#wedding ivory outfit

[shaadiwish]

Check Out Pictures From Mrignaini & Arshdeep’s Royal Wedding At Jaipur’s Samode Palace

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[aemondsbabe]

Duty & Sacrifice | Claimant Pt 2

summary: your wedding to jace will happen whether you and aemond like it or not; even still, you know where you truly belong

pairing: dark!brother!aemond x sister!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, dark aemond, threats against jace, jace slander do not come at me you were warned, blood purest aemond like he's voldemort coded idk he loves that valyrian o neg, breeding kink, fingering, unprotected sex, piv sex, biting, brief hand on neck, possessive aemond, obsessive aemond, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 3.7k

a/n: big thank you to @rabbit-hearted for sending a request for more dark!aemond! i hope you enjoy!! dark aemond was a bit toned down in this one but he (and the reader) will be going unhinged psycho in part 3 uwu

gif creds to @aemondtargaryensource

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🔪read part 1 here!

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“Oh, you look absolutely beautiful, Princess,” your lady’s maid coos over your shoulder while she finishes tying the laces at the back of your gown, eliciting a chorus of echoing hums and titters of agreement from the other women fluttering about your chambers. 

“Thank you, Kella,” you murmur, meeting her gaze in the mirror, your lips stretched into a thin, tight smile. Even in your periphery, the sight of the ivory dress makes your stomach turn and twist into barbarous knots and you quickly glance away. You try to ignore the pang of guilt that eats at your heart as you keep your eyes trained on the shelves beside the mirror, silently reciting the name of each book stacked on them over and over again, anything to keep your mind occupied. 

It only halfway works, just as it had every time before – every other time you stood in this exact same spot as the tailor measured and fitted your dress, as you discussed hairstyles with your maids, as you chose jewelry with your mother. Helaena had spent weeks, hours upon hours, sewing bead after bead into the alabaster fabric, creating intricate patterns of florals giving way to flames, and you could hardly bring yourself to look at it. 

If I don’t look, it’s not real. If I don’t look, it’s not real, the words, foolish as they were, echoed in your mind for the millionth time as your maids added final touches to your outfit – sliding your feet into shoes and clasping on various ornate jewels. 

“Should we finish the hair first or get the cloak on first?” You hear one of your lady’s maids ask another, somewhere off to the side. 

“Mm, I think the cloak,” another one answers; you can hear the doors of your wardrobe being pulled open, “Her tiara may get snagged otherwise.”

Glimmers of red from the small garnet gemstones decorating your gown create bloody splotches in your periphery as morning sunlight filters through your windows; your mind begins to wander again despite your best efforts and crimson quickly gives way to hues of sapphire. Absent-mindedly, you dig your nails into your cuticles as you recall that night. The events play out behind your eyes like they have time and time again in the weeks between then and now – the pin-pricked chill you’d felt from his gaze, the way his whispered promises made your heart ache with a confusing whirlwind of longing and dread, the way his hands had felt against your skin. The sound of your blood pumping wildly in your veins drowns out any other noise as his voice echoes in your head. 

“Prove your devotion to me, my Strong girl,” he had commanded, directing your attention to the hilt of his dagger. And you had, the memories of it make you shiver even now. 

You had.

But it didn’t matter because here you are, clad in an ivory gown that may as well be a death shroud for all the joy it brings you.

“Princess?” A little gasp falls from your lips as you’re hoisted out of your reverie and your eyes finally focus on Kella standing before you, matching cloak in hand. 

“My apologies,” you say, managing a little chuckle, “I’m not sure where my head was at.” 

“No trouble, Princess,” Kella smiles, waving a hand dismissively, “I’m sure you’re eager to get the day started, marrying a prince and all.”

“Eager, yes,” you sigh, forced smile falling flat the second she looks away. The back of your throat tightens when you catch sight of yourself in the mirror and, for the umpteenth time today, you try desperately to ignore the urge to run – to sprint all the way to the Dragonpit, mount Silverwing, and go. Instead, you swallow down the sick feeling in your gut and compel yourself to be still as Kella drapes the cloak over your shoulders, the red silk underlining enveloping you in a sanguine veil. 

Just as she’s about to fasten it to the little ties at the shoulders of your gown, the doors to your chambers bang open, causing both of you to jump as your heads whip toward the sound of the noise. 

“Prince Aemond,” Kella says breathlessly, draping the cloak over an arm and curtsying politely. 

“Get out,” he murmurs lowly, violet eye not moving from yours as he stands at the doorway, arms tucked behind his back, “I wish to have a moment alone with my sister.” Your heart hammers so wildly that you’re amazed the sound of it doesn’t echo off the walls – that it doesn’t burst in your chest. 

You don’t miss the uncertain glances your maids give one another, though they ultimately nod their heads. A small chorus of, “Yes, your highness,” rises around you as they scurry from the room; Kella quickly drapes your cloak over the back of your vanity chair before leaving as well, the doors to your chambers closing behind her. 

Aemond quickly locks them, the barest hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his lips for a precious second as he does so, before turning to you. Your brows furrow as nervousness builds within you, nails digging into your cuticles as you desperately study the neutral expression on his face as he stalks toward you. 

“Don’t you look breathtaking, sweet sister,” his eye sweeps over your form as he speaks and you feel as if every ounce of air is pressed from your lungs when he gently grasps at your chin, angling your face up toward his when he comes to a stop before you. 

“How did you get in here?” You question, hating how feeble your voice sounds, how your heart slows the second he touches you. Your question is a valid one, though – your mother had taken great caution in the weeks following the night of your betrothal feast to keep you and your brother as separated as possible. 

He chuckles as he tilts your face to the side, exposing your neck. “Someone may have delivered an anonymous tip to Cole informing him of a supposed smallfolk revolt brewing in Flea Bottom,” you don’t miss the twitch of a victorious smile on his lips, “Of course, the Gold Cloaks had to attend to it – we wouldn’t want anything ruining such a… joyous day. Once they were gone, it was easy enough to slip from the Sept and make my way back here.”

“You’ve been planning,” his eye stays fixed on the ruby necklace clasped around your neck as you speak, though he hums in acknowledgement at your words. After another few seconds of heavy silence, you cannot help but huff and jerk your chin from his careful grip, “Did you come here to merely ogle at me or do you need something?”

“Mm,” he hums, narrowing his eye for just the barest of seconds, “There is something I need indeed, Strong girl.”

“Don’t call me that!” You snap, the little huff of laughter he gives only makes you more agitated. He turns his back to you and stalks over to your vanity; it’s only then that you see he’s holding a small box behind his back, “What is that?”

“Only a little wedding present,” Aemond drawls, violet eye meeting yours in the mirror as he runs his fingers over the soft ivory silk of your cloak; his nose twitches in disgust, the most subtle of movements that you’re sure only you are able to spot. 

“Can… can I see it?”

Another twitch of his lips, a little pulling at the corners, just enough for you to know he’s satisfied about something, makes your heart squeeze in your chest. Whatever game he’s playing at, whatever imaginary battle he’s thought up in his mind, he’s winning. 

Am I even fighting back? Do I want to?

Silently, he makes his way back over to you, each heavy step a nail in your proverbial coffin. He’s standing before you again, long hair spilling over the shoulders of his tunic like a pearlescent waterfall, held back from his face by two thin braids that join in the back. 

Finally, he opens the box, carefully sliding the lid off. Your lips part as you stare down at the contents, eyes as wide as the moon as it feels like all the air has been sucked from the room. 

“I had it made by the finest craftsman in the city,” he murmurs, eye gleaming with pride at your stunned reaction, “Do you like it, little one?”

“I… Aemond, I…,” you stammer, at a loss for words as you look over the necklace resting on a bed of soft cloth. Made from a breathtaking assortment of pearls, the attention to detail is immaculate; each milky white stone is threaded onto a fine silver chain, all leading to a gleaming deep blue sapphire in the center, framed by the figure of a small silver dragon. “I-It’s gorgeous, brother, I… thank you.”

“You deserve only the best,” he purrs, watching closely as you reach up and carefully run your fingers over the glittering stones, “Shall I put it on you?”

“I already have a neck –” You start, only for a loud gasp to rip itself from your throat as Aemond tears the ruby necklace from you, the delicate gold chains easily snapping and sending dozens of tiny rosy stones clattering to the floor. All you can do is gape at him, one hand grazing against the place on your neck where the necklace once sat. 

Meanwhile, your brother’s violet eye merely follows a few of the stones as they skid across the stone floors. “Pity,” he tuts, stalking around you like a lion would its prey before stopping behind you and meeting your gaze in the mirror. 

“Do you have any idea who that necklace bel–”

“I don’t give a shit about who it belonged to,” he hisses, reaching over your shoulder and grabbing your jaw, forcing your head to turn back enough to meet his heated stare, “All that matters is that you belong to me, not some sniveling fucking bastard who shall only bring you ruin.”

He stares at you for a second more as if trying to drive the point somehow further into your heart before finally releasing your chin, smirking at the little shiver that runs down your spine when he skims his fingers over your neck. 

Your eyes flutter shut as he delicately sweeps the hair away from the back of your neck before pressing a soft kiss there, only to trail more down the crook of your neck and shoulder; time seems to slow for a moment while you savor the feel of his lips against your skin and your chest tightens when he groans. 

He huffs when he straightens back up, like being apart from you, even if only by a few scant inches, is painful – a feeling you know all too well. Opening your eyes, you watch as he carefully clasps the sapphire necklace around your neck. The larger middle stone sits perfectly at the base of your neck, the rich blue hue sparkles beautifully against your skin. 

