#hall farm weddings

[prestedhallo7]

Giving your bride a break from wedding planning

Prested has hosted many weddings, celebrations and special occasions.   Our brides regularly refer to us as “just perfect” due to our emphasis on making everyone feel relaxed and looked after. Other than your guests and staff, no one else will have access to Prested on your special day. The 14 beautiful bedrooms and lovely period reception rooms are exclusively yours.

[srjungleresort]

Hotels In Attapadi

Discover comfort at Sr Jungle Resort, one of the finest hotels in Attapadi. Immerse in nature's embrace, just moments away from attractions. Your ideal choice for hotels near Attapadi.

[floridaweddingbarn]

Exclusive Barn Wedding Hall near Sarasota

Bradenton Wedding Venue near Siesta Key features 4,500+ sq ft modern farmhouse with lovely rooms, a living area with a chef kitchen, and more. Book Today Exclusive Barn Wedding Hall near Sarasota.

[aarajungle]

Farm House In Coimbatore

Embark on a transformative journey with unique travel stays at Aara Jungle Resort's whimsical Farm House in Coimbatore. Experience enchantment and tranquility.

[feirceangel]

Asks are open you say? Well how about a dynamic flip? Feyd is the proud warrior but is unexpectedly bartered away in a deal his brother makes to humiliate him. Surprised and furious he fully intends to conquer his new "brides" family and kingdom only for them to recognize his strength and be met with the satisfying challenge of warrior/ farming planet.

So, I kinda went in a different direction with this, but I hope you still enjoy it, Anon!!

Imagine | A Match (Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen)

Imagine Feyd is given in marriage to a wealthy House in order to gain an alliance. His new bride is not what he expected.

Word Count: 1,737

Warnings: arranged marriage, attempted choking/stabbing, non-sexual nudity (reader), Powerful! Reader.

"What?" Feyd's voice is barely concealing his rage as he stares down his uncle and smug brother.

"It was necessary, my darling," the Baron's voice is rough, his tone placating. "We need this alliance more than you know."

Feyd finds his teeth clenching, hands forming fists at his sides. "Why not Rabban?"

"You know why," the Baron glares. "They would not accept Rabban as a suitable match. You are to go and wed their daughter. And in return they give us whatever we ask."

Feyd growls, "I outta slit your throat, uncle."

The Baron laughs, "This is for your benefit as much as it is mine, dear nephew. Now go."

Feyd storms out of the room, a hurricane of rage sweeping through the halls. He has never felt an anger this severe in quite some time. He should have known something like this would happen eventually. And, knowing his uncle, there is another scheme at play.

Always plans within plans within plans.

It's not the worst situation, he muses later when he has calmed and steadied his mind.

House Wallach would be a formidable ally, an asset that shouldn't be taken lightly. With control over three planets and being the largest horticultural power in the Landsraad, they are powerful indeed.

The leaders of House Wallach has birthed only a daughter, which leaves them without a male heir. All manner of eligible men have tried their hand at a marriage to their daughter. None has been successful.

Until now, apparently.

A feral grin spreads across Feyd's face as he thinks of the possibilities.

He will have no issue wedding the daughter and taking control of House Wallach when the time is right.

And, perhaps if he plays his cards right, take control of House Harkonnen as well.

