#this one year anniversary is difficult

[zeldabecameaqueen]

hello qsmp enjoyers, here's my goodbye to a server that saved my days for a year now

i don't know what will happen with the qsmp in the future but i just can't put myself in it anymore

i feel disrespected by the choices Quackity's Studios made, as a french person, but also as someone who's been abused as a worker. I understand that the process may be long (every administrative stuff is hell) for the studio to solve the financial and hierarchical situation, and I believe Quackity did everything to solve the issue as fast as he could (it's a belief, at no point i'm saying this is the truth of course).

however, i do not agree with him being neglectful towards his own project, towards his own admins, towards the qsmp community, i do not agree with him being radio silent towards his employees/volunteers, not thanking them once they left, not communicating anything to them about their own future, i do not agree with him either being blind to their loudly expressed needs or purposely ignoring them, i do not agree with him telling everyone "stuff takes time" but also allowing new events to happen on the server, and i'm extremely disappointed in this whole situation, because it divides more than ever a community and a project that i, among a lot of other people, cherish since a year now, when simple mesures such as COMMUNICATION were ignored.

frankly i think that most of the people would have better understood and been patient if Quackity's Studios didn't keep on announcing new events like nothing was happening

the reason i'm not talking too much about the financial issue is that : 1. I believe finding a way to pay admins that are still in the qsmp is a priority to Quackity nowadays, along with firing those who mistreated the employees/volunteers ; 2. I believe they will find a solution regarding the incomes (merch actually being a means to pay the admins is one of them)

i'm writing this during qsmp awards, i know a lot of ccs will be there. i'm a little hurt and disappointed but at the same time, i know some of them have a personal relation to Quackity that we as viewers don't have, they have their reasons to trust Quackity, i just don't agree with them, but please, no hate towards them or to people who'll watch the future events

it's a goodbye even though no one knows me lmao (i spent hours and hours watching, filling the vods of timestamps, translating youtube clips, even drawing again since a long time, i filled in the qsmp fandoms, did presentation docs and put hours into spreadsheets of the ccs statistics), but know that being a part of this community was a life experience for me, in so many ways, i'm forever thankful for the people who made this project possible, i'll miss sharing my hyperfixation with you all

🎨 also, I saved a bunch of qsmp fanarts that I didn't want to rb because I didn't want to support in any way what was happening, i didn't want to make people feel like watching the streams was ok, instead, I wanted to let the most room for any info about the admins' situation

i realize now that it wasn't fair, their art comes from a place of love, and whatever their reason was to continue watching qsmp despite all that was happening is not my business. They did art, and good art, so i'll reblog the last qsmp fanarts and probably will continue to share some from time to time

🩵 big big thanks to the artists and the ccs for creating such an amazing universe, i hope you'll keep the spirit and maybe leave with good friends, and obviously i'm so proud of all the eggies (by that I mean their admins), who have spoken up and left a project despite their obvious love for it, thanks to Lea for starting all this, freeing admins from an unbearable situation they might have not even recognized as so at the time

i don't know if i'll be back, for now i need to step back, but if i see one day that the situation got all fixed and safe and that actual apologies were made, then maybe i'll come back to this unique qsmp (it'll certainly feel changed tho)

[atsushis-fangs]

Scotland: get in the halloween spirit and make a ghost!!

Ireland: that’s called murder and I heard somewhere that it’s illegal

@winterwrites23 I’ll have you know that I am NOT dead, SoT is STILL my all time favourite fic, and I MISSED making these. Happy Halloween! :D

[partystoragechest]

A story of romance, drama, and politics which neither Trevelyan nor Cullen wish to be in.

Canon divergent fic in which Josephine solves the matter of post-Wicked Hearts attention by inviting four noblewomen to compete for Cullen's affections. In this chapter, Lady Samient escapes the banquet, to check on Trevelyan.

(Masterpost. Beginning. Previous entry. Next entry. Words: 2,464. Rating: all audiences. Warnings: swearing.)

Chapter 26: The Banquet - Part 3

Lady Samient of Samient, daughter of Duke Samient, was considering crime.

Specifically, she was considering whether the daughter of a Duke (you know which) would be able to, say, punch the mask clean off the face of a Comtesse, without hearing a peep from the Council of Heralds. It wasn’t as if she had anything to lose.

Fortunately for the Comtesse Bervard, before she could test such boundaries, the door to the garden opened, and the Commander strode back in.

When all the ‘excitement’ at their table had occurred, Lady Montilyet, their gracious host, had come to see what she could do. With the choking incident explained to her by Lord Pavus, she had offered to fetch a healer personally. But the Commander volunteered himself instead, and was gone before she could stop him.

Task now complete, he settled back into his seat, rigid and stern as ever. A silent race occurred between the nobility surrounding him, to see who would be the first to test his patience, and ask him for the gossip of it.

“Commander,” said the Baroness Touledy, claiming victory by some margin, “how is our Lady Erridge?”

“She’s well,” he answered. “Lady Trevelyan was able to remove the bone, and has taken her Ladyship to her room to recover.”

Lie. But Samient didn’t wish to point that out, nor did she need to, apparently:

“How convenient,” commented the Comtesse Bervard.

Samient clenched her knife, and resisted the urge to leap across the table with it. Every word out of the Comtesse’s mouth was yet another reminder of why Samient held such disdain for the politics of her country. In a civilised society, she’d be able to call Bervard a crusty old bitch to her face, and not suffer a single solitary consequence. Because she’d be right.

Convenient. Hmph. Yes, very convenient. About as convenient as the soldier marching on their table, his presence forcing Samient to lay down her cutlery. But he was not there for her.

“Commander.”

The soldier leant down to the Commander’s shoulder, and spoke at a noble-defying whisper, that was capably disguised by the hubbub of the banquet.

Yet it was not its contents that intrigued Samient—rather, its existence. Another whisper. For there had been plenty during the Commander’s absence, at the table across the hall. Between the Lady Montilyet and the Left Hand of the Divine, mostly, but also between the Left Hand and this self-same soldier, who currently whispered to the Commander. Such a chain could not be coincidence.

“Excuse me,” said the Commander, rising from his chair. “There is something to which I must attend.”

The soldier escorted him from the hall, to the rotunda. Minutes later, that soldier returned, and this time led away the Left Hand of the Divine.

Now that was convenient. Samient wished someone would whisk her out of here.

But, no. She had to sit through dessert, and suffer the Comtesse’s whining for the entire duration. It seemed as if it would never end, but at last the banquet was granted death. Samient, freed from the constraints of her seat and the tyranny of the table, shot to her feet, and strode to where the Baroness conversed with the Marquis du Vert, and some Fereldan noble.

Though a mist of rage clouded her mind, Samient at least caught some of their conversation. The Marquis apologised for something, and the Baroness thanked him regardless. The doldrums of politeness. But, noticing Samient’s approach, the Baroness waved them away, with a continuing smile.

The second they were out of earshot, her smile dropped.

“That fucking woman!” she spat in Orlesian.

Samient responded in the same tongue: “The Comtesse?”

“Who else?”

“Still an entertainer, isn’t she?”