“Flawless,” he says lowly, gently kissing just below your ear before trailing his eye up to the floor-length mirror the two of you stand before, hands resting on your waist, “We look perfect together, don’t we, little one?”

Automatically, you nod your head, unable to separate your gaze from the mirror. He’s right, he always is. The two of you simply fit together – perfect compliments of the other. 

He smiles lazily over your shoulder and pulls you closer against him, relishing in the small gasp that leaves your lips as his length presses against you, already half-hard and wanting. “Yes, you and I were meant to be together,” he breathes, slowly pulling up the skirts of your gown, “You may be marrying that traitorous little cunt, but you’ll belong to me soon enough, sweet sister.”

Your brows furrow at that and you start to question him, ask what exactly he means, but before you can utter a word, a feeble, stuttering moan is wrenched from your lips instead. Aemond holds you steady, keeping one hand firmly around your waist, as the other fits itself between your thighs; you’re helpless to do much else than watch yourself fall apart in the mirror as his lithe fingers slip through your already drenched center.

A pleased hum reverberates against the side of your jaw as he presses soft kisses against your neck, ravenous eye glued to your chest as it rises and falls with sharp pants, your breasts heaving beneath the bodice of your wedding dress.

“Promise me you won’t let him touch you,” your brother growls, swirling his fingers around your already aching pearl with practiced ease, “Swear to me that I am the only one who will ever claim you, sweet girl.”

“A-Aemond, I…,” you gasp, already having to fight through the fog in your mind to remain upright, much less speak, “Brother, please!”

“Swear it!” He snarls, biting harshly at your shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark. 

“I promise, I promise!” You quickly concede, the truth willingly spilling from you. You did not want anyone else, you never had – your gaze had been firmly set on Aemond for as long as you could remember. Your heart had soared with hope when Aegon and Helaena’s betrothal was announced, only for those hopes to be squashed when you were all but promised to Jace not too long after Aemond’s eye had been taken – doomed to a marriage built on regrets. 

Your older brother had felt the same from an earlier age still, always doting on you, even as a child. He loves Helaena, yes, but his heart had only been yours. His screams still echo in your mind – the only time he’d ever raised his voice at your mother, when he’d stormed into her chambers as soon as Aegon had taunted him with news of the raven from Driftmark. 

But it was the same each time, excuses of repairing relations and making amends, commands for you and Aemond both to grow up – to make sacrifices for the realm. 

Was I ever more than a lamb raised for slaughter? That question has kept you up for more hours than you care to admit. Now, watching in the mirror as a man who is not your betrothed brings you to heel on the morning of a day you have mourned for years, the dam inside you finally bursts – you are tired of bowing to duty. 

“Aemond, please!” You gasp, nearly crying as the fog in your mind finally lifts, “Please, take me, please!”

He pauses at that, the fingers on your aching bud stopping as his eye flicks up to yours. His eye is studying, calculating while he looks over you — there is a terrible relief in being finally, truly seen. “Is that what you wish?” He hums, chuckling when you pant as his fingers circle your dripping entrance, “To be filled with me, little one?”

You’re nodding before he’s even finished the question, desperate whines spilling from you as he slips his hand from between your legs, only long enough to loosen the ties at the front of his trousers.

“I’ll breed this sweet cunt,” he grunts, the arm around your waist moving to hook securely around your chest while the other grabs at his length, positioning it at your entrance as you hold your skirts out of the way in a trembling grasp, “Give you a pure Valyrian babe, just as you deserve.”

All of the air is knocked from your lungs as he pushes into you, spearing you on his cock in one swift motion. Your fingers abandon your skirts to instead claw helplessly at the arm draped over your chest, knees nearly buckling as Aemond pauses long enough for you to adjust. 

“Gods!” You whimper as he sets a punishing pace from the outset, though the harsh thrusts feel like paradise after being deprived of his mere presence for so long. Your head droops forward as he snakes a hand around your hip to begin rubbing at your pearl yet again, lucid enough to know that the two of you are operating on borrowed time. 

“You have always been mine, all of you,” he gasps, watching as your bodies writhe together in the mirror. After a moment, he growls and grabs at your neck, forcing your head up until your eyes meet his. “That’s it, sweet girl,” he praises, leaning forward to kiss and nip at your neck and shoulder, “You’re mine, you’re mine…”

You nod as best you can as he chants the words again and again like a prayer, pushing his length in and out of you in time with each one, until your mind is nothing but a cacophony of mine, mine, mine. 

“I-I’m, Gods, I’m – Aemond!” You all but sob, the knot in your stomach that had been pitifully winding itself for weeks finally about to unravel as your cunt tightens around him, his grunts and growls in response only pushing you further to the end. 

“Do it,” he commands, redoubling his efforts on your bud, his other hand scrambling frantically to grasp at your stomach, “Let go and I’ll breed you, I’ll give you a babe, our babe, little one. Let go for me, let go.”

His muttered command sends shivers down your spine and you’re powerless to do much else other than obey and your eyes squeeze shut and your lips part as a harsh, shuddering cry is knocked out of you; fire seems to ignite every cell within you as you pulse around his length. Your knees buckle when your high washes over you, Aemond’s grip around your waist the only thing keeping you upright. 

“Good girl, good girl,” he murmurs, the sound of his voice just barely cutting through the rush of blood in your ears. A handful of thrusts later and he stills against you, growling and squeezing you to within an inch of your life as he fills you, cock twitching. 

You both still for a moment, harsh pants filling your chambers as you catch your breath. You whine when Aemond finally pulls his softening length from you, though he shushes you sweetly before leading you to your vanity chair and sitting you down. 

“I don’t want to marry him,” you whisper suddenly, sniffling softly as tears sting the back of your eyes, “I don’t w-want to, Aemond, I –”

“Shh, shh,” he says softly, gently cupping your cheek and angling your face up toward his, “There’s nothing we can do to change today, as much as it pains me. Were it possible, I would gut him in the Sept and stake my claim to you then and there, Gods be damned, I –” 

He pauses, cutting himself off with a harsh sigh, “I will have you, I swear it. I will not fail again.” 

Were it any other time, the dark shadow that lingers behind his words would give you pause, would frighten you as they have before. 

Now, though, they settle over you like a warm blanket – there is a safety in this fear. Aemond, for all his faults, is nothing if not determined. 

Whatever surety had settled within you only an hour before is swiftly and sharply pushed from your mind as you exit the carriage and climb the many steps up to the doors of the Great Sept of Baelor, unsteady even with Aegon at your side. 

By the grace of the Gods, Aemond had managed to slip from your chambers, and supposedly from the Red Keep, unseen by all except your lady’s maids, and they had all been sworn to secrecy long ago. Once he had gone, they filed back in and had blessedly made no mention of the intrusion as they bustled about you yet again – quickly braiding your hair through the prongs of your tiara and securing your cloak to your shoulders. 

They knew better than to ask about the sapphire clasped around your neck, or about the mess of rubies on the floor.

Your eldest brother, however, had not been so forgiving; his dark eyes had narrowed the moment you were seated together in the carriage. “Today, sister? Really?” He had teased, a dangerous spark in his eyes.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you had grumbled, clenching your legs together as you sat. 

“Hm,” he hummed, chuckling softly, “Maybe I’ll soon be mother’s favorite after all.”

“We stand here in the sight of Gods and men to witness the union of man and wife,” the septon’s booming voice fills the Sept as you stand together with Jacaerys, your hands in his, “One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.”

You try your hardest to keep your eyes trained to his, to keep your lips crooked into a smile, but all you can focus on is the two stares practically searing your flesh. 

Alicent’s face swam in your vision, the way her cheeks had paled when she had caught sight of the jewelry clasped around your neck, at the guilty look in your eyes. You can feel hers boring into you now and you have no doubt her jaw is clenched, her fingers bloodied and raw. 

The other stare makes your skin prickle, much as it did on the night of your betrothal feast. You keep inwardly scolding yourself, again and again, as your eyes lock with Aemond’s every few seconds as he stands at the base of the steps to your side. 

“In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity,” the septon continues, gesturing to you and Jace, “Look upon one another and say the words.”

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger,” you recite together, all the while you desperately try to ignore the hollow, aching pit slowly opening itself in the very center of your chest.

“I am hers and she is mine,” Jace murmurs, dark gaze fixed solely on yours as he squeezes your hands, a terrible longing in his stare, “From this day, until the end of my days.”

“I am his and he is mine,” you say, each word feeling like a knife being twisted in your gut, “From this day until the end of my days.”

The septon gestures once more for the two of you to step closer together; it takes all of your restraint not to gasp when you feel a rivulet of Aemond’s spend leak down your thigh as you do. 

“With this kiss, I pledge my love,” Jace says softly. His warm hands cup your cheeks before he leans in but when your lips touch, all you see is sapphire.

thank you for taking the time to read! hope you enjoyed! :)

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[little-lynx]

EVERLARK OUTFITS: THE VICTORY TOUR

This part of “Catching Fire” is done (finally) so I put it all together;) DISTRICT 11, THE SQUARE

I go to my compartment and let the prep team do my hair and makeup. Cinna comes in with a pretty orange frock patterned with autumn leaves. I think how much Peeta will like the color. <…> As the train is pulling into the District 11 station, Cinna puts the finishing touches on my outfit, switching my orange hairband for one of metallic gold and securing the mockingjay pin I wore in the arena to my dress. <…> I can hear the anthem beginning outside in the square. Someone clips a microphone on me. Peeta takes my left hand. // Catching Fire, ch. 4

I think this dress should be a little semi-official so I choose cape sleeve sheath midi dress. It’s perfect for autumn (and they have early autumn weather there in 11th). The hair is just plain + gold hairband = girlish innocent look like the one after the games (this tactics they choose for the Tour). Plus I wanted to draw Katniss with her natural straight hair because i draw her with her braid usually ;) And again nothing about Peeta’s outfit. You know I feel like Portia 😅 because I have to choose how to dress Peeta. I’m not complaining through. So it is black suit with golden buttons (matching Katniss’s hairband and pin), thin soft orange sweater and black leather shoes.

