#Like... I was such a big help at her wedding

[juletheghoul]

dignitas

a/n: I don't even know what to say, honestly. I made a really honest post a few days ago about some hardships I've been experiencing and the support I received brought me to tears so many times. I don't think I can ever really put into words how grateful I am for this community, all I can say is thank you, and that I hope you all know what you mean to me. Hope you enjoy 💕xo (ps. I googled wedding practices in Ancient Rome, and girls used to be married off as young as 14-insane I know-)

Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, dirty talk, parental fluff, Marcus being a total suck for his daughter, pregnancy and baby stuff, childbirth and some graphic descriptions of pain, brief mention of infertility, **character death / grief** allusions to underage sexual abuse (typical of the time), sexist violence against a slave, **angst / hurt / comfort** Girlwife is putting her foot down, and her husband is here for it, bullshit politics, let me know if I missed any!

This is the fic I referenced in this preview

Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader

word count: 7.3k 😅

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist series masterlist Ko-fi

-

He crouches down, heart in his throat at the sight of her standing on her own two feet. 

“Come, that’s it my little flower–” He holds his hands out, shifting to his knees before them, his wife holds her up, keeping her steady. He claps his hands, getting her attention and when she smiles big his heart melts. 

“Go on Diana, go on–” Her mother encourages, helping her with the first two steps before carefully letting her go. He watches her little form sway, watches as her mother hovers behind her. Diana looks down at her feet before toddling over, taking her first steps. He holds his breath, nodding and smiling at her until she makes it into his arms. His body fills with light, pride and emotions swirling wildly. 

“You have done it!” He gets up, twirling her. Her mother, his wife, stares at them in awe, tears shining and he goes to her, gathering his whole world in his arms. 

-

She’s running, it felt like not a moment ago she was small enough to fit within both palms of her fathers hands and now she’s running!

“Diana! Slow down little love, you will hurt yourself.” Her giggle echoes through the house, setting the dogs to chase after her as she covers much of the ground in the peristyle. 

Marcus beams at her, crouching down and holding out his arms for her as she speeds up, stumbling and falling down but getting back up  just as quick before the dogs can lick her face and crashes into his embrace. He burrows his face into her neck, kissing and tickling her until she screams with joy.

“Papa!” She screams, joyous and happy.

“Yes my little sunbeam, look at you, running! Gods above, where has the time gone?” his eyes glaze while she squirms within his grip, already eager to be back on the ground. Her attention lands on you then, turning from her father who watches in awe as she runs towards you, little robes and brown waves rustling. 

With a huff of laughter she collides with your legs, her arms outstretched and you lift her up, resting her on your hip. The dogs chase each other, excited and happy.

“You are a wild little thing, my feral child.” You kiss her full cheeks, relishing the sounds of her voice, the giggles that escape before she yawns. “Time for your rest–” Marcus has reached you then, and he presses his lips to the crown of her head again before you hand her to Sabina–the matronly woman who has become her nurse. 

Marcus watches her go, curled up against Sabina, head resting on her shoulder. 

“She is getting too big, growing far too quickly.” 

“She is indeed, getting wilder and bolder every day. She is too like her father.” 

He huffs out a laugh, wrapping himself around your back to lay his chin upon your shoulder. You can almost hear the crinkle in his eyes. 

“Is she now? And here I thought she was the very picture of her mother.” He presses his lips to your neck, “I have some matters to see to, but I will try to be very quick. Shall we take advantage once I am finished?” His hands squeeze at your waist and you cannot help but sigh, and turn in his arms. 

“If you can be quick, then taking advantage sounds like a wonderful idea.” Your hand slips down, sliding over his robes until you cup his manhood, giving it a little squeeze. The low rumble that comes out of his mouth makes your heart race. 

“Don’t keep me waiting.” You press a chaste kiss to his mouth, so innocent compared to where you hold him and he smiles into it. 

“Understood, my Sun.” 

When he finds you after having completed his work, Diana screams in your arms, wriggling to be let go. He grins, resigned to have missed his window of opportunity.

“Yes yes, very well.” You put her down and she runs to him once again, warmth fills your whole being to see them together. She is a tiny little slip of a thing in his arms, her hands barely cover his cheeks but he looks at her as though she hung the stars. 

He speaks to her softly and presses kisses to her temple, he listens to her baby babble, the words she can speak clearly now and the ones she cannot yet pronounce.

“You had a very short rest today my little love.” His words are soft, but you laugh at them when his eyes find yours. He smiles and a little sadness creeps in then, sadness that you cannot give him more of this, more babies, more little ones to carry on his name. It is a tragedy that you cannot give him a boy. 

“We will need to get you more robes soon, you are already getting too big for these. Shall we go to the market?” He holds her up above his head and they are mirror images of each other, his hands holding her up towards the heavens, and her arms outstretched towards him, both bursting with the same smile. 

“What say you, my love?” He lowers her, smiling at her screaming giggles. 

“I say yes, she is growing very quickly indeed. We should get more of the oil I use in her hair as well.” He nods, and after the preparations are made, you set out with your family. 

-

She grows like wheat, one minute she is a bundle at your breast, and the next she is up to your hip, arguing with her father over a horse. 

“But, I need one.” She pleads, seven years old and determined.

“Do you?” He smiles, entertaining her. You know in your heart he will give in, he always does, but he requires her to give him a good reason before inevitably spoiling her.

“You have asked, you have begged, and now you tell me that you need one, but you have not yet given me a reason as to why.” He sits at your table to your left, breaking his fast as he looks over some letters. She sits at her own place to his left across from you. She looks to you and you can see your own frown on her face but you shake your head. 

“Do not look to me, Diana, it is your father who decides.” You smile, it is all a game that she will eventually win. She lets out a sigh and your smile widens.

“Father, you know I am learning, and I would like to learn on a horse that knows me. If it is my horse and not yours then I will learn all the quicker.” He nods sagely, setting his letters aside and picking at his bread. 

“Yes, that is a good reason but will you care for it? You must feed it, brush it and bond with it.” 

She nods as he speaks, hopeful. 

“It is not just about getting one, riding it for a few days and then leaving it in the stable for others to care for it. It is a living thing, and it requires love and attention and food and I expect you to do your part.”

You reach for his hand and his eyes find yours, you give him a look, one that you hope he can read as ‘remember her age’, he takes a breath, smiling to himself and you know you have been together long enough that he understands what you are thinking. 

“I do not think to leave the sole care of this horse to you Diana, you have your studies and lessons, you have your duties with your mother and you are still quite little.” She frowns and he laughs, “You are but seven, not seventeen. If I were to get you this horse, you must promise me, swear to me here in front of your mother, that you will feed, brush and water it daily. This means you will wake up with me, we will go to the stable together for your lesson and once you are done, you will brush, feed and water it.”  

She grins, despite herself and he narrows his eyes, the game still very much afoot. 

“Diana.” He tries to be serious, tries to put the steel into his tone and for a moment it works, she straightens up and wipes the grin away, nodding at him with her big brown eyes. 

“You must swear it, little love. You must swear that you will do as your father says.” You chime in gently, and she nods faster. 

“I swear it father, I swear it. I will do as you say. May I please have a new horse?” She pouts, and the deal is sealed. He sighs, the corners of his mouth lifting and you catch her eye, gesturing for her to go to him and she does, flying out of her chair to hug him tightly. He laughs, all of the toughness leached away by her little hands, by her smile and by her kiss on his cheek. 

“Very well, we will go by the end of the week.” He relents, letting her hug him, and hugging her in return. “If you are finished breaking your fast, you may go and start your lessons.” She nods, skipping away, laughing loudly. 

“You are a cloud.” You smile at him, pushing your plate away. 

“When did it happen? I used to inspire fear and unquestioning loyalty, obedience.” He shakes his head, half laughing, half astounded. You take his hand in yours, and press it to your mouth. 

“She has made a lump of honey out of you Marcus, there is no other way around it.” 

“She? I think you will find that you have your own part to play in this.” He lets a bark of laughter out at the shocked expression on your face, pulling you from your chair to sit across his lap. 

“Do you not think yourself spoiled? Do you not realise that you yourself have turned me into this?” His arms wrap tightly around you, and you roll your eyes, goodnaturedly. 

“Have I? Have I tamed you, General?” You run your fingers through his curls, more grey than brown now. His eyes are soft, kind and full of love. He doesn’t respond right away, instead his gaze bores into yours, the same honey brown as Diana.

“I would say more than tamed.” Diana screams laughing from somewhere and he smiles wide, his soul fed by her happiness for a moment before his hand cups your cheek. 

“I do not have the words for what you have done to me, for me–I do not have the words to describe the depths of my love for you.” 

You press forward, kissing him with all of the words you yourself cannot speak, pressing your love into him. His hands sweep softly along your back, your lips skimming against his when you pull away to breathe. 

“A lump of honey–” You laugh when he digs his fingers into your sides, euphoria thrumming through your veins. 

-

He finds you teaching Diana how to sew, the both of you hunched over a torn robe, Sabina in tow and the expression on his face gives you pause.

“Diana, my little flower, your mother and I have some important matters to discuss.” He gestures to Sabina and she steps forward. 

“Why don’t you come with me, little one, let us go and raid the cellar for some honeycomb.” Sabina smiles, urging her to follow but Diana frowns, sensing the wrongness of the situation. She looks at you for a moment, clutching at your arm. 

“Go on, let me speak to your father.” You smile, keeping your composure for her benefit despite the way your heart races. She nods, carefully handing you her needle and thread and you put everything aside. Sabina holds her arm out for her, Diana gives her father a quick hug around the middle before leaving the room. 

“What is it? What is the matter?” A fear grips you, some unknown danger lurks through your lungs, threading through your ribs and curling around your heart. 

“Peace, do not fear.” He takes your hands in his, pressing them to his lips and you take a deep breath.

“Is it another war? Will you leave me again?” Memories of his injury resurface, the wound that almost took him from you, the scar that greets you whenever he undresses. Tears gather at the thought of him going off to fight once more, with him older now, they threaten to fall but he shakes his head and pulls you close. 

“No, Gods above, no my love. There is no war–” you sigh into his neck, relief pulling a few tears down your cheeks. He wipes them away, but the frown on his face remains and the relief is short lived. 

“Tell me then, what troubles you?” 

“There is a man, a Legate, who is known to have a heavy hand with his slaves. I am not on friendly terms with him but there are some in this house whom I purchased from him.” He sighs, squeezing your hands in his. You follow along, grateful all over again that he treated the people in your house with dignity. 

“I have been informed that he has a child on the way by a slave, a child he does not want.” He frowns and again, you try again to understand his meaning. 

“I have purchased her.” He comes out with it. 

“You have purchased her? A slave?” You feel nothing, it isn’t something you ever question, from personal experience you are aware of the way they are treated in your home, of the respect afforded to them by both you and your husband, and by your daughter. Your confusion is in why he feels the need to explain himself to you. 

“Yes, I have paid a hefty sum for her because I feared for her life.” He lets out a heavy breath, “Sabina saw her in the market not a day ago, and not only is she quite young, she also had…injuries.” His gaze turns steely, and the implications hurt you. 

“You bought her, to spare her.” He smiles under your hand, but it is a tired, weary thing.

“I could not bear the thought of this young girl fearing for her life, it made me think of my own daughter, of you when I first saw you.” Your heart melts a little, the softness of him, the anger he has for what has been done to this poor girl. 

“I just want her to be safe, I want her child to be safe.” You don’t respond, instead you pull him in, pressing your face into his neck. 

“You are a good man, Marcus. My heart fills with joy that she will be safe here, that her child should survive.” Your fingers thread through his waves and his expression softens, “did you imagine I would be angry with you?” It’s not an accusation, more so a need to understand him.

“No, but you are my wife, this is your house and I would honour your wishes,” He kisses your wrist, “and the purchasing of a girl expecting a baby, the prospect of there being another child in this house warrants your consideration.”

“It is thoughtful of you to consider me, but I see no harm in it. So long as this girl is here for her safety, it is not as though the child is yours. It is not as though you have feelings for this girl—“ 

“Gods above, no my love. You know that is not my way. You know that you are above all others, that you alone hold my love and my interest. She is practically a child herself—“ You laugh, calming him with soft touch.

“Yes Marcus, I know. I trust you, implicitly. Let the girl come, let her be safe and let her child live a good life here—it would be good for Diana as well.” You press kisses to his cheeks, the relief of knowing there is no war is too great to worry about anything except the tight squeeze of his embrace.

-

She is so much younger than you had imagined and the sight of her almost brings tears to your eyes. Quietly she stands, her little belly just starting to show, her eye purple and bruised and anger only adds to your heartbreak. 

“Sabina will show you to your new quarters–make sure she rests, bring her fresh water and food.” You can feel the anger coming off of Marcus in waves, the state of her, the obvious fear–when you’d first entered into Marcus’ service you had been fearful too, but Sabina herself had assuaged you of it. Marcus had been cold, but never cruel.

“I can work Dominus, I can be useful–” He stops her, shaking his head. 

“There is no need, you must rest and heal. I will call for a medicus to see to your health and the child, peace, there is no expectation of you.” You stepped forward, doing your best to smile soft, she stepped back slightly and again your heart wilted. 

“Peace, when all is well and you have rested, I will bring you some things to help with the skin. Some oils and ointments leftover from when I carried my own child.” She frowns in confusion before bowing her head. 

“Gratitude Domina.” Sabina nods to you both, and takes her away. 

“Did you see her eye? I fear that is not her only injury.” He practically fumes and you soothe him with your touch.

“I saw, there are some faded bruises on her arms, some poking out just at the bottom of her tunic–” 

“She is a child.” He turns, the weariness on his face, the fury. “I fear to know her age. I fear what the medicus will say.” He pulls you close, rubbing at your back. 

“We must be gentle with her, assure her that she is not required to serve in that fashion.”

“Sabina will inform her. It was never my way, you were the exception.” He smiles, small and full of fondness, pressing his lips to yours. 

-

When the medicus arrives a week later, her eyes bulge in fear.

“Do not fear, it is only to see if you are healthy and if the child is in good shape.” You sit with her on her bed, comforting her while Diana has her lessons. Although still weary, you can see that Sabina has assured her that you are not anyone that she must fear, that although Marcus has his reputation, inside this house he gives just as much respect as he expects. 

“I will stay with you.” She squeezes your hand for a moment, nodding at you before letting go. 

The Medicus asks her questions and you learn that her name is Vesta. He asks about her first blood, about when the child was conceived. He asks her age, and when she timidly says fifteen your stomach drops. She should have been married, she should have been courted and treated gently but she is a slave, and slaves are not often afforded kindness. You worry about the toll of the pregnancy especially with the size of her, still so small that the birth would surely be a concern. 

You hold her hand as he does his examination, smile reassuringly when he measures her belly and when he does the more invasive check. 

“Everything right now is as we want it to be but you must eat more, we shall have to monitor the growth as your hips are still quite narrow, Gods willing everything will turn out.” She smiles, placated but doubts of your own take root within, her hips are small and if the child grows too large, the birth will be very difficult.

-

The sun shines brightly, shafts of light filter through the olive trees that grow taller and taller within the peristyle. Diana sits with you in a little bit of shade, the two of you continuing with your sewing. She huffs when she does not get the stitch just right. 

“Patience, little love, it will come to you with time and practice.” She nods, lip caught between teeth as she continues. Her head lifts when Vesta finds you, her belly growing seemingly by the minute. 

“I have brought you fresh water, Domina, and some fruit as well.” The tray is heavy and you frown, taking it from her and setting it down on the little table beside you.

“Gratitude, but as Marcus and I have told you, we do not require anything of you but rest.” 

“I must be useful, I cannot just sit idle.” She bows her head, “I am filled with gratitude at the kindness you and the Dominus have shown me but I want to earn my place–”

“Enough of that, your only task is to heal, and grow that child. With what the medicus has advised you need to be very careful.” You guide her to sit, pouring for her, ignoring the protests. “Peace Vesta, this is not new to me.” You smile. 

“Is it painful?” Diana puts her sewing things away and moves closer, inquisitive, and it hurts to know they are not very far apart in age. 

“Sometimes, my lady. Mostly I feel that I am full of stones.” They smile at each other. 

“Is that how it was for you, Mother? Did I feel like stones?” 

“You, my child, felt like a storm.” You kiss the top of her head and she beams, she has always loved hearing about her birth. Vesta winces, her hand lands on her belly and after a moment she lets out a sigh. 

“Are you well?” Diana frowns, and Vesta nods. 

“Yes, it has started kicking and sometimes it startles me a bit.” Her face has healed, in truth she is a lovely girl, hair dark as night, eyes the green of fresh laurel and skin golden as though from days spent in the sun. “Would you like to feel?” 

Diana nods quickly, jumping at the chance and the picture of them together fills your heart with something, you are old enough to be her mother. You could almost imagine it then, an older child, one that was happily married to a good man, happiness, the thought of a grandchild. It shocks you, but in an unexpected, happy way.

“I feel it!” Diana smiles wide, her fathers dimple shines on her face and you let them have the moment. 

Later on, when Diana has gone riding with Marcus, you sit with Vesta alone. 

“Domina, may I ask you something?” She helps with the sewing Diana had not finished. 

“Speak freely.” 

“I–I would ask about the future of my child, once it is born.” She looks up, worry clear on her face. “Will the child be permitted to remain? Or will it be sold off?” You frown, noticing the way her hands shake and all at once you are reminded of the way things are in most houses. 

“Vesta, you and your child are to remain here, together.” When you level your gaze at her, she breaks down into tears, heavy sobs clawing at her throat. You take the needle and the cloth from her, sitting beside her to gather her into your arms. “I know it is difficult to believe, but you must trust me when I say that you are safe here.” You stroke her hair, letting her cry into your shoulder. 

“I myself came to this house as a slave.” She looks at you in shock, eyes red and you cannot help but laugh, “I speak the truth, when I came here I was just a slave, older than you and scared of how I might be treated. Marcus has always had a reputation for brutality. He was cold, he was reserved, but he was never cruel. You can speak to anyone in this house, he is a good man, he is a loving husband, he is a wonderful father, and he will not hurt you or separate you from your child.” You wipe her tears away, “The only thing he requires from you, is respect, and he will give it right back. We all have our place, but within it there is dignity. You never need fear of unwanted advances again. Understood?” 

She sobs for a moment, taking in the knowledge that despite the things she has survived, the indignities she has suffered, life here will be better. She nods, and you continue with your sewing.

-

Diana takes to her, whenever she isn’t busy with her lessons, whenever she has a spare moment she sits with Vesta, listening to her speak about the baby and about her life up until arriving in your house. You are grateful that she spares your daughter from the more brutal details, and you rejoice in the fact that she has another young girl to speak to. 

Marcus has Diana’s baby things brought into Vestas chambers, despite her insistence that they are too fine. He waves her concerns away and a small chest is brought in, full of small robes along with the cradle. 

He buys the teas and potions recommended by the midwife to aid in her birth, he makes sure the oils for her skin are on hand and seeing him care for her as though she were another daughter only makes your love for him grow.

“Will you be this way when Diana marries? When she is with her husband and with child?” You lie with him, naked in bed one night and he groans. 

“Gods above, I cannot imagine my baby marrying.” He grimaces, “She is not yet ten years of age, we still have years yet.” 

“It sounds as though you are reassuring yourself.” You tease him, smiling at his discomfort, “It is terrifying to think that soon she will be of the age for such things, proposals and a marriage, she will leave us–” He pulls you close, stopping your musings with a loud groan into your neck. 

