stone benches

The Blue Princess and her Red Rose

Pairing: Jungkook | Reader
Word Count: 34.8k (ooops someone’s got a bit carried away hehe)
Genre: PrinceJungkookAU, Angst, Fluff & Smut.

A/N: This is the first story of the five “short” (if you can call them short lmao) stories about Greyria that I’ll be posting during summer. Probably I won’t be posting the next one until a couple of weeks from today, because I have the idea of them all, but none is completely written yet.
I hope you enjoy it! Let me know what you think of it! 
Because It’s really long, I fear you won’t be able to read it from your phone or tablet, sorry :(

Summary: After all, he was her red rose, while she was just another one of the many blue roses that grew in the dying gardens of Greyria. 

Tales of Greyria


The best stories - those that speak about past lovers, about untold stories and broken hearts, about beautiful promises of future and happiness that got lost in the wind; those that make you feel happiness, loss, hurt, love, hate, fear and sadness all at once; those that live in your heart for the rest of your days - always have sad endings, my love,” her grandma had always told her when she was just a little girl in a baby pink dress.

Keep reading

Source

Jenny Holzer (born July 29, 1950) is an American neo-conceptual artist, based in Hoosick Falls, New York. The main focus of her work is the delivery of words and ideas in public spaces.

Holzer belongs to the feminist branch of a generation of artists that emerged around 1980, looking for new ways to make narrative or commentary an implicit part of visual objects. Her contemporaries include Barbara Kruger, Cindy Sherman, Sarah Charlesworth, and Louise Lawler.

The public dimension is integral to Holzer’s work. Her large-scale installations have included advertising billboards, projections on buildings and other architectural structures, and illuminated electronic displays. LED signs have become her most visible medium, although her diverse practice incorporates a wide array of media including street posters, painted signs, stone benches, paintings, photographs, sound, video, projections, the Internet, and a race car for BMW. Text-based light projections have been central to Holzer’s practice since 1996. As of 2010, her LED signs have become more sculptural.” (x)

I Need to Know

Nessian talk about Mor and Cass

Masterlist 

*** 

“I need to know what happened between you and Morrigan.”

Nesta refused to meet his gaze, her hard face angled away from him even though a moment before her hands had been curiously wondering down his bare chest, his sword hitting the training room floor with a clang as he instantly dropped it.

“What?”

When Nesta had entered the room, Cassian was not surprised. For the past few months she would come towards the middle of his sessions and linger to watch, sometimes joining in, most times content to be a bystander. Things between them had… not progressed since the war. Although Cassian still savoured the way her lips felt on his, and he often pondered what her mouth would taste like when not mixed with blood and tears, he was holding himself back. Why? Because when he was alone with her, she looked like she wanted to kill him. Any moments of tenderness between them had passed, and it seemed Nesta wasn’t inclined to rekindle what they could have had.

And Cassian, Cauldron curse his soul for it, could not stand the thought of letting another woman let him dangle. To get to a place where Cassian had accepted he deserved to be more than just a back-up piece of flesh to a woman who didn’t know what, or who, she really wanted was harder than any physical training he had ever done. He still was not perfect at it either, and to not chase after Nesta like a lost pet looking for its owner was a true feat of strength for him.

“I need to know why she has you so whipped, and why Azriel doesn’t even care.”

Cassian took a step away from her, picking up his fallen sword and crossing the training courtyard to put it away. The sun was beating down on him hard, and he’d exerted himself beyond what he usually would today. He was frustrated – he always was these days – and the only way he could think to rectify that was by hitting a lot of things with a very sharp object.

“Why?” Cassian kept his tone polite, not wanting her to know how hesitant he was to speak of the matter.

Nesta took a step towards him, her blue dress gliding behind her. She had her arms crossed over her chest, and her ever-present frown was even deeper today. Her startling eyes had now met his, and Cassian was surprised at the amount of fury in them. People often mistook Nesta for emotionless, or for feeling nothing but spite and anger, but they just didn’t know how to read her. It was all about the eyes – one look into them and Nesta Archeron would unwillingly spill all her secrets.

“I need to know if you’re in love with her.”

Cassian scoffed at suggestion. “Why would you think something as preposterous that?”

Nesta’s jaw tightened as she glared at him. “Because every time I turn my godsdamned back you’re with her, doting to her every need and want and wish and I’m fucking sick of trying to guess what the hell is going on between you two.” Nesta threw her arms up in the air.

Cassian was astonished, and met her wrath with a sarcastic smirk. “I don’t think that has anything to do with you, Sweetheart.” He knew he shouldn’t tease her, but where did she get off asking him this shit? It was Nesta who told him to leave her alone after the war, it was Nesta who could barely be in the same room as him unless he was training. Fuck, today when she had touched him was the first contact they’d since she was willing to die for him – another one of her actions that simply didn’t make sense. He’d told her how he felt.

I have no regrets in my life but this. That we did not have time. That I did not have time with you, Nesta. I will find you again in the next world – the next life. And we will have that time. I promise.

He’d laid himself bare, and he was met with the animosity she usually saved for, well, anybody but Elain. Before, he could see through it. Not justify it, but understand her motivations. Now, he did not know anything.

“Just. Tell. Me.”

“No.”

“If you don’t then I’ll assume the worst.”

With a roll of his eyes, he strolled past her and out of the courtyard, twisting through the garden paths that would take him to his personal townhouse. “What’s the worst for you, Nesta? What would be so bad?” he called back to her.

“What would be so bad,” she spat as she stomped after him, “is if I keep waiting for you, not realising that you’ll never get over her.”

Cassian stopped so quickly Nesta barely avoided slamming into his back. “Excuse me?” He turned to look at her. “You? Waiting for me? I don’t think so.”

She blinked up at him. “Cassian, I-”

“Don’t you dare insinuate that the reason we aren’t-” Cassian floundered, not even knowing how to describe what they could potentially be. “The reason we aren’t… something, is not because of me. You barely look at me. I’m lucky if you speak to me at all. And worse, when I think we are making progress you shut me down even harder. You don’t have a right to ask me about my personal life when you do everything you can to make sure you aren’t a part of it.”

Nesta sighed haughtily through her nose. “I’m trying.” Her voice was tight, like she was being strangled by the very words she was trying to speak.

“Sure. Whatever you say, Nesta.” Cassian was beyond caring about how bluntly he spoke. He rubbed his hands over his face, then pinched his nose. Without looking at her, he brushed past her.

He should have looked.

Cassian,” she hissed.

He didn’t look back – he wasn’t in the mood to deal with this. She had done nothing but push him away. Nothing but degrade his existence after she’d let him think that she felt the same way about him. It was okay if she didn’t, but it was not healthy for him to continue pining after her. He could not do it. He would not.

“Cassian?” This time her voice was softer, gentler, and he could hear it cracking as she tried not to cry.

He didn’t hate himself when he looked back at her.