He cares not who he has to marry, even if he'll be mad about it for awhile. After all, he can dispose of her eventually.

~~~

Feyd arrives with much fanfare, as befitting the na-Baron of House Harkonnen.

Bright sunshine surrounds those gathered to greet him, people who are swamped in bright greens, yellows, and browns. All around the envoy are orchards of all kinds of fruit trees. A vibrant sea of green.

So much more colour than Feyd is used to.

His expression remains neutral as he greats the Lord and Lady of the House. They appear cautious of him, perhaps overly so. It seems they know House Harkonnen’s reputation.

"It is an honour to be here," he says, bowing slightly. The lie slides easily off his tongue.

"We are pleased to have you in our home, na-Baron." The Lord says, returning the bow. "Our daughter is so pleased that you accepted the match."

Feyd's lips quirk up. Surely he's lying, no noble lady would hold any desire for a creature like him.

"As I said, it's an honour."

His gaze sweeps around, searching for his wife-to-be. All he finds is diplomats and soldiers.

"Where is Lady Wallach?" He asks, unimpressed at her absence.

"Forgive us, your arrival coincided with an event she could not miss," the Lord replies. "She is attending a Munus Ceremony."

This catches Feyd's attention, "A fight?"

"Yes, if you come this way, we may still witness part of it."

Feyd follows Lord Wallach, silently fuming.

His betrothed is watching other men fight to the death instead of welcoming him? His outrage is unparalleled, yet he remains collected.

They lead him up to the viewing tower of an outdoor coliseum, with vines growing on every available surface.

The viewing box is empty.

"There my lord."

Feyd's attention is brought down to a figure in the ring who brandishes a dagger with a graceful air.

"Our daughter,” Lord Wallach smiles, the action appearing forced.

He hadn't expected this.

Feyd was picturing a regal noble lady, demure and pitiful. He had not once pictured this creature before him, fluid in her movements as she battles her opponent.

She blocks attacks with ease and avoids ones that would cause serious damage all while attacking just as fiercely. Her opponent is skilled, to be sure, but is no match for the ruthlessness of her attacks.

He falls to the ground, unmoving. Feyd’s bride-to-be lifts her arms in victory, grinning as blood drips down her blade.

“We honour!” She shouts, and the crowd responds with deafening cheers.

“We know she is not exactly… How can I put it? Traditional, let’s say.” Her mother frets, “But she will be a good wife, na-Baron.”

He barely hears her, eyes transfixed on the beauty in the arena as she battles another opponent. Yes, this is an interesting turn of events indeed.

“Of course she will,” Feyd replies. “I must meet her.”

He watches as she disappears into the building, no doubt going to change and bathe after her match.

“Certainly. She’ll be out to give you a tour in no time. Meanwhile, a guard can show you to your room.”

Displeased, Feyd nods and obediently follows the man to his room. As soon as he’s alone, Feyd opens the door and stalks out with determination.

He cannot wait.

There is surprisingly little security surrounding your change room, Feyd notes as he quietly opens the door.

Your piercing gaze meets him immediately. Instead of being frightened, like he had anticipated, you smile warmly.

“Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha, I was not expecting you here. I’m afraid you have caught me unprepared to greet you properly,” you say calmly as you continue to unbutton your fighting tunic.

He doesn’t know what to make of your reaction. You’re not put off by his presence at all.

“I couldn’t wait,” he replies honestly.

You hum, “Excited to see me, na-Baron?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

The sound of your laughter is unexpected, “Of course not. I doubt I was what you were anticipating.”

His gaze lingers as you remove your clothes and retrieve a washcloth and bucket.

“Don’t you have servants?” He finds himself asking, motioning to the washcloth.

“I prefer to do it myself.”

He frowns, “You don’t seem very noble.”

“I assure you, Wallach blood flows deep in my veins,” your voice has taken an edge.

It seems he’s struck a nerve.

“I meant no insult, my lady,” his grin says otherwise, his voice rough and teasing. “It just appears you have odd taste. Fighting and doing the work servants should be doing.”

You return his even gaze, “I am not some snivelling noble who cannot take care of herself. Feyd, it seems you do not remember me.”

Your last statement has him pausing.

“What did you say?”

Lathering suds onto your bloodied skin, you barely spare him a glance.

“I said you don’t remember me. We met once, you know.”

He does not remember such a thing.

“Don’t toy with me,” he snarls. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying,” you roll your eyes. “Feydie, I can’t say I’m not hurt you don’t recall.”

Your bastardization of his name brings a memory to the front of his mind.

A young girl bearing the Wallach crest getting angry with him over something and punching him clear across the face. He naturally returned the blow and they broke out into a fight right then and there.

He’s shocked he forgot it.

You watch as recognition filters through his eyes. Smiling, you rinse the suds off your body.

“Now you remember. To be honest, I don’t know why I was so angry with you.”

“You’ve always been a fighter,” he acknowledges with an inclination of his head.

“And I knew you could not be satisfied with a weak wife.”

He’s coming to realize this match may not have been a scheme of just his uncle.

“You wanted this match,” he phrases it as a statement as if he already knows the answer.

You smirk, “Does it not please you?”

“What makes you think I would want you as a wife?” He sneers, crossing his arms.

“I know you planned on controlling me, or killing me - whichever suited your needs best. You want power, Feyd. I can give you that and so much more. Is it too much to ask for you in return?”

He cannot find words, mulling over your proposal as his eyes study your every move.

You’ve certainly grown from that little girl who could barely throw a proper punch yet had the rage to carry through a fight.

Feyd observes as you dry yourself off. He leans over before you can, and grabs your fresh shirt from the table.

“Allow me, my lady.”

Surprised, you nod and present your back to him. A foolish mistake, to turn your back on a potential threat. He contemplates disposing of you right now, but finds himself frowning at the idea.

You’re so much more interesting than he first imagined.

Despite himself, he wants to know you better, to find out when you had your first gladiatorial fight or when you realized you could be so much more than wedding fodder for your parents to make a match with.

“So many suitors have tried to win your hand,” Feyd rasps as he guides your arms through the sleeves of your shirt. “Yet you denied them all.”

“None were you, my lord.”

“Why chose me?” He leans into you, pressing his chest to your back as he slowly starts buttoning your shirt.

You lean back into him, “You are a fighter, a warrior. You can wield blades and talk politics. And I know you can treat me right.”

“Why would I treat you any different than a common whore?” He suddenly presses his arm against your throat, cutting off your oxygen.

He looks at your expression, surprised to find a wide grin. A flash of pain goes through his side. Your eyes flicker downwards and Feyd looks down to find the tip of a blade piercing his skin.

He releases his hold.

“You will treat me differently, Feyd. And do you know why?”

You turn to face him, placing your hand on his bleeding wound.

“Because I will make you.”

Feyd cannot stop the smile forming on his plush lips as you bring your hand to his cheek.

He doesn’t say anything as you continue place a kiss to his lips before shoving him away.

“We must ready ourselves for the dinner tonight, there is much to discuss about the wedding.”

“Of course, my lady.”

[Likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated!]

[paxtonphotography]

Makayla & Johnathon

[thegnomelord]

I was talking with some friends and kinda came up with an original story idea where you're the new groundskeeper for a wealthy Victorian gentleman who is definitely not some kind of eldritch abomination.

Here's some touch and go snippets of what I thought of, lemme know if y'all want to see me turn this into an actual story.

CW: NSFW at the end, gay, homoerotic pining, Victorian gothic, mentions of murder.

Now I'm thinking ab a dark gothic Victorian gent who is *definitely* not some kind of eldritch abomination who marries wives who mysteriously disappear or die soon after and you're the new garden keeper who moves to work there because your old man is ill and the Victorian gent lets you live there and through no fault of your own you catch his interest and the way you smile as you handle the newly born lambs makes his, definitely not dead, heart beat.

----

You'd snuck in a 'friend' from the local brothel after your friends badgered your ears off about being a 'real man'. The night had gone poorly, she was a pretty woman, yes, but you just couldn't bring yourself to have sex no matter how hard you tried. You had to beg her not to tell anyone about your problem before paying her and sending her on her way yet. . . you can't find her anywhere.

It's as if she'd dissapeared in thin air (or was dragged by the carpets down into the maw in the basement) — Don't question the thing in the basement, you don't have to worry about that and it's probably just rats. Besides the door for the basement is never where you last remember it to be.

You could have sworn it was down the hall past the master's study but when you go to look all there is is just another grandiose painting, this time portraying the whore of Babylon riding on the many headed beast. And the master of the house appears before you can recognise the face of the whore, asking if you can fix the old light in his study that keeps flickering

---

You notice the master starts asking for you or going out of the house more often, usually to go horse back riding through the wide hunting woods you maintain behind the house. You're never sure why most of the animals shy away from the master like a devil from a cross, but there is one dove white steed that is the master's favorite. It's the only one who doesn't shy away, the one that you're not sure was in that empty paddock last night but you'd rather not lose your job by telling him you'd probably lost his horse and it came back.

The horse is sweet to you but you've seen it try to bite the other farm hands that get too close. Maybe it's just a temperament thing, animals feel more than you do after all, but. . . Hmm, where's that new farmhand that had slapped your ass gone to? And was the horse's muzzle always dyed red like that? Eh, someone must have just fed it some strawberries.

____

You get bullied by the chamber maid into helping her with cleaning the numerous bedrooms because the other two have come down with the seasonal flu and you were *sure* the nth bedroom you go to clean is empty, you'd checked it twice, but somehow when you pass through the very same door you enter the master's private bedroom and he's there in only his sleep clothes smiling at you and you can only stutter out weak apologies with your face a flame while your eyes stare at the other man in a way that would get the old town's priest rolling in his grave.

Oh yes, your ma and pa were extremely religious, dressing you up in your Sunday's best, taking you to church every Sunday regardless if it's rain or shine. You remember seeing the new master of the house when your parents were allowed to attend the previous master's seventh wedding. The master's family has long since supported the church and the local community, gaining favour from everyone despite the, erm, eccentric decorations and continuous wife deaths.

But death in child birth or from disease can happen to anyone, and what is a peasant like you supposed to understand the gentry?

Besides, the current master knows best what the wealthy people invited to his party expect from a man servant that you were commandered to be this evening. And if the young lord decides to tug off your cross necklace in favour of tying his own tie around your throat, slowly tightening it until the knot sits firmly at your Adam's apple and his ungloved fingers brush against your skin, and his smiling face is inches away looking at you like a man should not look at another man while purring how dashing you look tonight, who are you to argue?

----

The dairymaid had asked you to go get some honey from the beehives they keep. The door slowly budges open as you're forced to use more strength than you should, as if the house refuses to let you out this early in the morning, you were certain you'd oiled the hinges but it's an old house, it's bound to happen.

You go to the hives and for some reason the bees are not as violent as you remember your pa telling you about them being. They just buzz around you lazily as you carefully remove the frames with the honey.

You're nearly given a heart attack when you turn and the lord is there, behind you, staring at you with eyes you swear glint like the surface of an oil spill after a rainstorm but that must just be the light.

"Let me try some?" He asks, closing in, as if you have any ability or want to refuse.

He reaches out to grip your hand. Your fingers are still sticky with honey and for a second your blaspheming mind thinks he'll lick the honey off your fingers (god smite you down for that thought, you don't even know how many 'hail Mary's you'll need to recount for that).

He dips his fingers in the honey, rivulets of the golden liquid trickling down his knuckles as he slowly brings them up to his face and sticks them in his mouth. You know enough of the gentry and their weird customs to know this would be seen as unsightly, but you're neither gentry nor do you find yourself caring when he keeps his gaze locked on you even as his lips part, pink tongue swirling around his fingers to lick up all the honey in a way that makes you think it's purposeful. (It can't be, he's the lord for crying out loud, you can already hear your ma reaching for the lord's word to bash those sinful dirty blasphemous thoughts from your skull)

