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iamgonnagetyouback · 5 months ago

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤ⠀────۶ৎ letter

synopsis: remus writes you a love letter but accidentally leaves it in the dorm, and when james, sirius, and peter find it, they can’t help but add some extra flair to his words. when he finally gives it to you, your reaction is not what he expects content warnings: james, sirius & peter being menaces (affectionate), secondhand embarrassment for remus, fluff, one (1) very dramatic love letter

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ᡣ𐭩 words.ᐟ 515

The Marauders’ dormitory was unusually quiet. Remus Lupin had taken advantage of the rare moment of solitude to scribble down his thoughts. With a slightly trembling hand, he folded the letter, sealed it with his initials, and placed it on his desk.

A soft smile played on his lips as he glanced at it before heading down to the common room to check where you were.

Enter James, Sirius, and Peter.

James pushed the door open with a flourish, Sirius following close behind with a yawn with Peter hanging on his arm.

“Ah, our humble abode,” Sirius declared. “The sanctuary of secrets and—wait, what’s this?” His sharp eyes caught sight of the neatly folded parchment sitting suspiciously on Remus’s desk.

Peter padded over to it. “Looks important…” He picked it up, squinting at the handwriting. His face lit up like a Christmas tree. “It’s a love letter!”

“A love letter?” James perked up, lunging to snatch the parchment from Peter’s hands. He scanned the opening lines, his grin spreading wider with each word. “‘Dear Y/N…’ Oh, this is good.”

“Is it sappy?” Sirius asked, already leaning over James’s shoulder.

“Beyond sappy,” James said, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “But.... not sappy enough.”

Peter gasped. “We should… enhance it.”

Sirius clapped his hands together. “Boys, fetch a quill. It’s time for Operation Padfoot-Potter-Pettigrew Poetics.”

James grinned and whipped out his wand, charming the nearest quill to mimic Remus’s handwriting. “Let’s see… what would Moony say if he were a complete sap?”

Sirius smirked. “How about, ‘Your smile could melt a dementor’s heart’?”

“Oh, good one!” James added it in, snickering. “And, ‘I dream of your hair—it’s like silk spun by angels.’”

Peter pitched in, “Don’t forget, ‘Your laugh is the melody of my soul.’”

“Wait, wait!” Sirius cut in. “‘If I were a werewolf’—ha!—‘I’d howl at the moon just to get a glimpse of you.’”

They erupted into laughter, their sides practically splitting and when they were halfway through adding “Your eyes rival the stars” the sound of footsteps on the stairs froze them all in place.

“Moony’s coming!” Sirius hissed.

The three Marauders scrambled. James slammed the letter shut and shoved it back on the desk. Sirius collapsed onto Remus’s bed, holding a book upside down. Peter, in a panic, began juggling socks.

The door creaked open, and Remus stepped in, his eyes narrowing immediately at the sight of his three best friends.

“…What are you all doing?” he asked suspiciously.

“Reading,” Sirius said, holding the upside-down book closer to his face. "Very interesting book in fact. You should try it, Moony."

"Sure, Sirius." Remus nodded as he gave him a smirk, "Hey, do tell me later if the book was more interesting upside down?"

Sirius's face turned red as he gave a thumbs up, "You got it, mate."

Remus chuckled as he his attention was diverted by a sock falling on his foot. He turned to look at Peter confusingly who gave him a sheepish smile.

“Practicing my dexterity,” He said, dropping a sock on his head.

“Just existing,” James added with a bright smile. “Why? What are you doing?”

Remus’s eyes darted to his desk, where the letter sat innocently. He picked it up, his brows furrowing slightly. “Were you—?”

“Us? Never!” James said, his tone as exaggerated as his grin. “Anyway, we’ve got Quidditch practice. See you later!” He grabbed Sirius and Peter, dragging them out as quickly as possible.

With the letter tucked in his pocket, Remus found you in your favorite corner of the common room, nose buried in a book. His nerves kicked into high gear as he handed you the letter.

“I, uh… wrote this for you,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck.

You smiled, taking the parchment. “Thanks, Remus.” You unfolded it, your eyes scanning the words.

The initial sweetness made your heart flutter: “Dear Y/N, I’ve wanted to tell you for ages how much you mean to me…”

But then…

“Your beauty is so radiant it could blind a Basilisk.” “If I were stranded on a deserted island, I’d only need your smile to survive.” “I’d duel a hundred Dementors just to hear you say my name.”

Your shoulders shook. A laugh bubbled out, then another, until you were laughing so hard tears prickled your eyes.

Remus’s face paled. “W-What? What’s wrong? Is it bad? Too much? Not enough?”

You could barely catch your breath as you held the letter out to him, pointing at the overly saccharine additions. “Did… did you actually write this?”

His eyes widened in horror. “No! I—I mean, not that! They must’ve—Sirius! James! Peter!” He groaned, burying his face in his hands. “They got to it.”

You couldn’t stop laughing, your cheeks aching. “I think it’s adorable.”

“You’re laughing at me,” he said, his tone half-whiny, half-embarrassed.

“I’m not laughing at you,” you said between giggles. “I’m laughing because it’s sweet. And because I know how much you actually care.”

His hands slowly dropped, his cheeks still red. “You… do?”

“Of course I do.” You stepped closer, your smile softening. “And for the record, I think you’re pretty incredible too.”

His breath hitched. “You do?”

Before his nerves could ruin the moment, you closed the gap, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. It was sweet, warm, and perfect, and when you pulled back, his dazed expression made you giggle again.

“Best letter I’ve ever received,” you teased, and he couldn’t help but laugh too.

#⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ivy writes ༄.°#remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin #marauders era #the marauders #marauders #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin oneshot #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin x you

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kiwriteswords · 12 days ago

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Won't you please arrange it? Cause I love you. [Aaron Hotchner x Florist!Reader]

Florist!Reader Masterlist|| Main Masterlist [I need to update this, sorry!]|| Ao3||Word Count: 3.8k|| AN: Weddings were always SO fun and so romantic when I worked as a florist. The chaos was unruly, but the excitement always outweighed that! Tags/Warnings: Female!Reader, Florist!Reader, Non-BAU!Reader, established-relationship, Sassy!Reader, Flirty!Reader, weddings, marriage, alluding to fear of commitment (sorta), romance, fluff, healing!reader, hotch and florist have been dating for some time, Grant Anderson wedding!! Summary: While preparing the wedding flowers for a BAU colleague, you find yourself imagining a future you never let yourself believe in: one where the man who sees every part of you, Aaron Hotchner, might just be the one waiting at the end of the aisle.

