#day seven : wedding
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skitskatdacat63 · 1 year ago
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What is this love triangle 😵‍💫😵‍💫
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twisting-echo · 4 months ago
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💐💖 It's a Snowston wedding day! 💖💐
Please don't be mad at me Disney fandom; I promise, he treats her good. She's changed him for the better~
(They're going to have 7 babies) 😳👉👈
🚫IF YOU DO NOT LIKE THIS SHIP, PLEASE DON'T COMMENT OR REBLOG 🚫🚫 PLEASE DON'T STEAL OR REPOST MY EDITS 🚫
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bumblingbabooshka · 2 years ago
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Tuvok & T’Pel at their Koon-ut-la: May peace and bliss follow them forever.
Based on this picture I found:
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Love how T’Pau is sitting down for this. Tuvok & T’Pel’s ceremony was presided over by a local but well-respected priestess because not everyone has the sway to get a stateswoman. Also, I count this more as an approximation of engagement than marriage since they’re established to have a whole marriage-or-challenge thing as adults later on. After the ceremony Tuvok and T’Pel were each given a seed and instructed to plant them side by side in the temple’s garden. When they returned to the temple for their marriage proper whatever they’d planted there that day would be in full bloom.  After that they played- uh...I mean...bonded with one another until their parents had to drag them away kicking and screaming. A fact which neither pair of parental units will ever let them quite forget much to their joint embarrassment.
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resident-gay-bitch · 2 years ago
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Day Seven of @steddie-week - free space / free space / freedom
find the previous day here :)
Fifty years old, and Eddie was doing this. 
He didn’t think he’d ever do this. But here he was, doing this. 
He took a deep breath and willed away his goddamn tears, and he felt Dustin pat him on the shoulder as the music picked up and everyone stood. 
He looked down at himself, fixing the sleeves of his suit and making sure it was buttoned properly, sweeping the long greying hairs out of his face. 
He gave Wayne a very excited smile before turning to face everyone. 
He took another shaky breath, so fucking nervous. 
Down the aisle pranced a little girl, dressed in a pink fluffy princess dress, with her hair done in buns like Princess Laya’s because that’s what she insisted on. She was eight and a half years old, and Eddie couldn’t believe it. She skipped along in her sparkly red shoes - the ones she coaxed Eddie into buying because “they look just like Dorotheys, Daddy!”, and Eddie still didn’t know how to say no to her. She lit up at the sight of Eddie, bright and smiling, she waved at him very excitedly, almost bursting into a run to get to him. Eddie smiled at her and imitated throwing things out of a basket with a wry smile, and she gasped, stopping dead in her tracks. Eddie couldn’t help but laugh. She reached into her little basket and pulled out a handful of confetti and tossed it into the air, and she continued that as she did her fancy aisle walk towards Eddie. 
When she got to him, Eddie dropped to his knee and gave her a little kiss on the cheek, “Good job, Princess.” 
“Thanks, daddy.” She beamed, plucking out some confetti and tossed it in the air over Eddie, “Do you like the sparkles Auntie Nancy put on me?” 
“Hell yeah, kid, you look so cool.” 
She giggled and showed off her sparkly skin some more. Oh, Eddie remembered when they first got her, they were there in the delivery room. They got to name the beautiful girl and everything. Her name was Chrissy, and she channels every bit of the dancer Chrissy used to be. 
She closed her eyes, “Do you like my eyeshadow too, daddy?” She asked, flashing the bright blue that she’d picked that stood out strong against her dark skin, “I wanted to be like Robin.” 
“Looks beautiful, kiddo.” He winked at her, “Now, go stand over there, where we practised, remember?” 
She nodded and kissed Eddie on the cheek, leaving a glossy stain in her wake. She skipped over to where she was supposed to stand, and Nancy, who was in the front row, pointed her from where she’d decided to stand into the actual right place. Eddie chuckled softly. 
He stood just in time to see his other kid making their way down the aisle. They got Alice ten years ago, when adoption became a possibility for them. She was six when they got her, standing tall at sixteen now. She’d just buzzed their hair off the other week, after coming out to them as Gender Fluid. It took Steve and Eddie a little while to properly understand what it meant, but…. He was a cool kid, and they embraced it. They looked so cool in the suit he’d picked out for herself, green velvet with patterns she embroidered themself all over it. 
Eddie winked at him as she went to meet her sister on the other side of the altar. 
And then came Steve. He had his arm looped through Robins, who was giving him away in a lovely silk green dress. Steve looked as handsome as ever, if not more, if that was even possible, dressed in a sweet yellow suit. Eddie blushed very bright, he’d told Steve many years ago that it had quickly become his favourite colour after Steve had tossed that goddamned jumper at his face, and then was wearing that same colour when Eddie woke up in the hospital. Steve looked lovely in yellow, and it matched him so perfectly. It was such a happy colour, full of brightness and positivity, and that’s exactly what Steve had bought into his life. Steve’s wardrobe was primarily yellow these days. 
He smiled so brightly at Eddie, his hand reaching to find Robins to squeeze when their eyes fixed on eachother. Eddie had to wipe away a tear. They reached the altar, and Robin kissed Steve on the cheek and shot finger guns and a wink at Eddie before going over to stand with Chrissy and Alice. Steve stepped up to the altar and faced Eddie with a wet smile. 
They both couldn’t believe they were here, doing this. 
This life, the one they had now, seemed impossible all those years ago, but they stuck together anyway. They stuck together, and now Eddie could give Steve his dream. Now they could have normal, in the most unnormal way possible. 
They were so happy. 
Marriage for them only became legal two days ago, and in that time, Nancy, Steve, Robin, and their girls had worked double time to set up the perfect impromptu wedding. Eddie offered to help, but they all insisted he didn’t because he and Steve would just distract each other with sappy flirtation, and Chrissy insisted her dad had zero taste. Alice promised that if Eddie could find someone to marry them, he’d pull for some metal to play during the reception. 
Eddie asked Wayne… immediately. 
They both spent five hours sitting behind Steve's computer, trying to figure out how to get ordained online, because Alice said it was easy. It was not easy. Eddie was old, and Wayne was even older. They’d called Scott over to help at one point, because he was super smart and a scientist, but he couldn’t figure out the computer either. 