He pulls his fingers from his mouth with a loud sound that goes straight from your ears to your chest and down to where it shouldn't. Your hands itch to grab the cross around your neck and hold it but you only now remember the lord still has it, his tie still loosely wrapped around your neck. His eyes sparkle like stars "You should try some." He says, and he's tugging you by the arm before you can even start spouting your excuses about how it's not your place for such things.

----

Getting down on your knees in prayer, only for him to appear and gently grasp your chin - murmuring lowly how worship can be done later, that he needs you to do one more task before you pray and head to bed

That 'one more task' turns out to be a simple fix that for some reason takes longer than it should. The house does not want another's name to be spoken by your tongue and isn't above petty childish ploys of constantly flickering the one light in the lord's private chambers regardless of how many lightbulbs you change. The lord doesn't mind despite your growing emberassment, he likes the sight of your muscles tensed to stay balanced on that rickety ladder and how, despite your annoyance, you still treat the house - him- with care.

And it's late at night when you finish, so late everyone is asleep and there's no point in waking everyone up by trying to maneuver through the dark house with a candle.

"Stay the night." He says, order clear even without his hands tugging on your shirt. It's improper to sleep in the lord's bed in your work clothes after all, and you swear you see his eyes harden when he noticed that cross you'd managed to find, but it's soon discarded when he pulls the shirt over your head, cross dropping to the floor to be quietly swallowed by the carpets.

----

The only prayer he allows to be uttered in his house is the one you mutter when you fist your cock, squirreled away in your tiny room in the house. The only time he allows you to pray to your god is when his name is right next to Jesus and God the father, asking them for forgiveness for your sinful thoughts while you rut your cock into the sheets and moan his name as quietly as you think you're able to get away with.

He's learned not to 'stumble' on you in such a state, humans and their privacy, you were stone cold like a nun for a month when he'd did that once, and he'd missed the sweet prayers you sing him late at night when you think he's not listening.

[world-of-wales]

HAPPY 42ND BIRTHDAY TO HRH THE PRINCE OF WALES, WILLIAM ARTHUR PHILIP LOUIS ♡

On 21 June 1982, Prince William was born to Diana and Charles, then known as Prince and Princess of Wales in St Mary's Hospital, London, at at 21:03 BST. He was born during the reign of his paternal grandmother Elizabeth II and was the first child born to a Prince and Princess of Wales since Prince John's birth in July 1905.

The little prince's name was announced on 28 June as William Arthur Philip Louis. Wills was christened in the Music Room of Buckingham Palace by the then Archbishop of Canterbury, Robert Runcie, on 4 August.

William studied at Jane Mynors' nursery school and Wetherby School in London before joining Ludgrove. He was subsequently admitted to Eton College, studying geography, biology, and history at the A-level.

The Prince undertook a gap year taking part in British Army training exercises in Belize, working on English dairy farms, and as part of the Raleigh International programme in southern Chile, William worked for ten weeks on local construction projects and taught English.

In 2001, William enrolled at the University of St Andrews, initially to study Art History but then changed his field of study to Geography with the support of the love of his life Catherine Elizabeth Middleton who he met while at school.

Will and Cat fell in love during their time at uni, and married at Westminster Abbey on 29 April 2011. The couple have three adorable cupcakes Prince George (b.2013), Princess Charlotte (b.2015) and Prince Louis (b.2018). The family of five divide time between their official residence, Kensington Palace and their two private residences - Amner Hall & Adelaide Cottage.

After university, William trained at the Royal Military Academy Sandhurst. In 2008, he graduated from the Royal Air Force College Cranwell and joined the RAF Search and Rescue Force in early 2009. He transferred to RAF Valley, Anglesey, to receive training on the Sea King search and rescue helicopter, which made him the first member of the British royal family since Henry VII to live in Wales.

During his active career as a Search and Rescue Pilot, William conducted 156 search and rescue operations, which resulted in 149 people being rescued. He then served as a full-time pilot with the East Anglian Air Ambulance starting in July 2015, donating his full salary to the EAAA charity.

Working with all branches of the military, he holds the ranks of Lieutenant Colonel in the Army, Commander in the Navy and Wing Commander in the Air-Force

Upon their wedding, WillCat became HRH The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, The Earl and Countess of Strathearn and Baron and Lady Carrickfergus. He became the heir apparent on 8 September 2022, receiving the titles of the Duke of Cornwall & The Duke of Rothesay. William & Catherine were made The Prince and Princess of Wales by Kimg Charles on 9 September 2022. Additionally, William also became the Prince & High Steward of Scotland, Earl of Chester, Earl of Carrick, Lord of the Isles, and Baron Renfrew.

As well as undertaking royal duties in support of The King, both in the UK and overseas, The Prince devotes his time supporting a number of charitable causes and organisations with some of his key areas of interest being Mental health, Conservation, Homelessness, Sports and Emergency Workers.

He has undertaken several overseas trips representing the monarch, covering a wide array of countries like Australia, Canada, Namibia, Malaysia, South Africa, Tanzania, Pakistan Italy, Jordan, Kuwait, France, India, The Bahamas, Belize, Afghanistan etc ; He is also is also a founder of various initiatives like United For Wildlife, Heads Together, Earthshot and Homewards.

[scottishaccentsareawesome]

Cathy has a WhatsApp group with the Tornado Wranglers, sans Kate and Tyler, dedicated to gossiping about Kate and Tyler and plotting how to get them together/married.

Like early on after Kate's joined the Wranglers and they're all visiting the Carter Farm, Cathy assigns Kate and Tyler to wash the dishes after dinner or something, and then pulls all the Wranglers into another room where she pulls out a white board that's worthy of a conspiracy theorist (but really it's more like a 3D Pinterest Board dedicated to plotting Kate and Tyler's first date and onward...up until their wedding)

Cathy: "So have we made any progress?"

Javy: "There've been some baby steps."

Cathy: "BABY steps...?!"

Dexter: "The looks they've been sharing lately have been very promising!"

Boone: "Yes, very lingering, more and more heated - "

Lily: " - It's getting much more awkward for the rest of us to be around them. So, that's good, right?"

Dani: "I'm telling you, Ms. Carter, they are just THIS side of sickening. It's going well!"

Cathy: "Well, it has to go better than well! I have the hall booked for this time next year, I have my wedding dress tailored and hemmed to Kate's measurements, and I got my engagement ring that Kate's father gave me cleaned and polished and all ready for Tyler to give to Kate when he finally does pop the question! You guys need to be doing more! We need PROGRESS, people...!"

[f1bordeaux]

Somewhere | cl16

Somewhere, somehow, maybe his perfect reality is true. Maybe you're standing there next to him, in your farm house with your children. Warnings: Angsty. That's all. Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader; y/n only mentioned once Word count: 892 Poetry style | Story style (Could be either???)

Somewhere in his heart, there is a house.

It is small, tucked away in a familiar place that he cannot name. There are vines growing over the windowsills and trees crowding the yard but still, the sun finds a way in. It soaks into the floorboards, it paints the walls, it warms the rooms and it brightens the halls. When his feet-or hers-pass by, they feel the heat transfer into their soles. It reminds them that they are alive-that they are home.

Somewhere in his heart, there is a garden.

It is large, situated right next to the vine covered house that they inhabit. It has blueberries, strawberries, watermelon and pumpkins. Some mornings, when he is standing in front of the sink with a cup of coffee in his hand, he’ll look out the window and see her tending to her crops. She will be wearing a sun dress and gloves. She will be pulling away weeds, careful to include their roots when forcing them from the ground. He will watch as she replants them further away. “Why do you replant weeds?” He will ask when she finally retreats inside.

“They do not deserve to die just because they are unsightly.” She will answer.

Somewhere in his heart, there is a wedding.

It is lively, taking place near the weedless-garden that she constructed. There are people talking and laughing, there are friends and family members who they haven’t seen in decades. His mother and father sit next to his brothers. They all laugh as everyone waits for her to walk down the aisle. Cicadas hum songs of the summer, the sun descends over the forested skyline, fireflies dance through the sky as if it is their own personal ballroom. He will ignore all of these small things, however, when she comes into view. A tear will cascade down his cheek as he looks at his bride. Oh how beautiful she will be. He loves her in her sundress, he loves her in her wedding dress, and he loves her in his oversized t-shirts. His love for her will not change after they have wedded. And as he tells her this, her eyes widen.

“You don’t love me any more now that I’m your wife?”

He will shake his head. “I love you more than life itself, more than me, more than the air I breathe, more than the cars I drive. There is nothing left for me to love you more than. I love you as much as I can.”

She will smile as they lie in bed together that night, naked bodies reintroducing themselves as the Mr and Mrs. He will hold her close, running a hand through her hair. They will be in love, they will be happy.

Somewhere in his heart, there are children.

It is a new experience, both for him and her. They vary in ages, from a few months old to a couple years. They play and shout, laying out in the sun as though they were reptiles. When they break one of his trophies he begins to think maybe they are reptiles. They will grow quickly, sippy cups changing into glasses, baby food changing into takeout, primary school changing into high school. They will bring home friends, they will bring home tests with A’s and F’s. They will bring home stories that they will tell their children. They will come home and hug their parents. And one morning, when one of them is standing in front of the sink with a cup of chocolate milk in their hand, they will look out the window to see their mother and father both tending to the garden. Their mother will be wearing a sundress and gloves, their father will be wearing shorts and a farmer's hat. They will be pulling away weeds, careful to include their roots when forcing them from the ground. Their child will watch as they replant them further away. “Why do you replant weeds?” They will be asked when finally retreating inside.

“They do not deserve to die just because they are unsightly.” He will answer.

Somewhere in his heart, she is still alive.

She is replanting weeds and nursing their children. She is marrying him and spending nights intertwined under silk sheets with his body. She is still laughing, she is still crying. She is holding him after a bad race and telling him that no matter what, he will always be Charles in her eyes. She is still there, somewhere in his heart.

Somewhere in his heart, there is that perfect reality that he spends each night dreaming of. It's the one where they live in a farmhouse, they get married, they have three children-two boys and a girl-they live to be ninety five together. There was never a car crash in this perfect reality. She is still there, ensuring him that she always will be. He’s not struggling with every day and night, trying to find rhyme or reason to continue. He’s not debating on giving up his Formula One career in this perfect reality, either.

“I love you, y/n.” He said.

“I love you too, Charles. Even in death.”

And perhaps that was what was keeping him going. Even though she wasn’t there, she was still living somewhere within his heart promising that she wouldn’t be going anywhere.

[ozzgin]

I love how you put the horse/unicorn in a pearl necklace and a wedding dress lol I can only imagine the hassel it was to do that like omg everyone trying to make the wedding day special and like 10+ wedding dress brides/wedding spouses trying to help the unicorn/horse as well as trying to keep the unicorn/horse from seeing the custom ordered barn that everyone helped pieces together for their newly odd spouse lol STOP OMG Y'ALL CAN NEVER SAY LETS GO FOR A RIDE WITH THEM WITHOUT IT SEEMING INSULTING TO STRANGERS OR SOMETHING smh strangers will never understand

Referencing this

It seems that MTV Cribs is still an ongoing thing. So picture it: special wedding episode. The venue is the mansion itself. Local man and the harem of brides and husbands.

The camera crew passes by one of the rooms. There's a faint hint of farm hay mixed in the strong Charlotte Tilbury's Flawless setting spray scent. They peek in, cameras pointed and set to record. A hoarse screech echoes across the grand halls. The MUA is kicked in the side by glossy, polished hooves (an outside camera later zooms in on her body, strapped onto a stretcher as the medical team rushes towards the ambulance).

"Is that a horse in a wedding dress", one of the crew blurts out, wriggling away from the scene in a panic.

"Rampallions!" I shout, noticing the commotion. My frown can be discerned from the blurry lens, now collapsed on the floor. "Away from my bride at once!"

Next cutscene is me closing the door, mouthing one final "wretch of the century" towards the infracteurs. Quiet sobs can be heard from the now sealed room.

"What's the point? They've all seen me in the dress. It was supposed to be a reveal" the unicorn confesses, heartbroken.

"The girls will get you an even better one", I reassure the mythical creature. "Don't even look at the cost." I say, patting the fat leather wallet in my back pocket, stuffed to the brim with imaginary Tumblr coins.

The final cutscene is one of the harem members in one of those interview barracks.

