#Wedding Invitation Collection

[llovelymoonn]

favourite poems of july

knar gavin strindberg grey

dahlia ravikovitch the love of an orange (tr. chana bloch)

danez smith summer, somewhere

hannah gamble your invitation to a modest breakfast: “your invitation to a modest breakfast”

claire schwartz lecture on the history of the house

joseph brodsky collected poems in english, 1972-1999: “a part of speech”

ralph angel twice removed: “alpine wedding”

bob hicok insomnia diary: “spirit ditty of no fax-line dial tone”

caleb klaces language is her caravan

philip good & bernadette mayer alternating lunes

hester knibbe light-years (tr. jacquelyn pope)

tracy k. smith life on mars: “the universe as primal scream”

rigoberto gonzález other fugitives and other strangers: “the strangers who find me in the woods”

stephen edgar murray dreaming

james schuyler other flowers: uncollected poems: “light night”

amy beeder because our waiters are hopeless romantics

diane seuss backyard song

tomás q. morín love train

safiya sinclair the art of unselfing

carol muske-dukes skylight: “the invention of cuisine”

peter gizzi the outernationale: “vincent, homesick for the land of pictures”

william matthews selected poems and translations, 1969-1991: “onions”

c.k. williams butcher

mark mccloskey the smell of the woods

jennifer chang the age of unreason

richard blanco city of a hundred fires: “contemplations at the virgin de la caridad cafeteria, inc.”

bob hicock the pregnancy of words

j. allyn rosser impromptu 

carl phillips then the war

stephanie young ursula or university: “essay”

gloria e. anzaldúa the new speakers

kofi

[noirandchocolate]

Since it literally is (my) Master Kohga's Ascension Day today, thought I'd do up a headcanon post about this very important Yiga Clan celebration!

Ascension Day marks the day when the current Master officially took the position. It can be any day of the year, since of course a Master can die (or be ousted, rarely) any time and their Heir (or other successor) could complete their trials any time after that. Current Kohga's day being the first day of Spring in Hyrule is a pure coincidence. (I SWEAR I will tell my Hyrule calendar headcanons someday!)

It's called "Ascension" Day, and a new person taking up the mantle of Master is referred to as "ascending,” for the same reason the Master position is associated with firebirds as I've previously stated. The Clan practices cremation as a funerary rite and there is always a successor one way or another. From the ashes of one comes the next. (Kohga declaring "From my handsome ashes we will rise again!" when you defeat him in AoC and calling himself "The strong! The Depths-defying! From the ashes rising!" in TotK are allusions to this/the basis for this headcanon. He's so dramatic.)

This is THE event for the Clan every year. They have plenty of other festivals, to mark the seasons and for remembering ancestors for example, but Ascension Day is THE THING. Which means everybody's involved, everybody attends unless it's absolutely impossible (such as being on a mission where you literally cannot safely leave in time to get back to the Valley or be gone long enough to make the trip). It's not that you'll get in trouble for missing it or anything. It's just...it's very important to them.

The occasion begins in the late morning with a ceremony wherein the Master restates their oath to lead and protect their people, and everyone in their sixteenth year or older makes or remakes their own pledge to serve the Clan under the Master and work for the good and goals of the Yiga. There are also prayers to the ancestors for the health and well-being of the Master and the safety of the whole group. This is the serious part of the day.

Particularly on a brand-new Master's very first Ascension Day, where they actually become Master Kohga, this is a solemn rite. This is when the Heir/successor first dons their new uniform and trades their old mask for the Master's style. After this moment, their name is Master Kohga. They make their first oath, and take on all the responsibility and duty that being Master entails. And it marks the transfer of the other Yiga's loyalty onto this new individual. Plus, after all... As much as becoming Master is something to be proud of, this first day especially is a reminder of what is very very often the loss of a parent or other family member.

But then, once that serious part is over... It's time for a big celebration! THE BIGGEST part of which is...THE GLORIOUS PRESENTATION OF THE MASTER'S MIGHTY DEEDS!! This is a play! Commemorating--you guessed it--the current Master's great actions since their ascension! And also historic deeds of previous Masters Kohga! The particularly amazing stories get repeated a lot--at least one prior Master's scene is chosen to be performed each year, depending on how many very memorable things the current Master has done that need to be included. Always, all Masters being depicted are portrayed by the current one. (They play themself and any other Master, in other words, depending on the scene.)

A Master's first Ascension Day marks the final time an entire Presentation is done to specifically honor and feature their immediate predecessor. As in, when Best Guy Kohga ascended, he performed as his father, showcasing all Daddy Kohga's most important moments as Master, before switching to act as himself for the final scenes, depicting a montage of his own trials to take the reins of the Clan. Some of his dad's scenes might be chosen to be performed in the future, but that's the last time it was all about him. The same went for Dad portraying his mother at his own first Ascension Day, and Nana portraying her father. And on and on down the ages since this tradition of a Presentation began, several thousand years ago. This is, of course, a bittersweet and deeply meaningful thing for most new Masters, to have the honor of embodying their beloved family member (or friend or mentor, etc.) on stage.

The play features very dramatic and stylized acting, and big ornate over the top costumes. Some actors will magically disguise themselves as the characters they play, and are able to perform multiple roles in the same year very seamlessly using this technique. Others will use practical costuming and masks to become monsters and vivid makeup to enhance their Looks as various characters (to be seen well by the whole audience!).

(The Presentation is not quite in the exact same acting style as real-world kabuki theater, but the Clan having associations in their designs from this art form is the basis for this headcanon. The use of popular and famous scenes featuring favorite characters/dramatized people from history, and big roles being handed down through families, are also traditions in kabuki. However unlike in kabuki, participation isn't restricted to men and the acting is a bit more natural even if it is still pretty bombastic at times. Among other differences.)

The selection of scenes and writing of new ones is a job undertaken by the Clan's historians and chroniclers, who are responsible for keeping track of Masters' deeds as they occur, plus their mannerisms, personalities, and similar things that will help future actors to portray them. Of course, the Master themself will usually assist with developing new scenes. Current Kohga, being a rather theatrical and artsy guy, definitely gets involved with writing his own lines a lot. <3

The Presentation is performed outdoors, in the area by the chasm like most of the Clan's big festivals are, with a stage moved out in pieces and put together each year for the purpose. There are appropriate sets that can be quite impressive, from nature scenes to town streets to mountains etc.!

There are also big puppets used to portray larger monsters like Molduga--always a favorite target since slaying one solo is one of the trials to become Master--and creatures like dragons. Multiple people (often Blademasters for the largest of these) will work together to move these about the stage. Some of them are covered in paper and are lit up like lanterns from inside to create a glowing effect. The Yiga are quite good at special effects and illusions to really entertain!

The biggest and most impressive of these half-mechanical, half-lantern constructions is one portraying Calamity Ganon itself, which always makes an appearance amid sparkler fireworks and malice-colored fog. This is usually the very last scene in a year's Presentation, to end on a reaffirmation of the Clan's hopes that the monstrosity will destroy the Royal Family and kingdom, achieving the vengeance the Yiga have striven for. Of course, in my post-Calamity AoC-verse, at the first Ascension Day since the Clan abandoned and helped defeat Ganon...that scene was changed quite a bit to put it mildly.

Indeed, that special Ascension Day also marked the first time the Clan EVER opened its doors to a large group of outsiders, namely the Champions, Princess, their respective retinues, and some prominent Sheikah, and it was done to allow these people to view the Presentation and take part in the party times afterward. This was Sooga's idea, meant both as a gesture to augment trust from the Clan's new allies/trading partners, and as a demonstration that the Clan are a living, breathing culture unto themselves with a rich history and traditions. Kohga readily agreed, and also thought that perhaps bringing these people to the Complex would also help the Yiga, too, to accept the unprecedented alliance he'd forged beyond what was strictly necessary to defeat Ganon (which obviously went against a huge amount of what the Clan had always stood for--Koh was concerned that he'd be seen as a traitor by at least some of the Yiga/his ancestors despite his clear motive to keep everyone safer and avenge their fallen, but...his instincts proved correct and he's been almost universally lauded as a hero to his people for doing what he did).

That said, the Clan ended up having a lot of fun hosting and showing off with their pyrotechnics and spot-on impersonations of their most famous guests. Urbosa reportedly got a real kick out of seeing Kohga perform as an over-the-top version of herself in the scene depicting his Of Course Very Ingenious infiltration into Gerudo Town. The actors playing Link and Zelda were among the first to approach their characters' real-life counterparts after the show, too, and to invite them into a dancing circle...

Because post-Presentation, there's some time for cleanup and outfit changes before a HUGE PARTY commences back outside! Food! Dancing! Music (often led by Kohga on two shamisen if he's feeling feisty)! A bonfire! Poetry competitions! Drinking! Games! (Yeah you might remember this sounding similar to my post about the after-party at marriage ceremonies...the Clan does parties RIGHT.)

These kinds of festivals are all about bonding among the Yiga, and Ascension Day is a prime example of this. Gathering around the fire with friends and family groups to shout more calls to past Masters one particularly admires or remembers fondly is something particular to this occasion. It's all about Master Kohga on Ascension Day...but that means it's all about the whole Clan, since the Master's role is equally to serve as it is to be served. <3

[unopenablebox]

im making a wedding guest list in order to. uh. destress. from work anxiety. (we are not officially engaged yet in that we are waiting for our rings to arrive sometime this month and also do not even a little have a wedding date and have not figured out a budget yet. so it's a very stupid exercise. but. i can do whatever i want)

anyway im beginning to worry that i only have two friends? i suppose it's actually good because that will cost less but possibly i have some kind of disease or condition

[jclovely]

THE BEST IS YET TO COME...📯👑🕎✝️🕊🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏📯

FOR THOSE WAITING FOR A MIRACLE, PRAY AND HAVE FAITH, THE LORD SEES AND HEARS AND COLLECTS ALL YOUR TEARS.

LAST NIGHT PRAYER MEETING WITH PASTOR JD FARAG, SUCH A NEW REVELATION ON THE FIRST MIRACLE OF OUR LORD JESUS CHRIST. LISTEN AND BE ENCOURAGED.

JOHN CHAPTER 2

Water Turned to Wine

2 On the third day there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there. 

2 Now both Jesus and His disciples were invited to the wedding. 

3 And when they ran out of wine, the mother of Jesus said to Him, “They have no wine.”

4 Jesus said to her, “Woman, what does your concern have to do with Me? My hour has not yet come.”

5 His mother said to the servants, “Whatever He says to you, do it.”

6 Now there were set there six waterpots of stone, according to the manner of purification of the Jews, containing twenty or thirty gallons a piece. 

7 Jesus said to them, “Fill the waterpots with water.” And they filled them up to the brim. 

8 And He said to them, “Draw some out now, and take it to the master of the feast.” And they took it. 

9 When the master of the feast had tasted the water that was made wine, and did not know where it came from (but the servants who had drawn the water knew), the master of the feast called the bridegroom. 

10 And he said to him, “Every man at the beginning sets out the good wine, and when the guests have well drunk, then the inferior. You have kept the good wine until now!”

