#I get that the color for weddings is white and it’s always flowers but like

[tanjir0se]

I’m building a wedding website rn and like. I know my history as a straight white woman is well documented but good LORD. I’m not like these people. No I don’t want to spend $4000 on a donkey covered in flowers to deliver craft beers to my guests. Please help me ..it’s so dark …

[imaginedisish]

Unchained Melody (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Get ready to cry again. Here is the *what if you and Logan went to a wedding together* request. Heavily inspired by "Unchained Melody." That is such a Logan song and you cannot tell me otherwise. ENJOY!

Summary: You and Logan decide to go to Rogue and Remy's wedding together, but you don't know what together means. Logan helps to clarify...

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!!! SMUT, thigh riding, oral (f!receiving), fingering, unprotected PIV (wrap it up!), softdom!Logan, praise kink, cocky!Logan (literally), multiple orgasms, aftercare, Logan will do anything for you, afab!reader/f!reader, reader wears a dress, reader has hair (length/color/texture not described), feelings, so fluffy and cheesy, cursing, Scott is a little shit, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 4,452 I wanna dance with Logan

Maybe this was a mistake. You look at yourself in the mirror, turning around and around. You scan your face, check your hair, and smooth out your dress. Everything is in its right place. But, maybe, just maybe, this is all a mistake. 

You and Logan—somehow—came to the decision that you would go to Rogue and Remy’s wedding together. As in…

Together. 

And yet, you weren’t entirely sure what together truly entailed. Was this going to be a date? Or were you two simply going as friends? Friends friends friends. That god-awful, misery-inducing word you’re all too familiar with. Its meaning and restrictions haunted you as you got ready, and they’re still plaguing you now. You are so incredibly sick of being just friends with Logan. You want more—want him, all of him. But you can’t tell him how you feel—you can never find the words or the courage. 

So, you’re simply going to the wedding together, unlabeled out of fear of getting an answer you don’t want to hear. 

You slip on your heels, straightening out your gown one last time before heading towards the door. You take a deep breath, nervous beyond belief. You twist the knob, pulling the door open. 

And there he is on the other side, fist clenched like he was about to knock. Logan. He’s wearing a black suit, a bowtie tied perfectly at his neck. You watch as his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “Hi,” he husks, his eyes trailing up and down your body. He smiles softly as he meets your gaze. He shakes his head in awe. “You look beautiful.” 

“Oh, please I—” But he cuts you off, his hand reaching out to rest in the crook of your neck. “Really, you look beautiful. You always do.” Your breath hitches as his hand slides down your arm, his fingers intertwining with yours.

You take a deep breath, suddenly overwhelmed by the contact and Logan’s words. “You look really great too,” you choke out, a slight tremble in your voice. “Perfect,” you say, and Logan tugs your hand, guiding you out the door and into the hallway.

Rogue had told you the wedding would be small—just her and Gambit’s closest friends and family on the grounds of the institute.  

Logan leads you down the stairs and out the back door of the mansion. The first thing you see are flowers; an absolute abundance of flowers. There are lilies and irises, asters and chrysanthemums. Daises, tulips, every single flower one can imagine—adorning tables, white tents, and planted in pots and boxes. It’s beautiful—a rainbow of colors and fragrances. The lawn has been transformed into a secret garden. 

Logan guides you down a cobblestone path toward a trellis covered in vines and wisteria. Surrounding the trellis on either side are rows of white, wooden chairs. You and Logan walk to the front row on Rogue’s side of the aisle and sit down next to Storm, Charles, and Jubilee.  You wave as you sit down. “You look amazing!” Jubilee shouts, reaching over Charles and Logan to get a better look at your dress. 

“You look beautiful too, Jubes,” you say, motioning in her direction. Logan sits back, slipping his hand from yours and draping his arm over your shoulder instead. Jubilee notices the movement, her eyes flickering between you and Logan, a small smile playing upon her lips. She winks at you and settles back into her seat. 

Footsteps sweep through the grass as people find their chairs. You struggle to ignore the warmth of Logan’s arm around your shoulder and the way it makes you feel—the soft circles he’s drawing into your bare skin. It’s like he needs the proximity, needs the touch. 

You can feel Logan lean in, his lips at the shell of your ear. “You are the most—”

“Wow,” a familiar voice interrupts Logan. You turn your head, and there’s Scott, with Jean just a few steps behind him. “Didn’t expect that.” He raises his brows and cocks his head to the side. 

“You need something, bub?” Logan asks, annoyance and irritation heavy in his voice. 

Scott swallows nervously as Jean chuckles behind him. He shakes his head and sits down next to you. “Nope, I just…” He trails off, looking towards the trellis. 

Logan leans forward, his arm still around your shoulder. “You just what?”

Scott throws his hands up, feigning innocence. “Nothing, absolutely nothing.”

Logan leans back, squeezing your shoulder gently as he settles into the seat. You turn towards him, catching his gaze. You need to ask him what this is, even if it’s clear to him. It’s obviously something to everyone else. You part your lips, finding the courage to finally ask Logan what you two are. “Logan,” you whisper so only he can hear. “What is—"  

But the music starts up, a whimsical rendition of “Can’t Help Falling in Love,” filling the air as Hank walks down the aisle, stopping underneath the trellis. Next is Remy, in a cream-colored suit. He grins from ear to ear as he trails down the aisle, nodding to Charles as he steps under the arch. And finally, at the end of the aisle is Rogue. Her dress is bright white, lacey, and tight. She walks down, her bouquet of lilies of the valley and baby’s breath in hand. 

She meets Remy’s side, and the music stops. “Friends and family,” Hank starts, smiling widely at the crowd. “We have gathered here today for the marriage of two people who should have been married long ago.” The crowd chuckles as Hank goes on. “But it is always better late than never…”

He continues, talking about their story, their love. Hank—naturally—finds a few Shakespeare quotes to scatter throughout his speech. It’s incredibly cheesy, but it’s beautiful. And, as Remy and Rogue exchange vows, you can’t help but well up. Their admiration and passion for one another is so undeniably clear. They’re committed, a team, partners until the end. 

“I will always love you, chere,” Remy says, slipping the ring onto Rogue’s finger. 

A single tear slides down Rogue’s cheek. “And I will always love you, sugar,” Rogue says, placing the ring in her hand onto Remy’s finger next. 

You look up at Logan, and you notice that he’s looking down at you. There’s something in his eyes, but you can’t quite place it. He tugs you closer, his thumb still stroking your shoulder. 

Hank sniffles. “With the power vested in me by the State of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife,” Hank says, his voice shaky, his eyes glossed over, holding back tears. “You may now kiss the bride!” 

Remy wraps his arms around Rogue’s waist, and he dips her, his lips capturing hers. Everyone stands, clapping and cheering. You and Logan stand too, his arm falling from your shoulder, leaving you feeling cold despite the summer heat.

But as Rogue and Remy walk down the aisle, Logan’s arm wraps around your waist.  Rogue’s smile widens when she spots you, her eyes flitting between you and Logan. She laughs knowingly. Finally, she mouths to you, and blows you a kiss. The couple finishes their walk down the aisle, and they head into a nearby tent.  

Given that this is Rogue and Remy, the party starts right away. Music blares from the tent, and you can see the happy couple hitting the floor. You recognize the song immediately: “Take on Me” by Aha. Jean drags Scott across the grass to join them. Jubilee and some of the other kids trail behind. Charles, Storm, and Hank head over together. 

You look at Logan and smile, grabbing him by the hand and tugging him towards the tent. You can’t remember the last time you saw everyone this happy. It’s rare that you get to let loose, to have a good time. It warms your heart to see all the students dancing, to see them having a normal childhood experience. 

“Come on!” Jubilee calls. “Come dance!” She’s twirling around, dancing with Kurt and Morph, sparking her signature fireworks every now and then.

You squeeze Logan’s hand and pull him towards the dance floor. You’re shocked that he doesn’t drag his heels, that he doesn’t protest or tell you no—he lets you tug him onto the floor. You turn to face him, swaying to the synthy pop. Logan lifts his arm, twirling you around, laughing as you spin back to him. He grabs your other hand and bounces with you to the music.

“I didn’t know you liked dancing!” You shout over the song as Logan spins you again. 

He smirks, chuckling softly. “I don’t!” He shouts back, pulling you in and out to the beat. “But I like dancing with you.” He draws you in closer, letting go of your hands as his arms wrap around your waist instead.

You can feel the heat rising to your chest, spreading up your neck. The song fades out, and a much slower one starts up. “Something” by The Beatles echoes across the lawn. Rogue and Remy take the center of the floor, and everyone steps off, watching from the side. Logan guides you off the floor and towards your table, his hand in yours again.

“They’re beautiful,” you murmur. You see the way Remy looks at Rogue, the way they move as one, fluid unit. “Don’t you want something like that?” You ask, your gaze finding Logan’s. He has that look in his eyes again—all soft, relaxed, happy. 

Logan nods, squeezing your hand. “I think I’ve found it already.” 

Your lips part as you rack your brain for the right thing to say, your breath catching in your throat. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted—the words you’ve been waiting to hear. “Logan I—”

But Jubilee is grabbing your hand as the song changes. “If you’re not gonna dance with my girl, then I’m stealing her!” Jubilee calls out to Logan, pulling you onto the floor as “Can’t Take My Eyes off You” by Frankie Valli rings out. 

“Jubes,” you protest. “Logan and I were actually talking about something kind of important and—”

“One song?” She begs, frowning, putting on her best puppy dog eyes. You look over at Logan, and he’s still standing where you left him, smiling widely. Dance with her, he mouths, arching his brows expectantly. 

“Fine,” you say, still looking at Logan. 

Jubilee cheers, taking your hands in hers, spinning you around. You jump with her, screaming the words. Logan watches from his seat. He loves the way you move, the way you shake your hips, the way you throw your head back and laugh. He can see how much fun you’re having, how happy you are. He can’t keep his eyes off you, can’t help but be mesmerized. And he knows—just by watching—that he wants to be with you forever. Longer than that. You’ve changed him, made him different. And all for the better. 

You look over at him, his arms crossed against his chest as his eyes follow your every move. He’s smiling widely, clearly getting a kick out of you. 

“He loves you, you know,” Jubilee says, twirling you. “I mean, just look at how he’s looking at you!” Jubilee smirks, nodding towards Logan. Her eyes widen. “I think he’s coming over here!”

“Jubes…” Logan chides as he steps closer to the two of you. “Think I can cut in?”

“I don’t know Logan,” Jubilee says sarcastically, grinning ear to ear. “We’re having a great time.”

Logan puts a hand on your shoulder. “I’d like my girl back now.” 

My girl. His girl. 

Jubilee lifts her hands, stepping away from you as the song fades out. “Fine,” she says, pretending to be heartbroken. “Guess I’ll just have to give her up.” Logan steps between the two of you, and you lean to the side to peer at Jubilee as she walks away. She catches your glance, thrusting two thumbs up, mouthing a You got this! as she wanders to her seat. 

“Unchained Melody” by the Righteous Brothers starts up, and Logan wraps his arms around your waist, tugging you into his chest. The sun is setting in the distance, a honeyed glow washing across the lawn, painting the tent and the dance floor in golden light. Logan sways you from side to side, and you let your head fall to his shoulder. 

His lips find the shell of your ear. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers so that only you can hear. 

“Lo, before, when we were watching Remy and Rogue…” you pause, lifting your head to look up at him. 

The corners of his mouth turn up. “I meant what I said,” Logan rasps. “I want you.” He presses his forehead to yours. “Just you.”

“I want you too,” you say, your voice soft and breathy. Logan holds you tighter, his lips just inches away from yours. You can feel his breath fan across your face. 

“Wanted you the whole time,” Logan husks, rocking you gently as the song plays out. “You’re all I ever think about. I can’t get through a day without seeing you, without talking to you.” He pauses as the music grows louder, the strings and piano echoing across the dance floor.

Woah, my love, my darling I've hungered, hungered for your touch A long, lonely time And time goes by so slowly And time can do so much Are you still mine?

“You feel like home,” he says, his eyes glossing over. “I’ve been alive a long time, and for once in my life, I finally understand what that word means. It’s you. This is what love is supposed to feel like.” He pauses again, taking a deep breath, his jaw working. “I love you, so goddamn much.”

“I love you too,” you confess. “More than anything.” 

And then his lips are on yours, and suddenly everything is nothing. The people around you are gone. Your problems have long melted away. Every ounce of pain and every second of suffering you’ve ever felt—that he has ever experienced—are forgotten. It’s all warmth and comfort, languid and slow, but passionate. He’s taking his time, tasting you, savoring you. It’s perfect. Beyond perfect. 

His lips part from yours, and he looks down at you, taking you in, committing the moment to memory. “Pretty girl,” Logan mumbles, tugging you off the floor as the song fades out and a pop song starts up. “What if we slipped away for a few minutes?” 

“O-okay,” you stutter as Logan guides you past your table and out of the tent. The bass of the music echoes across the lawn as you and Logan wander hand in hand toward the mansion.  

He pushes the back door open, leading the two of you inside, and immediately pins you against the wall. “This okay, sweetheart?” Logan asks, holding your hands above your head, his fingers wrapping tightly around your wrists. 

“Yes,” you breathe, your chest heaving against his. He closes the gap between you completely, his lips pressing to yours. It’s hurried now, hungry and frantic. His knee nudges between your legs, spreading you open. You can feel the fire burning in your core—the growing ache. 

You squirm underneath him, your arms fidgeting against his hold, longing to reach out and touch him. “Wanna make you feel good first, princess,” Logan soothes, his grip on your wrists tightening. “Let me take care of you.” You can’t help but grind down on his thigh at his words. 

“Lo,” you whine, searching for more friction. “Please, need you.” Logan swallows your moans with a kiss, his lips melting against yours. “I know, darlin’. I need you too,” he coos. “But I like watching you get off on my thigh,” he says cockily. “That feel good?” He pushes his thigh harder between your legs as you slide up and down. 

“Y-yes,” you stammer, rolling your hips. “N-need more.” 

“I know, sweetheart, I’ve got you,” Logan whispers, leaving a trail of kisses down your jaw to your neck, softly biting that sweet spot underneath your ear. “Gonna make this pussy feel good.” He lets go of your wrists as he slides down your body, hiking your dress up above your hips as he kneels in front of you.

Logan yanks your panties down your legs, leaving your core bare in front of him. “Wanna taste you, pretty girl,” he husks, his breath fanning against your heat as he settles between your thighs. 

“Please,” you beg, his face just centimeters from where you need him most. His palms splay across your inner thighs, squeezing and nudging you open. You look down at him, hunger, desire, and desperation darkening his half-lidded eyes. “Lo—”

And then he’s licking a long stripe through your folds, his tongue flicking your clit. You shudder underneath his touch as he does it again, his tongue pressing harder this time. 

“Tastes so fucking good,” Logan mumbles against you. “Knew you’d taste perfect.” He pulls your clit between his lips and sucks, his teeth grazing the bud lightly. Your knees buckle at the sensation. 

Logan pushes your legs further apart, one of his hands sliding up your thigh and toward your center. It’s teasing, achingly slow as his fingers finally reach your folds, toying with your slit and spreading your slick. He laps at your clit, and he’s desperate, ravenous, his mouth swallowing you hungrily.

He teases your entrance with two fingers—gentle compared to the way his teeth graze your clit, to the way he’s sucking every last drop you have to give him. You part your lips, ready to beg for him, but he’s thrusting his long fingers inside you—down to his knuckles—only to pull out and pump back in again. 

You moan his name, your back arching off the wall, your thighs trembling as he fucks into you. Logan smiles against you. “That feel good, pretty girl?” He asks, his fingers pumping in and out of your entrance at a rhythmic pace.

“S-so good, Logan,” you say, your voice shaky and uneven. His tongue flits out, flicking your clit before his lips wrap around the bud. He sucks again, harder this time, longer, his face buried deep inside your cunt, like he needs this. Needs to feel every inch of you. To explore you. To remember you. Your heart thunders in your chest as he thrusts in and out, his fingers hitting that sweet spot deep inside every time. 

Your walls flutter around him, squeezing him, taking him deeper. Logan laughs against you, the vibration rolling through your body in waves. “I know you’re getting closer, pretty girl,” Logan whispers, lapping at you between sentences. He looks up at you under those dark, hooded eyes as he plunges into you. “Let me get you there, wanna taste it when you come.”

You flutter around him again, his words threatening to spill the heat building at the bottom of your belly. “Lo,” you whimper as he brings a third finger to your entrance. 

“That’s it, pretty girl, say my name,” he demands, shoving the third finger deep inside on his next pump. 

“F-fuck,” you stutter, your legs shaking as you chant his name. Logan Logan Logan. 

“So fucked out that I’m all you can think about, huh?” Logan teases, edging you closer along. You moan in affirmation as Logan laves at you, stuffing his fingers deep inside. “So fucking beautiful,” he praises. “Doing so good for me.”

“L-Lo,” you choke out, clenching down around him. “I’m so close.”

You can feel yourself coming undone, melting into nothingness as he rams into you, sucking your clit roughly. “I know, princess. Let go for me, wanna feel you come on my fingers.”

Your hips buck and your legs tremble as you fall apart. Your orgasm crashes into you, pleasure coursing through your veins. Logan works you through it, his face still buried between your legs. His tongue laps at you softly, his fingers pumping slowly until they stall inside you. 

His gaze meets yours as he pulls his fingers out of your cunt and brings them to his mouth. His lips wrap around his fingers, and he sucks, savoring your release. He pulls his fingers out with a pop as he stands up. 

Logan presses his forehead to yours. “You know, there’s something else I want,” Logan says, his voice deep and raspy. “I’m not done with you yet.” He cages you in, a hand on either side of your head. 

“W-we need to be careful,” you stammer, nodding towards the door. “Someone could come in and—” Logan cuts you off. “Locked it the second we came inside, sweetheart,” Logan whispers, grabbing your dress and bunching it up around your waist. “No one’s coming in here. It’s just you and me, princess.” Logan pushes his hips into yours, and you can feel his erection straining against the fabric of his slacks. “Need you, darlin’.”

You wrap your arms around Logan’s back. “Need you too,” you pant. Logan’s lips find yours, crashing down needily, starvingly. He swallows your moans, one hand still collecting the fabric of your dress while his other tugs at his belt. He throws it to the floor with a clink and works at his button and zipper, pulling his pants and boxers down his legs. He hoists you up, one hand gripping your ass tightly, pushing your back against the wall for leverage.

“Fuck,” Logan curses, his hand guiding his cock to your entrance. Everything is rushed and frantic. He needs to be inside you, needs to feel you, needs to be as close to you as possible. His head slides through your folds, spreading your slick. “Wanted this for so long,” Logan huffs, his tip slipping into your slit. “My girl.”

With one thrust, he sinks himself deep inside you—down to the hilt. You’re suddenly so full, so whole. “Yours,” you answer as he pulls out and thrusts back in, somehow deeper this time. He’s everywhere and he’s everything. “All yours.”

Logan curses under his breath, panting your name as he sets a brutal pace. “Mine,” he growls between placing open-mouthed kisses to the crook of your neck. “All fucking mine.” His free hand slips between your bodies, finding your clit and drawing tight, rapid circles around the bud. 

You dig your nails into his suit jacket as he splits you open. You want to feel him—to feel his skin, his chest pressed against yours. But this will have to do for now. 

“Next time,” he mumbles, knowing exactly what you’re silently asking for. “You can have more of me next time, okay sweetheart?”

Next time. The words replay in your head as he fucks into you, taking everything you have to give. He knows you so well, already knows every curve and inch of your body, knows your dreams and desires. You fit, like two puzzle pieces, like magnets finally drawing together. 

His thumb brushes your clit soothingly before pinching roughly, sending a jolt of electricity up your spine. Logan thrusts in and out, his hips snapping against yours, the sound of skin against skin echoing throughout the foyer. 

