#Gazebo Sun Shade

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[dunsterhouseblogs]

A gazebo creates a shaded and sheltered space in your garden. Perfect for relaxing or entertaining through any weather.

https://dunsterhouse.co.uk/garden-structures/wooden-gazebos/leviathan-open-gazebo-w6-0m-x-d3-2m

[scara-writes]

paramour

Yandere!Cheating Duke X Duchess! Reader X Yandere!Lover Servant

I just want to write a reader who has the same/more power as/to the yandere(s).

The setting is still in the fantasy/manhwa world, medivial, any setting as long it's not modern.

CW: two yandere, rivals, cheating, consent smut, infidelity.

I'm making the darling a little more forward(?), daring, more power or that can go against a yandere. Atleast, that's what the darling thinks. Also, this is not polished like my other stories.[ Forgive me, I'm not good with smuts! I also love y'all comments and your ask/request(will answer them soon!). The Yandere Emperor and Yandere Crown Prince son really outnumbered the yandere Omega. Y'all are crazy for that!]

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

"Mistress." He murmured. His arms hadn't let go off your waist. It was the first thing your eyes landed on when the sunlight came in to greet a new day from the window balcony. You closed your eyes again to find your way back to sleep again.

Your hands went to trace his back full of scar last night from your nails. You hummed when he gave you a pepper kisses on your exposed skin.

"Morning." He gave you one last kiss on your lips before snuggling between your chest. His arms hadn't move around your waist since last night."Mmmh..morning..." You muttered looking away—eyes still close—from the sun when it kissed your face.

"Do you want me to call the maids to serve you breakfast?" His sweet voice lull to sleep more. You whispered no. Last night, this man gave you something akin to that of heaven, something your husband never gave you.

Last night, you made love with this man. The same man you rescued from the human trafficking, kidnapping commoner from the outskirts of the kingdom. Now, indebted by your kindness he devout himself to you with his life.

You groaned, feeling your body is aching all over. This goes not unnoticed by your lover."Did I hurt you to bad?" He asked. His earth orbs are gleaming with shine and now getting filled with tears. "I-I'm sorry, I was rough with you mistress." His voice full of regret and loathe on himself.

You opened your eyes, ruffling his curly brown hair before stroking it. Staring down at his eyes. "No. You did good." You smiled at him, cupping his face, before kissing him in the lips. He whimpered,deepening his into yours.

The intoxication of alcohol must have taken over you. Drowning yourself from the alcohol beverages after your husband didn't arrive on the scheduled date, you waited for him for a whole day to arrive. Alone in the gazebo, Everett was the one who went to your weeping figure. That was a month ago. Everett offered himself to shower you with his love. At first you feel reluctant about this, you will never be the type of person to use someone just so you can feel yourself happy. Everett didn't care about it whether you use him or not. He wanted to prove himself that you are worth to be love. This man made your heart flutter in a way that your husband once gave you before the marriage.

"I-I love what happened last night, my mistress." He whispered bashfully, his pretty swollen lower lip,you bitten hard last night, went to reach his eyes giving you a wide smile. The sun kissed his tan face adding a charming look. His neck has full of bites and bruises from you. His cheeks become a little darker shade from blushing, he must have reminisced something last night.

Now, you made him your lover. Though not completely in love with Everett. You also shower him with items or materials that most commoners would love to have but it doesn't seem like this man is materialistic. He just wants you.

You didn't hide Everett to your husband.

What's the use of hiding your fling to Theodore when he was the first one to cheat on this marriage?

Despite being loyal to that man you loved. He had the audacity to tell you that you shouldn't pry on his private his life after you confronted him with a newly hired maid going out. "Our marriage contract states that the two parties should not meddle one another's private life else this contract shall be annuled."

So all of his flexing his love for you was nothing but a hoax? A show? A lure for you to agree to marry him?

Though, your marriage with him was for the politcial marriage. You once fell in love with Theodore. The same man who gave you flowers everytime you two date, the same man who kissed in your cheeks after he walk you home, the same man who always writes poems about his devotion to you. Did he pursuade you to continue this marriage by making you love him so that the two duchy became one? It may seem like you wanted this marriage at first. You didn't, your family wanted it and they have asked you—no annoyingly, they plead you to marry him, because your parents and his parents signed a contract that their children will reunite the two duchy.

"Your ladyship, the duke asked for your audience to join him in the breakfast." Your butler from the other side of your room, outside the door, knocked and speaks after. You frown upon hearing it, looking at the closed door, what does he want?

You feel strange about your husband nowadays. He had been asking for your presence this past few days. Never once he called for you after your wedding with him.

You clicked your tongue and turn to look at your lover. You notice Everett's face was frowning too. "Tell the duke that I will be there in a moment." You announced to the butler outside the room expecting the old man to gear you through it. You look back at the man leaning his weight on you. You tap the curly haired lover to let you go from his hold yet he didn't budge after moving yourself to sit up instead you heard yourself going 'oomfh!' and finding your lips were on his again. You groaned while he moaned weakly. He pushed you down on the bed, his lips never leaving yours until you were out of breath. A string of saliva trailed between your mouths. Everett was smiling before diving his lips into your skin, to one of your chest, fondling the other. You feel a little ticklish and panting at his stimulation. "Eve—! Wait! Ah..." Your voices went unheard, The male's mewling, sucking on to your flesh like thirsty man who hadn't had a drink.

Your hand went to tug his hair as you moaned out his name. "Shi—Eve... Oh! S-stop... Ah.."

His other hand goes to put one of legs above his back and parted the other leg, accessing himself between you even more."m-mistress!"

You groaned when you felt him grind between you. He looked at you with a pleading eyes, he look like he will cry again, the tears filling up yo the side from his eyes. "M-mistress." He whined his mouth was already in another mound. You feel his hardness between. "p-please? I'll be good! Please... huff..I'll make y-you feel good!"

Your eyes are hazy from the pleasure. "You want.. hah... it?" His eyes getting filled again with tears. You tug him by the hair not enough to hurt him. You landed your lips on his ears. Panting and breathless when you felt his hands is still fondling your body. "You got..ngh... to earn it, pretty boy." You murmurs made him whimpered. "You have to be my good boy... Are you my good boy?"

He nod, a tear fell down to his cheeks, he leaned down to your lips, murmuring, i-am-your-good-boys, thank-yous and I-love-yous.

The room filled with noises that could make anyone flustered and uncomfortable. You didn't realize from your high you are feeling that the butler is coughing uncomfortably behind the door excusing himself as he will inform the duke what you told him earlier.

You went down the stairs with a difficulty, aching between your thighs. You can't find any dress to cover the one hickey on your neck, Everett apologize and helped you cover it with a foundation but it failed horribly from covering seeing that the foundation wasn't blend well and you do not want your maids do it for you. Not when you found out that almost all of them had already been with your husband. You were planning to replace them sooner.

You stopped at the closed door leading to the dinning room. The butler from earlier straightened his posture, clearing his throat after he saw you. He announced your presence behind the door opening the door for you."My lord, your ladyship is here."

You walked in after thanking one of the male servant for pushing the seat for you once you sit across the lord of the household, your husband, the Duke.

The breakfast before you was served cold. If you have arrived earlier you could have eaten warm. You glance at your husband, surprised that his plate has not been finished and it looked like he didn't touched it. You noticed his eyes is trained on to you since you came in, yet his eyes isn't on you but to your neck and the way you walk earlier.

His grey eyes seemed to be narrowing, he scoffed. "You're late."

You glance away, picking one of the utensil, stabbing the meat, landing it to your mouth chewing it. You gulped it down before taking another bite. The marinated pork seems to be delicious even if the breakfast a little no warm.

"It seems you are enjoying with your toy a little too much." He added, there was anger rising beneath his voice.

Oh, the egg is a little bland but it is still edible nonetheless.

"There are more new reports about your speculated infidelity to the public. Do you know that?"

You looked at him after eating the last piece of the sunny side egg, smiling: finally acknowledging his presence."Yeah, what about it? It's not like it will ruin our marriage. After all, you had a numerous of headlines about your 'rumored' infidelity too. Did our contractwas nulled after that? It didn't right?"

"(Y/n)."

"Yes, husband?"

His eyes widened a little before going back on giving you death gaze. "Kick that slave away. I don't like him." He demanded. Though he wasn't shouting. You frowned, how dare he?

"Why would I? It's my decision whether I choose to throw him out or not."

"I do not want him near my property." He complained, gritting his teeth at the last word.

"This is my property as well!" You sternly answered back. Not leaving another room for an argument.

There was silence between the room.

"... I... don't want him near you." You heard him. You blinked at the sudden word that blurted in his mouth.

You scoff standing up, "I think I should finish my meal somewhere..." You starts walking back to where you enter the room.

"(Y/n)." Theodore called you. You didn't observe the way his eyes longed for you. You were focus on the anger within you. "Are we forgetting something, Theodore?" You questioned.

He pondered, those orb you used to love held a confusion.

"Meddling into your partner's private life will annul this marriage... Wasn't that written in our contract?" You bitterly told him. "Sounds familiar right? Do not dare demand me to throw away Everett." You added.

Finally waiting for this moment for this to happen. Guess he will get to taste his own medicine.

"... As long as we do our part in this household we will act as husband and wife. Is not that what you told me?"

"..."

"Now then, I will excuse myself. I have no longer desire to finish my breakfast here." With that, you leave him there.

When you reach the door, opening it, you were surprise to see Everett waiting outside. "What are you doing here?" You asked him. Your frowned face was replaced with a confusion look before giving him a small smile. The man infront of you return your smile with a small grin, placing one of his arm on your waist."W-well, I feel bored and alone in my own room. So I found myself waiting here w-with the butler. Besides I saw you walking wobbly earlier and I-I am concerned that you might have even more difficulty walking... So f-forgive me for not staying put." The look concern on his face adding the pout from his lips made him look cute.

"What are you a puppy?"You poke his nose giggling as you walk away with him, your eyes went back to talk to the butler. Telling him you want to continue your breakfast at your garden, asking him to make it for a two people. The butler bowing to your order before going to the kitchen area to order the maid.

Your husband on the other hand, loath with rage and jealousy mixing under his eyes. His eyes narrowed especially when the slave you brought in leaned on top of your head kissing at the crown part of your head, leaning to your ear to whisper something akin to sweet talks. The arm around your waist went to rub your back.

If only you glance again on Everett's face. You would have caught him giving your husband a smug smirk.

[ekkkkey]

vestal (chapter II)

…in which Geta acts like an utter buffoon, and the ginger cat—well, acts like a ginger cat.

summary: Livia, a young Vestal Virgin, is bound to Vesta's eternal flame and the vow of sacred duty. In Rome, it's common knowledge; touch a Vestal, and the wrath of the gods will descend upon you. But what if someone dares to defy that rule?

chapter I

warnings: 18+ minors dni, dubcon

tags: caracalla is a freak, darkfic, no softboys here

word count: ~3k

ৡ ৡ ৡ

On one of those warm, cozy days, Livia sat in her chamber in the House of the Vestals, just a short walk from the temple. Caesonia lay at her feet, reading aloud from Hesiod, while Livia slowly braided her hair, slipping into a light trance. The steady rhythm of her sworn sister’s voice lulled her, and every so often, she startled, lifting her head to keep from drifting off.

"You’re falling asleep!" Caesonia exclaimed, breaking off mid-sentence. "Is this how you study?" Her tone was scolding, but not entirely serious. They had been sitting there since dawn, and for most of that time, Livia had listened diligently.

"Sorry, I’m listening," she mumbled, trying to gather her thoughts as she straightened up, letting go of her sister’s hair.

"No, this won’t do. Let’s go get some fresh air."

The garden surrounding the Vestals’ house was vast yet felt intimate, a peaceful refuge tucked away behind the temple walls. A narrow, shaded path lined with cypress trees wound through it, like a quiet green corridor. On either side, the garden cascaded down in terraces, filling the air with the sweet fragrance of roses, wisteria, lilies, and narcissus. White marble benches and small, graceful gazebos rested beneath the shade of almond trees, magnolias, and acacias, their branches heavy with delicate blossoms, offering quiet spots for reflection and rest.

They settled on a bench, letting the soft sunlight warm their pale skin, savoring the sweet scent of the flowers. Livia’s hair was loose, and she wore a simple white tunic and sandals. At home, she rarely wore jewelry or styled her hair, unless they had guests.

"The High Priestess is in a foul mood today," Caesonia said lazily, squinting and basking in the sun.

"She’s always in a foul mood," Livia replied, catching a faint smile from the Vestal out of the corner of her eye.

"Careful! One day I’ll tell her all this, and she’ll have you whipped," Caesonia teased, playfully grabbing Livia’s side and tickling her ribs, making her laugh.

"Stop!" Livia caught her hands. "Then you’ll be the next one whipped!"

It was indeed a fine, warm day, despite the onset of autumn. The priestesses stopped laughing and gazed thoughtfully at the clear sky, enjoying the peace and quiet.

Then, from somewhere in the treetops, came a sudden rustling—leaves stirring, birds startled into flight. Livia flinched, her eyes darting toward the tangled branches of an acacia. The dark green canopy shifted restlessly in the breeze. And then, from deep within the foliage, a flash of red shot downward, streaking straight toward the Vestals’ feet.

Caesonia yelped and pulled her legs up, clutching Livia’s shoulder.

"That bandit again!"

The ginger cat, entirely unbothered by her fright, wove around Livia’s legs, rubbing against them insistently. She gave a faint smile, bent down, and scooped the animal onto her lap, stroking it between the ears. It purred deeply, kneading her with its claws, scratching even through the fabric of her tunic.

"Oh, sister, at least one man is touching you," Caesonia chuckled, finally relaxing. "Only tomcats are ginger—and this one has no shame at all."

The cat stretched luxuriously on Livia’s lap, rolling onto its back with a pleased rumble. She ran a hand over its warm belly, and in an instant, it seized her wrist with all four paws, biting and kicking. Livia bore it without protest, unwilling to push it away, while the cat stared up at her with wide yellow eyes. A strange shiver ran through her—then came a particularly sharp bite. She finally brushed the cat off.

It flicked its tail, let out an indignant meow, and vanished into the garden.

Livia’s tender skin stung where its claws had dug in. She glanced at her hand without much interest—one scratch was especially deep, a long, bloody line running from her index finger to her wrist.

"You should take better care of yourself! We should have the slaves keep him out," Caesonia gently blew on the wound as she stroked Livia’s hand.

"It’s nothing," Livia replied lightly, wiping away the blood to reveal a faint pink line. "See? It’s already fine."

They sat quietly in the sun, but the stillness didn’t last long. Near the villa, slaves had begun moving about under the gatekeeper’s direction, their voices breaking the afternoon hush.

"Are we expecting someone?" Livia asked, watching the commotion.

"No, the High Priestess didn’t mention anything," Caesonia said, squinting as she tried to make out what was happening.

Life in the House of the Vestals was one of routine and devotion—days spent in study, interrupted only by prayer before lessons resumed. Moments of peace like this were rare, especially for Livia, who hadn’t even served a full decade yet.

The gatekeeper was already making her way toward them. Their solitude was over. With a sigh, Livia rose to her feet, brushing ginger cat hairs from the folds of her tunic. As she tucked her hair behind her ears, she silently cursed herself for not covering it with a veil. If they had guests, appearing like this—bareheaded, in a plain white tunic, with her hair simply loose—was hardly appropriate.

Suddenly, she recalled how the citizens of Rome had stared at her in the Colosseum, their mouths agape in awe… A pleasant shiver ran through her. She was still a priestess of Vesta, and in any guise, she inspired reverence.

The High Priestess had once said that Christians considered pride a sin. If so, Livia was the greatest sinner, for more than anything, the young priestess took pride in her position. Though her family had once been respected, they were far from wealthy, meaning her fate might have been that of an unloved wife to some old man, like Cassandra. Had that brought her much happiness? Claudia, though married to a man she loved, hardly looked happy—more sickly and pale. While other priestesses sometimes found themselves intrigued by gossip and the mysteries of love and passion, Livia lived only for the love of Vesta. Caesonia said that this was for the best. Livia herself agreed.

Her gaze drifted to Caesonia’s white garments, and she noted to herself that the tunic was less than perfect—its whiteness tinged with gray, the fabric wrinkled. Livia primly smoothed the folds of her own impeccably white tunic. Even now, at home, bareheaded and unadorned, she never forgot who she was.

