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azsazz · 2 years ago

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Bloody Knuckles and the Songs of Death

Azriel x Reader

Summary: This lovely piece stemmed from me thinking about how SJM describes Azriel’s voice in the High Lord meeting as “cold death.” It got me thinking that if he’s cold death what if reader is warm death? She is the last hug someone receives before their soul is entrapped in death’s icy snare. She’s the last breath exiting someone’s lungs, the heat of the final exhale passing through their parted lips. She’s the heat of their blood as it spills through split skin and that warm hand cradling their hands as they bleed out.

Reader is everything that Azriel is not. Opposite feelings but equal death in the end.

AKA: Half a rewrite of chapters 43-47 of ACOWAR where reader is now there as part of the Autumn Court, excited to meet Azriel. The other half are my own ideas.

Warnings: Major themes of death, ACOWAR spoilers, blood, gore, mentions of abuse, smut.

Word Count: 1,987

Notes: Sorry about the long summary, but I felt it was necessary to help understand where this came from before reading it. Yes, this will be multiple parts :)

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The Vanserras are late. Undoubtedly and uncaringly late.

You don’t see why it matters, anyway. You certainly aren’t one to concern yourself with matters involved in other courts unless you’re asked. But when Eris had come to you with a request on behalf of the High Lord of the Autumn Court, to tag along to some High Lord’s meeting – the first in nearly three centuries – you could hardly contain the feral grin threatening to carve your face in two.

For you it is a chance to play.

The Vanserra family is silent as you’re escorted through the lavish halls of the Dawn Court.

It’s incredible, what you’ve seen so far, glimpses from the windows of the High Lord’s palace. Your first time to the solar court, and you drink in everything that you can. The cobalt sky tinged by the rosy pinks and creamy oranges, the remnants of sunrise long into the day, the edges of the low hanging clouds gilded with golden light. Dewey freshness lingers in the air, lush with the evocative scents of rain in the countryside, the weight of the summer nearly upon it.

Inhaling deeply, your eyelashes flutter as you listen to the clatter in the meeting room as you approach, your senses nearly overwhelmed by all of the different scents winding together. There’s the one you’re most familiar with, the crisp wind and singed spices of Autumn, but as you part your lips to taste the other aromas in the air, you pick out the subtle tinges of the rival courts: sandalwood and coconut oil from the Summer Court, seawater and clean clothes billowing in the breeze from Day. The overpowering perfume of vanilla that coats your throat thickly followed by the melancholic neutral cold breath that stings your lungs is most definitely the Winter Court.

And of course, the intoxicating night-chilled mist wafting from the Night Court fae, who sit up straighter in their chairs when you enter the room following Beron, his wife, and his sons.

But even sweeter than that, underneath all of the niche and savory odors, is the scent of life.

You see they’ve brought a whole committee, the Night Court. Unsurprising for their High Lord, who always has one of his pets do his bidding for him, not a wrinkle to be had to be put into his pressed suit if he had to help it. Why get all messy when he could have someone do it for him?

You. That is who you are to the Vanserras. Someone to torture and kill for information, just like his spymaster, minus the protective shadows hovering over his shoulders like warped darkness that follows you around at night, always watching and always listening.

The difference is…is that you love death.

You are death…in a way.

Just like him, who sits next to the cocksure commander of armies, behind his Lord and–Lady, you now realize as you catch sight of their clasped hands, the gleaming ring settled snugly around Feyre’s left ring finger, a matching one on Rhysand��s.

Your gaze travels across them in an instant, and theirs over you. There’s a shift as they assess you, in line with Eris, following closely behind Beron and Amaretto. Perhaps they think you’re Eris’ mate. That would surely be something, you think. You can practically see the gears grinding in their minds as they scramble to figure out who you are, and you know it’s because no one has ever seen you before, Beron wouldn’t ever let someone close enough to recognize you.

You recognize the familiar glazed look they get over their eyes when they speak into each other’s minds, and then there’s a caress of claws inside of your head, gentle at first, but a slash when it’s met with nothing but resistance, your walls reinforced over years of practice. It’s a warning, a scare tactic, but you are anything but intimidated by the Night Court High Lord and his comrades.

You commit everything to memory in the quick once over you give, eyes eager to settle back upon the shadowisnger. The jeweled crown upon Feyre’s head, the female behind her with the near-matching facial structure. Lovely Mor is here, too, going stock still as her chocolatey gaze locks on Eris before she’s looking anywhere but.

Your mouth twitches into a wry smirk that the spymaster immediately zeroes in on, clenching his hands where they’re settled on his knees, his gaze fiery and his siphons flickering.

Azriel, the male who separates souls from bodies without so much as a grimace, a blink, a quiver to his perfectly straight lips.

He is breathtaking in more ways than one. The sharpness of his golden gaze as he glares at you from his seat, like he’s ready to wreak death upon you with those large, icy, massacred hands just itching to wrap around your warm throat, watch the light drain from your pretty eyes, the color empty from your lips, face, your body going slack in his grasp.

His wings. They look how you’d imagine an angel’s would, if they had betrayed the Mother and had been touched by flame, the delicate and purely white feathers singed and burnt from the skin and bones beneath, much like the pink and puckered scars adorning his fingers to his wrists.

The Reaper.

The Taker of Death.

But you are the Bringer of Death. The warmth of it all. The last hug one receives before the Reaper swoops their soul into his icy snare. You are the last breath exiting one’s lungs, the heat of that final exhale plating their parted lips. You’re the swelter of their blood as it spills through split skin and the burning one feels in their heart when they realize they’re in love and that searing in their stomachs when they feel sick.

You are everything that he is not. Opposites in feeling but equals in the end.

To you, death is a beautiful thing. Intriguing, evoking, fascinating.

To Azriel, death is anything but. A finite solution to seek information. Routine and cold and inevitable and lonely.

The violence simmering off of the Night Court party as you enter through the archway is not new, their harsh stares a reminder that you need to be alert, on your game, not itching with intrigue about the male you’d heard so much about.

Autumn Court’s presence alone is enough to make the Peregryns feathers ruffle, the remaining sons sneering at the Court with the most strained ties. The Vanserra offspring are a rowdy bunch, you’ve known that for centuries, have often been on the other side of the leer Pyrolas sends to Cresseida, earning a flash of teeth in warning from Varian.

Beron doesn’t bother to check them. Perhaps he likes having most of the other courts dislike him, letting his kin do as they please like half-wild beasts.

But Eris cares, a sweet soul trapped in a tainted family, of that you know. He is the one you prefer, the most emotionally intelligent, even if only in private. Your best friend, the one you’d run to after a long day of working for his father, someone who understands and you trust with any secret, with your life.

“Enough,” Eris murmurs and his younger brothers finally fall into line. All three of them; Pyrolas, Oakland, and Foxe.

Beron stops halfway across the room, hands folded before him. Even from where you’re positioned behind you know that he’s scowling at the Night Court attendees like they’re a pack of mongrels.

He is the oldest here, and the most awful, something that you and all of the other Courts can agree on.

Rhysand greets the Vanserras smoothly, eyes drifting over you as if you aren’t even there, though you know that he’s seen a lot with that fluttering glance. His power is heavy in the air, a silent rumble that serves as a reminder of the magic coursing through his veins.

As if he’d ever let anyone forget it.

“It’s no surprise that you’re tardy, given that your own sons were too slow to catch my mate. I suppose it runs in the family.”

