#monogrammed gifts for wedding

[jmlabonneimpression]

Unique and Thoughtful Gifts from JM la Bonne Impression

Gift-giving is an art that reflects thoughtfulness and care. At JM la Bonne Impression, we specialize in creating unique, personalized gifts that leave a lasting impression. Whether you're searching for the perfect travel gift or a bespoke monogrammed present for a wedding, our range of products offers something special for every occasion.

Travel Gifts: A Thoughtful Gesture for the Wanderer

Personalized Travel Accessories

When it comes to Travel Gift, personalization adds a special touch that transforms a useful item into a cherished keepsake. JM la Bonne Impression offers a variety of personalized travel accessories, from custom luggage tags to engraved passport holders. These items not only enhance the travel experience but also provide a sense of identity and style for the traveler.

Customized Travel Journals

A travel journal is a wonderful gift for those who love to document their adventures. Our customized travel journals are designed with high-quality materials and can be personalized with the recipient’s name or initials. These journals make it easy to capture memories, jot down travel tips, and keep track of itineraries, making them an invaluable companion for any journey.

Unique Travel-Themed Gifts

For a more creative touch, consider our unique travel-themed gifts. From scratch-off world maps to personalized travel mugs, these items are perfect for inspiring wanderlust and celebrating the joy of exploration. At JM la Bonne Impression, we ensure that each gift is crafted with care and attention to detail, making it a memorable token for any travel enthusiast.

Monogrammed Gifts for Weddings: Elegance and Personalization

Monogrammed Towels and Linens

Monogrammed Gifts for Wedding, Monogrammed towels and linens are classic wedding gifts that combine elegance with practicality. Our selection includes high-quality bath towels, hand towels, and luxurious bed linens that can be embroidered with the couple’s initials. These personalized items add a touch of sophistication to any home and serve as a constant reminder of the special day.

Customized Kitchenware

For couples who love to cook or entertain, customized kitchenware makes a thoughtful and useful gift. JM la Bonne Impression offers a range of monogrammed kitchen items, including cutting boards, aprons, and wine glasses. These gifts are perfect for newlyweds who are setting up their home and provide a personal touch that makes cooking and dining more enjoyable.

Personalized Wedding Keepsakes

Wedding keepsakes are treasured mementos that capture the essence of the big day. Our personalized wedding keepsakes, such as engraved photo frames, custom ornaments, and monogrammed guest books, are designed to commemorate the couple’s union. These beautiful and meaningful gifts are crafted to last a lifetime, ensuring that the memories of the wedding day remain vivid and cherished.

The Craftsmanship and Quality of JM la Bonne Impression

At JM la Bonne Impression, we pride ourselves on the craftsmanship and quality of our products. Each item is made with premium materials and meticulous attention to detail, ensuring that our gifts are not only beautiful but also durable and functional. Our commitment to excellence is reflected in every piece we create, making JM la Bonne Impression a trusted name in personalized gifting.

Attention to Detail

Every product at JM la Bonne Impression is crafted with an eye for detail. Whether it’s a travel accessory or a monogrammed wedding gift, we ensure that each item meets our high standards of quality and craftsmanship. Our skilled artisans and designers take pride in creating products that are both stylish and functional, ensuring that your gift is perfect in every way.

Customization Options

We understand that every gift should be as unique as the person receiving it. That’s why we offer a wide range of customization options, allowing you to create a truly personalized present. From selecting the material and color to adding names, initials, or special messages, our customization process is designed to help you create a gift that reflects your thoughtfulness and care.

Eco-Friendly Practices

At JM la Bonne Impression, we are committed to sustainability and eco-friendly practices. We use environmentally responsible materials and production methods, ensuring that our products are not only beautiful and high-quality but also kind to the planet. Our dedication to sustainability is part of our promise to deliver gifts that you can feel good about giving.

Conclusion

Finding the perfect gift can be a challenge, but JM la Bonne Impression makes it easy with our range of personalized, high-quality products. Whether you’re looking for a thoughtful travel gift or an elegant monogrammed present for a wedding, our selection offers something for everyone. With our commitment to craftsmanship, customization, and sustainability, JM la Bonne Impression is your go-to destination for unique and meaningful gifts. Explore our collection today and discover the joy of giving a truly special present.

[klmkreations]

Personalized Makeup Bags! - Perfect bridal party gifts! - Available in 9 colors - Link to our shop in profile!💋💄💋💄💋💄💋#makeup #makeupcase #makeupbag #drawstring #drawstringbag #drawstringmakeupbag #cosmetics #cosmeticbag #giftideas #gift #monogram #bridalparty #bridalpartygifts #bridesmaids #bridesmaidgifts #wedding #weddingparty #weddingpartygifts #mothersdaygift #mothersday #giftformom #momgift #personalizedgifts #teens #teen #giftforher #giftforteens #giftforgirls #embroidered #klmkreations https://www.instagram.com/p/Cpyl9hSDebd/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[55sturn]

Hey!!!! Do you think you could do a husband/dad Matt headcanons???

✮ HUSBAND + DAD!MATT WHO…/ HEADCANONS

BF!MATT who was so nervous to propose, he takes you back to the place you had your first date in boston, it was not your first official date overall, but it was the first one you had in his honetown after you met his parents a year prior, the same night his mom gave him her engagement ring.

the two of you were sitting on a bench at some park late at night, just talking about everything and cuddling, and he just blurts it out because he can’t wait any longer, he’s not on one or anything, just sitting there beside you.

“marry me.” “w-what?” “i’ve got a ring in my pocket right now and i’ve had it for a year, i’ve carried it around for a year straight because i’ve been wanting to ask you since the second my mom gave me the ring the night you met her. you are the person i want to spend my life with, my family adores you, i adore you, there’s no better match for me, so marry me?” “you’d be an idiot if you think i’m saying no.”

and the second you two get back to his parents house, he’s waking up his brothers and telling them you said yes.

FIANCÉ!MATT who doesn’t want a big wedding, but he is willing to give you whatever you want because he has already and will forever dedicate his life to making you happy.

FIANCÉ!MATT who settles for a small-ish wedding with close friends and family in the backyard of his parent’s cape cod house.

FIANCÉ!MATT who decides chris and nate are going to be his best men and he asks nick to get ordained so he can play an equally as important part in the wedding.

HUSBAND!MATT who the second you two are officially husband and wife and in your way for your honeymoon, he’s doing the cheesy movie scene and carrying you through the door way.

HUSBAND!MATT who is such an acts of service husband, like he’s doing everything you want and ask for.

HUSBAND!MATT who 100% gets cheesy mr and mrs. monogrammed mugs and dishes for you both.

HUSBAND!MATT who cries when he finds out your wedding gift to him, which, with the help of his family, is his own vacation home in vermont.

HUSBAND!MATT who gifts you your own house to raise a family with him in.

DAD!MATT HEADCANONS

DAD!MATT who knows you’re pregnant before you even tell him, he tracks your periods and everything and has your cycle memorized so when he sees that your box of tampons/pads is unopened underneath the sink two weeks after your period was due, alarms are going off in his bed because he’s sure you should’ve used majority of them by now.

DAD!MATT who and picks up a couple tests for you, and places them on the table in front of you and you’re shocked that he’s aware because you had only just started suspecting that you were pregnant.

DAD!MATT, who the second you see the positive test, is pulling you into such an intense kiss, one so full of love and passion that you have to pull away to breathe and then you’re joking “be careful a kiss like that is what got us here.”

DAD!MATT who when you guys find out the gender, you also find out that you’re having two twin girls and is so unbelievably happy.

DAD!MATT who wanted to do a big surprise when you guys’ visit his family back in boston but matt being matt, he accidentally tells them so casually in the middle of dinner that his mom chokes on her water and is like “wait what?”

DAD!MATT who is buying every tiny pink thing he sees, you’ll tell him that the babies don’t need another pink pacifier because you’ve already got a drawer full and he’s like “i don’t care i’m buying it for them.”

DAD!MATT who, just like chris, had his brothers help put all the furniture together while you’re out because matt doesn’t want you do anything heavy lifting.

DAD!MATT who is extremely overprotective of you.

DAD!MATT who will not hesitate to bitch someone out in public if they stare at you funny.

DAD!MATT who had to-go bags in the car before you found you were pregnant, they were packed and ready the moment you agreed to try for a family.

DAD!MATT who, the girls are born, is an emotional wreck, he’s just so in awe and love of what you did, of the fact that you carried and made life. he doesn’t acknowledge his part in it because he’s like “you did all the hard work.”

DAD!MATT who is wrapped around his daughter’s fingers.

DAD!MATT who struggles to say no to them all the time.

DAD!MATT who is so protective of all his girls.

DAD!MATT who raises them to not take any disrespect because he girls deserve the best.

DAD!MATT who also sets the standard for what kind of partner the girls should be with.

DAD!MATT who is so supportive everything they choose to do.

[draftmare]

I did a thing that I’m so excited about. I’ve been wanting to do saddle pads with my monogram on them for a bit, but never got around to them. Then I got engaged and started to contemplate how weird would it be to get the pads done before I was even married… Well, it didn’t happen before the wedding, but it finally happened now. Saddle fitter wants us in a fluffy half pad, and a lot of my saddle pads are too short. Ogilvy fits really well, so ordering a couple during the July 4th sale was the perfect opportunity.

I found a woman local to me that did the embroidery, let’s just say I’m going to use her for all of my embroidery from now on. She was super fast and matched the colors of the Ogilvy pads perfectly.

I am in love with how they turned out.

(Sydney’s 4 year old open front and fetlock boots are finally giving up the ghost, so I broke out a set I’ve had waiting in the wings for when they were needed this weekend as well.)

I won a gift certificate at that last show where I was reserve champion to a tack shop that carries Ogilvy, so of course I’m already planning out my next one. 😂

[spiritundaunted]

Happy 101st Anniversary to Bertie & Elizabeth

The Duke & Duchess of York on their wedding day, April 26, 1923.

The young royals had no idea that 13 years later they would become King George VI & Queen Elizabeth.

Prince Albert's gift to Elizabeth's bridesmaids was an exquisitely carved crystal brooch of the white Rose of York with the couple's monogram (E A) and the ducal crown in diamonds. I really love how modern the style of the cypher is! Very reflective of the Deco period.

If you look carefully at the wedding portrait, you can see the bridesmaids wearing the brooch. It's a lovely small size; not too much!

Just Married!!

Throwing this one in for fun 'coz you can tell they are smiling even from behind. :)

The newly married Duke & Duchess of York leaving Buckingham Palace for their honeymoon. The Duke is getting pelted with confetti by his brothers.

Theirs is such a beautiful love story. ❤️💍❤️ 

RCT, thebeaumondecollection,

[jo-harrington]

Give and Take - Steve Harrington x Reader

Pairings/Relationships: Steve Harrington/Fem!Reader

Warnings/Themes: Older!Steve, Smut, Breeding Kink, Creampie, Cheating

Note: During a wonderful little smutty prompt challenge with some friends and fellow writers, I was inspired to write some Steve. I have historically not been a Steve girl but thanks to @loveshotzz I have a thing for an older Steve. So babe this is dedicated to you.

You can find my masterlist here. (It’s all Eddie FYI.)

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

—

Steve was a lucky man. He had everything. Almost. He had his beautiful home and his wonderful job and his perfect wife. He couldn’t complain about the things he was still missing, things he still wanted deep down, because he was thankful he had so much. He had you.

And because of that it was practically impossible for him not to give back. Give in. He gave in to the fact that some things he desired…he would never get. Gave into the frilly duvet and the monogrammed pillows and the framed portrait above the vanity.

