#A HUSBAND WHO MAY ACTUALLY BE HAPPY ON THE PROSPECT OF GETTING MARRIED

[plumeriacosmos]

rewatching bridgerton and im going feral just thinking about how polin will be front and center,,,, and all the tension, the dance scenes, THE SEX SCENES, the dialogue that may happen once s3 is out like fndkdkdm

SOMEONE TAKE ME OUT OF MY MISERY

[creepswrites]

Dear, writter

May i've a request for Thomas hewitt, Bubba Sawyer,bo Sinclair, Lester Sinclair, and Vince Sinclair, With a hot wife fem reader, I want to see their life being a father to a hot fem reader. Because that is my dream. 💫Fluff💫

Please.... Your writing is so gorgeous 💋💋 master 🌹🌹🌹

Thank you so much

From your followers:

@kawaistrawberry21

awww i'm glad you like my writing!! hopefully you enjoy this :D

SLASHERS with a F! S/O who is their hot wife

THOMAS HEWITT

Everyone in town was shocked when you and Thomas got married

Thomas included but he never said anything about it

His family thought you were way out of his league, Hoyt was never afraid to comment on this to your face

But you love Thomas, he was a good man

So when he'd finally, finally, proposed to you, of course you'd said yes

When he found out you were having his child? He was over the moon

Luda May was almost as overjoyed, already making arrangements for the baby's room, making clothes, etc

She couldn't wait to be a grandmother and Thomas couldn't wait to be a father

When the baby's due date was getting closer, you could tell Thomas was nervous about if the baby would come out looking like him

But you reassured him that, no matter what your baby looked like, you would love it the same way you loved him

He was good with the baby, so gentle and patient, always happy to help when it cried

If Hoyt ever tried to give either of you a hard time, Thomas actually violently defended you, sometimes tossing Hoyt across the room with one arm

He'd never let anything hurt you or your baby

BUBBA SAWYER

Like Thomas, everyone was surprised when you and Bubba got married

Though his family were far more excited about it! After all, their brother was quite the catch

You got along well with his family even before you moved in, with Chop Top and Nubbins always commenting to Bubba how lucky he was to have such a hot wife

It always made your husband get all flustered, babbling soft nonsense. He was cute

When you got pregnant, Bubba and the Sawyer family were over the moon

Family was extremely important to them and they were happy for you and Bubba

When Nubbins made a very ugly little hat for the baby, you accepted it but told him gently it'd be too big for their head but that you'd grow into it. He was excited about that prospect

Chop Top and Drayton helped Bubba set up the nursery so you could just relax

And when the baby was born, Bubba was so scared of holding something so fragile and precious

But you helped him, guiding his arms to hold the baby, and he was in shock and awe

He'd never thought he'd get married, much less to someone as gorgeous as you, and have a child together

Bubba was a nervous father, usually letting your kid get away with anything so you had to be the rule-setter when it came to the kid

His brothers were menaces when it came to babysitting their niece or nephew

But both you and Bubba were happy. He'd protect you both, no matter what

BO SINCLAIR

Honestly? This was a major win in Bo's mind

If you think he doesn't show off for you, you're wrong. That man takes every opportunity to

He also definitely flexed to his brothers about scoring the hottest wife ever

Of course, his brothers were very nice and respectful with you, though Bo wouldn't let them be too friendly

He's got a jealousy streak

Whenever visitors arrive to Ambrose, he's always got his arm around you or bragging about you when you're not around

He's whipped, you've got him wrapped around your finger

But when you tell him your pregnant, you're shocked at how scared he becomes

Of course, he doesn't show it visibly, but you know your husband and you can tell when he's nervous about something

Eventually, when he starts trying to pull away from you, you corner him and make him talk

Some yelling and fighting ensues but he caves, confessing he's scared he wouldn't be a good father. I mean, he didn't exactly have the best role model and he didn't want you or your babies to suffer for it

But you reminded him you were in this together and he'd relax a little

You had twins, because of course you did, but this only seemed to make Bo all the more anxious

He didn't exactly... know what to do with a baby? He'd never really been around infants so he's looking to you for help on this one

When they're a bit older though, he'll let them hang out in the auto shop with him when he works

One day you come home to find him asleep on the couch with the twins curled up on his chest and you just melt

He's a good dad and a good husband

VINCENT SINCLAIR

Vincent was shocked you'd said yes when he proposed

He didn't consider himself attractive in the slightest but you said yes?!

I mean, you were stunning, he'd stared at you constantly even when you were dating and it certainly didn't stop when you were married

Bo and Lester were definitely jealous, teasing him to see him get flustered over how lucky he was

Unlike Bo, when he found out you were pregnant, he was excited

Nervous, absolutely, but everyone is nervous when they're having their first kid

He's so wary for you though, nearly had you on bedrest the entire pregnancy because he feared the worst

One time he caught you standing on a chair to reach something and he nearly had a conniption

But the twins came - because of course they were twins - and were healthy and beautiful

Vincent is so gentle with them, like they're the most precious things in the world to them

He makes little wax sculptures for their room to decorate it

Definitely encourages and supports creative hobbies for the kids! He gets them finger paints and crayons and the like

You've woken up in the night because of the babies crying but Vincent is already up, ready to help

Vincent's mastered carrying them both with an arm each and its very cute

Sometimes you catch him holding one of the twins and humming softly to them as they sleep in his arms, just swaying together in the kitchen

You feel so lucky but he feels even luckier to have you and your kids

LESTER SINCLAIR

Lester is by far the most... stable? So you'd been instantly drawn to that about him

He'd always get so flustered, bringing you flowers and blushing like a madman while you were dating

It took him the longest to propose to you though, he always felt like you were waaaay out of his league

Visitors came and would gawk at you and he'd feel a twinge of jealousy at the reminder that yeah, you could have anyone

But he did propose to you and you said yes because you wanted him, not anyone else

Neither of you had any shame in PDA, often holding hands or kissing in front of visitors

You lived with Lester and Jonesy in a little house on the outskirts of the town, surrounded by trees and very peaceful compared to the horrors of Ambrose

It had actually been Lester who suggested having a kid or two running around. After all, he had two older brothers so he was used to that business in a house with lots of people living in it

Over time, the two of you would have two kids, but they weren't twins

Lester was a good dad too! He was attentive and loving but he didn't let them get away with too much

He'd teach them how to shoot when they were a bit older because it was a fond memory he had with his own dad

Of course, Lester didn't have the best dad to draw comparison to

But at least he knew what not to do. Surely that counted for something?

You'd come home from working a short shift to find Lester and the kids playing in the backyard, running about with Jonesy as they played soccer

Both you and Lester would do anything for your kids and you knew he'd do anything for you

[thorraborinn]

Hi there! I was wondering, would you know where I could find anything on like, social taboos involving marriage? I wanted to know if there's anything in the sagas or maybe in archaeology/anthropology that touches on forbidden unions. I know the goddess Lofn is cited as one who grants permission to such people to be together, but I wanted to know if we have anything on what these forbidden unions could look like? Off the top of my head, I imagine feuding families to be a good start, but I can't find much else on the subject. Thank you!

Marriages in Old Norse society were arranged by families (usually between the prospective husband and the father or other male relative of the prospective bride), and more for political and economic reasons than for personal ones. Some people were married specifically because their families were feuding, to bring the feud to an end (often the people involved wanted out but failure to retaliate could have consequences; uniting the families could end the feud in a way that saved face. In Old English a woman who is married into an enemy family for this reason is called freoðu-webbe, 'frith weaver'). Frands Herschend went as far as proposing to see women in Iron Age Scandinavia generally as hostages (in the sense that Freyr and Njörðr are hostages in Ynglinga saga). If the sagas are relatively accurate there does seem to have been an understanding that the family should be arranging things such that the woman is happy with the result, but they weren't legally obligated to.

In this kind of situation, a marriage that's forbidden would be basically any that either side of the family, especially the woman's closest male relatives, opposes. The reasons were probably diverse and personal, and not generally based on widespread taboos. Most of it probably had to do with money and social hierarchy.

Feuding certainly played a role here, or rather we should say relations based in reciprocity, whether positive or negative, did. As I said, marriages were sometimes arranged specifically to bring hostile families into a single family and end the conflict, but if one side thought they had the upper hand and stood to gain by continuing the hostilities then they would surely not permit such a marriage. Marriages might also be arranged out of obligation to more powerful people.

In fact, it might be possible to frame any actual social or legal prohibitions on marriage that did exist as protections for the woman from being married off to someone she didn't want, rather than restrictions on her freedom, because she hardly had any. We can surely consider divorce in a similar way, which was permitted in certain circumstances.

The main restriction that we do have evidence for is marrying someone who is too close a relation. There were probably situations where the financially or politically advantageous thing to do is to get two close cousins married to each other and it may have actually happened, but it's illegal in the laws we have a record of. This may have been less regulated in heathen times.

Of course, there could have been culturally-assumed restrictions that weren't formally prohibited in the law. There's speculation that, while a Nordic man marrying a non-Norse woman was not uncommon, happening the other way around was not generally permitted. This is supposedly reflected in the mythology, where the male gods marry jötunn women but the goddesses do not marry jötunn men. However, there is archaeological evidence from the Vendel period that contradicts this (the book I'm getting this from is over 20 years old, so by now there could be contradictory evidence from the Viking age too, but I'm not sure), so if there was ever such an ethnic taboo it must have either not been universal, or developed later. I'll also remind that there is a contradiction in the mythology as well; Gefjun isn't described as marrying a jötunn but she does have kids with one, which scholars do typically count as a violation of an ethnic taboo, sometimes as grounds to reject the myth itself as "impossible" (Lindow's description).

A lot of this may have varied by class. We mostly know about the land-owning class. It's hard to say whether poorer people would have even less freedom over whom they married because of their dependence on land-owners, or if they had more freedom because there was less social and financial stake in it. It seems likely that their marriages weren't as regulated, but their ability to actually move from place to place was the major limiting factor.

I'm not aware of any sources for it, but I have no trouble believing that illegal or otherwise unsanctioned marriage happened. The thing that kept people in line was inheritance. So if people were in a position where they could turn down their inheritance (whether because they had another source of resources or because their families were so poor their inheritance was negligible anyway), and could have a place to live, they could probably just do what they wanted.

So I think for the most part, if we were to picture Lofn's intercession as historical events, we might picture the site of those intercessions as kind of distant from the actual marriage, like opening opportunities to get by while forgoing one's inheritance, or unexpected changes elsewhere in the social network. Or a simpler example would be a woman successfully convincing her father, brother, or other male representative to let her do what she wanted.

This is a little out of step with Snorri's etymological explanation of Lofn's name as related to 'permission' but as I explained here I think the actual etymological meaning of her name was 'hope'.

Of course a lot of heathens read Lofn's description in the Edda as affirming of marriages that deviate from gender and sexual norms, which the text does in fact leave room for but probably isn't what Snorri had in mind. There's a lot of room for speculation about how this may have been relevant in pre-Christian times but it would be difficult to move it beyond speculation.

Unfortunately quite a lot of this is already pretty speculative, because of how much later our sources concerning marriage are than the time when Lofn may have actually been recognized. Frankly, the same applies to our sources for Lofn, and the time when she may have been recognized. If I'm right about the etymology of her name then I think it's at least a partial vindication of Snorri but that does not necessarily mean that his description of her is entirely reliable.

[wangxianficrecs]

lovers be lost (but love shall not) by la_muerta

lovers be lost (but love shall not)

by la_muerta

T, 13k, Wangxian

Part of the Danmei Diaspora Creatives

Summary: When the Jiang family falls on hard times, they are faced with two choices - have Jiang Yanli marry wealthy asshole Jin Zixun to clear the family's debts, or have Wei Ying marry the youngest son of the equally wealthy Lan family. To save his elder sister from a miserable loveless marriage, Wei Ying agrees to the match. There's just one catch - his prospective husband is already dead. Kay's comments: I really loved this story and it was actually one of the first stories I saw that featured a ghost marriage! The setting especially was just great, I'm very weak for the 1910s era and I loved this exploration of this time period. In which Wei Wuxian gets ghost-married to the recently deceased Lan Wangji, but fear not, there is a happy end for them! There's also a mystery to solve and the Lan estate, which has the most haunted vibes (and may be haunted by Lan Wangji). Excerpt:"Thank you, Uncle Jiang. Actually, this is about my brother, Lan Zhan. I'm afraid he passed away a few days ago," Lan Huan says. Wei Ying is so surprised that he blurts out, "A few days ago? Then why would you want to talk about a wedding now? Um, no offence." "None taken," Lan Huan assures him. "Well, my brother and I are the last remaining members of our family line, and because he is younger than me, I'm not allowed to pay my respects to him. He was only 19, and has no spouse or children who can complete the proper funeral rites for him. I have had to leave his body at the funeral home instead of bringing it here, and after everything he cannot be buried in the family grave with our ancestors because by custom there is nobody who can mourn him, and I just-" Lan Huan takes a deep breath, unable to continue talking. Meng Yao urges his employer to drink his tea, brows furrowed with worry as he murmurs words of comfort. In the silence that follows, Wei Ying fits the pieces of the puzzle together. "Why not offer marriage to a young lady instead? Or ask the temple medium if he knows of any young man or woman who has passed away and whose family might find themselves in a similar predicament?" Jiang Fengman asks carefully. Lan Huan puts down his cup, shaking his head. "My brother would not have been happy about being married to a woman. He had few friends and kept to himself, and I was one of the few people who knew him well, but even I underestimated the depth of his loneliness. If there is indeed an afterlife, I do not wish for him to be lonely in it as well, which is why I wished to meet your foster son before we involved a matchmaker or medium." Lan Huan turns to Wei Ying, addressing him very seriously, "I want to make sure that you understand what is being asked of you." To marry a dead man and go through the mourning rites for him as his widower so that he can be buried in his ancestral grave. To promise to be the companion of this man in the afterlife, a man Wei Ying has never met... or has he?

pov wei wuxian, modern setting, modern with magic, 1910s, case fic, ghosts, ghost lan wangji, arranged marriage, ghost marriage, angst with a happy ending, lan wangji/wei wuxian get a happy ending, @la-muerta

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[essayofthoughts]

Sylas lives AU question: ... I can’t see Vecna completely abandoning his plans just because the Briarwoods are no longer under his thumb. He already has this one siphon down, and we see there are a good few cultists and his deathknight to feasibly set the others he needs up.

Does Delilah know enough to help Vox Machina prepare against him? Does Vecna leverage some shit against the Briarwoods, or potentially sow distrust between them and VM (god of secrets, after all)? Vecna seems far less threatening a prospect without the Briarwoods backing him up, so how does he keep up the pressure?

In a similar vein: Delilah is likely decently pissed Ripley jumped ship. How would she and Sylas react to the reveal she’s gathering Vestiges? Hell, might one or both come to Glintshore to... shall we say, pay Percival back for the harm they've done? (... though I could see Delilah herself being very tempted by Vestiges, being an Assembly mage and her successor's own fondnesd for artifacts, which could be its own issue.)

He doesn't have the Whitestone siphon actually! Pike Divine Interventions on Sylas when VM are just at the base of the ziggurat and Sylas and Delilah are climbing it - the siphon doesn't get activated! Dismantling the altar and setting to rest the corpses there is a part of Delilah's amends later on.

That said, you're absolutely right, that one play going awry in no way stops Vecna, and Vecna very much seems like the kind of person to have contingencies and other cultists. His attempt at godhood is slowed, but not stopped.

Delilah does know a good bit - and does inform them on what she knows! After all, her husband has just been brought back to life and she and Sylas are no longer beholden to Vecna. And these people are just demanding answers and amends, not work towards making someone else a god - she's not happy to fill them in on answers, but she understands that giving them someone to point the overarching blame at, especially someone who is not her or Sylas is a good aim to have. However, the Conclave is a significant enough concern that they don't really get much chance to do anything about it during that period of time, and Vecna is the demigod of secrets, and so I highly doubt he tells anyone anything more than what they need. That said, I do think the Briarwoods end up informing Allura of Vecna's attempt to ascend to godhood, and the Pansophical does what it can to impede that.

I don't actually know what Vecna might do to keep up pressure - I have not yet decided.

To be fair, they don't find out about Ripley or her hunting Vestiges until after Glintshore, and I think that after Glintshore Delilah may be having a little moment of looking at Percy and Vex and going "Oh dear, they might be just like us." which is a concerning realisation to have about two of the people whoare currently demanding you be better - if they cannot themselves be better, if they too would break the world for their loved ones... well. Not ideal. To be avoided, really.

I actually think Delilah might know some inklings about Vestiges, just as things which came up when she was researching things to save Sylas. Of course, whether what she knows is immediately relevant or useful, I don't know, and I don't think Vox Machina or the war council in Whitestone, or Allura and the Pansophical are much inclined to let her do any independent research on them. Delilah is set her work with which to make amends, no one is inclined to let her give in to any of her impulses again.

(Well, except Sylas. But her and Sylas blowing off steam is to be expected - they are both married and sickeningly in love.)

[ash-and-books]

Rating: 5/5

Book Blurb: A small-town sweetheart and an emotionally unavailable bad boy try to find some common ground in this chemistry-filled romance from the author of The Cheat Sheet and When in Rome. Annie Walker is on a quest to find her perfect match—someone who complements her happy, quiet life running the local flower shop in Rome, Kentucky. But finding her dream man may be harder than Annie imagined. Everyone knows everyone in her hometown, and the dating prospects are getting fewer by the day. After she overhears her latest date say she is “so unbelievably boring,” Annie starts to think the problem might be her. Is it too late to become flirtatious and fun like the leading ladies in her favorite romance movies? Maybe she only needs a little practice . . . and Annie has the perfect person in mind to be her tutor: Will Griffin. Will—the sexy , tattooed, and absolutely gorgeous bodyguard—is temporarily back in Rome, providing security for Amelia Rose as excitement builds for her upcoming marriage to Noah Walker, Annie’s brother. He has one personal objective while on the job: stay away from Annie Walker and any other possible attachments to this sleepy town. But no sooner than he gets settled, Will finds himself tasked with helping Annie find the love of her life by becoming the next leading lady of Rome, Kentucky. Will wants no part in changing the sweet and lovely Annie. He knows for a fact that some stuffy, straitlaced guy won’t make her happy, but he doesn’t have the heart to say no. Amid steamy practice dates and strictly “educational” tutoring lessons, Annie discovers there are more layers to Will’s usual stoic attitude. As the lines of their friendship become dangerously blurred, Annie reconsiders her dream guy. Maybe her love life doesn’t need to be perfect—it just needs to be real.