“Please my love, do not torture me.” He sighs, pressing his lips to your neck, “I cannot bear the thought of our little girl being a grown woman. Time is moving far too fast, can we not stop it for a while? Bask in the joy of it all?” 

“If only it were possible to do so.” You cradle his head, massaging his scalp softly. “We are in the midst of joy Marcus, we are blessed, we have a beautiful daughter and a loving home. You are here, Rome is peaceful, what else could we ask for without tempting the Gods?” 

“You are right, of course.” His hands sweep up, stroking at your hips, your belly until he palms the weight of your breast.

“What would I do without you?” His lips move across your neck, his tongue tasting your skin as his thumb strums softly at your nipple. Arousal pools low in your belly at the slow steady sweep of his thumb, and when he lowers his head and takes the other in his mouth it pulls a moan from you. 

“I feel as though I have not touched you in ages–” His warm breath against the wet peak of your nipple sends a shiver down your spine, you let out a low laugh, lip caught between your teeth as his own tease at the sensitive peak. 

“Ages? Are you sure it has not been a mere week?” You scratch at silver scruff on his cheeks. His kiss moves to the valley between your breasts, smiling his mischievous smile. 

“A week is an age, I need you constantly.” You laugh, pulling him up for a kiss. 

“I remember a time when you had me daily, scarcely let me have a moment's rest.” His playful shock makes you laugh, “Now I must content myself alone–” You laugh harder when he buries his face into your neck, his scruff tickling you. 

“You wound me–” He settles between your legs, fitting himself into the wide spread of them. His cock slips between the lips of your sex, hard, hot and heavy enough to pull a steady flow of arousal from your cunt. 

“Have I been neglectful of you?” He shifts, coating himself in you.

“Oh yes, exceedingly so.” The pout is an exaggerated thing and he bites at your lip.

“My poor, empty little wife,” with a shift, he reaches down and notches the blunt tip of his cock at your entrance, “let me redeem myself—“

A mutual sigh fills the room when he sinks himself inside you to the hilt. The moon shines in through the window, casting dark shadows across his face as he holds himself above you. Even after all of the years you’ve spent together, the deepening of lines on his face, the way the silver has overtaken the dark brown of his hair, the slight softening of his middle—it does nothing to hinder his beauty. Even now, the strength in his arms, arms that you’ve touched and been held by a thousand times over still make you dizzy with want. 

His pace is unhurried, languid, decadent. 

Your mouth opens under him when you pull him closer, needing the weight of him and he obliges. You sigh when his hand lands heavy on your thigh to shift it higher, up onto his ribs. His tongue tastes of honey, of devotion and you drink his passion down like fine wine. 

Your heart pounds, a loud boom in your ears, a pleasurable pulse in your cunt, a warmth flooding the corners of you with every heavy stroke of his cock. He huffs out a low laugh, cocky and confident at the way your hips cant up to meet his rhythm, his eyes a lust-blown black when he thrusts harder.

Your arousal for him is a river between your thighs, a holy fountain. It soaks the hair at the base of his cock, it rings loudly with every snap of his hips, a vulgar hymn at the altar of your cunt. 

Sweat beads in his hairline and between the press of your bodies, you feel it at the base of his skull when you clutch at him, his breath a damp pant into the crook of your neck. The pleasure builds like a fire in your core and he fans the flames, his steady stroke turns into a heavy grind and the pressure of it at your clit is almost enough.

With fingers gripping his hair like talons, you focus on the pleasure of it, shift your hips and spread your legs a little wider and it’s perfect.

“Yes, yes, yes, just there—“ with a clench and a heavy sigh the dam breaks and it flows like water. His low groan only heightens it, a heavier push to get deeper still, a firm grip on your thigh; all of it only intensifies the climax.

-

As the months progress, so does her pregnancy and your fears for the birth.

Your affection for her grows as well, swells within you with every laugh you share, with every meal she takes with your family, with every smile that blooms on her face. Marcus takes to her as well, in a fatherly way. It is evident in the way he cares for her, the way he considers her needs the same way he considers Dianas but whereas you enjoy her company and rejoice in her finding peace within your house, Marcus harbous anger that she has been put in this position. 

He focuses on the preparations, calling for the midwife and her attendants to have rooms in your home once it is clear that labour is imminent. He hides his fears in practicality, hides his anger within his focus. 

-

It is not the knock that wakes you, rather Marcus’ reaction to it. All his time in Rome's army had made him a light sleeper, and the slightest disturbance could thrust him into full alertness. You felt him stir, felt the shift of him sliding out of bed, heard soft words exchanged at the door. 

“What is the matter, Marcus?” You rise, wiping the sleep from your eyes. 

“Vesta’s labours have begun.” With a candle given to him by the attendant at the door, he lights the one in your room before handing you your robe to dress. 

“I will go to her, she will need support.” You had already discussed it, and he nods, listening as he dressed and splashed water onto his face.

“I will wake the midwife.” 

-

Her face is pale when you find her, eyes bulging in fear as she paces around her chamber. Sabina rubs her back, keeping pace with her as she moves and you almost feel the echo of your own labours when she clutches at her belly in agony. 

“Breathe, Vesta. With me–” You take a deep breath in, guiding her. She nods, watching and syncing her breaths with yours. “Good, let us continue with the walking, it will help. Has the water come yet?” 

“No Domina, it is just pain, low and sharp but it does not last, it comes and goes.” 

“Okay, let us walk throughout the house, Sabina, would you please make her some tea?” You take over, threading her arm through yours to keep her steady. 

“At once, Domina.” She moves quickly, leaving you with the young girl as you both make your way slowly down the dark hall. 

“I am scared.” Her voice is whisper thin, but you did not need her to voice it out loud. Her fear is palpable and how could you blame her? Your eyes drift to the size of her hips, to the slight frame of her. Despite your own fear, despite your own silent prayer to all of the Gods you pat her hand softly and speak with more confidence than you feel.

“I will be there with you, the midwife will guide us and we must be brave, yes? Now, have you thought of a name?” She lets out a shaky breath, smiling before focusing on her breathing once again. 

“If it is a girl, I thought maybe Flora.” 

“That would be a lovely name, and for a boy?” The light coming through the windows is a deep blue, dawn is creeping up on the horizon. 

“For a boy, I am torn. I like the name Atticus, as well as Linus.” The house is quiet, the low shuffle of your footsteps echo throughout the hallway. Diana will be up soon, moving about her chambers in preparation to feed and water her horse. You are still not sure whether you want her to be present for the birth of Vesta’s child, no matter how much you know she desires it.

“Those are also very fine choices.” 

“Which would you choose, Domina? If I may ask.” 

“For a boy? I confess they both have their merits, I do like Atticus, it is a strong name, they both are.” Sabina greets you with the tea at the mouth of the hall, carefully handing it to Vesta. She takes it with a grateful nod. 

“I think you are right, Atticus is my first choice.” She smiles, wincing through another grip of pain. 

“Sit, rest and drink while we wait for the midwife.” You guide her to one of the more comfortable chairs in the room where you took your meals. 

When Marcus finds you a few hours later the sun has risen and despite the pain gripping her regularly, her water has not yet come. The midwife is with him when he finds you rubbing her lower back. You almost laugh at how awkward he is, a nervous shifting of his feet, some mumbling words of encouragement for her before taking his leave. 

“Deep breath in, that’s it.” She has a surprising amount of strength in her grip around your hand, you can feel the blunt ends of her nails pressing deep, leaving little half-moon marks in their wake. She nods, trying her best to listen when the pain grips her. They come quicker and quicker as the sun follows its path, stronger too. Sweat beads on her skin, her dark hair sticks to her neck and to her brow. 

The midwife checks Vestas progress between short walks throughout the room. She sends her outside for fresh air, and makes her drink the tea. Her good spirits, her easy smiles despite the pain you know she's in inspires a flame of hope. The Gods have been good to you after all and your faith in them whispers of how it will be once she has made it through her labours, of the glow of life that will fill her just as it did for you once Diana had come into the world. 

The flame dwindles slightly at the sight of the blood in her water, the corruption of it is a test of that faith but you meet it head on. You face her dead on, meeting her terrified, laurel-green gaze and speak to her with a confidence you do not feel. The midwife does not panic, she speaks with authority, guides her to the birthing stool and the real fight begins. 

Her screams echo through the house, they fill every corner of it. 

With a damp linen you wipe at her brow, speaking to her softly as she does her best to push the child out but as the hours pass, that little flame begins to flicker. 

“You’re almost there Vesta, you are so close–” You tie her hair back, wipe the tears from her reddened cheeks. 

“I am going to try to use my hands, the pain will be great but for now it is the best chance we have.” The midwife catches your eye, and you feel it in your heart that it is worse than she is letting on. Vesta grits her teeth though, and you keep it inside. 

“I am ready.” Her lip trembles, her eyes fill with tears and so do yours, but she grits her teeth and pushes anyway, showing an amount of bravery that few people twice her age possess. The midwife encourages her as she screams through the pushing, the blood drips down her arms and pools on the linens below. 

It is an eternity, the push, the pull, the blood–and then a baby screams and your heart rejoices. Vesta smiles through her sigh, but her colour drains and she wilts like a crushed flower in your arms. 

“Vesta, Vesta do not sleep–wake up, you must hold the child, you have done it!” She does not respond however, and you use all the strength you can muster to hold her up as the midwife works feverishly to stop the steady river of blood from between her legs. 

“Domina–” It is a breathy whisper, a moment of clarity between a sightless flutter of her eyelids. 

“Vesta!” Her colour scares you, and the frantic movements of the midwife do nothing to bring her back to full wakefulness. 

“Vesta!”

-

The Gods are many things. They are generous, they have bestowed you with a happy home; a loving, devoted husband and a healthy child. They have plucked you from a life of servitude and made you Lady Acacius, wife of the General of the Roman army. 

They are merciful, they have guided your husband through countless battles and wars and made him victorious. They have blessed him with the love of the Emperor and the respect of the people of Rome, and made him a wealthy man. 

The Gods are also cruel.

All of the generosity, all of the gifts and blessings, every wonderful aspect of life must be paid for and they do not accept anything less than blood. 

She is smaller in death. Younger still than the picture of her you hold within your mind. The gauze covers her from head to foot but it does not move, her breath does not disturb the sheer fabric, her breast does not rise and fall with the breath of life. Her laughter, her easy smile is a ghost that haunts the corners of your house, her short life echoes in the cries of her son. 

Marcus handles everything to do with the procession, he arranges for her body to be burned, for all of the rights and proceedings required for a person after death. He spared you the details, and you were grateful for it. 

Diana’s grief for Vesta is an immense, untameable thing. It was a hurt you could not fix, a want that Marcus could not indulge. Seeing the gravity of it on her face, hearing it in her cries somehow seemed to magnify your own grief, it gained a new aspect. Her pain gave your pain dimension.

Atticus so resembled his mother that it was sometimes hard to hold him. 

Harder still was the little bit of reluctance within Marcus to get too close to the boy, a fear that he couldn’t hide whenever he held him—a slight crease between his brow, the careful way he cradled him so opposite of the natural connection he held with Diana from the second she had come to this world. There were aspects to that too, his feelings towards this orphaned boy. Reluctance of course, but also pity, empathy, a fierce protectiveness and above all, love.

-

The grief was still a sharp blade between the ribs when the letter came, and all it did was twist it, scrape it against your bones and bleed you dry.

“This must be a jest, a very poor jest.” Atticus sleeps against your breast, a long piece of linen wrapped about your middle holding him to you. 

“It is no jest my love, he is quite clear.” His tone is indecipherable and the glimpse of that more strategic aspect of him fills you with anger. 

“He writes to collect his son—“

“Atticus is not his son.” He sighs, resigned and tired rather than angry.

“In all truth, Atticus is his son—regardless of how we may feel about it.” He raises his hands to forestall the rage burning within. “He does have the right to claim him, take him and raise him as he sees fit.”

“Raise him? He did not even want him! He sold his mother to you without a second thought!” 

“I know, it is a difficult situation but we must think about this. In the end, he is the boy's father.” 

He sets his letters down and you can see a glimpse of something, that love you knew was there, that space within his heart—within his soul for another child shining through the anger and practicality; shining through the logic.

“No.” The blood in your veins boils, fizzles and cracks and lights up your bones with the injustice of it all, your hands cradle the small bundle at your breast almost involuntarily, an unconscious protection. His frown deepens.

“He is—“

“No Marcus. No.” Tears of frustration gather in the corners of your eyes, fed and watered by the shadow of grief that follows you like a cloud. Atticus moves and when you look at him Vestas face is so clear in his, her black hair a soft down on his head.

“I am a good wife, Marcus, I have never disobeyed you, never dishonoured you or questioned your word. Not during my servitude, and not during our years as husband and wife, but I will not stand for this. This child, Vestas' child, belongs in this house. She died here, bringing him into this world and I gave her my word that he would stay. I have said my prayers and made the sacrifices so that he may live here, loved and well-cared for and neither you, nor that man will take him from me.” The ire of it burns within your breast, shines out through your steady, unflinching gaze. 

He does not respond and the silence between you fills the space. You do not fear what he may say, you do not worry about what he may think, the anger and the grief are too big for that. He sighs, heavy and resigned before giving you a small, proud smile. 

“Very well, my love. He will stay.”

-

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[katyswrites]

this love came back to me

PART 2 | SERIES

Pairing: Steve Harrington/fem!reader

Warnings: Swearing, alcohol use, smoking, allusions to/discussions of smut, reference to virginity, minor angst, references to cheating, Billy Hargrove jumpscare, no use of y/n

Wordcount: 3.8k

Your sister is getting married - and you're thrilled for her. Yes, it means returning to Hawkins, years after moving away. But, as Maid of Honor, who are you to refuse? That is, until you run into Steve Harrington - an old high school flame. It's been over a decade, and a lot has changed - but in many ways, you're both still the same. And, as it turns out, he's invited to the wedding, much to your chagrin. Can you two keep it cool? Or will old feelings come bubbling to the surface?

First loves, broken hearts, and everything in between. A second-chance-romance, and the ultimate reckoning of two old friends. And, lots of champagne-induced antics.

PART 2 | i pictured you with other girls in love, and threw up on the street

July 13th, 1997

You stare up at the ceiling, hearing the house slowly start to wake up around you - your father in the kitchen, making coffee; the shower running, likely for Sarah. Your mother, chattering away to the dog like he’s a person as she makes the bed. It’s always this, the sounds of your family in the morning, that makes you feel like you’ve been thrust back into childhood. From every creak of the old hardwood floors, to the sprinklers starting up outside, it’s home. It’s comforting, if not disconcertingly nostalgic. You sigh, glancing at the alarm clock on your bedside table - 10:57am. You can’t be surprised, considering you were kept up all night - you were already stressed about the bachelorette party you planned going well tonight, and your unexpected encounter with Steve isn’t helping.

Seeing him shouldn’t have rattled you this much, but it has. He seems well, a fact that actually brings you some relief, considering everything that happened to him after high school. Still, it’s strange, seeing him be so different, and simultaneously just as you remembered him.

You force yourself to get out of bed, padding downstairs to the kitchen.

“Oh look! The dead arose and appeared to many!” your mom chimes.

You grumble. “Morning. Coffee?”

She nods, and you make your way over to the pot to pour yourself some.

“So, you went out in town last night?” your mother asks, instinctively placing a plate of toast in front of you. 

You nod, spreading some of her special homemade jam on a triangle of toast.

“Yeah - checking out all the places we’re going tonight ahead of time.”

“You meet up with any old friends?”

You freeze for a second, nearly choking on your coffee.

“Um - most of my old friends don’t live in town anymore, Mom,” you say quietly.

“Well, I hope you know that… it’s so nice having you here, and you’re welcome to come back and visit, any time.”

You sigh - you’ve been through this before. “I do come home to visit, Mom.”

“Only for Christmas -”

“I have a life in New York, Mom - a job, a fian-”

You stop yourself, but she hears it. You see the absolute pity in her face, and want to scream.

“Oh, sweetheart - I know these last few months have been hard for you -”

“Please, don’t,” you beg - you knew somebody would bring it up this week, but you were really hoping your own mother would know better.

“I’m just saying - if you ever wanted to move closer -”

“Well I don’t,” you insist. “I’m not only living out there because of…him. I like my life there.”

She just shakes her head.

“Fine - but, it’s okay to still be sad, honey -”

“Well, I’m not,” you insist. 

It’s then that your sister, Sarah, saves the day, bounding into the kitchen.

“Good morning!” she says, cheerily. You shake off the conversations and grin as she gives you a big hug from behind.

“How long have you been up?” you ask, eyeing the fact that she’s already fully dressed.

“Since about 7 - went to the gym, had to pick up the namecards for the wedding - oh, and I took Sadie out for a walk -”

You glance at the family dog, fast asleep in the corner, and laugh - Sarah has always been a morning person, so… the opposite of you.

“I love how productive you are, honey,” your mom says pointedly, pouring her a cup of coffee.

You clench your fist, but say nothing, munching on your toast.

“Excited for tonight?” you try to ask cheerily.

“Oh, so excited - you know, I know it’s just a bar crawl through our little town, but it’ll mean a lot to do it with you and all the girls, like old times, you know?”

You nod, offering a smile - Sarah has always been so bright and bubbly, it’s hard to believe you two are related. It’s the thing that makes everyone love her, like she’s a little ball of sunshine. It sometimes gets to be a bit much, but when she smiles at you, you can’t help but feel the need to protect her from anything that comes her way, ever since you were a kid.

“Yeah - I’m surprised you wanted to come home to do it, though.”

“Why not? The whole wedding weekend will be up in the city, and I wanted to visit the old Hawkins stomping ground -”

“Ah, yes - fond memories of blacking out in the alley behind Hag’s Head on Thanksgiving Eve,” you say sarcastically.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun - a night with just the girls, before I’m boring and married. Besides, maybe you’ll even meet someone, yeah?”

You shake your head, laughing to yourself. “In Hawkins? I doubt it, but - it’ll be fun, you’re right.”

*******

She is right - you all have fun that night. Perhaps a bit too much fun.

The night stars fairly calmly - you go to all the best bars your little hometown had to offer - Hag’s Head, Industry, Katie McConnell’s, and of course, Christopher’s. By the time your group had gets there, the atmosphere is quite different from the night before - instead of a middle-aged cover band, a DJ is set up, with club lights and a disco ball, the tables used for serving shitty food pushed aside to make something that resembles a dancefloor.

You, and all of the other girls, are properly drunk. Sarah is in the phase where she tells everybody how much she loves them, including strangers; her friends Nancy and Robin are just giggly, immediately getting lost on the dancefloor when a song the like starts blasting. You order a round of shots, and then another. At one point, you lose sight of Sarah, as she seemingly disappears into the bathroom with her friend Chrissy. The last thing you remember is going out to the back deck for a smoke, followed by another round of shots. Despite the rest of the bachelorette party showing no signs of slowing down, you tell yourself that you should leave early and try to call a cab to get home - things get fuzzy after that. 

The next morning, you wake with a pounding headache - the moment the morning sun pierces through the blinds, you groan, trying to block it out with a pillow. After a few moments of tossing and turning, you realize it’s no use. 

You sit up slowly, rubbing your eyes - what happened? How did you get home?

You survey your surroundings, your mind still foggy with sleep, and freeze - you’re not in your home. 

You realize you’re actually sitting on a pullout couch, not a bed - and still in your clothes from last night.