He gave you everything you ever wanted. All you wanted was the way he made you feel. Special and seen and understood. And you did everything in your power to make him feel the same.

The way his skin stuck to yours, and his lips burned across your neck. The way his tongue lapped up the sweat that rolled from your clavicle down the valley of your breasts. The way the top of your head grazed the headboard as he drove into you, and he cooed his apologies with a feral smile all the while rocking into you at an unforgiving pace, tip kissing your womb and sending shocks of pleasure through you. 

And it was at that pleasure that a thought occurred to you. You could give him everything. Everything he so desired.

“Put a baby in me Stevie,” you moaned as his paused to find a better angle for you, one that would drive you insane. One that would make you see god. “Do it, I want you to do it. Fuck me full. I know you have it. I can take it all.”

“R-really Honey?” He stammered. “I can?”

You didn’t even need to fully vocalize it, as soon as you gave the slightest of nods, his pace became unforgiving, his forehead pressed against yours, balls—heavy with promise—slapping against you as he hammered into you. He didn’t need to wait, he was done waiting.

The pleasure was blinding, as he coated your walls and prayed that it would take, made almost more intense by the height of the emotions of the room. For him and for you, at the triumph of getting the very last things you wanted. You, to please him and to make him yours forever; his, a family to call his own, one he never thought he’d have.

And as you laid in his arms later that night, as his hand caressed your abdomen and he dreamed of the gift he gave you, all you did was feel. Feel the glow wash over you, feel the cum leak just the slightest bit out of you onto the frilly duvet, feel the embroidered monogram on the pillow beneath you.

Feel eyes glare into you.

You opened your eyes and smirked at the wedding portrait that hung across the room, watching you. Such a perfect moment captured in time second only to this.

Nancy Harrington was a lucky woman. She had the home her husband bought for her and the car that he bought her too. She had the whole town reading story after story, praising her for all of her accolades. She had Steve. 

But she would never have this.

[nikethestatue]

The Agreement

Chapter 9

Warning: Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Language

This is NiketheStatue smut. You've been warned.

Elain Archeron

It was Sunday, and Elain was still a virgin.

Azriel hadn’t made any drastic moves to deflower her either, so she existed in her present state, though in the past couple of days, her virginity became more of a nuisance rather than the desired state of being that she wanted to preserve.

Azriel had upped the ante slowly, but deliberately ever since they first kissed and he kept Elain in the state of perpetual arousal as well as expectation. She didn’t know when it would come. When he would pounce. Never mind that the idea of Azriel ‘pouncing’ was absurd, but she already knew him well enough, and was aware that he could be unpredictable, demanding and at times, rough. She’d be willing, but she didn’t put it past him to wrestle her on the floor, tear her dress and take her. Fuck her, as he liked to say. She didn’t dare utter that word yet. Azriel, in turn, was quite comfortable with it, throwing ‘fuck’ abundantly in their conversation. He really had terrible manners, at least when he was at home.

And home this was. 

Elain’s too. 

She’d learned to think of it as one, and she adored it. Not terribly surprising, as it was a veritable palace, but it was also compact enough that it didn’t feel impersonal. This wasn’t a grand estate out in the country, where she’d have to trudge through eighty-two rooms and cover miles of acreage before she even reached the kitchen. 

Their home was palatial, but also comfortable and designed for living, and not showing off. She loved all the modern touches that Azriel outfitted the house with–they were rare and she’d bet that no one else had most of these in their possession. Beyond electricity, running water, flushing toilets, the showers, he also had the kitchen modernised with a unique stove, and a variety of gadgets that made her crazy with excitement. There were handheld machines for whipping cream and egg whites, pans that were ideal for making sauces, all sorts of fancy rolling pins and baking forms that would make any bakery proud. There were presses and grinders, which made life infinitely easier for her and for Cerridwen. There was hot and cold water, and a stove that she didn’t need to crouch over–the way she needed to do it at home. 

In the past week she also learned a lot about the Duke of Velaris and many of his ideosynchronies. Some were charming and endearing, others were puzzling.

Even though per their agreement she wasn’t supposed to ‘fraternise’ with the help, she very much fraternised with both Nuala and Cerridwen. The ‘help’ that Azriel had referred to was apparently the many servants that lived and cared for his country pile–Rosehall. It had a staff of dozens, and the twins weren’t considered part of that staff. That led to resentment. The sisters didn’t care much, but Azriel kept them here, in London, and they never went to Rosehall without him.

Azriel collected daggers–ancient, rare daggest, which were kept in the attic, in a special room, behind glass. They ranged from Persian to ancient Greek ones, African, Japanese, Italian, Roman, Viking, Chinese, Indian and everything in between. His prized possession was a dagger from Arabia, which was called Truth-Teller. Legend had it that it always struck true. Nuala said that the dagger came from his mother’s side of the family, a gift to him when he came into adulthood. 

He owned exactly 30 suits. They were also all exactly the same–black. He always wore a white shirt, and possessed only two colours of ties–black and cobalt. 

He liked Irish whiskey and drank a measure every evening. 

He smoked six cigarettes a day. Two in the morning, two in the afternoon, and two at night. 

He liked white china, monogrammed with his initials–in black and cobalt, of course.

Otherwise, the house was void of personal artefacts. No portraits of ancestors, no wedding photographs, not one depiction of his lady Morrigan to be found anywhere. Nothing from his boyhood. Barely anything from Eton. One photograph depicted Azriel, and Cassian, and another man who resembled them. They were dressed warmly and the photo was taken somewhere in the snow, with them holding snowballs in their hands. How they got the photographer and his photographic camera over the snow piles, Elain had no idea. The photo was intimate and endearing–the men were smiling. 

Elain wanted to ask the twins about the state of Azriel’s marriage, before Morrigan’s accident, but she didn’t think that it was her place. Also, she didn’t think that the twins would betray his confidence if it was something personal. 

The house was unusually open–the twins explained that Azriel hated closed or narrow spaces. He liked sunshine. 

Nuala was braiding Elain’s hair when she told her ‘his lordship called you his sunshine’. It made Elain blush. And smile. Especially when Nuala said that that was his highest compliment. 

In the mornings, Elain was ordered to wear house dresses, no brassiere, and preferably be barefoot, though that was at ‘her own discretion’. And then, once she was ready, Azriel kissed her. He waited for her in the morning, in the hallway between their bedrooms, and she always emerged at exactly seven AM. There, he greeted her, taking note of the dress that she was wearing and how she had her hair done that morning. It was always the same–she approached him, allowing him the time to study her for a few moments, and then he immediately cupped her unbound breasts in his large palms, while she kissed his lips. He expected her to kiss him, and she…liked it. He began fondling her immediately–those warm, dry hands squeezing her breasts, as if telling them ‘good morning’ before one hand inevitably dropped to her waist, where he caressed her hips, then slid over her belly, before resting on her bottom and grabbing a handful. Elain kissed him. While his hands roamed over her body, she held his face between her hands and kissed him. But he always gave her his tongue and she sucked and licked on it. She loved it. 

“Good morning, sir,” she’d say at last, when he finally allowed her to come up for breath.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he usually winked at her and bit her lips. 

And then, he led her downstairs. By her nipple. 

He took a liking to pinching one of her nipples and then led her by it, which was both odd and incredibly arousing. It hurt her, because he squeezed tightly, but she followed him without protest as he tugged on her tit and guided her. 

Submission. That’s what he wanted. Complete willing sexual submission.

He hadn’t voiced it, but Elain quickly understood where his needs and desires lie. He was going to order her and dominate her, and she was to acquiesce and happily submit. And that was fine with her. Outside of their sexual experimentation, Azriel didn’t require anything of her. If she wanted to sit on her butt all day long, he wouldn’t have objected. What he cared about was when he told her to bend, she bent and when he told her to spread, she spread. And if she thanked him–even better. He liked that a lot.

She was to serve him at meals–not as a servant–but they took their meals together, and Azriel requested privacy. Therefore, Devlon was no longer attending at dinner. It was mostly because Elain was expected to climb into Azriel’s lap once they had their plates filled with food, and he fed her and himself. 

Yes, she was a grown woman, but she adored this strange ritual of theirs. Azriel loved it too, because he was free to kiss her and fondle her aggressively. After every dinner, she sported new marks on her neck and her shoulders, there to replace the fading ones. Her lips were swollen from his incessant kissing. Her nipples were puffy and aching having been pinched and rolled and squeezed all throughout the meal. 

When they were finally done eating, she’d kiss him sweetly and whisper ‘thank you for dinner, sir’. 

-

Nevertheless, it was Sunday and Elain was still a virgin.

She was still asleep when she sensed that the door opened and Azriel entered her bedroom. Once she granted him permission, he sometimes stopped by unannounced, but he didn’t make a habit out of it, and respected her privacy. After the first night that they had spent together, he didn’t encroach on her again. Even if Elain didn’t mind at all. Even if she wanted to be encroached upon.

She knew that he was barefoot when he padded across the wooden planks of the parquet floor, before his steps were muffled by the carpet. The bed dipped and Elain buried her face in her pillows, giggling. 

“Ahhh, you are laughing, you naughty girl. You are awake and you didn’t even come out to greet me!” he chided her gently, as he climbed over her and straddled her belly, before draping his heavy big body over her and squeezing her in his massive embrace.

She wiggled next to his chest, protesting feebly, “I was asleep! You just woke me up.”

“Uh-uh,” he grunted, dipping his face into her neck and inhaling deeply. 

“You smell good in your sleep,” he murmured with a deep satisfied growl. 

Elain hasn’t even opened her eyes yet, simply luxuriating in the feel of his weight, in his woodsy, cool scent, which she’d recognise anywhere, in the brush of his stubble against her cheek and her neck.

This was crazy. It had to be.

He couldn’t be cuddling her like this? He couldn’t be waiting for her to awake, so he could kiss and stroke her? He couldn’t be wanting her the way he seemed to hunger for her?

“Good morning, sir,” she breathed, her chest tight.

Happiness. That’s what she was feeling. Happiness, which she was experiencing for perhaps the first time in her life. 

Azriel made her happy.

“Good morning, beautiful girl.”

“You couldn’t even let me sleep in on Sunday?” she pouted.

“No,” he said firmly. “I needed your tongue in my mouth…It’s the strangest urge.”

“Can I at least relieve myself? Before I take your tongue in my mouth?”

He frowned, as if he was considering the request, then sighed dramatically and rolled off her.

“Two minutes!” he warned.

“Despot!” she threw at him, as she scrambled from under the blanket. That was met with a hearty laugh and earned her a slap on her bottom. 

She did everything in the allotted two minutes–relieved herself, splashed cold water on her face, cleaned her teeth and gave the thick mane of her hair an artful tousle, before pinning it at the nape of her neck. 

From her bedroom, she heard a countdown ‘three, two, one…’

She jumped out of the bathing room and rushed back to the bed, and into Azriel’s outstretched arms. He pushed her on her back and pressed his lips to hers.

The man could kiss. 

Anything from gentle, fluttering, soft kisses, to passionate, hungry, forceful ones and everything in between, Azriel always kissed like he was ready to devour her. It wasn’t just kisses, it was possession all the way to her soul.

But he also loved when she kissed him as well–in the past 3 days, she’d gained confidence and because he always encouraged her, she often came to him first and just kissed him. It was surreal–to have the opportunity to come to Duke of Velaris whenever she wanted to and pull him into a kiss, and feel him give in eagerly and readily. It was a strange sort of luxury, to feel so wanted and so accepted, and Elain took to it well. 