At the house, on the open marble terrace, guests were indeed waiting. The slaves serving the Vestals were easily recognizable by their white attire, but the young men and women dressed in red and gold were unfamiliar to Livia.

Her lips tightened, her brows furrowed. Who had disturbed their peace?

A chill ran down her spine when she finally saw the cause of the commotion.

"Emperor Geta, what an honor," - she bestowed him with a light nod, then immediately lifted her chin, straightened her shoulders. Here, on her own ground and surrounded by her people, Livia felt confident.

The young emperor stood in the shade under the terrace roof, as if reluctant to step into the light. Why was he alone, she wondered?

"Lucilla is at the temple with your High Priestess," - he explained. His voice was hoarse, sounding strangely unsure, as if the presence of the Vestals made him uncomfortable.

"And you are curious about how the Vestals live? We are flattered, it’s been quite a while since emperors have graced us with their presence," Livia quipped, and Caesonia pinched her hand—subtly, but firmly enough to make her hold her tongue.

"Perhaps His Imperial Majesty would like to see our garden? Livia would be honored to show you the most beautiful flowers while you await your mother," Caesonia slyly set her up, but there was no way out. At the word mother Geta grimaced, but still nodded eagerly and stepped into the sunlight.

Livia immediately noticed that the Emperor rarely spent time in the sun. Dressed in a white tunic and a gilded toga with a purple border, he looked out of place among the pristine white garments of the priestesses and slaves. His ginger hair was neatly curled and styled, a small golden laurel gleaming in the sun. Yet, to her surprise, there was a restraint in his dress today, a simplicity that stood in stark contrast to their first meeting.

He orders the servants not to follow them, though Livia can tell he’s overheated—powder has smeared on his neck, and the skin where it wasn’t applied has immediately turned pink.

"We can stay on the terrace if you’d prefer," she offered, more out of courtesy than true concern as they made their way down the cypress-lined path into the garden.

"And you’re not feeling the heat?" His question, though a bit silly, makes Livia feel a wave of discomfort. She doesn’t like being flustered. Still, she nervously tucks her hair behind her ear, wishing once more that she’d covered it with a veil. She feels his dark eyes on her, studying her with interest, and again she’s certain there’s no respect in that gaze.

For a young, unmarried woman, being alone with a man like this was hardly proper. But she was not just any woman, and he was not just any man.

She comforted herself with that thought as they walked beneath the cypress shadows.

"You don’t visit the city often, do you?" He was making an effort to be polite, and it amused her. Why was he trying so hard? Their order was loyal to Rome, and the emperors were Rome. Even if they were the worst people on earth, the Vestals would stand by them.

"Nor do you and your brother, do you?" They stopped at the same bench where she and Caesonia had sat earlier. "I find the world’s bustle repulsive, Caesar. How people live, what they think, what they talk about… it’s all empty, fleeting. Entertainment, finery, words—just tinsel they drape over their aimless existence. Do you understand me?"

He likely didn’t. He enjoyed entertainment, finery, and idle talk himself, but he listened so superficially that he didn’t even realize she was speaking about him. Instead of offense or anger, his dark eyes held only curiosity, even delight.

Emperor Geta sat a short distance away, careful not to touch her, but she caught the sharp, pine-like scent emanating from him. While he studied her shamelessly, like a child, she only watched from the corner of her eye, unwilling to show interest.

Of course, it flattered her to be speaking, for the second time, with a Father of Rome—one who smiled foolishly and nodded at her every word. Where was his brother? Livia thought of Caracalla—not out of genuine curiosity, but simply because the emperor had dared to touch her, pretending as though nothing had happened! Insolent, pompous…

"I’d like us to meet more often," Geta interrupted her thoughts. "Our father wasn’t particularly devout, so the Vestals didn’t receive the attention they deserved." His gaze swept over her, far too openly, as if she were some common street girl rather than a priestess.

Livia pressed her lips together and looked away, conceding defeat in their silent staring contest with the emperor.

"Yes, your father was rather occupied with persecuting Christians and crucifying them across the streets of Rome," she said. Even with all the authority and privileges her position granted, she was still beneath the Emperor. Provoking him wasn’t wise, but she despised his tone—the way he looked at her. Let him complain to the High Priestess if he wished.

Geta froze as if she had struck him. Her words about his father unsettled him in a way she hadn’t expected. His powdered face tightened, lips pressing into a thin line, jaw clenching.

"Do you speak this way to everyone, or have I earned special treatment? Because it seems to me you’re taking too many liberties," his voice turning cold, laced with quiet menace.

She flushed with shame, stung by his words. It was true—she had thought him less educated, less clever, treating him more like a boy than the man who had caused Rome to burn for months. He was dangerous, and angering him was foolish.

"Who am I, Livia?" His next question followed her silence.

Forcing herself, she turned to face him. He sat rigid, his pale fingers gripping the edge of the marble bench so tightly they seemed to blend into it.

"The Emperor," she answered, avoiding his probing dark eyes, regretting her earlier sharpness. "Father of Rome and Pontifex Maximus. Forgive me, Caesar, I got carried away. Vestals don’t often speak with men," she added, hoping this conversation would end soon.

He squinted slightly, his taut lips easing into something resembling satisfaction.

"Messengers of the gods," he lifted a finger adorned with a heavy ring, first pointing at her, then at himself, "must have a strong bond to ensure Rome’s strength. After all, the sacred fire of your temple is the fire of the emperors, isn’t it?" He tilted his head slightly, his eyes locked on hers, waiting for her answer. Geta was pressing on their divine connection, and it was clear he knew more about the temple and its priestesses than she’d assumed.

"Yes, Caesar," she replied, her voice steady but with a hint of resignation.

The sun climbed high into the sky, relentlessly baking her dark hair. Livia fidgeted, the heat growing unbearable. She felt a bead of sweat trickle down her neck, and she noticed that Geta’s dark eyes followed it, tracking the drop with an unsettling focus. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing beneath his pale skin.

"I’d like you and the other priestesses to attend the games again in two weeks," he said, sensing her discomfort, his tone confident as though he knew she wouldn’t dare refuse. "The plebeians were thrilled by the last games, and seeing you…" His eyes swept over her from head to toe. "The white robes, the veils—it drives the common folk wild," a strange smirk tugged at his lips, "and not just them."

The silence hung awkwardly between them, the conversation taking an uncomfortable turn. Were all men like this?

"You should discuss that with the High Priestess, Emperor," she replied, her voice steady despite the tension. He simply nodded and rose from the bench, stepping in front of her and blocking the sun. His towering form loomed over her, and the boyish air that had accompanied him earlier was gone, replaced by an aura of overwhelming authority.

Livia glanced up at him, and Geta smirked, a self-satisfied grin curling on his lips as he extended his hand, fully aware she wouldn’t take it, nor would she ever touch his pale palm. Did he think she’d break her vows just to lay her fingers on the divine emperor? In her mind, the priestess wondered what his skin would feel like and, oddly enough, she imagined it would be as cold as marble.

They returned to the terrace in silence. The High Priestess and Lucilla, back from the Temple of Vesta, were already waiting. Livia, lost in her thoughts, almost misses the sympathetic glance from the emperor’s mother. The daughter of Marcus Aurelius was a striking woman, though no longer young. She seemed as if she wanted to speak to Livia, to approach her—but Geta got to her first, leaning in close and whispering something in her ear. His grip on her forearm was anything but gentle.

Livia caught only fragments of his words:

"…where is he?"

The senior priestess noticed her lingering and, displeased, sent her off to the temple. Under Geta’s mocking gaze, Livia once again felt the sting of shame and frustration. Still, she lifted her head high and, escorted by her assigned guards, left the Vestals’ house.

ৡ ৡ ৡ

The sunlit marble walls of the Temple of Vesta gleamed, a dazzling white against the deep green of the laurels and cypresses. Livia stood before the grand temple once again, mesmerized. She saw it every day, yet each time, a wave of awe and reverence washed over her anew. As she approached the entrance, the dark thoughts that had been clouding her mind dissipated, replaced by a profound stillness.

The men who had accompanied her remained below, at the foot of the steps leading to the sacred house of Vesta. Men were strictly forbidden from entering, and any who dared defy the law faced a dreadful fate.

Inside, the temple was cool and serene, untouched by the outside world. Livia made her way toward the sacred fire, her steps measured and slow. She paused, allowing herself a moment to stare into the flames. For a long while, an unbroken peace lingered in the air, the flickering light of the altar dancing across her face, its glow reflected in her eyes.

In this place, Livia always felt a profound sense of calm and protection, as if the very walls of the temple held her in an embrace. Here, she was the vessel of the goddess—pure, untouched, like the sacred flame itself.

That’s why the voice—a man’s voice—that suddenly echoed behind her was such a shock.

"So, this is the legendary eternal sacred fire?" the intruder drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Her heart jolted, the blood rushing to her ears. An intruder! A man! In the temple of the Great Goddess! Her hands flew to her chest, and she spun around instinctively, positioning herself between the flame and the interloper. No man could enter the Temple of Vesta. Everyone knew the consequences would be terrifying. If someone was brazen and fearless enough to break this rule, that person was undoubtedly dangerous.

"You have no place here!" Livia’s voice rang out, sharp and steel-like, before she even cast a glance at the uninvited guest. Her words echoed loudly beneath the temple’s vaulted ceiling.

Only then did she see the one who had disturbed the temple’s serene silence. The faint, melodic chime of his golden bracelets echoed softly, and Livia’s fingers tightened around the folds of her tunic.

"And why is that?" the emperor replied tauntingly, taking a few slow, deliberate steps forward, his blue eyes glinting in the light of the sacred fire, never leaving her.

If his brother, Emperor Geta, had dressed modestly today, Caracalla was once again flamboyantly adorned and painted in striking colors. The first thing she noticed was a small golden earring with a white pearl that shimmered red and yellow in the firelight. She should have called the guards, shouted for help, driven him out—but he… he was an emperor. If they had let him in, would anyone help her expel him?

He took a step forward; she stepped back. A quiet, satisfied laugh echoed in the temple, rising to the high ceiling. The heavy burgundy fabric, embroidered with gold, rustled as Caracalla stopped in the center of the sanctuary, clearly pleased by her frightened expression.

"Are junior Vestals even allowed near the fire?" The earring clinked softly as he tilted his head, studying her. The pearl rested against his pale skin, nearly blending with it.

His lips seemed even redder than she remembered—bright, vivid, and strangely cruel. He smiled, but she felt no warmth or mirth, only a stifling irritation and an unsettling fear.

"You’re breaking laws established long before either of us was born, Emperor," she tried to steady herself, though it was no easy feat. "Twice now."

"Enlighten me, priestess," Caracalla replied, his smirk widening as he clasped his hands together. Her gaze lingered on the endless array of massive rings adorning his delicate fingers, but she quickly forced herself to meet his eyes, determined not to reveal how terrified she was. She knew the fate that awaited any Roman citizen who dared break the laws—but what punishment awaited an emperor?

"You touched me when we first met, though you knew it was forbidden," her frown deepened. "And now you’ve entered the temple, fully aware that’s prohibited too."

Caracalla moved his lips from side to side, as if truly reflecting on his past actions, then flashed a wide grin, a gold tooth catching the light. He took a few unhurried steps, narrowing the distance between them until he was just a breath away.

"Yes, I did." A sweet scent wafted from him, reminiscent of the temple during festivals—the fragrance of incense burned to honor the gods. He wasn’t a god, so why did she feel such trembling unease? "Should I be punished, Amata?" The mockery in his voice was so blatant that she nearly choked with rage. How dare he!

Livia faltered, lowering her gaze to collect her thoughts, but the soft rustle of his heavy garments made her tense again and look up.

A faint breath of air skimmed her cheek, though there was no breeze in the temple… only him. His hand, pale and delicate, almost feminine, nearly brushed her face—but no, it lingered in midair, achingly near, cloaked in that faint sweet scent.

With his fingertips, he followed the shape of her face without touching her, tracing the curve of her cheek, the angle of her jaw, the trembling line of her mouth. A ghost of a touch. And yet, she felt it—the phantom heat of his fingers crawling over her skin.

The emperor didn’t touch her—so why did it feel like sacrilege?

As a priestess, she should have cast him out, gotten rid of him as quickly as possible. Instead, she found herself holding her breath, terrified he might lean in closer and press her right up against the altar.

"Please, leave," she rasped, all her bravado gone. Rules and laws didn’t frighten him—so how could she make him go? And more importantly, why was he here? "What do you want?"

"I wanted to see the one who caught my brother’s eye," he lowered his hand slowly but didn’t step back. His presence filled the space, and she found herself looking down to avoid his gaze. "Li-vi-a," he dragged her name out, savoring each syllable.

"Emperor Geta, like you, I assume, came here because of your mother, Lady Lucilla." The priestess chose her words carefully, steering the conversation away from the disturbing direction it was heading.

"You really think he cares about Lucilla’s wishes?" He ignored the word mother entirely. "Geta wants you, but he’s too cowardly to take you. So he just stares and then has the others—dark-haired, pale-skinned slaves. Only they can’t give him what my brother so desperately craves…"

His hand hovered near her cheek again, then slid lower, as if the emperor was about to grab her by the throat, but then, still, he changed his mind, curling his fingers into a fist and pulling away.

"They’re all whores, not Vestal virgins, Livia. That’s why he keeps seeking you out," he leaned in, pushing into her space closer than any man ever dared, his hot breath brushing her ear as he whispered, "to keep your image sharp in his mind while…"

What he said next made her flush a deep red. Not here, not in the Temple of Vesta, pure and sacred like its priestesses, should such blasphemy be spoken! His very presence was a desecration, a strike against everything they stood for. How dared he speak to her like this?! How dare he whisper such filth in this holy place!

"Get out!" Her voice rang with fury, her anger rising like a storm, giving her strength she never knew she had.

She had already realized that Caracalla was dangerous—much more so than Geta, even if what he said about Geta was true. If her defiance had angered Geta earlier today, what would Caracalla do? Would he order her to be flogged?

No, the young emperor doesn’t get angry. On the contrary, he laughs loudly, visibly pleased with her reaction, and Livia, mesmerized, watches as the white pearl sways, lost in his red hair.

"So alike in appearance, yet so different at the same time, little bird!" He cut himself off, his smile fading, and his gold-lined eyes narrowed.

"My brother told you about the games, didn’t he? Of course, he did. Well, see you later, priestess, though…"

Without finishing, Caracalla strode out of the temple, and Livia followed to ensure he was truly gone. At the exit, he turned, flashing a crooked smile over his shoulder, showing his profile.

Livia squints, blinded by the sun behind the emperor, by the glare of his golden laurel and the shimmering brilliance of his ornaments and robes.

"Not Jupiter, fierce and stern, but Sol—the god of the sun and light," she thought with a strange thrill. Radiant, luminous, fair-skinned, youthful, with a wild mane of unruly red curls—he struck her as beautiful for the first time. And that thought horrified her.

"…Perhaps we’ll meet much sooner," he winked at her boyishly, as if they shared some delicious secret.

Livia stepped back into the shadows, her sweat-dampened hands hidden behind her back, watching him until he left the temple grounds.

Only then did she lean against the wall, exhaling shakily. Her perfect composure had cracked. The sun beat mercilessly on her head, but she couldn’t move—just as she couldn’t under Caracalla’s piercing blue gaze.

"If Emperor Geta is the moon—cold, silent, enigmatic—then he, Caracalla, is surely the sun: bright, scorching everything in its path, neither gentle nor warming," she thought, wringing her hands nervously.

At the foot of the stairs, a slave boy in white robes appeared, gesturing for her to come. She hurried down, noticing the small bundle in his hands.

The message was indeed for her, from Claudia. The news was far from joyful. When Cassandra, before… before her death, had sent a plea for help, Livia hadn’t responded. It had been spring, the festival of Vesta in full swing, and there’d been no time… and then her sister was gone.

Claudia begged her to visit, pleaded desperately, for Livia was her last remaining kin.

This time, Livia wouldn’t abandon her sister. She’d fulfill her request after speaking with the High Priestess, but… as fate would have it, Claudia and her husband were now residing in the emperors’ palace. Nausea gripped her.

As if mocking her, that same ginger cat appeared at her feet, purring deeply and rubbing against her.

Truly alike, indeed.

ৡ ৡ ৡ

note: this story is directly connected to there will be games! Livia is the sister of Cassandra, the protagonist of that story. It’s been about two months since the events of the finale and what Geta did.