11 This is the beginning of the signs Jesus did in Cana of Galilee, and manifested His glory; and His disciples believed in Him.

MORE ON THE MIRACLE IN CANA......WATER HAS A CLEANSING, THE LORD IS THE LIVING WATER OF LIFE ALSO WHY 6 POTS????? 6 REPRESENTING THE SITXH DAY WHEN MANKIND WAS CREATED AND WHY 30 GALLONS A PIECE, REMEMBER FOR OUR REDEMPTION FROM SIN, THE LORD JESUS CHRIST WAS SOLD FOR 30 PIECES OF SILVER AND WHY THE FIRST MIRACLE IS AT THE WEDDING IN CANA???? BECAUSE WE ARE INVITED TO THE LAST WEDDING MIRACLE IN HUMAN HISTORY, THE MARRIAGE OF THE LAMB OF GOD WITH HIS BRIDE THE CHURCH OF BELIEVERS IN HIM.

ALSO DO NOTICE....

According to the Bible, the first city conquered by the Israelites was Jericho, which was located in Canaan. This event is described in the Book of Joshua.

CANA a derivative of CANAAN. NO COUNCIDENCES WITH THE LORD THE FIRST WILL BE LAST AND THE LAST WILL BE FIRST.

MARANATHA

📯👑📯

🇮🇱👑🙏

🙏💖🌺🦋🕎✝️👑🇮🇱🕊📯🪔🧡

[vampireknitting]

Why must project give anxiety?

[double-dare-designs]

New Wedding Collection

Tri-Fold Invitation

https://www.zazzle.com/z/ajbkz3vs?rf=238828267405258083

[sasyallgraphics]

**🌸 Unveiling the Magic: Zazzle Wedding Invitations 🌸**

*Dear Brides-to-Be,*

So, you've found your lobster, your partner in crime, your forever dance partner. The stars have aligned, and you're ready to shout from the rooftops, "We're getting hitched!" But wait, there's a tiny detail—the wedding invitations. Fear not, my lovelies! Zazzle is here to sprinkle some fairy dust on your paper dreams. 💌✨

*1. The Countdown Begins: When to Choose Your Design**

Picture this: You, in a sun-drenched room, sipping chamomile tea, surrounded by wedding magazines and Pinterest boards. The clock is ticking, and you're about to embark on the grand quest for the perfect wedding invitations. Fear not, for Zazzle has your back! 🕰️🌼

*Timeline Tango*: Experts say to send invites 2-4 months before the big day (earlier if it's a destination wedding or during peak season). So, channel your inner Hermione Granger and choose your design 4-8 months in advance. Trust me, it's like planting a seed that'll bloom into a floral wonderland. 🌷🌿

*Sample Extravaganza*: Zazzle lets you order samples—yes, multiples!—to touch, feel, and swoon over. It's like speed dating for invitations. Swipe right on the one that makes your heart skip a beat! 💖

*2. The Palette of Love: Picking Colors and Themes**

Close your eyes. Imagine your wedding day. Is it a boho garden affair? A glam soirée? Or perhaps a rustic barn dance? Your invitations are the opening act, the teaser trailer. So, let's talk colors and themes:

*Color Crush*: Start with a couple of hues you adore. Maybe it's blush pink and sage green (hello, springtime romance!). Research how these colors can weave through your day—flowers, bridesmaid dresses, cocktails. Zazzle's got all the palettes, from vintage chic to beachy vibes. 🎨🌸

*Theme Park*: Are you a glam goddess or a barefoot bohemian? Zazzle's theme options are like a treasure chest: classic, rustic, whimsical, you name it. Your invites whisper, "Hey, guests, get ready for the magic!" 🌙🌟

*3. DIY Diva: Design Your Own Invitations*

Feeling artsy? Zazzle's design tool is your enchanted wand. Wave it, and voilà! Here are some tips for your DIY masterpiece:

*The 5 W's*: Who, What, Where, When, Why. Answer them like a pro. "Dear beloved unicorns, join us under the moon for cake and cosmic dances!" 🦄🌙

*Minimalism Magic*: Keep it clean, darling. Only the essentials. If you've got more to spill, create a wedding website or an extra card. Less is more, like a unicorn's wink. 😉✨

*Font Finesse*: Two fonts—elegant script and a simple one for details. It's like pairing your favorite shoes with a killer dress. Flawless! 👠👗

*4. The Grand Reveal: Your Invitations Shine**

As you hold those invites, remember—they're more than paper. They're whispers of love, promises of dance floors, and confetti-filled dreams. Your guests will feel it too. 🌿💕

So, my fellow daydreamers, let's twirl in moonlight, sip stardust, and raise our glasses to love. Zazzle's got your back, and your invitations? They're the opening chords of your love song. 🎶🌸

Visit my Zazzle store for invitations and stationery:

https://www.zazzle.com/store/sasyall

https://www.zazzle.com/collections/shabby_chic_pastel_wood_wedding-119996398837755678

https://www.zazzle.com/collections/goth_floral_teal_and_gold_wedding-119036376582860379

https://www.zazzle.com/collections/goth_black_and_gold_wedding-119720493130624874

[randomfusilier]

me: collecting baseball cards

friends and family: but you hate baseball, you will talk at length about how much you dislike baseball, the concept, the rules, everything

me:

[lesmana-enterprise-ltd]

Almanara Castle, Historical Landmark in Tatrosa | Museum and Wedding Venue (NO CC)

The Almanara Castle (Also known as "Almanara Al-Tartos", or "Alcazar of Tartosa")

Almanara Castle, once part of the grand Qasr Al-Zayl al-Tartos, was the last refuge of Emir Jabar Al-Tartozi II before the fall of the Emirate of Tartosa in 1497. Spared after the siege, it later became a royal villa and was declared a cultural heritage site in 1876. Now a museum and wedding venue, Almanara offers a glimpse into Tartosa’s past with stunning coastal views.

Lesmana Enterprise led the restoration efforts after the 2021 Tartosa earthquake which damaged the castle, restoring it to its former glory.

The Last of its Kind in Tartosa

This picturesque castle was built in the late 14th century during the early years of the Tartosan Emirate rule by Al-Simhara sulanate engineers.

Its arabesque-moorish architecture is a reminder of a much more different, by-gone era of Tartosa's deep history.

Well Preserved, As if it was Built Yesterday

Our team of highly skilled engineers, historians, craftspeople, and archeologists ensures that the Almanara Castle retains its charm for centuries to come.

From intricate archway designs, geometric tileworks, centuries-old plasters, to water features that had worked for the past 600 years without the use of eletricity, we made sure visitors would experience Almanara Castle the way the Emirs of Tartosa and his royal court had experienced it centuries ago.

The Hall of Jenane

During the rule of Emir Hamid I (AD 1401-1429), Almanara Castle was repurposed as a private quarter of his daughter Amirah Jenane Al-Munr, who added more geometric tilework to the castle, adorned in her favorite azure and tosca colors to every edge of the estate.

In 1415, Amirah Jenane had her wedding in this very hall, where dignitaries from neighboring kingdoms like Kingdom of Windenburg, Grand Duchy of Champ-les-sims, and even norther simlandic kingdoms were invited to attend.

Today, the hall of Jenane becomes an exhibition hall that displays the collections of Amirah Jenane, where centuries-old potteries from different parts of the world can be seen, showing the Amirah's love for future generations who visits the castle.

Also, just like Amirah Jenane, you can experience becoming an Emirate royal by having your wedding in this hall too, by arranging the dates from the Museum's website.

The Emir's Exhibition

On the second floor of the main keep, you can find an exhibition of the Emir Jabar II's personal belongings such as weapons, books, and tapestries.

Pieces like the Emir's silver sword crafted by a Ravenwood master blacksmith, or the Emir's Gunpowder-powered broom crafted by a Glimmerbrook 15th century famed gunsmith-warlock is diplayed in this room.

The Azure Sanctum

In the castle's subterrane, is a breathtaking hall called the "Azure Sanctum", a hall with and endless arrangement of pillars and arches adorned in the finest lazuardi tiles and gemstones, with a fountain that had been running for centuries without the help of electricity.

According to historians' records, the Azure Sanctum used to be a place where the Royals would lounge during the hot Tartosan summer, as this room is proven to be -5 to -7 degrees celcius cooler than the air outside.

Now, the Azure sanctum serves as an exhibition hall for wall decorations and the famed "Scales of righteousness", a golden scale used widely in the Tartosan Emirate's Al-Simharan justice system in the medieval era.

Technical Informations

Packs used

Location

Place Almanara Castle here.

Download via SFS

Almanara Castle (MUSEUM) : Download

Almanara Castle (WEDDING VENUE) : Download

Follow below post to learn more of Almanara Castle's History!.

Sul Sul!,

Lesmana Enteprise Co., Ltd.

[crushmeeren]

༝ ᭝ ༝ ARRANGED MARRIAGE AU — PART ONE ༝ ᭝ ༝

⤷ ⋆ ft. itachi uchiha ⋆

⋆ note ; this was inspired by this post. credit to @majesticflyingwalrus ! sfw! small bit of angst!

⋆ note x 2 ; i believe this is going to have to become a miniseries…. so let’s say this is part one — centered around a small snippet of your connection with Itachi before, your feelings on the day of, and the first year of your marriage.

master list ⤷ ⋆ PART TWO

You’d spoken to your husband maybe a dozen times before you were married.

Before you were thrown headfirst into a life long commitment with someone you could only comfortably consider an acquaintance for the sake of your clan.

Itachi Uchiha is polite. He’s collected, calm, rational. As children, he’d never been rude. He was a quiet boy, heir to the Uchiha clan. Someone who understood what it’s like to carry the weight of being the eldest child and all the responsibilities that accompany it, which you found comfort in.

Your families were close - ish, both high up on the social food chain. Whenever you’d been forced to spend time with him as a kid, he’d sit quietly nearby, working on a puzzle or reading some sort of book. Every now and then he’d invite you to join him and complete a puzzle, which featured pretty pictures of crows quite often, but you never spoke much outside of that.

Those memories you look back on with fondness, peaceful moments in an otherwise stress filled life.

As the years passed, and you reached your early twenties, your families renewed their bond, strengthened it. You remained unmarried, and so did Itachi. Your parents gave you grief over it, and when they brought up an arranged marriage, more than willing to give your hand away to Itachi, it didn’t surprise you. You’d been expecting it.

Itachi’s handsome, you respect him, and he’s kind, so you ignored the sensation of the ocean echoing in your ribcage and sucked it up. For your clan, you went along with the proposal. For your clan, you resigned yourself to a lifetime of loneliness.

Besides, you could do much worse than Itachi, right?

The planning was a breeze, over half the preparations being done for you. Your Mother, and Itachi’s, asked for your input considering certain aspects, but this wedding seemed more about the two of them instead of celebrating your union.

You have no clue if Itachi got a say in anything.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

The day of the wedding you sat alone. Your Mother had been droning on and on about “proper etiquette”, and the “importance of sticking to the itinerary”, when the reality of the situation crashed down on you. Hard.