Beron’s lips curl slightly as he looks her over, at the onyx clad crown settled upon her head.

“Mate–and High Lady.”

You had to give it to Feyre. You’ve seen many balk from Beron’s hot stare more times than you can count, but she looks everything that Rhysand has just said, High Lady, as she sits in her chair as if she’s the one running all of the overinflated egos in the room, spine straight, chin high, and face neutral in the same way that Azriel’s is.

She turns her gaze to each of Beron’s sons. Eris smiles, amused and aloof before Feyre’s sharp gray eyes flicker to you.

If Eris is smiling, you’re practically glowing, eager to see where this meeting will go, if you’ll get to play or not. Your power thrums beneath your skin, a fervent buzz begging to be unleashed.

The red siphon-clad warrior watches Eris like a hawk studying its next meal. Eris deigns a glance at the Illyrian general and inclines his head in invitation, subtly patting his stomach. Ready for round two.

You stifle the urge to roll your eyes at your friend. He’d told you all about what had happened on that ice when he and his brothers were chasing the female they hadn’t known was the High Lady of the Night Court, animatedly telling you of the battle you wished you’d been there to witness, and grumbling through the parts of the story when the Illyrian had landed a hit on him as you dabbed at his wounds with a healing salve.

You’d even been there to hold him when he whispered so softly about his youngest brother that you were half sure he was delusional from blood loss or that you hadn’t even heard.

You cringe when Eris’ attention shifts to Mor, knowing all about what transpired between the two centuries ago. His caramel gaze sweeps over her with a disdain that makes Feyre’s eyes narrow in anger.

The blonde only stares blankly at him. Bored.

You bite back the twitch of your lips and notice Viviane doing the same.

So more than just a few of you know what had been done.

Azriel sits so still in his chair you aren’t sure the stone-faced male is even breathing as you sit in your chair to Eris’ left, settling into the plush cushion that faces the Night Court members.

Thesean, your Dawn Court host, begins. “Rhysand, you have called this meeting. Pushed us to gather sooner than we intended. Now would be the time to explain what is so urgent.”

Rhysand takes his time, blinking slowly before he responds, “Surely the invading armies landing on our shores explain enough.”

“So you have called us to do what, exactly?” Helion challenges, bracing his forearms on his muscled, gleaming thighs. “Raise a unified army?”

“Among other things,” Rhys says mildly, in a way that irks you. If he has such pressing matters then why isn’t he getting to the point? “We–”

His words falter as power crackles through the chamber. Everyone falls silent and the scent of spring prickles your nostrils, evading your senses as it sweeps through the room on a pollen-filled gust. Something about it is too sweet, too flowery, too potent, nearly choking you as the beast himself prowls in through the doors, later than your court had been.

Tamlin.

He enters the room alone, like a crack of lightning, winnowing into the chamber, gaze directed at Feyre, smiling like a wolf.

You and Eris share a glance, his face impassive, cool, but you catch the amusement glittering in his copper gaze, the slight curve of his mouth as the air drains from the room and the shields surrounding every High Lord and their courtiers locks into place.

#azriel x reader #azriel/reader #acowar #acotar #acomaf #acosf #azriel #azsazz

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inked-night · 4 months ago

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At the precise moment Ellenia slipped through the crowd, leaving a trail of floral perfume and polite murmurs, the smile painted on Freya’s face vanished like mist at dawn. Her expression transformed into a grimace of disgust so pronounced it might have been carved in stone. Beside her, Rudbeckia de Borgia, Izek’s betrothed, held a wine glass with the grace of a lady… or so it seemed.

"I'll be frank, Rudbeckia" Freya began, her voice as sharp as a knife's edge. "I don’t think you’re the right match for Izek"

Rudbeckia, who had been in a contemplative silence (Well, she was actually evaluating the salon curtains, finding them excessively ornate to the point of bad taste), was forced to focus on the young woman with purple eyes. 'Is she talking to me?' She wondered, pointing at herself in a gesture so belated it almost showed dust settling.

Looking back, Rudbeckia’s life had always been a carousel of the absurd (She had spent her days dying and reviving in an endless cycle to appease The Entity! Of course her sense of normality had twisted like a pretzel!), but even she had to admit this latest turn of events was perplexing.

Just hours earlier, she was in the realm of Haddonfield, playing cat and mouse with that scoundrel Michael Myers (The rascal kept trying to impale Illyana on a hook!), while her companions, Cale, Shen Jiu, and Penelope, busied themselves repairing the last generator…

How had she ended up being catapulted to another world that, by some cosmic joke, turned out to be her first life? Not that she had memories of it, but still, who was the genius who brought her back? And why had they separated her from her beloved girlfriend and comrades?

Illyana, this poor Rudbeckia misses you! But fear not, Rudbeckia will find a way back to you.

"Do you think that because Izek treats you kindly, you deserve to marry him?" Freya spat the words with venom so subtle it almost floated in the air, while she poked Rudbeckia’s chest, hoping to provoke tears or at least a grimace of pain on her unperturbed face.

"Marry?" Rudbeckia blinked, surprised by the mention of such a commitment. Her mind, usually drifting in a state of blissful intoxication by the presence of her attractive girlfriend, accelerated at a dizzying speed. She opened and closed her mouth several times, trying not to appear completely clueless, though she was known to be slower than a snail in an obstacle race when it came to matters unrelated to Illyana. "Why would I marry anyone other than my precious, magnificent, and adorable Lyna?" The response came automatically, with a tone of indignation suggesting that the mere idea was blasphemous (And this coming from someone who had at one point shared blood ties with Myers).

Marry some Izek in this life? Never! Rudbeckia was resolutely loyal to Illyana. She had dreamed of her ideal wedding with Illyana more than once. Lyna, dressed in white, adorned with the most dazzling jewels in the world, and Rudbeckia, crying tears of joy, would cling to her future wife’s waist as she dramatically fell to the ground, overwhelmed by the honor of being loved by Lyna. Rudbeckia would try to kiss the ground Lyna walked on, but she, as benevolent as a saint, would pull her up by the hair (Yes, yes!) to calm her, patting her back and giving her looks full of sweetness and affection.

"W-What?"Freya froze at Rudbeckia’s torrent of words, unable to fully process what she had just heard. "Are you mocking me?" She retorted, gripping her fan so tightly the ribs creaked. "Who the hell is Lyna?"

"My future wife!" Rudbeckia proclaimed with such vehemence it seemed she had opened the floodgates of a dam that everyone (Cale, Shen Jiu, and Penelope) had decided to keep locked with padlocks and possibly tons of cement. The passion and love Rudbeckia felt for Illyana were so intense and cheesy they bordered on exasperating. "The woman for whom I would give my life! No, forget that, if anything happened to Lyna, I would raze this unworthy world to ashes and then join her in death"

Rudbeckia loved talking about her girlfriend. She could spend hours, entire days, rambling about any detail of Illyana, to the point it was worrisome how she could speak nonstop without taking a breath in those moments when you had the misfortune to ask her about 'Lyna'.

Cale thought Rudbeckia had a problem… but Rudbeckia had no problem! Nothing in this universe was worth or as fascinating as Illyana! Rudbeckia was born to adore that precious, ethereal woman!

"No, wait…" Freya didn’t expect to stutter, but she also didn’t expect this young woman, daughter of a conservative and devoutly Church-going family, to speak so rapidly about a woman, whom she described as: 'The Goddess of Goddesses, before whom all should bow and feel grateful if Illyana ever glanced at them!' "Stop… Are you even breathing!?"