You stand up quickly, an action you instantly regret, grasping a coffee table for leverage as the room around you sways.

The living room you’re in is somewhat sparsely decorated, with only an old Back To The Future framed poster hanging on the wall by the TV. There’s a couch, a rather large television, a bookshelf, and a little coffee table. You glance around, and peek out the blinds - you’re on a second level, you realize, likely in an apartment building.

You try not to panic - you aren’t injured, as far as you can tell. Beyond the killer hangover setting in, you feel perfectly fine.

A sound from another room makes you stop in your tracks - footsteps, and the sound of glass clinking, perhaps. Your fight-or-flight instincts immediately kick in, your heart pounding. You look around, seeing if there’s anything you can use to protect yourself.

It takes several moments before you settle on grabbing a book off the shelf, the largest one you can find, and you follow the sound of the noise, slowly.

As you get closer, you realize it’s coming from what must be the kitchen, and you hear the sound of footsteps again, and a cabinet closing. You raise the book above your head, ready to strike whoever has seemingly kidnapped you.

You turn the corner, peeking around the doorway, trying not to make a sound. It’s then that you see someone shuffling around the kitchen, and smell coffee brewing. The moment you realize who it is, you sigh with relief, loud enough that he turns around.

“Hey, you’re up - why are you -”

Steve Harrington is staring at the book raised high above your head, brow furrowed.

“Were you trying to take me out or something?” he asks apprehensively.

You slowly lower the book, feeling your face heat with embarrassment.

“Maybe. I thought -”

“You thought what?” he asks, handing you a mug of coffee, simultaneously taking the book from you, gently.

“That, I don’t know, you kidnapped me or something.”

He stares at you for a moment, and bursts out laughing.

“What?”

“Kidnapped you? You’re nearly 30 years old -”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, well, I thought - I woke up in a stranger’s house, and don’t remember how I got here - sorry for being a little cautious -”

He just laughs, turning the intended weapon over in his hand.

“Just you and the Revised 1992 Merriam-Webster Dictionary against the world, huh?”

You want to collapse in on yourself, and just sigh in defeat.

“Steve, why the fuck am I in your apartment?”

He sighs, leaning back against the counter. He crosses his arms, taking a sip of coffee before he speaks.

“What do you remember?”

You think for a moment, biting your lip as you sit at the kitchen table.

“Um - I remember - going to Christopher’s -”

“Always the scene of the crime, apparently -”

“Shut up -”

He does, but he’s fighting a smile, his tongue pressed into his cheek.

“Anyways - I was with my sister, and her friends - I lost most of them, I got another shot at the bar, bummed a cigarette off someone - it gets blurry after that.”

Steve nods, his face contemplative.

“What?”

“Okay, so - I probably found you not too long after that.”

“Found me?”

“Yeah - um - I heard the commotion -”

“You were there?”

He sighs. “Sort of - um - we’re actually above Christopher’s, right now. I rent the place above it.”

You stare at him, the pieces falling into place.

“Oh - so… that’s why you were there the other night -”

He shrugs. “If I want a beer, it’s nice to technically not even have to go outside for it. But, um - I heard some screaming and commotion, and went down there to see what was going on - you had gotten kicked out.”

Your eyes widen.

“I what?”

“Yeah - you were throwing up on the sidewalk -”

“Jesus -”

“- and crying. Like, a lot. Something about - some guy named Billy -”

You feel your heart plummet. Then, you groan, burying your face in your hands.

“What?”

“That - that’s my ex. Um - oh my god, I’m such a cliché! Getting blackout drunk, and crying over some guy - at my I bachelorette - wait -” you think for a moment, “- where the fuck was she? Or any of her friends?”

He shrugs. “Don’t know - I tried to find her, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to leave you, crying on the sidewalk. So… I brought you upstairs. You kept apologizing, telling me to just let you walk home, it was almost cute.”

You want the ground to swallow you up, and never have to see him again, not after that display.

“I - I’m sorry -”

“It’s cool,” he assures. “I pulled out my couch, put you to bed there. I tried to get you to drink some water but you kind of… fought me -”

“Sorry -”

“- so, I just put you to bed.”

You nod, thinking. If it’s possible to die of embarrassment, you probably should be collapsing on the spot.

“And, um - did we - I mean, we didn’t have -”

His eyes widen, and he aggressively shakes his head. “No! Definitely not - you were way too drunk, I - I just put you to bed, I swear.”

You nod - he seems sincere, and horrified that you’d even ask.

“Okay - cool, just checking. When I get drunk, sometimes I tend to -”

“I wouldn’t have let you,” he says, his tone serious.

There’s an awkward silence, and just just take another deep gulp of coffee.

He eventually clears his throat.

“I’ve got, um - Ibuprofen, for the headache -”

“Oh - how did you know -”

“There’s no way you got that bad last night and don’t have a headache.”

You sigh, conceding, because it’s true. He disappears down the hallway for a moment, before returning with a bottle of pills. You watch him move about the kitchen, fetching a water glass from a cabinet, and filling it at the sink. He hands it to you, and you offer a small smile in thanks, swallowing the medicine.

“So… you live here?” you ask casually. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I stayed in town to work for my old man, but - I got my own place as soon as a could. Even if it’s a shitty place above the loudest bar in town.”

You laugh, staring down at your coffee.

“It’s not shitty - you just need to decorate more - a Back To The Future poster isn’t cutting it.”

He looks at you like you shot him.

“I’ll have you know that poster is very precious to me, as I stole it from Starcourt Mall before it burned down in ‘85 -”

“Whatever - it still looks like a college dorm in here.”

He just smirks, and dumps the rest of his coffee down the sink.

“You know - you never struck me as the kind of girl who cries over her ex when she gets drunk,” he says, avoiding your gaze.

You sigh, crossing your arms.

“I’m not, usually.”

He stares at you for a moment, and nods.

“You don’t have to talk about it -”

“I was engaged,” you explain quickly. You look up, and see his mouth hanging halfway open, dumbfounded.

“You? Engaged?”

“Don’t sound so surprised -”

“No - shit, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just… I remember - you were always that girl who was all like, marriage is a construct and it’s archaic and -”

“I know,” you say, cringing a bit at your younger self. “But, I grew up, and my priorities changed - or maybe they didn’t, I don’t know -”

“Why did he break it off?” he asks, his voice a bit softer.

“What makes you think he ended it?”

“Oh - only because - you seemed really upset -”

“I ended it because - I - I caught him in bed with his coworker. In our apartment -”

“Oh - Jesus -”

“He begged me to not call off the wedding, it was only a couple of months away, but - I had to. Nearly 4 years, down the drain -”

“Hey - I’m sorry -” he murmurs, reach out to touch your arm, but you pull it away.

“It’s fine - looking back, he was an asshole anyway, even without the cheating. I just - he proposed, and I said yes, and - I really thought - I’d have a ‘normal’ life. I’m not the kind of girl that guys want to, you know, introduce to their parents, get married to, buy a house with - but here’s someone who seemed to want that, so I just -”

You stop yourself, glancing at Steve. “Sorry - that became a rant really fast -”

“It’s fine,” he reassures. “It sounds like… a lot. How long ago?”

“Uh - about 6 months ago, at this point - I - I thought I was doing better with the whole thing, but apparently not -”

“I mean - it’s okay to still be upset -”

“I know it is,” you snap, causing him to recoil slightly. You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration. “Sorry - I just - it’s my fucking family.”

“What about them?”

You exhale, exasperated.

“It’s just - I can tell they - they’re all pitying me. They all think Sarah’s wedding will be too hard on me, and - fuck, maybe it will, because I thought the next wedding I’d be going to was mine, but - they keep trying to bring it up, like they’re afraid I’m going to kill myself in front of everyone at the ceremony or something. And - I’m so, so happy for Sarah, she and Peter are perfect together. But, I - I think they’re worried I haven’t moved on, and never will. They keep reminding me that I have a plus one for the wedding, that I should use it, all this bullshit. I thought I was fine, but - I guess last night says otherwise.”

Steve just nods for a moment, and you can tell he’s lost in thought.

“What?”

“Nothing - it’s just - it’s stupid -”

You can tell that the gears in his brain are still turning, and you roll your eyes.

“Whatever it is, spit it out -”

“What if you did have a date to the wedding?”

A beat of silence passes. You just stare at each other.

“What?”

He shrugs. “I mean - I’m already going, so, you won’t piss your sister off with a last-minute addition -”

“Are you fucking insane?”

He laughs. “What? Is it really such a bad idea?”

“Um, yes?”

“It just might be fun, that’s all, and get your family off your back,” he says, holding up his hands in defense.

“I’m not - I’m not going to tell people think we’re together -”

“You don’t have to - just let people make their assumptions. They’ll think you’ve moved on and shit, and… we can just go together, as friends.”

You scoff.

“What?”

“You really consider us friends?” you ask incredulously.

“I mean, what would you call us?”

You don’t have an answer to that - what do you call the guy you were kind of friends with in high school, who took your virginity, and then you didn’t speak to in over a decade until he saved you from passing out in the street? Suddenly that dictionary from earlier feels like something you could really use to try and find the right word.

Then, something occurs to you - if Steve is still anything like he was in high school, that means -

“What’s in it for you?” you ask, crossing your arms.

“Who says there’s something in it for me?”

You shake your head. “No, because there has to be. You’re not doing this out of the goodness of your heart, Harrington.”

He holds your gaze for a moment, then gives in, letting out a deep sigh.

“Fine, fine - I told you I RSVP’d yes to the wedding because, well, Pete’s an old friend, and it’s only in Indianapolis, not too far out of my way. But -”

“But?”

“I didn’t realize Nancy was gonna be there, okay? And honestly, I don’t really love the idea of seeing her.”

“Nancy Wheeler? I was out with her last night -”

You think for a moment, then it dawns on you.

“Oh my god - I forgot that you two used to date -”

“Yeah, well, it didn’t end well. And yeah, I can be mature, be in the same room with her, especially in a crowd. But - fuck, I heard she got engaged recently, and -”

“You don’t want her to seem like she’s doing better than you?”

He nods.

“It’s stupid - I shouldn’t be worried about making her jealous, or some shit -”

“Let’s do it, then.”

He pauses, doing an honest-to-god double take.

“What?”

“Don’t look so surprised, it was your idea -”

“I know, but - I never thought you’d say yes -”

“You’re right - everyone will stop worrying all about me if I have a date. And… Nancy can think you’re not still single.”

“No need for the still, but okay -”

“Do you want to do this, or not?”

There’s an uncomfortable moment of silence. He stares at you, as if he’s searching in your eyes for some kind of reassurance. Then, the slightest hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“Okay, here’s to - whatever this is,” you say, extending your hand to him. His eyes flick down to it for a moment, then he shakes it, his large, calloused hand enveloping yours.

You pull away for a moment, smirking.

“I think this is gonna be fun, actually,” you say, noticing that his face has become a little pink.

You hear the churchbell from the center of town chime. You glance down at your watch, and your eyes widen.

“It’s noon already? Shit, I need to get home -”

“I’ll drive you,” he says, grabbing his keys from the counter.

“It’s fine -”

“No, I’m driving you. Your parents still live on Soundview?”

“Um… yes,” you reply, shocked he still remembers.

The drive back to your parents’ house is relatively short, and also very quiet. Aside for the hum of the engine and low crackle of the radio, there’s not much to fill the space.

When Steve turns onto your street, you speak up.

“Thank you, again - for saving my ass, and letting me crash last night.”

“Anytime,” he says, eyes straight ahead on the road.

“Well, hopefully that’s only a one-time thing.”

He chuckles, slowing down as your childhood home becomes visible on the left.

“Yeah, well - for what it’s worth, that guy was an idiot for cheating on you like that.”

“I know he was, I’m great,” you reply bluntly, making Steve laugh.

“I forgot that you’re… like this.”

“Like what?”

“Brutally honest. And… very sure of yourself.”

You shake your head, staring down at your hands in your lap.

“I’m not as sure of myself as you think,” you say quietly. Before he can respond, you’re unbuckling yourself, popping open the car door.

“Thanks for the ride.”

He nods.

“See you Thursday?” you ask.

“Isn’t the wedding Saturday?”

“Yeah, but - if you’re really going to be my date, you should probably come to the rehearsal dinner with me. And, the welcome drinks. Plus, I have to get there a day early to help Sarah set up.”

He groans, dramatically slamming his head on the wheel.

“Hey, this was your idea -”

“I know -”

“There’s an open bar.”

He stops, and straightens up, grinning.

“See you Thursday - I’ll come pick you up -”

“You don’t have to,” you interject.

“C’mon - if we’re really doing this little… performance… we should go all-in.”

You sigh, exasperated by him.

“See you Thursday, sweetheart.”

Before you can protest the petname, he’s rolling up the window, and pulling away. You get the message across well enough, flipping him off as he backs away. You see him laugh through the windshield, and return the gesture before tearing away.

Despite your headache and exhaustion, you feel yourself smiling as you close the front door behind you, Sadie barking and running up to you. You crouch to pet her, and hear your name being called.

When you look up, you see Sarah, face etched with concern.

“Do you know how many people we were calling to figure out if you were alive or not?”

You can’t help but laugh in disbelief. Sarah puts her hands on her hips, clearly pissed off.

“What? It’s not funny -”

“You abandoned me at the bar last night -”

“Abandoned? You left before us!”

“Bullshit -”

“You said you were tired and wanted to go home, but we weren’t ready, so you left the bar and said you were calling a cab -”

You think for a moment, wracking your brain to sort through the fuzzy memories.

“Sarah - I was so drunk, I didn’t know what I was saying, there’s no chance I was capable of calling a cab. I - I guess that’s what I meant to do, but -”

“So, where did you go?”

You pause - how do you explain this one? She looks at you, expectantly.

“I - I ended up at Steve Harrington’s apartment.”

It takes a moment for the information to register with her, then she gasps excitedly.

“Wait - did you and him -”

“Well, no -”

But she’s positively beaming, barely listening as she grabs you by the shoulders.

“He’s so hot, are you kidding? He’s like, the only eligible bachelor in this town -”

“Okay, relax -”

“I just - you and him kind of make sense, you know? I always thought you two would’ve been cute together back in the day -”

“Well - I mean, we - it’s not important, because last night -”

But, you stop yourself - Sarah’s reaction does spark something in you - it makes you realize that you and Steve’s silly scheme might actually work, for both of you.

“Actually,” you say, holding her still. “You’re right - I’m going to need you to make some changes to the seating arrangements at the wedding, Sarah. Because… I have a plus one, now.”

author's note: hey everyone! I know this was a very quick succession between chapters... likely, the next thing I post will be the next part of put on your records (and regret me). I have a fairly clear vision of where I'd like this fic to go, but I'd love to hear your thoughts! As always, likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated!

[lions-and-men-musical]

new hera design! (I’ll probably redo the closeup face)

I’ve been going through a big art block n I think drawing less human characters is helping with that

design details/fun facts:

I use a lot of white/light grey in her design to mimic a wedding dress, as she is a goddess of marriage

similarly, the 2 feathers on her hat are supposed to look sort of like a veil

i use feathers because her (from why I’ve seen) most iconic symbol is the peacock

her eyes have horizontal pupils in reference to her main homeric epithet, ‘ox-eyed’ (which technically just means she had large round eyes. But that’s not as fun.)

[insanefemme]

It really hurts when someone you've always supported and been happy for can never do the same for you and is spiteful and jealous and can't celebrate your wins

[im14andivebeen14foramonth]

ooo i am trying so very hard not to cry right now

[non-un-topo]

Talking to my sister can be one of the most aggravating experiences

[senseiwu]

Just saw a video where someone mentioned reading the curious incident of the dog in the night time, and they thought afterwards they may have autism too. When they brought it up to their mum, she was like "you knew??" cause apparently she'd done that thing people seem to do where they keep an autism diagnosis secret from their kids

It made me remember when my grandma gave me that book to read when we were all at her place for Christmas. She said something like "I think you'll really like it", which confused me cause I was more into fantasy stuff than mystery novels. I mean. I did really like it. But it's one of the things that makes me wonder... did my parents do that thing too...?

[poguehearted77]

Bubblegum Ballerina

Pairing: Dental Student! Reader x Single Dad! Rafe

Summary: Spring rolls around with new beginnings, starting with a new placement for you in a pediatric dentist's office and meeting a patient's handsome (and single) dad.

Just some headcanons unless it should be a full-fic??

Single Dad! Rafe would bring his five-year-old daughter Ella to the dentist ten minutes early because he hates being late and knows that his little girl would do anything to try and stop him from taking her because she hates the dentist. She once even hid his shoes just so she wouldn't have to go.

Single Dad! Rafe would immediately lean over the counter and whisper to the familiar receptionist he'd seen for years, asking about you the second you whisked Ella away and out of sight.

Ballerina! Ella would ramble in her chair to you about her upcoming ballet performance and how her daddy bought her a new tutu because he tells her she's the best ballerina ever.

Dental Student! Reader could listen to Ella's cute stories and pink passion projects for hours but when the dentist entered and it came time to start her cleaning Ella immediately started to fuss, squirming and refusing to open her mouth.

Dental Student! Reader would do her very best to keep Ella relaxed, offering to hold her hand and telling her stories about magical ballerina's that got to dance with fairies as a treat for going to the dentist and staying calm.

Ballerina! Ella hated the mint-flavoured polish and always asked if they had the bubblegum flavour after trying it once and now refuses to have anything else.

Single Dad! Rafe lights up when he sees his daughter running to him with a clean bright smile and a goody-bag that she says you helped pick out for her, making sure everything is extra awesome like she is.

Single Dad! Rafe who nearly trips over his words when he finally gets to speak to you about how everything went, hoping that she wasn't too much to handle, showing that he's well aware of his daughter's anti-dentist antics. He's both happy and sad to hear that Ella has a small cavity, but the joy creeps in when he realizes he gets to see you again soon.

Dental Student! Reader scans Rafe's hands looking for any signs of a ring or implications of a Mrs. Cameron and she's not as subtle as she thought she was when Rafe grins and waves his left hand to regain her attention (but actually to show the lack of a wedding band)

Ballerina! Ella who begs reader to come to her ballet performance so that she can see the new tutu her daddy bought her and watch her dance. Rafe immediately apologizes for her outbursts and insinuates that you're a very busy person but you accept without thinking.

Single Dad! Rafe brings two bouquets of flowers to the recital, one for you and one for his little ballerina who ran off to show all her friends the flowers her daddy got her. Leaving the two of you to talk and address the budding romance between you.

- nsfw! Rafe who hasn't fucked anyone since the divorce struggling to hold himself together when he sinks his cock into you for the first time. Leaning down to whisper filthy praises into your ear.

- Further down the line when things get more serious, the two of you would get a secret kick out of sneaking away from Ella's friends' exhausting birthdays for a quickie in the back of Rafe's truck parked 2 blocks away, reappearing just in time for the candles.

- Single Dad! Rafe who has a tiny little breeding kink and gets hard anytime he thinks about filling your stomach with his cum and knocking you up with his baby. "You'd look so perfect walkin' around the house--tits all big n' swollen, belly round with our baby. Whaddya' think? Hm? You want that for yourself? Wanna be my good little housewife that takes care of our child while I'm at work before I come home n' take care of you?"