Alice ended up getting it done in ten minutes for them when she got home. 
He called them a bunch of “old fucks”, and the three of them went off on a tanget about “this damn younger generation, they think they know everything! I bet you don’t know how to use a VHS tape.” 
Alice didn’t give them a bar of it, the sassy kid they were. 
Wayne started his speech, and Eddie took his fiance's shaky hands. They had smiles pinned to their faces the whole time, because how could they not. 
“Now, do you have vowels?” Wayne asked. 
“I gave mine to Steve last night.” Eddie said, and Wayne pulled a very dissatisfied face, “Ew, no!” 
There was a laugh from the crowd. 
“I wrote him a song and performed it, you oaf.” 
Steve laughed, “It was very sweet.” 
Eddie smiled bashfully, still feeling like the twenty year old he was when Steve first swept him off his goddamn feet and carried him off into the sunset. 
“I’ve got some.” Steve muttered and squeezed Eddie’s hand’s as he cleared his throat, “Twenty five years ago to this day, you and I got ‘pretend’ married, as we called it.” 
Eddie sniffled as he laughed. 
“I gave a very long vow to you then, so… I’m gonna keep this one super short.” Eddie laughed again, oh how he loved this man. Steve smiled, croaky with wet eyes as he shrugged, “I told you, that night that you proposed, the same thing as I’d told Robin earlier in the day, that you couldn’t give me normal. That I’d gone my whole life with this dream of a wife and six kids- but then I met you, and ‘normal’ seemed like the worst fucking idea on the planet. You were… such a fucking weirdo, and you still are, and I love you so much for it, Ed’s.” Steve smiled and shook his head, “Why would I wan’t ‘normal’ when I can have every bizarre day with you? Every morning I wake up and wonder what weird shit was going to happen today, and everytime I am so delightfully surprised by it. I wanted you, and only you, and that’s all that mattered to me.” 
Eddie was ugly crying again, and Steve had to wipe away his goddamned tears that were tinted black from his eyeliner. 
“I was happy with it being just us, with our silly little fake marriage, for the rest of our lives- because it was real to us. It was more than enough for us.” He smiled, “But then we got Alice, and Chrissy, and we got more than I could have ever asked for… and now I’m here,” He sobbed a little too, “and were getting married for real. And I love you, from the moment you shoved me up against that boathouse wall with a bottle to my neck, to right now, to forever, I love you.” 
“I love you too.” Eddie sobbed, and they kissed, even though they weren’t supposed to yet. 
They heard Chrissy shout out, “Ew!” and it made them break away with a laugh, and it gave them a strong sense of deja vu to that time in the hospital, when Dustin woke up to the pair of them having a moment. 
It fits very nicely in this moment. 
“Getting a bit ahead of yourselves there, boys.” Wayne nodded.
They laughed. 
“Hey, kiddo.” Wayne looked over to Chrissy and winked, “You got somethin for ya dads?” 
Chrissy gasped and looked up at her big sibling who reached into their pocket to hand something to the little girl. She skipped over with the box and handed it to her grandpa with a bright smile, “Happy wedding, dad and daddy!” 
They loved this damn kid. 
She skipped back over to her spot, and Alice gave her a big hug and smiled up at their dads. 
Wayne held open the ring box, and Steve reached in to take the silver band, and Eddie took the gold one. The same bands Eddie had bought twenty seven years ago, they held too much meaning to switch up. Eddie slid the ring onto Steve's finger for a third time, and Steve slipped one onto Eddie’s, and they were holding hands again. 
“You already donnit, but ah… you may kiss the groom.” Wayne grinned, and gave Steve a little wink before stepping over beside Eddie’s groomsmen. 
Eddie didn’t hesitate before grabbing Steve and giving him the kiss of his life, dipping him just as he’d done at their non-official wedding all those years ago. Chrissy started gagging at the sight again, and Eddie started laughing into Steve's mouth, and they could both hear Alice trying to shut her up. 
And when they stood back up, they were married. For real. They had two beautiful kids, and the house Eddie had bought for Steve (which had rendered Steve in tears and then they had some of the best sex of their goddamned lives whilst breaking the place in) that had a garden, and an open kitchen, and four bedrooms, and a study, and the bed they shared every night. 
They still had their bad days; day’s Eddie felt so horrible in his skin that he couldn’t be touched, Steve still got migraines that could render him useless for days, and a lot of the time they fought, though, over little things like the dishes or laundry or what time the kids were supposed to be picked up that afternoon, and some days their fights were a little worse. But they were together, and they were happy, and they had a life and a family and a place of their own. They had a home with each other, and that’s all they needed. 
They could drag each other to Hell and back, Eddie didn’t care, just as long as they were together. 
**
thank you for joining me on this years steddie week! it is currently 10.30 in the morning and i have not slept because i've been writing the entirety of my steddie week all night. seriously don't know why i do this to myself, anyway.
if you'd like to read my other steddie week submissions you can find them here :)
\/ here's some dodgey art for you to look at \/
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blujayonthewing · 8 months ago
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the problem with adulthood is that I do actually really like catching up and socializing with other adults, but I still also want very badly to wander off by myself and sit on the ground and pluck grass blades and look at bugs and pet the cat, and there just simply isn't enough time for both
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carlos-in-glasses · 2 years ago
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Seven Sentence Sunday
Thank you for the tag lovely @heartstringsduet ❤️
Behold:
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Husband. Almost whispered. Husband, catching in TK’s throat. Husband spoken like a special one-word prayer, the kind that is saved for when you really want a higher power to hear you.
TK stops stroking Carlos’ head, takes his hand in both of his again, enclosing around him as if to hold them both steady and stay attached to the world.
Carlos’ eyes are still sore - it’s a struggle for a second to keep them open, but a slow shock rolls from his chest through his body, waking him fully.
“Marry me.”
Tagging @reyesstrand @strandnreyes @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @paperstorm @chaotictarlos @lightningboltreader @welcometololaland @rmd-writes @irispurpurea @goodways @ladytessa74 @spaghett-onaplate @alrightbuckaroo @meditating-honey-badger @bonheur-cafe if you want to share 💗
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carlos-tk · 1 year ago
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graysontheslime · 1 year ago
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DAY SEVEN OF YURI WEEK
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@mcyt-yuri-week
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 AFTER THOUGHTS!!