DISTRICT 11, THE DINNER

A pale pink strapless dress brushes my shoes. My hair is pinned back from my face and falling down my back in a shower of ringlets. Cinna comes up behind me and arranges a shimmering silver wrap around my shoulders. He catches my eye in the mirror. “Like it?”  “It's beautiful. As always,” I say. “Let's see how it looks with a smile,” he says gently. // Catching Fire, ch.5

DISTRICT 7

Jackson has devised a game called «Real or Not Real» to help Peeta. He mentions something he thinks happened, and they tell him if it’s true or imagined, usually followed by a brief explanation. <...> But since Peeta’s greatest confusion centers around me—and not everything can be explained simply—our exchanges are painful and loaded, even though we touch on only the most superficial of details. The color of my dress in 7. My preference for cheese buns. The name of our math teacher when we were little. Reconstructing his memory of me is excruciating. Perhaps it isn’t even possible after what Snow did to him. But it does feel right to help him try. // Mockingjay, ch. 19

So we have only one sentence in “Mockingjay” about this outfit. And still I decided to draw it because I have a theory (head canon?) about it. I think Peeta remembers the color of her dress because it was special night for him (a lot of kisses and attempts to sneak away from everyone and maybe it felt very real at times) and also because she had two braids and the dress was red. RED is the color ❤️. / Peeta has dark red + black + a little bit gold which is also sexy color combination.

DISTRICT 5 I volunteer to take Annie back to my house in 12, where Cinna left a variety of evening clothes in a big storage closet downstairs. All of the wedding gowns he designed for me went back to the Capitol, but there are some dresses I wore on the Victory Tour.  <…> Annie wears a green silk dress I wore in 5, Finnick one of Peeta’s suits that they altered— the clothes are striking. <…>  As surely as the embroidery stitches in Annie’s gown were done by Cinna’s hand, the frosted flowers on the cake were done by Peeta’s.  // Mockingjay, ch. 16

Katniss: green silk dress + wavy sleeves + sea waves embroidery / Peeta: ivory dress shirt + knitted green waistcoat with sea waves embroidery + tweed suit

DISTRICT 2

Girl talk. That thing I've always been so bad at. Opinions on clothes, hair, makeup. So I lie. “Yeah, he's been helping me design my own clothing line. You should see what he can do with velvet.” Velvet. The only fabric. I could think of off the top of my head. “I have. On your tour. That strapless number you wore in District Two? The deep blue one with the diamonds? So gorgeous I wanted to reach through the screen and tear it right off your back,” says Johanna. // Catching Fire, Chapter 15

This description gave me strong “Anastasia” feels 😅. So I loosely based Katniss dress on Anastasia’s ballet evening gown. For Peeta I chose tuxedo jacket similar to Salvatore Ferragamo design for FF 12/13.  Neo classic, purple velvet, shiny shoes. Also I decided to include a cane, both to help Peeta to have some rest during all this Tour activities and as an accessory.

DISTRICT 12

When we reach the mayor's house, I only have time to give Madge a quick hug before Effie hustles me off to the third floor to get ready. After I'm prepped and dressed in a full-length silver gown, I've still got an hour to kill before the dinner, so I slip off to find her. <…> She [Madge] saw my reflection behind her and smiled. “Look at you. Like you came right off the streets of the Capitol.” // Catching Fire, ch.6

When I started drawing this one I just felt that I need to make it look very “Capitol”. So I added some feathers. A LOT of sparkling feathers, haha. Also there are some “moon and stars” accessories in Katniss’ hair because this silver gown gives me moonlight vibes. For Peeta I came up with classic suit but made him wear it casually.

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Lost Drafts

A Night Forgotten

A woodpecker on steroids had taken up residence inside her skull, and he was hard at work drilling a new home. All his banging around, in fact, was making her quite woozy. Her head spun and her stomach rolled.

“Fuck,” she sighed, as she groggily pushed the too-warm blankets off her chest and sat up. She'd drunk entirely too much last night at her best friend’s wedding reception, hadn't she?

While her best friends had been closing one chapter of their lives as separate individuals to open up a new one of togetherness, she'd lamented that page turning by drinking several shots of top-shelf liquor...which accounted for the giant, uncomfortable hang-over—a sensation she was intimately acquainted with the morning after every one of her friend's weddings that she'd attended over the years.

The last time she'd overindulged like this, she'd ended up in bed with an asshole, her ex-boyfriend, and it had taken two additional years of having him for a boyfriend after that for her to realise what a tremendous mistake it was attempting to make a real relationship out of a drunken one-off.

No good beginnings ever came from desperation, loneliness, and faulty judgement calls. That was, in fact, the recipe for a rather bad ending.

Bah, enough with the depressing thoughts! The real questions were: where was she this time and what had happened the night before, and why THE FUCK did she feel as if the whole world was gently swaying up and down?

Bleary-eyed and woolly-headed, she blinked multiple times to make the room come into focus. Black and white walls, charcoal grey carpeting, large nautical-styled windows to the left that looked out over the ocean.

Nope, not her bedroom.

What the hell.

Clothes were strewn haphazardly over the few pieces of furniture in the vicinity, as if they'd been tossed aside in a hurry without care. Yes, that was definitely her horrid-looking bridesmaid's dress lying in a pool of puffy crinoline and ivory and gold satin on the floor. One of her Dior pumps was visible near the open door, clearly the first of her outfit to be shucked, but where the other might be, she had no clue.

What did she get herself into, and with whom!?

It hurt too much to think, she realised as her head began throbbing in time to her heartbeat. Maybe she shouldn't do that for a bit, and just allow herself to take in the situation and the surroundings without judgment.

First things first, she needed to find out if she was currently sharing this extravagantly large bed with someone, and if so, who that might be. Gripping her pounding head, she slowly turned to look over her shoulder, hoping not to encounter anything shocking.

She supposed she should have qualified what determined the definition of 'shocking' before she'd looked. If 'shocking' was finding a naked man she recognised instantly by his distinctive tapered locs, face down and sprawled out in a deep snooze lying next to her, then she'd hit the mother lode. She was decidedly shocked.

And distressed, alarmed, amazed, and reeling in disbelief, too.

What in the absolute FUCK was Erik Stevens doing in bed with her?! And why were there scratches all up and down his back and shoulders and arms?! And what was with the very clear love bite that decorated the visible side of his throat? And why did his ass have small, fingertip-shaped bruises on them? And why was he clutching her lace panties to his nose as he slept?!

She looked down at her own state of nudity...and at her own set of bruises on her thick hips...and at her bare-lipped pussy, which hadn't been shaved when she'd left for the wedding yesterday afternoon...and at the deeply embedded teeth imprint around her left mocha nipple...and at the giant, loose diamond (was that thing real?!) winking at her from the cavern of her bellybutton where she'd apparently had it pierced.

Oh, no.

With trembling fingers, she reached and felt between her legs for the distinctive moisture that would signal...

Oh, shit.

She was wet and sore—very much so on both counts. There was no doubt about it: she'd definitely fucked her boss the night before.

But how...and why?

[thebettybook]

(Chapter 1) A Spin on an Enchanted Tale

Characters: Miguel O’Hara, fem!reader, Gabriella O’Hara

Chapter 1 summary: My Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader AU inspired by Disney’s Enchanted (2007). Reader (a princess cosplayer in their late 20s) meets Miguel O’Hara (a 31-year-old single dad who doesn’t believe in fairy tales) and his adorable five-year-old daughter Gabriella O’Hara on a night in Nueva York

Warnings: A fluff story with just a sprinkle of Miguel angst

Spanish used (I used SpanishDict): Papá (Dad); Por el amor de Dios (For the love of God); Dulce sueños, mi solecita (Sweet dreams, my lovely sunshine); Tres leches cake (Sponge cake soaked in three different types of milk)

Chapters: Ch 1 {below} | Ch 2 | Ch 2.5 | Ch 3 {in progress}

“And they lived happily ever after.”

That was the phrase you could always count on at the end of each and every one of your favorite fairy tales.

That was the ending phrase that marked new beginnings, and so far, your “new beginning” seemed like it had already ended.

You let out a sigh, shifting against the metal bench you sat on. It was only about an hour or two since you were kicked out of your apartment; your landlady was tired of you being behind on rent.

To be fair, it wasn’t really your fault (as you tried to justify to yourself). An aspiring fantasy cosplay designer in their late 20s who wanted to create princess gowns, you moved to Nueva York to learn from the best of fashion houses that specialized in haute couture.

As with moving to any major city with bright optimism would go, you found yourself rejected by every fashion house you could find and turned to part-time work as a princess cosplayer for children’s parties.

Even though you loved your work as a princess cosplayer for children’s parties, the lack of pay from the job led you to this exact moment: sitting on a bench in full princess wedding cosplay and a suitcase carrying all of your belongings (a few day outfits in dire need of a good wash, your sewing machine, and a bundle of fabric scraps and accessories you kept with you at all times) parked next to you.

Ok, maybe it was your fault for thinking you could “make it” in a big city, as if you were in a movie or something.

