You were in the middle of clicking through channels on the TV when your phone rang with a call from your best friendâs mom. A heating pad clutched to aching stomach, tears pricking your eyes as you forced yourself to pick up through the excruciating pain (you had stable periods for a year so you didnât know why this one was so bad).
âHello?â You greeted, trying to even out your voiceâlast thing you needed was your friendâs mom fretting over you like a sick kid.
But when her voice cut through the other end, it was already shrill with panic, âyou need to get over to her house now,â she criedâpractically screaming, âthey took herâohâthey took my baby!â You sat up straight and scrambled up. You knew exactly who she was talking about: your best friend, her youngest daughterâher baby, the woman who gave a speech at your wedding, the woman who told you through tears that no matter what you were the most important person in her life.
âTook her where? Whoâ? Whatâs happening?â You rushed out, tugging on some slippers and grabbing your keys. âIâm on my way to her placeâjust take a breath and tell me.â
Through sickeningly deep sobs, she managed to heave out that her daughter had been taken by men in mask and military gear without warningâand the only reason she knew was from her doorbell camera footage.
You told her to call police while you hung up and called the one man you knew who could help: your husband, Simon.
He usually answered on the first ring, but call after call there was nothing. It still rang fully, so his phone was onâwhy wasnât he picking up. You called again as you parked your car outside your friendâs place, her mom crying in the driveway as policemen took her statement and sealed the scene.
âSimonâitâs an emergency, please,â you whispered desperately as your phone pick up your message, swallowing thickly before hanging up and putting it away.
Her mom latched onto you in seconds, leaning on the girl she once kicked out of her house for eating all the cookies for the year one field trip the night before.
âDid you show the police the footage?â You asked her, pulling her over to sit in the driverâs seat of your car, hoping to rest the bones she constantly complained about aching.
âYesâdid I show you?â She asked, scrambling for her phoneâdesperate for something to do other than sit and wallow in the fact her daughter had just been kidnapped.
A video filled her screen, grainy and desaturated, but sure enough it depicted men in military outfits storming up her driveway from an unmarked black car, forcing their way in, and taking her by her armsâŠbut she wasnât fighting.
Not in the fawn or freeze response way, no, her eyes were rested, a slight smile on her face, as if this was a normal interaction. She wasnât yelling or screaming or crying, it almost looked surreal considering she was kidnapped.
A grunted mess of words weaved it way out of the receiver and you paused.
You turned up the volume to the max, replaying the last ten seconds.
âGet âer out of here,â a voice that was so unmistakably your husbandâs that it made your heart drop to the concrete under foot said. You excused uourself shakily, rounding the car with your phone in hand and called your husbandâs workâa local renovation business.
You were going crazy, you had to be. The audio was shaky, at best, and the accent just so happened to match. Did that mean it was your husband? No, not at all, you were acting crazy.
But just as you were about to hang up the unconnected call, a click sounded and you were patched through.
âR&A Construction, how can I help you?â A woman asked.
âHi, my husband works with you all and heâs not picking up his phone. Itâs an emergencyâcan you get him? His name is Simon Riley.â
âSimon RileyâŠ? Um, sorry maâam but we do not have anyone here that matches that nameâno one with that name has ever worked here, in fact, itâs family run soâŠ,â the woman trailed off slowly.
The call disconnected after your minutes of silence as you stood there, phone in hand, eyes fixed on the pavement. The man who had pushed his mate away from you in that bar, who had taken your heart the first time you saw him, who promised to marry you after you had whispered that you loved him for the first time, who wiped your tears as you both kissed on the alter the day of, and who held you so gently despite your fears in the coming nightsâŠthat man had lied to you since the moment you met.
You mindlessly tapped on his contact one more time. No answer: expected.
An automated voice asked for your message, and you left it clearly: âSimon Riley, you better get down here and explain what the hell is going on or donât come homeâ.
"Sorry to bother, Si, but can you grab me some Ibuprofen on your way home?" You asked, phone pressed to your ear as you toughed it though your typical pre-period(?) cramps.
A sigh came through the other end, "Sorry, love, it'll be late before I get home. I'll pick some up after I'm done here, though. There should be some Tylenol under the sink in the first aid kit," he said, his words unusually tense. You sat up on your elbows, brows furrowed.
"You, okay?"
"'Course, just these pricks at work getting on my last nerve," he grunted, making you chuckle.
"Well good luck, love you."
"Love you too."
Ghost hung up the phone and stuffed it away into his locker--right alongside his wedding ring. He let out a long sigh as he pressed his temple against the back of his hand, just trying to ease the guilt rearing up in the form of an ugly headache.
"Mate, you good?" Gaz asked, walking into the base's break room with Soap, still dressed in their gear from their most recent completed mission.
"I keep tellin' 'im to break it off sooner rather than later," Soap sighed dramatically.
Gaz's head snapped over. "You're still with her? We got all the information we needed from her three months ago."
"It's not that simple," Ghost grunted.
"You're the one who married her," Soap tacked on. "You made it complicated."
"Does she know yet?" Gaz asked before Ghost could snap at his Scottish friend. Ghost pushed himself off the break room wall, moving towards the observation room, where--thought a one-way mirror--he could see the woman at the table, your best friend, the bridesmaid at his and your wedding, and just sighed.
"No, she'll probably learn soon enough."
"Will she know you were involved?" Gax asked, hesitant to pry further into Ghost's less than ideal married life.
Frank was a disgusting creature to all of Rome despite how loud they cheered for him. He caked his skin in blood and tore his hands through flesh without a second thought. He was like the very lions he was instructed to kill in his first days of being one of Athen's gladiators. He bared his teeth rage incarnate and spared not a single thought before ripping men's throats out.
However, to you, he was a novelty. You were taken from the moment you saw him enter the arena, sitting in the emperor's box beside your father, comfortable and perched like a finely plucked dove while Frank circled the dirt-caked arena like a vicious predator waiting to sink its teeth into any unsuspecting animal. Your chest warmed with an unfamiliar feeling that made you sure that you needed him.
âŠhowever you couldnât bring up such a desire to your father, less he accelerate the time in which your to be wed. He had given you one year of freedom before being carted off to be a bride of a senatorâyou had no qualms before stepping into that arena, but leaving it you only had the desire for one person whom you hadnât even spoken to.
But you werenât a fool, you knew exactly what to say to be allowed to see them: âFather,â youâd say as you turnt to the man perched high in his emperor seat, âsince your betting so much on that gladiatorâs shoulders, may I visit him?â
Your father puffed out with pride at your display of loyalty to himself, spoken just loud enough for the senators and other nobility go hear and nod approvingly. He gave you a nod and sent you on your way with two gold coins pressed into your palm.
You bounded down to the market place on the first floor, bought the most delicious food and luxurious wine you could find, and raced to the stairs bellow the arena. You were suddenly greatful for your father flaunting you around in paraded prior to the games, as even thd guards in the dark chambers bellow the earth bowed their head and stepped aside.
âIâm here to see the champion,â you said, regarding the two men with nervous eyes (considering you could hear the pained grunts, shouting, and curses being spewed from the cages beyond the entrance). The two men directed you and watched you toddle further in like a dumb sheep into a wolves den.
You found Frank at the end of the hall, and you just stared. He sat on his cot without much other than a loincloth. His body was a statuesque figure of copper, scarred and beaten, but nonetheless beautiful. You lost all your words as you stood there, holding your gifts while you stared blankly at him...as if he was a god you were unsure you could worship.
âUm,â you managed softly as you stood in front of Frankâs enclosed barrack, trapped in steel and only allowed to train. He didn't look at you, so you stepped forward and pushed your gifts between the bars and set them on the floor. "Well wishes," you said.
"From who?" He grunted.
âFrom the emperorâŠâ you answered hesitantly.
âYou the emperor?â He scoffed sarcastically. âWho the hell are you?â He asked, turning to look at you with those dark, calculating eyes that aided in ripping the flesh from his enemiesâ bones.
âPrincess,â you answered.
âAhâŠprincess,â he hummed. âLet me tell you something, princessââhe stood up, towering over you as he approached the bars of his cageââyou take back your gifts and give em back to that daddy of yours that bought them.â
âI bought themâ!â You protested as he tossed him back through the bars.
âWith whose money?â He hummed, and you shut your mouth.