Your entire body chilled, a rush of icy slush replacing your blood, heart caught in your throat. Sweat beaded on the back of your neck, palms clammy. Once your hands started to shake your Mother stared at you in bewilderment, her questions concerning your health muffled and far away to your ears.

You excused yourself without waiting for permission, locating the nearest vacant room to hide, crouch down, and to breathe.

Through the window you gaze at the small children from both families playing in the field. Jealousy burns hot in your chest at their carefree nature, the little ones living in ignorance and bliss. You squeeze your eyes shut to shake off the dark direction of your mind, allowing their high pitched peals of laughter to afford you a moment of calm. Reaching up you wipe the tears off your cheek with the back of your hand, careful of the delicate makeup that’d taken hours to perfect.

A soft knock on the door startles you, both eyes opening wide. You sniffle once and rise to your feet, smoothing out any wrinkles in your outfit, regaining your composure.

“Come in,” you call out, voice scratchy with the evidence of your recent crying. You clear your throat as the door opens and, to your surprise, it’s Itachi who steps in. The door swings shut behind him, not producing a single sound. Your eyebrows shoot up and Itachi gives you a small, comforting smile.

It’s silent as he walks closer, the air around you somber and achy. He sits down with enviable grace in the chair next to where you stand, patting the seat beside himself in invitation.

“I’m aware this day is…difficult,” he begins. He tilts his head up to meet your gaze, eyes warm and calm. “Your Mother told me you were in here. I wanted to be sure you were okay, so, are you alright?”

You sigh through your nose, resigned, and take a seat. Itachi reaches over and hovers his hand an inch above your knee, hesitant, before making the decision to rest it there. You stare at his hand, the lump in your throat returning, only this time it’s due to the sudden surge of affection swelling for the man.

“I’m doing well, all things considered,” you say light heartedly. You sneak your hand underneath his, thread your fingers together, and lift your head to lock eyes with Itachi, the corner of your mouth curling upwards.

Itachi laughs, and for the first time, you notice the movement crinkles the sides of his eyes. How endearing.

His expression switches to something more sympathetic, tender. “I apologize this has been forced upon you. If it helps, I’m very content with you being the one chosen for me. It’s comforting to me that I’m marrying someone who I’m on friendly terms with.”

“Yes,” you agree, eyes twinkling as his sweet words lift your spirits from the floor. “Although, I have to admit I’m heartbroken to be marrying you instead of Sasuke.”

Itachi’s jaw drops open, eyes going round like saucers before laughter bursts out of you, squeezing his hand tight as he rolls his eyes and joins in with you.

“A pity,” He teases. “I know for a fact my menace of a little brother would be ecstatic to marry someone as wonderful as you,” Itachi says, humming as he pretends to be in thought. “Don’t be surprised to find Sasuke waiting for you at the altar.”

You gasp in fake shock, leaning in to bump his shoulder with yours. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“You’re right, I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The sincerity of the statement leaves you searching for the right response, a small horde of butterflies demanding their presence be known in your belly. Things grow quiet between you once more, the silence comforting rather than awkward while you find your voice. “I am truly grateful that it’s you, Itachi. I doubt I could survive this with someone else.”

Itachi shifts his body to face yours, expression determined and serious. “I promise I’ll do everything in my power to make our life comfortable. Even if our relationship is not romantic, I’m grateful to be on the receiving end of your friendship. We’ll find our rhythm, promise me you won’t give up hope.”

You do promise, even going so far as to lock your pinkies together. Itachi exits first, and you follow his footsteps a few moments later.

When you leave your heart’s lighter than air.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

The first year of your marriage, Itachi lives like he’s your roommate. Nothing more, nothing less.

You sleep in different rooms, you’ve made your home in separate bathrooms, and Itachi keeps busy enough with clan affairs that his appearance throughout the day is sparse. Somehow, dinner happens to be the time you’ve both allotted for the other. It’s not in writing, and you don’t speak about it, yet Itachi joins you nearly every evening to share a meal.

You’ve created quite a comfortable routine for yourself within your new life as Itachi’s wife. That’s all it is though, comfortable. Just as Itachi promised.

Loneliness is your shadow from day one. On your wedding night, you’d harbored a shred of hope that you’d share an intimate night with your new husband. When you’d kissed Itachi in your bedroom, fumbling to undress him, his response was to break the kiss as gently as he could. He declined with a strained smile and manners that never seem to abandon him.

Crying into your pillow, alone, was not what you expected to be on the table.

Itachi sat prim and proper at the table the next morning when you tried to apologize for making him uncomfortable. He assured you that wasn’t the case, but asked that you didn’t bring it up again, as he felt that enough had been pushed onto your shoulders already. He refused to add sex that you wouldn’t enjoy to the list.

You swallowed your pride and respected his wishes, assuming it was his way of letting you down easy and that Itachi had no real desire for you besides that of a simple companion. Yes, the situation was a blow straight to the gut, but you agreed to this life, so did you really have any right to complain?

Ever since, a distance remained between you. Day after day, you took up new hobbies, doing anything to fill the hole in your heart. As ironic as it may seem, you found yourself spending tons of time with Sasuke of all people. As if you did marry him instead.

You’d decided to start going on more walks, eager to explore and appreciate the beauty the Uchiha compound had to offer, and that’s where you discovered Sasuke.

Halfway through the journey you spotted him relaxing on a stone bench, watching koi fish swim circles in the pond, peaceful as you’d ever witnessed him. You’re sure Sasuke heard you approaching, because he was not surprised in the slightest when you took a careful seat next to him.

Quiet small talk about koi fish flowed through the air, and you mentioned your wish to tend to the gardens nearby. Then, on a whim, and before you could regret it, you asked him if he’d be interested in joining you on your daily strolls. The shock must have shown on your face when he accepted, because he snickered in response.

So that’s how you filled out your days. Occupied with different things such as drawing, gardening, baking, and going on walks with Sasuke. It shocked you to the core as you found a friend and confidant in the younger Uchiha.

A month after your one year anniversary with Itachi, you join him for dinner one night. He sits stiff as a board, shoulders tense when you arrive. A quick uptick of his lips becomes your singular greeting after you say hello.

“Is everything alright, Itachi?” You ask, tone weary as you settle down in your spot across from him.

He nods once, a quick jerk of his head. “Of course, I’ve just been meaning to speak with you about something. Before that however, tell me about your day.” Itachi sets his hands in his lap, waiting for your answer with an unreadable expression.

“Oh, well it was fine. Sasuke helped me —,”

“Sasuke?” He interrupts, voice tight.

Your eyebrow raises. “Yes,” you answer slowly. “I’m sure I’ve mentioned before we go on walks together.”

“Oh, yes. You’re right. I fear I’ve been quite forgetful today.” Itachi does seem distracted, which is odd in of itself. You’re certain you’ve discussed your walks with his little brother before and he never had an issue with it. You blink in Itachi’s direction, the atmosphere turning tense and unsettling. You’re able to hear to the crickets chirping outside.

The silence is awkward. “Is there something you needed to tell me?”

Itachi’s brows pinch together, a faint blush appearing on his cheeks. “Forgive me for being so out of it. Yes, something important. I spoke with my Mother and Father today, they’ve informed me the elders have been pressuring them to tell me that I need to fulfill my duty and…,” he pauses to clear his throat, gaze firm. “That you and I need to have a baby, to produce an heir.”

Your stomach drops, body flashing white hot, and your cheeks become hot to the touch within seconds. “Are you serious?”

“I wouldn’t lie.”

You let out an incredulous laugh. Once again you’re smacked in the face with the life you signed up for. If you’re honest, you’d forgotten about having children over the course of the past year. It’s inevitable you suppose, making little Uchiha babies with Itachi, you’re his wife. “No, you wouldn’t.”

Itachi opens his mouth to speak but you hold up a hand to stop him.

“Don’t you dare apologize, Itachi. I knew what I was signing up for when I agreed to be your wife. All I ask is that you be gentle, I’m not so experienced after all,” you try to joke, but it falls flat.

His gaze softens, posture loosening. He remains quiet for a moment, thoughtful. Then guilt appears to be written all over his face. “I’m a virgin as well, so know you’re not alone in this.”

No beating around the bush with Itachi. At least he doesn’t apologize again. “I’ll keep that in mind,” you say, voice soft. You suck in a deep breath, hold it for a few seconds, and let it out slowly, steadying yourself. You’ll find time to spiral over this when you’re alone. “When are we going to start?”

Itachi shoots you a small smile, the same one full of comfort and reassurance he gave you on your wedding day. You hadn’t even realized your shoulders were hiked up with tension until they relax under his gaze. “In order to answer that, I have to ask you another uncomfortable question. When does your next cycle begin?”

⋆ ⋆ should this mini series arranged marriage au continue? lemme know what you think! ⋆ ⋆

[writingwisterias]

Patience is key

ID!Leon Kennedy x AFAB!Reader

Warnings: SMUT, MDNI, Slight Homewrecker Leon, Oral (M receiving), Cheating (not Leon or Reader), Drinking, Penis in Vagina Sex, slight Overstimulation, unprotected sex, aftercare

Felt inspired by @biohazard-4ever post the other day! Click Here. It was only meant to be a drabble and then it turned into a whole oneshot! Hope you enjoy

He knew it was wrong as he watched you argue with him. The evidence of your partner cheating, that he so lovingly collected for you, slapped against the desk as you practically threw it there. He watched as his co-worker stumbled to find the correct words, as he desperately ran through every pathetic excuse he could possibly come up with to keep that ring on your finger. But it was too late. Leon bit his lip to hide the smirk as he heard the metal clatter against the mahogany desk. You stormed off ignoring the looks of his other Co workers, tears escaping your pretty eyes no matter how hard you tried to keep it together.

He didn't need to follow you, he knew where you would end up. Where he knew you craved to be despite your relationship. Leon never missed your cautious touches or lingering looks when you spoke with him; bandaged his wounds. In the past months he found himself lingering towards the medic bay, using his hangovers as excuses to get your soft fingers to caress his forehead as you applied the soothing cream. It was in these moments he felt the tension, the need that rolled off your body. The only evidence he needed to know that dickhead wasn't satisfying you.

Perhaps it was too soon to lean into him, to follow the tug against your soul that called for Leon to be the right person. Maybe it's because in a time period you felt so fragile and broken he made you feel loved. Handing out the small sections of affection you craved with your partner. Leon was cunning, you knew his plans when the only solution to the problem he would offer was for you to separate; to call off the wedding you had excitedly been planning. Yet you didn't stop him, you actually listened to his promises of a better future; without even realizing it was one he wanted to give you. Leon's arm welcomed you, his scent suffocating you further. You didn't want to cry, you couldn't cry; it was done. Your relationship you were building for years over in a flash - perhaps it was over before you shouted at him in the workplace, when he decided to cheat and chose that woman he knew you were jealous of instead. Perhaps it was over when you looked into Leon's eyes and he took the flask back. The whiskey warmed your system against the cold, his body making you feel fuzzy.

