctive as you jump back, hand on your chest. that’s at least one thing you never expected logan to say to you. maybe you did, months ago, but just not now. not ever. “it won’t change anything.”

“i know. i’m sorry.”

“is that all you have to say for yourself? i– i liked you so much. i can’t believe this is where we are now.” there was a time that you saw logan in your future. it had looked hopeful the longer you stayed with him. you sigh and throw your arms up in the air. “i’m sorry — i need to go. i can’t even look at you right now.”

he nods, leaning back on the sink again. you spare him one more glance and he just shrugs, giving you a small and reassuring smile. a smile that told you that he knew that he did this to your relationship. “please take care.”

you were suffocated by the short conversation you had. you grin at frederik, keeping his word as he lingered outside the bathroom door, as you run over to the stairs. you grip at the railings as you walk down and catch a glimpse of mick on the couch, shaking his leg as he bit on his nail.

you don’t blame him for being a little thrown off when you let yourself be alone with logan.

you appear behind him and he feels his airways clear up at the sight of you. he takes a refreshing breath when you poke his cheek and smile at him warmly. “let’s go, babe?”

@cashtons-wife @darleneslane @namgification @happy-nico @nikfigueiredo @vroomvroomcircuit @localwhoore @foreveralbon @what-is-happening @angsthology @urfavenoirette @alliesreblogs @fxrmuladaydreams @cxcewg @adore-u-ls

[amateurasterism]

what it means to believe.

synopsis ; itoshi sae doesn’t believe you and him could exist. but the universe is against him and helps him realize that maybe it can.

pairing ; itoshi sae + fem!reader

notes ; dramatic!sae, possible ooc!sae, a LOT of pining, angst?? idk, fluff, cute lil brother rin, strangers to friends to strangers to friends to lovers, fake dating. first bllk fic yuhh

word count ; 4.2k

SIXTEEN.

itoshi sae wants you. but he knows all too well that even though you’d make him a good person, he makes you a bad person. he’s not good enough for you.

which is why you believe itoshi hates you.

every day he enters your classroom, those pretty teal eyes not sparing even a flicker towards you, despite the fact you sat next to him.

that is exactly sae’s problem—he’s hanging on the edge of a cliff, sitting here next to you. he’s holding on to his final pieces of dignity just trying not to turn around and look at your pretty face.

as much as it twists his blocked off heart, he settles with your fallen lips and downturned eyes because he’d rather you hate him than let himself fall into your innocent smile. he wouldn’t fill you with that false hope, because in the end he’d ruin you.

you didn’t deserve someone who would prioritize a sport over relationships. soccer meant too much to him.

SEVENTEEN.

he told himself he wouldn’t get attached, but deep down he knew somehow, because fate had its ways, he would. he always knew at some point, he would fall from that ledge he’d been hanging on since he was sixteen.

turns out, he was falling today.

ring! ring!

“rin! go open the door, that’s your new babysitter,” mrs. itoshi calls from the living room. she turns to her older son, “can you go with him, sae?”

internally groaning, sae gets up and follows his green-haired brother to the gigantic front door of their luxurious house. to his surprise, rin was already there, chatting cheerfully with his new babysitter. odd—rin wasn’t usually chatty with his caretakers.

“i know you!” rin jumps, pointing to the babysitter’s face. sae wonders who it must be for rin to recognize you so excitedly. 

“oh really? where from?” the voice is sweet, sounding too much like something sae knew all too well—

“my brother’s phone! he says you’re the prettiest girl—”

before rin can finish, sae appears in the doorway, hand over his brother’s mouth and ears blending into his pink hair. you stare at the sight, eyes wide in bewilderment.

“stop lying,” sae says firmly. “i never said that.”

rin whacks sae’s hand off. “you did, though.”  

“i’ll play soccer with you later if you don’t talk about it.”

you watch, amazed, as rin looks up at his brother in utmost adoration and disbelief, “promise?”

sae nods, and rin runs away with the biggest smile you’d ever seen.

now, it was just you and sae. you and the guy you were convinced hated you. sae and the girl who soccer stood in the way of. in another universe, one where sae didn’t love soccer as much as he did, he thinks you could be standing here as part of the itoshi family, rather than just “rin’s new babysitter.”

but it seemed like this universe was against sae, because he just about died inside when you smirked at him, voice full of mocking as you say, “so, the prettiest, hm?”

his hand let go of the cliff in that moment, and he knew he was screwed.

EIGHTEEN.

you’ve been rin’s longest-standing babysitter thus far, lasting a year now. but you’re not sure if it’s because you’re a special babysitter, or because you happen to be attracted to rin’s older brother.

you were seventeen when you were sure itoshi sae hated you.

but now you’re eighteen and believe something exists between you.

you’d be stupid not to. stupid not to notice the way he greeted you at the front door every time you came over, his teal eyes flitting to you whenever he came home to the sight of you and rin playing soccer in the backyard, your favorite snacks you only told him about always fully stocked in their pantry. and especially stupid to not notice the smiles he let escape his lips whenever you made an effort to talk to him before you left. it made you feel special knowing you were the only person at school who knew that smile.

but then you realize; maybe you were stupid. because somehow, without knowing, you managed to fumble and a week after sae’s eighteenth birthday, he disappeared.

sae could tell you thought you were stupid. he knew from the fallen smile every time you watched him head straight to his room and hide when he came home, acting like you weren’t there. slowly returning to the ignorance you thought you’d escaped when you were seventeen.

he wishes he could tell you that in truth, he was the stupid one. stupid for allowing those heart-turning moments to happen. he hates himself for being so stupid.

because he knew you and him—“us”—couldn’t exist. together wasn’t fate. he hates himself for not having enough self-restraint to stop talking to you, giving you that hopeful shine in your eyes, when he knew this would happen the whole time.

“this” being soccer. fuck. it was always soccer for him.

which is why it didn’t take him a second thought to accept the letter in his hands inviting him to play for the royales in spain. the flight was already two months from now.

so sae used every ounce of self-restraint his body owned, and left you alone for two months. still, he couldn’t help himself from watching through his bedroom window as you and rin played soccer, wishing that proud look in your eyes every time rin scored a perfect goal would be coming with him to cheer him on in the frontlines in spain instead.

two months later, a week after landing in spain, you still haven’t left sae’s mind. he knew he distanced from you in his last months in japan, trying to nonverbally tell you that together wouldn’t happen for you two; yet you wouldn’t listen. of course you didn’t. hopeful, cheerful you wouldn’t let go of him that easily.

so he allows himself this once to look at the message you sent him, asking to talk, at a photo he took of you that week before he ceased to be in your life. as he leaves the messages on sent, watching the date under your last text get further in the past, he realizes that now you’re really gone. he misses those scraps of together you had.

hah. he could almost laugh at how cruel the world was for giving you both a taste of what could’ve been.

TWENTY-ONE.

at twenty-one, itoshi sae has become one of the world’s best midfielders. and with that, of course came delusional and obsessive fans. 

he hadn’t properly dated anyone since he’d moved abroad—didn’t care enough for more than an occasional one-night stand. soccer took up his time anyways.

but part of him wonders that maybe, in those small moments with you so long ago when you were seventeen, part of him allowed himself to save himself for you. not that he would ever admit it. 

nonetheless, his media manager wouldn’t allow him to say he didn’t care, so he begrudgingly agreed to respond with “it’s none of your business who i’m dating.” when the painfully annoying interviewers bombard him with personal questions after every game. 

unfortunately, his media manager was getting tired. “you need to spark some rumors to the public, sae. the fans will get bored.”

“rumors about my love life have nothing to do with soccer. if all the fans want are updates on my love life, then they shouldn’t be fangirling over a soccer player.”

“you have the business party tomorrow night. how about i sign you up with someone to bring? you don’t need to talk or anything. just stay with her for the night. it will at least help your image with the soccer companies.”

sae didn’t have the energy for arguing. “i’ll do it as long as i get to choose who i’m bringing.” his manager lit up at the agreement. 

later, sae realizes as he knocks on his apartment neighbor’s door in search of a fake date, that this is the stupidest thing he could be doing. he could only hope his neighbor wasn’t some old man and he wasn’t about to get in more trouble than he signed up for.

luckily, it wasn’t. in fact, it was you.

sae swears he nearly faints. you watch, jaw unhinged in pure disbelief as his teal eyes blink twice before returning to their original stoic expression. three years older than you were when he left, he notices you’ve matured, somehow prettier. he didn’t know that was possible.

“sae?” you squeak. god, he missed that so much. missed the way his name rolled of your tongue and how you’d have to look up him with that hopeful expression of yours every time you said it. 

“y/n.” he had practiced how to ask on his way home, but didn’t expect to be saying it to you standing in the apartment complex hallway wearing shorts and an oversized t-shirt. all the words disintegrate on his tongue. “i need a fake date for a business party tomorrow.” he wants so slap himself for sounding so dumb. what happened to “hi! how are you?”

it takes a while for you to register his words. you’re a bit shocked, not only that sae was here, in front of you, after three years, but also because all the interviews led you to believe he had a girlfriend. you wouldn’t be lying if you said you weren’t glad at the fact he was single. “oh! i would, but i just moved in yesterday…i don’t have anything nice to wear.”

he watches your smile falter the slightest bit, feeding his sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, you wanted to go with him. he’s so selfish for this, letting you back into his life and feeding your hope again, even knowing he wasn’t right for you. “wait.”

he reaches into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet and shuffling through to find two 100 dollar bills, handing them to you. “here. buy yourself something nice. i’ll pick you up here at 6:30 PM tomorrow.”

“are you sure?” you hand back one of the bills. “i don’t need that much.”

“no. i’m sure.” he gulps. does he sound desperate? “treat yourself to something nice.”

“we’ll, if you insist. thank you, sae! i’ll see you tomorrow. it was nice seeing you after so long,” you smile up at him, and sae has to fight back his own.

“yeah. thank you.”

you shut the door. for a moment sae stands in the empty hallway, staring at your door.

the universe really was against him, leading you back to him after he detached himself so long ago.

after a restless night of thinking about a certain someone and a morning practice in which his teammates picked at him for being out of the game for some reason, it was finally time for the dinner party. he knocks on your door, and when you open it, his mind goes blank at the sight of you. he thinks he’s going insane.

how could he not, when you’re standing there looking like that. he’s glad he let you treat yourself, because you choose a dress in a color that complimented your skintone and hugged the shape of your body perfectly. he doesn’t know how it’s possible, but the makeup you put on made you look even prettier, even under the dull apartment hallway lighting.

he still isn’t over how breathtaking you are three hours into the party. true to fake dating fashion, you and sae stay next to each other the entire night, occasionally drifting into separate conversations. you find that many people are quite interested in you and sae’s “relationship” since he’d been so secretive of it. thankfully, on the car ride to the party you and sae had figured out your fake backstory. although it wasn’t so fake, considering you told them you were childhood best friends and happened to reunite due to both of you going abroad for soccer and college.

being with you the entire night filled the void in sae’s heart that had settled when he left you in japan. being around you reminded him that happiness is a thing that just, exists. he thought soccer was enough to make him feel whole, but you brought in so many emotions he couldn’t feel with anything or anyone else.

so later that night, when you’re too drunk to be alone, sae lets you lean against him on the way to your apartment, lets you pull him into the couch with him and wrap his arms around you because it felt right. when he feels you fall asleep in his arms, he knows he’s doomed for anyone else’s embrace. no one can compare to you.

TWENTY-TWO.

“do you really want to do this?” sae whispers into your ear.

“shut up and kiss me, everyone’s staring.”

you lean in, hand tugging on the black tie of the suit he was wearing to tonight’s party. you’ve been fake dating for a year now, so the kiss to seal everyone’s belief was inevitable. it was right here, your eyes starting to flutter as you both lean in, breath hot and tense against each other—

“stop.” sae pulls away at the last second, leaving you in front of the party as he shamefully walks out the venue.

he can’t do this. he can’t kiss you like this. it’s not like he doesn’t want to—in fact, it’s all he’s ever wanted since he was sixteen. but he doesn’t want the first kiss with you to be for a crowd. he wants it to be out of love. a foolish part of him in that moment five seconds ago thought maybe there was something like love about to be shared in that kiss, but the sensible part of him wasn’t so sure. how can he believe its love if he doesn’t even know its real? how can he believe all those smiles across the room and moments drunk after a party in your living room weren’t for the facade?

“itoshi sae!” he’s outside, on the stairs of the grand venue at midnight when he feels your wrist grab his. he can feel about a hundred emotions in the tightness of your grip.

“what the hell was that?!” you’re fighting back waterworks. “itoshi sae! look at me for fucks sake!”

slowly, he turns around to face you. those teal eyes you loved so much take a moment to lock onto your teary ones, hesitant as he knows he’ll crumble at the responsibility of those tears. yet, his face is still stoic as he listens to you talk.

“are you dumb?!” yeah, he thinks.

“you can’t lead me to believe there was something between us, the same way you did when we were seventeen, and then let it all come crashing down by running away the moment you have to make it look real by kissing me! you confuse me, itoshi sae. i don’t care abut this fucking fake relationship anymore! i don’t care that everyone knows we were pretending to date! goddammit, sae, i just need you to talk to me! tell me what’s real, because i can’t keep doing this if its leading me down to unknown—”

oh.

oh.

suddenly all the words you had spat on him dissolved in the air, replaced by the enamor of his lips landing on yours.

your eyes shut, letting yourself fall into this one kiss that held the feelings of it all—every single happening between you since you met in that classroom when you were sixteen. it’s an initially reluctant kiss; sae’s lips are slow and tentative against yours, almost like he’s scared he’s touching a piece of artwork on display, like if he moves even slightly wrong he’ll mess it all up. but then it all feels right, and your lips are against each other like that was how they were sculpted to be.

later that night, sae decides that together could exist. and with the words “can you be my girlfriend?” he made it real. maybe the universe wasn’t against him after all.

TWENTY-THREE.

a year after you start dating, sae has said i love you in every way but “i love you.”

you’re his happiness. you’re everything he didn’t know he could have when it was just him and soccer. you complete itoshi sae. and he makes sure you know that.

he says it in his expression whenever teammates or business partners will tell him “i’ve never seen you so happy before” when he walks into the room after kissing you goodbye, trying to stifle a giddy grin and keep up the stoic itoshi sae they all know.

“you’re sunshine as a person. i hope you know that.” is what he said a month after it was official, five seconds before the photo you forced him to take with you at the beach was taken, which is now the photo on his lockscreen that captures the lovesick look that never ceased even after a year.

he says it in every kiss you share before every game, the discreet grins he gives you after he scores that he hides from cameras because he wants to save you from the public.

“you’re the prettiest girl i’ve ever laid my eyes on.” as quiet whispers against your ear when you put on a dress he bought for you for the business parties or fancy dinner dates that long ceased to be fake.

he says it whenever you get mad at him, and he knows he’s wrong, but hates being scolded by you so he pinches your cheeks with his thumb and index finger to shut you up, loving your flustered expression whenever he does it.

“i’ll never get tired of you.” whenever you feel like you’re not enough for the world-famous midfielder that so many girls would die for.

he says it in the way he falls into your body, arms and legs wrapping around any part of your body he can reach and shutting his eyes, not saying a word as you tease him for being so spent after his tough workout routines.

“no.” whenever you ask for him to do something because you’re absolutely beat and too tired from work to be bothered to do late-night house chores, but you can already hear his feet tapping against the floors as he gets up to do it for you.

he says it in the cocky look he gives to the camera, the public being able to see it but the look in his eyes only being reserved for you, whenever the interviewers ask “who’s the lucky girl?” and he responds with “none of the media’s business.” his manager always gets mad for coming off as rude, but sae doesn’t care if it means protecting you from crazy fangirls.

“doesn’t mean i don’t want to spend every second of my day with you.” when you insist on staying out of his way on his busier days but he wants you by his side when he has small breaks.

he says it in his expression whenever you make him do something he says is “dumb,” but because you’re doing it with him you can tell just from his pink ears and bright teal eyes that he loves it.

needless to say, when you’re stood at the itoshi mansion’s front door, grocery bag in hand as you just came back from a quick run during you and sae’s week-long visit to japan, you’re all but shocked when your boyfriend opens the door and says “i love you.”

you aren’t sure what triggers him to say it at such a random time. maybe it’s because this place that you stood at six years ago when you were seventeen, exchanging words for the first time, made sae think about just how lucky he was to have you in this life. there was no more thinking about universes where “us” existed, because this it. but either way, it feels right.

“i love you too, sae.”

TWENTY-FOUR

the words “i love you” still give you and sae the same giddy feeling a year later.

“i love you,” sae slurs, voice still deep from morning fatigue. he traces figures of your names, soccer balls, his number “10” on your back with his finger, his other arm holding you secure as you lay on top of him. you look pretty like this, he thinks, bathed in the morning sunlight that filters through his bedroom window and eyes still slightly puffy from just waking up.

“again,” you smile into his chest, urging him on.

“i love you.”

“again.”

“i love you.”

“running out of oxygen here, love.”

you laugh at that, but insist anyways. “again.”

“no.”

“wow, sae. i guss you don’t love me anymore. how fake of you.”

your boyfriend sighs at your antics, “i loved you when you first got sat next to me when we were sixteen and in highschool, and i’ll love you forever.” 

you give him a kiss, muttering the words back. 

“speaking of,” you start, “i thought you hated me in highschool.”

“no. but i hate you now for bringing it up.”

you slap him on his arm. a moment of silence.

“i was just scared. you were too good for me, and i knew i wouldn’t be enough because i prioritized soccer more than anything. i didn’t think we could be together until you became my neighbor. then i thought that maybe we could.” he hides his face in your hair to hide his flush.

that rises a teasing grin out of you, giving him a quick peck on the lips, “i didn’t know mr. grumpy had it in him to be so romantic! what starcrossed love.”

“shut up, y/n.”

the bedroom is filled with quiet laughter. as it falls, his mind thinks back to the letter hidden in his closet, inviting him to play for japan’s national team with the newly rebuilt team that came out of the blue lock project. he was willing to sign up, as he had seen firsthand a couple years ago how powerful japan’s team was with their new striker. but it required him to move back to japan.

“y/n.”

“yeah?”

he’s scared. even though you had just been joking about it, he was still scared this would be the moment where his soccer career ruins it all for you. what if you weren’t willing to move back to japan with him?

“i’ve been invited to play for japan’s national team.”

he lets the words sit in the air, lets you process it. he gets nervous as each second comes by without response, then it finally comes.

“okay. if this means going back to japan, i don’t mind. i’ll go wherever you go, sae.”

“are you sure?”

“i mean it when i say this is the place i want to be. anywhere with you.”

god, he didn’t think he could love you any more. he presses a kiss to your lips.

once, when he was sixteen, itoshi sae firmly believed that soccer would get in the way of you and him.

now, he is twenty-four and laughs at his past self for thinking that. you were his, and nothing would ever get in the way of that.

TWENTY-FIVE

you and sae moved to japan a month ago, in your shared apartment. you would be lying if you said you didn’t like it here more. you especially like being able to be close to the itoshi family, specifically rin. you often spent time with the younger itoshi when sae was busy.

today, though, was sae’s turn to visit his family. he had something important to talk to them about.

rin greets him at the front door, telling sae that their parents wouldn’t be home until an hour from now. the pink-haired was too lazy to make the trip and back, so the brothers settled on playing soccer in the back while waiting. sure enough, after half an hour they found themselves sweaty and panting on the grass. it’s quiet until rin lets out words he’d been holding.

the green-haired turns, looks at his brother. “y/n’s good for you.”

although a bit taken aback, sae remains cool. he almost chuckled. “i would hope so. i’ve been dating her for three years.”