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bloomingonionbitch · 9 months ago
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(I never watched Sex and the City when it was on, but I'm well into Season 2 and Lisa Gilroy's impression of Steve is haunting me beyond words!!!!!!)
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non-un-topo · 2 years ago
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Second-hand stress from a family member's wedding is reeeal
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betterbooksandthings · 2 years ago
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“Here are the top 30 TikTok book recommendations: 2023 edition. BookTok is known for its varied and vast book recommendations in any conceivable genre from a range of voices. Everyone from casual readers to professional reviewers to authors has the ability to promote books they love on BookTok.
Essentially, a lot of people talk about a lot of books with different levels of success. When discussing BookTok, it is important to acknowledge the bias toward white, cis, straight creators promoting white, cis, straight books. However, if you seek them out, you can find a vast resource of diverse Booktokers promoting equally diverse books. This is also the added lens the algorithm adds to the user experience. TikTok’s algorithm learns from your viewing history in the app, which also applies to BookTok.
The following list comes from compiling various BookTok comment sections on videos about TikTok book recommendations in 2023. Naturally, the list will have the natural bias of my personal algorithm. Nonetheless, backlist books and genre books remain popular in 2023 on BookTok. Similar to the top 25 TikTok book recommendations from 2022, YA, romance, and fantasy books remain popular. Additionally this year, the Trans Rights Readathon increased the recommendation of trans books on BookTok.“
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balu8 · 23 days ago
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365 Days to the Wedding
 by Tamiki Wakaki
Seven Seas
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ghosty206 · 5 months ago
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esyra · 1 year ago
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After the hospital bombing, I finally heard back from my grandmother and confirmed that several of my relatives were murdered by Israeli bombing. Seven of them, to be precise. Three are still going, including her. We've been talking constantly ever since.
Asked if it was possible to head south, and was told they did but were also bombed there. So they decided to go back home, in Zeitoun. Their home was bombed and they were pulled out of the rumble, then driven by ambulances to the al-Ahli Arab Hospital. There were people in every corner. Gazans sheltering, sleeping on the floor. Gazans dying on the floor, waiting for beds.
Four were declared dead on arrival, three were in need of surgery and other three were just bandaged. Then, a bomb was dropped in the parking lot that made parts of the ceiling collapse, like Dr. Ghassan Abu Sittah reported in that horrific conference/interview. Those in need of surgery died.
By the way, just in case you didn't know: the Church of Saint Porphyrius, the third oldest in history, bombed by Israel a few days back, was located near the hospital.
When looking for new shelter, they saw schools with signs hanging outside, "We can't take any more families." They met families, sympathetic but already sheltering too many people. They're now staying in an apartment building they found empty. Sleeping in the corner of the living room. If the family comes back, they'll apologize and leave.
Told me she was saving her phone battery for when the bombing stopped, and she had to ask for help to rebuilt the neighborhood. But she doesn't think it's gonna stop anymore. The ones still with her are mute most of the time, like they're saving energy, but she feels lonely and wanted to talk. There's no internet and to connect to WhatsApp, people are buying "a card from the supermarket, there's a password and username." Not sure what she meant. Still, the internet is inconsistent and won't load neither videos or images nor pages, so she doesn't know what's happening on the outside world.
Told her there were a lot of people protesting to stop the genocide, she replied, "The bombings are getting worse by the day." The bombing yesterday was the worst she ever witnessed. The entire neighborhood is infested with the smell of death, of decomposing bodies. Bodies are piling up in the streets and she's not sure if it's because they ran out of places to store them, but most of them are in bags. The smoke of the bombings hide the blue sky—she hasn't seen the clouds for a while.
Asked if I could share their pictures, names and dreams with people and was told, of which I partly agree, "they're not entertainment." If anyone genuinely cared, they would be alive—I'd argue there are people who do care, but I'm not gonna lecture her pain. And they don't deserve to be used to fulfill someone's sick fantasy. Told me to remember what some Israelis do with pictures of dead Palestinians. And I do.
For those of you who are not familiar, many times before settlers got together to celebrate the murder of Palestinians. For one, in 2015, Israeli settlers set a house in Duma, West Bank on fire. An 18-month old baby, Ali Dawbsheh, was burnt alive. Both parents later died of wounds and only a 5-year-old, Ahmad, survived, although severely injured.
Two celebrations of their murder are widely known, one at a wedding and others outside the court in which two were indicted for the terrorist attack. In the wedding, guests stabbed a photo of the toddler, Ali, while others waved guns, knives and Molotov cocktails. Israel's Minister of National Security, Itamar Ben-Gvir, was present.
That's what happens in an apartheid. Palestinians are so abused by authorities that their "innocent civilians" come to accept the brutality as necessary or are desensitized by our suffering. After all, it's been 75 years—get used to it!
So I won't risk the image of my loved ones, in fear they are used in these kinds of depravity. I will say, though, the world lost a young footballer. Lost a female writer and an aspiring ballerina. Lost a kind father, who was also a great cook, and a loving mother that enjoyed sewing and other types of handicraft art. Lost a math teacher and a child that wanted to become one.
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People think Israel is testing new weapons on them. There's civilians arriving at the hospital with severe burns, which they thought was from white phosphorus, but apparently the pattern is different from the one caused by white phosphorus. It's widely believed Israel tests weapons in Palestinians.
Jeff Halper, author of War Against the People, a book on Israel's arms and surveillance technology industries, said: "Israel has kept the occupation because it's a laboratory for weapons."
They've ran out of drinkable water and the "aid" Biden sent was only for the South of Gaza and no fuel, for hospitals, was allowed in. Many shelves in the supermarket are empty. She said many are convinced that if they don't die from the bombing, they'll die from starvation or dehydration, or whatever disease will develop from the dirty water they're drinking.
Told me all people do now is pray, cry and die. Told me she hopes West Bank is spared. Told her Israel bombed a mosque in West Bank and dozens of Palestinians in West Bank are being murdered by settlers, so she bided me goodbye.
