#of course its the bride's bouquet

[18catsreading]

Ricky just showing up in the photo in Unsleeping City ch 2 on their first successful history check was rad! The work that goes into these episodes by the D20 teams are amazing!

[pinkberrytea]

If you could breathe, he would be the air in your lungs; if your heart could beat, he would be the lifeblood coursing through your veins.

O, Fitcher’s bird, how com’st thou here? And what may the young bride be doing?

Vanitas—Life is vain. As the true nature of their bond is revealed, the Vampire Ascendant’s Dark Consort is reminded of the futility of swimming against the currents of fate, and must decide whether she shall drown in its river of blood, or let herself be gently carried to the shore.

Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav (F!Reader)

w/c: 12.8k words . ao3 . spotify playlist . 18+ only . nsfw . dividers

a/n: thank you for reading! I decided to attempt something a little more plot heavy this time, hopefully it is an interesting read! again I would like to dedicate this work to @locallegume and hismostbelovedspawn. thank y’all for being always so kind and supportive!

tags: blood drinking; non-con blood drinking; body worship; light dom/sub; vaginal fingering; creampie; hurt & comfort; emotional sex; dry humping; possessive behavior; intercrural sex; frottage; mind control; aftercare; choking; piv sex

He will notice. He will know.

The metal surface of the key on your hand feels cool against your skin; lifeless and cold, not unlike yourself. As you look down at it, the world dissolves into darkness, a sickening surge of dread welling up from your stomach and running down your spine. Its serrated edge is stained with red—your red. Even if you wipe it, wash it with soap and water, rub it vigorously until all traces of blood are gone, remnants of your scent will linger on it still. Maybe not to the untrained nose, no; but to a vampire, it would most definitely be noticeable, of that you are certain. Your darling is, however, no mere vampire, but the Ascendant, whose consort’s distinctive bouquet he would undoubtedly be able to recognize anywhere, even more so while it is still fresh. There is no escaping your fate, and as that merciless truth dawns on you, you curse yourself for your own foolishness, for your vain stubbornness. Was it worth it? Whatever did you gain from this? Knowledge? For what purpose? To what end? You find answers to none of these questions, and yet another plagues your mind—once the truth is uncovered, what will happen then?

“My lady. The master is home.”

If your inert heart was capable of skipping a beat, it would have done so just now. You turn around in a swift movement, only to be met with a pair of ruby red eyes staring back into your own, their gaze ever so apathetic, unemotional, yet you see a spark of something in them that worries you greatly: cognizance. She knows; the one your darling calls your “lady-in-waiting”, who you are nonetheless very well aware is loyal not to you, but to him, and him alone. She is the only one who remained from the very first batch of spawn he sired, other than you. Shortly after you both moved into what would come to be known as the crimson palace, now his by right following his triumph over his old master, he decided that all the mortal servants who survived were to be turned, for he aspired to make an army of spawn, and where better to start than by turning those who would willingly surrender themselves to him? 

She was one such servant, of course; a human, whose short lifespan would be made inconsequential by the gift of immortality. And yet, as he would soon come to learn, not even the Vampire Ascendant is immune to the dangers of siring those who have yet to prove themselves worthy. One fateful evening, upon walking into one of your fellow spawn trying to force himself on you, he would kill them all in a fit of rage, taking back the gift he had so generously offered only to be repaid with such vile betrayal—all except your lady-in-waiting, whom he had grown to trust, for she was hauntingly fascinated with his eternal adoration of you. As it were, she was the one who warned him of what had been about to happen that night; not out of fondness for you, naturally, but rather as a desperate measure to protect from corruption what she worshiped as the purest form of love, one so raw and so relentless that not even the gods themselves would dare quell its vicious, unforgiving flames. She would not allow anyone to rob you from him, nor anything to stand between you���not even yourself.

“Ah, yes. I’ll be there in a moment,” you say, trying to sound as collected as you possibly can, yet failing miserably at it. The situation you’ve been caught in looks incredibly suspicious as there would otherwise be no reason for you to be in your lover’s study, crouching behind his desk, and both you and your lady-in-waiting are fully aware of this. She can probably smell the scent of your blood, too, as the papercut on your thumb leaks still, a thin red trail running down your hand, smudged on the spot where it came into contact with the object that is now evidence of your misdeed. Neither of you acknowledge this, yet the oppressive silence lingers, perhaps even more unnerving than it would have been if she said something, anything about it. But she doesn’t—in fact, she remains completely still, standing in the doorway and watching you quietly, knowingly, her sharp eyes boring into your jittery self. She doesn’t intend to leave, not without you at least. 

You look at the documents scattered over the desk, and then back at her, almost as if to ask for permission; she doesn’t react to this, which is as good an answer as any. With trembling fingers, you awkwardly gather the papers and put them back inside the open drawer as discreetly as you can, praying that she hasn’t noticed which drawer it is, yet knowing full well she likely has. One paper remains—the one whose rugged edge cut into your flesh, and that which you’d been reading before it spilled your blood and stained the drawer’s key. It is the sole reason why you are even here, stuck in this predicament. 

Earlier in the day, one of the maids had brought a letter that had arrived that morning to your darling while you were both sitting at the breakfast table—a letter addressed to you. You questioned him about it, asked him if you could read it, yet as he’d done with the many others that had arrived before it, he’d lay it aside and tell you, “Dearest, let me spare you the trouble of worrying your pretty little head about such trifling matters.” And as always you’d comply, because you trusted him. Still and all, when hours later he’d inform you he had some urgent business to attend to in the upper city and that he wouldn’t be back for supper, your mind would sneakily wander to thoughts of stealing into his study while he was gone. Could those letters have been sent by your old companions? Those who had once traveled alongside you—those who you had once called friends? It would be easy, so easy to just grab the key to the drawer where he’d toss your correspondence, for you knew he kept it in the pocket of his overcoat, yet you trusted him, did you not? You’d tell yourself you did, and then let the matter rest; for a few minutes at least, before your wandering thoughts would inevitably circle back to the tantalizing prospect of seizing that golden opportunity. You managed to suppress the ever growing temptation for the rest of the day, but when the clock struck nine, that fading last chance became too hard to resist, and curiosity emerged victorious in the fierce battle raging within you.

Your prize now lies before you, for better or for worse, although as you’ve come to find out, and to your utter disappointment, the sender is in fact not any of your old companions. As for the contents—too much information, too little time to process, and you’ve yet to make sense of it all. With a heavy, frustrated sigh, you take one last look before tucking the letter back inside the envelope, eyes lingering on the sender’s initials: 

To the bride of the Vampire Ascendant,

I hope this letter finds you well. As with my others, I don’t expect a response, yet ever so often I feel compelled to write to you on the off chance that the information I share may somehow be of use. I suppose I may have something of a soft spot for you, for I have once been in a position I consider very similar to yours. I would even go so far as to call you kin. Yet as I have done in the past, I would remind you that there will always be a way out. You are not trapped, regardless of what your sire would have you believe. 

Observations I’ve made over the past few years have all but confirmed my thesis that you are indeed no spawn—not of the common variety, anyway—and while I empathize with your unwillingness to put that theory to the test, the evidence leaves little room for interpretation. I understand my… surveillance of you may be unsettling, but I cannot ignore what is to me now clear as day: you do bear three bite marks, do you not? One on your neck, the other on your shoulder, and the last one on your wrist. 

I implore that you think back to your turning: was there pain? Was it agonizing? Terrifying? A spawn’s turning is a terrible, terrible thing. Do you remember the gruesome feeling of all life being drained from your body? Because if not—well, that would be most unusual. Did you partake of your sire’s blood? Not that you’d be able to remember that, of course. The usual turning rite is nothing like what you probably experienced. Three bites, delirious pleasure, drinking from your sire: all hallmarks of a vampiric bride’s creation. The dark kiss, they call it. Has your sire ever compelled you? Surely not. You retain your free will, after all, unlike common spawn. And that is my point: the connection needs not be severed for you to leave. 

If you ever reconsider my offer, our small settlement in Gillian’s Hill would welcome you with open arms. Some of us are also runaway brides, although none are sunwalkers like yourself, of course. Our community would benefit greatly from your presence. Should you decide to join us, just say the word—I will come to you. 

Your friend,

L.I.

The hour of reckoning is upon you.

There he stands, near the entranceway, surrounded by the servants who have come to greet him. He is giving instructions to one of them—you will be hosting another of his infamous soirees soon it seems. Some patriar’s niece has apparently taken a liking to him, puppy love no doubt, an excellent opportunity to make yet another powerful ally. You watch him silently from your position a few feet away, your lady-in-waiting close beside you, and the pit of your stomach tightens every time it seems he is about to turn in your direction. It takes but a few minutes for him to finally acknowledge your presence—his stern gaze immediately softens once he lays eyes on you, the hint of a smile appearing on his lips, and for a moment you almost lose yourself in the gentleness of his expression.

“...Astarion,” you softly say his name, your voice quiet, uncertain. His smile widens as he turns away from the servant and approaches you; the closer he is, the better you can see him, and you can’t help but think of how very handsome he looks in his black waistcoat, embroidered with red spinel gemstones. The overflowing love you feel impossibly warms your chest and causes tears to well up in your eyes at the mere sight of him, yet the creeping guilt haunts you still, impossible to ignore.

“My love,” he coos, bringing his hand to your face and lovingly brushing his fingers against your cheek. You lean into his touch, yet the tenderness is short-lived; with that same hand, he then grabs your neck—his grip firm, but not tight—and leans down to press his mouth to yours while holding you in place. His lips are soft, warm—you close your eyes and try to revel in the comforting feeling of your skin against his, but that too doesn’t last long. He lets you go, smiling still, and tucks a few strands of stray hair that have come undone from your hairdo behind your ear. You look up at him from under thick lashes, trying your best not to lose your composure, yet something in your gaze apparently gives you away. As his eyes meet yours, his smile slowly fades and he raises a brow ever so slightly, puzzled countenance inconspicuous to all but you. 

“My lord, would you have the maids prepare the—oof,” you hear your lady-in-waiting start to say, only to be abruptly cut off as she trips over her own feet and bumps into you. Your body sways with the impact, not enough for you to fall, but with just about the force required for your torso to slightly bend over.

Clang.

All those present turn to the source of the metallic sound in the otherwise quiet room, you included, and upon seeing the object that now lays on the floor, so close it almost comes into contact with the tip of your shoe, the already cold blood in your veins congeals into ice—the key. You had hurriedly cleaned it and stuffed it under your petticoat before leaving the study with your lady-in-waiting in tow so you could later get rid of it while no one was watching, yet it seems that plan is now no longer an option. You press your lips together and slowly turn your head to the side, tentatively glancing at your lover, and what you see causes any remnants of color to drain from your already pale face. Any semblance of joy in his expression has completely vanished as his now darkened eyes glare fixedly at the unassuming piece of metal by your feet. Without uttering a word, he leans down and picks it up. The atmosphere is so thick you could cut it with a knife; no one dares break the foreboding silence, and all you can hear is the now painfully loud ticking of the grandfather clock adorning the grand foyer.

“How… curious,” he finally says, voice low, seemingly calm, yet your trained ear can discern the underlying anger. You gulp uncomfortably and wipe your sweaty hands on the skirt of your house dress, eyes never leaving his face, studying every twitch of his muscles. “Has the key to my drawer created a life of its own, I wonder? There can surely be no other explanation. How else would it have made its way here? Unless of course…” he raises his head to meet your stare, and you instinctively recoil at the seething ire building up underneath his otherwise impassive visage, “it had some help.”

“I…” you stutter, your throat completely dry, causing your voice to crack and come out raspy, so hushed it is barely above a whisper. You turn to your lady-in-waiting, brows knitting together in your desperation, but she doesn’t look back at you, coldly avoiding your gaze. All the other servants watch you silently, apprehensively, exchanging knowing glances. “The—the laundry basket. It could have been thrown in there. Transferred from one pocket to the other…” You clench your fists, nails digging into your palms, and as a surge of blind panic rises within you, wild and unruly, you start feeling nauseous and light-headed, your trembling knees threatening to give out. “If not that, then—I don’t know… I can’t think of any other reason why I’d have it…”

“Oh?” His fury becoming increasingly more difficult to subdue, the flames of anger now lick through Astarion’s eyes; you can see yourself reflected in them, one of the boons he so lovingly extended to you, and despite knowing how lucky you are for having never been required to let go of your own image, staring back at your pathetic, quivering frame makes you wish for a moment you were like the other spawn, with whom he would refuse to share his ascended blessings—yet as soon as the thought crosses your mind, you shun your own petty egotism, for you know how much he has sacrificed—how much you have both sacrificed—to ensure neither you nor him would have to hide in the shadows ever again. “Is that right? I suppose that could be possible. Except,” he scowls, and you feel all hairs on your body stand on end in anticipation for what you predict will come next, “that doesn’t explain why it smells of your blood, of all things. Does it, darling?”

This is it. You always knew it was pointless to come up with excuses, yet you tried to deceive him anyway, foolishly both underestimating and defying the person whom you were supposed to trust the most. Your eyes ashamedly leave his face and you lower your gaze, not bothering to answer—at this point, there is nothing you could say that would avert or deescalate the situation. You’ve made your bed, and now must lie in it. After all this time, after all you’ve been through, to think you’d still betray him, lie to him; it is despicable, indefensible. 

“To the boudoir. Now.” Each word he articulates drips with contempt, the hostility in his voice now undeniable. Your eyes sting as the tears start to form and bead your lashes, blurring your vision. Shame, guilt, fear, regret—the unsightly commingling of emotions comes to a head, making you feel unworthy of even being in his presence.

“I—”

“I was not asking, darling.” He grabs your wrist as he says this, his grasp so strong you’re afraid he may dislocate it. You let out a yelp, and he turns your hand around, exposing the bright red papercut at the base of your thumb, maculating the thin, sensitive skin between it and your palm. It no longer bleeds, but even your enhanced vampiric healing talents have not been enough to allow the still fresh wound to close in the short time that has transpired since it was inflicted upon your flesh. As you anxiously raise your eyes to meet his gaze, your heart sinks at the realization that he is not only furious—he is hurt. He is scared. He is heartbroken. 

“Astarion, please—” you try to say, but he doesn’t let you finish, closing his fingers around your upper arm and forcefully dragging you across the foyer. The servants know well not to follow; they say nothing as you both make your way down the main hall, Astarion’s feet heavily striking the ground with every step, and you treading close behind, stumbling and trying to keep pace with him. You’re unsure what to think, unsure what to feel. While he was always prone to outbursts of anger, you have never before seen him react so viscerally to anything—not like this, not even in his most vulnerable moments. You know him better than you know yourself, maybe even better than he knows himself; in the many years you’ve spent in each other’s arms, you have always been able to read his every expression, decipher his every thought—but this, this you don’t understand. It’s novel, foreign, terrifying. 

“Astarion…” As the two of you turn a corner, finally no longer within the servants’ line of sight, you try to speak once more, fighting back the tears. “Please…” you whimper, your forlorn supplications going unanswered, unheeded, as if never uttered at all. “Please… you’re hurting me…”

As soon as the words leave your lips, he abruptly stops, and you feel his grip on your arm tighten. When he turns around to face you, you cower at the wrath you had never before seen manifest with such intensity in his eyes, and mixed with it, although less discernible, fear—raw, violent and hellacious. His pupils are blown wide, his jaw clenched, and the loud thumping of his heart sounds like an accusation, a condemnation of your wretched selfishness. It now only beats once more because of you; because of your complacence, your foolishness, your blithering, pitiful neediness. You wanted him to love you, feared that he’d leave you, and while telling yourself it was because you wanted him to be happy, you sentenced him to eternal guilt. All the sacrifice, all the hurt… and now you’d turn your back on him? You’d make light of the bond of trust you had so earnestly forged and nourished throughout the years—the only reason why you both live still?

“I am hurting you?” Astarion hisses through his teeth, letting go of your arm only to use that same hand to fiercely grab your throat and shove you onto the sill of a nearby window, forcing you to lean against it in a half-seated position, yet at the same time cradling the back of your head with his other hand to cushion the impact. “You come uninvited into my study, rummage through my things, lie to me about it—yet I’m the one hurting you? Do you even hear yourself?” He straddles you and brings his face close to yours, his nails digging into your neck, squeezing it to the point of slightly choking you. 

“...You—you’re the one who’s lying…” you manage to say between pants and squeaks, for despite having no need to breathe, it is difficult for you to talk or emit any sounds at all with your windpipes crushed under his grasp. “You’ve been lying to me… all this time…” He buries his fingers deeper into your skin, but that doesn’t stop you from finishing, it doesn’t prevent the impending disaster about to strike. “I’m not your spawn… I never was.”

You don’t know what has come over you, but the words are spoken before you can swallow them. Astarion seems as taken aback as you are at your defiance—he looks stunned for a few seconds, yet as soon as he recovers, his eyes narrow and glow with sanguineous intent, a darkness so ghoulish and vile festering deep within them that for a moment, you become genuinely frightened. His hand lets go of your neck to then aggressively pull at the hair on top of your scalp, forcibly tilting your head upwards, and he slams the other on the wall next to the window, entrapping you against it.

“No, darling, you are my spawn. My spawn. Mine. Your body, your mind, your soul, they all belong to me. I’ve made you. You are mine to use however I please,” he growls, spitting each word with viperous malice.

Before you can react to this, or even begin to process what is happening, shock waves are sent through your body in the wake of the lancinating pain that suddenly shoots up your throat as he violently sinks his fangs into the hollow at its base. You let out a soundless gasp and your eyes widen in shock, the tears that had been threatening to fall finally streaming down your cheeks. Him feeding on you is a daily occurrence, something you were supposed to already be entirely used to, but never before had he been so forceful, never before had it hurt this much. He sucks with such vigor and so sloppily that the blood spills from the corners of his mouth, dripping down his chin and onto the white fabric of your clothes, speckling them red. His fingers remain tangled in your hair, keeping your head in place as he drinks, and your hairdo partly unravels. You are unable to move, unable to speak, unable to think, even, but not unable to feel: you feel shame, you feel guilt, you feel remorse, for betraying him when trust was the only thing you could ever offer, the only thing that was even left.

“I’m sorry…” you lament, your voice so quiet you are unsure if he is even able to hear you, so you say it one more time. And then another. And you keep repeating it, no matter how much it hurts, no matter how much effort it takes to voice each word, you apologize again and again hoping your feelings will somehow reach him, hoping he will somehow understand how ashamed you are of yourself, how regretful you feel, how deeply you love him—and you do, you love him, so profoundly that life to you has no meaning without him by your side. If you could breathe, he would be the air in your lungs; if your heart could beat, he would be the lifeblood coursing through your veins. He is your sire, your darling, your master—he is your everything. In hurting him, you hurt yourself, and in breaking his trust, you destroy the very foundation of your existence. 