At least no one was gawking at you. Nueva Yorkers were far too busy rushing into the many restaurants and shops around you or too busy looking at their phones to notice a “princess” in their midst.

Endless layers of ivory tulle pooled around you, shifting against each other as you lifted your feet a bit in front of you to make sure the dirt on the Nueva York streets didn’t soil your gown.

Your fingers picked up one puff sleeve larger than the size of your head that began to droop down your shoulder. If you weren’t kicked out of your apartment, you would have admired your handiwork on the gown—a white puff-sleeved wedding dress with a bustier corset and full floor-length skirt outlined with ruby lines.

You found the dress at a thrift store the day you moved to Nueva York and brought home to spruce it up, and had finally gotten the chance to wear the gown earlier today for a job at a child’s birthday party where you were requested to be the child’s favorite princess in a wedding gown. Your coworker, who was supposed to show up as the prince in his wedding attire, didn’t even come.

Despite that, you made sure the child had a fun party by putting on your best impression of the princess character and singing the character’s songs to the best of your ability along with the child.

A sad smile graced your lips for the first time tonight. You always believed that magic could be found in situations of the unexpected, but right now it was hard to find even a speck of magic to make you feel better.

A groan escaped from your lips as your tiara began to slip, too. The gold tiara nestled on top of your head, gleaming against the Nueva York moonlight with beaded ivory flowers you hot-glued onto the tiara, weighed on your head—heavy with all the questions that began to swirl in your mind.

I’ll have to call my boss tomorrow. How do I tell her I’m basically homeless now?

What do I do now? Where do I go?

You didn’t have any friends in Nueva York you could call about your current situation. Sure, you were friendly with your party princess coworkers, but you all didn’t contact each other much outside of work. Thus, staying with a friend wasn’t an option for you.

Your hands made their way up to your head, plucking off the tiara. You held it in your hands, gliding your fingers over the beaded flowers of the tiara.

The irony of being dressed like a princess in a wedding gown about to ride off into the sunset—or in your case, moonlight—to “happily ever after”—

“Are you a princess?” A voice so small, yet filled with such curiosity and wonder, interrupted your thoughts.

Your eyes flew up from your tiara to the owner of the voice. The voice matched its owner—a little girl who stared at you with awe.

She didn’t look older than six, and seemed to be into soccer, as you saw from her lavender soccer uniform, waves of dark-brown hair tied up in a ponytail, and black-and-white soccer cleats. She also had the same look most children from the parties you worked at did—her warm brown eyes widened and her mouth on the brim of beaming the sunniest of smiles at seeing you like you were a dream come true.

You couldn’t help but offer her a smile; even if your day wasn’t going great, you could at least make someone else’s day great.

“I suppose you could call me that,” you let out a twinkling laughter—one that you learned to perfect for your princess performances. “I’m Princess Y/N.”

“I knew it!” The little girl’s eyes shined like stars—something you’ve never seen in your time in Nueva York. “You’re so pretty, and your tiara is really pretty, too!”

Your lips broke into the most genuine smile you’ve had all day. “You think so?” You held the tiara out so that the little girl could see it better. “Wanna know a secret?”

The little girl nodded, her ponytail swishing behind her.

“I made it myself,” you revealed in a loud whisper, the back of your hand to the side of your lips.

“How?!” The girl’s eyes brimmed with even more curiosity. “I didn’t know princesses could make their own tiaras!”

“Princesses can do or make anything they want,” you winked, making the little girl giggle. “Whether that’s wearing a tiara from the castle’s treasury or sprucing up a $5 one with some paint and a hot-glue gun.”

As the child marveled at your tiara, you scanned your surroundings for any parent or guardian that the girl might’ve belonged to. To your slightly-frantic dismay, the people around you and the little girl just keep walking.

“Little one, could you please tell me your name? And if you have a mom or dad or guardian nearby?” you offered the child a kind smile. If you didn’t find the girl’s parent or guardian and the girl was lost, you decided that you would help the girl and call the police.

She nodded, her eyes moving up from your tiara to you. “I’m Gabriella, but you can call me Gabi. I don’t have a mom, but I have a—”

“Gabriella!” A man’s voice, ringing with worry, called out to the little girl. The thuds of his footsteps grew in volume as he ran towards the two of you and cut through some pedestrians who shot him annoyed glares before resuming their walks.

“Papá!” Gabriella ran towards the man, who immediately scooped her up in a hug.

“I was so worried I lost you,” the man’s voice was only filled with immense relief. He towered over most of the pedestrians around the three of you. While he was tall (probably over 6 ft tall), you couldn’t see his face clearly as he buried his face in the crook of Gabriella’s neck.

Gabriella managed to wiggle her way out of her father’s tight grasp. “I wasn’t lost, I was talking to Princess Y/N!” Gabriella turned around in her father’s arms to smile and point at you.

At the mention of your name, the man’s head snapped up. Your breath hitched; from the way his dark-brown hair swept back and curled at the nape of his neck to highlight his chiseled cheekbones and jaw to the biceps that bulged under his cerulean blazer and white dress shirt, he was nothing short of handsome. The warmth in his hickory orbs at the sight of Gabriella only made him more handsome in your eyes. Truly, he put every prince cosplayer you’ve ever worked with to shame.

Despite the sharp lines under his eyes, Gabriella’s father looked like he was in his early 30s. Before you could introduce yourself or assure him that his child was safe all along, his thick, dark brows furrowed and his eyes narrowed at you. The warmth in his eyes grew cold with suspicion as he scanned you from head-to-toe. You didn’t seem like a threat, but as a father, he had to ensure his child’s safety.

“I was going to call the police if I couldn’t find her parents or guardians,” you couldn’t help but let out in a rush, feeling the need to explain yourself as he continued to eye you.

After what felt like an eternity of his eyes on you, and after him coming to the silent conclusion that you were telling the truth, Gabriella’s father set her down and took her hand in his. He stepped forward, extending his free hand to you.

“Thank you for looking after my daughter,” he gazed down at you, his frown lines softening as he offered you a half-smile. “I’m Miguel O’Hara.”

“Of course,” you brought your hand toward his. He didn’t hesitate to give you a firm handshake. “I’m Y/F/N Y/L/N. I’m a princess cosplayer for children’s birthday parties, so before you think I’m some criminal trying to kidnap children or something here, I just got kicked out of my apartment right after coming back from a job in this getup.”

Gabriella’s father’s–Miguel’s–smile vanished, his brows knitting together. “Why’d you get kicked out?” His accusatory tone indicated that he wondered if you got kicked out of your apartment for any suspicious reasons on your part.

You fought the urge to let out a sigh of frustration. You had a long day, and you didn’t appreciate being interrogated by this frustratingly-handsome man, but you also understood his concern since he almost lost his daughter.

“I got kicked out because I was behind on rent,” you turned your face away from him in an effort to hide any hint of embarrassment on your face. “Being a princess cosplayer for children’s parties doesn’t exactly help pay bills. After I got kicked out, I ended up sitting here and Gabriella came up to me.”

“Ah,” Miguel paused and pursed his lips, not really sure what to say to make a stranger (a stranger he now deemed as a harmless stranger) feel better. “I’m…sorry you got kicked out.”

“Thanks,” you turn your face back towards him, now being the one to give him a half-smile. Your eyes then flitted down to your and his hands, realizing he didn’t let go of your hand till now. Miguel’s eyes followed yours before retracting his hand with an awkward chuckle. In a poor effort to make things less awkward, you echoed with an awkward laugh of your own.

You were both too preoccupied with this interaction of pure awkwardness to notice Gabriella’s movements. The top of her head barely reached Miguel’s knees as she switched her gaze from her father, to you, and then to your hand in his. A grin a mile wide lit up on her face at the two of you, the wheels in her five-year-old brain turning.

“Papá,” she began. At his daughter’s voice, Miguel instantly turned his attention back to her and kneeled down to face her at eye level.

“I’m glad you’re safe, but what did I say about running off by yourself and talking to strangers?” You noticed that Miguel’s voice was nothing but soft and gentle every time he talked with Gabriella.

Gabriella clasped her hands behind her back. “That I shouldn’t. I’m sorry, I just wanted to talk to the princess. But I won’t go away by myself anymore, pinky promise.”

She held out her right pinky in front of her, making her all the more adorable. Miguel only had a soft smile as he linked his own right pinky with Gabriella’s.

You eased down on the bench in silence, your half-smile growing as you watched the way Miguel gently swiped away a stray eyelash from Gabriella’s cheek with the back of his thumb.

You could tell he was having a hard time kneeling down with his tall stature and all by the way he shifted his feet behind him. But you also noticed that he kept kneeling down to appear somewhat at eye and height level with Gabriella so that he could foster healthy discussions between the two of them as parent and child. Even though you just met him, you could tell Miguel was a great dad and that he loved Gabriella more than anything.

“I’m just glad you’re safe.” Warmth flooded Miguel’s eyes, pooling gold flecks of honey into his hickory irises. “Let’s go home, say ‘goodbye’ to the princess.”

To your and his surprise, Gabriella shook her head furiously, her ponytail swishing from side-to-side. “No!”

“‘No’?” Miguel raised his eyebrows.

“Princess Y/N doesn’t have anywhere to go,” Gabi pointed at your suitcase, jutting her bottom lip forward to convey a pout. You were shocked she even noticed your suitcase; kids were more perceptive than you thought.

“Oh, don’t worry about me, little one,” you waved your hand, mustering the best and brightest princess smile you could put on. “I’m just waiting for my prince to arrive on his horse. Should be aaaany minute now.”