"Look, look, I have pictures of her!" Rudbeckia, ignoring Freya’s frantic attempts to stop her, pulled out a wallet from nowhere (Do wallets exist in this world? No? Luckily, Rudbeckia always carries hers, filled with photographs she took with the full consent of her beautiful albino!) and unfolded it, showing images of an albino woman with long, wavy hair, vibrant fuchsia eyes, and soft features that seemed to hold all the calm and patience of the universe.

Freya could only watch in horror as the object extended to touch the floor, and not only that, she was sure the wallet had wrapped around a nearby column. What kind of sorcery was that!?

"And what about Izek!?" Freya tried to regain some ground against Rudbeckia’s verbal onslaught.

"Who needs that Izek fellow?" Rudbeckia paused her monologue for a moment, looking at Freya as if she was the one who didn’t understand anything. A smile lit up her face, almost glowing, forcing Freya to squint. (Freya could swear she even saw hearts floating around Rudbeckia!). "I was born by my mother, and I will die for Illyana, preferably being suffocated between her thighs"

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pinkmarmalade1 · 7 months ago

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Things to script for your PJO Drs!

1. That you either don't get attacked by a monster on the way to camp or you for sure defeat it

I feel like some people don't realize how many Demigods don't even get to camp due to this

2. That you have some sort of flashy ability that you were born with

I say this because then it kinda forces your Godly parent to claim you. Also, it's freaking cool to just be able to show up to camp and be like, "Hey, I just got here and I can do this!"

An example would be like, if you are a child of Lady Demeter, you can make plants grow

Or if your a child of Lady Iris, you are like abnormally fast

3. You were born an abnormal way

Kinda like how Lady Athena's kids are born from her thoughts mixing with a mortal's thoughts. This would be very good if you just so happen to be the child of a maiden Goddess. I feel like there are many creative ways to go about this

4. Your protected from being cursed

For obvious reasons, *cough* Lady Juno *cough* Frank

5. You know your way around camp

It will shock you how big camp is

6. You have a relationship with your Godly parent

Or maybe that your just their favorite Demigod child. Perks of being a minor God's child is that there aren't many of you, so you naturally have a close connection to your parent 😉

7. Your somehow protected from monsters when you leave camp

Because you gotta stay safe! Here are some ideas I can think of...

If your a child of Lady Hecate, obviously you can just hide yourself from monsters using the mist or a spell or something

If your a child of Lady Aphrodite, perhaps she gifted you with magic perfume that throws off your scent

If your a child of Lord Hypnos, maybe you tend to make monsters fall asleep mid attack or make them feel so lazy they no longer want to attack you

If your a child of Lord Hades or Lord Thanatos(Like me!), you could just have a very intense aura that makes monsters less likely to want to attack you. Since both Deities have ties with death, that could just cause monsters to become hesitant or intimidated

Okay! That's all for this one, I have some other things on my script aswell so I might make a part two! Happy shifting!

#percy jackson #pjo hoo toa #pjo #demigods #scriptwriting #reality shifting #camp half blood #ideas #percy jackon and the olympians

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darklydeliciousdesires · 11 months ago

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Immortal Beloved - Chapter Nine.

A warm, heartfelt thank you to my readers for your continued engagement :)

Previous chapters - Prologue One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight

Tag list - In the comments

Words - 4,140

Warnings - 18+ only. Adult themes + vampire content throughout. Minors DNI!

“And so, I says to this fella, I says, right, listen here, mate! Any more out of you and you’ll be shitting your bloody teeth for a week, and you’ll never believe what he says to me, John. I tell ya now, you’ll never believe it, son. He stands there, right, fag dangling from his mouth, and he says to me...”

John didn’t give a damn what the fellow in question had said as they stood guarding the front gates of Bryn’s home, gladly watching the sun beginning to sink in the sky. From the first moment, he’d asked Tommy never to pair him with Mickey Two Suits, begged him, in fact, and what had his brother done?

…"so, there we are, right, having a scrap about it and then suddenly, this fucking umbrella comes flying out of nowhere! And it’s only the fella’s old dear, ain’t it, giving him a clobbering and dragging him home by his ear! I says to our Wilf, I says ‘eh, look at that! Thinks he’s hard enough to have a go at a Blinder and it’s his mom who has to run in and save his arse!’ What a night, John. Ya should have been there!”

“Mickey...”

“...and we went had a good ole’ knees up after, we did. Drank the Red Lion right out of whiskey that night, and you ain’t heard the best part yet, pal!”

“Mickey, will...”

“So, the landlord has this great, big Irish Wolfhound, right, and this group of lads are...”

“Two Suits! Holy fucking shit, will you shut up!” John’s exasperated tones matched his wide eyes, shaking his head. “Christ you don’t half yammer on, mate!”

Mickey pinked at the cheeks a little to have been – although lightly – admonished by one of his bosses, muttering his apologies and lighting a cigarette. He lasted all of twenty seconds.

“So, we off for a few Christmas Eve drinks up the pub once your lady wakes up? Christmas Eve at The Garrison, ain’t nothing like it, is there? Do you remember that one year when... bloody hell!”

This time, though, Mickey’s no doubt lengthy spiel was interrupted by a sight that made John’s heart flutter, Bryn suddenly appearing before them. “No, Mickey. John and I are to depart for Warwickshire, to a party hosted by Tommy and the lovely Grace.”

John had wondered how well Grace would take to Bryn, but after introducing them for the first time just three days before, he’d found the women had a very natural chemistry with one another. He was also pleased – for Tommy more than himself – that it had encouraged Polly to warm towards his soon-to-be sister-in-law a little more as well, since he and Grace were to be married in the New Year.

His aunt was not quick to warm to any women who came into the lives of her beloved nephews, especially not if she had good reason not to trust them, just as she’d had with both Grace and Bryn. For the latter, though, it had melted as soon as she’d seen something of herself within his ancient vampire lover, a woman who’d had her children torn from her, a woman whose pain she understood all too well.

Leaving Mickey to trudge down to the bus stop and travel back to Small Heath, John and Bryn went inside, the former pouring himself a whiskey while Bryn readied herself for the evening. She was affixing tiny little pearl adorned pins into her hair when he ventured into the bedroom, kissing her bare shoulder as she sat at her vanity.

“I thought you lot weren’t meant have a reflection.”

Him and that flipping novel he’d taken it upon himself to read. She rolled her eyes, turning to press her lips to his cheek. “Not everything Bram Stoker claims about us is true, you know.” Picking up her perfume, she spritzed herself liberally, the scent misting over her pale skin. “Although I must confess, being able to turn myself into a bat would be useful. If for nothing else than to retreat from awkward social situations.”

“Yeah,” he hummed, swirling the amber contents of his glass, “don’t think I’d fancy you half as much as a flying rodent. Maybe a bit still, like, but not as much as usual.”

Her look of incredulity had him tipping his head back, his laughter filling the room. “You are disgusting, John Shelby!”

“Still laughing though, ain’t ya!” Indeed, she was. His uncouthness, lack of filter and penchant for being completely inappropriate never ceased to entertain her. Truly, she had never met anybody like her darling John. She shook her head, picking up her kohl pencil and beginning to smoke her eyes sultry black. A little mascara and a twist of rouge to her cheeks and she was finished, speedily packing the rest of what she needed for their stay at Arrow House and whizzing down to the car to place her cases in, John going to ready Katie.