I’m sorry. Forgive me. I love you.

As your crimson runs down his throat, Astarion can feel it. Your anguish. Your sorrow. All of it. He can feel them so intensely, that it’s as if your feelings are his own—and they are, for he too feels scared, he too feels ashamed, he too loves you, just as desperately, just as ardently. He is scared of losing you, ashamed of hurting you, and the love you share has ascended to such heights that it needs not be voiced, it needs not be reaffirmed. Nothing terrifies him as much as the idea of being apart from you, and he’d do anything to keep you close; if that implies lying to you, inflicting pain on you, then he’ll gladly embrace the shame, for he never thought himself worthy of your love to begin with. And despite it all, you’d still have him—you’d still join him in immortality, trust him beyond reason, bow down and accept your position below him, for power is all he has ever known, all that has ever mattered, and wielding power over you is his only way of ensuring you will never be taken from him. 

I want you. I need you. Don’t leave me.

The tears you shed fall from your eyes and drip onto Astarion’s face as if wept by him; the sensation brings him back to reality, and as the fog clears, he is relentlessly assailed by the regret welling up within his heart. Finally unlatching his mouth from your neck, he slowly lifts his head up to look into your eyes, releasing his grip on your hair and using the newly freed hand to wipe his lips and chin, which are now smeared with blood—with that same hand, he then cups your cheek, gently brushing his thumb against your skin, and in doing so, painting a red streak across it.

“Forgive me… please forgive me…” you plead between soft sobs, the teardrops uncontrollably pouring and mixing with your crimson. Cupping your cheek still, he uses his other hand to dry the now ruby-colored beads, his caresses ever so tender, ever so gentle. Although the darkness has not entirely faded from his eyes, it is eclipsed by the genuine warmth blooming on their dewy surface. He rests his forehead against yours, sliding his fingers which are now wet from the bloody droplets down your shoulders, gliding them across your ribs, tracing the curve of your waist, your hip. His touches are so incredibly delicate, tentative almost, that it’s as if you were made out of porcelain and applying the slightest amount of pressure would cause you to break into a thousand pieces.

“Shh. It’s over, my love. It’s over.” He is so close to you that his breath tickles your face and his lips graze yours as he speaks, the soothing tone of his voice lulling your frenzied mind. After hesitating for a split second, his wandering digits venture further down, toying with the hemline of your dress, hiking the bloodstained fabric up just enough to expose the waxen skin of your thigh, only to then slip under it. A shiver of anticipation runs down your spine, and still unsure what to make of his advances, you let your eyes fall shut, savoring the moment as if waiting for the spell to break, as if the illusion is about to shatter, yet it doesn’t—instead, he finally closes the distance between you, covering your mouth with his and spreading your crimson that still trickles down his jaw all over you both. As you kiss, some of it makes its way onto your tongue, the coppery flavor so very familiar, for your blood is one and the same, and tasting yourself is as if tasting him.

“That's what you want, isn't it? To be mine? Forever?”

His lips never leaving yours, Astarion moves his hand on your cheek to the side of your head so he can run his fingers through your hair, brushing it out of your face, now damp from your blood only as the tears slowly dry. The hand under your dress finds its way to your backside, splaying across its soft curve and slightly lifting you up from the windowsill, supporting your weight as he leans his body into yours to pin you against the glass. You hold onto his shoulders with both of your hands and wrap your legs around his waist to keep yourself from slipping, bringing him closer and pushing his crotch flush against your stomach; doing so allows you to feel the obvious erection under his pants, which you hadn’t yet noticed was there. While this would be a common effect of feeding under other circumstances, it startles you at first, flusters you almost, yet the reason for his sudden wantonness notwithstanding, even if you can’t fully understand it, what you do know is that the two of you may need this just as urgently—to lose yourselves in lust and hunger, feel each other, be reassured that you are both still here, that you are both still real. 

Letting out a low groan, he starts leisurely rolling his hips, burying the fully hardened bulge between your thighs. No less eager to touch him, you rock your own in rhythm with his movements, to which your body responds more willingly than what either of you would have anticipated, heat pooling in your abdomen and wetness collecting between your folds, some of which soaks through your underpants—the sweet scent of your budding arousal encourages him to keep going, and the fingers of his hand propping up your behind reach out for their waistband, slipping under the lacy fabric and pulling at it. With some effort he is able to get them to slide down a little, but not enough to expose your aching sex; deciding to try a different approach instead, he untangles his other hand from your hair and uses it to pull his own pants down, freeing his already leaking cock. Were this any other day, he would have taken his time teasing you, building you both up to the edge only to pull away at the last minute and start all over again, but not this time. Never before had Astarion’s urgency to take you been this great; never before had he felt like he must make you his as quickly as possible, lest you are forever lost to him.

Lifting up your petticoat to gain access to your still clothed core, he slides his cock under it, your underpants now the only layer separating your flesh from his. You moan against his lips at the sensation, and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, slipping his warm tongue inside your partially open mouth. As the petticoat falls back down, he has his freed hand join the other, using both to cradle your ass, his long digits groping and fondling the soft skin. While rolling his tongue over yours, he resumes his hip movements, massaging your dripping slit with his length and squeezing even more slick out of you, drenching the fabric that envelops it in your juices; due to the friction and the wetness, the flimsy piece of cloth starts wrinkling and sliding to the side, revealing more of your swollen folds with each thrust. Noticing this, he tilts his pelvis, angling himself to help push it out of the way, and it doesn’t take long before your skin finally comes into contact with his—once it does, you jerk your hands away from his shoulders to then wrap your arms tightly around his neck, and he avidly sucks on your bottom lip, fighting off the urge to sink his fangs into it, drawing even more of your blood.

Wet as you are, he glides effortlessly along your now partially naked mound, gently nudging your twitching entrance with the velvety tip of his cock, only to then back away slowly, spreading your folds apart and massaging the engorged bud atop them as he moves. Although his pace is languid, you can tell by his small grunts that he is growing more desperate, more impatient; once your mouths unweave, a thin string of saliva forming between your bruised, reddened lips, you are unwittingly sucked into the endless vortex of passion and yearning lurking within his crimson irises, his feelings flooding into your own heart as you lock eyes with him. Without you, there is nothing—without you, he is nothing. He offered you eternal life, and in return, you promised him eternal love; you cannot, you will not back away now. Only by feeling you, tasting you, ruining you can he convince himself that you remain within his reach, that you belong to him still. The intensity of his gaze overwhelms you, yet as you turn your head to the side to avoid it, he brings one of his hands up from under your dress and grasps your chin, forcing it back into its previous position.

“Eyes on me, darling,” Astarion says, his voice soft, but his tone firm, commanding; as if under a spell, you obey unquestioningly, staring back at him as intently as you can manage while he grinds against the raw, sensitive skin of your center, sliding along the wetness between your puffed folds and coating his cock in your sticky essence, the lewd squelching noises that ensue echoing in the empty hallway. Now increasing the tempo of his thrusts, he presses his throbbing cockhead harder and harder against your cunt with every jerk of his hips, threatening to stretch its tight borders open only to then pull back, the agonizing anticipation of it setting your nerves on fire. The coiling tension in your abdomen grows tauter by the minute, begging for release, and you can no longer feel the searing pain of the gaping wound on your neck, your mind shamelessly burdened with naught but thoughts of him—of how much you love him, how much you want him, how desperately you need him inside you, buried soul-deep, filling you to the brim. 

His appetites mirror your own, for he too craves nothing more than to have you wrapped around him, ready and primed for him to use however he wishes, for you are his, and that is his prerogative—but first, he would have you come undone, watch as you crumble into nothing at his behest. Without ever breaking eye contact, not wanting to miss a second of your unraveling, he pounds into the outer edges of your entrance with ever increasing furor, dipping his cockhead deeper within it each time, while simultaneously holding back the overwhelming urge to stuff you full in a single thrust. He can tell you are close, so close; as you have not fed since morning, the color of your flushed cheeks is not nearly as bright as it would have otherwise been, but he can still hear it—what little remains of your cold blood rushing through your veins, frantically flowing to your face and cunt, puffing up your skin and painting it a pale pink. 

You’re a vision like this, parted lips reddened with dried blood, half-lidded eyes curtained by long wet lashes, nipples pebbling under the thin chiffon of your bodice; his pretty consort, his sweet spawn, his good girl, so foolishly trusting, so naively kind. When did he lose sight of you? When did your blind devotion turn into treacherous cynicism? When did the desire to bring you to heel consume him, when did the darkness within start to take hold? As these thoughts sweep through his mind, Astarion forfeits all self-control—he needs to feel you, deeper, closer; conquer your soul, dominate your body, devour you whole. He plunges into you without warning, reveling in the feeling of your tight cunt fluttering and contracting around his cock, creaming and coating him in your sweet come, as having him finally buried deep inside you pushes you over the edge of your release. You shut your eyes close and let your head fall back, only for him to firmly grab your jaw and force it up again, intent on having you face him as you dissolve into pleasure.

“Beautiful,” he purrs, the look in his eyes expressing adoration and subjugation in equal measure. “My sweet girl. My good girl.” Holding your jaw still, he slides in and out of your spasming slit without giving you time to recover from your orgasm, and the pain from the overstimulation overlaps with the high of the afterglow—rather than shun the sensation, you welcome it, for its paradoxical nature at once grounds and comforts you; the greater the pain, the more intensely you can feel him, the more entangled your souls become. The fingers of the hand still holding your ass tighten their grip, pushing your hips against his, tilting them to allow his cock to sink as deeply within you as possible. Although he refuses to avert his gaze, looking upon you with bone-chilling fierceness, the sweat beading his forehead and the growing fervor of his lust-ridden expression give away his ascent to his own rapture. To him, there is no greater bliss than feeling you clench around him as he massages your slickened walls, his velvety tip ever so slightly brushing against the spongy skin of your cervix with every thrust. He belongs inside you, and you belong to him; your body is more his than yours, your heart less yours than his.

“All mine,” he grunts between ragged breaths, the thought of you completely submitting to him, letting yourself be ravaged and debauched for his pleasure alone racing through Astarion’s mind as he reaches his climax, spilling himself all over your walls and flooding you with his warm seed. His hand that had been keeping your jaw in place lets go of it to then splay across the side of your face, affectionately caressing your cheek, and he finally lets his eyes wander away from yours, lowering his head to nuzzle into the crook of your neck while basking in his release; yet the moment is short-lived, for once he catches sight of the still bleeding mess right below his nose, two crimson gashes carved on the pale skin of your throat, his mind suddenly freezes and his gorge rises. All his—but at what cost? Was this what you wished for? Was this what he wished for? You agreed to eternity, accepted your share of the burden, became his of your own volition; but doesn’t a toy become useless once it’s broken? Doesn’t love turn into hate once it’s ruined? He knew the time would come when you’d finally see him for who he truly is, when the pathetic, repulsive rot festering under the husk of shallow charm would be laid bare before you, but why now, when he had gathered enough power to offer you the world and everything in it? Was not even that enough to keep you by his side? Feeling you squirm under him, hearing your pained whimpers and tearful pleas—he was not supposed to take joy in any of it, yet his body would betray his mind as he drained you dry. The more you pull away, the more his obsession grows; the more you try to escape, the less you are likely to get away. So why would you reject a fate you had once embraced? Were you his obedient girl no longer? Would you doom yourself, doom your love, let the dam in his living heart burst and the murky waters within consume you, him, and all in their wake?

“I already have everything. Except you by my side.”

You wince as Astarion pulls out of you, the sensitive flesh of your core now red and tender, slathered with his thick come, which runs down your entrance and onto your thighs. Raising his head back up, he brings his face close to yours, tenderly pressing his lips to the corner of your mouth, his hand on your cheek lingering for a moment before making its way downwards, sliding under your petticoat and reaching for the space between your legs. Once his fingers come into contact with your still exposed wetness, you instinctively roll your hips into the long digits, eliciting a faint smile from him; however, rather than indulging you, he grasps the wrinkled fabric of your underpants, so drenched they have stayed put on your groin ever since being pushed there, and smoothens it as best as he can to cover your dripping sex. Planting another kiss on your bloodstained skin and lovingly rubbing his forehead and nose against yours, he uses that same hand to tuck his softening cock back inside his pants; with one last peck on your temple, he then moves his other hand away from its place on your rear to wrap both of his arms around your waist, hoisting you up. No longer pinned against the glass, legs still around his midriff and arms around his neck, you tighten your grip on him to keep yourself from falling, leaning your upper body forward and resting your chin on his shoulder.

“Good girl,” he coos, bringing one of his hands up to cradle your head and affectionately run his fingers through your hair. Backing away from the window, he then turns around and sets off towards the living quarters, all the while carrying you as if you were unable to walk on your own. Not bothering to question his reasons, you close your eyes, intent on enjoying his uncharacteristic gentleness while it lasts and surrendering to the overwhelming allure of his warmth, his scent, his soothing touch and the soft thumping of his heart, which you can feel with your chest flush against his, as if it beats for the two of you. The familiar aegis of his embrace offers solace and protection in equal measure, and for however long he holds you, you feel safe, you feel loved, and nothing else matters—not the guilt, not his darkness, not your selfishness.

“Astarion…” 

You whisper his name as if chanting a mantra, not really for any other purpose than to comfort yourself. The throbbing pain on your neck, the unpleasant sensation of your fluids and his drying on your thighs, the blood all over your face, hair and clothes; somehow, you care about none of it while in his arms, feeling your body rock gently as he moves, the world an endless void behind your shut eyelids. Before the moment ends, it’s just you and him, him and you—no souls weighing down on either of you other than your own, no phantoms from the past lingering in your memory, no outside voices joining in the chorus and challenging your undying love. The voices within remain, however, loud as ever, questioning if you’ve been forgiven, pondering if you’d even deserve it; while he has yet to let go, they have no power over you, but you’re no stranger to the ephemeral nature of his tenderness. Be that as it may, what scares you more than anything are not the loud accusations echoing on the surface, but rather the quiet murmurs rousing in the depths of your heart—those suggesting that time will erode his essence, stripping him off everything but the desire to consume you.

“I’m willing to share all of this with you. What’s that, if not love?”

“Bring me clean towels and lukewarm water. Make it quick.” His voice sounds muffled as you drift in and out of consciousness, and for the first time you notice you can’t feel the tips of your fingers, the blood loss clearly too great a challenge for even your undead body to overcome. The servant whom he is addressing answers something you can’t quite make out, and with a reverent nod, turns away and takes her leave. You slightly open your eyes to get your bearings, and the first thing you see once they adjust to the sudden brightness is the ornately hand-carved frame surrounding the door to your private chambers, its gilded accents glinting in the light of the candelabra, left behind you as Astarion makes his way further inside the room. Upon reaching the grand canopy bed, draped with opulent velvet curtains, he gently lays you down onto the soft mattress, using the hand still tangled in your hair to support your head. The instant you part with his warm touch, the ever constant coldness of death seeps through your skin, its icy tendrils grazing the fringes of your soul; the sudden loss is, however, somewhat subdued when he then circles the bed and sits down by your side, bringing his fingers to your face to glide their soft pads across your brow, studying your features in reflective silence.

“My lord.” No sooner has she left than the servant is back with a pile of plush cotton towels in her arms, one of your handmaidens following close behind, carrying a wooden wash tub that looks far too heavy for her scrawny frame. You prick up your ears at the sound of the familiar voice, and upon discreetly raising your eyes to take a better look at her, you recognize said servant as none other than your lady-in-waiting; it strikes you as no mere coincidence that she’d been waiting for your arrival with the necessary provisions ready, but you decide not to dwell on it. Likewise, there is no effort on her part to acknowledge you as she sets the towels on the eiderdown duvet, gesturing to the handmaiden to put the wash tub down near the bed.

“Leave us,” Astarion says, addressing them both yet not for a moment letting his eyes drift away from yours. Each gives a brief curtsy before doing as told, carefully closing the door behind them on their way out. Once they’re gone, he reaches out for the towel on top of the pile and dips one of its edges in the clear water inside the tub, letting it soak for a few seconds before pulling it back out. Remaining silent and with his gaze fixed upon you, he then brings the now drenched cloth to his own face and rubs it against his mouth and chin, removing the crimson still spattered over his skin with relative ease. You timidly meet his stare from under thick lashes, feeling a bit faint, your limbs heavy and numb from the lack of blood within your veins.

“...Astarion,” you tentatively call for him, your voice so low you wonder for a moment if he is even able to hear you at all; rather than answering you, he places a finger on your lips, hushing you gently. His jaw now rid of stains, he lays the bloodied towel aside and grabs another, soaking it as he did the first, only this time, he presses it to your cheek instead. The damp fabric feels soft and warm against your gelid complexion, and he dabs at it so delicately, so soothingly, that you find yourself leaning into his touch. Your eyelids start threatening to fall shut again, your mind bereft of all thought, but just as you are about to nod off, he starts speaking, snapping you out of your torpor.  

“I never lied to you. Not really.” As the words leave his lips, Astarion’s eyes darken with an intensity you can’t quite make sense of. Deeming your face to be satisfactorily clean, he lowers the towel to massage the pale skin of your throat, letting his gaze wander away from yours to rest upon the grisly puncture marks left by his own fangs. “You are my spawn. My creation. Born from my blood,” he says, the softness in his voice contrasting with the sobriety of his words and the somberness of his expression. After pausing for a moment, not so much out of hesitation as to stall the inevitable, he continues, finally unearthing that which had been hidden for so long with confounding casualness, the revelation likely to have gone by unnoticed if meant for slightly less attentive ears. “My consort—my bride.”

Neither of you utter another word in the minutes that follow. He remains focused on your neck, undoing the top buttons of your bodice to gain better access to it, thus baring your shoulders and collarbone, carefully patting the towel around the ruptured flesh and wiping the encrusted blood off its swollen borders. You, on the other hand, can do anything but focus, unable to process what has just been exposed or the significance of it. Your body is like a doll’s under his; you do not blink, muscles stiffened and chest unmoving, an inanimate object with no will of its own—but you do have a will of your own, do you not? If the letter is to be given any credence to, then wouldn’t the implication be that he let you believe that he could control you when he in fact could not? And if so—what were you to call it then, if not a lie? Did he not trust you to stay? (Had he no trust in your bond?) Was that the source of his fear? (Were you the source of his fear?)

“Is it true, then?” you hear yourself ask, your mouth moving on its own as you let the surge of emotion guide your actions in the absence of coherent thought. “Can you really not compel me? Am I free to do as I please?” Despite the quiet pitch of your voice, and although it trembles ever so faintly, there is a hint of what Astarion can only discern as resentment laced with it. He suddenly stops moving, the now red towel in his hands still pressed against your skin, remaining motionless for a moment before slowly raising his head to lock eyes with you—and there it is again, that raw, visceral dread, only this time masked with a thin veil of arrogance.  