âAnd if I come back with gifts of my own money?â
âDonât think princesses like you know how to make your own money,â he huffed, slinking back over to his cot and plopping down. He spoke without fear of the very real consequences you could enact on him for disregarding your rankâŠbut that just made you even more taken with him.
Just a few weeks later, you found yourself face to face with the goliath of a man that was Frank. This time, there were no bars, no dim torch lights, just you, Frank, and the entirety of the noble class around you. It was a banquet to celebrate Frank's most recent victory that scored elites and everyone who betted for him a lot of money.
Of course, that didn't mean Frank was free to socialize. No, instead he was chained to the floor and left as a spectacle as the socalizing happened around him.
As for you, you were sat beside your father, sipping on wine as suitors attempted to capture your interest. You mimicked the action of paying attention, but in reality, your attention kept teetering over to Frank--stone faced and jaw set. After hours, the party began wrapping up and the guards grabbed Frank, unfastening him to drag him back to his cell under the city.
"Excuse me," you said softly, grabbing the wine skin you had kept beside you all evening, nodding to your father as you left. He paid you little mind. You scurried after the guards leading Frank away, following them out to the courtyard before making your presence known. âPardon me,â you called out to the guards, who paused and visibly tensed as they saw you.
âPrincess,â they dropped to a kneel before you dismissed them with a wave of your hand.
âNo need for that, I need a moment alone with this gladiator to present some gifts from the emperor,â you lied easily, smiling politely as the guards fastened Frankâs chains to sizable stone you were sure he could move if he wished to. You watched the guards scurry behind the courtyard wallsâgiving you privacy to bestow the âemperorâsâ gifts to the prized gladiator. You looked to Frank, taking in his hulking form before sitting down in the dirt path, setting the two cups in front of you. âDrink with me?â
âWhose wine is this?â He hummed, dropping gracelessly to the ground in front of you.
âIf you mean whose money bought it, then mine. If you mean whose hand made it, a sweet woman from the marketplace.â You tipped the wine skin, filling his cup before moving to yours.
Frank grunted before grabbing the cup and downing the drink in nearly one gulpâthe red liquid dripping down his chin as if he had never been taught mannersâŠbut perhaps he hadnât, so you made no comment as you sipped on your drink. âMore?â
âUp to you,â he huffed, his eyes finding great interest in the flowers. You just hummed and filled the cup once more.
âDo you enjoy being a gladiator?â
âNo,â he said without hesitation. You were surprised for a momentâassuming the bloodshed was perfect for a man you had believed reveled in it. Your shock mustâve played on your face because Frank sat taut, jaw set and eyes narrowed. âYou think I enjoy killing?â
âI never saidââ
âShut up,â he said and your lips clamped shutâdespite the fact that you could get him executed for such disrespect. Your head hung, ashamed over your belief, as you slowly sipped in your drink. He finished his quickly in the silence, and you moved to refill his cup. âI wasnât born here,â he grunted without prompt. You looked up at him as his cup filled with the red blood of the grapes. âI was born up north, lived in a village with my wife and childrenâbefore your people killed them and took me for entertainment.â Your mouth went dry and the blood pumping through your ears went cold. âMy physique was the only reason they kept me aliveâto train me to become an object of enjoyment and violence.â
You knew the question before it tumbled from his lips: âSo, are you cut from the same clothâwhy do you bring these gifts to me?â
You had no suitable answer for him as you left the garden, abandoning the half-full wineskin at his knees. His eyes, set with cold understanding of his situation and standing, haunted your shoulders as you walked back to join your father at the table and engage in festivities. You knew the answer, and you could've simply said it:
"I desire you--I find you facisnating."
And you would've been just like your father and the people who enslaved him and killed his village. You suddenly found yourself staring at the crimson reflection of yourself in your goblet, identifying the woman looking back as the most disgusting creature in all of Rome.
The automated voice of your earbuds woke you up from your light sleep, alongside the sharp cut off of the ASMR video you had been playing to help you achieve such a state. You blearily blinked, reaching for your phone only to be met with an unmoving black screen--darnit, dead.
You rolled over to plug into one the wires wrigling in a mess of cords that gathered on your nightstand, only to pause when your earbuds played another automated word:
"Connecting."
You wondered for a second, just what could your earbuds be trying to connect to? I mean, sometimes you connect them to your laptop but that's shut and squared away. But maybe your earbuds were just searching for a connection that couldn't be found, so you just shrugged it off and plugged your phone up.
"Connected." A chipper, robotic voice spoke through your ears.
What did it--? You sighed, thinking you'd have to trudge over to your laptop to disconnect them...until you heard sounds.
The crackle of a low-quality video, heavy, slow breaths, and the sound of snoring. What on your comupter could've made--
"Pretty girl," a deep voice rumbled from whatever video you were watching, and you jumped. You occasionally dabbled in some out there ASMR videos, but nothing so low quality and un-ASMR-y than this one. What video was your computer playing?
You went over to your computer and drew it into your lap on the floor, opening it only to find, with a sinking feeling in your stomach, that it was dead.
That was the only other device it could connect to.
It wasn't like you had neighbors either.
Suddenly you were scared of the darkness surrounding you. But you were trying to play it off, maybe your TV could be connected to or something. No number of excuses eased your racing heart as you tried to hype yourself to get back into bed and go to sleep. "What if someone's under there?" The paranoid part of your brain cried.
So, you grabbed your old flashlight from your nightstand drawer that you kept for navigating the frequent blackouts your house dealt with. You clicked it on and sent the ray of light under your bed. You expected to see nothing but some trash and fallen items. Instead, the beam of light revealed a man, clutching a phone to his chest, wearing a skull mask, and staring--at you.
can you do highschool ua where reader and simon sneak out and walk through a field and share a blunt and giggle about small things đ€€đ€€
I aint ever smoked a blunt (or anythin for that matter) but i tried my best writing it <33
Before Simon Rileyâs name was censored out of all personel files and he renamed himself as âGhostâ, he was a student at a Manchester secondary schoolâand a poor one at that. He skipped every other day, spent most of his free time drinking and stealing cigarettes from his mom.
But there was times when his best friend, easily one of the most important people in his lifeâyouâfinally decided to take a step back from all the stress you put yourself under and hang out. Sometimes youâd just chill at your place, other times you roamed shops and looked at all the things you couldnât afford.
This time, the two of you decided to snag one of Simonâs brotherâs blunts and whisk it off to the field by the outskirts of the city. The grass was tall, and you would have to scour each other later to ensure there were no ticks on either of you. The sun sat just above the horizon, making the plot look like a sea of orange warmth that beckoned you in.
You led the charge, leading Simon by his wrist deeper into the field to where no passing cop could spot the two of you. Eventually, you ventured to the center of the field and plopped down with a sigh.
âGonna get grass stains on your pants,â Simon warned, joining you nonetheless. He grabbed his lighter and you grabbed the blunt you slipped into your pocket. You held it out dramatically to him.
âLadies first,â you jokedâearning you a proper swat on the arm. You grinned as he lit it up and you rose it to your lips, taking a propped hit before passing it off to him.
It wasn't long before the two of you were insufferably giggling over every small thing. You see, before the military, Simon was able to forget about life for small moments with you, and let his shoulder relax without looking over them.
"And she told me, 'I hope you're okay with the consequences of your actions'--like, okay?" you giggled, showing Simon the texts on your phone, to which he grinned as he scrolled through them.
"She's wack.â
âYouâre telling me!â
You sighed, lying back down in the grass as Simon took another hit before holding it out to you. You looked at it for a moment before gently taking it. âSimon,â you spoke up after a few seconds.
âHm?â
âWe gonna stay friends after high school?â You asked, looking up at him as you perched the blunt between your lips.
âCourse,â he chuckled.
âWe should move in together,â you gasped and he winced.
âAnd deal with your awful shower singing? You ask too much of me,â He joked.
âHey!â
âWhere would we even live?â He asked, lying down in the grass beside you, plucking the blunt from your lips.
âWe could run away to Americaâmaybe L.A.,â you gasped, swatting his arm. âWe could be movie stars,â you said, nudging him. âYouâd thrive on the big screen.â Both of them knew one of Simonâs biggest fears was getting in front of a camera.
âOnly if you were my costar,â he chuckled.
You looked at him and smiled a soft smile that had absolutely no place on your face for your friend. But when he looked back at you, he made no comment, just watching your eyes take in your faceâas you were painting a portrait in your fuzzy mind to hang onto the moment forever.