“Feels so good, pretty girl,” Logan groans. “So fucking perfect, so tight.” Your walls flutter around him, and he grunts as you squeeze him. “Taking me so well.” 

You’re already close, every thrust bringing you to the edge, every flick of your clit sending you spiraling. It’s all too much. And it’s all because of him. 

“Lo,” you whine, his hips rocking into yours, his cock dragging along your walls. “I’m so…” You trail off, squeezing him again, taking him deeper. 

He moans your name, sinking inside you and pulling back out. “I know, princess, me too,” he murmurs, his pace faltering, his hips sputtering. “Come on my cock, wanna feel it,” he pants. “Wanna feel you. Forever.”

And then the tension snaps, heat spilling out of you as Logan thrusts again. He’s throbbing inside you, close behind. Pleasure pulses through your body, wave after wave. You wrap your legs tighter around Logan’s waist, keeping him close as he spills inside you, filling you up. He chants your name, his forehead pressing to yours, looking deep into your eyes as he comes undone.

Your chests heave together, sharing the same breath. His cock is still inside you. Everything is calm. Quiet. “So perfect,” Logan breathes, his lips finding yours again. “So fucking perfect.” He finally slips out of you and sets you down on the ground, keeping your dress bunched up around your waist. 

He leans over to the side, grabs a paper towel from a conveniently placed nearby roll, and sinks down to his knees. He’s cleaning you up, taking care of you, wiping away the mess spilling down your legs. He pulls your panties back up and kisses each of your thighs before standing and tossing the paper towel into the garbage by the door. 

He presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, letting your dress go. He fixes each of your straps, straightening them out, and smooths out your dress. “Beautiful,” he praises, swallowing harshly, as if he’s holding himself back from reaching out and taking you again. Part of you wishes he would.

But he bends over and pulls his pants and boxers up, tucking in his shirt, zippering and buttoning his slacks, and securing his belt back in place. He’s still a little disheveled—sweat on his brow, his hair out of place. But he looks perfect. He looks just like him. 

“You ready to go back out?” He asks, taking your hand in his. You nod and let him lead you outside and towards the tent. 

You find your seats just as dinner is being served. “Where’d you two go?” Scott asks, arching a brow. 

“Got a little too hot,” Logan says, smirking to himself. He finds your thigh under the table, squeezing gently, possessively. “Needed a break from the heat.”

You hum in affirmation, turning your head towards Logan. You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. “That’s one way to put it,” you whisper so that only he can hear. 

He squeezes your thigh again, harder this time. His lips find the shell of your ear as the rest of the table starts up a conversation. “You’re coming back to my room tonight,” he husks. “Got it?” You can feel the heat rising to your chest as he separates from you. 

You nod, his hand still on your thigh. 

“Good, because I’m not finished with you yet.”

tags: @starfleetteddybear @ilysmdovie12 @prettyseaveins @spiderset @figsnpassionfruits @silversprings-mp3 @wittyjasontodd @theasiaabattoir @fanfic-writing-barbie @manipulatour @pedrohoe04 @derbygracie @honeyfewr @cosmiccandydreamer @Movhoney.

[sophie-looks-at-stuff]

Hi love! I hope you are doing well ☺️

If possible could I request a Aemond X reader? Maybe something where he takes notice of a hobby reader likes and surprises them with something related to it?

Piece de Resistance

Pairing: Aemond x Wife Reader

Summary: Aemond stumbles upon your love for the arts, painting, drawing, sketching, and the like. <3

Warnings: none I don't think, Aemond being a cute and supportive husband. a good moment of domesticity :)

AN: Hello! I absolutely love this request! I hope I did it justice haha. Thank you so much for submitting it! The picture is from Pinterest! It's St Augustine by Philippe de Champaigne.

It wasn’t often you got a moment to yourself nowadays. With your husband acting as Prince Regent in his brother’s absence, you and he both were kept rather busy. Him with the Small Council and issues of the realm, you with the petty social gossipings and happenings of the Court. So rare moments of peace and quiet like this were highly coveted.

Your marital chambers echoed with emptiness as you entered and looked around. The curtains you had chosen fluttered in the breeze. Aemond had not wanted them, but ultimately he conceded, never being able to say no to you. 

He must be in a Small Council meeting, you thought. Or perhaps training with Ser Criston, letting off some steam. Your husband seemed to have an ever-constant knot of stress in his shoulders and neck. You’d tried to massage it out many a time, but it never seemed to budge, or it ended in a much different sort of activity –

Under your armoire, lay a dusty, maroon-red box. You bent down, moving to pull it out of its little hiding spot. You had snuck it under there after you had moved into Aemond’s chambers. The day after your wedding. Aemond had insisted that you move to his quarters as soon as possible. He didn’t like being separated from you more than necessary. If he could, he would have you seated on his lap in Small Council meetings or even when he sat on the Iron Throne. But alas, that was a touch too far, and people would talk. As they always do –

Your husband was kind and dotting, if not overprotective and possessive of you. You had known one another since you were children. Your house and family coming to visit the Court, your mother and the dowager Queen had been friends since their youth. They had hoped that you and Aemond would get along well, and you did, famously so. When he had lost his eye, you had come to the Red Keep, to offer him comfort and company. You had never left after that. 

Your fingertips graze over the top of the box, as you rest it on top of your bed sheets. Leaving an empty trail in their wake. The lock lay rusted and golden on the front, pulling a small key from the pocket of your skirt, you unlock it. A small, soft resounding click bounced off the walls. As you gingerly opened the lid, the stale smell of linseed oil filled your nostrils. Small metal tubes of colorful paint lay untouched in the box. Clean bristles and dirty brush handles scattered about, small rolls of blank canvas. All of which lay, unmoved, unbothered, from the last time you had used them. 

When you were little, you had complained to your mother once about the bore of your lessons. For your tenth name day, she had brought in a painter from Highgarden to tutor you. He had taught you how to mix colors and paint the prettiest flowers. As you grew older, he taught you more complicated things, like ladies in bushy skirts, and golden dragons in the sky. An odd prophecy of your future.

Taking some basic colors, red, blue, yellow, and white, some brushes, and a small roll of canvas, you set up shop at your dressing table. For the time being, altering it into a makeshift desk. Deciding to paint what you knew best, you began to sketch out a dragon among roses, with some charcoal that you had borrowed from Aemond.

He wouldn’t miss it, you thought. He had a small goblet full of charcoal and quills, hiding amongst the piles of books and scrolls on the table. Which he used to plot his war games, or occasionally take dinner with you. When you both grew tired of his family and their bickering. 

The dragon began to take form on the canvas, it looked slightly like Vhagar, large, old, and wrinkly. Her age showing in her face and eyes. Around her, you drew roses, peonies, daffodils, lavender, a great colorful bouquet. Once you had begun mixing the paints, on a makeshift pallet made of spare parchment paper. The other sounds of the world seemed to fade away, the monotony of the act being therapeutic. A much-desired mindless activity in the middle of the war you all found yourself in. You would never voice this to anyone, but it was silly to you. The hubris and hypocrisy of your husband's family was vast and great, and deadly at the worst. The blood of the dragon ran thick and hot, volatile and dangerous. 

You had become so absorbed in your work that you hadn’t heard the door open, the faint call of your name. Lost on the wind perhaps. Aemond stood, leaning a shoulder against the door frame, a small smile playing at his lips, watching you, intently. He knew and had seen you become absorbed like this in a book or some piece of writing, but he had never seen you do this before. Paint.

The colorful oils stain your fingertips and wedge themselves beneath your nails. The same stale smell of the linseed oil met his nostrils.

 An odd sort of smell, he thought. He crept a bit closer, as close as possible not yet wanting you to know he was there. He silently rested his sword on the bed, the sheets muffling any noise it may have made. You were humming softly to yourself. An old hymn your mother used to sing to you. 

As he crept closer, Aemond could make out the picture you were working on. The colors came to life before his eyes, the eyes of his dragon staring back at him. 

“Gevie (beautiful)” He muttered, under his breath.

Startled, you jumped a bit, smudging one of the petals on the peony you were working on. “Shit” you breathed out.

“Aemond, Husband, I had not heard you come in!” You stand, turning to face him, stepping in front of your work as if to hide it.

Aemond chuckled a bit, noticing the pink tinge to your cheeks, embarrassed at being caught. He lifted an eyebrow, and gestured to the painting behind you, 

“May I see it?” He asked, his gaze meeting your own. After a slight pause, you stepped aside. Aemond walked past you, placing a loving hand on your waist, holding you to him slightly. Aemond has developed a habit of always having a hand on you, as if scared you were going to be snatched away, stolen from him. 

Again, he muttered a “Gevie” under his breath. He turned to look at you, your face twisted in anticipation of what he may think. You had hidden the hobby from him not out of malice, but rather out of embarrassment. Other ladies and some lords of the court had mentioned that painting was a poor man's job and that someone of “noble blood” needn’t concern themselves with such silly things. You had been worried that he would have agreed with them, not liking it. 

“I didn’t know you painted. This is lovely,” The hand on your waist moved to tuck a stray tendril of hair behind your ear, it had fallen loose from your braids. 

“I was afraid you would disapprove –” 

“Why on earth would I disapprove my love? This is beautiful, you have a talent”. Your cheeks turned impossibly more pink at his praise and approval. 

“Actually, I would like it very much if you were to paint something on my sword. Vhagar perhaps –” He trailed off thinking, “Or maybe the seas or those flowers are quite lovely too–” You had placed a finger over his lips, laughing. Aemond stopped talking, kissing the digit instead. 

“Yes husband, I would love nothing more,” Your smile matched Aemond’s from before. 

“I would like to show it off–” He murmured against your finger, kissing it again. You moved your hand to his cheek, cupping it lovingly. This small moment of domestic bliss was needed, for the both of you. 

“Well then, go and fetch it, and I shall get to work,” With the excitement of a little boy, your husband retrieved his sword from the bed, unsheathing it, placing it on the desk in front of you. The previous painting moved to the windowsill, to dry. Aemond pulled up a chair, sitting beside you. 

He rested his elbow on the corner of the table, chin in palm. The only free spot on the table, not littered with paints and brushes. You began to work, and he watched you, with nothing but love and admiration in his eye. He could sit here, happily, forever, watching you work, with the setting sun twinkling on the ocean water outside of the windows. Your delicate hands painted the hard metal of his sword. He would let you paint the whole damn keep if it made you happy. And now, with the conqueror's crown resting upon his brow, maybe he would –

Tag List:

@helaenaluvr  @anukulee   @stuckinaf4nfiction

@darylandbethfanforever9

[ne-videl]

𝓾𝓷𝓮𝓺𝓾𝓪𝓵 𝓶𝓪𝓻𝓻𝓲𝓪𝓰𝓮

♡

yandere Poseidon x fem reader

hide your tears and smile, little goddess.

yandere, unhealthy relationships, objectification, angst, power imbalance, depressed reader, forced marriage, poor english, sfw. first half – Poseidon's pov, then yours.

word count: ~1.5k

a/n: hii everyone!! how have you been? I have no ideas. like, absolutely. art block I guess?? anyway, have some of my old stuff. this is my least favorite yandere trope, but I love angst, so sometimes I go for it. by the way, when I first started it, I wanted to write a super idolized fluff but... well, we have what we have, or "why you don't want to marry Poseidon". hehe big booba man hehehe

the endless ocean is noisy outside the huge windows.

today, the sea sings a memorial service for you.

two people at the altar – the god and his bride.

Poseidon wants to smile rapaciously at her shaking figure.

she's afraid, poor thing. who wouldn't be afraid? he is, after all, the god of all gods, known for his cruel and merciless temper, the lord of the seas.

and she will become his lady very soon.

[name].

her name spreads like ambrosia across his lips.

even her name is so ordinary, so human, as, indeed, everything else about his charming wife.

she was a priestess in Poseidon's temple: in his own, so there's nothing wrong in taking what was already his. he noticed her by accident.

[name] was sitting hunched over, touching some bright flowers with her bruised palms. he liked to visit this temple sometimes: it was quiet and peaceful in the atrium, noisy humans did not flicker before his eyes.

little human girl did not even flinch when he silently stood next to her, only continued to look with big and very sad eyes at the colorful flower bed.

at their second meeting, she greeted him.

at the third time, she dared to start an idle conversation.

the fourth, and she talked about life in the temple.

at the fifth time she asked why he was coming here.

Poseidon always stood silently next to her, looming over her like a suffocating shadow. he was amused by her chattering, and, unexpectedly for himself, found her presence soothing, pleasant, unlike other humans, the mere sight of whom made the eye of the deity twitch.

life was bad for her in the temple.

[name] told him, she was sent to this place when she was still a girl, and she spent her whole life by the cold blue sea.

new head of the temple did not like her, saying that there was nothing for women to do here. that she should get married, but who needs her?

Poseidon saw the marks of beatings on her girlish body.

so he took her with him. she served in temple made in his name, spent her short life at his domain – it is quite natural that she will become his wife.

of course, it is unheard of that god marries a human – but does he really need someone's approval?

ʚ♡⃛ɞ ______

Hades advised to propose to her. it's the way humans do it.

Poseidon did not ask for her consent, for him it was just a formality: of course she would say yes, he was sure.

he will dress her in the finest silks, she will own the most beautiful jewels on all Olympus, the sea itself would be at her feet – how could a human girl want more?

smile spreads across his face as he sees her eyes widen, as she begins to shake – no doubt, from embarrassment – and his palm rests protectively on top of her head.

of course she agreed, how could it be any other way?

his fiancee is incredibly sweet. but weak and naive at the same time, like the rest of the human race. but he will protect her, give her a better life.

she must be very grateful to him.

ʚ♡⃛ɞ ______

Poseidon remembers their wedding well, how [name] looked in amazement at the beauty of Atlantis, at the greatness of his seas.

in white robes, with downcast eyes, she swore an oath binding her life forever to a cruel deity, accompanied by singing of nymphs and the sound of the ocean.

she was now a goddess herself, whether she wanted to or not. of course, she wanted to, it couldn't be any other way. she loves him.

and, as the new lady of the seas, she will spend her now eternal life by his side. Poseidon will make sure of this no matter what.

she fearfully puts her small palm into his, while he, her husband, leads her through the corridors of the palace. [name] is silent. probably still embarrassed.

from now on, she will be the most beautiful ornament of his possessions, the shining pearl of Atlantis – his precious property, belonging only to him. and the sparkling ring on her tiny finger was proof.

ʚ♡⃛ɞ ______

"wife." – [name] immediately turns around, smiles, comes closer.

his hand rests on her waist, his grip firm, possessively strong. she doesn't notice.

or pretends not to notice.

over time, [name] got used to him, cheered up, blossomed. it couldn't have been any other way, right?

songs, dances appeared, bright flowers and ringing laughter in the cold and empty corridors.

she became friends with his brothers, was able to conquer the proud Aphrodite, whom she now called her friend with visible joy.

Poseidon is pleased to consider himself a good husband.

he loves to see his wife smiling, laughing.

even if it's not just with him. it's better to be patient for a while, he thinks, than to lose her cheerful chatting for the whole evening.

though, she's cute even when she's angry.

Poseidon was gentle with her. allowed her much, much more than others, even spoiled her. [name] was his wife, after all, so he had to make sure she looked good enough.

he's a good husband.

[name] never contradicted him, never raised her adorable voice at him, never was not too selfish.

although deep down, he would like her to become more spoiled. so that, like him, she would not tolerate anyone's presence, except, of course, her husband.

to think of it, why would she need anyone besides him? she can be quite happy within the walls of the palace.

Poseidon dismissed these thoughts from himself – for some reason, his wife liked to be in society, even if without him.

well, he's willing to put up with her quirks as long as she knows who should come first for her.

ʚ♡⃛ɞ ______

the outfit given by Aphrodite was very becoming to his spouse. Poseidon loved to see her beautiful.

in luxurious clothes, undoubtedly worthy of the wife of a sea god, or in the warm candlelight in the night darkness of their shared bedroom, happy or shedding tears, [name] was equally beautiful.

the precious treasure of Atlantis.

he was never moved by her tears – even if she was crying, of course she loved him anyway. [name] is happy. so why make a big deal about it?

none of the pathetic mortals could take care of her like he did. none of them would love her the way he does.

"you are my wife. you're not going anywhere."

ʚ♡⃛ɞ ______

you didn't tell anyone about your sorrow: didn't share it with anyone – neither with Aphrodite, nor with the nymphs and mermaids, your husband's brothers remained in the dark too.

a little human girl shedding tears by the huge waves.

an unhappy goddess, forever imprisoned in an cold palace, surrounded by hypocritical deities, in the iron grip of an unloved husband, eaten alive by sadness and suffocating hopelessness of her position.

none of them saw you as an equal: you were only a curious little thing, a way to dispel eternal divine boredom, and the Olympians, of course, did not bother to hide this fact.

you didn't know what your husband found in you, and you didn't want to. sometimes you wished that back then, many, many years ago, he would have left you in that temple, or that you would run from the garden in terror, or anything. anything.

ʚ♡⃛ɞ ______

you knew your place well.

by his side, always, no matter what. from the very day when you stood at the altar and did not dare to raise your eyes to your fiance, you were no longer anything human.

from that moment, you became an ornament, a property, a beautiful doll. nothing more.

Poseidon wanted to see you happy – and you smiled, laughed, you did everything that you thought he would like.

are you satisfied? please tell me you're happy. I'm scared.

scared.

your husband allowed you the freedom he thought his property could have, and you greedily soaked up every drop of it.

you're lucky, you told yourself, you're very, very lucky. It could have been worse. any other girl would give her soul to be in your place, – repeated, looking at your own reflection in the cold glitter of jewelry.

you must be like it yourself. a thing. a thing, of course, must have an owner, and a thing cannot be sad.

Poseidon's cold hand rests on your waist, pulls you into his arms, and you do not allow yourself to resist: you exhale into his neck, placing your small palms on his broad back.

your spouse is purring contentedly.

he's happy. you can relax a little.

ʚ♡⃛ɞ ______

sea nymphs comb your hair, weave pearls into thin braids, fold strands into an intricate hairstyle.

"what's bothering you, madam?" – the lady of the seas does not bother to answer, your dead calm gaze wanders over the high ceilings, walls and huge windows of your chambers.

a common topic of idle conversation among the Olympians was Poseidon's boundless adoration for his charming wife. cruel god who fell in love with a mere mortal – what a beautiful story.

even the ocean itself seemed to dote on you. whenever the warm waves caressed your feet on the coast, your dried-up insides were filled with melancholy. your body was here, in Atlantis, which became a prison for you, and your soul, which remained to pain in your chest human, floated far away. your tired mind wandered, and you are a little girl again, and once again the bright sun warms your childishly plump cheeks, and in your hands are colorful flowers, and the kind grandpa from the temple strokes your head.

Poseidon will be coming for you soon – as always.

as always, you will talk about something, laugh, sitting on his lap in the throne room. or in one of the living rooms, or in the bedroom – you were not allowed to leave him without permission.

you flinched when you felt his strong hand on your shoulder.

Poseidon smirked.

his wife is not going anywhere. she will stay with him.

forever.

not the best one of my works but uh well I felt like posting something

maaybe will be deleted since it doesn't look as good as I thought it would be in english

btw thinking about writing tartaglia fic soo the next one is probably gonna be genshin man again

thanks for reading!!

[miss-vanta-likes-to-write]

CoD!Widow AUs make me cry and I love it

Like imagine being married to Price, and he dies in action.

The guys only find out he's married because as they are waiting for evac, they know he won't make it. The silence is thick as he goes into his chest pocket and pulls out a polaroid of his wife that he's kept hidden for for the past two years. It's a picture of them eloping at the courthouse, posed in front of the courthouse steps. She's got on a short white wedding dress, and he's dipping her back in a classic romantic kiss.