“Wherever you are, Mor is too. You’ll speak to me, and then stop the moment she’s there. When I think that maybe I can get you alone, she always whisks you away and you always let her. She hates me, and that’s okay, but sometimes it feels like the hate she has for me makes you dislike me too. You feel like I’m shutting you out? Okay. I feel like you’re a ghost forever haunting a woman that is clearly using you as a buffer between her and Azriel.  I – I don’t know what’s going on between you and her and Azriel, all I know is that I can’t help thinking and feeling these things. You told me you wanted time with me, so spend time with me. Prioritize me.”

He was astonished at her outburst, but also, in a way he couldn’t fully comprehend, relieved that she was finally speaking to him. That he was getting truths from her.

He swallowed hard, and walked back to her side. He didn’t immediately talk, rather led them to a stone bench where they could both sit. They did, a foot apart and with no inclination to touch, and he sat in silence for a minute or two, processing her words.

“We’ve slept together,” he eventually said.

“Okay,” she whispered.

“It was hundreds of years ago – I was her first, not that I knew until I actually-” Cassian cut himself off, those details not relevant.

“Did you love her then? Did she feel like that for you?”

Cassian sighed. “I love Mor the way I love Feyre. She’s my best friend. All those years ago, when we were barely adults? I thought I did. It’s why I did what I did, even if I knew it was wrong.”

Nesta glanced sideways at him, her thumbs fidgeting as she listened. “Why was it wrong?”

“She was Rhys’ cousin. But more than that, Azriel had feelings for her, too. Ones that were stronger than mine. I knew about them, and I never planned on making a move on Mor. But then Az and Rhys went away, and we were alone and talking and laughing and she made me feel like she felt the same way. I justified the betrayal to my brothers because I thought she wanted it, wanted me. You have to understand, when I was younger I had no power for myself. I was the lowest tier solider, and it looked like I always would be. I was often regarded as just something to fuck by women. I was a bastard, I couldn’t possibly expect more. Although I’d had sex, I’d never had a relationship or anything close to it. And then Mor came along, and made me feel like I was worth her time. It was easy to fall into it. Easy for Az, too.”

Cassian took a deep breath before continuing.

“That night we were alone and I’d cooked for her. We were laughing about something – whatever it was, was so hilarious that it had us in fits. Next thing I know, she’s kissing me, and I feel like I’ve been Cauldron-blessed. She wanted more, so I gave it to her, not realising she hadn’t done it before. The moment her maiden-head yielded to me I knew I’d made a mistake. But I was willing to compromise my honour for this woman, thought she was worth it.”

Cassian tilted his head up at the afternoon sun, letting the rays warm his face. With his eyes closed, he told Nesta, “it took me a very long time to realise that she was using me for a purpose. That I was nothing to her. Not nothing, but only a friend. One she probably never would’ve made if not for the bond between Rhys and me. I have never fought with Rhys the way I did when he’d found out what I’d done, and I’ve never forgiven myself for the look on Azriel’s face: hurt, but also resignation. He didn’t think he deserved her, and it made me furious. Mad, because I was the asshole that bedded the woman he was falling in love with, and despair because my brother was worth everything in the world, and I played a part in him believing that he didn’t.”

It had not been a long while since Cassian had felt the familiar stinging in his eyes, the tears that he quashed regularly.

“And now?” Nesta hesitantly asked.

“For years I thought maybe she did feel something for me, and was just giving me room so Rhys wouldn’t get violent again and Azriel wouldn’t be too hurt. Then I realised what she was really doing was letting me be the reason she stayed away from Azriel, and that whatever feelings she had were never for me. It got to the point where I let her – was her willing accomplice. Never, never do I want Azriel to have to feel the way I did. To feel as ugly, and as undeserving. He’s too good for that. He’s better than us all.”

Nesta tucked a strand of her golden hair behind her ear, a thoughtful expression gracing her face, before clasping them in her lap.

“I should’ve stopped doing it a long, long time ago,” Cassian further admitted. “And if not then, I should’ve stopped doing it the moment I knew I had feelings for you.”

Her eyes snapped to his, now open and staring at her.

“It’s no shock to either of us that I feel this way, Nesta. I have since the moment I met you.”

She breathed heavily, her eyes now portraying a tale of confusion and want, hesitancy and immediacy all at once.

“I thought maybe,” her voice was shaking slightly, “you were caught up in the war, and perhaps the words you said were only told because you thought we might die.”  

Cassian didn’t reply with words, rather, he slowly wove his hand in between hers so he could hold her. Just a little. His hand was clammy after training, and he was quaking ever so slightly, but if the squeeze he felt from her was any indication, Nesta didn’t mind.

She also scooted just a bit closer to him, starting to close the foot of space between them.

“I’m sorry I’ve been ignoring you,” she said quietly, now wrapping both her small, smooth hands around his rough one so she could clutch it to her chest.

It was a rare occasion for her to show such vulnerability, and he was revelling in it. He wanted to pull on all her threads until he unravelled her, leaving nothing but the woman she actually was with no façade covering her. He still wanted those threads though, but he wished Nesta to weave them not because of past trauma, but because she desired to create her own narrative – one away from the idea of protecting herself.

“I’m sorry for the way I’ve been behaving with Mor. I’ve done it for so long that I don’t even realise I’m doing it. It’s never hurt someone before, and I’m sorry you had to deal with it.”

“We’re a sad, sorry lot, aren’t we?” Nesta breathed a laugh and stood, Cassian rising with her as she hadn’t let go of his hand. “So what now, Cassian?”

Cassian looked over the woman he had been silently pining after since the moment he’d met her – the woman who looked like she might be ready for him, for all the love he had to give her.

“That’s up to you, Sweetheart.”

Her face pinched at the pet name, but her eyes danced and her cheeks blushed the most beautiful pink he’s ever seen.

“I have a few ideas.” She smirked at him and let go of his hand, sashaying away from him. He grinned after her, especially when she said, “Well, are you coming?”

More Than Friends - Request

Requested by @my-unique-mind:  Fred imagine where the reader is transferring from the American school, becomes a ravenclaw(same age as Fred) She has a class with Fred and during a test she helps him by giving him a couple of answers even though they don’t know each other. After class Fred says thanks, turns into friendship but both like each other. Ends with them finally kissing, maybe smut if you write that.

Word count: 2,793 (+51 from the extended ending) (+1,260 from the smut - which is a lot)

Characters: Fred x reader, Professor McGonagall, George, Dean Thomas, Ron, Harry, Hermione, Ginny, Percy, Molly and Arthur.

Warnings: Smut at the end, but you can totally skip it (I suck at this).

A/N: Freddie my love (this is not a Grease!Live reference), I liked this one quite a lot. I’m very sorry for my awful smut writing but hey, practice makes perfect! I hope you like it. Enjoy!