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oepionie · 7 months ago
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— "HE'S THE OTHER MAN!" . the corpse groom
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SYNOPSIS: A ghost groom has claimed MC as his unwilling bride. Unfortunately for him, she's already got a lover
⊹ [ c.w ] — violence, possessive behavior, malleus blows a fucking green laser down ramshackle, mentions of blood, yuu is poor but we alrdy knew that, papa crewel crumbs
⊹ [ w.c ] — 1.6k opening post with malleus! if this gets enough attention, I might do more :P
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"You what?" Crewel seethed, eyes wide as an unsettling smile stretched across the red of his cheeks.
"Repeat that."
"I…I accidentally released that ghost from the spellbook," Grim sobbed, his glossy eyes reflecting both fear and guilt as he looked up at the imposing figure of the professor. "And he's taken my henchhuman as his bride!"
Oh, Great Sevens. Not again.
Crewel groaned, his hands reaching up to frantically rub at his burning eyes. The flickering candlelight cast erratic shadows across his face.
"Please, do tell. How in Wonderland did someone with your lackluster skills manage to—" The professor was abruptly cut off by a loud, almost obnoxious cry that echoed from the doorway. Turning sharply, Crewel saw Crowley hunched against the entrance frame, hysterically sobbing into his palms. Fat tears dripped beneath his ornate mask, glistening in the low light. "They grow up so fast! My dear child is already getting married!"
Crewel's eye twitched as he took in the scene: Grim shaking like a leaf, and Crowley, dramatically weeping, pathetically looking to him for a solution.
"Fools," Crewel snarled, striding out of the room as he fished his phone from his coat pocket. "If you two won't be of use, then I'll have to enlist the help of those mutts instead."
The day had started like any other in Ramshackle, but you certainly didn't expect it to end with a wedding. Surrounded by the ghostly residents of the dorm, you stood dressed in all white, a bouquet clutched in your hand. Curling in yourself, you sighed and rested your head in your hands, avoiding everyone's gazes which felt like icy needles on your skin.
Ramshackle's old lounge, with its worn-out floorboards and faded wallpaper, was the chosen venue for your ceremony. Whispers rustled through the gathering, carried on a faint breeze that stirred the dust motes in the dim light. Somewhere in the background, the somber notes of an organ piano echoed. You didn't even know you had a piano…
"Dear?"
Jumping with a shriek, you whipped your head around. A ghostly visage, bathed in a deathly pale blue glow, hovered inches from your face, an unnaturally wide grin stretched across their blue lips. Bony fingers gently traced up your cheeks, sending tingles down your spine.
With sunken eyes and high, sharp cheekbones, Elizan—a "visiting" friend of one of Ramshackle's ghosts—was truly a sight to behold. His complexion had a pallor that matched the moonlight filtering through the decrepit windows of the form. Wisps of long, flowing indigo hair framed his face, swept back as if caught in a breeze that only he could feel.
"You look wonderful," he cooed, pressing a featherlight kiss to your forehead, leaving your cheeks burning.
"Ah. Thank you," you stammered, averting your gaze and gently pulling away. You could hardly focus on the words being spoken to you, your mind spinning with the surrealness of it all.
"You look... Good as well," you forced out with a cough, tugging at your hair nervously. "But... Listen... I—"
Before you could finish, the door to the entrance slammed open, nearly breaking off the hinges with a sound that could wake the dead, sending cracks spider-webbing through the already dilapidated walls.
On the inside, you screamed louder than the hinges.
You had painstakingly patched up the door after Grim's recent screw-up—a feat that had tested your patience and carpentry skills to their limit. Unless you wanted to survive on a diet of stale canned food and cafeteria leftovers for another year, you couldn't afford any more repairs.
While you were busy mourning the loss of having decent meals, heaving and leaning against the door for support, your friends called out your name in a panic, their bleary and furious gazes zeroing in on your figure. Clad in white, you stood there, the perfect picture of a pretty blushing bride.
The uninvited guests didn't go unnoticed by your "groom," and in seconds, you were pulled into a suffocating grip. Elizan's usually serene demeanor shattered like fragile glass. His deathly pale features contorted into a snarl, veins pulsing ominously beneath translucent skin. His typically gentle eyes blazed with an unsettling fire, icy whites now narrowed and piercing.
"Mutt!" Crewel seethed, his foot slamming into the floor and shattering the newly installed tiles. Your soul nearly left your body as you screamed inside again. There go a thousand thaumarks…
"What in the Sevens is this!?" Crewel shrieked, running a gloved hand through his tousled hair. With sharp movements, he pointed a finger at Elizan. "I'll have you know I can have you arrested for trespassing, unlawful detention, and violating the sanctity of this academy!"
"How... How dare you? Barging into this sacred ceremony—Who even are you?!" Elizan snapped back, his arms coiling tightly around your torso. The crowd erupted in a haze of shouts and muddled answers. Unable to understand anything, Elizan's intense gaze shifted and bore into yours, demanding answers. You gulped nervously, suddenly feeling small and vulnerable in his grasp.
"Who is he?! Who are they?!" he barked like a dog, flashing his sharp fangs at you.
"Uh… That's my professor—uh, Crewel," you stammered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. "And those are… They're my… friends?" Your gaze flickered to the group of men who had entered, their expressions ranging from confusion to anger.
Elizan's wide eyes now filled with shock, white orbs glossed over with luminescent blue tears. He pushed you away as if you had burnt him, recoiling from your touch as though it pained him physically.
"You know other men?!" the ghost cried out, his hands clenching into fists, his midnight blue hair cascading wildly around his face like a tempestuous sea. The tortured cries of the groom echoed through the room, sending a shiver down your spine as you awkwardly shifted on your feet, feeling like a character caught in an soap drama.
"…Yes?" you replied, unsure.
"How could you do this to me?!" He sobbed, a dark shadow covering his face. "Running off on an affair the DAY of our marriage?!"
"Well, that's a rather dramatic accusation—" you started, but Elizan shook his head in anguish.
"Answer me! Do you have another man?!" His voice shook the room, and you took a few cautious steps back.
"Elizan, please," you uttered gently, your eyes darting nervously toward one of the men in the room.
Your lover didn't meet your gaze; instead, his eyes were locked onto the ghost, a storm of emotions brewing beneath his features. As you jumped down from the makeshift podium, you shot an apologetic frown at the ghost, hoping to diffuse the escalating situation. "Don't you understand? You're the other man."