Miguel’s gaze moved from Gabriella, to your suitcase, to you. He didn’t know whether to stare at you to wonder if you were being serious about the prince and horse (and considering that this was Nueva York, he shouldn’t be too surprised), or whether to smile at the fact that you were trying to keep up your princess act for his daughter.

“My dad’s better than any prince,” Gabi took Miguel’s large hand in an effort to drag him closer to you before turning her head to gaze up at Miguel. “Papá, can the princess please stay with us? We have a ton of rooms at home.”

“No, no, it’s ok—,” you began, shaking your head as furiously as Gabriella earlier.

“—Gabi,” Miguel interrupted you, his tone a bit more firm this time. His gaze set on your gown. “We can’t just take in a stranger.”

Miguel’s hands rested on his hips. He couldn’t help but eye you from head-to-toe again, as if he was trying to detect any threats you might have kept hidden from him.

You met him with a raised brow and crossed your arms in front of your torso, trying to appear nonchalant and ignore the heat growing on your cheeks at the fact that his eyes were on you again.

“But you always tell me that it’s important to help others,” Gabriella put her hands on her hips, comically trying to mimic her father. “And I wanna help my best friend Princess Y/N.”

Miguel’s gaze dropped from yours as he turned to his daughter faster than lightning. “What? I thought I was your best friend,” he mumbled. You let out a snort of amusement as you heard Miguel sound genuinely hurt.

“You can be my best friend again if you let Princess Y/N stay with us,” Gabriella ran over to your side, sitting next to you on the bench.

She wrapped her hands around your arm and clung to your side despite the layers of tulle from your gown that tried to push her away. “I don’t want Princess Y/N to be cold and outside by herself,” Gabriella whispered as she nuzzled her face against your arm, making you want to shed tears right then and there.

“Gabi, I’ll be ok,” you tried your best to muster a smile and appear brave for Gabriella. However, you knew you weren’t being too convincing, and the subtle crack in your voice stemming from your fear of the unknown was something you didn’t miss.

Miguel didn’t miss it either as he let out a huff mixed with annoyance at the situation and sympathy for you. His daughter was just as stubborn as he could be, but she also had a point.

As a gentleman through and through, Miguel didn’t feel right with the thought of leaving a lady like you out alone on the streets of Nueva York in the middle of the night (even if he didn’t question that you could defend yourself). What kind of example would he be setting for Gabriella if he just took her home and left you here?

“…Alright, you can stay with us if you’d like,” Miguel let out with a sigh. “And you can stay with us while we help you find another place in Nueva York to live.”

Your eyes widened at his decision, and your mouth opened instinctively to say “No, thank you,” but before you could do so, Gabi ran back to her father and into his arms.

“You’re the best, Papá!” Gabi’s statement made Miguel beam brighter than the Nueva York moon as he scooped her up. If you weren’t so shocked by his proposal, you would’ve laughed at how endearing he was with his daughter.

The two O’Haras then looked at you while you tried to weigh your options, but you only had two:

1. Stay with this little family you knew nothing about

Or

2. Stay out on the streets until you could contact your boss (which would be tomorrow because you felt unprofessional at the thought of calling your boss after work hours).

“…If it’s not a bother, I would love to take you up on that offer,” you shot Miguel a smile that no doubt displayed all your nerves at the thought of staying at a stranger’s place, even though he was the one who just offered a stranger to stay at his place.

“You’re coming home with us!” Gabriella raised her hands in the hair before scrambling down from Miguel’s arms. Before you could blink, she took your right hand and tugged on it so you could stand up.

“I suppose I am,” you chuckled, letting yourself be led by the child. As you stood up, you used your left hand to smooth the front of your gown’s skirt. You then turned to your suitcase, only to see Miguel approaching it.

“I got it, if that’s ok with you,” Miguel tipped his head to the direction of your suitcase.

You nodded, letting yourself be led forward by Gabriella to the direction of wherever you assumed would be her and Miguel’s home.

“Thank you. Not just for that, but for letting me stay at your place,” you turned to Miguel as he held your suitcase’s handle with his right hand. “I haven’t met many kind people in Nueva York since I moved here.”

“It’s Nueva York, not exactly the place for fairy tales,” Miguel’s sarcasm slipped out with ease without thinking. He then turned his face away from you when he realized that he forgot you were literally dressed as a princess. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re right,” you shot him a rueful smile as the two of you fell into the rhythm of walking next to each other with Gabriella skipping between you two. With one of her hands in your right hand, Gabriella took Miguel’s left hand in her free hand. “I learned that the hard way.”

“Happens to the best of us,” Miguel replied with more sincerity this time. He didn’t follow up with anything more to say, and the two of you walked past a few streets in awkward silence, the beeps! of Nueva York taxis and Gabriella’s upbeat humming filling the silence.

“We don’t need to take a taxi?” You spoke up, trying to start a light conversation with Miguel.

“Our place is just a few minutes from here,” Miguel answered, his gaze set straight ahead. “I was actually taking Gabi to get ice cream not too far from our place after we came home from her game.”

“Yeah! We were gonna get ice cream!” Gabriella’s eyes lit up even more at the mention of ice cream. “‘Cuz I scored a goal today! Wait, Papá, where’s my ice cream?”

“I didn’t know I was in the presence of a soccer star,” you grinned down at Gabriella, who smiled toothily up at you at being called a “soccer star.”

Despite fatigue from a long day of work seeping into Miguel’s bones, his lips couldn’t help but falter from their default straight line into a small smile at seeing Gabriella be so happy—more so than usual—in your presence.

“Well, you ran off, so I had to find you and didn’t get us any ice cream,” Miguel raised an eyebrow down at Gabriella, but his smile and tone indicated his light teasing. “We can get ice cream tomorrow.”

“Yay!” Gabriella raised her hands in the air, swinging your and Miguel’s hands that held hers forward. She then spotted what you assumed to be her and Miguel’s building, and broke away from the two of you to run up ahead.

“Por el amor de Dios,” Miguel muttered under his breath, stopping in his tracks and leaving your suitcase next to you. “Why does she have to run so fast?”

Without another word, he sprinted after Gabriella. You were surprised Miguel could run fast, but you figured that it made sense since he was so built.

Your gaze then panned from Miguel catching up with Gabriella and scooping her up with ease to the building before the three of you.

The building was easily the tallest apartment complex in Nueva York—a cylindrical tower with state-of-the-art glass architecture.

“Wait…,” your voice trailed off, your chin tipped up as your eyes could barely find the tip of the tower. You walked toward Gabriella and Miguel while hauling your suitcase behind you. “Where are we?”

“We’re home!” Gabriella answered in Miguel’s arms as he stood at the glass door entrance. “Papá and I live at the very top!”

Your eyes couldn’t help but bug. “Miguel, is it ok if I ask what you do for a living?”

“I work in research,” Miguel chose not to elaborate, making him sound like a secretive spy in a movie without meaning to. His broad back was to you as he used his free hand to place a card against the building’s recognition panel. It beeped green, and you couldn’t help but feel like you were breaking into a top secret government building.

“Papá’s the king of his job!” Gabriella chimed with adorable pride for her father as the building’s double doors swished open.

You could only assume “king of his job” meant Miguel was either the CEO of his workplace or he held an equally (if not more) high position, but you decided it wiser to not ask any more questions for the time being as you followed Miguel and Gabriella to the elevator.

The elevator, like the rest of the building, was cylindrical, and spacious enough that you guessed it could probably hold 300 people at a time.

Once inside, Miguel tapped a code into a panel, which you assumed was for accessing his and Gabriella’s home. Your shock at everything only increased when the elevator ascended past 50 floors.

50…60…90…

Gabriella yawned when the elevator passed 90 floors, prompting Miguel to rub her back as she snuggled her face against his shoulder. It wasn’t long before she was out like a light, snoozing in her father’s arms.

“Dulce sueños, mi solecita,” Miguel pressed a kiss on the side of Gabriella’s head. A yawn unleashed from him after he pulled back from Gabriella at the same time you let out your own yawn.

Your eyes met his, and this time Miguel gave you a kinder, more sincere smile as he found it funny that the two of you yawned at the same time.

Ding! The elevator chimed once it reached the 99th floor, the top floor of the building. You tried to brace yourself for whatever the 99th floor would reveal of Gabriella and Miguel’s home, but nothing could’ve prepared you for the sight before you.

Their penthouse gleamed in all its glory, from the marbled flooring to the ivory spiral staircase in the left corner. To the right of the penthouse was a massive kitchen with a sleek silver stove and a matching fridge, island, and cabinets.

The walls were a simple white which only added to the elegance of the entire penthouse. You noticed that instead of expensive paintings that usual penthouses would have, the walls of this penthouse were decorated with Gabriella’s various crayon drawings and framed pictures of Gabriella and Miguel from her birth till now.

Your eyes were captivated especially by those framed pictures, but before you could step into the penthouse, you turned to Miguel.

“Shoes off?” you whispered, not wanting to wake Gabriella. He answered you with a nod.

You shuffled off your [your favorite color] sneakers, placing them on a three-tiered shoe rack by the elevator door as Miguel did the same with his burgundy dress shoes and Gabriella’s soccer cleats.

“I didn’t know princesses wore sneakers,” Miguel’s voice was so quiet that you couldn’t tell if he was serious or teasing.

“This princess does,” you straightened up, grinning as if you were revealing a corporate secret. “Especially if she has to run after children all day. Though I only wear sneakers when I get to wear long gowns like these that hide my shoes. Wouldn’t want to ruin the magic for the children.”