He pulled away for a moment, while he placed slow kisses on her face and neck, and she heard him whisper, “God, I want to fuck you.”

Swallowing, she answered, “then do it. I…I want it,” she admitted breathlessly.

She was panting, her breasts falling up and down heavily beneath his chest.

He looked at her, studying her expression, her face, her words with that penetrating gaze of his, as if he could see inside her head and determine whether she was being truthful.

“Is that so?” he asked at last.

She nodded.

It was true. She wasn’t trying to mollify him, or simply say what he wanted to hear. That wasn’t their relationship. Azriel demanded honesty and gave her voice complete consideration. If she said ‘no’ it meant ‘no’ and he didn’t push–whether it was a sexual matter, or something from their everyday life. Though curiously, they were usually in agreement about most things. There was harmony in their relationship which Elain simply cherished and found so very peaceful and pleasant.

“It is,” she repeated again. “I want it. I want you.”

Azriel smiled and lightly brushed the backs of his fingers over her cheek.

“My sweet darling girl. You’ll get me.”

“Yes?”

“Maybe more than you expected or wanted.”

“I don't think so,” she argued. “Nothing is going to be ‘too much’. Not with you.”

“My pretty innocent girl,” he kissed her lightly on the lips. “I can absolutely assure you that it will be. Now, what are your plans for today?”

“I’ll be busy!” she said immediately.

‘Busy? On Sunday? Are you planning on going to church?”

“Are you?”

“Not much of a church goer I am not,” he chuckled.

“Neither am I. But I have a surprise, and I will be busy,”

“A surprise? For who? Me?”

“Who else?” she asked mysteriously.

“Ugh,” he grunted, “I was hoping to spend the day with you…It’s our anniversary, you know,” he laughed.

“I remember. One week. We’ll celebrate tonight.”

He rolled off her and asked, “dare I ask, will this surprise unavail you to me for the entire day?”

Elain kissed him, because she couldn't help herself and queried,

“Did you have something in mind, my lord?”

“I thought we could take a walk down to the palace,” he offered.

Elain’s eyes lit up with excitement and she immediately perked straight up.

“Surely?”

He smiled at her and her enthusiasm. 

“Of course, sweetheart. I promised you that I’d show it to you.”

She wrung her hands happily and he added, 

“It is wonderful to experience the world through your eyes. What I take for granted is so novel to you and it is so joyful,”

“But it’s the Queen’s palace, sir! It is exciting! And you’ve met her,”

“I have,” he confirmed. “Only briefly, a few times. Her Majesty keeps away from politics and from London.”

“Ahhh yes,” Elain said sadly. “She is still mourning her dear husband, sweet Prince Albert,”

“My father,” Azriel said, being uncharacteristically frank with her suddenly, “was good friends with Prince Edward,”

“Oh my,” Elain whispered, shocked. It sounded fantastical to her, for Azriel’s father to be friends with the Heir apparent and the Prince of Wales.

“Yes, indeed. My father was among the Prince’s retinue when he took a tour of the Orient. That is how my parents met.”

So Elain was correct–Azriel was only half English. She didn’t pry about the origins of his mother and why his father the Duke would marry a woman from a different culture and bring her here. Azriel did not offer any further information, other than that he was friends with the Queen’s grandsons, which again, made Elain’s head spin.

Azriel sat up abruptly and clapped his hands once.

“Now Miss Archeron, get your fine behind going. Hurry, so I can feed you breakfast and then we’ll be on our way.”

Something inside Elain expanded with happiness, heavy and leaking, like overripe fruit. Her heart beat wildly. She grabbed his hand suddenly and pressed it to her lips.

He looked at him with amusement, but didn’t comment. Elain had an insane urge to tell him that she loved him, but she didn’t want to come off as desperate and wild. Azriel liked order and control, and if she came at him with her heartfelt confessions, she wasn’t sure that he’d appreciate it. Perhaps later on. But not yet. 

Nuala was lacing Elain into the corset, when there was a brief knock on the door and Azriel stepped in. He always knocked, but rarely actually waited for a response, and it was the case now. Elain was being tucked into her old corset, which had her standing only in a pair of knickers, her stockings and the corset.

Azriel was all but dressed, his jacket swinging behind his back on his finger, and his waistcoat already buttoned, his tie making his look elegant and formal. 

“What the hell is that?” he muttered immediately, his brows knitted at the sight of the corset.

“Miss Elain can’t be parading around on the streets, near the Queen’s palace in a brassiere,” Nuala told him firmly.

“Well, I think that she can and should,” he argued. “I can’t bear to look at this abomination,”

“Sir, I must wear it,” Elain insisted, though she hated every second of wearing the restrictive garment, which made it hard to breathe, and dug into every bone and crevice of her body. Comparatively, her brassiere was a godsend.

Azriel considered it for a moment, and then said,

“Nuala, leave up, please. I would like to speak with Elain.”

Nuala curtsied and wordlessly left the room.

Azriel crossed the room and came to stand behind Elain, his hands laying on her bare shoulders. She sighed and instinctively bared her neck for him, so he could sink his teeth into her skin. Which he did. At once. He smoothed his hands over her sides, running them over the corset, and then rested them on her breasts, though she could hardly feel his touch.

“See why I hate it?” he asked, kissing her neck.

“I hate it too,” she agreed. The lack of sensation from his touch was…disturbing. She came to rely on it for the past few days like it was food.

He stepped back a bit and gathered the laces, as he began tugging on them and tying them. 

Sighing, he said, “We both know that you are mine. But I want to ask you about us being in public together,”

Elain didn’t know what to say. The question made her uncomfortable. A little angry. But mostly sad. It wasn’t surprising that he didn’t view her as someone to be in public with. Especially out there–near the palace, where they could encounter those who knew him. She was hired help. A nobody. And he was simply being courteous to her.

“We don’t have to,” she whispered at last. “I don’t want to make trouble for you, my lord,”

Perplexed, he turned her around and asked, “Pardon?”

She looked at her feet and murmured, “I understand, my lord. We don’t need to go. It’s alright. I am sure I can find my way there one day. You are a great lord of the land, and I am,”

“And you are my companion,” he said sternly and then lifted her face to his, holding her chin. “The only reason I asked you is because I want to protect your name and your reputation. I don’t want to besmirch your surname or your identity. If you are not ready, or don’t want to answer questions, it is your choice.”

“So you don’t want privacy?” she confirmed, her voice soft and hopeful.

“No,” he shook his head. “I am happy to be seen with you, Elain. But you are a maid of gentle breeding and I want to be mindful of that. Despite our arrangement, nothing’s changed about your background and your place in society.”

“Then I do not want privacy either!” she said immediately, relief flooding her.

He wasn’t embarrassed to be seen with her. 

She wasn’t just a whore for his tumbling. Maybe she meant something to him. And he did say that she was his. That she belonged to him.

“I want you to be sure,” Azriel implored seriously, holding her face in his hands. 

“I am sure, my lord,” she assured him. “I am. If you’d take a walk with me, I would only be so very happy.”

“Then so be it.”

-

Azriel was sitting back on the sofa, his long legs spread wide, his hands resting on his firm flat stomach and he had the look of any man who just had a nice meal, and who was generally satisfied with life.

Elain was attempting to hide her smirk as she observed his relaxed posture and his pleased expression. 

They had a fantastic day together.

They’d walked to the palace, which was just as impressive as Elain had thought, despite the fact that Azriel told her that the palace was seldom used for official functions and that the Queen preferred Windsor Castle. Elain didn’t care because Azriel took her beyond the wrought iron gates and she saw the changing of the royal guards, which was an incredible ceremony. 

“When Her Majesty passes,” Azriel told her, pointing to the vast square in front of the palace, “I believe the plan is to erect a great monument in her honour in that spot.”

“Do you know what it will look like?” Elain inquired.

“Oh, I am sure it will be–massive,” he chuckled softly. “A grand monstrosity of marble and gold.”

“My lord, you shan’t talk so freely,” she warned him under her breath.

The crowds were sparse on a Sunday morning, with most people attending church. Azriel and Elain wandered around like two heathens, without a care in the world. Who was going to question the Duke of Velaris anyway?

Walking like this with the Duke of Velaris, her arm tucked into the crook of his elbow, Elain felt a proper lady. The corset, albeit bothersome, was the right decision. She wore a dark navy skirt and a cream shirtwaist with a large bow at her neck, and a light linen jacket of pale blue. Her hat was wide brimmed, decorated abundantly with flowers and a thick bow. She carried a small purse and felt elegant, and properly attired–at last. 

Ignoring her warning, Azriel told her, “you look lovely today, Elain.”

“I appreciate the compliment, sir,” she murmured with a smile.

“I am not even confident that it is a compliment,” he mused. “You are just lovely like the sun at dawn. I am simply stating a fact. Now,” he looked around, “i should be annoyed at the sight of all these young brawny bucks paying you entirely too much attention,”

And he wasn’t incorrect–Elain had noticed the interest of the young guards who were exchanging glances and looks with her, making her blush.

“But I can't find it in myself to care,” he continued calmly. “Because I know that you are mine.”

“I am, sir,” he smiled at him. “I am yours.”

-

“You enjoyed the surprise then, sir?” Elain laughed softly, watching Azriel relax on the sofa. He had forgone his jacket, removed his tie, and his shirt was unbuttoned on his chest, allowing Elain a view of his bronze skin and his muscular, inked flesh. 

“This was a mighty fine meal, Elain,” he nodded with pleasure. “Your Sunday roast is outstanding indeed.”

She tapped her fingers on her elbow, waiting for more. He knew that she was. She was expecting for him to say what she wanted him to admit.

She’d made a succulent roast beef for the two of them, baked Yorkshire puddings in the beef drippings, roasted potatoes with rosemary and garlic, as well as glazed carrots and turnips. And then…and then she served the most contentious offering of the day: mashed potatoes. Oh they were fine! Creamy and rich, velvety and thick. There was gravy too, thick lashings of it to pour over the potatoes.

“Do you wish me to admit that I was wrong?” he cocked his brow at her.

She shrugged innocently and said, “of course not, my lord. Though you did look like you enjoyed the mash very enthusiastically.”

“It’s good mash,” he allowed. 

“Uh-uh,”

Grinning, he added brazenly, “still doesn’t belong with Sunday lunch.”

She stomped her foot with indignation and he laughed out loud. 

“I shall never make it again!” she threatened.

“Come on now, beautiful. Be reasonable. Why would you punish me with not cooking your lovely mash?”

“Because I want you to love it!”

“I do love it. The dinner was fantastic. And the marmalade sponge was to die for. Not to mention the whiskey custard. It was everything I didn’t even know I wanted.”

“Is it true?” she eyed him suspiciously. 

“Honest to god.”

He extended his arm to her and beckoned her to him, his spread legs taunting and welcoming her because it was a known fact that she loved sitting in his lap. 

“Come give me a kiss,” he ordered her gently.

She was still pouting, and he smiled at her.

“My pretty girl, who makes the best mashed potatoes, needs to come to me and kiss me.”

Elain walked over to him, pretending reluctance, which clearly amused him.

“I want to squeeze those puffy tits of yours,” he muttered, eyeing her ravenously. For dinner, she wore a much more revealing gown of the same colours as her day outfit–cream, navy and light blue. But there were roses around the bust, her arms were bare, and the dress was loosely constructed, skimming her curves without hugging them tightly. 