[to-the-stars8]

The Waynes' Nanny

Batfamily and Reader/Bruce Wayne x Reader Chapters Ao3

In Bruise We Trust

The sun beat down mercilessly, and the only solace you and the kids could find was in the cool waters of the pool and under the shade of the gazebo. Sweat slicked the back of your neck even though you had spent most of the time in the shade. With your sunglasses pushed to the tip of your nose, you squinted past the glare and caught sight of the dark bruise across Dick’s back. It was an ugly, deep purple with black edges, about the size of a softball, and stark against his sun-kissed skin.

You finished rubbing the last of the sunscreen into Duke’s shoulder before giving his arm a gentle pat. “Go on, Sunshine,” you told him as Alfred beckoned him over to the pool. Happily, he skipped along. 

Standing, you called Dick over. “You need some more sunscreen, hun.”

Looking back at the pool momentarily, you knew he was considering ignoring you, but decided against it at the last second. As he entered the shade, you took off your sunglasses to get a better look at him. There was a flush on his cheeks, and beads of sweat were already rolling down his temples. He had just finished running around the yard, kicking around a soccer ball, before noticing everyone beginning to get into the pool. So, it was no surprise he was anxious to take a dip into the cool, clear water.  

“Turn around,” You ordered, squirting some of the sunscreen into your hand. He did so wordlessly, and you finally saw the bruise up close. It looked far worse than you imagined. It took up a good chunk of the right side of his back and looked to be in the vague shape of a shoe. Gently rubbing sunscreen on it, you stopped when he winced. 

“Wanna tell me how you got the bruise?” You asked, moving to his shoulder. 

Dick shook his head, but answered anyway. “Some guys were fucking with me at the park yesterday—I got ‘em, though.”

The story was believable since he had gone to the park the day before to catch up with friends from school. Yet, something about it felt off. There was some truth in what he said, but a lie was hidden there, too. 

“Have you told your father?” You turned him around so he was looking at you. Swiping a bit of the lotion on his cheeks, you quietly told him to rub it in. 

Dick snickered, but did as he was told. “I’m fine.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” You pointed out. 

After a second, he finally said, “Yes, he knows.”

Pursing your lips, you pondered on whether you should pry more from him before deciding not to. He was too likely to clam up. “If someone bothers you again, you come to me or Bruce, you understand?”

“Yes, Nan,” He said with a little smile. Finally, you told Dick to go and he took off towards like a dog off a leash. 

There was a splash followed by some complaints from Cassandra and Tim. Duke was still being coaxed into the pool by Alfred, who held Damian on his hip. Jason sat on the lounge chaise on the other side of the gazebo, sunglasses on his face as he read yet another book. He was still reeling from a sunburn he had gotten the week before. 

With a sigh, you moved to help Alfred. Duke, still wary, clung to the pool's steps, worried about getting swept away. You settled beside him, squirting water with a toy shark, just as you caught Tim pressing his hand directly into Dick’s bruise. 

Dick howled and spun, smacking Tim across the face.

Immediately, you stood and, at the top of your lungs, yelled, “Out of the pool, now!”

Though you'd only meant Tim and Dick, everyone froze, then clambered out: Alfred, Cassandra, Damian—all of them. You stayed rooted at the edge of the pulse, racing. Tim and Dick stopped before you, the younger boy sobbing. 

“Come here,” You cooed, pulling Tim toward you. Dick rolled his eyes, about to stalk off, before you grabbed his arm. “You okay, hun?”

Dick could be aggressive now and then, but he didn’t often resort to such a violent reaction towards his siblings. The usual shove was expected and met with the usual reprimand. This, on the other hand, was instinctive. Like, he hadn’t expected it to be Tim, but rather someone else. 

He seemed surprised you asked. Quietly, he said, “Yeah, Nan.”

“Take a seat for a minute, cool off, then we’ll talk, okay?" It wasn’t a suggestion so much as a gentle command. With Tim clinging to your side, sobbing into your swimsuit, now wasn’t the time to unpack Dick’s reaction. Without a word, he obeyed, flopping down beside Jason on the lounge chair and swiping the soda from his hand like it belonged to him.

Kneeling beside him, you gently tilted Tim’s face toward the light, inspecting the red mark blooming on his cheek. It would bruise, no doubt, but thankfully, it wasn’t serious. You leaned in to press a soft kiss to the tender spot, and his sobs began to ease into quiet, hiccuping whimpers.

“I know it hurts, sweetheart. But you’re going to be okay,” you murmured, brushing Tim’s damp hair back from his face as you lifted your hand to wave Alfred over. The older man approached swiftly but paused a respectful distance away, waiting for your cue.

“You’re going to go with Alfred now, alright?” you told Tim gently. “He’ll fix you up with some ice for that cheek. I bet he has a nice, cold popsicle with your name on it. How does that sound?”

Tim gave a small nod, his big blue eyes still glossy but no longer spilling tears. You smiled warmly, pressing one more kiss to his cheek before nudging him toward Alfred with a tender hand.

As they crossed the yard together, Tim’s hand in Alfred’s, they passed Bruce emerging from the house. He slowed, concern flickering across his face as he checked in on his son, exchanging a look with you that said plenty. Then he moved to join the rest of the group under the gazebo. 

You stayed by the pool for a moment longer, taking a deep breath to get your emotions in check. Mr. Wayne, dressed in a fine charcoal grey suit, had just returned from a board meeting. Earlier that morning, he had seemed annoyed about having to leave his kids on a Saturday, but now he was like a man in heaven.

Finally, you made your way over. 

When Bruce noticed you, his eyes scanned over every inch of your body like he was trying to see through your bathing suit. You felt a mixture of emotions in response: pride and intimidation. You’d never admit it out loud, but the blue one-piece you wore had been chosen with him in mind. It hugged the swell of your breasts and hips in just the right way. It was flattering without being overt, modest enough to pass for casual, but unmistakably intentional.

"Hello, Nan." The words came out low and warm, a private note in a public place. 

“Hello, Mr. Wayne.”

You forced yourself to shift your focus away from Bruce and back to Dick, who was still sulking beside Jason. With a steady breath, you walked over and pulled him to the side, speaking softly. You told him that while you understood why he reacted the way he did, hitting someone shouldn't be the first solution to a problem. Thankfully, he didn’t argue, and you were able to leave it at that.

Seconds later, Tim appeared with a red popsicle in his hand.

“Wait, I want a popsicle,” Cassandra exclaimed the second she saw it.

Duke added, “Me too!”

Tim looked back toward the house, then to his siblings. “Alfred gave it to me.”

Bruce, sensing the uprising before it could truly begin, spoke up. “Alright, everyone can have one.”

In an instant, the kids bolted toward the house, but you quickly reached out and caught Tim and Dick by the arm before they could vanish with the others.

“Hold on, you two,” you said firmly. “You need to apologize to each other.”

Both boys blinked. “What?” they echoed in disbelief.

You shook your head, glancing at Mr. Wayne, who watched on, before saying, “You both had a part in what happened. Dick, you need to apologize for hitting Tim. And Tim, you need to apologize for touching his bruise. You knew that would hurt.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Tim insisted. 

You gave him a look and put your hands on your hips. “Tim, if you're going to lie, at least try a little harder. I saw you.”

Tim's shoulders slumped as he stared down at the ground, his popsicle forgotten in his hand. After a moment, he peeked up at his brother through long lashes. “I’m sorry I touched your bruise and hurt you.”

You looked at Dick expectantly. He crossed his arms and muttered, “ Thank you…I’m sorry I slapped you.”

Relieved, you let out a soft sigh, the tension under the gazebo finally beginning to ease. “Good. You boys go join the others, I need to talk to your father.”

That, apparently, was enough to draw Bruce’s full attention. His posture shifted ever so slightly, his eyes following the boys as they sprinted off toward the house. You sat on one of the lounge chairs. Bruce followed suit, settling into the chair across from you, his expression unreadable. Somehow, not being able to know what he was thinking made it hard to think. 

“Everything okay, Nan?” He asked. 

You shook your head, exhaling through your nose. “Bruce, I’m worried about Dick.”

His brows drew together slightly. “Why?” 

You hesitated, struggling to find the right words. There was no accusation in your tone, just concern, wrapped slightly in maternal instinct. As your thoughts swirled, your hand moved absentmindedly to your knee, brushing away a smudge of imaginary dust on the bare skin. 

Still, you kept your eyes on your leg rather than his face as you said softly, “Dick’s bruise, he said he told you about it.” Bruce nodded when you looked at him for confirmation, so you continued, “I don’t think he’s telling the whole truth. When he hit Tim, he seemed almost…scared.”

For a moment, Bruce’s face went completely still, almost stone-like. The sudden absence of emotion caught you off guard. You had just shared a genuine concern about his child, hinted at the possibility of something darker, and yet nothing. No flash of anger, no flicker of worry or grief. Just silence, unsettling in its neutrality.

“Bruce?” You reached over to touch his knee. 

His eyes dropped to your hand before finally meeting yours. He didn’t speak right away, not until you withdrew your touch. “Don’t worry about it.” His voice was calm but distant.

You narrowed your eyes, not angry, but not convinced either. “There’s something you’re not telling me,” you said gently. You could see it in his eyes. Like you had told Tim, if he was going to lie, he could have tried a little harder. 

Bruce stood, offering you a smile that felt a little too fake. “Nan, it’s fine. I’ll talk to him.”

And just like that, he turned and walked toward the house, leaving you under the shade of the gazebo.

It wasn’t enough. You knew it. But for now, you tried—tried—to let it go.

[rylem33]

Don't Say It

“It’s called The Word Game,” Lex announced, holding up a red Solo cup filled with folded cards and a roll of tape. “We each get a word taped to our backs. There’s only one rule: don’t say your word. You don’t know what yours is, but if you say it five times…” He let the suspense hang. “You lose.”

“What happens when you lose?” asked Ivy, raising an eyebrow.

Lex smirked. “You’ll see. Also? The game ends when someone hits five. One loser. Everyone else wins.”

Laughter rippled through the room. Drinks clinked. People leaned in a little closer.

As Mia carefully taped a card to Theo’s back, Fiona wandered behind Jess.  She reflexively wiped at her short, black bangs and peeked over her shoulder.

“‘Gazebo’?” she read, amused.

Then she caught Mia’s next: “‘Accordion.’”

And Theo’s: “‘Gargoyle.’”

She rolled her eyes. “These are so random. What even is this game—”

“Hold still,” Lex said, sliding behind her. 

She felt the slap of tape on her back. She didn’t see what was written, but everyone else did: IT.

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

“Mine’s gotta be something dumb like ‘scallop,’” Jess said, sipping her drink.

“I think mine’s something impossible,” Theo added.

Fiona, meanwhile, was chatting with Mia near the hallway. “Okay, so let me get this straight, we all just, like, talk normal? Until we accidentally say it?”

DING.

Her tank top pulled just a bit tighter across her chest. The mesh sleeves hugged her arms more snugly. Her gothy pixie cut suddenly looked… longer. Softer. Her bangs fluffed out ever so slightly. Her lips plumped a touch, her lashes fluttering with a bit more volume.

She blinked, touched her forehead.

“Huh. Weird… I feel kinda off.”

“Don’t say that again,” Mia warned softly, eyes darting to the card on Fiona’s back.

A breathy laugh escaped Fiona. She swayed slightly where she stood. Her hips had widened and her tank had climbed halfway up her stomach. Her hair now framed her jawline in choppy, tousled waves, brunette tones warming at the roots.

She spun in place, hands on her hips. “What did I say? You guys! What is it I’m not supposed to say?!”

DING.

“Okayy, that time I definitely felt something.”

Her shorts were visibly tighter now, clinging to a rounded, juicy ass that hadn’t been there ten minutes ago. Her black lipstick had faded into a glossy rose. Her pixie cut had become a voluminous bob, layers softening around her face. Her once-severe makeup looked fresher, flirtier.

“I think this game’s, like, broken or whatever,” she giggled, tugging playfully at her top.

Across the room, Riley leaned in to Theo.

“That’s two.”

“She has no idea,” Theo whispered.

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

In the kitchen, Fiona poured herself a drink with one hand, the other drifting absentmindedly between her thighs. Her top had morphed into a low-cut and white crop top. Her dark eyeliner was mostly gone, leaving behind smoky eyes and fluttering blonde lashes. Her nails were now almond-shaped and glossy. Her lips were full and slick with pink gloss.

She caught her reflection in the window and smiled. Then struck a pose.

“Okay, seriously though, what even is it that ends the game?”

DING.

She gasped softly, her back arching. Her breasts surged forward, visibly larger, and heavier.  Her body responded with a subtle, involuntary shudder of pleasure. Her hips flared again, her waist carved down tighter. Her hair lightened another few shades, the soft brown giving way to a full sun-kissed blonde.

Ivy, standing nearby, watched in awe as Fiona casually reached up under her shirt and adjusted her cleavage. Her hands lingered far longer than necessary. Then Fiona turned and strutted back into the living room, her legs long and tanned, her ass bouncing with every step. She dropped herself onto Riley’s lap without a word of warning.

“You don’t mind, do you?” she purred, gently grinding against him.

“N-Not at all,” Riley stammered.

That was three.

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

Fiona sat texting with one hand, the other lazily rubbing the inside of her thigh. She bit her lip at the sensations running through her body.

“So like,” she said to no one in particular, “when’s the game over? What happens when someone hits their limit? I hope it isn’t too bad.”

DING.

This time, her moan was loud, unmistakable. She pressed her legs together and gasped, as her body shuddered.

She turned to Ivy with a dazed, sultry look. “Is anyone else, like, super horny right now?”

Her tits were barely contained in her top. She slithered over to Noah and threw her legs across his lap. Giggling, her fingers played with the hem of her shirt.

“I think I want to fuck you.”

Noah froze as Fiona stood, taking his hand and tugging him to his feet.

“So like, are we done?” she asked, spinning slowly in place. “Cuz honestly, I really wanna fuck somebody. I’m, like, soooo horny and my body’s all tingly.”

She turned to Noah, lips parted, eyes wild. “You want it too, right?”

DING. DING. DING. DING. DING.

The final chimes rang out like a victory bell.

Everyone looked around, wondering what happened next.

A rush of warmth swept over Fiona. She shuddered and gasped, knees buckling slightly. Her shorts cinched up tighter one final time, practically vanishing beneath a gauzy cream-colored wrap. Her top shimmered into a white lace halter, pulling her massive tits together in a perfect, jaw-dropping V. Her hair fell around her shoulders in glamorous, golden curls. Her full sleeve of tattoos sparkled with fresh ink.

She tugged the straps down, letting her chest bounce free without a second thought.

“Oh. My. God,” she moaned. “Why didn’t anyone tell me how hot I was?”

“You lost,” Lex said, smiling as the app reset.

Fiona blinked, then giggled. “Did I?” she asked. She wrapped her body around Noah and gave him a deep kiss. Then she broke the kiss and fell into the nearest guy’s lap and started grinding against him with slow, teasing rolls of her hips. “Oopsie. Guess that means you all win, huh?”

“Okay,” she announced. “Like, who wants to fuck me first?”

[letters-to-lgbt-kids]

My dear lgbt+ kids, 

I mentioned in a letter about autism that one of my special interests is sun safety which prompted multiple people to request a letter about that (which is really kind and touching!) - so let’s talk about sun safety! 

First things first: sun safety means protecting your skin from the sun or more specifically, from harmful UV radiation. There are two main reasons to protect yourself: in the short term, you avoid painful sunburns and in the long term, you lower your risk of skin cancer. 

Most skin cancers are caused by too much exposure to UV radiation. UV radiation damage is cumulative. This means that it adds up over the years - which is why it’s so important to practice sun safety every day rather than just on especially sunny days. 

Skin cancer is actually the most common cancer and it can affect people of all ages. 

Luckily, it is highly treatable if detected early  and treated promptly - but it is still a serious and even lifethreatening disease. Depending on the type of skin cancer, it can spread rapidly and it can kill you. The biggest reason to practice sun safety is to prevent that! 

I think a lot of messaging around sun safety nowadays wrongly focuses on anti-aging benefits. It’s true that UV damage can also contribute to wrinkles and skin sagging - but focusing on that can falsely portray sun safety as an optional beauty thing rather than a necessary health thing. Wrinkles and saggy skin are a normal, natural part of getting older - skin cancer isn’t.