“Not the word I would use,” the Baroness fumed.“You know, I almost had her former fiancé in bed once, but I decided against it, because it was not worth the trouble she would cause. But now—!”

“Which fiancé?” Samient interrupted, reminding the Baroness—with a sense of satisfaction—that more than one man had left the Comtesse at the altar.

Proud, the Baroness replied:“The first one.”

“Oh, the professor? Ha. You should’ve.”

Touledy scoffed.“I still might. But never mind that.”

There were, after all, more pressing matters, than unclaimed victories:

“I am headed to the suites,” Samient told her. “Are you coming?”

The Baroness shook her head. “I ought to make the rounds. And certain others would say it should only take one of us to check on them.”

“That is because certain others do not know what it is like to have friends.”

The Baroness chuckled, and said in the common tongue: “Go ahead. I will maintain appearances.”

Grateful, Samient bid her farewell, and departed for the guest quarters. But she was not a fool in this. An inconspicuous level of urgency (polite trotting, one could call it) was her gait of choice. Somehow avoiding the gaze and suspicion of the other nobility, she made it to the stairs.

She did not know what to expect when she entered the corridor that housed her and the other Ladies’ chambers. Quiet, perhaps. Crying, maybe. But what she heard, to her surprise and delight, was laughter. And it came from Lady Erridge’s room.

“This one, this one!” said the giddy voice of Erridge herself. “What does it look like to you!?”

“Lady Erridge!” replied a breathless Lady Trevelyan, scolding only in fun. “That is not polite!”

“We are not in polite company, Lady Trevelyan, and we may say what we like! And I think it looks like—”

Samient peered through the gap in the door. “Ladies?”

All foolery ceased at once, the startled Ladies frozen where they lay. Yes, lay—for they were on their bellies, on the floor, poring over some large cooking tome. Lady Trevelyan used a teddy bear as a chinrest.

“Lady Samient!” Erridge greeted, struggling to speak, latent giggles still echoing in her throat. “We are choosing a recipe to cook, and I think we should make a plum tart!”

“Lady Erridge, no!” Trevelyan protested.

“But we already have all the ingredients! For Lady Trevelyan’s dress is plum, and covered in sugar!”

They burst into laughter anew. Though Samient did not join them, she smiled to see it: “I am glad you’re well, after all that’s happened.”

“I am,” Trevelyan smiled, “thanks to Lady Erridge.”

Erridge squirmed. “Well, I can’t take all the credit. Lady Trevelyan gave me the idea.”

Trevelyan seemed as much surprised by this as anyone. “I did?”

“Oh, yes! You said you wouldn’t move from your seat unless it was ‘life or death’! Hence I made it so!”

Samient laughed. “Well played, Lady Erridge.” From a chess player to her protegee, she quite respected the move.

Lady Erridge, however, seeming eager to shift the conversation away from her cleverness, shuffled up onto her knees. “Did much happen after we were gone?” she asked.

Nice distraction. Samient humoured her at least, and recounted to them the basic events of the evening, dutifully eliminating any reference to that foul Comtesse. She spoke of Lady Montilyet’s intervention, Lord Pavus’ explanation—and of the Commander’s departure, to fetch a healer.

Although she quite suspected they were already well aware of that last part. For, by complete accident, as the Commander’s hand had left the table, a napkin had slipped with it. One that looked strikingly similar to the little cloth Lady Trevelyan clutched between her fingers now.

“When he returned, a guard summoned him on business, as well as the Left Hand.” Samient hummed. “Something urgent, I suppose...”

Lady Trevelyan shifted, her expression growing troubled—but that was hardly a revelation. Samient had presumed all this had something to do with Ostwick Circle.

“Hopefully they are dealing with that Comtesse!” said Lady Erridge, possessed of her own theories. “I do not think they should ever allow her to return. What an odious woman she was!”

“Hopefully so,” echoed Samient. “Saves hiring a bard.”

Trevelyan gasped. “Lady Samient!”

“What? We are Orlesian, and she insulted us all.” She shrugged. “There are consequences.”

“And I am sure the Inquisition shall mete them out ably.”

Samient hid her smile. It was quite sweet, the faith Lady Trevelyan beheld of the Inquisition. But they had meddled in the politics of Orlais more than enough, and had everything they needed from it. Petty squabbles like this were beyond their capacity or interest. And there were powers with which even might of Lady Montilyet would never dare tamper. Samient would know.

Oh, well. At least she had the Baroness’ revenge to look forward to. The rumours surrounding Touledy were evidence enough that her fantasy had not quite been in jest.

“Anyway, since I have seen you are both well, I think I shall head to bed,” Samient lied. “This evening has been tiring, to say the least.” And the idea of going back to the banquet nauseated her.

“Yes,” said Lady Trevelyan, “I believe I shall do the same.”

Samient narrowed her eyes. She wasn’t the only liar.

***

She knew well enough that once they had all gone off to bed, Lady Trevelyan would not sleep. Not just for the evening she’d had, but for the fact that Samient knew Lady Trevelyan was often sneaking out after nightfall.

She’d heard the footsteps pitter-patter past her room on occasion, and on others, had glanced out to see who it might be. Sometimes it was the Baroness. It was never Erridge.

And tonight, she heard them again.

Samient waited, until they had passed. She did not wish to confront Trevelyan here. Instead, she permitted silence to renew itself, and let the darkness settle. Into their guise, she crept—the sole sound that of her door, creaking on its hinge.

She hunted the footsteps, to the Great Hall. Though she glimpsed nothing of Trevelyan when she entered, the door on the opposite side—to the garden—swung shut. Drawing as little of the night watch’s attention as she cared to, Samient hurried through it.

In the moonlight beyond, there she was: Lady Trevelyan, a bedcoat thrown over her shoulders and boots lazily pulled on, traipsing over the stepping-stone trail. Samient pursued her from the shadows of the arcade, tracing her path between each column. Oblivious to her presence, Trevelyan continued.

She flitted up the stairs at the garden’s furthest edge, an ascent to the battlements above. Though Samient herself made it to the stairwell, she halted in her tracks.

Voices.

“Commander?” said Lady Trevelyan.

So that was what she was sneaking off to do? Interesting. Yet, she sounded surprised.

“Forgive me, I”—his voice was quieter, harder to hear—“disturbing you—sure you’re all right.”

Oh. Not a regular occurrence, then—at least from what Samient could tell.

The Lady Trevelyan assured him she was well, her voice growing softer as her footsteps faded away. Samient crept a little higher up the staircase.

“—dealt with,” the Commander said, hopefully in reference to the Comtesse Bervard.

“Thank you,” Lady Trevelyan replied. “But let that be the last we speak of it, for now.”

“Of course. I am sorry for”—interrupting?—“your stargazing.”

“That is quite all right; it is usually I who disrupts your route.”

“Not at all,” he replied, “I find I have been… walking more often, of late.”

Samient’s eyes flared. She could listen to no more of this. As loud as could pierce the night air through, she cleared her throat:

“M-hm!”

Perhaps it would have been better to withdraw, and leave them to talk longer. But the Commander would have other chances to speak to Lady Trevelyan—this was Samient’s last. There would not be another night.