The moment Elain approached, he cupped her bottom in his hands and squeezed, pulling her to stand between his legs. He pressed his face into her belly and Elain’s breath hitched, when he inhaled deeply. She knew that he loved the smell of her…well, sex. Sometimes, his eyes actually rolled back at the scent of her and she couldn’t deny him. She stroked his head, caressed the back of his neck, and threaded her fingers through his hair. 

‘Do you want to play cards?” he proposed, without removing his face from her stomach, and she could barely understand him.

“Yes! I think that I will beat you!” she boasted. 

“Oh, indeed? And what will the winner get?” he questioned, nestling his chin in her mound and looking up at her. She attempted to squirm away, but he held onto her bottom firmly and resolutely.

“Well what do you want?”

He tapped his chin on her pubic bone and said, ‘this’.

She ran her fingers over his cheek and murmured, “you could just take this.”

“I could,” he confirmed.

“I am going to go bathe and change, and then we can play cards. And I will definitely win.”

He laughed.

“Of course you will.”

She was finally able to disengage from his embrace, and he kissed the inside of her palm, before Elain left the dining room. 

-

In her bedroom, she removed her lovely dress, which was uncomplicated enough for her to complete the task herself, without anyone’s help. She dressed scandalously–and according to Azriel’s preferences. He didn’t even like her to wear a chemise atop her brassiere, and she wasn’t, right now. He forbade petticoats, garters, long drawers, or any other piece of clothing which he considered ‘unnecessary’ or ‘superfluous’. Elain’s wardrobe was full of lacy and satin brassieres, alarmingly tiny underwear, see-through negligee that was just feather-light things of gossamer, silk stockings from Paris, short silky chemises which were more appropriate for seduction, rather than daily wear. Everything that she possessed was delicate and expensive and unfailingly erotically charged. 

Pinning her hair up, so she wouldn't get it wet, she stepped into the shower and turned on the water. Even her soaps and shampoos were based on Azriel’s preference, and somehow he gauged that her preferred scent was always jasmine, and he had jasmine oils and soaps and honey-scented lotions mixed, prepared and shipped for her from Paris. 

Elain soaped her body up, her hands feeling the slightly rounder shape of her hips, her softer belly, her slightly larger breasts. Only a week, and she already gained weight, which pleased her. At least she no longer looked like a 12 year old boy. The weight gain was only barely bringing her shape into the proper womanly form, but she still enjoyed the feel of it. She ran her loofa over her arms and her stomach, thinking and hoping that her sisters were doing well, and that Nesta had received the ten pounds and obtained new lodgings for the three of them, and was feeding Feyre nutritious foods. Elain knew that next week, she’d need to send more money, so that Feyre could go to a physician and hopefully get the medicine that she needed. 

She closed her eyes and threw her head back, allowing the water to beat down her body. It was blissful.

Therefore, when the bathroom door suddenly flew open she let out a scream. She didn’t even have time to shield her body before Azriel strode into the bathroom, wearing only his shirt and trousers, and without pause, walked into the enclosure. Elain shrieked, but he was already on her, his eyes wild and hungry, his jaw tight. He didn’t even seem to notice the water that was pouring over him, saturating his shirt and trousers at once. The material stuck to his toned muscular form, emphasising all the contours of every brawny slab of sinew on his body. His arms bulged, his stomach was full of sculpted slabs. 

He was everything, everything that Elain ever wanted. The sight of him next to her, unhinged, uncontrolled was both terrifying and beautiful. 

“Let me see you,” he growled low.

Shivering despite the hot water, she stepped back, plastering her back to the tiled wall. 

“My beautiful girl,” he whispered, his eyes dark and needy, as he surveyed her naked body. Tiny droplets of water fell from her puckering nipples and he cupped her breast in his hand, drawing his thumb over the nipple. 

“Your pussy is smooth,” he noted, looking down, his gaze devouring the sight of her proudly pink, hairless sex. 

She’d heard this word before, but never ever would’ve uttered it. It was…Elain wasn’t sure. But it was strangely sensual to hear him call it that. For some odd reason, she liked it. 

“Spread,” he barely managed to order and her thighs parted for him, even though Elain thought that she might just die. Of embarrassment? Need? Want? Who knows. Her brains were like scrambled eggs in her head. She was standing naked in the shower with a fully dressed Azriel, spreading her legs for him. She guessed that they wouldn’t be playing cards tonight.

“You are gorgeous, lass,” Azriel breathed, as he drew the backs of his fingers over her belly, down to her bare mound, and then whispered, “wider…”

She took an awkward side step, opening her legs for him, exposing her plump, delicate folds, while he rested his hand on her waist, squeezing it firmly. Then his index finger slipped to her slit and he dipped inside. Elain shuddered so violently, that his hold on her strengthened, as if he was afraid that she’d faint right then and there. But she wasn’t in a fainting mood. No one’s (obviously) had touched her like that before, and this was heavenly. His finger only just glided between her lips, barely inside, but it kept touching and pushing on some incredibly sensitive part of her that made her jolt and whimper with pleasure every time his finger came in contact with it.

“What…oh…god…” she moaned, “what is this? What is this…”

He smiled at her and let go of her waist, as he began to unbutton his shirt one handed, his finger still inside of her, but this time, he pushed at that spot more intentionally.

“That, sweetheart, is the source of your pleasure,” he murmured with a smile. “You didn’t think that it would feel good…how’s that?”

“It’s incredible,” she panted, wanting more pressure, firmer, harder. She wanted him to rub it. Instinctively, she somehow knew that if he rubbed her, it would feel even better. 

She felt exposed and needy, and the only word that she could think of was ‘more’. 

He rid himself of his shirt, tossing it down on the wet floor, while barely taking his finger off of her, and then started on his trousers, unbuttoning them quickly and ably with one hand. Elain wanted to touch him, wanted to slide her hands over his muscles, his chest, wanted to trace her fingers over his black tattoos, but she seemed to have lost all function of her limbs. All she could feel was his finger, circling around and over the nub inside of her, making her dizzy.

“I want to watch you climax,” he murmured, stepping out of his sopping wet trousers, “want to hear how you sound when you come.”

“What?” she asked dumbly, not knowing what he was saying and not caring. Because…oh lord, there it was–his thick, enormous member. As his trousers came off, so did his undershorts, and there he was, in all his naked glory. His cock was thick, long, jutting out, standing at attention for her. It made her oddly proud, that she was the cause of his arousal. That he wanted her. He would–she was a naked woman in front of him, but there was something else beyond just simple biology. Azriel wanted her. Of that she was sure. But she had no idea how that massive cock of his would ever, ever fit inside of her. It was an impossibility. 

His arm snaked around her waist and he lifted her off the floor, the thumb of his other hand firmly rubbing her now. 

“Need you to come to loosen you up,” he whispered in her ear, and Elain didn’t know what he meant again, but that didn’t matter. He grabbed a towel from the hook, and threw it over them, while she clumsily attempted to dry them with trembling hands. 

Azriel tossed her on the bed, and climbed onto it next to her. 

At last, Elain reached out to touch him–his warm, damp skin, the firmness of his body next to her. He seemed so huge compared to her–everything about him was big and hard, and she felt like a slip of a girl, awkward and clueless. It was embarrassing. That she was so stupid when it came to these matters, but when and where would she have learned about sexuality? But she lost her train of thought because…

IT came.

A wave inside of her.

Cresting. Rising. Reaching.

What was this incredible, indescribable feeling inside of her? This intense tension? Everything in her womb was squeezing and pulsating and growing and she was hot and breathless and then…oh…then she creamed, because she couldn’t stop. She couldn’t. She screamed with pleasure the likes of which she never even imagined. Nothing in her life compared to this feeling. She was stunned. Weightness. Boneless. Pulsing and throbbing and panting. 

Azriel’s thumb pressed on that magical spot with brutal strength, teasing her continuously, while she convulsed and cried out, sobbing pathetically into his shoulder. It didn’t stop for a few long moments, until it finally did. 

All her spasming muscles began to relax and she fell back on the pillow, breathless and with dark spots floating in her eyes.

Above her, Azriel’s beautiful face was looming over her, a smile on his lips.

“Well, lass. Now I know what you look and sound like when you come.”

“Come where?” she questioned.

“Come into yourself. Your body. This is always for you, lassie. Your pleasure.”

His lips descended on hers and the kiss was rough. Elain wanted to thank him, but he wouldn’t let go of her, kissing her with wide, generous swipes of his tongue, his hand firmly squeezing her tit. He was hot next to her, his long member pressing into her thigh, burning into her. For some reason, she didn’t think that he’d be so hot. 

Elain kissed him back, not knowing what to do with her hands, which seemed to be everywhere at once–his hair, his neck, his arms, his back, his chest. She couldn’t stop touching him, while she sucked on his lips and his tongue with strange desperation, illogically afraid that somehow, for some reason, he’d pull away.

Sensing that, he whispered into her mouth, “I am here, beautiful. I am not going anywhere. I am going to take you over and over and over tonight.”

And she nodded eagerly, not ever knowing what she was agreeing to. Over and over. Yes. Yes, please.

He brushed her damp hair back and then flipped her over and heaved her on top of his body. Elain’s heart fluttered madly in her chest, because she wasn’t expecting to be on top, but she straddled his stomach clumsily, pressing her hands into the pillows by either side of his head. His hand cupped her bottom, and he grabbed it roughly, kneading her cheek, the tips of his fingers sliding into the crevice, making her feel strange…it was deliciously dirty, that he was touching her like his. 

His tongue swept over her nipple and it felt amazing. Elain loved it when he played with her breasts, but his mouth on her breast was something unexpected, wonderful. He held her tit to his mouth and then he sucked. He pulled the whole thing inside and he sucked. She buckled atop of him, shocked, but he only slapped her ass, ordering her to settle down without uttering one word. He sucked hard and sloppily, rubbing his tongue over her nipple, pulling more and more of her breast into his mouth, his teeth pressing lightly and keeping her in place. And those wicked fingers of his–slipping deeper into the crack of her butt, exploring, sliding, gliding. 

“My lord,” he moaned, her arms trembling as she supported her body on top of him. He slapped her bottom again, and it stung, but so good. She’d be happy forever if he could just suck her nipples, bite and milk her breasts with his mouth, and finger her between her butt cheeks. 

Who was she? 

“Please, my lord, please,” she grunted mindlessly, her hips gyrating over his stomach, as she felt her dripping onto him from her slit. 

“You like this, pretty girl?” he pulled away from her breast, and she moaned at the loss. 

“Yes, yes…please! Please, more,” she begged him. She was begging and she didn’t even care.

“Do you like my fingers in your pretty little bum?” he teased.

She nodded frantically. She did.

“Say it,” he urged. “Tell me what you want.”

“I can’t,” she cried out, all flushed and flustered. 

He shrugged and said,

“Suppose we’d have to stop then…”

“No! No,” she pleaded, “don’t stop. I want more.”

“More what?” he insisted.

“Suck me…suck my breasts. Touch my bottom.”

He pretended to think about it, and then said,

“Are you going to be my good lass?”

“Yes, of course,” she nodded, her eyes wide and pleading. She was shaking all over, tension and need sweeping over her body in waves.

“Take your lovely tit,” he instructed, “and feed me with it. And that will free my hands to play with your bum.”

Elain frantically squeezed her breast in her hand and offered it to him, though he made her actually feed it to him and put it in his mouth. She felt the slick, smooth head of his member between her parted thighs, and she lifted her bottom to him in silent invitation. 

“Good,” he approved. “Give me the other one too.”