"I mean, like, rude? They might as well just waltz over to the surprise barn and record that too. Ugh."

A moment of pondering.

"Wait, this will be released after the wedding, right? I didn't just-"

[srjungleresort]

Best Wedding Hall In Coimbatore

Discover the perfect blend of nature and elegance at Sr Jungle Resort, your ideal Wedding Hall in Coimbatore. Create timeless memories surrounded by lush greenery and impeccable hospitality.

[queers-gambit]

Bright Light

prompt: a Royal Wedding takes place.

pairing: Daemon Targaryen x female!reader

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

word count: 7.0k+

note: your honor, i can fix him!

warnings: you know what, idk if there's cursing, but it's me, so i feel like it's a good bet. baby making smut, small tension, rumors that cause discomfort, talk of previous abusive marriage.

previous: part four: Total Eclipse of the Heart

next: final / part six: One Sunrise at a Time

Chaos had descended over the Capital, and in the Red Keep, servants were losing their minds running around trying to perfect everything for the upcoming wedding festivities. The Prince of the City, Daemon, the groom, was highly opinionated on his nuptials and was adamant to surprise his bride, keeping you out of the loop so that you might see the decorations candidly.

The only detail Daemon was unaware of was your dress, and the Queen Alicent had brought in dressers and tailors from all over the country (and three from across the Narrow Sea) to bring you options. In the end, there was a gorgeous white silk number selected, and Viserys had it sent off to a jeweler.

When the dress returned, it was encrusted with dark rubies that would surely compliment the dark Targaryen robe you were to be draped in later in the day.

And to start, you were roused from sleep by Mary - who had been fighting Daemon off at the door, insisting the groom cannot see the bride before the ceremony. "Just lemme kiss 'er!" Daemon grunted against the door, but the smaller maid threw her entire weight into it, slamming the lock in place.

"No! You'll see her soon! Go get ready!" Mary barked through the wood.

"Mary!"

"Daemon! I open this door, and I'm throwing a shoe!"

It was quiet for a moment before Daemon's sigh was heard before his forehead lightly thumped to the wood, "Tell her I love her, please."

"She knows," Mary smirked at you, laid in bed still. "But I'll tell her, Prince. Now, go! Don't be late!"

You enjoyed several cups of tea as you got ready, the Queen allowing you to use a bigger suite to prepare yourself. In fact, Alicent was present with Rhaenyra, and as Mary was pinning your necklace in place, there were two fists pounding at the door.

"Let 'em in," you smiled with a knowing chuckle, readjusting your dress in the mirror as Rhaenyra turned to open the double doors.

"Lads," she smirked to Kase and Jamie, letting them pass over the threshold. "Nice to see you, too."

"Hi, Nyra," Kase teased lightly, squeezing her shoulder as he passed into the room.

"Oh, wow," Jamie breathed, eyes wide as he caught sight of you. At least Kase remembered protocol and bowed to the Princess and Queen, before, too, gawking at you. "Y-You look... Wow."

"Yeah," Kase agreed, "you're a vision, step-mother. The Gods envy your beauty, my goodness, is Daemon a lucky bastard."

Your head cocked gently, offering, "You know, should either of you feel comfortable to do so... Maybe you'd like to drop the 'step' part in the whole 'step-mother' thing...?"

"Yeah?" Kase beamed, Jamie smirking gently.

"We'll talk of that later," Jamie directed diplomatically. "For now, we are to escort you to the Great Hall."

"The both of you?" Alicent asked, her hands folded neatly, brows perked in curiosity.

"Well, who else?" Jamie cocked his head lightly.

"Jamie," you warned.

"No, forgive me, you mistake my tone for disrespect. Your Grace, I only meant that her father would be the one to usually give her away, but we all know the present situation. He'd rather give his blessing to a different daughter..."

You sighed in guilt as Kase mentioned, "Food supplies continue to dwindle, too. The people grow restless from the Lord's restriction from his land's farming."

"People are going to revolt against the Royal Feast," Rheanyra worried, glancing around. "Should we not put more guards in place? What if something were to happen?"

You nodded absently, "What might happen?"

"Wouldn't put it past the citizens to riot," Jamie shrugged. "They grow uneasy as the supply lessens. Vendors don't venture around here much anymore..."

"I have made the arrangement with the kitchen staff that all leftovers are to be given to the orphanages of the city," you spoke softly, pinning your earrings in.

"Ah!" A voice boomed from the doorway, making you all jump slightly. "Oh, my apologies," Viserys beamed as he stepped into the room. "It is hard for me to contain my glee!"

"Husband," Alicent greeted, "what a surprise, we were not expecting you."

"No, no," he chuckled, "normally I would not bother, but this is a fine and rare occasion. My brother marrying his woman," he sighed, looking you up and down, "and my, what a vision she is. My Lady, being as we are soon to be considered family to one another, I was honored when Daemon asked me to bring this to you," he showed the velvet box in his hands.

"Oh," you breathed, stepping towards the King, "you did not have to do this, please, Your Grace, you should be - "

"Nonsense," he assured with a grin. "My brother is nervous and I thought by seeing you and giving this gift, I might assure him that you are okay in this, too."

"Oh, more than okay," you assured. "I'm eager for this union, Your Grace. Um, but... This custom? I do not know it?" You wondered, pointing to the gift.

"'Tis not a custom," he nodded, "but my own brother's vocation. Here, open it... Maybe you'll wear it today?"

You smiled gently and opened the velvet box, gasping, "By all the Gods! Daemon!"

"What is it!?" Rhaenyra asked in excitement, everyone forming a circle around the wooden table the box rested on. "Oh, wow..."

"That's got to cost more than... Well, more than my life," Kase giggled, looking at the gems in the velvet box. "Well, one thing is for sure."

"Hmm?" Jamie hummed, eyes bulging as he couldn't look away.

"That man is whipped," Kase laughed. "I mean - seriously!? Who sends their future wife something like this, but a man who is far beyond smitten?"

He'd sent you a beautiful diamond necklace that was strung in a way to look like tear drops down your collarbones, neck, and chest. To say it was beautiful was an understatement but by every God there ever was, you were in love with it. There were matching earrings that would push into your piercings and dangle in single drops, swinging with the extra wisps of hair that escaped your pinned up-do.

"I don't know what to say," you whispered, tears gathering. "I-I do not deserve this - my Gods, how expensive this must've been!"

"If I may?" Viserys smiled lightly as Alicent pushed a handkerchief into your hand. You nodded. "This necklace has been in the Targaryen family for ages now. Generations, even. The last to own this was my grandmother, the Queen Alysanne, and if Daemon is gifting it to you, it is because he views you as family - as blood. No matter where you hail, he is assuring you that you will always have a place in his life, my Lady. If it not be too bold, might I?" He gestured to the necklace, making you nod furiously.

Mary reached up to unclasp the other necklace, moving from your way as Viserys stepped up. He sighed when the necklace latched, you turning to show him the product after you switched out your earrings. "Oh, this is it," Rhaenyra nodded, clapping slightly. "You look breathtaking!"

"You look beautiful, sister," Viserys smirked. "I shall take my leave - "

"Wait," you swallowed thickly, feeling your nerves spike as the King smiled patiently. "Um... I could never repay you - or-or Daemon for this, for all you've done. But... Should it please you, I'd like to ask if it be possible for us to fly to Dragonstone where... Where Daemon and I might marry per Old Valyrian traditions?"

Viserys nodded, "Yes, yes, what an excellent idea. We shall travel at the weeks end, for this week, the whole city will celebrate you. Then, after, we might make it to Dragonstone, and there, you and Daemon might reside for a period of time."

"Oh, do you mean... You do not want us in court?"

"No, sister," he smirked, "I only mean to say that you would be welcomed to start your life as a married couple at Dragonstone."

"Oh," you breathed, giggling after. "How silly - yes, um, yes, that would be most pleasing, Your Grace. Thank you."

"Of course," he promised, giving your hands one last squeeze before taking his leave.

You sighed nervously, looking at yourself in the mirror and feeling otherworldly. "M-Might I ask the room a question?"

"Of course, whatever you might wonder," Jamie permitted as Kase helped himself to the complimentary food left on a platter.

"Am I who Daemon will want forever?" You worried, staring in the mirror. "You do not think he will... Grow old of me, do you?"

"My Lady," Rhaenyra grinned, "I can with full conviction say that my uncle loves you deeply and would see your life together start as soon as possible. If he had his way, he'd of married you a decade ago."

"Yeah?" You sniffled.

"Of course," she smiled. "You're a vision, truly. My uncle is very lucky."

"Let's not keep them waiting," Alicent nodded, ushering everyone from the room. Kase carried the train of your silk gown, Jamie kept a tight hold of you as you focused only on your steps. To say you were nervous was an understatement as this wedding was to be a 'public' event.

"Just breathe," Jamie soothed, patting the hand curled around his elbow. "You look radiant, and you're about to marry the love of your life. Right?"

"Right..." You felt tears well in your eyes, "You know, I'm sorry I couldn't love your father."

"In truth, we rarely did," Kase smirked.

"Do not worry," Jamie nodded, "we understand how politics work. But know how happy we are to bare witness to this occasion."

"I am overjoyed you both are here," you sighed.

"Aline and Jocey are coming, too," Jamie informed, leading you down the stone stairs carefully. "They are very excited to see you."

You managed to keep your tears at bay until you reached the landing, seeing the swarms of servants in the short distance. "A moment, please," you whispered to them, tears slowly leaking as you took hold of one of their hands each, "because I need to tell you this. For years now, you have welcomed me into your family, and I have felt every ounce of love you have. I-I know I did not birth you, and I know your sisters are even married themselves, but know that I think of you all as my own kin."

Kase squeezed your hand, "You are kin."

"Then please... Do not let me trip," you chuckled, wiping your cheeks of your tears as the two lads smirked at each other.

"Here," Jamie nodded, using a handkerchief to dab at your tears. "You are going to ruin your make-up, mother."

"Oh," you wept openly, latching onto him. "Oh, yo-you called me mother! Oh, my boy!"

He laughed and wrapped his arms around you in a tight hug, one that lasted a few moments before being joined by Kase. The three of you gave one final squeeze before you accepted the cloth and fixed your face, Kase nudging Jamie, "Knew you were a softy, hey?"

"Piss off," Jamie laughed.

"You made her cry."

"It's a happy cry," you grumbled lightly, swatting at them. "All right, all right, help me... How's my face?"

You sniffled again and looked at them, blinking a few times. Kase assured, "Beautiful as ever. Truly, Daemon is lucky. We often hear it whispered at court that you are truly the beauty of this country. Maybe he doesn't deserve you."

"There's still time to run," Jamie teased.

"No, no," you chuckled. "I'm ready to marry him - Gods, am I ready," you nodded, waving your hands to cool your face as Jamie tucked the cloth away.

"If you need it again, you know where to find me," he chuckled, offering his arm. "Are you ready, mother?"

Kase mimicked his action, beaming, "Mum?"

"Oh, my sweet boys," you whispered, taking their arms and starting forward. "'S lot of people."

"They're all intrigued by the Rogue Prince settling down willingly," Jamie explained.

"Yes, word spread of his marriage declaration," Kase added, both speaking quietly so only you heard as you approached the doors to the throne room - which had been transformed to host the wedding ceremony. "Everyone was so skeptical - they're curious about you."

You sighed.

"Not helping," Jamie muttered under his breath.

"Sorry," Kase winced some. "You all right?"

"Yeah, yeah," you whispered, readjusting your stance. "All right," you nodded to the guard, who nodded back, and gave the signal to start the musical procession. "Don't let me fall, lads."

"Never," they assured in union, the double doors opening, and your mouth hanging open.

"Oh, my Gods," you couldn't hold back, gawking at the interior of the throne room.

"When Daemon's left in charge," Jamie muttered. "Gods does he go all out," Kase finished.

You evened your breathing and readied your face, the two young lords leading you down the stone steps. The entire hall was packed - like it was months ago for Rhaenyra's wedding - yet you could only focus on the aisle ahead of you. Daemon had wanted a 'public' event, and that meant having the actual ceremony in front of everyone before the celebratory feast was to begin.

And at the end of the aisle was a Septon ready to perform the ceremony, and at the base of the stairs, there stood your fiancé. Daemon was fighting back a grin as you walked, his brother stood beside the Septon as a sign of power - but also blessing of this union.

There was nobody to stand on your side - or so you thought. There stood both of your step-daughters, tears in their eyes as they grinned at you. When you came to a halt, Daemon stepped up and offered his hand to Jamie first, "Son."

He smirked, teasing, "Step-father."

"Oh, what a title," you whispered. Jamie took Daemon's hand in a clasp, nodding meaningfully before Daemon did the same with Kase. The two lads then bent down some to peck either of your cheeks, moving to stand with their sisters as the Prince turned to you finally.

"Dove," he breathed, looking you up and down; taking your hands in his. "Gods, do you look breathtaking."

"Me? You look incredible," you smiled, biting your bottom lip as emotion was coating your throat. Viserys, with a grin of his own, subtly cleared his throat, and made Daemon sigh lightly.