The conversation halted. Samient ascended the last of the steps, and saw what she had only heard: a startled Lady Trevelyan, bedcoat drawn tight against the cold, and a braced Commander, still in his banquet wear. Long night.

The glow of a nearby torch flickered in her Ladyship’s widened eyes. “Lady Samient, the Commander was—”

“Just passing by,” said Samient. “I know.”

The Commander took this allowance with grace. “Yes—thank you. Good night.” He bowed.

He must have thought Samient would not notice his subtle little glance at Trevelyan, whilst he was bent low. But she did. And she thought it terrible. Terribly sweet.

But despite his apparent reluctance, he straightened and withdrew, towards the nearby tower. It was only once he had finally disappeared beyond it, that either Lady spoke.

“Lady Samient, the Commander was just speaking to me about what happened today,” Trevelyan hurried to say, “it relates to the Comtesse—what she said, and the mages who were—”

Samient held up a hand. “Lady Trevelyan, I am not the Comtesse Bervard. Whatever happened… I am sorry. And if you would prefer not to tell me about it, then it is none of my business.”

Trevelyan adjusted her bedcoat. “Thank you.”

“Nor is it any of my business why you were speaking to the Commander. It shouldn’t be anyone’s but yours.”

“It wasn’t—we, we weren’t…”

Samient glared, until Trevelyan stopped her stammering. “Lady Trevelyan, whatever happens between you and the Commander is yours.” She stalked closer. “Do not let anyone else dictate it. Not the other Ladies, not Ambassador Montilyet—not even your parents.”

Lady Trevelyan’s brow, stuck high and in shock, slowly began to crease.

“Be with him if that is what you want. But only if it is what you want. Do not let them dictate your life.”

“Lady Samient, I—don’t understand. I appreciate the notion, but...”

“I simply wished to tell you.” Samient glanced away, as the determination that shielded her pain began to fall, and a familiar ache consumed her chest. “I have always seen you as a kindred spirit, Lady Trevelyan.”

“Are you all right?”

Samient shook her head, and opened her arms. Through her bewilderment, Lady Trevelyan accepted them. An awkward, estranged embrace, perhaps—but the only thing, at that moment, holding Samient together.

“What’s happening?” Trevelyan asked, parting from her. “Why does this sound like farewell?”

“Didn’t the other Ladies tell you? I have no hope of the Commander. I am to return home in a day’s time.”

“What?” Lady Trevelyan’s head shook. “No, no—why? Can’t you stay? If you planned for the full month, then...”

“There is little point in it. I must leave.”

Trevelyan pulled her back in, holding on tight. Her embrace was unrelenting, lingering in denial of the fact that she would, at some point, have to let go.

“I will miss you,” she whispered.

“And I you,” replied Samient, her eyes trailing to the view of Equinor above. “But my home calls.”

Which was the truth. She just did not clarify which home she was called to.

[cosmicdreamgrl]

.

[pepprs]

june 27th give it up for june 27th

[feartheoldblog]

happy 8th bloodborg-versary

[famewolf]

this work week has felt so long and i still have two more days left

[thethingything]

I've felt weird for the last few days and then started having increasingly bad trauma dreams, and I've just been dissociating so bad it's hard to do anything, and then finally Mint fronted and was like "are we maybe coming up to a traumaversary?" so we checked, and sure enough yes we are and it's an incident that would explain the nightmares I've been having as well as specific weird anxieties that have come up out of nowhere. awesome /s

[harmonizewithechoes]

.

[chaosandmarigolds]

(Ahem ahem)

Now by no means is the military *homophobic* nor is Price. However, they has seen enough buddies get "married" for the sake of having a better housing arrangment on the base, so it be had very quickly become increasingly difficult for couples of the same sex to get better housing or for their marriage to be considered real.

So when your Lieutenant came up to you on that random Sunday morning, saying nothing other than, "I'm bi, legally married to Johnny but thr fuckfaces at housing say m faking."

If your eyes hadn't seemed interested from your dazed and sleepy stare the next sentence caused you lock in.

"Marry me."

...you shut the door in his face.

Now, about four hours later you had been trying to get coffee, key word had been trying. Until Price came up to you, seemingly to be more confused than anything. "Congratulations."

You falter, the warm liquid barely reaching your lips and you give him a look, "Ya know i know I'm usally late on my reports but no need to be a dick when I do turn em in."

"No. On getting married."

Silence.

....that fucker

"Oh! Heh, yeah yeah, I kinda...didn't want him bringing any attention to it. Didn't think he would-"

"Yeah never saw you and Johnny getting toegther."

You almost gagged, coughing as you doubled over within the mess hall and your face feeling incredibly hot. "Mmhm."

The next two days had been a very odd blur, everything seemingly to be just a mess of emotions and very dramatic pleading from your "husband" Who already had a husband?? They had a decent amount of paperwork to do, and then movers and then more paperwork as your "best friend" wanted to move in as well.

"So how long have you been married?"

"A year-"

"Few months-"

...

"What he means is that we eloped a year ago and had a family and friends wedding few months ago."

..

"I have to answer all these questions about you?" You look at the small stack of questions, "Johnny i don't fucking know your mother's maiden name."

"O'Donnel."

"...very Scottish of you-"

"Not Scottish, lassie."

"Oops."

--

Then came actually selling the whole bit, a few kisses on the cheeks there, some flirting there. Very domestic really.

Then came trying to explain it to your girlfriends

"He isn't gay?"

"Girl you are marrying a gay man isn't he fucking that-the scary one?"

"...no no no they're just...ya know?? Bromance?? It's so bromance."

--

"I don't wanna go on a date."

"We have to lassie, we said the anniversary was today so we gotta-"

"But Price is on my ass about-"

"You're going." The sound of the lieutenant made you jump, of course he was in your room, why wouldn't he be in your room?

"Hey! I never agreed to any of this."

"Plllleeeeaaaase lassie, Price already approved the time off."

--

Two months in you started to get different remarks from friends and even coworkers

"You could've just said you didn't wanna choose."

"Took them both?"

"Ya know I read an article that said those sorts of relationships are much more sustainable-"

It didn't quite click till you were talking to Kyle one day-

"So how are ya boys?"

You laugh, going on with typing the report, "my boys?"

Kyle seemed to stare at you long enough that you looked up to him, and then he spoke, "Is it not true?"

"Is...what not true?"

"That you, Soap and LT are in one of those....poly thingies?"

"Polyamory." You correct the term and look down, trying to find the words but failing- sure the lines between friendship and...whatever was blurred but that was to be expected as you were all living in the same house, "No?? We- he jus-"

"No shame! No shame, just didn't know."

(Annnnd that's all I got. Toodles!!!)

[imprfctlyok]

good things

logan howlett x reader

Summary: You and Logan hadn't had sex in weeks, and now that you had a bit of alone time celebrating your anniversary, you figured it was time to make it up to each other.

Warnings: afab!reader, MDNI, smut w/ plot, pet names (bub, princess, doll)

Aromatic herbs and garlic wafted throughout the house as you sat on the counter watching Logan cook.

If someone had told you in the past that you'd be living with this gruff, angry man, settled down and watching him make you dinner, you would have laughed in their faces. The man in front of you was definitely not the same one you met a year ago, but keeping him company as he prepared your anniversary dinner was definitely something you could get used to.