She pushed her other breast into his mouth, and he began to suck both of her nipples at once. And below, his warm, heavy hands pulled her cheeks wide apart, exposing her to the cool air. 

How she yearned to be his good girl and please him. She wanted him to be happy with her, with what she offered and how she obeyed him. 

She held her breasts between his lips, her nipples raw and swollen from his insistent sucking and nipping. He bit her, not altogether gently, making her gasp and moan, as he pressed his fingertips around the tight, tiny hole of her bottom, exploring it roughly. 

Elain wasn’t sure how she knew, but she knew, so she asked softly, “Sir, will you take me in my bottom too?”

Azriel didn’t answer, busy with his sucking, before he finally pulled away. Elain’s nipples were aching like crazy, never having been handled so hard before, and they were swollen and wet from his saliva, resembling small cherries. He was pulling her cheeks so wide apart, it was a little painful, but she loved it. She loved all the aches, the unexpected mix of pleasure and pain.

“On your back, sweet lass,” he nodded curtly and she scrambled off of him, eager to do his bidding.

He looked her over, kneeling near her legs and smirked, smoothing his hands over her belly and her waist. 

“Beautiful,” he approved.

Elain didn’t think she was anything resembling beautiful. She was a mess of panting flesh, her breasts big and swollen, her slit wet and leaking, her hair wild, her breath irregular.

“Show me that virgin pussy,” he murmured softly, kissing her lips alongside his request. “Knees up, hold them, and spread wide.”

Elain swallowed a panicked breath, but he added, “I want to see everything.”

After a brief moment of indecision on her part, he pressed, “now, sunshine. Show me that pretty hole where we’ll put our baby.”

She licked her lips and then raised her legs and hooked her arms under her knees.

He pushed her knees even further apart, as far as she could hold them, and then he yanked her hips up and onto his lap.

He cupped and juggled her tits in his hands, pinching her nipples and then rolling them between his fingers, while she just lay there, spread out in front of him.

“Look at your delightful virgin pussy, sweetheart,” he smiled. “I am going to ride it until you forget how to walk.”

“Sir, please…” she murmured.

“Please, what, sweet pea?”

“Do you like me?” she asked shyly.

“I adore you, pretty girl,” he assured her. He twisted her nipples until she winced and then let go. 

“Your member is so large,” she said, biting her lower lip. “Will it…I mean, will it go inside? Will it fit?”

What Elain didn’t expect to happen, was for him to grab his thick shaft and slap it over her wet slit. 

She gasped in shock, because he did it again, whacking that girthy appendage of his over her open sex, jerking her upright. He slapped it again and again, landing between her lips with precision, the head of his cock hitting her sensitive nub every time, as she panted with pleasure. The sounds of him slapping her with his dick were squelchy and wet and obscene. 

“Take it,” he murmured warmly, but sternly.

Elain took it.

He rubbed it in her slit, gliding in her wetness, before smacking it over and over again.

“Do you like it, my sweetness? Do you like the thick cock?”

She nodded, almost in tears. Because she liked it. God help her, but she loved it.

“Show me how much you like it,” he encouraged her. ‘Show me how you like what your lord does to you?”

Elain didn’t know what he wanted exactly, but she was overwhelmed and wanted to express her gratitude somehow. So she rolled clumsily and pressed her lips to the tip of the member, kissing it gratefully.

“Thank you, sir,” she whispered, and then dipped lower and kissed the heavy sack of his balls. He stroked her head and said, “very good, my darling.”

His flesh, even the most intimate parts of him, tasted just fine. There was a salty sheen to it, a very pleasant musk that was all him, and he smelled delicious. Elain wasn’t put off by the act of putting her mouth on his most private of parts. It felt absolutely natural. He wouldn’t have needed to ask her, because she would’ve done it gladly on her own. 

“Everything feels amazing, sir,” she admitted. 

Azriel lifted her face to his and kissed her lips, stroking her jaw and her neck with his thumbs. 

“Take me, sir,” Elain begged, as she rained kisses upon his face and his mouth.

Azriel maintained an envious level of self-control, though his cock was huge and bobbing right at his navel. 

“Let me see you, sweetheart,” he urged her. “Let me see inside of you,” and he pushed her lightly back on the bed, where she frantically resumed her spread out position, clutching her legs under her knees. 

“It might hurt,” he warned, as he splayed his palm over her slit, and she muttered, ‘it’s alright…it doesn’t hurt…it doesn’t matter.”

He settled between her legs and leaned over her to kiss her again, before swiping his tongue over her swollen nipples and tweaking them with his fingers until she whimpered. 

“Why does it feel so good?” she cried out, shuddering and arching her back.

“Carnal fornication is feeling nice?” he teased, and she watched him in awe, as he gripped his long cock and gave it a couple of thorough swipes. It was incredibly erotic, watching him like this, naked, somewhat vulnerable, yet still completely in control. She watched him do the most natural, and masculine thing that she could imagine, and it looked so enticing to her. 

Azriel meanwhile dipped his fingers into her opening and pulled. He pulled hard. Elain choked back a loud moan, because he stretched her widely and ruthlessly, opening her up for his lewdly personal inspection, peering straight inside.

“You can do it, sweet girl,” he encouraged her gently. “Show me everything…”

She was trembling, feeling her hole pulled apart, the air around them cooling her insides. This was the most grotesquely inappropriate act that she could’ve imagined him doing, and yet, here she was, four of his fingertips inside of her, turning her inside out, and she allowed him to watch her, admire her, strip her of all her inhibitions. 

This wasn’t them just making a baby. 

This was Azriel Night possessing every part of her and her giving it to him. This was him moulding her into what he desired and giving it back to her tenfold.

He looked inside of her, gushing, “you are so pretty, sweetness. My pretty, lovely girl.”

“Do you like it, my lord?” she breathed.

“You have the most delicate, gorgeous virgin pussy,” he vowed, and then leaned over her opening and kissed it. Elain gasped and buckled against his mouth, but he pulled back and whispered,

“I can see your innocence, pretty girl.”

“You can?” she exclaimed.

He nodded.

“It’s lovely, like the rest of you. Perfectly intact for me. I am sorry in advance that I am going to destroy it with my dick.”

Elain gently stroked his hand, his fingers, which still tugged her hole apart, and said, “I want you to, sir. Please take it…It’s yours.”

“I know, Elain. All of you is mine,” he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her opening, lightly swiping his finger inside, but not penetrating her deeply. “I can see so deep inside of you, sweetheart. You are doing so well for me. But I am not going to put my fingers in you,”

“That's alright, sir,” she agreed.

“I want my cock to be the first thing you feel inside this pretty tight pussy.”

She nodded. 

Whatever he wanted, she would give. Whatever he needed, was on offer.

“Come on, on your hands and knees, gorgeous,” he ordered, finally letting go of her hole. “You need cock inside of you. Cock and my seed.”

Elain turned for him the way he wanted, arching her back for him and spreading her thighs in a most natural way. It was as if she was meant to be here, offering herself to him. It was shocking to her to see her reflection in the mirror on the wardrobe’s door. She caught a glimpse of herself and hardly recognised her own image staring back. She looked wanton. Willing. Needy. She couldn’t have thought that she’d ever look like this–so destroyed, so hungry, so subdued. But here she was, with her ass up in the air, her arms extended in front of her, presenting her sex to him, so he could destroy it. 

His knees parted hers easily and he slotted behind her, his hot, long shaft throbbing against her slit. 

“I’ll take you like this,” he said simply and she nodded. Perhaps it wasn’t what she was expected or imagined about her first time, but with Azriel towering behind her, her thighs dripping, everything tensing and clenching in her, she was perfectly happy with this position. 

“I will hurt you,” he explained simply. “It’s not what I want, but I will. You are tight and small, and your virginity is well-intact.”

“I know, my lord,” she murmured. “Please take me. I need you inside of me,” she pleaded. 

“Watch us,” he pointed to the mirror. “I want you to see you losing your virginity to me. It’s not something every girl gets to watch.”

He rubbed his cock in his hand a few times, and then rubbed the head in her wet slit. And then, Elain gasped, as she felt the thick, smooth head pop into her opening, stretching it immediately. Lord have mercy, it was only the head. He was so big. Heavy. Nine inches? Something like that by the looks of it. 

It hurt.

Elain screamed loudly, because he pushed in. Slowly, but he pushed. And pushed. And pushed. She felt herself tearing. Her position allowed him to slide in so deep that she lost her ability to breathe. It burned and stretched her, his shaft scorching hot inside of her. 

“That’s it,” he encouraged softly, gently. “That’s it.”

Her eyes welled up with tears, but she panted loudly, while he pressed her lower, making her arc her back even further, so she could take more of it. 

“My beautiful Elain. You are all mine,” he caressed her bottom, her waist, while his cock battered through her bluntly. “Your virginity is mine. Your pretty pussy is all mine too,”

“All yours,” she sobbed tenderly. “You are mine, Azriel. Mine.”

She’d never called him by his name. Not until now.

Not until she felt so full of him and he claimed her as his.

Azriel ran his hand from her neck down to her bottom and she watched the two of them in the mirror. He was so dark and powerful behind her, and she was pale and small, with her ass cheeks squeezed in his massive hands. He was smiling down at her, looking between their bodies, where they were joined. 

“Take it all, pretty girl,” he told her. “You are perfect. Everything I ever wanted.”

She adjusted her hips against him, and that allowed his cock to plunge all the way.

“There you go. That’s all the way in.”

It was incredibly painful, but Elain wouldn’t trade the experience for anything. The pain was perfect. The stretch was brutally perfect. The weight of him, the girth, the sensation of the pain that he was offering her, was mixed with perfect pleasure. 

“You are a dream,” he grunted hoarsely. “My perfect girl.”

Elain managed to find his hand on her butt cheek and threaded her fingers with his. 

“Ride me, my lord,” she urged him. “Take what belongs to you.”

Her face was a mask of pained joy, eyes hooded and dark, her lips open in a silent plea.

“I will go hard on you, sweetheart,” he promised darkly. “Hard, but slow. You will feel every inch of me. Will remember every move of my dick inside you.”

“Az,” her name came out garbled and personal. She shortened it. No one else in his life called him Az, but Cassian. “Use me…”

Azriel smiled and then pulled out of her completely, before sliding back in fully. And again. And again. Deep, long, slow thrusts. Elain was moaning loudly, unconcerned about anything. She didn’t care if anyone heard her. Azriel pushed her head down, all the way to the mattress and she pressed her cheek into the pillow. He lowered his head to kiss her parted lips, as she panted, with his cock fully enclosed inside of her. 

“It hurts,” she moaned into his lips.

“I know,” he nodded, and kissed her again. “Is your little pussy so sore?”

“So sore,” she nodded and pouted. He laughed and kissed her again, his hips pounding steadily against her soft, tender ass. “But it feels good,” she added. 

“I’ve never deflowered anyone before,” he confessed, “but your pussy is perfect. Every day, beautiful, I will ride it every day,”

She bounced compliantly between him and the bed, their flesh slapping wetly against each other, while he kept kissing her cheek, her hair, her eye, her mouth, meeting her tongue with his in a heady dance. She caressed his hands with hers, while he squeezed her hips, her buttocks, her thighs, probably leaving marks on her skin. 

“Please, Az,” she whispered, “ride me every day.”

“I will. I will never get enough.”

He was thrusting deep and heavy into her, but her passage was now well-stretched for him, and she took it eagerly. She was sore–she wasn’t lying–but it also felt indescribable. 