"No! You're married to me!" Elizan shrieked, lunging forward in a frenzy, his nails clawing at the air as if trying to grasp something intangible. "Whoever he is—He's the other man!"
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MALLEUS DRACONIA
"Whoever he is—He's the other man!"
Lilia raised an eyebrow with a chuckle, his form reclined against a fogged-up window of the room. The weather was gloomy and stormy, the skies tinted green outside, casting an eerie glow over the scene. The window pane, streaked with raindrops and mist, blurred the view of the turbulent skies beyond. Lilia hummed a tune under his breath, a calm figure amidst the brewing storm.
With a sidelong glance, his eyes locked onto Malleus, whose entire figure shook with a barely contained wrath that threatened to engulf the very air around him. The young prince's chest heaved in violent, choked breaths as smoke wisped from his mouth and nose—tendrils of flames flickering amidst the swirling dust and ash.
A deafening crack tore through the air as a vivid surge of green emerald lightning erupted from the heavens, descending upon the roof of the venue with explosive force. The blast of energy painted the sky with a blinding flash of green as it crashed into the building, sending broken glass and wood raining down upon the venue.
Cursing, Elizan moved you both aside, a large chunk of debris hurtling past, narrowly missing your startled form. As more debris crashed down, he shielded you with an outstretched arm, a shimmering barrier briefly forming to deflect a particularly large piece of wood.
"Spectral pest," Malleus seethed, his eyes aglow with an eerie green hue as his nails elongated into sharp claws. With a click of his tongue, he raised his hands, summoning thorns that spiraled towards Elizan, ensnaring the ghost in their sharp embrace. Simultaneously, from the floorboards below, vines emerged like serpents, their tendrils gently but firmly pulling you away from Elizan's protective embrace and guiding you into the safety of Malleus's arms.
"How—?! Ngh!" Elizan writhed against the thorny vines. The prickly tendrils twisted around him like serpents, their sharp points digging into his ghostly flesh.
Malleus paid no mind to the struggling spirit, keeping his gaze fixed on you as he checked for any signs of harm. His expression softened with relief upon finding you unscathed, albeit a bit dusty.
"Beloved," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm amidst the lingering chaos. His gloved hand moved delicately, sweeping away the clinging dust from your shoulders and arms. Pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, his lips lingered there briefly, conveying a warmth that contrasted starkly with the raw power he had displayed moments ago.
"Are you alright?"
Blinking up at him with wide eyes and frazzled hair shooting up in every direction, you nodded dumbly. Turning away from him, you nearly gasped aloud to see the room in shambles, debris scattered everywhere, and the eerie green glow of energy still lingering in the air. The ghostly residents were in a state of panic, their translucent forms flickering as they moved frantically.
"My dorm," you whimpered, your mind racing as you calculated the cost of the damage.
With a chuckle, Malleus adjusted his grip on you, his muscles flexing as he gently set you down. Your legs felt shaky as you tried to steady yourself.
"I will handle the cost of repair, my dearest," Malleus assured you, bending down to your height, his voice dropping to a whisper. Green eyes bore into yours, strands of his midnight hair falling over his face. "You will not need to worry about such things once we are formally betrothed."
You froze, your face suddenly warming and burning.
"What?!"
Malleus reached out, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your cheek, claws dragging across your supple cheeks. "Yes, my dear," he murmured, chest rumbling as his lips curved into a sharp smile. "You heard me correctly."
"I… I don't know what to say," you whispered, feeling dizzy with emotion.
"Will you consider it?" he asked softly, a faint hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "Please?"
Caught in the depth of his gaze, you felt your resolve melting away. "I-I guess?" you breathed, your voice trembling. "I'll… consider it."
A smug smile spread across his face, and he tenderly pressed his lips against yours. "That's all I ask, my dearest."
After ensuring you were alright one last time, Malleus redirected his focus to Elizan. With a flick of his wrist, the thorns under his control tightened around the ghost. Elizan shrieked and thrashed about, his translucent form writhing in pain as the thorns dug deeper.
"Do try to exercise some restraint, my boy," Lilia drawled, tapping his sharp fingers idly against his crossed arms. "We do not want Ramshackle to be bathed in blood. It would be very unsanitary."
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not too sure if i am continuing but feel free to suggest some peepl bookies
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swordgrace · 3 months ago
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❝ 𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅’𝐒 𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. ❞
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KINKTOBER — WEEK ONE: BATH SEX.
⤿ pairings: cregan stark x jace’s sister!reader.
⤿ word count: 4.1K.
⤿ warnings: smut (mdni), loss of virginity, bath sex, fingering (fem!rec), biting, multiple positions (cowgirl, from behind), heavy kissing, scratching, sexual ending implied, heavy breeding kink, creampie, mutual orgasm, rough(er) sex, both cregan & reader are horny
⤿ note: first kinktober request under my belt! Loved writing this one and it was a nice return to Cregan (love him with my whole being)
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Even a smoldering fire wilted in the midst of the Northern chill, a biting ice that consumed all traces of warmth, swallowing it whole.
Winds from beyond The Wall whistled down from desolate lands, bringing with it its bitterness and sting, seeking to envelop all within it.
Glacial are the wreaths of snow-furled gales that blanket Winterfell in their pale harshness — it even seeps into your bones, bones forged of fire and blood.
It was difficult to take comfort in such foreign surroundings, from the dusting of ice forming on window panes to the bristling chill that rakes across your spine. The North was not Dragonstone — it was not home.
Unconventional was the singular word that plagued your mind when it came to your sudden marriage to Cregan Stark, a union made in a frenzied haste to gain allies in a brewing war.
It was as if you were merely a pawn to be moved across a board by your kin — your Mother, in particular. She was the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, yet you couldn’t help but feel hopelessly abandoned here in the North, under the supposed guise of safety.
Jacaerys had departed shortly after your wedding in the Godswood, bidding his strenuous farewell before leaving you in the company of your stoic husband.
Your brother was not thrilled with the prospect, cautioning against it, but duty demanded it of you, and you dared not defy your mother. Admittedly, it could’ve been worse, this unusual match.
Cregan Stark was not a foul man — he was rough, like the uneven surface of leather or the cracks of a cliffside, a mountain so stalwart that you wondered if he ever smiled. A sliver of you pondered if his dour visage was because of you.