“We can’t have that, now, could we,” Miguel flashed you a tiny grin, revealing his pearly whites. “If children realized princesses wore sneakers and not glass slippers, that could mean the end of the multiverse.”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise at Miguel’s attempt to engage with you in light teasing and chatter. “Multiverse, huh? Are you into comic books or superheroes or something?”

He merely shrugged his free shoulder as if to appear cool and not “nerdy.” “I like science.” Before you could ask Miguel more about what comic books he liked, Gabriella stirred in his arms.

Miguel wheeled your suitcase to you with his free hand. “I’m going to set Gabriella down in her room,” he whispered in an even more hushed tone. You had to stop yourself from chuckling; he just didn’t seem like the type of person who whispered often. “Make yourself at home in the meantime.”

He made a beeline for the spiral staircase, going up to where you assumed were all the penthouse’s bedrooms.

You knew he said “make yourself at home” out of customary politeness as a host, but you found it difficult to instantly “make yourself at home” in such a grand place.

Not knowing where to sit or where you could sit, you took a step toward a wall lined with framed pictures of Gabriella as a baby.

Some photos were in black and white, some were in full color. A smile bloomed on your face at how cute Gabriella looked as a baby, her smile in the pictures just as infectious then as it was now.

You also noticed, however, that Gabriella’s biological mother wasn’t in the picture—in any picture on the walls, to be exact. There didn’t seem to be a partner in Miguel’s life either, from the way all the family pictures on the walls—whether they were selfies taken by Miguel or pictures taken by someone else—only had him and Gabriella in them.

Your nosy mind couldn’t help but wonder if maybe Gabriella was adopted or conceived via surrogate. The first theory, you crossed out of your mind since Gabriella looked too much like Miguel to be adopted.

Before you could come up with other theories, Miguel descended the spiral staircase and made his way over to you with a neatly-folded bundle of clothes in his hands. He stopped next to you and followed your gaze to one of the pictures.

“I took that one on Gabi’s first birthday,” a soft smile on his face as he nodded to a framed picture of a baby Gabriella laughing at the camera despite having globs of cake and frosting on her face and on the teeny swirls of her wavy brown hair. “That was the first time I ever made tres leches cake, and I’d say she loved it.”

You grinned at the picture, before biting your bottom lip in hesitation. “May I ask you something? You don’t have to answer.”

Miguel simply nodded, his eyes roaming the various pictures of Gabriella. “Has it always…been just you and Gabriella?” you kept your eyes forward. “Sorry, I know it’s a personal question.”

You turned your face towards Miguel, whose eyes set on a black-and-white picture of a sleeping newborn baby Gabriella, swaddled in a blanket and bald head covered with a cap.

Various emotions flickered in Miguel’s eyes which you could only guess to be sorrow, pain, confusion—not at Gabriella in the picture, but at whatever or whoever was related to that picture.

“It has,” Miguel answered simply and all-too-quickly, the edge in his tone indicating that he didn’t want to talk about the subject more.

He blinked, as if telling himself to forget whatever or whoever he was thinking about, and turned his attention back to the bundle of clothes in his hands.

“I wasn’t sure if you had any clothes to wear in the meantime, so I grabbed a couple of old shirts and pants from my closet,” Miguel’s voice sounded more normal now. “I don’t think we’re the same size, but you can keep these and use them as you see fit.”

“Thank you,” you took the bundle of t-shirts, dress shirts, and sweatpants from Miguel’s hands. You were sure they were a couple sizes larger than your own based on Miguel’s figure, but the gears were already turning in your brain on how you could sew and upcycle some of these.

“I’ll show you to your room,” Miguel began walking to the direction of the stairs once more, his long and fast strides making it difficult for you to keep up with him.

You followed him up the stairs to a spacious floor with around five rooms and more walls framed with Gabriella’s drawings and pictures of Miguel and Gabriella.

“That room is my office, and the other one is for storage,” Miguel pointed to two rooms to the right at the end of the hallway. “That’s Gabriella’s room and my room’s next to her’s.” He pointed to two rooms on the left at the other end of the hallway.

“And this will be your room for the time being,” he led you to the room in the middle next to his room. “It’s our guest room.”

He opened the door to reveal a neat room with a queen-sized bed with a bedside table, and desk near the window area. The entire room matched the sleek aesthetic of the penthouse, from the silver bedside table to the matching desk.

You rolled your suitcase onto the polished wood-tiled floor of the bedroom, noticing a private bathroom just a few feet away from the bed. The whole room felt more like a hotel room than any bedroom you’ve ever been in.

“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask me,” Miguel stood at the door, his hands naturally resting on his hips. “Our laundry room is downstairs next to the kitchen if you need to use it tomorrow.”

“Thanks again,” you turned your attention away from the desk to Miguel, giving him a smile you hoped that conveyed your immense gratitude.

Miguel simply nodded and turned his back, ready to leave.

You couldn’t help but wonder and worry if he was mad or something at you asking him that question earlier. You also finally noticed the shadows of gray that filled the lines of stress and fatigue under his eyes.

Whether such stress and fatigue was from his mysterious job or from almost losing Gabriella tonight, you didn’t know. But what you did know was that you wanted to tell him the words on the tip of your tongue—maybe to prove to him you weren’t a bad person trying to take advantage of his and his daughter’s kindness, or maybe because you just wanted to say the following:

“Good night, Miguel. I hope you sleep well.”

Miguel stopped in his tracks before turning his face back towards you. “What?” Your statement shocked him; it had been a while since someone other than Gabriella wished him a good night’s rest, and it had been an even longer while since he actually had a good night’s rest.

“I said ‘good night’?” You cocked your head to the side, worrying if you said something wrong again. “And that I hope you sleep well?”

“…Night,” Miguel mumbled, turning his back to you once more, his hand resting on the door knob. “I hope you sleep well, too.”

The door knob clicked after Miguel ducked his head below the head of the doorframe and made his way out of the room.

You stared at the closed door for a few seconds before making your way over to the closet. It was roomy and empty, with only hangers in it. You carefully peeled your gown off your body and hung it on a hanger.

The gown took up a good quarter of the closet’s space from its sheer size alone, but you had a garment bag in your suitcase you could use.

Putting the gown in a garment bag and taking a bath will have to wait till tomorrow. You didn’t fight the urge to let out a yawn. Sleep. I need sleep.

You didn’t even think twice about putting on an old white t-shirt and gray sweatpants from Miguel—both oversized on you—until you stepped into the marble-tiled bathroom and glanced at your reflection in the mirror.

I sure don’t look like a princess now. You let out a chuckle before brushing your teeth.

It wasn’t until you set your tiara (you didn’t realize you were still wearing it) down on the bedside table and settled into your new bed that your mind wanted to keep you awake with various thoughts.

I’m wearing a stranger’s shirt and pants. A very handsome stranger. And I’m sleeping in his house.

Wait, that sounds wrong. You shook your head before turning to rest your head on the other side of the plush pillow.

I probably shouldn’t have asked him earlier about whether it was just him and Gabi.

I don’t want to bother Miguel any more than I already have.

Before you could let more intrusive thoughts swim in your mind, another yawn escaped from your lips.

I won’t stay here long.

I’ll figure my life out tomorrow and be out of here before we all know it…

— — — — —

The same time you drifted off into dreamland, Miguel stared up at the ceiling of his own bedroom next door.

It had been a long day for him, from almost losing Gabriella to taking in a woman who dressed up as a princess for a living.

Did I just let a stranger into my house?

Shock.

…

She won’t stay here long. We’ll be back to our own lives as soon as possible.

And with that, Miguel nodded to himself. Logically, or at least logically to him, it shouldn’t take more than a few days to find a new place for you to stay in Nueva York.

Miguel was someone who despised the unexpected—he was used to being in control so he could know what would happen next. So that his daughter could be safe. So that he could feel safe.

Gabriella randomly running away from him at the ice cream shop was unexpected. And you…you were definitely unexpected. While Gabriella liked you and you seemed like a nice enough person, a smidge of distrust for you gnawed at Miguel’s mind.

However, it was your words that bugged him more.

“I hope you sleep well.” Can’t she tell I barely get any sleep?

He let out a puff of air through his nose, only to be surprised by a yawn that followed. It wasn’t long before his eyelids began to droop.

Despite everything that happened today, little did Miguel know that he was going to get better sleep tonight than he did in ages.

🍓 Strawbetty’s notes: If you read all the way to here, Miguel gives you a 🍓 :D. I’m gonna make a separate post with more of my author’s notes on this fic later but for now I’m eepy :’)

🍓 Tag list: @allysunny, @charms-cat, @tymns, @tayleighuh, @moyo5653, @sizeablysized, @deputy-videogamer, @marvelofcourse, @flordelalunas, @thethirdyo, @sleepingghoule444, @eyes-stuff. If you would like to be added to the tag list for upcoming chapters, please comment or reblog below :)

Important:

🍓 I don’t own any of the characters I mention or write about; they belong to their original and respective creators.

🍓 All content on this blog is created by me, @thebettybook (excluding posts I reblog that aren’t my own posts and unless I state otherwise). Do not modify, claim, repost, or translate my work onto this platform and any other platform.

🍓 Reblogs are appreciated :). Want more Miguel content? Check out my masterlist.