“you should marry her.”

to rin’s surprise, sae snickers, hand discreetly moving towards his pants pocket. “i know. already got the ring.”

one reblog = one fake date

[avariantflaire]

i called saiteru 'unconventional' but that doesn't even begin to describe them. like. saiki is ace (textual evidence: guy literally made it impossible for marilyn monroes to happen) or at least on that spectrum. teruhashi? as the prettiest girl?? who can charm anyone out of their knickers (pardon my language) if she wanted to??? the act would lose all meaning. no way physical intimacy is her love language.

teruhashi's love language is "does he see me for who i truly am" coded but subverted in an empowered "i know exactly who i am and i've proved it effortlessly thus far but saiki is the greatest challenge i've ever encountered and he might actually be trumping my worldviews". it's the 'i want a guy whose net worth is five million yen' BUT 'i like saiki' and that's more important than everything else. i don't think he ever actually changes her mind about things. but he DOES become one of her most important people, and that implies a compromise. a change in the approach, not necessarily in the attitude.

you see this with saiki as well. he never really shakes off the 'romance is a no go' attitude, but his approach to teruhashi definitely DOES change. it's still 'trying to get involved with me is a waste of time', which never really changes, except that now 'i can't give her to any of you' becomes the priority, the way he deals with her.

saiteru is unconventional in that the characters themselves never, at their core, really change; it's not an "i can fix them/heal them/change them" story, it's a "there's someone just as important to me, if not more important to me, than what i think/say/do."

it's the way they push each other's comfort zones, break/exceed each other's expectations, and in the process not only solidify who they they are, but also crack the valuation of these identities just enough for development to happen. saiteru is the process, not the ending. i daresay all the best relationships are.

[neet-elite]

↳ EVENT 29. Sebastian (Date Night & Dry Humping)

Pairing: Sebastian / F!Reader Genre: Smut 18+ WC: 2,789 Warnings: dry humping, alcohol, exhibitionism, in public, established relationship, cum in pants, brief biting Prompt(s): 03 — date night + 09 — dry humping Event Masterlist: CLICK HERE!!

A/N: smth soft n sweet to contrast with how DEGENERATE we've been recently lmao... relatively... thank u for sending this in n fr participating in the event!! mwah!!

It's the little things in life, isn't it? The drink in hand, already feeling a light buzz fill his system as he takes another sip, smiling away to himself at some joke Sam cracked— he couldn't fully hear him over the loud jukebox blasting the small saloon, but his best friend smiled all wide and toothy at him, so he thought it only courteous to smile back. And Abi, thankfully picking up his slack, regaining Sam's attention with her toying tone; a challenge, an opportunity for Sam to try and prove himself not totally useless at pool, but to Sebastian, the offer is one of relaxation. Sliding deeper into the couch to watch his friends playfully bicker, manspreading for comfort before craning his neck a little to watch you saunter back from the bar, new drink in hand.

Date nights are the best, not in the least because he gets to fawn over you extra hard. Laying it on thick with a playful wolf-whistle as you strut, not that he thinks you can hear him, it's just fun getting to show you off in public like this. Proud of you, happy to be by your side. It's the thought that counts anyway, and man, does he think you're gorgeous tonight— as always!

Prettiest picture he ever did see, gawking at you from afar like some sort of secret admirer, an even wider grin gracing his lips when you even offer him a cheeky wink in return. God, his chest feels tight with the sheer amount of love he holds for you, feeling so incredibly lucky to even have you walk his way, let alone to be spending date night with you and his friends. And the way your dressed, fuck, he almost wants to gnaw on his closed fist in overt appreciation of you, if only he was alone.

And as much fun as it is eyeing you up from across the room, practically fucking you without needing the act itself, he's much happier when you immediately settle back on his lap upon reaching him, where you belong, really. Can't help but to think to himself again: it's the little things. Like the way your back leans against his chest for support, of which he so eagerly and readily provides, helping you nestle comfortably in his lap as you absently watch the scene of Abi and Sam bickering like he just was. Or the way his arm instinctively wraps around your waist, promising to keep you steady and only a little selfish in his attempts to be closer to you, content enough just to hold you against him as a way to communicate: I love you. Squeezing at your tummy just a smidge, leaving you wriggling in his hold for him to beam at. Small things, like how he doesn't need to verbally confirm I love you to let you know as such, and to feel you reciprocate it in kind instinctively. He loves you a whole lot, y'know? And it's nice, he thinks, to simply exists with you by his side. Enjoying his date night thus far with another sip of his drink, idly watching the night go by with peaceful intent until—

"The fuck are you doing?" He whispers, tone light-hearted despite the harshness of his words. Briefly choking on his drink only to clatter it back on the side table. With you around, he knows better than to multitask. You're quite the handful, though he'd never want it any other way.

"What do you mean?" You respond simple. Coyly, avoiding his piercing gaze that he knows you can feeling burning into the back of you as a side smirk tugs on his lips. And for some reason, he can't avoid falling further into you. Shaking you a little in his grasp as if scolding a child, butterflies pooling in his tummy at the way you giggle so cutely back at him.

"You know what I mean." He retorts, letting out a shaky sigh when he feels you shift around again. The same feeling that prompted him into swallowing his drink wrong in the first place, wiggling on his lap in a manner that could be confused as innocent, but he knows you better than that by now. "Really? Here?" He gasps, and yet still he allows you to torment him. Because he's in love. Because he doesn't really want you to stop, not in the slightest.

A tense back and forth ensues, a moment of silence shared amongst lovers. The charge in the air gets him all excited, biting down on his tongue to silence the filth the threatens to spill at his understanding of the situation. "Mhm." Is all you offer him, but he can practically hear the selfish enjoyment dripping from your lips. And it's so hot, so fucking sexy knowing that you're enjoying yourself atop his lap, sitting squarely on his cock, even at his expense. Except, he's not really losing out on anything, is he? Savouring the lewd show you've so kindly provided him with subtle shakes of your ass and hidden grinds down against his cock that he assumes one would take for mere repositioning. It's attractive being under you, he immediately decides. At your whim and mercy as you place a new spin on the usual date night, and he's all too eager to explore where the night plans to take him.

So long as it includes you, and the way you continue to faintly writhe against him, ah... Makes his cock all twitchy under you in spite of the public setting. Tummy flipping with the understanding that it's wrong to be enjoying himself so obscenely like this— his friends are right fucking there for fucks sake. But you make it difficult to decline when swivelling your hips like that, blindly stumbling after you like a little lost dog.

It's not that he's opposed to playing with you in public, he's just unsure as to whether everyone else wants to watch him ruin you tonight. Like, they should, he thinks. Prettiest girl in the world right before them, they fucking should want to witness your downfall. But it's not exactly the most socially acceptable act, and the fact that you know that and yet disregard the well established rule is intoxicating. Convinces him to give you exactly what you're wanting, an addictive power struggle play, right? Who'll break first, do you think? Leaning further back on the couch to reward your efforts with a hidden hump of his own, hiding behind the action of sorting his tight jeans out when really— he just wants to let you feel the outline of his bulge. Wants to let you know that he's allowing you the privilege of riling him up, a brief groan escaping him— predatory and playful all at once. A warning as much as it's an approval too, the arm he has loosely wrapped around your waist now tighter with resolve. Using your midriff as leverage to lean forward to whisper low enough for only you to hear; "Go on, then. Continue doing 'nothing' like a good girl."

And he knows what those two words do to you, a self serving smirk plastered on his face at the way your body suddenly tenses in his hold, how you so sweetly pause for a second or two. As much as you turn him on more than no other, the joys of being your long term partner allow him to arouse you in kind. Dragging his nails feather light against your slightly exposed tummy, his throat drying the second he hears you squeak in response, oh— What he wouldn't give to lock lips with you right now. Eyeing up Sam with a placating smile as he imagines tilting your chin up towards him, giving you the slowest, wettest kiss of your life. Swapping spit, drooling down your open maw with loving intent, sucking on your tongue to selfishly swallow you whole.

But he can't. Because you're circling your hips so well in his lap, leaving his lungs burning with how difficult it becomes to simply inhale and exhale behind you, too focused on grinding back on you pretending he's buried deep in your cunt like how he wants for more than anything, the frustration that settles thick in his lungs only turning him on more, it seems. Pushing his swelling erection between your plush thighs, the rough fabric of his jeans doing wonders on his red hot tip, soaking up all the oozing precum your miniscule movements coax out of him. That, and he's also in public, his friends still in the middle of their semi-serious game, and he can only hope for their fighting spirits to ignite to the point of a rematch eventually. Because you're making him feel so good, God, every little circle of your hips around his tip causing his nails to dig into you deeper, precum just drooling for you to stain his jeans darker. And want it so badly as he may, he really can't get any closer to you than he currently is. Legs wide open to allow him greater thrusting purchase, settling into an agonizingly lazy up and down against your clothed cunt, the fat of your ass stroking his length into submission as he's left a panting mess behind you.

Not that he's helping himself, mind you. Addicted to the weight of you between his legs, leaning his head against your nape with heavy sighs and muffled moans. It's a sure sign of his degeneracy, a tell tale quiver in his grip of your waist, placing both hot hands at either side of you to help guide your movement, but he can't find it within himself to care all too much. Busy swirling his squished cock against you— any part, really. Body burning under you as he heaves against your neck, a devilish laugh creeping up his throat at the way you shiver in his hold.

"Seb? You good man?

Huh? Oh, right. It takes a second for him to remember what Sam's voice sounds like, too engrossed in how smoothly you glide up and down his fat cock, rubbing himself off against your body with greedy intent causing him to nuzzle into you briefly as a means to steel himself enough to reply.

"Yeah," He lifts his head up off of you, immediately wondering what you must look like right now, too. Facing his shared friends, the thought alone of your pretty face all contorted and flushed causing his cock to throb against you. Causes his words to grow caught for a second, swallowing the moan he wants to let out in favour of reassuring his friend. "S'all good, just a bit dizzy."

"Right." Sam sends him an appeasing grin, and though Sebastian tries to mimic it to the best of his ability, he inevitably falls short when you 'settle' again, rubbing your wet little cunt all over his sticky cock, fucking the outline as slyly as possible just to fuck with him. And it fucking works, prompting him to hide his bitten lip between your shoulder blades once more as his grip tightens in affection on your hips.

"Maybe order water next?" He hears Abigail chirp, but he's unable to respond in a timely manner. Preferring to mumble praise against your back, mostly mixed with low moans meant only for you.

The too tight denim hugging his cock snugly has him huffing against you too, makes him inattentive of his friends accidentally, eyes rolling to the back of his head as a daze settles over him. He's such a mess behind you, and so easily too, isn't that humiliating? So sick with love that he can't imagine stopping for even a second. Mouth hanging open behind you, desperation written all over him with the way he tugs and grabs at you like a fucking virgin.

"Fuck, that's it, keep goin'." He whispers out for you, gaze barely above your shoulder as he practically manhandles you into position. Forcing you to grind on him now, all in an effort to have you struggling to contain your moans as much as he is. Whimpering against the shell of your ear out of direct need, "So pretty on top, c'mon, make me feel good, 'm so close already."

And he is, honestly, so close to cumming it's fucking embarrassing. Leaning into you with every tedious hump upwards, gasping for air with every drag of your perfect ass down his fat cock. Do you feel it? Feel how hard he pulses for you, cock twitching harshly against his tight confines in an effort to feel every curve and contour of your little angel cunt like his life depended on it. But it's just what you do to him, any semblance of touch from you and he's ready to go, pushing his luck by peering over your shoulder only to witness his friends jokingly arguing with their backs turned. God knows about what, fuck, but it doesn't fucking matter right now—

It's the perfect opportunity to really jerk his hips against you, applying extra pressure to your lap to squeeze you as close to his cock as possible, rutting against you on his tip toes like a fucking perv. And he can scarcely keep up with himself, the alcohol coursing through him convincing him to continue, keep taking it a step further, see how far liquid courage can take him when faced with your puffy little slit jerking him off so well it's fucking unfair. He isn't even directly touching it, that's how whipped he is for you and your cunt.

And he's just a man, really. A simple, horny, in love man, giving in the moment his cock twitches with need, balls tight and taut under you with every muted moan you let out behind your makeshift hand gag. What more does his cock want? Simple, really, one hand lifting to grope demandingly at your tit, squeezing and tugging on it as his hips relentlessly fuck up against your clothed cunt, sliding so easily between your ass cheeks as he uses your body to get off to— serves you right, he muses to himself. Listening to how pretty you sound when making him feel all better, how you had intended on teasing him tonight, but how you fold oh so quickly within his very own two fervent palms. Messing up your cute little outfit for selfish gains; he doesn't want it, he needs to make a mess of you in front of everyone like this. Pure, unadulterated greed tainting his cruel touch, eager to make tonight's date one to remember. So hard under you that it almost hurts not to cum, full body shivering with every dirty hump his body automatically rolls into you; he's not fully in control right now, despite appearances. And is that even hotter? How you barely have to do anything at all to turn him so dumb—

"I'm— Ah, fuck— Gonna—"

Biting down on your shoulder, helping you muffle a pained wail with his hand over your own sealing your mouth shut, he sputters against you. Sticky white painting his jeans tacky, hips stuttering against your pretty body with little rhyme or reason, seeking only the static pleasure taking hold of him for a second or two before he remembers his surroundings, and he has to milk himself in a more contained manner against you.

But fuck if he doesn't feel so good still, helping you calm on his lap enough to ride out the remainder of his orgasm, tongue poking out to wet at his lips in concentration, "Shit, babe—" He half laughs behind you, still a little breathless from the overwhelming good feeling washing over him, but nonetheless would like to praise you for your efforts. Stopped himself just in time for Sam and Abi to assumedly settle their differences enough to continue playing, his arms once again returning to your waist to pull you into a tight hug.

Chin now resting against your shoulder, he doesn't miss the way your breathing remains staggered. How you whine and whimper just a little, so cutely too, makes him wanna do mean things to you. Things you deserve for that little stunt.

"Wait till we're home, then I'll think about helpin' you out." He huffs, adoration lacing his words as he takes a deep inhale, hoping to stabilise himself. Though, the cum dripping from his pants makes it a little difficult to relax, causing him to grimace at the feeling, shifting his weight around to try and escape the slimey mess you so easily coax outta him.

"Until then, you can sit here. 'S what y'wanted to do anyway, right?"

[darkdevasofdestruction]

Moon’s Queen ~ Ramsay Bolton x Tyrell!Reader ***

This is lowkey N.S.F.W., but not only. 

Basically, the reader goes up North for the first time, takes a liking to a certain Bastard and he shows her the beauty of the Snow Land, only for Myranda to butt her nose and try to kill poor reader... Who only gets the most royal treatment from the bastard~

---

“Is there really any place better than the ethereal gardens of our capital?” Y/N asked, twirling barefoot on the green grass, as she bathed in the warm caress giveth by the Sun. “I agree, My Lady. The beauty of the Reach is known all over Westeros, and even far beyond the borders.” Y/N’s maid smiled, looking at the joyful maiden. “Leana, come over, come over - Have you heard that rumours? They say some lords from the North are going to arrive soon. I wonder the purpose for their long journey. Surely, if it were not important, a Lord would not be making such a tedious trip.” Y/N turned abruptly towards her maid and grabbed her hands gingerly, yet her smirk was mischievous, like that of a playful vixen. “My Lady, please, for the love that you bore me and your Lady mother, behave as a lady should. Such wicked curiosity is unbecoming of someone of your status. Not to mention, you are not even betrothed yet, grace of your Lord Father’s love for you and your... Adventurous side, let us name it that way, as to avoid words unspeakable for a lady --” though the maid continued reproaching her, Y/N already was far away, as she had seen the retinue making their way towards the castle.

Keeping her distance from the main road, Y/N ran along, inspecting the banners - Of course, as the eldest daughter of the Tyrell Lord, she was well educated. She just didn’t bother acting the part. Thus, she easily spotted the main banners of the Stark and Bolton family, along with some of their vassals and other lesser... Far less important lords that were hardly worth caring for.

She at least could realise why her father wanted to keep this as a surprise - He always loved surprising her with the newest things out there, even if that meant some new lordlings visiting with sons and daughters her age so that she would make new friends, should they be willing to.

Unable to contain her excitement any further, the young lady of barely eight and ten years of age bursted through the front doors of the Castle and ran all the way to the throne room, where she saw her father greeting Lord Stark and Lord Bolton, while their children and the lesser lords were one step, or even two,  behind. Y/N grinned widely as she skipped to her lord father’s side, hugging his side and wearing the most charming and innocent expression a daughter could make to melt her father’s old heart, as she kissed his cheek.

“Sweet father, what a pleasant surprise! To think that we would be guesting visitors from so far away! How very exciting!” then, she turned to the two older men and did a pretty curtesy, despite not wearing any shoes and wearing a light, simple dress. “You must be Lord Stark and Lord Bolton - It is a pleasure meeting you and your envoy.” Eddard Stark was the first to step forward and kiss her hand, with the other one following right behind. Her father guffawed mirthfully and put his hand on her back, while with the other, he pointed to the children of those lords. “Y/N, darling, why don’t you entertain the young guests? They must be tired after such a tiresome journey. Show them to their room and then guide them down for the feast, will you?” with a pat on her head, the girl nodded with a bright smile and skipped towards the other ones, some her age, while some, much younger than her. “If you would be so kind as to follow me - Ah, of course, where are my manners, do excuse me. My name is Y/N Tyrell and I am the eldest daughter of my Lord Father, Mace Tyrell, and my Lady Mother, Alerie Hightower. I have four other siblings - Willas, who is the oldest one, Garlant, my dear twin brother, Loras, who is by far, the prettiest young man the Reach has ever seen, and my sweet sister Margaery, who rivals any flower in Westeros.” Y/N continued to speak, not daring yet to get a better look at the young ones whom she was guiding - She wanted to take each of them through a detailed lens, once the feast began, so she could see what kind of people they truly are, despite their frail age.

Despite her reticence, she could already see their personalities shine, more or less individually - While Robb was more sober and chivalrous, Jon, the bastard of Lord Stark, was rather timid and dared not speak. Sansa was the definition of the perfect lady, whilst young Arya was an adventurous, playful soul, just like her.

And then, there was Ramsay Snow, Roose Bolton’s bastard and only child, and much possibly, the one that will become his heir and take over the Dreadfort... This one was... Odd, to say the least. Handsome, charming, well-natured, rather funny and an outright gentleman - He even seemed interested in her passions and anything that she has to say, unlike the other two boys.

Was Roose Bolton trying to have his child court her, for a better claim to get his bastard legitimized? How intriguing.

By the time evening came through, Y/N was already bathed, oiled in the most fragrant, sweet perfumes and garbed in the most beautiful light blue and gold dress, making her shine even more beautifully than the colourful flowers that were braided into her long, shiny hair that cascaded down her back in velvety waves as she entered the feast room and sat between Sansa and Arya (asked by their Lord Father, in hopes that they would stop their on-going feud), with the three visitor boys sitting opposite of them. Margaery and Loras were chatting somewhere closer to their mother, while Willas, Garlan and his wife were having a pleasant conversation at the other end of the table.