It was well past seven, the shop long closed to customers, but you were still inside, apron smudged with pollen and eucalyptus sap, hands deep in a box of ivory roses that had been overnighted from a grower you trusted with your life.

The backroom smelled like heaven--

Fresh lilac, white ranunculus, garden roses, blush sweet pea, trailing jasmine. It was organized chaos: half-filled vases, open ribbon spools…small cards scribbled with table seventeen: soft mauve and sage green--no baby’s breath. Bride’s orders. Mother of Groom allergic to lilies. Bride said that using quotations.

The wedding was in two days.

Agent Anderson and his fiancée had come in sheepish and sweet, asking if--maybe, if it wasn’t too much trouble--you’d consider doing the flowers for their wedding.

Hotch had just smirked behind them, arms crossed like he’d known it was coming all along.

And honestly? You’d loved the idea. Weddings were your groove. Stressful? Sure. But magical? Always.

Something about crafting the very things someone would hold as they said forever just…filled you.

Every rose. Every ribbon. Every goddamn petal.

You were all in.

Which is why, when the bell over the door chimed and you heard the lock click behind it, you didn’t even look up from your bouquet-in-progress.

“You’re technically breaking and entering,” you called out, voice teasing, fingers still weaving stems into the bouquet holder.

Hotch’s voice answered, dry but warm, “I have a key. And probable cause.”

You grinned. “What’s the probable cause?”

“Suspicious activity,” he said, appearing in the doorway to your workroom. “Owner hasn’t texted in hours. Lights still on. No sign of food or hydration. Floral debris everywhere.”

You turned around, bouquet in one hand, clippers in the other, arching a brow. “Sounds like someone’s just really good at their job.”

His eyes swept the room, the table, you.

To many, the place would have looked like utter chaos. But Hotch? He knew you well enough now. Too well, you’d argue some days. There was a madness to your craziness. There was order in the mess. The pile to your left was clippings that could be repurposed: the flower girl’s petals, a groomsmen’s boutonniere, the mother of the bride’s corsage…

Then he stepped closer, tilting his head slightly as he looked at the bouquet. “That the bride’s?”

You nodded, turning it slightly to show him the cascade of white and blush peonies, spirea, and pale mauve lisianthus spilling from the center like a waterfall.

Hotch blinked slowly. Taking in the talent…but more so taking in you, “It’s beautiful.”

You smiled, brushing a thumb over one of the petals. “It has to be. It’s the one she’s going to hold when she walks down the aisle. When she sees him. I want her to look at it and remember that exact second forever. Every time she looks at a peony, I want her to remember this day.”

You thought about the few good men out there. The ones that came into your shop for an anniversary purchased bouquets of pale white roses with Queen Anne’s lace instead of baby’s breath because those were the exact flowers the two of them had on their wedding day.

Flowers made a lasting impression.

They were the friend that accompanied you on some of your biggest days. Weddings, funerals, birthdays, recitals, graduations…they were always--always--a friend.

Hotch watched you for a moment, quietly.

The way your hands moved. The way your mouth softened when you looked at your work. The joy that practically radiated from your skin, even with circles under your eyes and flower bits in your hair.

He had no idea how he got this lucky.

“You know,” he said, stepping up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist, “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who works more unpredictable hours than I do.”

You leaned back into his chest. “You’re not the only overachiever in this relationship, Hotchner.”

“I’m aware.”

You turned in his arms, still holding the bouquet awkwardly between you. “Have I told you how glad I am you agreed to be my date?”

He smirked. “Anderson made it very clear I didn’t have a choice. Something about needing to show off the power couple.” Hotch cringed at his own use of the word: power couple.

You laughed, mock moving the clippers in your hands, wiggling your eyebrows, “We are kind of intimidating, huh?” You placed the clippers back on your workbench and took in the mixed aroma of the powdery peonies and Hotch’s cologne now filling the stuffy space.

Hotch leaned down, brushing a kiss against your temple. “You, yes. Me? Only when I’m holding a gun.”

You tilted your head. “You’re very intimidating with a boutonnière, too.”

“That so?”

You held up one of the finished ones from the tray near the sink. “Try me.”

Hotch smirked, taking it and gently pinning it to the lapel of his blazer. He pinned it with such ease. When you first became a florist, you were baffled by how many men began to need assistance with a pin and a petite bouquet. But Hotch? He made it look easy. He made everything look easy.

“How do I look?”

You stepped back, fake-swooning. “Like I should marry you on the spot.”

That made him pause.

Almost took the breath from his lungs--

Knocked the wind from his sails.

Something you…you had a habit of doing, but it was as if realization flooded over him. How he just could marry you on the spot. If you’d let him, of course.

You’d probably put up a bit of a fuss. Act like you didn’t want it. Share some slightly cynical statistics about weddings and marriage. Yet, deep down, he knew you well enough to know that you did want it.

You wouldn’t be working here and surrounding yourself with it if you didn’t fully believe or want it wholeheartedly.

You didn’t notice. You were already turning back to your arrangement. A few more sprigs and you were close to being finished.

He reached for your wrist gently. “Hey.”

You looked up.

His expression had softened, all the teasing tucked behind something a little deeper.

“I love watching you do this,” he said simply. “I know how hard it is to care about something this much and still do it well. You make it look easy.”

You felt that one in your chest.

You felt that one in your soul.

To be loved, is to be seen.

To be loved…is to be seen.

TO BE LOVED. IS TO BE SEEN.

To. Be. Loved. Is. To. Be. Seen.

That quote played like a broken record in your brain. You could have stared at him for a minuscule second or maybe five minutes. But you felt so…so seen.

He was staring right through you.

Right at you.