UV radiation isn’t the same every day. You can check weather apps or websites and will find daily UV levels there. You need to practice sun safety if the level is 3 or higher. Depending on where you live, this may be nearly daily or only during summer months. Many people find it easier to just practice sun safety every day (so it becomes an automatic habit like brushing your teeth or showering, something you just do as part of your routine without needing to consciously remind yourself) while others prefer to check the UV level daily and base it on that. That’s just a matter of what works best for you personally. 

So, what does sun safety entail? You’re probably thinking of sunscreen and that is an important part of it, but not all of it! A fun way to remember all the steps is „Slip, slop, slap, seek, slide“: 

Slip into clothes

Slop on sunscreen 

Slap on a hat 

Seek shade 

Slide on sunglasses 

Slip into clothes: Skin that is covered by clothes is protected from UV rays. So a shirt with long sleeves offers more protection than one with short sleeves! (But of course you also need to prevent heatstroke, so it’s key to find a balance between covering skin and not overheating). All clothes (except for sheer or hole-y fabrics like lace) will protect you well but the ideal choice would be dense fabrics in dark colors. 

Slop on sunscreen: All skin that isn’t covered by clothes needs to be covered in sunscreen. We will go into more details on sunscreen below. 

Slap on a hat: Wear a wide-brimmed hat to protect your scalp and get some extra protection for your neck, ears and face, too (though you should also cover those body parts in sunscreen!). Baseball caps are better than nothing but do not offer the same protection for your neck and ears. 

Seek shade: It’s a myth that clouds or rain protect you from UV rays. Shade however reduces them! So, use natural shade from trees, get into a gazebo or bring a sun umbrella. 

Slide on sunglasses: You can get skin cancer around or even in the eyes as well. UV radiation can also increase your risk for other eye conditions. So make sure to get sunglasses with UV protection. Look for a label that says it offers UVA + UVB protection (more on that below). 

And of course: staying inside will protect you! Obviously you can’t stay inside forever (that would be bad for your physical and mental health in other ways) but it can be a good idea to stay home during hours with especially high UV levels (8 and above). UV levels are often highest around midday. 

Some more details on sunscreen: 

The best sunscreen brand is the one you feel comfortable using daily. Whether it’s chemical or mineral, expensive or cheap, no matter what the texture and way of application (gel, lotion, spray, roll-on etc.) is… none of that matters if you hate using it and end up not making a habit out of it. Sure, if you wanna get nerdy with it, some offer more protection than others. For example, gels or lotions usually offer more than sprays, simply because there’s more product that actually ends up on your skin rather than in the air. But if you can’t stand the feeling of lotion on your skin and will realistically only use sprays, then a spray is the best option for you! Go with the one that you actually like using. 

Much more important than the exact brand are the following criteria: 

Choose one that’s at least SPF30 but ideally SPF50 or SPF50+. (This means that it’s a high level of protection. More specifically, it means that it multiplies the time your skin is protected from UV rays by 30/50.) 

Choose one that says „broad spectrum“ or „UVA and UVB“. (This means that it protects you from different kinds of UV radiation. This is a very oversimplified explanation but you can say UVA rays are longer than UVB rays, so they harm different layers of your skin.)

Choose one that’s water-resistant. (This means it’ll keep up 50% of its protection even if you get wet or sweaty. Important: you still need to re-apply after swimming!). 

A quick note on chemical vs. mineral: they both achieve the same goal, they just do it in different ways. Chemical ones basically absorb the UV rays and turn them harmless, mineral ones physically block the UV rays from reaching your skin. Both have their pros and cons in usage (Mineral ones work immediately after application and are often more gentle to dry or sensitive skin but can leave a white cast and feel heavy on the skin. Chemical ones are lightweight and transparent on the skin but can need up to 20 minutes to work and can be irritating for some people with dry or sensitive skin). But they both work well to prevent skin cancer. It’s a question of personal preference. 

How to use sunscreen? First of all: It’s important to use enough. You need around seven teaspoons for your whole body. If only some body parts are exposed, a good guideline is: one teaspoon for your head and one teaspoon for each limb. 

It‘s also important to really cover all body parts (that aren’t covered by clothes). Don’t forget your ears, neck, scalp (if not covered by hat), hands, feet (if not fully covered by shoes) and lips (there are lip balms with SPF!). 

You need to re-apply (or head inside) after two hours. You also need to re-apply after swimming or heavy sweating (like after a workout). 

Try to store your sunscreen in a dark and cool place. Hot temperatures can make it expire more quickly. Check expiration dates of unused sunscreens before use. Replace opened sunscreens after twelve months. Old sunscreens can be less effective and some ingredients can turn harmful when expired. 

Remember that makeup products with SPF can only be an addition, not a replacement of actual sunscreen. You simply don’t use enough of them to work as sunscreen. Oftentimes, you’d need to use a ridiculous amount of product to even reach the promised protection. The only exception would be the mentioned lip balms (since most people wouldn’t put actual sunscreen on their lips). 

Last but not least: know that black people and other people of color need sunscreen, too! Your skin color doesn’t offer automatic protection. Or, well, it might offer up to SPF 13 - but as we have seen above, that’s not enough to protect you from skin cancer. Plus, if you have white doctors, it’s a sad reality that they may not be as trained in recognizing skin cancer on dark skin. Skin cancer tends to be diagnosed later in black people. Which is all the more reason to protect yourself! 

With all my love, 

Your Tumblr Dad 

P.S: and of course: don’t use tanning beds. They do not provide any health benefits and are not a safe alternative to natural sunlight. Instead, they’re heavily linked to skin cancer, especially in people younger than 35 years old. Even one single session can increase your risk. It’s just not worth it. 

[foxglovebells]

Lost Star (Part 5)

Azriel x Rhysand!Sister Reader

Summary: Rhys’s mother and sister, Y/n, were kidnapped and murdered by Tamlin’s family centuries ago. Everyone mourned their deaths but especially Azriel. His mate’s death had changed him and he was never truly the same, he still held onto the hope that you were still alive. Turns out he was right.

Warnings: None really, just a tad bit of angst

Notes: Hi all it’s been a bit… only 1 year and 5 months since the last part! Forgive any typos this was a spur of the moment decision. Enjoy!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

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Azriel insisted on carrying you yet again. You knew that if you pushed hard enough he would allow you to winnow the both of you, but it had been a long and cruel 2 centuries without each other. So you let him cradle you close to him, your head against his shoulder and your hand against his heart.

The steady rythmique pattern was reassuring. Each beat was calm and steady, and the rise and fall of his chest felt secure. You were safe.

You were safe.

You kept repeating it in your head, worries of the unknown faded in and out of your conscious, usually gone when in the presence of your mate, but still there none the less.

I mean, the unknown is what had gotten you trapped in the first place, how could you ever be sure of anything ever again?

As if sensing your racing thoughts, Azriel tilts his head and places a kiss on your forehead, once again chasing away the worry.

“I love you.” You whisper, looking up at him through innocent eyes.

“I love you, little star.”

That was all that could be said before he was landing on the steps of the radiant palace of day. Guards on pegasus’s lined the area, watching the both of you with calculating eyes, but making no move to stop you.

You began to notice everything immediately. Your talent of observation shooting out and picking up on every detail.

The subtle raise of the head guards brows before he schooled his faced once again. He recognized you from before.

The guard above on the balcony turning to leave the second Azriel’s presence was registered. To notify Helion.

The uneasy glances between some of the guards. They could feel the power radiating from you and Az.

The guard opened the large double doors, signaling your approved entrance. An alliance, seems like your brother was doing a rather good job at being high lord.

Azriel rested a hand on your lower back as you both began to ascend the steps towards the entrance.

The grand entrance was certainly grand, you thought humorously. Helion sure had a knack for gold and extravagances.

Walking along the hallway, you took note of all the many statues and paintings decorating the wall, but you stopped short in front of one of them.

It was a large painting, taking up the entirely of the area in its section. Framed in thick gold swirls, it was set in a garden, one of the royal ones behind this very palace. A gazebo in the background covered in climbing wisteria vines in full bloom, and a table set for tea. The foreground, however, had a simple white bench. But atop that bench was as a young woman lying horizontal across it, one leg was bent while the other lay resting straight beside it. One arm was resting on her stomach while the other was holding an open book in the air above her to shade her eyes from the sun.

And she was laughing. A stomach laugh. One that causes all of the muscles in your body to tense up. One that hits you so hard your eyes are squeezed shut, tears leaking from the corners. One where your smile is so wide that every single tooth is on display and your face is hurting from the strain.

You smiled lightly as you gazed up the piece of artwork. “That’s me.” tears sprung to your eyes as you recalled the moment. It was a day you have travelled to the day court alone. Meeting with Helion on urgent business, your book club date. You used the word ‘date’ loosely, he had been one of your closest friends, never crossing that boundary out of respect for the mate that stood by your side.

“It is.” Azriel replies with a smile as he gazes at the canvas version of you. “I stared at it for hours the first time I saw it after he had had it made.”

“When?” Your curiosity showed.

“Had been nearly 5 years after you were gone.” He struggled out. “Helion and Rhys worked together. Rhys took the memory from Helion and showed it to the artist, who recreated it.” Azriel reached out and ran a finger along the side of your face. “Though it never really did your beauty full justice, no matter how hard the artist it was never perfect.”

He leaned down and kissed you softly. Before you could reciprocate it, a loud bang was heard from the grand dining room, where the meeting was being held.

You pulled away and grinned slyly at your mate.

“Stop it, I don’t like that look,” He remarked playfully. “What are you planning.”

“Are you ready for our grand entrance, Azzy?”

“I don’t think I’m ever ready when you cause trouble, little star.” He tucks a piece of hair behind your ear before pulling away and squaring his shoulders. “Alright, y/n, lead the way.”

“Oh no no no, my love, walking straight through the door is never grand enough.” You twirled around and looked at the glass doors out to a balcony. “You go on in Az, pretend you never saw me. Rhys can do a little bit of worrying, just ignore him I won’t be long.”

With a nod Az turned to do as you told him, knowing that you were strong and capable, and you deserved to have a little fun after what you had been through, not that he’d have been able to change your mind anyway. It was easier for him to just let whatever you wanted to happen happen.

Azriel walked to the doors leaded into the grand dining room. They were closed with 2 guards standing on either side to prevent outsiders from entering.

As the guards prepared to open the door to allow him in, he turned back to see where y/n was standing only to see that she was no longer there. Only, the once closed door to the balcony was now ajar, and the curtains were blowing in the wind.

As the doors were pushed open. The chatter in the room ceased as everyone swiveled their heads to see who had entered in the middle of meeting between the most powerful fae in prythian.

“Ah, Shadowsinger!” Helion stood from his place at the head of the table and walked over to where he had just walked in. “Lovely that you could make it.” He held his hand out for Azriel to shake and his took it firmly out of respect.

A simple head nod was all Helion received before Azriel made his way towards His place beside Cassian, standing behind where his high lord and high lady were seated.

He was slightly grateful for the seating arrangement, for it ensured that Rhys could not look at him with questioning eyes. He could feel the scratching talons along his mental shields, but he only let them in long enough to say ‘not now’ , and shutting his shield down and locking the talons out.

He could see Rhys tense in his chair, knowing that he had taken his shortness for bad news. That thought was justified when he saw Feyre lay her hand on his beneath the table for support. He hated having to do this to his high lord, but it was what y/n wanted, and she would always be above anyone else.

Breaking everyone’s attention off Azriel, Tamlin cuts in, “Looks like your dog did heel after all, didn’t he, Rhysand?”

“Cut the crap, Tamlin, do you have to start shit every year?” Feyre snaps before anyone else gets the chance to respond.

“Now,” Helions voice cuts in before more comments can be made. “We are here to discuss politics, not your dramatics, Tamlin.” He walks around the table, opting to grab a drink from the bar rather than taking his seat once again at the head of the table.

“Truly, Tamlin, do you have anything better to do than make every else’s life miserable to be around you.” Bingo. There she was. The commanding purr of her voice sent shivers down everyone’s spine. The infamous night princess who had been dead for centuries was suddenly sat before them all at the head of the table.

Azriel takes a deep breath to hide his smirk and he looks proudly at his mate, who sat tall and confident it the large chair, where Helion once sat.

Her braid was pulled over one shoulder and her wings were neatly tucked behind her back, the epitome of grace and power.

If Azriel had once thought the room was silent he sure was wrong before. The buzz of magic and terror filled the room as each notable person in prythian set eyes on the long lost princess of the night court. Who was supposed to be dead.

She stood suddenly, the chair screeching backwards at the force. Everyone but the night court flinched at the sound of her hands slamming against the ornate table. “Cat got your tongue, Tamlin?” She spewed evilly. The high lords grew incredibly still and y/n glided away from the chair that she had magically appeared in, making her way to walk around the table teasingly.

Each and every person in the room was on the edge of their seats, afraid that if they moved the temper of her would find itself at their mercy. The only 2 people who were more powerful than the high lords in prythian were in the same room at the same time for the first time in centuries. The night court son and daughter had always been a force to be reckoned with. But once y/n had disappeared, so did a piece of the their fear.

Seems they got it back.

“You’re dead!” Beron. The first to break the silence and the first to regret his choice as Y/n’s head whips in his direction.

“Am I?” She unsheathes two knives in the blink of an eye, and in another, they’re flying across the table at the same table and embedding themselves into Beron’s hands. Pinning them face down on the wooden table

That seems to break the silence.

[azrielbrainrot]

Mind Over Matter

Pairing: Eris x Reader

Description: Eris sees you at your lowest and you get a glimpse behind the mask.

Warnings: Angst, Domestic Violence, Injury

Word Count: 3550

Notes: In case it's confusing this is set before Fire on Fire. Hope you enjoy!

Fire on Fire Masterlist

The forest looked beautiful today. The red and orange leaves cast shadows over the whole clearing, and from the tree branch you were sitting at, you could see the birds flying and even some bunnies hopping around the bushes. It had been raining all week but it finally let up this morning, the sun was now shining high in the sky making it a perfect day to sit and read outside.

Even if the season never changes, you can tell apart the “beginning” and “end” of autumn. The leaves are just starting to fall, meaning this would be the beginning of the season. In a few months when the leaves are mostly on the ground, it will be the “end” and then the cycle will repeat itself. You always preferred this time when the sun is still shining and the forest is alive.

It might be summertime in the solar courts from your calculations, not that you've ever stepped foot out of this one, or even out of the city. As much as you love the forests tinged in orange, you can't help but wonder what it would be like if they gave way to different sights every few months.

Perhaps it would make autumn more enjoyable if it wasn't constantly upon you. You think you wouldn't hate the spring or summer, when the sun is warmer and there isn't as much rain, when different flowers bloom making the forests turn into different shades of green and brown and so many other colors.

You haven't been this deep into the woods in a long time, your mother and father had both finally left the house for long enough at the same time after what felt like forever. With the rain, your mother hadn't been invited to any tea parties and your father always seemed to be working in his office nowadays, never even leaving to attend any meetings. Seems the High Lord had given him some important job.

You'd feel bad for whoever had the misfortune of their company today but these are the few moments of peace you can steal for yourself, and you've been praying to The Mother that something came up so your father was called to the Forest House or even further. If it was something scandalous enough it would take your mother to her friend's houses to discuss it among themselves too.

You get so lost in your thoughts and the book you're reading, in the calmness and silence the forest brings you that it's only when you look up at the sky and see it starting to turn the same orange tone as the trees that you realize the sun is almost setting, you were late. You weren't sure how long your parents would be gone for, hopefully they weren't coming before dinner or they would already be looking for you.

Gathering your skirt, you hop down from the thick branch you've been sitting on, shoving your book into the old bag you once stole from one of the many closets in your house. It took you a few tries, and reading a couple of books, but you had managed to charm it to hold a lot more than its size would lead you to believe. You've been using it to keep books, dried flowers you've turned into bookmarks, random trinkets you've found over the years and even a couple of pants. Anything your parents wouldn't approve of you having really, things you actually called your own. Picking it up, you winnow to its hiding place - an old hollowed tree close to the edge of the woods behind your house - and quickly cover it so no one comes across it.

The maids knew you weren't inside, thinking you were in the gazebo watching the flowers, or feeling sorry for yourself, whatever they told themselves you did all day, so winnowing straight to your room wasn't an option. There was also the risk of any of them lingering around and seeing you. The garden had to do then, the servants had probably all left the grounds by then, retiring to their own homes.

You winnow deep into the garden so you're surrounded by bushes, close to the crimson roses that overlooked the side entrance to the estate. You weren't usually allowed on this side of the garden, it was too close to the servants' gate, meaning any of the “lowly” males could see you and you wouldn't know how to defend yourself from their advances. Sometimes you think your father is convinced you need instructions for breathing too.