Review:

She’s a florist who’s known for being the small town sweetheart with a heart of gold and he’s the emotionally unavailable tattooed bad boy that doesn’t believe in love... until he meets her. Annie Walker is on the hunt to find the perfect match, someone she can marry, understand her, and support her happy quiet life running a flower shop in Rome, Kentucky. She definitely does not need the famous handsome tattooed bodyguard with a bad boy reputation who is emotionally available and doesn’t believe in marriage in her life, but here comes Will Griffin. Will is a bodyguard for famous celebrities, and one of his favorite clients is Annie’s sister in law. Will is someone who is constantly on the move, ready for new adventures and avoiding settling down and commitment after the disaster that was his parent’s marriage that haunts him. Yet the moment he runs into Annie as she is leaving from a bad date, he can’t stop thinking about her and he knows she spells trouble for his heart. Annie is looking for marriage but when Will agrees to be her dating coach things take a turn as Will thinks Annie doesn’t need to change herself at all, she’s perfect the way she is, but Annie thinks she needs help practicing to find the right guy for herself. and since Will is definitely not the guy for her (despite all the butterflies he gives her) there should be no problem for them since she won’t fall for him and he definitely wont fall for her... right? Will soon finds himself both bodyguarding for Annie’s sister in law and spending every other waking moment with Annie, or thinking about her, or helping her, or definitely not ( most definitely) being jealous of any guy that could be her potential husband. The more time Annie and Will spend together the more “practice” is starting to feel like actually falling in love, but can two people who are polar opposites actually be perfect for one another? Can Will finally see that maybe if he found the right person he could not only open himself to love but to opening himself to feeling that he can be loved too? Can Annie finally see that maybe what she needs isn’t a husband but to find peace with her own happiness in whatever shape or form it takes? This was such a cute and amazingly fun read, I adored the chemistry between Will and Annie! Also the town and all it’s residents were hilarious and adorable, seriously this is the perfect heartwarming read that will definitely make you smile. I adored getting to see them fall for each other and open themselves to love! Seriously add this to your tbr!

*Thanks Netgalley and Random House Publishing Group - Ballantine, Dell for sending me an arc in exchange for an honest review*

[akiriith]

Okay so this is a really, really sweet idea, but Clive and Jill being betrothed is not actually backed up by canon. I usually don't comment on posts but I REALLY want to add something to this one because I think what the game ACTUALLY does with it is even sweeter and, on top of it, matches the theme of the story SO perfectly, so I hope that's okay!!

Putting it under a read more in case OP (and any friends of mine that may stumble upon this, looking at you Skerr) hasn't finished the game. Spoilers through to the endgame!

(oh my god did I actually learn how to use a read more)

OKAY. SO.

The thing with this idea is that it simply doesn't match the dialogue in Priceless. In there, Jill discusses her future, since as OP put it, it was highly unlikely she would be given as a ward to Rosaria if not for the purpose of being a bride.

In fact, she reveals to Clive that before joining him and Joshua on a trip over the Rosarian territory with Elwin, she overheard Anabella discuss her marriage prospects with the other ladies of the court. Specifically, Anabella was pondering whether it would be better to marry her off to one of the royal families, or to "save her for the ducal line".

So it was gonna be one of the Noble Houses... or the "ducal line". Which, of course, MIGHT mean Clive... but more likely than not it refers to Joshua. Joshua is the future Archduke, the "ducal line" will run through him, not his brother. Jill is also only 2 years older than him, it wouldn't be an outlandish match-up.

(Not to mention I dont think Anabella considers Clive part of the ducal line based on her comments in the prologue lmao)

So the chances of her being Clive's bride are actually rather slim. More importantly, the news leave Jill EXTREMELY distressed. She spends the whole trip with Elwin and the boys miserable and crying.

And its THIS sadness is what catches Clive's eye, what makes him sneak her out of camp to see the snow daisies. The trip that doesnt get completed bc it starts raining, but that still makes Jill SO happy because Clive simply chose to be kind to a crying girl. The "breaking of rules" (quite the baby outlaw that he was) that inspired Jill to climb the tor the following morning and see a "sea of petals, all reaching towards the sun".

The very sight that made her realize that just like the sun, Clive would always return to her when the dawn came.

Like do you SEE the thematic significance of it?? Baby Clive wanting to protect others from the start, Baby Clive breaking all the rules to be kind to someone just as he does as Cid the Outlaw (except as Cid he's interested in making the whole world feel better, not just a single person). The ACTUAL rulebreaking leading Jill to fall for him!! Jill was SHACKLED to a fate as a bride to be, to marry someone she didn't choose. Clive breaking the rules to be kind to her made her yearn for HER OWN fate, in HER OWN terms! A fate with HIM, not with a husband chosen for her.

I'm not even gonna touch on the whole sun-returning-with-the-dawn thing.

Point is: it's the exact opposite, OP. The game is all about breaking free of fate. Jill HAD a fate, and it wasn't comforting. It was a prison, and she was its slave. And THIS was Clive's first step towards breaking someone free of it. SHE was the VERY FIRST person he helped. And then JILL breaks HIM free of his own prison - of thinking he is just a monster who is beyond salvation. She inspires hope in him just as he did in her all those years ago, when she finally convinces him to want to save himself.

And then they work together to free the entire freaking world just as they did each other.

It seems like I am fated to crawl back to Tumblr every time I play a new Final Fantasy game to wax poetic about my OTPs. This time it's Final Fantasy XVI and Warfield.

To me, there's an important unstated implication I haven't seen many people talk about in the fandom discourse: in medieval/Renaissance Europe (which was the cultural basis for Valisthea), the only reason a girl would be sent as a ward to a man she's not related to with no daughters would be if the intention was for her to eventually marry one of his sons, probably one a little older than she. Clive would have known this. Jill would have known this. Everyone would have known this. Anabella may not have liked it, but she would have known this. Clive and Jill's friendship would have formed with the underlying assumption that they were supposed to be husband and wife one day. While we as modern people tend to revolt at the idea of child betrothal as a matter of principle, we have to remember that, in a world where arranged (or at the very least approved/facilitated) marriage is likely the only option for most people, Clive and Jill would have probably thought they were pretty lucky that they knew and liked the person who they were going to spend the rest of their life with.

So now rewatch the cutscenes when they reunite after thirteen years apart; it's not just "my friend, who I thought was dead for thirteen years, is alive." It's "the only person I have ever thought of as a life partner, who I thought was dead for thirteen years, is alive." It makes complete sense why Jill's immediate response is "I'm going with you; we're facing this together" and why Clive doesn't argue. The fact that they're going to do things together is a foregone conclusion. They never have a "what exactly are we" talk because they don't have to.

This is the way it was supposed to be.

[extremelyblackandwhite]

How would steve react seeing a man trying to force himself onto the reader?? I just wanna see pure unfiltered rage from Steve and then sweet possessiveness towards the reader😫😫

pairing: steve kemp x dark!reader

warnings: 18+ topics (under 18 year olds do NOT interact/reader), mentions of rape 

part of toxic

Steve enjoyed bringing her along with him to his galas so it was only fair that he accompanied her when it came to her work events. She didn’t have any large galas, after all she was merely a junior principal investigator in a small wing of the Neurobiology department of a university; however, they did sometimes put in visitor evenings or a few parties. This one was a Christmas gathering in the university cafeteria and they were mostly here for appearances. Y/N wasn’t a big fan of the Christmas bashes the department put on and while usually she’d just skip, she was currently waiting on the reply from a sponsorship with a particularly high funding round. As such she had to parade around, pretending she was happy to be around when in truth, she’d mostly stuck by her husband’s side, her head leaning against his bicep while holding a half empty glass of champagne. 

     - Dr Kemp! - a man, possibly around Steve’s age, made their way towards them. Her hand squeezed his bicep as she forced a smile. - I didn’t expect you to be here. 

     - It is the department’s party. - she replied politely, holding herself closer to her husband. 

     - I don’t think we have met. - he turned towards Steve. - I’m Dr. Owen Joseph, I teach Introduction to Psychology and work in the neurobiology research department with some undergraduate students.

     - Dr. Steve Kemp. - he avoided shaking his hand, a weird feeling settling in his stomach as he once again felt Y/N squeeze his bicep. 

     - I didn’t know you were married, Dr. Kemp. 

     - Newlyweds. - Steve replied, his arm wrapping around his wife’s waist. He had a bad feeling, something he couldn’t shake off but he clearly knew she wasn’t comfortable. 

      - I actually meant to speak to you yesterday, Dr. Kemp. I was looking through your funding proposal and I found some thing you may want to change before submission.

      - But submission is tomorrow morning.

      - I could always look through the proposal with you in your office now and then you could resubmit it.

She looked up to Steve who wasn’t very happy about the prospect of it but neither was she. Nevertheless, if she got the funding she needed, she could perhaps start paying some of the student volunteer interns and even get better material for their research. She sighed, nodding her head before mumbling to Steve she’d be back in a short while. She led the way, her hands crossed over her abdomen as a bad feeling settled in her stomach. She shrugged it off as merely discomfort; she had never been comfortable around Dr. Joseph. He was older and considered himself the reason as to why she had been promoted to principal investigator as he had been her principal investigator years ago. She didn’t believe he was the reason but he sure enjoyed to consider himself that and ever since she had tried to avoid him. They continued down the hall to her office, her hand pushing the door open as she stepped in to her computer laying in her desk. The only sounds she could hear were the clicking of her heels and his breathe behind her; it was eerie. 

     - I didn’t know you were attracted to older men, Dr. Kemp. 

     - My husband’s the exception. - she directed her attention to her laptop, typing in her username and password.

The man chuckled to himself, walking behind her and sliding his arms around her waist like a snake. A sickening feeling creeped up her whole body as she felt sure her breathe became stuck in her throat and nose. She took a shaky deep breathe, her mind racing as to how she could approach this delicately, in a way which wouldn’t make her lose the job she’d worked hard for.

     - If I knew, I would’ve made my move sooner. - he whispered against her ear, her whole body shivering out of fear and disgust. 

     - Dr. Joseph, I am married and happily so. Besides, it is incredibly unprofessional of you to be approaching me in this manner.

She wasn’t sure what she had said that angered him but almost like a flash she was thrown against her desk; her back flush against the mahogany wood of the desk she’d strove so hard to get. His hand was pressed against her mouth, restricting any sound she attempted to make while hot tears stained down her eyes. She refused to look at him, instead looking at the ceiling while she continued to kick her legs trying to keep him away from her but his hand was on her thigh and the grip was overwhelming. She attempted to look at the ceiling, thinking and praying it would be over, too cynical to believe she’d be able to get away from him. Fact was she was still much smaller than this man. 

     - WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? - the man was removed away from her as she rushed to the back of her office, holding onto the wall. Steve grabbed onto the man’s jumper and pushed him against the wall. - I’M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU!

He wasn’t joking and both her and him knew what he was capable of. She calmed herself down, at least to an acceptable level where she could move and somehow she managed to walk towards her husband. Her hand rested upon his shoulder and while he was blinded by rage and much to busy at pushing the man against the wall repeatedly, the moment he felt her touch on his shoulder, he let go of him, instead focusing on her. 

     - It’s not worth it. - she mumbled, her other hand moving to hold his.

She led the way out of her office, blinded by a need to get away and only stopping once she was inside their car. Steve attempted to talk to her but all he got was silence as her eyes were glassy and staring at the night dark landscape. The drive was silent, the sound of the rain drops on the car glass only furthering angering him as well as making him feel guilty he couldn’t get her to speak to him. The silence only continued as they reached home, her heels discarded by the door as she continued to walk, merely stopping at her bedroom. Steve leaned against the door frame watching her stare at a blank space in their bedroom room before she broke down crying. The minute a tear rolled down her cheek, he was sat next to her, his arms wrapped around her. 

     - You’re safe. - he kissed the top of her head. - I’m here, you’re safe.

     - I’m gonna lose my job. - she whimpered against his jumper. - I’m gonna lose my job and all because ... I should’ve not gone. 

     - What are you talking about? It’s not your fault.

     - No one’s gonna believe me. - she further hugged him, hoping it would somehow make all this go away. - No one is gonna believe me. 

     - We’re gonna go and report this. 

     - No one’s gonna believe it. 

     - There’s cameras everywhere in that stupid place. We’ll get the footage and report it and it’ll be ok. 

     - Everyone will think I asked for it, Steve. Everyone. I’m not gonna be taken seriously ever again.

He sighed, holding her close. He wished he could say that wasn’t going to happen but he was much too experienced with the world to say that. He knew what was gonna happen. 

     - I’m here for you, my love. I’m always gonna be here, my love.

[mypoisonedvine]

The Wrong Idea | Lee Bodecker x reader

summary: you weren’t exactly a rebel in the eyes of the law, but that didn’t mean you cared for the corrupt, alcoholic town sheriff.  and that certainly didn’t mean you would care at all for him marrying your mother.  if only you’d known how much worse it could get...

word count: 4.5k

warnings: smut!! (heavy dubcon/noncon), age gap (reader is 19), stepcest, loss of virginity, pain kink, creampie kink, infidelity, degradation, oral (m and f receiving), spanking, choking, slapping, daddy kink, authority kink, subtle ddlg themes?, reader’s mom being toxic af

You’d never cared for the Sheriff.  Even you, being generally a well-behaved young woman, thought he was a little too intense and a little too corrupt.  Up until now, you’d assumed your mother agreed with you on that, because she never protested to your complaints about Sheriff Bodecker and his ‘fascist reign of terror’ as you called it.  Apparently that was a poor assumption, though.

“You… what?!”

“I never told you we were seein’ each other because I knew you had your childish rebellion against him and his police force,” your mother explained with a demeaning eyeroll.  “But now that we’re engaged, I can’t hide it anymore.”

“How long has this been going on?” you asked quietly, still in shock at what you were hearing— and unable to take your eyes off of the sparkling diamond wrapped around her finger.

“Oh, I’d say… about two months now,” she decided.

“Two—” you stopped and started over, so bewildered that you couldn’t finish your original sentence.  “You’re engaged after two months?”

“Don’t make that face at me, you look so ugly when you scowl like that,” she frowned.  Of course, she could never miss an opportunity to nag you.  “He’s a respectable man, and he treats me well.  The wedding is in three weeks— and he’s generous enough to let you live with us after that.  Says there’s a spare bedroom for you in his house.”

“His… his house…” you slurred, suddenly feeling light-headed.  “I’m… we’re moving…?”

“Yes, honey, and with your work ethic it’ll take you the whole three weeks to pack up, so you should start now,” she informed you with that cruel, fake smile of hers.

She walked away as you sat down on the couch, staring off into space, trying to comprehend what you just heard.  It’s not like you thought your mother was flawless or anything, or that you and her had a perfect relationship, but you thought she would’ve been a little more… gentle about all this.  She could do better than him anyways!  But she didn’t care about that, only money and status.  You could almost laugh at her small-mindedness to think the Sheriff of a nothing-town like Knockemstiff was actually plentiful in either of those things, but right now you couldn’t laugh.  You couldn’t even cry as you packed your things and said goodbye to the home you’d known your whole life.  You were just numb.

//

You couldn’t look him in the eye when you arrived at his house, duffel bags in hand and shoes stained with the dry red dirt of summer.  It was nicer than your old place, and if it were anyone else’s you’d say it had charm, but everything was tainted because you knew it was his.  You could sort of tell that this had been his bachelor pad for a while, but it had a half-assed attempt at hominess with the rug in the living room and a centerpiece on the kitchen table.  He even had a TV, presumably funded by bribes and all his other nefarious dealings— meaning you wouldn’t be able to bring yourself to watch it.

“Nice to meet ya, properly,” Lee greeted, though his monotone didn’t come across as particularly impassioned.

“Thank you, Sheriff,” you mumbled quickly, hoping to get this conversation over with.

“You don’t have to call me Sheriff anymore, you know.  Not in the house, at least.”

You nodded but said nothing, following him as he motioned for you and moved into the hallway.  You trailed behind him, noticing the eerie lack of any personal effects on the walls (no family photos, apparently, and not much of a family to photograph in the first place from what you’d heard), and stopped when he reached the door at the end.

“This is your room,” Lee informed you stiffly.  Opening the door, you were horrified by the assault on your eyes of pink.  Pink everything: pink wallpaper, a pink fuzzy quilt, pink bedframe.  There were even assorted stuffed animals on the bed, disturbingly enough.

“When my mother told you she had a daughter, did she not mention that I was grown?”

“You may be nineteen, honey, but you’re nowhere near grown,” he scowled.  “She didn’t tell me she had a daughter until two days before the weddin’.  This is what I managed to... improvise, since then.”

You almost had sympathy for him, just in that you two were both victims of your mother’s eccentricity.  Almost.  

“Must’ve inherited your expensive taste from your ma,” he frowned.  “Sorry, princess—” the nickname made his lips curl like the word itself tasted sour— “but this’ll have to do.”

“Oh, I’m nothing like her,” you sneered back, “cause I wouldn’t touch you with a ten foot pole.”

“What are you two chatting about?” your mother’s voice called from the kitchen.

Both of you answered at the same time: “Nothing!” 