The child had been spending more time with him at Bryn’s since school had finished for Christmas, being cared for during the day by Bettie until Bryn awoke and spent time with her before bed. It had warmed his heart hugely to witness their bond forming, Katie furnishing the Christmas tree with her help, overhearing the bedtime stories his love would recite to her, the old Norse sagas his daughter loved to hear. Katie’s bedtime upon their arrival at Tommy’s house was no different.

“The crow went flying toward the North, croaking as she flew, “Let Hela keep what she holds. Let Hela keep what she holds.” That crow was the hag Thaukt transformed, and the hag Thaukt was Loki.

“He flew to the north and came into the wastes of Jötunheim. As a crow he lived there, hiding himself from the wrath of the Gods. He told the giants that the time had come for them to build the ship Naglfar, the ship that was to be built out of the nails of dead men, and that was to sail to Asgard on the day of Ragnarök with the giant Hrymer steering it...”

Standing in silent watch through the crack in the door, John smiled widely as Bryn recited a fairytale about Loki, Norse god of mischief to his spellbound daughter, the covers pulled up to her chin, Bryn’s hands gesturing as she spoke of the tale. At her core, she was such a natural mother, something within her so strongly maternal. The thought had never crossed his mind back when he’d first begun his courtship with her, but truly, she was everything Katie needed.

She was everything he needed, too.

“Now that’s a look of love if ever I saw one.”

At hearing Polly’s whisper, he turned, grin still fixed firmly in place as his cheeks coloured a little bit at being caught staring so adoringly at the scene. “She’s only known her just under three weeks and she dotes on that little girl as if she were her own.” Walking away from the bedroom, he pulled a cigarette out, lighting up. “Ain’t what you thought she was, is she?”

Polly lifted her chin, her eyes narrowing a fraction. “I don’t like to concede, but you’re right. She isn’t. Brynhild has surprised me with her nature. I never forget what she is, but I’m getting to know that what she is isn’t all she is.” Reaching for his face, she stroked his cheek, laying a pecked kiss upon the other. “I’m pleased for you, love. You look very happy.”

He smiled again, his handsome features lighting up the dim glow coming from the bedroom. “I am, Pol. Might not have been long, but I am.”

“Come on.” Opening her arm, she draped it around his shoulders, steering him down the corridor in the direction of the stairs. “Let’s go get drunk and eat too much food, have a good ole’ knees up.”

Walking down into the throng of people milling around the welcome hall, the mix of guests were mostly business, both legitimate and not so, family and friends, servers carrying trays of drinks and food, the laughter and chatter filling the spruce-scented air. John was just reaching for a whiskey when he felt a cool hand slip into his, Bryn arriving with him, taking a champagne flute from a passing member of the wait staff.

“How does it feel?”

“How does what feel, my darling?” she asked, pressing herself close to him as he released her hand, wrapping an arm around her instead.

“To be the most beautiful woman in the room?”

She sipped her champagne, eyeing him with a twinkle there in the hypnotic blue of her irises. “Oh, you presume yourself to be so very charming!”

His smirk widened. “Are you charmed?”

“I am,” she hummed.

“Then I’m fucking charming.” He kissed her head, his arm tightening around her. “Tell me about what underwear you’ve got on under that dress.”

“You know my thoughts towards underwear, my love,” she purred, kissing his cheek as they moved through the guests. “I don’t like anything that gets in the way of your mouth.”

A bolt shot through him, John closing his eyes for a moment. Opening them, he pulled himself back from the haze of lust to be greeted by an oncoming business associate, fellow bookmaker Kenneth Thompson.

“John! Good evening to you and your fine lady, here! How are you keeping?”

While he and her love got into conversation about the next race meets of the New Year, Bryn found herself beckoned over by Grace and Polly, gliding over through the throng of guests. It was as a young server passed her by that she caught the faintest whiff of it, a smell her nose never failed to detect. Her eyes snapped to the back of the redheaded girl’s neatly pinned tresses, watching her move from guest to guest.

“You’re on alert,” Polly noted when she arrived with them, seeing how Bryn suddenly appeared much less casual in demeanour. “What is it?” Although not knowing her for long, she’d familiarised herself with how the vampire carried herself, the minute changes within her normally quite stoic disposition. Polly Gray well understood when it paid to be observant.

“That girl,” Bryn began, pointing with her champagne flute. “Grace, how new is she within your employment? Also, is she local?”

“Very new,” she confirmed, her eyes following the cold, hard stare of her vampire friend’s eyes. “Everybody is, though. With us only officially moving in recently, the staff were hired just over a week ago. As for where she’s from, Tyneside according to her references. Why do you ask?”

“Thought I recognised her locally. I must be mistaken.” she lied, giving Polly a look that she read instantly. Tommy hadn’t filled in Grace over everything regarding Bryn, other than to obviously keep what she was well under her hat. Initially, she hadn’t believed him at all, laughing away under the impression that he was having her on upon their first meet. When Bryn had proved it by popping her fangs, she’d almost fallen out of her chair.

With Grace called away to continue playing gracious hostess, Polly moved Bryn into the corner of the room away from earshot of the other partygoers. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“That girl,” she began, her eyes flitting away to follow her before they snapped back to Polly. “She does not bathe often, for not only do I detect a fine scent of body odour, but I also smell Rasmussen on her. It is faint, but present.”

“You’re fucking joking me,” she hissed, eyes scanning the room. “I’ll get John and Tommy, let’s get this sorted.”

Immediately, Bryn gripped her arm. “No, no, Polly. We need not involve the men just yet. Let me watch her. Act as you normally would, begin to laugh at everything I’m saying.”

Polly’s faux, yet believable chuckle filled the air, Bryn affixing a huge smile to her face before launching into a real story, all the while watching the girl as she flitted from guest to guest. For all intents and purposes, they were having a wonderful Christmas Eve, with no suspicions over any infiltration to their circle.

Every so often, the serving girl’s eyes would find Bryn, studying her in confirmation of this, the vampire feeling her entire being hum on high alert. As soon as she exited the welcome hall, Bryn moved to follow her, ducking speedily into the shadows as she stalked her, the girl looking as if she was heading back down to the kitchen.

There was a pantry just to the side of the grand kitchen, a designated space where the butler would keep track of the household provisions at a small desk and put in the orders at the grocery, baker and butcher on a twice-weekly basis, Bryn remaining concealed from sight as the girl quietly made her way inside. She was just about to enter after her when John and Polly appeared.

“Oi, don’t you look at me like that, Brynhild,” Polly whispered sternly, noting the displeasure she was viewed with. “Wasn’t me who said anything.”

“She’s right, love” John spoke, touching a hand to her shoulder. “It was me who felt it.”

Of course, he would. John Shelby had so much of her blood travelling through his veins at that point, he might as well have called himself Brynhild Mark Two. Holding a finger to her lips, Bryn listened, hearing the serving girl make her request to the telephone exchange. Rasmussen.

Bingo.

“Mr Rasmussen, I hope I am not disturbing you.”

Before John or Polly knew it, Bryn was gone from before them, the butler’s pantry door flung open, both striding in to find the telephone cable pulled from the socket and a snarling Bryn pressing the girl down onto the desk by her throat.

“How much did he pay you to infiltrate?” she growled, her fangs bared, the girl shaking in fright as she found herself at the very wrong end of a powerful vampire’s temper.

“I-I d-d-don't know w-what you...”