[tbaluver]

Husband/ Father Headcanons- The Love And DeepSpace Men

order: xavier x fem! reader, zayne x fem! reader, rafayel x fem! reader, sylus x fem! reader, caleb x fem! reader genre: fluff fluff a/n: hihi lovelies! i apologize that my reqs are coming supa late but i should finish and post them so soon after my school semester ends! i literally have so many in my drafts (╥﹏╥) i usually overthink my reqs which is why i take super long but here's some husband material to feed you all for now i hope ( ◡̀_◡́)ᕤ talk to you all so soon mwah (∩˃o˂∩)♡

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

He loves doing simple things with you like going to the supermarket. He’s read somewhere on the internet that that's what married couples are supposed to do on earth.

Morning routines with Xavier are always so warm and sweet. As you both get ready for the day, he’ll take your hand, carefully adjusting your wedding ring before giving it a soft kiss.

Whenever your newborn baby starts crying just as you’re both about to eat, he always prioritizes you. He’ll reassure you that you can go ahead and eat without him and enjoy your meal, promising you that he’ll take care of the baby.

You and Xavier share a special inside joke just between the two of you about the cute sounds your baby makes. Whether it’s the random babbling or their adorable squeals, always brings a smile and laugh to the both of you.

Xavier loves hearing and seeing your child laugh and will do absolutely anything to make them smile whether it’s through tickling, playing peekaboo, pulling silly faces, or using a high pitched voice

Lots of snuggles with you and your baby. You’d have your little one nestled safely right in the middle of the two of you as you all fall into deep slumber. He especially loves having his child rest on his chest while you snuggle up beside him.

Zayne:

Whenever your baby girl starts walking or crawling, he’ll consistently clean the floors of the house multiple times to keep the floor clean for his baby girl and to also have a clean house in general.

Your daughter has her own little kitchen playset because she loves watching either of you cook. Sometimes, while Zayne’s busy with his patients reports, she’ll run up to him with a plate of her plastic food to share her ‘cooking’ with him. He loves to play along to see her adorable smile, pretending to savor it and tell her how delicious it is.

Whenever it’s a quiet time between the two of you, enjoying each other’s company and doing your own thing, Zayne often reaches over to gently rub his thumb against your wedding ring, often reminiscing about the day you two got married and a small smile curling on his lips.

Anytime you ask him to grab something for you while he’s out, he always goes the extra mile and adds a little something extra for you- and for him as well especially if it’s something sweet. If you ask for the next series of your favorite book you love, he’ll just get the entire collection so you can binge-read it right away. He’ll even pick up a copy of the book you’re currently reading so he can talk about it with you.

Rafayel:

Everyday being married to you feels like a blessing from the gods. He wakes up in the morning to see your beautiful sleeping figure right beside him, wearing the wedding ring on your finger that ties you both together forever. Rafayel always greets you with something cheesy when you wake up like, “Hello my beautiful wife.” with a big smile on his face.

Rafayel flirts with you as if you haven’t been married for a couple years now and often says “I love you” with any chance he gets. “Heyy my lovely gorgeous wife, before you come home, do ya think you can pick me up some extra brushes? I think our little glub glubs hid them again...oh and by the way I love you!”

He always wears his ring. He can’t help but fidget with the ring whenever he starts to miss you, smiling as thinks about the day you both exchanged your vows.

After a long day at work, you can always find your lemurian children running up to greet you with your husband. Sometimes they like to show off their artwork they’ve all made together and most of the time it’s all just for you.

However he can always tell when you’re exhausted and drained, so he’ll gently excuse the kids, assuring them you’ll spend time with them later. For now he’s happy to entertain the children so you can get your rest. He’ll make up a random activity to keep the children busy so he can do small things for you like running a bath or preparing some meals for you

Sylus:

Anytime Sylus and his baby girl are shopping, he’ll always ask her what she wants or what she prefers. He treats her like a princess just like her mommy.

“hmm....pink! no, red!...pink!”

“how about....we get both dear?”

and there’s something so adorable seeing her so happy that makes him feel so warm and fuzzy inside.

Sylus does not mind in any timeline or universe if you’re comfortable being provided for. He can afford it and nothing can hurt his card even if you tried.

As years go by, he’ll make sure your wedding ring isn’t getting worn out or has any chips in it. Not that it would ever get worn off from its high quality. If it does have any problems, he’s quick to get it fixed, making sure that your ring will always shine with you.

Before you both unwind for the night, he’ll gently kiss the back of your hand where your wedding ring rests, before slowly slipping it off for the night.

Anytime you’re home from a long day of work, he’s already outside waiting for you to take out things in your car so you don’t have to carry anything.

After a long shift, you can always come home to find a warm dinner waiting for you with your favorite drink. The house would be clean and your baby girl is already tucked in. He’ll sit by you at the dining table, a glass in his hand, sharing stories about his day or simply listening as you tell him about yours.

Caleb:

Caleb absolutely treasures being a father. He became the father that he wished he had, present and involved in every moment. Whether it’s cheering from the sidelines at their games or helping with their homework ( without yelling and making them cry at the kitchen table ), or just listening when they need to talk, he’s always there for his kids. He’s just as devoted to you, always making sure you feel as supported and loved.

Caleb is the type of husband that would wake up early or stay up late to make sure your lunch is ready for work the next day. He knows exactly how you like your meals, carefully preparing each dish and packing it with everything you need. He does the same for his kids, packing their lunch boxes the night before with their favorite snacks and an apple.

Playtime is a must with his kids. He believes in letting his kids experience the joy of childhood to its fullest. The living room is always filled with the sound of his laughter as he lifts them high into the air, making airplane noises or chasing them around the house from their made-up games. He would also make sure to keep track of their growth, marking their heights on the wall.

Once all the kids are tucked in bed and actually asleep, he’ll swoop you in with a kiss. His kisses were always so hungry and sweet and he seriously cannot get enough of you, always wanting more.

“We have food at home” type of father but your kids never mind because he always cooks them whatever they’re craving. His home cooked meals always HIT. The house would be filled with delicious smells that make everyone feel right at home. His love is always served in each and every dish that makes his cooking way more special than going out to eat.

Your home is filled with many memories of your marriage but Caleb has a special place for his favorites. He keeps them up in your shared bedroom so when he wakes up beside you with the cool metal ring around his finger is a reminder that brings him back into reality that he’s married to the love of his life and there is always an escape from his nightmares.

[kashverse]

mamakuna showing babykuna pictures of dadkuna and mamakuna when they started dating to then getting married : 3

this was such a sweet thing to write, thank you for requesting :)

sometimes, when you feel particularly sentimental, you like to take out an old shoebox hidden in the back of your closet—a silly little memory box from when you and sukuna were still young, brimming with more ambition than the capitalist machine could ever contain.

and, naturally, babykuna, with her insatiable curiosity and her obsessive love for anything you do, wiggles herself onto your lap, her chubby hands grabbing at the pictures you pull out. "what’s this one, mama?" she asks excitedly, waving around a photo.

it’s an old one. a bit worn at the edges. you smile fondly as you look at it—it's from back when you and sukuna were just coworkers, sitting stiffly in a boardroom, surrounded by serious-looking people in suits. your hair is neatly pulled back, and sukuna’s? a disaster. 

"this was when papa and i worked together at our old job," you explain, pointing to yourselves. babykuna squints at the picture, then at her father sitting beside you, who is watching the two of you with amusement. "papa looks like he fought a tornado," she says matter-of-factly. sukuna scoffs. "it was called having style."

"it was called oversleeping and showing up late," you correct, laughing. sukuna grumbles under his breath, but babykuna is already diving into the box again, plucking out another picture. this one is years later—in front of the building of sukuna's newly formed company. his tie is a bit loosened, his shirt sleeves rolled up, and he's beaming—really beaming—in a way he wasn't in the last picture. "this is when papa started his own company," you explain, brushing your fingers over the photo.

"he looks so happy!" babykuna giggles. "yeah," you chuckle, nudging sukuna. "he was so happy he picked me up and spun me around right after this was taken."

"that’s called celebrating," sukuna says smugly. babykuna nods seriously, then turns back to the box.

next, she pulls out a photobooth strip—four little snapshots.

first one: you and sukuna sitting side by side, a little stiff but comfortable.

second one: sukuna leaning in a little closer, you both mid-laugh.

third one: you two are cheek to cheek now, eyes crinkled with amusement.

fourth one: sukuna halfway through biting your cheek. your face is a picture of betrayal.

"papa, why are you eating mama?!" babykuna exclaims, horrified. "i was just showing my love," sukuna grins.

"with your teeth?!"

"yep."

"ew."

you sigh, shaking your head, but the next picture has you laughing immediately. it’s a shot of you and sukuna in matching santa costumes, both looking like you were dragged into this against your will. your mouth is open mid-yell, probably reacting to sukuna biting your cheek—again. "uncle gojo's birthday party," you say, still laughing.

babykuna stares at the photo. "papa," she says slowly.

"yeah?"

"why do you keep biting mama?!"

"i like the way she tastes."

"ewwww!"

and then finally—she finds the last set of photos. polaroids, from your wedding. not the big, polished, magazine-worthy shots hung around your home—these ones are natural, candid, genuine. one where you and sukuna are laughing mid-toast, your glasses clinking together. one where sukuna is helping you fix your veil, an unexpectedly soft look on his face. one where you’re leaning against his chest, eyes closed, his arms wrapped around you. babykuna gasps dramatically. "mama, papa, you look so boo-tiful."

"yeah?" sukuna murmurs, looking over the photos with a soft smirk. babykuna nods. "like princess and dragon."

you snort. “who's who?” 

she blinks. 

"…obviously papa is the dragon."

sukuna grins, ruffling her hair. "damn right."

babykuna presses the photos to her chest, looking between you and sukuna with the happiest little smile. "i wanna keep these forever."

sukuna leans back, watching the two of you gush over the memories, and realizes something - he's already won everything he's ever wanted.

[ill0usainte]

Rub it in their face, put a rock on her hand!

pairings: husband!zayne x wife!reader

cw: making out, jealousy, slight possessive!reader, fluff, zayne loves you sm,

You know what Zayne finds hot about you? Is when you're proud to show off that he's married to you. You're not married to him, he's the ONE married to you.

He adores how proudly you show off the wedding ring he gave you-- how the big rock shines so brightly like you did at your wedding day.

He's one lucky man-- loud and proud to show off that you got him wrapped around your little finger. And one thing he likes about when you show off the ring to others is when you're jealous.

Already sensing something bad from the newcomer nurse that was assigned to the cardiac department-- how she always been pestering your husband whenever he goes. And of course her attempts at flirting and asking out Zayne for a date are always dismissed.

Not that he wants to remain professional, it's just that he'd rather die than spend his time with anyone besides his wife.

You can't help but bat an eye on the nurse and of course as cocky as she is-- she gives back the same energy, raising her brow at you with a judging look on her face as if you're nothing to her. And that hit your last nerve.

Zayne instructed her to drop off some files to Yvonne and get the new files back to his office-- and of course she followed his orders like a puppy. Smiling happily as she takes the files from your husband's desk, making you roll your eyes as you crossed your arms and lean against the couch. As the nurse takes her leave Zayne approached you as he noticed your grumpy look.

"Hm, my wife is feeling grumpy again?" He teased-- sitting beside you as he smiled, putting a hand over your thigh making you pout at him when he poked your cheek.

Before words can come out of your husband's mouth your hand quickly reaches to his tie as you pull it towards you-- making Zayne's eyes widen as both of your lips come in contact. His eyes softened, melting to the warmth of your soft lips against his as he closed his eyes.

Your left hand travels to his nape as your fingers soothe his black locks. The ring wrapped around your ring finger shining brightly when it got hit by the light on top.

You hear the door of Zayne's office open and the nurse comes in-- she froze at her spot as she witnesses the scene in front.

You opened your eyes-- having an eye contact with the nurse who's looking at you in disbelief. Enjoying the savor of your husband's lips against your soft ones, as your fingers soothe the back of his hair-- the ring wrapped around shining brightly as you show it off while you look at her filled with pride.

You watched her quickly get out of the office as she closes the door-- you pull out from the kiss as a string of saliva connects to both of your lips. Zayne looks at you as he gives you one peck on your lips as you giggle. He smiles as he caresses your cheek with his left hand the coldness of the ring touching your skin.

"Did someone came in, honey?" He asked you, as you shook your head and smiled while giving a kiss on his palm.

"hmm, I don't think so"

He's your wife:((

[sbcdh]

"It wasn't one thing, you know, it was like, everything. Everything just kinda happened slow. It wasn't fast. It was slow.

It was, uhh... 1964, I think. LBJ was in office. Yeah, 1964. The government rolled out the whole hypnoeconomics thing in uh, sophomore year. Something like that. I didn't really watch the news, but I remember everyone talking about the election. I remember it being a big deal but, you know, seems like every time the government does something it's a big deal, you know? It's always like, fine. It's always fine.  

 I had just graduated from UC Santa Ana. I had a degree in photography. What do you even do with that? Photography. It was hard at first, shopping a portfolio around, doing weddings. I had a gig going for some real estate company. That was alright. Taking pictures of empty houses for speculators. Something like that. I didn't know the specifics. I was good at it. It's not hard once you know the equipment, and what the client wants. But you get tired of it, you know? You get tired of it.

My mom wasn't the nicest lady. She's my mom but, you know how mom's are. The only thing to do in west Texas was go to church. I was raised really Christian, and Santa Ana was just so different. I didn't know many people. I had a job that didn't feel right, no friends, no family, no church. So I was looking for a church. You got all sortsa stuff out here, you know? You know the Navigators right? That big megachurch? The first chapel was like, a 20 minute drive from student housing. There were always people out preaching in the quad.

It was a girl. Uh, Nadine. Nadine Galt. We had a 101 class together. Math, I think. We really hit it off. She was just funny, you know? She said she was from out of state too, had a really pretty gold cross necklace. I think she polished it. We had similar upbringings you know? Small Town girl, big city, not many friends. That sorta thing. She invited me to a party. A jewelry party.

I asked her "what was that" and she explained the whole concept to me. How she was an independent seller, how she had all these friends, how she was gonna buy us wine and food and show us the stuff she had this month. I liked her. It sounded fun. It was fun.

She said she did that every month. I didn't know too many people, and it was a good way to meet people, you know? I may have paid a bit much for some bracelets, but hey, she was good at selling bracelets. I looked forward to the jewelry parties. I did. Every month I looked forward to them.

I had been going for maybe a year, year and a half, and she asked me if I wanted to become a seller like her. She did it slow, you know, every once in a while she would ask me to stay after the party. I didn't think I could do it. I had a degree in photography, what did I know? But she layed it on thick. Told me I was just what she was looking for. And, well, she said the money was good. I needed money. Or, I had money, but I needed more you know? She made it sound so, well, important. Said we needed to do this, that a market needed competition, you know? That the hypnoeconomists couldn't really track people like us. She said we were "essential to a free financial dreamscape." She made it sound like we were a pair of cowgirls out on the open range together. She said I would be a natural.

And you know what? I was pretty good. At first at least. At first it was just helping out Nadine with her stuff, but she taught me how to talk, introduced me to her distributors, even taught me how to look for new clients. I held a party for some of my clients in real estate. Bought out a whole section of a fancy restaurant and invested in nice cases from the distributor. It didn't go well. I didn't make much profit at all. I think they were mostly pity-buying. I didn't make a cent.

All gold. Yep, all gold. And that wasn't a lie either. It had to be gold, or it wouldn't work.

Nadine went missing in, uh, 67 I think. I was heartbroken. And worried, you know? I was worried sick. Everyone was reaching out, asking if I was alright. Hell, excuse my language, even my mama reached out. Called me on the phone, said I was in her prayers.

The distributor reached out too. Colin. I didn't get another name. Just Colin. Called me one day to express his condolences. He had a nice voice, over the phone. Smooth. Kinda timid, but in a way you liked. I dunno how to describe it. You know what else he told me? He told me I was responsible for 89% of the profits for his channel. Eighty nine. Thinkin back now, I shoulda known that was a bunch of bullshit. He said he wanted to meet with me at the company headquarters in Pasadena. Once I was ready of course. Said he wanted to "talk shop." It was a bright spot, you know? A bright spot in a scary and lonely time. I went. Got a hotel and everything.

What was it like? You mean like what happened?...oh,  you mean like, the inside? Like of the building?

You know what? Now that I think about it. Weird. It was weird as hell. Lotsa gold and concrete. Like the jewelery. It was like every room was like, I dunno. It was like they were too big and too small at the same time. And there was a LOT of gold, in all sortsa patterns.

No. Yeah. Yeah I'm okay, I can talk about it. I'm okay to talk about it. I wasn't there long. I've heard the stories, you know. I don't know what you know, you probably know more than me, being the government and all, but lemme say that if you heard a story about something happening in 11414, it's probably true.

Anyways, Colin met me in his office. No windows. We talked shop. They asked me to arrive early and I skipped breakfast to get there on time and, it seems like every time I tried to bring up lunch he would wave it down. I had to damn near demand to get up for lunch. He invited me up to the cafeteria. The nice one, the one the distributors got to eat at.

It was nice, like, real nice. The plates had those same gold patterns on them. It was after that-

The pattern? Uh, I'll try, do you have a pen? It was really complicated. I'll do my best. It had all these criss-crossing... Hm? Yeah. Yeah you know what? That's exactly what it looked like.

Yeah, you know? I actually did ask him. I asked him about the pattern and he just kinda looked at me like I was in on a joke and said put a finger to his lips and he tapped on the back of his head. You know, where they put the plugs. And he said "you know, so they can't listen."

Yeah he offered to let me try one. He got all quiet, brought me to the lounge behind some curtains. Yeah they had the gold thing too. Started talking like he had a secret. He must've had fifty, sixty pills in a fancy little case that had the same pattern on it.

No I wasn't surprised. How else would they make that much money without hypnoregulation? It was kind of an open secret, you know? I didn't want any of that. But you can't say no, you know? Then you're implicated. You can't leave. I agreed to take one.

I still think about that, you know? How I got out of that. What a dodged bullet. Oh my god. It's kinda embarrassing, now that I gotta say so, but when I was little, I used to do magic. You know, card tricks, sleight of hand, all that stuff. I palmed the damn thing. Slipped it right into my pocket.

I sat there for a bit. Tried to copy him, you know. The lounge had a bunch of sub-finantial cortical wires hidden in the coffee table. He gave me one and told me to watch what he did while he fed it up his nose into his head. I sat there for a bit, trying to stay calm. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he had the gold scalero, uh, scaleri, no, uh the white parts of his eyes...

Scalera! That's it. They were gold and everything.

I didn't know he would convulse so much. I thought something might've been wrong, but eventually they died down. I gotta say, I was so damn scared I couldn't move. I coulda been there for hours. I probably was.

I have a good memory. So eventually I worked up the courage and just...walked out.

Yeah. I walked out. You walk like you're supposed to be there, and you're kinda mad, you know? Like you're late for something and you can't talk right now. It's all about confidence. Nobody hassles you if you look like you know where you're going. I even said thank you to the secretary in the lobby. Nadine taught me that you know. It's all about confidence.

I made it to my car, got the engine going, and the moment 11414 was out of my rear view mirror I just started crying. Cried myself to fits. I didn't even know at the time. What was it? Six weeks later? How many dead?

Yeah, too many. Too many. I guess it doesn't matter.

I drove to a McDonald's for some food and at some point I turned on the radio. You know what was playing?

Yeah. It was that fucking Tremeloes song. You know the one."

[ipushhimback]

wife, actually

pairing: lando norris x reader warnings: none, this is pure fluff words: 600

summary: who would have guessed why lando hasn’t been active on social media the entire off season…

It was the first interview Lando gave in 2025. Over the off season he hadn’t been active on social media at all, and the fans already started to be confused.