Waving a hand over yourself to clean off any obvious dirt for the moment, you almost sprint closer to the gazebo, the place the maids would come looking for you when it was time to get ready for dinner.

Your heart stalls in your chest when you turn the corner to find your father walking the grounds. His face turns into stone as soon as he lays eyes on you, making you drop your skirt immediately, smoothing it with your hands out of habit, always trying to appear as polished as you can in front of him.

By his side stood your fiancé, looking as elegant as ever in a black three piece suit, topped off with a muted red tie to match the soles of his shoes. You've never seen his hair this long, it was combed back and tied in a small knot. Your gaze moves back to your father's disappointed face when his eyes meet yours, always so intense and calculating, suffocating even.

It had been years since you'd last been caught outside by your father and, to make matters worse, Eris was here too. At least he only saw you in the garden, even if further in than you're normally allowed. You don't even want to think what would happen if he'd seen you winnow from the woods.

“What are you doing outside at nightfall?” Your father was clearly displeased with you, not only for going against his wishes but also for doing it in front of such an important person.

“I simply got distracted looking at the flowers,” you try to sound as demure as possible, thinking maybe you could fix this by playing dumb since your father probably didn't want to make a scene in front of Eris, “They're blooming so beautifully.”

“You must have been really distracted,” he says as he turns his head menacingly, “since you know you're not allowed to wander around unattended.”

His tone almost makes you flinch, your face dropping. It had been foolish of you to think you could talk yourself out of the situation. Eris' presence wouldn't make your father less volatile, it only made things worse. He wanted to show the other male he was capable of handling his family, not wanting to appear weak in front of the heir.

You hadn't stopped to think that this could also make you less viable for marriage. His daughter being personally chosen by the High Lord as his eldest son's fiancé was your father's greatest accomplishment, and he knew better than you that Beron's mind was easily changed, he wouldn't want Eris to think you might not be the best option after all.

In this moment you ponder tarnishing your reputation as much as you could to get out of this marriage. If only it wouldn't cost you your life with it. Your father always hated the fact that you were born female. A male would bring the family name glory but a female could only hope to wed into a noble family. If you were to lose the High Lord's favor your father would likely lock you away from the world or even dispose of you altogether.

Your father lets out what you think he means as a disapproving sigh, but you can hear the excitement behind it, can see it on his face. He's grown to enjoy the moments when he can put you or your mother in your place, it makes him feel important. He approaches you, moving away from a slightly confused looking Eris.

You knew what was coming as soon as you saw your father pull his hand back, you've been here before many times after all. You close your eyes, feeling the heat approach your face, trying not to let your instincts take over and try to avoid it, that only makes it worse. The force of the slap makes your head turn to the side, your body almost following, but the worst part is the flames, you have to bite your lip not to let out any sound as you feel the burn eating at your skin. You faintly smell burning and try not to think about it, knowing it's the smell of your own flesh.

He holds your chin with a still too warm hand, even if already rid of the flames, and looks into your eyes closely, wanting to revel in your pain. “I've taught you better than this.” He adds another light slap to your face for good measure before letting you go completely. It almost hurts more than the first one, the skin was so tender even just moving your face hurt.

Taking a weak breath in, you try to calm your mind, ignore the pain and rage warring inside you. Clutching tightly onto your dress to keep your hands occupied, in case your mind slips and you burn his face in rage the same way he keeps doing to yours. You feel the flames wanting to rise up to your skin but firmly snuff them out, making sure they stay safely hidden deep inside you until it's the right time.

The pain has gotten easier to bear over the years, now you close your eyes not from fear but to calm yourself. You don't have the strength to go against him yet or a plan for a safe escape, you refuse to lose your life so easily after enduring this for so long. One day you will make him pay for everything he has put you through but first you need a plan and you need to be stronger.

This time it was different though, Eris was watching, you could feel his gaze burning into your skin deeper than your father's fiery palm ever could. There had been witnesses to his cruelty before, even outside your family and servants, you had seen pity, satisfaction and even trained blankness in their faces, had learned to ignore them and not ask for help under any circumstance - it took you too long to realize that the ones showing pity know your pain or are as powerless as you.

But, for some reason, knowing Eris, your future husband, the heir to the throne, is watching makes you want to cry for the first time since you were a child. You bite your lip and clench your fists as hard as you can, opening your eyes only enough to look to the ground, hoping your face isn't giving away too much or the burn was at least enough to hide it.

Suddenly interested in studying the cobbled stones you've walked on for decades, you notice your earring fell off, the ruby glinting in one of the little nooks in between stones, suffocated with no place to escape to just like you felt. You briefly wondered if it had simply gotten loose with the force or if it was ripped off your earlobe, but the pain on the side of your face was too intense to be able to pinpoint a specific area. A ripped earlobe was the least of your concerns anyway.

“What do you think you're doing?” All your thoughts evaporate when you hear his voice. He sounds uncharacteristically angry, you've never seen him lose the teasing lilt to his words or crafted nonchalant tone. You can't help but look up at him with wide eyes, not even remembering the shame you had felt before.

“Not to worry. Her face will be healed by tomorrow morning,” your father barely hesitates, assuming the anger wasn't directed at him hitting you, “I wouldn't give you damaged goods, my lord.”

Sometimes you wonder how your father had lived for so long, how he managed to become important enough that he not only worked for Beron but the High Lord would also want his heir to marry you, when he could be this dense. It was clear Eris wasn't worried about your face, his anger was almost palpable.

You know he wears a mask like no one else, you've seen it in action, but, if your father hadn't been so self-absorbed, if it was Beron standing in front of him, this would end very differently. Because the mask had fallen at the same time your stupid earring did. What was staring at you was Eris' true face. Your father was too thick to notice but you could gamble your life on it.

It showed his unrestrained fury and power rumbling just beneath his skin, you're not sure how your father didn't notice the way the temperature rose around them, the air suddenly resembling the summer you had just been longing for. His gaze burned hotter than lava and the planes of his face carved out the perfect personification of fury. His face was the perfect picture of the new High Lord of the Autumn Court. It was all fire, beautifully and all consuming.

He was making a bigger effort of not hurting your father than you were. When your eyes met you could almost see him forcefully pushing his feelings away, stuffing himself down with them, burying them deep inside him to keep the plot he's been writing for centuries intact. Still, his gaze lingered on your marred cheek too long, you think you even see his fingers spasm, as if wanting to reach out, if it was to console you or to snap your father's neck you couldn't be sure but the sentiment behind it was the same.

You almost gasp as the realization comes to you. The look on his face isn't all anger but what's underlining it isn't pity, it's the face of someone who understands. He's been in your same place. It shouldn't be a surprise to you, Beron's cruelty will far outlive his name, but it's hard to imagine Eris, inarguably the second most powerful fae in this court, in your place.

Your stomach twists at the implications. If even he can't fight Beron, what hope do you have of escaping your father? Especially now that he's aligned himself with the High Lord? It's in this moment that you know Eris' warnings were correct, there's no use running, you wouldn't make it but a couple steps.

“She needs a healer to fix her face,” you can almost see him choosing his words, playing into your father's narrative enough while trying to help you as much as he can. You're starting to think you have Eris figured out. Is this how he has survived this long? “See that it gets done quickly.”

He leaves without another word, turning away from you father and letting his eyes linger on your burnt flesh one more time before winnowing out of your estate. You don't look away from where he'd just been even when your father grabs your arm and pulls you along on his way inside the house, cursing you with every step. You wouldn't be able to leave your room and escape into the forest for a while.

Later that night, when you're returning to your room, after a healer treated your wounds as usual, and made sure Eris' goods wouldn't be permanently damaged as your father had so lovingly put it, you find a vaguely familiar, faint scent lingering in the air, it makes your heart stop.

Thankfully, the maids didn't accompany you to your room, they didn't like treating you cruelly but helping you could get them in trouble with your father so they'd rather just watch in silence, or, even better, turn their face whenever it was possible.

If they had followed you, they would have noticed the scent, would run and tell your father. You're not sure if they'd recognize it as his, he doesn't visit your house often after all, but the spicy scent was unmistakably male. It's better not to think of the amount of trouble you would be in if they smelled it.

You walk to the window first, opening it as wide as you can so the chilly night air fills the room instead, making sure there would be no residuals in the morning when they came to wake you. Looking up at the full moon in the cloudy sky, feeling the wind turn to ice against the side of your face still covered in a thick cooling salve and wrapped in bandages, you hesitate one more time before moving to the foreign items sitting at your vanity table, undoubtedly left behind by your dear fiancé.

Eris left you a tiny bottle with some strange bluish liquid inside accompanied by a small red velvet box tied off with a golden ribbon. You know he won't poison you, the bargain won't allow it, but you weren't sure what else he could do if he let his imagination run wild. You decide reading the note set on top of the box might give you an idea.

He has no right to treat you like this. I'm sorry I can't do more to help you for now but I promise there will come a day when he won't be able to hurt you anymore.

The note wasn't signed but you knew it was his. Even after your agreement, you didn't think he would try to make you feel better, even going as far as risking getting caught while dropping this off, since this fragile alliance of yours had been neither of your first choices.

You pick up the bottle and uncork it, immediately recognizing the calming scent of a sleeping draught. It would help with your nightmares. This is a generous amount too, it can last you a while. You set it back down and untie the ribbon, opening the box to find some chocolate and sugar cookies.

A sleeping draught and cookies. Never in your life had you received anything like this. You can't even admit it to yourself but this is by far the most thoughtful gift you've ever gotten from anyone.

He had to have an idea of how awful your father was to you, you told him as much when you made the bargain, but he might not have realized he went as far as physically hurting you. Eris knows the pain of an abusive father, of being haunted by their cruelty even in your dreams. So, he gave you the draught to help you even a little and the cookies to console you, something sweet to fend off the pain.

Just when you were starting to feel thankful for Eris, thinking you might have been too harsh on him before, you notice something else written on the other side of the note. Turning it around and reading it as well.

I wasn't aware you could winnow so well. Just how much are you hiding from your family, doll?

Your entire body tenses at the words, turning the paper into flames lest anyone reads it. He knows. You've managed to hide this ability from everyone for decades, but now Eris, of all people, knows. You're not sure how he noticed when your father didn't. He could have arrived before him, could have wandered around the grounds without anyone knowing. Is it possible that he knew where you went? No, he couldn't have come from the forest in time to talk to your father and see you.

You hold your hand up to rub over your chest, simultaneously trying to calm your racing heart and feeling the mark of the bargain woven into your soul, trying to reassure yourself. He's your ally. He won't tell anyone, the bargain won't allow it. But what could he do with this information? You had the upper hand when you made the bargain but it feels like he just stepped ahead.

After a few moments of breathing in the cold air still seeping into the room and settling your mind, you sit down on the chair by the vanity unceremoniously, letting your head drop into your hands for a moment. A heavy sigh escapes you as you open the cookie box again. What kind of person sends you gifts and includes a mildly threatening message with them. Must he always push your buttons like this?

You take a bite out of a chocolate cookie and let the delicious taste melt in your mouth, eyeing the small bottle. It seems you'll need to use it tonight, you definitely need a good dreamless sleep after the rollercoaster of emotions you've been through the whole day.

What you fail to notice is that, between the chocolate and sugar cookies you keep munching on and the annoyance now targeted towards Eris, your face barely even hurts anymore and you weren't left thinking of the deep rooted ache in your soul after your father hurt you yet another time.

[luveline]

Hi Jade! I wanted to request something with Prince Steve and his soulmate. I feel like we’ve started to see them warm up to each other but maybe we could see reader start to meet Steve’s friends and see that she’s got more people standing behind her? Like maybe Robin and Eddie teasing Steve about something embarrassing in front of her or I know she hasn’t shown up yet but I could totally see Nancy as like a lady in waiting/tutor to teach her all about proper manners but in the process she spills all these stories about Steve growing up?

thank you for requesting ♡ prince steve au fem, 1k

A knock at the door, an impatient huff. "Are you ready yet?" 

"Come in, Steve." 

He wedges into your rooms, a basket in his hands. "Why are you on the floor?" 

"Can't tie my stupid shoes," you complain, dropping your hands down, knee pulled up, too warm for all the fuss. 

Steve nearly drops the basket, he's that enthusiastic to help you out. He kneels by your feet and takes the laces of your shoes into his hands, pulling them tight, his eyebrows pinched tighter. "That okay?" he asks, pausing his loop. 

"Yeah. Thank you." 

"They didn't teach you how to tie your shoes back home? We need outreach immediately." 

You laugh and lay back on the plush rug behind you. "It's the weird eyelets. You royals do everything weird. Like picnicking." 

"So many points. These aren't eyelets, they're lace hooks. You're pretty much as royal as I am, or you will be in a matter of days. And," —he finishes tying your boot, pulling the other toward him with a small laugh— "Robin wanted a picnic. She's not royal. None of your points make any sense." 

"You'll be a wretched husband." 

Steve takes your hands and pulls you up into a sitting position. He doesn't let them go, transferring both into one so he has a hand free to straighten up your cardigan. "And you'll be a cherished wife." 

Steve pulls you onto your feet. Together, you walk through the selenite halls of the palace to the prince's private gardens, where a gazebo the colour of the sky stands shading refreshments from the eager sun. Helping themselves to the hors d'oeuvres are a tall Eddie and a shorter partner in crime, Robin. Nancy lays out in the grass next to who you assume to be her boyfriend, a handsome guy with two books in his hands, still closed. He squints in the sun, waving as you and Steve approach. 

"Hey!" he greets. "You're late."

"Don't get up," Steve jokes, waving back at him and Nancy, who's barely lifted her head. "Not like I'm anyone important." 

"Very, very hard to find you important when you're wearing shorts," Eddie says. 

Steve shrugs. "She likes them." 

You realise belatedly and with horror that you're she. How does he know you like his nice shorts? Either way, his indifference so long as you like them makes you flush, leaving his side in search of a cold drink to drown yourself in.

"Did you bring the bat?" Steve asks Jonathan behind you. 

"Hey, babe," Eddie says, offering you a glass cup set with pressed flowers in the sides, "you okay?" 

"Is that lemonade?" you ask, pointing at one of the small water dispensers. Their glass shells shine with condensation, more ice cubes than liquid inside. It's a cloudy white with blood orange slices cut and garnishing the top, their juice seeping downward slowly. 

"Sure is. Prince Stevie's favourite, as always. Don't know where the sudden love for oranges came from, do you?" 

You've had a love for them since you got here and tried them for the first time. Oranges are expensive, and so the palace kitchen has them in abundance. Steve clearly noticed. "Wouldn't you know?" you ask. "Don't you choose his meals?" 

"As if. I'm a glorified cleaning boy," Eddie says. He scoops a bagel covered in cream cheese and fresh cut salmon from a silver tray and takes a big bite. "Just stick around for the food." 

"They won't let him back into the engineers workshop on account of his bad manners, he'll be a dishwasher forever," Robin says grandly, rounding the table to stand on your other side. 

"Says you, lady's maid." 

Robin was supposed to be a lady's maid. Sick gig, good pay, she had all the grades and none of the decorum, but Steve wouldn't let them get rid of her, and after an intense training program that taught her to wield a titanium blade longer than her arm as an extension of it, she was instated as his personal guard instead. They're all job hoppers —Nancy started as a lady's maid but now apprentices as a royal tutor, and her boyfriend worked for the palace's news room but now works under the sous chef. 

You did anything you could to stay alive, and now your full time job is princess, so. You're not judging. 

"What's Nancy's boyfriends name?" you whisper. "Jon?" 

"Jonathan. I don't think anybody calls him Jon," Robin whispers back. 

"She's lying. His name is Gordon." Eddie glares at Robin. "She's trying to trip you up." 

A smack erupts through the air, chased by Steve's pleased whoop. "Yes! Baby, did you see that?" 

"I'm not trying to trip you up," Robin says, "don't listen." 

"She totally is." 

"Baby?" Steve calls, yards away in the bluegrass, a bat held at his side. "Guys, stop harassing her. Jesus." 

"We're not harassing her, Stevie, slow your roll. This is a common social phenomenon called teasing, maybe you've heard of it? You do it with friends," Eddie says, nudging your arm. 

Friends, you think. Steve's looking at you, waiting for confirmation that you're alright. "I didn't see it, Steve. Do it again!" 