“Thank you,” you said, quieter now.

“You ready to go home?”

You shook your head. “Not yet. I’ve got three more centerpieces, and the aisle markers haven’t even started.” You looked around at your organized mess, “Oh, and the mother of the bride and groom’s corsages, ugh,” you groaned, “I have to wait until the last second to do those because they’re so damn fragile.” You got back into your rhythm, “They’ll wither to pieces if I don’t.”

“You’re going to wither to pieces if you don’t eat something sustainable soon,” Hotch checked his watch. “I can give you an hour. After that, I’m carrying you out.”

You grinned. “You say that like it’s a threat.”

He leaned in, kissed the side of your neck. “It’s a promise.”

You exhaled a soft laugh, and he just held you there for a second--his arms wrapped around your middle, the smell of lilacs and coffee clinging to your skin.

Somehow, amidst the chaos of your workshop, covered in thorns and tape and half-finished beauty, it felt like the most romantic place in the world.

It always was with him.

You lost track of time completely in the two days leading up to the wedding.

Your shop transformed into a full-blown production zone: tables covered with rows of centerpieces in progress, glass vases waiting to be packed, crates of blooms stacked in the walk-in cooler, ribbons fluttering from every knob and handle.

You moved in a rhythm--focused, deliberate, elbows deep in roses and ranunculus and fern--and still somehow chasing the clock.

Hotch had started showing up every night after work.

Always the same.

Loosened tie. Rolled sleeves. Low voice. Calm presence.

That first night, he offered to help.

You handed him the floral preservative spray.

He lasted five minutes before he set the bottle down and said, “This smells like a hospital hallway, and a meadow hd a toxic lovechild.”

You tried not to laugh.

“I think I’ll be more useful handling food,” he muttered, disappearing into the backroom.

After that, he became your unofficial project manager.

He made sure you were eating. Made you drink water. Pressed coffee into your hands without being asked. He sat at the edge of the worktable and asked about table layout and runner colors, like he understood any of it. He didn’t--

But he cared.

And when you finally packed the last bouquet into its cooler, stood back, and let out a slow, shaky breath, he came up behind you, wrapped his arms around your waist, and said, “You crushed it.”

And you did.

The wedding day arrived in a blur of sunlight and music.

Anderson looked nervous in a sweet, fumbling kind of way. His bride glowed. The venue--draped in warm light and blush-toned blooms--was picture perfect. The centerpieces were crisp, the aisle markers held beautifully, and the bouquet?

The one you’d trimmed and retied and fluffed four separate times?

Perfect.

You wore a floral dress.

Flowy, soft, romantic.

A little on-the-nose? Sure. But so you.

Hotch wore a dark navy suit with a tie that matched one of the floral hues of your dress. A subtle pocket square peeked from his lapel--

Same shade.

He didn’t say a word when you complimented him. Just reached for your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And as the ceremony began, you sat beside him--close, impossibly close, thighs brushing, shoulders aligned--and for once, you didn’t look at the florals.

You didn’t scan for wilting petals or crooked vases. You didn’t worry about whether the arbor garland was holding or if the corsages had been pinned correctly.

Your hand was in his. His thumb was brushing soft circles against your skin. His cologne--warm, clean, him--curled into your lungs like it belonged there.

And he was looking at you.

Not at the bride.

Not at the aisle.

Definitely not at Anderson, who was a puddle of tears at the alter.

You.

Like he already knew what you were thinking.

Like he was thinking it too.

And you couldn’t stop the wave that hit you then--not nerves, not fear.

Just clarity.

You'd never been the girl who let herself imagine a wedding of her own. You knew too well how expectations led to disappointment. You’d spent years scoffing at that brand of fantasy--

Keeping your heart safe by staying realistic.

But now?

With him?

With the weight of his hand in yours and the warmth of his love so constant, so quietly fierce, you didn’t even realize how deeply you’d sunk into it?

You couldn’t not imagine it.

Dreams did not seem too far out of reach when you were dating Aaron Hotchner.

Not a venue. Not a dress.

Just him.

The man who came to your shop every night without being asked.

The man who didn’t flinch at your mess or your stress or your silence.

The man who wore a tie to match your flowers, and who--right now--was looking at you like he knew every secret you weren’t saying.

You turned your head slightly, and he leaned in.

“I love you,” he whispered, low and reverent.

Your breath caught.

Your fingers curled tighter into his.

And when you whispered it back, something in his eyes softened like he’d been holding that hope for far too long.

God, you loved him.

So much it bloomed in your chest like wildflowers--

Unruly and full.

Because maybe that’s what you were. All of this time, you tried to put yourself into the category of traditional. Yet, you couldn’t be tamed. You were not some neat rose bouquet or dainty sprig of carnation. You were a coneflower…or a poppy…or an aster. Something…something wayward and lawless.

Wandering and oftentimes chaotic.

You’d spent your whole life trying to find someone to hold you. You’d been looking at people who only knew how to hold traditional. Safe. Calm.

Yet Hotch? He could hold the wild, untethered, ethereal person you were.

And for the first time ever, you let yourself picture the walk. The vows. The bouquet you’d never have to design--

Because someone else would make it for you.

And you’d walk toward him.

And he’d look at you just like this.

Because he was already yours.

After, the sun dipped low over the reception tent, casting everything in a warm, dusky glow. The fairy lights strung overhead began to flicker to life, one by one, like fireflies waking up. There was a hum of soft conversation, champagne fizzing in glasses, the faint scent of peonies and greenery weaving through the air.

The dance floor had just opened. Music floated in--

Something romantic but timeless, instrumental and slow, the kind of song that didn’t need lyrics to get its point across.

You stood off to the side with a glass of prosecco in hand, still glowing from compliments on the florals.

Hotch appeared behind you, sliding his hand low against your back, voice close to your ear.

“You know there’s a whole tent of people talking about the flowers instead of the bride.”

You grinned, eyes scanning the candlelit tables. “That’s because the bride didn’t come in four hours before the ceremony to personally reposition the arbor installation.”

“She didn’t have to,” he said. “She had you.”

You turned to him slowly, raising a brow. “Are you flirting with me, Agent Hotchner?”