"I would love to ask you how do you find Highgarden so far, yet that would be just silly of me. You are far too tired for a walk through the gardens, though I promise you that, on the morrow, I shall be guiding you through all of the beautiful places that the proximity has to offer. There is truly nothing better in life than to feast your eyes on the beauty and art that life has to offer.” the girl smiled serenely, as if she was completely unaffected by anything tainted in this world. Ramsay Snow, with those gargoyle blue eyes, was staring at her with wonder and intrigue - There was also something else, rather foreign for him... A kind of hunger that he had never experienced, no matter how many pretty girls passed through his hands and bed. 

Was it his intuition? That there was something far more sinister about this young girl that hid behind wet fawn eyes? Something that was hidden away from anyone to see? Surely, there was no human capable of being this... Sickeningly soft and sweet and whatever other feminine words that are hammered down into a woman’s brain from birth.

No - Perhaps, not EVERY woman. Myranda cursed like a sailor and her speech was dirty and vulgar, unlike her pretty face and fragile body. She could easily break, just like all of them, no matter the vocabulary they used. Pathetic.

Still, he was outright fascinated, and he wanted dearly to see whether this Tyrell girl was made, inside and out, of flowers and perfume - If honeyed wine was surging through her veins, because if so, he’d get drunk on her blood, and feast on her supple, tender body like a madman.

“Lady Y/N, did you make your dress yourself?” Sansa asked with a shy smile, admiring the fine craftsmanship - The fashion style and hair styles were so different down south, compared to those in the north. “Not entirely, though, I suppose I could, if I put my mind to. I love embroidery, but I do not much fancy tailoring as a whole. Whenever I want to pass some time, I go in the garden and embroider whatever designs I am inspired to on a new dress that the seamstresses make for me.” the girl answered truthfully, allowing the red haired beauty to trace the golden, intricate designs with her soft fingertips. “See? She said she hates tailoring! She’s on my side!” Arya blurted in a bratty voice, making her two brothers lean on each other, to hide their chuckling. “No! She said she loved embroidery, she’s nothing like you, you dirty sewer rat!” Sansa gritted her teeth at her younger sister, latching her arms onto the Tyrell girl’s arm. “Oh my, oh my, what do we have here, a little sister feud. I see that sweet Sansa is rather fond of feminine arts... But you, Arya, are not. Could it be that you prefer a... Different kind of ‘needlework’? Could it be that, should you have been born a male, you could have easily defeated your two sniggering brothers over there?” Y/N raised her hand to her mouth, humming in amusement at their family interactions. “What?! You mean you like sparring too? And archery? And horse-riding? And fencing? And --” Arya’s eyes became wide like saucers from absolute amazement. “No way Lady Y/N enjoys something so brutish and barbaric as that! Look at her, she’s such a fine and delicate lady - There’s no scar or bruise on her skin, and her hands aren’t even pricked by needles!” Sansa tried to defend her own vision of the Tyrell girl, who only shook her head. “It is a wide belief that people should be owners of a variety of skills, of the widest ranges. Be it that I am arranging flowers with my sweet sister, or sparring with young Loras, if I am discussing history, art and philosophy with my eldest brother, or winning riding contests against my darling twin, it matters little. Those skills need not be necessarily mastered to the maximum degree possible, but they should at least be known, for the most part.” she explained as gracefully as she could, hoping that both sisters would be pacified... Somehow.

However, they only began arguing more, making Y/N lean backwards to allow them to face each other better. With a low chuckle, she slipped her way out of there, sharing an amused look with the three boys opposite of her, before she stole a plate filled with small cakes, tarts and pastries and making her way outside, so she could take a stroll through the garden, the dimly lit lamps and the silvery light of Mother Moon being the only source of light.

The sound of rapid footsteps on the cobbled street, however, made the corners of her mouth turn upward in amusement as she continued to walk, seemingly unassuming, until the owner of those steps jumped right in front of her - Yet she did not flinch - Instead, she took a strawberry tart and popped it into his mouth.

“Do you have strawberries up North, Lord Ramsay?” the man’s eyes were wide, yet nowhere near matching Arya’s previous shock. With a huff, he gulped down the bite-sized tart and nodded his head in approval. “I have to admit, My Lady, that I have never tasted anything as delicious as this tart. I may have not realised entirely the benefits of living in the most prosperous land in Westeros. There are many a fruit and vegetables that are foreign to me, who has not left the North until now.” he spoke, side-stepping so he could walk next to her. “I can only assume Highgarden is a most safe land, otherwise, a gorgeous lady such as yourself would be afraid of walking the dark gardens, unattended by anyone.” he assumed, stealing another cake, this one, a pomegranate one. “Yes, you are correct, My Lord. There have been no assaults in Highgarden, since I have been born. I often stroll through the gardens at night - I have found it a rather relaxing and enjoyable hobby of mine - And through none of these promenades of mine, have I ever needed to make use of my hidden weapon, thankfully for whatever fool might be out there.” she explained nonchalantly, entering a large garden filled with only white flowers that almost seemed to glow in the moonlight. The girl sat down on the grass and looked up at the moon, letting the plate on the ground, and she smiled. “Do you know what flower this is, Lord Ramsay?” she asked, a serene and peaceful expression on her face, as the man sat down next to her. “No, I dare say, I do not. We do not have such majestic flowers in my lands.” he answered, examining and analysing her face as if she was some kind of Moon Nayad. “They are called the ‘Moon’s Queen’, for they only open their petals during the night, if they receive this silvery light.” her smile felt as serene as the moon - Was she some kind of Moon Goddess that thrived best in the night light? Or, perhaps, some kind of witch, for she completely enchanted him. Getting up from the ground, she waltzed to one of the bigger flowers, and taking a dagger hidden within her hair’s braids, she cut it short and returned to the man. “The petals are even softer than a rose’s - And unlike one, they have a sweet perfume smell. But they are shy, and not many people know of them, hence why this flower is always... Forgotten. It can only be white, unlike the rose, which can grace every colour there is, hence why, it is the most loved and praised flower, especially here - Our symbol is a golden rose, after all.” the girl was kneeling on the ground in front of him, the flower nestling beautifully on her two joined palms - In the light, it looked as if it was glowing. “You said your sister was named ‘The Rose of Highgarden’, as she is the most beautiful woman in the Reach. I beg to disagree. Roses are common, and boring - One can find them anywhere. They are even freely given at jousting tourneys.” Ramsay spoke, carefully taking the flower, and fixing it into her hair. “But I think true beauty is hidden away from the common eye. The most endearing things are the mysteries you unveil yourself.” though her eyes were cast down, and a soft blush was painted on her cheeks, the bastard could see the enigmatic smile that was painted on those sweet lips of hers - He was convinced they were even softer, and more velvety than even the petals of this flower - And oh, how he wanted to test that theory for himself. “Then, how would you name me, Lord Ramsay~?” her eyes slowly met his, and for a moment there, he had forgotten how to breathe. Those sparkling, beautiful eyes of hers were so full of life, so mischievous - He was more and more curious how would she react to seeing a man flayed before her. “The Queen of the Moon.” the man gingerly held her chin, leaning it down, enough to plant a kiss on her forehead.

The next day, after a hearty breakfast, they were to have a ride through the forest, along with her brothers. Willas preferred to stay on the side and have good chats with his father and the other two Lords, while Garlan was already out with his Lady wife. That left Margaery to entertain Sansa, who didn’t want to get her dress dirty in the woods, even though she would have gladly ridden with Loras. At least, with Margaery, who was her age, she could chat for hours and walk through the gardens.

Arya, however, jumped up and down in excitement and insisted she rides with Y/N, who could only chuckle and agree, despite Robb and Jon shaking their head at the young girl’s stubbornness. 

The young ones had a lot of fun, riding and hunting game, then at night, the royal kitchen would make a feast from their triumphant victory. Unfortunately for everyone, the retinue had to return back home after a week, and though it felt like barely a few moments had passed, it was time for them to leave...

But not without the Stark Lord inviting the Highgarden Lord and his children over in the North - The reasons mattered little - Y/N was more than excited to see the beauty of the North, as Ramsay had described it, especially after he, himself, had invited the girl while in private. Since the day that the envoy left, Y/N was all over her father, telling him to start preparing for the long journey up the King’s Road, all the way to Winterfell.

Moments passed like hours, hours like days and days like weeks, and than months, but finally, after far too many months of waiting, Mace Tyrell allowed his eldest daughter to go first up North, for a brief journey towards the Dreadfort - Though the man wasn’t too happy that his sweet Y/N has become smitten with a bastard, he knew very well that Lord Bolton was the second most powerful man in the North, and was fighting hard to get his son ligitimised. He hated the idea of settling for second best, but at the same time, his darling had never been status-ambitious like her grandmother or her youngest sister, preferring to enjoy life to the fullest - And, of course, how could he deny his darling Y/N the freedom of falling in love, something all nobles had been prived of for so many centuries on end? Though she has never proven to be a romantic, Mace and Alerie both hoped that, just like her twin brother, Y/N would meet a man that will make her feel like a maiden from the bards’ love stories, like Florian and Jonquil.

Y/N was warmly welcomed in the Dreadfort by none other than the Snow boy himself, who wore a large, excited smile on his face, and he gallantly invited the lady inside the humble abode, as he called it - How could he compare his small fort to the gracious palace of the Highgarden, after all? Not wealth, nor grandeur could come anywhere close to what he had witnessed in the beautiful South.

However much Ramsay wished to get her inside, out of the harsh cold that was reddening her cheeks even more so than the red roses that grew wild, as soon as she heard the squealing of dogs, she found herself rushing towards the kennels. There, Ramsay noticed, she completely ignored Myranda’s presence and ran past her, to the kennel of one bitch that had just gave birth less than a month ago. “My~... Aren’t you so beautiful?” the bastard watched the fascination emanating from the girl - Did she truly love dogs so much, he wondered? Was she maybe that much of an innocent girl, and he misjudged her? “Do you have a death wish, or are you just plain dumb?!” Myranda angrily shrieked at the beautiful lady, shocked at how boldly she knelt by the bitch’s side. “You don’t just go next to a bitch that just gave birth! It will think you’re trying to harm her pups and she will attack you. It’s common knowledge!” however much Ramsay wanted to slap Myranda for speaking with such insolence with his sweet flower, he couldn’t help but notice Y/N taking her furs off and creating a blanket for the dog and her puppies.  “There, there, you must be cold, aren’t you, darling? All better now, isn’t it? Sweet lady, you must eat well and keep warm if you and your babies want to keep strong.” he watched as the dog sniffed Y/N’s palm, only to lean its head onto it... Acting like a spoiled pup, melting in the caring, loving touch of the nurturing lady.  “Wh-What the hell are you doing -- Are you insane?! You can’t -- You can’t just -- That’s our most aggressive bitch, you can’t just tame her like that, she’ll become useless!” the kennel master’s daughter roughly grabbed at Lady Tyrell’s dress, pulling her away from the dogs - Though much surprising was that the bitch rose and started growling menacingly at her. Myranda could only stare at the bitch in shock and slight fear - None of the dogs ever dared growl at her, let alone snarl and bare their fangs at her. She was the dog whisperer! The one tasked with taking care of her beloved Lord Ramsay’s precious bitches! How dare that... That whore interfere! How dare she mess everything?! “Myranda.” the woman froze, feeling complete dread take over her senses. “It is clear that Lady Tyrell here is far more competent with dogs than you, the kennel master’s own daughter, are.” a bead of sweat ran down her forehead from the sheer pressure of his stern, ice-cold voice. “If even the dogs are going against you for your silly mistake, then I believe you should leave for the day. I and Lady Y/N will be taking care of them for now.” “B-But R-Ramsay, I-- I--... Sh-She---” the skinny woman’s otherwise dominant and harsh eyes became wide with fear as her master stepped closer to her, those gargoyle-like eyes staring deep into her soul, and for a second there, she could see herself being flayed alive. “Leave.” he ordered. “I will think of a proper punishment later.” with a flick of his gloved hand, Myranda whimpered and ran out of the kennels. Ramsay took a deep breath before kneeling by Y/N’s side. “Forgive her, My Lady, she overreacted. She wasn’t aware of who you are, otherwise she wouldn’t have spoken out of line.” Y/N smiled softly at him, before pulling him towards the dog. “It is quite alright, I don’t mind. In fact, it was I who was in the wrong. Lady Myranda tried to warn me, though my recklessness could have cost me my hand, or perhaps worse.” Ramsay looked into those glimmering eyes, and without much thinking, he grasped her chin and forced her to look at him - It earned a growl from the bitch, though Y/N pat her head enough to calm her down. “Incompetent slaves ought to be reprimanded and put in their place, My Sweet Lady, otherwise they grow bold and misbehave.” his tone changed to a more whispery one, which only seemed to grow her own smile. “It is not up to me to reprimand a servant that is not of mine own, especially as she simply tried to save me from a sure mauling.” he could see the corner of her mouth twitch upwards, just a little bit. “After all... Slaves and bastards aren’t too different in the eyes of the people, are they?” Ramsay’s eyes seemed to flash, grabbing her face closer to his, only for the dog to outright bark at him. “My Beautiful Lady resembles the flower with her own name - Beautiful, yet poisonous and deadly. Perhaps I ought to reconsider the nickname I address you as.” “Sweet Ramsay, I think Lady Dog is trying to tell you that you should be more gentle with me.” she softly put her hand over his, releasing the grasp on her face. “After all, I’m just a little lady, frail as a flower, and afraid of getting hurt.” “Do you even believe your own lies, My Lady?” Y/N smiled at him, tilting her head to the side, completely innocent - Though Ramsay knew that sparkle in her eyes very well - It was a challenge - She was provoking him. “You once called me the Queen of the Moon, Sweet Ramsay - It wouldn’t bode well for you to treat me any less than that.” the man scoffed, an amused smirk on his face as he took off his coat and draped it over her shoulders, bringing her closer to his body. “Flowers freeze in this cold, My Lady. You should come inside and warm yourself up. You must be tired after such a long journey, and Myranda’s less than optimal behaviour wasn’t the greeting that a princess like you deserves.” the man helped her up, and with a hand placed on the middle of her back, he guided her inside the unexpectedly warm fort, into a cozy room, clean and already warm. “I will have the servants bring you dinner here. The maids will know better than I, the kind of hospitality that a lady needs.” he bowed his head at her slightly, watching as she went for the window, and she looked outside, a serene look on her face. “Does it mean that you’re already leaving me alone? Well - I suppose I won’t mind much. The view here is spectacular - And I have some puppies to care for, and books plenty to read. I doubt I’ll get bored, even without your great company.” she hummed, not even sparing him a single glance. “Your room is across mine own.” she needn’t look at him to feel the forming smirk on his face. “For any reason you wish to see me, I will be at your disposal, whatever hour of the day or night, my sweet lady.” “That is a proposal that I will be taking to heart. Thank you for such lovely and warm hospitality, my sweet Ramsay, I appreciate your kindness and care for me.” she turned to him, holding her hand over her heart. “It is my first time here, up North, after all.” he was so smitten with that soft, tender voice of hers - But more, he was head over heels with the mystery hidden behind that angelic facade of hers. “By all means, my lady. Although the North isn’t as wealthy and welcoming as the South, we still strive to show its beauty, for there is plenty.” with a charming smile, Ramsay left the room, allowing the girl to be attended to by the maid.

The maid was Myranda, Y/N realised with great amusement, and she was nowhere near as talkative as before, when she’d snapped at her. Y/N smiled sweetly at the dog caretaker, but it wasn’t difficult to realise that the reason for her muteness was the emotion she was failing so miserably to hide. She was so jealous. 

Was it her wealth? Her beauty and grace? Her noble status? - Or, perhaps, it was Ramsay’s evident interest in the Tyrell girl that she was so envious of. Either way, it didn’t matter - Y/N was loving the torment storming behind those blue eyes - Those eyes of her were kinda pretty, Y/N thought, yet they somehow became incredibly dull on her. They didn’t fit her. She was dull.

With the expected curtesy, Myranda brought the tray of food and beverages inside the room, placing it carefully on the table next to the fireplace, yet despite how annoyingly chatty she previously was - Now, she remained silent. Good. Her voice was rather grating.

“My Lady.” unfortunately, she had to open mouth of hers - Y/N noticed she had applied some make up, and her lips were deep, blood red. Awful colour on her. “My Lord asked me to draw a bath for you after you’ve eaten.” “Very well, you may do so.” the Tyrell beauty sat at the table and kept herself busy by reading a book whilst eating the tasty dishes. The meat was unexpectedly tender - Y/N was sure this must be some kind of venison done with a secret recipe that they didn’t have in the South. It was perfectly delicious, and the text was rather interesting - If only Myranda’s presence hadn’t been such a hindrance... At least her maids were better company and knew when to give her the much needed quiet, alone time that she so greatly needed - It was such a chore, engaging in social interactions. “You are very beautiful, My Lady. Where are you from, if I may ask?” Myranda spoke, sniffing the powerful, sweet floral perfume. “Highgarden.” one of Y/N’s maids spoke in her stead, not wanting their lady to be interrupted whilst busy. “Lady Y/N Tyrell is the most beautiful maiden in the Reach.” Leana smiled dearly at her lady. “Ah!” Y/N snapped her head towards her friend. “Margy is!” Leana’s smile widened. “My Lady, forgive me for disagreeing with you - Whilst Lady Margaery is, indeed, the Rose of Highgarden, I cannot help but find your beauty above any word from every vocabulary in Westeros, and beyond.” “You flatter me so, my sweet Leana, you needn’t!” Y/N hid her flustered face with the book she was reading. “There were others before you. All of them just as beautiful, or maybe even more than you.” Myranda’s eerily soothing voice spoke, her fingers tracing the water, feeling its temperature. “You are not that special to him... My Lady.” she offered Lady Tyrell a small, venomous smile. “Lord Ramsay gets bored very quickly.” Whilst Leana was ready to speak up and defend her lady, Y/N simply smiled sweetly at Myranda, gesturing for her maid to remain quiet. “Is that so? Thank you, I will keep that in mind, erh--...” Y/N smiled wider, taunting her. “What was your name again? Meera? Maria?” “Myranda, My Lady.” the girl almost snapped. Y/N let out a small ‘ah’ sound, though the kennel master could see that she was acting. “Right. A name as dull as you. It fits you!” she said. “Will you tell me about these ladies that preceded me, then?” Y/N could see the way Myranda was trying so hard not to break her composure, and with each twitch of her face, she was feeling more and more ecstatic. “Let’s see... There was Kyra, the blacksmith’s daughter. She was taller than you, with a lovely figure... But... She talked, and... Talked and talked... And Ramsay grew tired of that.” Myranda spoke, adding more boiled water to the tub. “And then there was Violet... She had gorgeous blonde hair... Well... She got pregnant, and - That was boring.” she chuckled lightly. “Then... Tansy... Such a sweet girl, much like you.” Myranda grinned. “Of course, sweet girls get a bit... Dull... After a while, don’t they?” she stared deep into Y/N’s eyes, hoping to see the fright and alert. There was nothing but twinkling of amusement. “Ramsay let me come with him on that hunt.” “Then, when is it your turn?” Myranda’s smile faltered in surprise. “I wonder if I need to do anything more than batting my pretty lashes at him, to let me come to your hunt. I’m a pretty good shot, you know, he even praised me when we went hunting last month.” she giggled sweetly.  “Just because you’re a new hyper-obsession of his, doesn’t mean you’ll last. They all exhausted their use fairly quick. It’s their fault for being boring. Noble women like you, especially, are the most dull of all. No personality, no interests - You just sit in a corner, have a pretty smile and you embroider some handkerchief.” Myranda shot to her feet immediately, not realising her outburst. “If I’m the new obsession, it just means you’re old news. Remember how he scolded you earlier today? He didn’t seem too happy with you. Were you... Jealous, Marla?” the woman spat her name again, correcting her. “Ah, yes, forgive me - It is not easy remembering such a stale name.”  “He promised to marry me! Ramsay always kept his promises to me!” she almost looked like a bratty child, with angry tears making her eyes gleam. “And you truly believed that?” Y/N widened her eyes, letting out a fake, dramatic gasp as she got up and called for Leana to unlace her dress. “Oh, sweet girl, how naive must you be - So blind and deaf, so muddle-headed, to think that the man who’s trying to get himself legitimised as the next Lord Bolton would actually spare you another glance once he gets that title and will realise how absolutely tiresome your ugly jealousy is. He won’t have any time for the silly temper tantrums of a dumb, little girl who thinks she is going to marry the man of her dreams.” Y/N hummed in amusement, feeling the water-like material of her dress falling down to the ground, revealing her gorgeous silhouette and harmonious curves in all their glory, only to take in another sharp inhale, once she noticed the gears of Myranda’s brain working, fear and doubt overwhelming her, as well as a sense of perfect inferiority, seeing the Goddess body of the Tyrell woman. “No, don’t tell me...” she said, pitying her. “You thought that... By offering him your flower, he was truly going to commit to you? Oh, darling, you sweet, sweet girl - How foolish can you get? Don’t you know that mundane, predictable thoughts like these are...” Y/N grinned wickedly, making Myranda’s blood freeze in her bloodstream. “Boring.”