Leon didn't have to follow you out because you would end up back to him again. Looking up at him with your pretty tearful eyes as you begged him for comfort. So he could sooth your forehead from those deadly thoughts of worthlessness that would begin to claim your mind now he had admitted it. He finally let his smirk free when his phone chimed;

Usual spot?'

You didn't need his reply to know he would show up, you wiped your eyes with your sleeves ignoring the makeup that stained your jumper. You were to look like a mess right now as you sat at the bench. Your fingers craving something to hold onto as you felt like you were drowning, praying for the world to give you a happy ending for once. Leon's aftershave filled your nose as he sat down, the musky scent overpowering the saltiness of the pier. He was highlighted by the setting sun, giving his skin a warm orange glow as he looked at you. His confidence was dangerous, his smirk just as deadly when he looked at you. Leon was always a secret desire, a curse that you didn't meet before you wasted your time with the idiot that claimed to love you. His hip flask was cold against your hand as he pulled it from his jacket, handing it over as a silent invitation. He already knew what happened, he had swooped in over your rants and fear of your partner's infidelity when you accidentally let it slip when you tended to him again. So he began to help to the point of handing you the evidence.

There was no reason for you to reject him now; you were technically a free woman. Leon was waiting for your move, to tell him yes or no with your body language. "Do you want to go somewhere else?" His voice rumbled throughout your body from where you were laying against his side. The chill of the bench now bit against the fabric that covered your legs. "Please" you meekly responded. You allowed him to lead you away, to follow him towards his bike. You wrapped your arms around him, tugging your body close to his as you trusted him to take you away; to follow him in a new life.

His apartment wasn't anything new, you had shared many moments on the couch you were now perched upon, wrapped in the jumper he always preserved for you in the wardrobe. The glasses clinked on the coasters as he set them down, the whiskey bottle soon after as he filled the glasses with the amber liquid. The TV was quiet in the background of the room, the reality TV show providing entertainment neither of you were interested in. Leon's fingers itched to touch you, to tangle them in your hair as he tugged you close to his body. He was so close to succeeding his goal, to having you instead of that petty excuse of a man. You tried to focus on the TV and not the shift in his thighs or the way his fingers clenched against them. His jeans were tight around his crotch his bulge prominent and he wasn't even hard. You wanted to tease him, to be the reason his jeans became uncomfortably hard but it was too soon wasn't it? Would it make you just as bad as your partner? You were sure he would just go crawling on her arms now he had the freedom to do so. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad that you did the same.

Leon could feel your gaze, the intensity of it as he turned to meet. His eyes darkened as he peered at the lust that now glazed over your own. It was instinct that he leaned in capturing your lips with his in a clash of passion. He didn't care he was so eager to help you dump your ex, practically feeling giddy when he took those photos when he caught him in the act. All of it was worth it for you. To taste the hint of whiskey on your lips, to smell his aftershave and wash powder faintly on his hoodie that swamped you. His touch was needy, sliding under the item of clothing touching the skin of your waist. He towered over you, sinking you back into the fabric of the sofa. Leon's hips thrusted against you; the jeans providing friction to his actions. You could feel his need already, the bulge now prominent with the exact thing you craved.

His fingers paused at the clasp of your bra silently waiting for your permission. You knew if you didn't want this he would move, forget this happened and wait but he didn't have to do that because he caught the small nod of your head. A low chuckle leaving his lips as the smirk finally leaked onto his face. His body was too inviting, made you feel too special as he freed your tits from the bra. His finger instantly rolls over your pebbled nipples causing small whines to leave your lips. He swallowed them, drowning in the small heaves your body gave off as you lifted your chest towards his fingers with each breath. His stubble tickled your neck as he sucked on the skin there. You finally tugged on the strands of his hair bringing him close to you. His nose dug against the pulse point of your neck as his teeth nibbled leaving small marks. Claiming you as his finally.

Your hands reach to pull your pants and underwear away, attempting to shimmy the fabric away a difficult task with how he was pressed against you. Leon pulled back helping you, admiring how desperate you were to be treated right. He began to work on his own trousers, his cock springing free from his restraints. You admired it as he took off his shirt, you wanted to taste the beads of pre cum that dribbled from his tip. Leon sighed when he felt your kitten licks, his thrusted forward forcing his cock to enter the warmth of your mouth accidentally. He wanted to apologize until he heard your moan. The sound vibrates around his length like the expensive flesh light he has tucked away in his bedside table.

You were forgiving, taking his length as best you could whilst you ground yourself against the couch. You knew you looked pathetic, like some horny dog beneath him yet when you looked at him beneath your lashes he looked at you lovingly. Like he enjoyed how much you were pleasuring yourself instead of looking at you like you were providing a service or taking too long. His hand stroked the soft strands of your hair as he urged you to take more of him smiling as he felt you gag around him. "I don't want to do it like this princess, as nice as it feels" he whispered, almost pleading. You released him a line of dribble and pre cum following you.

You reached your hands at the hem of the jumper, ready to display your breasts for you but he stopped you. His hands pulling yours away pinning them above your head. "Don't you want to see them?" You whispered, confusion pinching at your brows. His hair fell over his face as he shook his head, "And miss the chance of fucking you in this jumper? The jumper I keep just for you to wear one-day as a proud display of being mine?"

His words sent heat to pool in your lower stomach, your clit throbbing with need and desperation of friction...pleasure. And who was Leon to deny you? To prevent you from feeling what a real man's love is, what a genuine orgasm is. So he began to work, one hand slithering down as he distracted you with a heated kiss. You gasped against his lips as he began to circle your clit, occasionally brushing over the sensitive nerve. He smiled as your hips followed his movements desperately trying to chase the pleasure that flooded your system. His mouth released yours allowing you whines and quick pants fill the room. He could feel his cock twitching the more the thought about your fold welcoming him. He slid his hand between your folds groaning at the arousal that had begun to leak against his couch.

He pulled his hand away, swallowing your whine with another kiss as he pushed himself into your warmth. He let out a deep groan as he bottomed out, feeling you clench around him. Leon was larger than your ex, stretching you more than he ever did. His balls thumbed against your ass as he began to move. His hands finally pulled away from your wrists, his thighs shimming under yours. His hands gripped at yours almost bruising the flesh as he started to move. You watched his eyes close as his mouth parted. For some reason you never expected him to be so vocal but the sounds were welcome.

You felt bad comparing him to your ex, comparing how much better he touched you, how possessive he was over you. You could feel the dull throb of the marks that littered your neck, your body covered in a light sheen of sweat from the heat his jumper was trapping. His thrusts quickened as he focused on drawing an orgasm out of you, his eyes pinning you in place as he watched your face contort in pleasure. He loved this. So thankful he did what he did to get it, it was his little secret gathering the evidence, pointing him in the direction of a coworker he knew the pathetic man wouldn't be able to resist.

He knew you were the one, no matter how persistent he was to treat you right before he formed his plan you rejected him and now you were here. Panting beautifully getting lost in the pleasure his cock was giving you. Your walls clenched tightly around him signalling you were close. So he worked faster. His pace was unforgiving, your toes curled against his waist as you wrapped your legs around him. Your nails scraped the skin on his forearms. "Please....please...leon- so close" you panted, chest heaving. He smirked angling his hips higher at the request. His fingers toying with the ball of nerves. Finally you broke, becoming limp in his arms as your orgasm shattered through you.

He followed through, working towards his own as he felt you gush around him. It didn't take long as the balls tightened. "Where?" He groaned trying to hold back waiting for your reply. You blinked at him smiling as you tried to process his words. "Princess...please..where?" He grunted. His fingers tapped your cheek bringing your attention back to him. "Inside..." You stuttered. You smiled as you felt his warmth flood through you. His load shooting so deep inside you, filling you with his essence. Leon's hips shuddered, his head falling against your shoulder as he savoured the feeling.

When he pulled his softened cock out he immediately began to find a cloth or tissue. You watched his naked form roam around his house. You admired him, appreciate his aftercare was to take care of you as you laid dazed on his couch before even dressing himself. Your form highlighted from the TV lights. His touch was soft and gentle as he cleaned you. Pulling on your underwear before his own. When he returned to the couch, sinking into the soft cushions he pulled you into his arms, enjoying how this felt as he draped a throw over the two of you. He kissed the crown of your head watching you as your eyes fluttered close. In this moment he promised not to mess up this chance, to finally have someone to care for, to live for. Even if he did do unconventional methods to obtain you, but that was his little secret.

[formulaforza]

— caught in a blue summ. but to love her is to need her everywhere (a gentle kind of love) charles x fem reader, wc 4.1k ish, no warnings, no y/n! fueled by one single praise from @silverstonesainz

You’re three paragraphs into an all-too-lengthy work email when he sits down in the chair next to you silently, one elbow on the sage green tablecloth. He sits in the chair sideways, something you can both see and feel, even without looking away from your phone screen. His presence is accompanied by the gentle thud of two heavy glasses. 

You look over briefly—long enough to suggest to him that his presence is mildly perturbing—and then return your attention to the email. You can hardly concentrate over the jazz band in the corner of the hall, rotating through their collection of love songs sung in different romance languages, and now a strange man has set up camp next to you, only further reminding you why you shouldn’t be responding to emails when you’re out of office. 

“Hi,” he says, after more seconds of silence. 

You finish your email before you give him the time of day. “Hi,” you smile, soft but forced. “Who are you?”

“Charles,” He smiles, holding his hand out to shake yours. You stare at his waiting hand until he takes it away. “Nice to meet you,” he laughs, moving one of the drinks closer to you. “For you. White Negroni. Céline told me it’s your drink.”

You give him a sideways glance before looking past him, scanning the reception hall for your friend. She should stand out in her bridesmaid dress. The wedding invite had specifically requested guests to follow a color code, and nobody was wearing that shade besides the bridesmaids. Your eyes finally land on her, glass of champagne in her hand, long blonde hair falling over her shoulders, leaning over to whisper something to the groom—her brother. No doubt the two of them conspiring, a theory only proved when Mathéo’s eyes land on yours from across the room. You roll your eyes. 

“How do you know Céline?” you ask, as if half the guests here tonight aren’t related to her. 

“I went to school with Mathéo,” he says, and you nod slowly, confusion growing, curiosity peaked. “I suppose technically I went to school with Céline as well.”

“I went to school with Céline,” you say, and Charles furrows his brows. 

“Are you sure?” He asks, and you laugh softly, picking up the drink he’d offered, pulling the garnish off the lip of the glass and dropping it on top of the ice. “I’m serious!” He says, matching your laugh, taking a sip of his drink. “Because I would remember you. And I do not remember you.”

“I’m sure,” you shake your head, bringing the glass to your lips. “Lycée. Première.”

Charles nods. “That is why. I was graduated by then.”

Someone laughs so loud at the next table over that it steals both of your attention. It’s the mother-of-the-bride, and she's visibly drunk in a way that only a divorced French socialite can manage. The sudden attention tones her down, and the room is once again filled with wealthy laughter and crisp clinking crystal glasses. 