“Oh, sweet thing. Shouldn’t you know it by now?” His lips slightly curl into a humorless smile, voice smooth as silk, yet the words are spoken with deliberate inflection, eerily measured and dangerously sharp. He discards the towel, having it join the other, and casts a predatory gaze upon you, leaning down until the tip of his nose is only inches apart from yours. Bringing both of his hands to your face, he then gently cups your cheeks, fondly caressing them with his thumbs. “I’m the Vampire Ascendant, bound by no such petty rules. That some meddling busybody would underestimate me is not surprising, but I expected more from my good girl.” To your disconcert, although he says this, glimmers of affection peek through the shadows lurking within his eyes. “I’ve spoiled you.” 

You look up at him in confusion, brows lowered and drawn together, trying and yet failing to read his expression. The smile stays on his lips for a moment, but before long, any warmth in his countenance suddenly vanishes. Your heart sinks to the bottom of your stomach in anticipation, your body’s primal response signaling the imminent threat, but like a mouse caught in a trap, you are helpless, pinned under him in more ways than one. As you lose yourself in the ruby red pools of his irises, the subtle scent of his cologne, that intoxicating brew of bergamot, rosemary and brandy, grows stronger and more concentrated, filling your nose and wafting down your throat. And then, you feel it—a tingling sensation in your fingers, climbing up your arms, spreading to your ribs and chest. It builds up, intensifies, until it is no longer tingling, but shooting pain, radiating outwards in searing waves. Your every muscle screams in protest, throbbing and burning and aching, but when you try to move your limbs, you find them unresponsive; neither can you open your mouth when you try to scream, not even close your eyes once you feel them brim with tears, which then roll down your temples.

“Ah��ah…!”

“Shh. Don’t fight it, my love. It’ll be over soon.” Astarion says as he softly dries the falling droplets with his thumbs, the words slipping from his pretty lips in dulcet whispers. Once you heed his advice and stop struggling, the pain subsides—you remain, however, a passenger in your own body, unable to do anything but stare into his eyes. Within them, the fear still lingers, but it no longer muddies its bloody waters, suppressed by the confidence now sprouting in their depths; and that’s when you notice that this is to him as much of a novelty as it is to you. Despite his haughtiness, he couldn’t have been sure that it would work, for he had never attempted such a feat before. But alas, any concerns prove now unfounded—you are, and were always his thrall. His puppet bride, subject to his every whim.

“My dark consort. My right hand. My most beloved spawn.”

The compulsion persists for no more than a few minutes, but once he finally loosens his hold on you, it feels as if it’s been hours since last your body was yours to command. With a loud gasp, sucking in the air desperately as if your undead lungs would have any use for it, you are back in control, for what that’s even worth now. Pressing his forehead to yours, he hushes you tenderly, breathing words of comfort as if soothing your unrest after a bad dream. Tears continue pouring from your eyes even as they fall shut, yet the source of your grief is unclear; your mind is, however, in too great a turmoil to allow you to sort out your feelings, so you try to focus on his touch instead, yielding to it as he moves one of his hands from its place on your cheek to lovingly brush your hair away from your face. Regardless, the moment lasts only for so long—once you are no longer as agitated, he pulls away, his expression undecipherable, an uncanny blend of darkness and placidity, dolefulness and sobriety.

“Pay attention, my dear, for this is an offer I will make but once,” he says, the danger in his voice underlying its velvety slickness, reflecting the ambiguous glint in his eyes. As you open your own, you see him take and soak another towel from the pile, which he then brings to your neck to continue removing the dried blood, by now almost completely gone from your skin, yet staining your clothes still. “Freedom. That’s what you wish for, isn’t it?” Smiling bitterly, he undoes the remaining buttons of your bodice, exposing the narrow valley between your breasts, yet his gaze remains drawn to the fresh set of bite marks on your throat; he seems distracted for a moment, but soon enough, his lips continue moving, the tone with which he speaks taking on a deceptively poised quality. “Say the word and I shall unmake our bond. Refuse, and resign to your fate as my eternal spawn.”

Astarion doesn’t look your way even as he tells you this, focusing on the wound still—a manifestation of his inner demons, the sigil of a man who chose to fully embrace the shadows, and whose only remaining light he now tries to dim. Oh, how he wishes the illusion would have lasted forever; you in his arms, eternally his, a bird singing beautifully in its gilded cage. Not clipping your wings was his biggest mistake, for he had always feared that sooner or later, you’d give into the desire to soar high, leave him to waste away, consumed by power and shame. So now he opens the cage himself, before you lose your voice, before the song is silenced. He wants to see it, he needs to see it—hear your denial, feel your rejection, taste your betrayal. Whether he means what he says is inconsequential, for he himself knows not the answer to that; his wish is but to have you confirm what he already understands to be true, so that he may finally snuff out that trembling flame and surrender to lonesome oblivion.

Your answer to him is, however, nothing but silence; having by now wiped most of the stains off your neck area, he straightens his torso, and his eyes finally make their way back to yours—which, to his astonishment, are not only misty and glistening with the tears still pooling in their corners and flowing down your cheeks, but wide and unblinking, unrelenting terror etched across your face. Terror? Why terror? No, no, this makes no sense. Is he to believe you’re crying tears of happiness? Could these be complicated feelings surfacing now that you’ve finally been given that which you’d always wished for? Freedom—that is what you wish for, surely? He never doubted your love, for he could feel it just as you could feel his, but he did question whether just love would be enough to keep you by his side, whether even a love as real as yours would stand the test of time. Never had he been able to understand your love for him, but he knew it to be true, and he would protect it in whatever way he could; as the Ascendant, there was very little he could not do, thus taking away your freedom was the obvious course of action. And yet, now that he offers it back, you react not with relief or gratitude, but terror?

“I would sooner die again,” you finally say, voice quiet and strained, raw emotion pouring from your every word. Astarion stares at you in complete shock, frozen in place, and time seems to come to a standstill while each of you wait for the other to break the silence. As he disconcertedly studies your face, trying to make sense of your unexpected fretfulness, a realization dawns on him—are you perhaps afraid of spending eternity by yourself? Is it not his promise of making you into a full vampire, independent of its creator, but rather the prospect of total separation that upsets you so? That must be it, that has to be it—why else would the offer of freedom, that which has always driven him, the ultimate goal, sound so appalling to your ears? Although it is no less surprising that you wouldn’t use your newfound autonomy to turn your back on him at the first opportunity, as far as his proposal is concerned, this is but a misunderstanding; he should clarify, then.

“You—”

Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me.

Your words ring in Astarion’s ears as if spoken by you, yet your quivering lips remain sealed. Hah! How quaint, that such an ability would manifest now. As your thoughts flow from you to him, he notices you don’t seem to be aware that you are speaking into his mind. Of course not, why would you? He had kept the nature of your bond a secret, and thus, your mental connection was too concealed. Oftentime you’d unwittingly let your inner voice seep into his head, but never had you noticed, and never had he brought it to your attention. It feels invasive, peeking into your heart when you haven’t let him in, but he can’t help himself, for he needs to know; he needs to be certain that this is what you want, that this is the fate you’ve chosen, no matter how grim, no matter how hopeless.  

I promise I’ll be good. I need you. Please.

Raising your upper body into a seated position, you reach out for his arm, and your fingers tentatively grasp at the sleeve of his shirt. You can’t bring yourself to voice your feelings, yet you hope that the earnestness in your tear-filled eyes somehow is enough to convince him of your sincerity, for the thought alone of having your souls ripped asunder horrifies you. You had accepted your circumstances once, and you’d do so again—bearing the guilt and remaining his spawn for the rest of your days is too low a price to pay for his freedom, for his life, for him. All for him. It always was, it always will be. You failed him once; not again. Never again. For however long he’ll have you, you’ll remain by his side, pay your penance, atone for your sins, love him with all of you, body, mind and soul, until there’s nothing left but dust and blood. 

As the confusion in his eyes gives way to gentle warmth, Astarion brings one of his hands to your face, tenderly cradling it and brushing his long fingers against the damp skin. After letting go of the towel which he had been holding still, he leans forward, pausing for a moment to meet your weepy gaze before pressing his pillowy lips to yours, and relief washes over you like a balm. You relax your muscles which you hadn’t noticed were tensed until now, and although you have yet to stop crying, the salty droplets are no longer an expression of fear and regret, but of succor and deliverance. Timidly starting with a sequence of soft, chaste pecks, the kiss gradually becomes more sensual, more passionate, and soon you feel his tongue flick at your bottom lip, asking for passage. Once you comply, he begins eagerly exploring the inside of your mouth, the digits of his other hand running through your hair as he tastes you, unweaving what still remains of your hairdo and letting the tresses fall over your shoulders. Longing to be as close to him as physically possible, you tighten your grip on his sleeve, lovingly nuzzling your nose and cheeks against his, and in doing so, making them wet with your tears. 

Kissing you still, he untangles his fingers from your now freed locks and splays his hand across the small of your back, using his body weight to gently pin you down until you are both lying on the mattress, him on top of you. The hand on your cheek leaves it to reach for the last towel in the pile, which he then blindly soaks in the water remaining within the wash tub; your skin now completely rid of bloodstains, he sticks it under your petticoat instead, bringing it to your groin and tugging at your underpants with one of his digits. This time successfully managing to get them to slide down enough to gain access to your wetness, he delicately presses the soaked cloth to it, eliciting a soft mewl from you. All the while massaging your mouth with his, he rubs the towel up and down the still tender flesh of your sex, thus removing the remnants of earlier activities, yet at the same time nudging your slowly swelling clit with every stroke. Feeling the familiar tautness building up low in your belly, you roll your hips into his hand, squeezing your thighs together and clenching them around his arm, any pretenses of playing coy completely discarded as you helplessly plead for his touch.

Rather than mess around with you like he would on any other occasion, Astarion yields, and as two of his fingers feel up and circle the now twitching bundle of nerves through the wet fabric, another slides further down and rims your slickened entrance. You wantonly whimper against his lips, wrapping both of your arms around his neck, and his hand on your back makes its way to the front of your torso to unfasten the lacing keeping your unbuttoned bodice in place, thus revealing your breasts and stomach. As soon as they come into view, his skilled digits quickly find one of your hardened nipples, pinching and playing with the swollen nub as his tongue continues hungrily swirling around yours and his hand between your legs fondles your aching arousal, coaxing pants and all sorts of cute noises out of you.

“Sing for me, little bird,” he breaks the kiss to purr the words in your ear, fangs gently grazing your earlobe. You readily do as told, moaning and whining with your drying eyes closed, teardrops no longer escaping through your long lashes, and his face creases into a smuggish smile as he watches you writhe and squirm. Once he withdraws both of his hands, you let out a displeased sigh, in response to which his smile widens; finally tossing aside the towel, he then leans back to finish undressing you, and as you help him peel off both your dress and undergarments, you suddenly notice neither of you are wearing shoes, though you can’t recall at which point they were lost. Tucking a hand inside his own pants, he pulls out his cock, still partially soft but rapidly hardening again, yet there seems to be no intention on his part of removing the rest of his clothes, a fact which neither of you seem to mind—if he would rather have you naked and exposed before him, then so be it; if he finds strength in your vulnerability, then you won’t deny it to him, for his comfort is your atonement, even if it costs you your dignity.

“You wouldn't just be some spawn—you’re far more than that to me.”

“Come, pretty vampling,” Astarion beckons, intertwining his fingers with yours and helping you rise to his level. Once you are both sitting up and facing each other, he tenderly kisses the back of your hand, letting go of it to then wrap his strong arms around your waist and pull your chest flush against his, squishing your soft breasts between your bodies. After planting a loving peck on your brow and affectionately rubbing your noses together, he then slightly cocks his head to the side, exposing the smooth skin of his neck, marked only by two shallow indentations, so similar, yet so different from your own. It takes you no more than that to realize what he means, and you gingerly press your mouth to a blue artery pulsating right under his jawline, looking up at him demurely with lamblike eyes, as if waiting for his approval. With an affable simper, he brings one of his hands up to cradle the back of your scalp, which you understand as an assent; parting your rosy lips, you thus brush your fangs against the throbbing vein, only to then sink them into the sensitive flesh, as gently and carefully as possible. He groans at the sensation, not from pain, but pleasure, and you feel him lightly tug at your hair.

His blood tastes rich and angular on your tongue, and your hazy mind slowly clears as the thick crimson starts spreading to your extremities. You suck so delicately that he can barely feel your fangs piercing his neck—instead, he feels the plushness of your lips, the softness of your curves, the heat irradiating from your cold pale skin as it turns warm and flushed. He hugs you tighter, yearning to have you pressed even closer against him, letting out low grunts and quiet moans as you drink, his cock now fully hardened into an angry, painful erection. Bringing both of his hands down to your ass, he firmly squeezes your buttocks and slightly lifts up your body to sit you on his lap; following his lead, you position yourself while feeding still, bending your knees to support your weight on them and lining up your entrance with his leaking tip. However, instead of immediately lowering your hips, you start languidly rocking them back and forth, burying the engorged cockhead between your folds and coating it in your juices.

“Oh, you cheeky brat…” he says, yet the playful tone of his voice encourages you to keep going, even if from your position you can’t see the matching expression on his face, eyes closed and a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Gods, you feel good…” His fingers press down harder on the supple skin of your behind, and his crimson takes on a sweeter flavor the more aroused he becomes; as it flows to your center, your rouged clit too grows tumescent with desire, slick dripping from your needy cunt. Setting an agonizingly sensual pace to your rhythmic movements, you bring your hands up to rest on his shoulders, a trail of red escaping from your lips and running down your chin. You can feel his cockhead twitching madly as you engulf it in your wet heat, hungering for the tightness of your walls, but the blood high emboldens you, and you continue stubbornly refusing to give in, even if you want nothing more than to have him stuff you full.

Astarion has, however, only so much patience, and being on the receiving end of teasing doesn’t sit well with him; once he feels the tip of his cock nudge the borders of your slit, he tightens his grip on your ass and yanks your body down, stretching your entrance open and sinking you to about half of his length. You unlatch your mouth from his neck and yelp in surprise, nails digging into the skin of his shoulders, but before you can say anything, he crashes his lips into yours, lapping at the blood staining them red. While you kiss, he gives you time to adjust, and his hands move up to your waist, his touch at once firm and gentle. Despite the pain of the sudden intrusion, being filled with him is pure bliss, and as your walls accommodate his size, you start almost imperceptibly undulating your hips, although the slight friction serves only to fan the flames of your desire. Upon taking notice of your shy grinding, he eggs you on, pulling you downwards with only about enough force to encourage you to follow suit. Not willing to hold back any longer, you eagerly comply, lowering your rear until you are fully seated on him, buttocks pressed against his thighs. Stifling a groan, he nips at your bottom lip and sucks on the ruby droplets seeping from the small lesion, your taste indistinguishable from his own. If you’d give yourself to him, then he shall unapologetically take that which he is owed; from the marrow in your bones to the crimson flowing through your veins, you are wholly his to consume.

“You're the one that I want—the one that I love.”

“Hnng—Astarion…” you moan his name as your mouths come apart, so sweetly that it stirs up in him the urge to again sink his fangs into your flesh. Yet he doesn’t; instead, he bucks his hips upwards, prodding your cervix with his cockhead, and an amused glint appears in his eyes as you react with a high-pitched squeal. Trying to hide the blush spreading across your face, you lean forward, resting your chin on the curve between his neck and shoulder, warm cheek pressed to his, and biting back a whimper, you timidly start sliding yourself up and down his cock. With your ear so close to his mouth, you can hear the soft grunts and shallow pants slipping from his lips whenever he disappears into you, the lewdness of it setting ablaze the waves of fire seething under your skin. Your leisure gait doesn’t last long, and you ride him more energetically with each bob of your body, which he reciprocates by burying his fingers deeper into your waist and pulling you down harder, feeling the pert nubs of your plump breasts brush against his chest as they bounce.

“You’re doing so well, little love,” Astarion says while peppering kisses across the delicate skin of your neck, sending shivers of pleasure down your spine. You can feel him pulsing inside you, bulging veins vibrating against your gummy walls as they are distended to their limit the stiffer he becomes. “Such a good pup for me, taking me so nicely,” he coos, bringing one of his hands to your navel, gliding the pads of his digits along the soft curve of your stomach and towards the ache throbbing in your crotch, where he then grasps your flushed clit between two deft fingers, massaging the tender knot with seasoned adroitness. The sound of smacking flesh grows louder as he pushes against your hips with his own, and you sink down his cock with greater abandon the more you approach the peak of ecstasy, your body glistening with sweat and burning red with his crimson. 

“Ah! I’m—close…” you stutter, your voice trembling as you work your thigh muscles with even greater ardor, letting go of his shoulders to lean back on your outstretched palms. With the fingers of his hand wedged between your legs, he continues stroking the rose-pink bud crowning your mound, moving the other from its place on your waist to gently squeeze one of your breasts, teasing the puckered nipple with his thumb. While watching you lose yourself in the rising crescendo of your release, he accidentally lets his gaze wander to the wound on your throat; promptly averting it, he chooses to focus instead on the luscious expression etched on your pretty face, his lifeblood blooming under your cheeks and nose—the moment you lock eyes with him, the tension finally snaps, and you buckle your elbows as your arms go limp, walls spasming around him and creamy pearls of come leaking from your stretched entrance.  

Spellbound by your cock-drunk image, Astarion pushes you down on the bed without warning, and cradling your face with both of his hands, pulls you into a lustful kiss, forcing your mouth open with his tongue. Still high off your climax, you don’t resist, obediently parting your lips, arms wrapped around his neck and legs around his waist. Shoving his thighs against the back of yours, he bends them into a mating press, and wasting no time, starts ferociously thrusting deep into you, setting a brutal pace; your walls contract and twitch around his enlarged girth, the ripples of your orgasm yet to peter out, making vulgar sucking noises as you swallow him whole. He moans into the kiss with every roll of his hips, blood buzzing in his ears and heart pounding violently inside his chest, fucking you greedily, indulgently, minding his own pleasure and naught else. Your body sways weightlessly like a ragdoll’s each time the base of his cock strikes your groin, but you care not about his rough treatment of you, for nothing brings you greater elation than knowing you can make him feel this way.

“So tight…” he growls with his mouth still pressed against yours, his voice muffled and breathy. Propping his torso up with one of his arms, he brings the hand of the other to your throat, squeezing it firmly, and pulls away to admire his handiwork, a dark intensity blazing within his eyes. “Oh, darling, you look so precious with my fingers around your neck.” His silvery curls fall over his brow as he says this, tousled and dripping with sweat, his appearance at once statuesque and animalistic. He ruts into you in a disorderly fray, his movements messy and sloppy as they usually are in the short moments preceding the culmination of his desire, and with one last powerful thrust, he empties himself inside your fucked out cunt, feeling your fluttering walls clench around him, milking him to the last drop.