The next polaroid he shows them with shaky hands is of her and a little baby boy, and he has their captain's eyes and her smile and a head full of curls. John tells them they named him John Jr., but he's affectionately called JoJo.

John tells them that he was going to invite them all home for the leave after this mission, the Wife's been begging to meet them all says, "Who are you to deprive JoJo of his uncle's? They can keep their mouths shut about us." But now he's sad because he's dying, and he should have listened to her, and he won't get to see either his wife or JoJo meet his boys for the first time.

John makes Simon, Kyle, and Johnny swear on taking care of his wife and son. He was all they had. He wants them to hug her tight, always send her flowers, she likes pink garden roses the most, but is just as happy with any flower. He tells them that her favorite holiday is Christmas, and since JoJo was born, John has always dressed up as Santa so the boy could sneak downstairs and 'catch him' setting out presents. They are a colored lights on the tree and stockings above the fireplace kind of family, hot cocoa with whipped cream with sprinkles, not marshmallows type of family. Snow days spent making snow angels and snowmen type of family.

In the end, he just tells them to make sure his little family knows he loves them and let his wife know he wasn't alone when he took his last breath. That was always her biggest fear, him dying in the field alone.

It's actually Kyle that is able to bring himself to knock on the red front door to the sweet little country side house. The home is perfect it looks like it is big enough for a family of at least five. There's an apple tree out front, the grass is manicured, and there are well-kept and well loved flower boxes on the windows.

Kyle feels sick to his stomach, and he doesn't want to be holding his Captain’s hat, dog tags, and under it, the British flag. He's the one that does it because Johnny can't form words because he spent the previous night crying so badly he lost his voice, and Simon has been at his worst with shutting down, he hasn't even taken off the gloves and mask he was wearing since they still had Captain’s blood and scent on them, Kyle suspects he's still in shock. Kyle is the only one even halfway put together out of three to speak with their Captain’s Widow.

The front door opens, and it's her. She's wearing a pink apron, a smudge of cake batter on her cheek, and on her hip is Jojo. Kyle could have choked and died when he noticed the small bump in her middle. It's clear that Captain didn't know, or else he would have said something about this, too.

Her eyes are bright for a second as she swings open the front door, "Finally he lets you off base" She goes to laugh but that sound dies in her throat when she sees what he's holding. Kyle watches as the light dims in her eyes and her smile slowly drops.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Price." Is all he's saying before she's wailing in heartache.

Part 2

[joelalorian]

Fall Into Me - Epilogue

dbf!joel x f!reader | WC: 3.7k | E 18+ mdni

Series Summary: Joel is hanging on by a thread as a single father to a tenacious 10-year-old Sarah. Feeling like he's drowning, like the world is about to spit him out, he needs some help before he breaks in half. At your dad's insistence, you show up in his life and change everything.

Chapter Tags/Warnings: Explicit, under 18 take a hike. No outbreak AU. A wedding, father/daughter dance, tears, laughter, unprotected p in v (reader's on birth control and they're married now so...), Sarah calls reader Mom, mention of Ellie...

A/N: This is the end, folks! They are a real family now. I'm not crying, you're crying. As we all know by now, this fic was inspired by the song Fall Into Me. Another song dear to me inspired a particular scene in this chapter - Butterfly Kisses. Check it out if you'd like. **it always makes me cry, so beware** This story is dear to my hear and I'm grateful for all the love it has received. Thank you for joining me on this journey!

Moodboard by the lovely @mrsmando. Dividers by the wonderful @saradika-graphics

Chapter Eleven | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The autumn sun began its descent, painting the sky in beautiful shades of orange and red as it approached the horizon. Joel stared out the double-paned glass, too focused on calming his nerves to enjoy the rolling landscape of the vineyard below. Palms sweaty and heart thumping heavily in his chest, he tugged at the collar of his dress shirt, popping the top two buttons open to help him breathe.

“Cold feet, son?” JB questioned from the doorway before slipping fully into the room. Tommy followed behind him, anxious to see why Joel was taking so long.

Their presence startled Joel and he grimaced. “Not me,” he grunted, still struggling to inhale deep, full breathes as his heart raced.

“You sure about that, brother?”

Joel directed a scowl in Tommy’s direction. “I don’t have cold feet, but I’m terrified she does,” he admitted gruffly. He couldn’t meet the other men’s eyes, feeling vulnerable.

“I promise you, son. Spud does not have cold feet,” JB soothed. “In fact, she has much the same worry about you.”

“A match made in heaven, I’d say,” Tommy chimed in with a grin, bumping his shoulder against Joel’s.

“Come on, now. Get your asses down to the vineyard before Maria comes looking for ya. She’s on a war path, that girl a’ yours,” JB directed with a wink to Tommy. “I gotta get back to Spud, make sure she doesn’t run off to find you before it’s time. Meet again at the altar, fellas.”

The brothers watched your dad leave. Throwing an arm around Joel’s shoulder, Tommy led him toward the door. “The ol’ bastard was telling the truth, ya know. She’s terrified of you getting cold feet. Emily and Sarah have been calming her down for an hour now, insisting that you can’t wait to marry her. That girl loves you more than anything, brother.”

Joel beamed, eyes softening at the thought of you walking towards him in a flowing white dress, wildflowers clutched in your hand, and eyes brimming with tears of absolute joy. The mental image soothed his nerves more than any words could and he finally let Tommy lead him from the room.

Fresh air with the slightest chill met them as they exited the building. The soft hum of a string quartet filled the air while guests arrived and took their seats. A charming wooden arbor adorned with colorful flowers, delicate greenery, and a white sash served as the altar at which the two of you would become husband and wife.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Joel walked down the aisle, nodding at some of the guests as he took his place in front of the arbor. He stood tall, looking undeniably handsome in a slate gray suit sans tie, the top few buttons of the ruby colored dress shirt left open offering a glimpse of his tanned chest and a sprinkle of hair. Thick curls were swept back from his face, facial hair trimmed to perfection with that little heart-shaped bare patch visible.

Stepping up to his left side, Tommy smiled broadly at the small crowd. His longer curls were tied back neatly, and he tucked a few stray locks behind his ears and sent a cheeky wink to his woman sitting in the front row. Maria rolled her eyes playfully. Tommy watched Joel’s hand flex, fingers bouncing against thigh in a nervous tick he had since childhood and braced a hand on his shoulder. “You got this, big brother.”

Before Joel could respond, the string quartet began to play Pachelbel’s Canon and he stood taller, eyes locked down the aisle in anticipation of seeing you. Tommy rushed off to the side to take his place in the processional.

Sarah appeared from behind a row of lush, thick vines, looking like an angel in a white dress with a ribbon of material matching Joel’s shirt tied around her waist. The little girl insisted that her dress match yours, not understanding that, traditionally, only the bride wore white. But you didn’t give a hoot about tradition, helping Sarah to find the perfect white dress, adding the sash as something unique. The recollection of the joy on Sarah’s face when she tried on the dress for the first time made Joel’s heart melt.

Sarah danced down the aisle; face lit up with glee as she scattered rose petals along the way from a small wicker basket clutched in one hand. When she reached the end of the aisle, she spun in a circle, allowing her dress to flutter around her, and tossed the last of the rose petals into the air, much to the delight of the guests and her father.

“Hi Daddy!” Sarah called, bouncing over to the place she was told to stand the evening before. Joel melted at the happiness on his daughter’s face, and he beamed back at her proudly. The little girl’s antics drew a soft rumble of laughter from the guests before all attention turned back down the aisle.

Tommy and Emily stepped past the vines next, looking resplendent in their formal wear, the shade of Emily’s dress reminiscent of a glass of finest pinot noir, matching the hue of Tommy’s dress shirt. Joel nodded at them as they approached, lips quirked in a half smile. His hand clenched at his side as he fought back the nerves again.

Moments later, the rest of the world fell away when you appeared, one hand clasped around your dad’s arm. The charming colors of the setting sun were no match for your beauty. Joel had never seen anyone or anything so perfect in his entire life. A crown of vibrant flower blossoms secured in your hair, the breeze rustled a few locks and the short train of your simple white gown.

Joel couldn’t take his eyes off you – not as you walked down the aisle to him, or when JB shook his hand in that ceremonial way of giving you to him, and certainly not as the officiant rambled through the ceremony. To put it simply, you mesmerized him.

He would almost regret it later, but the entire ceremony was a blur. The only parts he remembered included your face smiling broadly at him, the love in your glistening eyes as you repeated the vows you chose together, and the kiss after being declared man and wife.

“You’re stuck with me forever now, darlin’,” Joel’s gravelly voice rumbled in your ear after the sweet kiss.

Your tinkling laughter carried in air, spreading merriment throughout the vineyard. “Oh no, whatever will I do,” you whispered back.

“Can we go dance now?” Eager to get on with the fun part, Sarah interrupted your little moment.

“Of course, nugget. Let’s go dance!”

The little girl squeezed her way in between the two of you and having tossed her empty flower basket aside without care, slipping her hand in yours and the other in Joel’s to tug you both back down the aisle.

“Someone’s eager to get the party started,” Joel chuckled, lips spread in a jaw-aching grin as his little family made their way to the reception area. Your eyes sparkled back at him, full of happiness and love.

The winery boasted a lodge with an oversized deck suitable for your small celebration and enough rooms for the guest to stay the night. The path from the ceremonial area back to the lodge weaved through thickets of grape vines, plump fruit nearly ripe for the picking as the three of you ducked under and around the vines.

The vineyard was charming, a lucky find in your search for the perfect wedding venue. It was the only compromise Joel willingly made on a venue – he longed for a quiet, backyard wedding, but you insisted on something slightly grander in scale.

Maria and Tommy did a great job of recreating the ambiance of that night long ago in Joel’s backyard for the reception. Fairy lights were strung high across the deck, music playing softly as the guests mingled with cocktails and hors d'oeuvres in hand. High top tables were scattered about, centerpieces full of colorful hydrangeas.

It was perfect.

Wanting to save money, you kept the guest list to less than thirty people, mostly family and close friends, and opted for a bulk purchase of disposable cameras rather than springing for the cost of a wedding photographer. In addition, you insisted on a tier of cupcakes over an actual wedding cake, the icing matching the ruby red color of wine. Sarah and JB offered to put together an eclectic playlist for the winery to play through their sound system rather than put forth the cost of a band or DJ. All in all, it was an entirely family run affair that didn’t break the bank and you couldn’t be happier for it.

You and Joel mingled with the guests for a while before it was time for your first dance. Staying on theme, Joel had one request regarding your wedding song – it had to be Fall Into Me. You could hardly deny that one request, especially as the song meant so much to the both of you, practically telling the story of how you came together. Just like that night in his yard, Joel sang the words in a soft, quiet voice meant only for you, your bodies swaying side to side across the floor like you were the only two there.

None too soon, your dad led Sarah onto the dance floor, letting her stand on his feet as he danced around, just like he used to do when you were little. Maria and Tommy soon joined them, along with Emily and her husband. Before long, the party was in full swing.

You fought back tears during the father-daughter dance. Just as Sarah insisted on her dress matching yours, she wanted to dance with Joel during the traditional time. You were more than happy to have them join you. The battle against the tears was lost during the first chorus of Butterfly Kisses.

JB held you tighter as the first tear fell, brushing it away with a calloused thumb. “Feels like just yesterday when you would dance around on my feet like that,” he said, voice rough and quiet with the choke of tears in his throat. “Now here you are, grown up and married, with a family all your own. You’re not my little Spud anymore.”

Thank fuck for waterproof mascara, you thought as a sob escaped. “Dad,” you drew out the word in a sob, tears flooding your eyes, falling faster. You could barely get out the next words, throat aching and vision blurry. “I’ll always be your little Spud, no matter how old I am.”

Joel danced closer to you, checking in with a concerned look as you cried. “Darlin’, you alright?” His eyes darted between you and JB, the shimmer in the older man’s eyes matching his own. Dark eyes softened into molten chocolate, and he gestured to your dad to switch partners.

JB let you go after a bone crushing hug and a kiss to your forehead. “Take care of my girl, ya hear?”

Nodding solemnly, Joel shook JB’s hand. “Always.” He ushered Sarah into JB’s arms, letting them dance for the rest of the song as he pulled you close. Joel pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. “I told you this song would make you cry, darlin’.  Let me wipe those tears away.”

Sniffling, your lips tilted up in a watery smile as he dabbed gently at your face. “I know, it always does. But it’s so beautiful, I had to include it.”

“Almost as beautiful as you,” Joel murmured, head nuzzled against yours. “Sarah already told me she’ll have this song at her wedding, too. I just know I’ll be crying like a god damned baby during the dance.”

That earned a laugh from you, the tears finally easing as the song ended. “Has she started planning her dream wedding already?” Joel nodded, a chuckle rumbling softly in your ear.

The evening carried on, dancing and drinking and laughing with everyone in celebration of you and Joel. You never really imagined your wedding as a kid, more concerned with being a tomboy and other, more important things. But you think now that if you had it likely would have imagined something exactly like this.

“Come on, Mrs. Miller,” Joel said when the lights finally dimmed, and the notes of the final song faded into the night. “It’s time to say goodnight to our guests.”

“Congrats, brother!” Tommy called cheerfully when you and Joel approached. His eyes large and glassy, a slight slur to his words providing evidence of a thoroughly enjoyable evening. “You two throw a great party. Do you need us to watch Sarah for the night so you can—”

“Alright you,” Maria jumped in, cutting the younger, drunker Miller brother off. “I doubt they want your drunk ass watching Sarah. Do you have someone lined up?”

“Oh, yeah, we’re good there. My dad is hosting a sleepover now that he is officially a grandpa. He’s insisting on being called Poppy just like I called my grandad.” You laughed at the memory of that conversation. JB was so excited to have a new nickname just for Sarah.

“Great! I would have been more than happy to help out but I’m going to have my hands full with this one,” Maria said with a gesture to Tommy where he swayed on his feet with a cheesy grin plastered on his face.

“Alone at last,” Joel whispered, carrying you through the threshold of the wedding suite. “You look beautiful in this dress, but I can’t wait to get you out of it.”

Any exhaustion you felt from the long, exciting day vanished at the smoldering look in your husband’s eyes. Your husband. Holy hell. Suddenly nervous, you slowly slipped the dress from your shoulders. Though you and Joel had been together more times than you could count, this would be the first time you had sex as a married couple.

Would his expectations be different? Should they be? Were you expecting something different? Should you? Fuck, why didn’t you think to ask Emily about this earlier?

“Darlin’?”

You glanced up to see Joel’s brows furrowed, realizing that you zoned out with your dress still around your hips. Warmth spread through your cheeks in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Joel. I’m… I’m a little nervous for some reason and got in my head about it.”

His lips tilted upwards as he stepped closer to help ease the dress down your body with gentle movements, knowing exactly what you needed to hear. “There’s no need to be nervous, sweetheart. It’s just you and me, like it always has been. We just have rings on our fingers now.”

And just like that, all worries fled your mind.

Once your dress was out of the way, Joel helped remove your bra and panties, leaving behind a trail of kisses on your dewy skin. His calloused hands, large but gentle, caressed every inch of bare skin before him, trousers growing tight as his body reacted to the sight of you.

His pupils dilated before your eyes and you pressed your lips to his, tongue teasing into his mouth to tangle with his in a searing kiss. He tasted of whiskey and chocolate and something so uniquely Joel, and you drank in the taste like a starving woman.

Still wearing far too much clothing for your liking, you ripped open his dress shirt, sending the buttons flying across the room. Oops. Manicured nails scratched down his bare chest, along his belly, until your fingers met the confining layer of his pants. After watching you fumble with his belt for too long – which, in reality, was only like two seconds, you swear – Joel brushed your hands aside and, without breaking the kiss, yanked the belt open and practically ripped his pants open to free his aching cock.

“What a lucky wife I am,” you purred, breaking the kiss, as your hand grasped his length. Your thumb traced over the bulbous head, smearing the precum pooling there, before bringing it back to your mouth for a little taste. “I get to experience this for the rest of my life.”

“Don’t tease, darlin’,” he growled low in his throat. “Besides, I’m the lucky one. I have the sexiest wife.”

Pants and boxer briefs shoved to the floor, Joel ripped off his socks and swept you right off your feet. Your legs automatically wrapped around his hips as he walked to the large bed. Kneeling on the mattress, he never let go as he settled you on your back.

Already dripping for him, and too anxious to have him inside you already, you didn’t need any foreplay to be ready. His cock slid, with torturous slowness, inside your warm walls with the slightest nudge of his hips. “Fuck, darlin’, you’re so tight,” he breathed against your neck, teeth scraping against the sensitive skin as he fucked into you.

A pleasurable burn spread through you, his cock splitting you open. “Mmm, so good. Fuck me, dear husband. Fuck me like you mean it.”

“As my wife wishes.”

Hips snapping, Joel set the perfect pace to bring you to the edge, heels digging into his ass with each powerful thrust. Fingernails scratched down his back, piercing the skin as he brought you to the peak, the orgasm causing your back to arch and muscles to spasm.

“Fuck, baby, you’re squeezing my cock like a fuckin’ vise. Gonna make me come too soon.”

The orgasm seemed to last forever, pleasure washing over you in waves until you trembled beneath Joel. “It’s never too soon. Come for me, babe,” you gasped when the ability to speak finally returned.

Joel’s thrusts became sloppy near the tail end of your climax, and he spilled inside you as soon as the words left your mouth. His ragged breaths tickled your ear, sending gooseflesh down your body from neck to toes. Your name fell like a prayer from his lips, praising you for how good you made him feel.

“I love you, Mr. Miller,” you said, peppering his handsome face with kisses when he slipped from you and fell to the side with a heaving chest.

“And I love you, Mrs. Miller.”

You don’t know where either of you found the energy, but you made love twice more that night and once again in the morning. After each time, you admired the sparkle of the rings adorning your left hands, the jewelry a tangible symbol of your commitment to each other in this life and the next.

“Mom?” Sarah asked from where she sat doing homework at the breakfast bar while you made dinner. Joel would be home any minute.

“Yeah, nugget?” You grinned, heart swelling every time she called you that. You lost count in the year since the wedding, but Sarah calling you mom would never get old. It was a treasure you never thought you’d experience before you met Joel.

“Do you and Daddy want more kids?” At twelve years old now, Sarah’s voice lost that babyish tone you used to love. She looked and sounded more grown up each day, but she was still her Daddy’s little nugget.

“I don’t know, sweetheart. We’ve talked about the fact that I don’t want to have a baby and he doesn’t want one either. But I wouldn’t be opposed to adopting a child in need, if he wanted to. I’d have to talk to your dad about it though.”

Sarah went quiet while you stirred the pasta and checked the sauce. It was nearly ready, just another minute or two.

“Why do you ask, kiddo?”

Sarah looked up from her work to meet your gaze and shrugged her shoulders in a way that told you she was searching for words to explain herself.

“I dunno. I guess I always thought it would be cool to have a sibling, but then all my friends that have one or more always complain about them.”

Tilting your head to the side, you dug a little more. “So, you’re just curious?”

Dark puppy eyes gazed up at you again. “Yeah… well, no. There’s…” She paused as the timer went off and you drained the pasta and mixed it into the sauce.

“There’s what?” you questioned, placing the large bowl of pasta on the table along with a plate of warm garlic bread, hearing Joel’s truck pull into the driveway. “Come sit and tell me.”

Before Sarah could begin, Joel walked in and kissed you both hello. He washed his hands at the kitchen sink before joining you at the table and you both listened with rapt attention as Sarah explained her friend’s situation.

“You know my friend, Ellie?” she asked, to which you both nodded.

“The snarky one in the grade below yours? Yeah, I like that one,” Joel replied around a mouthful of food. “What about her?”