[sexlapis]

just thinking abt corporate!reader & her goth!wife mikasa :3

female!reader, short fic, flirty coworkers, fluff, crack, wife!mikasa

wc: idk just read it damn

you were a diligent, serious worker but you’d never be caught working overtime in a place like that. you would never work longer than you had to, you don’t give a fuck about your job, or any company that much. the job wasn’t exactly exciting or difficult, but the salary was absolutely ridiculous for such simple tasks and you just can’t say goodbye to this lifestyle, really. it is easy, stable and comfortable and you really cannot ask for anything else.

you always kept to yourself and minded your own business but, unfortunately for you, the men you worked with were not familiar with such a concept.

when you started you job, your male coworkers found no problem or shame in flirting with you. and now, with the new, simple yet expensive golden wedding band on your finger…they still had no problem flirting with you.

you sit at your desk typing away, when all of a sudden, your coworker, sam, appeared out of nowhere like a bunny in a top hat.

“hey!” he spoke, far too loudly for the environment you were in.

“…hi.”

“how are you?” sam leans on your desk, shifting it in a way which will irk you for the rest of this painful interaction.

you look up at him, mouth streamline and eyes blank. “i’m fine, thank you,” you make a point of not asking how he is before raising your eyebrows and looking at your desk computer, “got work to do.”

“yeah,” he chuckles, biting his lip, “so listen…”

oh no.

“so i’ve been thinking…”

please, stop.

“i think we get along really well and i’m just wondering…”

god, help me.

“…if maybe we could go out sometime,” he finishes, smirking all of his ivory, hyper-perfect, white teeth at you. he stares at you, awaiting your answer.

you sigh. he sees so confident. it was sad.

you fiddle with your watch and begin your awkward rejection, “look i-”

a voice calling out your name is heard as you spin around in your squeaky desk chair and a few feet away, stands your wife, mikasa.

what is she doing here?

next to her is the receptionist, you smiles at you and nods to mikasa before walking away.

mikasa is dressed to the nines, as she always is.

she is decked out in an all-black outfit - her toned arms, decorated with lace sleeves, snug at the top and loosening out as the fabric goes on. a corset adorns her waist, peppered with lace accents and it emphasises the pale expanse of her upper breasts that are on display for everyone to see. her lower half is draped in a long, slightly billowed out skirt and platform boots cover her feet, making her almost tower over everyone.

mikasa walks over to you, unbothered by all the eyes on her. in her hand is a small container, one that you assume carries your lunch. she leans down and kisses you cheek, surely staining your skin with scarlet. you feel heat on your face. you’re pretty sure nobody is working at this point.

“hi ♡.” mikasa greets, a soft smile on her lips.

“hi-mikasa, what are-” you stand up swiftly, looking around your small work area, noticing how your colleagues are simply pretending to work, “what are you doing here? i said i’d meet you outside.”

“you were taking a while. the receptionist noticed and asked who i was waiting for. she let me come up here.”

“yeah, but-”

“but what?”

you huff and glance behind you.

sam, your flirty coworker who cannot take a hint, stands there like a buffoon, mouth agape and just watching you and mikasa interact. mikasa says a small “hello” to him and he responds with a dumb wave.

you roll your eyes. then you notice the food container in mikasa’s hands. she has a new set of nails too. “is that my lunch?”

“yes, that’s why i came here. you forgot it.”

you take it out of her hands, graceful. “thank you, baby…new nails too, i see?”

mikasa blushes, eyes knocking to the side. “mhm. i took your card for that.”

“mikasa!” you frown halfheartedly, “i was looking for that.”

“sorry. but you have seven other cards, so i think you will be okay.”

you hear a snort on your right, and a sharp glare from you shut them up.

mikasa beams at you.

you huff, beginning to walk “lets go to that café across the street.”

“okay!”

mikasa slips her hand into yours. on that very hand, a ring with an onyx diamond beautifies her finger. the ring that you placed there.

you coworker starts to call out, “aren’t you gonna introduce-”

“no!”

*

“you should be nicer to your coworkers.”

“why on earth would i do that?” you groan, disgusted by the suggestion.

the food mikasa made is delicious, and you shove your face with it in bad table manners. you were starving. mikasa doesn’t mind.

it was a sunny thursday afternoon and the streets were quiet, along with the café itself. mikasa nibbles on a small pastry and sips her tea.

“because, they’re your coworkers. and you need to keep your job.”

“ha! they need to keep me. i’m the best worker in that damn place.”

mikasa hums, taking a hold of your hands, causing you to drop you cutlery on the table ungracefully, “but then, who’d be able to pay for my nails?”

“…yeah, you’re right,” you smooth your thumb over her smooth knuckles, kissing the ring on her finger, “who would, huh?”

*

you walk back into your workplace, skip in your step. you whistle a tune all the way to your desk, stopping in your tracks when you realise everyone is silent and looking at you.

“…what?!”

the continuous chatter starts up again and everyone goes back to their tasks, not looking to bother or piss you off today

later on, when you walk through the door to your house and look in the mirror right beside it, you see a multitude of faded, red lip-shaped lipstick stained kissed all over your face.

a/n: i want her to be my wife so bad………

[lifeofpriya]

Hello love!

Because I am insane for this man now may I please request the “Kissing you, and then putting their hands around your neck to stay like that for the next seconds, minutes as you two get lost in each other.” prompt for our cutie Brit? 🩷 - @pyotrkochetkov

hi!!! i had a real blast writing this one and ughh, i just feel like Jack would be a wonderful wedding date 😩

A Little Spontaneous Romance

wc: 2.1k

"Jack, we need to get going, or otherwise, we'll be late for Lizzie's wedding," you reminded your boyfriend, peeking into the bathroom as he perfected his tie in the mirror. The room smelled faintly of his aftershave, something woody and expensive that always made you feel like you were standing in a forest glade. The sink was scattered with his toiletries, and a puddle of water had formed around the base of the tap. You stepped closer, taking in the sight of his broad shoulders, his muscles flexing as he tugged at the knot.

Jack turned to you with a smile that could melt glaciers, his eyes a mesmerizing shade of hazel that reminded you of the leaves that rustled outside your childhood home in the autumn. His hair was slightly damp, the ends curling just enough to give him that 'I woke up like this' look that you knew took him at least fifteen minutes to achieve. "Alright, love," he said, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. "Let's not keep the happy couple waiting."

As you both walked out of the hotel room, the sun was just beginning to kiss the horizon, casting a warm glow over the city. The cobblestone streets of the old town were already bustling with life, the sound of laughter and distant chatter mixing with the faint notes of a street musician playing a saxophone. You felt Jack's hand in yours, his grip firm but comforting as you navigated the throngs of people making their way to the wedding venue. The anticipation of the day ahead filled you with excitement and a touch of nerves - Lizzie had been your best friend since childhood, and you were thrilled to be a part of her special day.

Jack looked over at you, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards into a smirk. "You know, I've never seen you so dressed up," he said, his eyes scanning your attire with appreciation. A gentle breeze ruffled your hair, and you felt a shiver run down your spine as Jack leaned in closer. "You look absolutely stunning," he whispered, his breath warm against your ear.

You blushed, looking down at the dress you'd chosen. It was a simple yet elegant number, the fabric shimmering slightly in the early morning light. You'd spent hours searching for the perfect shoes, finally settling on a pair of shoes that added a touch of sophistication to your outfit. "Thank you," you murmured, glancing up to find him studying you intently.

As you approached the grand archway that led to the wedding venue, the scent of fresh flowers grew stronger. The air was filled with the sweet aroma of roses and peonies, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of serenity wash over you. The venue was a picturesque rooftop garden, with greenery cascading down the walls and a stunning view of the city beyond. The chairs were arranged in neat rows, draped with ivory fabric that billowed gently in the breeze.

Jack squeezed your hand, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "This is going to be an amazing day," he said, his voice full of genuine warmth. You nodded in agreement, feeling a swell of happiness for Lizzie and her soon-to-be husband, Darcy. The two of them had been through so much together, and you were thrilled that they had found their way to this moment.

As you entered the venue, you couldn't help but notice the way the light danced across the surface of the crystal chandeliers hanging from the canopy above. They cast a soft, romantic glow over the space, making everything seem ethereal and magical. The string quartet played a soft melody that resonated with the air around you, setting the tone for the celebration to come.

Jack looked around, his eyes wide with wonder. "This place is unreal," he murmured, his voice filled with awe. You nodded, squeezing his hand tighter. It was unlike any wedding venue you had ever seen, a perfect blend of nature and opulence that reflected Lizzie's unique style.

As you made your way to your seats, you felt a rush of excitement mixed with nerves. You had been helping Lizzie plan this day for months, and now it was finally here. You had never seen Jack so dressed up either, in a tailored suit that hugged his athletic frame, making him look every inch the dashing tennis star he was. His tie was a deep shade of blue that matched the color of the sky above, and his shoes were so polished you could see your reflection in them.

The music grew louder as the bridesmaids began their procession, their dresses fluttering in the breeze like petals on a summer's day. Lizzie looked stunning in a gown that made her look like a modern-day princess, her eyes sparkling with joy as she made her way towards Darcy, who was standing at the altar, looking as though he couldn't believe his luck. You watched as they exchanged vows, their love for each other palpable in the air, making it thick and warm around you.

As the ceremony concluded and the newlyweds shared their first kiss, the crowd erupted into applause. You turned to Jack, whose gaze was fixed on the couple, a soft smile playing on his lips. He leaned in, his eyes finding yours, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to fade away.

The reception was a whirlwind of laughter and dancing, the air thick with the scent of champagne and the sound of clinking glasses. You and Jack mingled with the guests, chatting and sipping on drinks, but your thoughts kept drifting back to how unbelievably handsome your boyfriend looked in his suit. His strong arms were wrapped around you as you swayed to the rhythm of a slow song, the fabric of his jacket feeling smooth against your bare shoulders.