You love weddings. You love this wedding; the delicate scent of blooming lavender, the smoked salmon canapés and delicate foie gras pâté that sit half-eaten at most of the tables, the perfectly chilled glasses of champagne waiting to be toasted, and the sun. The golden sun that casts itself across the terraces and into the tall windows, painting the dancing figures in golden hues. 

And then he’s speaking again, and you look back at him, and the sun casts a warm shadow through his brown hair that you're noticing for the first time. “Parles-tu français?” he asks. 

You wince, tilting your head to the side, holding up two fingers pinched together. “Un petit peu. Je suis grec,” you explain, pulling your hair around to drape over one shoulder. 

“Ah,” he says. “How do you say, ‘Would you like to dance?’ in Greek?”

You smile gently, taking another sip of your drink. It’s important to keep yourself paced. Especially when you’re staring at someone who looks like that. “Θα χορέψεις μαζί μου?” You finally say, and he stares at you blankly. The expression forces a laugh from you, which in turn pulls one from him. 

“Again?”

“Θα χορέψεις μαζί μου?”

Charles nods for what feels like a very extended period, before downing the remainder of his drink. “Tha horeps…” he winces at his pronunciation so you don’t have to, “mazi-moo?”

You smile at his hopeful expression, and wonder if he’s more hopeful for a correct pronunciation or an agreement to dance. You shrug, swirling your drink around the glass, looking past him to your friend again. 

She’s watching you this time and wears a grin the size of the wedding. She holds up both her thumbs, and then makes a heart with her hands, pretends to have it beating out of her chest. You shake your head, smiling softly, eyes moving back to Charles. 

“One dance.”

— — — 

Your feet drag across the stone pathway like maybe you’ll slow yourself down and get to spend a half-second longer on the phone with him. You hear it over the voices of drunken uncles pouring from open windows and the radio sat on one of the sills playing a Christiana classic. The air is warm, but dry, and the elastic at the end of your braid tickles the skin on your back while you walk. 

Ahead of your scraping shoes, a cat cleans their paw in the yellow of a porch light. You’re in Paros, and life is so sweet you’re finding porch lights and the smell of your yia-yia’s karidopita to be the most romantic thing in the world. 

“I’m nearly home,” you hum into your phone’s receiver. He laughs on the other end, and you wish all the aunts with the drunken, ballad-performing husbands could hear it so they’d stop asking when you’re going to settle down. It would make sense to them, then, the way you behave about Charles. It would all make sense if they heard him laugh, if they could imagine his dimples. 

“Well, you should probably hang up, then,” he says. You roll your eyes. Your cheeks ache from smiling all evening. Your cousin joked before dinner that your face was going to freeze like that if you weren’t careful. 

“I should,” you agree, but you don’t hang up. You stay on the line, quiet, and stop in front of the resident street cat—he’s small and sweet and purrs against your skin when you run your hand over its sleek black fur, scratch your nails under its chin. You’d bring him home if you knew he didn’t belong to someone, to everyone. “Or you could.”

He laughs again. It’s like honey. You’d swan dive into it if you could, drown all slow and blissfully. “I’m not the one nearly home,” he retorts. I could get far from home again, you think. You could do another lap around the neighborhood. You’d already done it thrice, and then two more times after that. What’s another in the grand scheme of things? “I’ll call you again in the morning,” he says, like it’s routine. You suppose it’s sort of becoming that. 

You take a seat on your porch steps. Voices pour out louder, now. They’ve gotten rowdier with every lap you’ve done. A cousin pulls the old squeaky door open behind you, and you jump in your seat, turning around to see who’s busted you. They hold their hands up defensively, mouth a quick sorry like they’d walked in on you changing, and disappear back into the house. You pull your braid over your shoulder, twirl it around your finger carefully. Nervously, you ask:“Do you think we speak too often?”

“Why do you say that?”

You shrug like he can see it. “We talk too much to be friends.”

“Do we?” You imagine him quirking a brow goofily, based solely on his tone of voice. 

“Yeah,” you chuckle, dropping your braid. “Yeah, I think we do.”

Charles sighs. All you can smell is cinnamon and walnuts. You wonder which one of your cousins ate the heel of the bread while you were out walking. “Well, good thing I would never be just friends with you, then.”

The apples of your cheeks burn like they’d been pinched. You flatten your dress over your legs and a careful giggle tumbles from your lips, teeth biting down on the stupid smile there. “Good thing.”

“Goodnight?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Goodnight.”

— — —

It’s raining in Milan when you pinky promise your best friends that you and Charles aren’t dating. 

The sky has been threatening all afternoon, dull and gray and humidity that was anything but friendly to your hair. It poured through the window like your own personal heatwave every time you walked past the open kitchen window,coated the tiled countertop in an irritable condensation. 

It came wafting through the air with the smell of the impending storm when you opened the door to your friends. Finally, after hours of building up, heavy raindrops patter against the porcelain of your kitchen sink, forcing you to hastily close the window while giggles pour from your friends’ mouths. 

Between your two hands, you can count the number of times the lot of you have been in the same time zone since graduation, let alone the same city. You’d spent the entire humid day wiping condensation off the counters and cutting cheese into perfect cubes and gathering the nicest bundles of grapes you could from the three grocery shops within walking distance. 

The sound of the storm against the glass is drowned out by red-wine laughter and tales of big cities and big dreams, all so vastly different. You sit with your legs crossed underneath you, phone face-up on your thigh, the stem of an empty wine glass pinched between two fingers, twisting the glass around mindlessly.  

Your phone buzzes, for the fourth time in eight minutes. And for the fourth time in eight minutes, you pick it up, abandoning glass on the cluttered coffee table next to the week-old vase of pink anemones. 

Stop texting me, he’s messaged. Enjoy your time with your friends.

You smile softly, your incriminating grin illuminated bright OLED white in contrast to the soft yellow lamp lighting the dim room. You stop texting me, you replied, because you’re a pig-tailed girl on the schoolyard when you talk to him, your normally composed, carefully developed persona melting into a puddle of mush at the mere thought of him. 

Can’t, he responds. I am bored. 

Why? You’re never bored.

“Oh, my God!” your best friend, Roma, teases in broken English, her Italian accent not nearly as light as the cube of ​​Gorgonzola she’d tossed at your head from the other end of the sofa. “Who are you speaking to?” She questions. 

“Just a friend,” you say too quickly, too defensive for anyone in the room to believe. 

Roma quirks her brow at you, curious grin painted on her face. “Yeah? Just a friend?”

“I’m serious,” you insist, turning your phone off. You set it face down on the table, and it vibrates there almost immediately, all of your friends’ eyes watching for your reaction. The corners of your lips tremble, fighting a soft smile, and you shrug, bringing your empty wine glass to your lips, turning your head up to the ceiling, the last few drops of red falling through your lips. And then it vibrates again, the bright colors of your background pouring out in a soft ring of light around your phone. You still don’t flinch, but Roma does, lurching forward and snatching it up before you have time to react. 

“‘Because,” she reads. “‘I’m normally speaking with you at this time,’” she looks over to another friend, grinning,“From Charles. With the emoji that does like this,” she says, mimicking the blushing emoji you have next to his name.“But with the pink on the cheek, yes?” She continues explaining. 

You sink into the sofa, popping that cube of cheese into your mouth before gathering up the baby hairs and bangs that had fallen loose from your ponytail, carefully twisting the hair into a tiny, thin braid coming out from the middle of your hairline. 

“Just your friend?” Roma questions, and you don’t have to look up from your distraction braid to know she’s raising her brows and grinning at you. 

— — — 

You sit next to him in the fourth row of church pews, one leg crossed over the other, desperately wishing the wedding mass program that sat on your lap was a paper fan, not yet having resorted to the lengths some of your fellow guests had gone to and actually using the cardstock to cool down. 

One leg is crossed over the other, the tip of your heel-clad foot threatening to tap the back of the pew in front of you with every awkward, uncomfortable roll of your ankle you attempt. At least your dress is sleeveless, you think. Charles is not as lucky, a formal suit perfectly fitted to his frame, one arm draped behind you over the back of the pew, his fingers mindlessly twirling one of the tiny braids that riddle your ponytail. Neither of you speak nearly enough Spanish or know nearly enough people for this to be any sort of enjoyable. 

“Do you understand them at all?” You whisper, your head falling onto his shoulder. “Because I do not.”

“Absolutely not,” he whispers back, kissing the top of your head, his hand finding yours, interlocking in your lap. “And I am about to die from heatstroke.”

You nod. “You, me, and the rest of the church,” you sigh, pretending not to hear the crying baby or the stressed mother in the back of the church. You figure she has the eyes of enough judgy relatives to drown out any soft sentiments from a stranger.  “Can they just kiss and wrap it up?” You ask, and as is on cue, the newlyweds are locking lips under the cathedral candlelight. 

“Oh shit,” Charles giggles, the two of you hurrying to stand with everyone else in the room who understood what's been happening for the last hour and a half. You hastily adjust the skirt of your dress, feeling quickly to make sure you hadn’t sweat-stained the fabric, or worse, the bench you’d been all but stuck to. “Thank God,” he says, just above a whisper, just loud enough for you to hear. 

The church quickly funnels out of the church behind the couple, filing into the cars that were driving to the reception location. Police officers line the road on either side, cameras and strangers gathered at their barriers. You walk out with your hand interlaced in his, watching every step you take down the steep concrete stairs. 

“Is it like this every time one of you gets married?” You ask, staring at the uniformed officers. They’re a stark contrast to the summer air, to the leaves of the trees drenched in sunlight, and to the flowers buzzing with bees. It feels like you’re at a royal wedding—the ones with professional watchers and ceremonies that get broadcast to millions of people around the world. But it’s not that. It’s just your boyfriend’s teammate. 

“Um,” Charles shrugs. “I’m not sure, to be honest,” he admits. “I don’t think so,” he continues, letting you duck into the black sedan first. “I think it’s just his family.”

“Gosh,” you breathe out, relaxing in the calm of the air-conditioned car. “It’s like a whole production.”

“I know,” he shakes his head, uncapping a water bottle that was waiting in the car door cup holder and passing it to you first. “It’s like they’re Spanish royalty or something,” he laughs. 

You nod animatedly, drinking down the water before passing the now half-full bottle to him. “Exactly like that!” you laugh. 

— — — 

“Three wishes,” you grin, spinning around to face him, antique Arabian oil lamp in your hand. 

The second-hand shop smells like vintage leather and dusty velvet. La Dolce Vita plays from the store radio, and it sounds like it’s on vinyl even though it isn’t. The store is full of gaudy outfits and gaudier decor, and there in the middle of it is you and Charles, the ladder laughing every time the former makes the same joke about twenty different items, each uglier than the one before, being ‘just what I was looking for.’

“I wish for unlimited wishes, obviously,” He says, and you shake your head.

“Absolutely not. That goes against Genie rule number three.”