Sarah grimaced at her father’s poor table manners, earning a smile from you before she continued. “Well, she’s in foster care but her foster parents are awful. They drink a lot and don’t care about her. She ends up hiding out in the detached garage all the time, even staying there overnight just to get away from them.”

“That’s awful, nugget. I’ll look into her file on Monday, see if there’s anything I can do,” you replied. You didn’t realize she was in foster care. As a fifth grader, you haven’t had her in class yet.

Joel looked at you with big cow eyes, brows arched in question. You could practically hear him thinking – he hated the thought of a child suffering in any way. Before either of you could say anything, Sarah spoke up again.

“Well, I was hoping maybe we could adopt her, and she could live with us,” she said hopefully. “You know, since you don’t want a baby and I still want a sibling. It’s like a compromise or whatever.”

Turning to Joel, you could see the same hopefulness in his dark eyes, and your heart thudded in your chest. “Why don’t you invite her over for a sleepover this weekend so we can get to know her a little more. And in the meantime, we’ll look into what we’d need to do.”

Dinner forgotten, Sarah bounced in her seat and asked for your phone to call Ellie. “You guys are gonna love her, I promise!” Bounding away from the table to call her friend, Sarah stopped short at the edge of the room. “Oh, Ellie loves dogs. Do you think we could adopt one of those, too?”

fin

Taglist: @mellymbee @untamedheart81 @anoverwhelmingdin @runningmom94 @leilanixx

@pedropascalfan221 @lovelyjess69 @sarahhxx03 @sofiparallel @tammythr

@lulawantmula @islacharlotte @allyourfavesinoneblog @lover-of-books-and-tea @pedropascalsbbg

@ashleyfilm @brittmb115 @lilmizmoz @loveisacowboyyy @shotgun-shelby

@deninoe @casssiopeia @caitlynsixxx @skysmiller @missladym1981

@marirxse @lizzie-cakes @tynakub @subconsciouscollapse @babygabe

@cuteanimalmama

[sirfrogsworth]

Photo Restoration Project - Part 1

A long time ago, Katrina sent me some old photos of her family I could restore. Her parents have been helping me from afar for years and I really wanted to do something nice for them. Unfortunately my dad got much worse and I pretty much forgot about this project for quite some time.

But then I decided to visit Katrina in Orlando and we discussed having dinner with her parents and I remembered these photos. So I thought I would fix them up so I could present them as a gift in person.

The first and most important photo was from her parents wedding.

Old photo prints can fade over time due to UV light exposure. From what I understand, different colors fade at different rates and red/orange tones tend to be the least susceptible to this fading. Thankfully all of the color information is still there, it's just that the darks are not as dark and the lights are not as light. The dynamic range got squeezed like an accordion. However, if you do a levels adjustment on the red, blue, and green channels individually, you can unsqueeze the accordion and balance everything back to the way it was.

But you can't always save everything and there may be other damage that needs fixing. If something becomes pure white, there is no way to restore that detail. Thankfully I was able to use the new generative fill feature to bring back detail in the dress, the flowers, and the tuxedo shirt.

And because I hate front facing flash and how it makes colors look ugly and sterile, I may have also added a marble floor and pillars.

Next up was a photo of Anastasia, Katrina's mom, protesting Henry Kissinger on behalf of her home country of Greece. This suffered from the same color fading issues.

What made this one a little more tricky was an uneven fading. The left side had to be adjusted independently and the top was even more faded. I had to isolate the trees to bring back their color. And the protest signs were difficult to read, so I enhanced those as well.

Next we have this lovely photo of Anastasia tending to some house plants.

This photo was actually in decent shape. It lost a little contrast, had a little bit of fading, and her top retained almost no detail I could recover. Recovering accurate skin tones is probably one of the most important skills I learned when restoring these photos. I wanted to keep that filmic look of the era while avoiding making people look jaundiced or pale. Lightroom's new masking feature that let's you isolate every aspect of the people it detects in a photo. This made fixing skin tones much easier. I could isolate just her face or her lips or her hair or her eyes and make precise individual adjustments. This process could have taken a great deal longer without this feature. But, I brought back proper contrast and color, added a little bit of detail to her top with gen fill, and hopefully got fairly accurate skin tones as well.

Next up, forward facing flash strikes again in a photo of Mike and Anastasia during Christmas.

Film did not do well in low light. If it was indoors and nighttime, you pretty much had no choice but to use flash. But a flash is a very small, bright light source and this causes a very unflattering result on humans. Today we have much more powerful flashes with rotating heads. We can bounce the light into the ceiling or off a wall and increase the size of the light source to get a more flattering result.

In this photo I wasn't able to do much, so I just balanced the skin tones and brought out some hidden detail and called it a day. It's still a lovely memory and thankfully film has such character that it negates a lot of the unflattering aspects of direct flash.

Next up is some cuteness...

A big priority when editing photos is to make sure the subjects are the star of the photo. And in this one their faces were a bit obscured in shadow. There was also a lot of haze in the background hiding the beautiful vista. Not to mention when I cleared that haze, there was this super faint hint of something in the sky. I can't tell if it was a rainbow, but I decided to believe it was a rainbow. The only thing that I am still struggling with, and this seems to be common with a lot of old photos, is green. Getting a good, saturated, natural green to look right has been very difficult. Everything I try ends up looking toxic or fake. The only thing that ends up looking right with the rest of the photo is more of a yellow-y brown. It's something I'll have to work on as I learn, but as long as the overall photo looks balanced and natural, I'm okay with not perfectly nailing the greens.

Up next we have a lovely scene on a Greek dock...

As far as editing goes, this was pretty basic. I just undid the fading, adjusted the skin tones, replaced the blown-out sky, and made the colors pop. But I think this is actually one of my favorite before and after shots. I just love how such a simple fix brought this scene to life.

A new car is a big deal and Anastasia looks so proud here...

This image has another common issue in addition to the typical fading of colors. It has a yellowish orange color cast. This could have been an issue with the film used or the development process or a chemical reaction on the print. A color cast is a lot like looking through colored glasses. It's like a translucent color material was put on top of the image. This can be a little trickier to deal with, but if you know your color theory, you might already know the solution. Blue is the opposite of yellow/orange on the color wheel, so if you introduce blue to the image it should balance out. Also, add a sky if it was missing.

Next up we have a landscaping project...

This one wasn't too tricky, but there was one interesting issue I had to address. All light has a color temperature. Daylight has a temperature of around 5500K. But the inside of the garage was being lit by reflected light and so that light took on the color temperature of the things it was bouncing off of. So I had to mask out the people and the car and address the color temperature inside the garage to make everything look balanced. Also, the green fought me hard on this one. And with the theme of this picture being plants, I felt I really needed to find a tone that worked. I think I finally got there, but I spent way too much time in the color picker doing trial and error of green tones. Also, new sky.

With this next one I actually did a pretty thorough explanation of how I edited it. But this was probably my favorite puzzle to solve from this collection of photos.

I'll do the abridged explanation...

The physical photograph was printed on a paper with a very heavy texture. And when it was scanned, the light from the scanner bounced off that texture and created a pattern of unwanted highlights.

I was worried this was impossible to fix and I almost gave up on this photo. But after one final Google search I discovered something called "Fast Fourier Transform." It's a mathematical formula that can be used to detect patterns. And the image editing software Affinity Photo, just so happens to have a filter called FFT denoise that helps you remove unwanted patterns from scanned photos.

And thanks to that filter, I was able to remove a substantial amount of that pattern...

Then I did my standard clean up techniques...

Oh, and I decided to try learning how to colorize.

Photoshop has a new set of experimental filters and a colorization tool is one of them. It is not great yet, but it is a great starting place. Instead of having to hand paint every single thing in the photo, Photoshop gave me a base to work with and I could take it from there with traditional techniques.

That's all I have the energy for today, but there are a bunch of cool restorations to talk about. Hopefully you all find this interesting. It was such a great gift to give to Katrina's parents. And spending that time with them and making them happy felt like I was with my own parents again. So we all got a gift in that wonderful evening.

Part 2 coming as soon as I have the energy!

[princessfbi]

For the Ship and Sentence: Ship: BuckTommy (love them). Sentence: The wind rippled through Tommy’s hair and he sighed as he wrapped his arms around his husband as they laid on the beach.

BuckTommy

The wind rippled through Tommy’s hair and he sighed as he wrapped his arms around his husband as they laid on the beach. Well, hopefully husband. If they ever got to that part of the whole married thing. Which seemed farther and farther away with each passing venue they had visited and immediately decided wasn’t for them. Tommy didn’t care. He would’ve been happy anywhere as long as Evan was there with him. Eddie had warned him. Tommy had seen his fiancé with a clipboard before but he’d always been privy to the “you’re the exception but only ‘cause you’re cute” rule. Nothing had prepared him for... Well. To be honest, it hurt more than anything. Not because Buck was unbearable or because Tommy didn’t feel heard about the wedding preparations. If anything, Tommy had to remind Evan that what he wanted mattered too and it was okay if he didn’t like something that Tommy did. It hurt because it didn’t feel like there was anything he could do to make it better. Evan wasn’t sleeping. He was stressed. He was overwhelmed. He was stubborn. His sister had offered to help him find a wedding planner but Evan had pointedly refused to even consider it until absolutely none of the venues had passed whatever standards Buck had set on one of his many many sets of notes. The clipboard had quickly been upgraded to a binder and any time he asked if he could help, Evan just waved him off with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. What was supposed to be a day of celebration and fun was poking at Evan’s side like a thorn he couldn’t pull out no matter how many times he tried. And nothing quite seemed to be able to soothe him. He tossed and turned in Tommy’s arms until the sheets were tangled around them. His eyebrows knitted together like he was fighting off a headache every time he so much as looked at flowers. The to do list seemed to be growing, not shrinking, and under no circumstances was anyone allowed to bring up that they still hadn’t set a date. Tommy still hadn’t quite forgiven Chimney for causing that particular downward spiral. It was supposed to be fun and it hurt Tommy more than anything that Evan wasn’t having fun and there wasn’t a thing Tommy could do to help. Sure, Tommy had dreams. He had little touches on the reception and ceremony he had opinions on. He never thought he’d get the chance to even get this far to begin with. But all that mattered to him was that he got to tell the world that Evan was his. That this adorable, gorgeous, kind man had said yes to forever with Tommy and Tommy loved him so much that it was a miracle he didn’t implode. He just didn’t know what Evan was trying to prove. Or rather who he was trying to prove the mysterious point to. Frankly, Tommy didn’t care. The only person who mattered was in his arms. ��Breathe baby,” Tommy murmured into Evan’s ear. Evan breathed out as he fell back into Tommy’s chest and Tommy pressed a kiss to the soft skin beneath his ear. Inch by inch the tension that had been lingering beneath his skin melted away and Tommy watched as Buck dug his toes into the sand. Trying to tear Evan away had taken a lot of bribery and some gentle manhandling and he’d only agreed to get in the car when Tommy had told him he had another venue they could look at but they only had a very small window to get there. A little white lie. Or maybe not so much. He’d just managed to get them parked and to the beach before the sunset on the horizon and the colors bled into the sky when Evan shot him a look that said he was busted. It was just meant to be a distraction really. A moment of peace where Evan could turn off the miles and miles of thoughts racing through his head. “It’s perfect,” Evan said and Tommy squeezed him even tighter as he stared out at the tide. “Yeah,” he agreed because it was. Because anywhere with Evan in his arms was. But that spot on the beach? Well it had plenty of space to fit their loved ones too.

[silkscream]

CHAPTER 2: HEAVEN CANNOT WAIT FOREVER

ੈ✩ gojo satoru x reader, geto suguru x reader

He feels you shake. Earth-shattering, the feeling of you. Like you’re breaking the sky for him. It roots something deep inside him that wasn’t there before. Something blooming between violence and gauzy ecstasy. It knots his stomach until he breaks, too.

ੈ✩ chapter cw/tags: smut (18+ mdni), virginity loss, protected sex (yay!!), fingering, satoru is annoying

ੈ✩ wc: 4.4k

ੈ✩ a/n: SMUT TIMEEEEE! one of my fav chapters just because it's so sweet. title is from the first taste by fiona apple. i'd love feedback <3 if you just comment about updates i will summon mahoraga on you.

playlist ✸ read on ao3 ✸ series masterlist

July, 2008

In front of you, the Gojo estate sprawls out. It's oversized and sukiya-style, adorned with gardens full of hanashobu. When you were younger and more naive, you daydreamed that your wedding ceremony would happen in such a place. The idea makes you feel silly now.

You now find the gargantuan display of wealth a bit repulsive, despite growing up here. 

The emerging summer heat makes the back of your knees feel sticky already. You had opted for a simple shirt dress, light and linen, and robin’s egg blue, thinking Satoru would like the color. 

God, this was stupid. He wouldn’t be paying attention to the color of your dress — he’d be much more concerned with what’s underneath. The thought makes your stomach flip, birds and wasps flurrying in your diaphragm. The kiss you’d shared hadn’t left your mind for days. You wonder if it was the same for him.

You're surprised that he's there to greet you himself. Otherwise, you would've let yourself in. He smiles at you, looking unfairly handsome in a black t-shirt and sweatpants. He’s not wearing his sunglasses. 

“Look who decided to show up.”

You hum in greeting, brushing past him to move toward the stairs.

“Eager, are we?” he teases. “You didn’t even get me flowers.”

“You have a whole garden of them outside.”

“They’re much prettier when you arrange them, Twigs.” 

He cocks his head to the side, eyes lingering on an ikebana sitting on the foyer table. You had arranged it last week. You sigh, immediately regretting your decision until he pushes you lightly on the small of your back. His cologne is sharp under your nose. Has he always smelled this good? 

It didn’t occur to you that Satoru would ever wear cologne. He’d always smelled like plain soap, white musk. Boyish sweat after he’d play in the courtyard with you.

You follow him up the long staircase and into his bedroom. It’s plain as it always was — neutral colors and traditional paintings on the walls, courtesy of his mother. The only difference is that a king-sized bed replaces the tatami mat he’d preferred as a child.

You try not to look at him, instead, inspecting the bookshelves. You'd read half of his stack by the time you were twelve. Since then, it seemed that Satoru didn't continue an interest in reading the same way you had. 

There’s a small photo peeking out of a book — you recognize the top of your head. As you pull it out, you see the two of you grinning in front of a lake. You are eight years old, freshly toothless, and your pigtails are unruly.

“I miss your braids, you know,” Satoru murmurs. He laughs when you jump a bit at the realization of his presence. The coolness of his palm settles on the nape of your neck. You used to tease him about that — how he’d stalk the hallways like a cat and catch you off guard. You thought he’d ought to wear a bell. 

“You just liked tugging on them to piss me off.”

“You’re cute when you’re pissed off,” he shrugs. 

You wonder if he can hear the echoing brag of your heart. You can’t blame the heat for how you feel, with his house being the perfect temperature of all times. He’s so casual in his T-shirt compared to you. You’re briefly self-conscious about whether your dress is tacky or garish. Too feminine with its floral pattern. You hadn’t worn the thing in years.

As if he’s read your mind, he calls your name and tells you that he thinks you look pretty today. He beckons you into his lap again.

This time, you sit next to him, too anxious to touch yet. He smiles at you again, cat-like, but sweet. Not teasing in his usual manner. 

“You can kiss me, you know.”

“I— I know,” you frown. “I don’t need your permission.”

“Then what are you waiting for, Twigs?”

You close your eyes, pausing in front of his face as you notice his breathing get uneven. A subtle push forward makes you stop against a wall.

“You did not just use your Infinity—”

“Sorry,” Satoru laughs. “Still a little mad that you lied about your technique to me.”

You look at him with wide eyes, bottom lip trembling. Something between shame and self-effacement.

“I’m messing with you. Promise. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Despite that, there was never really any hiding from him. Even though you aren’t as close as you used to be, Satoru is somehow still intuitive to how you feel. It’s why he touches your jaw and curls a lock of your hair in between his fingers. He knows his gentle touch would make a shiver run down your spine.

He kisses you, finally. The way your mouth immediately parts to welcome him makes his stomach stir, a spark to ignite a fire. It’s curious and soft, and when he hears you mumble please when he pulls away, he succumbs completely. 

His hand settles on your waist, then your thigh. The crux behind your knee. He doesn’t want to move too quickly despite his desperate desire. Your sweet sounds are making him boil over. It’s all so delicate, hanging on by the thinnest thread, and he doesn’t want to scare you away like a timid animal.

You melt into him, grasping the front of his t-shirt with enough eagerness to surprise him. It occurred to you that you liked surprising him this way. You enjoyed getting him flustered. As you feel his warm palms smoothing the flesh of your thighs, the skirt of your dress is already bunched up.

The sound of him groaning in your mouth is addictive. Even more so when it’s your name between his lips.

“Satoru,” you whisper.

“Yes?”

“I–I want–”

Want you to eat me. Want to stay in your lap.

“Gone speechless already?” he teases, brushing your nose with his despite your glare. “You don’t have to be all shy with me.”

You’d imagined being in his lap like this before, warm and fervid. Dream-like. But it’s more real than anything else, especially when you can feel his hardness underneath you.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” 

Satoru’s voice is strained, raspy. There’s an unsung hymn inside of you somewhere, some cruel and divine power deep within that wants to tear him apart. Hearing him like this makes your pulse quicken.

“I want to,” you whisper. His eyes widen, snowy lashes flickering in surprise as if he wasn’t the one to invite you over. As if he wasn’t the one who had beckoned you into his lap and kissed you first. He’d argue that you’d tempted him if he had the strength to tease you again.

You have the urge to hide inside of him, consume him. There’s a question in the flicker of your eyes when you touch his inner thigh. Your eyes are wide. 

Satoru makes a sharp inhale. He’s nervous – more nervous than he’s ever been in this kind of situation. It isn’t like he does this often despite his reputation. With you, it’s something entirely unprecedented. 

“Kiss me again,” he says. You do. For a bit, you let the feeling of him wash over you, and then you try something new. Your teeth are at his neck. The nip of your incisors against his throat makes him groan, the sound inciting something wild in you.

“Do you want me to touch you?”

You nod. 

He doesn’t undress you, not yet. He merely snakes an arm in between your thighs, gasping at the wetness that’s gathered at your core. Fuck.

“You can lean into me,” he rasps into your hair. “Make yourself feel good.”

You mewl – a helpless sound. A small rock of your hips grants you friction against his hand, but it’s not enough. 

“You’re teasing me,” you whine.

“But you like it, don’t you?” 

He smiles. Devilish again, like his usual self. He knows you’re a bit repressed, like him, but in a way that’s reserved. He wants to see you come undone, enjoys the begging tone of your moans too much.

Satoru skims his fingers along your thigh, wetting the skin with your slick. He pulls your underwear to the side to find your clit. The pressure of his fingers against it makes you shiver.

Your eyes close as you sigh. You can’t look at him – can’t remind yourself that he can see your face like this, falling apart in small breaths. The coil in your stomach aches.

“Tell me how it feels.” His voice is low, his breath tickling just beneath your ear. 

“Good,” you reply, breathless. “Feels really good.”

He wants to ask for permission, but he can’t help it. The sight of your mouth parting in pleasure is so much. He wants to see how your face contorts when he touches you in different places. You have always been his favorite toy, haven’t you?

Without warning, he pushes an index finger into you, stifling a groan at your reaction. 

“Want more? How do you like it?”

“I don’t– I don’t know?”

“You don’t touch yourself, Twigs?”

“Satoru, just– oh.”

You’re so wet around him. So tight. His cock throbs at the idea of being inside you. 

“Another one?”

“Mhm.”

“Open your eyes. Want you to look at me.”

Your lashes flutter as you gasp into his mouth. He looks at you intently, mesmerized. Your hips jerk, grinding into his lap when he uses his thumb to circle your clit again, this time in a steady rhythm with two fingers inside your cunt.