Steve immediately jogs backwards, goading Jonathan into pitching another ball. He has a good arm, the ball soaring just right for Steve to curl back and send it wide across the green grass of the garden. It hits a long banner across the way, smack dab on its painted target as he'd aimed for, falling practically on top of the first. 

It's an impressive arc. You clap your hands together and cheer, though the rules of this game escape you. You think it's supposed to be darts without sharp points, but you're more concerned with the lines of Steve's bicep as he rests the bat on his shoulder, his triumphant sun-kissed smile.

"Did you see that one, baby?" Robin asks. 

"He's so impressive, isn't he?" Eddie adds, grinning. 

Steve throws them the bird, his cheeks pink. 

"That's an example of what not to do in a formal setting," Nancy says, her skirt moving like water as she puts her face in her hand, her elbow on her knee. 

"You're getting good at this tutoring stuff," Jonathan says. 

Steve meanders your way to beg a consolation hug (he puts his arm across your shoulder, muttering about mean friends and their unjust jokes). "They're the worst," he mutters, his hair brushing your ear, goosebumps erupting down your arms. 

"I think they're nice," you say. 

He hums in your ear. "You would. Wretched wife." 

[neuvilette-tea-party]

Hello! I hope you’re doing well :) this is my first time requesting honestly but i was wondering if i can request for a steb x reader fluff or nsfw oneshot story about the reader starting their job as an enforcer in the same station as steb 🥺

They have a friendly coworker relationship that slowly became more than that. They started to interact after getting paired together from their schedules or go on patrols together. They figured to interact with each other using notes or sign languages and leading the conversation to subtle flirting and maybe some slight nsfw moments. Eventually they developed feelings for each other too

I LOVE YOUR WRITING AND I’M SORRY IF THE TERMS IS A BIT CONFUSING ITS MY FIRST TIME USING THEM BUT I’LL BE SO HAPPY WITH WHATEVER YOU’LL WRITE IT 😭

Thank you so much dear! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ Steb is such a sweetheart, I love writing for him ❤️❤️❤️

︶⊹︶︶୨ Steb x GN!reader ୧︶︶⊹︶

Wordcount: 1011

Tags: Date, fluff, slow dance, dessert

request open for best boy Steb

You smile as the waitress of your favorite cafe brings you their new melted chocolate lava cake and Steb’s usual consomme. 

“Thank you, Lara.” You thank her. 

“You’re welcome, honey. Have a nice one together.” She smiles back. 

You two are a regular of the place and know everyone by name, they know you always try their new dessert while Steb always has a consomme. You inhale with delight under the setting sun of Piltover, looking at the park next to the terrasse where families slowly stroll around, both of your helmets on the table. 

A simple rendez-vous à deux. 

You take your spoon and dive into the cake to see the fondant inside, giggling with excitement while Steb starts eating his consomme with more dignity. 

“So! You were telling me you’ve been chosen to be part of Caitlyn Kiramman’s special task force?!” You ask. 

Steb silently nods, sipping his soup, but his ears shake with a single tremor or excitation. 

“Oh my gods, Steb!” You melt, “This is wonderful! It was time they noticed your hard work! Are you happy?” 

He pats his lips with his napkin, eyes focused as he thinks before nodding frankly. He puts down his napkin and starts signing his true thoughts. 

“I am very proud of you too! You deserve it! I heard you will have new weapons. With the hextech thingy?” 

Steb frowns and shakes his head, his cheek fin waving with displeasure as he talks to you with his hands. 

“I never knew you disliked hextech that much... It interferes with your senses ?” 

He curtly nods, his lips pressed in a thin line. 

“You get migraines? Oh... Did you ask for non-enhanced weapons then?” You slow down your cake tasting to focus on your deary. 

He nods again. 

“Tonfas, obviously.” You nod too, “Your favorites. You think you’ll be able to manage Maddie’s overflowing enthusiasm?” 

He tilts his head left and right, as to say he isn’t sure. 

“I know she tends to bypass your authority, but she will be forced to behave with Kiramman. Everything is going to be all right I am sure!” 

He shrugs but doesn’t appear all worried about all of that. You silently look at him with sparkling eyes as he elegantly eats. 

He is so handsome! 

And so, so nice... How many times did you see him help a child with a scratched knee? It never fails to make you melt on the spot. 

He blinks his third eyelid, noticing your stare. 

“Yes, it’s you I am looking at, handsome.” You cheekily smile. 

He coughs as his gulp goes the wrong way, hiding his mouth behind his hand. You hand him your own napkin with a chuckle. 

He clears his throat, a rosy shade on his cheek. 

“I love admiring your face. It is so well made.” 

He coughs once more before calming down and taking back control of his expression. He turns his head as a jazz band arrives under the gazebo as night falls on Piltover. 

You observe the musician taking out their instrument while eating and smear some chocolate on your face. 

“Oh!” You laugh. 

Steb stands up and leans forward, taking your chin between his fingers to wipe off your lips corner with his thumbs, coating it with the chocolate. 

He sucks it with a hum of appreciation, savoring the chocolate while you look at him flabbergasted. You brush where he touched you with the tip of your fingers, a sparkle of excitement in your heart, breath short. 

He looks at you and grins, satisfied with his effect. 

The band starts to play and he puts his spoon dow, seizing your hand, inviting you to follow him. You stand up and let him pull you near the gazebo where other people started to gather. He turns toward you and slides his hand in your back, taking the other in his gentle grip and starts to tenderly slow dance with you. 

You bite your lower lips, eyes fixed on his as the rosy shade is back on his cheeks and his ears twitch with excitation. You feel him a bit tense in your arms, the result of the wounds he received during the memorial attack... He reassures his grip on your back, pulling you just a bit tighter and guiding you in a gentle dance, spinning endlessly in each other embrace. 

You just cannot detach your eyes from one another. 

You let go of his hand to clasp both of yours behind his solid neck while he circles your lower back, swaying lovingly with the soft jazzy tune. 

All around you candles are being lit, surrounded by other couples under the shiny stars for a light and sacred moment of intimacy. He pulls your hips closer as his ocean eyes lower from your gaze to your cheekbones, to your nose... 

To your lips. 

He licks his own lips as he approaches his face from yours terribly slowly to give you all the time to evade if you ever wanted it. 

Like you ever wanted to evade a kiss from him. 

You press your mouth with a gasped giggle, surprising him with your eagerness. But he slowly closes his eyes in the kiss, savoring the moment. 

You gently kiss each other, your lips dancing in harmony, fondly rediscovering each other like a first time. 

It feels so... right 

And good. 

Like it was meant to be all along. 

All those missions, those patrols, those training sessions together, and those stolen moment hidden in the closets of the barracks, all cumulated for this suspended instant. 

You part very slowly and breathless, hugging each other tight like never before, forehead against forehead, eyes in eyes. 

Anonymous in the crowd but lovers as everyone else, embraced by the soft music for a magic evening. 

 “I love you, Steb.” You confess, your heart in a frenzy. 

He presses your foreheads together, gently cradling you with a light purr, his cheek fins twitching with joy. 

Happy to be alive and together for a moment of frivolity among the chaos. 

☆☆Taglist☆☆

@dance-like-russia-isnt-watching @brandy-and-bane @sp-the-fae-queen @aeeliy @sanktastuff @telephoneonawire @daichisito @sofiyathelast-blog 

[birdie-in-arcadia]

Mine

This was a request, and I hope it lives up to your expectations anon! I love this one so much, neck and neck with The Love You Want for sure. Enjoy! <3

Content Warning: None unless you count tooth-rotting fluff :)

Word Count: 3.5k

The afternoon sun gleams slow and golden, spilling warm sunlight through the gauzy curtains like a daydream. 

You’re alone in the quiet room; an airy space tucked just beyond the garden’s edge, where thick ivy climbs up stone walls, and white and pink roses bloom like soft sighs. The windows are flung open, and the breeze moves through them like silk, carrying the scent of lavender and hydrangeas. It's peaceful and truly dream-like, your racing thoughts calmed by the faint singing of the windchimes hanging near the gazebo where your soon-to-be groom awaits. 

Your dress is a breathtaking gown that combines the romantic and ethereal elements of bohemian style with the delicate charm of lace. It adorns your frame as if it’s a second skin, tailored specifically for you. It’s a soft ivory color, lace threaded with delicate shimmer; not ostentatious, just enough to catch the sunlight when you move. The bodice hugs your ribs like it’s always belonged there, and it gently defines your waistline, creating a flowing, hourglass shape. The neckline dips down into a V, ending right above the crevice of your breasts. The skirt cascades down, framing your hips and legs in beautiful lace and tulle, flowers and paisley patterns stitched throughout the soft, breathable fabric around your ankles. When you finally stepped into it earlier that morning, your hands trembled and your eyes clouded with joyful tears. It’s finally happening. 

Your makeup is soft; dewy, glowing skin, a blush that makes your cheeks look like you’ve been kissed by anticipation, and your nose is contoured and blushed into a cute little button. Your radiant eyes are framed with brown eyeliner that fades into a soft wing, neutral shades of taupe and brown accentuating your eye color itself. You’re wearing just enough shimmer to catch the light when you blink, and your lashes have been curled and applied to perfection. Your silky, lustrous hair is swept up in a loose, romantic twist, lightly curled strands framing your face with intentional imperfection. There's a silver crescent moon-shaped pin at the back with an emerald green gem set in the middle. A gift from him. 

You sit now on a small settee by the window, hands in your lap, twisting the simple gold band you’ll wear after today. You smile fondly to yourself as you imagine how that long-awaited moment at the alter will go, and the quiet buzz of anticipation hums beneath your skin. Out in the garden, you can hear soft laughter, the shuffle of chairs against concrete, the sound of strings tuning and warming up in the distance. The ceremony is soon, mere minutes now. You inhale deeply in an attempt to ground yourself, to try not to cry and thus ruin your perfect makeup. 

“You alright?” 

The voice at the doorway is warm and familiar. You turn and find IV leaning against the frame, his long figure still, a crooked smile on his lips. He’s dressed in a dark suit with a pale shirt underneath; crisp, well-fitted, but it doesn’t take from the softness out of his expression. 

You nod, even though your throat is suddenly tight. “I am,” you say quietly, your leg bouncing subtly due to the thought of seeing your Vessel dressed so dapper, and fear that you’ll stutter over your vows. 

He steps into the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click, and comes to sit beside you. For a moment, he says nothing, just looks out the window with you at the rows of chairs nestled between trees and flowers, the marble altar draped in white and faint green gauze and different colored blossoms. Then he leans his elbows on his knees, rubbing his hands together before glancing at you sideways. 

“I never thought I’d see the day,” he murmurs, smiling. “I didn’t think he’d ever open himself up to anyone again like this.” he pauses, smoothing over his slacks. “I’m quite happy that it’s you, though. He adores you, love.” 

You let out a breath of a laugh, eyes misting. “I still can’t believe this is really happening,” you whisper. “It all feels so surreal. All of it. Every time he looks at me, my heart feels as if it may burst out of my chest. I’ve never felt so in love, so enamored before.” 

IV’s gaze softens, something like reverence behind his eyes. “That’s how you know it’s real,” he says. “He’s different with you. He doesn’t have to say it out loud for the rest of us to see it. He’s... lighter. He breathes easier when you’re around. You put an irreplaceable pep in his step.” 

You blink fast, then laugh gently as a tear escapes anyway. “I’m going to ruin my makeup.” He grins and hands you a folded cloth from his pocket; of course he’d come prepared. 

“I remember the first time he told me about you,” he says, voice lowering with the memory. “Didn’t use your name. Just said, ‘I’ve found something... safe. And I don’t think I ever want to let it slip away.’ I didn’t understand what that meant until I saw you together.” 

You wipe beneath your eyes and look at him with something like gratitude, or maybe awe. “Thank you,” you whisper. He shrugs, smile growing fond. 

“It’s an honor,” he says, standing and holding out his hand to you. “To walk you down that aisle. To give you away to your one.” 

Your breath catches. “It’s time.” you whisper. He smiles reassuringly down at you as he presents his arm to you, and you nervously wrap your fingers around his bicep as he straightens his boutonniere with his free hand. 

The music outside shifts; gentle strings weaving the classic ballad of “Here Comes the Bride.” The guests have risen, and the world seems to still. You give IV’s arm a gentle squeeze, letting him know that you’re ready to walk. “Let’s go get him.” he says, smiling as he reaches for the door separating you from your beloved groom outside. 

IV opens the door and guides you into the hall, and sunlight spills in, and you’re bathed in shades of blues and greens, pinks and purples from the stained-glass windows, and your skin warms as your chest fills with love and determination. It’s time. 

Your feet move of their own accord, keeping in step with IV. He leads you down the hall, to a set of curtains, and they’re the only thing separating you from your jovial groom mere steps away. You offer IV’s arm another small squeeze, and that’s his cue.  

He reaches forward and parts the curtains, and you both step out into the garden where the scent of roses curls through your nose, and the hush of anticipation surrounds you similarly to the warm breeze which flows through the light layers of your dress. Every set of eyes turns to you, but your eyes find only one. 

At the end of the aisle, he waits. 

Vessel, in a tailored black suit, his posture straight but his hands trembling at his sides. His face lights up instantly, and you can see his lower lip beginning to tremble as he takes in the glorious sight of you. Your heart flutters in your chest as you watch his eyebrows knit and his chin tremble; the reverent tilt of his head causing your mind to empty of every thought, except for three words: There’s my boy. 

You walk slowly, your hand tight around IV’s arm. Each step brings you closer to something you’ve dreamed of, something worked and loved hard for, and it’s been years in the making. Some of the best years of your lives, and it’s only up from here. You feel a tear slip from your eye, but you’re too enraptured by the beautiful man in front of you to care. Your thin ivory veil is picked up by the breeze, slightly brushing the skin of your shoulder like a caress. 

And then you’re there. 

IV places your hand into his, and he takes it with a kind of awe that causes reverence to flood through your veins, and you’re beaming as you step up to the altar across from Vessel. His fingers are cool and steady, but when he squeezes gently, it sends sparks shooting through your nerves, your heart speeding up subtly. 

He smiles down at you, his eyes rimmed with tears, and he mouths “hi”. He’s adorably nervous, and it makes you want to reach up and caress his face. Instead, you return his silent greeting and turn your attention to the officiant, who’s beaming at you both. 

You stand facing each other, hand-in-hand, and exchange your vows. They’re heartfelt, raw, honest, and incredibly emotional as you agree to better or worse, rich or poor, in sickness and in health. Neither of you hold an ounce of hesitation as you speak, eyes locked and brimmed with love and tears and disbelief that this is actually finally happening. 

He slides the diamond ring onto your finger, his own tremble as it slips over your knuckle and settles at the base of your finger. The smile that spreads across your face as you admire the way it looks on your hand is exuberant, almost disbelieving. You take his large hand in your small one, and as you slide the silver band over his knuckle, you feel your chin start to quiver as tears distort your vision. This is easily the happiest you have ever been in all your days, and you are so thankful that it’s him. It’s always been him, and it’ll always be him. 

The kiss is featherlight at first; a breath shared between trembling lips. His hands cradle your face like he’s afraid you might disappear, like he still doesn’t quite believe this is real. But when you lean into him, and your hands find his forearms and gently squeeze three times, his lips part slightly and he deepens it, soft and slow, reverent as a prayer. 

Applause swells in the distance, the small crowd of loved ones standing in the garden all clapping and cheering. But it all feels far away, muffled by the sound of your heartbeat and the weight of his hands that have travelled to your waist, and yours to his chest, fingers resting atop his silken lapels. Vessel pulls back only when he must, resting his forehead against yours as his hands slide gently to your hips. 

“You’re really mine now, forever,” he murmurs, barely audible. “My love, you have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.” 

You breathe out a shaky laugh and nod, your hands clutching at the soft linen of his pale shirt beneath the jacket. “I adore you, my sweet.” you whisper to him, and he kisses you sweetly, his thumbs caressing your cheeks as he cups your jaw. 

The next hour unfolds in a quiet blur of flower petals, champagne toasts, and small, glowing moments and laughter. The garden shifts with the golden light of late afternoon. Lanterns flicker to life one by one as the sun begins to dip below the tree line. Friends drift between small tables set beneath arching vines, their laughter mingling with the hum of string instruments tuning in the distance. 

Then, the music changes. 

The first few chords of the song float through the dusk air, stripped of its typical guitar and layered distortion. The string quartet begins to play the opening to a gentle melody, soft and haunting, every note arranged delicately, as though tailored for this very night. There’s a murmured hush from the guests, a few soft gasps of recognition. 