„So, Lando. What do you wish for this season?“

„Well of course winning the WDC this year. I got really close last year and was really sad and mad at myself when i didn’t make it.“ Lando looked around the room that was full of reporters and fans. 

But then his eyes found you. He smiled at you which made his eyes glow.

„But you were still really focused in the last races. Managed finishing P1 in Abu Dhabi which secure you the win of the WCC for McLaren in over two decades. How did you do that?“, the reporter asked. 

„I just focused on not letting the team down and it helped to be around people who are important to me and helped me stay focused and not get distracted by being mad at myself for not winning the driver‘s championship.“

The reporter nodded.

„So your girlfriend was with you the whole time? Was she the one who helped you?“

Lando grinned even more when he looked at you and saw you giving a small nod.

„Wife, actually. We got married during off season. That’s why we weren’t active on social media over the last couple months. We just wanted to spend some time together and enjoy being a married couple. But to answer your question, yes. She was the person who was there for me and made sure i didn’t lose focus or freak out.“

You smiled at Lando. You both hadn’t exactly planned on telling everyone yet that you were married but this was the perfect situation for Lando. He just had to tell everyone that you were now officially his wife. That you were now carrying his last name.

“Oh? That’s great! Congratulations! When did you propose to her? I can’t believe the fans didn’t notice”, the reporter asked surprised.

“Well actually it was during off season but we didn’t want to wait any longer so when we were drunk we flew to Vegas and well… we came home married”, Lando laughed nervously. It wasn’t exactly the most romantic story to tell but he didn’t really care. It was his and his wife’s story which made it extremely special.

“Well. Again, congratulations you two.”

Lando was asked a couple more questions before being able to leave and go to his wife.

“I thought you didn’t want to tell everyone yet?”, you teased Lando as he ran towards you.

“Well, he said you were my girlfriend. I just had to correct him, didn’t I?” Your husband leaned forward and pressed a light kiss to your lips.

“You really didn’t have to tell them we got married in Vegas… it is embarrassing.” You buried your face in Lando’s chest.

“No, baby. It is not embarrassing. It is cute! It just means we love each other so much we couldn’t wait to be married. You are now Mrs. Lando Norris. Isn’t that cool.” Lando looked at you with that wide grin that made you fall in love with him when you first saw him.

“It is. I am the luckiest woman in the world thanks to that.” You grinned back at him and got on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek.

“And also we will soon have to tell that story to our little one, right?” Lando placed his hands on your belly.

“Yes. I guess we will”, you said smiling. “I still want that wedding party though. I really wanna wear a white dress and have cake. A big cake.”

A/N: I am sick so you only get a small fic today <3 thanks for liking my stuff

taglist: @strawberryy-kiwii / @a-distantdreamer / @requiemforthepoets / @martygraciesversion381 / @l-vroom4 / @comicalivy / @sid-is-gr8 / @picklesbuddy93 / @sadiemack9 / @f1fantasys / @cloud-55 / @sunny44 / @widow-cevans / @gigicisneros / @mbioooo0000 / @sinfully-yoursss / @bravo-delta-eccho / @rue-t / @mayax2o07 / @alexanderachillesisgay / @maviesamour / @suhchenjun / @pippyth3hippy / @sweate-r-weathe-r

[roselites]

one more afternoon / jake "hangman" seresin x reader

summary: your brother's best friend pays a visit to his texas hometown, and in spite of your resolution to get over your (slightly embarrassing) childhood unrequited crush, you can't help but admit that you're still down bad for jake seresin.

content warnings: f!reader, alcohol use, oblivious reader can't take a hint

word count: 14k (you told me not to apologize for long fics, so here it is, i present it without apology!)

author’s note: hello, all! i wanted to have this out by thanksgiving, but i got hit with a stomach flu and then with a regular flu, so it took me this long to finish it. i hope the wait was worth it 🫶 the title is taken from a song by maggie rogers. as promised, the next one will be a short (i mean it this time!) and spicy holiday-themed one for all the tyler owens lovers 💓 thank you so much for voting in the poll that got this baby written.

“Did you hear the big news?” Your dad bustled into the shop with his arms full of greenery, grunting as he set the bundles wrapped in newspaper into a bucket. At the counter, your mom paused her accounting and fixed your dad an eager stare. She loved news. “Jake’s coming home for the wedding!” he announced. He brushed his hands off while yours fumbled over the order forms. A few slipped out of sequence and fluttered down to the floor. You bent to pick them up, hearing your mom’s sigh of delight.

“Oh, that's wonderful news! Dinah will be so pleased, and Amanda, too. She was worried Jake wouldn't manage to get leave. You know how much she adores him.”

“Well, she's not the only one. Mike’s ready to throw a whole goshdarn parade in his honor.” The forms retrieved, you busied yourself with putting them back in order. Your dad laughed. “I haven’t seen the kid that excited since the day Gilly was born.”

“Ow!” You stuck your finger in your mouth, the taste of blood making you wince.

“Sweetie, are you okay?” your mom asked.

“Yeah, yeah, just… paper cut.”

She came to your end of the counter. Taking your finger in her hands, she moved it this way and that, squinting at it through her glasses before she dropped a kiss on your head. “Mm, I think you’ll live.”

“Thanks for the diagnosis.”

“Don’t sass me!” she joked. “I’ll call Mike. Maybe we can all throw Jake a nice big barbecue, spend some time together like the old days.”

“He’ll probably be busy with wedding stuff,” you pointed out, mumbling around your finger.

She shot you a look that said spoilsport. “I know Jake, he’ll make the time. Besides, he’ll be walking with you at the wedding, won’t he?” Mom must have taken the shock of surprise for disappointment, because she smacked a hand against her forehead and said, “Oh, sorry! Me and my big mouth!”

It took you a moment to realize she wasn't talking about Jake.

“Don’t worry about it,” you said, making a half-hearted attempt to sort through the forms again. Your parents looked at you skeptically. “I’m fine! Josh and I are practically ancient history.”

Dad, bless him, took your word for it, or at least pretended to. He picked up the bucket of sage bundles and took it into the back, but your mom hovered, stroking your shoulder, cloyingly sympathetic. It was clear she wanted to say something but was afraid of how you’d react. Knowing her, she’d give you that hangdog expression all day until you gave her permission to spill the beans, so you gave a deep sigh and turned to her with a look that said, “Alright, let’s have it.”

“I heard he’s bringing Mia to the wedding,” she blurted out. “Amanda was livid. She said she would disinvite him if you wanted—”

“Mom, I hope you told her that wouldn't be necessary.”

“Of course I did! But she said it was a standing offer.”

Oh, bother… Amanda was a sweetheart, if not a little overeager. As much as you appreciated everyone’s tact, it was also part of the reason why you still felt some awkwardness when you thought about Josh. Any time your friends or family brought up your ex, they looked at you like they were expecting you to fall to pieces, especially after word started going around that he had moved on to someone else. No matter how many times you insisted that they could refer to him normally and not as “him” or “you-know-who,” they thought you were being a brave martyr about it, pretending to take it better than you were for the sake of maturity.

“It’s not like that,” you explained for the thousandth time. “Josh and I are fine. And Mia…” Okay, so part of you did want to bash her over the head with a waffle iron. Still… “Nothing untoward happened. We were already broken up when they got together.”

“Well yeah, but after only a month,” your mom scoffed. “That’s hardly enough time to get over a six-year relationship.”

You shrugged. “Maybe some things are meant to be, and some… aren’t.”

“Oh, sweetie.” She hugged you from behind. You grimaced as she squeezed you tight and made cooing sounds. “You don’t have to be so civil about it. You’re allowed to be upset.”

“I know, Mom, thanks.” You patted her hand.

“Anytime.” You thought that would be the end of embarrassing conversations you didn't want to have, until she clapped her hands and said, “Look on the bright side - it’ll be good to see Jake again! For him to meet the baby - and won’t the wedding pictures be just darling? He’s so handsome! I know you’ll look just fabulous together…”

-

It was as much cliché as it was ancient history. Jake Seresin - tall, tan, broad-shouldered, with a thousand-watt grin and a starring place on the high school football team - had been your crush since the moment you realized boys were more than just smelly, disgusting nuisances. Hell, you'd liked him even before the letterman jacket, around the time of his first growth spurt, when he’d come back from a summer visiting his aunt and uncle in California. From the porch steps, you'd seen him running into the yard to throw ball with your older brother, Mike, and your stomach had flopped and then flipped, and then flopped again. Looking back, Jake - a mere mortal - had an awkward phase just like everyone else, but you didn't see it at the time. To you, he was the dreamiest guy since you wore out your family’s Titanic VHS trying to feed your preteen fantasies of being Rose romanced by DiCaprio (before the ship went down).

Anyway, Jake’s awkward phase didn't last long. By the time he was a sophomore, he was playing on the junior varsity team along with Mike. Your sports-mad, overly enthusiastic dad gave them his blessing to turn the barn into their own personal gym, and while you complained about the unfairness of the world and the preferential treatment given to male athletes, you did find excuses to “run errands” and “pass through” so you could see Jake, shirtless, glistening with sweat. It didn't take long for Mike to notice. As a preteen, you weren’t exactly known for your finesse. While, in your opinion, you were doing nothing more than offering the boys a little lemonade - like Mom asked you to do - Mike would go back to the house for dinner and declare for all and sundry that he’d “appreciate it if you didn't salivate all over Jake like a peeping tom.”

“I do not!”

“Yeah, you do!”

“Mom, I swear it's not true! He’s making it up. You’re making it up, you buttface! You just don't want me hanging around—”

“Why would I want you hanging around? We’re training! You’re a kid, you're a safety risk!”

“Mooooom!” you wailed.

“Honestly, Mike, don't call your sister a safety risk. You're hardly grown yourself.”

“She called me a buttface!”

“That’s true. Sweetie, don't call your brother a buttface at the table, it's not polite.”

“Fine. I’ll call him a buttface later, like he deserves.”

No further comment was made about your crush on Jake on that occasion, but over the years it became your brother’s weapon of choice when he wanted to knock you down a peg, and “I’ll tell Jake you have a big fat crush on him” was a surefire way to get you to do whatever he wanted.

Once, you went down for a glass of water after you were supposed to be in bed and came upon Mom and Dad talking in the kitchen.

“—it’s a harmless little crush,” you heard her say. “We all had them at that age.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Of course you don't. She’s your daughter and you're finally working out that she's not going to be a little girl forever.” There was a pause. “You don't have to worry, Stan, I’ve given her The Talk.”

Ew, gross, ew! You wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Yes, you remembered The Talk and you didn't want to have it ever again!

Your face heated as you knelt on the stairs. Hearing about The Talk in relation to you and Jake made you think about the stuff you’d seen at your friend Tessa’s house on the TV one night during a sleepover. You had stared at the screen, titillated and kind of horrified at what the actors were doing, the way their bodies moved and the sounds they made. Once the scene was over, you turned to each other and burst into nervous giggles, knowing your parents would blow a gasket if they knew what you’d seen. Not that you understood it. You knew how babies were made, but you didn’t understand what sex was supposed to be.

And your dad was worried about you having it? With Jake?

“He’s a good kid,” your mom gentled. “He knows she's too young for him - I’m not even sure he's aware that she likes him. Even if he is, he treats her like Mike’s kid sister. She’ll grow out of it.”

“If you say so, hon. But God as my witness—”

“She’s gonna have a boyfriend at some point.”

“When she’s eighteen,” your dad declared, “and not a moment sooner!”

You padded back to your room. It wasn’t news, but hearing that Jake thought of you as a kid dealt a heavy blow to your self-esteem. From then on, you resolved to play your cards closer to the chest - you might not be able to help the way he made you feel like your insides had turned to melted goo, but no one else had to talk about it behind your back like you had some sort of disease.

Unfortunately, playing it cool was one of the hardest things you had to do during high school. As it turned out, Jake and Mike were actually pretty good at the whole football thing. Around the time they made varsity, you zeroed in on the fact that girls found their athletic prowess to be sexually irresistible; they were crazy about them - and crazy about Jake in particular.

You watched as he winked and blew kisses at a train of girlfriends while he was out on the field. He leaned against their lockers, turning the charm up to eleven and brushing strands away from their cheeks, saying things like, “Pick you up at six?”

When he got his first truck - a beat-up old Chevy that he bought off Don Amberley by working shifts at the hardware store - you’d peer around your curtains at the sound of his horn. Sometimes Mike would take a while to leave the house, and Jake would turn his head to kiss the pretty girls in his front seat as a way to pass the time. The shy ones laughed, warding him off with a light push against his chest, while the bold ones closed their nails around his shirt and pulled him even closer, all but straddling his lap. You watched with bated breath as he put his hands on them, green with envy, wondering what it would be like to have his attention, not as his best friend’s little sister but as an actual girl.

Your suffering lasted a whole calendar year, after which Jake went off to college, then joined the Navy, and while time made you realize that you needed to move on with your life and stop making up scenarios about a white picket fence and two-point-five children, you never forgot about Jake, who in your mind - and despite your best efforts - remained the measure to which you compared every other guy.

It wasn't just his ridiculously handsome good looks, though having the body of a Greek god and a smile that made your toes curl didn't hurt. He had helped you when you’d scraped your knee roller-blading, letting you lean on his shoulder and fetching the bandages from the downstairs powder room; he joined your mom in the kitchen to do the washing-up when he stayed over for dinner, saying, “ma’am, I insist,” which earned him funny looks from Mike, but it never swayed him into doing things differently. You liked that he’d earned his first truck, got good grades, was a loyal friend. To you, Jake Seresin was the full package and then some - what more could anyone want? And while you had long accepted that he would make another woman very happy someday, the way in which your family teased you about your “little childhood crush” never failed to put your stomach all in knots. There was nothing little about it. In fact, it had now lasted well into adulthood and you had a feeling it would never fully go away.

-

Dad was right. Michael insisted on being part of the airport welcome wagon, cringey sign and all. He even stuck Gilly in an adorable pilot’s costume. Your sister-in-law sent you looks the entire way and, like a saint, restrained herself by only once making a comment about “your brother’s true wife.”

You sat in the backseat, trying to will yourself into being less nervous. Maybe it was your guilty conscience; for some reason, you kept thinking about all the times you’d imagined him in bed, or in the place of one of your boyfriends when you were doing couple-things. Be cool, be cool, you kept telling yourself.

By the time you parked at the airport, you thought your poker face was pretty flawless. After helping Julie wrestle the baby things into the stroller, you made your way through the chaotic mass of people coming and going through the Barbara Jordan terminal. The weather was good. Jake had texted your brother to say that he’d landed safely and was waiting to deplane, and Mike, vibrating with excitement, was trying to stake out a place in the Arrivals hall that would show his dorky Welcome Home, Hangman! sign in optimal light. Honestly, it was kind of embarrassing to be seen with him. You kept apologizing to the people he elbowed out of the way, as if to say, “Move aside, I was here first, bud!” But it did strengthen your resolve to be chill because at least one of you had to be.

Finally, you spotted a familiar face in the line of passengers spilling into the hall. Like something out of a romcom, Jake Seresin spotted Mike standing in the crowd, dropped his duffle bag, and came bounding into his arms. They talked over each other between laughter and bro-y exchanges, while Julie snorted through her nose and even Gilly sputtered and snuffled. You could take the boy out of Texas, it seemed… but back home he was still sixteen around friends.

Jake turned to you and smiled. “Hey, Cabbage.”

“Please, don’t,” you said, feeling awkward about the old nickname.

“Come here, bring it in.” He held out his arms, grinning, and there was no conceivable reason why you’d say no, so you steadied your nerves and stepped into them. He wrapped his arms around you. He smelled just as good as you remembered him - better, even, because a memory could never be as good as the real thing.

“You’re so stiff!” Jake pointed out, squeezing you tighter.

“No, I’m not.”

“What am I, your creepy uncle?” He looked down at you, then over your shoulder and spotted the baby in Julie’s arms.

His smile lit up his whole face and you felt your heart twist against your ribcage. You let out a breath when he let you go, trying not to fixate on the way his hand brushed against your shoulder as he did so, a slide that seemed to linger.

Fondness - that was all it was, you told yourself. He’d known you all your life and he was fond of you.

He turned his attention now to your little niece.With something like awe, he said, “Michael, you old bastard…” Then, “Sorry, little lady - you must be Gilly! Hi! Hi there, it’s your Uncle Jake! Your not-at-all-creepy Uncle Jake…”

“Nice one,” you threw back.

He grinned wider, saying, “Julie, how are you?”

“About as well as can be expected with a teething baby.”

“Well, you look great.”

“Liar,” Julie replied, but his comment made her stand a little straighter.

He let Gilly grip his finger in an attempt at a handshake. Being a sucker for attention, she wiggled her body in her mother’s grasp and held her arms out to the smiley stranger, wanting to be carried. Jake was thrilled. He bounced her in his arms the entire way to the car, asking about the wedding, his parents, how Amanda was doing, which of their friends he could expect to see on Saturday afternoon. Mike stuck to him like glue, carrying Jake’s bag for him and answering his questions. You were certain he’d send Julie to the back so Jake could ride shotgun, but instead, he loaded Gilly into her baby seat and Jake touched you on the elbow, saying, “I can take the middle seat.”

“You don't want the window?” you asked, your arm tingling. He had slipped on a pair of sunglasses once he left the terminal and he looked like a movie star, all golden skin, slicked-back hair, and a hint of stubble on his jaw. You had no idea how you were supposed to survive a 90-minute car ride when just the sight of him made you want to melt into a puddle on the floor.

“I want to sit next to my goddaughter. You get her all the time,” he pointed out and ducked into the car.

Helpless, you climbed in after him and pulled the door closed. In the back of the SUV, there was no way for your bodies not to touch. By necessity, your arms and thighs pressed together, his body solid and warm. You didn't want to draw attention to yourself by squirming away even though your heart was beating double-time and you were at a loss as to what to do with your hands.

Thankfully, the car started moving, and by the time you made it onto the highway you had almost gotten used to the feeling of his muscled forearms and the smell of his cologne. You were focusing on the passing landscape as he made small talk with Mike and Julie, so it caught you unawares when he turned to you and said, “So - it seems we’re paired up for the wedding. I’m sorry about you and Whatshisface, by the way.”

Here we go… “I know that you name his name, Jake.”

“Do I? Persona non grata. I must have erased him from my memory chip.” He was grinning like the cat who caught the canary, and there was something about the twinkle in his eye that made you glare daggers at your brother, who was looking suspiciously blank-faced sitting in the driver’s seat.

“Oh my God, Mike, what did you tell him?”

“Nothing! I just said you two broke up and that he’s with Mia now.”

“That cow,” Julie put in.

“Okay, time out!” you called, doing the motion with your hands. “As much as I appreciate this show of familial solidarity, it’s really not necessary. Josh and I are cool.”

“Well, we’re not!” Mike said.

“Then be cool, Mike! And you!” You wagged your finger in front of Jake. He stared at it like it was the most amusing thing in the world. “You just got here. Do you really want to spend the rest of the week picking fights that have nothing to do with you?”

Evidently, the answer was yes, but he raised his hands in a facetious show of surrender. “Hey, I never liked the guy.”

“Dude, neither did I!” Mike crowed.

“What? You never said anything!”

“I’ve always said that - haven’t I, babe?”

“Mike, you say a lot of things,” Julie drawled.

“…including the fact that I never liked the guy! Him and his beady little eyes—”

“He gets hay fever!” you defended. “That’s not his fault!”