Originally posted by willi-weasley

Being a transferred student at a magic school wasn’t half as awesome as being a transferred student in no-maj schools. The kids at Hogwarts would not only laugh at the way she pronounced the spells, but would always correct her from “no-maj” to “Muggles”. They would complain constantly about why Americans don’t speak English correctly, and of course they would laugh at how Ilvermorny copied the house system.

“Of course it’s not half as good as the one here,” they would say, “they aren’t even sure what house represents what. They’re definitions are so badly structured.”

Less to say, the food at Hogwarts was extremely different; and it was horrible not to have the Puckwudgies there to have a chat or at least to have company. The elves at Hogwarts would mostly stay hidden the whole day, and if one of them was out they wouldn’t talk to the students.

Another thing that bothered her was the fact that Hogwarts was full of ghosts. Ilvermorny hadn’t got a single ghost, poltergeist, or similar. Peeves would pull her hair, the house ghost would float through her, and it just wasn’t pleasing.

She hated Hogwarts.

Of course she hadn’t made many friends. After being sorted in Ravenclaw, she found a few of her roommates as not-so bad. They would help each other out to open the common room’s door, do some homework, etc. but that was about it. Ravenclaws were… Strange.

It wasn’t strange to find someone pressing their forehead against the wall, trying to create a telepathic connection to the castle; or people wearing bizarre clothing and saying all kinds of senseless stuff. And even when that was funny, even interesting, at times, (Y/N) just couldn’t relate completely.

She missed her home, she missed her friends, she missed her old school, and she missed everything.

(Y/N), who was really smart, dedicated her alone time to study, which made her become one of the best students in each and every single one of her classes. So when the first exams came, she was not even a bit nervous.

“Psst…. Pssst…” Someone started. Professor McGonagall gave said student a stern glance.

The exam was long, and there were some easy questions and some other that, everyone except (Y/N), felt like ripping their eyes off with the wands rather than figuring them out. One of those was Fred Weasley, who continued to try and call (Y/N)’s attention once Professor McGonagall left the room to get some extra papyrus.

“Psst… Hey, Ilvermorny…” Ilvermorny was her nickname. Some asshole Slytherin had named her like that and ever since they all called her that instead of asking for her name.

“I have a name.” She hissed, looking back at Fred.

“What’s your name, then?” Fred asked with his usual joking smile.

“(Y/N)!” She replied and turned his back again to Fred.

“(Y/N)… Psst… Psst…” He continued.

“What?” She hissed angrily, looking back again.

“I just need help with the last two… Page three… Please.” In spite of begging, Fred didn’t lose the smile. (Y/N) knew that he wouldn’t stop bothering if she didn’t help, and McGonagall was out so she sighed and agreed.

She finished her exam soon after. She got up and handed it to McGonagall, who gave her a warm smile before taking it. (Y/N) smiled back and went back to her place, only to grab her stuff and leave.

As she walked past him, Fred managed to grab her arm, putting a ball of paper on her hand before letting go. (Y/N) didn’t even flinch, she just kept walking and it wasn’t until she was quite far from the classroom that she checked what the paper ball was.

There was a strange doodle on it. As soon as (Y/N) un-balled the paper, it started moving. “Thanks for the help.” it read, “Courtyard, after lunch?” (Y/N) smiled, noticing how his doodles represented her and Fred, hanging out. Literally, the doodles seemed to be laughing… Or convulsing, maybe. His drawing skills weren’t really the best when he was doing an important exam.

(Y/N) wanted to be chill, but she couldn’t. It’s not like everyone had been awful to her, but not even her friends had even wondered what her name was. So Fred, asking her and calling her by her real name and not the stupid Ilvermorny nickname, and then asking her to hang out was kind of like a dream.

She waited patiently – not so much – for the lunch time to come. She tried to be chill, but she just couldn’t help but to let her eyes wander to the Gryffindor’s table, where she met with Fred staring at her, and smiling.

After she finished her lunch, she forced herself not to run out of the Great Hall, but rather speed-walking as elegantly as possible. Fred, who was just waiting for her to get up, didn’t lose time and caught up with her in no time.

They just smiled to each other and walked in silence to the Courtyard. They sat at one of the stone benches. The silence that followed was a bit uncomfortable, but it didn’t last long, fortunately.

“So, Ilvermorny, huh?” Fred said, “I heard it’s half the size of Hogwarts.”

“It is smaller, but only because Hogwarts is a castle and Ilvermorny started off as a house.” She explained, tired of answering the same questions. Although, Fred’s voice tone wasn’t mocking like the others, so she was not quite as upset as usual.

“Right… So do you like it here?” (Y/N) shrugged.

“I miss home, but the view at the common room is amazing.” Fred laughed.

“I once snuck into Ravenclaw’s common room… Don’t ask.” He said after the girl furrowed her eyebrows, “It was late at night and the view was almost the same as the one at the Astronomy Tower.”

For half an hour, Fred and (Y/N) shared all kinds of stories and funny anecdotes. (Y/N) finally understood what everyone said about the Weasley Twins – Everyone loved them, and if they didn’t love them it was probably because they had no sense of humour at all.

Soon, an exact replica of Fred and another boy walked towards them.

“Hey, Freddie.” The twin cheered.

“Georgie.” Fred chuckled, “Dean.”

“Fred.” Dean nodded his way.

“We didn’t know you got a new friend.” George said, sitting next to (Y/N) with a flirty look. “George Weasley.” He grabbed her hand and kissed it, “What name should I put to your beautiful face?”

“(Y/N).” She giggled.

“Lovely.” George giggled as well. Fred rolled his eyes and got her attention again.

“That is my twin, George… Although you already know that.” The twins shared a glance, “And this one is Dean Thomas, the master mind behind half of our pranks.”

“Pleasure to meet you, (Y/N).” Dean smiled at her.

“Aren’t you the transferred student?” George asked.

“Oh yeah, Ilvermorny.” Dean snapped his fingers and nodded as the realization sunk on him.

“Ilvermorny is a stupid nickname.” George furrowed.

“Of course it’s stupid, a Slytherin was involved!” Fred replied.

“We won’t call you that.” George promised.

And so (Y/N) befriended the twins and the master mind. They became so close in so little time that, after two months, they included her on a prank they pulled on some last year Slytherins. Of course, when the teachers caught them, they denied her having anything to do.

Fred and (Y/N) developed a rather more profound bond. They became literal best friends, sharing everything and anything – except their massive crush for one and other.

Fred would sneak her into the Gryffindor’s common room – not that it bothered anyone, Gryffindor’s were usually nice to her since she befriended the Weasleys. She would go to The Burrow on holidays and stay up all night, by the fire place, sharing jokes with him. They would skip class together, have breakfast together (whenever it was possible), study together, spend their free time with the other, etc. They were inseparable.

Everyone was aware of their feelings for each other, and even some people thought they were dating; but teens are dumb and (Y/N) and Fred were scared to death to confess their crush. Therefore, after a while, George and Dean decided to make the first move.

(Y/N) was going to spend the last weeks of summer at The Burrow, along with Dean, Harry and Hermione. If that house looked full every Christmas when every Weasley was there, that summer was even worse.