Stoicism seemed interwoven into his demeanor, tempestuous hues glistening with a stern wisdom that stretched far beyond his years. Cregan was only two namedays your senior, yet he behaved as if he were a grizzled veteran.
He did not consummate the night of your wedding, much to your bewilderment. You could only muster up a series of kisses and an untied gown before nervousness tore you asunder, anxiousness gnawing away at your belly.
Cregan did not press you any further, citing that he wished to give you a berth, a space to yourself as you processed your new environment. It was a sentiment that you vastly appreciated, yet you felt so completely alone.
The autumnal canopy of the Wolfswood had become your constant companion in the weeks that had passed since your union to Cregan. At dusk, you would converse with your Northern husband, who’s exterior seemed to melt slightly with each passing day.
Duty did not always permit the two of you to spend time together — oftentimes, it kept you separated, tethered to two differing realities.
After supper, you retired to your marital chambers, prepared to end your evening with a hot bath and a bit of light reading to preoccupy your time. Cregan did not appear, which was commonplace, strategizing alongside his advisors.
Chambermaids prepared your steaming bath, hot enough to singe those without dragon’s blood coursing through their veins. Wisps of heated vapor drifted toward the ceiling of the cozy washroom, a humid warmth permeating stone.
Deliberately, you untied each strand of lace, deftly unraveling yourself from your evening gown. Fingertips graced the thick fur that lined the trim as you draped it over a chair, flicking strands of your hair aside.
Footsteps resonated outside of the mahogany door, their shadow falling across you. You hadn’t expected Cregan to return so soon, prompting you to step into the water before sinking beneath, reclining against one edge.
Gentle sloshing of water caught his attention once he abandoned Ice and his cloak, retracing his steps to the door of the washroom. “My Lady.” He greeted you, lingering just outside in hopes to converse, even if it were fleeting.
A strange lump formed within your throat as you gingerly scrubbed at your arm with floral-laden soap, throat becoming thick. “Ah — my Lord,” You did not sound confident. “I wasn’t expecting your return so swiftly.”
Cregan found it increasingly difficult to act gallant around you, resolve hanging by a thread, honor crumbling away. Instinct and desire festered within his heart, lust where he knew it shouldn’t be — but he was a man who wanted his wife.
If this weren’t so rushed in an attempt to forge allegiances, he would have courted you properly, taken the time to learn your heart before devolving to carnality.
He learned some, but he knew that you were nervous, and he could not blame you for it. Tossed to the wolves, a lone dragon — Cregan did not want to frighten you any further.
“One can only play tactician for so long before it becomes an uphill battle,” Cregan uttered, chestnut brows furrowing together. “Are you well?” He inquired, tone one of a gentler resonance, laced with sympathy.
“Well enough,” Biting at your cheek, you considered your next words carefully, gaze boring a hole through the door. “Did you … Were you wanting to join me?” As much as it turned your stomach with butterflies, you did not want to continue being so shy.
In the sight of the Old Gods, he was your husband — Cregan had treated you with the greatest care and decency, and continuing to hide from him would only worsen things. You knew that it needn’t be so disconcerting.
Cregan’s jaw tensed, a sly heat blooming throughout his chest as he considered your stiff proposal. It sounded uncertain, and he did not dare act on uncertainty alone. Yet, the thought was tantalizing — he thought of you often.
Some part of him felt reduced to a boy, a coil of sudden nerves that he promptly abandoned, steeling himself for you. “I would only join you if you wanted it, my lady. Do not force yourself to be uncomfortable.” He rumbled.
The more you sat, alone in the herb-speckled waters, the more you yearned. There was nothing to fear from Cregan Stark, an honorable man whose patience was as unyielding as the mountains.
To grow was to rid yourself of girlish fright, and you did just that, steadying your erratic breathing as you sat up a little straighter. You reminded yourself that he was your husband, that he would not touch you unless you asked it of him.
“I want you to,” Your saccharine voice fluttered between the iron-etched wood, now a thin degree of separation between yourself and your husband. “Please, come in.”
Silently, Cregan prayed to the Gods to let him behave, to curb his animalistic appetite and to allow himself a gentler touch. Having already shed most of his leathers, he turned to knob, stepping inside to a homely nook of humid air and warmth.
Storm-colored hues fixed themselves to you, demure and sitting so soundly in the bathtub, yet you were the very image of perfection. His hand clenched in a desperate attempt to relieve some of his own tension.
You nearly shrank beneath the penetrating stare of your husband, whose coiled posture reminded you of a wolf preparing to strike. It made your heart hammer beneath your breast, hand gripping the edge of the tub just a little tighter.
His gaze screamed of affection, of desire, of ardor — Cregan was not as intimidating as you thought him to be, visage softening at the sight of you.
Tension clouded the washroom, thick enough to be sundered into two with a broadsword. Cregan wordlessly tugged his rugged tunic aside, exposing a thick wall of corded muscle, an impenetrable force that made your breath hitch.
To you, he seemed sculpted from a cliffside — rustic and hardened, the form of a warrior made, not chiseled, his own incarnation of godlike. Your stare shamelessly traversed the bulky plane of his musculature.
You were quick to glance away when he removed his trousers, causing you to shift beneath the water, skin glistening with a damp sheen. Again, you staved off your nerves as he lowered himself into the bath, taking up plenty of space.
In his solace, he drank you in again as if you were the finest stout, the very essence of beauty. Cregan felt the tension, the way it curled around the both of you, hesitation brewing in place of action.
It was you who shattered the silence, first with a tender smile, second with your words. “I must confess, I am glad that you are here,” A warm stirring began to unfurl across your chest. “I’ve been quite lonely.”
Cregan admonished himself for your feelings in silence, visage etched with a calm empathy. “Forgive me, then,” He murmured. “I did not know that my absence had become so cumbersome. I thought it best to let you adjust — alone.”
“There is nothing to forgive,” You assured, countenance as warm as the first sigh of springtime, melting away at his icy exterior. “You have been so understanding and kind, and I do not know how to thank you for it.”
“I would gladly make time for you, wife,” His utterance of the word wife made you shiver in delight. “I know now that this is something we will brave together, and not apart.” Cregan nodded, hoping that conversation would distract him.