His mouth tilted in that unfairly attractive, knowing smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Uh-huh,” you said, sipping your drink. “You only flirt with your eyes.”

“That’s not true,” he said, stepping closer. “Sometimes I flirt with my hands.”

He let one of them slide down your bare arm--slow, feather-light, possessive in the gentlest way.

You laughed, but it came out a little shaky. “You should probably dance with me before I combust.”

“Can’t have that, can we?” He took the glass from your hand and set it on a nearby table. “Then let’s save your life.”

The two of you stepped onto the dance floor.

He pulled you close, hand resting respectfully at your waist, your other hand finding its way to his shoulder.

You weren’t the most graceful dancer--not in heels, not in long dresses--but somehow, with him, you moved like you were born for it. He guided you effortlessly, his hand gentle, his body strong and sure. You could feel every breath he took. Every inch of warmth between you.

“I’ve seen you knee-deep in buckets of blooms, hair a mess, hands full of wire and tape--and you’ve always taken my breath away. But tonight, I think you might’ve just finished me off.”

Your lips curled. “Don’t say that. You’ll ruin your image.”

“I’ll survive,” he murmured.

You leaned your head against his shoulder, heart full.

You’d never been a pristine bouquet kind of girl.

You were a wildflower by nature--

Soft in the middle, a little unruly, a little overgrown, impossible to contain.

You knew how to thrive in the dirt, in the chaos, in the sun and the storm.

And somehow--somehow--you’d found the one person who didn’t try to trim you back.

He just held you like you bloomed just fine the way you were.

Hotch didn’t say much for the next few minutes. He just held you like the world outside the tent didn’t exist. And every now and then, you caught him looking at you with that quiet, reverent gaze--

The one that said more than I love you.

The one that said I choose you.

Even when you’re messy. Even when you’re loud. Even when you don’t think you’re easy to love.

Especially then.

The song faded into another, more upbeat number, but neither of you moved.

You looked up at him, cheeks a little flushed from the prosecco and the moment. Maybe this wasn’t the right time. Was there a right time? You’d never brought up the topic with him before.

Despite having worked on…handfuls of weddings since dating him. Yet…yet this? It was so different.

“Can I ask you something?”

His brow lifted slightly. “Always.”

You swallowed, “Do you ever think about getting married again?”

He didn’t pause.

He didn’t blink.

He just looked at you like he’d already been waiting for the question.

Like maybe if you didn’t ask it, he would have.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about it,” he said, “since you held that bridal bouquet the other day.”

Your breath hitched. “Seriously?”

He nodded. Confident. “You looked like the future. My future.”

You stared at him--caught somewhere between awe and something close to panic--and then laughed, light and breathless.

“Well,” you said, “maybe we should just rip the band-aid off and get married right now.”

Hotch glanced around the floral-filled tent--

Then back at you.

Dry and devastatingly sincere.

“There are far too many calla lilies here for your liking.”

You froze.

And your whole heart twisted in your chest, full and fast and certain.

Because he remembered.

Of course, he did.

Every preference. Every offhand comment. Every flower you adored and every one you couldn't stand. He saw every version of you--thorned and blooming--and loved you with his whole chest anyway.

You stared at him, suddenly breathless.

And in that moment, with the laughter still warm between you, the stars coming out above, and the scent of garden roses all around…

You knew.

You were going to marry this man.

Someday.

Hotch’s fingers curled a little tighter around yours as the music picked up again, but neither of you moved to leave the dance floor.

You were still caught in the moment, in him, in the warmth of what he’d just said. The idea of forever no longer something abstract or intimidating—

But real.

Tangible.

Safe.

You rested your forehead against his chest for a beat, grounding yourself.

“Calla lilies,” you murmured with a small smile.

You felt his chest rumble softly as he replied, “Unforgivable.”

You leaned back just enough to look up at him. “You really do know me.”

“I pay attention,” he murmured.

You turned your head slightly, looking up at him.

“To what?”

He smiled—

Not the public kind.

The private one.

The one that came with soft eyes and that quiet tilt of his head that said he saw you.

“To everything,” he said simply. “The way you laugh when you’re tired. How your shoulders drop when you’re proud of something you made. What flowers you hate. The way you hum when you work without realizing it.”

He kissed your temple, the gesture feather-light.

“Every part of you.”

You tried to keep breathing, but it was unfair, really, how easily he could undo you—how being loved like that, seen like that, turned your chest inside out in the best possible way.

You let your forehead rest against his for a beat before the chatter of the reception pulled you back.

“Come on,” you whispered. “They’ll start teasing if we stay out here too long.”

He offered you his hand like you were still in a ballroom, and he was your formal escort. You took it anyway.

The team was exactly how you left them: lively, halfway through their drinks, and already halfway into the next round of commentary.

As you and Hotch reached the table, Garcia let out a delighted gasp. “Finally. I was about to send out a search party. Possibly with glitter.”

“You looked good out there,” Prentiss said with a smirk, swirling the last of her wine. “A little too good. Hotch, you trying to make the rest of us look bad?”

Hotch pulled out your chair for you before answering, casually slipping into the seat beside you.

“I’m just dancing with the love of my life,” he said, like it was the simplest truth in the world.

You froze for half a second—

But no one else did.

“Oh no,” Morgan said, setting his drink down dramatically. “See, that right there? That’s the tone of a man ready to drop to one knee.”

“Seriously,” JJ added with a knowing smile. “Maybe we should start vetting florists now—because the way he looks at her? We’re definitely attending another wedding soon.”

Hotch didn’t even blink.

He just looked at you.

Dead serious. Still a little soft.

“I wouldn’t rule it out,” he said.

Your heart jumped.

But not in a bad way, jumped? Which was weird for you because your avoidant personality typically would be running for the hills about now.

Garcia gasped. “Oh my God. Can I officiate? I’ll cry. I’ll sob. But I’ll do it.”

“Can we not propose at Anderson’s wedding?” you managed to say, grinning even as you reached for your drink to cool off your entire existence.

“You’re right,” Hotch said, sipping his half-forgotten drink, “What I’d have planned wouldn’t be half as tacky.”