You swirled the red wine in your glass around, studying the strain of Logan's muscles under his white wife-beater. It had been so long since you had touched him, felt the lines and ridges of his arms and chest. Work had made it difficult for you two to find...alone time. By the time either of you made it home and into bed, one of you (usually Logan) would be too tired to start anything. You didn't say anything, because you were also tired, but also because you knew how much he needed the rest. Being in such a close proximity to him now, with nothing but time on your hands...it was too tempting.

Logan turned around, a slight smile growing on his face as he leaned on the counter and picked up his glass of wine. By no means was he a wine drinker, but today was a special occasion, and so he swallowed it down if for nothing else but your own sake. "Almost done doll. Ten minutes and then we can eat."

You clicked your glass against his and downed the rest of your wine. "Cheers to that. I'm starving. Wanna..." you trailed off, sliding your empty wineglass towards him, "...fill me up?"

A mischievous glint flickered in Logan's eye, but he didn't rise to your bait. His gaze never leaving yours, he slid the bottle of wine over and poured more in your glass, leaning just far enough over the counter to give you a kiss on the forehead with a dark chuckle. "Thirsty bub?"

You took his intense staring as a challenge, leaning back in your chair and lifting your glass to your lips, sensually tipping the liquid into your mouth. "Parched."

A smile formed on his lips. Shaking his head, he turned his back towards you again, gathering the dirty cooking utensils to dump into the sink. You were 100% certain that the wine must have been making you overzealous, because your before your brain could catch up with your movements, you had slipped out of your chair and padded to the other side of the counter. Logan stiffened as your set down your glass and snaked your arms around his midsection, pressing your face into his back.

"What's this?" he asked jokingly, spinning around to face you. His strong hands immediately found your waist, gripping them firmly as he pulled you closer.

"Lo," you said, so quiet it was almost a whisper. "We've both been working, and we haven't...it been a long time since we...you know."

Hesitation crept over his face. "Bub, I—"

"Logan, please." You reached up on tippy toes, pressing small kisses into his jaw. "I've missed you."

With a show of strength that made heat pool into your stomach, Logan lifted you up and set you on the counter, nudging himself between your thighs. The breath was stolen from your lungs, and that familiar ache in your core that you had pushed down for weeks returned.

"Princess," he whispered, his breath fanning against your ear. "There is nothing more I wanna do right now than fuck you right here on this counter. It's all I've been thinking about. But you've been working hard, and I'm sure you're tired. You need rest."

He's about to pull away from you again, but before he can, you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him in, the buckle of his belt catching on the crotch of your jeans. He sucks in a breath and you arch into him.

Your lips ghost over his jawline, and you can't help the whimper that slips from your lips. "Please."

One, two, three seconds of hesitation before his hands are under your ass and hauling you into your shared bedroom. He drops you onto the bed, hands gripping your thighs, your hips, your tits. A gasp escapes you as he grinds into you, his hard cock hitting your clit so deliciously.

"Fuck," he groans, dropping his head against your shoulder as he rolls his hips against you. "Haven't had you in so long princess...haven't even taken your clothes off yet and you feel so damn good."

Your hands trail up his chest, down his back, as you arch yours looking for any sort of contact. Logan's fingers found the button of your jeans, making slow work of undoing them and pulling down the zipper.

"Do you know how badly I've been needing to taste you?" He slowly strips your jeans off of your silky legs, making quick work of your shirt next. "My baby, spread out all pretty like this—fuck—"

He trails a finger down your stomach, dipping the digit beneath your panties. A wanton moan slips out, your voice catching as his middle finger dipped into your folds, collecting the wetness pooled there. "Fuck, Logan—"

He pushes his finger into your mouth, effectively shutting you up as you lick and suck the taste of yourself off of him. His eyes never left yours, his gaze so dark and intense that it had your mind reeling with inappropriate thoughts. For weeks, this was all you had been wanting—him.

Pulling his finger out of your mouth with a pop, Logan slide down your body until his face was directly in front of your cunt. You gasped as the tip of his nose brushed your clit, your hips jolting forward to grind on his face, searching for any sort of contact. He laid his strong arm across your hips, caging you in and holding you down.

"Ah ah, patience doll. You've waited three weeks, what's a little longer?" He inhaled your arousal, hands gripping your thighs and prying your legs apart. You couldn't help but moan, him being so goddamn close to touching you where you need it.

"Besides," he added, pulling your panties to the side and looking up at you. "Good things come to those who wait."

a/n: AHHH MY FIRST FIC ON HERE FINALLY DONE! this is seriously a moment for me bc i haven’t written fanfiction that flowed so easy and genuinely enjoyed in a looooong time. i hope you like it!! lmk if you want a part 2?? lol

[seresinhangmanjake]

To add on to my last ask about the celebrating the holiday for the sake of Feyds new wife:

LIKE SHE MAKES FEYD A FLOWER CROWN AND HE WEARS IT

Like from the “friendship bracelet” dialogue from bobs burgers

Wife: :)I made you a flower crown!:)

Feyd: *thinly veiled annoyance and disapproval*

Wife: :( you don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to :(

Feyd: No, I’m gonna wear it. Forever. Back off.

Anniversary

Feyd-Rautha x wife!reader

Summary: Giedi Prime is different than your home planet. They don’t celebrate the things you used to. So, you show your husband one of your traditions to mark the first year of your marriage. 

Notes/Warnings: none, i think. It's just a cute fluffy thing.

Words: 1050

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag List

You once would’ve bet everything you had that you would never fall in love with him; from every coin to your family’s name, to every extravagant gown you owned, to every jewel that adorned your neck. When you walked down the aisle, you saw something vile waiting for you at the other end, not the husband you would come to have. You saw a snake to match the name of Harkonnen, and the prospect of a future together made your stomach turn. Until you became his wife. 

What you expected in the form of threatening words and a knife to the throat on your wedding night didn’t come. He left you alone when you told him that was what you wanted. In fact, he left you alone in every aspect of your relationship until you were ready to come to him. 

That moment came three months later. For those three months, he made sure you were comfortable, as happy as you could be, well-taken care of, and he didn’t once force his presence upon you. From that, you opened yourself to him and, in a quick decision one night, dressed yourself up, went to his room, and let him take you. 

You’ve been inseparable ever since, unwilling to leave his side and vice versa, even when he’s needed elsewhere. He takes you with him to his meetings, his executions, Arrakis. You’re his wife, in all senses of the title. And as more time has passed, you’ve adjusted to being a Harkonnen wife; everything it means, down to the things you gain and the losses you face. 

The most difficult of losses have been the traditions you grew up with. You don’t see your family anymore—as enemies of Giedi Prime, they aren’t exactly welcome on the planet—and so the values your House believes and partakes in have disappeared from your life. Holidays celebrated on your home planet do not exist on Giedi Prime. Religion is not the same. Your people bow to a Goddess. Harkonnens bow to Harkonnens. Your people bask in the changes of the seasons. Giedi Prime doesn’t experience those same seasons due to the lack of rotation around their sun. Celebrations do not exist for anything other than war victories and birthdays. But most painful are the anniversaries that go entirely unacknowledged. 