It’s chilly, the early morning dew still crisp in the air. A gentle breeze pours in from the propped open door, and with it comes the smell of fresh pastries and espresso from the bakery next door. It smells gentle and warm and makes the vintage store feel like your yia-yia’s house on the last morning of your last visit to her house. 

You’re wearing your favorite pair of jeans, a pair of pink sneakers, and a sweater that was your favorite before you shrunk it a size in the dryer the day before. You cover up the fashion faux pas with a tan wool coat and long, hardly managed hair. He’s dressed like you, but elevated. Always more elevated than you, even if the only brand he seems to bring into his closet anymore is his friend’s. 

“Ah,” he nods, pulling you closer by the opening of your coat.  “Of course,” he smiles, speaking softly. “And what are the other rules?”

“Oh, you know,” you shrug, dimples digging into your cheeks at the mere sight of his. “No bringing people back from the dead, no making someone fall in love,” you hum, “and no wishing for more wishes.” 

Charles quirks a brow, dropping his head to the side. “Those are stupid rules,” he protests, pouting. “What if those were all three of my wishes?”

You shrug, holding up the lamp to his eye level. “Got to get educated on Genie’s, man,” you tease, cheeks aching. “I don’t know what to tell you,” you giggle, stepping even closer. “Them’s the rules.”

“Them’s the rules,” he repeats. “How about…” he says, leaning in, still grinning. “Wish one,” he says, pressing a soft kiss into your lips. “Wish two,” he says, repeating the action. “And,” he grins, pulling away momentarily to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. You think you could die on the spot, melt right into a puddle on the shop floor. Your face is so hot. “Wish three?” he says, and as a surprise to nobody, leans in to kiss you again. 

“Nope,” you shake your head, desperate for another breeze to blow through the shop, to cool you down, to keep you standing. “I expected better wishes. Very… μη πρωτότυπο.”

“Mi protótypo?” he repeats, and your grin grows.

“Not original.”

— — —

Charles’ apartment couldn’t be more different than yours, and not even solely on a decoration level. Fundamentally, you two come from two different spaces, and trying to merge those spaces has been nothing short of a treat. 

Not that your decor styles are the same either, because you think his are one-of-kind. So one of a kind, that the two of you had gone through each other’s apartment with yard-sale stickers from the corner store, tagging everything you refused to mesh with in red, and everything you refused to part with in green.  Who else can say they have three dozen racing helmets and trophies in the living room, a blown-up shot of a homeless American man on their dining room wall, and a piano that costs more than your net worth in the foyer? That is some perfectly Charles Leclerc decor, and if you had told yourself once that you would be endeared by all of it, you’d have laughed in your face. 

But you do. You adore it, the way it perfectly encapsulates her personality. And you adore him, and the way he put a green sticker on a total of seven things in his whole apartment because he wanted to make sure it felt like your space too. 

“Why did you not label any of these boxes?” He asks, the two of you stood in his dining room. In your dining room. In the dining room. 

“Um…” you hesitate. “You know, I was going to. I really was,” you nod, staring at at least twenty cardboard boxes, each of them completely indistinguishable from the others, not a single identifying marker on any of them. 

“And then?” He asks, shoving his hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels, the herringbone hardwood creaking under his feet with the shifting of his weight. 

“And then I realized I packed my Sharpie,” you nod.

“Mmm,” he hums, scratching his beard, his fingers moving over his face and into his hair, combing through it stressfully. He’s so patient with you. Hopelessly patient with you, and would never admit it. “But you could not find the box it was in?” You shake your head, agreeing with his statement. “Because you forgot to label any of the boxes?”

“Because I didn’t label any of the boxes,” you confirm, an apologetic look painted across your face, eyes soft and sweet, attempting to remind him just how much he loves you. “And suddenly the movers were there. And now I’m here.”

“Oh,” he sighs, wrapping his arms around your chest from behind, kissing the top of your head. “I love you so much,” he says. “I love you so much,” he repeats, voice blank, unconvincing. 

“Yeah,” you nod. “I was thinking we start in the dining room,” you joke, smiling softly, pulling a chuckle from his lips. You can always count on him to laugh at your stupid jokes. Even when he’s pretending not to be annoyed with you.“I’m sorry,” you say softly, kissing the forearm crossed over your chest. 

“I know,” he hums. “It’s okay. It won’t be too bad.”

— — — 

A soft summer breeze floats through the air, blows through the linen pinned to clotheslines in the neighborhood. It brings with it salt air and the careful wafts of cinnamon and nutmeg and eggplants and tomatoes. You sip a glass of Retsina, ignoring the bitter and accepting the sweet. 

The olive trees are draped in endless strings of lights, and gentle, traditional music plays from the live band and the wooden stage your uncles had built with your dad. Your Yia-yia moves around from table to table pinching the cheeks of your cousins, reminding the single girls to check their shoes for their prince charmings. 

The sun is setting on the water, golden shadows cutting around the soft cement architecture. The air is light. Charles wears a tan linen suit with an evil-eye boutonniere. You wear a white dress and a cold coin in your left shoe. 

“You told them no to the money, right?” He asks softly, sipping a glass of white. 

“I did,” you nod. “Well. I told my parents,” You shrug. “Whether or not they convey the message to the four hundred other people here, I guess we’ll find out.”

“It’s weird, no? A first dance and a last dance?”

You smile softly, watching a stray cat hurry down an alleyway. “My family keeps coming up to us and pretending to spit,” you giggle, “But the second dance is where you draw the line in the weird sand?”

“None of it’s weird” he shakes his head, reaching to tuck a curly piece of hair behind your ear, adjusting your veil accordingly. “It’s all you,” he says, leaning in to kiss you softly. His lips are soft, and he tastes like apples and melon and citrus, as easy to kiss as ever. “And I love you.”

“Ah,” you nod, a teasingly soft smile parting your lips. “He loves me,” you say, pretending to wipe sweat from your brow. “I was worried.”

“You act very worried,” he grins. “Wedding dress and all.”

“Oh,” you feign surprise as if you've noticed the setting for the first time. “This old thing? The one that costs a quarter of my salary?”

Charles nods, humming. “That’s the one. Keeps taking my damn breath away.”

You look down at yourself, an innocent, girlish smile draped over your lips, the pink shades of the sunset painting themselves warm over your cheeks. A gust of wind blows through the space, the breeze gently blowing through your veil, through the fabric of your dress. 

“Are you ready?” You ask, watching the sun creep closer to the horizon, be swallowed up inch by inch into the sea, using your hand as a shade-visor. “No time like the present, right?” You add, downing what’s left in your glass. “Our second dance as newlyweds.”

“Our second dance,” Charles nods, holding out his hand, waiting for your fingers to interlock with his. “Let’s go.”

[shadowbriar]

Matt Murdock — Without Me

Pairing : Matt Murdock x (she/her) Reader Word Count : 3.9k Warning : Angst as requested but with fluff ending. Insecurity. Miscommunication/Misunderstanding. Synopsis : She knew, even without bringing the topic to light, that marriage was never an option with him. Notes : this fic was a request. If you like this story and would like to support me, please visit my kofi page and perhaps get me a coffee?☕

It was never easy.

No matter how many years they've spent together, the countless dates they went to, and the umpteen charming moments they've shared, dating Matt Murdock was never easy still.

Lord knows just how hard she tries to turn it off. To stop her mind from wandering to the dark places and to not think of the worst possible scenarios whenever the slightest inconvenience happens. She's tried her best, truly she has, to be a little more nonchalant whenever it comes to him, but it proved to be an impossible task to do. Perhaps when you care about someone a little too much than needed, the chance of keeping one's self collected inevitably becomes impossible.

Foggy and Marci’s wedding invitation laid proud on the coffee table, silently mocking her name whenever she was the only one left in the apartment. She knew, even without bringing the topic to light, that marriage was never an option with him. There’s just too many things in his hands, too many problems laid on his shoulders for him to ever weigh the possibility of matrimony.

She understood, a little too well, the reason for his silence. And though she once dreamed of having a family of her own, having mini versions of her and him running around the apartment and knocking over the cup of tea that would stain their rugged carpet, she’s learned to bury such thoughts in the deepest pit of her heart. She reckons, sacrificing something that she’s never had before would be less painful than losing the one she already has.

Five years of being loved by Matt Murdock would certainly make you a little too attached to the man.

But even with his gentle touch, the sweet nothings he whispered in her ears and the embrace he would always blanket her nights with, fear was never kept too far away. As much as she loves and understands him, as much as he worships and adores her, Matt was never an easy riddle to solve. His mind works with such complexity she’d never truly decipher. Oftentimes his actions speak much louder than his words and the past few days have only served as the new demons she has to battle with at night.

There’s always been more paperwork, more cases that needed his urgent attention before he could excuse himself out of the office, and even when his job was done, his other calls would already become too urgent for him to ignore. One too many rain checks done for their dates, that she couldn’t even bother asking if they could find a replacement date. Matt’s a busy man, his growing reputation and the demand Daredevil would have to serve at night were something she’s accepted, what she’s yet to understand, however, is his lack of communication. There were less words, less explanations and reassurance for her to hold on to. The blackhole that she’s currently drowning in was quiet and deadly. Something that he would not notice with the lack of presence.

Now she sits alone in their apartment, eyes vacant and barely blinking while her brain haywired. Perhaps this sudden change of action was caused by her wrongdoings. She tries to trace down every possible mistake she might have made, every misspoken word and unintentional actions, in an attempt to find a way to fix it. To apologise for whatever fault she’s committed before the sin stained a little too deep to ever be fixed.

If this was anyone else, she would’ve been upfront and ask if there’s anything wrong, confront the issue head-on without a care in the world, but this is Matt. He pushes people as easily as he draws them. One wrong movement and she fears all hell would break loose for them.

“Baby?” she heard Matt call, turning her head to see him entering from the staircase “What are you still doing up? It’s late.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” she answers, walking to him and taking his helmet away “Was it an easy patrol?”

“Quite, yeah. Not too bad but not too boring either,” he says with a grin “I’ve missed you.”

She sighs, letting his hands rest on her waist while hers encircle his neck, “Yeah, well, you’ve been busy.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” he says regretfully “Say, why don’t we go to that restaurant you’ve been wanting to try? The Italian one? How about this Friday, will you be free then?”

“I don’t know, will you? You’re the one who’s been so occupied lately.”

“I’ll be free on Friday, I promise,” he says excitedly, stealing a peck on her lips “So what do you say? Friday after work?”

Another tired sigh escapes her. Moments like this melts her worry away. Staring into his beautiful face, seeing that charming smile tugged on the corner of his lips, while his body was pressed against her. But as much as she treasures this, as much as she appreciates the comfort he could always bring her, she knew that the dark cloud would return the moment he’s out of her sight.

Gently, she leans in and kisses him. Matt’s grip on her shirt tightens, smiling between the kiss in satisfaction. Perhaps he misses her just as much as she missed him.

“Friday, it is.”

—-

She peeled herself off of the blanket with a huge sigh. The other side of the bed was cold, signifying that he’s been out for quite some time but she couldn’t find it in herself to frown. They do have a date afterwards. Perhaps Matt just wanted to make sure that he’s done all his work on time before they could escape their hectic lives for an hour or two.