Myranda felt her heart stop, and with a kind of uneasiness that she hasn’t felt in a long time, she quickly left the room, allowing Y/N and her maids to giggle and continue gossiping and making fun of the kennel master’s daughter. What a delusional girl.

Y/N stepped into the hot water and allowed the steam to soothe her tired muscles, just allowing her maid to clean her and oil her with the sweetest perfumes that the South can create. Once it got late enough into the night, Y/N, wearing a light sleeping gown that would have been perfect for the Reach, yet not so much for the chilly nights of the North - Draping herself in furs yet remaining barefoot, she swiftly stepped out of the room and with a soft knock, she creaked open the door, calling out his name. “Sweet Ramsay, are you awake?” He must have been asleep, as he hadn’t answered to her whispery voice - It only made Y/N bolder, closing the door behind her and quietly tip-toe to his bed. His pretty face was being illuminated by the moonlight peeking through the window, though Y/N could only stare at the man sleeping without his shirt, and she felt a cold shiver down her spine - Were all Northmen so cold resistant, she wondered.

She crouched by his face and trailed the back of her fingers by his sculpted jaw. He looked so peaceful and innocent sleeping, it was like he was a whole other person. “My Sweet Ramsay, are you having nice dreams?” Unexpectedly, her hand got grabbed, and with outstanding force and another hand on her body, she got pulled into the man’s tight arms. “They are, now that you’re here.” his low, husky voice spoke. “Were you missing me so much that you couldn’t sleep, my sweet flower?” “Yes.” she breathed out, already feeling her body warm under the furs, held flush against his hot body. “So genuine. Very endearing.” Y/N could feel his body shaking softly from one attractive chuckle. “You were cold, weren’t you?” “O, you’ve found me out!” she nuzzled in the crook of his neck. “I didn’t mean to appear as though I’m trying to make use of you... Though I cannot deny that I am already feeling so much better.” “Had that useless wench forgotten to do the fire in your room?” the man grumbled. “That must have been my fault - I think I upset Lady Myranda with my teasing. She walked away with tears in her eyes. I called her name, but... I think I really made her sad. Forgive me, sweet Ramsay.” that sickly sweet voice of hers only made him scoff in mock amusement. “Whatever you said to her, she’ll get over it.” he seemed harsh. “There is no wrong you can do here, especially against some slave girl that can’t even do her job right.” “Please, sweet Ramsay, don’t be so harsh with her - It is not her fault that she is still dreaming like a little girl.” the man hummed questioningly. “She was so happy, speaking about you, I couldn’t help but tease her a little - You know, like friends. Alas, I think I must have gone a bit over board for someone who isn’t as close to me as any of my friends back home.” “What kind of idiocy has she bored you with?” Ramsay was now wide awake, already thinking of a way to punish that stupid slut.  “No, No, my darling, love is not something boring, nor is the sweet promise of a happy marriage!” Y/N shifted up, resting on her forearms to get a better look at the man. “She seemed so delighted, thinking about you and your future together. It was so precious, mind you.” Ramsay remained quiet for a few seconds. “You have gone quiet, sweet Ramsay - Have I... Bored you already?” The man took a sharp breath, his hands finding their rightful place, cupping her cheeks. “You could never bore me, My Sweet Flower. I was just wondering the extent of Myranda’s delusions. Stupid girl believes everything anyone tells her - It’s as if she is incapable of thinking.” “Ahh, no wonder she was so convinced you loved her the most.” Ramsay was almost fascinated with the way she pretended to care for Myranda’s feelings, but the mocking sweet tone with which she was talking only made it even more amusing, were it not for the internal anger he felt simply thinking about that wretch. “Did she speak ill of you in any way?” he asked, his voice almost showing his rage and how close he was to marching up and wringing her neck like a pigeon’s. “Oh no, not at all! Though she did mention some other ladies. One tall with a lovely figure, though very talkative. The other, she said, got pregnant... And the last one was a sweet girl, just like me - And, just like me, she was also incredibly boring - Or so Myranda described them. Ah... What were their names... Forgive me, I cannot remember their names... No, wait - I think one of them was... Kyra? Was she the blacksmith’s daughter? Ah, yes, she was the talkative one, who talked so much that she bored you to death... Just like I am, right now...” she stopped speaking abruptly, turning her head to the side as though to mimic guilt and shame. “If anyone speaks too much is Myranda, not you.” Ramsay got in a sitting position, dragging her up with him. “Has she also told you what I did with them, once I got bored of them? Has she threatened you?” “I’m very happy to know that I’m not disinteresting you with how much I’m chatting - You see, I’m used to talking so much with people I like, I tend to forget all courtesies.” she, inching closer to him.  “Speak as much as you will, I find not only your voice, but your words also, to be enticing and worth hearing.” the corner of his mouth twitched upwards. “Myranda told me about these... Hunts you’re attending. She did say you allowed her to join you once, and I... Was wondering if you’d entertain me also with such activity. I believe I proved my sharpshooter skills last month.” she leaned in so close to his face that he could almost feel her plump lips touching his. “Oh, sweet lady, if only you knew what that implied, you wouldn’t be wearing that innocent smile on this perfect face of yours.” his chuckle sent shivers down her spine. “But I do know, my darling. I do know.” his eyebrows slowly rose up in surprise. “I don’t need the image of a small, pink, flayed man to know that your hunts must hold some kind of peculiarity that would serve as entertainment.” she smiled more. “Are those lovely dogs involved too?” The air was punched out of his lungs - How can someone so perfectly angelic, so seemingly innocent, this noble lady that’s supposed to be frail like a flower - She was speaking so tenderly and sweet about hunting people! She was an oxymoron, and he, was in love with her. “I want you to come for every hunt from now on, my Moon Queen.” That happy smile, along with the soft pink painting her cheeks, only made his heart beat so, so fast in anticipation. “Can we have Myranda’s hunt soon?” that venomous sweetness was enough to drive the bastard over the edge, and instinctively he grabbed her hips and brought her over his lap, pulling her flush against his chest. Her slender legs straddling him, and the way she felt against his pelvis only made him grow wilder and his grip on her flesh got tighter. He wasn’t thinking when he tried to slam his lips against her own, nor did he realise that instead of those petals, his mouth came in contact with her palm. Through his bewilderment, he noticed that vixen-like grin of hers, unreadable and enigmatic. “Sweet Ramsay, you are running so fast to action, you’re intimidating me. I am not Kyra, nor Violet or Tansy... And least of all, not your dearest Myranda. Are you trying to scare a little maiden such as myself?” Slowly she removed her hand, gazing at the man’s beautiful blue eyes. “Could it be that you’re intentionally trying to get a rise out of me? “ “Is it working?” the way she tilted her head to the side so cutely made him want to throw her down on the bed and claim her. “It is.” he admitted, his jaw gritted down as a way of holding back his animalistic urges. “Good!” that cheeky, chirpy way she exclaimed drove him mad, as she rolled to the side and cuddled into him. “Will you keep me warm, sweet Ramsay?” “Every night, my sweet lady.”

How was he supposed to keep his hands from lingering down that warm skin of hers, or hold back from having his fingers grip down on her flesh so hard that it left bruises, all due to his insatiable desire for her? If she was just any slave girl from the North, he could have shackled her down and claimed her in any way he so imagined - And only the Gods knew how very creative he was when it came to the pleasure-taking he was crazy over... But Y/N was from an affluent family, renowned all over Westeros and far beyond, second only to the Lannisters. Even if he wanted to re-enact all his perverse fantasies about this mischievous little vixen, he knew there will be hell to pay, and any claim of legitimacy would be thrown out the window.

Still, she didn’t seem opposed to getting intimately close to him in the least - She showed no signs of fear when she implied hunting down Myranda, nor did she seem intimidated by the bitch’s failed attempts of taunting her - More, she made her cry, if the story was as true as she claimed it to be, and truly, he was disappointed that he wasn’t there to watch the interaction go. He long knew how annoyingly jealous Myranda was of any girl that he bedded or showed any kind of personal interest in, going as far as to sabotage them, and more - But she was beginning, at a rapid pace even, to get stale, and no amount of perversion or unheard of pleasing methods could save her from her fate if she continued to whine about any silly little thing.

Y/N was different - He could read what she was thinking, and the games she played were far more interesting. She was fun to be around, and that innocent act of hers, pretending to be a small and naive little bunny, all righteous and benevolent was nothing more than the beauty of a rose with poisoned thorns. Here she lay, her body softly going up and down with each of her inhales and exhales, as she slept so peacefully, nuzzled to his side, just like a fawn cuddling with a predator ready to tear her apart - But she trusted the killer wouldn’t harm her. Was it because of her status? Her family? Or simply, she could feel how taken he was with her, from the very first second that his eyes met hers and he saw that playful and slightly illicit twinkle in those beautiful eyes of hers?

For a whole week he will have her all for himself, yet at arm length; So close, yet so very far away, and no matter how much he wanted to snatch that beautiful, blooming flower of hers, he was forcefully held back, shackled to the wall and left to drip with lust like a ferocious wolf watching a lamb with snow-white fleece, prance around fearing no danger in the world.

Patience was never one strong suit of his, but now, he had to be. He cared little that Y/N Tyrell was a noble woman and being with her would help his claims at legitimacy, and he cared even less that he had to marry a woman of status whilst having promised the flock of girls surrounding him already his heart. He had no heart - And even if he did, it was already taken by the sheep wearing wolf’s clothing and strutting around him, just closely out of reach. He wanted to eat her whole, and then some more. He wanted to drink her honey and feast on her strawberry tarts, sickly sweet yet so addicting. He wanted to hear her sing the thrills of the nightingales every night as he looks down from above her, and he wants to feel the way her body dances involutarily from the pleasure he offers her. 

And most of all, he wanted to see that pleasure-drunk expression of hers, all bashful as she’s driven off the edge, and while she tries to hide from shame, he’s going to force her to look him straight into his eyes and drink in her gasps and moans with another kiss, feeling her stiff body gradually grow lax in his arms, seeing only the stars, and him amongst them.

Their sharing of not only a room but the bed also continued for the rest of the week, without Y/N even bothering to blame Myranda’s lack of brain for the coldness of her own dormitory - She has made it clear already that she simply wanted to display a pretext to sleep with him, and Ramsay was more than thrilled with such a notion - After all, it wasn’t often that he fell asleep and woke up to the same woman, beautiful above all and enticing as very select few.

Still, if Ramsay could feel jealousy, it would be on his own dogs, though he’d rather say he was feeling as territorial as his bitches, yet maybe not even then. He was more than content to see someone actually capable of bonding with his dogs as well as he did, while also being obeyed so well. One would think the daughter of the kennel master would know dogs better than human - Alas, Myranda was capable of none of those - But Y/N was, and that mattered most.

“There, there, mommy, you and your sweet puppies have to stay comfortable and warm. The cold of the North is very harsh, even if you’re used to it.” the mother dog whined, happy, as she was being spoiled, kissed and caressed by the woman. Y/N continued praising and loving the dog, and though she was a large breed with long, thick, black hair, looking more like a bear than a dog, she had the cutest name - Faye. Y/N wondered who Faye was, before she was killed - How did she get so dull that Ramsay had her kill, who was she while still alive, how did she look and so on. “Beautiful, sweet Faye, you are so loved, my darling.” she was so absorbed in her pampering of the canine that she didn’t hear the intruder stepping towards them until it was too late. “You stupid girl - These are hunting dogs, not pets! They are supposed to stay vicious, starved, to mauls and rip apart the prey... Not... Not this - Whatever this is! You’ve ruined them! Ruined the whole batch and the bitch!” Myranda’s glare was as harsh as the wind that was blowing outside. “I beg to disagree Myranda, though I can see why it would seem offensive, considering you were born and raised among dogs. You see - Fear is a double-edged sword when it comes to obedience. Dogs may be loyal, but fear is fickle. They can always turn on you, if pushed enough. If you treat them well, they will treat you just as well, but tenfold. Just like people.” Y/N smiled defiantly at her, only making her growl as well as any mutt. “Why did you come here?! To steal my man? To steal my job? You’re already so rich that you don’t know what to do with your wealth - Did you come here specifically to bring me misery and rob me of anything I have?!” Myranda’s yelling only proved to make the dog snarl at her as a warning. “Even the dogs hate me now - Because of you!” “Once again, I’m inclined to disagree, mostly because... Living beings aren’t property and Ramsay was never yours. If you want to play technicalities, it was you who was his, not the other way around - Even more, you were... Naive enough to believe he would actually marry you. Silly girl, you don’t know him half as well as you think you do.” the Tyrell’s mocking smile proved enough to drive the other one off the edge of her sanity, and she took out a dagger from her waist and tried to push her away to get ahold of the pups and kill them. What a stupid move, Y/N thought as she grabbed her arm and tried to wrestle her off. “Have you gone mad?! How could you do that?!” “GET OFF ME, YOU STUPID WHORE! I’M GETTING RID OF ANY LINGER OF YOUR PRESENCE IN THIS PLACE - BEGINNING WITH THIS LOT, AND NEXT - YOU!” Myranda’s growls echoed through the humid kennels as she tried to launch at the dogs once more, but the noblewoman leapt up to shield them, her shoulder proving the stabbing point of the blade.  “Leave, Myranda! Get out and calm yourself - You’re being irrational!” Faye, too, jumped to her paws and started aggressively roaring at the attacker, ready to maul her off the same as she did for her namesake - But she stopped, as soon as another pair of steps seemed to bother the squaffle between the two women.

Ramsay’s blue eyes, usually frozen as the water of the North, were now blazing with pure rage - How dare that whore attempt to kill his beautiful Y/N? Did she have a death wish and had no clue how to act upon it? He had as many inventive killing methods, as he had pleasuring ones, and perhaps even more - Myranda, of all people, the expendable woman who lasted the longest so far should have known best. “Myranda.” his voice seemed even colder than the weather outside, and the woman seemed to submissively let the knife drop with a loud, resounding clank, as she stepped away with tearful eyes. “M-My Love...! Y-You’re here! You - You have to see what she’s done, she -- She was trying to TAME the girls, she -- She was SPOILING them! She was RUINING them! My love, you must do something about this--” even louder than the sound the dagger made, the slap which she received was enough to make even Y/N flinch, watching Myranda painfully fall to the ground like a sack of potatoes. “M-My love...?!” she seemed absolutely betrayed - What a delusional woman. “You have been testing my patience recently, Myranda. If I’d known you were suicidal, I’d have killed you already. Not only you bore me to death, you also piss me off. That’s a worse transgression than either of those before you. I’ve been merciful and understanding with you so far, but I’ve reached my limit.” Myranda, terrified out of her mind, scrambled over to embrace his feet, only to get kicked in the face and made to fly backwards. She was crying rivers. “Don’t touch me with those filthy hands of yours.” he sneered at her.

Leaving her to grovel on the ground, Ramsay stepped in front of his beloved and carefully touched her bleeding shoulder. He slipped off the material of her dress, only to hear the large dog snarling at him. “Shhh, sweetling, don’t worry, he means no harm to me. Thank you for protecting me, my sweet Faye.” Ramsay watched the tender way with which she was praising the dog, and petting her hair. Maternal bitches were fickle and dangerous, yet with Y/N, Faye seemed completely loyal. Good. “Come. I’ll treat it for you.” he spoke gently to her, hoping the harshness of his tone had completely dissipated. Y/N worriedly looked down at Myranda - the Bastard realised she was afraid not for her, but for the neurotic behaviour she displayed as she tried to attack the pups. “I don’t trust her around Faye and her puppies. I don’t want them to get injured because of her.” “THE DOGS ARE TAINTED BECAUSE OF YOU! YOU RUINED THEM!” before Myranda could recover the knife, Y/N already kicked it away - Though the woman was so far gone that she tackled her to the ground, yelling all sorts of perversions and curses as she tried to get ahold of the noble lady’s throat and squeeze the life out of her. Before Ramsay could rip her off, and throw her in the dungeons to punish later, Faye leapt sprung on her and threw her off her new master, chewing at her arms and legs. “Faye! Sweetling, stop, come here - Faye! Leave her be!” much to the bastard’s shock, the dog obeyed immediately and went to the lady’s side, licking at her wound and standing protectively over here. “There, there, sweet girl. Clever girl. You are fantastic.” Ramsay almost felt jealous, with the amount of kisses the bitch was receiving, but the fact still stood - The dog’s loyalty changed in the course of five days. Myranda was the enemy, whilst Y/N was the loving master whom the dog obeyed. Fascinating. He wasn’t sure if the dog could sense the kindness and purity of her soul, or simply, behaved like any manipulated human - But whatever it was that Y/N was doing, she was doing perfectly fine, the same as when she captured his interest and made him fawn over her so completely. “Faye, stand down girl. I’ll take care of Y/N for you.” he felt compelled to offer the dog a few pats on her head, and surprisingly, she licked his hand affectionately - It must have been the way he was always by Y/N’s side whenever she spoiled the dogs, why Faye now possibly saw him as this benevolent master all of a sudden - It was even better than he expected. “As for you, Myranda...” he glared down with disgust at the cowering woman. “Make yourself comfortable in the dungeons.” she whimpered, afraid of the consequences of her own actions. Y/N has completely bewitched her beloved Ramsay Snow. She ruined him.