“Fair,” Emily said, raising her glass. “But just saying—might want to start thinking about who’s going to do your flowers.”

You opened your mouth, probably to make a snarky comeback—

But Hotch leaned closer again, voice low, meant for you alone.

“I already know what I’d pick,” he said. “And I’d help. But only if you’d let me.”

You stared at him, caught somewhere between a laugh and a breath and a dream that was getting a little too close to real.

God, you were going to marry this man.

Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow.

But it was going to happen.

And when it did—

There wouldn’t be a single calla lily in sight.

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016 @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry @Sweethotchlogy @softtdaisy @stilestotherescue @midnghtprentiss @superlegend216

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sapsolace · 2 years ago

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yang from @kaelidascope 's bumbleby au, midnight menagerie!!!

read it here :] now 🔫

#bumbleby #rwby #yang xiao long #rwby v9 #rwby art #sap scribbles #hiii teehee i'm alive sorry i was like moving and transferring work locations and shit

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octaneink · 3 months ago

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‘Cause I'm alive when I feel you pressed up to my side

James Marriot x Fem!Reader

Summary : James simps through music Warnings : None (Unless you count me writing James as a sap) Notes : I saw the pictures taken by vap0rize_ on TikTok and my mind spiraled. I am so sorry if this is out of character for James. It is also based on a song called Happy Slides by Daily J!

The sun had barely crested the horizon as James stared out of the dust-splattered window of the tour bus with a notebook and pen in hand, his heart once again feeling heavier than the luggage stored beneath him. The vast, warm and bright expanse of the Australian motorway stretched before him, a stark contrast to the cosy flat in Brighton he'd left behind in the UK with the girl who'd captured his heart. The quiet hum of the engine had been his lullaby for days, a deafening contrast to the music he performed and the roars of crowds at each event.

The band members were scattered throughout the bus. Jago knocked out on one of the chairs with a pair of eye masks and ear plugs on, Matt and Jono individually flipped through well-worn dog-eared pages of books. Sam sat quietly moving his fingers on his guitar, mindful of making any noise, and Lou sat at the wheel.

James tapped his pen on the book, the page made looked like it had more things crossed out rather than actually containing legible words. The most recognisable being ‘song for you’, which made him think. Would you see it as cheesy? Would you even want a song dedicated to you? The both of you had only been officially dating for five months, slowly dancing around each other for eight, and been friends for two years. Was he coming on too strong?

Huffing, he flipped back a few pages to where the lyrics began. His pen hovered over the words, lightly tracing the lines he'd scribbled down weeks ago late in the night. The words bringing memories that held a warmth that bloomed deep within his chest, a melody of a time he struggled to capture at the moment.

The words were created weeks ago before James left for his newest tour. Harsh winds shaking the bins under the window of their shared flat. The flat itself was warm, cosy, with a strong smell of aromatics as his girlfriend cooked their last meal they’d share for a while, and the occasional meow from Otto. James smiled softly and stared adoringly at her as every time the cat meowed, she’d respond in return, pretending to hold a conversation with him.

He felt like a disgusting sap every time he thought about anything that was related to her. Her infectious laughter, and how the way her smile had a way of reaching into his very being — where one look, he’d melt, any stress he’d feel before having magically disappear. In the small, shared space, she had become more — his muse.

The pages fluttered as he flicked through them, revealing a photo of the three of them taped to the inside cover of the notebook. It was a Polaroid, peeling at the edges, the tape lifting as James did this for the 3rd time when he got a new notebook. She was cuddling Otto in her arms, while he had one of his arms around her waist. She faced the camera, eyes squinting slightly, with smile lines sprouted from them, while he looked at her with an utterly lovestruck expression it made his head hurt. Before her, he didn’t know he could look at anyone like that.

James blinked back to the warm tour bus as he read the words again. “Let's never leave this room.” he mouthed to himself, the memory of her voice echoing in his mind. The three lines on the page had come to him as naturally as her smile had stolen his heart—unexpected, unassuming, and utterly captivating.

Though, he struggled to complete the piece.

“James, you okay, mate?” Lou, peered at him through the rearview mirror, his eyes bleary with the remnants of last night's sleep and today’s early rise.

James looked up, his gae lingering on the horizon. “Yea mate, just tired.” he answered.

Lou nodded, the minutes pass between them in silence, then the bus lurched suddenly. “Shite.” Lou spat, turning the indicator to merge safely into the hard shoulder. The engine thwapping through the way, before it gave one last, loud, thwap and sputtered to a halt.

The sudden silence was jarring, and the lads looked at one another with a mixture of shock and annoyance.

“Bloody tour bus.” Matt muttered from the back, breaking the silence, and a round of groans and complaints ensued.

“Right,” he said as the others started to get up, “I’ll sit somewhere and keep out of the way. I doubt I would be of any help.” Noises of agreement bid him goodbye as he walked out of the tour bus with what he had on hand. As he walked away from it, he placed the pen as a bookmark and closed the notebook with an audible snap. Then, walking over the short metal fence, he sat on it facing the bush.

A few minutes passed of him mindlessly humming an imaginary tune, then his mind raced with a sudden spark of inspiration. He knew he had to write it down it before it slipped away. He turned back to his notebook, the lyrics that had once felt so elusive now flowed from his pen like a river released from its dam.

The words picked up from the picture of their lives together in Brighton—the way the light hit their living room when she drank her morning cup, the sound of her socked feet on the wooden floor as she danced around Otto, who chased the cat toy in her hand playfully.

As the bus sat there, a silent sentinel on the side of the road, James wrote until his hand cramped. He didn’t notice the passing cars, the sun rising higher in the sky, or the sound of his bandmates talking with a stranger about the breakdown. The only thing that mattered at that moment was the symphony of words that played out on the page before him.

Finally, with the sound of a distant tow truck approaching, he scribbled down the last word, with the tune clearer in his mind, he smiled broadly staring down at it.

In the back, the driver of the tow truck climbed out, a burly man with an interesting hair cut and a kind smile. “Looks like you’ve got a loose fan belt, lads. We’ll have you sorted in no time.”