He was unbearably hard, cock throbbing with such an incessant ache that he nearly abandoned the bath altogether. It was then that you reached for his hand, digits tracing along his forearm.
Cregan gripped the tub like a vice with his hand, so tense that his muscle threatened to tear apart. Your embrace was like silk, a shroud that he wished to wrap himself within. His gaze intensified, stuck to you with a fervor.
“I did not invite you inside just to converse,” Your whisper was hoarse, shrewd — you were finding your voice, and Cregan thoroughly enjoyed it. “I wish to try.”
“You cannot try from that distance.” Cregan’s tone was akin to the trembling of thunder from the skies, dripping with a thinly-veiled desire. There was affection present, yet lust seemed to win out as he coaxed you closer.
Once you waded into arm’s reach, your husband brusquely tugged you into his lap, causing you to gasp as he caressed your hip. His kiss was akin to a tide of fire, washing over you with an unyielding burn, heat crawling across your flesh.
You reciprocated without hesitation, palms finding their purchase atop his chest, nails digging into muscle when you felt his cock prod into your stomach. Gods, he was intimidating — you feared your physical state on the morrow.
It was unmistakable, his passion — the desire he’d built for you came crashing down, entangled with your budding desire.
A thick, calloused palm cupped your hip, kneading into the curves there, the other finding the soft flesh of your breast. He gingerly groped your chest, fingers gracing across your nipple, evoking an excitable whine from you.
“Gods, you are the most beautiful woman I’ve laid eyes upon,” Cregan’s husked tone was akin to a growl, reverberating against your mouth. “My wife.” He uttered, reveling in your flustered expression.
Lips clamored as if it would be their last dance, and he found himself kissing your jaw, your neck — wherever he could reach. It was a near-frenzy, acted upon with passion and a wolfish appetite, a desire that scorched his bones.
“Cregan,” A labored moan ripped through your throat, crackling with excitement as you tilted your head backward. He thoroughly reveled at the sound of you singing his name, a rumble reverberating throughout his chest. “Please, I need you.”
Slotted firmly within his lap, Cregan let the hand upon your hip drift elsewhere, dipping beneath the water as he sought the heat between your legs. His kisses were relentless, etched against your neck like a hot brand.
He needed you just as terribly, a want so powerful that it nearly obliterated him, scorching his heart with your own desire. His thick digits found your flower, thumb circling the pearl of your cunt.
A sharp gasp escaped you, lips agape as another wine emerged from your mouth. You hadn’t been touched like this before, not from a man so learned as Cregan, who studied your body with his hawkish gaze.
Your hips possessed a mind of their own, desperately chasing after any shred of friction from his hand, nails clamping into his broad shoulders. A soft chuckle shook his body, the vibrations sending shivers up your spine.
“Easy, princess,” Cregan murmured, teeth gently scraping over your jugular before he pressed a kiss there. “Do not tire yourself so quickly.” He cautioned, toying with your clit in slow, deliberate motions.
His cock prodded against your cunt, filling you with a sudden wave of anticipation. His stature seemed to confirm what you already knew, prompting you to swallow the lump within your throat.
Cregan would never tire of you, and he knew that this would not be enough to satiate his hunger for you, an appetite as ravenous as that of a starving wolf. He wanted to taste you, occupy the space between heart and ribcage, never part from you — duty be damned.
Pressing another string of greedy kisses against the column of your throat, Cregan continued to slowly circle your clit, savoring the twitches and reactions that flickered across your face. You made your pleasure known, vocalizing your delight to the heavens.
Part of you knew what to expect with the act of consummation — pain, and then pleasure, if you were fortunate enough. You trusted Cregan to handle you with care, rocking your hips atop him.
A low grunt elicited from him, one that clearly seemed pent-up. The sensation of your nethers pressing against his length drove him to madness, palm gripping hard at the small of your back. “I fear you may be the death of me.” He growled.
A shudder iced your spine, one tinged with anticipation as you sought his mouth, kissing him in your own flurry of bliss. He enjoyed your initiative, large hand tracing up and down along your back, goosebumps trailing in the wake of his caress.
“I — I want you inside of me,” Stammering over your words, your hands found the nape of his neck, clinging to his damp, chestnut tresses. “Will you be gentle?” You feared being split in half if his pace became hastened.
Cregan grit his teeth together, knowing that taking your maidenhead in such a rough way was not fair to you, nor was it kind. “Of course,” He assured, pressing a kiss against your jaw. “I wouldn’t dream of harming you.”
Restraint would likely test his resolve, but Cregan was up for the challenge, hand snaking away from between your thighs. Even within his grasp, you still seemed a touch uneasy, likely due to the bundle of nerves coiled within your stomach.
“On your own time, wife,” Cregan rumbled, content to caress along your supple frame, handling your curves as if you were molded from obsidian. You possessed the strength of a dragon — perhaps you didn’t realize it yet. “I am enjoying myself.”
With a nod, you exhaled, looking to him for instruction as he reached between the both of you, guiding his cock to your entrance. The thick head pressed along your cunt, causing you to shift again.
A kiss made its residence along your jaw. “I have you,” Cregan murmured, letting you sink down onto his length. Your countenance bristled with the sting of agony, and you nearly hurried it along until his hand seized your hip. “Easy.”
Seven Hells, he filled you completely, stretching you in a way that molded you to him. It was discomforting, a pain you seldom experienced, but Cregan was soothing.
It was the sweetest torment for Cregan, cock sluggishly feeding into you, inch by inch, your cunt tight around his length. A sonorous groan bubbled within his throat as he continued to guide you, ensuring that you were not suffering.
“Cregan!” A hiss escaped you, one intermingled with pleasure and pain, brow creased in concentration. It was nearly too much for you, but you persisted, enduring the newfound stretch and foreign sensations.
The tip of his length very nearly kissed your cervix, and that was his sign to cease. He let you sit, labored breathing bearing inklings of ecstasy, lips slack as you began to roll your hips.
He was strong enough to maneuver you along his cock as he saw fit, but he let you gather your bearings, find your own pace. Your soft, sweet lips sought his own, mouths clashing in a spirited kiss, one charged with a growing adoration.