You glance up, and there he is. 

Vessel waits for you at the center of the garden floor, where the grass has been cleared and softened by scattered petals. The sunset casts him in warm, welcoming light; gradients of gold, ruby, and magenta fading to midnight purple are painted across the evening sky above. He’s taken off his jacket now, sleeves rolled up just slightly, the top two buttons of his shirt undone. He’s arranged this beautiful, incredibly special moment just for you. 

And in this golden light, he is stunning. He reaches out a hand to you, and without hesitation, you go to him. 

When your fingers slip into his, he tugs you gently into him, one hand settling at your waist, the other holding your hand just above your heart and out to the side, ballroom-style. His touch is comforting and grounding, and he smiles fondly down at you as the strings swell, and he begins to sing. Not to the crowd, not into a microphone, just to you.  

“I have waited… 

Paralyzed by my own will 

Viciously reminding me still 

I'm born to believe…” 

His voice is like velvet soaked in honey; soft, rich, and trembling with emotion. He doesn’t look away from you once. His eyes are locked on yours, glinting in the low light, like the sun refused to leave until it caught one last glimpse of him loving you. 

The strings create a gentle and slow version of the melody, and it resonates through your chest as it settles in your bones, making a home there. The harmonies that flow from the soulful instruments wrap around you and carry you along with Vessel’s guidance, lulling your nerves and thoughts. 

Each quiet lyric flows from his lips like a secret he’s held for years. His thumb strokes gently across the back of your hand as he sways with you, guiding you through the dance as though it’s something you’ve always done. Something your souls were born knowing. 

“…And I am certain, no 

That you and I are crashing course 

Driven by a holy force 

I know you can see…” 

He smiles at you between lines, almost shyly. His voice wavers once, just slightly, when you move your hand from his shoulder to cup his cheek, the closeness overwhelming him in the best way. His cheeks glow with a faint pink in the low light, and his breath stills for just a moment. His hand moves from yours out to the side and finds your waist, pulling you ever-so-closer. Your hands both find his shoulders, and your eyes stay locked on his. 

And then he sings the words you’ll remember for the rest of your life: 

“You will be mine…” 

His voice trembles. Not because he’s unsure, but because he’s never meant anything more in his life. 

As the chorus fades, his hand caresses your waist, and the spin of your dance is slow and effortless as though time has slowed to accommodate only you in this moment. His lips brush your temple, his voice still low in your ear. 

“You will be mine…” 

And you already are. In every way that matters. 

By the time the bridge begins, you’re both swaying in silence, surrounded by flickering candlelight and soft, tearful smiles from the people who love you, and the occasional camera shutter. He pulls back just enough to see your face, alight with pure devotion. 

There’s a vulnerability in his eyes, glassy now, rimmed with emotion he’s too overwhelmed to hide. “Did you not say,” he whispers the lyrics, “we were made, for each other?” 

You nod. 

“I did.” you whisper. 

He kisses you again, slow and deep this time; not in front of a crowd, not for any performance. Just for you. Just for this. 

As the final note fades into the hush of evening, the garden falls quiet for a moment, suspended in the echo of the vow he just sang. And then applause breaks out again; louder this time, touched with awe and reverence. But neither of you move to acknowledge it. 

Because right now, all he sees is you. His arm is still wrapped around your waist. Your forehead rests against his chest, and his heart beats steady beneath your palm. For a long time, you just hold each other like that, as if the earth itself paused on its axis to let you breathe. 

“You’re mine, angel,” he says again, softer this time. As if he still needs to hear it out loud to believe it. 

And you pull back just enough to smile up at him and reply, “And you’re mine.” 

The wedding ends in a blur of warm light and whispered goodbyes, the garden now twinkling with golden lanterns, their glow catching in the threads of your dress as you walk hand-in-hand with him toward the waiting car. The music has faded, the last of the champagne glasses are half full and glinting under the stars, and the guests; friends, chosen family, offer sleepy smiles and murmured farewells as they see you off. 

Vessel helps you into the sleek, black vintage limousine, and as the door closes behind you both, the rest of the world is gone. 

The interior is dim, awash in amber accent lights. It smells faintly of peonies and jasmine from your bouquet still resting between you, and the leather is cool under your thighs. Your dress pools around you in soft waves, the delicate embroidery glinting as you shift closer. He reaches across the space between you, his hand instinctively finding yours. 

For a moment, you just sit there, hands clasped, watching the glow of the garden recede through the back window as the car glides forward. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt so overjoyed and complete in my life,” he says quietly, a crooked, almost shy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. His voice is raspy from singing, low and tender. 

You laugh gently, leaning your head to rest on his shoulder. “You were perfect.” 

“So were you,” he murmurs, eyes tracing your profile in the glow. “You were and are radiant.” 

You turn slightly to face him, your nose brushing his cheek, and you kiss him again, slow and soft and lingering, like you’re both still not quite ready to let the magic settle. When you finally pull back, he’s looking at you like he wants to freeze this moment and keep it forever. 

The silence that follows is soft, sacred. He threads your fingers together and raises your joined hands to kiss the back of yours. 

As the city slips away and the night opens up ahead of you, you both lean into the hush between moments. No more rushing. No more preparation or last-minute details. Just the quiet arrival and settling of forever. 

The honeymoon suite is warm, glowing with golden light and fragrant with soft garden air drifting in from the open balcony. You’d barely had time to admire it - all exposed wood and silky white curtains - before you were wrapped in each other again. 

Now, hours later, you're lying in the wide bed, wrapped in sheets and still tangled together, skin pressed to skin under the soft cotton. 

Your legs are draped over his. One of his arms is under your head, his fingers gently stroking your hair, the other tracing lazy circles against the small of your back. His chest rises and falls beneath your cheek; steady and content, his breathing is a rhythm you already know by heart. 

His skin is warm, marked here and there with freckles and faint scars. You trace a fingertip along the line of his collarbone, then the ridge of his jaw. 

“You always smell like mahogany and rain, I love it,” you murmur sleepily. 

He smiles, eyes still closed. “That’s what you’re taking from all of this?” 

You laugh against his chest, pressing a kiss to the space just over his heart. “That, and the part where you married me.” 

His hand comes up to cradle your face, tilting it so you’re looking at him. His eyes are soft, unguarded; no mask, no veil, just him. 

“You are the only vow I’ve ever meant this deeply,” he says quietly. “And I’ll sunder the Earth to keep it.” You lean into his hand, your eyes misting a little as the weight of that truth settles around you and you know that he means it with his entire existence. 

Outside the open balcony doors, the sea murmurs low against the shore. A distant breeze rustles the curtain and cools the room. Vessel leans forward to press his forehead against yours, his fingers smoothing through your hair. 

“I’m terrified,” he whispers, breath warm against your lips. “Of being too much. Of not being enough.” 

You reach up and place a gentle finger over his worrying lips. “You’re exactly what I need, my heart,” you say without hesitation. 

He kisses you then; not with heat, but with infinite care and gratitude. His lips move gently against yours, and when he pulls away, he keeps his hand on your cheek like he’s anchoring himself there. 

For a long while, you just lie together, held in the quiet afterglow of something greater than words. The room hums with a feeling too holy to name. No urgency, no rush. Just skin and breath, heartbeats and whispered promises under the soft shelter of night. 

Eventually, Vessel sighs softly, curling closer to you beneath the blankets. “We’ll go anywhere you want, do anything you wish,” he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep. “Anywhere, as long as I can wake up next to you.” 

You smile, your lips brushing the slope of his shoulder. “My darling Ves, we’re already there.” 

And you fall asleep like that; hearts stitched together in silence, fingers laced, his breath warm against your temple. The world outside can wait. 

You’re his. He’s yours. Now, always, and forevermore. 

@yourgirlisa @houseofsleeptoken I hope you enjoy! Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist <3

[evielmostdefinitely]

i would love if we got to see what the proposal in the garden was like!!!!! <3

bed of roses |young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader|

prompt: as requested above, coriolanus' proposal to you.

contains: kinda dark/posessive coriolanus. capitol!reader. duke!reader who is a rothschild type. slight oc?? no descriptor but mentions oc names. fluff. nervous coryo.

A simple luncheon. 

That’s what you were told. A Sunday tea with your family and Coriolanus’, just like they did in the Old World. Your Grandmatron had insisted on it, and in classic Duke style, what she said went. The drab chic of Capitol fashion was forgone for the afternoon, opted in for bright frills and patterns that went out of style long before you were born. A classic, still, for Sunday luncheons in spring. Your mother had your dress custom made, a blush pink that stood bright and radiant amongst the shades of soft cyan and muted marigold. 

Coriolanus had arrived in a linen suit, neatly pressed with amber buttons that stood out beautifully against the white suit. You had no doubt Tigris had made it, the telling touch of the cerulean pocket square that mirrored his eyes. 

He seemed tense, when he kissed your cheek in greeting. Chaste and respectable, but his hands felt clammy when they took yours. 

Unbeknownst to you, Coriolanus was feeling the weight of the world sitting at the table. His family’s legacy, his own future crushing on his shoulders. The small ring in his pocket felt like an anchor. Coryo wondered if this is what the tributes felt like, before their name was called, standing at the Reaping, knowing that at any moment their life could change for the better or for the worse. Their fate in someone else’s hands as his was now. 

“Are you alright?” You whispered, leaning into him gently at the table, your hand brushing his thigh under the table. Coryo jumped with surprise, further drawing your suspicions. 

“Yes,” Coryo’s voice was tight, heart lurching in his chest. He turned to you, offering a tight lipped, half smile that was a poor attempt at convincing you. “I’m alright. Just ate a big breakfast.” 

You frowned, but brushed it off when he took your hand in his, squeezing it affectionately under the table. Your body burned, electric with excitement at the intimacy of the action. 

Coriolanus couldn’t seem to swallow down the raging anxieties he felt blooming inside his chest. The nagging fear that you might reject him. 

Of course, he’d asked your father’s permission, elated when Atticus Duke granted it to him. The typhoon had even smiled, given him a half curled lip and a nod. “If you take care of my girl, I’ll take care of you, Snow.” 

Now, his fate lay at your feet. 

The rational side of his mind told him that you loved him. Of course, you loved him. You’d told him that endlessly. In the morning before he’d leave for the lab, or late at night between silk sheets. 

As each second passed, Coriolanus grew more and more anxious. He caught your mother’s eyes, her knowing grin making his blood run cold. She assured him she’d have the garden prepared for this momentous occasion, hiring the whimsical Trinket’s to florist the garden. Bright flowers lining the walkway, lotus floating in the small pond, an archway of pink roses over the gazebo. 

“Mother must be planning a party.” You giggled, your lace gloved hand in Coryo’s, strolling with him through the botanicals. 

Coriolanus stiffened beside you. “Why would you say that, my love?” He tried to sound casual, but still, that demanding cut in his tone lingered still. 

You looked at him, the sun illuminating his features, his hair as bright and light as the rays that blinded your vision. “The flowers.” You motioned towards the freshly planted lilies next to you. “She only ever goes this dramatic when they’re having a celebration of sorts.” 

Coriolanus felt his stomach turn, hoping you couldn’t feel the way his heart skipped. “Perhaps they’re hosting the Reaping party this year?” 

“Mm, perhaps.” Coriolanus nodded, taking a calming breath to soothe his nerves. Pull yourself together, Snow. You’ve worked too hard to piss it away now. Snow lands on top. She is your top. Don’t ruin it now. 

“Would you like to join me?” Coriolanus stepped onto the gazebos stair that bore a fresh coat of paint. His hand extended to your own, a soft smile tugging at his lips when you took his hand. 

“Hm,” Your head titled, looking at the array of roses above the entrance. “That’s odd.” 

Coriolanus’ heart dropped. “What is?” His lungs squeezed, stealing every last breath from him. 

Your eyes met his, brows furrowed with curiosity. “She used roses?” You tilted your head to the side gently. Coryo blinked at you. “Mother never uses roses outside. Says it’s gauche.” You shrugged. 

Coriolanus burned. He’d suggested it when she’d asked. Now, he wondered if it would all be ruined. One tiny slip up, and he’d blown it all. 

“It’s beautiful today.” The small sigh of content you gave stole him from his own worrisome thoughts. Your head tilted back, holding your small head piece so you could bask in the warmth of the sun- rare in the Capitol. 

“It is.” Coryo agreed, stepping beside you. He wondered if your father had somehow managed to pay for the sun to shine. He certainly could afford to. “Nearly as beautiful as you.” He whispered, breath hot on the shell of your ear, leaving you shivering. 

“Coryo,” You blushed, cheeks burning with adorning heat. 

“I mean it.” Coriolanus nodded, a hand sliding over your waist at a respectable placement, yet still affectionate. He knew your family was watching after all. “You always look so radiant. Always manage to steal my breath right from my lungs with your beauty. You have since the first time I laid eyes on you in Twelve.” 

Your chin ducked, hoping to hide the fluster of your cheeks. “You’re being playful, Coryo.” You muttered, eyes cutting up to meet him, hidden by the netting of your fascinator in your hair. 

“I am not.” Coryo shook his head, hand sliding over his pocket, feeling for the ring there. It was now or never, time to face his destiny. “I am entirely serious, my love. You have always managed to captivate me with your beauty, your humor, your kindness.” His hand took yours, pulling you closer to him. 

Your eyes shone when they met him, filled with a lovestruck, glossy gaze. It encouraged him, sending that final surge of confidence to deliver the speech he’d practiced endlessly for weeks now. His tongue felt numb in his own mouth when he said your name, tongue rolling over each syllable as if he wanted to savor each one. 

“There has been no other like you in my life before, and I hope there never will be.” Coriolanus' hand tightened around your waist, pulling you closer to him. “You’re all I’ve ever wanted, all I’ve ever dreamt of, gone far beyond my own imaginations with your perfection.” 

“Coryo,” You choked on your tears, eyes shining with emotion. 

 “Please,” Coryo stepped away, though his hand never left your own. “I could speak forever about how perfect you are to me, and there still would not be enough time to capture how much I adore you.” Coryo paused, leaning forwards to look deeply into your eyes. “How much I love you.” 

Your heart skipped, racing like the wings of a hummingbird when he dropped to one knee. An outdated tradition, sure, but one he knew you cherished. One he knew your family would approve as well. 

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” Coriolanus said, hand sliding into his jacket pocket to retrieve the ring, hoping you didn’t see how it shook. “I can’t imagine a life without you. I don’t want to live a life without you. I want you beside me through it all. When I command this entire country, I want you to be there with me.” 

Your tongue swelled, head swimming when you caught a glimpse of the dazzling sapphire ring. Coriolanus’ mother’s ring, you knew that much. He’d mentioned it only a few times in passing. You knew what it meant to him, what she meant to him. 

“I don’t want to be without you ever again.” Coriolanus continued, the ring pinched between his fingers. “I only want you, my petal. So will you do me the greatest honor of my life?” His eyes rounded so sweetly when he asked, a new side of Coryo you’d never experienced. “Will you marry me?” 

Your chest burned, suffocated with tears and emotions that wanted to explode out of you. Your silence made Coryo’s own heart drop, fear filled with damning reality. 

“Yes,” Your voice cut through your thick tears before he could spiral completely. It felt nearly fake, like he’d imagined it. 

Then, you nodded. Head bobbing, uncaring at how the small hair piece shook, sliding through your locks. Coriolanus was sure he was in shock, ears ringing with uncertainty. “Yes?” He whispered. 

Your nod made his shoulders drop with relief, heart beat thundering through his body with aftershock. “Yes,” You croaked, sniffling wetly. “Yes, Coryo. Yes, I-I will marry you.” 

You surprised him next. Overwhelmed with emotion, your hands cupped his face, pulling him in for a sweet, nearly sloppy kiss. Lovesoaked with a powerful emotion that overcame you. Coriolanus faltered, eyes cutting towards the house, burning with embarrassment. It was so improper, and he knew your family was watching him- judging him. 

Coriolanus stood, breaking the kiss, not missing the look of disappointment that flashed for only a moment over your features, before he took your hand. He took his time pulling each finger off the lacy gloves, swallowing a smile at how you shivered with excitement before he slipped the ring onto your finger. It fit perfectly, almost like his mother was giving her own nod of approval to you. 

His lips brushed your knuckles, before you pulled him back into you, a sweet kiss, more respectable this time- appropriate, so he allowed it. Coryo’s chest boasted when he walked back into your family's home, smug at how you showed off your ring proudly, beaming with pure joy at the news. The rest of the afternoon was spent chatting about wedding details, dates and plans, while Coriolanus planned his own. 