"Come," he whispered, leading you carefully up the stairs. As the Septon gave his sermon, Daemon's eyes never left yours, and for a moment, you swore you could see tears swelling. Jamie cloaked you in the colors and sigil of 'your' House, more words spoken, hands being bound together, vows made, love professed, promises made, and when time, the cloak fell from your figure as Daemon eagerly twirled his black and red cloak around your shoulders.

After a few more promises, the Septon beamed, "Daemon? You may now - finally - kiss your bride, and bring her under your House officially. May the Gods shine upon your marriage, and let it prosper."

Daemon didn't wait a moment longer to step closer and pull you in, his lips smashing to yours as the entire court room erupted in loud cheers. Viserys clapped loudly, and even Alicent was grinning authentically; Daemon's one hand holding your waist tightly as the other slid across your jaw to hold your neck, too.

You chuckled against his lips, patting his chest, "Okay, okay, c'mon."

"Oh, my wife," he purred against your lips, pressing another kiss. "Finally."

"I love you," you promised, the Septon and Viserys moving away as servants were bringing out the head table and dressing it quickly; giving you both a moment to bask in your glory of finally wedding each other. "Is this real?"

"Yes, my love," he nodded, nose nuzzling yours. "Gods, you look beautiful."

"Which reminds me," you grinned, "the decorations look incredible, my husband. But where do these flowers hail?"

"They're called Wisteria, my wife," he smirked, pecking your lips, "and I had them shipped from Pentos."

"Daemon," you whined lightly.

"Well, in truth, Rhaenyra went with me to get them all," he chuckled lightly, letting both of his arms coil around your silk-covered waist.

"You did not..."

"I wanted to make sure you got the wedding you deserve," Daemon chuckled. "You like it?"

"It's beautiful," you assured. "I do not think I deserve it."

"You deserve so much more, my pet," he whispered.

"My boys called you step-father," you returned.

"That is good," he nodded, "is it not?"

"It is," you rushed, nodding, "just shocking, I suppose."

"Means they accept us," Daemon smirked. "And we will remain to see them marry."

"Yeah?"

"Of course, whatever my dove wants," he promised, glancing to the side. "Come, let's sit."

You let your hand tangle with Daemon's, moving for the high-table. You and Daemon sat in the middle - with Viserys right beside him, and then Alicent, and the Hand, Ser Strong. Beside you was the Princess Rhaenyra, and her husband Lord Laenor beside her. Their families were in the crowd, your own being lost quickly to the merriment.

As time passed, you found yourself leaning into your husband, hands tangled together, and gossiping lightly.

"Do you see the Lady Alloway?" You whispered, nose grazing up the skin in front of his ear before placing a slow, tender kiss.

He hummed, "She dresses as if working the brothels."

"Her usual attire," you chuckled, "but the color she wears..."

"Targaryen," he noted, turning his head to mutter to you. "And the Ser Thaller?"

"Gods," you giggled, "he's dressed as a peacock, no?"

He chuckled in return, "Thank the Gods for giving me a woman with a sense of humor."

You hummed, petting over his cheek that you weren't kissing. "This feels right," you sighed lightly, "to sit here, with my husband..."

He nodded, "How ready I am for this feast to be over."

"We've apparently a whole week to celebrate," you smirked, "might wanna slow down, my love."

"I'm putting a baby in you - tonight," He assured, nodding definitively. "There will be no slowing down for us, pet. But... My brother does like to prance."

"Well," you smirked, "perhaps I will join his lead. My husband hasn't even asked me to dance."

"Oh, that's punishable," Daemon shook his head, standing. "My love, my Lady wife, would you honor me with a dance?"

Taking his hand, you stood to your feet, "I'd love to, my sweet Lord husband."

He chuckled and lead you to the crowded floor, the pair of you stuck together like glue. Gentle touches, soft caresses, hushed words, and bright, unfiltered grins. When Daemon grew a thirst, he took leave to relieve that, and so gave time for you to overhear a few Ladies of the court gossiping about how they had seen Prince Daemon sneaking in and out of the whorehouses not two days prior.

You tried not to listen, you really did. But the women spoke with such conviction that it was hard to ignore. More so when you heard a few other whispers being spread - all regarding Daemon's infidelity.

Confusion hurt your heart, turning to spy your husband smirking as he spoke to Crowned Heir Rhaenyra - a smirk that meant he was being less than innocent. Perhaps being flirty, but definitely being mischievous.

Something in your chest snapped, and then a hand was grabbing yours; making you gasp and turn with surprise. "Oh, Y-Your Grace, forgive me, I was lost in thought."

The Queen nodded, "No need, I am sorry for being so startling. I came to check on you," she glanced around. "I expected Daemon to be on you the entire night."

"Oh, no, he was, uh... Thirsty," you nodded meekly.

"Does something bother you, my Lady? You should be smiling, enjoying the festivities," she gestured outward to the party. "I hear the Prince spent quite a lot of money for this all."

"Oh, I don't doubt it," you nodded, twiddling with your fingers. "Um, in truth, Your Grace... There is something on my mind preventing me from enjoying the merriment."

"And what might that be?"

"Will you be honest with me?"

"I will try to be," She smiled warmly.

You gulped, "It seems as if the Ladies of court have much to say about our union, and there were some more... Scandalous gossips regarding the Princess and her uncle, my Lord husband."

"No, no, my Lady, do not plague yourself with petty rumors. The Ladies speak in jealousy, you need not worry because I have seen and heard first hand how your Lord husband truly feels."

"Then why is he with her and not me, on all days...?" You sighed, bowing after. "My apologies, Your Grace, I did not mean to burden you with my worries. I will go dance, I think."

Before she could response, you spun around to disappear amongst the dancers. You searched for anyone with defined jugs that held strong, exquisite, expensive Braavosi wine. When a servant boy was located, he was all too happy to fill your goblet - though, he looked nervous, asking, "Is that enough, my Lady?"

"Maybe a bit more, love, if you would?" He nodded and poured more, waiting until you assured, "That's good, that's perfect, thank you, lad. Are you having an all right night?"

"Of course, my Lady - "

"Nobody's been mean to you, have they?"

"Well," he looked sheepish, "in truth, my Lady, your father's been... Very drunk all night, and I think the wine makes him bolder, louder."

You nodded, "Yes, wines will do that to people. Do me a favor, and tomorrow morning, you will come to me and report any Lords or Ladies who were rude to you, yes?"

"Oh, well, if my Lady insists," he breathed with relief.

"Your name?"

"Arren."

"Arren...?"

"Waters, my Lady."

"Arren Waters," you repeated. "Good good, then I will know who to call upon. What say you do me a favor, Arren?"

"Whatever my Lady needs, I will do with pride," he beamed, standing straighter; rightening his shoulders so both hands cradled the special jug of wine carefully.

"Will you be my eyes and ears tonight?" You muttered. "You blend in, you're young, nobody's thinking twice about your presences. But where I cannot be, where I cannot hear, will you do so for me?"

"Oh, whatever you need," he nodded again. "I can report tomorrow morning?"

"During breakfast before the tournament." you nodded. "Thank you, again, Arren."

With a wink, you turned and again, melted into the crowd; downing half of your goblet in two full drinks before someone was catching your arm. "Mother!" Kase laughed, obviously already drunk off his arse. "Come have a dance with me, please!"

"I do not think I am nearly drunk enough for that," You laughed, trying to stabilize him. But he only groaned.

"Then drink faster!"

"Mum!" This time Jamie called, leading his sisters Aline and Jocey behind him.

"Mum?" Aline repeated with distain. "When did that start?"

"Today," you chuckled, hugging both of your step-daughters, offering a kiss to their cheeks. "I will take it as a wedding present from them. It is good to see you both, you look beautiful."

"Thank you, and might I say you look extraordinary," Jocey smiled, preening lightly over you.

"It is good the lads have you," Aline added.

"I am determined to find Jamie a suitable wife," you chuckled.

"No, it's more than that," Jocey shrugged lightly, watching Jamie and Kase throw an arm around each other's shoulders as they spoke with animation. "Thank you for being there when we weren't."

"Much like myself, you ladies were preforming your duty to your family," you nodded back. "Loving you lot like family was far too easy."

"Hmm, I suppose that explains the rumors," Aline winced some, glancing at her sister.

"I'm sorry?" You asked, chest hollowing.

"Don't," Jocey warned with a glare.

"Y/N, tell us in truth," Aline turned to face you with determination steeling her features, "were you cheating on our father?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I ask if you started sleeping with the Prince before our father passed - by what I might say are strange circumstances."

Confusion swirled in your gut, but then it all clicked in your heart and mind. "You'd consider words of whispers from my jealous sister over what you know to be tied and true from me? Fascinating, considering you were just thanking me."

"Your sister?" Aline cocked her head.

"She is the only person I can think who would ever start such a vile rumor," you explained, cocking your head some. "Someone who would not care for repercussions because they believe themself untouchable."

"So, we are to believe our father's death did not come by hand of your new husband, the Prince?" Aline crossed her arms tightly, and you took another mouthful of wine. "Our father was a solider and did not often lose!"

"I'd tread carefully, Lady Aline Tully," you cocked your head some, looking her up and down, "for rumors of such hateful accusations can get one into a lot of trouble. I did not love your father, this is true, and I was unable to ever give him a child. But as rumor has it, your mothers met fates similar to what I would have met, should your father not of fallen during honorable sword-play. Now," you finished your goblet, "your brother asked me for a dance. I suggest you both try to enjoy the festivities and not dwell on my bedroom habits, because I promise you won't get far. As I'm sure you've imagined, or perhaps even heard through your precious rumors, the Prince is insatiable and there is too much for either of you to ever fathom. Have a good night, Ladies, I look forward to us dining in the morning."

Setting your goblet with more force than what was necessary to a near-by table, you moved around the two whispering-sisters to smile at Kase. "I think you asked for a dance, my boy?"

"Oh, hell yeah! Let's go!" He laughed, pulling you onto the dance floor and almost instantly joining in-step to whatever music played. "Jamie, c'mon!" Kase laughed, and Jamie followed; with their sisters watching from the sidelines, the three of you easily joined the steps of those around you.

You felt his eyes burn into your back, but paid your new husband no mind - because if he could be overly distracted by his niece, you'd not give him the time of day. However, just as you turned and anticipated stepping into Jamie's arms, Daemon was there to take your hands in his, leading you in your dance.

"Oh," you sighed, "nice of you to finally join me."

"Oh-hooo, is that malice in your voice, my love?" He teased.

"Why did you look so close to your niece, Daemon? Is there something I do not know?" You asked, not wanting to tip-toe around anything anymore. "Are you playing me for a fool?"

He sighed against your ear, still holding onto you by latching to your waist as people around you changed partners. "Dove, there's nothing for you to know, nor worry over, because there isn't anything there. I have my eyes only for you, and I would not have married you if I didn't want you. Do not think so little of me that I would ever lead you on."

"Then you are no longer visiting the Street of Silk?"

His lips moved over the shell of your ear, "There is no time, nor cum left in me with how insatiable you are."

Funny how he used that word to describe you, too.

You sighed, "Do not avoid the question, Daemon. People talk - people spy. I do not wish to know that I have just married a man who is going to treat me like the last did."

Daemon came to a halt, and everything around you stood still - despite still moving at a normal place. It was just you and he, and he looked almost betrayed as his tongue switched to High Valyrian. "You would compare me to that fat fuck? The man who abused you? Only ever hurt you?"

"I would only ever have you tell me the truth - please," you begged in response. "I cannot stand the way they speak of us, yet I can endure it for you, but only if you're honest. I cannot bare the idea of you in the arms of another woman, so, if you've visited the Street, please, no more. Please, just... Come to me, instead. I know you are not used to a loving marriage, but we are not the same as before, and I am not the Lady Royce."

He frowned, "How could I let you believe I could ever want anyone else? That I would ever be with anyone else? I know you are not like the Bronzed Bitch - and I thank the Gods for it! I married you for love, and that is rare in this country - in this lifetime, that I am not keen on ruining it so swiftly. So, no, my pet, I have not visited the Street of Silk since you came back into my life - for there is no reason for me to go there ever again. Less you want to," he ended with a small smirk.

"The girls asked if you killed their father," you told him, worry shooting through your heart as you kept your conversation private by speaking in his mother's tongue. "I've reason to believe Jasline and my father continue to pour poison in the ears that are willing to listen, and I am beginning to feel... I don't know, trapped? The truth is, I have no land, nor titles - "

"I do not care for that, and I've told you time and again, you are all I want because you are all I need." Daemon's hands moved to cradle your jaw, sweeping his thumb over your cheekbones, "And then, please, talk to me, pet, and do not listen to their words. You and I know the truth, and we just swore vows to one another that we would not lie, nor hold secrets."