“Oh, bloody spare us!” Polly exclaimed, closing the door behind them. “You can’t fool a nose like hers. She smelled them on you.”

“B-but I-I...”

Bryn’s gripped tightened. “I said, how much, child?”

“T-ten p-pounds.”

A lot of money for a girl who she estimated likely earned less than a third of that a week. “I will pay you treble that to call him back right now and tell him that I am not among the Shelby family. For I know that is why you are here. As my friend just stated, I can smell them on you.” She shook her head, her nose crinkling. “Poor, unfortunate girl. Perhaps if you bathed more often, you might have been successful.”

Nodding through her shakes, she felt on the verge of wetting her knickers in fear, watching the vampire as she looked to her companions. “Darling, plug the telephone back in.”

John nodded, eyeing the girl with distaste, Bryn going into her small clutch bag and pulling out three ten-pound notes. “Here. I will pay you this to deliver the message. That is all you have to do. Do you understand?”

“I-I do.”

Bryn beamed, but her smile carried not a trace of warmth to it. “Good.”

With the phone reconnected, the girl tucked her money into her neat little apron, taking the receiver and once again requesting the correct name to the exchange.

“Helen, we were cut off before. Now, what do you have for us, pet?” Edward asked upon answering, the girl not able to drag her eyes away from Bryn, shaking with fright at the faint sound of her rumbling warning growl.

“I’m afraid I have nothing.” She swallowed hard, taking a deep breath. “The woman you described is not within the guests. Just about everybody else notable is, but not any women with dark hair and a tattooed throat and chest, I’m afraid, sir.”

“Stick around, she mightn't have arrived yet. Like we said, it might be another. Sounds daft, love, but look out for people who are paler than usual, and who don’t eat or drink with quite the same gusto as others do, like.”

“Shall do, sir. I will report back tomorrow evening.” With that, the call ended, Helen finding herself on the receiving end of three very angry looking people. Well, only two were people. “What do I tell him tomorrow?”

“As long as it doesn’t involve anything to do with vampires being around the family, tell him whatever the fuck you like,” John spoke, moving to impose himself before her, reaching into his pocket to pull out his knife. “And if you do fucking breathe a word about her to anyone, we will find out, and bab, you don’t want to know what I’ll fucking do to ya. We clear?”

With a cold blade pressed against her cheek and the even colder glare of a vampire upon her, Helen nodded. “I shan’t say anything. I’ll just tell him there wasn’t any here. I promise, just please don’t hurt me.”

Returning the knife to his pocket, he patted her cheek with his hand. “Good girl. Now, go up and pack your bags. Now.”

“No.” Halting her with a splayed hand to her chest, Bryn stood in her path, shaking her head as she looked to John. “We must ensure she makes that call, John. If she doesn’t, then they will deduce that I am here and have dealt with her.”

She was right. “What do you plan on doing to her?”

Bryn pondered his statement for all of five seconds. “Fetch me some rope. We tie her to a chair in here and tell no one to enter. Then we come down here again at sundown tomorrow, let her make her call and escort her from the premises.”

“And what the fuck are we meant to tell the serving staff, why they can’t come in here all of a sudden?” he asked, perplexed.

Shaking her head in bafflement, a frown of light incredulity creased her forehead. “Darling, you run both legitimate and cooked books for a living; you’re better at mathematics than most of the fucking Arabs who created it. You’re also a goddamned Shelby, lying is in your nature. Do not tell me such mental calculus is beyond you.” Her eyebrows continued to rise, gesticulating wildly with her free hand. “Bloody make something up!”

Polly couldn’t keep the smile from her face at how Bryn had both managed to praise and admonish him at the exact same time, especially watching John not know whether to be annoyed or enamoured by the crisply delivered statement from his lady.

“I ain’t sure if I want to fuck you or slap you right now.”

“I’ll let you do both later,” she winked, nodding towards the door. “Rope. Now.” As soon as he left the pantry, Polly was in soft fits.

“Oh, my giddy aunt!” she snorted, lighting herself a cigarette while Bryn pushed a still terrified, but complacent Helen down into the wooden chair behind the desk. “Seeing you run circles around my bloody nephew like that is the only Christmas present I’ll need this year.”

Bryn smirked, taking Helen’s hand and popping her fangs, forcing the young woman’s finger to her mouth and piercing the tip upon the point of one of those long, sharp teeth. Helen winced, Bryn licking the drop of blood that swelled forth. “There is my insurance, should stupidity and luck be on your side and mean you somehow escape. I will be able to find my way to you instantly.”

With the way John bound her legs and arms to the chair upon his return, though, Bryn sorely doubted that Helen would be going anywhere, but took the phone with them just in case. “Please tell me that one day you shall delight my senses by tying me to the bed like that.”

He paused upon the staircase, raising an eyebrow. “You could get out of it in about half a second, though.”

“I could,” she purred, leaning close to flick her tongue against his earlobe, giving it a little nibble. “I wouldn’t attempt to, though.”

“You,” he began, waving a finger at her, “you need to pack it in, you do. We’ve got to go fill Tommy in over all of this and you’ve bloody gone and gotten me at half-mast as it fucking is.” He nodded downwards, Bryn seeing the outline of his cock beginning to tent his trousers, chuckling as she grinned.

“Well, my, my.” Leaning close, she kissed him, her lips all fiery honey upon his. “It looks like something is looking up this evening after all.”

Carrying on up the stairs, she left him standing there waiting to deflate again, shaking his head as he muttered. “Bloody insufferable temptress.”

“I heard that.”

“You were fucking meant to, bab!” he shouted, making the server passing him jump, John placing a reassuring hand to his shoulder as he grinned widely, the man continuing his trajectory. “God, I love that woman.”

As she stepped back into the throng of the party, Bryn heard that, too. She would never tire of it either, slipping her hand into his when he joined her after a few moments, fully calmed in the trouser department as they walked over to where Polly waited for them, opening the door to Tommy’s office.

“Grace specifically told me no business tonight, so whatever this is, make it quick,” he spoke, taking a seat behind his desk, looking up to see Arthur enter the room, neatly closing the door behind him and shutting out the noise from the party.

“Do not worry, Tommy. I have every intention of being perfectly concise so we may resume this wonderful evening you and Grace have put together for us,” Bryn began, Tommy nodding in acknowledgement of her praise, his eyes fixing upon her. “A spy sent by Edward Rasmussen infiltrated your serving staff. It was only because the dirty girl does not bathe quite as often as one should that I managed to smell their scent upon her, knew she had been close to them.

“She was sent here to look for me specifically. I apprehended her with John and Polly prior to her delivering news to Edward himself, intercepted the phone call she was shortly to make, forcing her to tell him all was clear. He expects her to call in again tomorrow to confirm that no vampire fitting my image, or any other for that matter arrived here at Arrow House.”

Arthur leaned around Polly, nodding to her. “You alright though, love? She ain’t burned you with no silver or nothing, has she?”

Bryn was touched by his concern. “I am fine, dear Arthur. Trust and believe if she had of attempted to wound me, your brother would have likely acted swiftly.”

“Wouldn’t fucking half have,” John muttered, pulling a cigar from his pocket and lighting up.

Tommy digested her words, drawing idly upon his cigarette. “Which serving girl was it?”

“Helen.”

“And where is Helen now?”

“Tied up in the butler’s pantry.”