(Y/N) slept at Charlie’s old room, Dean at Bill’s, Harry with Ron and Hermione with Ginny; and even so, it seemed like the house was full.

Molly loved (Y/N), and Arthur loved her even better because they shared their admiration for muggle’s stuff. Also, the Weasleys were never mean to her or said anything about her accent – which was slowly fading, becoming a mixture between British and American accent. By the end of the summer, Mr. Weasley ended up saying no-maj instead of muggle, which was hilarious to hear.

Every night, Fred would sneak inside Charlie’s room, only to find (Y/N) waiting for him. They would talk about everything, and Fred would show her all kinds of weird stuff - from products he and George had created for their store, to things that he created all by himself just for fun. (Y/N) on the other hand, would tell him about the books she had read, or really any kind of weird thought that had crossed her mind along the day. They found each other fascinating.

The night before Dean and George pulled their magnificent move – to which Hermione and Ginny referred to as lame – Fred and (Y/N) had an especially long night. They fell asleep mid-sentence and they didn’t woke up until the next morning. After all those night pulling all-nighters, their bodies had begged them, and forced them, to get some decent sleep.

Fortunately, George noticed soon enough and dragged his brother out of Charlie’s room before Molly got up. She would have a heart attack if she saw Fred and (Y/N) sleeping together, even if it were as innocently as they had.

Fred barely got time to process what was going on. But the sight of recently-woken-up (Y/N) stuck to his mind for the rest of the day. Her messy hair and how she squinted her eyes with the light. Her raspy voice – saying his name and something along the lines of “oh no, we fell asleep, get out before your mother kills us” – and of course just her flawless-self just lying beside him.

Molly made the boys do all kinds of house chores, and then she made the girls help her out with the dinner. Therefore, Fred and (Y/N) barely got time to talk during the day, which only added up more nerves and awkwardness to the situation. If they had gotten time to wake up and talk, it wouldn’t have been worse than an “Oh, this is odd”, “You have hedgehog hair”, a few laughs and that’s it. But by pulling them apart, they encouraged their minds to overthink the situation.

By the time dinner came, they sat next to the other but barely said a word. Everyone – except Molly and Arthur – noticed which caused some giggles and a knowing smile from George to Dean.

Molly and Arthur went to be early, claiming that they would be out early in the morning. George and Dean also left by excusing with “we’re tired from being up all night creating some new products”, Ginny got the hint and left without saying anything other than good night; the golden trio said that Harry was having a headache and that he needed both Hermione and Ron to take care of him. Percy left using his “prefects don’t clean” excuse. That left Fred and (Y/N) in charge of picking up the table and washing the dishes.

(Y/N) went for the dishes as Fred cleaned up the table. They weren’t allowed to use magic outside the school, yet. So the tasks had to be hand-made.

Fred cleaned up very quickly and ended up joining (Y/N) with the dishes. She washed, he dried.

“So, how was your day?” Fred asked nonchalantly.

“Definitely not as tiring as yours.” She joked.

“Mom likes to have many boys around to the things dad can’t do anymore.” Fred explained.

Both of them knew that the conversation wouldn’t go any further if they didn’t talk about last night. And really, it had been a really innocent accident, so there was no reason to be ashamed or uncomfortable about it. Therefore, Fred cleared his throat and decided to speak.

“It was lucky that George got me out of your room on time,” He chuckled, “mom got up five minutes after and I swear I have never sweated as much as I did this morning.”

“I know!” She giggled, “I thought we were going to get killed or something.”

Little did they know that George and Dean had asked Harry for his Invisible cloak, and were hiding at the stairs, observing their every move. Of course the cloak was a bit small, so they had to be sitting in order to be completely covered.

“I didn’t even say good morning.” Fred spoke, “Good morning, by the way.”

“Morning.” She laughed.

“Someone needs a little push.” George whispered, pulling the wand a bit out of the cloak and doing just enough magic for it to work but not much that the Ministry would send a letter.

The foam from the soap suddenly became more, and it jumped covering her nose – kind of like a foam clown nose. Fred and (Y/N) furrowed, but instead of wondering who was responsible, they burst in laughter.

“You look like a clown.” Fred commented.

“I look like you then.” She joked.

Both of them laughed once more. Then, Fred grabbed an old but clean cloth and took the foam away himself, instead of letting her do it. Of course, this isn’t a romantic movie, so instead of suddenly making out like George wanted; they just blushed a little and proceeded to finish the dishes.

Dean and George decided to go for plan B, which would probably end up in Fred hating his twin for the rest of his life but it was worth the try.

Dean called Fred to check something out while (Y/N) returned to her room. George put on Fred’s pyjamas and, after taking around twenty long breaths, he knocked on her door. She was so tired she would barely know the difference.

“Fred… What…?”

“I love you.” George spoke as his cheeks turned bright red, “I have loved you for a long while but I’m too much of a wimp and was too afraid to tell you.”

“I…” Her cheeks were bright red, and her (Y/E/C) eyes were opened widely. Her jaw dropped, and her breathing turned faster.

“Don’t say anything. Good night.” And with that, George ran back to their room, changing quickly onto his own clothes.

Dean and Fred went back to their room soon after. George was still super red, which caused Fred to get suspicious. Then, he noticed his pyjamas all scrambled around the floor.

“What did you do?” Fred asked. Of course, twins have a connection – and wizard twins have an ever stronger one, so Fred was almost certain of what George had done, but he wasn’t willing to believe it.

“Don’t hate me.” George begged, giving a step back.

“She’s my best friend, George!” Fred hissed, “What if she doesn’t talk to me ever again?”

“I don’t think…” Fred groaned, not letting his brother finish his sentence. He stormed out of their room, straight to Charlie’s.

He knocked the door the same way he would knock it when he wanted to sneak in. (Y/N) opened; her cheeks were still red.

“I…” Fred couldn’t finish his sentence. (Y/N) slammed her lips on Fred’s, who stiffened in shock for a second before melting into her arms.

(Y/N) pulled him into the room, and Fred shut the door behind him. Dean and George high fived, calling the attention of every other teen in the house.

Ginny, Harry, Ron, Hermione and even Percy got out of their rooms. They peeked from the staircase to where Charlie’s room was.

“Did it work?” Ginny asked excitedly.

“It worked.” George smiled up to his sister.

“Does he hate you?” Harry asked with half concern and half excitement.

“I don’t think Fred will hate anyone after tonight.” Percy informed from his side of the stairs. In spite of being the usual cocky-Percy, he seemed to be happy for his brother.

“Next stop, Ron and Hermione!” George cheered, high-fiving Dean again.

“What?!” Ron and Hermione asked in unison.

“Nothing, go back to bed kids.” George laughed, “Let Freddie have some fun.”

-

*Entended ending* (Which is ambienced the morning after)

“What do you mean you just started dating?” Molly asked as she served breakfast the morning after.