As Y/N sat on the edge of his bed, her bare shoulder being carefully treated by the man with unexpected delicacy and tenderness - He wasn’t even aware that he, Ramsay Snow, the feared bastard of the North, kneeling in front of her, was capable of something like this... But somehow, it felt... Good. It felt... Natural, like this was how things were supposed to go. He was to protect his fair maiden, and she was to look at him with those pretty eyes of hers, bat her lashes so bashfully and offer him a timid smile. “Does it hurt, my sweet flower?” he looked in her eyes so deep... Deep enough, as he wished he would be buried in her already. “You are very attentive with me, my dear, there is nothing that can hurt if it is you caring for me.” was she using such words to purposely throw him off the rails? Did she want to be thrown on the bed and claimed on the spot? To have her sweet flower taken from her - And that he’ll be gentle with her, and loving, and will make sure it won’t hurt at all? “My intention is to make sure you’re never going to experience anything negative, especially pain. I will deal with that wench later.” he found himself gulping - The more he looked at the unveiled skin, the more he wanted to rip the thin material of her dress and see her in all her glory. “You will have to excuse Myranda. She... Was not in the right state of mind. It cannot be easy for her to accept that... Well... She might still have some more to learn.” Ramsay could see how she tried to find the rights words as to not outright shade the bitch who attacked her, and still maintain that darling facade of hers. “Stop trying to protect her.” he snapped at her. “She knows the rules. If she breaks them, it is her own fault.” Ramsay didn’t realise the edge of his voice until it was too late. “Forgive my tone, My Lady, I didn’t mean to scare you.” But she wasn’t scared, he noticed - Instead, she smiled at him, almost as though it enticed her. “There is nothing to forgive, my sweet Ramsay, after all, you simply spoke your mind - And you are right - She is your servant, and you know  best the way to discipline them. She is old enough to know how to play this game, and if she was too incompetent to get a grip, it is her own fault. I will not attempt to shield her again from any scolding you’d wish to instill upon her.” Y/N could feel Ramsay’s hands stop working on her wound, and after wrapping it up properly, he rose to his feet, cupping her face. “Then, would you join me in her hunt, after we’ve returned from Winterfell?” that sweet, excited smile of hers made his heart beat so fast that it made his mind go hazy - More, his brain completely stopped working once she threw her arms around his neck and pulled him into a kiss. Her soft lips were even softer than the flowers, and so plump - He never kissed such sweet lips before, nor has he ever been as addicted to kissing a woman as he was with her, after a single kiss. “I would be honoured to join you, my sweet Ramsay.” though he tried to dive in for another kiss, desperate as a thirsty man in the desert, she ducked under his arm and twirled around away from him, a vixen like smile turning his nether regions aflame. “One at a time, sweet Ramsay - One at a time. I wouldn’t want you to get used to quickly to the sweet fragrance of the Moon’s Queen.” her giggle as she waltzed out of the room almost made him lose his balance - What the hell was she doing to him? Maybe Myranda was right, she was destroying and eroding away at his mind to the point of manipulation - Was she manipulating him? Maybe she was, but he didn’t mind anymore - He needed her like he never needed anything else - And one day, he was going to have her for himself, and never share her with anyone else. Y/N Tyrell was his and only his.

Once the week was over, the Tyrell family were finally moving towards the colder regions of the Seven Kingdoms, all the way to the castle of the Stark family, after stopping to the Dreadfort to collect the eldest daughter. Though cold and snowing, the landscapes were already so beautiful, despite how different they looked from back home. The cold shades of green, white, grey and blue were fantastically blended together into such a picturesque framed painting made by the best artists.

The journey was long and tedious, but it was well worth once they arrived to their destination - They were welcomed very warmly, especially by the children, and were shown their rooms. Y/N and Margaery were also shown the hot baths, so they could relax after such a long ride, and they could use it every time they wished to. The feast was rich and very delicious, but something was missing - A certain Bastard from the Dreadfort, who was to arrive the following day - Why he hadn’t joined Y/N, she was not yet aware, but he promised a surprise, to keep her excited and expecting.

The very next day, Y/N was awaiting the untimely arrival of her favourite bastard by doing the most boring things - Giving embroidery lessons to Sansa, Arya, Jeyne and her sister, made by Lady Catelyn and their Septa. How absolutely terrible, doing nothing but embroidering handkerchiefs and dresses. Dull.

When finally, the Sun went down and allowed the majestic moon rise up, the retinue was invited to the feast - And down there, already waiting at a table, was him - The man with brunet hair and the most piercing blue eyes - He had risen his head to scan the commotion, and upon seeing the girl, a smirk had taken place over his previously bland expression. Getting to his feet, he stepped in front of Lady Y/N and bent at the waist, taking her hand and kissing it. Had she gotten more attractive in the time they were apart, or was he simply missing her too much? It has been barely three days - Why was he so addicted to her?

Just like before, the children were sat at a table, to enjoy the merry feast, the singing and the laughter - But feasts were just that, feasts - And Y/N had always thought feasts were boring as all hells, and she was in grave need of entertainment.

“Sweet Ramsay, you once promised to show me the ethereal, vivid lights of the sky that only the North hosts. Let us slip away from this banquet and have a walk, shall we?” young Y/N whispered into the ear of the bastard, only to get up and leave the halls of the Stark feast, hoping that the brunet wouldn’t take too long to follow - And thankfully, he didn’t, for he was right by her side, with his furs over her, seeing as she shivered once she came in contact with the harsh, cold wind. “Your health comes first, My Lady. If it gets too cold for you, we can always return on the morrow, there is no rush.” Ramsay had his arm around her small form, keeping her flushed to his side, under the pretense of keeping her warm. “Alright, alright, that is quite the bargain. Is it far from here?” she kept trying to imagine the snowy cliff that he described days and months prior, but no matter how much she tried, nothing compared to the crystal-like sparkle of the snow as it reflected the silvery light. “Careful steps, My Lady, the ground is frozen and you might slip.” he pointed out, keeping a tight grip on her, worrying with every wobble she’d make. “How darling of you, my dear... Oh, this forest is gorgeous! This green amongst all this fluffy snow... How lovely!” her excited admiring came to a halt soon. “... Ah! Not so lovely when it’s so cold...” the girl eeped as the snow from one of the branches fell onto her head, mixing with her hair as if it was a flower crown. “How clumsy of you, Lady Y/N. Thankfully, we have arrived. Be very careful, the cliff is steep and there is a lake right underneath.” the man warned as he guided her onto the cliff.

As soon as she stepped out of the woods, she gasped and looked up - The dark blue sky was painted with such a vivid palette of colours that she’s never seen even in the most renowned paintings all over Westeros, or far beyond. The way they undulated in the sky, and how, with the scenery, it almost seemed as if a soft lullaby was playing in tune with every move.

Ramsay told her an old tale that, up there, the lights represent the running souls of every animal that ever lived here, in the North, and that it plays with its kin forevermore. The more he spoke, the more fascinated the girl was, and with that, her eyes sparkled even brighter than the moon and stars combined. How could a creature be so beautiful, in her own innocence? And, most of all, why doesn’t he want to break and taint her? Why doesn’t he want to rip her apart and destroy any ounce of hope and happiness embroidered in that heart of hers?

Instead, he reached his hands up to her hair and kicked some of the snow off, letting only a circlet of frozen flowers around her hair. He gazed down, deep into her eyes that were shining with more life and bliss than he’s ever experienced before in his entire life. He wanted to drink her in like the sweetest ale there was and never let her go. “I may not be able to make you a true Queen, however, My Lady, if you would have me, I would love for you to be my Moon’s Queen. A flower more beautiful than any other around her.” though she looked absolutely mesmerised, she leaned in and shared a sweet kiss with the northman, whose cold hands warmed as he held gingerly her soft face. “I have been rather spoiled until this age, I must say. Not only I had no betrothal obligation, but I could freely pursue any of my passions. I would love nothing more than to call you mine own sweet love, though I have not asked for permission from mine Lord Father. I... I dare not go against his kindness.” though her response was timid, the man before her merely kissed her forehead reassuringly. “Worry not about such trivialities, my sweetling. If you so desire, all shall be taken care of.” his heart was beating so fast, just like an obsessed child that finally got the toy he wanted so badly - He felt absolutely on fire with so many emotions that he couldn’t even name. He felt so powerfully that he could almost feel his fingers digging into her flesh to the point of grinding her bones. It was such a strong feeling of possessiveness - Having Y/N being HIS was like a dream, and he was not going to let anyone take her away from him. ”The reason for arriving so late was that we were awaiting a letter from the King.” he spoke, and on his face, a wide grin that looked almost boyish graced his features. “It is long since I have awaited the good news to come - So long, that I feared they may never come - At last, however, my Lord Father had received the letter.” he quickly took the letter from his pocket, and almost shoved it into the girl’s hands from excitement.  The girl, with her frozen fingers, took the paper into her own hands and her eyes skimmed over it - And she gasped, throwing her arms around his neck. “Ramsay -- You did it! You did it! Finally -- O, I am so happy for you!” she pulled him into a few more kisses, much faster and chaste, but they only made the man feel sublime bliss and euphoria. He felt as if he was flying. “Lord Ramsay Bolton.” she breathed out. “That sounds beautiful. Congratulations, my darling, you deserve it. You are now the legitimate heir.” her smile widened even more. “Now that I am a real Lord, I can properly court you and ask your father for your hand in marriage.” he enjoyed so dearly watching the happiness in those fawn eyes of hers - He never imagined that there would ever be a person that would be so genuine with him. She had no reason to use him, and she never scolded him, or looked down on him for being a bastard. In fact, she treated him so much better than anyone ever did, including his own whore of a mother whilst growing up at the mill, or even that heinous Lord father who hated him.

The only one who actually tried to form a bond with him was his half brother... Too bad Ramsay had no intention of having Bolton siblings that would be named heir in his stead. “And once you do... Will you finally tell me of your... Inconspicuous passions of yours? Officially, this time.” the man froze, and his eyes widened in surprise, and a slightly sense of fright - Does she know of his hunting? Or the flaying? Would she run away if she did? He never did confirm anything back at the Dreadfort - Had she somehow gone down to the dungeons and witnessed the tortured and flayed victims? Had Myranda described in morbid details the hunts he officiated? “What is with that look, Lord Bolton? It is unbecoming of someone like you.” she giggled teasingly. “What better way to strike fear into your enemies, than showing them the true meaning of the symbol of your own House?”  Ramsay looked at her, flabbergast - Did he hear those words correctly? That sweet voice of hers, uttering such... Things? Without any bit of fear? “My Lady, what is it that you are implying?” his own voice went lower, barely audible. “Ah, I see, you must be finding some kind joy out of having a lady speaking bluntly.” she hummed as the corner of her mouth twitched upwards, amused, and she brought him closer to her body. “I feel much safer by the side of a man who is unafraid of protecting his people by any means necessary... Whether or not he takes pleasure from inflicting pain on his enemies.” speaking into his ear made the man shudder slightly. “As long as it is not me that comes to harm... Anything goes... And anything can be... Entertaining.” Ramsay gulped and roughly brought the girl at arm’s length, looking down at her with even wider eyes - His breathing was ragged, his heart was beating so, so very fast, and he was feeling heated. In an instant, the new Lord brought his Lady into a deep kiss, from which he didn’t want to let go. How he wanted to bring her to his home again and hold her slender body to his own, without the pestering feeling of so many layers upon layers of furs, leathers and plush clothing.  “You saw right through me, did you not, My Lady?” he asked, between kisses. “And so have you, My Lord.” she retorted immediately, stepping backwards, her hair messy, and in need of breathing.

The lingering feeling of her sweet and delicate petal-like lips left him in such a drunken state, that he didn’t realise the predator going to destroy his new-found euphoria. Before he realised what was going on, Y/N was pushed out of his embrace, close to the edge of the cliff. Ramsay could see the fear and confusion in her eyes, as a loud crack was heard from the hanging body of land she was sprawled over. He yelled out her name and leapt to grab ahold of her hand, hopefully drag her to a safer part of the cliff, but before he could get anywhere close to her, the edge surped, aided by a perfectly aimed arrow, and the girl fell to her doom.

Unable to get up from the snowy ground, Ramsay was in a deep daze, and strongly spiraling. Just now, he had that sweet flower right in his arms, and she was HIS, and now, she had fallen, away from his reach. He was going to destroy the person who did it. Outright shatter. Rip their nails, flay them, pour salt on their flesh, break their bones, gouge their eyes out, pull out each of their teeth, cut a few fingers and toes...

“My love, are you alright?” that voice... That awful voice... He should have wringed her neck and ripped apart her vocal chord and every strand of her hair, should have bashed her skull against the wall until only mush remained. “M-My love...?” how dare she call him that? When did he ever give her the consent to ever use such an endearing name for him, when she’s nothing more than a toy for him to use as he pleases? Has she forgotten her place? Or did she rightfully anticipate that, once he marries Y/N Tyrell, he would throw her in a hunt and get rid of her permanently? What a scared cunt. She doesn’t deserve any bit of him. But why was she in Winterfell, to begin with? She was not taken in the Bolton party - She was supposed to be at the Dreadfort, taking care of the kennel. Pathetic and disobedient. There was going to be hell to pay. “You stupid, dumb cunt. What have I told you, all this time? You think that killing Y/N would make me spare you? No, Myranda, you are dead wrong. Jealousy bores me. You know what happens to people who bore me. And not only you bored me, but you angered me beyond any boundary. You know what I’m going to do to you, don’t you, you dumb whore.” in his fit of rage, he wasn’t even able to rejoice in the desperate, frightened cries, nor in the complete fear that was gleaming in her eyes. No amount of blood spilled on his body, nor how much pain he was putting her through helped, because just like the broken marionette that she was, her strings were cut and she was easily thrown in the trash, where she belonged. But she wasn’t dead - And nor did he want her dead... Not just yet. “If you want me to spare you, you better return home. Otherwise... I will make sure I find you - And when I do... You will wish that the cold had taken you.” Ramsay threatened the woman after choking her, before he took off some of the layers of fur and stared down at the freezing cold water - He was a northman, he had taken such baths before. He wasn’t fond of them, but he was resistant to the cold. All northmen had to get their body strong and immune to such freezing temperatures since very young. “Y/N... Y/N, I will find you... Whether you are dead or alive, I will find your body.” he muttered to himself during his hyper-fixated state, and he jumped down from the cliff, diving down into the bone-chilling freezing water and swimming down.

He easily spotted the girl, as his own fur coat was weighting her down massively, but thanks to his northman strength, he took off her coat and managed to swim up with both the unconscious girl and the furs that will prove, once dry, a perfect means of keeping her body temperature up. That is, if he can even get that thick thing to dry any time soon.

Though difficult, Ramsay was able to swim to the surface and picked the girl up in his arms, looking for some shelter, and much to his shock, there was a small fisherman’s hut and a fire seemed to illuminate from the inside.  He knocked on the door, hoping the peaceful method would make due, but as the fisherman answered the door and outright denied them entry, seeing the pin of the Flayed Man on his vest, Ramsay blocked the door with his boot, and leaning the girl on one of his arms, he took out a dagger and slit the old man’s throat.

What a dumbass. He was going to let him live, should he have been more hospitable. Too bad.

Carefully, the bastard placed the unconscious girl on the furs on the ground so he could take off her clothes and put them on the string to dry, just next to the hot fire that the fisherman had made to cook a stew. ‘Perfect’ the man thought, knowing the girl would need to eat something warm to get better.

But thoughts about the stew were far gone as he reached her undergarments and instinctually pulled them away, leaving her soft body on display. Though a hue milky to light blue from the freezing water, she still looked so enticing that Ramsay thought, just by looking alone, his clothes would dry immediately from how hot he felt. He could catch fire and immolate immediately from how he was suffocating.

The Bolton bastard couldn’t believe that he got to see his paramour’s body like that, thought he was glad that at least, he knew how to save her. How to care for a hypothermic body, how to maintain a fire, dry the furs and make food - Otherwise, she’d be long dead.

Still, he put his own clothes on the string to dry after putting the only blanket available over the girl, tucking her in... But it wasn’t enough. She was shivering, and she looked paler than before. His body was feeling even more hot now that he realised the only way to warm her up was to hold her naked body flushed to his own. What a sacrilege for noblemen of this era. Lady Y/N Tyrell was an unmarried maiden, she should choose death, rather than allow her skin to be touched by a man - A bastard, no less, be him legitimized or not... Or at least, that’s how that stupid church dictated the laws.

He was going to burn the church from the ground and hold Y/N so tight that all of his lustful fire would transfer to her. Getting behind her, he wrapped his strong arms over her small form and kept stroking her damp hair, hoping to take some of the water away from it. 

Time was passing at an unknown time, but unlike her body, his was feeling ablaze. His grip tightened even more once he heard his name being spoken out so lightly, barely above a whisper. Ahh, the way she was mewling out his name - “Ramsay... Ramsay...” was driving him crazy to the point of spontaneously combusting. “Yes, my sweet flower, I am here. Do not fear, I am right here.” he mumbled into her ear, yet it seemed to be left unheard. “Cold... S-So cold... So... C-Cold...” she kept shivering over and over in such a weak voice that it made the bastard’s nether regions go aflame from lust. Her weakened state was so fragile and easy to break. Her body and mind were completely in his hands, and he had complete control over her very being. “We have been staying this way for hours, my sweetling. Are you still cold?” he asked, frowning as he realised that her trembling hasn’t diminished in the least and that her skin was as cold as ice. “Cold... Too cold...” she was repeating the same words like a broken doll. Pondering, Ramsay immediately jolted into a sitting position, taking the girl up to sit on his lap, her soft chest pressed flush against his own. He could feel her hardened rose buds poking him from the cold. “Are you really cold, my darling?” he asked in an almost poisoned-sweet voice, watching her head lull as she nuzzled her face into the side of his neck, her hands placed on his chest, humming in approval. She was so out of it from the cold, it was unreal how vulnerable she was. “I know a way to make you warm from the inside out, but a sweet maiden like you, with no husband, might not agree to it.” he teased her girl in a low, sultry voice. “I’mm’a d-die... S-So cold... D-Don’t wanna...” hearing that, the man cupped her face and made her look at him - Her hooded lids and dazed expression was enough of a trigger for him, and he didn’t await any other answer. He pulled her into a deep kiss, so filled with passion as he’s never kissed anyone ever before, and his hands pulled the blanket over her form, before he got a firm grip on her hips. “Do you want me to warm you up, despite not being you husband? Do you want me, Y/N? Tell me that you want me, Y/N, and I will make you feel as though you are back in that comforting warmth of Highgarden. Just say the words, Y/N. Say them.” he kept pressuring her between kisses, and for a few moments, she felt lucid. Those firm, warm hands were dragging her soul back to her body and re-awakening her miraculously. “You said I was your Moon’s Queen, didn’t you? Then, it matters little whether I have yet a husband or not, for I have you. You said you will go to my father and ask for us to be married. Do not keep me waiting any longer, I am freezing.” the little flower was demanding of him, how brave of her, Ramsay thought, as he felt himself suffocating with desire.  “People of Highgarden are free to explore their pleasure, you once said. Have you ever been touched by a man?” the girl shook her head. “A woman, perhaps?” once again, she denied. “Yourself...?” nothing. “Not as adventurous as you claim, are you, my dear?” “Stop taunting me... I’m freezing.” she muttered, casting her gaze to the side, only to feel the skin of her neck attacked by those lips of his, kissing all over, and licking and sucking, even grazing his teeth, almost as if biting. The girl could barely contain her sweet sighs, her fingers holding tightly onto his shoulders for support. “Don’t hide those beautiful sounds from me, Y/N. I want to witness everything about you.” that low husky voice made the hair on the back of her neck stand up from desire. He wasn’t sure if it was from embarrassment, the beginning of a sickness, or simply, the cold, but those splendid eyes of hers were gleaming - It only made her look even more ethereal, if that was even possible. “Your tears are getting me excited, my darling flower - It couldn’t be that this was your plan all along, could it? Fall into my arms like a damsel in distress and seduce me with the sweet melody of a nightingale?” kissing down her throat, Ramsay could feel the vibration of a whimper, which only made him feel more suffocated. “You are driving me crazy, Y/N.” “You’re going to kill me before you can warm me up properly - Was this your plan, then? To make me die of embarrassment?” her bottom lip quivered softly, feeling his hardening member putting pressure on the length of her watery slit. “What is there to be embarrassed about, my sweet flower? It is only what a husband should do to his lovely lady. In fact, it should be me complaining about the things that you do to me. The amount of restraint that I proved was above what I imagined myself capable of.” he sighed into her ear, making her shiver against his touch. “You came over into my bed, nights on end, wearing only that sheer nightgown of yours. You think men and animals aren’t alike, my lady, but when you tease me, there is not much I can do to hold back the feral desire that I have for you.” he felt one of your hands caressing his cheek, then raking up through the messy dark ringlets of his hair, tugging lightly at him - He gritted his teeth to the point of thinking they were going to shatter. He was losing his grip on reality, but he knew he couldn’t give up yet - He didn’t want to harm his sweet flower. “It was no different for me, my sweet Ramsay - Bound to rules and regulations, and a desire to drive you crazy enough to want me more than air itself.” the weak smirk of hers only made him pull her into deeper kisses, his tongue slipping in to explore every inch of her mouth. “I wanted have you as crazy in love for me, as you made me for you. Do you have any idea how much I wanted your arms around me, and you to speak only my name? I want you mine and nobody else’s.” “You’ve been a good girl for me, my sweet flower. Let me reward you for all the times that you’ve teased me to the point of losing my restraints. Were it not for the need of warming you, I would have taken my time with you more, until you were such a mess that the only word you remembered was mine name. I wanted to see you come undone before me, times and times again, and still, I wouldn’t have been satisfied.” carefully, he lay her down on the bed, her back slightly raised by the mound the fur blanket made for her. “It is about time I spoil my sweet lady the way she deserves.”