He rose to his feet. “Good enough, Brynhild.” Walking around the desk, he placed a hand to John’s shoulder as he passed. “Fits into our world just nicely does your lady, John boy. We’ll deal with this tomorrow.” Opening his door, he gestured through the space, the noise of the merriment filling the air as his family filed back out. Bryn was the last to leave, Tommy halting her with a soft hand to her forearm.

“I’ll leave it to your discretion, whether Helen actually leaves the grounds or not tomorrow,” he whispered, his stare so strong Bryn felt it boring into the back of her skull. “Either way, though, she is to be gone and kept quiet.”

Bryn would not have survived for as long as she had, should she not have known well how to read between the lines. Smiling, she leaned to kiss Tommy’s cheek, gliding from the room to take another glass of champagne and slide in at her love’s side once more, the head of the family watching her as he closed the heavy office door behind him.

In offering his protection to Bryn, he saw well how the alliance benefitted him from her being close to them. Literally being able to smell the faint trace of an enemy upon a person was a skill he wished he possessed, but did not need to now that he had the most powerful vampire in England close with his family.

Tommy Shelby knew a valuable asset when he saw one. The fact that she made his younger brother the happiest looking man in the room didn’t hurt either.

#john shelby fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfiction #john shelby smut #peaky blinders smut #john shelby fanfic #john shelby fic #john shelby x ofc #john shelby #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fic #peaky fucking blinders #immortal beloved #john and Bryn

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tgrailwar-zero · 2 months ago

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Did they say Null Zero Samurai merch? Shouldn’t there be some royalties paid to us for those rights?

JAGUAR MAN: "The contract says you'll get-- I'm sorry, where did these people get their media training? Are they just saying the first thing that pops in their head? And where is Moby Dick-- is the whale ASLEEP or something?!"

DURYODHANA: "Would you look at that, we have to cut to commercial, but we'll be back soon after the break with more thrilling sports commentary! Hopefully because by then the actual sport will be starting. A very special thanks to our Lady Cleopatra for sponsoring this event, as always! For you fashionable Solar Cell denizens out there, Lady Cleopatra's once-exclusive vintage 'Nile Mist' perfume line has returned, though supplies are limited and running out fast! Alright, we'll be right back in a few short minutes!"

#thgw story #endless whispers

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hiyyihrts · 9 months ago

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so excited for the bridgerton bath and body exclusives like what scents are we getting !! fresh linens? countryside air with wildflowers and bees??Kate’s natural aroma in a perfume or body mist?? bachelor pad dwellings and ball sweat??? the scent of diamonds and desperate mothers hungry for a matchmaking extravaganza??? the smell of lady danbury’s staining on her wooden cane?? the powder of the queens wigs???? the possibilities are endless !!!!

#I’m hoping for fencing sweat by ABC 🫶#bridgerton #bath and body products #bath and body works #bath and body works bridgerton #netflix bridgerton #bridgerton s3 #bridgerton season 3

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ruinedbylanadelrey · 1 year ago

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King of Your Heart

Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Chapter 3 "Make me"

summary: All that Frankie has ever wanted to be was your everything. After years of being best friends one phone call changes everything between the two of you.

inspired by The King by Sarah Kinsley

warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI, age gap (reader is 28-29, Frankie 38-39), friends with benefits -> situationship, Frankie isn't a dad, jealously, best friends with benefits, reader is lowkey toxic, reader wears makeup, reader has long hair, self-hate (both characters), unwanted advances (not frankie or reader), alcohol consumption, frankie "pussy eating king" morales, smut, oral (f! rec.), unprotected sex, yearning, secrets, no y/n, pet names, switch!Frankie, switch!Reader, blind dates, possessiveness, triple frontier boys, Tom is dead, reader is a flirt, praise kink, reader has complicated relationship with her body, Frankie is a dick (later)

inside the world of king of your heart

playlist

series mainlist | main masterlist

taglist: @hiroikegawa

The hair dryer sits on the bathroom counter, perfume bottles lined up waiting to be chosen. Your whole skincare routine is littered across the sink. Why are you doing this? You don't even want to date. But you are doing this for Benny. Being a good friend and maybe this blind date will change your mind about relationships. You spray the fine mist on your face locking the makeup. You look at your phone hoping you will see a text from Frankie who hasn't spoken to you since the night at the bar.

He bailed on you and the rest of the group the other night, it was poker night and he told Pope that he wasn't feeling well. He lied because he couldn't face you.

Frankie sits at home, staring at the phone trying to muster up the courage to text you and coax you into his bed. He didn't want you to go on the blind date, he knows that you aren't looking to date. At least that's what he keeps telling himself.

Would you be mad at him if he texted you to not go on the date and just have sex all night? Or would you be thanking him for saving you from a god-awful date?

You sighed slipping your phone into your purse and spraying a perfume you don't even like on your neck. Benny texts you the address to the bar, putting it in the maps app. You sit in your car for a moment hoping your phone will glow with the 'come over' text from Frankie. A minute passes adding to your ETA, each mile brings down the time, and pieces of hope break away with each rotation of your tires.

Benny was waiting out front with his lady friend and a man you'd never seen before, he was tall but lean not like Frankie who was more broad and muscular, and you snapped out of your thoughts. Why were you comparing him to Frankie? You wave at them as you pass by to pull into a parking spot. You look in the mirror to check your lip gloss and run your finger through your hair.

You walk up to Benny and hug him then his date, Mari who was just so beautiful.

"This is Daniel," Mari introduces you to him, he calls you beautiful and tells you about how he saw your Instagram and just was floored by your beauty. You give a friendly smile. He seems nice, the 4 of you walked into the bar and ordered drinks. The usual first-date topics were flowing from Daniel, but you weren't asking them back he took it upon himself to just talk about himself.

You sipped your drink, nodding along to whatever story he was telling about his job or whatever. Your mind drifted to what would the evening would be like if you were with Frankie sitting on the couch making out.

Drinks kept flowing, Benny and Mari broke off to go into their own world leaving you completely at Daniel's mercy. He kept speaking so you took it upon yourself to pick apart the man in front of you.

Sure he was attractive but he was that 'pretty boy' attractiveness, conventually attractive. He was nice to look at but he was missing that darkness that you like. He wasn't broken in any kind of way. No trauma. Just another ex-frat guy who had a business degree and worked for some investment company. He wasn't special. He wasn't Frankie.

Why are you thinking about Frankie?

"You look like fun," Daniel leans down to your ear and whispers. You could feel yourself cringe physically. "Wouldn't you like to know?" You rolled your eyes taking a sip of shitty whiskey Daniel for the both of you. "Wanna show me?" He slides his hand further down your back, you reach behind you to grab his wandering hand. Daniel presses his hand to grab a fistful of your ass.

"Dude, fuck off," You push him away causing him to stumble back, your eyes darted around looking for Benny. Daniel scoffs looking like a fool trying to catch his balance. "Don't act like you don't want this," He gestures to his whole body. You set your glass on the bar and sized him up, giving him a glare that would make any person piss their pants.

The glint in your eyes was dark, you stepped forward and got right in his face. "I will say this one last time and I will not repeat myself unless you want to be six feet under. Fuck off." You spat in Daniel's face, you watched how he swallowed hard and his ego crumble to the ground. You smiled grabbing your purse from the bar turning around and walking out the door.

It was like you were blinded by the feeling of disgust and wanting to crawl out of your skin. You were at Frankie's white door, your knuckles rap two knocks on it. Frankie gets up from the couch and opens the door.