You nodded, "Then it is just petty gossip?"

"As always," he assured in a whisper, pressing a long kiss to your forehead. "Are you tired, dove?"

"A bit," you admitted, "today was overwhelming."

"Then let us sit," he wrapped his arms around you, moving for the high banquet table again.

"We cannot just... Leave?"

"Not yet," he sighed, "because Viserys has not departed yet. The King is the first to leave, or he give's dismissal to us. Come here," he lowered you into your seat before taking his, nudging a platter closer. "Eat, dove. Something tells me you're in for a long night."

"Daemon," you chuckled, but did indeed begin to graze.

"Why would your step-daughters ask about me?" He asked quietly, leaning his elbows to his knees to be closer to you, chin gently rubbing on your upper arm.

"They are suspicious of how their father died," you sighed. "Believed it not to be as natural as we tried to pass."

"Hmm," he considered, leaning in to press his lips over your shoulder. "What did you tell them?"

"That it was unwise to make such vile accusations."

He chuckled, "My good and loyal girl."

"Here," you fed him a bit of cake that had been passed out. He hummed as he licked his lips with a smirk, making you tease, "You're making it very hard to just sit here."

"I had an idea, actually," he mentioned, glancing nervously at you. "You still hold the Old Gods, do you not?"

"I was born in the North," you nodded, leaning back in your chair as he did, head tilted down to look at you. "I find peace at the Weirwood, I prefer to pray there, yes."

Daemon smirked, "Then I've a surprise for you."

"I do, too."

"Hey?" He smirked. "I'm supposed to gift you, my dove."

Your eyes rolled playfully, "I'm allowed to gift you, too."

"Hmm," he considered, "all right, what is it?"

"Well, what is yours?"

He smirked, "You will see."

"Then so shall you," you smirked back.

"Devilish woman," he purred, leaning in to press his lips to yours in a smoldering kiss.

"Daemon," you warned with a small giggle.

"They will get used to this," he purred, "for I do not intend to hold back on my affections."

You sighed lightly, "I do not know what I did to deserve you."

"Everything right," he promised in a whisper.

"Brother," Viserys called, "brother! Come, give a speech!"

"No, Viserys, it's getting late - "

"All the more reason!" Viserys laughed. "Speech! Speech! Your King wants a speech!"

"Come on," you smiled at Daemon, "say a few words of thanks, wish them all a well-and-true tournament, and let us be done, hmm? He might let us leave after."

"You might be right," he muttered, Viserys rousing the whole hall to call for Daemon's words. When he stood, they cheered heartily, making you grin behind your hand. "Friends, family," he called, "peers, come, raise your glasses."

He lead the way by holding his goblet up, continuing, "I'd like to give a toast to my new bride, and tell her publicly, that I am without a doubt beyond grateful for our blessed union - after all this time," he smirked down at you, offering his free hand. When you stood, his arm snaked around your waist to hold you to his side, speaking loudly to the hall, "A toast to my gorgeous wife, and to a prosperous marriage that's finally come to fruition." His goblet rose higher in the air. "May the Seven bless us, and bless all of you - who have chosen to celebrate with us this week!" The hall broke our in an outrageous applause. "May the wine flow freely and you all find your winnings this week!"

They cheered again, making you smile as Daemon prompted, "To the new Princess of the City!"

You felt your eyes bulge slightly as he grinned and took his obligatory sip of wine - the hall echoing his words before taking their own drinks. "What did you just say?" You asked quietly.

"Viserys has written decree that your official title is Princess - though, you will have no claim to the throne."

"Oh, my Gods," you breathed, looking between his eyes as you pet over his chest. "If we weren't in a room full of people, I'd take you on that Throne again. Daemon - this is too much - "

"No, I'd give you the world if I could," he grinned. "My Princess."

"Dameon - "

"It's a title, my love," he nodded gently. "We will come to discuss your position in court, and perhaps on the Small Counsel."

You nodded gently, "You're too much sometimes..."

He shrugged some, looking over your shoulder before shifting you lightly into his side. The King approached you both, grinning widely as he laughed, opening his arms, "My! You know how to give a toast, brother."

"He's gifted with words when he chooses to be," you teased, patting your husband's stomach.

"And you!"

"And me!"

Viserys chuckled, and unknown to you, clocked the look his brother gave him. "Well, today's been long and if you'd like to retire, feel free to send orders to the kitchens for wine or whatever have you."

"Thank you, Your Grace," you breathed in relief, watching him smirk with a nod - offering more congratulations before bidding goodnight and taking his leave.

"Come," Daemon smirked, taking your hand and leading you straight for the doors. A few drunker guests hollered and whooped after you both; your legs jogging lightly to keep up with Daemon's elongated strides. He wanted to get you away from the crude comments as soon as possible, and lead you away up the stairs - out to the foyer - and then down a hall that did not house your room.

"Daemon? Love? C'mon, slow down," you whispered, tugging on his hand.

"Sorry," he nodded back, glancing over your shoulder, "there are some who take rudely to the after-wedding traditions."

Your eyes rolled, "Fuck them..."

"No, you're gonna fuck me," he smirked, leading you around another corner.

"Why're we going to the Godswood?" You wondered. "Sweetheart, aren't we going to bed?"

"Eager, are we?"

"I feel my slick dripping down my thighs," you bit back, "and it's a husband's duty to handle that, is it not?"

"I'll handle it," he assured, looking this way and that, "after I marry you in the eyes of your Gods."

"Daemon?"

But he paused, revealing the Godswood to you. There was only Mary there, beaming as she waited for you both. "Marry me, again?" He smirked at you.

"Oh," you breathed, forehead to his for a moment as you squeezed his hand. "Yes, yes, yes, this is - yes, it's perfect!"

"Come," he nodded, leading you up to Mary - and within minutes, your hands were bound, and you were repeating more vows to one another - ending togther,

"I am her's, and she is mine." "I am his, and he is mine."

"Prince Daemon, you may kiss your bride," Mary beamed, watching Daemon swoop in again to kiss you with all tongue; hands holding you still, and keeping you pressed against his front. Mary quietly left the Godswood to escape for the halls of the Keep, peaking back to watch with a grin as your arms wrapped around Daemon's neck.

"Wait," you breathed, pausing your kiss to glance around - but failed to hold back your moan when his mouth descended to your neck. "Daemon," you begged.

"Shh," he hushed, licking a bold strip up to your pulse point. "We're alone, I've had it arranged."

"What?" You asked, pressing your chest into his as your back arched.

He sighed lightly, "I've paid the servants off to keep everyone away."

"And you trust them?"

"If they value their lives..."

You giggled lightly, "Threatening people in my name?"

"For your honor," he purred, tugging your hands with him. He moved around the tree, allowing you a single corner of privacy as he unlaced the Targaryen cloak from your shoulders. "Tell me how you want it."

"Breed me," you spoke instantly, letting your tongue lap with his as he splayed the cloak out, "and then take me to bed properly."

"Whatever my wife commands, I will provide," he purred, scraping his teeth over your jaw before turning you rapidly - making you gasp. "On your knees," he spoke in your ear, lowering you to the ground, and yanking at his belts.

You positioned yourself on your hands and knees, ignoring the cold ground, and pulling your skirt up over your hips to give a wiggle; peering back at him. He groaned and reached a hand for your warmth, hissing through his teeth as he prodded his fingers into your wet heat - other hand desperate to free himself.

"Put a baby in me, Daemon," you demanded.

"Yes," he huffed, humping into you as your back bowed. "Oh, fuck," he hissed, sinking all the way into you as your hips adjusted to his length.

You moaned in response, "Wanna make you a Daddy."

He panted as he took hold of your hips, "Keep talking."

"Want your cum dripping outta me," you whined, bracing your hands as he pounded into you. "And my belly swollen with your child. Want you touching me - fuck - fuck - fuck. Harder, please - "

"Call me Dady, again."

"Oh, fuck, Daddy, yes, fuck me harder," you begged, cheek pressed to the soft velvet of the black cloak.

"Can you take it, pet?" he smirked, readjusting his hold; slapping a palm to your arse cheek, and relishing in the ripple of flesh.

"Yes, Daddy," you preened, his hand snaking around to hold your throat and bring you back into his chest. "Can handle anything you throw at me - promise, promise, yes, Daddy, please."

"Oh-hoo," he moaned, hips stuttering to hump into yours; hand tightening. "Take it, take it, take it," he seethed, hips punctuating each word. Your own hand drifted to rub at your clit, dropping to your chest as you went limp from your orgasm crashing into you almost violently. Daemon gave a small shout, hand latched to the back of your neck, and his hips grinding into yours as he found his end.

"Oh, fuck," you breathed, panting into the ground.

"Yeah," his grin was heard, a hand petting over your hair. "You get tighter everyday, pet."

"Hush," you laughed lightly, whining right after as he pulled his softening cock out of your cunt. He paused to push his fingers into your cunt, pushing his cum back up into you with an air of fascination.

Within 15 minutes, Daemon had you in his arms and entering your room to lay you on your bed - locking the door as you stripped from your wedding attire. When you peaked behind you, your husband was watching with a newly-poured goblet of wine, eyes raking over you. "Get on the bed," he demanded lowly, almost growling his words. "I'm not done with you, yet."

"Good," you nodded, sitting pretty and slowly opening your legs. Your fingers ran down your lips, toying with his cum that still leaked out of you - watching his throat bob. "I'm not pregnant yet."

"We'll fix that," he assured, standing to his feet to set his now-empty goblet aside.

"I want you bare," your head cocked.

"Making demands?"

"Isn't it my husband's duty to ensure I get what I want?" You smirked.

"My good girl," he smirked, "you're learning."

final / part six: One Sunrise at a Time

Midnight Calls masterlist

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

[trivialbob]

@mstacobelle tagged me for the five things that make me happy list.

Admiring my lawn after I mow it on a nice summer day. Though I may be dirty and tired, the silence and feeling of accomplishment that follows pleases me. Bonus points for seeing Ella's normally white feet turned green from running through grass clippings. It's cute. Sometimes she leads me around the back yard as I push the Toro, dropping a tennis ball in front of it, forcing me to stop and throw the ball for her.

Labels facing forward inside the refrigerator, kitchen cabinets, and hall closet. When I see labels aligned properly, a calm joyfulness sweeps over me. It may stem from working at grocery stores during high school and college. Sometimes after my wife cooks or bakes I quietly check the cabinets and fridge, turning labels of things she used back to the way I like. I also have to move things back to where they belong. (Honey, condiments always go on the shelves of the left-side refrigerator door. That was clearly stated in our wedding vows.)

Listening to the Blues Brothers version of Soul Man while I'm driving.

(Longtime readers will be sick of this one) Finding pizza flavored Pepperidge Farms Goldfish Crackers at a grocery store. Oddly, the best flavor of Goldfish is poorly stocked at stores I frequent. If the pizza flavored crackers are even there, they're disrespectfully located on the bottom shelf, like cheap liquor. I know I could order them online, but I prefer grocery shopping in a store, even if my (Gold)fishing net is empty. Bonus points if the Goldfish crackers are on sale.

Getting rid of coins I find in this house and our cars. Before I go to the grocery store I gather all the loose change I can find. At the self-checkout I feed those coins in like I'm a chain-smoking retiree in front of a one armed bandit. When the coins are gone I pay the balance with plastic. Dumping in $2.87 of loose change makes me feel like I used a $2.87 coupon. It's my money, but I still feel like I got a discount.

Hearing Walker Hayes singing Fancy Like while I'm driving.

Driving my wife's car and not having to first make a beeline to the nearest gas station. That's both happiness and relief.

Hanging out at the brewery with our friends and/or dogs. Since the place first opened Sheila and I have gotten to know most of the employees and a lot of the regular customers. I can go by myself and still end up sharing a table.

Being at the airport dog park when a Boeing 777 or Airbus A330-900 approaches overhead. My dogs don't care, but I think it's cool seeing the larger airliners.

Getting our travel trailer backed in perfectly at a cool campsite, getting it leveled, then walking around with a beer, checking out other trailers and RVs, and meeting new people and dogs.

I listed more than five because I'm pretty happy in general. Also Kim, I like to under promise and over deliver!

[lastbluetardis]

🎵 i just think we, as a society, need more taylor swift-inspired tenrose fics & james x rose AUs 🤍💫 (sorry i’m late btw)

I agree this fandom needs way more TSwift-inspired Ten/Rose AUs 😂

Song: Ivy

AU Idea: Another somewhat angsty song and idea, also with themes of infidelity due to the nature of the song.

This would make for another good ye olde time piece where James and Rose are each in an arranged marriage/betrothal to other people, but neither of them particularly ever wanted to get married, and they especially didn't want to be forced into a marriage. Both their marriages/betrothals are loveless and as a result, they're each miserable and depressed and want to burn the world down.