With a grimace, you dragged your bag into the room and shut the door in his face.  It was those little acts of rebellion that had to tide you over.  You weren’t audacious enough to do anything actually cruel, or illegal, but you weren’t going to make this any easier for him.

At first it was just refusing to leave your room.  That worked for a week, until you realized you were going to starve to death.  So then the only times you saw him were at the dinner table, which you made into a protest by pretending he didn’t exist and refusing to answer his questions.  You occasionally relented when he asked you to pass something from your side of the table, but you never looked at him while you did it.  

He didn’t seem angry or sad about your determination to avoid him, if anything it seemed like he was happy to pretend you weren’t there either.  And that should’ve made it easier, but for some reason it bothered you even more.  You realized that maybe his attention did matter to you, even though it was negative attention that you were hoping to inspire, but you knew that was ridiculous and you tried to fight it.  Still, for all your plans to never see him, you sure did think about him a lot.  You thought about where he might be, so you could be somewhere else.  You thought about what he must be doing at work, and how he was probably continuing to be a nasty mean drunk as frequently as possible.  You wondered if he and your mother were making love just across the house, although you were lucky enough to never hear anything.  Just knowing that could be happening made you feel sick, even though you realized it was none of your business.  

You sometimes found yourself listening for it at night, just in case.

//

Your mother had decided to spend her new husband’s money on a trip, but the man himself couldn’t tag along— too much work to do, apparently.  The prospect of being left alone with him was nightmare fuel, but you didn’t even try to ask her to stay… you knew she wouldn’t listen.  She’d been totally absorbed in her own world since the wedding, seeming to be very fulfilled by the social role of ‘Sheriff’s wife’ to the point that she had lost all interest in her former position as ‘your mom’.  

There was a balance to the silence with her gone, though.  You avoided him, he avoided you; it was a tense truce, but a survivable one.  At least without her, nobody was going to try to make you two get along.  Friday night was different, though.  This time when he came home from work, you knew you were stuck with him until Monday morning.  That thought made you realize that you needed to get out and you didn’t care if you weren’t dressed for it.  It was hot, and it was just a walk so nobody was going to see you in this miniskirt anyway, right?

Too bad Lee was sitting on the couch, still in his uniform, not giving you any mind but likely to harass you before you could make it outside.  You figured if you just walked casually enough, he wouldn’t even notice, so you made your way towards the door.

“You’re not going out like that,” he announced suddenly, seemingly without even looking up from his newspaper.

“Says who?” you deflected quickly with a raised brow.  It wasn’t that you wanted to pick a fight, but you just couldn’t understand why he would even care what you were wearing.

“Says the guy who doesn’t want you to give all the neighborhood boys the wrong idea.”

“What idea?!” you asked, crossing your arms.  He shot you a look, quickly raking in your body and outfit which made you feel more observed than you cared for.

“The idea that you’re a slut,” he explained coldly.

You gulped at his words but tried to keep a poker face.  You didn’t let it get this far just to give up.  You were so sick of his shit; what made him think he could boss you around when he’d never even tried to get to know you?

“What makes you assume that’s the wrong idea?” you shot back, fighting the nervousness in your voice.

You hadn’t expected him to stand up instantly, the coffee table wobbling a bit when his knee bumped into it.

“The fuck did you say?” he hissed.

With his teeth bared at you he looked like a predator, and you felt like small, helpless prey.  You tried to muster some of your former confidence, but everything came out shaky and weak.  “I— I said that maybe it’s not the wrong ide—”

He pounced, crossing the room and slamming you back against the wall, a hand at each shoulder; you instantly cowered, shrinking back and turning your face away from him as far as you could.  You never thought he’d put his hands on you like this.  Your heart was pounding so loudly that you were surprised you could hear his hoarse whisper.

“Watch your tone with me.  I’m not kidding around.”

“I’m an adult,” you weakly fought back, “I can do what I want.”

“Not in my fuckin’ house you can’t!” he bellowed.

For some reason, it all hit you at once.  All the emotions you’d been suppressing since your mother had gotten engaged— all the anger and fear and betrayal and indignation, they came bubbling up before you could stop them.  

“I don’t even want to be in your ugly fucking house!” you cried in response.  “I don’t wanna be anywhere near you!  You’re a fascist and a tyrant and a pig!”

You expected him to get more aggressive but he suddenly stilled.  It was the scariest anger, that outwardly-calm type that made your blood go cold.

“Go to your room.”

You didn’t question it, turning to walk away (any excuse to get away from him, right?), but you didn’t expect him to follow you in and shut the door behind the both of you.

You were paralyzed with fear as he stepped past you and sat on your bed.  It was sort of strange as you realized you’d never seen him in your room before.  He stood out against the somewhat childish decorations, but you were in no mood to appreciate the humor of the situation as he patted his knee.

“Lay across my lap.  Don’t make me tell you twice.”

He couldn’t possibly be doing what I think he’s doing, could he? you wondered to yourself, but did as he asked.  You realized you’d never been so close to him before, the warmth of his body radiating through his clothes.  He smelled like cologne and booze, although you didn’t think he’d actually had much to drink yet today— at least compared to his normal habits.  It was almost worse to think that he wasn’t acting on drunkenness now.

“It’s prob’ly too late for it, but you are in serious need of discipline, young lady.”

You had no idea what he was talking about, but your body reacted to it differently than you expected.

His fingers slipped between the top of your skirt and your skin, having to pull pretty hard to get it down due to how tight it was.  You bit your lip and hoped he wouldn’t notice your arousal, but as your pussy was exposed, you could feel the breeze from the ceiling fan and you knew you were undeniably wet.  You didn’t know why, but you were.

“Count them for me,” he instructed coldly and before you could ask what you were counting, he brought his hand down firmly.  You felt his wedding ring in the slap and it made you feel a little sick.

“O-one,” you stammered.

He delivered four more, alternating cheeks, and you tried not to react with visible pain.  But as the intensity increased, you realized that not reacting might’ve actually been making it worse.  Either way, you couldn’t stop yourself from crying out when the eighth made your whole body lurch forward from the force.

“Eight!” you squealed, but both of you noticed the way you pushed your hips forward.  Unintentional as it may have been, you were trying to rub yourself on his thigh, desperate to be touched where it felt like all the energy of your body had focused.  You were sure you’d never been so horny before, and now your clit was nearly throbbing.  What the fuck is wrong with me?!

He quickly delivered the final two slaps before grabbing your neck, hoisting you up until you were on your knees before him.  He examined your face closely and you tried to keep your lip from shaking.

“You’re worse than I thought,” he hissed.  “You are in dire need of a punishment.  You should thank me for going so easy on you so far.”

You realized when his grip on your jaw tightened that he was being literal.  “Thank you, for going easy on me…”

“Where’d that fire go, huh?  Guess you’re all talk,” he laughed.  

He roughly shoved his fingers into your mouth, moaning lowly as your tongue rubbed against the pads of his fingers.  “This fuckin’ mouth.  You just don’t know when to keep it shut, do you?  Come on baby, open up.  I’ve got a better use for it than your fuckin’ disrespectful attitude.”

He used his free hand to work on his belt right in front of your face, and your eyes went wide.

“Don’t act so surprised sweetheart,” he said with a hint of irritation, “this is exactly what you’re asking for.”

You gasped a bit when his cock was freed from his trousers, springing up and already red at the tip.  You’d never seen one this close before and it was intimidating in every way.

“Like what you see?  You’re so wet for it,” he purred.  You tried to speak but words abandoned you. 

It was all a blur as he held your mouth open and shoved his cock inside— it tasted like skin and salt, and the size made your chapped lips crack until you worried they would bleed.  His moans were deep and gravelly, making your skin break out into goosebumps as he pumped smoothly into your pliant mouth.  He slapped your face a few times, not quite hard but plenty strong enough to make it sting.  You winced with each impact, the tears which had welled from your gagging finally falling down and dripping from your chin.

“Suck on it, princess, like a popsicle… fuck yeah, like that,” he groaned, and your mind resisted obeying him but your body was completely at his mercy.  “Aw baby, ya look so good chokin’ on my cock.  Is that what you were gonna go do in this slutty little outfit you’ve got on?”

You tried to shake your head but he was holding you down, not even giving you a chance to breathe.  His protruding stomach rubbed against your forehead when his cock was this deep in your throat, and the disgust and fear somehow made your arousal stronger.

He let you go, finally, and you pulled back with a gasp and a cough.  You weren’t given much reprieve, though, as he started to tug at your blouse as well.

“No, wait,” you whimpered, weakly trying to bat his hands away.

“Wait?  I think I’ve been waiting long enough,” he growled.  “Your ma’s a fuckin’ tease, hasn’t touched me since I got her that ugly fuckin’ ring.  Let’s hope you learn from her mistakes.”

Your blouse was torn open and tossed aside, leaving you only in the pulled-up skirt and your bra.  Reaching up to cover yourself, you were discouraged by the shockingly-gentle brush of his hands. 

“Don’t cover yourself, sweetheart, you’re gorgeous,” he murmured.  His gaze made you feel hot all over, and it wasn’t just because of the summer weather outside.  “Nobody ever looked at ya before?”

You shook your head, looking down at the floor.  A finger under your chin guided you to look up at him.  

“Nobody ever touched ya before?” he pressed, his stare boring into you.  You shook your head again.  “Fuck,” he whispered, but then he started to smile proudly.  “Knew you were a good girl, princess, you just didn’t wanna act like one for some reason.  You gonna be good for me now?” 

You nodded weakly, swallowing as you tried to comprehend what was happening.  

“Then I’ll be good to you, too,” he promised darkly, a shimmer in his eyes that made you throb between your thighs.  “Come get on the bed, pretty girl.”

You almost resisted, but it was your need driving you now, not your mind.  You had been waiting too long to let a boy touch you, and now that a man had touched you, you felt all kinds of wrong and yet craved more.  Before you had even finished sitting down beside him, he was slipping off your bra and pushing you back onto the quilt.

“Sheriff!” you yelped instinctively, a little disoriented as he started to climb on top of you.

He chuckled, clearly amused by your unexpected appeal to authority.  “Wanna know a secret, sweetheart?  Wanna know the real reason I said you didn’t have to call me that anymore?”  He leaned down, his breath hot and moist against your neck when he spoke: “Because it made me so fuckin’ hard when you said it.”

He pressed his cock, still wet with your spit, against your thigh; maybe just for emphasis, a reminder that he was still hard and wasn’t anywhere near done with you.

“What are you gonna do to me…?” you asked weakly, your voice so wavering and broken that you cringed just hearing it.  

“Just gonna make you feel good, princess,” he smiled, and before you could ask what that would entail, he was groping your tits in his large, calloused hands.  A low groan echoed in his chest, and you tried not to squirm as he teased your nipples between his fingers.  They were already hardening from the moment he’d touched you, but somehow it was getting even worse when he played with them, watching your face and surely seeing the shame you wore there.

His hands trailed lower, rubbing your waist, your thighs… you found yourself anticipating that he’d remove your panties, so much so that when he did, you quickly lifted your hips to help him slide them off.  You couldn’t believe how easily you were letting him do this to you.

“I can tell how much you want it,” he taunted lowly as the fabric slid down your legs and was tossed to the floor.  “I can smell how much you want it.”  He growled a little before diving in, licking a thick stripe through your folds and taking a moment right at the end to tickle your clit with his tongue.  “So fuckin’ sweet, princess; I knew you would be,” he praised.  You were forced to wonder how long he’d been thinking about this.

The noises were beyond obscene and you felt your face burning— but there was a burning in your gut, too, and shooting down your legs.  You’d never felt like this before (being a very good girl who never even touched herself), but you knew that if he didn’t stop, you would come.  And you really, really wanted to come.

Everytime he put pressure on your clit, your leg quivered involuntarily.  It was nearly too much, the sensation so powerful it almost hurt, but he pushed you right to the edge without knocking you off.

“Please,” you found yourself begging before you could stop it, “please, Sheriff—”

“I’m not your Sheriff anymore, sweetheart,” he informed you gruffly, popping up from between your legs with the entire bottom half of his face covered in your arousal, “I’m your daddy now.  Go on and beg your daddy to fuck you.”

Eyes shot wide open, you stared back at him in bewilderment.  Rage flashed in his eyes, and he snarled as his hand suddenly wrapped around your neck, tightening and choking you. 

“You heard me,” he groaned through his teeth.  “Beg me.  To fuck you.”

“Daddy,” you stammered, hoarsely fighting to speak through the pressure on your throat, “fuck me, please.”

He slammed his cock into you and you nearly screamed.  It burned and you instinctively tried to crawl away but, of course, his weight on top of you made it impossible.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned.  He laid down on top of you entirely then, slipping his arms under your torso and holding you tightly.

Each thrust made you feel like you had reached your limits, as if you couldn’t be stretched further which was probably true.  And yet, in spite of it (or worse, because of it), you found yourself moaning and writhing under him, even arching your back to make his movements smoother.  He laughed a little as he bit at the shell of your ear.

“You love it, baby,” he moaned, “you love my cock.”

You couldn’t respond, just sob as you clutched at the shirt still on his back, your jaw tight as you tried to bear the pain.  

“It’s not always gonna hurt like this,” he promised between heavy breaths, “s’gonna feel good soon.  Gonna make you feel so fuckin’ good, pretty girl.”

Truthfully, you weren’t sure if that meant that this would happen again or not.  At the moment, you were incapable of thinking that far ahead, too focused on the way the sting of the stretch was melting away and morphing into such powerful pleasure that you couldn’t even see straight.

He kissed you, and only then did the weight of it hit you.  Who he was, what he was doing, what you were doing… it had been distant and vague before, but something about his tongue inside your mouth made you remember that the metal digging into your back was his ring; that the lips on yours were sworn to somebody else— and at that, the one exact person that made this so fundamentally wrong.

Tears welled in your eyes, gentle sobs shaking your chest.

“Don’t cry, baby,” he whispered, pulling back and kissing your tears away, “feels good, don’t it?  Feels good when daddy fucks you?”

You knew speaking would only make you cry more, so you only nodded your head shamefully.

“That’s my good girl,” he moaned as he fucked you deeper, harder, rougher.  Your fingers held onto the back of his neck, running through his hair and pulling him closer.  He kept mumbling praises but they fell on deaf ears, pleasure clouding your mind and making every hair on your body stand upright.  He didn’t stop as he reached down between your bodies and laid his hand over your stomach, growling with satisfaction at what he found there.

“I can feel me inside ya,” he grinned.  “Feel that, sweetheart?  Feel how deep I am in your wet little cunt?”

When you didn’t answer, you got a quick slap to the face.  “Yes,” you replied quickly, “yes, I— I feel it.”

He buried his face into the crook of your neck, biting you there until you nearly screamed.  You couldn’t figure out why something so objectively painful only pushed you closer to your peak, making every spot inside you more sensitive, but somehow it did.

“Gonna come, pretty girl?  Want daddy to fill you up?” he groaned against your ear, pushing down on your stomach even harder.

“Yes, daddy!” you sobbed.  “Please!”

“Fuck, you’re squeezin’ me,” he hissed, “don’t fuckin’ stop.  Keep milkin’ my cock and m’gonna fill ya up so good, princess…”

You couldn’t stop even if you tried— your orgasm hit you in powerful waves, your head falling back as your walls clenched involuntarily (as did your fingers and toes, so hard that your nail tore the sheets a little bit, which you wouldn’t notice until the next day).  He grunted as he came, pumping into you with each thrust until you felt more full than you ever had before, in a way you could never describe.

The two of you stayed like that for a moment, him catching his breath and you losing yours as his weight threatened to crush you.  “Fuck,” he groaned as he sat up and pulled out.  He grabbed your legs and held them up for you, staring at your abused pussy and making you feel uncomfortably observed.

“Push it out for me, wanna see my come leak outta ya,” he purred, moaning a little when you did as he asked.  It felt even hotter as it gushed out of you, and you mindlessly bit your lip.  He tucked his softening cock back into his trousers, rezipping them and buckling his belt.  “We’d better get ya cleaned up, huh princess?” 

The bathroom wasn’t far, so he carried you, setting you down to stand on your own as he started to draw a bath.  You watched him, although you weren’t really watching him so much as staring into the void of space that happened to be in his general direction.  You were so out of it that you didn’t even register when he turned around and smiled at you with an air of pride.

“You look so good like this.”  

It pulled you out of your trance, though you had to ask him to repeat himself with a mumbled “huh?”

“I said you look good like this,” he explained, stepping closer.  “Fucked out, braindead, just my empty-headed fucktoy.”

“I… I don’t…” you began to disagree.

He used your jaw to turn your face to the mirror, and you gasped when you saw yourself: your hair was a mess; your whole face was red, especially your eyes and nose from crying, but plenty on your cheeks where he’d slapped you; your lips were swollen and slick; bruises were already forming on your arms where he’d grabbed you, and along your neck and shoulders where he had bitten you.

His form dwarfed yours as he stood behind you, looking at your reflection with a smile.

“Look at us,” he announced wistfully, “one big happy family, huh?”

[fandom-puff]

Family, Duty, Honour

Pairing: Tyrion Lannister x reader

Requested by: anon ‘Can you do Tyrion with his arranged marriage wife on their wedding night/first time?’

Notes: the reader in this fic is a Tully cousin. Let’s see if I can actually get to the smut without almost 1k words of worldbuilding this time! (The answer is no- do u see why it takes me so bloody long to write!)

(Part 2)

Warnings: Arranged marriage, smut, loss of virginity, clearly not canon compliant lol

Gif creds to owner

Being summoned to Tywin Lannister’s office was never a pleasant experience. More often than not, it meant you were in serious trouble, and in Tyrion’s case, he was always in trouble; his father often referred to him as a drunken, lusty little fool. As Tyrion entered the office, he instantly did not like what he saw; his father was stood with his hands behind his back, rather than being sat behind his desk. He gestured for his son to sit, before he began speaking.