At home, anniversaries are one of the grandest events. Another year of love, of shared life. Each year, you watched your parents grow giddy as their anniversary neared, and you witnessed the people of your planet rejoice for them as if it were their own milestone of marriage. 

Giedi Prime—the Harkonnens—do not care for that. Something to do with wives not lasting very long in their House. History states you’re one of few who has made it to a year of marriage with a Harkonnen, as most women, unless pregnant with an heir, have offended their spouse in some manner and so have received that dreaded knife to the throat. 

You’re lucky there, you suppose, but it doesn’t make you miss the things you can no longer have any less. And Feyd has noticed.

“Tell me what is wrong,” he says to you as he sits beside you on your bed. 

You hesitate, fearing laughter and jokes about how ridiculous your upbringing was—it wouldn’t be the first time—but when you explain further, he’s much more receptive than you imagined.

“A celebration of love?” he asks. His brow raises, but he doesn’t scoff. 

“Yes,” you say. “Back home, couples do not have to stay together. If they are unhappy, they separate–” His head jerks and he makes a displeased face. “Staying together, continuing to be in love with each year that goes by, is considered an achievement. Something worthy of praise and pride.”

“And you want this…praise?” He doesn’t understand. Praise is harder earned in his world. Praise comes when pain is inflicted. “How do you receive praise for love?”

“People have parties–”

“We cannot have a party for this.”

You take his hand in your lap. “No, I know,” you say. “But there’s also gifts.”

He shakes his head. “No one will–”

“Between us,” you stop him. “We give each other a present as a symbol of the strength of our love.”

He thinks on your words for a few moments, slightly staring off into space, until he says, “Like what?”

“Well…” Taking your hand back, you reach into your nightstand drawer and pull out a small box. “Something like this.” You peel back the lid of the box to reveal a black band with a ring of silver running through the middle. “I had this made.”

“A ring?”

As you nod, you set the small box down between you. “It’s a wedding ring. I know you don’t exchange those on your wedding day here, but back home, when you say vows, each person puts their ring on the other’s finger. This one right here,” you say, tapping the correct finger on your hand. “It’s a kind of ownership that you show to the world. You’re telling everyone that you’re taken by someone who loves you.”

Feyd swallows, his eyes flicking back and forth between yours and the ring. “People know you belong to someone else if you wear this on your planet?”

“Yes. And seeing as you belong to me, I thought…” you pause, realizing he might hate the idea. What if it bothers him? What if the light weight throws off his knife skills? What if it gets in the way of his armor? You didn’t think about these problems until now when he’s blankly staring at the damn thing. 

Feyd plucks the ring from the box and puts it up to the light. “They all look like this?”

“They’re all different,” you tell him. “If you don’t want to wear it–”

He slips it onto the correct finger. “I’m never taking it off.”

“Wh–” Your eyes blow wide. “Really?”

“Never,” he says, still staring at the onyx circle around his finger. “Even my enemies will know I’m taken.” You sigh. A chuckle of relief leaves your throat, and he turns his gaze to you. “I’ll make one for you.”

“Oh! But you don’t have to just because I did.”

His features twist in disapproval. “You belong to me as much as I belong to you, do you not?”

“Yes.”

“Then you will wear one as well. Silver,” he says. His hand raises to cup your cheek. His thumb brushes over your cheekbone. The ring is cold against your skin. “With black diamonds.”

“You want to match?”

“Yes.”

[bi-writes]

ok simon and his mail order bride live rent-free in my head now and, like, what i wanna know is what their anniversaries look like? not just their one year anniversary, but also their fifth or tenth? how does it change as they settle into that deep comfortability that comes with being with someone a long time? -391780

this piece i still consider canon mail-order bride, but i see it almost as an extra than a continuation of the current story since it is very much in the future of that timeline. <3

mail-order bride

it's difficult to see the potential of something so mangled. sometimes things are so worn out and so used that they don't reflect what their purpose was. instead of function, they see flaw. instead of value, they see waste.

sometimes you wonder if that's what they saw in you. sometimes you wonder if that's why you were given to him.

that's what they made him. simon was a tortured dog they let loose. they saw value, but only what was left, and perhaps they thought something like you might help them squeeze just that little bit more out of him. one more year. one more op.

the sunlight wakes you up. you forgot to pull the blinds, but when you see simon sleeping peacefully next to you, it's worth it to be up so early. you know as soon as you move, he will wake, so you keep still for just a few more minutes.

today marks ten. he doesn't look much older. he seems to have stopped aging ever since you asked him to put in his papers.

like always, as soon as you sit up, simon blinks awake. he's bleary, but conscious, and when your eyes meet, you smile at him. he lifts his big hand and rubs your back gently. you don't speak any words so early in the morning, but you don't have to. there isn't much to say when the love of your life loves you, and you love them back.

you push the blankets off, giggling when you reveal the black and orange balls of fur that blink up at you. they almost seem irritated that you interrupted their sleep, snuggled in the heat that simon radiated. they'll just have to deal with it.

you drag your hand down simon's leg wordlessly. you hear his deep breaths from behind, and you reach into your bedside table to press a little balm into your hand before spreading the ointment across his knee and under it. you work it into the muscles nice and slow; any faster, and simon will hitch his breath in pain, and you'll have to start over.

you kiss his knee before laying back down, settling into his side, and you lift up your left hand, wiggling your fingers knowingly at him before looking up towards his face. he smiles down at you sleepily, raising his hand to cup your fingers.

"still love me?" you ask softly, and simon pretends to think about.

"mmm..." he rumbles. "still love ya."

"but do you still like me?"

"more everyday."

the first few years were spent trying to play catch-up. fancy dinners, expensive gifts, handwritten letters that could've been novels to try and stuff the love you have for each other all in one night. they were all wonderful; you think about those nights all the time, and you cherish the gifts he's given you like they are a part of you, but today feels different.

today might not be just another day, but it's just as special as yesterday. and the day before that. and the day before that.

when it's time to really wake up, you let simon guide you. he walks easy, barely a limp, and he sits you down at your vanity to help you do your hair as you add your serums and moisturizers. he's good with that brush, running it through gently, parting your hair the way you like so he can tie it up. he'd braid your hair if you asked him to (he said it wasn't unlike all the knots he knows how to tie--and he meant it, no one dutch braids like him), but you know your show came out last night, and you want to watch them with the scones you have proofing in the fridge.

he makes the coffee and tea while you set the scones in the oven. you fill the cat's bowls while he cleans out the water fountain. it's wordless, the morning routine, but you like the times when you brush by him. when your arm runs against his. when your hands bump going for the same cabinet. when he leans down as he passes you, kissing along your jaw before he keeps walking.

bliss. fucking bliss.

he's waiting for you in the living room once you pull the scones out of the oven. your coffee sits on the table on its coaster, in your favorite mug, and he's under your blanket as he flips through the tv. he already knows what you'll want to watch, and you bite back your smile when you notice him typing it into the search bar because he didn't see it when he scrolled past (you keep telling him to wear his glasses, but he'll never listen).