Satoru exhales into your mouth, his jaw slack and moaning softly as if he’s being stimulated as much as you are. In a way, he is, from the friction of you in his lap. He thinks he might just cum in his pants from watching you. He’s never been this pent-up before.

You finish with a quiet gasp, clutching Satoru’s shoulders as you bury your face into his neck. When you pull back, he’s wonderstruck, eager to kiss your cheeks and your jaw and the space above your collarbone. His fingers, still wet with your slick, enter his mouth. He curses softly. You flush at the sight of his lips all dewy with the taste of you.

“Can I take this off?” He pulls at the hem of your dress. The sound of his voice shakes you back to Earth.

You nod, helping him slip the fabric off of your body.

It’s almost as terrible as it is tantalizing to be so vulnerable in front of him. Bare enough for him to make his mark on you, claiming you forever. You suppose he had done that long ago without you realizing.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he coos. He soothes a palm over your waist.

“Naked, you mean?”

Satoru laughs. Eyes hazy, summer blue. “Yes. But you’ve always been beautiful.”

You want to retaliate with something, ease your nerves with a joke, but the tenderness of his voice renders you speechless.

“Your turn,” you breathe, tugging at his sleeve. 

When he rids himself of his shirt and sweatpants, you notice he’s as pale as moonlight. Smooth porcelain and filled-out muscle. Rigid. What happened to the lanky boy that used to pull on your braids?

“Got a staring problem?” he goads.

“Shut up.”

“Maybe if you lay back for me.”

You swallow. You listen to him. He looks at you, your hair fanning out on his pillow, your body bare and ripe for the taking. Satoru sits in front of you and coaxes your legs apart to kiss your knees, the back of your thighs. You mewl when he bites, nipping at you the same way you’d done to his neck.

“Look at you. So fucking pretty. Wanna eat you out.”

You have half a mind to say thank you, but the moment passes. You’re too fixated on the way his eyes trail down your body. How the brevity of his words makes you feel flayed alive. 

When he kisses you a little too close to your core, you whine in protest and pull at his hair in a fit. He looks up at you, feigning dejection.

“I’m sorry, baby. What is it that you want, hm?”

Baby. Baby.

“Come kiss me.”

And he does, but it’s more violent this time. He doesn’t hold back on showing you how much he wants you, how badly he’s obsessed with you after seeing you fall apart so sweetly for him. The supercut of it will reel in his head long after this. He’s sure of it.

Satoru laves his tongue over the places on your neck that he’s bitten, and descends to your chest until he hooks his teeth around your nipple. He groans at the sound of your moan. His hands are still roaming, palms gripping the taut flesh of your thighs as he grinds lightly into your body enough for you to feel his hardness. 

He wants to give you more, so he teases the swollen nub of your clit again with his fingertips and is delighted to feel that you’re even wetter than before – if that was even possible.

“Satoru!”

“Yes?”

Your breathing is so irregular that you can’t put your desire into words. Not without it tainting you with shame, at least. You plead with big eyes, but Satoru wants to tease you a little more. You wonder if it’s in his nature to be so cruel.

“Use your words, Twigs. What is it? You want me to fuck you?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, okay,” he chuckles, kissing your temple. “You want a condom?”

You close your eyes, nodding, trying to savor the way he makes you feel and not the terrifying vulnerability that rots in the pit of your stomach. It’s all too much, much more than you had dreamt out, but you’re here now. You know there’s no going back. You know that when you open your eyes to see his soaking in so much light, looking at you with adoration, you wouldn’t want to go back anyway.

He’s quick to prod your entrance again. You nod slightly to permit him, clutching him like a lifeline. 

“Let me know if it hurts too much, okay?”

“Okay.”

He kisses you hard, consuming you as a distraction as the head of him enters you little by little. You’re wet enough to not feel any resistance. When he’s pushed to the hilt of you, he moans against your mouth. He drinks up your exhale, trying not to consider it a painful one as he runs his fingers through your hair lovingly.

It’s a strange pain. Something of an ache in the core of you, twisting at your insides in a way that also feels like crushing ripe fruit. A delicate sensation as much as it is rough. Satoru is gentle in his movements, brushing your hair out of your face. He looks at you with utmost admiration. 

“Is that— is that good?” you whisper.

“I should be asking you that, shouldn’t I?” he says. You feel the rumble of his laugh against your chest. “Does it hurt?”

“Only a little. But it—it feels nice.”

He slides his cock back to thrust into you again, slowly. It’s almost languid, lazy the way he slips back into you like the two of you have just woken up from a dream. 

Satoru wants to be intentional with how he fucks you. Even within these past minutes, he’s convinced he’s gotten your reactions down to memory. He’ll be able to touch you in all the right ways the next time you fall into his bed. But if he’s intentional, if he fucks you the way he truly wants to, he’s worried it’ll be too much. Everything he feels for you is too much at the moment.

“Relax for me.” His voice is smooth as butter. Your reaction is a hot knife. You notice that for the first time in a long time, in front of you, his face is blushing pink. It makes your walls tighten around him.

He rolls his hips against yours. It’s ecstasy—the feeling of you encapsulating him in lust, in softness. The drawn-out whine that tumbles out of your mouth makes it all worthwhile as Satoru thrusts with the smallest bit of intention. Softly, lovingly. After a bit, his length begins to make you feel full without all the pain. Skin kissing skin. Insides fluttering.

You don’t notice the tears pricking the corners of your eyes. The pain subsides, but the pleasure stokes the fire in your stomach until it devours you completely. 

He hitches your right leg higher, ankle past his shoulder. He feels so fucking reckless, but he’ll satiate you the way you deserve—sweet and painless and passionate. The way your bottom lip trembles is making it so fucking difficult for him to stay gentle, though.

He moans your name and it reminds you of yourself. Of your body, of inhabiting it and being consumed by your best friend who is not your best friend. And you love him, you realize, but it’s a worthless feat to think about it too much during your first time. You can at least play pretend while Satoru is inside of you, as he looks at you like he’s the one in love with you.

He bites at your neck as he ruts into you a little faster. He’s so deep that you think you might go brainless—dizzied with pleasure, overflowing with thrill.

“So fucking tight,” Satoru groans. He pushes up his body now, settles himself on his knees as he holds your thighs firmly. “Look at you. My pretty girl.”

“Satoru—” you whine, feeling too exposed, too bare with him hovering over you like this—“Oh, my god—”

You’re pushed over the edge when he thumbs at your clit again, your cunt tightening around him at the feeling. You look beautiful like this. Tears of an angel. It distracts him a bit, how pretty you look, until he realizes the power he holds over you. Knowing that he’s taking.

“Too rough, baby?” he coos, leaning over to kiss your cheeks, licking up your salty tears. 

“Don’t stop,” you gasp. “S’good. Feels good.”

He’s pushed against you again, head buried into your neck. He pulls at your hair gently, angling your face to look at him. Noses touching. Mouths sharing air.

“Gonna cum,” you whine into a kiss. He groans at your admission, pulling you taut against him as he adjusts you both to your sides. He lifts your leg over his, rolling his hips harder, and the angle makes you cry out.

He feels you shake. Earth-shattering, the feeling of you. Like you’re breaking the sky for him. It roots something deep inside him that wasn’t there before. Something blooming between violence and gauzy ecstasy. It knots his stomach until he breaks, too.

“Fuck,” he curses. His eyes are wide open, mooning at your face as you cum, and he can feel his release burying inside you to the hilt. 

Even after you’re both spent, he’s greedy, still hard inside of you as he continues. Lazy movements, half in tandem with your ragged breaths. He grins at you then, breathless at your blurry gaze. Kisses you sweetly like a shared promise.

The comfortable silence falls between you as you swap kisses. You hum against his lips, caressing his jaw. Your eyes blink at the sight of rain outside his bedroom window. A light drizzle despite the orange sunlight.

“Hm,” Satoru purrs. “We brought the rain.”

“What, with an orgasm?”

“I’m pretty sure you had more than one.”

“You’re so obnoxious,” you mutter. 

“And still inside you,” he grins. 

He pulls out when you make a grumbled sound, contrasting the melody of his laugh. He has half the mind to take a picture of you like this, sprawled in his bed like a painting. He’d keep the image of it in his wallet if he could. 

Instead, he goes to the bathroom to bring you a warm, wet rag and cleans you up. He’s able to catch his breath as he rubs his hands over your bare thighs. You’re changed, glowing, yet your face is so familiar. The same one he’s been fond of for years. The shift inside him aches.

Satoru isn’t sure what to do. Usually, he’s inebriated at this point, and the sex closes with a heavy, dreamless sleep after midnight. The sun shower outside has calmed down, barely there, and afternoon sunlight floods the room. He’s more awake than ever with your presence. He’s surprised you haven’t gotten up to get dressed or made some excuse about leaving. He realizes he doesn’t want you to.

It feels normal when he falls into bed with you after just touching your skin, slips into a sweet afternoon nap. Hours later, you make him dinner. He makes you cum again.

September, 2008

You don’t understand Satoru’s affinity for sugar. You would think he had an addictive personality the way he consumed sweets – you’re surprised he isn’t addicted to something worse, like cigarettes. 

Lately, he’s been complaining about craving something sweet before he fucks you. He licks his lips as you share the same mango-flavored popsicle in the courtyard of his estate. Juice dribbling down your chin. It doesn’t take him long to get you knee-deep in the grass. He teases you, tells you your pussy is sweeter. The sweetest.

Other times, you have quiet nights. He watches movies with you in your room and has sex with you before you sleep. Over a few months, Satoru gets accustomed to how you sound when he touches you until he knows you inside out. Expert in the map of your body. Of the pillow-soft places he can tease to make you cum hard.

But he doesn’t take you out after. Or before. It’s always a rendezvous, the rest of the world dead to the both of you as you consume each other. A paradise restricted to a bed. He gets you so dizzy that it doesn’t bother you. He kisses you sweetly on his way out to see his friends. He kisses you sweetly before he’s quick to slip out your door or send you out on his own.

It’s perfect for him. You’re perfect — you feel it. 

Satoru likes that you’re so pliable. He can say anything he wants to you and you’ll take it.  You’ll even moan for it.

Sometimes he can be mean, sometimes he has tears rolling down your face, but he always kisses them away. He likes that you let him cum in your mouth. 

He especially likes that you’re good company outside of the sex. You’re the only mind that gets him besides Suguru. It’s why he likes spending time with you when everyone else is busy. Even if he’s practicing his techniques and you’re splayed on the grass, reading a book. 

It’s what you’re doing now. He’s convinced you’re trying to tempt him today. At the moment you’re wearing the pleated skirt from your school uniform, despite it being summer break. The July heat made it unbearable to wear pants. It was laundry day, too, but Satoru insisted on having you come over.

“Come play with me, Twigs,” he calls after you. You look like a dream in your little tank and little skirt. Bare legs with imprints of grass patterns.

“I’m reading.”

“Just because you have a healing technique doesn’t mean that you can’t practice combat.”

“Shoko doesn’t,” you scoff.

“Shoko is going to cheat her way through med school. C’mere, I’m lonely,” Satoru whines. 

You’re not as good at fighting as you were when you were children, able to at least wrestle with Satoru and have equal footing. Even then, you didn’t have enough cursed energy to fight like a true sorcerer like Satoru. 

But you are getting the hang of it, bleeding cursed energy that flickered a gauzy aura around you. Satoru wonders if it’s just his six eyes that make you look so beautiful in front of him. So soft. 

He ends up pushing his weight on you by the end, anyway. He revels in the way you groan, annoyed at him for pinning you down. He knows what’s on your mind from the way you lift your hips for him almost involuntarily. It’s how he has you melt in his grasp, skirt hiked over your stomach as he bullies his cock into you. You’d been asking for it since you looked at him, your teasing eyes peeking from above your book.

He finishes on the small of your back like he always does. Licks over the hickey under your collarbone, too.

You ground him. At least as much as Suguru does, but differently. He’s clear-headed after he cums, laying with you skin to skin. It reminds him that he’s human rather than a god-like prodigy. He keeps you like a pet, never wanting to let you leave him, insisting on stroking through your hair like you’re a cat. 

“This has to be some form of kidnapping,” you mutter, one afternoon in his bed. He’d kept you for at least 36 hours, this time. You would never hear the end of it from your mother.

“I can always go to your house.”

“I wonder if this is codependent,” you say. You scrunch your nose as he nuzzles his to yours.

“Nah,” Satoru hums lazily. 

“You don’t think so, Satoru?”

“There’s a time limit for me to hang out with my best friend?”

His quip makes your heart pang. You ignore it. 

He’ll release you when he feels like it. He knows well enough that you’d rather stay in his bed all day, anyway. He’s too wrapped up in you to think about how it may be cruel.

You stay long enough that your staycation with Satoru bleeds into his usual weekend plans. This includes a movie night with Suguru, so you join.

Satoru picks something raunchy, of course. Something horrific and exploitative in a way that draws attention from its taboo. A cinematic car wreck that has your head spinning. 

He whispers in your ear, teasing you, calling you baby whenever Suguru goes to the bathroom. He has his hand on your thigh, fingertips under the blanket, and close enough to your core to make you dripping wet. 

And then, as the movie progresses, you tuck your body towards Suguru, who shares your distaste for such violence. Even if it’s fictional. As Satoru watches his worlds collide and sees the way Suguru’s fox eyes light up at your banter, something odd flickers inside him. 

When the new semester starts in the fall, he doesn’t look at you as he walks past you.

[lolitastories]

🪷WEDDING🪷

Rafe Cameron

“Mija, you can go on ahead to the club” I raise my head to watch my parents dressed up for something other than the country club. “We will meet you for dinner” My mother nods to my fathers words, sending a smile over to me.

“Remember to talk with Francine about the party” They didn’t wait for an answer, already halfway out the door. Ever since I could remember we barely spent time as a family. It was rare to get them at dinner so I knew that they weren’t going to be back for dinner. They remembered birthdays and holidays but other than that, nothing. They were there for some school events but I stopped letting them know about the few last ones my senior year because I felt like I was begging for attention.

“¡Bye Hon!” My dad screamed as the car backed up in the driveway. I closed the door and turned to get my purse.

“You need me to tell Jerry to get the other car ready?” I look over, shaking my head.

“No, thank you Ruby. I will drive myself today” She gives a gentle nod before walking away. As I get into the car I think of not even going but then I turn it one and I think I could skip the country club for today and maybe go to the beach? Then Francine comes to mind and I lose all hope of having a nice day by the waves. Once Francine sees me at the club she will make sure I stay there and I have to see her because she is part of a wedding I am helping plan. Francine is an old friend of my parents, like a second mother and since she has no kids she bestowed that onto me. I make my way to the club and before getting out of the car I take a deep breath and walk in.

“Miss, so glad to see you, how are your parents?” I jumped, hearing the enthusiastic voice from the club's host.

“They are doing great”

“That's amazing to hear, well enjoy your evening” He smiles quickly before running off to his next victims that were just walking in.

“Alone again?” I closed my eyes trying to calm my beating heart down again. People need to stop doing that.

“I feel like I should be reciting Shakespeare right now?” My head moved up seeing Rafe lean over the balcony. Light salmon pink shirt with a fresh buzz cut and the never missing gold ring. “O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?” I lift my hand mocking chivalry. Rafe chuckles, shaking his head.

“So that makes me Juliet?” I shrug my shoulders

“Fuck that, there is no shame in a woman senerating a man” He stand up straight and with a smile, he looks down.

“Well continue my lady,”

“Deny thy father and refuse thy name;” Why was I giving it my all? I laugh inside at my stupidity right now. “Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, and I’ll no longer be a Capulet.”

“You always had a way with words” He smiled leaning back to his original pose.

“Yes,” Our heads turn to see Francine walking over to me with an unamused look. “Words she decides to keep hidden,” I smile respectfully, giving her a hug. “Hello Rafe,” I held an amused grin on my face. She was literally throwing daggers at him. We knew she didn’t like him, can you blame her? Rafe has a reputation.

“Francine-” She didn’t wait for him to finish before grabbing my arm and pulling me away from the club’s entrance and onto the garden.

“I thought you two were no longer friends”

“We are not,” I said rapidly, I lied quickly on my feet.

“I hope not, he's not a good boy for you my love,” Another smile, what I wanted to say was, “I know what i'm doing. I am too smart to fall for Rafe Cameron but if I did, I will take the blame” I only nod at her said advice. “Now, how about we talk about the wedding?” For a good hour I was following her along the country club and making notes on what exactly she wanted for the wedding. More flowers, clear chairs,mirrored floor, a release of butterflies, and no color other than sky blue and white of course.

“What were you thinking about the ceremony?” She lets out a quick squeal before rushing towards the cliff which was only a small hill with some height overlooking the beach. I walked quickly to see what she was pointing at with such a huge smile.

“We agreed on the beach,” I hear a contempt sigh leave her lips. Her shoulders fall and her eyes soften at the vision of the bride getting married there. “Can’t you see yourself there too?” Too focused on her happiness and excitement, her question caught me off guard. I look down again but quickly shake my head. “You have planned such beautiful weddings, where do you see yours?”

“I can’t set my mind on one,” I chuckled nervously. It wasn’t the whole truth but it wasn’t a lie. Of course I know what I have wanted for my future wedding since I was 6, but as a wedding planner there was one thing I hated the most about planning and it was the grooms. All they did was walk behind the bride, nodding and smiling. Agreeing on everything. I want to think it's to make them happy because a wedding was made out to be more for the bride but hearing the groom speak they let out subtle comments about no caring. I want my future husband to care. I want him to be present in what is the beginning of our future. I want him to be the bridezilla along with me.

“Well don’t settle for only this view” She pointed out. “You can have a destination wedding like somewhere in Italy.” Her eyes grow bigger, “Or the south of France!” She jumps giggling at her ideas. “I am going to go look at venues now, you know how easily they can book up!” There was really no use in saying it was too early to think about my wedding because nothing can change that woman's mind when she gets this excited about something.

“I need a drink-” I closed up my book and was ready to leave when I heard a voice from the shore.

“I got an extra beer” My gaze meets Rafe holding a beer up. “Is it too trashy for you my lady?” My eyes stay glued to him and a small smile appears on my face. “I don’t know any Shakespeare if that's what you want to hear” His arm slowly falls to his side. I look over to the country club and catch a glimpse through the window only to catch Francine rushing out of her office.

“Not trashy Cameron” I smile as I take a seat on the hill. “But I don’t drink beer,” I carefully push myself off and balance myself to walk down the steep hill until I am standing in front of Rafe.

“Worth a shot” He shrugs, putting the beer in his pocket. “I know you don’t drink at all.” I shake my head noticing he only had one beer in sight.

“Honey?!” Our heads turn toward the top of the hill to find no one there but the scream of my name becoming louder and louder. Francine can wait another day

“How about you offer me an escape?” With a glimmer in his eyes he grabs my hand and rush's us down the shore. I take a glimpse unsure of the object but as we move closer I start to laugh. “You bring this everywhere just in case?” My breath is shaky, I am not used to running. I look back seeing the figure of Francine screaming out to me but I choose to turn back to Rafe.

“Who knows when a lady needs my saving,” He puts out his hand for me to take and I oblige. He helps me up to a small row boat and I take a seat on the furthest end.

“Need help?” Rafe shakes his head pushing us offshore and he rushes to get in. “Daddy wouldn’t let you use his yacht?” I smile. I look over to the horizon, as the sun meets, perfectly creating an orange hue.

“No,” He groans, making me chuckle at his annoyance. “Don’t want to risk leaving it unsupervised since those pogue pulled their little stunt on Toppers”

“You always ruin it with your talk about pogues,” I roll my eyes looking back at him again. His arms stop rowing at his eyebrows furrowed.