James is taking his betrothed out on the town, chaperoned of course 'cos God forbid anything untoward happen if he and his fiancée are left alone, even though everyone is aware of how much James hates being engaged. Perhaps Rose is a barmaid or something at the little pub James and his partner are at, and while she isn't his server directly, they keep locking eyes from across the room. James had never seen anyone so beautiful, and he's enchanted by her easy smiles and bright eyes whenever she interacts with a customer. Rose, meanwhile, thinks he's gorgeous and it's the first time she ever considered wanting to corner a stranger in a dark hall and kiss him silly.

Rose's shift ends before James and his fiancee finish their meal, and James sees her leaving and panics, because even though it's stupid and irresponsible, he wants to know her name and wants to see her again. He pretends he needs the toilets, and he follows her out the back door of the pub.

"Excuse me!"

She turns, and a delighted smile crosses her face to see the man she's been lusting over for the past hour. She smooths her hair back, and James's stomach sinks to see the wedding band on her finger. He nearly stutters out an apology, because surely she's a better person than him and doesn't despise her husband, but Rose saw the way he went a little dumbstruck at the sight of her ring, and she grimaces. He's confused, so he oh so loquaciously asks, "Er... married?"

She sighs. "Unfortunately. Earlier this year. Never met him 'til my wedding day."

Part of him aches that someone as seemingly lovely as her seems so unhappy, yet another part of him rejoices that he's not the only terrible person that hates their soon-to-be spouse.

"Yeah, I know what that's like."

"Oh? Miss blonde in there...?"

"Arranged. Parents need me to "carry on the bloodline"."

Rose giggles a little, and she holds out her hand. "I'm Rose."

"James." He shakes it, and it's like electricity shocks through him, stealing his breath and making his heart stutter deliciously in his stomach. "Say... I know this is odd and improper... but d'you... d'you maybe want to... take a walk with me sometime?"

Rose considers, and he's almost certain she's going to decline, but then she nods and says, "I take morning walks through the farm fields. I like watchin' the cows. I start my route on Henrick's street. Maybe I'll see you there?"

And she walks away, leaving him feeling giddy but so, so wretched.

And so a routine is borne. James and Rose regularly take morning walks together. Not every day, and not the same routes, because they're trying to avoid being noticed. It takes all of a week for James to tentatively reach for her hand while they stroll, and another week before he braves kissing said hand. They're each sick with guilt that they're essentially courting each other while they're promised to someone else.

But they can't seem to stop.

After the first month, they share their first kiss.

After the second, they make love in the shadow of an unoccupied barn.

That's their new routine. Walking and kissing and making love. But one day they're caught by the farmer whose barn they regularly commandeer, and word gets back to Rose's husband. He beats her to within an inch of her life.

James only finds out through whispers going 'round the town that Rose cuckolded her husband, and that she deserved the punishment she got, and that really, it could have been a lot worse.

He runs to her house to check on her, but she dismisses him and slams the door in his face when she sees him. It wasn't quick enough, because James hears a man shouting down the hall, asking who it was, and soon this hulking mass of a man is on the porch and takes a swing at James. The two of them skirmish, exchanging blows, with Rose pleading for them to stop. But all James sees in the swollen, bruised mess of her face and the arm she's got cradled in a sling. James punches her husband right in the nose, knocking him out.

James holds out his hand for Rose. "Run away with me?"

"Run away? Where are we going to go?"

"Does it matter? Anywhere is better than here. I know this is mad, but I'm in love with you, and I can't bear the thought of you staying in this house a moment longer. I can't bear the thought of not being with you, of not falling asleep and waking up beside you. Sod the rules and sod the expectations, and especially sod this horrible brute of a man you call a husband."

Rose wavers for a few seconds, eyes filled with tears, but she nods. She wiggles her wedding band off of her finger and slips it onto her husband's pinkie.

James almost collapses with relief, but he takes her hand and ushers her away into the morning. James has a bit of money saved up, so he sneaks into his house and grabs it all, leaving behind all of his material valuables. After all, he's got Rose. What else could he possibly need?

Send me a 🎵 and I’ll shuffle my Taylor Swift playlist

[soft-persephone]

When the Eclipse is Over the Sun still Shines CH.4

MDNI // Rating: E // WC: 4.4k // Warnings: descriptions of blood and gore, character wounds, grief, death, cunnilingus, biting, marking, unclarity of emotions (no one’s holding your hands to say what is toxic love or not) // Searching For Stardust // masterlist // ch. 1 // ch. 3 //

Marc uttered your name into the wind, unaware.

He made it onto your roof, opening the window with a clumsy urgency. It was a part of the new routine between you both.

Marc’s chest swelled with the thought.

There was a routine. The foolproof evidence that something was between you both. That you weren’t a figment of his imagination or an apparation that would soon disappear into a distant memory. A memory he’d hold onto with a death grip as he continued the rest of his life. Wondering if he would ever get as close to something as bright as you once more, before he closes his eyes for good.

After he was done doing Kohnshu’s bidding, each night he would find himself at your house. At the edge of the city, past the nearest humble farms and cottages, was a large fancy house, secluded from the world. What once was only your humble residence had now become his refuge.

The cluttered hole of his apartment that was littered with books and several little hiding spots filled with dangerous trinkets and artifacts of unknown origins, no longer felt like home.

On top of avoiding the little walls of his life, he was more than aware of his hogging of the body.

His alters had been scarce and he ignored his part in why that may be.

The ferocious guilt gnawed away at his every waking moment, ripping the flesh off his shoulders until the stray pieces of his skin and meat limped off of his body, ripping at him until they were jagged and ugly, leaving the bones to pop out at the seems of his bleeding skin. Stripping his soul into ugly fleshy bits until what was left was hardly recognizable, but what was left of him crawled its way to reach the sweet waters of salvation that was you, dutifully dragged his wounded maimed body by his arms.

Whether you washed over him in waves or he had to lap at the ground for the sparest of drops before they sunk into the dirt beyond his grasp of whatever you spared to give him, he’d do it again and again.

The silence in choice of a lack of words was still preferable, but he texted you that one time, and it didn’t stop.

He couldn’t stop.

You both were desperately grabbing at whatever scraps you offered one another. Filling in the gaps the silence left, amplifying whatever you two had into something brighter and more dangerous than what you had before. What once was a shared pit of darkness soon felt like a burning plight of emotion too strong to look at for more than a second.

You weren’t in your room.

Spilling out into the hallway with a stumble, cursing at one of Bane's stray toys on the floor, he began his search for you.

He heard the echoes of the ragged Batman doll’s owner in the halls and followed it.

Bane is never up this late.

Stumbling once more around the corner he found you intensely muttering back and forth with another man.

His brow furrowed deep into his forehead as he whispers harsh words into your face, barely an inch away from you.

He watched as your breath fanned accross his lashes, whispering back with just as much fervor. A frown dwarfing your features.

It would almost be cute if he wasn’t alarmed by who was in front of you.

His picture’s littered the walls. His closet still held all his belongings in place as if he never left. His favorite mug never strayed too far from your lips.

His wedding band was immortalized on the chain you never took off your neck.

You were having a lntense argument with the husband he thought, no, he knew was dead.

The grief inside of you that you wordlessly shared with him when he first met you, the grief in the words you texted him not too long ago, and the grief of a dog not sure when his other owner was coming back, was not a lie.

The man turned to look at him . His brow somehow furrowing further, followed by an eerie chill. You followed his gaze and your frown morphed into one of shock.

Emotion filled him. Overwhelming each and every sensation of his body, internal and external.

He didn’t hate you for whatever this is. He didn’t know if he would ever truly be able to do such a thing.

But he could walk over to you, regardless of how each step sent a shock up his spine and made his teeth shatter.

He grabs you, pulling you into him. He savors the smell of the soft plush vanilla and cashmere that swallowed your skin. The familiar softness of your lips he would never soon forget. How you fisted your hands into the threads of suit before it faded away. Letting the soft warm feeling of your palms rest on his flesh.

Moaning, he leaned into your touch, chasing for more, for you.

“Marc.”

He froze, your voice wet and wavering.

What had he done wrong?

Pulling away from you, for just a moment, is the only time he began to notice the blood, How it smeared your face and your clothes. He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, everything turned black.

-

“This is Marc?” Luke’s eyebrows rose into his hairline, making the lines of his forehead wrinkle in aghast.

You carefully dragged Marc into the nearest bathroom with the help of your not so dead husband.

“Like your one to talk,” you both began stripping his clothes before turning the faucet on, “how many times did I have to piece you together?”

He slammed a random counter shut and handed you the first aid kit. He placed it in front of you from behind. His arms wrapping around you in quick succession. The warmth of his breath fanning across your neck as he tentatively watched you work, grounded you.

If He weren’t here, you'd be a frantic mess. Tears would blur your vision and you never would have managed to stop it in time. You could ony asume the worst for such a situation.

“Yeah, but those were good times.” The chuckle that vibrated from his chest onto your back filled you with a huff of amusement of your own.

He placed a bit of your hair onto the other side of your head out of the way as you slowly pulled the needle in and out of Marc’s skin. There was a nasty cut on his low right side, and you still had to take a look at the one underneath his collar on the left.

“You liked patching me up.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to hide your smile, but you failed miserably.

‘Yeah,” he smiled, scooting even closer to you on the floor, causing you to feel the corners of his lips pulling up into the skin of your cheek, his beard tickling you which made you laugh even more, “you did.”

“Stop,’ you laughed, “Im concentrating.”

“You fucking loved it.”

You softly head butted him in the chest. “Help me wrap this gauze around him incase he bleeds again.”

How exactly Luke was able to come back into your life in these rare moments, he wouldn’t tell you.

But you always had a feeling that he was somehow here sometimes, watching you.

Glimpses of him in the mirror every now and then, whispers of his voice in the wind right before you left the house and closed the door behind you, the way Bane would bark at his favorite seat, often times refusing to let people sit in the chair alltogtether. How he would sometimes pad around the house, barking everynow and then like someone was talking to him.

You had a feeling, but you would never utter a word about it to anyone.

On the rare days like this one, he would appear. You could touch him, feel him, and smell him. Like he had never left at all. Three years of grief, and he was back like nothing had happned.

You were joyous, but he had his reservations.

He had seen the process of your grief, and he wanted nothing more than for you to be happy. He wanted you to follow the advice of your loved ones who pushed you to move on to go on dates, to do things the right way.

However, you know how he actually felt.

You know how he really felt in the moments when you could actually see and touch him. How it made you both feel.

It was easy too.

All the conversation that once had their end, now had a sequel. All those meals that he made for you, that you could never recreate, that you could never get quite right on you own, could now be eaten again and again to your heart's content.

What you once missed now became what you waited for.

You didn’t have to miss how he’d wrap his hands around you as you washed dishes. How he wouldn’t unwrap his arms from you as you walked along the house. You could repeat once more the joke of how he once hated being too touchy. How he used to be slightly annoyed with how clingy you were, but he now would never let you go.

You didn’t have to miss watching Luke play with Bane one more time before inevitably putting him to bed. He’d put up a good fight for as long as he coulduld get away with it, but Luke would firmly say enough is enough, and he’d finally settle into his little bed before they called him a good boy and ggive him his last pats and kisses of the night.

You didn’t have to miss showering together. However this time was different as you both washed away Marc’s blood from your bodies.

He carressed your skin gently. Slowly whipping the net sponge across your skin as he methodically kissed the expanse of your neck, trailing them up along your collar, cherishing the feeling of your skin beneath his lps before he disappears once more.

You turned and scrubbed at his chest, and he in turn kissed you on the forehead. You smiled up at him. His broadroad shoulders blocked the spray of the shower head, so your hair wouldn’t get wet.

“I just want you to be happy “ he gripped your jaw in his hand before pulling you in for a wet kiss. “I don’t really like him for you, but you’re an adult and my opinion ultimately doesn’t matter. You're free to do what you want.”