“Sweet gods…” Slumping down on top of you, he embraces your sore body and buries his face in your hair, taking in your scent as his cock continues convulsing inside your raw, tender slit, hardened still. Filled with him and his seed, nestled in his arms, you feel comfortably full, warm, safe. Your eyes fall shut, tiredness suddenly overtaking your weary mind, and although erratic thoughts run through it, you hold onto none of them, deciding to just for today, just for this night, turn a blind eye to all implications, all the ill omens, and let yourself be; be by his side, be his spawn, be his bride forever more. 

As you drift off into a dreamless sleep, lulled by the gentle sound of his heartbeat, oblivion tenderly cradles you against its merciful bosom, and the clarity of the precipice of unconsciousness rips your burdens from your soul and makes your every worry seem so futile, so meaningless. Your fate is inevitable, as certain as death itself, and following the precepts of life is a vain undertaking, for they are not the same as those ruling over undeath. Astarion knows this; so should you. Existence is transient, but his dark love is everlasting.

There is a light in every living thing.  It’s crawling t’wards the surface to survive. And in its wake, it tramples everything. We’ll kill the rest, so that the one can thrive.

[samandcolbyownme]

Summary: Again, I think the cover art is pretty self explanatory 😚

Warnings: swearing, mentions of alcohol, bride!reader, angsty?, kissing, running away from wedding, fluff?

Word Count: 1.3k | unedited

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

You and Sam have been friends for years.

Nothing more.

That’s what you keep telling yourself, forcing yourself to try and believe, but a small part of you will always know the truth.

The months, weeks, and days leading up to your wedding were absolutely nerve racking. The planning, dress fittings, appointments for alterations, things were piling up.

But the one person who could calm your mess down, was Sam.

So you called him. A few times actually.

Your fiancé got along with Sam fairly well, but there were times where you could see the jealously written all over their face.

Even though you assured them, on multiple occasions, it got to a point to where the only time you spoke to Sam was when you needed to confirm whether or not he’s bringing a plus one - which he wasn’t.

You felt a weird weight lift off of your shoulders, but that shouldn’t bother you, right?

A few more weeks go by and eventually, its wedding day.

You were in your suite, getting all dolled up. Hair curled, nails done with a pretty design to match your dress.

Anyone who wasn’t you would think this day is beyond perfect, but you just couldn’t settle this feeling that’s been holding you hostage for, hell. As long as you can remember.

“You look so beautiful.” Your maid of honor juts her lip out as she fixes the curl handing down over your face, “The prettiest bride I’ve ever seen.”

You smile, taking a deep breath and before you can even get the question out, she nods, “He’s here.”

You feel your heart sink into your stomach and you stand up, “I need a second.” You walk over to the balcony, stepping out side and closing the door behind you.

You take a few deep breathes, placing your hands on the concrete banister, “Breath.” You whisper quietly to yourself, “Calm down.”

You stare out at the beautiful scenery, eyes moving over the landscape as you regain control of your rapid breathing.

The door cracks open, and your maid of honor pops her head in, “Ready when you are.”

You turn around, staring at her for a few seconds before you nod, “Okay.” You walk over, smoothing out your dress as you walk back into the room, “Let’s do this.”

You and your bridesmaids make your way down to where everyone is gathered.

Your hands were shaking the bouquet in your grasp as you stood there, waiting for your music cue. The first note of the instrumental and you felt like you could throw up.

You had to force yourself to walk, smile, pretend like you don’t want to turn around and hide.

Everyone stands and of course the first person you look at, is Sam.

His eyes never leave you, glistening as he watches you walk by him.

Your heart shattered as you kept moving to stand across from your fiancé. You place your hands into theirs and they lean in, “Are you okay?”

You laugh slightly, giving them a nod, “Just a little nervous.”

They smile and lean back, giving the officiant the go ahead.

You glance over to the crowd of people, swallowing when you see Sam’s gaze set on you, “You look beautiful.” He mouths, which causes your heart to skip a beat.

You smile slightly, looking back at the person who has your hands in theirs.

You feel guilty.

Sam wasn’t your friend.

You loved him, and you just wish you came to terms with it way before now, because you really didn’t want to do this.

You pull your hands away from theirs and the look on your face is telling, “I-i.. um.. I just..” you bunch up your dress and quickly make your way back up the isle.

You kicked off your heels and ran to the house. You didn’t stop until you were back in the bridal suite, door locked and back pressed against it.

Your breathing was ragged, both from running as fast as you could, and from the anxiety attack you were fighting off.

The knock on the door made you jump, but you stayed silent.

“Hey, y/n. It’s me.” Your maid of honor says in a loud whisper, “let me in.”

“Are they with you?” You ask as you rest your head against the door, and she answers, “No. just me.”

You open the door and pull her in, closing it behind you once again, “I-I don’t.. I don’t know what happened I-“

“Don’t. Don’t.” She walks over to you, cupping your cheeks, “Don’t do that.”

“I left him at the al-“ your voice breaks and you cover your face with your hands, “I-I don’t.. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing.. but it- I’m pretty sure I’m not doing it.”

You stay silent for a few minutes before you look up at her, “I’m in love with Sam.”

She nods, “I know.”

You give her a look and she laughs, “Please. I’m surprised nothing has happened between the two of you.”

You raise your brows, wiping away your tears from your cheeks, “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

There’s a knock on the door and you freeze. Your words are barely audible, “Who is it?”

She shrugs and walks over, cracking open the door before slowly opening the door. You turn around and you gasp, seeing Sam stand there with a smile on his face, “Hey.”

“H-hi.” You sniffle, covering your mouth. You fall down to the floor, sobbing and Sam is instantly next to you, “Hey. Hey.”

He rubs your back, tilting your chin up so you can look at him, “Y/n. Look at me.”

You blink a few times and look up at him, “It’s you. It’s always been you.” You pull him in and wrap your arms around him.

A smile plays at his lips as he holds you tight, “Wherever you are, is where I want to be.” Sam presses a kiss to your head and there’s a knock on the door.

You look over at it and your maid of honor motions to the balcony doors, “Go. I’ll stall.” You stare at her for a few seconds, shocked that this is all happening, and she motions again, “Go!”

Sam pulls you to your feet, and you walk over to the table, scribbling out I’m so sorry on a napkin and moving to the doors.

You watch as Sam climbs down first, it’s not that high, but it definitely looks it. You take a deep breath, swinging your leg over and climbing down the lattice that’s next to the banister.

Sam catches you as you lean back, and he stands you up, cupping your cheek before he kisses you quickly, “You sure you want to do this?”

You reach up, rubbing your thumb over his cheek, “More than anything.”

He smiles and slides his hand into yours, pulling you with him. You run away, laughing and smiling as you make your way to Sam’s car.

He opens the door for you, letting you get in and he pushes your dress in before closing the door and running around to get in himself.

“I’ve wanted to tell you, but you just seemed so h-“

You cut Sam off by leaning over and kissing him, “Get us out of here, baby.”

“Say no more.” Sam smiles as he kisses you one last time before turning the car on and starting to drive. He takes your hand into his, bringing it up to press the back of your hand to his lips, “I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you.”

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

I feel like this was kinda short but let me know what you think and yes yes, part 2. I hear you already 😂

Thank you so much for reading, I love you sooo much. See you in the next one.

Likes and reblogs are majorly appreciated!

[elizadoll]

Wedding Bells for Dolls!

CW: Dolls.

The dolls have decided to get married! All of them! They aren't quite entirely sure what marriage is, and they're not quite sure about all the intricacies of a wedding, but what they do know is that Miss had one very recently and now she has a Wife! All of the dolls decide they want a Wife too! How do they get a Wife? Well, Miss's Wife is a human like she is, so a doll's Wife should be a doll!

They all gather together in the garden and decide to hold a wedding! One of the dolls remembers an important-looking person that stood next to Miss and her Wife during the wedding, they said a lot of words before Miss got to kiss her Wife, so they must be important! A doll volunteers and takes its position at the end of the aisle. The person at the wedding was holding a book, so it brings along its favorite cook book to hold.

Oh, and there was a person there that played a violin too! Or was it a viola? The dolls could never manage to remember what the difference was. None of them could play the violin or viola, but one of them had a harmonica, so it volunteers to be the viola person! Or violin person!

Another doll points out that it remembers there was a huuuuuuge cake at the wedding! At least three dolls tall! They have to have a cake too to have a wedding! A trio of dolls look at one another and nod. They know how to bake! They've made Miss pancakes and biscuits and cookies before! A cake should be easy! They all run off towards the kitchen, ticking loudly with glee.

So a book doll, a music doll, and three cake dolls. That's important. The dolls put their heads together. What else does a wedding need? One remembers that Miss and her Wife held bouquets at the wedding, and it runs off to go pick flowers. Another remembers how Miss called it a 'flower girl' and asked it to spread petals down the aisle, so it follows the one that went to make the bouquet. A third pipes up, pointing out that they still haven't picked out which dolls will be married!

It is a tough decision with much deliberating, but eventually, the matter is settled! Two dolls step forward, one the tallest of all Miss's dolls, and the other the shortest of them all! Miss is taller than her wife, so the dolls conclude this pair makes the most sense!

Thus the dolls scatter and begin their preparations in earnest, until finally they all convene back in the garden where Miss's wedding was held. The doll in charge of bouquets hands each of the future Wife-dolls a handful of roses, pansies, and daisies, bundled together by strings of yarn tied around their stems. The 'flower girl' doll emerges soon after with a basket full of all sorts of petals of numerous colours and varieties.

The music doll begins to play its harmonica in an off-key tune, and finally the cake-dolls return with a towering stack of flapjacks. Miss told them not to mess with the oven unsupervised, so they couldn't make a proper cake, but when they realized that pancakes have the word "cake" in their name, they knew just what to do!

Finally, the preparations were complete, and together, the tallest doll and the shortest doll walked together down the aisle, bouquets in hand, trailing after the 'flower girl' who scattered the petals of lilies, dandelions, snapdragons, and many more in their path. When the two of them reached the book doll, it briefly panicked, unsure what to say, but it quickly settled on reading is favorite recipe from the book: spaghetti bolognese.

When the doll finished its recital of its recipe, it repeated the only words it actually remembered from the wedding: "You may now kiss the bride." The tallest doll and the shortest doll both blurted out the words "I do," half-certain those words were important when Miss and her Wife said them, before pulling one another into a nice, tender kiss.

And thus, two dolls were married! They were Wives! They weren't entirely sure what that meant, of course, but they were happy about it nonetheless! They celebrated, they cheered, and they shared many a pancake together. A doll wedding! A joyous occasion to behold!

[crssvjb]

Stages - Cristiano Ronaldo

Cristiano Ronaldo x model!reader

Summary: Stages of your relationship with football player Cristiano Ronaldo. From the moment you met until your first child.

Getting To Know Him

In 2006, at a fashion event where renowned model Y/N looked stunning on the catwalk, Cristiano Ronaldo, the football star, was fascinated by the model's beauty and magnetic presence. After the parade, Cristiano, determined, approached her to meet her.

– "Hello, I'm Cristiano Ronaldo. I loved your fashion show. You looked stunning." – He praises her.

Y/N smiles, impressed by the player's bold gesture.

– "Thank you, Cristiano. My name is Y/N. It's a pleasure to meet you."

– "Your presence on stage is mesmerizing. I would love to know more about you. Will you have dinner with me?" – Cristiano invited her.

- "Glad to."

The Dating - 2006-2007

Over the course of the year, Cristiano and Y/N began a serious relationship. Everyone could see how much the two were in love with each other. The relationship blossoms and, in 2007, Cristiano decides to make a significant statement.

Cristiano decides to create an unforgettable moment to ask Y/N to marry him. Plan a special night out at a beachfront restaurant, where the moon reflects off the crystal clear waters. – "Y/N, since we met, my life has turned into a dream. Today, I want to turn that dream into an eternal reality." – Cristiano began analyzing Y/N’s expression, changing from calm to curious and excited.

– “Cristiano, what are you doing?” – Y/N asked

Cristiano gets down on one knee, revealing a dazzling ring.

– "Y/N, you are everything to me. Will you be my wife, share your dreams with me, grow together, build a life full of love with me?"

Y/N can barely contain her tears of happiness.

– "Cristiano, yes! Of course yes." – Y/N responds through tears.

The restaurant explodes in applause as they embrace emotionally, marking the beginning of a new phase together.

Wedding - 2008

Cristiano and Y/N opted for the tradition of a church wedding, a ceremony that evoked a timeless charm. The church, with its colorful stained glass windows, was the perfect setting to seal their commitment.

Y/N walks down the church aisle, stunning in her wedding dress. The dress is a princess model, with a voluminous skirt and subtle shine. The fitted bodice enhances the elegance of the design, while the skirt flows gracefully with each step.

The long lace veil adds a touch of tradition, creating a fairytale aura. In her hands, Y/N holds a bouquet of fresh flowers, matching the soft colors of her dress.

Cristiano waits for her at the altar, his eyes shining as he sees her approach.

– "You look incredibly beautiful, darling." – Cristiano praises her, as soon as their hands touch.

After the “yes” pronounced with conviction, Cristiano and Y/N leave the church as husband and wife, receiving warm applause from friends and family.

The party takes place in a nearby room, where the tables are covered with white tablecloths and delicate floral arrangements. The dance floor is the center of attention, with twinkling lights lighting the way for the bride and groom's long-awaited dance moment.

Cristiano leads Y/N on the track. – "You look so beautiful, my love."

– "You're making me blush, Cris." – You looked away.

They dance slowly, lost in each other's gaze. Y/N's dress glows delicately under the lights, reflecting the couple's radiant happiness.

The party continues with laughter, lively music and exciting moments. The wedding, simple and elegant, is an authentic celebration of Cristiano and Y/N's love.

The News - November 2009

One peaceful morning, Y/N wakes up feeling a little different. A subtle sensation, but one that does not go unnoticed. She decides to talk to Cristiano.

– “Cristiano, I’ve been feeling a little strange lately, I’m feeling a little sick.” – Y/N said as she entered the room where Cristiano was.

Cristiano, attentive to Y/N's concerns, responds: – "Maybe it's something you ate last night. Let's take care of it, darling."

However, the days pass and the symptoms persist. Worried, Cristiano suggests a visit to the doctor. At the doctor's office, Y/N expresses her concerns and the doctor decides to run some tests.

– "Y/N, let's do some tests to understand what could be causing these symptoms." - The doctor said.

After some tests, Y/N and Cristiano anxiously await the results.

– "Well, here are the results... Y/N, congratulations. You're pregnant."

The office is filled with momentary silence as the news arrives.

Y/N, with tears in her eyes, looks at Cristiano, whose face lights up with a smile.

– "Pregnant? Cristiano, we're having a baby!" – Y/N smiles.

Cristiano stands up and pulls Y/N with him. She hugs her, while whispering in her ear:

– "I'm happy, love. This is amazing! We're about to be parents."

The doctor congratulates and gives guidance, and the couple leaves the office hugging each other, beginning to absorb the news.

– "We're going to be parents. I'm surprised, but happy." – Cristiano murmured.

– "Me too, Cris. This is the beginning of a new journey for us."

The Birth - July 2010

On a summer afternoon in Madrid, Cristiano and Y/N are in the living room of their house, anxious, knowing that their son would soon be here.

Y/N, who had already been having contractions since waking up, felt another one, deciding to get up to drink water.

– “Honey, is everything okay?” – Cristiano asked, a little worried, helping her to get up.

– "Yes, I'm just going to drink a glass of water." – As Y/N headed to the kitchen, something happened.

– "Cristiano, stay calm, okay? I think my water broke." – Cristiano, trying to remain calm, approaches quickly.

– "It's okay, my love. Let's go to the hospital. Stay calm, okay?"

– "I'm calm, love. Calm down. Help me go up to our room and get the bags." – Y/N said, while patting him on the shoulder.

Cristiano helped his wife climb the stairs and go to their shared bedroom, helping her change her clothes.

Cristiano was nervous and anxious, Y/N could see right through him. He went to the baby's room and took his and his wife's suitcase.

They get ready and head to the hospital, where the medical team promptly receives them.

In the delivery room, Cristiano remains next to Y/N, holding her hand affectionately.

– "You look amazing, love. We're about to meet our son." – Cristiano murmurs, kissing your forehead.

Y/N, between deep breaths, smiles at him. - "I look forward to meeting you."

The medical team guides Y/N, while Cristiano remains by her side, offering words of encouragement.

– "I'm here to support you at all times. You are strong, love."

The newborn's cries fill the room, and Cristiano and Y/N exchange an emotional look as they hold little Cristiano Ronaldo Jr.

- "He's so handsome." - Y/N murmurs, looking at the baby in her arms. – “I carried it for nine months and it looks like you.”

Y/N joked, earning a soft laugh from her husband. Cristiano takes his eyes off his son for the first time and looks up, finding his wife with a tired expression on her face, but he doesn't take his eyes off his son.

– "Thank you for everything, Y/N. He's perfect. I love you."

Y/N, exhausted, smiles as Cristiano gently caresses her face.

- "I love you."

It's been a month since Cristiano Ronaldo Jr.'s birth and the family's Madrid home is filled with baby babble. Júnior's grandmother, Dolores, is on her way to meet her grandson for the first time.

Dolores arrives at the family home in Madrid, eager to meet her grandson for the first time. The relationship between Dolores and Y/N dates back to 2006, when Cristiano introduced them, creating a special bond since then.

Cristiano welcomes his mother with open arms. – "Mom, I miss you! Come, you have to meet him."

Y/N, smiling, approaches and greets Dolores. – "Nice to see you again. I missed you."

– “From the moment Cristiano introduced us, I knew you were special.” – Dolores says kissing her daughter-in-law's cheek.

The three enter the room, where Cristiano Ronaldo Jr. is comfortably in his Moses-style bed, awake, curious about the visitor.

Dolores, moved, reaches out to take her grandson.

– "Hello, little Jr. You are the most precious jewel in this family."

Cristiano, looking at Y/N, expresses his gratitude. – "Mom, he's amazing, isn't he?"

– "Yes, Cristiano. And Y/N, I want to thank you. Since 2006, when Cristiano brought you into our lives, I always knew that you would be an essential part of this family."

Y/N, with tears in her eyes, replies: – "Dolores, it's a privilege to be part of this family, really. Cristiano and Jr., they brought more joy to my life."

– "You're not just part of this family, Y/N, you're like a daughter to me. Thank you for making my son happier and for giving us this incredible gift."

Y/N hugs Dolores from the side. – “Your words mean a lot to me. I am grateful for all your generosity and love.”