“It 's true!. Little dirty pogues who don’t come close to us should be taught a lesson soon and for good” I never associated myself with what he would call somebody a pogue but that's because I don’t see them as such. My life has consisted of following my parents and at school and work I am only surrounded by people who are considered good. I never leave my bubble. But money or no money, people are people. As long as you are a good person, you are rich in my book.

“You know,” I look straight into his eyes. “You always mentioned how little Francine makes you feel, do you realize that's how you try to make them feel?”. His small smile falls into a straight line. “Would you want me to treat you less just because of some stupid status?”

“It's not the same, those pogues!-”

“Are human Rafe,” I let out a sigh knowing this conversation was just like the past. “Human beings who weren’t blessed with opportunities we have. They work day and night. It doesn’t matter what their bank account says if they have a good heart.” I move closer to him. “I know you have a good heart too Rafe.” I move my hand under his chin to pull him closer. “That's why I choose to disobey my parents and Francine once in awhile,”

“We tried this once already” He whispers. A slight smile appears on my face remembering how I like and feel having him this close.

“I still have hope,” His forehead rests on mine and a slow breath leaves him. “It was wrong of me to try to change you,” my thumbs caressing his skin.

“I was acting too proud and stubborn. Everybody saw me as such so it angered me.” He opens his eyes, putting a bit of space between us. “I was willing to try but I didn’t want to disappoint you”

“It wasn’t a choice for you to decide what is right for me. I told you I didn’t care about what anybody said and if it went down in flames, I could handle that.”

“But you don’t deserve-” his words paused as I came closer. My lips on his but only for a longing quick kiss to shut him up.

“You put yourself down when I see you more than worthy. Worth the eyes of people judging. Worth the scolding of my parents and definitely worth the hours of talk Francine is sure to give me” I hear his chuckle along with mine. “Do you think we should try this again?” He nodded eagerly, grabbing my neck and pulling me closer but I was quicker and set my hand between us first. “Rules”

“Fine” He groans, pulling apart. He shakes his head before turning his body towards me. “Date night twice a week,” My head falls back in annoyance. When we first tried having a relationship it was hard to adjust. I wasn’t allowed to have a boyfriend and Rafe knew this and decided to stick around. Of course, not being my boyfriend, I wasn't allowed to go out past 8. Not to any party or bonfire by the beach. I was also busy with school and starting my job as a planner to make time for him. That was bad on my part and we had a lot of fights because of it. I also didn’t like going out much, more of a homebody.

“Fine, but one at home date” He whispers okay. “No Pogue talk unless necessary” We need to talk about the important things first.

“Got it.” He smiled at that?. “When Francine is present you give me my place,” I roll my eyes.

“She is a strong woman but I promise.” I would defend him when need be and when it's reasonable. “but if I have to throw myself against her you have to promise not to back down when not only Francine stands against you” my parents can be a handful too. I watch as he stands up placing his hand on his chest. I laughed mostly because the boat was rocking unsteadily. “Rafe!” I hold on looking up at him again.

“It isn’t what we say or think that defines us, but what we do,” I stood up carefully and was shocked at his words.

“You don’t know Shakespeare but you do Jane Austen?”

“You left a copy of her book behind and I got bored,” I rolled my eyes knowing that wasn’t true. “But back to my confession,” I look back as we try our hardest to stay steady. “I will prove to them that I am willing to be someone they see worthy of you.” I walk closer, placing my arms around his neck.

“The only opinion you need is mine, and I think you are worthy” I whisper as he lowers his head to meet mine.

“I have seen enough!” I turn around shocked but only to see a blurry Francine at shore screaming towards me. “Get back here young lady!” Those were the only clear words heard before Rafe and I went flying into the water. My body resurfaced laughing at the action. I look around finding Rafe swimming towards me.

“Am not ready to face the world yet” I smile hopeful towards him.

“And am not ready to face Francine yet so how about we row away?” I nod turning towards the boat. “You don’t have a curfew?” I groan hearing his laugh from behind me. He pushes me up and I slide into the boat.

“Never got to be a rebel teen, I think I have some headaches to make up for,” I turn to help him climb in.

“Then let's go.” he smiles, taking his place and rowing away. “This is not a good look on my part.” He laughs looking back at Francine. “Will definitely be hearing about this,”

“Such a bad influence,” I grin looking at him. “Guess what?” His eyes sparkled hearing my giddy tone.

“I saved your beer” My grin grows bigger as he laughs. I throw him the can and with ease he catches it.

“That's my girl” his girl.

[rachalixie]

the best man - part I

your best friend's getting married, and you're the maid of honor. minho is the best man. you're just trying your best to not let him get under your skin. pt II

warnings: lee minho x she/her!reader

genre: fluff, friends to lovers

word count: 1.4k

one could say that lee minho was a thorn in your side, but he wasn’t enough for that. he’s maybe a bump. a small bump in the road you’ve been driving on, a constant presence but not enough to make a difference to your wheels if you drive over it. enough for you to notice but not enough for you to swerve to avoid. 

he’s friends with your friends, so naturally, he’s around a lot. ever since your best friend got engaged to his best friend, jisung, he’s been around even more. in a few short months he’s gone from someone you nod at from the bar at group outings to the person you bump shoulders with when wedding planning in a tiny kitchen. from a person who’s number you didn’t have saved in groupchats to having a personalized contact complete with emojis. with him as jisung’s best man and you as the maid of honor, you’ve frequently been on opposing sides of friendly arguments about the cake, the flowers, the music that should be played. you’re convinced that he disagrees with you just to rile you up, he’s never passionate about his side and always sways to what you and your friend want in the end, he just does it for the entertainment.

you wish you found it annoying instead of endearing. that would make things simpler.

but it was in planning their surprise bachelor-slash-bachelorette party (you knew those two would never be able to separate enough for an entire night) that you got to know him well. in between choosing the types of shots you want to serve and the perfect cheesy crowns for them to wear, you learn that he has three cats that he loves more than himself, he’s really sweet underneath his teasing exterior, and that he’s a gentleman that always opens doors for you and gives you his jacket when he sends you home at night after being there for longer than you planned for. he likes to cook and he’s a dancer who once had big dreams but found his true passion in teaching it. he likes to work out but complains about it every time and he’s kind of the biggest dork you’ve ever met.

he grows on you like moss, the healthy green squishy kind, slowly taking over your roots until he’s become a part of your day to day life. you’ve come to expect daily weather updates, selfies with his cats, and mindless banter from the time you wake up until the time your head hits your pillow at night.

the actual night of the party goes off without a hitch, with drinks flowing and sappy speeches that have you wiping your tears discreetly to not ruin your makeup. you’ve both curated the perfect playlist, invited only the essential people you know the almost-married couple would want there, and made an entire table of snacks that got devoured before you can blink. you meet minho’s eyes from across the room several times throughout the night, a hidden meaning you can’t place hiding in his gaze before he looks away every time. it leaves you with a feeling of longing that you don’t let yourself think about for too long. the maid of honor and the best man? that’s too cliche, even for you.

you don’t see him again until the day of the wedding, where you both leave your respective dressing rooms at the same time to get ready to walk down the aisle and take your places at the altar. 

“you clean up well,” you tease, running a finger down the lapel of his tuxedo. it’s midnight blue, the color that jisung has chosen to compliment the flushed pink of the bridesmaid’s dresses. it compliments his honeyed skin almost too well, the contrast making him look like he’s about to walk a red carpet instead of the off-white runner lining the wedding hall floor. the flower buttoned to his chest matches the ones in your bouquet. 

“it’s been known to happen from time to time,” his tone is teasing but his smile is soft as he takes you in, winking at you when you raise an eyebrow at him. “you don’t look so bad, yourself.”

you look down at your flowers with a small smile, still not knowing how to take his compliments after all these months. 

“shall we?” he holds his arm out to you and you take it, calming your nerves before stepping through the doors to the sea of people in the room. he walks you down the aisle, steps in line with yours despite his legs being longer, and it feels right, being there with him.

he drops you off at your designated spot and you’re glad; you’re not sure if you would have remembered where to stand otherwise. you’re both beaming as jisung walks down the aisle, steps a little too eager and smile a little too wide. it warms your heart how happy he is to be married to your best friend. the same best friend who next glides down the aisle in a show of practiced elegance, steps timed perfectly to the wedding march playing.

you meet eyes with minho once they’re situated, blown away again by him in the new warm lighting that he’s shrouded under. his hair is glinting in the afternoon sun, eyes sparkling, and his smile despite being on display for everyone feels like it’s just for you. you’re so distracted by him in his damn tuxedo that you almost miss when your friend starts her vows. by the time she’s done, both the bride and groom are nearly sobbing, and jisung has to choke out his own vows before dragging her into a watery kiss before the officiant can tell him to. the whole room breaks into laughter, softening into awh’s when he pulls back with a heart shaped smile. 

the rest of the day is a blur. you take photos, make speeches at the reception, change into comfortable shoes, eat the cake that’s just been cut, and by the time you finally sit down to watch the first dance you feel like you’ve been standing for days. is this what it’s like to get married? doesn’t seem like it’s worth the trouble.

“dance with me?” minho says, interrupting your internal monologue and making the smile return to your face. his hand is held out towards you, palm up, and you take it in yours without a second thought. a chance to dance with the most handsome guy in the room? no way you’re going to pass that up, even if your feet feel like they’re on fire.

he guides you to the dance floor, stopping a few feet from the happy couple and bumping his free fist against jisung’s shoulder before wrapping an arm around you. you twine your hands together behind his neck and smile at him.

“all this planning and i never learned how to slow dance,” you say, voice low as you try not to let the embarrassment wash over you. 

“don’t worry, darling,” he tugs you closer, the name he calls you bringing a flush to your cheeks. “i can lead you.”

and lead he does. he twirls you around the dance floor, the bottom of your dress swinging around your feet as he gracefully makes it look like you know what you’re doing. you let him move you, your limbs pliant as he sways your hips in his grip. the two of you somehow look like the most practiced couple there because of him.

the song switches to something faster and more upbeat, but he doesn’t let you go. in fact, he pulls you in even closer, whispering in your ear about how he loves the song before guiding you to dance with him again.

the night ends with the two of you in the hotel elevator, on the way up to your respective rooms on the same floor. without warning, his hand goes to hit the stop button and the elevator jerks to a still, making your heart beat race.

“what the hell?” you almost yell, too shocked to be mad. he moves into your space, placing warm hands on your cheeks.

“am i reading this wrong?” he whispers, eyes flickering between your own and your lips. it falls into place like jenga bricks, messy and out of your control but not completely unexpected - this attraction between you? he feels it too.

“no,” you whisper back, melting as he finally seals his lips against yours.

turns out the maid of honor with the best man isn’t too cliche after all.

--

part II

[talaok]

can you do a pedro one where you are planning your wedding and instead of you being bridezilla he’s being groomzilla. i can totally see him getting bent out of shape over everything 😂😂

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x reader

a/n: no I did not have to look up what "getting bent out of shape" meant, what are you talking about (thank you for the really cute request)

"how do you feel?" he asked, right at the entrance

"nervous"

"Yeah" Pedro huffed out a laugh "me too"

a day from now you were gonna be married, crazy I know, but there you were, walking into a venue you had spent six whole months planning.

You didn't expect you'd have cared this much about appearances or about the reception, you always were a "family and close friends" kinda gal, but somehow, you had found yourself wanting for everything to be perfect for what you already knew was going to be the happiest day of your life.

But of course, you couldn't compare to Pedro when it came to wanting everything to fall precisely into place.

he... well he had quite literally become a groomzilla.

And it's not like he had taken many of the decisions, it was all you, hell, if you had given him control there was a high possibility you were gonna end up walking down the aisle with a country band playing in the background.

But still, if there was one thing out of place, if one person didn't do exactly what you had asked of them... oof... good luck to them.

"oh my god" you breathed, looking around the room 

"wow" he joined in your fascination.

"This is amazing" A giggle fled your throat.

It really was.

everything was exactly how you had envisioned it.

The tablecloths, the mahogany chairs, the subtle but still awfully pretty centerpieces, the handwritten menus...

It was just perfect. 

"Well it was all you sweetheart" he smiled, taking your hand in his and kissing the crown of your head

"with your help" you added

"Of course" his face brightened as he chuckled "Imagine if hadn't picked this color for the napkins" he joked

"well, they are very pretty napkins..."

"thank you" he gave you a small bow, stifling a grin.

"So is everything right?" he asked, looking around even though he didn't really have a clear idea of how it should have even looked like.

"yeah I-" you stopped yourself, your glance falling to the flowers adorning the bottom of each table "Oh" you frowned

"what?"

there it was, the -who the fuck fucked up?- tone, planning a wedding had for some reason stemmed from him

"I just-" you glanced at him "don't worry it's nothing"

"no baby, tell me, what's wrong?"

"I just- I ordered purple lilies, not white" you pointed to the mishap.

He followed your finger and with a tick of his jaw and a frown of his forehead, the same Pedro that had caused the "chair accident" was back.

Now, your whole friend group had been calling it that since you told them about it, but the "chair accident", or if you'd like - the time you had to make him wait outside the store because he was getting way too angry at the guy when he had told you he couldn't get the chairs you wanted in time- was just one of the many "incidents" he would have caused along the way.

Pedro wanted everything to be perfect, and the truth be told, he didn't want so for himself, no, he wanted everything to be like you wanted it to, he wanted everything to be perfect for you.

So with time, you had gotten quite good at analyzing and realizing when that part of him was surfacing again, as if he was a non-fully tamed tiger and you, his tamer.

"we gotta call the guy" he started

"they can't change them in just a da-"

"who gets something like this wrong? there's a big difference between white and purple, how did we get the only colorblind florist in the world!?"

"baby" you snorted "it's really not that important"

"yes it is, You wanted purple lilies and we didn't get purple lilies, that's a problem in my book" he shook his head, already pulling out his phone " I'm gonna call him right now and-"

"Pedro," you took a step to close the gap between you and place a hand on his chest soothingly "I promise you, baby, it is not a big deal. I like them white too"

"Are you just saying that just so that I won't make a scene?"

"maybe..." you smiled "but also because it's the truth"

He tilted his head, not fully convinced

"I love them" You leaned up to come face-to-face with him, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck "I promise"

"you're trying to distract me"

"is it working?" you laughed softly

"Yes. Yes, it is" he confessed, forgetting all about the flowers the moment his lips met with yours.

[icarusflewsworld]

Rhysand & Cassian & Azriel X OC

Hello, here is the chapter 11 of a fanfiction on the world of Acotar where our three favorite Batboys are the mates of a single woman.

I hope you like it! Thank you for reading.

Thank you for all your comments, I love you guys ❤️❤️

! Don't forget to read the previous chapters ! : Here

Happy reading!

Chapter 11

Feyre stood in front of the massive wooden door, a bouquet of Lilies in her hands, her favorite flowers. She took a deep breath, her eyes shining with joy. She turned her gaze to Luxiana on her left. 

The white-haired young woman gave her a reassuring, encouraging smile, trying to contain the joy that almost made her jump up and down. Her best friend was getting married today to a fae who also loved her in return, who was desperate to protect her and make her happy. She grabbed Feyre's hand, intertwining her fingers with those of her best friend. 

When the door in front of them opened, revealing the white Lys petal alley that would lead her to her future husband, Feyre's heart leapt in her chest in a mixture of stress and excitement. She was going to marry Tamlin. She loved him so much. Especially since her best friend was here. She'd nursed them back to health and eased their nightmares. She'd made their lives so much easier and her relationship with Tamlin so much more fused. She gripped the petticoats of her milky-white wedding dress with her free hand to lift them so she didn't step on them. "I'm so happy you're here with me today, Luxi."

Luxiana's heart swelled with joy in her chest, forcing her to tighten her fingers on the bouquet of Lilies she held in her other hand. "Me too." She glanced down the aisle of flowers -and at Tamlin, who was staring at Feyre with a glint in his eye at the end of it- silently pointing the blond man at Feyre with her eyes. "Are you sure you really want to marry him? No, because we could just run away really fast, you know, we'd just have to..."

She was interrupted by Feyre's laughter, which echoed through the great hall of the Spring Court high lord's home. 

Luxiana then stopped talking, smiling with tenderness. She'd managed to make her laugh, and that was all that mattered. Feyre needed it. "Are you ready?"

Feyre took a deep breath and nodded. She was ready to marry Tamlin. She smiled as she thought of all Luxiana had done for her and all she had said to Tamlin. She'd thrown his bad truths in his face and always made sure Tamlin didn't make any mistakes with her. Feyre also suspected that her best friend was giving her lover tips on how to make her happy. And one thing led to another, they'd even learned to put up with each other gently. Feyre was fulfilled. She spent her days with Tamlin and Luxiana. The two people she loved most in the world. 

Feyre then walked towards Tamlin, and Luxiana followed. The white-haired blonde noticed how Tamlin looked lovingly at Feyre. He always looked at her that way. She smiled a little more. He wasn't so bad. He really loved Feyre. In fact, that was why she'd let him marry her. She would have kidnapped Feyre to take her somewhere else if it wasn’t the case. 

Feyre stopped in the middle of the aisle, bending forward to pick up one of the lilies on the white carpet. She caught it and brought it up to her nose to smell it, not caring about the slightly astonished or mocking looks of the people gathered around her. 

Tamlin observed the scene with a tender gaze before casting a knowing glance at Luxiana. He nodded, silently thanking her for having recommended lilies and not roses, as Ianthe had wanted. On the advice of Feyre's best friend, he had banished the color red from their wedding and even from his entire home. He burned all the clothes and had all the red flowers cut off, making everything of that cursed color that brought back bad memories for his wife disappear. He had also forbidden all their guests to wear purple clothing. And to think that Ianthe had wanted to make red the main color of their wedding. Fortunately, she hadn't stayed long. 

Luxiana smiled, happy to see Feyre happy, following her as she walked down the aisle again. Her gaze swept over the assembly, who stared at her with bewildered eyes, surprised to see a human-like creature here. She paid no attention, however, far too satisfied to notice that Ianthe hadn't come. Surely she couldn't have after the astronomical dose of laxative plant she'd poured into her tea three days ago. 

That evening had been the funniest for Luxiana in a long time. She'd never laughed so hard as when she'd seen Ianthe turn white, holding her stomach gurgling so loudly that everyone around her could hear, including Lucien, Tamlin and Feyre sitting around her at the dining room table. But it was when she got up to run out of the room, farts escaping her despite the hand she'd clamped to her bottom where a brown stain spreaded across the back of her white dress, that Luxiana laughed so hard she fell out of her chair. 

None of the four had ever seen Ianthe after that. Tamlin and Lucien held back their gentlemanly laughter, but they suspected that Luxiana had something to do with it. Lucien was grateful and Feyre had laughed so hard that Tamlin hadn't blamed the white-haired woman.

Feyre stopped in front of her future husband and the priestess who was not Ianthe. Luxiana stood behind her, squeezing her best friend's hand one last time in a gesture of comfort before letting her go. Tamlin and Feyre looked at each other with such love that Luxiana's heart melted under so much tenderness and relief. He was going to take care of her.

She was making little jumps out of joy, restraining herself from screaming and running around. She was so happy for her best friend. Lucien, behind Tamlin, laughed to see her so happy. They looked at each other with a look of complicity and fun. 

Luxiana liked the redhead. He was intelligent and the long discussions they had together late at night did her a lot of good and even made her happy. Sometimes, she even lived her day looking forward to that moment with him in the evening.  

She tried to calm herself, huffing and puffing, enjoying the moment. Enjoying seeing her best friend happy. Enjoying the fact that she might even become friends with Tamlin. Enjoying her friendship with Lucien. Enjoying her new home where she didn't feel so bad. 

The ceremony was magnificent and full of emotion. Luxiana had jumped up and laughed silently throughout, unable to contain her joy and excitement for her best friend at all. But just as the wedding was almost over and Feyre had yet to say "I do" to Tamlin, a powerful bolt of lightning struck right in the middle of the long aisle of lilies, only a few steps from the girls. 