Ramsay’s hands were on either side of her head, looking down at the precious lady, with her long hair sprawled all over, and a glazed expression of bliss mixed with love and lust sparkling in her eyes. For the first time, Y/N was exposing herself as vulnerable and willing to submit to his every whim. One of his hands trailed down her throat - And oh how delicious she looked with his hand clasping over her neck - And down to the mounds of her breast and the erect buds which he teased with a short pinch. The small twitch of her body only made him feel more smug, as he attacked the rose bud with his tongue, one arm underneath her torso to keep herself up, while the other went down to feel her thigh, and in between. All her beautiful skin was hers to touch, and it was no longer as freezing cold as before. “You are mine, Y/N.” he whispered against her skin as his fingers found their way teasingly trailing across her womanhood with such gentleness that she thought it was a feather torturing her with anticipation.  “Then make me yours.” her comment him chuckle, the vibration against her skin instinctively making her bite her lip as she tried to close her legs to create some friction for her aching, teased core. “I will, darling, I will - Be patient. It is your fault that I can’t help myself from taking my sweet time teasing you. Your body is so honest, betraying your need for me.” a soft gasp escaped as he pulled her thighs apart. “Much better, isn’t it?” and he trailed his fingers towards the little bundle that he knew would create such desperate reactions. “I can’t allow you to do this to yourself. It is me who makes you feel this way - And it is me who will offer you your sweet release.” “You’re so cruel to me - It’s not fair!” she breathed out, her cheeks reddening, her body squirming for his touch.  “Are you feeling bothered just from this, my sweetling? Well - Aren’t you the most precious little thing in the world.” he really couldn’t help himself - His lips found themselves over hers once more, and he took turns between kissing and biting at those soft petals, whilst his hand was applying more pressure, all the way from  the top, and downwards, at such an agonizingly slow pace. His touch was intoxicating. It was maddening. This man was insane, and everything he did made her head spin with every repeated motion, each time, with more and more pressure applied, feeding onto every little gasp and twitch and whimper, her inability to keep quiet making him go feral. “Sing for me, my little nightingale - I love your melody the most.” he said as he held her face up, forcing her to looking into his crazy eyes - Eyes dripping with lust and obsession - He was watching her like a sadist as she tried to keep any bit of composure she had left, and as he cupped her womanhood, playing with her special bud to the point that her body twitched and she gasped - Her torso arches whilst she gripped down on the furs and her legs tried to close once again. “Now THAT is the reaction I was hoping for!” he found himself laughing like an obsessed child, happy to get his puppet move the way it wanted. He drank in her moans as the hand gripping her face was now carefully placed over her throat. “I could snap your neck so easily, like the frail flower that you are - Yet here I am, indulging you to the point of driving myself mad, not only you. You have made a fool out of me, my darling.” Through hooded lids, Y/N looked up at the gorgeous face of the man having far too much fun pleasuring her. “You’re already killing me in more ways than you realise.” with a smirk, his mouth trailed down with kisses from her forehead, down to her chin and her now unveiled throat, and down to her chest, grazing his teeth against her nipple, almost as if he was trying to distract her from the way his fingers were slipping on the wetness of her core.

“My, my, so needy for me, aren’t you? My sweet little flower is so greedy.” his head slowly lowered down to her abdomen, and between her thighs, planting kisses on the supple flesh of her legs. “I will give you pleasure like no woman in this world felt before.” that low, alluring voice of his hypnotised her as he positioned himself against her cunt, her legs over his shoulders, and gripping on the plush of her thighs, his fingers digging into them firmly while his other hand pinned her waist down onto the bed, rendering her unable to squirm from his intoxicating touch, his lips kissed the sensitive area which sent a bolt of electricity through her veins, earning gasp after gasp and timid moans that only made him ache.

His eyes looked up at her, drinking in the way her body convulsed so sincerely just with the way his tongue was teasing her - But he wanted more - So much more. Sinful sighs echoed through the small cabin as he kissed and sucked at her bud, and then more, when his wet, hot tongue danced inside her cave. Sounds so hedonistic that, should the church have known, would have punished her for being a temptress, though the way she mewled his name... “Ramsay... Ramsay...” so broken, her fingers ripping into the furs, drove him over the edge.

His cock was so hard, just by hearing those lustful please of her, so desperate for him, he couldn’t help but imagine that pretty mouth of hers around him, his hand on the back of her head, pushing her up and down until she choked and cried, sucking and kissing and licking him like he was her last meal on earth, and then more, him painting white with his seed, that innocent fawn-like face of her, gorgeous above all, and down on her teats, and on her hands and body, as she begged for more of his milk like the desperate, needy kitten that she is for him.

Oh, the things he’d have her do for him, in the near future - But for now, he was content edging and pleasuring her, just enough so that she’ll be screaming his name and even her parents will hear her, all the way from Winterfell, and then some more. She was such a good little girl, all for him, so hopeful and obedient, and needy - All for him. ONLY for him. HIS Y/N.

“R-Ramsay, stop, I-I... I can’t, I--” that pitched, broken cry, trying to hard to remain coherent yet unable to, as her legs tried to clamp around his head and even his hand was unable of holding her down completely. Lady Y/N Tyrell has experienced her first sweet release, all thanks to his tongue alone.  “What a good girl, Y/N - Was it good, my darling? Do you want more?” he asked, his hands gripping on her tights, holding them on either side of his waist as he towered down to her level, gazing with the eyes of the devil, speaking to her in whispers that would make the devil feel shame. “Y-Yes...” she managed to rasp out despite her embarrassment, yet he took her wrists away from her face as she tried to hide. “Yes - What, my dear? What is it that you want? Tell me what do you want me to do.” he pulled her hands to his face, kissing the inside of her wrist, watching her struggle to speak as honestly as her body did. “I want you - Ramsay, I want you - I want you to claim me. My heart, my soul, my body - Make me yours, my sweet Ramsay. I want you to make me yours.” and how could he resist that sweet voice of hers - The voice of an angel, speaking the filth of the devil - The most beautiful woman in the world craving for his body as much as he did hers. How could he deny her, when he is a slave to her desires. “That’s my good girl.” he cradled her face, refusing to bend down and kiss those sweet lips of hers, and instead, forcing her to watch, to look into his eyes, so dangerously close to her, as he teased her sensitive bundle once again, yet this time, Y/N felt the electricity shortcircuit her wires even more, her whole body felt aflame from the pleasure overheating every inch of her - Every twitch, every mewl, it made the man throb more. He wanted to bury himself inside her warmth at once, but he couldn’t deny how good it felt, toying with her body like this.

The way her body begged so sincerely for him, for his touch, as he entered a single digit into her core - The way she clenched around him only made him imagine the drunkening sensation his cock would feel, held prisoner inside her wet prison. It was no secret - She needn’t say any word, for her body spoke everything she couldn’t, and describes so well the way she loved the way he moved inside of her - So slow, so teasing, curling, sending waves of electrifying pleasure through all her nerves - And he added another finger, and her fingers were digging crevasses into his skin, leaving red trails down his paleness, all from the intense feeling building up more and more. She was so close, Ramsay could feel another release threatening to escape - She was so close, so, so dangerously close that it was excruciating how close it felt - 

He took out his fingers and palmed her cunt, applying pressure on her sensitive bundle, making a tragic heat suffocate her, only to turn pained and frustrated from the denial. “Wh-Why... Why did you stop? You sadistic jerk - Is this torture what I deserve for teasing you?” she panted, deep and in agony, as his smirk only widened with twisted wickedness, and positioned himself to her entrance, leaning down over her body as one hand held up her body, while the other he used to hold himself up, trapping the girl completely under him, getting a better angle at abusing the skin of her neck. “Why, you ask? My sweetling, I simply want you to get so completely lost in this feeling that you won’t know anything else but the pleasure I’m giving you.” he muttered in her ear, feeling her stiffen, and pulling her into a passionate kiss, he slowly entered her soaked heat. Each sweet thrill she made, he drak away, and every time his cock touch a sweet spot, her nails would attack his toned back as if she were a kitten destroying the drapes. “You’re taking me so well, my love.” he said, his mind going black, watching himself pully sheathed inside of her, head held back from the pleasure she was feeling, amplified by her mark he was leaving on her skin, to the point that he was unsure there was any bit of skin left untouched and unkissed. A smile almost impish painted her face, succumbing entirely to the hot waves of pleasure drowning her as her walls clenched down around him, unwilling to let him go.

“Look at you, enjoying yourself so shamelessly. I assure you, no noble lady was ever treated this way by her lord husband. Those arrogant fucks are too afraid to explore the body they crave so much. All they know is to make heirs, but they don’t know how to enjoy it.” his breathing was ragged against her skin, though he was unsure if her mind could hear his words properly. The small bulge he created at her belly with each thrust of his member drove him to madness - She were a slave to his body, as much as he was hers - He disallowed her to get used to any pace, be it faster and sloppy, or slower and deep, yet each time, that sweet spot was hit, she’d let out a new sound that he hadn’t heard before. The cabin was filled with nothing but passionate words spoken with such fire and filth. “My sweet flower, do you want your release?” he asked against her lips, her hands gripping his hair as to force him down into a kiss. “Yes...” she exhaled between the passion. “Then beg me, my darling. Beg me to bring you over the edge of this world.” the girl whined, face red with shame. “If you don’t... Well, I’ve already given you a taste of denial. Tonight I’m feeling merciful - I’m giving you a choice... Do you want to cry my name from the pleasure of release, or... Mayhaps you wish to whine as I leave you here all alone.” he gently captured her quivering bottom lip, graving his teeth over its plumpness. “Though, without me filling you, I suppose you’d get desperate enough to pleasure yourself, and... I cannot deny, your insatiable greed is something that I desire to see.” “I will be the one doing the flaying if you dare leave me like this--” he couldn’t help but grin in amusement - How adorable she looked, attempting to threaten him, all because of her neediness. How very precious.  “Then come undone for me, my love.” he held her even tighter as his pace roughened, her legs wrapped tight around his getting him even closer to her, if possible.

His name was mewled one last time for the night, a sinful, desperate thrill that drove him to an even more brutal pace as he rode her release, watching pleasure take over her senses - Ramsay buried his face into her shoulder, biting onto her flesh and he felt his own release paint her walls white. Once the clouding euphoria start to unfog his mind, he lazily propped himself up, watching the dazed look on Y/N’s face, her chest heaving up and down as she tried to breathe properly after all the pleasure that he drowned her in. Slowly, he took his cock out of her, watching with a sense of accomplishment and devilry as his seed seeped out of her. He hadn’t felt so good before, with his body pushed flush against a woman’s, not did his mind go hay-write when any cunt would shriek his name as he fucked her into oblivion - Yet that body of hers drove him crazy, and her nightingale song was truly special if it was able to burn him like that.

With a satisfied smirk, Ramsay looked down at her flushed face, and played with a strand of her now dry hair - Though her breathing had evened out to some degree, the high was still possessing her. “Was that treatment worthy of a Queen, my sweet flower?” he spoke, taking the lobe of her ear in his mouth, playfully chewing on it, before tracing the shell of her ear with his tongue. “So... When’s the wedding?” she let out an amused exhale, only to find herself switching positions, placed on his lap and with him already inside of her all the way, his arms almost blowing away the air from her lungs as he embraced her tightly, his body glued to her own. “What - Didn’t think I’d just let you go, did you? I’ve got a lot more of the frustration you pent up on me to release, my dear. It is your fault - Own up to it.”

Though the night was long, it passed by like a breeze for the two lovers, intertwined within their lust and desire for once another, yet once the sun was fully up in the sky and the furs and clothes were all but dry, and the food that the old man cooked was finished, the two left the sinful cabin and returned to the castle that housed the Warden of the North and his people. Though they didn’t stay for long, Ramsay, with his new claim of legitimacy, asked Mace Tyrell for his daughter’s hand in marriage, and seeing his sweet  Y/N so excited, he couldn’t help but agree. The Boltons might not be the most affluent family, but relationships in the North were just as important, yet nowhere as much as her happiness.

Once Y/N and Ramsay returned to the Dreadfort for a few days of time spent together, whilst the Reach was to prepare for the wedding ceremony, grandiose and worthy of the second most wealthy in the realm. Meanwhile, the Ramsay invited his darling down to the dungeons, where Myranda was tied up to a wooden X. “Myranda - I present to you Lady Y/N Tyrell, the most beautiful woman in the realm, and, coincidentally, my wife! Isn’t that fantastic?” Ramsay’s poisoned cheerfulness as he presented the woman as though the two never met made the flower chuckle. “Her lips are so sweet, she’s got me addicted.” he continued, pulling her into a tender kiss that only grew more desperate with each and every heartbroken protest from the kennel master’s daughter. “What is it, Myranda? You think Lady Y/N is beautiful? Well, you should see her body! You’ll lose your mind!” with one swift move, Ramsay unlaced and unburdened the Tyrell girl from her dress and pulled her up to sit on a desk, offering the perfect view to the tied up woman, as his hands roamed up and down Y/N’s soft flesh. “I know Myranda, I know - I’ve lost my mind too just seeing her... But when I’m side her and she cries out my name so sweetly... I can’t help but melt and feel like a slave before her.” he admitted, burying himself inside her wet core, his grip on her tightening harshly from how good she felt, but also, the desperate, broken and hopeless sobs from the jealous woman only fueled his animalistic desire for Y/N’s body. “There’s nothing better in this world then getting drunk on you, my sweet Queen of the Moon. I’ll never let go of you.”

After ripping at least two sweet thrills from the woman coming undone in his embrace, Y/N kissed him with so much fire that he was ready to perform more - Until he heard her whisper in his ear, enticing him for illicit activities. “Hey, Myranda - Are you ready for a hunt?”

[a-little-unsteddie]

rated m for mature themes. allusions to sex, but no sex, and references to drugs/alcohol

so i had a thought of like. sex worker!steve and famous!corroded coffin? please forgive the inaccuracy of party bus happenings, i have never not even once been in one. anyway. corroded coffin just got platinum or something for their album, maybe it was their first official album or maybe it was their second or third album who knows but! it is their first ever platinum and to celebrate chrissy (their manager) rents a party bus as a surprise with both male and female sex workers, and steve is one of them, lots of alcohol, no drugs harder than weed, wayne had kept eddie on the straight and narrow thus far.

it was just the band + chrissy, + their driver/security combo hopper, and then the three or four dancers. steve and eddie instantly click, steve having a good idea of who eddie was as part of the preparation before this specific party bus.

it wasn’t unusual for celebrities to rent the buses, so steve thought he was prepared for whatever the night had for him. except eddie immediately trips upon seeing steve because of how distracted he is by the prettiest boy he’s ever seen in his lifeand steve is immediately endeared, helping him stand back up with an amused smile.

“careful, baby, don’t wanna damage that pretty face of yours,” he says, watching in glee as eddie flushes at the words, and struggles to put together anything coherent for a moment before regaining his composure.

“sorry, sweet thing, i was blinded by your beauty,” he freely admitted, a flirtatious smile adorning his face. steve laughs sweetly, and eddie knows that he wants to be the cause of that laugh as much as possible.

the rest of the band (+ chrissy and hopper and the other dancers) watches on in exasperation as they proceed to spend the rest of the night flirting and dancing around each other, steve not willing to go further then some light petting before the end of his shift, eddie desperate to get his hands on steve properly, but loves the sweet dance that they’re doing too much to push for more, definitely understanding steve’s hesitation.

come morning they’re ready to pounce on each other and the moment that steve is technically off the clock he demands eddie to tske him to his hotel room so they can have some real fun.

[melcademia]

080622

book cafe i visited last week 📖

probably one of the most prettiest places i’ve visited to study thus far! jazz bg music, a mini art gallery, and a splendid view of town. pretty~

[paperback-rascal]

I know... I know I'm jumping on the meme redraw bandwagon but when I draw crossover of any series with The Witcher you know I'm in too deep in a hyperfixation.

Also... "Gegege no Kitaro" by Shigeru Mizuki basically reshaped the view on Yokai for Japanese audiences in '60 XX, while "The Witcher" by Andrzej Sapkowski changed the view on slavic folklore for Polish people in '90 XX. so it's inevitable for SOMEONE to put Geralt and Kitaro together in one drawing. It might as well be me.

it might sound far-fetched but... Kitaro and Geralt are more similar than you might think!

They are both considered "outsiders" - Geralt is a witcher, mutated human who's sole purpose is to kill monsters for the right price - he is no longer considered a human being and often considered a monster himself by people who he is suppose to protect. Since he was created to kill monsters, or what humans consider to be monstrous, he is not accepted by any side of the human-non-human conflict. Kitaro is a Yokai (a term used to describe Japanese monsters) who is a human-yokai negotiator. Yokai thinks he is on humanity side, while humans thinks he sides with the monsters.

They are both long-living. Geralt, due to his mutations, is around 100+ in the book series. Kitaro, due to him being a monster, is 50+ but mentally he is a teenager.

They are both considered "ugly". In "The Witcher" books, Geralt's appearance is often described as uncanny thus people are often spooked by his inhuman look (it was later nullified by 3rd "The Witcher" game and, especially, Netflix series - in those he is gruff but good looking). In "Gegege no Kitaro" manga Kitaro is often described as a "creepy kid" and the title of the franchise is sometimes translated to "Spooky Kitaro" or "Kitaro of the graveyard". In newest version of the anime Kitaro doesn't look grotesque but in early manga and in Hakaba anime from 2007, Kitaro ain't the prettiest.