Then, you grinned. âWhatever we do, weâll stick together.â You extended your hand out to him.
âYeah,â he nodded and took your hand in his, holding it tightly. âCourse.â
Thunder hammered overhead, beating against the showering clouds that poured harsh droplets from their dark, pillowy bodies. The forest underneath the storm coward, trees bending in on themselves as the howling wind beat at their bark, animals scurrying to find shelter.
You ran along with the critters, racing to find a place to stay. You were exhausted, bones heavy and eyes fighting to stay open, but the adrenaline pumping through your veins made you keep going.
The day had started perfectly tranquil, waking up alongside the rest of your flock for a day of traveling. The elders whispered words of caution of a storm, but you doubted itâthe sky started out so blue and clear after all.
When the storm started, you got separated from your herd.
You tried to call out for them in the midst of the storm, but another unforgiving crack drowned out your panicked bleat. You looked around wildly for a place to hide and eventually spotted an opening against the mountainside. The elders had warned against ever entering cavedâsaying wolves and bears would be waiting there with open mouths to gobble them upâbut the circumstances pushed their words to the back of your mind.
Your floppy, damp ears folded against your ears as you pushed yourself into the cave, instantly warmed from the storm outside. You sighed, curling up without a single thought better of it. You didnât ponder as to why the cave was so warm or why your tail kept pressing against something soft.
The next morning you awoke to a suffocating heat enveloping your entire body, trapping you in place. You whined, groggily trying to push yourself out of the cave before you heard a low growl. you froze, your ears flattening and tail tucking against your leg as you looked over your shoulder.
A wolf hybrid, big and dark-eyed, was glaring at you as his arm was swung around your body. "Quit moving," he grunted, pressing his face into your neck. You could feel his sharp teeth against your skin as he spoke. You swallowed thickly, trying once more to squirm away--to which he bit down on your neck. It wasn't hard enough to pierce the skin, but just enough pressure to keep you in place.
orca!ghost/seal!reader pt. 3 for @hypertail, @atlas3rr0r-1974, and @yeahitsboots
While Ghost was mourning your absence, you had begun exhibiting clear signs of stress. All seals mers were placed in a pool together, and they typically spent all day floating and playing with each other. But you had begun to grow stressed after constantly hearing Ghost calling out for you. You could hide and cower away from researchers, crying every time they tried to haul you out for research.
It was beginning to impact the other seals as well, as they all began to mimic your behavior. The aquarium was turning into chaos quick, so an emergency placement was made even though the paperwork wasn't done.
Ghost peered up at the looming shadow over his pod's tank, glaring at the researcher who got in the water. They were probably going to try and take more algae or bacteria samples for observation. However, that idea was dashed whenever they pulled in a familiar plump shape.
Ghost darted out of his spot and instantly darted to you, practically tackling you out of the researcher's hold. You perked up and beamed at him, pressing your cheek against his as you nuzzled against him. He pulled you down to his sleeping spot, not minding the curious looks from Gaz and Soap (Price was already notified that the transfer was happening).
"Watch it," Price warned Soap and Gaz, who were peering curiously down at you. "Ghost'll take your tails off."
"Cute thing," Gaz commented.
"Think we could get one of those therapy seals for ourselves?" Soap asked, grinning at the idea of having a seal mer to cuddle with all day or play games with.
"Well, officially, that mer's for us to share to 'expand our sociability'," Price said. "Unofficially, though she's here so the aquarium doesn't collapse."
Gaz and Soap shared a look. "so...she is to share," Gaz concluded with a grin, already planning an afternoon of sunbathing with the seal mer--his favorite pass time the rest of them were "too good" to enjoy with him.
For some reason that no one could figure out, you and Ghost hated each other. It was like cats and dogs between you two the way you all found new ways to bicker over the most mundane of things. Soap swore that one day he walked in to find you two nearly disemboweling each other with butter knives over who made the butter a bread-crumbed mess (it was Price, everyone knew that, but that didn't stop the both of you going at it for nearly an hour).
At first, everyone assumed it was because you were a transfer from a different international unit, and everyone knew of Ghost's bad history with similar transfers. But after another sergeant transferred in temporarily (under similar conditions) and he and Ghost got along great, that theory was laid to rest.
Others thought that maybe, just maybe, Ghost was...sexist? Not unheard of in the military by any means. Of course, Price, Soap, Gaz, and even Laswell (who hated getting dragged into issues between the soldiers) had their doubts. Sure, in his younger years he made the out-of-place comments that made Price sentence him to armory inventory many a night. But after his brother got married (and, well, died alongside the rest of his family a few short year later) he said not a lick of disrespect.
Whatever the reason, though, the fact remained that you and Ghost hated each other's guts.
"Get your musty self out of chair, Ghost," you said, glaring at him as soon as you entered the conference room for the post-mission debrief. Ghost locked eyes with you and leaned back, manspreading all over your chair and making absolutely no attempt at moving.
But you weren't in the mood. So instead of picking another fight, you sat your aching bones down in a chair a few spaces down. Gaz glanced up at your absence of fight and shared a look with Soap--but neither of them said a word.
You were uncharacteristically quiet during the briefing, and while everyone would've chalked it up to exhaustion given no one had gotten a good night's sleep in nearly a week, you had gone without sleep at all for days and still been more talkative (albeit most of it was yelling) than this. But they all knew you didn't respond well to the type of questions like "you good?"--deeming them a gesture of weakness and instantly getting snappy.
After the briefing, you didn't waste a single second bickering with Ghost and almost fled to your car to go home. That was definitely a first.
"Somethin' up with 'er? Never seen the lass hurry out wi'out a quip or two," Soap said, leaning against the table as he talked to Gaz and Ghost.
"Nice change of pace," Ghost grunted.
"You two bicker more than my six-year-old nieces," Gaz sighed, adjusting the cap perched on his head.
"I expect nothin' less," Price tacked on, gathering his things to go home to the missus.
The next morning, Ghost spotted you for the first time in your car in the lot outside, face pressed against the wheel. He diverged from his path inside and made a beeline to your car, knocking on the window harshly. You didn't look up.
You reached over and blindly rolled down the window enough to let your voice slip out. "Leave me alone," you grunted. You didn't know who it was, all you knew was that you needed time to be alone.
"You're late." Of course it was Ghost--the universe hated you.
You rolled up your window and rose you head just enough to glare at him.
"Just cause your pissy don't mean you can be late," Ghost said, tappihng your window again. You sighed, grabbing your keys and bag.
"Do you know how to leave people alone or are you always this insufferable?" you sighed, trudging out of your car. That's when Ghost spotted the brutal black eye blooming up on your face, already darker than a plum.
"The 'ell happened to you?"
"Got into a fight," you said simply.
"With who?" You met his question with a noncommittal shrug. "Hey," he said gruffly, grabbing your arm and tugging you back from the front door of the building. "With who?" He repeated. "Your boyfriend?"
"Get off my case!"
"Is he hitting you?"
"No--now let go of me!" You said, trying to wrench you arm away. It was humiliating--you were naturally a bit smaller than him and by proxy weaker. You prided yourself on your strength for years, and now you had to ask for him to let go of you. Ashamed wasn't even the start of it.
He let go of you and you stormed inside, impatient for the day to end already.
Ghost kept his eye on you throughout the day, documenting your every move in the back of his mind as you worked on paperwork, assisted in training, and even as you took your smoke breaks. He'd see bruises like that on his mom and even his own reflection growing up, and it wasn't no fight bruise.
When the end of the day came rolling around and you started to leave, Ghost got up to follow you. He would try to get the information out of you one more time. But just as he opened the double doors to leave, he saw you frozen in place, a man leaning against your car. You glanced around and spotted Ghost--immediately scurrying over to the man with your voice low. You seemed just as pissed to see him there as he was to see you...and Ghost by proxy.
"You cheating on me?" the man asked, grabbing your arm--to which you quickly rung off. At home was a different story, but here, at the place of work where you were expected to be a leader in your own right, you could just try and apease him.
"You don't get to come to my work and make accusations," You whispered, trying to contain the scene.
"Then we'll go home if you don't want to do this in front of your fuc--" he grabbed your arm and before you even got a change to tug yourself away again, Ghost stepped in.
"Aye, mate, back up," Ghost said, shoving the man backâto where he nearly stumbled over his own feet.
The man, who was just brave and entitled enough to start pressing you, now was cowering back to his car and driving off. As his beat up civic disappeared down the road, Ghost glanced at you to make sure you were okay and you were pissed.