“Well, that.” Fred answered, “(Y/N) and I just started dating last night.”

“I thought she was your girlfriend ever since you first wrote about her in one of your letters.” Molly shrugged her shoulders.



*SMUT UNDER THE CUT* 

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Mission Bad Boy - 7

Plot: What if you could win 100,000 Won by giving someone a makeover? But here’s the catch – you have 6 months to turn a nerdy, anti-social male into the school’s biggest heartthrob.

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x Reader

Genre: Angst, Highschool au!

Warnings: Mentions of sex, predator drug (spiking drink), self-loathing

Notes: okay it’s getting really dark wtf. I swear to all hell it’s as dark as the oblivion now WHY AM I SUCH AN ANGSTY PERSON. What’s sad is most of this shit actually happens. I just.. I can’t. 5k words

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Originally posted by btsgifdump

“This is uncomfortable..”

You could feel eyes boring into the back of your skull while you ate your rice, your grip on the chopsticks tightening slightly. It was obvious when people stared – the feeling of discomfort always gave those people away. Whether it was good or bad, you could tell by looking back. You had, and your eyes landed on a group of three boys, the two paler ones simply glaring, while the third decided to stick to occasional glances.

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Snog Me Senseless

Anonymous said:  Hi could you write a imagine where harry or Niall are frat boys and make it super cute and like fluffy and funny plzzzzzz they are my weakness and the other boys are there too but harry or Niall either one is like the leader.

A/N:  Thank you for the request!  This is my debut in the land of AU, so please be kind.  Lots of fluff in this one.  

You’re peering at the map on your phone screen as you come around the corner, trying to find the professor’s office for your meeting about adding his Genetics course to your schedule.  Your advisor has told you that one more class will be too much, but you are determined to finish your biology degree in three years instead of four.  This building is such a labyrinth.  The room numbers are getting larger now, but they are all odd numbers, and his office is room number 154 which is definitively even.  

But you’re running late, and looking down at the layout of the building on your phone, trying to figure out where you are when WHAM!  you run smack into a solid wall, sending your books and phone flying in different directions.  The force of the impact nearly knocks you over, so you reach out, pedaling with your arms to try to grasp at something so you don’t fall flat on your ass in the middle of the hallway.  Strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you into a hard chest.  

Gasping, you brace your hands on the solid warmth in front of you, looking into the greenest eyes you’ve ever seen.  

“Oi!” the softest lips ever exclaim, “Are you okay, pet?  Didn’t see you there.  Shouldn’t have been texting my mate.”  

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Decorus

I just got done reading These Shallow Graves by Jennifer Donnelly (It was super great btw) and it inspired me to do a Solangelo victorian AU where Nico is the son of a wealthy business man and Will is their newly hired gardner. I’m debating whether or not I should continue it…

“More tea for you, Mr. Di Angelo,” a maid said as she placed a fresh cup in front of Nico. Nico thanked her and watched her disappear into the other room; how he wished he could follow her. 

He had been sitting with his mother and step sister for the past hour, listening to Drew Tanaka, the daughter of a wealthy merchant, gossip about fellow members of New York City’s elite. Hazel and Mrs. Di Angelo took great interest in the conversation. Their eyes would widen at certain comments, and they would let out disbelieving gasps at others. 

Nico, however, could name a million other activities he’d rather be doing. Ever since his eighteenth birthday earlier that year, his parents had insisted that he find a wife. But, despite the fact that they had invited every girl in the city into their home, Nico felt no connection to any of them. While they were kind and intelligent girls, Nico could not find the attachment needed to build a successful marriage. 

 He sighed and sipped his tea. The voices of the three women around him faded to dull background noise as he allowed himself to get lost in his thoughts. 

Nico felt guilty for not liking any of the girls. He knew his parents wanted him to find someone he could settle down with, someone who could give him companionship throughout his life. A soggy feeling settled in his stomach him every time he admitted to his parents that he had yet to find the right person.

Unable to stand the dreadful event any longer, Nico cleared his throat. His mother looked at him and frowned. “Yes, Nico?”

“I’m not feeling well all of a sudden. Would it be alright if I stepped out into the garden for a bit of fresh air?” he asked. 

“Of course, dear,” Mrs. Di Angelo replied. She returned to her conversation while Nico stood from the table and made his way out the back door. 

The warm spring air was a stark contrast from the stuffy atmosphere of the drawing room. Nico took a few deep breaths to calm his nerves before taking a seat on a stone bench nearby. The garden was always one of Nico’s favorite places. He felt hidden among the lush bushes of lavender and manicured hedges. A fountain burbled merrily at the center of the garden, while birds sang from the treetops. The scent of gardenias perfumed the air. 

As he was taking in the scenery, his eyes suddenly fell upon an unfamiliar face tending the roses that climbed the garden walls. It was a boy who looked about his age with tan skin spotted with freckles, and a mop of golden curls that fell into his dark blue eyes. His face and clothes were caked in dirt, and several leaves were caught in his hair. 

Suddenly, the boy noticed Nico and stumbled to his feet. “Pardon me, Mr. Di Angelo, I was just finishing up,” he said. 

Nico’s face colored at the sudden attention. “No, no, it’s my fault for interrupting you. I just came to get a breath of fresh air.”

“Shouldn’t you be having tea with Ms. Tanaka today?” the boy asked. 

Nico sighed, “Yes, I just needed a bit of a break. I hate those gatherings.” His eyes grew to the size of saucers at the realization of what he had said. “Of course, don’t tell my parents that,” he added hastily.

The boy laughed and sat down beside him. Nico’s heart skipped a beat at the proximity. He was close enough now that Nico could count the freckles on his face. 

“You know, most men would love to be in your situation right now,” the boy pointed out. 

“I suppose so,” Nico muttered. 

“You don’t enjoy them?” the boy said. 

Nico shook his head. “They are nice girls, but I don’t care for them. Not enough to marry them, at least.”

The boy shifted awkwardly, “I’ve never been much of a fan of women myself,” he admitted. Nico gaped at him. Had he really just said what he thought he said? 

“Shit,” the boy cursed. He averted his eyes and ran a hand through his hair, “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, it’s fine, I don’t really like girls either. I’m not sure I want my parents to know that, though,” Nico replied. 

 A mischievous flicker appeared in the boy’s eyes. “There seem to be lots of things you don’t want your parents to know, yet you tell me,” he remarked. 

 Nico rolled his eyes, “Don’t flatter yourself.”

The boy chuckled, “Do you tell all your staff about the the secrets you keep from your parents?”

“You know, for someone who looks so charming, you have a gift for being annoying Mr…” Nico’s voice trailed off. He realized he did not know the boy’s name.

“Solace. Will Solace,” the boy-Will-said. 

 “Well then, Will, you are certainly talented at getting under my skin,” Nico finished. 

 Their conversation was cut short by the sound of someone pounding on the door that lead into the garden. “Nico!” Hazel called. “Nico, is everything alright? You’ve been gone an awfully long time!”