The sun had just set, and the stars were out in the sky dancing above your head. The glow from the porch light makes you seem like an angel sent from the gods. Your eyes weren't sparkling they were dark and unalive. You eye Frankie's khaki cargo pants, blue shirt, and his beloved hat sitting on top of the mess of curls. A step forward and a step back were made, and you pushed Frankie into the house, slamming the door behind you.

Frankie's mouth fell open but no words came out, your body was pulled into his like a magnet. "I want you to destroy me, Frankie," You pressed your body into his broad build, feeling his arousal poking your hip. Frankie's hands make purchase on your lower back, his lips locking with yours. You taste like whiskey and your sweet saliva. Frankie licking into your mouth, wanting to devour you. Hands making work of discarding anything keeping your skin away from his.

"Be a good boy and make me feel good," You moan out as Frankie's lip kisses down your neck, nipping the thin skin around your throat. It was like the universe was on his side, sending you to his house with complete desperation. Frankie pushes you against the front door and gets on his knees.

"Spread your legs, princess," Frankie kisses your thighs, and you open your legs inviting him between them. He dips his head and lays a kiss on your mound traveling to your lips, Frankie rests your legs on his shoulders holding you up with strength. His tongue dips into your folds, collecting your slick on his tongue. He groans when your taste meets his taste buds. The vibrations go directly to your clit. You moan gripping his hair and pulling him in closer to your wet pussy. His tongue darts in and out of your dripping cunt and his nose bumps your clit as Frankie eats you out.

"F-fuck, make me cum," You were a babbling mess, his mouth on you, having you melt by the work of his tongue. Frankie looks at you, watching your head lull against the door, seeing how your chest heaves from panting and withering above him. Frankie reaches down and pulls himself out from the constricting briefs. His mouth leaves you for a moment, his finger sliding inside you collecting your wetness and using it to coat his hard cock.

You gaze down at him, stroking himself. He quickly brings his mouth to your clit, sucking hard while he pleasures himself. "Cum for me, baby," Frankie breaks away just to say and you couldn't hold back anymore. You bit your lip hard enough to taste slight copper your eyes squeezing shut, your thighs clamped around his head as you felt white hot bliss explode through your body.

"That's it, princess, such a good girl for me," Frankie whispers watching you fall apart because of him. You take a deep breath, your body shaking as Frankie helps you to the couch. Resting you on the armrest, he pushes your body on the couch. His cock notches at your entrance and pushes in without warning.

You scream out his name feeling his hard length stretching you out. Frankie watches your mouth fall open letting out a guttural groan, your hips meeting his. Frankie leans down and mounts himself on top of you. Sweat dripping down his neck and onto your back. Skin slapping and your juices dripping your thighs and coating his.

Your clit rubbing on the armrest was giving you the right amount of friction with Frankie slamming into you. "So fucking tight, baby," Frankie fists your hair, pulling you up to capture your lips, his tongue slides against yours, allowing you to taste yourself. "Harder! Please!" You cry out, Frankie grips your hips as his hips snap into your ass. The coil in your stomach winds up tighter, Frankie whimpers feeling your walls flutter around his thick cock.

"I want you to cum again, princess, do it for me," Frankie demands, he slide one hand between your thighs, rubbing your clit harder as his cock drills into your fucked out hole. You could feel the electricity flowing to your toes when you released around his cock. "That's my girl," Frankie pants, your pussy clenches at his praise, making his thrust stutter and spilling into you. Frankie crumbles on top of you, breathing heavily letting out whimpers in your ear. The feeling of him pulling out makes you moan, feeling his cum drip out of you.

Frankie gathers his strength and stands up while helping you to the shower. You both wash each other in silence, your legs trembling as you try so hard to stay upright. Frankie holds you letting the water stream down your back.

"What happened?" Frankie breaks the silence. You let out a sigh and buried your head into his chest. "The guy was a prick, tried to touch me," You could feel the tears sting your waterline. Frankie tenses up and squeezes you trying to bring you in closer. "I told him off but...I just felt so objectified." You couldn't help but spill the truth.

Frankie helps you out of the shower and dresses you in his clothes. Silence fills the air again. You were on the edge of falling asleep when Frankie left the bedroom. He was furious that anyone wouldn't treat you with respect.

Why didn't Benny stop the guy? Where was your friend when you needed help? Frankie paces the living room. Debating if he should go find the asshole himself and give him a beating or if he should go find Benny and give him a piece of his mind for not being a friend and making sure you were okay. Frankie quietly peeks into his room, to see you sound asleep.

Frankie sighs out and takes his keys, locking up and putting his truck in drive. He didn't know what he was doing. Possessiveness clouds his decision-making.

#frankie morales #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales fluff #triple frontier #triple frontier fic #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x f!reader #pedro pascal

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sakuraaachan · 1 year ago

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Recreation - Satoru Gojo - REQUESTED

Domestic moments with Husband Gojo, where you guys reminisce moments with one another especially your first dance during your wedding. So why not recreate that magical moment of a first dance. (In the end, may you add their daughter dancing along with them, that would be so cute!)

Sorry this took so long, was on a little break! I hope you enjoy, I did my best to make this extremely cute and fuffy! (Also my Submission form was kinda bugged when you submitted it so I didn't get to tag you. Sorry!)

Word count: 2149

Satoru Gojo x Reader

Rating: Fluff

Wanna submit a request? Click here

This is the full version of the story!

Around the time you got married, there was a saying flying around. A joke between inside friends. ‘If Satoru Gojo can get married, then maybe there’s hope for us after all.’ It was no secret how handsome Gojo was perceived, and the many looks and all the attention the male would get from women.

But it wasn’t his looks that tended to drive women away, his silly personality was just a little too much for one to handle on a daily basis. His arrogance, ego, pride, it was another handful that wasn’t so pleasurable.

Despite this, he had no interest in settling. That is, until he met you. Your first day on the job, hair pressed to a flowy silky state, a lift mist of perfume radiating from your body, a deep shade of red painted on your lips. He didn’t see your face first though, it was the tight little skirt you wore that drew him in first.

You found his persistent advances rather bothersome, and his behavior grated on your nerves. His arrogance and ego only fueled your resistance, and you made it clear that you were not interested in his advances.

However, Gojo, being the determined and stubborn man he was, saw your rejection as a challenge rather than a deterrent. He couldn't resist the opportunity to win you over, intrigued by your unwavering will to reject him.

But with due time, you began to peel back the layers of his silly and arrogant exterior, you discovered his kindness, loyalty, and unwavering support for those he cared about. Slowly, his persistence transformed into genuine affection, and he became a person you could rely on.

One day, after a particularly challenging day at work, you found yourself seeking comfort in a quiet corner of the office. Unexpectedly, Satoru appeared by your side, offering a cup of coffee and a sympathetic ear. Despite his bad habit of always talking about himself, he listened attentively as you poured out your frustrations. It was in that moment that you realized how much he had grown on you, how much you valued his presence in your life.

It was almost like he knew exactly the moment that you fell for him, the grin on his face as your face slowly changed colors. Satoru's relentless pursuit had paid off, and with a couple of dates, you both discovered a connection that surpassed superficial attraction.

The relationship had its ups and down. It was hard dating the most eligible bachelor in Japan. It was a mental strain that heavily impacted your mental health. So many pretty girls would approach him, interrupting dates and coddling him. Not to mention old flings trying to get back with him. Sure Satoru would send them off, but his charm would only leave the ladies wanting more.