âWhat the hell was that?â You shouted.
âWhat?â
âI donât need your help,â you snapped.
âNot my fault you have shit taste,â Ghost said before he could think. You were seethingâred clouding your vision as you glared at him. He was insufferable incarnateâthe exact type of person you had wished youâd never crossed paths with.
âYou sonavuââ you shouted, lunging at him, grabbing him by his collar and wrestling him to the ground. âDamn you!â
âQuit,â he said, trying to grab your arms as you started punching at him.
âWhat right do you have to say shit? That Iâm weK?â You demanded. You found so hard to get to where you were only for you to get humiliated. You werenât weakâyou proved that through your years of standing just as tall as all your teammatesâyou made a mistakeâyou let your boyfriend get one over you as a flukeâ
âI never said shit about you being weak, donât put words in my mouth,â Ghost grunted, grabbing your arms to stop you from continuing your mirad of hits. You didnât even realize you were crying until you spotted the damp splotches under you on Ghostâs shirt. âBeing stuck in a place like thatââfamiliarity played behind Ghostâs eyesââdonât mean your weak at all.â
You stared at him for a long moment before just crying.
Ghost had to be sedated to be put back into the tank with the rest of his pod mates. As soon as the staff slipped into the water the first time around to try and take him back to his pod and take you back to your glorified pool where you slept all day, Ghost was guarding you as if the staff were there to serve you up for dinner.
"Don't you want to go back with your podmates?" One diver asked, trying to coax Ghost out of the corner he had backed himself into alongside of you. It obviously didn't work; Ghost would only go back to his original tank if you came along as well.
...But protocol for integration of a new mer into a pod's tank was longer, tenfold, than an isolation tank. Hence why, after multiple bouts of aggressive behavior towards the staff, they slipped a sedative into Ghost's nightly meal of stacks of salmon--enough to knock out an elephant.
When he came too, Soap was swatting him with his tail and Gaz was trying to move him off "his" rock. Price was up by the surface of the tank, talking with Laswell about something quiet that Ghost couldn't pick up. He didn't care, though, because the first thing he noticed was your absense.
It was as if Ghost had lost his mate. He isolated himself to the very corner of the tank, long strings of vocalization seeping out of the water all hours of the night and stopped eating. The researched kept reassuring him that you were very well alive...but every time they showed him a photo of you for proof, he just got worse.
He missed his seal, and by calling out every night in his tank, he hoped you knew that.
Would love another part to Injured Simon and Pregnant reader!
Pt. 4 to Injuried!ghost and Pregnant-wife!reader for @nbdblogger, @vitalliver, @esistenzacomplessa, @masterocelot58, @i-llovefictionalmen4life, @sgt-artemis-owl-riley
Note: itâs short, so sry </3
âHowâs he doinâ?â Price asked over the phone, having put you on speaker for the entire team to hear and chime in. You, on the other hand, were in the bathroom, phone pressed to your ear so Simon wouldnât wake up.
âUmâŠnot great, the news has been rough,â you said softly.
âI can imagine,â Soap sighed.
âAnd what about you?â Kyle asked. You bit the inside of your cheek, tears filling your eyes again. You felt patheticâcrying every time the attention was diverted to you.
âAlso not great,â you managed, trying to keep your voice steady as to not embarrass yourself in front of the team of military men. They only called to check on their buddy, not to listen to you cry about your word. You heard shuffling and a click before the background noise softened like you were taken off speaker and out of the room.
âHey,â Kyle said, his voice gentle. âTalk to me.â
âKyle, I donât know if I can do this,â you cried. âI donât know if he can do this.â
He was quiet for a long moment, before his voice drifted through the line and soothed your heaving breaths, âI know that Simon loves you more than this entire world.â
A few hours later, you were cleaning the dishes while Simon was closed up in his room. You rested for a moment; your hands spread over the marble as you took a second to just breath. you wanted to sleep, horribly so. But you weren't prepared to settle beside Simon for the first time since he came home.
He had migrated over to the bed a few hours after you woke up, and since then you hadn't stepped foot in the room. You were terrified.
Logically, you knew nothing would happen, he'd probably just be asleep. So you took a deep breath and started toward your bedroom door. Your fingers pressed against the door as you peaked in, finding SimonâŠnot under the blanket. His wheelchair, which you had left by his bedside, was gone.
You were quiet as you crept into the bathroom. âSimon?â You called out softly.
Simon was in front of the shower, half-way off his seat, grunting as his tried to push himself into the shower chair you had installed for him. His arms were straining with lack of use as he tried to grab ahold of the railing beside the chair.
âSimon, let me helpââ
âNo,â he grunted, trying once more to haul himself into the chair.
âSimon,â you reached forward, grasping his bicep with one hand while the other hooked under his arm to try and help him into the chair. Before you could even get him off the edge of his seat, he tore your hands off.
âI said no,â he seethed.
âSimon itâs okay,â you assured.
âCanât get out of this damn chair!â He shouted. âCanât take a shower without your helpâcanât even change my clothes properly! How the hell am I supposed to take care of a kid! I couldnât even chase after themââ
âSimon, quit!â you insisted.
âItâs the truth!â He snapped.
âIt doesnât mean that you canât raise them!âHe was quiet for moment after you spoke. Your shoulders slackened as you knelt in front of him. âSimonâŠâ you sighed.
âIâm gonna be a shit dad, canât even drive âem to football games,â he said, his voice fading out under a crack you chose not to dwell on.
You ended up helping him into the shower that night and let him help you fold laundry. You thought it would he best for him to feel busy, to feel physically useful even if you had never viewed him as useless in the entire time you knew him; Simon was always the hardest person on his case.
plsplspls the plot can be literally anything but make it where simon cries when we get comfortable enough to talk around him!!
When Simon came home after the SAS, all he had was a honorable discharge and a left side of his body that didn't work properly anymore. An IED left him walking with a limp and a weak grip strength at best. In complete honesty, everyone expected him to crack under the newfound lack of path he had once he became a civilian. Even he expected that.
But instead, when he touched down in his dreadful home city of Manchster, he found something he had completely forgotten about: you. You, at one point in Simon's life, were his best friend. You spent hours together after school causing a ruckus--stealing your parents' liquor (where he first discovered his love for bourbon) and nicking cigarettes form his mom's purse to smoke on the roof.
In the years since he'd signed up for the military and hung the name "Simon Riley" up in the place of Ghost, he had nearly forgotten you. He probably would've left you as a fleeting thought in the back of his mind to be rediscovered late at night when he exhausted all other memories...had he not spotted you.
You were sitting on the porch of your mother's old house--knees drawn to your chest as you stared out on the road. There was no mistaken it--it was you.
Simo just happened to be running that day, familiarizing himself with the layout of his old city, when he wandered down your street. You looked at him, and he at you, and the rest was history.
...a very quiet history, for a while at least.
Simon started hanging around, and for once since his family and house burnt down, he was the one starting all the conversations and continuing them because you never said a single word.
He wasn't dumb, he saw the distant look in your eye and how you tensed whenever he sat just a little too close. Your lips were always wedged against your teeth as if you were afraid of even your breath slipping from your throat. He'd seen men like that in his squad after their first mission out east--after they witnessed their friend from bootcamp get blown up by a concealed mine or mowed down by enemy gunfire.
"You're different," Simon once thought aloud to her as they shared some beers at his apartment. "Not jus' quiet...eyes are different." You just looked at him.
A few months later, you were kicked back in Simonâs living room, watching the football game playing on the TV. Simon was grabbing some drinks from the kitchen, and returned to your side with a pair of glasses and a bottle of bourbon.
He shook the bottle for you to catch a glimpse of the label. âWild Turkey, like the one your pops had,â he grunted, pouring you a glass.
You stared at the amber liquid as you took the glass, holding it between your cupped hands. You did nothing for a long moment as Simon poured his own cup.
Then, finally, as if a mist was cutting through a dense forest, you breathed out: âwas Jim Beamânot Wild Turkeyâ.
Simon froze, his glass paused just centimeters from his lips.
You glanced over and for a moment everything stopped. You tore your eyes away to your drink, but Simon couldnât look away. He just staredâstared at the woman that saved him from becoming a pointless lump on his couch after his dischargeâstared at the woman who never spoke a word to him but offered company insteadâstared at his friend who felt comfortable enough with him to talk to himâŠeven after Ghost abandoned you years ago and nearly forgot your face.