Cristiano approaches Y/N, placing a kiss on the top of her head as he watches his son in his mother's arms.

⎊𝙘𝙧𝙨𝙨𝙫𝙟𝙗 - ²⁰²⁴

[theroyalsims]

THE QUEEN AND ANYA GET SPECIAL PREVIEW OF ROYAL WEDDING EXHIBIT

Two months after Anya and Gus tied the knot in a lavish ceremony that was witnessed by millions of royal enthusiasts from around the globe, we finally get to see a closer look at some of the most special elements of TRH's big day - including Anya's "mystery" wedding tiara!

The Brindleton Royal Gallery (BRG) is expecting some major traffic beginning next week when it opens its doors to the public for a very special, limited-time, royal wedding exhibition, and the Gallery is estimating that at least half a million royal fans and fashion enthusiasts will be dropping by in the next two months. In an interview, the Chief Curator of the BRG reveals:

"The royal wedding attracted a lot of people not only from Brindleton, but from all over the world. We haven't formally opened it yet, but already there's a clamour for the exhibit. There's just something magical about weddings, and I suppose it being a royal wedding, well, it's twice as magical.

We're expecting at least 500,000 visitors within the next couple of months. We're anticipating that the most popular display will be the wedding ensemble of the Crown Princess. Everything is on loan from HRH, including her stunning wedding gown. We took our time to make sure everything is presented in the best way possible, and of course, with such priceless royal heirlooms on display, we've put up stringent security measures."

The first to see the exhibit is, of course, the bride herself, and Her Majesty the Queen. The royal mother-and-daughter duo dropped by earlier today for a very special preview of the exhibit.

(Above: Anya's wedding ensemble will be on full display, including a replica of the bridal bouquet. The original bouquet was presented by The Crown Princess to her grandparent's grave at the Royal Crypt.)

The two joked around when shown the  pièce de résistance, HRH's wedding ensemble encased behind thick tamper and bulletproof glass. The Queen was heard saying: "Why is it in prison? Will it run off and escape?"

The Crown Princess, meanwhile, couldn't help but get a little emotional when she saw her dress on full display. HRH remarked: "I love this dress. It's my dream dress and tiara. I loved seeing his face when he first saw me at the church. I loved every moment of it."

Speaking of her dream tiara, the all-diamond stunner has stumped even the most seasoned royal fashion and jewellery experts! Although earlier speculated to be a new tiara commissioned by the groom, it's actually a very precious family heirloom called the Whittleby Diamond Tiara, and it has one heck of a bittersweet backstory.

(Above: An emotional Anya was photographed reminiscing about her big day.)

The tiara was presented to Princess Marguerite by her lover, Lord Henry Whittleby. Lord Whittleby came from nobility, but his family lost both power and money due to Lord Henry's father's penchant for gambling. The tiara was the only one left of his mother's jewels.

Princess Marguerite's father, King Hiram II, did not approve of the couple's relationship and rejected their request to marry. Undeterred, the couple wed in secret. When King Hiram II found out, he took his daughter away and locked her in the Winter Palace. Unbeknownst to the King, Princess Marguerite was already with child. The King had Lord Henry imprisoned.

When the King died twelve years later, the new King, King Frederik (Princess Marguerite's older brother), pardoned a very frail Lord Henry. He was reunited with Princess Marguerite, and he held his daughter, Lady Anneliese, for the first time. Sadly, two months after his release, Lord Henry passed away. Princess Marguerite never remarried. Lady Anneliese, too, never married reportedly due to fear of having her heart broken like her mother. Without any issue to inherit her jewels, the tiara eventually reverted to the royal vaults.

King Frederik, who pardoned Lord Henry, is the late King Leopold's father, making Princess Marguerite Crown Princes Anya's great-grand aunt.

(Above: (L) Anya wearing the Whittleby Diamond Tiara on her wedding day. (R) the rarely-photographed Lady Anneliese Whittleby wearing the tiara during one of King Leopold's coronation festivities.)

Until Anya's wedding, the tiara had ever only been photographed once, worn by Princess Marguerite's daughter, Lady Anneliese Whittleby, during King Leopold's coronation.

When asked why she opted to wear her tiara for her wedding, considering its sad history, HRH responded:

"People tend to focus on the challenges they faced, and miss out on the fact that they never gave up on each other, and were eventually reunited, even for just a brief moment. It may have been a very short time, but they were together, and happy, and complete, and as in love as each other as the day they wed.

Aunt Marguerite wanted to wear it on her wedding day, but since their marriage was rushed, she never got the chance. And cousin Anneliese never married. I thought it would be a wonderful way to honour their memory, to wear it down the aisle. The world needs to know their story, and this beautiful tiara should see the light of day."

Hmmm... we can't help but wonder if Princess Marguerite and Lord Henry's love story resonated with the Crown Princess. It can be recalled that multiple rumours claim that Anya and Gus were forcefully separated by the Royal Family back in the day because they were too young and things were starting to get serious between the two? At least TRH eventually got the fairytale wedding some could only dream of! All's well that ends well!

The exhibit will run for eight weeks straight, staring Monday next week, so book your tickets now! Entrance is set a §35 a pop, but all proceeds will go to Crown Princess Anya and Prince Gus' charities of choice! Other items on display include a replica of the wedding cake, Anya's diamond-studded bridal shoes, Prince Gus' wedding ensemble, and the actual carriage the couple boarded!

See you at the Gallery!

[satocidal]

𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ Unfortunately, Yours

↳ Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader

Episode 2:-

||Masterlist||Taglist Form||Previous Chapter (one)—Next chapter(three)||

Synopsis: It is when the birth right is snatched from your hands that your eyes truly ever open—especially when it’s always been there, right in your grasp. The Throne was yours, that was the truth promised and yet- yet your fate lay sealed with a certain Gojo. With an arranged marriage set in plan, alongs sets the plan of murder—within a wife who wants the throne and a husband who wants nothing but power, but suffers with them the present and the future of other two—especially when the lies of the past start surfacing.

— Word count: 3.5k

— A/n: First things first, I’m so glad you guys like the first one because ajahkahaka the comments? So lovely. Second, this chapter is ig has…more depth? Idk lmao and and I’m kind of confused to as how you guys would like the fic—Royal and 18th century based? Or Royal and 21st century based?

— Warnings: Gojo shames reader for being virgin; mentions of cameras; illegal filming; reader is naked and gojo is partially naked; just gojo being a jerk here tbh<3

The ride back home was quiet- slow, heavy.

Two ends of the car, the two doors you two sat by- separated in between with all that was to be offered. Fingers played with the hem of your gown- you hadn’t shed a single tear, all spent already—while your sister let out a few, your mother none and your maids all too many.

The music your driver played was slow, a decent hum you supposed- he seemed a talkative man at that too-“I must say, M’lady, if allowed,” he paused and you eyed him, “It’s a blessing to have you as our bride,”

Our.

The word somehow found its way around you all the time—‘our daughter’, your family had said- ‘and now ours’, the Gojos had responded.

A gift passed hand to hand.

You smiled, “The pleasure’s all mine sir,” you smiled kindly—hands grip tightening on the bouquet beside you.

The rest of the ride was no more a blur than your wedding, it was late—exhausting.

Your eyes zoomed past the many trees, the road- a hefty conversation about taxes the driver initiated with Satoru—you couldn’t care less.

But you did care about him.

A certain charm he’d carried, a certain flair to it—just something and a lot of it too. You very wary, yes, Father had taught you better than this- he wasn’t honest. And you guessed, never would be, not for the longest time at least.

But you couldn’t help it- a moth to a flame and yet you watched as the wax that tipped away.

You were however sure of one thing, your plan- the perfect little plan crafted along the counts of the gazillion stars- he wouldn’t let it be that simple.

But enough we’re the thoughts of a man that wasn’t to be yours, enough thoughts of a man you weren’t supposed to know much of—enough to let your eyes wander back at the white haired man—your husband.

The car halted just then- you were there, the Gojo Mansion—your home- no, your house.

Shy glances spared, a lick of the lips- you could taste your sister’s lip gloss still, strawberry —you weren’t sure what it was called- you never cared enough.

Satoru stepped out himself—you paused, not sure if he’d open the door for you—Father always did.

You waited and waited, his silhouette never moved so the Driver did—a kind man, you presumed him to be. With the gown a heavy set and shoes that bled your ankles anyways you stepped into the chilly night—the mansion, a dream, a ghost.

It was dark, the mansion built secluded- garden, large; a fountain resided in it too- unnecessary, you mused—a fence and a couple 100 guards— white, marble, orthodox. Your eyes narrowed- the moon was bright that night- the mansion reflected it beautifully. You despised it.

Yours was the last to arrive, the other cars parked outside- of course, formalities and lies, smiles and frowns- weddings.

Your mother-in-law, she rode the blue—The Gojo colour the tabloids had called it- now yours too.

Suguru rode in black- it was his, always. Up until your wedding, Satoru rode it too but as traditions went, Satoru’s new colour was White.

Yours and his.

Reflective, pensive, beautiful and pure.

“Come,” he ushered you inside finally- but you were already there, no? In there house- a month ago itself.

He was never around when you dropped by, calculated of course- shy smiles and elegant touches, you’d never gotten so close as to see his room- you were grateful but mothers, his and yours, they were persuasive enough.

You walked quietly beside him, equals, the law had defined you now. Equal footing.

Satoru Gojo didn’t bother much, or at all and you realised the first night of your wedding, none of the Gojos did. The first step inside was hollow, quiet, empty. The living room a dark hall and the pictures- a display of what these people could be in front of cameras.

His footsteps were heavy, your gown heavier, and your heart.

A thud you heard behind you- Suguru came to your vision, his smile first.

“Suguru,” you murmured, eyes seeking after Satoru instantly, you felt lost.

“M’lady,” he grinned, chills danced along your spine—“Satoru,” he nodded towards his best friend—“Glad to see you’ve reached safely- I’d be worried had something happened to either of you,” only the faint light in the corner lit up the room- cynical- your eyes narrowed.

“I’d have hoped it would,” exhausted was he? Perhaps, you supposed for he didn’t even care enough to hide his desperation, his frustration of the wedding- your eyes narrowed further.

“Why Suguru,” you reciprocated his gaunt smile, “We have your blessings on us, and the family’s right? Nothing could ever…” you let your words trail away, you stood vulnerable—not a single weapon in hand, you’d felt naked all night.

“Nothing of course,” he nodded, reassuringly- reassuring himself.

A cough- sudden, Satoru’s—“Come,” he repeated, leading the way this time, finally to his room—and just something in you hardened; nervous, you followed him.

-

You stood there, quiet in his room—unsure.

A month had gone in the preparation—the wedding, your stances, your elegance, your beauty. A month to perfect your youth and yet not a single person crept in to tell you of what was, perhaps, the most important part, at least it seemed to be.

Your husband was gone a decent 15 minutes, you stood there blankly—would he do it? Your heart raced.

Has he done it before? Why, of course he must have. But pity befell you all together, a life time spent in living after your father’s potential, all that was yours was gone. Privacy and curiosity of self—gone.

The bathroom door snapped open, sudden, your eyes rushed on to it—hands clammy and beats, faster—his brows raised.

“What are you doing?”

You didn’t know.

Silence you offered him—a hand raking through his wet hair he responded with—a bathe, you realised he’d taken.

But evident it was, with his black sweatpants and dark blue shirt, oversized even for him—the one Suguru had gifted him years ago draped over his body, a towel resting upon his shoulders.

“Sorry,” you muttered quietly, “the luggage confused me,” you lied through your teeth—embarrassing was the fact you’d stood all straight, unmoving in his thoughts and yours.

He hummed—“Strip,” his voice a command, your eyes watched him slowly.

“What,” you mumbled—not believing him—not wanting to believe him.

He rolled his eyes, “Don’t act like you’ve never…” he paused, a brow raising, “Have you ever?”

You found yourself shaking your head—face warming up and embarrassment flooding you.

You weren’t truly sure what you’d have expected of him—not compassion, no—but then… a chuckle was not quite it.

“You’ve never had sex?” And all too suddenly, his voice sounded ten times louder—and an immeasurable times cockier—“A prude, aren’t ya? Bet you are,” he grinned- your heart sank.

You bit your lip, the gown and it’s accessories digging into your plush skin—uncomfortable you stood your ground.

“Kissed? You must’ve kissed someone?” You felt your voice get shaky even when you hadn’t spoken a word- your silence, he presumed to be denial.

Another chuckle—your eyes were moist.

“Oh bless my heart,” he chuckled, “I scored myself a virgin Hm?” Amused- he found you amusing, a toy.

You wanted to fight back- you wanted to shout, scream but when tears streaked your face, because you knew they would, you were unsure to how serious he’d deem you.

A silence enveloped the two of you as he let himself get comfortable on his bed- his- “Tell me darling,” he purred, “Ever touch yourself? Or waited your Daddy to teach you that too?”

Your face downturned- it didn’t show him your baffled expression- you were hurt, raged, saddened, a mess.

“Shut it,” you whispered- he laughed.

“You really were daddy’s princess Hm?” He’d gotten up now, so did his impeding pace- “So, gonna strip for me now darlin’?”

Only your disgusted eyes met him- “you’re pathetic,” you rasped- feet worked fast to move away- your night suit grabbed, the new one, the one your mother packed forcefully and how wished she’d have helped you through this too—your door locked.

The light in the dressing was low—it could’ve been better, you made a mental note to have it changed too, your hefty hands craft fully took off your gown- heart aching, mind a mess and gasping for space.

Your fingers slowly took off everything, everything but the ring remained — vouched at least to not be throw away on the night of your union; a steady rhythm of “don’t cry” repeating in your mind.

You sighed- eyes not daring to look at yourself once in the mirror—ashamed you continued, exhausted limbs slowly carried upon your form the silk suit. Your eyes landed upon your makeup, your hair—you weren’t very sure on the process of getting it off, you tried your best.

The hair was left as is, too afraid you were to tangle it and the make up drained by the clog as you washed your face twice, any and every sign of your tears gone—you finally stepped out—Satoru was awake, hands that typed fast on his phone came to a halt.

The smirk, the boyish kind adorned him again—“Thought I told ya’ to strip princess,”

You didn’t reply, you didn’t want to- mayhaps you couldn’t.

You frowned shortly—“Wouldn’t want a manwhore like you to touch me,”

Voice all the more cocky, “You should feel blessed darlin’”

His grin—his empty attempt of saving his reputation at your words was nothing short of unnerving- your jaw clenched.

You moved slowly towards his bed—about to climb in when—“What are you doing?”

You didn’t know. Was it some tradition you didn’t know- your mind ran fast—“wouldn’t wanna sleep with a man-whore either right?”

Silence—you licked your lips.

“But I’m generous sweety,” he chuckled, “the floor must be as comfortable as ever,” with that he nodded, lights switched off all too soon—indication of the end of the conversation.

And when all was said and done, your body found itself pressed on the hard ground — back aching, mind more so —heart broken already. Never expected your marriage to be great, you hadn’t but this certainly was not it.

A tear fell down your eye, this time a loud sob too- you weren’t ashamed anymore, not in the presence of man you didn’t care about you whatsoever. Eyes red and pillow wet by them too—you slowly drifted to slumber unwanted.

In moments such for you guessed there were more to come, you hated him.

The morning was bleak, the morning was shy.

“Morning,” a voice chirped- your fingers moved to grab your blade- none to be found, in fact now that your consciousness lay awake , you realised you weren’t laying on the ground you slept on.

A duvet wound around you and a pillow under your head—tears dry and measly.

“Morning,” you rasped—mind instantly drifting onto him—your plan—the mansion—“Sato’s practicing out there with Master Gojo,”

Eyes narrowed at her words—Sato?

Presumed to be her personal assistant, you looked up—mid 50s you assumed her age to be, short, rounded and pretty.

Humming to her words, you slowly got up—all too aware of her wandering eyes to your white bed sheets—meant to be painted red last night.

“How was the night?” Voice sweet, she chuckled quick—“Fine,” you replied and perhaps it was just fine in some sense of it.

She grinned at your words—brows you raised with an element of surprise when she handed you warm water, “For your throat baby,”

You nodded.

Your eyes followed her quietly as she shuffled around the room, working quick to gather Satoru’s daily attire—“He’s a good kid,” she said softly, “A little rough on the edge but you’ll be soon a part of him,” her smile was nice—you didn’t favour much, that which was considered nice.

You walked slowly around the bed—“You’ll go to meet him right?” An internal groan let out—you didn’t want to meet anyone, let alone him of all—mind too preoccupied with other thoughts as is.

“I’m not…” you paused, the excuse on the tip of your tongue, “uh- not freshened up,” a wholesome chuckle left her- you couldn’t help smile at her smile too.

“It’s not the fifties sweety,” she grinned, “I’m sure your husband can handle you in the morning after a decent night,” your face felt hot—your husband—his wife.

You nodded, a lick of the lips—“I’ll be there soon,”

She nodded now—“you know the way sweetcheeks?” Your heart warmed at her constant nicknames, “Yes…” your voice faltered, embarrassed slightly to not know the kind woman—“Kanao,” she smiled.

You smiled back.

-

Footsteps were oh so light as you walked, hair matted- shame left in that room as you walked- the simple art of walking, Father called it.

Walk along the hundred servants you did- half didn’t acknowledge you, half didn’t know you—and so you walked. The kitchen and then the garden—little cameras you’d planted everywhere, you smiled.

Intact.

A month since you’d begun your little charade—harmless really, in a way for you’d never release these videos—not unless it was necessary of course—it was self defence really.

5 in the kitchen and you had full knowledge of every cabinet and the rat poison’s the Gojos stored, the sharpness of each knife memorised; 3 in Kana Gojo’s bedroom—blackmail after all was taught to you hefty—your heart jumped at the letters she’d bring in the room, intel of yours knew the contents of all.

But only you did—not your father here nor your sister; this was your fight.

You’d checked every room you’d planted those cameras in—grateful to every lesson your Father implanted in your head—two room remained.

The dining and Your Father-in-law, Ginji’s—hand grasped onto the handle, you turned it—“M’lady?” You’d have jumped if not for a childhood spent in training your nerves—you smiled politely, confusion masking your expressions.

“Suguru,” you exclaimed—“This is the recreation room, yes?” Lies fell from your tongue sharp, easy.

His brows furrowed, “No?”

“No?” You mirrored his expressions—Father used to call you the perfect mime.

His brows raised—“That’s…Master Gojo’s Room?” Your pretence would’ve caught most, not him, but he smiled all the more—“Satoru’s down, here, let me take you,”

You knew he knew and you smiled just the same—“Yes please,”

Hands held behind his back, he walked swift—eyes downcast, whispers in his shadows—loud.

Suguru Geto, the assassin, some called him, the generous one—the others.