Both Geralt and Kitaro have "magical abilities" and "magical equipment" to deal with monsters.

Geralt has witcher medallion which vibrate when monsters are nearby (I'm sure, Geralt's medallion would activate when in close proximity to Kitaro), Kitaro hair stands up when he is close to a monster activity, warning him about the monsters beforehand.

Geralt has witcher signs (a set of basic magical spells) which can create: fire (Igni), entrapment (Yrden), waves of energy (Aard), energy shield (Quen), calm animals or bend other people's will (Axii) etc. while Kitaro can generate electricity and use his hair as spikes or fingers as a spiritual gun among other abilities.

As every witcher, Geralt have two swords - silver and steel - as well as potions that enhance his abilities. Kitaro have a chanchanko vest made of spiritual hair of his ancestors and wooden getas those are basically multiools during his encounters with monsters.

2018 anime (AKA 6th series) is closer in philosophy to "The Witcher" depiction of morality - in "The Witcher" it's often noted that the most monstrous of being are humans. Their despicable actions often leaving Geralt more and more disgusted with humanity.

The same sentiment can be seen in 2018 anime, but to a lesser extend. The 2018 anime mostly follows the tried and true "monster of the week + moral at the end of the episode" formula. However, sometimes an episode ends with characters not learning their lesson or learning that their behavior is abhorrent but going back to their old ways anyway. Since Kitaro's view on humanity is already very fragile in the 6th series, he is left more and more heartbroken seeing how futile his actions are.

Well... that's the gist of it.

If you're interested either of the series, know that "The Witcher" books are intended for more mature audiences while "GeGeGe No Kitaro" is a shounen manga.

---

see other of my Gegege no Kitaro fanarts -> [HERE] <-

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Gegege no Kitaro © Shigeru Mizuki/Kodansha/Toei Animation

The witcher saga (books) © Andrzej Sapkowski + The Witcher trilogy (video games) © CDProjektRED

[ladythornofrivia]

the gallery of mournful heart

Pair: Takeomi x Reader (mentions of Shinichiro x Reader in the past)

Warnings: Grief, Takeomi is a playboy/cheater, one-sided relationship with gf, having an affair with the reader, who Takeomi have fell in love with for years before and after Shinichiro died. Cussing, sex, good girl kink, reader is pregnant with Shinichiro’s child. Self-harm, alcohol, abuse. Takeomi is horny af, and reader is sad about Shinichiro. Shinichiro is a sweetheart, but is dead.

a/n: i made a poll months ago, that I said I’ll be doing this as a series. I decided to make it as a one-shot. A very long one. Hope you enjoy.

Things hadn’t been easy for everyone, especially for Takeomi, who have been fucking so many girls ever since Brahman is established. He wanted to forget the means of pain and suffering when his dearest friend, who dubbed Takeomi as a “rain-bringer”, passed on from a sudden kill. Takeomi brings girls in the meetings, brings girls at a private dinners, then brings girls at the club. Every night, he brings girls to forget his awakened state of melancholy and deep-fear of self-hate. He had been spending his money on parties, clubs, drinks, and even condoms when it comes orgy and horniness spewing out from his inner thoughts.

Things have been easy and difficult for the man, he never settled for anyone, except for the girl name Mika, who he has been hooking up with for three months. Brahman noticed this, and thought Takeomi is now finished horsing around with his dick out, plunging into every girl’s vagina, whether taking someone’s virginity or those who are experienced withe sexual intercourses.

Things have been quiet since Takeomi spoiled Mika with large prices of accessories and dresses. Mika is the prettiest one of them all. However, Takeomi wasn’t contented. Each time he spoils his new girlfriend with black card, he knew deep down that he’s doing all of this for a coping mechanism, of not facing the harsh reality. Everyone in Brahman is broken, meanwhile from the Kantou Manji Gang’s side, the Haitani brothers having a blast with much ladies and their DJ occupation. Sanzu, his young brother, enjoy his killing spree while serving Mikey at a god-tier service, though most likely he doesn’t want to know about Sanzu’s whereabouts.

Takeomi heeded Mika’s words each time she was sad about her daily life, making him take out his black credit card for her to shut her mouth and go into an ultimate shopping spree. Little did she know, he grew tired of her. Something was missing in his life, he doesn’t know what killed his mood each time he bring girls over. The satisfaction of climax to someone’s cunt is exhilarating beyond words, but after that, he kicked them out.