James nodded absently, his mind still lost in the world he’d just created in his notebook. As the band members moved to stand by him, and with the mechanic tinkering away, he remained seated on the metal fence, the song becoming clearer and clearer as the moments passed by.

Humming the tune absent-mindedly and tapping the pen on his thigh as the beat caught the attention of Jogo. He looked over silently at James’ notebook, reading the words on it, a smile slowly started to spread across his face, “You fucking sap.”

James startled, looking over him and seeing Jogo’s smug smile. James rolled his eyes.

“What do you mean by that?” James replied, playing it off as if he wasn’t aware of what he had done.

Jogo snickered. “Don't play dumb with me. You've got hearts in your eyes and her name paraphrased multiple times all over your page.”

James felt his cheeks warm, and he quickly slapped the notebook shut. “It's just a song.”

The band members, having heard the exchange, gathered around curiously. “What's he got?” Matt asked, peering over Jogo's shoulder.

Jogo pointed the notebook out. “Looks like James here is feeling romantic. And he's been keeping it from us.”

James rolled his eyes again, “It's just an idea. Nothing serious.”

But the excitement on their face was palpable. “Come on, man,” Sam said, clapping him on the back, “Don't hold out on us. What's the new tune?”

With a sigh, James realised he couldn’t keep it from them any longer. He'd written it for her, but he didn’t expect the others to know of it so soon. “Okay,” he said, “But if it's shit, you can't laugh.”

The guys chuckled and stood closer around him, expression eager. He began to hum softly, the pen tapping on his thigh with a beat, then he took a deep breath and began to sing.

As melody grew, filling the surrounding space, and their eyes lit up as they recognised the potential. “That's a hit, James!” Jono said, clapping his hands.

James felt his cheeks flush under their praise. “It's just the start, really. Nothing special yet.”

But their enthusiasm was infectious, and each of them asked questions on what part they fit into as they drove off in the newly fixed tour bus. And as they pulled up to the new hotel near the venue they would play the night, Lou said “We'll make it something special, mate.” said with a grin, already tapping the rhythm on the steering wheel of the bus.

So, every night before they went on stage, they'd gather around on the stage, dim lights as production set up around them. James with his guitar, Sam with his bass, Jago with the drums, Lou with the keys, Matt and Jono on their guitars. They'd play around with the melody, adding bits and pieces, turning James' quiet confession into something that could shake people’s hearts.

The song grew into something that didn't just belong to James any more, but to all of them. It was a piece of their collective heart, a love letter to a girl they hadn't met but knew well through James' stories.

The days leading up to the last concert were a whirlwind of rehearsals and whispers. The band dropped hints to their eager fans through social media, building anticipation. Edits on TikTok popped up with a silhouette of James and his guitar, with the words 'Surprise at the end??' were in bold in the video’s descriptions. Many fans not in Australia called for the last concert to be streamed illegally. As for the people that were there, they were vibrating with excitement as the date grew closer.

The hours before the last concert, James sat in the hotel room, his heart racing as he went over the lyrics for the final time. He could hear the muffled sounds of the city outside, but all he could see was her face, imagining her reaction to this song. He hoped it would reach her in Brighton, that she'd feel the same way he felt when he wrote it—alive.

As the sun set on the last day of their tour, the band's nerves were palpable. They'd been playing together for a while, but this was different. This song was personal, a secret shared with a crowd of strangers. The venue was packed, the lights were hot, and the air was thick with anticipation. The crowd roared as they took the stage, and James looked out into the sea of faces.

The setlist flew by, each song a stepping stone to the grand finale. The energy built, and the crowd sang along to their favorites, their voices a symphony of love and longing that echoed through the speakers.

And then it was time.

The stage went dark. A single spotlight fell on the band, and Jogo started the song with his drums, teasing a quiet introduction. The rest waited, their instruments poised, ready to bring the song to life.

The crowd, once lively, was silent, holding their breath for James to start singing.

As they played, James couldn't help but think of her, her laugh, her smell, the way she'd look at him when he played her his favourite tunes. He sang with every ounce of his soul, hoping she could feel it, hoping she knew it was for her. And as the last chord rang out and the applause erupted, he knew he had given her a piece of himself that no one else could ever claim.

The aftermath of the show was a blur.

One moment he was on stage singing his heart out for the world to see, then he was in the quiet hotel room, luggage packed for his return home in the morning.

He picked up his phone, his thumb hovering over her number. He'd call her when the dust settled, when he could finally hear his heartbeat without the deafening applause. He had so much to say, so much to tell her about the journey this song had taken him on. But for now, he leaned back in the bed and closed his eyes, the echoes of the music still playing in his ears, a promise of what was to come when he finally returned home.

The flight home was a blur of airport terminals, screaming people, and sleeplessness, but the moment his feet touched the ground in London Gatwick, his tiredness evaporated. He took the earliest train, then a cab straight to their flat. It was late, and the lights were on when he arrived.

He knew she'd be waiting.

James placed the key into the lock, turning the key and stepped through the door. He removed his shoes, put on some slippers and took of his coat, hanging it up by the door. Then he walked into the livingroom. He saw her, curled up on the sofa with Otto in her arms.

She looked up, her eyes lighting up when she saw him, and for a moment, he forgot all about the tour, the bus breakdown, the song. They rushed into each other's arms, and everything felt right again.

“Welcome home.” he hugged her tighter, “We missed you.”

He pressed a kiss on her head, “I missed you both too.”

James moved them so they sat at the sofa, limbs intertwined “You have no idea how much I missed you.”

She smiled mischeviously up at him “Oh, I think I may have an idea.” pecked him on the lips “I think everyone online has an idea.”

James felt his cheeks redden slightly “Well, it's not like I was keeping it a secret or anything...”

They both laughed, and she cuddled closer into him, her head resting on his chest as they sat on the sofa. Otto jumped up and nestled in between them, purring contentedly.

“But seriously, James, it's beautiful. Thank you.” she said, her voice filled with genuine admiration.

He kissed the top of her head, and they sat there watching the tv “It's true, you know.” he said, looking at her.