“As you know, your sister has been married to King Robert for some time, and is now pregnant with their second child. Their first, Joffrey, will be the next king of the seven kingdoms,” Tyrion nodded slowly as his father spoke at him, rather than to him. “In case that child is a girl, she must fall pregnant again to ensure there is an heir and a spare to fully consolidate the Baratheon dynasty. Your brother Jaime has sworn an oath that prohibits him from siring children,”

“Legitimate children,” Tyrion quipped, relishing in the way his father’s jaw tightened.

“Siring legitimate children. And I will not sit a bastard on Casterly Rock when I am gone. That leaves you,” Tyrion sat up a little straighter- was his father finally agreeing to acknowledge his claim now that Jaime couldn’t be lord of Casterly rock? “I have therefore arranged your marriage, and your son will inherit Casterly rock.”

Tyrion frowned. “My son? Surely it goes to me first,”

Tywin snorted. “Don’t remind me,”

Tyrion was quiet for a moment. “Who have you promised me to?”

“One of Hoster Tully’s nieces,” he said flatly. “What, disappointed? There aren’t many noble houses willing to marry off their daughters to a dwarf, even if he is a Lannister. You will marry YN Tully, splitting their ties with the North and the Vale with West. Your son will have Casterly Rock, and gods be willing, your spare will have Riverrun,”

“Hoster has other children, as well as his niece,”Tyrion reminded him.

“Yes. But Catelyn’s children will be shared about the North; Eddard Stark is unlikely to let them stray further south than the Neck. And Lysa has struggled to conceive, and her only child is sickly. If the it comes to it, one of the Stark heirs will take the Vale. Edmure Tully is a cocksure fool, and Brynden Tully has gone rogue. It’ll be easy to place your spare on that seat. But an heir for Casterly rock should be your priority,”

Tyrion sighed. “I don’t have a choice in this matter, do I?” When Tywin shook his head, he sighed. “Then I would like to meet this girl before we wed. To settle her nerves. Is she… of age?”

“She has flowered,” Tywin said sternly. “That should be enough for you,” with that he turned on his heel, leaving Tyrion to mull the concept of his wedding over. He sighed, returning to his chamber- he was in dire need of a drink.

**

As you walked up the steps to Casterly Rock your breath caught in your chest and you squeezed your uncle’s arm subconsciously as he escorted you.

As you entered the keep, Lord Tywin came around the corner, closely followed by his son. You gave a little curtsy to Tywin, before allowing Tyrion to kiss your knuckles. “My lady,” he said, his voice gentle. “I thought we might take a stroll through the garden. I’m afraid it’s not as impressive as the likes of the Reach, but it overlooks the sea,” your uncle gave a nod, allowing Tyrion to escort you on a tour of the gardens while he finalised the wedding plans with your soon to be father in law.

As you walked, Tyrion stole small glances sideways at you. It was undeniable that you were a Tully, possessive the sharp bone structure and deep red hair of your family. You knew your airs and graces, listening attentively as he told you about the history of Casterly rock. Sighing, he gestured for you to sit on an elaborately carved stone bench.

“My Lady… I know that this marriage is not… well it’s not anybody’s idea of perfection. I may be the ‘Imp’ but I promise to you I shall treat you well. I will protect you, honour you, treat you properly as my lady wife,”

You nibbled your lip nervously nodding slowly. “Thank you, Lord Tyrion,” you said softly, and he couldn’t help but stare longer than was decent into your piercing eyes.

“H-how old are you, Lady YN?” He asked gently, fearing the worst.

“My nineteenth name day will be in four moons,” you said. “Why?”

Tyrion shuffled slightly. “I only ask… these marriages usually do not take age into consideration. My father only told me you… were fertile. I feared that I would be wed to a child. And if that was the case, I would wait until you were older for the… I will still wait now, if that is your wish,” he promised, and you nodded, feeling much more at ease with the prospect of marrying the Imp.

***

The vows were said and you had been cloaked under the rich red and gold of house Lannister. Seated at the head table of the grand hall of Casterly Rock, you watched as the feast and the dancers went on. As Tyrion placed tidbits of the rich food on your plate, you were increasingly aware of the rising drunkenness in the room- over the hubbub of the feast, you could hear several bawdy jokes about the upcoming consummation of your marriage.

Tyrion noticed your growing anxiety, and placed his hand gently over yours. “Remember what I told you,” he said in a quiet voice, leaning close to your ear so that you could hear him. “If you want me to, I will wait,” you nodded at his reassurance, your shoulders relaxing slightly in your wedding gown, and you slipped your hand into his, giving it a gentle squeeze in thanks.

After the final course was served- small cakes decorated with and intricate motif of a lion frolicking in a river full of splashing trout in honour of the new alliance forged between the west and the riverlands- Lord Tywin and Lord Hoster rose from their table and made their way to the head table. Tywin gestured Tyrion away until you could no longer hear, though you were sure your father in law was lecturing him on his expectations for a son. Your uncle took a seat beside you, pouring you a half cup of wine.

“When your mother died,” he began. “I swore to the old gods and the new to protect you. The Lannisters are proud, and dangerous no doubt, but you are one of them now, my girl, and I’d rather you be married to the Lannisters with their power and wealth than to be treated like a whore by the Dornish or even the Baratheon… the Lannisters aren’t likely to let harm come to you, but I swear, if the imp ever hurts you, I will raise the men of the Riverlands, and I will get the Vale and the North on board as well. Even in Casterly Rock, you will be protected,”

You smiled. “Thank you, Uncle. But Lord Tyrion is a good man, kind and gentle. And even though I am a woman grown, he swore to me he would not force himself on me, nor would he betray my honour,” your uncle gave a tight smile, kissing the top of your head.

“Honour,” he said stiffly, stiffly, seeing Tywin and Tyrion returning to you. “Remember our words, My girl. Family, Duty, Honour,”

You nodded, squeezing his hand, before it was announced that it was time for the bedding. But instead of a boisterous display involving stripping both you and Tyrion out of your clothes on your way to your marriage chamber, Tyrion took your hand and led you out of the great hall alone, walking you to your new bedroom in relative silence.

As you shut the door, he looked at you, sighing quietly. “Shall we have some wine?” He said gently, gesturing to the table set out with wine and bread and fruit, in case the happy couple needed sustenance throughout the night. You gave him a small smile and nodded, letting him pull a chair out for you as you sipped on wine and nibbled on bread.

“I… expected a bedding ceremony, my Lord,” you said quietly, before quickly adding “I’m glad the traditional one didn’t happen though! My cousin, Catelyn didn’t have one, because her husband didn’t want to dishonour her,”

“Eddard Stark and I have that in common,” Tyrion said lightly. “And I told my father that I would not have his bannermen manhandle my wife to her room,”

You smiled gratefully, setting your cup down. Tyrion held up the jug, but you shook your head, not wanted to get too inebriated. You sighed softly, your fingers tracing over the embroidery on your wedding gown, and Tyrion watched as you worked over the stitched trouts- although Casterly rock glittered with jewels and gold, he had to admit that the embroidery of the riverlands and the north was superior to the rest of Westeros. “Are you nervous, My Lady?” He said gently, asking the obvious, before reminding you again of his promise.

“I am, a little,” you murmured. “But… I must do my duty and give you a son,” you looked away, taking a deep breath. “I am nervous because I’m a maid, and I am scared it will hurt, or I will not please you, or fulfil my duties to my family. But I… I trust, my Lord. I think I’ve trusted from the moment you invited me to Casterly Rock ahead of the wedding, despite that being only two weeks ago…”

Tyrion smiled gently as you rambled, taking both of your hands in his and leaning down to kiss both sets of knuckles. “I won’t hurt you. I’ll be gentle with you,” he promised. “I must ask one thing of you, YN… just call me Tyrion,”

You smiled gently, leaning down and pressing your lips gently to his. It was your first proper kiss, aside from the one under the eyes of the gods, and you were initiating it. Tyrion couldn’t help but smile against the cushion of your lips, finding your tentative gentleness endearing. He reached one hand up to curl around the back of your neck and was relieved to feel you relax as he stroked your deep red hair. He grazed his teeth against your bottom lip, before pressing them down gently, you let out a shudder and-gods- a moan.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” he murmured.

“Please don’t,” you replied, voice breathy as you felt unfamiliar heat and… longing stirring within you. With your gentle plea replaying in his head, he slipped his hand into yours, pulling you gently towards the canopied bed.

Slowly, you undressed one another down to your smallclothes. Tyrion gulped as he looked over you, the peaks of your breasts pushing against your chemise. “Magnificent,” he murmured, and you smiled, ducking your head down to hide your bashful expression.

“What do I… what do I do?” You whispered, sitting on the bed. Tyrion smiled gently.

“We must prepare you,” he said gently. At your frown, he carried on. “If we are to continue with comfort in mind, we must ensure your body is ready to… accommodate me. This will relax you… make you… slick,” he explained and you nodded slowly, shuffling back so you could lay on the pillows. As Tyrion made to climb up onto the bed, you took a deep breath, lifting your chemise up and over your head to bear your chest and cunt to him. Tyrion suppressed a groan at the sight, urging himself to go slow. You were his lady wife, not some whore. He approached you slowly, coming up to your side and pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek, before trailing his lips down. You gasped as you felt his teeth scrape against your skin, before you let out a low moan as his lips wrapped around your nipple, suckling gently. He waited until your breath came in little desperate pants, your body twisting and pushing up to him before he trailed his hand down to the thatch of curls between your thighs. You gasped and tensed up, but as he began rubbing your thigh gently and you soon relaxed, allowing him to push your thighs apart.

“T-Tyrion,” you whimpered, feeling the palm of his hand cup your pussy. He was about to ask if you were okay, but your next words put his mind at ease. “Please… more…”

He gave a light chuckle. “As my lady wife commands,” he said, a slight smirk tugging at his lip as his finger dragged between your folds, swirling around your clit on every other stroke, until you were dripping and squirming with anticipation, grasping onto his arm, little moans tumbling from your lips. Tyrion smiled slightly, sucking his finger clean and groaning at the taste. “Are you ready for my cock, YN?” He asked, and you bit your lip.

“I-I think so?” You murmured, watching with wide eyes as he undid his underwear and shoved it down his thighs, his straining cock springing free. You bit your lip hard, and Tyrion smiled softly.

“I will be gentle with you, YN, I promise,” you gulped and nodded, reaching for him.

“Please…” you murmured. “I-I’m ready,” Tyrion gave a slight smile as he moved to line up with your entrance, slowly pushing his cock into you. You whimpered, back arching, and when he hit the barrier of your maidenhead, you hissed.

Tyrion petted your thigh gently, shushing you. “This will hurt for just a moment, I promise,” he told you, and you nodded, squeezing your eyes shut as he breached your maidenhead. What was an uncomfortable stinging sensation soon dissolved into a feeling of fullness, of being stretched. It felt… good.

“M-move,” you begged, bucking your hips up despite yourself, and to your delight, Tyrion complied, groaning as he grasped your hips, his hips beginning to roll against yours, his girth caressing all of your most intimate pleasure points, watching the way your eyebrows tugged together and your mouth went slack as you let out needy gasps and moans, increasing in pitch and volume as he dragged you closer to the edge. He was close himself, his movements becoming more sloppy, his head tipping back as he groaned and grunted. “Tyrion,” you cried, back arching, and his mouth practically watered at the sign of your bouncing tits. “Tyrion I’m- I feel-”

“Let it happen,” he groaned, and when he felt your channel spasm around his length he grunted, spurting his seed into you with a shout of your name, spurred on by your cries of ecstasy.

Shaking, gasping, you whimpered as Tyrion pulled out of you, and smiled gently as you watched him pour you some wine and get you some fruit. You curled into his side, now under the covers as you sipped the more watered down wine, humming softly as Tyrion fed you plump, sweet berries. Sleepy, you settled down under the covers, resting your head on his bare chest, and as you nodded off to sleep, Tyrion swore to himself that he would put his young wife and any children you had before all else in his life.

Tags: @sociallyawkward-princess @lazyotakujen @janelongxox @honeyofthegods @lxoxtxtxi

[galactic-magick]

I Choose You: Kyoya Ootori x Reader

Summary: Your parents and the Ootoris set up an arranged marriage between you and Kyoya for business reasons.

Words: 3100+                                          

Warnings: swearing, angst

Author’s Notes: uhhhh so my hand slipped and I wrote a whole ass Kyoya fic cuz I love that bitch I’m not sorry. (btw normal text is present and italics are flashbacks. Gender neutral pronouns and language for reader!)

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Your reflection in the mirror haunts you. It hurts. You can’t pretend it’s all a nightmare anymore, this is your reality. The reality you didn’t choose.

But maybe you would if the circumstances were different.

Servants, tailors, and seamstresses are fluttering all around you, making adjustments to your wedding ensemble. It looks perfect, more than perfect. It’s everything you ever wanted, and it looks amazing on you. You continue to stare at yourself in the mirror, knowing how proud your parents would be when you walked to the front of the wedding ceremony. They would be happy, even if you weren’t.

Your parents business has been failing for months now, and they needed to fix it fast. The Ootori family agreed to help if you married their youngest son as a symbol of the partnership. Of course your parents wouldn’t threaten you if you didn’t do it, but you knew how much they needed it. You’ve always known there was a chance you’d end up in an arranged marriage anyway, even if you’ve also always dreamed of love. You were willing to give up a love marriage in order to help them, and after all, you could certainly do worse than Kyoya. You knew he’d treat you well and provide for you, and quite frankly you couldn’t imagine him caring enough to hurt you or bother you.

 “Thank you so much again for making this deal with us,” your father nodded.

“Of course. Your company has quite a few valuable prospects,” Mr. Ootori smiles.

You gazed at Kyoya across the room, who’s barely made any eye contact with you the entire time. You could tell he wasn’t thrilled about this either, but there was something else, something more than disinterest. Was it anger? Determination?

“Shall we leave them alone for a bit? They should get to know each other better if they’re going through with this, don’t you think?” your mother suggested, gesturing to you.

“Certainly,” Mr. Ootori sat up and left the room, your parents following soon after and shutting the door.

“So…” you started, trailing off. What was there even to say?

Kyoya shot up from his chair and began pacing around the room, settling for a few moments by the window but soon going right back to pacing. He chewed his pen a bit, occasionally scribbling things down on his notepad.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

He continued to ignore you, deep in thought.

“Look, I get that you don’t like me, but can we at least talk? I’m going to have to live with your ass for the rest of my life you know,”

“It’s not that I don’t like you,” his eyes finally met yours, almost so much it was frightening. “You’re quite attractive actually and I don’t see any reason we wouldn’t get along. But that doesn’t negate the fact that this was forced on us. We have every right to be angry,”

You were stunned that the first thing he said to you was so direct.

“I mean, I guess so,”

“My father doesn’t know how much power I truly have over his company. We could take it from him and make our lives whatever we want. We could continue to work together or we could separate if that’s what you desire. They’ll be sorry for forcing their will on their children,”

“What about my parents?”

“What about them?”

“They’ll go bankrupt without this deal. They’ll lose everything,”

“Their deal is with the company, not my father. Once I become the head I’ll make sure they get what they need,”

Damn, he really had all this planned out.

“How long will we be married before you do all this?”

“It will take at least a year, possibly two. Too quick and we’ll raise suspicion, too slow and we’ll miss our chance,”

You nod. It made sense, but you couldn’t help but feel cheated. He didn’t care about you in the slightest, he was simply using this unfortunate marriage situation for his own gain and revenge. What were you supposed to do for the short time you were married? Sit around his mansion and wait?

You huff, “Look, I’m glad you’re getting some good out of this, but don’t you think we should at least try to be friends? I’m not just going to sit here and be a tool for your masterplan. Whether you like it or not, we’re going to be partners for a while and I’d rather not spend it being bored,”

Kyoya blinked. Clearly he didn’t calculate any sort of relationship into his plan, and the fact you weren’t blindly going along with it confused him.

You roll your eyes, “Can’t we at least go out to dinner a few times? You know, talk a little bit?”

“That sounds dangerously close to a date,”

“So what if it is? You said yourself you think I’m attractive and you think we’d get along,”

“I suppose I did,” he smiled.

 You decide to turn around, hoping not seeing yourself for a few minutes will distract you.

You sincerely hope everything will work out, hope that everything will turn out fine. You trust Kyoya, he’ll do anything he can to keep his word. Your parents will be taken care of. You will be taken care of. His excuse of a father will be out of the picture.

What will you even do when it’s all said and done? Go off on your own? Get more education? Travel? Find love with someone else?

The future’s never been more terrifying.

At least you won’t be miserable. You can tell Kyoya’s made an effort to care about you throughout your engagement, he won’t be an awful husband for the year or so you’ll be married.

But does he really care about you? Or he just acting like it because you asked him to?

 Kyoya picked you up in his limousine for your first “date,” taking you to a fancy restaurant downtown. Surprisingly he was the one to initiate conversations during the whole thing, asking you about your life, your hobbies, your interests. You found you actually have a lot in common, and you end up talking for hours, literally until the restaurant closes and kicks you out.

“I would take you somewhere else, but I’m afraid it’s getting too late,” he said, opening the door of the limo for you to get in.

You frowned. You were actually having a really good time.

“Tomorrow?”

“Hmm?” he raised a brow.

“We could hang out again tomorrow?”

“Sure,”

 You opened your eyes, awoken from some noise outside. You looked around, assuming it was just some branches brushing against the side of the house. You rolled over, trying to get back to sleep.

The banging starts up again, and this time when you sat up you could almost swear you saw a hand through your window.

You stood up, trudging over and opening it.

“Kyoya? What the fuck are you doing?!”

“It’s tomorrow,” he smirked. You gaze at the clock. He’s right, it’s nearly 1 AM.