“One moment, Hazel!” Nico shouted. He turned to face Will, “I have to go before my mother starts to worry.”

“Of course. Duty calls,” Will replied. 

They fell into an awkward silence. “Can I see you again?” Will said suddenly. Nico stared at him in shock. His heart was pounding so hard it felt like it would leap out of his chest. Will sighed and shook his head, “Nevermind, it was improper of me to-”

Nico cut him off, “I would love to.”

The corners of Will’s mouth lifted into a smile, “Okay, then. How about tonight, around ten? I can meet you in the same place.” 

It was an effort for Nico to fight the blush that threatened to overwhelm his face. “That sounds perfect,” he answered. With one last goodbye to Will, Nico made his way across the garden and disappeared into the house.

I'll fall for you soon enough

[Rosvolio, also on ao3]


Benvolio knew but very little about his soon-to-be wife. But one thing he did know was this: she was a proud woman, and asking did not come easily to her.

So when Rosaline Capulet asked something of him, he listened.

Rosaline had stayed sullenly quiet on most matters concerning their impending marriage, mostly speaking up on aspects that concerned her sister in some way. Whenever they met with a variety of representatives of both their houses to plan this practical aspect of the ceremony or that, she seemed wholly disinterested in the topic, and only reluctantly involved herself if pressed to do so.

But when her uncle brought her to the Montagues’ family seat for one such afternoon of planning, her usual withdrawn behaviour seemed tinted with uncharacteristic trepidation, and when Benvolio offered his arm to lead her up the stairs, her grip was far too tight to be considered proper on a woman who had been raised a lady.

At first, he only took note of her distraction to escape the boredom of listening to their uncles try to outdo each other with tales of their business acumen. But the longer Benvolio watched his betrothed, the more intrigued he became.

All morning, Benvolio kept finding proof that something was wrong with Rosaline. She seemed tense, skittish, barely managed to stay in her seat as her eyes frantically dashed around the room, jumping from one lower member of his house to the next. She tried to hide it, of course, not one to easily bare her vulnerabilities, but when the gates opened downstairs to let in a whole group of Montague men, freshly returned from a ride out with their horses, she actually flinched at the sound of their boisterous laughter, and her already strenuous grip on her cup of sweetened wine tightened even more.

It was only once the heads of their two houses had declared it time for a break that he found out what was behind her sullen mood.

After a light luncheon, Lord Montague invited them all to come see the new statue gallery recently installed in the inner courtyard, one of the largest and finest collections of contemporary art in the city. His uncle’s claim, though no doubt stated mostly for Lord Capulet’s benefit, was true, Benvolio knew: The gallery boasted statues by the most talented and original artists of the day, and Benvolio, the only one in the family with an eye for the arts, had made sure they were arranged in such a way as to best display their individual beauty.

It was this part of the house they were headed to now, and with Lord Montague busy watching Lord Capulet for signs of displeasure at being thus upstaged, and Lord Capulet determined not to show any such sign, it was easy enough to pull his bride away from the central aisle and towards a small stone bench set between two statues.

“You are unusually quiet this morning, Capulet.“

They had gradually come to be on friendlier terms, but not so much as to make him actually call her by her given name - though the privilege would by rights be his, since they had been engaged for some weeks now. He had, he thought, made a valiant effort to hate her, as the bloody tradition of their families and his own bruised pride demanded. For a brief moment after Romeo’s death, he had even attempted to blame her for it somehow - but then, he was just as much to blame for the tragedy that had ripped away their houses’ heirs.

But Benvolio had never been a man to whom hatred and resentment came easily, and smart, headstrong Rosaline was a difficult woman to hate. He may bristle at the way she turned up her nose at him, may feel the urge to take her down a peg or two with a well-aimed barb from time to time. But now, two months into their engagement, he only antagonized her for sport, and his jabs were merely meant to sting, not wound.

Now, Rosaline showed once more that candidness he had admired, even envied in her before: She neither tried to evade his question nor to deny his observation, but came straight out with her answer.

“I have a favour to ask of you.“

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YOI Anniversary Countdown Day 6

Relationships prompt for Day 6 of @yoianniversary and since I already wrote a list of headcanons for Yuuri and his mom, I decided to do one for Victor and Mama Katsuki.

-          The first time she saw Victor skate, sitting next to Yuuri as he excitedly rambled about Victor’s technique and form, she could see in his young face that he loved it. The way he moved over the ice, demanding the crowd’s attention and flourishing with a bright smile as the last notes floated through the tiny speakers of the television, were all signs of happiness. She had seen similar signs in Yuuri and was happy that her son had found someone so positive to view as a role model.

-          Over the years she continued to watch Victor, sometimes with Yuuri, sometimes without, and she began to notice the change. His eyes didn’t crinkle when he smiled anymore, his smile was tense and on the edge of uncertainty, while his posture had changed from proud to stiffly proper. Victor’s passion for skating was dwindling, and she could see it devolving in every performance and every poster her son proudly tacked to his wall.

-          Watching over Minako’s shoulder, Hiroko observed the sullen performance, portrayed in a prince-like costume while Victor’s face seemed consumed by his own emotions. Minako claimed it was better suited for a man who was younger and more innocent. Hiroko believed it was the perfect program for a man with a broken heart.

-          When Victor arrived in Hasetsu, bright-eyed and bouncing on the balls of his feet, begging to know if he had found the residence of Yuuri Katsuki, Hiroko could already tell he was a man in love. She observed the flush of Victor’s cheeks every time Yuuri’s name was said, and the way his gaze darted around as if Yuuri would appear at any moment. She had no idea how Victor Nikiforov had fallen for her son, but she was certain that it had happened. Within the first minutes of meeting him, Hiroko opened her arms, her home, and her heart to Victor.  

-          As certain as she was that Victor was in love with Yuuri, she knew that Yuuri would remain oblivious to it for as long as it suited him. Discovering Victor, crying into his own palm while seated on a stone bench in the garden, Hiroko knew her son had unintentionally broken the heart of the only man he had ever loved. Quietly sitting on the bench, Hiroko slid a silent hand over the one he had left resting on his knee. When he finally met her eyes, she smiled, sympathetic to the struggles of loving their Yuuri. Victor had collapsed onto her, his mutterings a mix of Russian, English and terrible Japanese, and she had held him tight until the tears vanished. She knew there was nothing she could say to make it better and that they would find each other in time.

-          She did, however, take the time to collect all the posters from Yuuri’s hiding places. Waiting for a day when Yuuri was scheduled to spend several hours with Minako, Hiroko pulled Victor to a table in the dining room of the onsen and revealed her son’s secret. With every poster and every story, she saw the hope return to Victor’s eyes. Reminding him to be patient, she kissed his cheek and left him alone to gloat over his new knowledge.