Sometimes you felt like you couldn’t compare to how beautiful the girls were. All of them make up for things you were lacking. Feelings of insecurity and comparison crept into your mind, causing moments of doubt and vulnerability. You couldn't help but wonder if you were enough for Satoru, given the beauty and allure of the women who pursued him.

Satoru remained steadfast and unwavering in his love for you, he constantly reminded you of his promising favor for you and only you, but it couldn’t help the small voice in the back of your mind. At first Satoru was nice about it, he understood, and was patient, but with your stubbornness to believe nobody could replace you, he eventually got fed up.

He was angry, storming out of your house with no words. Your stomach had churned with insecurity. Your heart sank with the fear of having jeopardized your relationship. You couldn't bear the thought of losing him, and your mind was consumed with regret and self-doubt.

Tears streamed down your face as you brought your knees closer to your body, unable to contain your emotions any longer. Your sobs echoed through the empty house, a painful reminder of the fragile state of your heart.

But just when you thought all hope was lost, the front door swung open, and there stood Satoru. He approached you slowly, his eyes locked with yours, and without uttering a single word, he knelt down on one knee.

In his hand was a sparkling ring, a symbol of his love and commitment. The sight took your breath away, a small feeling of silliness washing away the sorrow pit in your stomach.

He spoke with a firm voice, pouring his heart out to you. He expressed how much you meant to him, how you had touched his life in ways no one else had. Declaring his unwavering love for you and his desire to spend the rest of his life by your side.

Tears had soon dried up on your cheeks, you couldn't find the words to respond. Overwhelmed with happiness, you simply nodded, tears streaming down your face as a resounding "Yes" escaped your lips.

Satoru slipped the ring onto your finger, sealing the promise of a future together and in that instant, the doubts and insecurities that had plagued you just vanished.

The day of your wedding soon arrived, and as you stood in front of the mirror, your breath caught in your throat. The sight that greeted you took your own breath away. Adorned in a white wedding gown, its intricate lace and flowing silhouette accentuated your every curve, making you feel like a vision of ethereal beauty.

The years since your high school prom had been filled with everyday moments and casual attire, leaving little opportunity to truly dress up. But now, in this momentous occasion, you were reminded of just how radiant and enchanting you could be.

Today you’d marry the man of your dreams. Waiting by the door was your father, his nose was red, having already started crying before even seeing you in the dress.

You walked towards him, the delicate lace of your gown brushing against the floor with every step. As you approached, your father's hands trembled slightly as he reached out to hold yours.

His voice cracked as he whispered, "you look absolutely stunning, my dear. Today, you become a bride, but you will forever be my little girl."

“Thank you daddy,” you smiled.

With your father by your side, you made your way towards the ceremony, anticipation building in every beat of your heart. With a deep breath, the doors swung open, revealing the elegantly decorated venue. Friends and family everywhere.

The room was adorned with flowers, casting a soft, romantic ambiance. The guests turned their heads, their eyes filling with awe as they caught sight of you, a vision in white, walking down the aisle.

But you weren’t focused on the gawking stares, eyes on your soon to be husband standing at the altar with his hands in his pockets. Even at such an important event, Satoru would always be Satoru.

You reached the altar, your father giving your hand a gentle squeeze before placing it in Satoru's. As you exchanged vows, promising to love and support each other for a lifetime, the room filled with a palpable sense of unity.

You spoke your rows with a rhythm, each word from memory as you had written the rows down a long time ago. When it came to Satoru’s turn, you noticed how his eyes would continuously peek down at his hand. With a small glimpse, you can see the small smudges of ink on his finger.

You resist the urge to laugh, rolling your eyes at the man. As the officiant pronounced you as husband and wife, a surge of pure joy rushed through your veins. The room erupted in applause and cheers, a symphony of happiness celebrating your union.

As you and Satoru sealed your vows with a tender kiss, the world faded away, leaving only the blissful realization that you were now married. Hand in hand, you walked back down the aisle, the sounds of jubilation following your every step.

You smile at the picture frame in your hand. A picture of your hand Satoru holding hands at the altar. It had been years since that happy moment, and you were now living in your new suburban home right in the best neighborhood in Japan.

“What are you looking at hun?”

You place the picture frame back in place as Satoru walks over, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You turn to face Satoru, a warm smile playing on your lips as you lean into his affectionate kiss. His presence always brings a sense of comfort and happiness to your life, even in the simplest of moments.

"I was just looking at this picture of us from our wedding day," you reply, your voice filled with nostalgia. "It's incredible how time flies. We've come so far since then, haven't we?"

“We definitely have.” Satoru wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him. “But you are still as beautiful as the day I saw you walk down the aisle.”

“And you are just as corny as the day I first met you.”

As you both stand in the cozy living room of your home, a sense of contentment washes over you. The walls are adorned with photographs, capturing cherished memories of vacations, family gatherings, and the milestones you've shared as a couple.

Satoru clears his throat, pulling away from you and walking over to the record player you had been gifted a couple years ago. He puts on a new record and in a few seconds a soft song begins to play.

“What are you up to?” You arch a brow at him. A mischievous smile dances across Satoru's lips as he adjusts the dimmers, creating an intimate and romantic atmosphere in the room. The soft glow of the lights casts a warm aura, enveloping both of you in its gentle embrace.

“This corny husband wants to dance with his beautiful wife,” Satoru says, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. "Do you remember our first dance at our wedding?"

A wave of nostalgia washes over you and the melody of the song suddenly becomes familiar as you recall the enchanting dance that marked the beginning of your journey as husband and wife.

As the music fills the room, a melodic tune that holds a special place in your heart, Satoru extends his hand towards you. "May I have this dance, my love?"

You accept his outstretched hand with a playful twinkle in your eyes. "Of course, but I hope you remember that I have two left feet."

Satoru chuckles, pulling you into his arms with practiced ease. "No worries. You can just step on my feet like last time."

The two of you sway gently to the rhythm of the song, losing yourselves in the moment. As you rest your head against Satoru's chest, his heartbeat becomes the rhythm that guides your dance. It feels as if time slows down, and the outside world fades away, leaving only the two of you in this precious moment.

His touch is gentle yet firm, his movements perfectly synchronized with yours. The dance becomes a language of its own, speaking volumes about your love and commitment. As you move in harmony, a smile graces your lips, and you whisper words of endearment to one another.

But the soft moment is interrupted by the gentle cries of a child in the other room. You both stop dancing, sharing a look before you walk over to the nursery. “Looks like someone doesn’t like being left out.”

You picked up your daughter, the baby’s beautiful eyes welled with tears. You smile as you pick her up, pressing her to your chest to rock her to a soothed state. As you return to the living room, Satoru remains where you left him, his arms open to hold you and his daughter.

“Looks like I’m gonna have to dance with both my favorite ladies.”

You approach him, handing him his daughter who he cradles in his arm with ease, as he pulls you into a warm and comforting hug. Together, the three of you create a new dance, swaying gently to the rhythm alongside your daughter's sleepy breaths. The world outside may be filled with chaos and responsibilities, but in this moment, you find solace in the warmth in the family you had created.

As you rest your head against Satoru's chest, you feel the steady beat of his heart—a rhythm that reassures you of the love and stability you've built together. You exchange soft whispers of affection, showering your daughter with loving words that soothe her delicate soul.

With each gentle sway, you realize that this dance is just as magical as the first dance at your wedding. It's a dance of parenthood, a dance that you’d grow to remember as you got older with your husband.

©LuvloveUni

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