Neither shared a word until he finally halted, “Here it is,” door opened ajar—a slight scent of musk prevalent.

You peeked in—men and women alike—practicing all the same—no classes held, no power.

Sheer strength and agility.

Your eyes were quick to find him, towering most he stood—your eyes widened still, bare chested.

You’d seen men such all the time- Father trained you well after all, but those men weren’t supposed to be your husband- those men were different. Suguru seemed to have caught that still, a smirk plastered on his lips- “Most his girls have that reaction,”

Words mistaken, he realised quick, “My apologies M’lady,” eyes not daring to meet your amused expression- you chuckled, “I’m sure you have the same effect Suguru.” With that, you left him standing back, a smile on his face too.

Seduction lay at your finger tips—ironic was the fact; mastered weaponry in your other hand—result of nights and days spent crying in pain.

“Y/n,” a voice boomed loud—your father-in-law, you grinned, “Father,” you called him—as you had been for a month now.

“Here to watch the loser?” He laughed- always the chummy kind he was, “kind of here for the star of the show,” you wink at him, “Which is you of course,”

It was light hearted banter- a here and there which never mattered, he was different, far too different from your father.

“Why of course, but pray tell- is it today I get to set my eyes on your skills? I’ve heard much too praise to believe it,”

No.

Your smiled pursed—“If the King so orders My Lord,” you bowed your head slightly—words charming enough, “I’ve seen your mind Y/n,” he mused, “It’s beautiful,” no, it was dangerous- it was brilliant, you knew that.

“But the old heart craves to see the spin of your hand, the control on your swords—vicious, don’t they call you?”

A flick of the dagger embedded into your slip on gown—the one you’d hid quick from Suguru, the one you’d had crafted just for yourself, the one which was yours—a single swish and the King would be dead.

“My lord,” you bit your lips, “Are you sure the word was for your sweet daughter-in-law?” His laugh boomed again—“Humble Hm?”

You scoffed—“Dad,” face whipped to come to contact with Satoru, you looked away instantly, “You’ve got her blushing already kid?”

Lips bit you turned away slightly, fingers curled hard—“Wouldn’t want her showing you nothing today dad,” Satoru grinned as he sat down, a short breath exhaled as he sipped water, “Too sore after last night,” your face heated up at his comments- widening eyes stared at his hair.

Ginji merely chuckled away, leaving you two behind—“Loser,” Suguru mumbled, smacking his head—“Have some shame,” Suguru didn’t meet your eyes.

Interesting a man, you deemed him.

“My wife, my rules yeah?” Satoru stared at your feet—your eyes trained on his sweat lined shirt—riveting an action, he tickled your mind just a certain way.

-

You sat in his bed, it was tall- long- meant to suit his size, you felt small. Hands clasped onto your bath gown you waited for Satoru to get back, “Stay in the room,” his words seemed a warning then.

Satoru didn’t bother being nice anymore, he hadn’t at all even in the beginning but the facade was dropped all too soon as he pushed you into the room.

“Are you out of your damn mind?” His voice a whisper, sharp—“Why did you go out there?”

No issues traced your mind to your stepping outside—his tone enraging you all the more—never one to take unnecessary issues at hand, your forehead ticked, “I don’t see the issue dear husband,”

“Blinded by your own stupidity?” A smirk rested on his face quick- peculiar was the sudden change, “Alright whatever,” he scoffed, “Breakfat is a certain time,” —8:35 a.m., you had the time memorised—“they’ll expect you at the table by then,”

Eyes drifted to the clock, both of yours—it was 8:05 a.m.

“Let me go first,” not a request, more so a command.

He snorted—“Alright, here’s rule no. 1: never tell me what to do because I do not listen to the likes of you,”

Your jaw clenched— before you could add your own insult, he grinned—“Should’ve never stepped out of the room, should you baby? Tried at being a good little bride and actually done your job—prodding little bitch aren’t ya?”

Blood boiled inside you, hands curled into fists, tempted all too much to land a punch—“get out off my way,” through gritted teeth your words fell—never so patient with your own family.

A shake off his head had you regretting your own patience—“Two options,” he mused and turned around- entering the bathroom, ushering you outside still.

“Either you wait, have your privacy and ruin your first breakfast here or,” he eyed you softly, “bathe beside me. I won’t join you but you’ll have to do it within my presence,” all too sure if the fact that you’d never choose the later, he cackled.

The door almost locked at your face when you dropped your gown—naked you stood, his brows raised.

Fighting all urges to be embarrassed you stepped into the shower- eyes down cast, not a single attempt to hide your form—we are married now, you reminded yourself, we are one.

Satoru watched you amused for a second too long- eyes lingering and then swept away as if you didn’t matter, as if he didn’t care—your heart ached at the ignorance.

Shy hands lathered your own body, eyes drifting to his torso—your scars complimented his, you hated yours but his seemed so gorgeous.

Everything but his torso covered, yours naked—your eyes danced along his form, his never at you. The power play was simple.

Swift hands pulled the razor—he shaved quick, you washed your body faster, biting your lips when he didn’t spare a single glance back. You didn’t crave validation from most, Father was enough but these were matters beyond that- not a little girl you remained, someone’s wife. Heart raced at the thought of your naked form in front of him—in front of anyone for that matter.

A first for you, nth for him—you didn’t matter, your heart had presumed—never be pretty enough for him, you consoled. A heart begged for some recognition and you got none, a towel wrapped around you as you stepped outside—glad you were that hiding tears in the shower was easy a feat enough.

Satoru stood in—finally allowing himself to shower, the room scented of your perfume, your maids worked quick on your make up- your eyes laying bare, a new topic for their idle gossip.

All do this work is original and entirely my own—please refrain from copying or reposting.

Reblogs and likes highly appreciated!

— Taglist: @isentsworld @rizzmin @4sat0ruu @yooiimiya @ackerstain @lavendervogh @ackerstain @spaceisfarfarawayy @gojoismybitch

[herroyalhighnessqueenmomo]

Faded Memories (Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader) |Part 12|

A/N: It's baaaaack!! I know this took literally for fucking ever and I am so sorry to make y'all wait so long. I'm hoping the length of this part makes up for the wait a bit.

You woke up right next to Eddie. You were in his arms as your head rested on his chest. You looked up to see his sleeping face. You kissed his cheek and went to get up but got pulled back into his embrace. "No I want you to stay here." Eddie grumbled out. You giggled. "Eds come on I gotta get up." You struggled against him.

He only grumbled again in protest. "Edddie." You whined. He peaked his head up. His eyes were squint from the harsh light coming into the room. His hair was getting into his face and it honestly looked like a chicken landed on it. You snorted out a laugh from seeing the expression on his face. "Just stay in bed with me. We can sleep in." He said gruffly.

You looked at the digital clock beside the bed. "Eddie its already about to be 12:30, how much more do you wanna sleep in?" You asked. He didn't answer. He only nuzzled his face into your neck. You caressed his hair as he laid practically on top of your chest. "We got a lot to do today. We have to find me a job since I was pretty much forced to quit unexpectedly last night. Then we need to tell our friends that my memory is back officially and-"

"Our friends already know your memory is back." He mumbled out into your neck. "No, only Nancy, Robin, and Steve. The kids don't know and neither does the rest of Hellfire. Plus the guys at your shop would be thrilled to find out my memory is back too." You explained. "I'm not going to the shop on my day off." Eddie deadpanned. "Okay then we can go to the shop tomorrow." You replied.

"Oh and let's not forget we need to talk about how we will go about making our marriage legally official. Personally I think we should just elope and get married at the courthouse." At hearing this Eddie has shot up and looked at you wide eyed. "What? Did you forget that I wanted us to get married?" He shook his head. "No that's not it. I just can't believe you would actually just want to elope and not hold a ceremony." He replied. "Why is that so hard to believe? I mean you already had an actual wedding before. You don't need another one just to marry me."

He still looked at you in disbelief. "You're telling me you don't want a real wedding? Isn't this something you have always dreamt of?" He asked you. "Why? Because I'm a woman? You automatically think I have always dreamt of walking down the isle dressed like a pretty princess in high heels? With a big bouquet of flowers. While everyone I know watches me shine?" You began to rant. Of course you have wanted that but the concept seemed odd to you. Over two months after Eddie's first wedding he will have another one with a completely different bride?

You surely weren't trying to be the topic of conversation going around in Hawkins. If the two of you went along with the idea of an actual wedding the whole damn town would be whispering about the spectacle. "If you're sure you don't want an actual wedding then I would be completely fine with eloping." Eddie stated breaking you out of your thoughts.

You gave him a nod. "Then its a plan. We'll elope."

The two of you ended up calling all of your friends and told them to meet at Nancy's office. You double checked with her before hand and she said it was okay. You were getting ready and Eddie was taking a shower when you heard a knock at the door.

You became a little nervous wondering if it was Kendra. You chucked the idea as you got closer to the door realizing she would just walk in if it was her.

You opened the door and your heart damn near sunk to your ass as you saw your mother. "Y/N M/N L/N. I thought you were in New York to go 'find yourself' but then I heard you were still in Hawkins. You lied to your father and I?! You didn't just lie to me you got married to Eddie Munson? Do you have anything to say for yourself?" She asked as she crossed her arms.

Your mouth was agape as you struggled to come up with words. "Well? I'm waiting." She said seeming impatient and frustrated. "Mom it really wasn't like that. Its much more complicated. I really was supposed to go to New York." You tried to reason. "So what you accidentally missed your flight and married your best friend instead? Did you really think your father and I wouldn't approve or something?"

You shook your head. "No thats not it. I didn't miss my flight to New York. Mom you didn't hear the news about what happened?" You asked her. She shook her head. "No you know damn well that our TV doesn't work that well and your father is too cheap to purchase a new one." She replied.

Your mom had no idea that for this whole time you were gone about what happened to you. You now understood why she was so upset. You forgot about your parents. For all she knew you were in New York and never let her know you were okay. "Mom my plane crashed." All color drained from her face. "It what?! That can't be true. I-I oh my god I'm so sorry. Are you okay?" She asked as she took a moment to examine you.

"I'm fine now mom. I had temporary amnesia and Eddie took care of me. The hospital wouldn't let him visit me until he told them he was my husband. When I woke up he told me the same thing, that he was my husband." You explained. She scrunched up her eyebrows. "I don't understand, why would he do a thing like that?" She asked.

"Because I realized I was actually in love with your daughter." You heard Eddie's voice emerge from behind you. Your mom crossed her arms as she looked at him. "It took you this long to realize that?" You turned your head to look at him. "No. It just took me this long to actually do something about it. I didn't know she had feelings for me too." He replied.

She huffed. "So then you two aren't actually married, just living together? Your father won't be happy about that. He's going to want you to move back home." Eddie wrapped his arms around you. "Well we were planning to actually still get married." He said.

You nodded and gave her a smile. "Well actually I decided we should just elope so that we-"

Your mother put her hand up for you to stop talking. "I'm sorry you want to what?"

"Elope...we don't need to have a big thing out of it bec-" You began to explain. "And you were okay with this idea?" Your mom asked as she looked at Eddie. He shot up his hands in defense. "Hey don't look at me. I tried to tell her we could still have a wedding but she wouldn't listen."

Your mother looked at you again. "Why on Earth would you want to elope? I thought you always wanted a wedding? Hell you even nagged me for eloping with your father myself."

"Thats because you guys deserved an actual wedding." You tried to reason. "And you don't?" She shot back. You remained quiet. "Your father and I eloped because I couldn't leave my parent's house until I was married and they didn't like your dad. Your grandfather refused to help if we had a wedding and we didn't have money at the time." Your mom explained.

You nodded. "I know mom." You looked down at your feet. "Then you know you have a choice to actually do a wedding or elope and regret it the rest of your life." She stated. You gave her another nod. "Y/N you are my only daughter. I want to see you happy. I would love to see you in a beautiful dress and walk down the isle with your father beside you. I know that in the end you will do whatever you want but I think you should take what I said into consideration."

You took a deep breath. "Okay mom." She smiled. "I love you honey bee." She gave you a hug. "I love you too mom." You hugged back. "Now I better receive an invitation to a proper wedding soon or the next time you see me you're going to get another earful." She stated as she pulled away. You let out a laugh. "Okay I get it mom." Your mother was about to head downstairs. "Hey mom?" She looked at you. "Yes Honey Bee?" "Aren't you worried that people are gonna talk about how Eddie is marrying me less than 3 months after marrying someone else?"

"Hon, people are always gonna talk no matter what. They don't directly affect your life so don't let their words prevent you from being happy. Besides, since when did you start caring about what people say to you? I thought I raised you different than how I was raised. I raised you to keep your head held high and to march your feet to the beat of your own drum." She advised.

You knew your mother was right. The woman could be a damn sage if she wanted to. You learned that the best thing you could ever do for yourself in life is always listen to her. "I love you mom." You smiled at her. "Love you too Honey Bee." With that she left.

You shut the door of the apartment and leaned back on it. You looked crossed your arms as you looked at Eddie. "Well I guess we are having a wedding after all." He had a huge smile on his face and went to embrace you. "Have I ever told you how much I loved your mom?" Eddie asked as he hugged you.

"You might've mentioned it once or twice in the past, yeah." You laughed. He pulled away from you. "Now go get ready so we can head out. I'll make us some late breakfast in the meantime." You gave him a nod and went to the bathroom. You brushed your teeth and went to to take a quick shower. Afterwards you walked out the bathroom in a towel and went to your shared bedroom to get dressed.

You searched your drawers and decided to throw on a Fleetwood Mac t-shirt and black jeans with your white All-Stars. You threw your hair up in a side ponytail and walked out of the bedroom. You smiled at the smell of food. "Mmm something smells pretty damn good." You stated as you walked over to see Eddie placing some scrambled eggs next to two slices of bacon on a plate.

He handed the plate to you. "Bone apple squeeze or whatever it is the French say." He said. You burst out into laughter. "It's bon appetit." You corrected him. "Gesundheit" He replied. You laughed again. "No babe I wasn't sneezing I was telling you how the French say it. It's bon appetit." You explained. "Could've fooled me." You rolled your eyes and put your plate down on the table and got yourself a cup of water then took a seat at the table.

You began to eat. Eddie walked over shortly after with his plate of food. "Tastes good Eds." You stated. "Good. I'm not much of a chef." He sat down and began eating too. "Hey babe?" He looked up. "Now that the cat's out of the bag about my memory being back and all, can you tell me what happened between you and Kendra? From what I thought, you guys got married that day of the plane crash. Then I wake up and you decided I was going to be your wife." Your curiosity got the better of you and you just had to know.

He took a deep breath. "Well, after the ceremony when we officially got married, I went to the backroom where I last saw you to look for you since I didn't see you anywhere else." "Okay." You nodded for him to continue. "That's when I found that note you left me about having to leave to catch your flight. By the time I finished reading it and I realized that Nancy, Robin, and Steve helped you to move, I was pissed." You furrowed your eyebrows. "How come?" "Well they did that behind my back and let you leave Hawkins. So I confronted them. The girls were just as pissed too because they blamed me for you leaving, which, to be fair, they were right. They stormed out of the backroom and Steve tried to level with me."

"But what does this have to do with Kendra and you?" You asked. "Let me get there." He replied. "So anyways, that's when Kendra came into the room bitching about me leaving her out there alone when we just got married. I personally didn't give a shit at the time, I just wanted to figure out where you were so I could bring you back. After that I think it was Robin who came rushing in for us to come over to the bar to watch the TV. That's when we saw the news about your crash." He took in a shaky breath and his eyes started watering as he remembered the sinking feeling in his gut when he thought you were gone forever.

He cleared his throat. "Anyways Robin figured you might still be alive but in one of the hospitals in Indianapolis so we frantically looked in the phone book for the name of the hospital. When I called they were too busy to confirm if you were alive so I decided to head there myself to find out for sure. Of course Nancy, Robin, and Steve wanted to come too."

"Wait, and Hellfire club didn't want to come with?" You asked. "Oh, I don't know. They were in the corner away somewhere doing, god knows what at the time." "Oh." "Anyways. By the point that's when Kendra got pissed because she didn't want me to leave the reception. She knew it was a matter of life and death and she didn't even give a shit if you were dead. All she cared about was the stupid wedding. When I realized she didn't care about the most important person in the world to me, I couldn't be with her anymore. I decided to get our marriage annulled and that was pretty much it."

"Wow, I knew Kendra could be a bit of a pretentious bitch, but damn she wasn't even concerned in the slightest if I was okay?" You asked. "Nope." "Damn. Well good fucking riddance. I never liked her anyways." You responded. "Apparently nobody did. I just have a shit judge of character."

"I don't think you have a shit judge of character." He looked up at you with a raised eyebrow. "Okay your judge of character was a little questionable, but I think you're getting better now." His softened as he gave you a small smile. "Thanks."

The two of you finished eating and left the apartment via Eddie's notorious, slightly more questionable than his judge of character's, van. When you got to Nancy and Jonathan's place you noticed you two were actually the last to arrive. "Oh great, we're the ones who made the invite and ended up being the last ones to our own scheduled hangout. Good fucking going, Munson." You half joked.

He snapped his head over to look at you so quickly you could've sworn you heard his neck crack. "How is it my fault?! Last I checked it was your mother who decided to drop by and cause us to be late." He sassed. You blinked a few times not expecting that response. "Well then." Was all you said as you hopped out the van and went inside the ex-diner. Eddie was speeding right behind you.

"Well look who finally decided to grace us with their presence." Dustin said with a very disapproving and sarcastic tone. "Yes, I'm sorry that we were late it was my mother who had stalled us earlier before we left." You said very pointedly and gave Eddie a criminally offensive side eye.

Nancy cleared her throat. "So why did you bring us all to my office for?" She asked. "Right. Um, so as you may all know. I was recently in a very dramatic and tragic plane crash that thankfully didn't kill me. Which by the way some of you," You looked over at the Hellfire Club. "Hadn't come to visit me since then."

"Um excuse me, I call bullshit, we wanted to visit you, Eddie was the one tha-" Eddie made quick big gestures for Dustin to quit talking immediately with his hands. You saw the gestures from the corner of your eye and looked over at Eddie to see him try and play it cool by whistling while looking the other direction. "Eddie what?" You asked Dustin as you furrowed your eyebrows.

It got quiet all of a sudden making the silence awkward. "He told us that you didn't want visitors and that meeting new people would make you hysterical." Will suddenly spoke up. "He what?!" You snapped your head over to look over at Eddie who was avoiding your gaze. "Hysterical? Were you trying to make me sound like a mental health patient?" You asked him.

He gave a small shrug. "Well...technically you were, your mental health had memory loss." He said quietly. "Tha-That's not the same!"