You averted your eyes from his. Avoiding the weight of his stare and the heaviness of his tone as he graveled lowly at you, the sound of it filled your stomach with butterflies and not the good kind you usually felt when he talked so low in your face.

“Hey, look at me.” He said softly but infliction in his voice caused the volume of it to raise higher, but his voice was so deep that it only made him sound gravelier, deeper even. The low dulcet tone rang loud in your rears, bouncing around in your brain. How you wished he spoke to you like this under differnt circumstances.

You rolled back and forth on your heels and toes.

“Look at me.” He said firmly, tightening his grip on you.

“If you can’t answer that question with a yes straight away, I don’t want you with them.” he paused, redjusting his grip into simeethign more gentle bust just as firm. “Is that too much to ask?” He looked into your eyes for reassurance and answer, anything.

“I.. I don’t know the answer.”

He pursed his lips and let you go, crossing his arms, but he didn’t move away from you, staying near you.

“But. . . I know,” you breathed sharply through your nose to keep your composure. “I know. . . I can’t not have him near me. I know I need him.”

He nodded, but he didn’t unpurse his lips.

Placing each hand on your shoulders and rubbing warmth into you, he sighed.

“I don’t like that answer.”

You leaned into him, placing your head on his chest, and he wrapped his arms around you.

“What do you think about your relationship with him? What do you even call it?”

“I don’t know,” you closed your eyes, “we don’t talk.”

The water no longer warm anymore, he turned it off while he kept one arm around you before grabbing a towel and patting you both dry before wrapping it around his waist before you both headed to the bedroom.

He laid you down into the bed and followed suit with a small pump container of oil, you watched as his jaw tensed so tight, a vein peaked out of his neck. He breathed sharply through his nose a few times before he started rubbing you down.

No matter how you both spent the day when he appeared out of nowhere, they always ended the same. After a shower he longed to recommit every inch of your body to memory. At first you through it was for him, but you soon learned it was for you.

That it was all for you.

It was a small memory for you to hold onto. For you to carry with you, so that when the grief comes circling back. That when the reality of the situation shakes you to your core and rattles your bones and starts eating away at the pieces of you that you worked so hard to get back, you would have something to remember him by.

You could remember how his very large and beautiful and warm hands would caress every nook and cranny of your skin. How they felt on you. How each swipe, squeeze, tug and kneed of your flesh comforted you into a hazy cocoon of safety and love.

Even now, as he was irritated with you.

In your younger years you both would have exploaded.

Every harsh word and thought would be uttered, and you both would separate for the day, stewing in your emotions before falling back into one another with soft words and apologies that turned into compromises or a solution, but as you aged with one another, learned every unspoken word and movement , and what that meant.

Yelling at one another lost its appeal and was replaced with little gestures and words with clenched teeth. Harsh whispers, but open honest communication.

You both somehow learned to be angry with one another without the horrible consequences, but neither of you could take credit. It was all up to his therapist that eventually thought it would be a good idea for you to come with him sometimes.

“What do you mean you don’t talk?” He leaned over you, about to put the bottle back on the nightstand, but you took it from him to give him the same treatment he had given you. It was only so you could have something to do with your hands.

You ran your hands through his hair, savoring how soft his loose curls were before, kneading the oil into his shoulders. The soft smell of vanilla was filling the room.

“We. . .” You lost track at his chest. Savoring the scratch of the patch of hair on your hands “we met and looked at one another. Like really looked at one another, and we didn’t really say anything to each other and it just worked.”

You fiddled with your hands on his chest. He stilled your hands with his. Holding them firmly against his chest as if to tattoo the imprint of them into his skin.

“And how exactly did you meet him and decide with one look you two would just, I don’t know, have something without talking to one another?”

“Okay, but you have to promise not to tell anyone.”

He laughed and maneuvered you sideways, so you could comfortably lay back into his chest. He propped up his head with a bent elbow. “Haha, your so funny.”

“He’s, like a Superhero or something?” you narrowed your eyes at him as he laughed. “Well he’s too bloody to be an avenger.”

You slapped his chest with the back of your hand.

“He saved my life.”

“You almost died!”

“I’ve told you I’ve almost died like a thousand times!”

“You did not say it was under Superhero conditions! A fact you consequently left out not only because of how you’d know I’d react to you almost dying, but also about this mysterious new guy I’ve been seeing that’s so hot and so amazing! I think he’s really helping me move forward for once.” He mocked you at the end.

His hand slowly moved up and down your chest. You wanted to focus on the conversation, but his thumb circled lightly at the swell of your breast.

“Well— I—“ you cried out sharply and arched your back, keening into his touch.

He swallowed the sounds coming out of you with a seal of his lips. They were warm, hot, and demanding.

He moved his mouth to your neck, sucking harshly at your skin before biting down. You scratched your nails along his back, pulling him into you.

Once he was sure that your skin would hold the mark of his mouth for more than a day or two, he relented, rewarding you with shoving your head down harshly with the palm of his hand as he positioned himself behind you.

“Is that what you want?” He slid himself into with one harsh thrust, knowing that you’d be more than just wet for him. “Is that what Marc gives you when I’m away?”

He ended his sermon with a succession of brutal harsh movements. With each one you fluttered around him, squeezing him in as your teeth clenched together.

“He’s… gentle.” You whined through yourteeth.

He smacked your ass before moving his hand to the back of your throat, squeezing tight.

“You don’t need gentle. I’ve given you plenty of that when we were younger.”

You opened your mouth in a silent moan. You could no longer comprehend the feeling of him gliding in and out of you. Only a mind numbing pleasure that swaddled every bit of your flesh, seeping out of your pores.

“You're spoiled.” You tightened around him. “You get everything you want and somehow find it in you to—“ he choked up. “To always ask for more.”

“And I. Give. It. To. You.” He punctuated each word with an even harsher thrust of his hips.

Fisting the sheets, you came around him with a moan and he only thrust into you faster. Giving you everything and more. Just as he’s always done.

He ripped you open and poured into you, giving you everything.

You did the same. Turning over and scratching into his skin, marking him as you mouthed at him relentlessly, burning yourself into him as he imprinted a bruise of his entire body into yours. It was in the varying teeth marks that littered about your body, the bone shattering ache of him inside you that was sure to stay for weeks, the soft scratches of his beard littered around your neck and chest.

You both took and gave until there was nothing left. Until you both could only pant into one another's skin. You savored the warmth that radiated from him, from his body, his hands wrapped around you, and the low breath that fanned your neck.

Closing your eyes you held onto the feeling, the moment, because when you opened them again, it would be gone.

-

Marc stirred awake in silence.

Briskly throwing his body into an upright position, holding a groan through gritted teeth.

He looked down at his bandaged body with a frown.

You did a good job.

How?

He pushed away the uncomfortable thoughts as he meandered through the halls of your home with trepidation. The first few rays of sunshine were still at bay, but they would make their presence known soon.

He had to find you before then. He had to know. He just had to.

If you were this focused on the true matters at hand, you wouldn’t be in this predicament.

Marc ignored Khonshu as he finally made it toward your bedroom.

His bare feet pattered softly on the warm wooden floors that should have been cold.

You had money, so of course they weren’t.

Of course you spend money on heated floors to go with your picture perfect estate or mansion or whatever the fuck it was. Your home was larger than life. Your. . . your husband was a part of that.

He was everywhere. He always had been.

But it didn’t matter. It never did.

On the nights you both found your solace away from the creepy crawlies that hid in the shadows and away from the darkest corners of yourselves, your husband’s sweater hanging off your shoulders, it didn’t matter.

When he’d wrap his arms around your waist before turning you around and slipping his tongue into your mouth to taste you over and over again. He would slide his fingers into yours and place your husband’s favorite coffee mug onto the counter before lifting your legs around his waist and carrying you to your bedroom.

It didn’t matter on the times you would ride him and his wedding band would dangle above his nose as you cried out to him.

It did matter that sometimes as you’d lay into one another in a blissful bubble of silence away from the rest of the world, he’d twirl the ring you sometimes wore onto your thumb. It barely fit, so you had to clench your fist to keep it from tumbling onto the ground. Which was why on those days he knew you had never left your house.

Even now as he watched your chest slowly rise and fall as you were curled into a half circle like the moon, you were still laying in bed as if your husband's arms were wrapped around you. The mattress showed a dent of a body that once was but no more.

You slept peacefully save for the furrowing of your brow.

Perhaps you could feel his absence in your dreams.

Licking his lips, Marc placed his knee onto the foot of the bed and crawled his way over to you. Just as he wanted to last night.

Your eyes immediately opened. You kept your head towards him, but he couldn’t help the pain that shot through his chest as your hands searched the sides of the bed, throwing the covers in the process.

“Marc.” His name was wet and heavy in your mouth. Full of things you wanted to say and things you couldn’t.

It was too much. He didn’t want either.

So he placed his hands on either side of you and sealed your lips with his. As his mouth seared across yours, he swallowed your silent tears and your even quieter cries of pain, swallowing them down with his own.

When he pulled away from you for just a moment to rip the foreign sweatpants from his body, his heart swelled at the sight of your naked one.

Your swollen lips, the marks of teeth on you, above the collar of your neck, the one around the swell of your breast, your equally swollen and irritated nipples.

He sucked in a sharp breath.

His cheek was wet.

It was one of your tears, had to be.

He ignored it as he placed his mouth above the mark on your neck, making sure you hiss and wince as he swiped it with his tongue. Your nails dug into his skin as he started to suck on it. Trying to push him away from it, you made a strange sound, and he moved to kiss you again.

Chasing you, whatever was left.

You were never his. Not truly, and he was okay with that, or at least he thought he was.

But that was before the shadow of a man was revealed to be a complete one. He could compete with a memory, but the real living and breathing thing?

The fear of what that held consumed him, so instead of wallowing that, he focused on consuming you.

You made him feel whole, but that didn’t mean he still wasn’t the loose fleshy strings of a being that once resembled a man.

So he took what was left of him and placed one of your legs above his shoulders as he laid on his belly.

He moved to kiss you on your thigh the way he knows you like, but he froze, taken back by the littering of teeth marks that lay there.

Blinking, one, two times, without thinking, he placed his tongue, wet and hard, across the deep indentations of teeth before slowly following with the rest of his mouth letting the full plush of his lips wrap around the soft plump skin of your inner thigh.

Your back arched as you made a strangled cry and he pulled back, smiling to himself. It was bitter and crooked.

He wanted to be gentle, but he heard you hiss sharply as he separated your folds with two of his fingers. Wet, swollen, and raw with evidence of another man, you still had a pretty pussy.

He placed a similar slow kiss onto you, giving you everything. Something.

As he greedily memorized the taste of your lips, he ignored the forlorn feeling that rose higher and higher in the deep pit of his belly.

The bright light of what you two had didn’t feel so bright anymore, and he didn’t know why. He wanted to ignore it but he couldn’t. Everything was different.

Your hand fisted into his hair and he buried himself within you more, plunging two fingers deep as if he could pull all the things he felt about you out as if he could become a part of it.

Your hand pulled at his curls even harder, your cries were muffled against his ears because of how your thighs clamped tightly around him.

“Marc.” You strangled out his name once more through a moan.

He plunged another finger in, pushing deeper into you to drive you over the edge, deeper to give you everything you needed, deeper to shut you up.

His revelation complete, you came in his mouth and around his fingers.

Things were different, but you two still needed something from each other. He couldn’t define just what that is or how exactly, but burying his face within you was enough for now. He could do that, but he couldn’t talk to you. Not yet.

Talking was still too much for him.

@megamindsecretlair @nerdieforpedro @venusintheblindspots-blog @notapradagurl7

@sirenaluna @gardenof-venus

Thank you for reading!! Let me know if you wanna be tagged in the next one!!