“—and the fact that he stayed in the apartment—”

“I wanted to move out! Julie, a little help here?”

“Hey, I don't like the guy either.”

“What?” You were flabbergasted. You thought that everyone liking Josh was the whole reason why they felt communally betrayed by the breakup. Now they were acting like the spearheads of an anti-Josh conspiracy? “Are you seriously telling me this six years after the fact? You went to games with him!”

“Wait, you went to games with Josh Spritzer?” Jake balked, his voice going up an octave while Mike went red in the face.

“I was in a dark place, man. Julie was pregnant and you weren't around… It was a case of the pre-baby blues!”

“I feel like you just admitted to cheating on me. Josh Spritzer?”

“Hey!” you warned.

“I mean, I guess it’s all a matter of taste, sweetheart…”

“Seresin, what the hell!”

“…although God knows I never knew what you saw in him—”

“Oh, didn't you?”

“Hey, I love you all sooo much,” Julie piped up from the passenger seat, “Jake, I’m happy you’re here, but will you all shut up so Gilly can sleep?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Though Jake sobered up, the provoking glint remained in his eyes. Once more you were aware of his closeness and the heat of his skin.

“Unbelievable…” you said underneath your breath, crossing your arms, your reward being another one of Jake’s dazzling smiles.

-

When you arrived, the reunion was as rowdy as you expected. About two dozen Seresins and their closest friends and family had convened at Jake’s childhood home. Amanda cried when she saw her favorite cousin coming towards her, and she excitedly introduced him to her husband-to-be, a bookish engineer named Christian who came from a small family and seemed as flattered as he was overwhelmed by all the attention.

Dinner was served outdoors, buffet style. The backyard was strung up with twinkling lights and music played from a pair of speakers stationed at the back porch. The air was festive and full of hope; it was easy to get caught up in the pre-wedding bliss when you were well-fed, your glass never empty, the company some of your most loved people in the world.

Josh - thank God - was not in attendance. He was supposed to walk down the aisle with you. Your save-the-date and wedding invitation had arrived labeled with his name along with yours, the assumption being that of course your long-term, live-in boyfriend would be your date. After you’d broken up, Amanda had to reshuffle her arrangements to keep you as one of her bridesmaids, the only upside being that Jake’s uncertain attendance made him your perfect partner.

Well, perfect for Amanda, if not for you.

At some point in the night, after speeches had been made and dessert served, Jake took the seat next to you to chat with his great-aunt Sandy and her boyfriend, Clyde. The apple pie came courtesy of Mrs. Seresin, who had the best recipe in the county and probably the entire state of Texas, in your limited and yet eager opinion. You demolished it with aplomb and once you finished, Jake pushed his plate towards you, the crust untouched. “Have at it.”

“Are you sure?” you asked.

“I know it’s your favorite part.”

The fact that he remembered made you feel sixteen again, watching him come home from university, crushed at knowing that he had a whole life you didn't know about, people he knew who were probably far more interesting, sophisticated and self-assured. He joined the Navy, and then moved out west while you stayed behind in your hometown, stationary while he took to the skies.

He had always been nice to you, for all that he enjoyed teasing you and even making fun of you on occasion. But that didn't mean you would ever be anything more to him than his best friend’s sister, someone he indulged in the same way as Amanda.

You excused yourself from the table, picking up plates as a pretense to head inside and get a few moments to yourself. This was exactly the reason why you hadn't wanted Jake to come home. Selfishly, in your heart of hearts, you had prized your own comfort above Amanda’s happiness, which made you feel like a Grade-A jerk, but you weren't ready to confront the way he made you feel after all this time. How could you explain to yourself, let alone anyone else, that you were holding out for a fantasy you’d had since you were young?

Suddenly, the presence of everyone you’d known and loved all your life felt oppressive rather than a source of delight. You poured yourself a glass of wine from one of the open bottles on the counter and went out to the Seresins’ front porch. From there, the sounds of the party seemed far away and you let out a sigh of relief. You sat on the ledge with your back to one of the vertical beams, watching the night breeze move the branches on the trees and the clouds which obscured the waning moon. Gradually, your mind slowed its pace and you were able to enjoy the song of the night critters mingled with the distant music of someone - probably Clyde - strumming his guitar.

Your repose was broken by the screen door opening and then clattering shut behind you, making you turn your head to see Jake coming outside, just a touch sheepish but for the most part his usual Jake-self, out of his jacket and carrying a bottle of beer.

He lowered himself beside you, and after a moment’s silence, said, “So, how’ve you been? Aside from Whatshisface.”

You shot him a warning look. If he was bringing up Josh, it was only to tease you like he’d done in the car and you weren’t in the mood right now to be the butt of a joke - not when you felt so vulnerable about what he was to you. (Dammit… and of course this has to be a wedding.)

“What,” he said, gently cajoling, “I can’t ask?”

“About my personal life? You never used to care.”

“In high school, I don’t think I was supposed to care. And afterwards—”

“Afterwards, Hangman got a little too full of himself,” you quipped.

“Hey… that's… actually pretty accurate, I’m not gonna lie.” He took a swig of beer, laughing as he said it. The porch light threw his features into sharp relief and you gave yourself permission to look at him - really look at him - for the first time since he returned.

Setting aside that he was gorgeous as ever, he seemed less carefree than you remembered, but it wasn’t a bad thing. He appeared, well, like a grown-up, for lack of a better word. You wondered whether you were being unfair in making assumptions when you had both changed so much in the last decade, as people tended to do. He wasn’t just the dream guy in your head; he was so many things in his own right, and he was here with you, wanting to talk - and maybe trying to get to know you on an even field.

If only that wasn't another reason to love him.

“You seem different,” you said, hoping your voice wasn’t giving you away.

He looked at you for a few breaths, the corner of his mouth tipped up but the rest of his face serious. Then he shrugged in mock humility with a “What can I say, greatness suits me.”

“Idiot…” You shook your head and let out a snort, though on the inside you felt full of champagne - fizzy and bright because he was with you.

“How's the shop going?” he asked after a beat.

“Pretty well. We’re doing the flowers for Amanda’s wedding.”

“And you're bridesmaiding?”

“It’s hardly flying F-18s.”

“I think Amanda would disagree.”

“Well, it is her wedding,” you pointed out, “she’s—”

“Out of her mind,” Jake enounced.

“She’s excited,” you corrected even as a montage ran through your head of all the times Amanda had texted the wedding party’s WhatsApp group to say that “a catastrophe” had occurred or that today was the worst day of her life because “the linen photos do NOT reflect the true shade. I wanted SAGE green - doesn’t this look laurel to you?”

“She’s my cousin,” Jake went on. “In fact, she’s my favorite cousin - which is how I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that she’s the biggest bridezilla this side of the Mississippi. To being wedding buddies,” he said and held his beer out towards you, “’cause God knows we’re gonna need it.”

“Wedding buddies,” you said, and clinked your glass. You waited until he had a mouthful of beer to say, “So, how’s your love life these days?”

“O-ho!” He nearly choked. “We are not doing that.”

“That hardly seems fair!”

“Age before beauty, Cabbage: I still get to make a few of the rules.” Watching your face work into a grimace, he laughed. “You really do hate when I call you that, don't you? Look at you! It's like a full-body cringe!”

“Stop it!” you complained.

The unfortunate nickname started back when you were a kid and had a penchant for a particular Cabbage Patch doll, which, in hindsight, seemed like an emotional support object, thank you very much. You carried it around until you were forcibly parted during Kindergarten - hence, Cabbage Patch, which in time shortened itself to “Cabbage.” It was cute when your mom said it, but Jake?

“You don't seem to mind when Mike calls you that,” he replied.

You narrowed your eyes. “I’ve seen Mike in all sorts of undignified situations. It evens the playing field.”

“I’d say we've known each other almost as long.”

“It is not the same.”

“How come?”

“It’s just… not.”

“I’m getting nothing else out of you by way of an explanation, aren't I? Fine…” he dramatically sighed. “I guess I’ll stop calling you Cabbage.”

“You don't have to…”

“Nope, it's done, it's retired!”

“Thank you,” you said, a little embarrassed.

From the backyard came a round of applause as Clyde finished his song. Jake smiled at you, then leaned close with a devilish glint in his eye. “Are you sure you're okay with the whole Josh thing? We can always make it our mission to make him insanely jealous.”

You scoffed. “Please, he would never buy that. You and me? He’d see right through it.”

“I want you to know that your lack of faith in my abilities is deeply, deeply hurtful. I’m just saying! You haven't seen me in action!”

“Oh, I’ve seen you in action, alright…”

“There she is!” he cackled.

You hoped the laughter meant he’d missed the note of jealousy in your voice. “Besides, I don't care about making him jealous,” you said with a shrug. “He and Mia are good together.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah… Okay, look,” you sighed, “the only reason I’m telling you this is because you're not them, so I’d better not hear a word from Mike about anything I’m about to tell you. Deal?”

He nodded, and mimed zipping his lips closed for dramatic effect.

“There’s just… no sob story about it,” you began. “By the time it was over, it was almost a relief. And honestly? If it hadn't been for our families, we would've broken up ages ago.”

“What was wrong with him?”

By the look on his face, it was like he expected you to say he had a funny snore or that he chewed too loudly or had an extra head. If only the truth were that tangible. He wasn't mean to you, didn't cheat. But he wasn't Jake. He didn't make you excited to wake up in the morningz

“By the end, we were more like roommates than boyfriend and girlfriend,” you explained. “I mean, when it happened, did I want to claw Mia’s face off, knowing she’d been angling for an opening for years? Of course I did. But that was more about my pride than anything. I wasn't heartbroken. I’m not,” you insisted. “But telling them that would feel like ruining Christmas. They're having fun slinging mud on my behalf.”

“And maybe just a tiny part of you enjoys it?” Jake asked.

“If you tell anyone, I’ll kill you.”

He laughed. “Do you really think I’m above a bit of harmless spite? Hell, I practically wrote the playbook. But what you said - about your pride being hurt? That goes for him too, you know. He doesn't have to buy the whole thing, he just has to see you moving on. Trust me, it’ll hurt.”

“Maybe I don't care enough to hurt him.”

Jake studied you, his eyes shining in the warm glow. “You really have grown up,” he said at last. “I, on the other hand—”

“Oh, come on. Jake, you’re all talk, always have been.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The summer before your junior year,” you pointed out, “you spent nearly all of it replacing Will Delonge’s wooden fence and you told no one about it. The only reason I know is because Mom found out—”

“Your mom finds out about everything,” Jake lamented.

That she did. “You helped Arn McCallister with his math grade,” you added. “You asked Gina to dance at the Winter Ball when her friends made that bet—”

“Some friends,” he interjected. “I swear, Fiona Brussaurd still scares the shit out of me. What, were you keeping tabs on me all through high school?”

“Everyone was keeping tabs on you all through high school,” you confessed. “You were Jake Seresin, Hometown Hero. You still are. You could probably get away with murder.”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. If you weren't mistaken, there was a tinge of pink in his cheeks, but it might have been the beer he finished, or a play of the light. “Actually, I can’t. Semper Fortis, remember? You can't fly planes in prison. Besides, I am way too pretty for that uniform.”

“And you always do that,” you replied. “Try to throw people off the scent of you being an actually decent guy. But I know the truth,” you pointed out. “You have a tell.”

“Really, what's that?”

Over the course of the conversation Jake had angled towards you without your notice; now, your knees were touching and his upturned mouth was close enough to kiss. Your heart was racing in your chest, and yet his gaze was like a challenge - don’t back down, he seemed to say, and that was all Jake. He was exhilarating, just by being himself.

You dared to draw even closer, as if whispering a secret. “Mothers love you.”

“Maybe I’m just really good at pretending.”

“Take the hit, Seresin. No one is that good.”

Smiling, he nudged your knee and leaned back on his hands, sitting with you until the first early-nighters began to leave.

-

Amanda Seresin was two years older than Jake. Her dad, Jake’s uncle, passed away when Amanda was fourteen, and ever since, Jake and his parents had taken her and Dinah under their wings. Jake was the closest thing she had to a brother, and though he was younger, you knew Jake was incredibly protective of her and his aunt, so you were determined not to ruin his wedding experience by being a lovestruck weirdo.

After your time together on the porch, that might prove difficult for you. But this was about Amanda. She assigned you to be his date, and you were going to be a professional about it.

Literally. You were handling the flowers, after all.

“These are a little tall, aren’t they?” your mom asked, fretting over the tulips at the center of one of the guest tables. “I asked for measurements, but now that they’re here…”

You glanced at your watch. “We have time to fix them.”

“All of them?”

“Yes, mom, all of them. Let’s take them into the kitchen, then we can rush up and change before the cocktails start.” You knew she wouldn’t have a speck of peace if she didn’t get them trimmed. She would fret and fuss, and probably commit floral kidnapping crimes when it all got too much. She liked everything to be perfect, especially for the people she loved, so you ignored the time crunch and your watch yelling at you that it was 4:35, twenty-five minutes before guests were due to arrive for drinks and canapés, and, signaling for your dad to help gather up the centerpieces, you rushed into the venue’s kitchen and started trimming down with the nearest pair of garden shears.

Your mom breathed a sigh of relief when the task was done and a few of the earliest guests offered to help carry the vases back to the tables, giving you enough time to head upstairs and put on the blue dress you’d brought in a garment bag.

So you were fussing about your looks… That didn’t mean you were not chill, it just meant you wanted to look nice… for Amanda. For the photos. It had nothing to do with Jake Seresin at all.

By the time you made it down - finally, and a little late since you spent more on it than usual perfecting your makeup - there were about sixty people on the lawn, nibbling on pulled pork sliders and mac-and-cheese bites, mini tacos and bacon-wrapped dates. You spotted your dad grabbing one of everything and your mom pulling on his sleeve, probably to hiss, “Pace yourself, hon.” She had a glass of champagne in one hand, more as a prop, since half of her attention was spent surveying her work as if anticipating one of the centerpieces to go up in flames.

Knowing her, she might have packed a tiny fire extinguisher in that glittery, silver clutch.

You stifled a laugh, grabbing a plate and a few of the canapés from a passing waiter. The rehearsal dinner was a much bigger affair than the barbecue Jake’s parents had thrown for close friends and family the night before. You knew Josh would be in attendance (probably with Mia) and so would a lot of your high school crowd. Letting out a sigh, you threw your shoulders back and tried to look relaxed, exchanging greetings as you mingled with the growing number of guests. It was a beautiful night. God must love Amanda, as He should, because the weather was balmy in a pleasant way, warm enough that the ladies could throw off their wraps and show off their dresses, the men leave their jackets draped over chairs.

The venue was a little bed and breakfast with a sprawling back patio and hedges that grew around the property, gracefully unkempt, with magnolia trees in bloom. You said hello to your old History teacher, a small, soft-spoken woman with a gray bob and tortoiseshell glasses dangling on a chain. In turn, she had taken personal interest in Amanda, Jake, and then you - she was the whole reason Amanda went into teaching, and you heard Jake mention once that he wouldn’t have joined the Navy if not for her. Sometimes, you felt a little self-conscious about not having more to show for your education, but Ms. Beauchene never made you feel like your life choices were a disappointment. She popped into the flower shop on occasion, pleased with her paper-wrapped bouquets, and no matter what, without fail, you’d ring her up and she’d say with full honesty, “These are going to make my week,” before she walked out humming.

You were glad Amanda included her in the rehearsal, especially when you spotted Josh walking in with his arm around Mia’s waist. Excusing yourself, you made for the bar and ordered one of the signature cocktails, Amanda’s favorite blackberry bourbon smash, and downed half of it before turning back and making small talk as if your life depended on it. Strangely enough, it wasn’t the sight of Josh that had you feeling like the inside of your brain was crawling with ants. It was Mia. You hated the thought of her seeing any kind of weakness in you - that she might take in your appearance and think that your hairdo was messy or that your eyes looked a little dark, and assume from it that she’d left you a human wreck after her little victory.

Without a doubt, Mia had attended the Fiona Brussaurd School of Mean Girls, and the last thing you wanted to do was appear like the lesser creature. So when your family began to fuss under the pretense of “casually” making conversation, you swatted them away, feeling grateful when dinner was announced and everyone could retreat to their neutral corners.

You chose to sit at a table with a few old school friends, one of whom was also in the wedding party, and to avoid the meaningful looks Julie had been sending you all evening, you sat with your back to the rest of the guests, enjoying the hour of relative peace and reminiscing, the view of an ornamental fountain set with warm lights, and your plate of pan-seared sea bass and cheesy potatoes. Gradually, the music shifted from sit-down easy listening to dancing tunes, and the people at your table began seeking out partners or joining those already on the lawn who were spinning and jiving in every available space.

Soon, you were alone at the table. You leaned back in your chair, enjoying the breeze against your face. If you closed your eyes, listening to the sounds of music and laughter, you could almost forget all the drama with your ex…

You felt a tap on your shoulder. Looking up, you saw Jake and his movie-star grin. The butterflies started banging around your stomach again. Forget the tulips, you were the one with your nerves all in a tangle tonight.

“Hey, stranger - ’nother drink?” he asked, offering you another of the bourbon cocktails. He had a rocks glass in his other hand, and without waiting for an invitation he took the chair next to you, throwing his arm across the back of yours.

You replied, “Yes, please,” trying not to melt into his touch. Nuzzling against him like a cat would not be chill, you reminded yourself, even if he did look incredible with his open dress shirt collar and the little peek of his chest made you feel like a Victorian with the vapors.

He lounged in that casual way of his, attractive without trying. “These things really go on forever, don't they?”

“And it’s just the rehearsal dinner.”

“What happened to getting married on a Tuesday while everyone’s at work?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Did you just quote Runaway Bride?”

His face went still. “What, no.”

“Yes, you did!” you exclaimed, setting down your drink and straightening in your seat. Jake looked mildly panicked and was doing his best to look innocent, which you found absolutely hilarious. “Oh my God, are you a closet romcom man?”

“It must've been subconscious.”

“Subconscious, my ass,” you shot back.

“She looks happy.” Jake tipped his head towards Amanda despite the fact that she was behind you both, out of sight, and clearly being used as a way to change the subject. “You know the guy?”

“You met him yesterday,” you said. And I know what you're doing implicit was in your tone.

Jake shrugged, an expert at deflection. “Yeah, but it's hard to tell what a guy’s made of from a single meeting.”

Deciding that the accusation of Romcomitis would go unanswered on this particular occasion, you tested the limits of his cool under pressure, pretending to deliberate before you played along with the conversational shift.

“D’you want to hear the absolute worst thing I can think to say about him?”

Jake went battle-ready, poised to hate the guy. You watched his shoulders and the set of his jaw change, and it made you want to touch the side of his face and kiss the frown away, laughing as you did.

Just messing with you, you would say.

It would be so easy. Maybe the fantasy was clouding your judgment - along with your third cocktail of the night - but you could feel in your body that being with Jake would be as natural as breathing.

You looked over your shoulder, watching Christian lean into Amanda to whisper something into her ear.

He had his hand on her arm and looked a little spooked, probably because one of the Seresins’ honorary aunts, Jackie, who was known for her tell-it-like-it-is comments, no matter how indiscreet, was walking away. Poor guy. Amanda giggled at whatever he said and stroked his hand, whispering back words of reassurance. Their demeanor together was easy, full of shorthand. And Amanda did look happy - so happy that it made you a little jealous, pleased as you were that she had found her person.

Jake followed your gaze, watching them alongside you.