“I never pegged you for the sneaking out type,”

“Well, I do most of my best thinking at night, so I like to sit on the roof or go for a walk once everyone’s asleep,” he took a look at you in your pajamas. “Would you like to accompany me?”

“Give me a sec,” you shut the curtains and slipped on some clothes and freshened up a bit. You returned and started climbing out the window, Kyoya helping you get down to the ground.

“Where would you like to go?” he asked.

“This was your idea,”

“I suppose so,”

He ended up leading you to a small park his family owned, with a little pond and some benches and trees. You sat down and looked around, listening to the distant sounds of the night.

“I misjudged you, Kyoya,”

“You thought I was an asshole, didn’t you?”

You laughed, “Yeah, just a bit,”

“I certainly can be, I won’t claim otherwise,” he sat down next to you. “But I’m not opposed to expanding my horizons. You offered a valid point. A friendship and partnership may very well be in our best interests,”

“Ugh,” you groaned. “There you go again with your best interests shit,”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re telling me that you’re only trying to be friends with me because it’s in your best interest?”

“Is that…not how friendships work?” he squinted. “I am interested in being friends with you. I am interested in being your partner. Why does that upset you?”

“Because you’re talking about me like my love and respect is something for you to take or gain,”

“I apologize,” he hummed. “I’m afraid I don’t have much experience in the type of relationship you want,”

“You’ve never had a real friend? You’ve never cared about anyone for who they were more than what they could give you?”

“No, I have. Just not many,”

You almost felt…bad for him. He was trying, at least.

“I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t be so harsh,” you looked at him. “I know we can make this work. We just need to be patient with each other, that’s all,”

“Alright,” he agreed.

You continued your conversation from earlier, and things felt good again. You really do get along well, it’s a shame you weren’t actually in love.

 You check your phone, seeing a text from Kyoya sent just a few minutes ago. You open it, and he’s asking where you are because he wants to talk to you. You tell him no, not today, but he insists.

You stop responding, figuring no matter what you say he’ll come anyway. You didn’t tell him where you were, but a quick questioning of a few servants and someone would tell him.

You don’t particularly want to see him right now, not like this. This is your time to feel bad about yourself and lose your mind worrying about the future, and he’s not going to help that.

You don’t hate him, quite the opposite, but he’s only a reminder of what you have but could never be.

 You and Kyoya have gone on several more outings over the past few months, and it’s getting closer and closer to the wedding. He’s taken you to all his family’s properties, resorts, parks, and more. You’ve gone to almost every restaurant in town (yes, even commoner ones, you both found it entertaining), and you’ve spent many nights walking around the city. You’ve spent days indoors playing board and card games and watching movies. You genuinely enjoyed spending most of your free time with him.

But tonight’s a bit different.

Tonight you won’t be alone, on your own terms. Tonight was the rehearsal dinner, and of course both your families were going overboard. Barely any of it was going to be spent actually rehearsing for the wedding. There’s going to be dancing, food and drinks, and basically a party all night long.

Everyone’s going to be watching you, everyone’s eyes are going to be on you.

You met up with Kyoya after getting ready so you could walk in together. You put on your most formal outfits, besides the ones for the wedding a few days from now.

When he saw you, he averted his gaze immediately as if he’d just caught you naked.

“You look good,” he coughed.

“So do you,” you laughed.

He offered you his arm and you took it, walking down the hallway into the ballroom.

You had to do an awful lot of greeting before doing anything else. Everyone wants to talk to you and congratulate you, even people you swear you’ve never met in your life. There’s a mix of family, friends, and other business partners. Some people were probably there simply because they could be due to their status, and had no interest in the celebration whatsoever.

When you’re finally free of conversation, you raced to the table to grab some refreshments. They prepared the best food possible, including some of your favorites.

Kyoya found you again just as you were finishing, offering his arm to you once again.

“May I have this dance?”

You almost choked, “You dance?”

“Of course I do. So is my fiancé going to refuse me or not?”

You smiled and shook your head, giggling a bit as he drags you to the floor.

No one was doing anything particularly complicated, just waltzes, and thank goodness that was the case. You could barely think straight from everything going on.

Surprisingly Kyoya wasn’t a stiff dancer, his movements were consistent but flowed perfectly with the music. He held you closer than you thought he would, but gently.

You felt your body heat up and chills in your stomach and down your spine. How are those two things even possible to happen at the same time?

Well, shit. You weren’t actually falling for him were you?

You thought these past few months would be tedious, but they’ve actually been some of the best of your life. Kyoya’s become your best friend, and gosh you want to spend the rest of your life with him. You understand each other. You both want to break away from your controlling families and finally find your own happiness. You can spend hours talking about everything and nothing. You can make each other laugh like no one else ever has.

Maybe this arranged marriage could become a love marriage. Just maybe.

But no. Kyoya made his intentions very clear. You doubt he’s developed the same feelings for you. He may see you as a valued friend, but he’ll fell nothing when you inevitably break off your relationship in a couple years.

Kyoya must’ve noticed you zoning out in thought, because he stops dancing and brings his hands to your shoulders.

“Are you alright? Do you need some air?”

You nodded, and he leads you out onto the balcony outside the ballroom, keeping a hand on your back.

You take a deep breath, desperately trying to compose yourself after your realization. Should you tell him? No, absolutely not. Bad idea.

Why did this have to happen? Now you were even more miserable. Were you really so weak that you had to catch feelings?

“It’s going to be fine, you know,” he assured you. “I know it seems overwhelming, but by the end of the week we’ll be on our own and they can’t constantly be on our backs anymore,”

“Yeah,” you sighed, your breath stopping in your throat. “Do you think anyone will notice if I leave? I’m exhausted,”

“They probably will, unfortunately,” he looked out at the view. “But we can stay out here until they notice,”

“Thanks,” you grumbled. Your head was throbbing.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You managed to survive the rest of the night, barely.

You tried to get some rest, you have a fitting tomorrow, and then all you have to do is wait for the big day.

 You’ve been standing here for at least an hour, and you’re starting to get irritated. How long does it take to fit something? It looks fine.

You turn around again and stop breathing for a moment when you see Kyoya in the doorway. His hair is ruffled and he looks like he didn’t sleep at all, but there’s a smile on his face.

“I’d like to speak to my fiancé please,” he says.

You look away.

“Absolutely not! Don’t you know you’re not supposed to see each other’s outfits before the big day?” one of the tailors pipes up.

“Well, seeing as I already saw it, I don’t think it matters,” he motions for them to leave. “You’re dismissed,”

He waits until they’re gone before he approaches you, but by that time you’ve fallen down and started crying. You’re shaking on the edge of the platform you were standing on, your hands covering your face.

“You’ve been avoiding me all morning. What’s wrong?” he asks.

“This isn’t how it’s supposed to be,” you sniffle. “For everyone else this is the best time of their life. But it’s not for me,”

Kyoya crouches down in front of you.

He doesn’t cut in, so you keep going, “Look at me. I look great, I look just like how I wanted to as a kid, but it’s all wrong. Everything’s wrong. I thought I was okay with this, but I’m not. I hate this. I don’t hate you, but I hate this,”

You keep sobbing, trying to pretend he’s not there watching you. It’s not too hard actually, since you can barely see through the tears.

“Well, I suppose this might be the worst time to tell you what I was planning to tell you,” he tries not to laugh as not to be insensitive, but it comes out anyway.

“W-What?” you rub your eyes, seeing him a little clearer.

“I know this won’t fix anything, but I want you to know I do genuinely care about you. It was never part of the original agreement or plan, but I’ve come to feel more for you than I’ve felt for anyone. I just…I want you to know that. You’re not a tool to me anymore,” he takes a deep breath, “I love you,”

You stop crying for a moment, too shocked for the tears to keep flowing. Did he really just say that?

“I understand that you probably don’t feel the same, which is alright. I will still honor our original plan, get you everything you wanted, and allow you to leave whenever you please. But if you’ll have me as your husband, a real husband, you’re welcome to stay,”

The sobs break out again, barely able to get out the words, “I love you too,”

“You do? Really?” his eyes light up.

You nod vigorously, beaming through the tears, “Yes,”

“But you just said you hated this? That you were miserable?”

“Only because I thought you didn’t feel the same,”

“Oh,” he chuckles. “Well then,” he takes your hand and places his other on your cheek, looking into your eyes. “Will you marry me? Please?”

You laugh, “I guess,”

He smiles and pulls your face to his, kissing you softly. You take the initiative to deepen it, slithering your fingers into his tousled hair. He’s the last to pull away, and immediately pulls you back for more, even when you can barely breathe.

You can feel him smiling against your lips, his thumbs wiping all your tears away.

You thought you’d never know what it was like to be truly loved.

But now you do.

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More Author’s Notes: This is my first time writing for OHSHC lol. Might dabble in it more in the future cuz I had a blast writing this XD Hope you enjoyed and feel free to tell me what you think!

[dresupi]

Only the Best - Bucky Barnes/Darcy Lewis

for @highlyintelligentblonde

Rated T

“I’m not expecting anything from you”

Other tags: Regency AU

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It wasn’t that Darcy was dreading her wedding, but she also didn’t know what she should be feeling at all.

Everything had happened so quickly, she barely had the time to get used to the fact that she was to be a wife before the wedding ceremony was upon her.

And there was the little detail about how she hadn’t even been consulted before being promised to James Barnes. She had always assumed she’d have some say in exactly who her lawfully wedded partner would be. But her mother had sprung it on her one morning in as nonchalant a manner as if she were telling Darcy that she wanted her to go into the town and purchase something from the dressmaker.

“Oh, and you’ll be married to James Barnes in a fortnight. He’ll be posting the banns this Sunday. You’ll go to live with him after.”

To say Darcy was confused was an understatement. She was to marry the neighbor’s farmhand? With no explanation whatsoever? When she begged her mother for more information, she was waved off, told to expect James to come calling and explain things.

Darcy’s father had disappeared into his study with a flagon of brandy and hadn’t been accepting any visitors, especially not his only daughter, so Darcy was left to pick up the pieces of her life without so much as a kind word from him.

It seemed so long ago, even though the nervous butterflies in her stomach told her it had indeed only been fourteen days and nights.

Fourteen days and nights of not speaking to anyone, refusing James’s calls, and contemplating running away, only to be caught by her father when she had reached the garden gate. He hadn’t stopped her, simply bade her sit so he could explain himself.

According to him, once he died, their estate would be entailed away to a distant cousin. Her mother would be at the mercy of Darcy’s future husband. And James Barnes was extremely well off. He’d take care of Darcy, and Darcy’s mother when the time came. If Darcy chose to stay and go through with it, that is.

She’d sat there beside her father for the longest, wondering if she could live with herself for abandoning her mother and concluded that no, she couldn’t. Sighing heavily, she looked at her father. “You might have explained all this earlier instead of hiding in your study like a coward.”

Most daughters wouldn’t ever speak to their fathers in the way Darcy just had, but most daughters weren’t like Darcy Lewis.

“I know this. I just couldn’t face you, knowing I’d ruined your life by not handling my money better.”

She sighed once more and patted his hand. “Mr. Barnes isn’t all that terrible.”

And so the matter was put to rest. With a few days to spare.

The dust had settled and the ceremony had taken place. Currently, they were driven to Darcy’s family’s estate for the wedding breakfast. They, being Mr. and Mrs. Barnes.

She stole a glance at her husband. He looked hard and cold. Out of place in his finery. She’d only ever known James as a farmhand. She’d no idea he actually owned the estate bordering theirs until her father had disclosed it to her a few nights past.

Along with the straight facts of the matter. The money was gone.

Well, the amount needed for a decent dowry, at any rate. Marriage to James Barnes was her first, last, and only option. If she wanted to keep herself and her mother off the streets, that is.

She’d scarcely left her room since her mother sprang her very short engagement on her. Not even to come down to meet with James before the ceremony. She’d been childish and nearsighted, not taking the fortnight before the wedding ceremony to get to know her intended.

He’d come around every night, settling finally for a letter, which asked for her hand formally. He had such lovely handwriting, it made her heart ache at how ugly she was being.

Darcy had sent back her acceptance straight away. Formal and perfunctory. But an acceptance nonetheless.

She especially regretted it all now since he looked stiff and uncomfortable. Perhaps as uncomfortable as she.

But that couldn’t be, could it? He was the one with all the freedom. She was the one who needed him. She stood to benefit the most from this.

Why had he even agreed to this in the first place?

He wasn’t plain by any standard. And if he were as well off as her father had stated, he could have any of the girls in the county.

It was a question that could surely have been answered if she’d bothered to meet with him before the ceremony.

Upon arrival at her home, or her parents’ home, she supposed, James was quick to help her down from the carriage amid all the guests clapping for them. He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm or she wouldn’t have been able to walk back into her former home again.

She could scarcely eat her breakfast. Even though she was gastronomically inclined, everyone stopped her from eating with questions and congratulations. And manners dictated that she put down her knife and fork to receive each and every accolade. It was only proper. No matter how her stomach growled.

Tucking into a bit of lukewarm scrambled egg, she chewed and swallowed quickly as she saw someone else approaching.

Her mother’s friend, Baroness Katarina Zemo. Her husband, Baron Helmut had been the one to introduce her family to James in the first place. He seemed to think very highly of him. She supposed for someone who was titled as he, that was a good thing. James came with the blessing from the Baron and Baroness.

But just as she was about to address the baroness, James raised one hand. “Please. My wife’s scarcely had a moment to eat since we sat down. And I won’t have her fainting from hunger on our carriage ride to Paris.”

Paris? Darcy was surprised to hear that. But she supposed a honeymoon trip was customary. But one to Paris? Just how well-off was James?

Another question that might have been answered if she’d simply stopped being a child and accepted her intended when he called.

“Oh, of course,” Katarina said, sweeping into an empty chair across from the couple. “Continue eating, Mrs. Barnes. I won’t be offended if you attend to your nourishment in front of me. I simply wanted to speak with you both before you leave for Paris. To tell you how happy I am that this has happened for you.”

Darcy chewed hesitantly, but she was too hungry not to eat when bade.

James was the one who did the talking for her. “I’m sure you are, Baroness. Do tell your husband that I send my best regards.” His voice sounded flat despite the warmth of his words. Even flatter than before. Darcy was surprised to hear such snideness coming from someone she’d assumed to at least possess the barest minimum of decorum. Why that had been the only thing she knew of her husband. He’d always been cordial with her. Why she’d even venture to say that he’d been friendly on the few times they’d spoken.

“Oh, I will, Mr. Barnes. I truly hope the two of you enjoy your honeymoon trip. You must write us when you arrive at the hotel and tell us everything about your stay. Drop our names at the hotel and you’ll be treated like royalty. I bid you have a wonderful life together.” The baroness swept away as quickly as she’d come.

Darcy chewed on a bit of bacon, turning for the first time to her husband to speak to him.

“You were awfully rude to the Baroness,” she said.

James smirked, clearly amused. “So you can still speak to me. I had wondered.”

Darcy flushed, he was right, the first words she’d spoken to her husband beyond their vows, and she was reprimanding him.

“My apologies, I simply thought---“

“No apologies are necessary. You’re absolutely correct in your astute observation. I’m rude to the Baroness, but I think you’ll find me downright disrespectful to the Baron himself. Seeing as it’s his fault you were forced to marry me and that I had to take a wife at all.”

Darcy frowned. “How so? I thought certain you married me to keep my family from the poor house when Papa dies.”

“I’m happy I was able to find a mutually beneficial marriage, rather than having to impose upon some young woman with no other prospects.”

Darcy’s face burned, and she turned back to her plate. “With all due respect, I had other prospects.”

“That’s not a slight to you as a person, Miss Lewis. I simply refer to your lack of a dowry. I think you’ll find that you won’t be wanting for anything as my wife. What you lack in money, I can make up in spades. And I’m certain you will raise my social standing with your bright, beautiful nature.”

The words felt flowery, but coming from someone she’d only known to speak the barest of truths, it felt like more than words.

“It’s Mrs. Barnes, now,” she said softly.

He exhaled slowly. “I don’t expect anything from you, you know.”

“Surely you’ll agree that I should take your last name,” she countered.

“Not that. Of course, you’ll have my name. I simply meant... I don’t expect anything else in the way of...  marriage. You’ll have your own apartment to decorate as you will. You won’t have to expect me to come to visit you there.”

His meaning was implied, but apparent.

Darcy frowned and took another bite of egg, chewing thoughtfully before she answered him. “No one knows what the future may bring, Mr. Barnes.”

“It’s James now,” he corrected her, smirking in a cheeky sort of way. “And I mean it. You don’t owe me anything in that respect.”

She turned to look at him, his face in profile as he looked down at his own unfinished breakfast. Her eyes followed the fine cut of his cheekbones and jawline. At his lips.

When he’d kissed her at the end of their wedding ceremony, it had been very chaste. Of course, it had. But just at the end of their embrace, she noted something else. Something deeper. Something she could see wanting to pursue in the future.

Exhaling, she blotted at her mouth with her napkin. “I mean it as well, James. Don’t speak to the future and I won’t worry about owing you anything.”

James chuckled. It was soft and warm. A great deal more relaxed than his previous demeanor. “I wish only the best for you, Darcy.”

She studied his smile, even though he was talking to her and looking somewhere else entirely. He was truly a handsome man. “I’m fairly certain I’ve got it already.”

[hermannsthumb]

As per our convo, Newt getting set up with Hermann via Hermann’s father’s binder full of pre-approved suitors for his son...

(from @k-sci-janitor 👀) easily one of our funniest concepts yet. I was going to end on newt coming over for dinner scenario but I like the ominous open ending. I'm not actually sure when kaiju attacks fall in the PR timeline so excuse my handwaveyness, LOL

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hermann’s relationship with his father is what one would call strenuous at best, but—Hermann must admit, to the man’s credit, and in spite of his many flaws—he took the news of Hermann’s sexual orientation as unflinchingly as if Hermann had told him the day’s weather. It was a bit annoying, in fact. Hermann had agonized over the proper way to breach the subject for months, certain it spoke to some sort of personal ruin (whether ostracization from the Gottliebs or being forbade following through on any attraction he may feel whilst still living under the family roof, he wasn't sure), before finally simply announcing it one day at the breakfast table on a whim.