Her eyes sparkled with happiness as she looked up at him, then she leaned in to press a lingering kiss to his lips. “I know.” she murmured, smiling. James puled her tighter to his side as her next words left her lips, “Let's never leave this room. What do you say? ‘Cause I'm alive when I feel you pressed up to my side”

I will say it with full CHEST, when I saw those pictures taken by vap0rize_.... IT WAS OVER

I HAD NO THOUGHTS LEFT

I felt absolutely filthy I had to make something cute to make up for it. I hope I hit the mark!

On another note this is the song that inspired this fic. Idk how to make it smaller 😞

#James Marriott #James Marriott x reader #James Marriott x fem!reader

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haikyu-mp4 · 5 months ago

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Surprises for Father's Day

You and your son surprise Daichi for Father's Day, for my Parenting event<3

requested by @act-nat-ural. word count; 553– f!reader

To say your husband deserved to be spoiled for a day was the understatement of the year. You knew Father’s Day was coming up, and your young son heard about it in school, so there was no lack of preparations this year from either of you.

In previous years, it had either been spoiled by little mister Blabbermouth, or something had gone wrong in your planning. Not this year!

While you prepared dinner and retrieved an exclusive set of fancy beers wrapped up in paw patrol wrapping, your son lay forth a homemade card with a drawing of his cool dad in uniform on the front. Inside it, he had written a short scribbly greeting from the two of you on one side. On the other side, you had glued a ‘poem’ your son brought home from school where they were instructed to write about their dad.

Sure, he wrote “poloicemen” instead of policeman, but he also detailed his admiration for his dad who keeps him and his mom safe, as well as all his friends (and their pets, he put emphasis on that).

You were hoping for at least one tear from Daichi.

His keys jingled in the door and you signalled for your son to hush and come over to stand beside you.

“Happy Father’s Day!” you yelled when he stepped inside, your son following on about half the words (he said day).

He looked up in shock, not expecting you to be waiting for him like that. “My babies.”

You high-fived your son before letting him run over to pull his dad into the house. He could only keep a surprise for so long, and Daichi had to get his shoes off in a stumble as he was pulled along. He barely managed to peck your lips while passing by before he gasped at the setup.

“You got me presents?”

“Of course, Dad!”

“Thank you. So much.” The soft look lay heavy on his face as you came over to join them, letting your husband pull you closer by the waist while he ruffled your son’s hair. “I’m so lucky.”

He loved the present, obviously, no one knew your husband as you did, but the card was still the best part.

Daichi pretended to naturally lean his chin on his hand so he could try to control his facial expression, but the gloss on his eyes gave it away. You got a tear.

“This is the second best thing I ever got,” he said, the waver in his voice leaving the room in a tender aura.

“Second best?” your son complained with a scowl.

“After you two.”

You cooed, squeezing his cheek like you so often did to your son before walking off to the kitchen. “You sap, change and come back for dinner.”

“Will do, boss.”

And you smiled as you stirred the food, hearing your child laugh as Daichi probably picked him up and squeezed him in a hug like he did when he got overwhelmed with emotions.

The father of your child, so deserving of this love. There was one more present, and you hoped he would be just as happy for it, resting a hand on your stomach and whispering a little encouragement.

Both your babies managed to keep the presents a secret until today.

masterlist

for the requester: thank you for requesting again sweets<3

#parenting event #haikyuu #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyu x reader #fanfiction #hq #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x you #haikyu #haikyu fluff #dad!daichi #dadchi #daichi x reader #sawamura daichi #haikyuu daichi #daichi sawamura #karasuno

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t0nixium · 9 months ago

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Random clown doodles + some character design concepts that are also clowns

Oops! All clowns 🤡

#art #drawing #traditional art #clowns #bugs #cw bugs #scarlet’s scribbles #scarlet’s sad saps #oc: jesteria #oc: mickey #her design is still not done but #oc: possumimé #bizarrus

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krysmcscience · 7 months ago

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Don't mind me, just slacking on a big Billford comic by making other far more ridiculous Billford comics and also some AU art (please excuse my slapdash human!Bill thank you please, also before anyone asks the art style is messy and all over the place because idgaf LOL)

This started out as an excuse to design a Bill Cipher-inspired "wedding" dress, but then spiraled wildly out of control. Various rambles and a bunch more human!Bill arts under the cut, including another silly little comic at the end! (Feel free to skip the rambles, I won't be offended. I know I'm bad at shutting up. XD)

I may or may not write some comedy stuff for this AU, which I'm calling 'For Better Or Worse (But Mostly Worse)'. While Ford DOES remember getting sloshed enough for one thing to lead to making out with another after karaoke, neither he nor Bill remember this wedding, At All. The Love God did nothing to dissuade them from going hog wild on their marriage spending, either, so it got...uh. Exorbitantly Expensive. As in, the grand total could probably buy the entire fucking MOON sort of expensive. (It's fine, don't worry, Bill's good enough at crime to be able to afford it.) Also, because the logic of this AU is mostly dictated by Rule of Funny, the Love God's powers are close to unlimited when it comes to matters of romance, but ONLY when it comes to matters of romance. (Like weddings!)

Want an empty human vessel to smash the soul of a triangle into for date nights or when it's convenient, or perhaps even when it's NOT convenient? Easy peasy! Want the marriage to be recognized in every corner of the multiverse from now until the end of time, thus making any potential future divorce nigh-on impossible? Can do! Want to buy an entire beach for the ceremony and honeymoon and in general, and totally not at all because it would be Super Hilarious to prevent any specific movies from being made on that very same beach in the future? Fine, whatever, it's not his finances he's ruining!

Does the Love God also provide special rings that just so happen to turn incorporeal as long as the "happy couple" doesn't remember that they barged into his dreams to bully him into presiding over their marriage? ...No comment!

He spends the next thirty years trying and failing to get in touch with either of them for payment. This is why you should always demand half the money up front, my guy!

Also it's absolutely a traditional Jewish wedding, because I like the idea of Bill demanding all the keepsakes from the marriage that he paid for, and being completely confused when one of the things he's handed is a fancy container full of broken glass. He gets it later, but in the moment, he thinks the Love God is just fucking with him some more.