It was still early for her to get ready for work, but coming early and finishing her tasks as soon as possible so she could have more time to doll herself up before the date sounds like a better plan to do. She sits up from the bed, hand carelessly reaching for the hair tie on the bedside table before knocking Matt’s phone in the process.

She picks up the item, thinking that it was one of the rare occurrences for him to forget his belongings. Reckon she really needs to get ready now so she could drop by his office and give him his phone, but her frown grows when someone calls.

“Hello?” she says as she picks it up.

“Oh, shit,” the other end of the line says before hanging up.

It was a woman. A voice that she was unfamiliar with. The twist in her gut grew, spreading through her veins like venom. She’s never one to pry on Matt’s phone, always confident in his loyalty, but given his absence and the strange call, her fingers couldn’t stop themselves from punching the passcode.

There was no text history with the caller, but there were several call logs, dating far into the past few weeks when he started to be ‘busy’. She wanted to call back the woman, ask her who she is and why she has been on frequent calls with her boyfriend, but she was too scared to face the possible truth. Too afraid to welcome the pour of the icy reality— that he’s found someone else.

“Oh, you’re up!” Matt says, cheeks flushed with slight panting “I forgot my phone.”

“Yeah, I know,” she answers, her voice caught in her throat. Still trying to process the event that’s just happened and how to act in front of him “I— Someone— Gwyneth called.”

“Oh,” his tongue darts to lick his lips, visibly looking nervous now “What did she say?”

“Nothing, she— She hung up.”

“Your heart is beating fast,” Matt notes “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just— Did you run back here?”

“I did, yeah. I was already at the office when I realised I'd forgotten my phone. I need it for the case I’m currently working on,” he answers, walking to her with careful steps “Can I have it, please?”

She swallows the lump in her throat, handing him the item in silence.

“Thank you,” Matt says, placing a kiss on the crown of her head “Listen, I have to run back, I’m having a meeting with a client in five minutes. I’ll see you later for our date, okay?”

She was still silent, breath hitched and sweats forming in the back of her neck.

“Baby?”

“Yeah, okay,” she finally answers, looking up to meet his eyes “I’ll see you later.”

Matt hesitated. He looks as if he was debating to ask something, looking conflicted over whatever it is that might be troubling his mind but the words died in his tongue. Perhaps unsure if he would want to pour petrol over the turmoil that’s evidently building between them. His finger taps on the phone in his palm as he says instead, “I love you.”

She forces a smile, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to see it but it was the only attempt she could pull to suppress the tears that were slowly watering her eyes, “I know.”

“You’re not gonna say it back?”

“You know I love you,” She says, kissing the back of his hand that was holding the phone “Go, you’re going to be late for the meeting.”

Matt smiles, stealing a kiss from her lips before heading back out.

—-

Her breathing was rigid. The movement of her chest forced as if trying her best to compose herself. Her lips were pressed in a tight smile, chewing her meal silently as she tried to focus on the words Matt was saying.

She tries, God knows she tries, to forget about this morning’s incident. Perhaps Gwyneth was the client he was supposed to meet. It surely isn't strange for him to have frequent calls with her if that was the case, but why does it feel wrong? Why does it feel like there’s something bigger that she wasn’t aware of? Why does it feel as if there was something Matt wasn’t telling?

“Love,” Matt calls, taking her hand slowly in his “Are you alright? You’ve been awfully quiet.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she lies through her teeth.

“Are you sure? Your heart has been beating like crazy all night.”

“Yeah, well, maybe stop listening to my heartbeat for once, Matt.”

The smile on his face waters, surprised to hear her bitter spat.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound as cruel,” she sighs, taking her hand away from him to rub her temples “I just have a lot of things in mind.”

Matt sighs, nodding in understanding, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Yes, she wanted to say, let’s talk about the affair you’re having behind me.

But is she ready? Is she ready to be stripped off of the fantasy that she’s tried so hard to build with him? Is she ready to bid goodbye to all the dreams and hopes she’s made with him? Is she ready to accept the fact that there would be no Matt in her future?

It was pathetic, sure, to hold on to the last strings of hope when the most possible outcome is laid bare in front of her. To be stubborn for once against the demons that are torturing her mind. But Matt is the only good thing in her life she’d never be ready to lose. He is the one thing she would rather risk her life for than to ever be separated from. Even if she has to turn a blind eye and pretend as if the romance they’re living in was pure and innocent.

“No, it’s fine,” she says, letting out a sigh to collect her composure “How’s your meeting? Did it go well?”

“Splendid. Listen, I have something to talk to you about,” he says, deflecting the topic. Matt takes a nervous gulp. His hands are now under the table, invisible to her eyes “I– Uh, I don’t know where to start.”

A sharp gasp escaped her lips as the tears threatened to form on her eyes. This must be it. The nervousness that has been bleeding out of him, the continuous rambling he does the whole night to mask his uneasiness, the way he keeps on rubbing his palm on his trousers. This must be it. This must be their end.

“You know how we’ve been together for quite some time now,” Matt starts, his hands still hidden under the table “I know five years with me must not have been the easiest for you. I know just how difficult it could be, living with me and accepting the life that I’m living in. I know that we didn’t always have sunshine and rainbows. Most of the time we have storms and thunders, really, yet we’re still here. You’re still here,” He says gently, his left hand reaching for hers “I know that you deserve better, that you can find someone better—”

She abruptly stood on her feet, letting his hand go in the process that he retreats it fast and hides it under the table once again. Her breathing was heavy, tears threatening to fall from her eyes.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Matt asks with a worried tone, still sitting on his seat.

“I have to get out of here.”

“W-What?”

She spared him no other word, grabbing her purse and bolting herself out of the restaurant.

Her heart was hammering inside her chest. By the time she hailed for a taxi, her cheeks were already wet with tears. The night she’s been looking forward to, the one date she hoped would flush all of her worries down the drain, turns out to be her worst nightmare. Never would she ever expect Matt to be this cruel. To lead her on, promising a lovely date when they haven’t seen each other for so long, only to break up with her before the clock strikes at nine. With an illicit affair she wasn’t aware of until the very morning, should one add.

“Wait, wait,” Matt says, stopping the taxi door before it closes “Where are you going? What happened?”

“Just leave me alone, Matt, please,” she begs through her tears.

“Baby, why are you crying?”

“Leave me alone, Matt. I don’t want to see you tonight.”

“I— What did I do?”

“Just— Please, don’t make it any harder than it already is.”

Matt was appalled, confused as to what might trigger this response, but he could feel just how upset she was. Her body was shaking, fingers trembling as they frantically wiped the tears that kept on flowing. Never had he ever seen her this distraught and Matt was scared that he would do more harm than good to try and talk with her about it, so he surrenders, “Okay, we’ll go home, okay? Let me just pay for dinner first.”

“No, I’m not going home. I told you, I don’t want to see you, okay!” She says, this time with a raise of voice as her anger slowly seeps in “I just want you to leave me alone, is that really too much to ask for?”

Hurt was evident on his face now, but she was too caught up with her own emotions to notice it.

“Please, Matt,” She begs, her voice hoarse in plea “Please let me go.”

Matt nods, ceasing his last attempt to hold her as he closes the taxi door. He listens as the driver steps on the gas, driving her away to wherever it is she might go. Though the car drives further from him, the sound of her sobs only grows louder in his ear. He wasn’t sure what he did, what he said that might have prompted this response, but whatever it is, he knew that he’s royally ruined what could’ve been the best night of their lives.

—-

It has been a week since she fled Hell’s Kitchen. She knew that there’s no corner in the city that he wouldn’t scour to find her, so she had to go a little farther to find shelter. She needed time and space to think, to take in the cruel reality that has finally caught up with her, before she could take baby steps towards acceptance. 

On the second day, she no longer breaks in tears whenever she looks into her phone and see the many messages Matt has left. By the fourth day, she could partly accept the fact that their ship had sunk. That trying to mend what’s been broken would only restrain him from his freedom, from loving the one person he might actually meant to be with. She loves him, too much for words to ever truly express it, but if being with another woman brings him better happiness, then she would sacrifice herself and blow the candle out. She would let him go.

The suffocation she feels in her lungs the moment she steps in the apartment was unbearable but she dragged her feet still. She whispers her silent goodbye, fingers tracing the walls of the apartment that she would soon leave. Her eyes study the surroundings, memorising each detail of Matt’s loft that she loved so much before she’s no longer welcomed.

She wonders if whoever would live with him next would keep the flower vase by the window. She wonders if they would change the lights in the living room. She wonders if they would paint the walls and fix the squeaky bathroom door. She wonders just how much of her remnants would be left untouched.

“You’re home,” Matt greets, breathless as if he just jolted out of bed.

It’s clear to see that he was in a wreck. The stubbles on his face were unkempt, new bruises littering his body. Matt looks defeated. Like he’s been dragged through a losing war and shattered beyond saving.

“I’m just here to take my things,” she says with a shaky voice, trying her best to keep herself calm and collected “I won’t take long. I’ll take whatever I couldn’t pack today on the weekends.”

“Where are you going?” He frowns, tilting his head a little in confusion “Why are you leaving?”

“Well, I’ve held you back long enough, haven’t I? It’s about time I let you go,” she says with a heartbroken sniffle, forcing a self-pitying smile “I won’t keep you from anyone, anymore. You’re free.”

Matt takes a few steps closer, his brows knitted as he finds himself further lost in the conversation, “Hold me back— Free— What are you talking about?”

“It’s what you wanted, isn’t it? The other night? You wanted to break up with me,” she explains, swallowing the hard pill “I understand. I’ve accepted it, too. We don’t have to go through that conversation again.”

“Break up— What?”

“Matt, don’t play dumb with me,” she says with her patience wearing thin “I know everything. I know why you’ve been so busy lately. I know about your affair with Gwyneth, I know it all.”

“Affair? Gwyneth?” Matt questions, running a hand through his hair as he tries to place the puzzle pieces together “What are you talking about?”

“Look, you can really stop being a douche and just get off with it, alright? Do you really expect me to spell it to you? You cheated on me with Gwyneth. There, I said it.”

“I— What makes you think that I cheated on you with her?”

“Well, you’ve been gone. You have lots of call logs with her and they all aligned to the days when you started being distant. And that day when she called, she hung up because she heard my voice, didn’t she? She was scared that I’d find out about you two, well, guess what, I did.”

Matt’s lips were parted. The crease on his forehead was still deep as he tried to let her words sink in. He visibly looks baffled to the point that she starts to wonder if she’s making the right sense, but she wouldn’t let that puppy eye and innocent look on his face water her walls down. She’s given more than enough understanding for him to ever play her this way.

“Well? What do you have to say about yourself?” she asks, folding her hands in front of her chest “No arguments to defend yourself, Mr. Attorney?”

The corners of his lips tugged upward as he let out a satisfied sigh. Colours returned to his face the moment his brain caught up with her words. Like a lighting bulb glowing after it's been switched on. Without a word, Matt walks back to the bedroom. He returned not even a minute later with a small box in his hand.