You sipped on your drink, tensing as you caught what looked like a tear ghosting Simonâs waterline. But when you looked over, he just averted his entire face away.
âNot a word,â he huffed, discreetly wiping his eyes.
When Ghost didn't eat you the first week you were put in his tank, the aquarium team called it a success. It wasn't exactly...protocol, to put natural predator and prey mers in the same tank. But, after noting Ghost reclusively after being temporarily moved out of his pods tank (for observational and some scientific research without the interruption of Soap trying to meddle with the doctors or Gaz trying to splash them as soon as the researchers attempt to pull out the orca mer), the researches decided to take a gamble.
Nine times out of ten, when a mer is retreating into themselves in isolation, they throw in a seal mer--in their experience, the most calming mer. You were no different.
But Ghost didn't want a roommate, he made that clear with the five other seal mers he scared into hiding, he wanted to be back with his pod.
That couldn't happen, so they tried one last time with you.
You, on a scale unsee by other seals, were the laziest creature to ever enter the aquarium. You spent all your time sleeping or eating. If the researchers didn't actively take you down lower into the water, you'd just float belly-up all day as you slept.
Simon was on high alert whenever one of the researchers jumped in the water, wearing their thick swimsuit. They had never entered the water in as long as he's been in the isolation tank. He stayed near the bottom, waiting for something to happen.
And in came you; and as they say, the rest was history.
Everyday in the tank was the same for you, sleeping and eating, except now you have this big fellow to accompany you. He stayed by your side 24/7--curling up by you as you slept near the rocks, swimming by you the rare times you wanted to do something, and taking all the food to you whenever it was feeding time.
Occasionally, whenever you would get into a rare playful bout and hit him away with your tail and scramble behind rocks, he would slip up and see you as a seal in the wild--his natural prey. But the farthest he went was biting you once, and even then, it was a loose hold that only had enough strength to keep you in one place but not to hurt you.
But just as soon as they found the solution, the staff was told to move Ghost back into the tank with his pod.
Your family had owned and built their entire house and livelihood on the beach. Your great-great-grandfather was a fisherman on the docks, your great-grandfather was a fisherman on the docks, same for you grandfather and dad. It all ended at your generation; because you were terrified of the water. Your dad hurled you into the boat one time on a trip as a kid and took you far into the horizonâwhere eventually you couldnât see landâŠand it was a full, chest-heaving breakdown that made your dad finally understand that the family legacy was ending with him.
You still helped out, of course, upkeeping the store of fishing tackles and what not while your dad managed the last of the fishing business. There was talk of selling the family home that was practically perched on the local beach, but you insisted youâd keep it and manage the shop as an attempt to not totally disappoint. The only issue was that, now that your parents were in retirement and took vacations nearly every other week, you were left to do the one chore you dread the most: beach cleaning.
 The small section of beach your house rested by would often build up with trash heaps if left alone, and after one to many complaints from people calling it an eyesore, your family made it a rule thatâno matter whatâsomeone had to check and clean the beach daily. Usually when the entire family went on vacation, a family friend would handle it. But now that it was only you in the houseâŠit was left to you.
It wasnât that you didnât like cleaning, it was that you were petrified of even the smallest possibility of the tide rapidly rising and swallowing you up. Unrealistic, sure, but the thought still made your skin crawl as you ventured toward the beach.
You clutched your dadâs trusty sand rake close to your chest as you walked down the wet wood steps to the sandy shore. Rain hammered down, no doubt going to make your job harder, but it still needed to be done. The visibility was horrible tooâŠontop of the cold rain? It was set to be a rough beach clean.Â
You stopped on the bottom step, looking out at the sea, and your heart dropped. The rain coupled with the endless clouds made it looked like the ocean was a cloudy pit of endless horrors ready to part for some eldritch monster. It nearly made you overlook the dark huddle of something laying on the edge of the beachâwaves lapping at its form. Nearly.Â
You held your hand over your eyes, squinting at the blob on the shore. You couldnât discern anything from the pitch-black form and huffed: deducing that a big tarp had washed up (not uncommon). You laid your rake against the rails and trekked through the rain to reach the tarp. You were a few steps away when the tarp moved. Not a rain-hitting-it-caused-the-plastic-to-move type of movement, but instead, a full shift of now obviously not plastic material. You rubbed the rain droplets from your eyes and was met with, for a lack of sophisticated terminology, a mermaid.
Sure, he was huge, bulky, scarred and nothing like the charming mermaids in the Little MermaidâŠbut he still consisted of an upper half of a man and the bottom half of fish. His face, as he craned over to glare at you, was tinted red by blood from a deep gash on his cheek. His tail was caught up in a net that dug into his fins, leaving raw, crimson lines in the black skin, bleeding down his white underbelly.Â
You didnât even have a moment to squeak out a âwho are you?â when he suddenly swung his massive tail at you, knocking you over. On instinctârather stupid instinctâyou grabbed ahold of whatever you could, that being the net around his tail. He hissed as you tugged on it as you fell to the ground and you quickly let go as he grabbed you, arms wrapping around your throat in a chokehold that made your head spin within seconds. You kicked and flailed, trying to scream outâonly for his hand to nearly engulf your face to smother you simultaneously as he choked you.
In a last ditch effort to get him to maybe not kill you, you grabbed the pocket knife from your pocket. Not to stab him and incur even more of his wrath for something so futile as wounding a large, overpowering creature from the depths; no, instead, you flicked open the knife, and stretched your hand as for as it couldâcutting off part of the net and loosening its hold on his tail.
In a moment he let go of you and snatched the knife, cutting away at the remaining net. You coughed, scrambling far out of his reachâsand covering you as you eyed him cautiously and rubbed your raw throat. He glanced over momentarily, before tossing the knife back to you with a grunt one all the netting was cut off.Â
You expected to see him shimmy back into the water and swim away to his under-water worldâŠinstead he just stayed there.Â
âUmâŠare you going to go?â You asked.
He looked at you for a long moment, brows furrowing. âNo,â he scoffed like you were an idiot.
You were starting not to like this merman. âWhy?â
âBecause Iâd be bleeding in shallow water,â he grumbled.Â
âSharks?â
âAmong other things.â His words made your skin shiver. You glanced out at the ocean and imagined all the horrors that could jump out and swallow the bleeding, large mer-fellow. You considered leaving him on the beachâafterall he did just try to choke you. But with the crack of the thunder overhead, the rain beating down relentlessly, and his wounds out in the open without treatment, you felt bad. Not so bad as to get within a few feet of him, but still bad.
So you met in the middle and tied a road to a sled and tossed it over to him. He poked at it with his tail, unamused. âWhat is this?â He asked with a grunt.Â
âA sled, get on it and Iâll take you insideâthereâs a big jacuzzi inside that you can stay in till the storm goes over or your wounds get better,â you said. The jacuzzi was, thankfully, inside an unfinished portion of your basement your dad intended to make into a luxurious relaxing room for your mother, but it didnât work out. But at least you had a jacuzzi, ominous shoved away in the corner.Â
The merman climbed onto the sled, his tail dragging behind him as you started to pull with all your mindâtaking it slow as a snail. âWhat'sâyourâyour nameâ?â you grunted as you dragged the sled along the ground, towards the basement door.
He glanced up for a moment. âGhost.â
âWell Ghost, donât complain about the smell,â you huffed, practically kicking open the basement door to haul him inside.
"You best not be using my conditioner again," you called out as you stood at the sink, listening to your husband, Leon, shower. You dabbed your beauty blender against your heavy eyebags, waiting for his response. When nothing came, you abandoned blending out your color corrector and stopped over. Slamming open the glass door--you found his hair lathered in your condition. "Leon!" You seethed, snatching the bottle from him and swatting him, even if it meant getting some water on your robe.
"You've used my shampoo for the past five years," he retorted with a grunt, keeping the glass door opened for conversation while he washed out the evidence of his crime.
"Oh, you're barely home long enough to use it," you huffed, resuming your makeup. He shut off the water and stepped out, walking behind you and capturing your hips with his hands, drawing you close to press a kiss to your collar.
"Well, I'll get you one of those personalized ones as an apology." You hummed, and he chuckled against your neck. "The one you put on your Christmas list?"
"The one you didn't get?"
"Want me to take back to gifts to give you the shampoo?" He hummed.