It had been a long-standing tradition that Hermann’s parents compile a binder—effectively of dossiers—on all the most eligible bachelors (for their daughter) and bachelorettes (for their sons) to aid in the choice of the latest Gottlieb mate. It was easiest this way, or so Hermann and his siblings were told. Parental approval was already secured. The histories of each were already secured, which bypassed any nasty shocks that might emerge in the courtship stage. Most of them were children of his father's colleagues or bright minds in their own rights: surgeons, and dentists, and mathematicians. Poets were strictly forbidden.

The occasion of Hermann’s breakfast table announcement had also been the day Hermann’s father presented him with his very first binder of prospective mates—a few days after his eighteenth birthday, and shortly before he was to go off to begin work on his PhD. His father had slid him a hand-written binder of names, no more than a dozen, and all with accompanying photographs. “All are accomplished young women,” he assured Hermann. “We can arrange any meetings of your choice over your winter holidays.”

Hermann glared down at the row of frozen smiles. He stabbed his fork into his cooked tomato wedge. “I don’t want to marry any of these women,” he said, and turned his glare on his father. He still had a rebellious streak in him at that point, something nurtured by a charismatic young man he used to trail after in boarding school, who pierced Hermann’s ear with a sewing needle in the boys’ toilets and listened to songs about setting things on fire. In late this streak had manifested itself in Hermann in nicking packets of cigarettes from his father’s study, one of which was in his pocket now. The weight of it made Hermann feel bolder. “I don’t want to marry any woman,” he continued. “I like men.”

The binder was drawn away in silence, and Hermann was free to eat his toast and tomatoes. The next morning a binder of young men was in its place.

(In a way the acceptance infuriated Hermann. It meant he could not blame his father’s obvious dislike for him on an unfounded, homophobic prejudice; rather, it was a result of Hermann’s own personal failings.)

The binder was placed at Hermann’s breakfast plate every day until he left for his studies. It was placed at his plate when he returned from them five years later. Not even the emergence of the kaiju from the bottom of the ocean shortly after Hermann turned twenty-four dampened his father’s hopes, nor turning all their scientific efforts towards the new jaeger program: some names were removed from the binder (the reasoning Hermann shudders to think at), more still were added, though Hermann is expected only to consider it once a week now on account of his busy schedule. This was one of such days.

“Your brother is very happy with his wife,” Hermann’s father reminds him. “She was one of my first suggestions for him, in fact.”

Hermann is not fond of his sister-in-law. Too rude—too cold. Though perhaps that makes her perfect for Hermann’s brother. “Haven’t we got bigger things to worry about these days than whether or not I’m going to marry?” Hermann says. He adds milk to his tea. “I’m sure they’re all, er, marvelous selections, only—”

“Your sister, too, with her husband,” father says.

Hermann sighs. He hasn’t got much of the rebellious streak he used to in him anymore—too stressed. Not fancying a fight before they’ve even begun today’s coding work, he picks up the binder and begins flipping through it. Sons of engineers working on the jaeger program with them, prominent young chemists, many of whom Hermann has been presented with since he was eighteen. Plenty of them are even handsome. Half of Hermann wonders if he should just pick the least-unappealing one of the bunch and be done with it already. He turns the page over and freezes. “Oh,” he says. “This one is—new.”

“Hm?” father says.

Hermann holds up the binder, tapping at a new entry. “Newton Geiszler.”

“Dr. Geiszler,” father says, nodding. “A child prodigy from Berlin—he’s made tremendous strides in kaiju science in such little time. And,” he adds, “three PhDs. Two of them before he even turned twenty.” The unspoken implication was that Dr. Geiszler far surpassed Hermann in intelligence and Hermann should feel ashamed for not skipping as many grades as Dr. Geiszler.

Hermann feels he ought to resent Dr. Geiszler for it, but he's finding it difficult to summon up any animosity towards him. It's likely because Hermann finds Dr. Geiszler to be strikingly handsome in his photograph: cheeks which haven’t quite lost their baby fat (giving him the appearance of being a scruffy hamster), large, thick glasses, tousled hair, an easy grin. Three PhDs, and German at that. And a child prodigy? “I’m surprised you haven’t mentioned him to me before,” Hermann says. He seems precisely the sort father would. Geiszler’s photograph is black-and-white and a bit grainy, but Hermann swears he could make out the lightest bit of freckles across his cheeks.

“I’d not heard of him until he published an article last week on kaiju biology,” father says. “Besides—he’s moved to America.”

Geiszler has three piercings up the side of his left ear. “I am going to write to him,” Hermann declares.

Father nods, and picks up his newspaper, clearly already disinterested. They speak no more of it that day.

It is not hard to find Dr. Geiszler online (his name is not the most common, and his field of study certainly isn’t), nor is it hard to match his photograph to his faculty page on MIT’s website. From there, Hermann retrieves Dr. Geiszler’s email address. He takes the evening to read over Geiszler’s publications spanning back to 2003 before he gathers up the courage to type out an actual email.

Dear Dr. Geiszler,

You do not know me, but I have recently been made acquaintance with your work and find it—Hermann pauses—scintillating. My father and I are—Hermann backspaces this—I am currently working on the development of the jaeger program…

There’s a response waiting for him the next morning. It’s as enthusiastic as it is brief. Dr. Gottlieb- That’s so awesome!! Believe it or not I’ve been following your work too. I have a million questions for you about the jaegers. If it’s classified info I promise I won’t tell. -Newt

It makes Hermann smile like nothing ever has before.

Hermann’s correspondence with Dr. Geiszler does not transgress beyond the professional until the following January. By that time, Hermann and his father have successfully completed the coding for their first jaeger prototype, and Hermann has been offered his fair share of tenured university positions to pick from as he likes. He finds himself oddly disappointed that none of them are in America with Dr. Geiezler. This, which leads to the realization that he’s grown rather fond of Dr. Geiszler, is perhaps what drives Hermann to uncharacteristic sentimental extremes on January 19th: he orders Dr. Geiszler a birthday present. The first email Dr. Geiszler sends him after that addresses him as Hermann. The first email Hermann sends Dr. Geiszler after that addresses him as Newton. Things move rapidly after that.

“Are you still writing to that young biologist?” Hermann’s father asks him in March. Hermann has spent the last two months devouring every bit of information Newton has seen fit to divulge about his personal life: his dexterity with no less than three different instruments, his favorite loud monster movies, how he’d love to get a kaiju tattooed on him one day. Hermann suspects he might be falling in love with Newton. In hardly five months! These are war times, Hermann supposes, so it would make sense. People are meant to do such extreme things.

“I am,” Hermann says.

“I’ve asked around about him,” Hermann’s father says. His expression is stern—unimpressed. “About his character. I’m not sure it’s wise to continue your correspondence.”

The reasons are this. Dr. Geiszler’s methods are unorthodox. Dr. Geiszler is loud and uncouth, and has little respect for his intellectual superiors. Dr. Geiszler was thrown out of a convention once for storming up on stage and stealing a microphone from an engineer to shout about the destruction coral reefs. Dr. Geiszler was in a distasteful band for several years. Dr. Geiszler was once arrested for egging a politician’s house. Dr. Geiszler has gone on record as describing the kaiju as “kinda cool”. Almost none of this is news to Hermann; in fact, that which is only causes Hermann’s affection for Newton to grow. “I will consider your advice,” Hermann says, knowing he won’t. Besides, it's not as if his father really has Hermann's interests at heart—Hermann knows he merely wishes to preempt any scandal Newton Geiszler could possibly bring upon the Gottlieb name.

In April Newton goes on television and declares that he’s sure the kaiju are extraterrestrial in origin, on account of their great size and his brief examination of a sample from the second kaiju to make landfall. He’s laughed off by his older peers before he can get another word out. The email he writes to Hermann afterwards is furious, capslock-heavy, and expresses that Hermann is the only one who takes him seriously in the whole world. It leaves Hermann certain that he is in love with Newton.

“Dr. Geiszler was interviewed on some American television program,” Hermann’s father says a few days later.

“I know,” Hermann says, proudly. Newton was on television. “I watched it.”

“He made some extraordinary claims,” Hermann’s father says.

But Hermann is thinking only of the outfit Newton wore (skinny jeans and an oversized leather jacket, so out of place compared to the suited other scientists sitting around him), the shade of his eyes (hazel), his short stature (hardly taller than Hermann), and the cadence of his voice (high, but not unappealing). He’d been so confident, and carried himself with a self-assurance that was foreign to Hermann. It was marvelously attractive. “I’m sure they're correct,” Hermann says. "Every single one. Newton is a terribly brilliant scientist." All bold claims are met with derision at first, are they not?

Newton’s theory is proven correct after the next kaiju attack, when experts other than him get their hands on kaiju samples and validate his claims. The general consensus after that is that the kaiju are not of this world. And Newton was the first to propose the theory! Hermann sends Newton an email full of congratulations, and Newton responds with a heart emoticon in his sign-off. Newton isn't just a brilliant scientist. “Newton is a genius,” Hermann tells his father, dreamily.

The binder reappears on Hermann’s work desk a few months later, Newton’s page torn conspicuously from it. Hermann tips the whole thing straight into his trash can. He has more important things to worry about—arranging a meeting with Newton, perhaps. Hermann ought to have him over for dinner.

[magictehnique]

One Wish

Jax Teller x Reader

Disclaimer: I do not own SOA or the song. Just the plot.

This little idea came to me the other day. I hope you guys like it!

As a matter of fact I was the one who said I love you first.

It was about eight years ago don’t act like you don’t know. 

Y/n and Jax first laid eyes on each other in high school. Y/n was brand new to Charming and caught the blonde biker’s eyes walking through the halls in ripped jeans, combat boots, and a rock band t-shirt. Throughout high school, she became close to both Jax and Opie. Spent most of her time after school at TM. From day one her and Jax felt there was something other than just friendship between them. Hell, the club and school peers could see it. Many women tried to win over Jax, Tara Knowles included, but none of them could seem to catch his heart like y/n did. 

At one of the infamous Friday night parties, the two friends escaped up to the roof, for some time away from the rowdy men and women. By this point, Jax and Opie dropped out of school to prospect for the club. The two of them sat for awhile, just enjoying each other’s company. Jax being the first to break the silence, “so, you thought about what you are going to do after you graduate?”

Y/n thought for a minute. “I don’t know Jax. I know my family wants me to go to college, but I don’t know what I even want to do. Your mom has offered me to continue working in the office and tending the bar. Couple of the guys said they would teach me mechanics.”

Jax smirked, “they love having you around. You may not have grown up in the club, but you understand this life as if you did. I know it’s your choice but I know I would love to have you around more.”

Y/n smirked back and met his baby blue eyes, “what’re you saying, Jax?”

“I’m sayin’ I love you too much to let you go Darlin’.“

If I had one wish, you would be my boo

Promise to love you. Trust me I’ll trust you.

Y/n and Jax were married five years after the night he confessed his love for her. They didn’t have the easiest of relationships. The club had gone through a lot of shit in those years and theirr relationship was tested numerous times. In the end, y/n and Jax always pulled through. 

The wedding took place during one of the many lockdowns at the clubhouse. Y/n and Jax had been engaged for a few months. Both were sitting at the bar with Jax and Gemma, y/n looking around at all the family and friends gathered here. Gemma looked over at them and said, “so, have you guys set a date yet for the wedding?”

Jax was first to answer, “nah not yet. Been waiting for all the shit to die down. Not only have we had the Mayans starting pissing matches, the other charters have been going through shit.” Gemma nodded in agreement.

“What about now?” y/n said, breaking the silence. Both Gemma and Jax’s heads snapped to her.

“You mean like now? Here?” Jax asked.

Y/n shrugged her shoulders. “Why not? Our friends and family are all here. Chibs is ordained and could marry us. Nows as good as any. I don’t need some lavish wedding Jax. As long as I’m saying vows and kissing you at the end, I don’t care how it happens.”

Jax broke out into the biggest smile she had ever seen. He grabbed her face in his hands and gave her a passionate, and loving kiss. Gemma was beaming at the pair in front of her. She couldn’t have picked a better girl for her son than y/n. 

Jax separated from y/n and whistled, getting everyone’s attention, “hey everyone! Y/n and I decided that instead of waiting, we’re going to get married right here, right now. We love all of you so much and want you to be apart of our big day. So Chibs, you mind marrying me to my best friend?”

Everyone starting clapping and cheering for the couple. Chibs walked over and placed a hand on each of their shoulders. “I would be honored brotha.”

The rest of the night was spent celebrating y/n and Jax’s marriage biker style.

If I had one wish, we would run away

Making love all day. Have us a baby.

Three years had passed since the wedding and y/n picked up more hours at the office while Gemma took a step back. Clay was getting close to stepping down as president and the two wanted to have more free time to enjoy their “retirement”. Jax’s demands and time with the club had started to increase. Y/n knew it would happen, but it didn’t stop her from missing her husband. She made the best out of the time they were able to spend together.

She was sitting at the desk in the office, rubbing her temples to ease the headache she woke up with. Gemma walked in the door, “hey baby how are you feelin’?” For the past couple of weeks y/n hadn’t been feeling well. She was always nauseated and tired. The past few days she spent her mornings hunched over the toilet seat throwing up. 

“Awful. I haven’t been able to shake the nausea and the headache,” she replied leaning back in the chair.

Gemma looked at her for a second before replying, “when was the last time you had your period?”

Y/n’s head snapped up. “I don’t know, maybe a month ago? I think. I don’t actually rem... wait, you don’t think I might be pregnant do you?” Y/n replied.

“Only one way to find out,” Gemma reached into her purse and pulled out a  couple pregnancy tests. “I got these the other day at the store. Wouldn’t hurt to do them.”

Y/n grabbed the tests and headed towards the bathroom. A long three minutes later she was staring at all three tests bearing the same result: positive. 

Gemma let y/n take the rest of the day off and relax at home. She was happy Jax had been taking care of club business and hadn’t been at the shop that day. As soon as she got home, she was pacing back and forth, thinking about how she was going to tell him. Sure, they had talked about babies and how much they wanted kids. Any other time she would be ecstatic, but the club was going through shit and Jax already had enough on his plate. He had been getting home late at night and leaving before she woke up in the morning. She couldn’t think of the last time they shared a meal together. 

The rumble of a bike pulling into their driveway pulled y/n out of her thoughts. She turned around right as Jax was opening the door. He looked at her with a smile that quickly turned to a look of concern when he saw her face. “Hey darlin’, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

Y/n took a deep breath before answering. “You know how I’ve been feeling a little under the weather lately? Well I found out why. I’m pregnant Jax.”

Jax stood in shock. She could see various emotions flashing through his eyes; shock, confusion, fear, and happiness. “Wait, really? You’re serious, like hundred percent sure?” He asked, walking to her and cupping her face with one of his hands. 

“Yeah. I took three tests. They all came back positive.” Jax leaned down and gave her a hard kiss. He didn’t have to say anything else, the kiss conveyed everything.  

When they finally broke apart, he crouched down and lifted up her shirt, placing a few soft kisses on her stomach. Y/n ran her hands through his hair, eyes tearing up at her husband’s actions. 

He looked up at her and said, “you don’t know how happy you just made me.”

If I had one wish, I’ll make you my whole life.

Sitting on the picnic bench, Jax reflected on his life and how it’s turned out. He had no clue what he did to deserve the life he had. He looked across the lot where y/n was talking to his mom. She had their youngest child on her hip, the second oldest was playing with other kids in the play area, and his oldest was in the shop, learning how to work on cars with their uncles. Y/n was his rock in this life. She kept him grounded, always his support to lean on, always willing to help the club when she could. She never once tried to change him. Never once asked him to leave this life. She trusted him to turn the club around make it safer. Legitimate. And that’s what he did. 

If he had one wish, to go back and redo his life, he wouldn’t. Y/n, the kids, and the club were his whole life. He already has everything he could have ever wished for. 

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

❛ MY OTHER HALF ❜

✨ REQUEST: nose si voy tarde però bueno, espero que no. i would like to request (obviously if that is okay for you) a headcanon with angel x reader of the day of their wedding, like súper súper fluffy.

✨ MADE BY: @artofvamps

WORDS: about 2k.

❚❙ A/N: this writing hasn’t been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I’m sorry about that. If you find a description about body or a word out of place, or something that it makes you feel uncomfortable / unrepresented, let me know by a private message and I will change it delighted ❤

❚❙ Especial thanks to my lovely @angelreyesgirl for helping me with this wonderful masterpiece 🖤✨

❚❙ GIF credits: to the amazing @angels-reyes.

❚❙ ANGEL REYES MASTERLIST.

❚❙ MASTERLIST.

❚❙ JOIN MY TAG LIST.

Never in your life you could think about having a most perfect wedding, Angel didn't care about it too much, being enough for him to see you happy.

The most magical place you have ever been. Especially when the sun is almost falling, around five pm.

From the window of his room, you can see the backyard perfectly decorated by Creeper and Riz. They didn't lie when they told you that would be amazing.

White and red roses everywhere, forming vines wrapping the wooden beams of the altar. Over the guests' chairs, there are six fairy lights, giving some more intimacy when the night has come; and a red carpet in the hallway, over the grass.

All your friends are there, mixed with the Mayans, waiting for you.

Your hands are trembling, alone in Taza's room, while you hear some voices and laughs outside. You can't help but take another look of yourself in the mirror.

The white dress fits your body perfectly, falling from your chest to the floor.

The girl at the shop called it ‘a-line wedding dress’. You don't care about the name, but about the fact that you look like the most beautiful girl. Your hair is tied on top of your head, behind a delicate silver tiara and small red crystals in it. Soft make-up, that Bishop's Old Lady did for you, just like your future husband likes.