Ramble over! Here's the full dress that caused the comic to happen, along with what Ford wound up wearing at the wedding (and begrudgingly agreeing to put on again later for Reasons), aaaaand also a close-up of Bill's ring:

I may have forgotten to draw Bill's hair floofier when drawing the back of the dress, lmao

Since double ring ceremonies have been leaking over into Jewish wedding customs for a while now, Ford also has a ring, but his is the much more traditional plain gold band. There's definitely a message engraved on the inside - embarrassing, cringe, or incriminating somehow - but I haven't decided what it is yet, so use your imagination for now. XD Bill, on the other hand, saw the phrase 'traditional plain gold band' and said "No Thank You" before proceeding to embellish his ring to his liking. And because he's a secret sap who adores Ford's extra fingers, the triangle points add up to twelve, as do the engraved stars. Yes, they're stars, not dots, I just got lazy. There's also six lashes on the eye gem, and probably an eye engraving on the inside with another six lashes. (Bill's got it BAD, okay? We all know this.)

Here are the initial scribbles of Bill's custom vessel in more casual attire, please ignore the wonky anatomy and the fact that I flat out refuse to ever draw him with a proper top hat:

He does actually need a cane in this vessel; since Bill tends to possess men and especially Ford more often than not, he's used to having a higher center of gravity when in a human body, so his ability to balance is pretty garbage. (He may or may not topple over with concerning regularity.) As for his empty eye socket, his bangs don't do much to hide it since he's so high-energy (dude is constantly on the move), and he also refuses to wear a patch over it, because 1.) why bother, and 2.) it's more fun to freak people out.

To better align with Ford's attraction towards the strange, the vessel was designed with super minor shapeshifting ability - Bill can look like a perfectly normal human, but he can also make the teeth and fingers sharper whenever he likes (which is mostly just when he's angry or being more of a menace than usual), as well as slit down the pupils or outright ditch the irises altogether. He can also have whatever he wants in the downstairs department, just because I'm an indecisive bitch on that front, lmao. Maybe he can have boobs if he wants them, too, but I ain't drawin' tits on no triangle, nuh-uh, no sir. His powers are otherwise limited down to what humans can do, because for some reason, the Love God doesn't trust Bill to not snap into Immediate Apocalypse Mode if he's given a physical form that's actually all his and no one else's.

Due to the body being all his and no one else's, it's also not really a standard possession so much as it is just...Bill being temporarily human. He's a lot more aware of and in tune with his human body's senses than he ever was with his "puppets", which makes things like pain a lot more intense. (He is mostly fine with this, because he's a fukken masochist.)

A bit more fashion stuff, including beach and party attire~

The beach outfit was mostly me trying and failing to nail down his body shape, which is still not bottom-heavy enough. I then decided to slap a bikini on it, before making it supremely unsexy with a pair of fugly shorts, because Bill's fashion choices are not allowed to be conventionally attractive. Meanwhile, the party outfit was mostly me looking at the casual attire I designed, asking 'how would Bill make this Worse', and then drawing the result. The mismatched thigh-highs are killing me inside! :D

No, his vessel can't actually summon fire, I just drew it for funzies before I decided on said vessel's limitations. Yes, the gold brick tattoos are absolutely a reference to the fic 'Knowing Me, Knowing You' - I simply could not resist.

I also HAD to draw Bill in one of his canonical(?) shirts, just made tank-top'd:

He is absolutely about to over-correct and fall backwards after this. USE YOUR CANE, GOOFBALL!!! (I meant to draw Bill closer to this degree of bottom-heavy in the other images, but. Alas. I am bad at anatomy, LOL)

And, last but not least before More Comic Time, I attempted to draw him closer to Gravity Falls style:

Jury's out on whether or not I succeeded, but - hey. I tried. Now have some Handyman Bill AU, but with my goofy human design, instead:

Hey, it's a 'mystery snack', and the guy wanted A BITE to eat - the joke was right there, guys!!! (Based on this post, because it just screamed BILL CIPHER to me.)

whoops i forgor bills ring and cracks ahaha too late now

I WILL SHUT UP AND STOP RAMBLING NOW K THX BYYYYYE

#fanart #gravity falls #billford #bill cipher #stanford pines #stanley pines #the love god #human bill cipher #human bill design #fashion design #comics #poor stan gets to find out his twin boinked a triangle when the love god shows up at the mystery shack demanding payment LMAO #cue internal panic for stan as dipper and mabel lose their collective shit over the fact that they now have a surprise new grunkle bill #the love god helps himself get paid by teaching the kids how to trap bill in his human vessel for the foreseeable future #bill is bewildered and pissed but also very much 'holy shit i have a FAMILY again??? neat but terrifying??????? what the F*CK do i do now'#he then proceeds to attempt to lovebomb his new family into being okay with the impending apocalypse #all while the three of them attempt to lovebomb HIM into giving up his plans for said impending apocalypse #then two days later ford shows up and is just like. what the ACTUAL F*CK IS HAPPENING???#cue stan immediately screaming 'I HAD TO PRETEND TO BE THAT THING'S HUSBAND FOR TWO DAYS STRAIGHT SO F*CK YOU AND YOUR BAD TASTE FOR THAT!'#stan spends those two days straight dropping very sour hints that he's being punished for someone else's terrible mistakes #bill finds this absolutely hilarious and thus plays along - but not without dropping his own hints that ford is the FAR superior twin #dipper and mabel have ZERO idea of what is actually going on because the love god did NOTHING to clarify the situation #dipper is convinced that stan and bill are speaking in some kind of bizarre code that only adults can understand #mabel is convinced that the code is flirting - which means stan and bill are going to live happily ever after and have tons of kids + pets #NEITHER of them are prepared for ford showing up. not that they were in canon. but still. now it's even MORE crazy #'what do you mean we get TWO NEW GRUNKLES???' 'two grunkles in two days - gotta be some kinda record'#ford then has to decide if he wants to remain justifiably furious at bill or join the other pines in lovebombing him into submission #he then gets to learn that lovebombing bill works surprisingly well because that triangle is just The Biggest Attention Wh*re #the entire AU would just be ridiculous antics with a splash of billford #these tags are an abomination lmao

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