you take a seat next to him, thumbing at his cheek, and he takes a scone off the plate before biting into it. he smiles when he tastes chocolate, looking at you knowingly, and you reach for his hand as you settle against his chest.

you used to be mangled, too. a mess. pretty on the outside, dying on the inside. all fried wires, a traumatized animal, learned behavior of relieve and appease that kept you out of trouble and out of sight.

you have never seen simon this way. and simon has never seen you this way. no hopeless potential. no wasted space. no diminishing value.

i matter because you matter. you matter because i matter.

hidden, not broken. disguised, not incomplete. you did not have jagged edges, only armor that you tried to put up to protect yourself.

you tip your head back to look up at him, and when he cups your jaw to stare back at you, you're relieved by what you see in his eyes.

ten years. it will be nothing like forever. it will be nothing like your next life, nor like the life after that. it's comforting to know what home looks like. maybe you will recognize it the way you recognized it in this life.

no, that can't be it.

you recognized it because it had already happened. in some other time, in some other place, you were sitting where you sit now, looking at simon the way you look at him now.

you knew who he was before you even met him, and you will know who he is when you meet him again.

[luvfy0dor]

Bites or Hickeys? Various x GN!Reader ੈ✩‧₊˚

Warnings; suggestive, obv biting, hickeys, perhaps ooc,

Fandoms; Bungo Stray Dogs, Death Note, Attack on Titan, Obey Me

A/n; ogs remember when I was purple, but anyways happy 1 year of writing to me!! I'm super proud of my account and I'm so insanely thankful for all the love I've received and acquaintances/friends I've made. Thank you guys so much <3 even tho there have been times where I really thought I'd quit, I kept going and I'm so grateful I did

Bites ★

The feeling of their teeth sinking into your skin makes them feel almost electric, as if a spark has been lit inside their chest and cause an explosion of carnal desire. Some are softer with it, kissing and licking over the imprints of their teeth to soothe the mild pain it might have caused, but others just bite and move on to the next unoccupied spot. They can't help how desperate they are for you and to prove to themselves that they have you, and their affectionate gestures prove that theyre yours. After all, they'd never do the same for anyone else. Ofcourse after the heat of the moment died down, whether they were gentler or rougher earlier, they'd kiss over the indents and whisper soft praises and murmurs about whatever came to mind. Moments like those were their favorites- second to the actual rendezvous, ofcourse.

• RANPO, Dazai, Akutagwa, Kaji, Twain, Sasha, Zeke, Pieck, MELLO, Belphie, Satan, Leviathan

Hickeys ★

They prefer giving hickeys, sometimes because they think it's classier than biting, and others because they don't want to hurt you by biting too hard. They will, however, make you look just as ravaged, littering your pretty skin with dark, organically shaped marks. Their hands pin your wrists above your head while they suck and lick at your neck, humming as if they were enjoying a meal made by a world-class chef. Their eyes would flicker up to meet yours every now and again, lips curling upwards as they shove one of their knees between yours, allowing you to grind against their thigh while they make quick work of undoing your top and belt. They're far more shameless when they're leaving them along your thighs, so shameless that you almost look like you were bruised- no one was going to see them anyways, so why should they be modest? They'd be lying if they said being able to claim you in such a way didnt turn them on. ♡⁠˖

• fyodor, Sigma, Kunikida, Ango, Mori, Fitzgerald, Fukuzawa, Margaret, Poe, Erwin, Mikasa, Reiner, Historia, Lucifer

Both! ★

They simply can't choose, whether adorning your neck and thighs in dark, dotted half-moons or burgundy splotches, they can't get enough of you. They usually leave them in concealed places, but sometimes it's so difficult to not mark you up all over, especially when you're writhing underneath them and clinging to them like a vice because their lips and mouth just feel that good. You'd intertwines your fingers in their hair, pulling them closer or tugging them away when you're lying breathlessly in the wrinkled and messy sheets. They'd ask you if it's too much, rubbing circles into the sides of your hips with a wide, cheeky grin. God, you looked so good underneath them, all bashful and shy with your eyes half lidded and your lips slightly agape. Your labored breaths and quiet sighs were like music to their ears, so really, how could they choose just one when they could give you both and double the fun? ♡⁠˖

• NIKOLAI, Chuuya, yosano, bram, Oda, Atsushi, Lucy, Mushitaro, Tecchou, Tachihara, Eren, jean, Connie, Armin, Hange, maybeee levi, Ymir, Matt, Matsuda, Misa, im torn between both and neither for L, Mammon, Asmo, Beel

Neither ★

They prefer not to leave a physical mark on you, but rather give you a good time to remember them by. A mark will fade quicker than a memory. ♡⁠˖

• Nathaniel Hawthorne, Light, Jouno

A/n: hey chat I didn't realize today was my anniversary so I kinda speedran the characters, it might not be SUIUUPER in character so I'm sorry 😞

[girlkisser13]

dating tim drake would include

• tim is really sweet. he’ll kiss you to welcome you home or say goodbye when he goes out on patrol and he’ll happily carry you to bed if you fall asleep on the sofa and makes sure to tell you that he loves you everyday.

• he hacks your computer sometimes (for good reasons though). like you’ll just turn on your computer/laptop and your background is changed to a picture of you and tim together. <33

• even though everyone knows that you’re dating he still gets quite flustered and is prone to blushing if you call him a pet name in front of others. (you’d definitely do this just to see him blush).

• tim has your coffee order memorized (no matter how complicated it is).

• tim is SUPER clingy when he’s sleepy, like he can be needy and just want to hug and kiss you all the time. they’re kinda sloppy because he’s tired but his lust for affection is still cute.

• he cuddles or hugs you any chance he gets to make up for the many hours he spends on his computer away from you.

• since he’s a detective, he notices every detail including anything off about yourself. if something is wrong he will notice immediately no matter how good you are at hiding it, afterward he’d do pretty much anything to make you feel better. (even leave his computer for a day or so).

• he notices everything about you. favorite flower, favorite color, he always seems to notice that you’re cold even before you do and wraps his jacket around you. that intense focus can be a lot, sometimes, a bit overwhelming even. but at the same time you’re touched that he just seems so interested in everything about you. he wants to learn every last detail about you and is willing to take the time to do so.

• tim works really hard and doesn’t keep regular sleep patterns as a result, which means it’s up to you to make sure he gets proper sleep most of the time. plus, you’re one of the few people he actually listens to since you’re basically his favourite person. <33

• you have to learn most of his sweet spots to use against him whenever you’re trying to drag him away from the computer for a break.

• he remembers important dates even if it’s last minute— he still remembers. anniversaries, birthdays, you name it and if it’s anything to do with you then he’ll remember it and usually buys the best gifts for you.

• he celebrates the most ridiculous anniversaries, and he always remembers them. like, “it’s been one year since the first time you held my hand” or “it’s been a month since we went to that fair and rode the ferris wheel”.

• he lets you play with his hair and it’s so entertaining, he doesn’t mind and finds it relaxing when you run your fingers through it, he always checks to see what he looks like after you’ve styled it whether it be a man bun, ponytail, or braids. you told him that he looked good in a loose ponytail once and you he didn’t take it out for whole day.