-          Makkachin sat on Mama Katsuki’s lap while she wrapped her arms around his neck. On the screen Yuuri was declaring his love for Victor for the whole world to hear, while Victor sat blissfully unaware of what was happening. Before Yuuri returned home, she would pull Victor aside and make him watch the translation of the press conference, echoing his squeals when he jumped into her arms to celebrate. That night, they would make katsudon together for the first time, presenting it to Yuuri with twin grins as he arrived home. She slipped away, standing hidden at the door of the kitchen watching her boys exchange shy smiles. Pushing the door closed, she smiled as their shadows leaned together in what was to be their first kiss.

-          Makkachin lay on the floor, crumpled with shallow breathing as Mama Katsuki raced to find the phone. It had been her husband who carried Makkachin to the vet’s office, but it had been Mama Katsuki who had refused to leave Makkachin’s side until Victor arrived. When he had raced into the swinging doors, crying out for his baby, she had caught him in open arms, holding him close as their tears fell in silent sobs. Together, they would stay continuously awake until Makkachin was safe at home again.

-          It was Victor who called them first, unable to contain his excitement over the ring that Yuuri had put on his finger. Mama Katsuki had listened to every detail of the story, missing the parts where Victor accidentally slipped into excited Russian, but understanding all the same. Her boys had decided to stay together, and the joy of this fact left her cheeks stained with happy tears.

-          Yuuri was out with Makkachin when Victor came to sit next to her, his bottom lip being abused by the nervous biting of Victor’s teeth. They were moving to St. Petersburg to be together. He was taking Yuuri away from them again. Victor begged her not to hate him. The tears remained unfallen as Hiroko wrapped Victor into a hug, whispering about him being a silly boy and that they would love him, even from a distance. She wanted them to be happy, and gave her blessings with a loving press of a motherly kiss to Victor’s forehead.

-          On the day of the wedding, Hiroko stood in the doorway of Yuuri’s childhood bedroom, suppressing her tears as she thought about how far her boy had come. It wasn’t the gold medals and the world records that made his journey worthwhile, but the love he had learned to appreciate along the way. Feeling someone behind her, Hiroko turned to find Victor, dressed in his wedding tux, nervously shuffling his feet. Accepting him into her arms, she heard him whisper “thank you for everything” in his much-improved Japanese.

Later at the reception, after Hiroko had danced with Yuuri, she would accept Victor’s hand as well and join her other son on the dance floor for her second mother/son dance of the night.

In the gardens

Pairing: T’Challa x Reader

Warnings: Angsty-ish, bit of fluff.

A/N: I am taking so long with requests but bear it with me, would you? Feedback <3


Originally posted by buchanstan

Ever since Steve’s team arrived into Wakanda, they seemed to be a lot better; well, everyone except for one. (Y/N) was quiet by nature, but after everything that happened, and the people she had lost because of the men’s stubbornness, she decided to build up the highest walls so no one could reach to her.

Her powers had caused terrible damage, and she promised herself to not use them anymore; she was not completely in control of them, and it almost seemed like they controlled her sometimes. The only place where she could unravel them and feel completely free from her fears were the gardens, but they were usually full of people and full of the king’s servants who were kind enough to ask if everything was alright.

One day, as she started wandering, she found a spot that hadn’t been taken care of in quite a while. It was calling her name, and feeling her protective instinct blossoming once again, she went every day for over a month just to take care of the plants that there laid withering. (Y/N) was not at home, and she was most certainly not safe, but that portion of land somehow needed her as much as she needed it. She moved things around with her powers, feeling completely in control of her telekinesis for once in her life. And she even created a small pond with her element-control. Only her part of the gardens could bring a smile to her heart.

She was often seen carrying a book and running away, not even the few teammates she still had in Wakanda could get more from her than a greeting, and the king himself started to wonder what she did all day and why she pushed everyone away.

Until he discovered her little secret. T’Challa found her sitting on a stone little bench she had made all by herself. It was still a bit rough, but comfortable enough to sit there for a while. He cleared his throat to let her know there was somebody with her.

“Mind if I sit?” T’Challa asked as he pointed at the empty space next to (Y/N). She nodded silently and he sat down. “Did I interrupt something?”

“No—king T’Challa—you—” she stammered—“I was just—nothing.” She shook her head and fell silent again, trying to focus her sight on the book, but she couldn’t help but to look at him from the corner of her eye. The man was not only beautiful, but in his presence she felt tiny, and somehow, safe again.

T’Challa cleared his throat and began again. “You know, I’ve always liked this side of the gardens, ever since I was a child; whenever there was some sort of royal happening, I used to run all the way here and my mother would find me somehow.” He sounded absentminded, but in his mind one thought wandered, and it wasn’t even the reminiscence of his favorite childhood memories, but he was trying to imagine how it would be if (Y/N) smiled; he was most certain that he had never seen her like that. “It always felt like an escape. My father didn’t even knew about the immensity of his own palace…” he chuckled, “so how did you discover this?”

“I just started walking and… I got here.” She shrugged. None of them looked at one another, but (Y/N) could feel how fixated he was on her. “The plants needed some help.”

“I think I could hire you as the gardener, would you like that?”

“If it means I can stay here…” she turned her head to face him, “I would.”

“You know… I’ve asked around for you, but the others said you were not talking to them,” (Y/N) bit her bottom lip almost immediately, “may I know the reason why?”

“I just don’t know what I could say to them…” She shrugged. “My mother used to tell me that if I didn’t have anything nice to say, then I’d better keep quiet.”

“Don’t you think that’s a harsh thing to say to a daughter?” He pointed out.

“My mother…” she started, “she was not the kindest woman alive,” she gave him a quick look, “but it doesn’t matter, she’s not among the living anymore.”

“I’m sorry to hear that…” he gulped. “And were the Avengers somehow like a family to you?”

“They were the closest thing I had to a family, and it ended up just like the first one, and probably just as bloody.” (Y/N) pursed her lips in a thin line. “You know, when I was at school nobody really liked me, and not only because I wasn’t popular. People feared me; kids feared me because at kindergarten I spoke to a dying plant and it seemed to come to live again.” She giggled, but it sounded more like a heavy sigh. “Then, things around the house flew for no apparent reason, and that was when my parents started to fear me too and so I ran away.” Her voice seemed to crack, so she remained silent a few seconds before clearing her throat and starting again. “There were some people looking for me, bad people, and they got to my parents because they were the closest thing to me. They died because of me, because I wasn’t there to protect them.” She inhaled sharply and shook her head. “Then SHIELD found me and I became an avenger. I had a family again, a terribly dysfunctional one because let’s face it, none of them knew how to have a family. We were the outcasts, the weird ones. I felt at home but… It didn’t last long.” She looked at her hands and hid them inside her sleeves. “The things I love never last for long, mainly because I destroy them.”