“He's a little dull,” you explained. “But in a good way. He mellows her out.”

“Amanda? That sounds like an impossible task. But I can see it…” He cocked his head. “I think.”

You turned your eyes back to your own table. Jake was fiddling with his glass, watching the amber liquid swirling around the oversized iced cube. He looked pensive, a furrow appearing between his brows that, in another life, you would have stroked away.

He shook his head and raised the glass to his lips. “You don't realize how much you've missed…”

Before you could think about it, you had your hand on his arm. “Hey, no one's keeping score.”

“Maybe I am.”

“Then don't,” you insisted. “You do what you've gotta do - we all know that. Your parents know it, Amanda knows it. She’s just happy you're here.”

You could tell that, as much as he appreciated your words, they weren't enough to sweep away all the moments he hadn't been around to see. It didn't matter that Jake loved flying planes, that he was proud to be one of the best naval aviators in the service, and wouldn't change his career for the world. He was still in a position where he had to ask you what Amanda’s future husband was like. He had missed his goddaughter’s christening, had to rush out of Mike and Julie’s wedding five years ago… He’d made an oath, and for as long as he wore the uniform, his first commitment was to something other than his family. Other than himself.

He spoke his next words quietly, almost to himself, just for you.

“You know, the thing about flying is that when you're up there, nothing else matters. It can’t. All of your focus, all of your faculties, your energy… they're in the air. Meanwhile, all of this real life… the thing we’re meant to be safeguarding for everyone else, it doesn't stop, and when you land right back in the middle of it—”

He stopped.

“Yeah?” You were hanging on for the rest of it, eager for these little pieces of Jake that you stored up even after he was gone.

“I mean, it feels like yesterday since I left for college, signed up. Now Amanda’s getting married, Mike’s having kids, you are having just the worst luck of the year…”

“Hey!” you laughed.

“I’m kidding, kidding!”

“You’re sounding like an old man, Jake. You're thirty-two - pull yourself together. Jeez! Who knew Top Gun would make you so existential? Is that why you're self-medicating with classic romantic comedies?”

“If you ever tell Mike, I swear to God—” He pointed his finger at you, and you pinched it in two of yours, earning a chuckle and a childish attempt at a thumb-war game that was interrupted when the bride herself came up behind you and threw her arms around you both with a “Hey, you two!”

“Mands!” Jake exclaimed, craning his neck to give her a kiss on the cheek.

“Having fun?”

“Absolutely. So, so much—”

“You big fibber,” Amanda threw back. “Why are you here? Go dance!”

“Can’t. I’m keeping my date company, and a gentleman never abandons his date. It’s in the rules.”

“Good thing I know you're not a gentleman. You're in my wedding party!” she said. “It’s up to you two to set a good example for the other guests.”

“Yes, ma’am. Shall we?” He offered you his hand, throwing Amanda a look that said, See? I’m following orders.

She smiled back, giving you room to rise from your chairs and circle round. With her arms crossed, she watched as you found an open space, making sure you’d followed through before seeking out her next victims.

As bad luck would have it, the song switched from something uptempo to an Ashley Monroe ballad, romantic strings and all. “Has anybody ever told you/ that when you walk into a dark room/ the light of a thousand moons surround you?/ Yeah, there's just something about you./ Has anybody ever told you?”

It was stupid, but the words felt so real with Jake’s hands on you that you were worried he’d be able to read your mind or see on your face that you meant every sentence. You tried looking anywhere else, at the other couples, the catering staff picking up empty glasses, at your mom fluffing a perfectly decent bouquet, anywhere but at Jake.

“Why do you always do that?”

“Do what?” you asked, eyes darting nervously at being caught red-handed.

“Tense up like I’ve got the plague,” Jake said. “You’re making this weird.”

“I’m making what weird?”

“We’re dancing!” He pressed one hand against your hip, the other into your lower back. “Just dance!”

“By which I’m sure you mean, ‘just follow my lead’?”

You didn't mean to sound so prickly, you were just panicking and trying to throw Jake off the scent. This does not constitute playing it cool, you scolded yourself. But instead of taking it badly, Jake laughed as he stared down at you.

“If you like. Or I can follow yours if it makes you feel any better. Here, you can put your hand on my waist - but leave room for Jesus.”

“Dork.”

“There we go,” he cajoled, swaying with you in time to the beat. “Letting you insult me seems to really get your engines going. We should analyze that.”

“Don’t you ever stop talking?”

“I don’t know, do I?” He cackled out loud at the dark look you sent his way, stroking your back in a way that meant absolutely nothing, but which you felt all the way down to your toes. “You make it too easy,” he added.

Jake’s sense of humor made it hard to stay self-conscious. Eventually, you eased into the dance and you were almost sorry when the song switched to something a little more upbeat that didn't require him to stand so close to you. Still, he twirled you in a circle and brought you back into the solid curve of his body, showing off.

Then, out of nowhere, his face worked into a scowl as he spotted something a few yards to your right. You turned your head to see what it was, so lost in the moment that it took a few seconds for you to register that Josh was dancing with Mia, quite well, actually, to the Texas Tornados.

“Look at that schmuck.”

“Jake…” you warned.

“What? It’s just an observation, I’m not saying it for your benefit.”

“She looks incredible,” you sighed. On anyone else, the dress she had on would make them look like a costume disco ball, but on Mia it looked modern and chic, showing off her body and matching well with a slicked back bun and dangly earrings.

Jake’s shoulder rose and fell beneath your hand. “If you say so. She’s not really my type.”

Are you serious?  “Jake, just about every woman is your type.”

“I’m sorry, are you slut-shaming me right now? In this political climate? I could have you canceled for that.”

“Ha-ha,” you said in response. “I mean, look at her, she is objectively a 10 - don’t say you wouldn’t. Hell, I would if I were inclined that way… Don’t!” You pinned Jake with a warning stare, cutting off the joke that was on the tip of his tongue and dying to come out.

“Well, I wouldn’t now,” he said instead.

“Gee, thanks.”

“For the sake of our friendship.”

The word made you tense up again - not on purpose, it was an automatic reaction you wanted to take back as soon as you went stiff all over again. And it didn't escape Jake’s notice.

“What?” he questioned, cupping your shoulders and shaking you a little as a gag. “Oh my God, have you ever thought about taking up yoga? Meditation?”

“Flying lessons?” you shot back.

“Hey, don’t knock it. Compared to you, I am a very chilled-out person.” You rolled your eyes, not wanting to admit that he was right. No matter what was going on inside Jake, he knew how to keep a calm exterior. You’d always admired that about him. With the exception of your dad, your family wasn't known for its cool under pressure. Even Mike could be a bit of a basket case. That’s why he and Julie worked so well together.

You sighed again, wondering if you’d ever find your own version of Christian or Julie, someone who fit with all of your wonky parts and made you feel, regardless of circumstance, that everything would turn out okay.

“You look beautiful, by the way.” You looked at Jake, startled by the remark and the heat rushing into your face. He was dead serious. The levity you saw in his eyes had nothing to do with his tone, which was kind but not pitying. And you knew Jake would never say something like that if he didn’t mean it. “Not that it’s a competition,” he tacked on, “I’m just saying… don’t sell yourself short. I’m sure he’s eating his heart out right now.”

“And how would you know a thing like that?”

“Because he hasn’t stopped looking at us for the last sixty seconds.”

Your gaze drifted off to the side before Jake took your chin in his hand, his touch gentle and yet firm.

“Don’t look!” he chided. “Jesus… That’s recon 101 - I’ve got your six, you keep dancing and pretend we’re not talking about him, you amateur!”

“Sorry! You’re so bossy!” you grumbled, fighting off another blush.

“Sweetheart, you have no idea.”

The word zinged through your body along with the killer Jake Seresin dimpled grin, and to make matters worse, he twirled you again, laughing when he brought you to rest your back against his chest. Josh froze when he saw you, spotting Jake’s hands on your waist. But you couldn’t care less - you were breathless, with Jake’s mouth close enough to kiss, reminding you of his knee nudge on the porch and his arm beneath your hand.

For a moment, you could almost believe that he was flirting with you for real. If you turned your head, would he accept the press of your mouth against his? Would he push you away or pull you in closer, regardless of your families watching and Josh staring, almost open-mouthed, like he couldn’t believe Jake fucking Seresin would give you the time of day?

Before you could make a choice, the song ended and Jake released you from his grip, keeping a hand on your back as he herded you away from the dance floor and to the bar, where he ordered a beer and asked if you wanted something. If you answered, you weren’t aware. You felt not in control, your stomach all in knots and the memory of Jake’s touch seared into your skin. A part of you still wanted desperately to kiss him and the other wanted to rush into the B&B and burst into tears from sheer confusion. Meanwhile, Jake seemed perfectly fine, chatting with the bartender on duty and leaning against the counter as he dropped a few bills into the tip jar.

“What are you doing?” you asked when you felt him touching you on the shoulder.

“Pretending you have lint on your dress.”

“Hey! On the dance floor was one thing, but I am not aiming to make this entire weekend about making my ex jealous. Any high school dude-vendetta you have against Josh should be addressed on your own time, you psycho. Besides, he’s never going to actually buy it.”

“Alright.” Jake threw up his hands, lowering the charm down a few watts. Your drinks were set down on a pair of square cocktail napkins and you took up yours, a fizzy gin thing with lemon that made you wonder whether you shouldn’t have stuck with bourbon to avoid going around with a hangover on Amanda’s wedding day.

Jake went on. “But I’m really not liking all this negative self-talk, you know. Mia might be a 10, but at most he’s, like, a 6…”

“Oh, be quiet!”

“You’re an 8.”

“What?” The alcohol either rushed up to your head or evaporated completely. How the hell did Jake manage to say things that left you completely dumbfounded and without a single intelligent thought in your head? And he did it with a smile! This one was purposefully subdued as he waved around with the beer in his hand as if making a profound point.

“You’re way out of his league. Don’t tell me you hadn’t noticed?”

“Okay, well…”

“You’re blushing!” he remarked. “That’s adorable.”

“You’re not funny, Seresin.”

“Hey, I joke about a lot of things, but I don’t go around handing 8s to just anyone.”

“Oh, look, they’re bringing out coffee.” The needle was tipping firmly towards the need to escape, though it wasn’t that serious - you knew it wasn’t; Jake had a tendency to be a flirt and he usually didn’t mean anything by it. Sometimes, it could even be amusing to play along, to get swept up in his wit and the light of his attention. But you didn’t want to play. And you didn’t want to seem ungrateful for his company because you weren’t. You loved every precious second you got to spend with him, knowing he’d be off to California soon and that the next time you might see him could be months or even a year from now.

Getting your hopes up would be a mistake, and you were dangerously close to doing it.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He touched your elbow gently. You wished he couldn’t read you so well. Or that he could read you better, and see what you had been trying to say to him for years but were too scared to utter.

You did your best to smile. “Nothing’s wrong. You don’t have to hover all night. Go, take a load off, have fun.”

“I am having fun,” he said, frowning. “Aren’t you?”

“I was. I am,” you corrected, frustrated with yourself for not taking it better. For not being cool and together and the sort of girl who took charge and damned the outcome. She would’ve kissed Jake when she had the chance. She would have shown up to California. Hell, she would’ve made her move ages ago instead of pining, pathetically, and letting twenty years go by.

That’s what Mia had done. And that’s why she had her dream guy - your former guy - while you were exactly in the same position, too tongue-tied to take a shot.

“Just… can you give me some space?” you blurted out, your frustration bleeding through.

The hurt in Jake’s expression was there and gone in a lightning flash, but you’d seen it and you felt terrible about it. Before you could say anything to make it better, he’d replaced it with a devil-may-care smile.

“Got it,” he said, his voice a little tight around the edges. “Well… I’ll make myself scarce. Holler if you need me.”

With that, he took his beer and disappeared into the crowd, leaving you to weave your way through oblivious partygoers to find the nearest ladies’ room, where you locked yourself in a stall and tried not to ruin your makeup with the tears threatening to spill down your cheeks.

-

Hindsight was a bitch. The next morning you were sure you’d overreacted, made a fool of yourself and created a potentially awkward situation now that the wedding day was upon you and you had to take his arm, in - you glanced at the digital clock on your nightstand - five-and-a-half hours, and walk with him down the aisle wearing a smile for the sake of the photographers.

You groaned, covering your face with your hands and calling yourself every name in the book.

Jake had promised to be your wedding buddy and then sweetly kept his word, and what did you do in response? Completely freak out, you scatterbrained nincompoop.

As penance, you threw yourself into the arrangement of the reception flowers, channeling your mother while you directed the staff this way and that, trying not to think about Jake and the mortifying apology that awaited you. It was the right thing to do - not only to clear the air but because he hadn't deserved being chewed out in a momentary panic, and you knew you wouldn't feel right with yourself if you didn't take the blame and say your mea culpa.

But boy were you dreading it.

“You should head out now, Cabbage,” your mom advised around eleven o'clock. “Dad and I can handle the rest and you should be with Amanda, spend some time with the girls before the big event.”

“Are you sure you don't need help with the aisle arrangements?” A cowardly attempt, but you did it anyway.

“We’ve got it,” Mom repeated, turning you around and all but shepherding you into the parking lot. She waved you off with a “have fun,” and you couldn't help your brain’s internal response of “fat chance.”

All the way to the B&B you kept rehearsing what you might say to Jake when you saw him, but by the time you pulled up and found a free parking space, you were sweating, physically and metaphorically, and thinking that, maybe, if you listened to TED Talks rather than Dateline, you might have an enlightened response to your current dilemma.

You fetched your bagged bridesmaid's dress from the trunk of the car, along with your makeup bag and hair tools. You’d have to use the shower before you started getting ready, but you were looking forward to get-ready champagne and a throwback playlist. Anything to feel more like your normal self and less like a silly teenager who couldn’t talk to boys.

You went up three flights of stairs to reach the bridal suite. From both sides, you could hear music spilling out into the hall, an ABBA classic clashing with Brett Young. Automatically, you placed your hand on the doorknob leading towards bouncy 80s pop only for it to turn and spring open, revealing Jake with an undone bow tie hanging around his neck.

It could be that your mouth sprung open, not expecting to see him that abruptly and without giving yourself your planned thirty-second pep talk.

Your mind went blank. All you could do was stare at him like an idiot as he pointed across the hall and said, “Bridal suite’s that way.”

“Yeah, it was…”

“The Super Trouper? Groom’s choice.”

“Are you sure it wasn't yours?” The joke spilled out of your mouth, landing awkwardly to your own ears. But Jake smiled anyway, glancing down as he let the door close behind him. 

He rubbed the side of his freshly shaved cheek. “I’m headed down to the front desk, by the way. I swear I’m not stalking you.”

You deserved that. So instead of cringing down into the floor - which was what you really wanted to do - you took the hit and said, “I didn’t think you were.”

“About last night…”

“I’m sorry for flying off the handle. I’m just… a little stressed,” you cut him off. It was an understatement, and not totally honest, but it was the best you could do without getting into the embarrassing particulars.

From the groomsmen’s side, Britney Spears followed ABBA, singing, “Oops, I did it again,” which seemed perversely apropos and just another reminder that you were a puppet of fate. Presently, you had to be paying for God knows what sin - probably calling Mike a buttface all those years before.

“Hey, I get it. I wasn’t trying to be clingy,” Jake went on.

“You’re not! You’re a good friend… Thank you.”

It pained you to say it, but you figured now was as good a time as any to face facts: you only had a few more days together, and you didn't want to spend them all wasting what you had, wishing it would turn into something else. Friendship with Jake was good enough. He was kind and loyal and honest; hell, anyone would be lucky to have him in their corner.

Maybe what you needed was a little gratitude. It was a wedding day, after all. Your friends and family would all be gathering in a few hours to celebrate Christian and Amanda and they had chosen you to be a special part of their most important day. How cool was that?

“Can we just not talk about Mia and Josh today?” you asked, hefting the garment back up your shoulder. “I want to focus on Amanda and make sure she has a nice time at her wedding - get drunk but not sloppily so, take a few pictures, dance a bit, not feel like everyone’s waiting for the Jerry Springer shoe to drop?”

“We can do that,” Jake replied.

“Okay. Thanks.”

“See you on the other side?”

“You bet.”

He went down the hall, turning right and bounding the carpeted stairs. You watched him go with a sigh, deciding that it was hard to be a grown-up and lovelorn at the same time. The two things were so incompatible - liking someone, loving them even, felt utterly undignified.

Nonetheless, you could breathe a lot easier after clearing the air. With the apology out of the way, you threw yourself into full bridesmaid mode, squeezing into the cramped bathroom with five other women in customized robes who were curling, straightening, powdering, talking, fighting for counter space, gasping at gossip, and being an overall flurry of chaos while the bride reigned over all, putting in comments through the haze of hair- and setting spray.

The air in the room was joyous, with a smattering of nervous energy mostly provided by Amanda.

Once dressed in your different styles of champagne satin, the bridesmaids focused on making sure Amanda was ready for her starring role. You took turns doing up the buttons on the back of her wedding gown, and when Dinah popped in to give her a pair of diamond earrings she wore to her own wedding, there wasn't a dry eye in the room. “Do not let my mascara run!” Amanda urged, prompting Carrie, the maid of honor, to jokingly rush forward with a folded-up Kleenex and dab at her eyes.

The groomsmen left for the wedding venue first, piling into a shuttle after yelling well-wishes through the door. Fifteen minutes later you followed suit, with Ali O’Rourke pouring canned cocktails into plastic cups and filming the journey at the same time as her phone blasted Taylor Swift (“But none of the breakup songs!”). In twenty minutes you were at the botanical garden, arranging the first look through a comical series of shouts and mimes partially obscured by a tall bush and caught on camera by the couple’s videographer. Once Christian had gotten the memo to stand there, at the edge of an ornamental pond but with his back to the azaleas, you pushed Amanda in his direction and waved her on, giving whistles and catcalls when he dipped her into a kiss that was very un-Christian-like and all the more romantic for that reason.

Once the wedding party photos were done, it was time to head inside and wait for the guests to arrive. You found that, like Amanda, you were feeling a little jittery now that patience was all that was required. From the double doors to the altar, it was a fairly long walk and you were worried that your heels would sink into the grass or that you would fall flat on your face. Luckily, you weren’t the only one with that fear. Amanda’s coworker, Lucy, who had never been a bridesmaid before, had a minor freakout, and talking her down helped you allay your own fears, as did the liquid courage courtesy of Ali’s dress having pockets.

(Amanda: “I don’t remember reading that on the website.”

Ali: “That’s because you didn’t. I had it tailored.”)

At last, the wedding coordinator called for everyone to take their places and Jake came towards you, looking smart in his tux. At the rehearsal dinner you’d heard Mike asking, “So, where’s the dress uniform?”, to which Jake replied, “And upstage you?” Well, uniform or not, you were sure he could upstage anyone. To you, he was the handsomest person in the room, and you were in danger of saying so until Jake beat you to the punch.

“Look at you, you clean up well!” he remarked.

“And you look terrible.”

“Now I know that’s a bald-faced lie.”

You laughed. Humble as always. You were glad to see that all the awkwardness between you had gone, in no small part because of the excitement over the ceremony. A sudden hush came over everyone as Harriet signaled for the doors to be opened. Jake held out his arm. “Shall we?” he said, echoing his words when he asked you to dance.

This time you were ready for it. No matter what, in this particular moment, you and Jake were allies - wedding buddies, he said - and instead of overthinking things or making a mountain out of a molehill, you were resolved to enjoy it.