People in the assembly hiccupped in surprise, while some screamed in fear as they rose from their chairs. 

Luxiana was about to grab Feyre by the arm to put her behind her back and protect her, but she froze in motion, seeing Tamlin react before her, protecting Feyre by placing himself in front of her. Luxiana realized for a microsecond that her best friend really would be safe with him, before looking to see who had interrupted them. 

She frowned, widening her eyes. They were the three Illyrian leaders of the night court. Their faces were contorted with anger as they detailed the landscape around them hurriedly, seemingly looking for only one person but seeming not to give a damn that they had just interrupted a wedding. They'd dared to interrupt her best friend's wedding? Luxiana's blood ran cold before seething anger crushed her chest. But her heart was filled with doubt and apprehension. She liked them, why did they have to do this? She liked them, but they'd just ruined everything. They'd just ruined the happiest day of her best friend's life. Anger made her tremble.

Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel were filled with rage and jealousy. Lucien wanted to steal their soul mate. They had to protect her and keep her for themselves. They had no more time to lose. But when they landed in the middle of a wedding aisle, they froze, though they didn't try to show their surprise. They saw Tamlin in a suit in front of a priestess, and behind him was Feyre in a wedding dress. They had just interrupted Feyre and Tamlin's wedding. They couldn't even smile at the slight burst of satisfaction that roused in their chests, far too irritated by the idea that Lucien had gotten close to their mate. 

When they shifted their gaze to Feyre's right, they didn't immediately see the animosity and confusion radiating from Luxiana, far too caught up in her beauty. She was wearing a pale green dress, the fabric of which almost resembled lace and was embellished with darker green leaves. The fabric over her belly was transparent, revealing her skin. It was attached to a green breast cover in the same color as her petticoats. Her shoulders and arms were completely uncovered, forcing the three Illyrians to slide their eyes over such pale but soft-looking skin. Moving their gazes upward, they saw her for once well coiffed in a thick, sophisticated bun of curly hair. The skin of her face had taken on a few cute blushes in the spring court sunshine, bringing out her adorable freckles. 

They were in awe of their soulmate's breathtaking beauty. Their eyes began to sparkle, but at last, they locked gazes with Luxiana's pupils glowing blue in the sunlight. It was only then that they finally realized how angry she was. 

Cassian couldn't even think straight. He didn't put much effort into it in the first place, but with such a beautiful woman in front of him, who was his soul mate, his brain felt like it had completely melted down. He no longer had any coherent thought and probably couldn't put two words together if he spoke. He could only restrain himself from opening his mouth wide and throwing himself on his knees in front of her to thank fate for having given him such a beautiful soulmate. Hell, he still couldn't believe it. 

Rhysand was paralyzed through and through, holding himself back from wincing. In any other situation, he could have melted with relief and fallen to his knees crying, happy to see his soul mate in good health. Glad to see Tamlin hadn't done anything to her. But he couldn't even take a deep breath, completely blocked by Luxiana's glare and clenched jaw. He remembered what Feyre meant to her. And he'd just interrupted her wedding. His soul mate looked angry. His soul mate looked very angry with him. It was a very bad start. And a very bad condition for the plan to work. She wouldn't come willingly with them if she was angry. 

Azriel gritted his teeth as he saw the irritation on his soulmate's face. He gave her a reproachful look. How dare she be angry when she dared to flirt with men other than them? If it had been up to Azriel, he'd have kidnapped her and locked her up with him. He clenched his fists at this realization, cursing himself for his thoughts. He wasn't like that. He would never have locked up someone he loved against his will, not after what he'd been through as a child, but with his soul mate, his body and brain making him feel like he was going mad. This woman was driving him crazy. 

"Hello, Feyre," Rhysand greeted with an evil air, forcing himself to let go of his soulmate's gaze. He leaned forward with a proud, pretentious smile on his lips as if he knew exactly what he was doing. He had to put his plan into action. 

"What are you doing here?" growled Tamlin as he took a step forward, ready to fight. He'd lived in fear ever since Amarantha's death. Fear that Rhysand would come to claim the favor he'd asked of Feyre in exchange for saving his life.

Rhysand laughed out loud with that same wicked expression. He hated the face he had to put on when an assembly of strangers around him stared at him, but he had no choice. He used to pretend to protect his loved ones and prevent attacks, but today he had to do it to win back his soul mate. Today, it was even harder because she was there to see him. He was so afraid of scaring her. He was so afraid of disgusting her. He was about to speak, but all of a sudden, a bouquet of lilies landed in his face. Although it was thrown with great force, it hadn't been strong enough to hurt him. He stopped laughing suddenly, taking a small step backwards in surprise. 

He widened his eyes, in fact everyone had widened their eyes as they stared at the one who had thrown him. Luxiana.

"You bastard," the white-haired blonde spat as she pointed at Rhysand, a glint in her eye giving her an almost scary face. She brought her clenched fists down along her body to take a step towards Rhysand with a face bent with hatred. "You'd better say you're here to witness the wedding in peace or I swear I'll tear your beautiful violet eyes out."

The entire assembly of Faes gathered for the wedding hiccupped in surprise, staring at Luxiana with wide eyes, mouths wide open and hands clasped over them, more than a little taken aback by the audacity of this simple human who dared to provoke the powerful high lord of the night. They froze completely, too afraid of being killed by one of the Illyrians.

The three dark hair faes were in the same state as the others. Had she really just thrown a bouquet of flowers at Rhys's head? At the head of a Fae as powerful as him and especially in front of all these people?

Azriel let out a guttural sound that resembled a growl, understanding that she had an annoying tendency to put herself in danger and provoke intimidating and powerful fae lords like Rhys and Tamlin. Hell, she was just a fragile little human, and they had to protect her, but she was determined to provoke the first thing that moved? He really didn't like that. 

Rhysand tensed up all over, a ball of anguish turning in his stomach. Under normal circumstances, he would have made anyone disappear for this affront, he had to, especially in front of so many people. But today, he couldn't even think of doing it to someone in front of his soul mate. And yet, if he didn't, what would people say about him? That he'd gone soft? And that would open the door to attacks that would indirectly put Luxiana in danger. Why had she done this? Was she that angry? 

Cassian had come to understand the urgency of the situation and the heaviness of the atmosphere. His soul mate had gotten them into trouble. A monster mess from which they had to find a way out at all costs. If they didn't respond to her affront, people would suspect she was their soul mate and would hurt her. Actually, no. It didn't matter how much shit it got them into, because either way, his soulmate was going back with him, and he could then protect her. They'd wanted to use the easy way with the plan they'd been able to vaguely work on before coming, but if that didn't work then they'd use any other way. 

Rhysand took a step towards Luxiana, trying to appear angry and threatening, hoping for divine intervention to save them. "Do you know that I could blow you to smithereens with a snap of my fingers?" The words had burned his mouth and his heart had torn itself from his chest. It disgusted him so much to talk that way to his soul mate. He deserved to rip his tongue out for it. Rhysand continued to curse himself inwardly as he forced not to let anything show. 

But Luxiana gritted her teeth and frowned a little more, "Dare."

Rhysand stopped himself from closing his eyes in despair. He was about to laugh to gain some time and try to find an excuse not to disintegrate his soulmate, but Feyre hiccupped in fear. She grabbed Luxiana's hand, begging Rhysand with her eyes not to hurt her best friend. Tamlin stepped aside, placing himself between Feyre and Luxiana to protect them both. 

At the sight of Tamlin stepping in to protect their soulmate, the three Illyrians gritted their teeth. The sight of their enemy protecting their soulmate was more than unpleasant, but it was Lucien's movement that struck the three Illyrians with anger.

The redhead rushed forward, passing between Tamlin and Feyre to grab Luxiana by the arm, putting her to his chest and wrapping his frame around her to protect her. Giving his back to Rhysand.

Lucien refused to let anyone hurt Luxiana. After all those days spent by her side, he had sincerely begun to appreciate the blonde. She was the kindest, sweetest, most caring young woman he'd ever met. She was full of surprises and had brightened his life. 

Cassian's eyes widened and his teeth clenched so hard they almost broke. That bastard. He'd stolen his soul mate. He couldn't even move. His heart was breaking. Was it too late? His soul mate hadn't even been his that he'd already lost her? Lucien had stolen her from him. He was mad with rage but mad with sadness.

Azriel's breath caught in his chest and his throat tightened. His eyes burned with hatred and his vessels pulsed with frozen fury. He was going to kill him. He wanted to kill him so badly. So badly. And the only thing holding him back was that the death of this orange rat might make Luxiana suffer. And that, he couldn't bear. So he did nothing, but doubt paralyzed him. He didn't want to lose her before he'd even had her. 

Rhysand froze. Every fiber of his body had frozen. His heart was aching. He hated it so much. He hated seeing her in another man's arms. Should he go? Should he leave her here? With Lucien? She'd be safer away from them, away from the danger they'd be to her. But the Suriel had told them to protect her. They certainly weren't going to leave her soul mate there. He refused, and in any case, she was all his now. And even though he was exhausted from sacrificing himself for others, it couldn’t when it came to this woman. He wanted her more than anything, and today he had an excuse to get her. 

Suddenly, as if all his barriers collapsed, as if all his strength abandoned him, he had a vision of Luxiana, his soul mate, sharing her life with someone other than him. He exploded all at once. It was as if all the hatred and fear he'd held back and all the terrible things he experienced over the last few years poured into him, overwhelming him, drowning him. His muscles contracted. He couldn't breathe. His mind seemed to have left his body and immersed itself entirely in his rage.

His power released in spite of himself, surging violently from his body in a wave of darkness that began to swirl around him, spreading further and further, taking up more and more space outside him. The faes in the assembly screamed in fear and ran everywhere, fleeing the chaos and death they thought Rhysand would bring them. 

Tamlin deployed his power in turn, ready to fight and protect Feyre. 

Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel saw nothing, their eyes clouded by the anger and darkness of Rhysand's power, swirling around them, hiding their visions. 

"Rhys," Cassian said through their telepathic link. He put his hand on his brother's bicep and had spoken in a calm tone, trying to soothe him. "You're going to scare him."

Rhysand came to realize, blinking several times, putting his gaze to Cassian. The storm around him hadn't gone away, though, as he was still mad with rage, but it had stopped getting bigger. He must not show the full extent of his power anyway. 

Only, Luxiana slipped out of Lucien's arms to bypass him and run towards Rhysand with such speed that neither Tamlin, Lucien nor Feyre - who had stretched out their hands to catch her - had been able to stop her. She faced the black wind of power that surrounded the three Illyrians, running through it without fear. 

Azriel and Cassian's eyes widened when they saw her coming, they took a step forward and were about to protect her with a shield of magic, but they froze. She had passed completely through the cloud surrounding them unharmed. How had she done that? She should have vanished into thin air. Had Rhys's power sensed that she was their soul mate and spared her? A wave of fear washed over them, they could have lost her just like that. 

Rhysand, too focused on trying to calm himself, too focused on trying to contain his power, regain his composure and get air into his lungs, didn't see her right away. The first thing he smelled was her vanilla perfume. Was she there? No, it couldn't be. He could hurt her. Was he hallucinating? He turned his gaze to her, but barely had time to react and calm his power so as not to hurt her, that she placed both hands flat on his chest to push him with all her might. "Stop doing that right now," she cried with a mixture of concern and sadness pronounced on her face. Rhysand's body reacted before he could even realize what was happening. She was there, he couldn't hurt her. His stomach clenched as his power retracted at once, returning to his body. The threat disappeared. 

Luxiana opened her mouth and eyes wide, looking around her, surprised that the storm of shadows had disappeared and that he really had obeyed her. Then she noticed the crowd gathered in a bundle further on, their eyes panic-stricken and their expressions terrified. Some chairs were overturned, flowers had been crushed and chaos reigned all around her. 

She turned her head towards Feyre, who was watching the scene with teary eyes, and Tamlin, with a fear he was trying to disguise as anger. The three Illyrians had just ruined the happiest day of his best friend's life. Her heart felt like it was being torn apart. She lowered her eyes. She liked those Illyrians. Too bad, not anymore. She raised a cold gaze to Rhysand. Her pupils were filled with such hatred and madness that the lord of the night court almost flinched, telling himself they'd really screwed up. 

Luxiana gritted her teeth. She had to save what was left of Feyre's wedding. She rushed over to one of the chairs beside them and righted it on its four feet, "It's all right, come back," she shouted to the frightened crowd. She lifted a second chair and correctly replaced the flower garlands on it. The people tried to relax, not seeing the Illyrians move, but fear never left them. "It's all right!" she repeated. She laughed softly to reassure the crowd while repeating over and over that everything was fine. She walked over to Tamlin to take him by the shoulders and put him back in his place in front of the priestess, then did the same with Feyre. She put her hand on her best friend's cheek, smiling comfortingly and wiping away a tear of sadness. Luxiana's heart broke a little more. 

The three Illyrians were unable to move. They'd really screwed up, and their soulmate's saddened expression stirred such a burning guilt in their chests that they felt like vomiting. 

Luxiana turned around, rushing towards Rhysand. "It's all right," she repeated again to the assembly. She grabbed Rhysand by the forearm and pulled him down the flower path and towards the mansion, while she grabbed Cassian by the hair. She grabbed his bun with such force that Cassian groaned in pain as he leaned forward, forced to follow her as she pulled him too. Luxiana forced herself to smile to make everyone believe everything was all right, but the dark look she cast at Azriel left no doubt as to what she was really thinking. "Follow us," she sternly ordered to the Illyrian with the blue siphons.

Azriel was at first surprised to see her grab her two brothers and start pulling them along, while she then ordered him to follow her. He raised an eyebrow, glancing at Rhysand and Cassian who were dragged away from him and who couldn't believe it either. He huffed, glancing at the carnage they had wrought, before deciding to follow her anyway. 

Luxiana was almost running down the alley, crushing the lily petals in spite of herself. When she reached the large wooden door of the mansion, still open since her entrance with Feyre, she propelled Cassian inside, who didn't even struggle, too afraid of ending up bald. Then she pushed Rhysand and Azriel inside. She turned to close the door behind her, repeating to the people staring at her strangely that all was well now.

Once the door closed, leaving her alone with the three Illyrians in the hall of the mansion, she stood still, palms flat on the wood. She breathed, holding back a sad moan. She rested her forehead on the door. She wanted to cry. Her heart was in pieces. They'd ruined everything. Her best friend's happiest day. Her vessels began to burn. She let out a kind of growl as she turned to kill the three Illyrians with her eyes, anger making her clench her fists. "How dare you?"

Seeing the mixture of sadness and anger that distorted their soulmate's cute face, the three Illyrians' hearts twisted. 

Cassian looked away, unable to bear to see his soul mate like that, especially not when it was them who had provoked it. He ran his hands through his hair, combing back what his soulmate had almost torn from his head. 

Rhysand had to grit his teeth to keep from apologizing. He didn't have to, not right away, but seeing his soulmate a little sad because of him hurt. 

Azriel took a step forward to raise his hand to his soulmate's cheek, trying to calm her down, but she pushed his arm away violently.

"Don't touch me! You've ruined everything!" she cried with red eyes, holding back tears. Her fists were so tight that her fingernails were digging into her palms. 

Azriel winced; he hated hearing those words come out of his soul mate's mouth. It drove him crazy. He hated that she forbade him to touch her. She had no right to. He fucking hated it. 

Luxiana wondered what was keeping her from ripping out their throats. She closed her eyes trying to breath. She knew what was holding her back. Rhysand had saved Feyre under the mountain. She couldn't kill him for that, but she'd trusted him. She'd believed he was a good man, yet today he'd just ruined Feyre's wedding. What was she supposed to do? She wanted to find an excuse, to find out why he was there, but first she had to calm down. She concentrated on taking deep breaths. 

Rhysand blew out his breath, massaging his temples. Nothing had happened the way it should have, but he couldn't forget why they were here. For her. He straightened up, puffed out his chest and looked confident as he shoved his hands into his pockets, hiding his trembling. He was about to speak, but Tamlin, Lucien and Feyre burst into the hall. 

Luxiana took a few steps to the side, grimacing with sadness at the realization that they hadn't continued the ceremony, before clasping her hands over her face so that no one would see her sadness. She had failed, she should have intervened before. How could she have been so stupid?

"Why are you here?" screamed Tamlin, slamming the door savagely behind them. His face was contorted with hatred, while Feyre's was distorted with confusion and grief. 

All eyes were on Rhysand, so Cassian and Azriel gave him a knowing look, nodding, silently encouraging him. They had to go back with Luxiana, the plan could still work. 

Rhysand set his eyes on Feyre, smiling carnivorously. "I've come to claim my due. You owe me a favor, it seems, Feyre."

Tamlin grunted, grabbing Feyre by the arm and placing her behind him, but she put a hand on her husband's shoulder to calm him down. "What do you want?" she asked Rhysand coldly. 

The lord of the night court took on a bored look, staring at the ceiling as if it were more interesting than the Faes before him. "I need a woman to do something... a very important mission." He laid mischievous eyes on Feyre and Tamlin with a smirk. "And I thought it was about time you paid me back."  

"There's no way she's coming with you!" groans Tamlin, his breathing short and hurried. 

Rhysand wasn't even calculating Tamlin. He cast a discreet sideways glance at Luxiana, hoping the plan would work and she'd volunteer in his best friend's place, but she only looked at him with clenched teeth and a dark glare. He gauged Feyre again. "I saved your life in exchange for something in return, now it's time to fulfill your part of the bargain. You promised. If you break our deal, I'll force you to fulfill it, and that won't be pleasant for you."

Luxiana couldn't believe her eyes, she felt as if she'd been knocked down. She'd been wrong about him. About them. I mean, she knew they were cruel, but she hoped he wasn't that cruel, at least not with Feyre, not when she'd warned them not to be. Not when she'd asked them not to be. And after the way they'd behaved with her, she'd thought they liked her enough not to hurt her best friend. Yet today, they were ruining the most important day of her life. She'd been so wrong to trust them. She had to make them pay. She took a step forward, determined. "You said you needed a woman, can that be me?"

Cassian couldn't help but smirk; he'd been sure she'd offer to take Feyre's place. She seemed the type to sacrifice herself for others, and she loved Feyre more than anything. 

Azriel closed his eyes tightly. He'd argued with his two brothers that she wouldn't step into Feyre's shoes simply because he hoped she had some sense. Apparently she had none. Hell, she really liked putting herself in danger unnecessarily.

Rhysand relaxed discreetly, their plan was finally working. He didn't even notice the looks on everyone's faces, waiting for his answer with bated breath. He shrugged his shoulders to give the impression that he didn't attach any importance to the question, before simply nodding.

"No," Feyre screamed, clutching Tamlin's arm to give her a look begging him to do something, dead scared for her best friend. "I'll go with you," she offered before shaking Tamlin's arm. "Tam do something. Stop them from taking Luxi."

Tamlin waited no longer. He snarled, then drew his sharp, pointed claws from his fingertips. He raised his hand in the air to threaten Rhysand, but froze in mid-motion, noticing his beastly nails varnished in candy pink. He widened his eyes, while all the others frowned as they noticed it in turn. Tamlin understood. He lowered his arms limply to his sides, clenching his teeth but glaring wide-eyed in anger at Luxiana. His nostrils flared with tension.

Luxiana glanced sideways at Tamlin, unable to hold back a grimace. She'd screwed up. She'd found a magic formula in Tamlin's library to turn him into a beast, and when she'd sneaked into their room a few nights ago and turned him into a beast to paint his nails pink, she certainly hadn't thought something as important as this would happen. Something or some intimidating Tamlin without pink nails would have been much more practical.

Tamlin huffed, closing her eyes. "You know what, take her with you, it will give me some vacation. She is a pain in the ass."