“I’m sorry…” The king softly said. He looked at her and to his eyes, she had never looked more vulnerable, but it wasn’t the vulnerability that meant weakness; not at all. This vulnerability made her so transparent, like a fragile glass, just a stone away from breaking into a million pieces. She looked very differently from how she did in The Raft, where she looked utterly terrified. (Y/N) allowed her walls to fall apart just enough to let him know why she tried to shut everyone away. But her walls started to build quickly up, and before T’Challa could say something, she was slowly walking away.

He followed her and grabbed her hand, trying to make her turn around. Her (Y/E/C) eyes were getting watery, and a rosy color tried to take over her cheeks. He didn’t know what to do, or if what he was about to do was ok, but he went along with it, and taking a deep breath, his hand went up to (Y/N)’s cheek and gently stroke it. She trembled under his touch and in T’Challa’s mind, the worst fears played.

“Don’t do this, T’Challa.” She mumbled. “Get away from me before it’s too late.” She tried to free herself from his grip. “I don’t want to hurt you…”

“How about you let me decide if I want to get hurt or not?” He softly asked, not wanting to let go of her. “And how about you come out of your bedchamber to socialize? I’ll be hosting a party at the palace in two nights, and I’d love to take you as my date.”

“I don’t even have a dress.” (Y/N) stuttered.

“I’m quite sure Ms. Maximoff can handle that for both of us.” He leaned in to kiss (Y/N)’s cheek and bowed his head before saying his goodbyes.

“T’Challa, wait!” She screamed, running her way up to him; who, with long steps, had already gotten a few meters away. “I haven’t even said yes.”

“Well,” he smiled, “I will go by your room in two days and if you’re wearing pajamas, then I’ll know you’ve turned down my invitation.” T’Challa took (Y/N)’s hand and lifted it enough to kiss it, looking straight into her eyes.

And two days from then, King T’Challa knocked on (Y/N)’s golden doors, only to be welcomed by one of the maidens that was in charge of her. Inside the dormitory, Wanda was finishing the last details of (Y/N)’s dress. The king couldn’t help to smile at the sight of such a beautiful woman. She wore a long, navy blue dress that even though it was not tight, it still held on to her curves perfectly. She turned around, almost in slow motion, and smiled back at the dark complexioned man that so fondly looked at her.

She looked like a dream come true; like his own little piece of heaven was on earth, right in front of his very eyes.

“You’re gorgeous,” T’Challa said in amusement, “and you look gorgeous too.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, your highness.” (Y/N) smiled as she bowed her head.

They walked together through the hallway that lead to the big ballroom where a lot of people had gathered for a celebration that (Y/N) was not aware of. The couple greeted some of the guests and everyone kept mentioning how gorgeous T’Challa’s companion was. She did not feel afraid of hurting anybody, because having him by her side was enough to keep her mind occupied. She was very grateful for his ministrations to her, and she wouldn’t have enough life to thank him for everything he had done.

Not only he managed to make her speak of her past, but she also felt like she had a friend, someone she could really count on, and (Y/N) appreciated that the most.

Once the greetings and protocol salutes were over, the two were offered a glass of champagne to start the night; (Y/N) was not a drinker, and mostly because of her uncontrolled powers, she declined the drink as asked for some water instead.

“You never told me what you’re celebrating.” (Y/N) mentioned at the table. They were sitting together, and in order to speak to him, she had to lean in closer. T’Challa shivered lightly at the feeling of her breath close to his skin.

“It’s my father’s birthday today,” he explained, “and it’s a tradition to remember the birthdays of a king or a queen. I suppose mine will be remembered one day.” He replied with a soft smile. (Y/N) corresponded the smile with a soft giggle. “Hey! You’re smiling, that’s a progress.”

“I have a good reason to smile tonight.” She conceded. “You know, I never met your father… but he sure as hell did a great job bringing you up.” She sighed. “You’re a great man, T’Challa, and you’re going to be an even greater king.” T’Challa smiled nervously; he was used to receive compliments about his duty as the new king of Wakanda, but if they came from (Y/N)’s lips, the compliments felt a hundred times better and it made his heart beat faster than ever. “I don’t think I can thank you enough for taking me out of my bedroom… I had forgotten how it felt to be with people, like real people.” She shook her head and giggled. Then, she leaned her head on T’Challa’s shoulder and felt how he tenderly kissed her hair.

“Shall we dance?” He asked, after a moment in silence.

The musicians started to play a slow tune, perfect for a romantic dance. The two stood up and headed for the center of the dance-floor. For the first time, (Y/N) felt extremely nervous and self-conscious around the king. There had never been that little space between them; not even at the Leipzig airport, and not even when they were all rescued from The Raft. She shivered when his big hand softly placed on the small of her back, not too low, but not up high. She took a deep breath before relaxing again and taking the hand that he offered.

When she looked up, she could’ve sworn T’Challa’s eyes were in the shape of a heart. He looked down at her and smiled when he found she was looking at him. He looked away with a winner grin and he led the slow movements of their bodies.

“Is there a special person you left back home?” He softly asked.

“No, I didn’t.” (Y/N) replied in a defeated voice. “Love has not been good with me. I told you, I hurt everyone I love.” She quickly looked away. “I just don’t think I’ll ever be good enough for someone. I mean just look at me—”

“I am,” T’Challa cut her off, “and I have done it for a while… and I have to say it; you’re the most gorgeous woman that I’ve ever seen.”

“You’re just saying it to make me feel better.” (Y/N) shook her head in disbelief.

“I wish I did—” T’Challa let go of her hand and placed it on her cheek, cupping it gently—“but I’m not. It’s hard to put it into words, especially with this many people around us, but you’re good enough for me, and you’re so, so good that I believe I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you, (Y/N).”

“I—I… I just don’t know what to say.” She stammered. “T’Challa—I—”

“You needn’t say a thing,” he assured her, nodding his head once, “just promise me you’ll never say something like you’re not good enough again. You are good enough, you’re more than good enough, and you don’t hurt the people you love, and you have my word about it.”

Out of a sudden, T’Challa felt brave enough to lean in and gently press his lips on hers before she could argue any more. It didn’t take long for her to realize what the blabbering was about; she wasn’t really sure if she felt the same, or even if she was able to feel something for somebody again, but the safety his arms, walls and gates provided were more than enough to make her consider giving that leap of faith.

“T’Challa, I need you to hear me out on this one.” She pulled away from him. “This is not easy for me, and I… I don’t know if I feel the same about you.”

“I will not push you into something you don’t want.” He assured. “Set the boundaries and I’ll respect them. I like you, but I want you to be happy, even if it means without me.”

“And what if that’s exactly it?”

“We’ll figure that out together, then.” He leaned in, but instead of kissing her lips, T’Challa kissed her forehead as they kept dancing.

Wolf of Spring Ch. 2

Chapter 2: “I didn’t think you would come back, lassie.”

Tamlin could rarely distinguish truth from reality. Sometimes, there are days when the two converge together, leaving him more confused than ever. Today  would be one of them. Then, there’s the matter of the women residing in his court, vying for his attention to marry him. Would he ever find a suitable woman to marry, let alone love?

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