You took his arm and faced forward. The first strains of music began. Showtime, Harriet mouthed, while at the altar Christian turned to meet his bride.

-

The ceremony was over in the blink of an eye, followed by a drinks reception and a sit-down dinner punctuated by toasts that ranged from the humorous to the downright sentimental. Now that Amanda had clipped up her train, she seemed more relaxed than she had been in the morning, and it made you feel like you could let down your hair, so to speak, and enjoy the party underneath the light-strewn tent.

The guests were eager to dance. Without letup they moved through classic wedding standards and modern dance hits to country reels and the obligatory playing of “Mr. Brightside,” a moment which Sandy and Clyde stole with their enthusiastic head-bops. You couldn't remember the last time you danced, or laughed, half as much, and even the appearance of Josh and Mia couldn’t steal your good mood. As long as they kept to their side of the tent, you could pretend they weren't there and if Mom or Julie sidled up with a comment in defense of your honor, it was easy to point a finger to your ear as if to say, “What? I can’t hear you, the music’s too loud!”

Jake kept close for the most of the night, leaning in close and making funny comments about the hidden goings-on - who was putting the moves on who, who was sneaking mini cupcakes into their purse, who got carted off to the indoor area after over-imbibing and nearly causing a minor dancefloor traffic incident.

Maybe it was all his Navy training, but for a guy’s guy Jake had an uncanny eye for gossip, and you said so, winning a laugh and another request for your oath of secrecy.

“I hate to tap out before Great-Aunt Sandy,” he said halfway through the Jailhouse Rock, “but do you want to take a breather? I feel like I’m getting a stitch in my side.”

“You? Sheesh, Hangman, you're really letting yourself go,” you chaffed. “What'll the higher-ups think when you get back to San Diego?”

“Well, if they really want to replace me, I’ll send them Aunt Sandy’s way.” He led you outside, where you promptly balanced one foot at a time trying to unclasp your heeled sandals while Jake watched, snorting before he took pity on you and let you lean on his arm.

His very muscled arm…

Inwardly, you sighed like one of the Bimbettes from Beauty and the Beast, but hey, you’d behaved yourself all day; you were allowed to have the occasional impure thought.

With a little sound of triumph, you managed to remove your shoes and held them by the straps, walking on the grass in your bare feet. You had a pair of flats in your purse, but that was somewhere inside and, anyway, the ground felt good against your tired arches. You’d been dancing for over two hours and needed the break.

“How do you even stand in those death traps?” Jake eyed your shoes as if they were hand grenades, which amused you to no end seeing as they’d cost you a small fortune precisely because they claimed to be comfortable.

“They’re not so bad,” you replied. “Besides, I wouldn’t need them if you weren’t so tall.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You shrugged, keeping your face deliberately blank. “It’s a free country.”

“Wow…” Jake huffed through a laugh, “you are incapable of just being nice to me.”

“What, I am nice!”

“In a backhanded-compliment sort of way, sure.”

“What do you want me to say? ‘Jake, you’re the biggest 10 at the wedding’?”

“Oh, I don’t know, but we’re getting warmer,” he said with a toothy grin, entering a path bordered by low hedges leading to the pond where the first look had taken place.

The lights from the wedding reception lit the way, along with the small solar-powered fixtures planted in the ground, but for the most part the darkness was a respite from the sights and sounds of the packed tent. In a way, it made it easier to talk to Jake, ignoring your history, feeling like a girl who’d been asked on a walk by someone who wanted to spend more time with her.

You laughed, leaning into the role of interested flatterer. You were walking backwards, even daring to place your hand on the front of Jake’s shirt, trusting him to lead the way and keep you from tripping into a bush. “You’re an incredible dancer,” you put in, going full Bimbette. You might have batted your eyelashes, and your voice took on the dreamy girlishness of Marilyn Monroe, which only gave Jake the giggles as he tried to maintain his yes, I am all the things composure. “You look as good in a tux as you do in your Navy uniform.”

“Both true.”

“You’re funny and smart, and soooo interesting.”

“Don’t I know it.”

You gasped, stopping in your tracks to place your hands on his cheeks. Jake was smiling from ear to ear, struggling to keep his lips pressed together. “You’ve got a face like an Old Hollywood dreamboat.”

He nodded solemnly, the slight clearing of his throat the only indicator that he was on the verge of breaking character. “You’re not the first person to say that, actually.”

“Oh, really?”

“Mm, does that surprise you? Do you disagree?”

“Of course not, this is the Jake Seresin Appreciation Hour.” You draped your arms around his neck. Maybe it was the cocktails or the distant wedding music making you bold, but Jake didn't pull away and you were only pretending - at least, that was your justification when you felt the weight of his hands on your hips.

“Go on, then.”

“Your eyes are green.”

“Now you’re just stating facts.”

“Fine, but you’re being a very picky subject!”

“I’ll have you know,” he scoffed, “Jake Seresin Hour was not my idea. You don’t get to institute it and then complain when I point out your lazy reporting.”

Lazy reporting? You were ready to duke it out over that and he knew it, his eyes alight with the challenge, head cocked to see what you’d come up with next. Your back hit the trunk of a live oak and you felt the adrenaline in your veins mixing with the alcohol and a sheer attraction that wouldn't be kept at bay. You wondered briefly whether this was what flying was like - a full-bodied, present physicality, all instinct, every move stretched taut and your nerves like live wires.

Jake glanced at your mouth and it left you breathless. Little wonder, then, that the next words out of your mouth were half confession, half part of the game.

“There’s not a single person at this party who isn’t head-over-heels in love with you.”

“Not a single one?” Jake argued. “Not even the groom?”

“Not even the groom.”

“Well, obviously, we’re not including my relatives in that.”

“But everyone else…” you trailed off.

“Everyone else. Including you?”

“Especially me.”

It’s just a game, it’s just a game. The thought kept clashing in your head with the urge to say “kiss me” and he was standing so close, with his body half pressed against yours, solid and warm, realer than any lust-fueled fantasy you could’ve come up with in the dead of night, the party forgotten with him as your only view, and you kept thinking, Maybe he wants me to. Maybe it wouldn't matter. Maybe I should do it - what would be the harm?

The answer to this final point was obvious, and yet he was hard to resist. His fingers brushed against your waist, the touch feather-light enough that it might have been in your imagination except for his forehead pressed down to yours, his heart beating steadily beneath your nervous hand.

Without debating it further you pulled him into a kiss, shutting your eyes against any possible consequences as you memorized the taste of his mouth, the weight of his hands sliding down your back, the heat of his breath. You pulled away, mortified by your lapse in judgment and the obvious proof of feelings which you now couldn't take back.

There was no undoing this, but still you tried.

“Oh, I’m sorry… I’m… I’m drunk… I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s fine.”

“No, I’m… I’m gonna go.” You slid past him, holding your breath, willing him not to follow after you or try to stop you from fleeing. Your body felt like it was short-circuiting, blazing with need and then doused in icy-cold regret and horror at your own actions.

So he had flirted with you. That didn't mean he wanted to kiss you; it certainly didn't signal any romantic interest that merited you throwing yourself at him and telling him, of all things, that you loved him!

You went back to the party, picking your purse up from behind your chair and forcing a smile when people stopped you to chat, making excuses and saying you had to go to the bathroom. Inside, you moved past the lobby and straight out to the drive, where the hired shuttle service was taking guests in no state to drive to and from a few local hotels.

The driver asked if you were ready to leave and you said yes, feeling mildly guilty for staging an Irish goodbye, but there was no way you could go on pretending for the rest of the night, let alone face Jake. You prayed that everyone would be too busy having fun to notice your absence, and if not you would apologize profusely tomorrow at brunch, claiming a headache or exhaustion or anything else that might obscure your bad decision-making and propensity to lose your shit around Jake.

You were let onto the bus, the sole passenger as the driver turned on the engine and radioed his boss to say he was en route to the B&B. Just as you were relaxing into your seat, Jake came bounding up the steps, giving the driver a cursory nod just before the doors closed behind him and the vehicle began to move.

“Can we talk?” he asked, sliding next to you and dropping his jacket in his lap.

“There are, like, fifty open seats.”

“But you’re sitting in this one,” he said with the ghost of a grin. You would've rolled your eyes if you weren’t busy wishing you could teleport to literally anywhere else.

You faced forward to the other cars on the road, watching their taillights shine as you moved into nighttime traffic. “Can you do me a favor? I know you’ve done a lot of them over the past couple of days, but can you just forget that ever happened?”

“No.”

Aghast, you turned your head to see Jake looking maddeningly smug, not to mention relaxed, while he was invading your personal space and driving you to the brink of mental collapse.

“Why not?” you demanded.

“Why not? Because I don’t want to.”

“And is what I want—”

“Completely irrelevant,” he finished for you. “Besides, you kissed me, remember?”

“I don’t. I’ve wiped it from my memory chip.”

With a smile, Jake leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your lips that was almost chaste, except for the brush of his tongue against your lip and his fingers cupping your chin in a hold that was teasing and gentle, and undeniably thought-out.

“How about that one?” he asked, pulling away just enough to view your reaction.

“How about what?”

He grinned. “Cabbage.”

“Ew! Why would you call me that right now?” you exclaimed, scooching back into the window.

“Because you’re adorable. Beautiful.”

“Like a leafy green?”

“Yeah, like a whole salad.”

You laughed. “That makes no sense.”

“It really doesn’t.” But it did. Like so many other inside jokes, you knew exactly what he meant to say. It made you feel all warm inside, especially because there was no trace of subterfuge in his handsome face, and you knew he’d never be cruel enough to lead you on. He followed you, he thought you were beautiful, and he was here trying to convince you not to take the kiss back.

To be bold. To follow through.

“If you want to keep being friends…” he began.

“You and Mike are just friends, Jake. I’m the kid sister with a massively pathetic crush on you.”

“Maybe I have a crush on you too,” he said, looking you straight in the eyes. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“A little… A lot, actually.”

“It shouldn’t be.”

In front of Pleasant View the driver pulled on the brakes, and Jake laced his fingers through yours as he dismounted and put a twenty in the tip jar, stopping in front of the entrance to face you with a question hanging, unspoken, in the air. If you let this opportunity pass you by, he would let you do it without a word, taking the gentleman’s way out and stopping his pursuit under the assumption that you had no interest in being with him, or in seeing where this new thing between you might go. But if you said yes…

The possibilities flashed through your mind, as frightening as they were wonderful. Everything might change. Everything would, there was no doubt about that. But change wasn’t always a bad thing, and if you had someone holding your hand along the way?

Wasn’t that what love was all about?

“You’re thinking very loudly,” Jake pointed out.

“Is that an issue?”

“Why, is it an issue for you?”

You shook your head, trying to contain the nervous joy in your chest. “Maybe you should take me flying sometime, teach me the ways of classic Hangman chill.”

“Just name the time and place,” he promised. “I’m ready when you are.”

Instead of second guessing, you took him at his word.

You reached up and kissed him fully on the mouth, sighing when he pressed you flush against his chest and carressed the nape of your neck. There was no predicting the future; that part would always be like navigating blind. But Jake was worth the risk. If nothing else, he was the sort of man who made you want to try, who took chances, and made you laugh through the terror of uncertainty.

In that moment, being lifted off the ground, physically swept off your feet by the man you’d loved since you’d first contemplated what love could be, you felt like the luckiest girl in the world. And the best part? From the look on Jake’s face, you knew the exact thought running through his head:

Babe, the luck is all mine.

Man, you loved weddings.

[non-un-topo]

See I would try to socially transition for a few years first, except no one refers to me as he/they

[gf2bellamy]

Can you write about reader and Spencer’s wedding night and him helping reader take down her hair and wash off her makeup and take off her dress. And reader and Spencer being goofy and practicing calling each other husband and wife because they’re new titles that they’re so excited to use

wedding night — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: reader saying she's suffocating in her dress?😭 a/n: i hope i did your request justice !! <3 i hope you like it <333 ( i wanna be married to spencer so bad oh my god )

You stood behind Spencer, your fingers resting lightly against his back as you waited—not so patiently—for him to unlock the hotel room door. 

“Hurry up,” you huffed, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “I need to get out of this tight dress.” 

Spencer fumbled slightly with the keycard, mumbling something under his breath that you didn’t quite catch.

Finally, the lock clicked, and he pushed the door open, stepping aside to let you in first. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the bedside lamps casting a warm ambiance over the space. Rose petals were scattered across the bed—a sweet surprise you hadn't expected—and the faint scent of vanilla lingered in the air. 

You barely had time to take it all in before Spencer turned to you, his eyes sweeping over you with the kind of admiration that made your breath catch. 

“You look beautiful,” he said softly. 

Something in the way he said it made your heart melt. It wasn’t just a compliment—it was a statement filled with pure admiration, as if he still couldn’t quite believe you were his. 

You smiled, warmth spreading through your chest. “Thank you, Spencer.” 

But then you let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “But you’re going to have to appreciate my beauty without it now because I’m about to suffocate in this dress.” 

You turned around, exposing the intricate lacework of the back, and pulled your hair to one side.

There was a brief pause before you felt his fingers graze the zipper at the top of your dress. His touch was featherlight, almost hesitant, and the warmth of his hands sent a shiver down your spine. 

He took his time, carefully pulling the zipper down inch by inch, revealing the bare skin of your back. His fingers brushed against you ever so slightly, and despite the fact that you had been with him for years—had just married him today—his touch still made you shiver. 

Spencer let out a quiet breath, and you swore you could feel the warmth of it against your shoulder. 

“You have no idea how breathtaking you are,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Your heart skipped a beat. 

You turned your head slightly, catching his reflection in the mirror across the room. His gaze wasn’t just admiring—it was adoring. Like he was seeing you for the first time all over again. 

A soft smile tugged at your lips as you reached back, taking one of his hands in yours. “I think I do,” you said, squeezing his fingers gently. “Because you always make me feel that way.” 

Spencer exhaled softly, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder, his lips lingering there for a moment. 

You smiled softly, the warmth of the moment still lingering between you and Spencer. But as the cool air hit your back from the half-open zipper, reality set in—you needed to get out of this dress completely and into something comfortable. 

Your eyes flickered around the room, searching for your bags. “Where did Penelope put our stuff?” you murmured, more to yourself than to Spencer. 

You were practically dreaming of slipping into one of his shirts—something soft, loose, and big enough to drown you in warmth. The thought alone made you sigh in relief. 

Spencer, still standing behind you, let his hand drop from your back, his fingers briefly brushing against your skin before he turned to scan the room. It didn’t take long for him to spot the neatly placed bags by the bed, courtesy of Penelope’s insistence on handling every little detail. 

Without a word, he walked over, unzipping one of the suitcases and pulling out a familiar button-down shirt. He held it out to you, his fingers lightly gripping the fabric. “Here,” he said softly, his gaze meeting yours. 

You smiled, taking it from him, your fingers brushing briefly. As he turned away to shrug off his suit jacket, you wasted no time in stepping out of the gown. The heavy fabric pooled at your feet, and you sighed in relief as the pressure around your torso was finally gone. 

Slipping Spencer’s shirt over your head, you felt instant comfort. It smelled like him—clean, warm, and familiar. The fabric hung loosely over your frame, the sleeves falling just past your wrists. You buttoned it up halfway before rolling the cuffs slightly, already feeling cozier than you had all night. 

By the time you turned back around, Spencer was standing near the dresser, unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves. 

You couldn’t help but admire him for a second—how even after all these years, just looking at him could send warmth fluttering through your chest. 

Spencer glanced up just in time to catch you staring, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. “You look good in my shirt,” he murmured, his voice softer than before. 

You grinned, hugging yourself slightly as you rocked on your heels. “I love your shirts. I think I might steal this one permanently.” 

You turned away from Spencer with a smile, heading into the bathroom. The moment you stepped inside, your eyes widened in pure awe. 

“Wow,” you breathed out, staring at the luxurious space in front of you. 

Spencer, hearing your reaction, quickly pulled on something more comfortable before following you inside. “What—” He stopped mid-sentence, his eyebrows raising slightly as he took in the enormous bathroom. 

The walls were lined with elegant marble, a massive soaking tub sat in one corner, and a glass-enclosed rain shower took up nearly half the space. But what really caught your attention was the mirror—the biggest bathroom mirror you had ever seen. 

“I have never seen a bathroom this big,” you marveled, still taking it all in. 

Spencer chuckled softly behind you. “I think this is bigger than my first apartment.” 

Your gaze shifted to the countertop, and your heart swelled at what you saw. Lined up neatly beside the sink were a variety of makeup removers, cotton pads, and skincare essentials—things you hadn’t packed. 

“Oh my God,” you sighed happily, pressing a hand to your chest. “The girls are angels.” 

Penelope, JJ, and Emily must have planned this—always looking out for you, always making sure you had everything you needed. It was such a small gesture, yet it made you feel so loved. 

You reached for one of the makeup removers, ready to start wiping away the remnants of the long day, but before you could, Spencer stepped closer. 

“Let me help you,” he murmured, gently taking the bottle from your hands. 

You blinked up at him, a little surprised, but you didn’t protest. Instead, you let out a soft hum, leaning back slightly against the counter as he got to work. 

Spencer carefully poured the remover onto a cotton pad, then reached up, his fingers grazing your jaw as he began to wipe away the makeup with slow, featherlight strokes. 

His touch was so delicate—as if he was handling something rare and precious. His gaze was focused, brows slightly furrowed in concentration, and the warmth of his fingertips against your skin sent tiny shivers down your spine. 

You couldn’t help the soft smile that crept onto your lips. 

“Spencer?” you murmured. 

His eyes flickered to yours, pausing his movements slightly. “Hmm?” 

A grin tugged at your lips as you stared at him, really stared at him. The man standing in front of you—the man who was so impossibly brilliant, kind, and completely yours. 

“You know you’re my husband now?” you said, a teasing lilt in your voice as you grinned at the word. 

Spencer’s lips twitched into a small, almost shy smile. He resumed his gentle strokes, wiping away the last traces of your makeup before whispering, “Yes.” 

He tilted his head slightly, his thumb brushing over your cheek in the softest caress. 

“And you’re my wife now,” he murmured. 

Your heart melted. 

Hearing that word from him—knowing that it was real, that you were truly his and he was yours—made you want to throw your arms around him and never let go. 

You bit your lip, happiness bubbling up inside you like an uncontrollable wave. “Say it again,” you whispered. 

Spencer let out a soft chuckle, his hands still cradling your face. He leaned in, pressing the lightest of kisses to your forehead before whispering against your skin: 

“My wife.” 

Your stomach fluttered, and you grinned at the sound of it. Wife. You were his wife. 

Spencer paused for a moment, his thumb brushing softly over your cheek. Then, without a word, he set the makeup wipe aside and reached up, his fingers finding the pins holding your hair in place. 

You sighed as he carefully pulled them out one by one, loosening the strands from the elaborate style they had been twisted into all day. His fingers worked through your hair, letting it cascade freely around your shoulders. 

When he was done, he ran his hands through it gently, smoothing it out before tucking a stray piece behind your ear. 

“There,” he murmured, his voice laced with something deep and fond. “Perfect.” 

You met his gaze, your heart swelling at the sight of him—of you together, standing in this quiet moment as husband and wife. 

Spencer’s arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer against him. You let your hands rest on his back, leaning into his warmth. 

“I think I could get used to this,” you whispered. 

Spencer pressed a soft kiss to your temple, his embrace tightening slightly. “Me too,” he murmured. “For the rest of my life.”