"Tam," Feyre snarled in outrage, slapping his husband on the shoulder.

"What?" he replied offended. "In two hours they'll drop her off back here because they'll be sick of her."

The three Illyrians gritted their teeth, they didn't like the way Tamlin talked about their soulmate, but they said nothing, they had to show nothing. Especially as they were here to leave with her, and Tamlin saying this was helping them too much. 

Many expressions passed over Feyre's face. First surprise, then anger, then realization and acceptance. She was afraid that her best friend was beginning to like the three faes and that was why she was a little worried, and also because she was afraid she wouldn't be able to rivalize Rhysand's power. But she knew that Luxiana was intelligent and knew how to defend herself. If anyone could make the lord of the night court pay for his behavior today and turn this Fae lord's daily life into a living hell to avenge her, it was Luxiana, not her. And from the way she looked at the three Illyrians, with burning hatred, she didn't seem to like them much any more.

Lucien's eyes widened at Feyre's expression, as she seemed to be seriously considering the hypothesis. He grabbed Luxiana's arm and pulled her behind him. "You're not really considering this, are you?" he exclaimed, shocked. 

Rhysand still had to restrain himself from pulsing his power out of himself, and the other two were also holding back from killing the redhead. Hell, the way they were going to kill that clementine and rip his skin off at the first chance they got would be so terrible it would give them nightmares. 

Luxiana almost savagely disengaged herself from Lucien's grip - much to the redhead's surprise - to stand in front of Rhysand with the same look of rage on her face. Her brain was working at a thousand miles an hour to find solutions and imagine a thousand and one ways to avenge Feyre. And by going with them, she'd have more than enough opportunity to make them suffer. "If I fulfill her part of the contract for her, do you promise you'll leave her in peace?"

Rhysand nodded with a serious air, silently trying to reassure Luxiana and make her see his sincerity. "I promise."

"Then take me, with you." didn’t hesitate Luxiana. 

Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel had to hold back with all their might from showing relief as their chests lightened. They'd done it, they were going to bring their soulmate home. Excitement and joy began to take over their bodies, making them vibrate. 

"Luxi, please don't," Feyre implored, walking towards Luxiana. 

The white-haired blonde turned to her best friend. She gave her a reassuring smile and wanted to move towards her to take her in her arms and calm her down, but Rhysand had only waited for Luxiana's agreement. Now that he had it, he wasted no more time - and no more risk of Lucien touching his soul mate again - to teleport the four of them to the Moonstone Palace, Rhysand's residence above the court of Nightmare. Preventing Luxiana from saying goodbye to her best friend and reassuring her. 

So, although she was already furious, no longer seeing her best friend in front of her, Luxiana went berserk.  

[yours-etc]

12 Days of Steddie-Mas

Day 1:

I’ll Have A Blue Christmas

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

The fresh snow crunches under his boots. Flakes fall from the sky, sticking to his hat and shoulders and eyelashes. A cloudy of mist fans out from Steve’s mouth when he gasps as he slips on a patch of ice. He grips the flowers tight in his hand as he regains his balance, the box of cookies he had falls from his grip and onto the ground. Luckily it stayed closed and the cookies mostly intact when he peaked in.

“God damn this fucking snow!” Steve exclaimed, kicking the white fluff in frustration. He loved Indiana, but Jesus Christ, he was so sick of Midwestern winters.

The cemetery is empty besides Steve, the headstones, and whatever ghosts of Christmas were lingering around.

Steve finds his was to the plot he was looking for. He lays out a blanket so he doesn’t have to sit directly on the cold ground. He takes the now dead and frozen old flowers from the small vase and replaces them with the poinsettias he brought.

“Hey Mom,” he breathes out, tracing the words Roasanne Harrington Loving Wife, Mother, Sister, and Friend.

“Sorry it's been a while, you know how I hate the cold,” Steve laughs out the second half, “But you always loved Christmas, so I had to come celebrate.”

There’s no response from the stone, but Steve doesn’t mind the silence.

“This isn’t the first Christmas without you, but it’s definitely the one that hurts the most,” he starts, “because I can almost pretend to be happy. There are moments where I forget you’re gone. And then there will just be a second, usually when I’m lost in thought, or when I’m watching everyone laugh, I just think about how much you’d love them all. I’m sorry you never got to meet them, my new family I guess you could call them. You would love Robin, she reminds me of you. Her love of the holidays, her sense of humor, the way she looks at the world,” Steve sucks in a deep breath trying to stop himself from crying, tears pricking at his eyes, “Oh mom, you would have adored her.” He loses his battle with his emotions. Tears flood from his eyes and sob shudders through his body.

“I’m sorry we never got to patch things up before you left. It- it felt like there— there for a moment, at the end— we were getting close to being able to. I think after the wedding we both realized how much we missed each other. And I want you to know I don’t blame you for sticking by Dad,” Steve didn’t acknowledge the headstone to his left that had his father’s name on it.

“You loved him, and I’m sure, at some point, he was good. It’s hard to let go of things sometimes.” Steve swipes away his tears with the back of his coat sleeve. He didn’t need them freezing on his lashes.

He opened the box of cookies and took a bite of one, “I never can get them to taste the same as how you made them, I’m convinced you purposefully left out an ingredient on the written recipe.”

Steve giggles as he remembered how protective his mother was of her recipes. He quite literally could not get his hands on them till she died. And like hell was he going to let Aunt Katie take them. They were more valuable than anything left to him in the will. After the accident Steve was left with a big empty house and a stack of note card recipes.

He sold the house and laminated the cards.

With the money from the old place, he was able to but his own quaint little home. With three bedrooms and two and a half baths, Steve had finally found a home. It was a fixer upper on the outside of town, but he needed a project to keep his mind busy.

He threw his heart and soul into painting the walls a soft cream color and tearing out the drab carpet to be replaced with ward hardwood floors and redoing the front porch to fit some chairs and a swing.

He had help from Dustin, Robin, and of course Eddie— Steve played with the ring on his finger at the thought of him— but the brunt of the work was done by him.

He wanted to make his dream home. And so he did.

On the day him and Eddie moved out of their shared apartment with Robin, lots of loving tears and hugs were shared and promises of a dinner party as soon as the house was properly set up were made.

The house was a bit empty at first. They only had enough to fill half an apartment, and now they had much more space to grow. Wayne had made them a kitchen table with four chairs as a house warming gift. More tears were shed that day when he dropped it off.

Slowly but surely they filled their home with cozy couches and pillows, music, and photos of their life.

Steve didn’t need to turn around to know the footsteps approaching behind him belonged to his husband.

Eddie leaned down to give him a warm kiss on the cheek. Steve leaned into his warmth, not realizing how cold he had gotten.

“Ready to go?” Eddie asks softly, “We have to pick up little Robbie from Chrissy and Robin’s before heading to Wayne’s for dinner.”

Steve nods and grabs Eddie’s outstretched hand to help him up off the ground.

Eddie gathers up the blanket and shakes it out before bundling up under his arms. He makes a swift dramatic bow to Rosanna’s stone, “Mrs. Rose, looking as gorgeous as ever,” He doesn’t look to the left, but throws up a middle finger to Robert’s grave, “Mr. Harrington, hope hell is awful as always.”

Steve laughs at his ridiculousness before giving his mom’s stone a small kiss. Leaning his forehead against the cold rock he wishers, “You really would have loved little Robin, she reminds me of you more and more everyday. Maybe I’ll bring her next time.”

He stands to his full height and walks over to Eddie lacing their fingers together and give their hands a squeeze. Eddie squeezes back. The two of them walk back to Eddie’s new mini van, which is “totally just as metal as the old one, Stevie.”

The radio plays Christmas music as they drive off to pick up their daughter from her first ever annual Auntie Christmas Eve Eve sleepover. And in the moment Steve feels content and maybe a bit lighter.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

HAPPY DECEMBER 1st!!

Throughout the month I will be posting 12 different Steddie Christmas/Winter themed ficlets!! Just short little things to bring on the Holiday fun. Now I know this one was a bit sad… I promise there will be Happy ones too!! Anyway I hope you all enjoy <3

Day: 1 2 3 4 5 6

[novasintheroom]

favorite flower - Prince!Vash x Reader

He finds out first that you don’t like roses. The walk in the rose garden comes to a halt when you voice this.

“They’re beautiful,” you say. He still sees the small wrinkle of your nose when you speak of them. “They are just…very common.”

“Common? How so?” Vash asks.

You clasp your hands behind your back. Your foot reaches out to toe at the earth. “They…are a favorite among potential suitors in all kingdoms. Every noble girl receives them.” You look up desperately, willing him to understand something, “It’s as if the suitors do not ask their lady if she even wants them.”

Vash laughs, a little startled. “Don’t all ladies want flowers?”

You sigh, and Vash feels like he missed a mark somehow. “Yes, we do.”

 “Well…wasn’t your bouquet filled with roses at the wedding?”

You tense and look up, face carefully blank. “I didn’t have much choice in anything that day.” After a beat, you continue your walk through the garden.

Vash trails a bit behind, face stinging. He should have known better than to bring up the wedding; it is still a delicate subject. But still, his mind grabs hold on what you said: no choice on that day.

Looking around the immediate garden, he wonders.

--

“If you were married – “

“Stop. I’m not entertaining your delusions today.”

“Just wait!” Vash puts both palms out, willing Nai to stop his work and listen for a moment. His brother looks up from his desk, deadpanned and ill-humored. It never bothers Vash. “If you were married, what kind of flowers would you get your wife?”

Nai pushes a sigh out and goes back to the writing before him. “You’ve already messed up badly enough to warrant flowers?” He scoffs. “What did you do?”

“No! It’s nothing like that.” Vash sighs, pacing around the room. “She told me that she doesn’t like roses. Which, what girl doesn’t like roses?”

“Your wife, apparently.”

Vash groans and pulls a hand down his face. “I want to make her feel comfortable here! We’ve only got a rose garden. What do I give her that isn’t roses?” Nai doesn’t answer. His pen scritches across the paper before him, marking and taking notes. Vash turns to his twin. “So? What would you get your wife?”

Nai takes a breath in and out of his nose. “Lillies. Daisies. I don’t know.”

“No, she doesn’t really like those either…”

A single white brow raises. Nai glances up. “Have you asked her what she would like?”

Vash freezes and clears his throat. “No…”

Nai only shakes his head. “You’ve said yourself how direct she can be with her answers. Why haven’t you asked her?”

Vash slumps into one of the chairs in front of Nai’s desk. “Because…I want to show her I pay attention, without her having to tell me everything.”

Nai finally puts his pen down and regards his brother. What a silly concept. Only Vash would complicate something as simple as an arranged marriage. He dregs up an old memory. “Do you recall what Mother told us about marriage?”

Vash picks at the chair’s leather arm. “She said a lot of things.”

Nai tilts his head. “What I’m referring to is when she said marriage takes commitment and understanding between both parties to succeed. If you don’t ask her what she likes, you are taking away her chance to be understood.”

It makes sense. Of course it does. Mother was always wise in her counsel, even when they were young. But…Vash sighs. He wants to be a good husband. And good husbands notice things about their wives!

Suddenly, an idea hits him. “Maybe,” he says, “I can take her to a flower shop in town, and see what she gravitates towards?”

Nai sighs. Hit and a miss. “Get out.”

--

Despite Nai’s tendency to believe his brother stupid, Vash is not dull. Very, very stubborn, but not dull.

He starts with having servants plant new flowers in the garden. Lilies, poppies, orchids. He takes you on a walk to point them out. You look at them, smile, but nothing more. So, he continues. Tulips, dahlias, carnations, irises. You stop at your favorite colors, point at them and smile again, but nothing that screams, this, this is my favorite flower.

Vash gets down and dirty after that. He helps the servants plant the new flowers, fingers growing dark with dirt and cheeks red from the sun. Bushes of roses are removed to make room for new blooms. It becomes his new hobby, his time off when not in dreaded meetings and other princely duties. He researches flowers, finding exotics from other lands and having them shipped in on his own dime. When they are planted, he looks around at the work and hopes. Then, he fetches you and you take a walk.

After the twelfth time of doing this, you finally ask, “What are you doing, exactly?”

Vash almost trips. “What do you mean?”

You give him a look that makes his heart skip. “We’ve been taking an awful lot of walks lately. And I’ve noticed your work in the garden. It’s very beautiful. But I can tell you’re waiting for something.” You nod your head at his expression. “Speak.”

But he doesn’t want to. He wants to find out for himself! Without realizing, he pouts and shakes his head.

You hook your arm through his and pull him along, a small smile on your face. “Husband,” you say softly, “has this got to do with my not liking roses?”

Vash swallows. His heart pitter patters at being called ‘husband’ so quietly. “What makes you think that?”

Your lips lift more, and with your free hand you gesture around. “There are remarkably less roses in this garden than there were a few weeks ago. More flower varieties as well. You’ve been spending more and more time out here, planting your plants. I’ve been wondering where you have been.”

A sudden guilt overtakes him. “I did not mean to neglect you for this project.”

“Ah, so it is a project.” You pat his arm with your hand. “And you didn’t neglect me; wipe that look off your face.”

You both walk to a part of the garden that sits against the wall of the castle. Red geraniums grow around a stone bench and bird bath, along with small forget-me-nots that twine with the red. You sit at the bench, and Vash sighs. It’s time to come clean. “I did not mean to keep it a secret, but I wanted to find out what your favorite flower was.”

Your brows raise. “So that is it. All of this work, just to find out what I like? You flatter me.” You hesitate before taking his hand, “But wouldn’t it have been easier if you had merely asked me?”

Vash flushes. “Of course. But I…I wanted to show that I pay attention to what you like and don’t like.” It sounds silly saying it out loud now. He feels it further when you laugh.

“That is very sweet of you. More sweet than I deserve. But I think we should put an end to the mystery and allow the servants to get back to their regular duties, hm?” You lean forward and touch some of the flowers growing under the bench. “I enjoy all flowers, truly – even roses on occasion. But the ones I like most are the small ones – the ones that pollinators can easily get to. Forget-me-nots, baby’s-breath, that sort of thing.” You straighten and look ponderously ahead. “I suppose that would have made a poor bouquet for a royal wedding.”

“No!” He’s emphatic, holding your hand tighter to get you to look at him. “It would have been beautiful! Just having small flowers, it would have been a new start to a tradition!”

You smile. “I hear that’s what village girls do for their weddings – pick whatever small flowers are in bloom for the spring and that is their bouquet. It likely would have just made nobles call me a village girl if I had it my way.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” he says, playing with your fingers. “Nothing wrong with any of it.”

“I know,” you say, and grasp his fingers in your own. “Thank you, for trying so hard. I think the garden looks much livelier now than ever.”

It does. There are more butterflies, hummingbirds, and other small creatures around now than there were before. Fat bumblebees buzz low to the ground, picking at the little flowers found there. Vash watches a smaller honeybee land on one of the geraniums nearby, and smiles.

Maybe he could have asked you what your favorite flower was and been done with it. But, as you shyly lay your head on his shoulder, he thinks he likes this arrangement better.

[p0p33-k3da]

Do any of y'all care about SMG34 headcanons?

Cause if you do, I've conjured a few in my tiny brain.

•Whenever SMG4 and SMG3 have their wedding, 3 will be the one wearing the dress (like the femboy he is) the dress color would most likely be a dark purple, and he would wear black fishnets with short heeled shoes, topping it off with his black wedding veil over his face.

•As for SMG4, he would most likely wear some type of blue and white suit, (using a white/blue bowtie) and he would have black dress shoes. He would most likely buy 3 and him matching flowers, him having a purple one and 3 having a blue flower.

•SMG4 would propose to SMG3 (because he would be way to scared of rejection) and it would be in a private area because 3 would be scared to seem weak around others when saying yes. 4 would know all this about him because of how much 3 does end up opening up to him about things (and how he acts around certain people)

•After SMG4 proposes, up until the wedding happens, 3 would act tougher around people to try and keep his status as it is, but would eventually fail when he is with 4 because of how flirtatious 4 is to him.

•(Speaking of flirting) SMG3 is very flirty around 4, and always believes he is making 4 really flustered (when in fact he does flatter 4 but not so much as to fluster him) but as soon as SMG4 begins to flirt even the slightest, 3 folds immediately and is unable to hold back from ANYTHING he does.

SMG3's wedding outfit:

•SMG3 most likely would have spent days upon days planning exactly which outfit he would choose for the wedding. He would also be one of the people that would be very strict on making sure their partner did not see the outfit, at least until he walked down the isle.

SMG4's wedding outfit:

•SMG4 would probably pick his suit out near the time when the wedding is getting close, forgetting about it almost everyday until he either sees SMG3 or gets reminded of the wedding from silly things he'd be doing.

_______________________________________________

•When it comes to their forms of showing love and affection, SMG3 is all about cuddling, all the time. (Other than when they are alone) SMG4 would ask if 3 would want to help him work on videos with him. 4 would most likely enjoy the cuddling, 3 would be complete laying on him (probably would also fall asleep on him and deny it later on)

•Getting gifts for each other I feel would go somewhere like 3 gives 4 different explosive material with chocolates and flowers, and 4 would get 3 expensive clothes (literally acting like a sugar daddy to him) and 3 would absolutely love it. 4 would save the explosives to go blow them up at some sight with 3 to make him happy.

•SMG3 is a dog person and SMG4 is a cat person. They would most likely never get a cat though, unless it's friendly, because 3 could never get over it if the cat hurt eggdog.

•SMG4 would always use pet names, especially around people to make him flustered even more. 3 would use pet names with him in private (probably accidentally saying them around people then immediately regretting and denying that he ever said them)

•SMG3 likes to bite, during any type of intimate moment, he will always say he won't bite hard, and will try not to, but the instinct always takes over him and he will go like a rabid animal. And SMG4 would love and hate it. Depends on his mood. Sometimes he would feel like collapsing and letting SMG3 do anything, and other times, he would yelp and push 3 off of him.

•They get mistaken for siblings all the time, in public especially, they could be holding hands, kissing, or doing anything touchy and people would feel disgusted because they believe they are related somehow.

•SMG3 would not take this situation nicely, he would most likely go insane on whoever says anything to them, or even honestly if they even make any sort of noise. (He would probably use some bombs or something explosive) they could make the smallest noise ever, and he would believe they were talking about them. It happened to them way too much, so it's hard to not go insane.

•SMG4 would be practically trying to calm him down as much as he can, because he is a good person and doesn't want to make any type of scene in front of people. Grabbing his arm would be his first move, then it would be to try and hold him in the waist because 3 would most likely start to feel calmer but then embarrassed and would back off to try and stop 4 from holding him.

• Going into school terms, SMG3 would most likely graduate with some sort of honors and SMG4 would probably drop out of high school. Even though SMG3 graduated with honors, he kind of lost all of his smartness from the absolute brain rot that took over the world. SMG4 dropped out of high school because he was so obsessed with making videos.

•Every single time SMG4 is working, SMG3 would find a way to be able to cuddle with him during it, like, latch himself onto him whenever possible. He could be on the chair and he would find a way to cuddle on him. If he's on a bed, he would lay on top of him and put his head on the top of his and just silently watch as he works, occasionally caressing him on the waist

•If they are cuddling and they accidentally fall asleep, if SMG4 moved to latch onto him tighter or just shifted in general, 3 would immediately be snapped awake in fear then calm down and hold onto him tighter, probably pull his legs up and put one over him and fall back asleep.

•SMG3 top. SMG4 bottom. Now here me out here... It's TECHNICALLY cannon (Snowtrapped 6:50) so there's not much to argue about tbh...

•SMG4 helps SMG3 with his makeup, like the eye liner part mostly. The problem with that is that they end up kissing and messing up all the makeup after because they can't handle staring at each other without turning it into something intimate.

_______________________________________________

Thoughts?

Can y'all genuinely tell me if these are interesting to read, because I don't know if I should keep making them or not.