Felipe is run of words when he comes to the room, but you can see what he thinks in his eyes, about to cry.

You know that he would like that Marisol could see you marrying her son. She would love to see the man Angel turned himself into since he met you three years ago.

“Hey, I’m Angel Reyes, and you know what? You’ll be my wife one day”.

He wasn’t wrong.

But he’s not going to lie. He has been the whole night having nightmares about you running away from him; about you deciding that you didn’t want a life with him.

Ezekiel and Coco have been awake too, comforting him whenever the doubts hit his mind.

Holding Felipe’s arm, he guides you downstairs to the outside, feeling your legs shaking and your heart about to explode. You have doubts too. You’re scared of him taking a step back at the last moment.

Although every bad feeling disappears from the two of you, as soon as you lay eyes with each other.

Angel is about to cry. So are you.

For you, for him, there's no one else around your orbit. Just the two of you. Him waiting at the wedding altar, watching you walk over the red carpet perfectly placed on the ground.

And, damn. You thought that Angel couldn't look better, until you have seen him wearing that suit.

A black suit, covering the immaculate white shirt under a silver waistcoat with mayan symbols tissues in it. His hair is perfectly brushed to the back of his head and his beard is giving you desires of kissing it.

Seriously, it should be illegal to look this good.

But the detail that steals all your attention is the fact that he isn't wearing his characteristics rings. That big silver cross in his right pinkie and a signet ring with the Virgin of Guadalupe in his ring finger.

Felipe kisses your cheek, to intertwine his son's hand with yours.

You can't help but use your free hand to clean the tears falling down his cheeks, making Angel chuckles softly. You are always taking care of him with the most minimal details, showing him how much you love him, before leaning forward to kiss the tip of his nose.

“You changed me. You changed my life. You came with that smile, illuminating all the darkness around me. You've accepted me, advised me, shown me the road to happiness, put me first. You've never, ever, judged me. You've healed me, you've healed my wounds, my soul, my heart. You gave me the opportunity I always thought I would never have… You, mi reina, have loved me unconditionally without asking for anything back. I don't have enough words to express how I feel every morning when I wake up with you under my arms, when I kiss you, when I see you dancing in our kitchen, when you… look me with these beautiful eyes as if I was the fucking Big Bang happening in front of you”. Bringing your hands to his mouth, Angel kisses every knuckle of them. “I can't imagine a single day without you, without hearing your laugh, without reading your texts desiring me a good day when you wake up and I'm already gone. I don't wanna live a single day without hearing you singing in the shower, without riding my bike with you behind my back, without you smacking my ass and screaming ‘daaaamn, this is all mine’! You make me happy like no one could do. You make me feel important like no one could do. And I promise you, fuck… I swear it to God, that I'm gonna give you all of me. Every second of every minute, of every hour of every day till the end of my time. I don't want to live without you”.

Now, it's Angel who has to clean your tears, causing some laughs between the guests. And he can't help but wrap you with his arms in a tight, tight hug. The warmest and dearly hug he has ever given you.

“I didn't know what love was until I met you. I didn't know which was the meaning of life until I met you. Mi rey. My other half. It was you, and only you, since I saw you the first time sitting on your bike, smoking and with that face of grumpy idiot”. The guests laugh again, because they all know that pose. “And then you standed up and started to walk, and I thought ‘what the hell is wrong with his leg’”. More laughs. The loudest comes from your future husband. “But I would never change you for anyone else. We've been through bad days and good days. Shitty nights and funny nights. I would never change my life with you for anything else. No one has ever made me happy as you do every moment of my existence. You're the most awesome, incredible, loyal and lovely man I have ever met. You fight for me, you take care of me, you protect me. You make me smile whenever I feel insufficient, whenever I feel sad, whenever I feel that I don't belong anywhere. My home, my life, my happiness is wherever you are, Angel Reyes”.

Then, Taza as the priest looks at the two of you, before guiding his dark eyes towards you. “Would you want to take Angel Ignacio Reyes in hol—”. He can't finish, being interrupted by the man in question clicking his tongue. “Of fucking course she wants”. Gently grabbing your chin with a hand and placing the other on the back of your head, Angel kisses you by pecking your lips, making you laugh.

But Leti breaks the moment, coughing exaggeratedly. You asked her to be the flower girl and she has been practicing the last month, to don’t mess up her task. The most important one, actually.

For the next two hours, you can’t stop looking at your hand tangled with Angel’s, and the two fresh golden rings in your fingers. To other people they could be just two pieces of jewelry, but for you it’s the purest way to show him your love, your support, and your unconditional trust in him.

And for the next two hours, Angel can’t stop kissing your face all around. Going down with furtive kisses on your neck, your shoulder, your knuckles; not being able to take off from you his other arm around your waist, tightly closed to push you next to him.

Coco and Gilly are in charge of the speech, knowing that it’s going to be more funny than you thought, when they get up from their chairs drunk as fuck after too many shots of tequila. “Yo, mami… you really got the golden dick”. “Man!” Gilly punches him on the shoulder, making him strumble with his own feet and having to grab the other’s jacket to not fall. “I’m speaking the truth! Who was gonna think that he would get the girl to this point, ah?” “Not me”. “Me neither”. “You jealous, ah, motherfuckers?” Angel tosses them a napkin, causing the laugh of everyone around you. “Seriously, girl… How you do it to st—”.

“Enough?” Leti whispers to EZ, sitting by her side. The younger Reyes nods in silence, getting up, making Creeper and Riz a sign to take them off from the center of the yard; between curses in spanish and in some kind of invented language because of the alcohol.

“Hey, brother, I just want to tell you that by far this is the happiest moment of my life. You don’t deserve anything but all the love and the affection, and we all know that only her can give it to you”. You’re starting to think that EZ’s purpose is making Angel cry, because his eyes are being filled up with a bunch of tears now. “Our lives haven’t been easy, you know that… And you have put all the weight on your shoulders since ever, but I’m proud of you. Of who you are. Of calling you my brother. Mi sangre. I don’t desire you anything but happiness, Angel”.

“Yeah, and God bless your patience, sister”. Leti can’t help but add that remark, trying to not laugh when she finds you nodding energetically, before kissing your husband’s tears running down his cheek.

The big toast echoes all around the ranch, in the meantime that the prospects from Yuma and Stockton bring the cake. One of them. That’s the main, a three-story cake of black and white chocolate with your names drawn in red. Canche’s wife has made it for you. She’s an amazing pastry.

And you thought that Angel wouldn’t do it. HE PROMISED YOU ONE HUNDRED TIMES.

But that piece of shit were lying,

Stamping a piece of cake on your face, your husband quickly grabs your wrists to avoid you punch him, or do the same to him. As you sob between chuckles, keeping your eyes closed, Angel licks your lips with the tip of his tongue. “Mi dulce, mi favorito”.

“You promised me…”

“Ah, ah… I promised that I wouldn’t smash YOUR face IN the cake. And I didn't”.

After cleaning yourself and changing the heavy dress for another one that fits your silhouette to the perfection, you are ready to give your husband the last surprise of your wedding.

“Are you takin' me to a dark corner?” “Stop asking, Angel… You'll see”.

At the front yard, a baseball bat and a ball awaits. “What's that, baby?”

“Sh… I throw you the ball, and you hit it, okay?”

So there you are, watching Angel in position as in his old times, when he used to play in highschool.

You throw it.

He hits it.

And in just one second, the distance between you gets caught up by a pink powder, almost staining your clothes.

Angel is in shock. The bat falls from his hand. Eyes widened. Parted lips. His skin bristled, as his cheeks got wet again because of the tears.

“Felicidades, papi”.

He can't stop crying, embracing you with all his strength to his chest. Your husband can't believe anything that is happening today. All he has ever wanted is happening in a sight.

“The day we met, you told me that one day I would be your wife. And I told you that you looked like the father of my future children”.

[epiphany-of-a-madwoman]

The Last Dragon | The Witcher

Chapter 17 | A Tale of Dragons

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Targaryen!OC

Summary: Visenya Targaryen is the eldest and only surviving child of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell. When Robert Baratheon’s rebellion was won, instead of being slaughtered by the Mountain like her mother and siblings, she was saved by Ned Stark and taken as his ward. Years later, after she’s killed at the Red Wedding, she wakes up outside Blaviken. Now she finds her destiny intertwined with the White Wolf on her quest to go back home.

Warnings: Soft Visenya being soft with Geralt and children

Word Count: 5.6k

Note: Click here to read the previous chapters ♡ Also! My tag list is open!

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

She counts out each second, blade in hand as she moves along to her quiet muttering. Each step is like a dance, careful and practiced, as she leaves footprints in the dampened dirt. Every breath is even and quiet, inhaling on the beat and then exhaling on the offbeat. If her movements are a dance, then her breathing and counting is the song she sways to.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

She spins in time with the crescendo to the imaginary music. Her blade slicing through the air, steel whistling in the wind. But it isn’t uncontrolled. She maintains a firm grip on her blade, manipulating how it moves and where. She’s in a trance, captivated by the breeze on her bare skin and the symphony in her head. It’s not the rigorous and disciplined sword training she’s used to, that’s been hammered in her mind from the day she first held a sword. Instead, it’s lighter and freer, her sword becoming an extension of herself rather than a tool she uses separately from her.

“What are you doing?” a small voice says.

The music silences and her movements stop. She lowers the blade to face the ground rather than outward and turns, eyes falling to the ground. A small elven boy stares up at Visenya, curiosity, and wonder gleaming in his wide green eyes,

“Practicing,” she says, staring down at the small boy, no discernable emotion on her face. Despite the bluntness of her words and the blank expression on her face, the boy isn’t deterred.

“Can I try?”

She recognizes him as Rohir, the little boy that got knocked unconscious by the skeevy bandit Visenya killed. Within a few hours of making camp, he woke, restless and unable to stay in one spot for too long, much to the chagrin of his mother.

The corners of her lips twist into a look of amusement, eyes faintly twinkling in the dim light. He’s small, not much smaller than she had been the first time she held a sword - albeit a wooden one. She remembers faint memories of training yards and practice dummies at the Capitol; holding weapons too large for her, whilst onlookers simply ignored her, except for Ser Jaime. He stuck close to Visenya when he could, whether out of a sense of duty or genuine enjoyment, she never knew. As the years go on, she leans toward the latter, but a small part of her still hopes it was genuine liking.

A grin slowly creeps onto Rohir’s face, the prospect of sword training making his entire face light up with anticipation.

“No.” One word, two letters; that’s all it takes. The grin on his face and the sparkle in his eyes immediately disappear, leaving no trace of ever being there. Instead, a scowl overcomes his young features, his hands crossing over his chest. Visenya can’t help the snort that leaves her mouth, only further infuriating the boy.

“Why not?” His voice is petulant, a faint lisp following each letter.

“You’re too small. You’ll only hurt yourself,” she says, a hint of amusement in her otherwise deadpan tone.

“Says you!” he responded, fire and frustration coating each word.

“Says me,” Visenya mimics his words, lacking any of the heat that he possesses.

“But I’m really good!” Rohir exclaims.

She sheathes her blade, turning away from Rohir, eyes focusing on Geralt. He’s sitting on the ground, back against the trunk of a tree that’s on the other side of the camp. He sits so he’s not in the immediate line of sight, but at a vantage point that he can still see everything.

“I am sure you are,” Visenya says, a slight smirk on her lips. Ice cold leaves crack under the weight of her feet as she moves towards Geralt. Her walk is loose and casual, not a tense bone in her body.

“So why won’t you let me hold your sword?” He follows closely behind her, a furious storm, but his anger only furthers Visenya’s amusement.

“Because, you’re too small, and my sword is too big,” Visenya responds. She’s halfway to Geralt, standing in the center of the camp. Rohir huffs an argument on the tip of his tongue, only to be cut off by Amaria.

“Rohir! Come here, En'ca minne,” He loudly inhales only to sigh a moment later. Visenya hears his feet stomping into the dirt as he walks away. Quiet laughter follows Visenya as she closes the remaining distance between her and Geralt.

His eyes don’t move to meet hers; not when her feet appear in his peripheral vision nor when she joins him on the ground and her shoulder faintly brushes against his.

She says nothing and neither does he. Gold eyes focus on the flurry of movement and noises that fill the clearing. It’s more lively and happy than it had been only four hours ago. Amaria switches between tending to her still unconscious husband, only bearing to leave his side when she has to chase around one of her children who are acting up. The two youngest - Elana and Vyron - squeal in glee, chasing each other around without a care in the world. As their forms zip past Visenya she hears faint wisps of their conversation. They’re acting out a grand tale brimming with adventure and happy endings. They’re so free and untouched by the tragedy that was gripping at their feet, begging to pull them under its desolate claws.

She remembers those days. When she’d run around Winterfell like a feral animal, unblemished by the fate of her family. The horrors she was able to bury so deep in her mind they felt more like distant nightmares rather than reality, the box only unlocking when she grew old enough to understand that more than just silver hair separated her from the Starks.

More often than not she wishes she could go back, to be protected by the naivety of childhood.

“I didn’t take you as a fan of children?” Geralt’s voice pulls her from her thoughts. She glances over at him, the small smile that managed to slowly creep onto her face disappearing.

“Why?”

“They seem too loud, I thought you liked the quiet,” Geralt says. Visenya snorts, rolling her eyes. She returns her gaze to the clearing. Rohir sits beside his mother, a pout on his lips, still upset by Visenya's refusal to train him. Elana and Vyron continue to whip through the clearing, with no sign of stopping any time soon.

“I do, but children aren’t terrible,” Visenya answers, watching as the two youngest stop in a portion of the clearing that’s the farthest from anyone. Elana is yelling, the words foreign to Visenya, but Vyron seems to understand her perfectly.

“Do you want any?”

Visenya shrugs, watching as the respite the two children have taken ends as they continue to run around the clearing. She’s never thought about the prospect of children. For most of her life it seemed inevitable; she would be married to some lord or another, bear his children, and then die at some point. But then the war happened, and everything about her life that seemed certain became undetermined.

Visenya opens her mouth, despite not actually having an answer for his question, but is cut off as Elana appears, jumping onto Visenya's lap. Her breath is temporarily lost, and before she can regain it, Vyron quickly follows, landing on the right side of her lap just as Elana moves herself to rest on the left.

Geralt grunts, watching the two rambunctious children with a wary gaze, praying to every god that may listen that they don’t decide to jump on him next.

“Do you have any stories?” Elana asks, her face beaming in the dim light. A wide smile makes its home on her face, wonder causing her wide eyes to nearly glow. Vyron’s expression mimics hers, but his face is softer and smaller, causing him to look more like an excitable puppy. It’s nearly identical to Rickon, who clung to Visyena’s leg as if his life depended on it.

‘How fitting that he’s now dead,’

The thought enters and leaves her mind before she can fully comprehend it. Mentally she clears her mind, opting to focus on the wide-eyed children in front of her.

“What an odd question to ask. Why do you believe me to have any tales to speak of?” Visenya asks.

“You’re an adventurer. Adventures always have tales,” Elana says, her tone not allowing for objections. Her words are fact and she seems set on not accepting any other truths. Vyron doesn’t speak but opts to enthusiastically nod his head in agreeance with his older sister, a matching grin on his face.

“Do they now?” Visenya asks, tilting her head to the side.

“Yes,” Elana says, giving Visenya a single nod.

Laughter bubbles out of Visenya's mouth - the sound so light and sweet it captures the attention of Amaria and Rohir. She throws back her head and her eyes shut, the noise continues to resound in the camp. Geralt watches with less wariness, his face morphing into a less stern expression. On the opposite end of the camp, Amaria stands from her position, quickly making her way to the group of them, Rohir following behind her like a shadow.

“Elana, please, I’m sure the both of them would like to be left to silence,” she says, moving to grab her daughter. Elana’s posture slouches, the smile on her face falling ever so slightly. Visenya finally stops laughing, opening her eyes and looking towards Amaria.

“No, it’s quite alright,” Visenya says, shaking her head in disagreement as she adjusts to get in a more comfortable position. Amaria freezes in place, eyes darting between her children and Visenya as if she doesn’t actually believe the words she’s saying.

“As a matter of fact, I happen to have a tale that I know quite well, but it’s not one that I’ve experienced personally. Would you still like to hear it?” Visenya asks a playful grin resting on her features. Elana immediately perks up, nodding her head so enthusiastically it might’ve fallen off - Vyron following his sister's every movement.

“Yes, please please please,” Vyron and Elana immediately begin to plead, widening their eyes to achieve a more innocent and puppy dog appearance. Visenya’s eyes dart to Amaria, silently asking if it would be alright. The worry melts from Amaria’s face, posture relaxing as she grants Visenya a single nod.

She pauses for a second, racking her brain for a tale to tell that would be suited for an audience this age. She doesn’t think about it for long, a story she’s known since she could read words on a page immediately entering her mind.

“Let me tell you a story about dragons,” Visenya says. Elana and Vyron grow silent, waiting with bated breath for Visenya to continue. Rohir appears from behind his mother, a pout still present on his lips, eyes scowling at the dirt, but he continues forward, sitting right beside Visenya. He grabs a stick and begins tracing symbols into the dirt, refusing to make eye contact with anyone but the ground, attempting to maintain an air of disinterest.

“Many years ago, in a world far far away, there once was a city - Valyria they called it, and what a grand city it was. A place filled with wonder, magic, and dragons.”

Elana and Vyron gasp, audibly portraying their excitement. Rohir is more subtle, his ears only twitching slightly as his movements pause for a brief second. Visenya leans her head back, closing her eyes as she begins to bury herself in the stories she read a million times over, clutching that worn and torn book every night like it was the only thing keeping her on the ground. After a moment of silence and a deep breath, Visenya opens her eyes, staring straight ahead and into the fire that flickers a few feet away from them.