"Woah, now, cowboy, I didn't say that," you chuckled. "I loved your Christmas gifts, baby."
"So did I," he said softly. "Even the dog." He threw a look at the said dog, who was lounging by his shoes, ripping a pair of slippers he had long since let go of. "Should've called it chow-huahua."
"I ought to divorce you over that one."
"Not my best."
"I could tell," you laughed.
"As long as it puts at smile on your face," he mumbled against your nape.
"Aw...now you're getting sappy." You kissed his temple, leaning back against him.
Just a little note: I'm so excited to finally post this! It may be trash, but I still really enjoyed writing it. I'm not sure how long this series will be, but I'm definitely want to write a lot more with it!<33
Summary: You were the youngest princess of your kingdom, your hand sought after by suitors far and wide as you were renowned for your beauty and grace. Simon was the youngest Prince of his kingdom, a blot on an already crumbling royal family, shoved away in a corner of the castle to be kept far out of sight.
warnings: arranged marriage, neglected child, verbal abuse, mentions of injury and disfigurement, objectification
It was well known across the land that, well, for a lack of better words, the Second Prince of Cadilion was...well...ugly. An injury as a child left Prince Simonâs face riddled with scars and notches that drew disgust from even the most stoic of servants. A scar stretched over his cheek and nose, digging out a trench of flesh that drug the skin into wrinkles. Pale purple splotches clung to the edge of ripped wounds that had long since healed, making his face look like rotten fruit. It was so unsettling, not only to servants and civiliansâbut to his own family, that he was issued a mask. It was a black cloth mask, designed to cover everything below his eyesâwhich his brother labeled as just as unnerving and hideous. The mask became a symbol of shame among the royal lineage, a blotch on their perfect image that had to be painted out of their family portraits. Simon spent most of his time being a ghost in the halls of his cold home, waiting for the day he could enlist as a nameless soldier in the army and escape the endless bureaucracy that had no room for a stain like him. Â
On the other hand, you were known across the land as beautiful. Blessed by the angels above, you shone like a freshly polished diamond among the ton of your kingdom of Remenia. Women and girls everywhere turned to you to imitate and lead the shifting trends of the time. Every gown you wore and every curl of your hair was studied and applied to fashion magazines throughout the country. Your mother, having withdrawn herself from the public eye following being widowed, was no longer presenting herself as a societal leader. Your sisters, as much as you loved them, were hermits in a similar fashion. So it was only natural you became the beloved socialite. And with being the beloved princess, many speculated over every aspect of your life, from meals to lovers. Households across the country whispered of who would eventually receive your delicate hand in marriageâŠand whenever it was announced she was traveling to Cadilion alongside her eldest sister, everyone knew the reason: a potential marriage between her and Crown Prince Thomas.Â
But despite the persona of a charming, optimistic princess that your kingdom knew, you were far from excited as your carriage pulled to the front of looming Cadilion castle. The stage coachâs footsteps echoed like ticking hands of a clock as you readied yourself to be faced with your future. Your older sisters, Lilith and Marigold, stirred from their sleep across from you, sitting up grogily. You had joked that the hours-long carriage ride could provide them with a chance to catch up on sleep, and they had taken the opportunity graciously.
You stretched a smile over your face to maintain the practiced appearance of continuous joy that your sisters knew you by. âFeeling better?â you chuckled as the stage coat opened the carriage door, extending a hand to you as your sisters quickly straightened their appearance.
âQuiteâthough I did intend to catch up on reading,â Marigold sighed, stretching her arms in front of her. You found footing on the stone road, stretching your ankles and rolling them from side to side to get them used to walking once more. Marigold stepped out, her deep purple gown catching the sunâs drifting light and appearing much brighter than typical. Lilithâs dress, however, upon stepping out, was still as pitch black as ever. âYou stick out like a sore thumb with us here,â Marigold teased, nudging the skirt of your vibrant Peony-patterened gown.Â
Your cheeks puffed out at the tease, warming slightly as your mind traveled back to your current situation; in minutes you were about to be faced with eyes constantly on you. And if you were to get married here, eyes would be on you as the âforeign queenâ for the rest of your life.Â
But before you were given too long to ponder, a servant dressed in vibrant reds stepped out from the castle gates. He took the steps in quick strides, shoes clicking incessantly down each stone stair until he stood before you and your sisters. âIt is an honor, your highnesses,â the servant droned, dipping at the waist dramatically. âI speak for all of my fellow humble servants and keepers when I say we are delighted to serve you for your stay here.â
Your eyes softenedâand a chuckle slipped from her lips at the dramatic display of servitude. Glancing back at your sister, you found them tight-lippedâŠfollowing your motherâs code of silence with men outside of professional discussions during the duration of mourning. You rolled your shoulders, already feeling the responsibility of communication settling in. âThe pleasure is ours,â you said, voice warm and polite. âMay you lead us in?âÂ
âOf course, Your Highness,â he nodded fervently, offering his arm to assist you up the steps. Lilith and Marigold followed in tow, and behind them were the guards of your nation that the queen had insisted upon coming.Â
You took in the world around you as you ventured up the steps, getting used to the sight in case marriage negotiations trappedâno, led you here. And to the sides of the castle once reaching the tops of the steps were a pair of gardensâfull of blooming rose bushes and perfectly kept lilie ponds. âThe gardens are beautiful,â you gasped out, partially in an attempt to make conversation and partially because the garden was simply so enamouring.Â
âThey areâdutifully designed by her majesty each spring,â the servant nodded. âShe is incredibly talented.âÂ
âI imagine she is.âÂ
The servant nodded to the guards, who bowed lowly as they moved to the side of the doors. Hauling them open, the guards ushered in the sight of a grand entrance room, with a colossal chandelier made out of carefully constructed pieces of glass with a slight icy blue tint. You stepped under it, eyes forced away from the symmetric, dizzying construction and towards the marble staircase that stretched itself to the second floor, splitting apart at the top to curl around different sides, leaving a platform between itself for a beautiful arrangement of flowers that no doubt the queen also created. You smiled softly to yourself as you passedâthe queen and Marigold would get along wonderfully, you were sure.Â
You climbed up the steps, skirt gathered in your hand, before you finally made it to the emerald, floral-printed carpet under foot. You and the servant waited for a moment for your sisters to catch up (which took longer due to Lilithâs injured leg). In that time, you let your eyes wander to the hallway youâd soon go down, and found it lined with portraits.Â
âTheir majesties and the prince, I assume?â You asked, turned to the portrait directly in front of the staircase. A tight-jawed man sat beside his wife, who weakly held a bundle of flowers. Behind them, one brown-haired prince with a set jaw and vibrant eyes: Thomas, you recognized. âWhereâs the other prince, are there not two?â
âYouâre referring to his highness, Prince Simon. He was ill the day of the painting, I believe,â the servant said, with a distinct tone that sounded as if he didnât even believe the excuse he was relaying. You hummed, finally beginning to move again as your sisters reached the top. âTheir majesties asked to meet with your highnessesââhe glanced back to Marigold and Lilithââalone first, to discuss. As such,â he continued, turning his eyes back to you, âI will lead you to the room you will be staying in for you to get comfortable.â
âOf course,â you nodded.Â
Your room was in the first hall in the western wing of the castle, alongside your sisters and one other room you attributed to another visiting guestâperhaps a duke or ambassador based on how it shared the other room's grandness. Your guards opened the door firmly, and you were faced with a room draped in periwinkle and lilac. There was a large wooden bed to the side of the room, the billowing canopy above it drawn to the side, twisted around the carefully carved posts of the boards, to reveal thick layers of blankets, pillows, and throws that made you tired just by looking at it. On the other end, there was a wardrobe that stretched half the roomâcarved out of the same wood of the bed. Flowers bloomed out of the dark walnut, vines etched down the side and curled against the handles.Â
âThis isâŠbeautiful,â You gaped, your eyes drawn to every carefully constructed detail of the room.Â
âEach piece was commissioned and chosen by her majesty, she deserves all the praise,â the servant said.
âIâll make sure to tell her so, when I get the honor of meeting her.â you said with a nod, stepping inside of your room. You wished your sisters and the servant farewell before they left you to your devices in the room. As grand and beautiful as every stitch in the curtains and every grain of the wood was, you were worried youâd accidentally fall asleep just by sitting on the bed, and your curiosity drove you outside of the room and toâŠanywhere else. You wanted to see what else the queen had constructed so beautifully within these walls, perhaps a parlor or the dining hall.