• the two of you get take out food at least once a week because tim cannot cook to save his life, he just gets too distracted and the food gets burnt. he will also take time just to eat with you and ask about your day rather than work or will watch tv with you.

• tim LOVES watching detective shows with you but but sometimes it can get annoying because will usually ruin the ending by telling you who the criminal is and the exact reasons for his motives so it’s difficult to ignore the fact he just destroyed the next 45 minutes for you.

• he’s a literal genius so if you need help with anything he is on it, he’s actually written your essays for you before but you know that you couldn’t pass them off as your own because it’s not your writing style and you redo them using his basic ideas. you’re very appreciative of his assistance but tell him he doesn’t need to do that for you. however, he shakes it off as if it was nothing.

• he loves you and your acceptance of his coffee loving and sleep-deprived ways. <33

[rosyblooom]

a in anniversary is for apple pie! | cl16 smau

PAIRING: charles leclerc x wife!reader SUMMARY: charles and y/n return from their wedding anniversary dinner to find their daughter still awake and adamant about wanting the apple pie she was promised tonight! A/N: tysm for 500 followers🥹 pls accept this entirely sweet & happy fic as a token of my appreciation🫶

creds to @classiclitfreak for proofreading <3

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙

charles_leclerc

liked by yourusername, arthur_leclerc, carlossainz55, and 901,885 others

charles_leclerc Happy wedding anniversary to my beautiful wife, Y/N. You hold my heart in the palm of your hands, but I couldn't imagine it safer anywhere else. I'm excited for more, mon cœur 🙏❤️

vie all 7,264 comments

username wake up babe new photos of charles and y/n's secret wedding just dropped

username these crumbs are actually such nasty work smh😩 they're sick! username can't wait to see to finally see the whole wedding in 60 years🥲

username IS THIS TOO MUCH TO ASK FOR OMFG

yourusername iIy baby🥰🥰

charles_leclerc ❤️ username y'all are too cute 🤧 username I LOVE YOU GUYS SM!!!!

username still can't believe charles has a wife and it isn't me😭

username oh to be called mon cœur by charles leclerc...

username if you zoom in on the 3rd pic you'll see me face down in the ocean😔

username omg that makes two of us !! TWINNING😜

charles_leclerc posted to his story!

[ caption: Wow. ]

yourusername posted to her story!

[ caption: mon amour ❤️ ]

[ tagged: charles_leclerc ]

Fumbling, you struggle to insert the key into the lock, a task made unexpectedly difficult by your husband's impatience. His gentle kisses land on the nape of your neck, his soft whispers proving to be an unwelcome distraction. "Stop it! Can't you wait until we're inside?" you scold, attempting to maintain focus. But his arms remain securely wrapped around your waist, his affectionate gestures relentless. "Remember, we have to face the babysitter the moment we open the door."

"Mhm," Charles hums against your skin, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine and a suppressed smile to your lips. You curse silently at the six-inch heels you foolishly chose, your knees growing weaker with each passing second, the shoes only exacerbating the situation.

With a soft click, the door swings open, a rush of relief flooding through you as you silently thank your lucky stars. But before you can fully absorb the scene, the familiar sound of footsteps, accompanied by a beloved voice, reaches your ears.

"Maman!" Your daughter's enthusiastic embrace threatens to topple you as her tiny arms envelop your thighs. The warmth of Charles beside you momentarily dissipates as he steps back, a look of surprise crossing his features.

Running a hand through his beard, he gently tousles D/N's hair as he asks, "What are you doing up so late, love?"

Annie, your babysitter, interjects with a sheepish grin. "I'm sorry, I tried to get her to bed, but she insisted you guys were making apple pie tonight." She scratches the back of her neck, shrugging apologetically. "I did my best, but this little one is quite determined, as I've come to learn. Right, D/N?" Annie redirects her attention downward, addressing your daughter.

“You promised me apple pie, Maman!” D/N's insistent plea rings out, her small fingers grasping the fabric of your dress. “And I want it now! I want it now! I want it now!”

Kneeling down to her level, you gently place a finger to your lips. “Alright, D/N, I can hear you, but not so loud. Remember, at night-time, we use our inside voice, okay?” Tenderly, you intertwine your hands with hers, tracing comforting circles on the back of her hands.

D/N nods solemnly and whispers, “You promised me you’d make apple pie, and I want it now. Papa,” she turns her pleading gaze to Charles, releasing herself from your grasp and wrapping her arms around him. “I’ve been waiting all day for this, please, Papa.”

Motioning for you to handle the situation with Annie, Charles scoops D/N up, settling her on his hip before disappearing down the hallway and into the kitchen.

You straighten up, offering Annie an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry about that,” you say, reaching into your bag and retrieving an envelope labelled ‘Annie’s pay’. With a gentle gesture, you extend your arm, offering it to her. “This covers today, plus a tip, of course.”

Annie shakes her head, pushing the envelope back towards you. “I can’t accept this. I mean, I failed at getting her to sleep.”

“What?” You try to keep your voice steady, but frustration seeps through. “No, absolutely not.” Determinedly, you grasp her hand, pressing the envelope into her palm before folding it closed. “This is your money; you showed up today and did amazing, as usual. I promised D/N something, so that’s on me, really.”

She tilts her head, her brows furrowing slightly. “Are you sure, Mrs. Leclerc?”

You let out a hum. “How many times do I have to tell you? It’s just Y/N. None of that Mrs. stuff in this house, please,” you chuckle, “you're making me feel old.”

“Right, sorry, Y/N,” Annie quickly corrects herself.

Satisfied, you nod. “We’re getting there… But yes, I am absolutely sure. You deserve every single cent. Seriously,” you emphasise, “you’re a huge help to my family.”

"Alright, thank you, Y/N," Annie retrieves her bag from the hook on the wall and opens the door. "Have a good night."

"You too, Annie. Thanks again."

With a sudden slam, the door startles you for a moment before you release a long breath. You kick off your heels, relieved to be free of the "death traps" as you call them. As your feet meet the cool marble floor, a wave of calm washes over you, releasing the tension from your shoulders. It's exactly what you needed. Feeling much better, you slip off your coat and hang it beside the door before making your way into the kitchen.

A short while later…

"Alright," you lean over the counter, your forearms resting on the cool top, a warmth spreading through your heart as you watch Charles holding D/N in his arms, gently swaying side to side as they dance.

"That's what your mum and I were doing after we finished eating," he whispers.

D/N's high-pitched giggles fill the room, her tiny hand gripping a couple of Charles' fingers. "I want to come next time," she says, turning her head towards you. "Please, please, can I come next time, Maman?"

"Yes," you smile, "of course. Next time, you'll join us for our little anniversary date, okay?"

"Yay!" your daughter raises her hands in excitement, her face beaming.

Recalling the original plan, you clap your hands together. "Alright, D/N, are you still sure you want apple pie tonight? Not tomorrow or the day af—?"

"No, no, no!" she interrupts. "I want apple pie now!"

"Okay, okay… Time to wash your hands then, honey."

D/N squirms in Charles' grip, and when he finally releases her, she races for the sink in the corner of the room, immediately flicking the tap on.