“It was a great city, managing to tame dragons they would ride into battle. They were fearsome and respected, managing to conquer large amounts of territories with their dragon fire. For 5,000 years Valyria was the capital of the greatest civilization, the heart of an empire that ruled half of the world. It was grand, but unfortunately, all good things must come to an end, which leads into this story.”

The children are enraptured, eyes solely focusing on Visenya - even Rohir abandons his guise of not being interested in her tale. She doubts that Vyron is following the story, but his eyes are wide and mouth agape - growing more exaggerated each time she mentions‘<dragons>’. Elana is young, but her eyes are sharpened with intelligence that’s older than her as she seems to follow the story well.

Amaria no longer stands, opting to sit on the ground, opening her arms as Vyron crawls off of Visenya’s lap and onto his mothers. Visenya glances at Geralt, his eyes already on her, his gaze burning into her. Her mind stutters, fog momentarily taking over so she can no longer focus on anything. Eyes snap away, once again focusing on the fire to clear her mind.

“There were many great houses, one of them known as House Targaryen, with shining silver hair and amethyst purple eyes, the family held distinctive Valyrian features. Targaryens were believed to have a closer connection to their dragons, to understand them in a way the other dragonlords never would.”

“Because they had magic, right?” Elana says, her voice firm and sharp. Rohir turns to his sister, a pout on his lips as he shushes her. She turns to face him, a matching glare set on her face.

“If you wait, she’ll tell us,” he says. She huffs, an indignant look on her childish face.

“I just wanted to know!” Elana says.

“Well, you should just wait!” Rohir says, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Rohir, be nicer to your sister, she’s just excited,” Amaria says in a soft and soothing tone, diffusing the argument before it could get any worse.

“But--” Rohir says, but quickly grows silent when he receives a stern glare from his mother. He huffs, slouching his shoulders and looking towards the ground. Amaria sighs, looking at Visenya with a soft smile on her face. Visenya smirks, amusement glimmering in her eyes.

“But to answer your question, in a way they were magical. They didn’t have mages, but they had visions that would come in the form of dreams. The most notable of these came from Daenys the Dreamer, who saw the fall of Valyria.

“But they had dragons! What could beat dragons!?” Rohir says in disbelief, eyes wide in shock. Visenya turns to him, the smirk on her face turning into a knowing look that has Rohir ducking away from her gaze. She chuckles, a soft sound that is carried away by the sudden roar of the fire.

“They did, but dragons couldn’t save them from the natural disasters that tore through the city. Fire, ash, and smoke filled the air, managing to kill even the dragons.”

“So they all died?” Elana asks with a quiet and sad tone, a strong lisp following every vowel.

“All except House Targaryen, who because of Daenys’ dream went west to Dragonstone, an island far enough away from Valyria to escape the desolation,” Visenya says.

“What’s dissolution?” Vyron asks. Elana turns her head to look at him.

“I think it means the end,” Elana says.

“No, it means death. There was lots of death!” Rohir says, turning to face his siblings. Vyron just nods, whilst Elana cocks her head to the side, brows furrowing in thought.

“It’s when something is damaged beyond repair,” Amaria says. “Their homeland was destroyed, just as many homes to the elves have been.”

Visenya looks at Amaria, who meets her gaze. There’s a sadness in her eyes that Visenya didn’t notice before, but it’s familiar. It’s the same look she saw in Filavandrel’s eyes, and any other elf she met that day.

“But they brought dragons with them, right? The dragons weren’t all dead, right?” Rohir asks, breaking Visenya from her mild trance. Before she can answer him, Elana whips her head in his direction, a look of exasperation on her face.

“Of course! They were the best with dragons!” Elana exclaims.

“I was just asking!” Rohir yells back, straightening his posture and face contorting into a petulant expression.

“Well, why are you asking stupid questions?” Elana responds, turning away from Rohir to face Visenya and rolling her eyes. Visenya’s hand shoots up to her mouth, attempting to cover the grin on her face. It manages to muffle the small laughter that escapes her mouth, the noise escaping the notice of everyone except Geralt and Amaria - who looks at Visenya with exasperation in her eyes.

“There is no need for arguing,” Visenya says, looking pointedly at Elana with a single eyebrow raised. She at least has the decency to look sheepish, scrunching her nose and looking down at the ground.

“Sorry,” she mutters at the same time as Rohir.

“You are forgiven, shall we get back to the story?” Visenya asks, a slight smirk on her lips. Elana looks up at her through her lashes, nodding her head.

“Good. They did bring dragons with them - five to be exact. While the names of four have been lost to the ages, one name is known to everyone who knows of House Targaryen; Balerion the Black Dread. He was a massive dragon, who when he grew to full size, could black out entire towns as he passed over them, his wings large enough to cover the sun.” Visenya says. The children make various sounds of wonder, eyes wide and unblinking.

“What did they do next?” Rohir asks.

Visenya pauses, cocking her head slightly as she tries to recall. Her only source of knowledge concerning her family is an old book that had been buried in the depths of the library in Winterfell that was tattered and torn from continuous use by the time she marched off to war. It was vague at best, not offering any new or rare information about her house, therefore the time in between The Doom and Aegon’s conquest is blank.

“Well, House Targaryen made a home at Dragonstone, away from the war that ensued twelve years later when Valyria was destroyed. Nothing of note happened until roughly a hundred years later,” Visenya says.

“Well, what happened!?” Rohir exclaims.

“That would be a story for another day. I believe it is getting too late to begin another - much longer - tale,” Visenya says, glancing at Amaria. She stands from the ground, Vyron still firmly attached to her. She reaches a hand towards Elana, who groans, but takes her mother’s hand, getting off of Visenya’s lap. Rohir doesn’t voice his displeasure, opting to silently stand and move to stand beside his mother, but it’s clear on his face. His eyes aren’t as bright as they were when he was enraptured by Visenya’s story and his lips are pulled into a small pout.

“Visenya is right, it’s getting late and we have a long day of travel ahead of us. Let us give our saviors some quiet,” Amaria says, turning her gaze to Visenya and Geralt for a brief moment before herding her children to the other side of the clearing. “Now say goodnight.”

Three ‘goodnights’ resound all at once, in various tones and noise levels; Vyron gifting Visenya with a particularly toothy grin.

She smiles, unable to force away the action nor the laughter that escapes her mouth.

“Goodnight. I promise to tell you another tale tomorrow while we’re traveling,” Visenya says, earning a blinding grin from Elana and causing Rohir to immediately perk up.

“You promise?” Rohir says.

“Swear it on my life,” Visenya responds without missing a beat. He nods his head, turning and rushing across the clearing, eager to sleep the rest of the night away. Elana tears after him - yelling about racing him there. Vyron squirms in Amaria’s arms, the grin still on his face, but Amaria maintains her tight grip on him.

“To bed we go, Dilthen er,” Amaria says to Vyron and places a kiss on his cheek. She turns to give Visenya and Geralt, giving them one last warm smile before she turns to follow after her children. They all gather in one section close to the fire and near the sleeping body of Aldon. For a few moments restless chatter and light giggles come from the children as Amaria attempts to lull them to sleep with a soft lullaby. Eventually, the noise dies down as one by one they all fall asleep, leaving only Geralt and Visenya awake.

“An interesting tale,” Geralt says, after a moment of silence - once the children have all fallen asleep, Amaria shortly follows suit, leaving only Visenya and Geralt awake. Crickets chirp all around them, the low rustle of wind disturbing their melody occasionally.

“I thought so too,” Visenya says, bones cracking as she stretches her body out. She wraps her arms around the tree behind her as she reaches her arms behind her, slumping against the tree a moment later. She continues watching the fire as the flames that used to rise towards the night sky die out.

“Is it real?” Geralt asks. He’s looking at her, she always knows when he is. Something about the way his gold eyes linger on her is so distinct that she'll always know when a gaze is him, even if it seems impossible to know such a trivial thing. Nothing about a person’s gaze leaves any physical sensory that can be identified, and yet, never once has she been wrong about Geralt’s gaze.

“Supposedly. Although, I’m sure some details have been lost to the ages - some purposeful and some not. Books aren’t always incredibly accurate, stories are often skewed to the favor of the author,” Visenya says. She turns away from the fire to look at Geralt, locking eyes.

“Details you knew perfectly,” Geralt says. His tone isn’t accusatory, but she can hear the underlying question in his statement.

“When I was a little girl I had a book that I would read every day. It was the only comfort I had most days. That story was one of the many tales within the book,” Visenya says, a smile that can only be described as melancholic on her face. Geralt grunts, continuing to watch Visenya, but not saying anything further. His eyes are curious, hoping she’ll continue and say something that makes her less of a mystery. Yet he’s also not willing to press her for information she doesn’t want to share. That much they have in common: two people with too many secrets that are wrapped behind scars that they cover up with fury and rage. Because it’s easier to lose people if they were never allowed close to her to begin with. Life is safer when she keeps everyone at arm's length.

Visenya stares up at the night sky, watching the stars as the ambient sounds of soft snores and dream laced giggles resonate through the clearing. She swallows thickly, a lump beginning to form in her throat as her mind wanders farther and farther away.

“They were my ancestors,” Visenya says, shattering the silent air around them. Geralt doesn't move, doesn’t even breathe in fear that it might disrupt the trace that Visenya is in.

“House Targaryen, the Dragon Riders from Valyria that conquered the Seven Kingdoms.” She chuckles after the words leave her mouth, brows furrowing ever so slightly as her eyes briefly meet the dirt before returning to the stars.

“An impressive ancestry,” Geralt says, his gravelly tone unsure, the words fumbling nearly awkwardly out of his mouth.

“Yeah I suppose so,” Visenya says, voice sounding a million miles away as if she isn’t even physically only a few inches apart from Geralt.

“Better than my lineage, anyways,” Geralt continues, looking away from Visenya. He adjusts his body, resting against the tree more comfortably as his eyes scan the dark forest around them, wary of any threats that may linger just out of eyesight. Visenya’s lips curl into a bare smile, he whispers of a chuckle leaving her mouth as she languidly leans against the tree.

“The dragons were the most impressive part,” Visenya says, eyes fluttering shut, the hectic day finally catching up to her as her body grows wearier the quieter their camp grows.

“Maybe we should find you a dragon,” Geralt says, a smirk on his lips and a gleam in his eyes. Visenya snorts, opening a single eye to look at Geralt.

“This world couldn’t handle me with a dragon, Geralt of Rivia,” she says, shutting her eyes.

“That may be so, but I’d still pay good coin to see it.”

She laughs again, cautious to not be too loud in fear of waking up the camp. She opens her eyes, turning her head to face Geralt, meeting his gaze head-on. Their eyes lock, the beat of her heart steadily increasing the longer they maintain contact. A fluttering sensation fills her stomach, one that she’s almost entirely unfamiliar with. The tired smile on her face softens as Geralt’s lips curl into a similar grin.

“But could you imagine having a dragon,” Visenya says. “To ride on the back of one and feel the wind against your skin and to just...be free.” Her voice is far away again, as she dreams of fantasies she stopped having at some point between childhood and having to become an adult.

“Hmm, I imagine it’d be cold,” Geralt says, a teasing undertone in his otherwise deadpan voice. Visenya reaches out, pushing against his shoulder as another round of quiet laughter leaves her mouth.

“That is what warmer clothes are for,” she responds. “It would be foolish to climb onto a dragon unprepared anyways, lest you become its dinner.”

Geralt laughs, a quiet gravelly noise that nearly causes the ground around them to vibrate and it’s so contagious she can’t stop the bubbling of laughter that also leaves her mouth. Eyes shining and grin getting larger, Visenya watches Geralt's normally harsh and austere face grow softer the longer he laughs. He nearly looks like a child, despite the scars across his face - both fresh and faded - and the deep-set bags under his eyes from the lack of a good night’s rest. His voice is hoarser than usual, sleep and exhaustion weighing down his words causing them to slur together. But the way his eyes are alight and the sweet grin that tugs at the corner of his lips are adorable - a word not often associated with a man like Geralt, but Visenya wouldn’t describe him any other way.

“Stop, it was not even that funny,” Visenya says, and despite her attempt at sternness, laughter follows every word.

“I’m not laughing,” Geralt insists, and despite his best efforts at swallowing it, a small grin still rests on his face.

“Yes you are,” Visenya says.

“I think you’re hearing things, Vis. Perhaps it’s time for you to sleep,” Geralt says, moving his eyes to scan the camp. Her laughter immediately dies down as the smile on her face dims just the slightest, but Geralt seems unaware of the sudden shift in tone.

“What did you just say?” Her words are a whisper, nearly unheard by Geralt. He turns to look at her, the light grin on his face disappearing once he notices her expression.

“That you should rest,” Geralt answers.

“I heard, but what did you just call me?” Visenya says.

He pauses, eyes scanning the entirety of her face, focusing on the unreadable glint in her eyes and taking special note of the slight frown on her lips. But she doesn’t appear angry or sad or any of the other flurry of emotions he’s seen on her face in their travels.

“I called you Vis,” Geralt says after a moment of silence.

“Why?”

“Because Vis is shorter than Visenya,” Geralt says. “Should I not call you that?”

She inhales, quietly, eyes moving towards the dirt. It’s the nickname she’s had all her life. Robb, Jon, and everyone else always called her Vis. It was shorter and easier, they’d always tell her. She’d always argue her name isn’t even difficult to say, but they’d never agree and she’d never say how much she secretly enjoyed the name. It’s been so long since she’s ever heard anyone utter the nickname, it’s startling to hear it slip from someone's lips so effortlessly.

Then she exhales, an unknown weight lifting from her chest as she meets Geralt's gaze.

“It’s been so long since I’ve heard that nickname. I wouldn’t mind hearing it again,” she says, lips curling into a shy smile. A small sparkle appears in her eyes. It’s not the fiery gold eerily similar to burning flames that sparks when she’s furious or the sly mischievous glint he’s familiar with. Nor is it a glassy look from tears that she’s trying her best to hold back when she’s drowning in sorrowful thoughts. It’s bright, but not painfully so. Instead it’s sweet and soft, like the first flower blossoming on the first day of spring or the soft wind after a harsh winter.

Geralt nods, his stiff features relaxing as the stress of inadvertently offending her dissipates.

“Now I have to think of a nickname for you,” Visenya says, a teasing smile slipping onto her face. Geralt groans and rolls his eyes, flashbacks of all of Jaskier's attempts at creating nicknames to call Geralt. Much to his chagrin, the White Wolf seemed to stick as his title that the general public knew him as, but Jaskier was determined for another one to call Geralt. And Visenya knows this, as she was there for every failed attempt.

“Please don’t,” he says, only causing Visenya to laugh harder. She quickly rests a hand over her mouth in an attempt to suppress the noise so as to not wake up the camp. But every time she glances at Geralt and sees how truly exasperated he appears.

“What about Ger. We’d be a pair: Ger and Vis; Vis and Ger,” Visenya says. “I should be a poet, did you hear that little rhyme I did?”

“Hmm, you’d give Jaskier a run for his coin,” Geralt responds.

She snorts a small smirk on her lips. Her thoughts wander to Jaskier, wondering what he could be up to and if he is still happy. He probably is, he could find fun in the dullest of affairs.

“As much as I hate to admit it, but I miss Jaskier,” Visenya says. This time it’s Geralt that snorts, an exasperated look crossing his face as he rolls his eyes.

“I can’t say I feel the same.”

“Don’t lie, Geralt. We all know he’s wiggled his way into your good graces, it’s just what he does. You’re annoyed and want nothing more than for him to leave and then one day, you enjoy the constant jokes and mindless prattling,” Visenya says. Geralt hums, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

She adjusts her body, attempting to get into a more comfortable position, eyes growing heavier as each second passes. The cool wind is soothing against her warm skin, the crickets a lullaby that pulls her closer to sleep.

“What about your ancestry? What family does The White Wolf come from,”

Silence washes over them. And just when Visenya thinks Geralt won’t answer, he does.

“My mother was a sorceress, that’s all I know about my family. She left me with the Witchers when I was young.” His voice is somber and low, quieter than the volume they’d been talking with earlier.

“Do you miss her?” Visenya asks. She’s cautious and careful, taking special care to not push Geralt. Once again she’s met with silence and after a few moments, it becomes obvious he’s not going to answer.

“I miss my mother. I can’t really remember her, but I have this… this void that her death left behind,” Visenya says. She sighs, glancing up towards the stars once again, using the wind to dry the tears forming in her eyes. “And it never goes away, no matter how hard I try to pretend it isn’t there.”

Her breathing stutters and she huffs out a weak chuckle, attempting to cover the slip up of emotional vulnerability.

"I’m not sure how to feel. A part of me resents her for giving me to the Witchers, allowing them to turn me into a mutant,” Geralt says. She looks at him, wide eyes watching him. He doesn’t look at her, opting to stare at the dying fire.

“Sometimes I hate my father, it’s easier to blame him for everything that happened to my family because of his selfish decision. But I can’t bring myself to fully hate him, and I hate myself for feeling so indecisive about him,” she says.

It’s silent again, the air more uncomfortable than moments ago.

Not allowing herself to think on it too much, she begins to move her body, shuffling to sit closer to Geralt, only stopping when their legs are touching. Tentatively, she lowers her head to rest on his shoulder, hand intertwining with his. Neither of them say a word, and the awkward tension dissipates. Geralt’s stiff body relaxes, resting his head on top of Visenya’s.

"I wouldn't mind having children someday, to live a simple life and retire from adventuring," Visenya says. 

Geralt hums in response, drowsiness coating the simple response causing Visenya's lips to turn upwards and her cheeks to glow.

They stay that way, silent and content with the comfort of each other. Eventually, sleep begins to once again pull on Visenya, and she doesn’t resist.

“Goodnight Vis.”

“Goodnight Geralt.”

o0o

Elvish Translation:

- En'ca minne: Little Love

- Dilthen er: Little One

o0o

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