Your guards followed without question as you hastily left your room, the excitement that had departed from you the moment you arrived now settling into your veins full force. You practically skipped down the hall as you turned your head to every opened room in hopes of finding something of the queenâs hand. It felt childish, almost, but her craft was the one thing you had to feel wonder in this place so farâŠand you would much rather indulge in a search for more, instead of sitting in your room and letting the intimidation of your reality crush you.Â
âYour highness, please be careful,â one of the guards sighed out as you almost tripped over a table in your haste.
âI am,â you huffed back, continuing on.Â
You took a sharp turn down a hallway, your feet thinking faster than your eyes or ears, ignoring the sound of footsteps coming your way or the blurred sight of an arm suddenly appearing in front of you. Before you had the chance to register anything, your nose slammed against a stranger's elbow, and tears sprung up in your eyes as you stumbled back from the force. Your guards called out for you as you hastily touched your nose and found blood dipping down. You looked away from your red fingers and toward the person you bumped into, who offered their hand to you quickly. It was a manâor rather, a boy, around your age if not a year older, by the looks of his eyes. And, you had nothing else to go on, as everything below his eyes was covered in black cloth. Based on his appearance of a sweat-caked linen shirt and roughed up pants, you assumed he was a knightâs apprentice, just based on his attire and the fact he was strolling through the castle.
But you didnât care about that as much as his eyesâŠhis eyes that looked so worried even if the rest of his face you could see remained set. Beautiful, carved globes of walnut, like the wood used all over your room, illuminated by the ever dipping sun. His eyes were like that of a warm cup of tea amidst a blizzardâŠyou could curl up in them and you were sure youâd find comfort like youâve never known.
âIâm sorry,â you said hastily, your mind lagging behind as you instinctively put your bloodied hand into the palm of the boy before you thought it best to do otherwise.
He paid no mind as he gently helped you to your feet, digging in his pocket with his unstained hand for a handkerchief. âI apologize as well, Iâm just as at fault as you are,â he assured, pressing the handkerchief that looked worn from washed off blood and dirt below your nose to stop anymore blood from cascading down your face.Â
âYour highness,â you guards quickly caught up, grabbing the boy and wrenching his hands off of you as you held onto the handkerchief. You guessed they came to the same conclusion as you based on his status, because they began barking at him to continue on his way and to watch where he was going. You watched the boy retreat, hands stuffed in his pockets as he walked over to the west wing.Â
Thankfully, the blood didnât have time to drip onto your gown with you acquiring a handkerchief just seconds after the impact. So with a light wash and reapplying your makeup, you looked presentable once more. You sat in your room at the behest of your guards, just thinking back to the boy you collided with. In your mind, the droning seconds that only added onto your boredom began being filled with ideas of who the boy was, of why he wore a mask, of why he was in the castle. You created a story in your head, circled around him, the boy you were confident youâd probably never see again.
His name was Samuel, in the story you made for him. And he wore a mask because he was training to become the kingâs knightâas one of the knightâs codes was to give up individuality for the crown. Samuel was visiting the castle after weeks away training and studying to visit the grand knightâa family friend who helped him get into the knight apprenticeship program. Samuel, you see, was determined to show that he would excel in knighthood, not because of his familiar relations, but because he simply was a splendid knight.
You grew quite fond of the image you had crafted of Samuel in your mind, so distracted by the story you were creating for a stranger that you hardly noticed a knock on the door. Finally your attention was drawn when the door opened, your sisters there.
âDaydreaming?â Marigold chuckled.Â
âYou should use your time more wisely,â Lilith scolded, pinching your cheek as you walked over. âStudying will do you leagues better than any dream.â
âYes sisterânow will you please unhand me,â you said, swatting her hand away. Usually, youâd snap back with a retort that would spark up an argument Marigold or your mother would have to settle. But, as your mother named Lilith and Marigold your guardians for the trip, you had been keeping a tighter hold on your loose tongue. It wasnât for Lilithâs sake, as you knew she brushed off bickering like dust off porcelain, but for your mother. She was stressed enough between upkeeping the domestic front at home and sending off her three daughters to a foreign kingdom without a letter retelling your petty bickerings.Â
âCome, quickly,â Lilith said, her fingers straightening up your hair. âKing Leonard requested an audience with you.âÂ
âOf course,â you sighed out as you nodded, remembering why you were in this nice room: not to daydream about fictitious scenarios of strangers, but to marry. To gain power for your home kingdom.Â
You walked down the hall behind your sisters, staring at the skirt fluttering around your legs. It felt as if a stone had lodged itself in your throat as your mind replayed your purpose again and again. âLilithâŠâ you spoke up hesitantly. âAre youâŠexcited to rule back home?âÂ
ââExcitedâ? Ruling is not a game to be âexcitedâ for,â Lilith lectured, her mouth open to land a snarky remark before Marigold jammed her elbow into her side. Lilith winced and threw her younger sister a glare before sighing. She folded her hands in front of her, slowing down her pace to leave room for their conversation. âI would say I am ready and prepared to rule, and that I wait for the day with held breathâŠbut I would not say excited.âÂ
You hummed, looking out the stained glass window, at the blobs of color beyond the castle walls. You walked in union with your sisters, step aligning with step, dresses moving like crisp ocean waves. The looming doors of the parlor room youâd soon be in came into view at the end of the hall. Tall mahogany peering down at you as you fixed a smile onto your face. All you had to do was be pleasant and wait for it to be over.
The guards pushed open the doors, and your eyes instantly traveled to a standing trio of men by one of the leather seats; the king, Prince ThomasâŠand Samuel. Samuel had changed in the time since you had last seen him. Instead of his worn out, dirtied training clothes, he now sported a suitable dark navyâteetering on blackâwaistcoat, void of embroidery or embellishments, but still quite nice alone. His mask remained, letting you identify him from his eyesâŠand letting your eyes meet as soon as he heard the door open.
His eyes flicked over and caught with yours, and your cheeks warmed. In that moment, you decided that if you did end up being left here in the hands of a marriage with Prince Thomas, at least youâd have Samuel (or, as you deduced quickly, Prince Simon). He would be your anchor.
âAh, Princess,â King Leonard chuckled, abandoning Simon as he went with Thomas to you.Â
âYour majesty, your highness,â you said softly, crossing your legs with a bow, dipping your head respectfully. âItâs an honor.â
âWe should be thanking you and your court artist that we were not led astray by your portrait nor the rumors of your beauty,â Leonard laughed, as Thomas followed with a chuckle. You smiled, your eyes unconsciously drifting back over to the second, forgotten prince. He stood behind his mother, head hung and eyes downcast; his broad shoulders drawn back as if he was trying to high within himself. âI was ready to sign the betrothal contract just on the basis of your kingdomâs influenceâbut I decided it would be best to show my son who heâd be stuck with.â
You winced as he cackled, forcing yourself to maintain your smile as he dismissed you with no further words. Instead of wandering back to your sisters, who were sipping on tea with a distant cousin of the royal family, you made your way over to the Queenâand, therefore, Simon.Â
The queen, much like her son, was acutely interested in anything but the people currently occupying the room. Her eyes were trained down, at her gloves, memorizing each grove and thread of the lace. She was dressed in slate blue, with very little jewelry and accessories to speak of. She wasnât exactly the bright, flower-loving woman you imagined when you thought of the queen who hand crafted the gardens and bouquets for the castle to such a beautiful extent.Â
âYour majesty?â You spoke up softly in hopes of drawing her attention. Her distant grey eyes flicked up, hugged closely by the bags under them. âItâs an honor to meet you, my name isââ
âYes, I know,â she spoke with a raspy, raw voiceâlike that of a dying ember incarnate. âHow have you enjoyed the castle so far, your highness?â she asked, a smile splitting over her thin lips. You saw how Simon behind her grew tense, expecting a response along the lines of âwell, the boy behind you gave me a bloodied noseâ.