"I feel like we just accidentally opened a can of worms for them." Lucas stated. "Yeah, no, shit Sherlock." Dustin replied. "Okay man, just back off, it's your fault that they're arguing anyways." Lucas snapped back. "I didn't do anything, I was just simply trying to clear my good name. Will here was the one who actually spilled the goddamn beans."

"Me? You clearly started it and just left Y/N hanging without a clear answer I-"Will began but cut off by Steve. "Okay guys knock it off. Y/N, Eddie, for the love of God would you guys just actually tell us what's going on?"

You took a deep breath. "I wanted to announce to everyone that I officially have my memories back." Everyone cheered. "And?" Eddie nudged you lightly. "And we are making our marriage legit." Everyone kind of clapped but some of them were a little slow as they all looked at each other in confusion. "I'm sorry did I miss something? Your marriage? When did you guys get married?" Mike asked. "We didn't" You replied. "That's why we are going to make it legit." You responded.

"I think what Mike is trying to say is that the way that you say it implies that you two are somehow already married." Dustin chimed in. "Oh that. Yes, so since you guys didn't already know, while my memory was out Eddie took me in and had me believing he was actually my husband this whole time. When I got my memory back I just decided to go with it. Last night we agreed we want to be actually married to each other legally." You explained.

"I am somehow more confused then I was before." Jeff said suddenly. "Its a really long story. The important thing is that we are getting married." You replied then looked over at Eddie and gave him a smile. "So....that's it?" Dustin asked. "What do you mean, 'ThAt'S iT'?" You asked him confused. "Were you expecting something else?" He shrugged. "Well I don't know I just would have liked something that was more...I don't know...dramatic?" He tried to find the words. Your mouth was wide open. You looked over at Eddie. In your mind you were hoping he'd handle his child before you blew a gasket.

"Man, what are you talking about? They just announced they were getting married." Lucas tried to reason. "She just woke up from a coma literally two months ago!" He exclaimed. "Sure but did anyone really doubt that they were going to end up together?" Dustin asked as if it was obvious.

"Yes!" Everyone exclaimed.

"He married somebody else." Erica reminded him. "Yeah but for only about a week. That hardly counts." He argued. Eddie huffed. "Well little sheep. If its a touch of drama and shock you look for, then don't you worry." You looked over at him confused. There wasn't anything else to tell. "We're also planning to have a baby."

"What?!" Multiple people exclaimed. "If that's supposed to be an April Fools prank it isn't funny." Robin stated. "Eds we haven't really worked the details out on that." You whispered loudly. "What's there to work out? I mean with what happened last night after I kind of-" You rushed to cover his mouth to spare everyone in the room the trauma. "You then plastered a nervous smile as you looked at the group. "Please tell me you're joking." Nancy stated.

"Dustin you just had to push to hear something dramatic didn't you?" Mike asked. "Well how the hell was I supposed to know they were already planning to start a family? I just wanted them to justify calling all of us over to the same place at once when I was in the middle of creating my very detailed practice diaroma of how I wanted to eventually propose to Suzie next year."

"Dustin you have been making that damned diaorama for over a year. Just put us all out of our misery and just propose to her for the love of Mike!" Jeff exclaimed. Mike had a very serious face and looked unamused. "Sorry." Jeff apologized. "Nonsense, it needs to be perfect." Dustin stated. "Well your need for perfection caused all of us some blissful ignorance." Erica sassed. "Well sorry I was unphased by them wanting to get married. So I wanted some entertainment. Sue me."

"You challenged the Dungeon Master. Why would you challenge him like this?"Gareth asked. "Okay guys seriously we are standing right here. We can hear everything you are saying." You decided to state.

"Well yeah, that's the point." Erica replied. You tried to blink away the shock you felt. "I don't see what's so bad about us starting a family." Eddie finally decided to speak up. "Well typically I've seen couples you know not wake up one morning and decide to get married and then have a baby seconds later." Robin chimed in. "But then again I'm not straight so maybe I can't comment on what's normal."

"I'm not straight either and I'm pretty sure this is definitely not normal." Will stated. "We aren't a normal couple though." Eddie replied. "We are anything but normal. It might not make sense to you guys but to us it does." You added.

"Y/N, I think what we are all trying to say is that we really don't want you guys to accidentally hurt each other...again." Nancy tried to reason.

I nodded. "I get it Nance. I honestly appreciate you wanting to look out for us."

"I'm mostly trying to look out for you. I was the one who was there baawling your eyes out because of him. That really wasn't that long ago. As much as I want to believe this is going to work out for the both of you I have my doubts." Nancy admitted. "Maybe you forgot but he was married to someone else merely a few months ago. He only seemed to really care about you when he knew he couldn't control you anymore."

"Hey whoa, no, hold on. What the hell Nancy? What kinda guy do you take me for? I would never want to control her." Eddie stated trying to shut this shit down.

Nance glared at him. "No? Then what do you call over a month of lying to her and making her believe she was married to you? Looked like manipulation to me."

"Where is this coming from all of a sudden? Do you not want to see us happy?" Eddie asked.

"I don't care if you're happy Munson. I care about Y/N being happy. You weren't there to pick up the pieces of her heart that you broke. I don't trust you and I sure as shit don't trust you to be the father of any child." Nancy spat out.

Eddie was speechless. He knew Nancy wasn't his fan. Especially not after you got hurt but he didn't expect this. He was angry. Not entirely angry at her. It was actually more with himself. He was his own enemy. "You're right." Was all he muttered as he walked out of her small office space.

"You see? He is a God damn coward." Nancy pointed out. "What the hell Nancy?" You shot her the dirtiest look at her. "What?" she seemed confused. "Was that really necessary? I know Eddie isn't perfect. He knows he isn't perfect but he has been busting his ass everyday to make up for the pain he caused me. It's not fair for you to just throw it back in his face like that. He would never something like that to you and neither would I." I felt my face getting red with anger. "Eddie and I will get officially married and start a family together whether either of you like it or not."

I began to head towards the door. Then turned back around. "And another thing, Eddie would be an amazing father. He practically raised the Hellfire club like his kids. How fucking dare you imply he would be a shitty father. He knows what it's like to have a shitty father and he is the type of man to do everything in his power to make sure he won't be like his dad. Nance I love you. You're my best friend but if this is how you plan to treat my husband and future father of my children I can't have you around us." With that I made my exit to look for Eddie.

There was deafening silence after you walked out. "I knew I shouldn't have abandoned my diorama for this." Dustin said finally breaking the silence. "I'm going to kill you." Steve said.

Taglist

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[finsblogs]

After deliberating on it for a while you ultimately decide to marry Gyro. He's ecstatic of course, while Johnny just rolls his eyes. You give him a kiss to assure him you love him too.

Your wedding is small, you didn't want to make a big fuss, the only guest overall being Johnny. You wear white at Gyro's insistence (even though you feel it may be a bit blasphemous for you). The dress is long, a small train trailing behind you, hugging your figure with lace up to your neck and wrists. Gyro looks handsome in his suit, as does Johnny, though he's more casual looking compared to him. Johnny is the one to give you away, taking you to Gyro and the minister before taking his place at the front pew. He watches you both, listening as the minister gives his spiel and as you recite your vows. Once pronounced husband and wife you and Gyro kissed, Johnny clapping bemused. You tossed your bouquet over to him.

You all returned home and just as you opened the door Gyro immediately swept you off your feet. "Its tradition to carry the bride over the threshold isn't it?" You just shook your head and laughed letting him carry you in, dropping a heel along the way as Johnny trailed behind you both. You eventually got to the bedroom where he tossed you on to the bed and got on top of you, Johnny crawling right beside the both of you. Gyro caressed you through your dress, calling you beautiful. "Gonna make love to you like this," he promised, pushing your dress up. Upon seeing your garter he immediately bit down on it and tugged it down your leg. He spat it out at Johnny who happily caught it. He'd also did the same to the lacy pair of panties you wore too.

He pulled his cock out, leaning down to make out with you as he stroked himself. When he pulled away you tried to kiss Johnny only for Gyro to turn you to face him

"Johnny is our witness . He was there for our wedding he might as well be there for our wedding night." You and Johnny both rolled your eyes at that, relenting to Gyro's whims regardless. Gyro then slipped himself inside you and proceeded to fuck you, your veil mussed up behind your head. Johnny slipped his hand down his pants as he watched the two of you make love. You cried out against all his thrusts, Gyro silencing you as he stabbed his tongue down your throat, groping your breasts through all the silk and lace.

Just when you feel like cumming he pulls out and flips you over, reentering as he starts leaving bites on your neck. Panting beneath him, he has one hand over yours while the other unbuttons the back of your dress, giving him more room to plant kisses on your bare skin. Throughout all of this you look at Johnny, red in the face as he still keeps his gaze on the two of you. You looked at him until the force of your orgasm shuts your eyes closed, Gyro groaning against your ear as he releases inside of you.

He slumps on top of you, both of you panting in sync as Johnny still rubs one out. You reached your hand out, slighty scooting away from under Gyro, and wrapped it around his. You then moved away from him completely, shuddering as you felt his cock leave you and his cum beginning to run down your thighs. You made your way over to Johnny, dress slipping down your arms as you straddled him, him looking up at you as you caressed his face.

"You're gonna cheat on me so soon?" Gyro joked, you just laughing as you gazed into Johnny's eyes who smugly smiled. Moving his hand out of the way you pulled his member out and slid it inside yourself, the two of you gasping at the intrusion. Bouncing on his cock you leaned down and kissed him, Johnny tossing your veil away just to comb his fingers through your hair. Johnny then laid you on your side, fucking you like that while Gyro held him from behind as you two made out, grinding his newly hardened cock on his ass. Grabbing the lubricant you keep in the nightstand Gyro pulled his pants down and fingered him, Johnny groaning against your lips as he did so. Once significantly stretched out, Gyro rubbed the remaining fluid on himself and entered Johnny, crying into your mouth as he did. Gyro kissed his neck and then ripped his face away from yours just so he could kiss him. Soon enough simultaneously getting his cock clenched by your cunt and getting rammed in the ass by Gyro became too much for him and he reached his peak, Johnny burying his face in your breasts as he moaned during his release.

You came when he did, Gyro trailing soon after as he pumped his ass full of his cum. The two of your removed yourselves from him and flopped down on the bed, you cuddling up to him as Gyro wrapped his arms around his waist. You lifted his chin up, Johnny gazing tiredly at you until you said: "You know, if me and Gyro are legally married then that makes you our mistress."

Johnny scoffed, rolling his eyes while Gyro snickered.

Wedding trappings completely gone now you all lay bare beneath the same blanket, still holding on to one another.

"Maybe I could divorce Gyro later on and marry you then." You offered, Johnny laughing as Gyro huffed in offense

[chris-continues]

As you wish

A Princess Bride inspired drabble

Livio the DoubleFang x GN! Reader

NOTES: sorry for the slow posting, school has been hounding on my ass and this week has been hard. Thankfully I was able to finish one of my WIP’s!

TAGS: @millionsvash @linkdedruid @lune010 @captaintweet @vashfantasy @h4venpha @beanibon

The brush in the forest that is past the fields is where you explore. 

It’s where the farmhand, stable boy, resides. The fencing there is long left alone by the horses, however due to the shade it’s a spot most preferable for summer. Where the air doesn’t hurt to inhale like it does in the winter months, fresh and warm, Familiar. 

“Farm boy, give this one some water. I want to go riding later.” You gesture to the water trough just a few feet from yourself, leaning against the sturdy stables. His hair, pulled back in its usual fashion sways in the light breeze. He doesn’t need to even look to notice your presence before you speak- he’s always been observant, you suppose. Perhaps it’s in something someone of such quiet nature picks up.  “As you wish.” He towers before you, yet one thing you notice that forever remains unchanging about him is his innate gentleness. Even as he collects two hefty pails that he will lug like an ox once they’re filled to the brim with water from the well, he remains demure as ever. You’d admit to yourself that you tended to pick on him often- he was the only company you really had, that was around your age anyway.  You wonder if you ever annoyed him. Day in, day out, lounging beside him as he worked, frequently visiting him. “I’m not a nuisance, am I, farmer boy?” His head snaps up from his hunched over position to grab the pails, instantaneously shaking his head. Sweat drops from his brow as he places the pails down on one of the stable walls with a slight clang.  Cute.

You found yourself outside more often, safe to say. Busying yourself with menial work, as most of the farm duties he handles while you have your own share of chores, which you complete in record time. It’s routine hammered into your very being, and it’s not like you have proper incentive.. well, alright, you suppose you do.  His amber eyes match the buttercups that you use to make makeshift bouquets, plucking at the weeds. They’re pretty, like him, you note to yourself. Padding footsteps make their way to you on the grass, and it doesn’t occur to you that someone else is there until you’re blocked from the sun’s rays once more by his looming stature.  “I see.. “ he pauses to clear his throat, “I see you getting them for yourself. So I thought you’d like to receive them for once.”  And to your surprise, in his large hands lay a bundle of bright buttercups. It’s paradoxical- how a man as strong and capable of lugging around cargo triple your weight is imbued with such devoted nature. It makes your stomach do flips, churning with uneasiness and.. something else.  You outstretch your hand to take the flowers, carefully observing them. With your appraisal, you miss how his throat bobs anxiously.  “...thank you.” The wind breezes past, offering reprieve from the blistering that arrives with summer.  He appears almost sheepish, hand retracting back as he seems to curl into himself. “Ah, yeah. ‘course,” You don’t wish for him to run back to work like usual. His company, it’s endearing. Comforting.  “Ah- care to join me, farm boy?” He perks up at that, eyes wide. If you were on the cobblestone roads of the city, you’d be able to hear how he he almost trips over himself due to his eagerness. Perhaps alike a baby deer- and just as cute as one. All you can do is pat the spot beside you, gazing up at him as he shifts beside you, plopping down as he studies how you pluck the plants.  Making a split second decision, you turn to face him, holding your pickings in one hand while you squint at him.  “...Is there, ahem, something on my face?” Oh no, not at all. If anything you were admiring his visage.

“Not in the slightest. I just thought your eyes were comparable to the buttercups.” Ah, and now his face blooms to the shade of a red geranium. “A-ah..” He clears his throat, “Thank you.”  Your smile is brighter than the beaming sun to him, the heat causing a few stray strands of hair to cling to his forehead. You shyly reach a hand towards his face- hankerchief from the pocket of your apron dabbing at his face gently.  He sputtered silently, throat tightening as he indulged in your touch silently without complaint. You gently moved the hair out of his face, tender in each stroke of your hands along his forehead- that is, until you got the best of ideas, pulling away to his dismay. His eyelashes fluttered open in surprise at your lack of contact, only to be pleasantly shocked upon you tucking a buttercup behind his ear.  “You look pretty,” He melts at your palm to his cheek, moving to cradle his face with both hands. The compliment makes his cheeks go aflame once more- his devotion to you was apparent before, and it most certainly is now as he awaits patiently for any crumb of your affections you have to offer.  He cannot blubber out anything else besides a meek thanks, eyes moving down the expanse of your face to your lips. Alas, he’s far too reserved to ask for such things- but you notice, nonetheless.  “Farm boy...” You lean in closer, his hands moving to cover your own that cup his face.  “Yes..?” He licks his own plump lips, eyes breaking from your own to look up at you.  “..Kiss me.” Then, as an afterthought- as if he’d pull away, you added: “..please.” It felt absurd, leaving your mouth, but from the way he’d eagerly nodded you didn’t regret it. He was more than happy to comply, it seemed.  Leaning in, your lips grazed his. The grass tickled at your knees, a grin on your face breaking the kiss. Here you were, kissing the cute farm boy. Who’d do anything for you. He alone was more beautiful than the field of flowers, the fine countryside, and any beauty imaginable. He tilted his head to kiss you deeper, hands clasping tighter over yours. Everything about him was so sweet, intoxicating, practically saccharine.  Your thumbs brush his cheekbones, humming against his lips in content. You’ve never been happier, that’s for sure.

[good-beanswrites]

Just wanted to plant an idea if you wanted a bit of fuel: Mahiru asking Yuno to come to her cell before everything goes down.

Edit: I forgot the ask didn't say it but this is part of Kyanako's incredible Order Of Attack AU!

Didn't mean for this to become a mini Mappi study but here we are ✨ Thank you for the request! I fully intended to write them hanging out, but it's more right before they hang out lol. Went a bit on-the-nose with foreshadowing, but isn't that the fun part? It has become Emotional Over Mahiru Hour...

I kept things vague, but TW for mentioning her boyfriend's state of potential self-harm

Mahiru tried not to act superstitious, she really did. As much as she loved the idea of little luck charms, or avoided easy signs of misfortune, it was easier to keep quiet about such ridiculous things.

Maybe catching a bride’s bouquet meant no guarantees; maybe there was no real harm in stepping underneath ladders, maybe a coin tossed into a fountain had no real magic to its wish. However, the one thing she knew for sure held power was a lucky presence. Being in the right place at the right time could alter everything. And today was the right time for something. There was this waiting in the air. The prison had been holding its breath. Mahiru knew it was time to release it all.

“You must be so lonely, why don’t you let big sis Mahiru keep you company?” She beamed at Amane.

She often recalled the good fortune that she and a certain young man had crossed paths on the university terrace. She used to laugh with him about the wonderful coincidence of bumping into each other outside of the bakery, then the convenience store. 

Though she’d never spoken about it to him, she was also grateful for many occasions where she walked in on him at the precise moment to talk him out of something reckless. She always told him that they’d do everything together. He didn’t need to be alone anymore. 

“I wish to be alone. I need peace of mind to think.” Amane turned away from the cell door.

It was a good thing, too. Mahiru’s smile wasn’t as convincing as she said, “o-oh. Of course.”

She made her way around the panopticon, hearing Fuuta pace his cell in anticipation. He must have felt it too, this holding of breath. 

Or perhaps not. He turned down her offer for a bit of company, including a few more colorful words than Amane had. Mahiru just apologized for bothering him and headed back to her cell. She wasn’t sure where Mikoto was at this hour, but she didn’t feel like smiling through a third rejection.

She shook her head back and forth. She wished the motion could rattle the voices inside, she wished she could shake them all away. With her arms secured in place she could no longer cover her ears. She used to hum to keep them at bay, but lately they’d been too loud to stifle. They just kept on talking.

Their words told her the two were right. Nobody needed her company. No – nobody wanted it. Being together hadn’t helped her boyfriend. In fact, being together had been the very thing that got him killed. No wonder Amane and Fuuta wanted to avoid her. 

So then, this was for the best. She would rather deal with the brief sting of refusal than stumble in one day to find them hurt… or worse. As much as she tried to avoid the superstition of it all, the voices reminded her that her very presence could mean life or death. 

“Mappi, are you alright?” Mahiru hadn’t realized a tear had slipped down her cheek until she hurried to swipe it away in front of Yuno. 