“Open your mouth, sweetheart,” he coaxed her. She did, looking up at him from the awkward angle where her head was pressed. “I am going to give you my fingers,” he explained. “And you will suck them. You will be sucking nice and deep, because once I fill you with seed, you will take me in your mouth,”

She nodded impatiently and muttered, “yes, yes, give them to me.”

He grinned down at her and pushed two fingers in her mouth, which she swallowed immediately. Behind her, he bent his knee to find better purchase, as he filled her pussy over and over with his thick cock, this thrust mercilessly deep and hard. She snaked her hand up his calf, squeezing his knee, and then up his thigh, holding him tightly to her.

“Good?” he asked.

Her mouth was filled with his fingers, but she nodded quickly. He was making her lose her mind, as she sputtered over his fingers, the steady pounding making her clench all around the shaft, it felt better than good. It felt better than she had words in her vocabulary to describe it. Azriel kissed her wet, slobbering mouth, without removing his penetrating fingers from it, and she loved it. Loved how he enjoyed every part of her. Loved how free he was. How accepting. 

He pulled out of her, looking into her hole and murmured proudly, 

“Oh, we stretched you good, pretty girl! It will be a while before you can take me easily and without pain, but you are doing so well.” He kneaded her ass cheeks roughly, as he pushed back in, his thrusts becoming harder and harder, as he drilled into her without pause. Elain was choking on his fingers, lapping at the scars, crying and crying out, tears pouring from her eyes. Her nails dug into his thigh, as she hooked her arm under his knee, holding on to him desperately.

The first climax that she’d experienced earlier was nothing compared to the avalanche of pleasure that was crushing through her right now. It was sweeping over her body, making her toes curl, making her wail and shake beneath him, as he fucked her through it. He fucked her. This gorgeous man of her dreams was everything she ever wanted, and he was here, inside of her, making her into a puddle of panting, slobbering goo. She was his. Wholly. Her passage milked him greedily, clutching at him, clenching, wanting more, taking whatever she needed from him. The pleasure was borderline torturous. 

“That’s my good girl,” he encouraged her. “My good Lainey. Give up your sweet pussy to me. Let me fill you up, sweetheart.”

She was nodding frantically and he finally withdrew his fingers from her mouth and slapped his lips to hers, kissing her savagely, while she felt him hot and throbbing inside of her. He tensed, his movements coming in erratically, until finally Elain felt him flood her with his seed. It was warm and wet and she buried her face in the pillow, smiling to herself. She made him spill his seed. She. Little Elain that no one ever paid attention to. She made the Duke of Velaris climax inside of her and fill her with his seed.

Everything was wet and aching and hurting when he fell on the bed behind her and brought her with him. He was still inside, his cock pulsing in her, as he wrapped her in his arms.

“Az,” she whispered, kissing his scarred forearm.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“I am a woman now…”

He chuckled and kissed the back of her head.

“You are not a virgin anymore,” he stated. “But maybe not a woman yet.”

“Will you make me one?”

“Of course,” he pumped her a few times, making her moan. “I’ll make you my woman.”

“You feel so wonderful in me,” she admitted, while he kissed her neck, and bit her ear.

“What else did you like?” Azirel inquired, filling his palms with her breasts and fingering her nipples.

“I liked everything. Absolutely everything.”

“Even when I slapped your pussy with my cock?”

“Yes,” she turned to face him. “It was good. Everything was wonderful. Do you want to slap it again?” 

He chuckled.

“You are my eager little thing. Don’t worry, Ellie. I will. Your little slit will be slapped regularly, so you never forget who you belong to.”

“To you,” she breathed, kissing him rapturously. “Only to you.”

He nodded and cupped her between her legs possessively.

“Mine.”

“Yours.”

“Now, pretty girl,” he eyed her and the state of her. “Are you ready for more?”

“Please, Azriel. I am ready for more.”

[pure-ablution]

What’s going In your bridal trousseau?

I’m not the eldest daughter in my family, so so I watched my sister build up her dowry chest when we were growing up and didn’t have one of my own. When I got engaged, Zoya offered to help me make up my own, less traditional, bridal trousseau in preparation for my wedding—an offer which I thought was so kind of her! My engagement present from Zoya has been a gorgeous carved wooden chest to keep everything in, and we’ve spent the past few weeks together gathering things to put into it. Importantly, it’s not to be confused with the bridal chest given to me by my husband on my wedding day, which is going to contain valuables in my name alone as a kind of bridewealth (I’m not sure yet what is going in that—it’ll be discussed when we’re figuring out our prenup).

Linens for the home. This is probably the most traditional part of my trousseau, and I’ve spent the past few weeks visiting different convents and nunneries in France and picking up some beautiful tablecloths, bedsheets, towels, napkins, and a few old-fashioned nightgowns, too. I’m going to spend the next few months embroidering monograms and crests onto these, I think, so they’ll be fully ready for our married life.

A homemade quilt and carpet. These are gifts from my parents that I’ve already seen through video calls, and which I think I’ll be picking up at Zoya’s wedding in December. My mother has made us the most gorgeous hand-stitched quilt made up of Gilaki silks and the Ukrainian embroidery she learnt as a girl, and my father has woven a truly stunning carpet that he’s been working on since the day I took Alajos home to meet everyone. It’s beautiful, and I think it totally rivals the priceless Persian rugs I dealt with during my internship with Christie’s last year.

Crockery and silverware. This was given to us as an engagement gift from Alajos’ parents, and we now jointly have a gorgeous (and terrifyingly breakable) full dinner service from Herend in his family’s pattern, more silver than I could imagine ever needing to use, and stunning (also terrifyingly breakable) glassware from Lobmeyr with his family crest. I’ve sent all this home with Alajos because it’s too big, expensive, and fragile for me to lug around France for a month, but it will be going into the chest when I get back.

Traditional dress. I spent last month having the traditional folk dress of Alajos’ hometown in Hungary and his family’s seat in Austria being made for me, and these are going to be held in the chest, though I think it’s probable that I’ll need to take them out and wear them at some point in advance of the wedding—I know for sure that I’ll be wearing my dirndl to the rehearsal dinner! These aren’t imitations of old folk dress like you see at Oktoberfest or whatever, these are really authentic pieces, they’re hand-stitched by old ladies in each respective village, took up most of last month’s budget, and I had to consult with the local folk dress associations to make sure I was getting every last detail right. Alajos already has his own traditional dress for his home regions, but he was fitted up for a vyshyvanka, trousers, and shoes when we were in Ukraine, and my grandmother is going to make and embroider those for him in time for the wedding. I think we’ll likely also visit my hometown in Gilan at some point soon and do the same there, I’d like for him to have our traditional dress though I don’t know when he’d have much use for it.

Pretty lingerie. This was Zoya’s idea, and I quite like it. We’ve spent the last couple of days in Paris and the surrounding region, visiting the ateliers here and spending an absolutely obscene amount of money on lingerie. I love it, it’s gorgeous and it feels like a fun addition to my trousseau, but I’ve caught myself wondering whether it’s actually worthwhile spending that amount of money considering that my fiancé is, you know, blind. I’ve always enjoyed buying myself pretty lingerie long before I even considered having a boyfriend, but I’ve never dropped so much money on it before. In any case, it’s done, it’s all wrapped up in tissue and put into my chest, and I’m sure I’ll be glad for it when the time comes.

We’re also going to put any other engagement gifts into the chest, though I’ve no idea what, if anything, we’ll receive! We’re going to hold a smallish engagement party for our friends when I’m back in England and term starts, so I suppose we’ll see. It feels so exciting to be building up this special chest and actually preparing for marriage now; I feel as though I’m partaking in some ancient and very serious ritual, although it’s also been a lot of fun.

[wenevergotusedtoegypt]

My husband always used to say that he hates surprises and I didn't get it, but the longer I know my MIL the more I do. I regularly surprise my husband with things that he actually likes and appreciates. But growing up, a surprise usually meant a gift from his mother that was totally out of touch with what he wanted and then having to pretend he liked it so as not to offend her.

Quite some time ago now she told us that she wanted to get us a framed wedding photo. This was already like 3 years into our marriage, and our feeling was, why are we going to add another photo from 3 years ago to our decor when we already have a wedding photo and metal wall art of our wedding monogram displayed, and we now have a 2-year-old with whom we have family photos. We politely but very clearly explained to her that we did not want a wedding photo but would appreciate a print of our most recent family photo, which she got us.

We are now FIVE years into our marriage and she....just surprised us with the anniversary gift of a framed wedding photo. 🤦🏻‍♀️ Like look, the wedding was nice and all, but it's half a decade later! We literally don't even have a single picture of our 2nd child on display. But sure, let's add more wedding photos...?? Sigh. I don't want to be ungrateful, but I could think of basically infinite things I would have appreciated more than this at this point of time. And now we get to pretend we love it.

[klmkreations]

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[leviathanlazarus]

Reaching for Stardust - Part XV

Read Looking for Space here / Playlists / Read RFS on wattpad

Word Count: ~3700

Warnings: none

Sorry for the delay, folks. I've been bopping between this series and my Sanny one and we're nearing the true climax of RFS, which has made me want to slow down posting a bit. The past few days have been very difficult and I will be struggling for a little while longer, so the next chapter may also be delayed. Thank you to those who are still reading along. I really hope you're enjoying this sequel <3

---

There was still so much to be jam-packed into the matter of what became just about a couple of months. No matter how much I ever tried to “relax” or slow down, it felt like there were still a hundred things I had to do. My focus was perpetually disconnected from work, although that felt more and more like a good thing–it was everything else besides work that solidified its importance. Namely family and friends, of course. Josh recovered completely, and quite quickly, from the little bout of pneumonia and then we were thrown into the midst of the couple’s shower. I discovered it really did involve being showered with gifts and with family being there, and I personally was spared from more sexual gag gifts and things that, generally, no parent or aunt or whoever needed to see. Josh and I could save all of those for ourselves. 

Josh was the only boy–man, whatever. He would always be a boy to me, and I meant that with the utmost affection–there. We sat on the couch in my aunt’s living room, the female relative who had the most space for this flurry to take place. She was all decked out for Christmas, which was also right around the corner–a long, fluffy fake fir garland snaking around the white mantle with an array of shiny colored, round ornaments dotting it and reflecting in the mirror above it. Instead of any overhead or tableside lamps illuminating the event, we were all sitting and hovering in the glow of white Christmas lights wrapped around the mantle and strung over the windows, plus the white lights wrapped around the real pine tree in the corner between the windows that bounced off more glass ornaments. The scent of the tree was still strong with it being so fresh and I thought about how our woodsy lodge wedding would smell–hopefully a lot like that, I concluded, like sharp, cool pine and sap. 

The mulled wine in my glass smelled excellent too, a warm, sweet contrast to the Christmas tree. I took a sip, a slice of orange bobbing against my upper lip, while Josh opened what felt like the hundredth gift. I had no idea where we were going to put some of this stuff. My aunt had given us a really nice looking toaster–sleek and white, brand new and shiny–but we already had a toaster. We’d been given a new coffee machine too, and it made me question if being an adult meant just tossing out old stuff and replacing them–sometimes unnecessarily–with shiny new toys. But as the unwrapping and revealing went on, the gifts got smaller and more personal, truly beginning with something special my mom had picked out for Josh.

“Oh wow, this is lovely,” he remarked, peeling the blue tissue paper away. “I’m stunned. Thank you so much.” He lifted up a white silk robe monogrammed with a gold “J” on the back. It was a small and tasteful touch, not a garish, giant letter smacked on the back, but just a subtle detail right below the back of the collar and then another on the front, stitched into the breast pocket. His hands moved over the fabric slowly, always wanting the most tactile experience–he cared about material far more than color most of the time, craving rich and fine fabrics against his skin. 