âItâs been wonderful,â you said honestly. âEverything is so beautifulâand I heard from the servant who led us that you curated the gardens, bedrooms, and the bouquets around the castles. It is justâŠstunningâyou have such amazing creativity and talent.â Your cheeks were blushing red now, likely tearing through your makeup as if it was never there. Embarrassment burned hot as silence progressed between you and the queenâŠand you were half-the-mind to apologize and beg for forgiveness from the queen from whatever insult you had done onto her.Â
â...If youâll excuse meâŠâ she said softly, patting Simon on the shoulder before she walked away from you and her youngest. Your smile dropped alongside your heart as you watched her leave with her head hung.Â
You heard Simon shuffle forward and you looked around at him, now more distressed than ever. âDid I mess up?â You whispered. He looked startled for a moment, looking around for anyone else you couldâve been talking to.Â
âUh, no.â
âBut she looked so upset when she left!â You exclaimed softly into your palms, your heart racing.Â
âShe wasnât.â
Silence again found a home around you. But this time, it didn't end with the queenâs departure, but instead, Simon speaking up. âYouâre the Remenian Princess?â He asked. You looked up, quickly reigning yourself in as you were faced with a chance to talk to the man you had built the idea of âSamuelâ around.Â
âOh, yes, sorry, I forgot my manners.â You sighed, already planning to write to your mother that all the governessâs lessons were for naught, she obviously hadnât learned any etiquette. âYouâre Prince Simon?â
â...I apologize for earlier,â he mumbled, averting his eyes to a silver platter on the side table.Â
You glanced over at him and his bright red ears. A smile broke out over your face and you chuckled softly. âItâs okay, losing a few drops in exchange for a new friend seems like a pretty good trade to me,â you said.
âFriend?â He questioned.
âFriends.â You nodded.Â
You wished to talk to Simon more, but he seemed comfortable in silence and you didnât mind it either. By the time you wracked your mind for something suitable and natural to bring up, King Leonardâs voice drowned you out. Booming and nasty, he sneered from across the room at Simon: âboy, donât be a bother, go make yourself useful and find your motherâ.Â
Your veins went cold, your body went stiff, and you looked to Simon. You looked for a shock, in the hopes that this wasnât a regular thing. But Simon, instead, just looked resigned as he walked away from you, past his father, and out the door. As soon as he was gone, the King scoffed. âThat boy isnât useful in the slightest, a waste of space,â he said with a shake of his head. Thomas agreed with a chuckle and quieted words you didnât care to pick up.
âCalm down, smile,â Marigold coached with a whisper as she came up behind you, fixing your hair. You glanced at her before nodding, taking a deep breath and replacing your lost smile. Lilith came to your other side, side eyeing the king and bringing you the comfort that you werenât alone in judging his foul words.
âLadies,â King Leonard called out to you and your sisters. âDinner is being served, join us,â he ordered. You shared a look with your sisters, and Lilith rolled her eyes as soon as King Leonard and Prince Thomas turned around.Â
After a long walk through the castle, you were led to the dining hall, and you were able to push away the past ten minutes in sheer awe. The dining hall at the Remenian castle was truly grand, but this one was different. Pillars reached up like towering spirals to meet in an arch, letting the ceiling rest on their backs. Each stone looked like it was carefully curated, some horizontal on the path, others laid vertical. You watched attentively with each step you took to take in the art under-foot. Stained glass like that of cathedralâs hung against the outside wall of the room, painting the room in hues of blues and greens that transported you to the very seas Cadilion was renowned for.
âYou like it?â Prince Thomas asked, speaking and walking alongside you for the first time. You blinked owlishly, before realizing he had asked you a question that intended a response.
âYes, the windows and the brââ
He drifted away before you could finish, walking back forward to his father and completely ignoring you past the âyesâ. You watched, confused and insulted as he left you to walk behind the rest of the group. Shaking your head, you focused your attention elsewhere.Â
Servants were lined around the room, some holding wine, others holding extra dishes, some even holding more food in case the vast spread wasn't enough. You heard walking behind you, expecting to see servants rushing forward to resume positionsâinstead you found Simon and the queen. You slowed your pace, turning to them with a slight smileâŠhoping the queen forgave you for whatever transgression you did prior.Â
She looked at you, and smiled. It was like the heavens shined on your heart in the midst of a storm; and you broke out into a smile as big and warm as the sun. You wanted to talk to her more, to fully apologize, but she quickly walked away to take her seat by the Kingâs head seat. You watched Thomas sit down across from his mother and Simon sit down on the complete opposite side of the table, several seats distance between him and the rest of his family.Â
You walked to the seat across from Simon, and it felt as if the room fell silent. The servants that typically drew out and pushed in the seats were frozen, and even the kingâs loud conversation with his oldest died. Finally, you glanced over at one of the servants, who quickly scrambled to pull out the seat. You chuckled as you sat down and were pushed in. You quietly thanked the servant before looking up to Simon, a smile on your face.Â
Simon eyed you over the table but said nothing as the meal began; nor did your sisters, who did their best to draw the kingâs attention in conversation to prevent a scene of any sorts. Platters of fish, ham, fruits, cheese, and dishes you had never seen before filled the table. It was a grand display of wealth, but you werenât going to waste an opportunity to eat up all these delicious foods.Â
âSimon, do you want some lobster?â You asked, before thanking a servant who placed it on your plate as soon as you looked at it.Â
â...sure,â he said, gesturing for the servant to do the same. His tone was quiet, resignedâas if he wanted to be anywhere but in a chair at this dining table.
âYou alright?â You asked as servants piled breads upon cheeses upon meats on your plate.Â
âYeahâŠIââ he sighed. âI donât like eating in front of people.â
âWhy?â You questioned curiously.Â
âUmââ
In nearly a second, the dots were connected in your mind. If he didnât like eating in front of people, that likely meant he didnât want people to see him eating. So you quickly grabbed your stacked-high plate, and with hasty steps, you moved over to the seat beside him. He looked at you like you were a foreign oddity.Â
âI wonât look from hereâso you can eat,â You said.Â
You thought he didnât hear you because he didnât respond for a long moment. And then, quietly: â...swear you wonât lookâŠâ, he mumbled.Â
You turned your head away from him dramatically. âI swear I wonât look.â
The dinner was delicious, as expected, and long. You spoke with Simon the entire time, your eyes firmly affixed to your plate while you talked with him. He gave quiet responses, so you filled the space with long monologues about topics ranging from your thoughts about fountains to why you think plates should be bigger (that topic was rather short and agreed upon by both of you).Â
By the time your plate was empty alongside everyone elseâs, you were tired and suddenly mourning the beautiful room you were given to sleep in.Â
âYou can look now,â Simon said quietly, his mask back on his face. You smiled at himâbut your smile wasnât perfect enough, because he saw through it. âTired?â
âExhausted,â you groaned quietly.Â
âIâll walk you and your sister back to your rooms, itâs in the same hall as me,â he said, standing up as the rest of the table was. He went over and slipped the chair back as you stood, pushing it back as soon as you were up. Your sisters joined you after the rest of the royal family quickly made their leave.
âWhat was that about?â Lilith snapped quietly, grabbing your elbow and slowing your place as you walked behind Simon. âSitting with Simon instead of Thomas and not engaging in conversation?â
âSimon was all alone!â You retorted quietly.Â
âCry me a river!â she snarled, yanking your arm so youâd look at her. Her nails dug into your arms, until you were sure you were close to bleeding. âYou better watch your behavior, girlâwhen you marry Thomas there will be no toleration forââ
ââWhenâ?â You froze in the hall, your stomach churning.Â
âGet over it,â Lilith seethed, dragging you along in an attempt to not alert the second prince or Marigoldâwho seemed far too tired to be interested in what she thought was sisterly bickering. âYes, youâre going to marry him, as soon as mother is sent and signs the papers, it will be announced. So you have a week or two to get it through your head that this is the only use you have. Youâre an idiot with a pretty face and youâre worth nothing more. Maybe if you werenât so lazy and focused on partying at home youâd have an actual use. But instead, you inherited a good set of genes and an absent brain that makes you just as good as your reflection. Youâll marry him, youâll be a queen, and youâll have kids. Thatâs your only use!â She whispered, right into your ear.
She let go of you as you approached the door to your room, and you just stood there, staring at the door as you heard your sisters entering their rooms and leaving you in the halls. You werenât sure how long you were staring at the dark wood until there was a soft knock. You glanced over and found Simon. He said something about getting you to bed, but you werenât really listening. You stepped inside your room and looked at him.Â
âI wish I was marrying you instead,â you whispered, before dragging yourself over to the bathroom, where you were sure a cluster of maids were waiting to help you out of your attire.
Im about to lay a meal in front of u, u shall either enjoy it and tip me ur hat as u tap dance awayâŠor u will slap me in the face and curse on my motherâs name. <3