Chest-to-chest, the intimacy grew tenfold, hearts beating in-tandem, making way for the wave of ardor that consumed you both. Water gently sloshed around the both of you, flesh damp, yet you had never been warmer.
Firm, steady hands kept their grasp upon the swell of your hips, thumbs tracing lazy circles into your silken flesh. Cregan appraised you with starving eyes, hues as gray as swirling clouds before a winter’s storm.
“Move me,” A wanton sigh floated from your lips, evoking a sense of primal desire that he knew to shackle down. Your husband obliged, setting the pace at a slower speed for your sake. “Gods, just like that.” You huffed.
Cregan fought against baser instincts, against tearing you asunder like that of a snarling beast. He guided you up and down upon his length, mouth seeking the dip between your neck and shoulder.
Teeth found their rooting there, gingerly scraping your flesh as he marked you, eliciting a throaty moan from your mouth. It was a sting that you did not expect to enjoy — but you wanted it again and again.
Tangled sighs and low, heavy breaths wove together, forming a heated cacophony that filled the washroom with your lewd activities.
He took your maidenhead with such tenderness, never once resorting to a harsher pace unless you were the one to initiate. “You are perfect.” Cregan uttered, letting you rock up and down along his length.
The feeling of his calloused hands sinking into your plush flesh was mesmerizing, leaving behind a wave of goosebumps that crawled across your flesh. He gripped you hard enough to leave bruises, peppering kisses against your neck.
Finding your rhythm, it became easier to impale yourself upon him, gasping when his cock sheathed itself deep within you. Your cunt clenched pathetically around him, nails raking crimson trails across his shoulders.
Molten heat churned within the pit of your stomach, arousal honey-thick between your thighs. The more you succumbed to desire, the more carnal his pace became, losing all inhibitions of restraint.
Soap-laden water steamed around the both of you, sloshing with the movement of two bodies, locked within the throes of passion. A soft cry escaped you as he brought you down again, invigorated by the spirited rolls of your hips.
It only became messier — two souls clawing for affection, for entanglement, for a release. As you grasped his biceps for support, you changed the rhythm, letting yourself drown within desire.
A breathy, snarled curse tore past his mouth, brows furrowing together in concentration as he maneuvered you toward the tub’s thick rim. His chest was hot, slick as he pressed himself to your back.
Smoothing a calloused palm along your thigh, his thrusts became a touch erratic, cock hitting into you like the jab of a spear. “Cregan!” You moaned, savoring the sensation of his mouth against your shoulder, crooked nose ghosting along your throat.
The newfound position was somewhat awkward given his stature, contorted in the smaller space of the tub, but he cared little for it. Passion drove him, the desire to breed, make you round and lovely with his children.
His hands did not leave you, caressing wherever he could, an anchor to keep you safe even in the midst of such crass acts. “Gods help me,” Cregan growled, hot breath fanning across your shoulder. “I need you.” He hissed.
It was unexpected, his confession that rattled you so, sending tremors along your spine. You did not expect him to feel that way for you, yet it only furthered your arousal.
Lewd entanglements of flesh resonated throughout the washroom, accompanied by a myriad of moans and animalistic growls. Cregan became more beast than man when placed under pleasure, not that you minded.
Even if he lacked the stamina to continue, carnality willed him to devour. Your husband kissed you, touched you wherever he could, thick digits snaking between your thighs as he sought the aching pearl of your cunt.
“Do not stop,” A breathy mewl erupted from your throat as you pleaded with Cregan to continue. Once deft digits began to toy with your clit, your knees buckled, hand grasping at his forearm. “Please, please do not stop!”
Between the feverish kisses he placed along the nape of your neck and the hand circling your clit, you felt the ecstasy mounting. The coil within your stomach began to unfurl, visage screwed up in a look of bliss.
Cregan’s grunts sent shivers throughout your body, warming your insides with their fervor. His cock continued to pound in and out at a steady pace, body snug against yours.
He dared not harm you, executing caution even still, indomitable musculature hunched in over you, enveloping you on every front. As his calloused fingers flicked across your pearl, you shuddered, thighs twitching in response.
You experienced a euphoria like never before, the sensation foreign yet overwhelming, setting every fiber of your being ablaze. Water splashed over the rim of the bathtub, falling onto the stone below.
Each snap of his hips sent you reeling, cock filling you to the brim, stretching you in ways that you never thought possible. You moaned, nails digging into his arm; Cregan’s pace did not deviate.
Tantalizing fantasies of putting a babe in you drove him mad, his hand drawing away from your cunt as he placed his palm over your stomach. Gods, you could feel everything — it made you buckle, release swift and white-hot.
Stars floated across your vision in the wake of your release, a choked sob of ecstasy rippling through your chest. Cregan’s name rolled from your tongue like an incantation that you had committed to memory.
It was then that your husband spilled himself inside of you, aided by the wet clenching of your cunt around him. Ropes of hot, virile seed painted your womb, and you felt him press his forehead against the back of your shoulder.
Tangled, labored breaths filled the space between you both, thin as ever. Cregan did not want to stop — the night was agonizingly young, and his cock stirred within you. “Are you well, wife?” He murmured, stroking along your hip.
“I am perfect,” He could taste your smile, a bright and palpable thing. You felt him move away, momentarily sinking back beneath the water. “I — I was not expecting it to feel so pleasurable.”
“There is plenty more beyond that,” Cregan assured, drawing you back into the wide expanse of his lap, cock nestled against the plane of your stomach. He cupped your jaw, the pad of his thumb tracing your cheek. “Do you require rest?”
A coy expression flickered across your countenance as you let your fingertips playfully ghost across the tip of his length. The sudden blaze within Cregan’s storm-cloud hues had made your heart leap into your throat, excitement replacing exhaustion.
A growl stirred within his chest at your wordless insinuation, and he did not seem to waste a moment of time, hooking an arm around your hips. “Clearly not.” He grunted.
“Do you object?” You murmured, dragging one finger over the plane of his visage, so youthful and unblemished, a contrast to his rugged demeanor. Provoking your husband was a bold choice, one that Cregan respected.
“I do not,” Cregan’s tone was little more than a grumbling of thunder, brows furrowing together as he steeled himself for what would become a lengthy evening. He adjusted your position, the head of his cock kissing your entrance once more. “You will wish for rest when we are finished.”
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