My mom handed me a box that matched the shape of Josh’s next: “And this one's for you; you might be able to guess what it is.”

I certainly could, but actually seeing and feeling the coordinating black silk robe with my own silver initial monogrammed was a delight. “These are awesome,” I said. “Thanks, Mom. We needed new robes anyway, actually.”

“Yes, we did,” Josh agreed, carefully folding it up and tucking it back into the box. “Mine is unraveling into shreds.” 

My sister’s gift came next–a beautiful black and midnight blue photo album, the black bottom fading up into a blue with tiny silver stars stitched into the canvas. In more silver thread it said, “To the Moon & Back” and, beneath that, it was finalized with our monogrammed initials. Josh and I leaned over it as I held it in my lap, mesmerized, and Kirsti told us that she’d already printed a few pictures and put them in to begin the album curation. I flipped to the first page and there we all were–Josh, myself, the boys, my sister, and all three sets of parents. 

“This is so sweet,” I said, staring at that picture of all of us as one big happy family. “I love it so much. It’s perfect.” 

After my aunt’s living room became full of torn-up wrapping paper, Josh and I took a breather on the back porch, drinking more wine and nibbling on crackers and cheese in the cold. A small layer of snow was stuck to the yard, the deck, the roof–the world was coated in it and the world was quiet. Bare trees held no birds, no wind whipped through the naked branches and there wasn’t even the sound of a single car rolling through the street out front. 

“You know something?” I began and Josh looked at me, pausing, eyes bright, with a cracker between his lips. “None of our parents are divorced. Isn’t that pretty rare? Seems so against the odds.”

Josh chewed, swallowed, then dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “We have some excellent luck on our side then, perhaps. Our predecessors all succeeded–why can’t we?” He wrapped his arm around my waist. “Of course we will. It’s not even a question.”

“Soulmates,” I said, the puff of condensation from my breath covering the word with a little resolute cloud. 

“Soulmates,” he echoed, squeezing my waist. 

A little while later, Josh and I were pouring over some of the gifts again in front of the empty fireplace. My mom sat down on the arm of the couch next to me. “I know you two said you’re not really looking for houses at the moment,” she began, pulling out her phone. “But I saw one that I think would be really cute.”

“I mean, I think we’re open to it,” I said, looking at Josh, who nodded. “I did like the one I saw back in the spring. But it just wasn’t the right time. It sold, anyway.” 

“Very quickly,” Josh added. “And for more than we could afford.”

“Well, look at this one.” My mom handed me her phone and folded her hands in her lap, watching me as I brought the phone between Josh and I. It looked nice from the outside, simple and cute, and it was in our price range at least according to Zillow, but it didn’t call to me. I could tell it didn’t call out to Josh either.

“I think we’re far more fixated on the honeymoon,” Josh told my mom. “We still haven’t figured out what to do and that’s where a good chunk of our savings will go.” 

“Even with the help from you and Dad and Josh’s parents,” I added, handing the phone back. “I think maybe we’ve been so busy with the wedding planning, our brains haven’t had much of a chance to work out where we want to go or what we want to do.” 

“We’re between something like a cabin in the woods. A nice little quiet retreat,” Josh explained, gesturing even more than usual with the aid of the wine buzz. “Or a hot, beachy getaway. It’s difficult to choose right now. The possibilities are sort of endless.”

“There’s no time constraint,” my mom reminded us. “Inspiration will strike you and you’ll figure it out.” She laid a hand on my shoulder. “I just know you two get a little cooped up in that apartment. If you want, we can always take the honeymoon money and put it into a house for you.” 

It didn’t even feel that long ago that my mom was criticizing Josh, saying he wasn’t serious enough, thinking he was too silly. Now here she was, offering not only financial support but emotional support. Things really were all coming together. That, in addition to my own wine buzz, made my heart feel all warm and fuzzy. 

Back home, I was fully sober and quite tired from the festivities. We unloaded the car and set boxes and bags in the hall and the living room and our space suddenly seemed so much smaller. It got me thinking–did we want a destination honeymoon, really? Did we want it to be something we’ve done before, like a winter cabin or a sandy beach, or something completely new? There were cities we’d never been to. We could go to Europe–maybe. That seemed expensive. Vegas, even. Seattle. There were options. Or did we want our funds and the financial help from family to be put into a house and, subsequently, would that new life project become the honeymoon itself? 

“Alright,” I said, sitting down on the floor amidst the gifts. “I’m getting stressed out again.”

Josh sat down next to me, pressing his back against the couch. “By all this new stuff?”

“There’s that. There’s also all the decisions we have left to make.” I scooched back to sit right next to him, our legs touching. “Part of me feels like we really do deserve a break. Part of me also feels like we deserve a house, but then I know we haven’t even decided exactly where we want to live. Part of me also wants to say fuck it and just like, go on tour with the boys for six months or whatever.”

Josh chuckled, putting his hand on my thigh. “If we could both swing that, we would do it. As for moving somewhere else, like to the big city,” he said, waving his other hand around with each word. “That would probably take more time. I���d have to secure another job.” 

“You could become the band’s professional photographer and videographer,” I suggested, only partially kidding. 

“Let’s go to the desert,” Josh said suddenly, sounding sure and emphatic. “We have so much winter every year and especially this year. We’ve never been to the Southwest–what do you think? Cacti and scorpions and scalding sunshine?”

I’d written about the desert before for work–scanned images of flat banks of red sand with impossibly clear blue skies, the sky a backdrop to sudden, staggering, rocky mountains, giant cacti looming menacingly in the foreground, rattlesnakes and desolate highways leading to mayhem. I could picture Josh and I there. It would be like an entirely different world. 

“Yeah. I’m into it,” I told him before I allowed my thoughts to unravel any further. I rested my head on his shoulder, looking out the window at the sky that was too dark, too early and the snow clinging to the glass. “Desert daydream. That’d be really fun.” 

He climbed right over me, straddling my thighs. “Really?” 

Hands instantly moving to his hips, I said, “Hell yeah. That’d be so cool, Josh. I was just thinking earlier how maybe we should do something totally different, right?”

Josh placed his hands on my shoulders, arching his back. “We can be cowboys–what do you think of that?”

I smiled, reaching one hand up to gently tug at his hair. “I love that. You’re gonna look so good in a cowboy hat and those fancy boots.” My other hand drifted to his ass, giving it a squeeze. “Want me to be your horse?”

He laughed, the sound like bells in my ears, and kissed my cheek. “You’re my partner,” he said, then lifted his hand to tip an imaginary hat on his head. “Howdy.”

I laughed too, hugging him closer to me. “Howdy right back at ya.” I closed my eyes and tucked my face against his neck, his hair brushing against my temple, my hands pressed flat against his upper back. “I know it’s almost all we do now–getting ready for all of it, making the plans–but sometimes I still can’t believe all of this is happening.”

“Same for me,” Josh said, reciprocating the hug in his own snug, determined style, like he never wanted us to be apart in any way. “It’s been a long and marvelous road. Some trouble along the way, of course, but we’ve just shown there’s nothing we can’t charge through. Always victorious, right, darling?”

“Always. Always, always.” I sighed, opening my eyes to peek at the gifts around us again. “So should we really get rid of our toaster? It’s been through so much alongside us.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure it’s choking to death with burnt bits we can’t get out,” Josh replied, eyelashes fluttering against my skin. “Perhaps we can give it a last hurrah with some cinnamon toast tonight but, yes, I think that new toaster was actually quite a poignant present.”

I hummed, closing my eyes again. “Cinnamon toast sounds good.” I gave him a squeeze before I patted his back. “If I could carry you to the kitchen, I would, but this horse just ain’t that strong.”

Josh chuckled sweetly and stood up, feet planted on either side of my thighs, to extend his hand down to me. I slid up in the scant space, our bodies still so close, and he twirled around to lead the way into the kitchen. Our too-small but lovely, comfortable kitchen, where he pulled out the old, tired toaster from its cabinet and began to cut thick slices of French bread. Another light snowfall was coming down outside, the fluffy flakes lit up by the lights outside our apartment, and I thought about how nice it would be to be spared from the inevitable upcoming storms that came with the dead of winter–those long, blue, dreary months that felt inescapable. Those months that dragged down even Josh. We could escape to bright sunshine and golden landscapes, bask in warmth on another adventure. The adventure that would punctuate the biggest adventure of them all, the adventure that would last a lifetime or, quite seriously, eternity. 

With the night deep and dark, we laid in bed surrounded by the blue Christmas lights we’d both hung around the bedroom. I lifted my hand to my face, admiring my ring as it caught that artificial celestial glow: “You’re picking up your ring on Monday?” I asked Josh as I slid mine off to place on the bedside table. 

“Yes indeed.” He rolled onto his side and snuggled into mine. “I think you’re going to like it.”

“I know I will,” I said, running my fingers down the chain around his neck. “It’s coming up real soon, Josh. Are you nervous?”

“A little. You know I’m going to be nothing but a bundle of nerves the day of.”

“Me too,” I said, thinking about the vows I was still working on. I felt so confident in every word so far, just not so confident in saying it amidst a large group of people. That fear still lingered, itched in my brain each time I went to work on them. “But it’s gonna be so good.”

“Oh,” Josh said, looking up at me, cheekbones cut with blue light. “It’s gonna be the best. We’re all going to have such a ball. We don’t have to worry about THAT.”

Forever feeling calm in his presence, his body so warm against mine, I asked, “Do we have to worry about anything at all?”

“Absolutely not,” Josh assured me, his voice getting a little rougher with sleepiness. “Never.” 

And so I believed him. 

-

I was, however, just a little worried about sledding. Although Sam had taken it upon himself to find the best, tallest, most majestic snow-covered hill for all of us to repeatedly slide down, the thick cove of trees down at the base seemed a little foreboding. Just far enough to be acceptable; just close enough to seem like a hazardous imposition. Even Danny, the birthday boy, eyed those trees warily as we all inspected the land from the top, bundled up as even more snow began to fall. 

“Buckle up, buttercup,” Josh said, pressing a hand to my lower back. I could barely feel it through the thick layer of my coat. “It’s not like we haven’t done this a hundred times before.”

“That’s a little hyperbolic,” I replied, still gazing down the hill. 

In honor of his birthday, we all came to the decision that Danny should ride with each one of us before deciding who was the best at steering the ship, so to speak. He hitched a ride with Jake first, who looked determined to make it the best sledding experience of Danny’s life. Josh and I readied ourselves in our own plastic sled while Sam took the far left, leaving Danny and Jake in the middle–the three of us held back to watch them go first, with Danny laughing loudly and joyfully as soon as Jake scooted forward, then shot right down at a high speed. 

Josh and Sam shared a quick but poignant look at one another, then they were both kicking forward and we began to fly down the hill at the same time, me clutching Josh’s middle taut while he laughed wildly as if we were back on that tea cup ride and not flying down a frigid hill. I laughed too though, the slight rush of adrenaline quickly shooting up my spine, making me alert yet newly frivolous, and I laughed even more at Sam’s very focused, very serious facial expressions. He was seemingly doing everything in his power to navigate the sled like a ship, not like something that only had a rope handle and gravity to help it along its way. 

At the base, Jake and Danny were already throwing snowballs at one another, red-faced and exhaling white clouds of breathless laughter. Sam immediately joined in and quickly opted to use Danny, the poor birthday boy, as a shield so he could try and pummel Jake. Never one to waiver in his loyalty to any of the Kiszkas, Danny settled for meeting them in the middle, throwing handfuls of snow at both of them while Josh gathered all three sleds in his hands.