Not your wedding- no, he’d leave that to you, but his own future plans. How he’d run Panem, when your father would appoint him, his first actions as President. His own future, out of your hands, and back in his clutches now. 

[ohyoru]

✿ his fair lady ft wriothesley

author's note; idk what i'm writing, but i know i'm losing braincells over this man so this has to be done sob

one cannot not know of the lord of the fortress of meropide. just the mere mention of his title makes people break in a cold sweat, his presence alone gets the devils running. if monsieur neuvillette is fontaine's symbol of justice, then he marks the nation's absolute order. thats why when the news about him getting himself an angel of a bride, it was beyond belief, even for him.

when the marriage was first arranged, he didn't know what to do, or think. he remembered coming to officially court you. standing under the shade by the gazebo, he loosened up his tie out of anxiety rather than habit. his attire — one gentleman wouldnt wear for such occasion — paraded his numerous scars, which he isn't necessarily ashamed of but wouldnt blame you if you're spooked by them.

his cheeks were tinted a light shade of pink and his heart was beating so hard against his ribs that even after some deep breathes, he still couldn't calm it down. he'd heard of you — the heart in the people's eyes, the yearned blessing in the theatric courtroom, the magical phenomenon inked in the steambird. the unmistakable difference between the two of you filled him with dread, very much sure he'll be turned down.

then, you arrived amidst the sea of blooming flowers. your smile was as bright and warm as the springtime sun as you bowed so respectfully and regally like the true fair lady you are. in that moment, his mind stopped working and his body moved on its own as if nudged by fate itself. he stood tall, hand caressing yours in his as he kissed your palm softly with perfect precision of movement.

years had passed since that fateful afternoon. his grace's reputation as the fearsome lord still stands, but there's more to his title when he's with you. for you, he's the husband who have trouble perceiving colours yet never fail to get the right shade of your favourite flower, and the one who conveyed to you the story behind every of his scars that you'd kissed each one afterward. but mostly importantly, he's the man who makes sure to make you know that you're the only fair lady of his, and his alone.

[ms-rampage]

Blades & Ballots - Chapter 4

Characters: Jacob Frye. Katherine Winchester (OC). Wendy Winchester (OC). Francine Winchester (OC). Theodore Winchester (OC).

Word count: 2.0k

Warnings: Fluff. Jacob being a HUGE simp.

Previous chapters: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3]

Leaning against a wall in London near Nelson's Column. He looks around and sees a few couples here and there showing their love for each other before looking back at the ring.

His mind is filled with worry. What if she says no? Is she ready for this? Is she going to want to marry him? Is he moving too fast? His heart is racing, he is feeling so many things.

He's never been this nervous or anxious in his life. He keeps his hand in his pocket, gripping the ring tightly, as he waits for his love to appear.

After a few minutes, Katherine appears from the crowd. "Hi love." She says, kissing him on the cheek, "Where to now?.”

He has to force himself to be still for a moment, as her kiss sends his thoughts into a jumble. He smiles at her, and takes her hand in his.

“Follow me.” He says, his fingers intertwine with hers.

She chuckles, not suspecting a thing, "Alright, lead the way.”.

He starts to lead her towards St. James Park. He feels his heart in his throat as he smiles at her, and starts to speak, trying to cover his nervousness.

“I want to ask you something.” He tells her.

She looks over at him, "What is it?."

"I wanna ask you in a different location." He tells her.

She chuckles, "Alright then…. Are you okay? You're acting... funny.”

He tries to hide it as much as possible. He's been on edge all day, and he can't let her know. He has to keep this secret for just a bit longer.

“I'm fine. I promise, I just want to talk for a moment.” He tells her, trying to mask his nervousness.

His thoughts are spinning, and his heart is racing as he leads her to a quiet part of the park, where no one will be around.

They walk into the park. On one side, there are children playing cricket.

At the gazebo near the lake is a group of trumpet ensembles playing "Rule Brittania".

They cross the bridge to the other side of the park, they pass another gazebo with violinists playing. He finds the perfect spot near the water, next to a bed of flowers.

He leads her over to the place where he thought was the most beautiful spot in the park. The water is gleaming in the sunlight, the trees around them are shading the area from the sun, and the flowers are all in bloom. He feels like he is in the perfect spot to ask the most important question of his life.

Katherine doesn't suspect a thing, and that's what Jacob wanted. This is where he wanted to express his love for her, where he wanted to ask her to spend her life with him.

He turns to face her, he looks at her beautiful face and can't help but feel like he's the luckiest man on earth to have this beautiful woman with him. He reaches out and grabs her hand, gently rubbing his fingers over her skin. He can't help but smile. She's so perfect in his eyes, and he can't wait to spend every moment of his life with her. He rubs his thumb over her knuckles, as he continues to watch her for a moment, before finally gathering the courage he needs

“This is such a beautiful spot." She says, admiring the scenery.

He swallows hard, and he's trying to control his shaking. He has to get this right, he only has one chance to ask her. He takes a steadying breath, and looks into her eyes. He rubs her hand with his, needing to feel the contact to keep himself grounded, and speaks softly...

“I found this spot, and I knew it was the perfect place for us... because it's just as beautiful as you are.” He says, his voice somewhat shaky.

“You're too kind." She teases.

He smiles at her. This is the moment. It's now or never. He takes another steadying breath, and gently rubs her knuckles with his thumb. “Darling... I need to ask you something.”

Katherine looks over at him, "What is it?.”

He takes a moment to gather his thoughts, trying not to let his nervousness get the best of him. He glances down at her hand, then back up at her eyes.

“You... you are the most wonderful thing to ever happen to me. You came into my life, and... you captured my heart. You have shown me nothing but kindness, and love, and... you have made me so happy. I... I want to be the person who makes you this happy. I want to be the person who makes sure you are safe and loved. I... want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

She stares at him as he says this. Her heart fluttered with love for him.

He goes down on one knee and reaches into his pocket with the ring, feeling his heart beating faster than ever before. This moment is the most important thing in his life. He's never wanted something to go right more than he does now. He looks up at her, and takes her hand, as he finally asks the question.

“Would you... would you do me the honor of marrying me?.”

Katherine feels her heart skip a beat. She's always imagined what it felt like to be proposed to. She feels a rush of emotions.

"Oh my God." She whispers, tears forming in her eyes, "Yes, yes, I will marry you.”

Jacob can barely believe his ears. She said yes. She actually said yes. All of his nerves disappear and he feels nothing but complete happiness. He stands, slipping the ring onto her finger, he pulls her close, wrapping his arms around her waist, and holding her to him tightly, as he whispers back, his feelings completely overwhelming him and leaving him with not much else he can think of to say.

“You've made me the happiest man alive, my love.”

Katherine wraps her arms around him as he lifts her up gently, spinning her.

He holds her close, feeling like he's about to break into the brightest, biggest smile he's ever had in his life, unable to stop himself from spinning her once again. Her answer has taken away the breath from his lungs, and he cannot stop himself from bringing her face down to his, and kissing her. No holds barred, nothing holding him back as he kisses her deeply. Holding her tightly, pressing her against him, his hand coming up to the back of her head, and into her hair, as he kisses her like he's never kissed her before…

He responds, just as breathlessly, as he pulls away, resting his forehead against hers. “I love you too. More than anything.”

He's so filled with love for her at this moment, he wants to show her how much.

[Time skip]

A month and a half later, the day of their wedding. Katherine had gone dress shopping weeks earlier and picked out the perfect dress along with the veil, shoes, and flowers for the ceremony.

She had sent out wedding invitations to her family, she was hesitant at first. Her older brother Theodore and her mother, Wendy, were the only ones to accept. Her grandmother, Francine, mother to her father, Nathaniel, also accepted the invite.

In the bride's room, she was getting ready for the day. Her mother and her grandmother were there, helping her dress up. She was putting on the finishing touches. The dress and its train. The jewelry. The bouquet. Then the veil. The final touches have finally come together and she's looking at her reflection in the mirror. She takes a deep breath, and looks at her reflection again. She is ready to walk down the aisle.

“I know you wish your father were here." Francine tells Katherine as she finishes the details of her hair, "I know he's not accepting of your relationship with Jacob. Your father was always like that, even as a boy.”

Katherine sighs, letting her grandmother finish up the final details of the hair. “And he couldn't be more wrong about Jacob. Yes, he's an assassin, but he's also so loving, and kind, and he's honest. He wouldn't hurt me in any way... he has never hidden who he is from me, and I love him for everything he is.”

"Your father... he's a bloody idiot. That's what happens when you let the aristocratic life get to you.” Her grandmother tells her, she was always one to have a sharp tongue, “All you see is money and power. Your grandfather was like that until he met me. He changed his views on how he saw commoners because I was commoner before he met me… a commoner with a sharp tongue and was able to humble him easily.”

She smiles. She always loved the way her grandmother talked about her grandfather. Her grandmother was a commoner, and when she married, he put aside the aristocracy, and never looked back.

He was a better man because of it. She can't help but think that her father should take some advice from her.

"Grandfather would like Jacob... wouldn't he?”

Francine smiles, "If he saw how Jacob treats you, he would.”

She feels her heart light up with happiness. She can just imagine her grandfather standing next to her, walking her down the aisle... he would give Jacob his blessing in an instant.

He understood the kindness, the strength, the good in people's hearts, and he would give Jacob all his approval. "I wish he were here, to walk me down the aisle…”.

Wendy, her mother chimes in, "Theodore will be happy to do so.”

Katherine smiles, and lets out a soft sigh of agreement.

"I'm very glad to have him there, at least.”

She knows her grandfather William Winchester had passed 6 years prior. He would've been the one to walk her down the aisle because she knew her father wouldn't, unless she married one of his political associates or businessman acquaintances.

"We'll leave you with your thoughts, dear." Her grandmother tells her.

Her and Wendy step out and give her some time before it is time to walk down the aisle.

She looks at herself in the mirror, taking another breath. All of the people she loves the most, will be there watching this moment. Her grandmother. Her mother. Her brother. And the man she loves.

She thinks of Jacob, and how he's waiting for her. How he's going to look at her, like she's the most beautiful woman in the world.

She knows her father and 3 other brothers won't be in attendance, but she doesn't care. All she needed was her mother, Theodore, and her grandmother.

She takes another look at herself in the mirror, at the veil placed over her hair. The lace detailing on her dress, the beautiful white flowers... a knock sounds at the door, taking her from her thoughts.

“Katherine, you ready?." She hears Theodore's voice from behind the door.

She can't help but smile at hearing his voice. "Ready as I'll ever be.” She responds back.

She exits the room, a bouquet of flowers in her hand. The wedding march is playing in the main hall.

Her and Theodore stand behind the closed door leading into the hall waiting for the signal to enter.

She can hear the music, and her heart is racing, her nerves starting to rise. But she calms them, and her breathing to steady herself. She can do this. She looks at her brother, her eyes wide as she tries to still her racing thoughts. This is the biggest moment of her life. This is the moment she's going to walk through those doors, and give herself to the man she loves. The man who makes her happier than she has ever been…

Jacob is standing at the altar with the priest. Waiting for his bride to be.

His heart pounding in his chest. He's nervous. But more than anything, he is excited. He can't wait to see her walk down that aisle... her brother, walking her up it. He looks into the crowd, all the people he cares about, and he smiles, as he looks back at the doors, waiting for them to open. Waiting to see her.

[arcadia-of-pluto]

Excerpt/Teaser for "Storge Love"

Storge; one of the eight forms of Greek love, meaning "a protective, loyal, and selfless type of love".

Paring(s); LADS Zayne x reader

Word count; 922 (for the teaser)

Themes; brother's best friend trope, small age gap (of 5 years, reader will be 23 and Zayne will be 28)

Warnings; none, but it will be 18+ with mature content

Characters included(in the full one-shot); brother! Caleb, grandma josephine, Tara, Yvonne, Greyson, Jeremiah, and slight mention of the other male leads

Notes; Hey guys! I feel weird not posting anything at all, so even if it's short...I want to post a little bit from my Zayne x reader that's a part of my Trope's one-shot series. I'm currently writing this one and my Rafayel one at the same time (both are at 2k words currently)– and I would be working on Sylus's too, but his trope is still currently being voted on.

Anyways, this one-shot is probably going to feel really disjointed and rushed, just because I want to skip through the years quickly to get to present day reader and Zayne. I don't want to spend too long in the past, but that's where this excerpt begins!

For as long as you can remember, Zayne has been a constant in your life. He and Caleb first met in middle school when you were eight, but your first meeting with Zayne was a different story.

You, a quiet yet hyperactive nine year old, were excited to play a game with your brother and his friends. It was his thirteenth birthday and you all decided to play hide-in-go seek at one of Linkon's many parks. Your grandma was seated at a picnic table, not too far away, and waves at you with a bright smile as you went to go play. She was obviously worried about you, seeing as you're a relatively quiet child– you don't try to seek out others, but you crave the attention. You never wanted to get close to anyone, but cried whenever you were alone. She knew you were a bit different since adopting you, but she tried to accommodate for you as best she could.

“Hey, Caleb!” One of your brother's friends whispers something in his ear and Caleb nods his head. “Alright, pipsqueak, you're it first!” Your brother says to you and a frown ghosts across your lips. Really…? That's…not fun. You're not good at finding people, but…he's the birthday boy and grandma always says that “when it's your birthday, what you say goes.” But you're not sure if that only applied to you or Caleb as well..

“Oh, alright..” You sigh before turning around to rest your forehead against a nearby tree. “How high do I need to count to?” “Hmmm…five bazillion!” One of Caleb's many guy friends laughs before it all goes silent. You decide to close your eyes and give them one minute. Sixty seconds…

It was still quiet, save for the wind and the parents talking amongst themselves, whenever you opened your eyes and you looked around, noticing that they really did all leave to hide. “This is so…fun.” You mutter to yourself with a deep sigh, kicking a pebble before beginning your search.

You found half of the dumb fourteen year old boys because they started laughing as soon as you got close, some even making fart noises. Real mature…

“Hey Y/n, I remember seeing Caleb go down there!” Caleb's blonde friend, who seems pretty nice, points toward the woods. “Grandma said we shouldn't go past the gazebo.” You tilt your head to the side before nodding it. You wave back as you run off. “I'll go get him! Thanks for telling me.”

“Caleb!” You cup your tiny hands over your mouth as you yell; looking up at the trees, inside of fallen trunks, through bushes. You wince as a thorn cuts your finger and you can't help the small sniffle that escapes your shaky lips. Your glassy eyes looking up at the sky, noticing it was a pretty shade of pink– well, it would've been pretty if that colour didn't mean that the sun was setting. The sun was setting and you realized you were lost.

Was…Caleb even out here? No. That boy had no reason to lie to you! Besides, if Caleb is really out here, he's probably lost just like you. He'll find you…probably.

But your optimistic demeanor fades rather quickly. You sit down at the base of a tree, picking at the loose threads on your skirt while your other arm hugs your legging-clad knees to your chest.

You take a few shallow breaths, trying to calm yourself down. It was difficult though. You were terrified of being alone, scared of the dark. You squeeze your eyes shut and rest your forehead against your knees. “I wanna go home…” you sniffle, trying your best to not completely break down.

“Hello?”

A shout shrieks past your lips and you quickly look around with wide eyes, suddenly feeling more scared at the thought of a disembodied voice talking to you. “W-who's there?” Your hand pats around until it wraps around a twig and you hold it to your chest as protection.

“Oh, Caleb's sister…how'd you get out here?” You finally spot a head of black hair as a boy walks up to you. “I-” You want to say more, but the overwhelming feeling of relief washes over you and you finally allow your tears to escape. “One of C-Caleb's stupid friends told me he was out here, and I got lost, and scared…and–” you wipe your face with your sleeve.

“Uh…” The boy is seemingly uncomfortable for a moment and pushes his glasses up before blurting out, “Do you want some ice cream?”

Your tears instantly dry up and you tilt your head to the side. “Are you trying to kidnap me? I'll have you know that my grandma and big brother both said that it's not worth it to kidnap me because the kidnapper would want to bring me back almost immediately.”

I'm not too sure when I'll post the full thing for this and Rafayel's "Ludus Love" but I just wanted to post a teaser to give yall something to read while waiting for 'Twist of Fate'!

I also really wanted to get to Zayne's one-shot because I recently fell in love with him because of his birthday 5 star card. (It took me 80 long, agonizing draws but I finally pulled him 😭)