Charles chuckles at the sight before turning his attention to you, stepping closer. You straighten up from the counter just in time as his hands envelop you, trapping you between the counter and his body.

"Looks like our plans will have to wait until later, huh?" you whisper, your voice taking on a sultry tone as your fingers trail up his broad chest, halting on his black tie, starting to unravel it.

Charles leans down, his warm breath slipping into the gap between your parted lips, the sweet tinge of red wine coating your tongue. "Looks like it… But I can wait, mon cœur," his voice resonates breathily as he closes the remaining distance between your faces, his soft lips meeting yours, hungry yet gentle. The kiss is brief, barely lasting long enough for you to savour the moment, though he captures your bottom lip between his teeth, tugging at it slightly before releasing his hold and pulling away.

Remembering your husband’s earlier impatience when you were struggling to open the front door, you fold his tie and set it aside before raising a single brow, asking, “Oh, can you now?”

Charles nods with a sly smile, but before he can respond, D/N beats him to it, diverting your attention as she waltzes towards you.

“Hands are washed!” she exclaims, shaking her hands dry.

"Good job, darling." You slip from Charles’ embrace, grabbing the kitchen roll off the counter and passing it to D/N. "Here."

Once you and Charles have washed your hands, you begin assigning roles. "Baby," you address your husband, pointing, "You’ll chop up the apples, and D/N…" You tilt your head down at your daughter standing in the middle of the kitchen, her smile brimming with excitement. "Do you want to make the shortcrust pastry with me, honey?"

To your surprise, D/N shakes her head and rushes to Charles’ side, her cheek pressed against him. "I want to do what Papa is doing. I don’t want to work with you, Maman."

The admission elicits laughter from you and Charles, his chuckles resonating loudly through the room as D/N pulls open a few drawers and retrieves a butter knife and a chopping board before settling down at the dining table, her back turned to you.

As you turn around, you feel Charles’ strong arms enclose around your waist, his warm hands settling onto your stomach as he whispers into your ear, "You heard the little lady. Everything's just so much more fun with her dad, you know?"

“Shut the fuck up” you quip, jabbing him with your elbow.

“I heard that!”

D/N's words cause you to pivot, fixing your gaze on the back of her head. “I’m sorry, D/N, I shouldn’t have said that,” you concede, shooting a discreet glance at Charles. “It’s just that your father has a knack for being an annoying sh—” You cut yourself off before the insult fully forms, forcing a tight-lipped smile as Charles's laughter reverberates. “Let’s just say, he can be an annoying husband sometimes, you know?”

“No! Papa is never annoying, you’re wrong,” she counters, shooting you a reproachful look before redirecting her attention to Charles, waving. “Come on, Papa, I really want apple pie. Hurry up, I’ve already started!”

“Coming, my love,” Charles murmurs softly, turning back to you and lifting your chin with a gentle touch. He places a tender kiss on your lips, then rests his forehead against yours. “So, I’m an annoying husband, huh?”

You smile and give a nonchalant shrug. “I could've said worse, trust me.”

“Papa!” D/N's voice rings out.

Charles barely flinches at your daughter's outburst, only chuckling softly and shaking his head as he moves toward the dining table, grabbing a cutting board and a knife along the way.

“Guys, we only need about eight to ten apples!” you call out from across the kitchen.

Charles winks at you. “Perfect, we have nine.”

Without further delay, you gather the ingredients for a shortcrust pastry and begin to mix them together.

Some time later…

As you finish rolling out the second dough, D/N rushes over, balancing a large bowl of sliced apples in her arms, and exclaims, “Here, Maman! We finished!”

"Thank you so much, my love," you reply, guiding her to settle the bowl onto the counter before heading towards the oven to turn it on.

Charles lifts D/N onto the counter, and you reach into the cupboard to retrieve the cinnamon, salt, flour, and sugar, handing them to your daughter. With a few instructions, she sprinkles the ingredients into the bowl of apples and begins stirring eagerly.

As D/N continues, you feel Charles' arms wrap around you, and he mischievously pinches the side of your waist, prompting you to shriek and swat his hand away, shooting him a playful glare. "Stop that!"

Once everything's mixed together, D/N eagerly assists you in assembling the pie while Charles holds open the oven door for you to slide it in.

"Perfect," you exclaim, clapping your hands together. "We did really well."

D/N squeals with excitement, jumping up and down before extending her hand towards you, palm facing up. "High-five, Maman!"

You promptly oblige, meeting her hand with yours before she moves on to Charles.

Two hours later…

"Two scoops of vanilla ice cream on your slice?" you inquire, arching an eyebrow at your daughter, who struggles to keep her head up, her eyes fluttering closed momentarily before snapping back open.

"Huh?" she mumbles, rubbing her eyes. "Yes, I'm starving, Maman."

You share a knowing glance with Charles, his dimples appearing as he smiles.

With a nod of understanding, you heap two scoops of ice cream onto her slice of golden apple pie, pushing the plate towards D/N.

Both you and Charles observe quietly as she struggles to eat even a single forkful before conceding defeat with a sigh.

Looking up from her plate, D/N's eyes flit between you and Charles, a sheepish smile playing on her lips. "Actually... I'm not hungry anymore." Before you can respond, she hops up from her seat, declaring, "I'm tired. I’m going to bed now."

She gives Charles a goodnight hug, then comes to you, avoiding eye contact as she quickly embraces you. "Good night, Maman."

In the blink of an eye, she vanishes from the kitchen, her footsteps on the marble floor echoing faintly as she races down the corridor, until they're drowned out by the resounding slam of her bedroom door.

You and Charles share a glance, both of you unable to contain your laughter.

After the laughter subsides, you stand up, holding D/N’s plate, and remark, “I’ll pop this in the freezer.”

As you finish storing everything away, Charles rinses the final plate and settles it onto the drying rack. Patting his hands on a paper towel, he fixes you with a tender gaze.

Though you know it's irrational, a wave of insecurity washes over you, making you acutely aware of all your perceived flaws.

"I love you. Happy wedding anniversary to us, mon cœur," Charles' sweet words halt your anxious thoughts as he closes the distance between you, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

Your breath catches as his tongue traces patterns across your collarbone, his teeth gently nibbling at your flesh.

It takes considerable effort to suppress a moan, but you manage to respond, "I love you, baby. Here's to at least eighty more."

You feel Charles' smile against your skin before he raises his head, eliciting a whimper as the cool air grazes your now raw neck. Before the sound can fully escape, Charles silences it by pressing his lips firmly against yours. The tension that had built up earlier floods over you like a tsunami, his hands exploring your body as your tongues dance, vying for dominance, until he breaks away abruptly.

Both of you are left breathless.

Once he catches his breath, Charles extends his hand to you, which you grasp eagerly—you need all the support you can get to avoid collapsing onto the floor; your legs feel like jelly.

Noticing your predicament, Charles' lips curl into a proud smile, prompting an eye roll from you as he effortlessly scoops you into his arms, bridal style, and plants a tender kiss on your cheek.

"I think we should continue this in the bedroom, mon cœur," he whispers, carrying you down the hallway, anticipation making your teeth capture your bottom lip.

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