“There will be more time for bruised faces later,” he declared, trudging back toward the upward slope. “Danny has yet to decide who’s the master–or mistress–of sledding.”

Danny and Josh went next; I rode down with Sam, who insisted that I take the lead so he could see what he was up against, although we both knew there would never be a contest. Sam was always going to be Danny’s number one whether it was in sledding, snowball fights, funneling beers, musical solos, inhaling dabs, whatever–they were two peas in a pod. I did not quite feel that way with Sam myself, who was all gangly, sharp limbs surrounding me in the literal plastic pod we were temporarily trapped in.

“God, your feet are like skis!” I remarked, grabbing the toe of his boot and jostling his foot around. “We should just slide down the hill on those with me on your back.”

“This is a more even weight distribution,” Sam replied, clapping me on the shoulders. “Now, come on–mush!”

“Alright, alright,” I grumbled, beginning to shove our way forward and then we were soaring, with Sam clinging to me and yipping in delight all the way down. We made it to the bottom before Josh and Danny but after Jake, who had to hop out of the way before I collided the sled right into his ankles.

Of course Danny declared Sam the best person to sled with, though there seemed to be no prize, unless we were all meant to count Danny throwing Sam over his shoulders and parading off into the pine trees as the prize. It was such a fun, easy birthday afternoon that I was sure none of us wanted to end–thankfully, we were all in the mood to keep things going beyond the long drive back to the more familiar plains of our hometown. We went back to the apartment to peel ourselves out of wet, clammy clothes and for boozy hot chocolates; we bundled in the spare, dry clothes Josh and I had to offer, nestled together under a couple throw blankets and sat on the balcony while the sun set in starkly warm hues contrasting against the blank white space beyond. The air was calm and still, not even all that cold–it helped that all of us were still recovering from so many excursions up that big hill. 

I sipped my hot chocolate spiked with a generous amount of peppermint schnapps and looked over at Danny, who appeared to be totally content in this very quiet, relaxed mode. Sam was cuddled up against him, head on Danny’s shoulder, his face unusually sleepy while he cradled his own hot chocolate in his hands, Danny’s placed on his thigh in return. Josh, Jake and I were on the bench, with Josh in the middle. I realized it was one of those rare times that happens only once in a blue moon–where we were all together but no one was speaking a word and no one was bothered by it. We were as calm as the gently twinkling snow down on the ground, as placid as the imperceptibly moving clouds in the pink sky, yet as close and as comforted by one another as all coexisting animals were. I was always so unsure of what the future held–it didn’t matter how many things we planned, from every damn detail of a wedding to a honeymoon to everything in between. It was all still so uncertain but, as Josh had taught me time and time again, that was part of the beauty of it. 

And one thing was certain, I concluded, pressing a kiss to Josh’s temple–all of us were a family and it would always be that way.

---

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[martsonmars]

I dunno why this is in my head but: Mordelia asks Simon to walk her down the aisle.

There is way more Snowbaz than I planned, but it's probably the reason why it's not as sad as I thought it would be when I started writing. Enjoy! CW for some grief.

Read below or on AO3.

🌼🌼🌼

ii.

“You're here, finally. Isn't the best man supposed to handle this part?” Simon asks, closing the door behind him and wiping imaginary sweat off his brow. He lifts up the torn veil in his left hand, waves it around, and throws the half empty box of tissues at Baz's chest. For emphasis. They watch it bounce off and hit the floor with a sad noise.

“Shall I remind you she also has a best woman, Snow?” Baz huffs, pulling out his handkerchief (from the set monogrammed with his new initials, Simon's gift for their fifth wedding anniversary) to erase any trace of actual sweat from his face. “Trust my sister to put together a bloody squad of best people and bridespeople and yet we need even more help to fix this disaster of a wedding.”

Simon smiles, taking Baz's hand from where it's threatening to destroy four hours of hairstyling and bringing it to his lips. “It's not a disaster, babe.” He kisses Baz's knuckles, softly. “You've outdone yourself. I'm almost jealous our wedding wasn't so... fancy.”

Fancy is the wrong world to describe the way Baz managed to blend traditions and a good amount of Marriage-Is-A-Patriarchal-Institution-Fuck-The-System vibes in a seemingly effortless display of classy punkness, but they're not here to fight over vocabulary. (Though maybe it would help Baz relax.) (They always have the best sex after playing Scrabble to the death.)

And he definitely isn't jealous. He could never. Baz knows.

“This is just how weddings go when you're on this side trying to make things run smoothly,” he adds. “I've been here before.” He drops the veil to take Baz's other hand, standing on his tiptoes to press a kiss between his eyebrows. He can feel the frown melt away just a little.

It's sweet, how much Baz is putting into this day, but Simon wishes he could take a breath and see that he's doing great, and that he's not alone in this. (Mordelia did put together an impressive bride's team.)

“I don't think you had to fight with two horses and two elderly women who might or might not be royalty at Nora's wedding, though,” Baz sniffles, and Simon grins. He was waiting for Baz to spill the tea about what had kept him occupied for half an hour, right in the middle of Bride Crisis Level 10.

“Nothing posh for Nora, but we struggled a bit to rent a forklift on such short notice for the reception.” Simon runs his hands down Baz's chest, smoothing the wrinkles on his shirt. He ditched waistcoat and jacket hours ago, before descending into battle as Head Best Person and Wedding Planner Extraordinaire, and the shirt is starting to pay the price. “And Will did have a Duchess on their guest list. I've seen it all.”

Sometimes Simon thinks they're lucky that Penny basically eloped and didn't need anyone's help to tie the knot, but it makes this the first wedding Baz has been deeply involved with (except for his own), and the stakes are high. He's too much of a perfectionist, and this is his little sister. Simon's surprised he hasn't had a nervous breakdown yet.

“Leave the horses and the ancient ladies to someone else.” Simon kisses Baz's forehead again and points to the door. “I think you should be there with her. Especially because I have to practice walking.”

🌼🌼🌼

i.

“Simon,” Mordelia slurs, trying to get up from the sofa and failing, her body swallowed by the cushions once again. “I need you to be my Dad.”

Simon stops gathering the empty bottles and stares at her, struggling to figure out how much of that sentence is Mordelia's consciousness, how much is the alcohol speaking, and how much is Simon's hearing playing dirty tricks. 37 is too young to be old and deaf, right? Not that you need to be old to have hearing problems, but does he look old? Does he look like someone who could have a 26-year-old daughter?

Christ. He's just recovered from his quarter life crisis, he isn't ready for the next one. Fuck.

Even in her intoxicated state, Mordelia seems to notice Simon's distress and find it funny, because she snorts and pats the sofa next to her until he sits down.

It takes her ages to speak up again, and when she does Simon's sure his ears have stopped working for real.

“I'm getting married.”

His eyes shoot to her empty ring finger, and Mordelia snorts again.

“Duh, of course I proposed.” She fights with the too-soft cushions to sit up, fold her legs and lean with her side against the backrest, facing Simon. He hasn't been able to open his mouth yet. He can't believe he's been stunned into silence. “Aster is getting me a ring, too, but I beat them to it, so.” She wiggles her fingers in front of his face, and he pushes them away to pull her into a hug.

“Fuck, Mordy,” he says. He clears his throat. “I'm so happy for you. And proud.” Simon remembers every single moment of the day he proposed, even though it's been more than six years. It's not for the weak of heart, not even when you're almost absolutely certain you will get a three letter answer.

She frees herself from his arms and beams at him. “You're the first of the family to know. I want to tell Mum and my siblings in person, but no one's ever around when I need them.” She crosses her arms over her chest. The resemblance to Baz is uncanny when she pouts. “Baz's back from his school trip tomorrow, right? You should come for dinner. I want to ask him to be my best man.” Simon nods, smiling. He had quite different plans to welcome his husband home after five days apart, but he'll survive.

Mordelia's grin comes back for a second, then it's gone again. She suddenly looks completely sober, and the mood shift makes Simon sit up straighter.

“But I didn't invite you today because you were my only option. I really want you to...” She sighs, hiding her face behind a hand. “You know, I was so sure I'd never get married, years ago. Or that I'd marry a girl and he wouldn't approve and I'd be alone on my wedding day. But then he told you...”

She trails off, but she doesn't need to add anything else. After all, Simon's the one who told her about Malcolm Grimm giving him his blessing to marry Baz.“Take care of my son,” he said. “I wish I could see you two get married.”

Simon regrets not proposing sooner, sometimes, but he doesn't regret doing it when he knew they were ready for it. And they couldn't have known...

He rests his hand palm up on his thigh, and she takes it.

“And now I'm getting married, and I know he wouldn't hate me for not marrying a man, though I'm not marrying a woman either, and who knows what he would've said about it.” She laughs, but it comes out as a choked sob. “And, well, he's not here.”

Simon squeezes her hand. She's like Baz, when they talk about this kind of feelings. They need grounding touches and no meaningless words, even though Simon would mean all of them.

“And I know it's stupid, but even when I hated the idea of marriage I always imagined myself in a long white dress, with my father at my side, being proud of me.” She wipes her eyes with her sleeve, and when she looks back at Simon there's something fierce in her expression. “I want—I want—I would be really grateful if you walked me down the aisle, Simon. You and Baz are the most functioning adults in my life, which is honestly worrying, and I thought I'd pick the one least likely to start sobbing and make me trip on my dress.”

Simon laughs. It doesn't come out like a choked sob, but almost. “You clearly overestimate me,” he says, and she playfully slap his head.

“Shut up,” she grins, but her eyes are still serious. “So, will you do it?”

“Of course, Mordy. I'd be honoured to be your Dad.”

She groans into a pillow. “I know I started it, but please, stop.”

“Never, kiddo.”

🌼🌼🌼

iv.

“No horses and no duchesses were harmed in the making of this wedding? I'm so proud of you, babe.”

“I'm much more impressed by you remembering not to introduce yourself as the father of the bride, honestly.”

“Rude. I'm too young for my kids to get married.”

“Not too young for kids, though.”

“Nope. Just perfectly old for kids.”

🌼🌼🌼

iii.

“He'd be proud of you, you know?”

“Shut up. You can't make me cry before we even step outside.”

“I'm just fulfilling my father duties.”

“I know. Thank you.”

“Fuck, the music. I am proud of your choice, but I'm still offended we're not walking to Never Gonna Give—Ouch, are you wearing platform boots?”

“Of course. A bride always needs a weapon.”

“Come on. Let's go before I start crying.”

“Sophie bet me a tenner that you'd cry before Baz.”

“Big mistake you made, my young Padawan.”

[eitheoo]

The Art of Gift-Giving in the Digital Age: Exploring the World of Online Gifts

In an era where convenience is king, online shopping has transformed the way we approach gift-giving. The digital landscape has given rise to a plethora of online gift options, making it easier than ever to find thoughtful and unique presents for every occasion. In this exploration of the world of online gifts, we delve into the advantages, trends, and the evolving art of selecting the perfect gift with just a few clicks.

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In conclusion, the world of online gifts has redefined and revitalized the way we express our sentiments. The convenience, variety, and personalization options available in the virtual marketplace make online gift shopping a delightful and efficient experience. As we navigate the digital age, these platforms continue to evolve, offering innovative and meaningful ways to celebrate and connect with our loved ones. So, the next time you embark on the journey of gift-giving, consider exploring the boundless possibilities offered by online gift stores—it's a digital adventure waiting to unfold.