“I have not been cheating on you,” he begins, taking one of her hands gently “I would never, ever, betray us like that. I love you too much to ever think about anyone else.”

“But Gwyneth—,”

“Gwyneth is a jeweller that has been helping me find the right ring for someone,” Matt cuts in, opening the box for her to see “I didn’t know what kind of ring you’d like, what design or what gem you’d like on it, so I looked for some personal jeweller to help me out.”

She was left speechless, looking down to the ring with utter embarrassment.

“When you picked up her call, she was trying to tell me that the ring was ready, but she didn’t expect you to answer. She was caught off guard, scared that she might spoil your surprise.”

Her head hangs low. Just how ridiculously stupid could she be. She was ashamed of thinking the worst, labelling names on Matt that should never have even crossed her mind. How is she supposed to apologise now after ruining their moment? After tainting their relationship red? Would she even have the chance to mend what she’s broken when she’s betrayed the trust between them?

“Hey,” Matt calls, holding her chin up gently “I've never cheated on you. There was never anyone else and there will never be. There’s only you, just you, and no one else.”

“I’m sorry,” she cries “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s just a misunderstanding,” he says with a chuckle, pulling her for a hug and rubbing her back “It’s okay, Baby. It’s my fault for being too occupied too, I’m sorry.”

“No, you don’t get to apologise, okay? It’s only going to make me feel worse,” she sobs in his embrace “I should’ve known better. I should’ve trusted you or at the very least asked about Gwyneth, before jumping into conclusions.”

“Well, honestly, if you asked me about her, I wouldn’t have known what to say either. I’m not the best of a liar in front of you,” he answers, letting out a sigh “That morning I knew your heart was beating erratically but I was too scared to ask because I didn’t want you to ask about her. I didn’t have the answers to give without spoiling the surprise.”

She let go of the hug, wiping her tears while his hands still rested on her waist, “I’m sorry I ruined the surprise.”

“It doesn’t really matter. What matters is your answer,” Matt says with a nervous smile, letting go of his hold and kneeling in front of her now “I’m just gonna keep it short before either of us falls into another misunderstanding,” he says before the two of them break into a short laughter “Will you marry me?”

Her grin spreads, nodding as she kneels to his level, “Yes, yes, of course.”

Matt beams as he slips the ring on her finger. A satisfied exhale came out of him. Like he's just successfully removed mountains from his own shoulders. He pulls her for a kiss, hands cupping on cheeks gently, “I love you.”

“I love you, Matt Murdock,” she answers, her hand combing the strands of his hair with her fingers “You’re really a wreck without me, huh?”

He lets out a sigh, stealing another kiss through their laughter, “You have no idea.”

[sideysvault]

۶ৎ Virtuous initiation ۶ৎ

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Wc: 1,500k

Tags: [sfw] Mature themes, canon typical violence, newly weds, vulnerable Aemond, arranged marriage, both are afraid of sex, domestic bliss.

────────

Prince Aemond is known to be practical to the extreme, he seems to have no patience for the incompetence of his brother or his mother’s hidden sentimentalism, often feeling horror towards failure, and openly frowning at any suggestion of true romantic felicity.

The Prince frequently ignores you, of course, but that is to be expected in political betrothal. Although you personally are of the belief that a little excitement, conversation and respect would do you some good. But what is one to do?

Often fancying beyond the realms of your condition, your mind keeps itself occupied with thoughts of what may become of you with less social opposition and more personal stimulus. You dream of being a scholar, a master, to finally visit The Citadel, and that you may finally make a home out of the Red Keep. That perhaps, even in between the most interrelated webs of political opposition, inherited resentments, and southeastern superstitions one may find peace and harmony and knowledge. These desires seemed to be equally improbable, and you had begun to come to terms with it. Childhood dreams. Nothing more.

He slightly frightens you, but not nearly enough as everyone assumes he should have. For a reason that you truly couldn’t comprehend, all the residents of Kings Landing find him rather physically odd. Why is that? If, after all, he still looks like a proper Targaryen Prince, even with one functioning eye. His childhood wound could never deny his long straight silver hair that reminded you of the most fine jewelry on your mothers dressing table. His blue eyes told stories that loosely resembled the songs that sirens chanted by the East Coast: Dangerous, calculating, and yet, they invited fascination and curiosity. His handsome features, delicate, sharp, and firm, gave his face an undeniably royal quality. And if you knew no better, you would probably be at his feet, wanting to gain his unobtainable affections.

Receiving condolences and concern from members of the court upon the news of your betrothal puzzled you. From your understanding, the youngest brother was quieter, smarter, patient, and more honorable than the King.

You felt a bit of shame, but you did recognize that you felt incredibly grateful that His Grace, the King, was already married. It saddened you that the cross was for his sister to bear, but you’ve heard the violent stories:whispered to you by maidens, servants, and members of the court. The veracity of those stories had quickly been made evident by the poorly contained, worried reactions of the Queen Dowager whenever her son was alone and near a female servant.

Prince Aemond’s chambers were as queer as his personality. Spotless, in an obsessive manner that goes far beyond the traditional efficiency of cleaning servants. The extensive library was the only thing that filled the space with character of its own, the books seemed to rebel and demand disorderly presence by their own right. His private library exploited the fragility of your curious mind and your predisposition for literature. Your greatest sin was to often sneak into the Prince’s room to borrow books from his collection, which was far more delectable and interesting than the Castle’s general library.

A stupid, brash decision. Especially considering Aemond’s serious disposition and angsty, hostile character. But you couldn’t help yourself when you saw the chambers unattended. Wanting to see the whispered wonders of his personal collection. The prince knew of your intrusion, of course. As when you came back to return your theft, you realized with horror that he had left a single stone where the book you had borrowed was. Feeling ashamed, you had returned it to its place and accommodated the fatal stone on the left side to the candle of his bureau.

The Gods are sometimes merciful, and apparently so is the Targaryen Prince. The chambers often remained unlocked, and by his instruction, the guards left the entrance unattended around the same time of your earlier visits. You would take a book from his collection, and he would place the rock marking the missing spot. Whenever you finished your reading, you would put it back in place, and the stone was to be accommodated at the left of the candle. A childish game, perhaps. But it was all it really took for you to discard the warnings of your peers and for romantic apparitions to plague your mind at night.

You wanted him. Truly. There was no room in your heart for power, or titles. But you wanted to comfort the soul of the disgraced Prince, hear him laugh, to thank him for his kindness, for extending his knowledge to you instead of punishing your intrusion of privacy, the defiance of your role. It did exhaust you a good deal, the uncertainty of your stay within the walls of The Red Keep. Having to be sly and poise about how you managed yourself, or to be met with heavy words of disapproval. Targaryen folk, closer to Gods than to men, were not to be played with, even if you were promised to one of them.

Still, when the state of affairs was concluded, and your place -and life-in the Red Keep was safeguarded, a new sorrow visited your soul. Consummating the marriage terrified you. You had attentively heard the warning stories of your mother, that even the most honorable and prestigious of men were to be deviant tyrants in bed, that pain went hand in hand with obedience, and the dangers of childbirth were not to be ignored. Suddenly scared, vulnerable, and not so certain of your newlywed husband’s kind character, you dreaded the day he finally came in to claim his bride’s virtue. You would make a point of visiting Helena in the dark hours of dawn, of avoiding being alone in a room with your husband, of taking walks through the gardens at night, sleeping in benches and waking just before the sun rose to return to the Prince’s chambers before being seen by members of the court.

Tired of this new-found routine, and wanting to sleep in the depths of a bed and its soft sheets, you decided that the occurrence was unavoidable, and the reasonable cost of your sexual condition.

If Aemond was surprised see you laying in bed when he walked into the chambers, he did not show proof of it on his face. You instantly regretted the color of the white cotton nightgown, translucent enough to showcase your hardened nipples. It wasn’t your intention to provoke the Prince, but the cold, humid weather of the Capital was at odds with your intent. The air was invited to come inside by the wide window, which offered a beautiful sight of all the candles burning in the distant homes of Westeros. You tried to distract yourself with the view.

Your husband took off his clothes. He looked tired, even under the dim, warm yellow lights of the room. He wore his silver hair in a queue, and as he quietly sat on the marital bed, you made a decision. Mustering all the courage on your heart, you decided to show him kindness for not questioning your nightly disappearances.

Restricting your movements, trying to tame your hands to be as tender and calm as they could be, as one would act in front of an unpredictable animal, you untied his hair. Slowly brushing the silver strings, untangling them after what seemed to be a tedious day. It was silly of you to feel scared of even this slight contact, but as the Prince slightly groaned upon your touch, you felt your heart beating rapidly in the outset of your neck. Controlling your fear of consummation, you continued to brush his hair, adding a small massage to his shoulders and broad neck. When it was finished, you tried to take a hold of yourself.

Yes, men could be cruel, but Aemond had shown a considerable amount of restraint and compassion.

Laying down in an uncomfortable synchrony, you both occupied the time by silently looking at the baroque decoration on the ceiling. After some time, the prince whispered to you “Are you disappointed with the exchange?” His voice sounded foreign to his character. Soft, vulnerable. You assumed he meant of your marital arrangement, and when you turned to face him, wanting to see the Prince in the eye while he spoke to you, his bared faced caught you by surprise.

His left eye, which was man crafted, was as blue as the real one. You did not know the name of the stone that filled his empty socket, but it was beautiful, and it reflected a much brighter light that the one available in the chamber. He shifted slightly, embarrassed upon your transfixed gaze, but he said nothing upon the matter.

Pretending to consider your answer for a moment, you murmured a no. You meant it. Seemingly relieved, your husband slowly nodded and laid down your legs, throwing a protective arm over them, drawing circles over your nightgown. Your hands instinctively moved to rest on his head, and you began to brush his silver moon with your fingers, tracing unmarked paths on the left side of his face. You could feel his warm breath against your skin, and you would have sworn that all the small muscles at the base of each hair of your leg contracted and burned with his touch. After a while, you felt something else. A soft smile against your skin. Your bodies could finally rest, releasing all of their contained fear. 

────────

Notes: I was inspired by the yellow wallpaper for this one. I’ve been thinking about him all month. Pleaseeee I need him so bad. Hope you enjoyed this one! Have fun and take care of one another

- Sidey xooo

Pd: Some parts of this fic will be re used and rewritten for a new series featuring Aemond!

[double-dare-designs]

Mandala Wedding Collection

Personalize

Instant Download

https://www.zazzle.com/black_and_gold_mandala_wedding_save_the_date-256791184628558581

[sasyallgraphics]

Shabby Chic Pastel Wood Wedding

https://www.zazzle.com/collections/shabby_chic_pastel_wood_wedding-119996398837755678

These designs capture the rustic allure of weathered wood and pastel hues, creating a whimsical, yet elegant, atmosphere for your wedding celebration. Whether you're sending out invitations or accessorizing your big day, our collection will help you infuse your wedding with a touch of vintage romance. Explore now and prepare to make your day a true celebration of love and style.