Day goes by when Takeomi had enough with Mika. All the crying and whining on how working as a hostess is hard, realizing she wanted nothing more but to be as Takeomi’s bitch full-time. She didn’t want to earn money through hours on end, and having the access from Brahman’s status, everything goes smoothly for her. Takeomi wasn’t having it, so he spent time finding other girls that wasn’t as annoyingly persistent with his money. Everything went to shit when his room is ransacked. Mika took everything with her, thus calling “cleaners” to kill her on the spot to have his belongings back. It was a nightmare, but Brahman made sure that Mika’s fate is bound to be as a missing girl in the news.

~~~

He couldn’t sleep. Nothing was working for him; he tried every sleeping method and every suggestion from the expertise. He pulled out another cigarette and lit it up, until the smoke escalated towards the ceiling.

So far, he wasn’t feeling well or in the mood for fucking. Instead he thought of a different lens tonight. He longed for prosperity—the prosperity from his past days. He remembered the days where he was once as the God of War, he remembered on how his friends, Wakasa and Benkei, and their leader, Shinichiro Sano, the weakest leader, took over as the first generation Black Dragons. Compare from now to then, one thing that Black Dragons didn’t have is the perseverance of killing or torturing others or traitors. Black Dragons is nothing more than a simple glory, the glory days of fist fights—real fights, and teamwork, thanks to Shinichiro’s persuasive skills. Everyone, even the strongest, the mightiest of men, looked up to Shinichiro. Days in the past, all that Takeomi ever did is to watch Shinichiro take the lead, every moment he has with the Black Dragons is just another memory in his teenage years, up until his early-twenties. Everyone watched Shinichiro getting beaten, and everyone watching him getting rejected by girls 20 times. With every failure Shinichiro received, he never gave up, and find another.

He nearly forgot what Shinichiro sounds like, but still recalled his expression each time he got turned down by the girls. Shinichiro is the kind of man who gets mopey with puppy eyes. Thus Takeomi, although still teasing Shinichiro, he suggested Shinichiro to not give up.

Shinichiro is the loser from fights and girls. Until he met someone special.

You. The ever shy and talented girl, always carrying a sketchbook and pencil in hand. Takeomi took another puff as he recalled on your youngish features. You are brightly and beautiful, with a dimple on your cheeks, send Takeomi’s heart with sway, though he won’t admit. Unlike Shinichiro, he took his chance to make a conversation with you, getting to you. Hearing all the praises from Shinichiro, even though friendly, but Takeomi shouldn’t take it to the heart. He wanted his friend to be happy, to be given at chance with love at life. He watched you two spend each other’s time, watching him flirt with you, court with you, while you’re taking it all in with a smile etched onto your face. Everything about you was as bright as the moonlight’s star, eyes shining when meeting his siblings, the group, and how much happiness you delivered alongside Shinichiro’s cheeky and playful side showing every time. Each day and each night, Takeomi wondered what happens if he ended up courting you instead of Shinichiro.

He didn’t want to betray Shinichiro and his romantic heart, so he let them be. You occasionally spoke to Takeomi, asking him if he wanted to hang out for a sleepover and watching a movie at Shinichiro’s place. He felt happy when you spoke to him, how your gaze send at his direction with a kind smile and cheeky dimples.

Takeomi, without a doubt, went for a sleepover, for your sake. Each time you inched closer to Shinichiro, Takeomi’s heart was about to burst from heartbreak. But carried on as if nothing happened.

Years went by, Shinichiro proposed to you. You saying “yes”, is the happiest moment in Shinichiro’s life, but great and profound sadness in Takeomi’s, as Mikey blurted out belligerently to his close friends, especially Haruchiyo.

But it all changed in one night, where Shinichiro is killed at the bike shop by Mikey’s closest friends, who only wanted to give Mikey a new bike by stealing. Their punishment was sentence in a lighter years, but gained a heavier burden when Takeomi found out you disappeared the night after Shinichiro’s funeral.

The trace of your words, your face and smile, vanished. Although Mikey and his friends are grateful you’re with them throughout the years, they couldn’t bear the thought of losing their older sister—their sister-in-law. Nobody knows where you went.

A day later, Takeomi decided to do his own investigation by hiring a spy—Sanzu, who he despised—in order to see what have you been up to these days. So far, no one is able to reach you.

Frustrated, he wasted another set of money by giving the cash to his younger brother, who he doesn’t want to see. Long story short, Sanzu told him that you aren’t in Japan. You were in a different country. Understandable enough that you don’t want to prolong your stay in Japan, as everything reminds you of Shinichiro. He couldn’t blame you. Thus, he gave up.

Until a storming night came, in the year of 2008.

When he got out from the nightclub, he stumbled across a noise coming from the back alleyway. A deafened noise pierced into his ears as he walked over to see a young man gripping its grasp onto a woman’s wrist. When Takeomi scared the man off, Takeomi asked the woman is okay. But the woman he spoke to is none other than you, outside in a cold stormy weather, with a weeping child carrying into your shaking arms.

Seems like Sanzu got the intel wrong regarding to you. You never left the country to begin with, your life squandered the day Shinichiro died. You tried to find every job that pays a decent salary, but ended up getting kicked out onto the streets because they don’t want a young mother to be a burden to the company.

With a touching reunion, Takeomi took you into Kantou Manji Gang’s quarters, though for a short time, due to conflicted rivalry reasons. When you introduced yourself, some people aghast, as if they’ve seen a ghost. Sanzu was the first person to approach with open arms. The rest were in awe, and as for Mikey, he looked at you empty eyes, until a shred of light came into his eyes and dropped on his knees, shedding his tears as you took Mikey into your arms, apologizing on how you weren’t there for him. Mikey, the leader of Kantou Manji Gang, became a little boy once more into your arms, a twenty-eight year old woman with a baby in your other arm.

After that, you and Takeomi left and went into his apartment.

When you settled into the building, you almost couldn’t help but to feel that there’s hope alight in your heart again. Every mistake and regret you carried, diminished.

Takeomi offered you a smoke, but you reminded him of the baby in your arms.

“So, who’s child is it?” he asked.

With a sniffle, your voice croaked with, “Shinichiro’s,” you said.

His heart stopped.

“Every day when I look at my son, he reminded so much of him. My child, he shouldn’t have dealt with pain that I caused. If only I was with Shinichiro, on that night at the S.S. Motors, things would’ve been different. I failed him. I failed him and my precious boy.”

With a long sigh, Takeomi sat down beside you. “None of this is your fault. You were just waiting for him to come back and celebrate your engagement.”

“When I carried him into my belly, I couldn’t help what life is supposed to be like without Shinichiro. Or what life is like with Shinichiro. Everything about him is so bright and warm and happy. No one ever loved me like he did. All I have at that time was a sketchbook and art supplies to cope the last shred of my sanity. Every dream I shared, he supported me. He protected me and gave me happiness. And each time when he gets frustrated, I always make sure I stay at his side, no matter what. It feels different when I stayed at Shinichiro’s gravestone at the cemetery. Every night and day, I always convinced myself that maybe Shinichiro just ran away and not tell me where he went. I always try to convince myself that he’s still alive, hiding somewhere far beyond my sight and touch. And with my beautiful child into my arms, I didn’t want him to end up in the same fate, but each time I try to fix my life, it always went in the wrong direction. Whenever I try to stay strong for him, I always felt that I’m going to break, the walls I’ve built are going to break. Every day and every night, I visited his grave, sometimes I even sleep because I don’t want my memories and warmth to fade with him in the grave. I don’t want Akira to grow up and see me in this state.”

Takeomi said nothing but gave a firm hug slung over your shoulders and tugged your head gently to weigh against his shoulder.

“I’m here, if you need me,” he said, patting you. “I’m here when you show your weakness or the ugliness inside that’s trapped in your heart. I can ease the pain you’re in. With me, you have nothing to be afraid of. With whatever your son needs, I’ll be there for him, too.”

“I don’t know if I could take it anymore,” you said, “my head is too exhausted, event after event. I’ve been nothing but a shut-in for a couple weeks, and when I did get a job, I almost get bullied by being just a young mother. I wanted the best future for my son, but I just don’t know how.”

Takeomi clasped your shoulder. “We’ll be there for him.”

“How? I’ve heard news regarding to you and to Mikey. Your reputation now is far different from what you have back then.”

Takeomi’s gaze lowered. “It may changed the establishment between enemies, but it doesn’t mean it changed between us. Whatever we have before, it never changed until now. (y/n), for years I’ve watched you, I always wanted to tell you how kind and beautiful and talented you are. Your smile gave me purpose, whatever drives me now, I’ll always be there for you.”

Your head pulled back from his shoulder. “You liked me?”

“I’ve always love you,” he confessed. “I know it won’t repair our past mistakes, but it doesn’t mean it’ll be like that. I want to take it slow, give you a chance of what it means to be alive again. Alive with purpose, alive with happiness and strength from the things you have to endure. I want you in my life, (y/n). Nothing more and nothing less.”

“Takeomi….” you breathed, tears in your eyes began to burn.

“I won’t let you slip from my fingers. I know that anything I say won’t be as impactful as Shinichiro’s, but I’ll try to take his stead for you, especially your son.”

Your hand stroke your son’s face, and tucked him in with a worn out blanket. “I’d give anything for my son, even if it means the cost of an arm and a leg.”

Takeomi pulled you into him embrace. “I’d be willing to cost an arm and a leg for you.”

You said nothing but gaze into his gloomy eyes.

“Your son…is he alright?”

“He’s alright. He just needs food and new clothes.”

“How old is he now?”

“Five years old.”

Takeomi kissed atop of your head. “Leave everything to me. I’ll take of you and…”

“Akira,” you said with a quivered smile.

“Rest,” he said, placing you down on the bed. “Rest and I’ll be taking care of everything you and your son needs. Shinichiro wouldn’t be happy if he sees you crying like this.” His thumb pressed against your cheek.

“Is he mad at me?” you asked.

“Who? Mikey?” Takeomi shook his head. “I don’t think so. Ever since you left, he’s been trying to search for you left and right with a help of his gang. But soon gave up because they thought you died, too. Hopefully you coming back will change Mikey’s mind since they plan on ambushing the gang and all.”

“I’m not dead; I’m not a ghost. Tell Mikey that. I want us to be a family again, and redeem the pains from the past…to subside it.”

“You’re a good girl, (y/n),” Takeomi said, as he knelt down onto your level to kiss your lips, and lightly smacking and squeezing your ass. A little laugh escaped from your lips; Takeomi smirked at the outcome. “You’ve been brave for so long. You can take a long rest now, because I’m not going anywhere. I’ll do everything for you and Akira to have a bright future.”

“For him, but not for me,” you said.”

“It’s never too late to start over,” Takeomi answered in a gentle whisper. Then kissed deeply onto your lips once more. “You okay, yeah?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. You found me on a stormy weather.”

“I’m a rain-bringer for a reason.”

You giggled. “A storm-bringer.” And looked at him with the vulnerable gleam in your eyes flooded with warmth.

Once Takeomi left the bedroom, his heart felt glad again. He wanted to keep you at his side at all cost. Your life improved magnificently. So does the members between gangs—Brahman and Kantou Manji Gang are allies. You have a job as Mikey’s secretary, taking care of Akira by providing him with best food supplies and diapers and new blankets and toys thanks to Kokonoi. And provided Akira with learning books—you wanted to hear Akira’s first words. And each time you and Takeomi spent time together, you couldn’t help but notice that you fell over heels for him. But the difference was, Takeomi fell in love with you the first time he saw you. And thus, spilling every secret passions in between the sheets, you got your happiness back. Your dreams of becoming an artist rekindled, and with Takeomi at your side, and Akira’s future is safe with love and comfort, and with pain of Shinichiro’s passing, letting Shinichiro’s soul rest, the pain in your past life is nothing more than a faded scar.

Taglist: @galactict3a

[acourtofthought]

considering elain's motif is literally flowers, I need to know why anyone things she'd be anywhere but the day/spring court?? from the beginning the drawers feyre painted and the cake she got for her birthday all painted a very clear picture of the sisters, not only as people but who they end up with. feyre obv is with the high lord of night thus the stars, nesta herself is fire but so is cassian, elain needs sunshine and flowers and has from the beginning. e/riel was never going to be endgame.

The drawer wouldn't even be the ace up our sleeves because initially she imagined Nesta with Lucien which is where "fire" might have come into play with her drawer. Or at least imagined her in the Autumn Court. But once she realized Nessian was going to be a thing she changed the flames into "Silver Flames" that are meant to indicate her power of death and tied that into Cassian being a warrior who has "walked beside death his whole life."

It's the fact that SJM has never shifted Elain's motif in the way she did Nesta.

Book 1, she has Feyre paint flowers on Elain's drawer and has her the prettiest she'd ever seen when Elain was outside in her garden at their estate.

Book 2, Feyre reminds us that Elain is a gentle grower of things and that she's as soft and lovely as a summer dawn.

At that point in the series, there's nothing major to suggest that Elain would be happiest in Spring or Day.

But it's book 3, after the big Elucien are mates reveal that SJM really starts driving things home.

- The suite was filled with sunlight. Every curtain shoved back as far as it could go, to let in as much sun as possible. As if any darkness was abhorrent. As if it chase it away. And seated in a small chair before the sunniest of the windows, her back to us, was Elain.

Feyre then tells us that Elain is wearing a "moon-white" dressing robe and that her face is so pale it looks like fresh snow and that these things that are white for Elain are "the color of death."

Of course there is a moon in all the courts but the NC is known for it's nights. Claiming that the night sky and the moon aren't symbolic of the Night Court because other courts have them too is like saying New York beaches are the same as the beaches in Florida's because they're both beaches.

And snow is probably in a few of the courts, Night Court, Winter....but we know the Spring Court does not have any.

So after telling us how Elain is sitting in the sunniest window, as if darkness (Night Court, it's not rocket science) is abhorrent, she tells us white like the moon and white like snow are the colors of death for her. All things associated with night and the colder courts.

We're then told "she had always been so full of light".

Later Elain comes out of her room for the first time. Two days after Lucien's arrival. And she just happened to make her first stop in how many months the library, after hearing Lucien's heart beating through the stone where Lucien himself randomly decided to visit, a big deal since he says he hasn't been able to read for pleasure in a long time. You know, her mate with those hidden sunshine powers, the ones SJM retconned in book 2 after realizing Elucien would be mates. She's again sitting by the windows.

Lucien demanded they take Elain outside for fresh air and lo and behold, she began eating, drinking and sleeping as soon as they did.

We all know Nesta asked Elain what she could get her and Elain replied, "Sunshine."

We know the gates to Elain's mind are sleeping buds and what do those need to bloom? (SUNSHINE! SUNSHINE!)

At the end of ACOWAR, Elain says the world needs more gardens.

In the novella, we're reminded of how much time Elain spends tending to Feysands garden, that now that winter has fallen she's lost the color in her face and Rhys said that Elain took a spot by the windows which was typical for her.

In SF we're told she's been helping the elderly fae in Velaris with their gardens, she's again caught standing by windows, and SJM (clearly for no reason at all of course) told us that Elain's scent is a promise of Spring. That the Spring Court had been made for someone like Elain. That Nesta would have told her to visit if they weren't arguing. That NC black sucks the life out of Elain and leeches the brightness from her face.

So yeah.

The drawers have held up as being true to Elain's character but I'm not sure how anyone can look back over everything SJM has told us about Elain and think, Yes. The Night Court which is associated with the color black, darkness, shadows, the moon and stars....THAT is the best place for Elain to thrive. Just like Feyre stared out her window at the Night sky while in Spring, Elain is always staring out the window craving sunshine while in the NC.

[kakusu-shipping]

Another self insert based entirely one someone else's self insert. @lunayumes has such a habit of making the prettiest and loneliest self inserts, but unlike Your Turn to Die I've SEEN Dungeon Meshi and thus can make her at least a little less lonely.

Emile's a Gnome/Half-Foot hybrid who was raised by his parents far from most civilization. When his mother (half-foot) died of old age his father (gnome) took his own life, unable to live without his wife, leaving their son of indeterminate age completely abandoned on a farm in the middle of No Where.

Emile saved up the funds to leave his home and go traveling in hopes of learning more about his heritage and culture he was deprived of and eventually found himself on The Island. Naturally he gravitated to the local library to read everything they had on Gnome and Half-Foot culture and History. This is also where he meets Emi, who goes to the library mostly just to get out of her empty house when he husband, Chilchuck, is away.

Neither of them are very sociable people, but eventually Emile works up the courage to talk to this very pretty Half-Foot he sees regularly. Surprisingly, they have a lot in common and end up hitting it off.

Emile eventually convinces Emi to leave Chilchuck, partly because he's formed a crush on the woman, but mostly because she's his friend and he wants what's best for her, and this clearly wasn't it. He knows what it's like to be alone all the time. When Chilchuck eventually comes back to talk to Emi and the two make up, Emile remains pretty Anti-Chilchuck for a while afterwards, mostly just giving him dirty looks. Emi doesn't seem to notice.

That's about all I have. Again thanks to @lunayumes for letting me use her S/I as a base for mine!! Anything is subject to change at you're request!!

[heliads]

can i request with one with the twins (i dont mind which one) where the other twin dares them to go out with reader, but the twin actually falls in love with her, but the reader finds out

angst with a happy ending <3

(thank you)<33

ok first of all this trope <33 also this was such a fun fic to write

masterlist

This might be the easiest ten galleons Fred Weasley has ever won in his life. The job is so easy, in fact, that it’s got him suspicious. The whole situation is no less suspicious due to the fact that it’s being set up by his twin brother, and if there was ever anyone more inclined to trick someone than Fred, it’ll be George. That’s the way it always has been.

So, it should come as no surprise that Fred is a little hesitant about the whole thing. Just to clarify, he runs the plan by his brother one last time.

“Let me get this straight. You’re willing to give me ten whole galleons if I go out with a girl? Why would that ever be a problem?”

George chuckles. “It’s not just any girl, Freddie. We’re talking about Y/N L/N.”

This does, admittedly, make the whole thing a little more difficult. Y/N is notorious for basically being a Gryffindor in name only. Whereas the rest of the house has an affinity for sticking together, Y/N is the boldest and most brash of them all. She walks with who she pleases, she does what she wishes and makes everyone wonder why the hell she isn’t a Slytherin for all her confidence and ambition.

She’s also one of the prettiest girls in Gryffindor, which makes her standoffishness even worse. Many boys have tried and failed before Fred to win her affections, but few have been able to even talk with her long enough to pose the question of a date, and fewer still have walked away with enough pride to be able to tell their friends about it. 

Basically, this task is herculean, although Fred still isn’t sure why George cares enough to place such a bet on it.

“And why, again, is this something you’re interested in? Any chump can ask Y/N for a date, that’s not worth the galleons.” He says.

George leans forward, evidently enjoying Fred’s bewilderment. “Precisely. That’s why you have to go on three dates. One to prove that you can actually manage it, two to make sure the first one wasn’t a fluke, and a third to confirm that you’ve actually broken through to her. Three. No more, no less.”

Fred frowns. “What’s the point of all this, then? Sure, it would be fun to break L/N’s streak of ignoring the rest of us, but I don’t get why you want me to do it.”

George’s face sours. “She hasn’t been pleasant to me recently. I overheard her talking to one of her friends about how our latest prank was so foolish a first year could have seen through it. I want to prove that she’s not as omniscient as she thinks.”

Fred blinks in surprise. He doesn’t usually hear his brother so vengeful, but then again, they take their pranks far more seriously than anyone expects. It’s their one claim to fame, their one way to get ahead of the rumors about their family’s financial status, the one thing that separates them from the redheaded masses of their other siblings. Without the pranks, they’d be nothing. No wonder George is still bitter.

Still, ten galleons is ten galleons, and Fred isn’t about to turn that down. He sticks out his hand before he can second guess himself, and George shakes it just as fast.

“Here we go,” Fred says, trying to convince himself that this is a good idea, “Three dates. Wish me luck.”

As it turns out, Fred is going to need a lot of luck. He wasn’t kidding when he said that Y/N is cold to anyone who isn’t her friend. He’s scarcely talked to her twice during their entire time at Hogwarts, so it’s not like he’s starting out from a great point. Well, at least he isn’t her enemy. That’s all he’s got at the moment.

Thus, Fred launches his first effort in what will be known as the greatest struggle of all time, at least to George and himself. Fred takes a day or so to map out his approach, and from there, it’s all about timing. The first encounter comes on a dreary morning, with one of the classes Fred shares with Y/N.

Y/N certainly does look surprised when Fred slides her a mug of something across the table in their dimly lit Divination table, but he supposes that’s to be expected.

She peers in at the darkly caffeinated contents. “Is this–”

Fred cuts her off cheerfully. “Coffee? Yes, it is. I know it wasn’t on the tables for breakfast this morning, and if we’re going to fake our way through this morning’s predictions, I figure we’d best be running at our fullest potential.”

Y/N arches a brow. “Why would you bring me coffee?”

He has technically just explained himself, but Fred knows what she’s getting at. If it weren’t for their random partner assignment this morning (which, as it turns out, was not random at all, Trelawney just leaves her notes in conveniently accessible places), they would never talk at all, much less bring each other drinks.

Still, it’s nice, and being nice is one of the first steps towards getting someone to like you. He grins again, and feels faintly relieved when one of the corners of Y/N’s mouth twitches up in response.

“Although I know for a fact that we’re all just in this class because it requires the least brainpower in the mornings,” Fred offers, “failing Divination would actually be humiliating. I haven’t got any imagination, so I’m going to need you to bring everything you’ve got for today’s graded prophecy.”

Y/N looks suspicious, although he notices that she takes a sip of the proffered coffee first. “I’m sure you’ve got imagination in spades, what with all those pranks.”

He’s not sure if her tone is judgmental or not, but Fred has to work with what he’d got. “Oh, you’d be surprised. We’ve run through almost all of our ideas and we’re desperate for new content.”

Y/N laughs incredulously, which causes a few students at neighbouring tables to look over at them in surprise. Clearly, Fred’s already doing a killer job at winning her over. “You guys can’t seriously be running out of ideas. I don’t believe that.”

Fred widens his eyes in mock horror. “Believe it indeed. I’m actually starting to panic over the whole thing. Say, maybe you could help me out on that front.”

Y/N scoffs. “You can’t actually think that I would know a thing about pranks.”

Fred shrugs as casually as he can. “I don’t know. Maybe you’ve never given it a chance.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, although Fred swears she’s hiding a smile. “Wonder why that would be.”

When the end of the class rolls around, though, they’re doing better. They’ve been talking almost the entire time, to the point where Fred is willing to hurry up the timeline and bring up his offer to talk through prank ideas once again, say, later at the library. He’s stunned when Y/N says yes, although no more so than George.

George, who all but falls over in shock when Fred triumphantly sweeps into the boys’ dorm room and announces that he’s already gotten Y/N to agree to their first date. George tries to argue out of it, saying that it’s just at the library and therefore not a date at all, but it’s not like Hogwarts students have anywhere else to go except the grounds, so eventually he’s forced to accept the truth that Fred is doing far better than either of them expected. 

Fred leaves for the library later that day, but only after telling George that he’d better start coming up with those galleons, because the chances that he’s winning this dare have suddenly started skyrocketing.

He’s half afraid that Y/N will come to her senses and not show up to the library at all, but he’s scarcely been waiting five minutes at a table in the back when she walks up to him, slinging her bag on the ground next to them as if the whole thing were nothing at all. Fred can feel a thousand eyes burning into his back from all the other occupants of the library, but he’s not about to let their shock ruin this date, because damn it, this is a date and he is winning this whole thing.

“Well?” Y/N asks, and belatedly Fred realizes that he’s been silent a little too long after all of his pleased contemplation. “How exactly does one plan out a prank?”

Grateful for the familiar topic of conversation, Fred settles back into his rhythm. “Well, it’s actually quite easy. All you have to do is figure out what sort of thing you want to do.”

“Really?” Y/N asks, the picture of surprise.

Fred swats her shoulder before he can stop himself, and he doesn’t know who’s more stunned, him, Y/N, or the other students nearby. Luckily, she just grins back at him, and he’s fine again.

“Yeah, really. Let me talk, will you? See, there are a few things you can do. The prank can be temporary, for one thing, like a spell that changes everyone’s hair a certain color for an hour, or it can be longer. Remember that time George and I turned all the stairs in the castle into rope ladders for six months? Man, that was so fun. ‘Course, half the school hated us for it, but it was still fun.”

When he looks up from his spiel, Y/N is smiling again. He’s starting to think that all of those rumors about her being a total ice queen are nothing but lies.

“I remember that thing about the rope ladders, it was great. People were just mad because they couldn’t climb to save their lives.” She says, and Fred feels his spirits rise.

“I know, right? It was fantastic. I didn’t realize you remembered,” he says a little quieter, because in truth he had no idea that she kept track of what pranks they did at all. George had made it seem like Y/N couldn’t care less about what the ineffable Weasley Twins came up with unless she was insulting them, but it doesn’t seem that way in the slightest.

Indeed, Y/N’s face is fond at the memory. “I remember a bunch of your pranks, but that one stood out the most. I didn’t like the hair color one at all, though. You chose a shade of aqua that was terrible for everybody.”

Fred chuckles. “That was the whole point. I thought all of our collective egos needed to be taken down a notch or two, and the prank did the trick.”

“Seems like your ego might still need repressing,” Y/N says, although she’s looking at him through a smile so bright that Fred’s ego doesn’t feel a thing.

Fred comes out of the supposed date feeling really good, actually. He’s trying to compare the Y/N he’s heard about for years with the Y/N he just spent more than two hours with, and they just don’t seem to match up. He enjoyed himself quite a bit, so much so that George comments on his stupid grin the second his twin sees him.

“You do realize that this is just a dare, right?” George says, which shuts down Fred’s mood immediately.

Fred scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “Of course I do. Doesn’t mean that I can’t have fun, though. Would you prefer that I muddle through life with a funereal depression just because I have to talk to Y/N?”

George rolls his eyes. “Obviously not, I just guess I’m surprised. This is the girl who insulted us, right? That’s the whole reason we’re doing this.”

Fred nods along, but on the inside he can’t stop seeing Y/N laugh when they were brainstorming all the things they could do to the castle, and for the first time, he wonders if George has the right idea after all.

This conflict doesn’t disappear after the second date, either. Fred doesn’t believe his luck when Y/N agrees to sit with him out in the courtyard to talk again. This feels more like a real date, especially when it starts raining and they have to run back into the protective shade of the castle walls, shrieking from the beat of the water against their skin. Y/N pushes him out into the rain when Fred thinks he’s safe, so he tugs her out after him.

He thinks he’ll remember that moment forever, her howl of outrage after both of them get soaking wet despite their best attempts to avoid such a terrible fate. It’s only fair, he tries to reason with her, you forced me out first. This doesn’t mean that she doesn’t pretend to swear vengeance upon him forever, although she can scarcely get the words out between both of their bouts of laughter. Fred feels utterly golden, all up until the point when he tilts his head up and sees a figure with a red and gold scarf staring at them from one of the towers.

By the time Fred is certain of who it is, George has already disappeared back inside, but the damage is done. Fred can’t convince himself to get that playful spirit back, even when the rain picks up again and Y/N loops her arm through his to guide them back under the stone parapets. It’s just a forceful reminder of the one truth Fred has been trying his damndest to avoid: this is date two of three, and then he’s done.

Truth be told, Fred is lying to himself even more than he’s lying to Y/N. If he were actually willing to be honest with himself, he would say that he’s not just doing this for the dare, not anymore. He likes Y/N, he can admit that now, he likes the way she grins at him in this special way, how he’s never seen her smile like that at anyone else. He likes to think that he’s the special one to her, even if this is just an illusion he’ll have to break in a matter of days.

They’ve got their third date coming up, after all, the third and final one. There’s a trip to Hogsmeade coming up in a few days, and Fred swallowed the last of his regrets and asked Y/N out for real, no more hiding around casual conversation. She said yes in a heartbeat, and Fred almost choked on his guilt when it came time to give her the place where they should meet up.

It’s perfect, almost. They walk hand in hand to a coffee shop Fred found the last time he was here. It’s fitting, Y/N says, they started talking because of coffee and now they’re having coffee together at last. Fred laughs and changes the topic before he can start thinking about how much this is going to hurt to break it all off.

For break it off he must, after all, break it off or lose his brother. George all but presented Fred with that very ultimatum the night before the final date. He’ll still give Fred the galleons, but he has to end it now. It’s just a dare, after all, albeit a dare that has wrapped clawed fingers so deeply around Fred’s heart that he doesn’t know how to separate himself from the lies. It’s Y/N or his brother, and Fred has never been raised to choose anything but family, over and over until he ends up alone forever.

He lets himself enjoy today, though, traipsing through the walkways of Hogsmeade after the coffee. Fred doesn’t even need the caffeine to make his heart feel so full it could burst. Every small moment is a majesty that he’ll never get again, and Fred tries to make himself believe that she might not hate him after this ends.

Fred is trying to think about the best way to break the news to her when the first person comes up. Y/N is a few paces away, trying to read a sign on a nearby building when another Gryffindor arrives. Fred vaguely recognizes him as another boy from their year, but he doesn’t like the sight of the boy’s incredulous smirk.

“Is it true, Fred?” The boy asks. “You got Y/N to go out with you?”

Y/N is at the boy’s back, just out of his line of vision, but Fred has the perfect view as she stiffens in surprise. 

He does his best to salvage the situation. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The boy laughs, shoving Fred casually across the chest and making him stumble. “Of course you do! Man, that’s something. Who knows that Y/N L/N would have actually tolerated one of us after all. Those galleons were well earned. Wow.”

The boy leaves after a second, still faintly chuckling to himself. Fred is left to stare at Y/N, who has turned around to look directly at him. Her eyes are wide, haunted. She knows.

She asks, though, just to give him the last chance to absolve himself of all of this. “Is it true? What he said?”

Fred tries to think of some way to make this all seem better, but he can’t. There is no way this sounds good. In the end, all he can offer her is the truth.

“Yes,” he says, “it was, in the beginning. But it isn’t now, I swear, I don’t feel that way anymore. I like you, Y/N, I really do, and–”

She cuts him off, shaking her head frantically. “That can’t be true. I trusted you, Fred. Hell, I loved you. I knew not to believe any of you, because there isn’t a single person in this castle who doesn’t hate me for not being as simpering and friendly as you think I should be, but I thought you were different. All this time, you thought I was just worth a handful of galleons.”

Fred reaches out, trying to do anything to make her stay, but she just shoots him one last broken glance and leaves, disappearing out into the swirling snow. Fred doesn’t know that he has ever known a hurt as deep and cruel as this.

A voice from behind makes his blood grow even colder than before. “Don’t take it personally, Fred. She was going to find out eventually.”

Fred turns around slowly to find his twin brother staring back at him. “You did this, didn’t you?” Fred asks, his voice jagged. “You told people because you knew she’d find out from them and not me.”

George lifts a shoulder. “Actually, you did this when you agreed to the dare in the first place. I just wanted to make sure that you weren’t going to try and back out of telling her. Listen, don’t be mad, Freddie. I knew you were going to get too deep into this, but it’s over now. You never cared about her beforehand, anyway.”

George steps forward, dumping a stack of something into Fred’s hand. He only knows it to be the galleons by the clink of it against his gloved palm. Staring at the gold, though, all Fred can think is that it’s not enough, not nearly enough to have ruined all of this.

“I need you to know something, George,” Fred says roughly, “I don’t care how mad she made you when she talked about our pranks, but I will never forgive you for this. Yes, I agreed to the prank, but you took it too far by suggesting it in the first place and forcing her to find out like that. You’re my brother, and that means I’m supposed to be able to count on you when I can count on no one else. That wasn’t true today.”

George looks stunned, but Fred is already walking away, fighting or perhaps even welcoming the punishing bite of the wind. He doesn’t know how he could possibly find Y/N in all this mess, but perhaps the universe takes pity on him, because he stumbles upon her soon enough. She’s walking as fast as she can towards a quieter part of the town so she can be alone, but Fred’s long legs allow him to catch up quickly.

“Y/N, wait.” He calls out, but Y/N keeps going, the hunch of her shoulders the only sign that she might have heard him.

Fred jogs in front of her, forcing her to stop. “Listen to me, please? I know you don’t owe me anything, but please. This whole thing started awfully, and I have been terrible to break your trust like this. I’m sorry, and I always will be. I regret that I ruined my chance with you. You don’t deserve this. You could hate me forever, and that would be fair, but I would never forgive myself if I didn’t at least try to make this better.”

Y/N looks fiercely up at him, and Fred is startled by the sight of tears she’s unable to hold back. “And what, I’m supposed to believe that? How do I know that this isn’t just another dare? Break her heart, and you get even more money if you manage to delude her enough to come back?”

Fred shakes his head. “No, I wouldn’t do that. No more dares, Y/N, I swear. You don’t have to forgive me now, but I won’t stop trying to make up for this, however long it takes.”

Y/N lets out a shuddery sort of sigh. “And what about your brother? You can’t hate him, either.”

“I don’t like having to choose between you,” Fred says firmly, “but I’m choosing you. I can fix things with him later, but I need you most.”

She looks surprised by that, perhaps because the Weasley Twins have always been one nameless, inseparable entity and the thought that one of them might leave the other is enough to shake her out of her sadness.

“Really?” She asks, somewhat tentative.

“Really,” Fred answers, “if that’s what it takes. I do love you, Y/N. I need you to know that. It may not have started out that way, but it was real to me, too.”

She laughs at last, quiet and so unlike her usually cheerful laugh, but it’s a start. That’s all he needs, Fred realizes, a start. “Alright, then. I suppose it wouldn’t make much sense for you to come charging out here if you didn’t mean what you said.”

“I do,” Fred confirms, “I really do. You know that, don’t you?”

Y/N tilts her head back, considering this, considering him. “Yes,” she says at last, “I think I do.”

Fred has no idea how long it will take for her to fully forgive him, or even for him to fully forgive himself, for that matter. All he knows is that at least he’s been given a chance. He would do anything for that chance. It’s worth it to be able to keep loving her. George will forgive him eventually, they’ve been in tougher scrapes than this before, and then it will be all good. Fred will have his girl, and all will be well. 

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