“Hah, I’m fine! Just fine.” It was impossible to fool her, Mahiru had learned, but that never stopped her from trying. 

At least she always spoke tactfully. “Rough morning?”

Mahiru shifted her arms in her uniform, making a small sound of agreement.

“Can I do anything to help? What if I stay with you for a bit? I can do your hair, and…”

The voices were right. Amane and Fuuta knew it, too. Presences did hold power, and Mahiru’s was cursed.

But she would sound foolish admitting such a fear to Yuno. She'd heard plenty from the voices about how stupid and airheaded she was, there was no use in getting the same lecture from someone as grounded as her.

Mahiru managed a weak protest, unable to explain her real reasoning. Yuno was insistent. She didn’t give much of a choice. Could she feel the strangeness of the prison, as well? 

At last, Mahiru allowed her shoulders to sag. Yuno was lucky. And kind. Having her nearby would do her good. Amane and Fuuta would be alright. Mahiru had tried spending more time with them after verdicts were announced. Now, she made a mental note to pull back. If her love couldn’t save anyone, at least she could spare them from her curse. They would be safe. 

“Yes. Please stay. The truth is... I don't want to be alone.”

[yandere-fics]

Ok idea time, haunted portrait darling, a portrait of a beautiful young bride in her gown holding a bouquet while seated in a finely furnished room, while no one remembers who painted it much less who the bride was, the painting is highly valued for its stunning colors and attention to detail, although unfortunately because of countless attempts to steal the painting and rumors of it being haunted its displayed far away from prying eyes in an obscure part of the royal castle, hidden and almost forgotten by most, except for one person in particular (insert kingdom yan hear, my original thought was Theanna but i could see all of them being interesting)

Darling growing fond of their new frequent vistor, confinding to them how darling ended up like this, pressured into an arranged marriage with a selfish noble who didnt even bother to show up for their wedding portrait, only for darling to be killed after it was completed to "preserve" their beauty, darling's yan who of course begins searching for a way to free them, no matter the cost

And for a potential twist darling wistfully sighing as they watch their dear vistor work ever so hard to free them, knowing its a fruitless endeavor, after all such a curse can only be lifted by the castor or with the castors death, and Darling has no intention of throwing away their hard work anytime soon, but who knows perhaps when the time is right the portrait will finally be completed, a beautiful bride and handsome groom (or in the case of Binsley grooms) side by side

ooooo that's really cool

[snowlupinwoodstories]

A Writer's Conundrum

Here's the next practice snippet I worked on. I'm going to take a week off of making snippets as a friend (@bloobluebloo ) is visiting! Maybe a break will help me with my own writers block.

“What do you do when all the inspiration has dried up,” The white wolf hummed to herself as she shut the laptop and looked around the coffee shop where she typically wrote, her blue eyes dull from staring at the blank page in front of her. Normally the sounds of people going about their day, calming renditions of popular pop songs and asian folk music, and the whirr of the coffee machines could break through the worst of the writing doldrums. It's why she would typically start her days off here before running errands or setting up research opportunities.

But with her latest drafts already off to their publishers and no requests for edits she was itching to start a new project. If she could just figure out what that project was.

She’d just covered a little bit of coffee culture in her latest book, so writing about a coffee shop was out. The park over the way had already served as an inspiration for many scenes in her novels, thirteen break-up scenes, five teary come together scenes and one wedding if she was remembering correctly. 

“Perhaps writing about a writer who doesn’t know what to write about?” she frowned before brushing the idea out of her mind. One, it was too meta, and though her books did include several taken from real life and recontextualized scenes. Two, it was overdone. While readers did enjoy and romanticized a writer’s life and work, Snow did not think it was something her readers wanted to read about. 

Well knowing what not to write about was progress at least. 

Maybe. She turned her head back to the window, watching the traffic go by for a few moments before she began to pack back up. Laptop in its bag and charge cord packed away she walked her dishes over to the collection area where a barista would pick them up. 

“Leaving so soon?” a cerulean asian palm civet asked who was sweeping nearby. “Do you have a lot of errands today, Snow?”

“Not quite,” Snow responded, her eyes trained outside, staring off into the distance, “Just having trouble finding my mojo today I guess.”

The civet hummed for a moment, “You know, when I’m stuck on drink creation I bake, and when I’m stuck on a baking creation I practice my coffee craft. Maybe you need to do something adjacent and see where it takes you. Let your brain work on it in the background.”

“That’s an idea, its been a hot minute since I’ve been to a bookstore,” Snow mentioned as she walked out of the cafe. 

Snow stopped in the big name bookstore outside of a shopping center, beelining for the romance section of the store. Perhaps reading some of her competition would help her feel inspired by her own work. 

The books were paperback, with bright covers depicting either the protagonists with their love interests, or sometimes just the love interests in pin up poses displaying their bodies, just covered enough to avoid being labeled inappropriate. Names like Tranquil Krystalkat, Nora Roden, Vixen Valentina, and others peppered the section. Most were pen names of course. While the genre of romance writing could be lucrative most people had issues attaching their names directly on the cover. At least until they hit it big enough for the judgements to slide off their backs like water off of waterfowl. 

Now there’s an idea, Snow mused. She hadn’t done anything with a waterfowl protagonist or love interest. She’d have to do some research. She picked up a book with a swan protagonist holding a bouquet of black and white flowers, a black swan wrapping their wing around the white swan, even as the white swan turned their head away. 

She flipped it over and gave the back a read, frowning. A story where black swans, rare as they were, knew their mates at first glance and a rich swan took his new bride-to-be away to his mansion as the wedding was prepared. How she’d be determined to not fall for him despite the flattery, the rich gifts, etc. It was a very run of the mill story going off of a rather well known stereotype of anthro swans. Snow put the book back and grabbed another, this one showing off of a small jackal holding a few dice in his hand with ominous eyes glaring from behind. She turned it over to find a trickster jackal had won the heart of an ominous wolf in a game of chance, and how that resulted in their romance. A few page flipping determined that the conflict was the wolf wanted to be rid of the jackal, but the jackal had magic and the wolf ended up being more possessive because of that. 

She scanned the books ruefully. Yes she knew the patterns of romance books, they allowed for beautiful looks into the psyche, and you had more freedom to play with the characters and readers emotions because everyone knew the question wasn’t when the characters would end up together but rather the when and why. 

But the benefit of the genre was also its frustration. There were common tropes that were common for a reason. Romance novels were escape fantasy afterall. And there was nothing wrong with that. But Snow had been pushing that boundary for a while now. Asking questions about the comfort genre, pushing the envelope on normalizing poly in the mainstream. Something to offer more flexibility to the rules the genre was typically afforded. 

 “Having trouble deciding?” An orange ferret who was shelving books asked her, noticing her frown. 

“I was hoping for something that kinda pushed the boundaries of the genre,” Snow replied, her hand coming underneath her chin. 

“How so? I mean there are plenty of fantasy, magic and higher feral titles I could recommend,” the ferret offered, putting her task to the side. 

“I’m really open to any sub-genre,” Snow turned her head towards her, “but I’m looking for something that if the set up is convoluted its not overly so. And perhaps something that isn’t afraid to break the normal mold of how these stories play out. You know something that makes me wonder more ‘if’ rather than ‘when’.”

“Hmm…You know I know just the thing! Its over this way,” the ferret directed leading Snow around the other side of the shelves and over to a corner display, “This author has been making loads of headway in the romance genre, her book Gym Brats might be just what you’re looking for.”

Snow smiled gently, her eyes widening as they paused in front of the display, her pen name, Blizzard Sapphire splayed across a sign. The ferret had already picked up a book, a very tall athletic shimmery palomino mare spotting for a black wolf who was struggling under a mediocre weight for a chest press on the cover. “See both of the characters start off in committed relationships that are open for different reasons, so no squick about cheating, as an added bonus.”

Snow took the book from the ferret and flipped it over, scanning the back, trying to figure out how to gently decline the book. Well here was the true heart of the problem. Snow wrote the types of things she wanted to read. And because of that she was the go to author for things like this. Which meant the other writers hadn’t tried to dip their toes into it yet, or their publishers weren’t ready to try and compete with her. Perhaps thinking the fad of pushing the envelope would disappear sooner rather than later. 

“Her other titles are just as good, Me and My Middle Class Girlfriend is a hoot if you want something more normal. It flips the effortless millionaire genre and writes it from his perspective trying to keep his worth underwraps but failing and how she shows him how to live a more normal lifestyle,” She handed Snow a book with a bright blue and red macaw and a demure looking husky. That had been a fun one to write, trying to get into Scritch’s head without him realizing what she was doing. He still didn’t know that she wasn't an editor, but a writer. 

“Or oh! This is probably my favorite of right now, though it is one of her older works, Werewolves of Knottingham.” Snow, balanced the two previous books on her one arm as she took the last book, this one covered that time she spent time at an amateur erotic writers commune. “The main character is a young hobby writer who signs up for a writer’s commune without realizing its for professional erotic writers, and ends up with a publishable novel at the end. I know that may be kinda spoilery but at least I’m not spoiling the love interests.” The ferret paused waiting to hear Snow’s thoughts.

“You’re right,” Snow said, swallowing her nerves, “This is exactly what I’m looking for.”

“Great! Do you want to keep browsing the selection or should I get you checked out?” the ferret grinned excited to share her favorite books. Snow groaned inwardly, realizing that she wasn’t leaving there without buying her own books. Again.

[herstoriies]

Now onto the better wedding discussion! :D

The Aristide x Priscilla wedding in Joie de Paris!The Diva is finally tying the knot with who was at one time her former significant annoyance & archrival, discovered to be her soulmate ❤️❤️ (rotfl autocorrect almost wrote soup-mate 🤣!) It is still a fairytale <3 and perhaps better yet a love story in honest reality, a fitting compatibility, companionship, and mutual devotion. As well as their special mutual attraction of course ;)

Anyways! Perhaps one thing that stands out to me is Pris’ surprising want for simplicity & practicality in a wedding (nothing to get stressed over). Perhaps another way to phrase it is, quality over quantity.

Which on the surface seems ironic for Pris who in the pinnacle of her career as an opera starlet always lived life in Paris to its fullest to near exaggeration and kept up with an expensive lifestyle and living off gifts from dandies & stage-door johnies. Then again, it’s a new chapter, and she’s matured & character developed, and I mean, who she’s marrying has certainly rubbed off on her xD ! She is by no means to be mistaken to be miserly, but certainly a more responsible, conscious, and decisive economist xD (plus there’s honeymoon and general married life future things considerations worth spending etc etc all dandy~)

So what are these quality over quantity priorities? Pris’ personal pick would be fashion, food, & flowers (This is Paris, after all!). Everything else can be ‘humble’ xD! The location for the ceremony, the parish, and the reception, are something she is agreeable and open to suggestions. Be it in the country or shining lights of Paris both sound lovely. Surprisingly for someone with a larger than life personality and demands to be is frequently the center of attention, if you asked her, she’d prefer not being one for anything grandiose with numerous attendees. Rather, something more personal and intimate.

Memorable, yes. A great time, for sure. Entertaining & dancing? These are theatre folk, what did you expect. A full page in the newspaper and the talk of the town? No thank you. Whether she wants/likes it or not Pris does find herself in the gossip column often enough, so if there’s a tiny blurb… uhhh fine.

Rather than a spectacle this is a celebration <3

A warm celebration of celebrations she would want spent with those closest to the bride & groom and a most joyous celebration it will be ❤️

Ok some more into the fashion, food, and flowers tidbit!

Naturally, the dress is a statement piece. Of course, the dress will be designed by the House of Worth. Not so much for the status symbol but because she loves their work. Priscilla is a flashy peacock (& let’s face it, she’s a beauty and doesn’t shy to flaunt it!), and she always dresses spectacularly for the occasion and her wedding will be no different. Dressing for herself, and her significant other. And! One of my favorite historic tidbits I’ve learned is wedding dresses in that era would be repurposed afterwards.

That said also there will be something different to this gown’s details & construction compared to her past/everyday “peacock” attire, that’s fitting with her character development and the occasion and elegance. I found something that’s basically it :D might create a collage or something maybe draw it someday <3

The food must also be spectacular. Again, this is Paris. And a most special occasion. Be it for the private dinner, or guest hors d’oeuvres. The exact meal and food courses and cake (who cares about the Victorian tradition of fruit cake here, they can do better than that! xD), again she’s open to, so long as it’s excellent.

Ah yes and flowers too. It’s still being decided, but the bouquet will be fitting. perhaps including white roses & lilies of the valley. Garlands, tiny bouquets for decoration, etc at the wedding will also be present. Here it’s not so much as how exquisite or ornate or rare the flowers are, but that there are flowers. Even if it’s generously buying everything from the local flower girl & making someone’s day.

Oh yes and of course the photograph! (Was it still that era the daguerreotype?)

So! This is what I have so far, always room for revisions :3 more to come soon!

[pixies-and-poets]

(I'm so sorry, this is a long ask!)

I really want to send you an ask because I am so glad that you're the same page when it comes to Bea and Phantom.

I, unironically, ship these two.

I don't ship them because I think they're meant for each other and they shouldn't have broken up. I ship them because I wanted to see the love story behind the drama and being light to what it (probably) used to be. The canon lore may have presented the whole relationship as nothing but a parody off of real celebrity news, but I feel like it needs to have depth because relationships are complicated.

Now, this is where I base the ship 100% off my headcanon characterization of Phantom. Basically, my version of Phantom is complicated. He is not just a big opera singer with an even bigger ego. He's a creation that was unlike any of the Rabbids in Kingdom Battle (can sing/talk, is more intelligent, prefers the finer things, etc.), and thus became lonely after his defeat in Spooky Trails. He truly felt alone in the world until five years later (Kingdom Battle was released in 2017) right before the events of Sparks of Hope.

Five full years without companionship.

Until he met Bea - another Rabbid hybrid, like him.

If anything, it reminds me a lot of Bride of Frankenstein. A creature yearning for a mate, only to be broken hearted and lonely once again in the end. A creature knowing only so much since its entire existence, wanting to have what many other have, but cannot due to who and what it is.

I like to think Phantom was truly a passionate lover to Bea. He wants someone by his side. He wants her to love him. He wants everyone to love him. Perhaps that's why he craves the spotlight...

He seeks the warmth of his own kind.

Oh gosh, never apologize for the length of gushing about fictional characters (this answer is likely to be even longer)- I get it!! I also get loving characters who are supposed to just be kinda larger-than-life comic relief, and the desire to recognize the deeper and/or softer side of them. A lot of my favorite game characters are like that!

I see you're also a real-time-timeline enjoyer (i.e. SoH does take place five years after KH just like the games' releases); I think that's just a good sensible amount of time for the amount of change the characters and world have gone through. That said, it wouldn't be the FULL five years before Phantom met Bea as their relationship already happened before the game, but still, any amount of years of that lonely existence would be long and painful! Especially since I have this theory that rabbids can comprehend and accomplish a lot on a compressed timescale due to their natural chaotic energy, so what might seem a short amount of time for us can seem very long for them.

The way I see it, I think all the rabbids can talk now if they so choose to learn (I don't think everyone needs a translator to understand them, Beep-0 just developed that to initially communicate and from there, they were able to learn to speak the same language as Mario and friends and now it isn't needed anymore). Of course, this was a very gradual process. At the same time as the rabbids were slowly learning to speak, Beep-0 and Spawny had begun their probing into the galaxy and discovered that there were rabbid colonies ALREADY LIVING out there, who could already talk and had their own societies. This is why they initially built the WM-ARC and designed Jeanie, to further explore these colonies and let the rabbids who had crashed the mushroom kingdom move out to be with more of their own, if they wanted. Trade was even set up quite quickly (i.e. Rabbid Peach mentions getting bouquets from Terra Flora).

And so it was that our dear ghosty boy was able to finally get out there and meet more like him.... of course, you can imagine that comes with its own problems. NOW he was overwhelmed, though his pride would never let him admit it! Now he had the whole galaxy before him, and it STILL took him a while to find someone he truly felt he belonged with!

So, when he did, I like to imagine them happy and sweet together, even if it ultimately didn't last. There's also of course the possibility they could reconcile and get back together again. Or, you know, Bea is happy to just vibe and be warden and give all her love to Terra Flora for a while, and the Phantom, well, I'm not saying I'm hard convinced on another ship for him or anything, but uh, I'm just suggesting that he would get along well with someone who was also poetic and overdramatic and melancholy and lonely and... if only there was someone out there like that hmmmmmMMMM

[candy-floss-crazy]

Weddings are full of tradition, just like the rhyme ‘something old, something new, something borrowed something blue’, the ceremony, the father walking the bride to be down the isle, and of course the wedding bouquet. In the initial celebrations after the wedding ceremony has been conducted the bride will throw her bouquet of flowers and the guests at the wedding, usually the women rush in a mass brawl to catch this bouquet. This tradition was introduced from America and it was claimed that whoever catches the bouquet will be next to be married. However 21st century new trends are set to change this tradition. this years most popular wedding trend is said to be candyfloss bouquets. Social Media creating the most popular wedding trend In the modern day with technology and social media being the most popular outlet, brides are looking for the most social media friendly wedding with lots of Instagram worthy extras. Amongst the most popular trends last year were instagrammable place cards and flower arranged aisles, but no one was ready for the traditional fairground treat ‘a stick of candyfloss’ replacing the longstanding traditional bouquet. Who started the trend? The Unicorn Crafts owner Faheema Chaudhury started the trend with a social media post from her wedding. She decided to create the one-of-a-kind-bouquet for her wedding day as she has a love for candyfloss and just knew that it had to be part of her wedding. It now seems that brides across the globe are hung up on this crazy sugar high trend as the number of requests for ‘candyfloss bouquets’ has increased. We have to admit that this most popular wedding trend, the candy bouquets do create a unique and fun wedding picture. Definitely Instagram worthy however there is so many impracticality to this, for example most wedding parties have small children involved? Taking candy from a baby is one thing but taking a full stick of candyfloss is a completely different story, and what about rain? Candyfloss takes seconds to disintegrate. Even at the mere word rain or humidity never mind the walk to and from the church. Another health and safety aspect is the stick. If the bride throws the bouquet then how many potential eyes are going to be poked out with a flying wooden stick. Never mind how many outfits, or hair styles that could be destroyed when the sticky sugary mess sticks!!! Although I suppose if they were mainly used for the ‘do it for the gram’ purpose then so many possibilities can be created especially a jazzy boomerang video. Reports are stating that its not only candyfloss taking center stage as newlyweds have also been spotted carrying pizza, donuts, feather, books and paper alternatives! Definitely a fun idea that I’ll be watching out the next wedding I go to. Wedding Trend Article If you hire a candy floss cart, we can provide you with a floss bouquet as well. Read the full article