The sun had set, and the twinkling lights strung up around the venue created a romantic atmosphere that seemed to beckon you closer to him. His hazel eyes searched yours, and you felt the warmth of his breath against your skin as he leaned in to whisper something in your ear. You couldn't make out the words over the music, but the sentiment was clear: he was as smitten with you as you were with him.

As the night progressed, Jack grew more and more relaxed, his movements fluid and graceful as he danced. You watched him, unable to take your eyes off of him, feeling a mix of pride and desire. He was truly in his element, the charming, charismatic man that had stolen your heart on the tennis courts and never let it go.

But then, something changed. The music grew softer, the lights dimmer, and the air between you two seemed to crackle with an intensity that was almost tangible. You found yourselves standing in a quiet corner of the rooftop garden, the sounds of the party muffled by the dense foliage that surrounded you.

Jack looked at you, his gaze unwavering, and before he could say a word, you leaned in and kissed him. The kiss was tender, yet filled with a passion that had been simmering just beneath the surface of your relationship. His arms encircled your waist, pulling you closer, as if he was afraid that if he let go, you would vanish like a mirage in the desert heat. The world around you ceased to exist, and all that mattered was the feel of his lips on yours, the beat of his heart echoing in your chest.

You moved your hands up to Jack's neck, feeling the steady throb of his pulse beneath your fingertips. The kiss grew deeper, more urgent, as if you were trying to convey every unspoken word, every unvoiced emotion, through the simple act of pressing your mouth to his. His hands slipped from your waist to cup your cheeks, his thumbs gently caressing the soft skin beneath your eyes. The warmth of his palms sent a shiver down your spine, and you realized that you had never felt more alive than you did in this moment.

As the kiss lingered, you felt the tension in your body melt away, leaving only the sensation of Jack's firm grip and the heat of his touch. Time seemed to stand still, the only indication of its passing the soft rustle of leaves in the wind. You were lost in the moment, lost in the feel of him, lost in the realization of just how much he meant to you.

When you finally pulled away, you were both panting slightly, your cheeks flushed and eyes wide with surprise and desire. "I've wanted to do that all night," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. Jack's eyes searched yours, a mix of confusion and something else - something deeper, something that made your stomach flip.

He leaned in again, this time with a more urgent need. His kiss was fiercer, more demanding, as if he were trying to claim you in that very instant. Your hands tightened around his neck, your nails digging slightly into his skin. The world around you faded away once more, replaced by the sound of your beating hearts and the soft caress of the evening air.

Jack's hands moved to the small of your back, pressing you closer to him, your bodies fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle that had finally found their place. The music swelled around you, a cacophony of sound that seemed to be playing just for the two of you.

You could feel his heart racing, echoing the tempo of the music, as your chests rose and fell in sync. The world outside the confines of your embrace was a blur of colors and shapes, a distant reality that couldn't compare to the intimacy you shared.

You couldn't help but wonder if anyone had noticed the two of you in the secluded corner, but the truth was, you didn't care. The connection between you was magnetic, drawing you closer with each passing second. Your breaths melded into one as the kiss grew more intense, your bodies swaying to the rhythm of the music that played softly in the background.

Reluctantly pulling away from the kiss to catch your breath, you looked into Jack's eyes, which had darkened with passion. The music swirled around you, a symphony of love and longing that seemed to be playing just for the two of you. His thumb traced the curve of your cheek, and you leaned into his touch, feeling the roughness of his skin against yours.

"That was…wow," Jack murmured, his voice hoarse with emotion. He was usually well-spoken and eloquent with his words, but in this moment, he seemed to have been rendered speechless by the intensity of your kiss. The look in his eyes was one of pure amazement, as if he couldn't believe what had just happened between the two of you.

"You weren't expecting that, were you, Draper?" You teased, a smug smile playing on your lips.

Jack chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest, his hands still lingering around your neck. "No, I wasn't," he admitted, his voice low and husky. "But I'm not complaining."

The sound of distant laughter and clinking glasses brought you back to reality. You were at Lizzie's wedding, in the middle of a crowded reception, and you had just shared a kiss that could have set the whole venue on fire. You felt a warm blush spread across your cheeks, but instead of pulling away, Jack leaned in closer, his forehead resting against yours.

"What? Can't I surprise my boyfriend with a little spontaneous romance?" You quipped, your voice filled with mirth.

Jack's grin grew wider, his eyes never leaving yours. "You always know how to catch me off guard," he said, his voice filled with affection. "But I like it."

You both took a moment to breathe in the cool evening air, your hearts slowly returning to their normal rhythm. The scent of the garden's blooming flowers wafted around you, mixing with the faint scent of Jack's cologne. It was a heady combination that made you feel light-headed and intoxicated.

"We should probably get back to the party," you murmured, not wanting to break the spell that had been cast over you.

Jack nodded, but his arms didn't move from around you. "In a minute," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. He kissed you again, more gently this time, as if he was savoring the taste of you. The world around you faded away once more, leaving only the sound of your hearts beating together.

[dozydawn]

“The key to recreating the burlesque flavour of this design is being able to create the ‘big reveal’ look in an appropriate way for your wedding day. When I layered the purple wedding dress coat over the white dress, I was creating two looks; elegance for the ceremony and then fun and flirty for the reception. Unlike many wedding outfits that need someone to help bustle up a skirt, change a top, or a complete change of dress, the coat can be removed in public with your choice of decorum or strip-tease like sexiness!

Burlesque is all about being sensual, not virginal, so moving away from the traditional white/cream/ivory options makes sense. I’ve chosen purple, teal, and gold but with a warm ivory base for the dress. I also tried to use sensual textures like opalescent silk, and the natural slub on the purple dupioni to make the outfit ‘touchable’. Other materials like velvet, pearls, and fluid satins would also lend themselves well to this vibe.”

[ninetailedfoxmanchi]

Aemond Targaryen x Reader: The Wedding Night

Warnings: obviously some heavy NSFW implications, but mostly fluff and 🦋

A/N: I hope this is any good. I've never written much in this direction so feel free to comment or send me a private text/ask. Also, if you have any ideas and requests, the same applies <3

HOTD AND GOT MASTERLIST

* * *

The maids helped Y/N get out of her wedding gown, taking off layer by layer of exquisite materials until she was in nothing but her under clothes. A silken white top and matching bottoms, both trimmed with fine Myrish lace as pale as ivory. One of the maids dabbed gentle perfume on both of Y/N’s wrists as well as her neck and collarbones. Goose bumps rose on her arms and legs when she heard the heavy oak door of her bedchamber open behind her. Her palms were cold with sweat and her lips went dry. Y/N could not deny her attraction towards Aemond but that did not keep her nerves, perhaps even adding on the pressure.

“That’ll be all,” said Prince Aemond and the maids bowed before they left the room one by one. Y/N turned around carefully, her arms crossed over her chest. Aemond was still wearing his wedding outfit. He took off his sword and placed it on the writing desk then proceeded to do the same with his dagger without ever moving his eyes off his hands.

When Aemond rose his gaze to Y/N she was already watching him but she looked away quickly when their eyes met. She had never felt more out of place yet this was exactly where she was supposed to be.

Breath caught in the back of her throat when Prince Aemond made his way to her. Y/N’s cheeks flushed red the closer he got until he stopped right in front of her. He reached for her hand where the large pear-shaped emerald wedding ring now decorated her finger. His thumb brushed across its surface, the green shimmering in the light of the fireplace.

“It suits you,” spoke Prince Aemond quietly as he looked Y/N in the eye.

“Does it?” she whispered weakly.

“Hmm…” agreed Aemond and caressed her cheek. His hands were warm and steady unlike her own that were trembling either from cold or nervousness; she could not tell. He leaned in ever so slightly, glancing between her eyes and her lips. Y/N’s heart was pounding against her chest but little did she know so did his.

Aemond’s lips parted against hers, her hands instinctively finding their way to his chest. It was a gentle but ardent kiss that deepened further and further. Y/N unclasped the buckles of Prince Aemond’s leather doublet, gasping for air as he pulled her closer. He sat at the foot of the bed with Y/N on his lap. His hands roamed her soft, warm body until they found their way beneath the silken top. Y/N gasped almost inaudibly but it was loud enough for Aemond to pull away and search her eyes. She nodded as an answer to the unspoken question before she took the hems of Aemond’s black shirt and paused a moment, this time asking the question herself. Aemond herself took it off before Y/N’s fingers traced his ivory skin. His collarbones protruded slightly as he tensed but his body was like marble. Beautiful yet hard from training and fighting with sword with a scar here and there, especially on the left part of his body.

In turn, Aemond took off Y/N’s silken top, causing shivers to run down her spine. She watched closely for his reaction, a small part of her even expecting rejection which never came. Aemond kissed her neck, leaving soft kisses down her chest. Y/N’s fingers tugged on his long silver-gold hair, pulling off his eyepatch by accident when he found her sweet spot.

They froze in place before Aemond rose his head yet it took him a moment to look Y/N in the eye. Their gazes locked, both searching for things that were never there. Upon realizing so, Aemond’s arms wrapped around Y/N’s waist and he kissed her hungrily. She responded, straddling him as her fingers tangled in his hair.

Y/N guided him until he took her hips and spun them around, now towering over her. His fingers intertwined with hers on each side of her head. Completely breathless from touch and kissing alone, Y/N could hardly hold back her moans of pleasure throughout the rest of the night. It was unlike anything she had imagined and if it were not Aemond who was her husband, it might have happened differently; much differently. But it hadn’t. She was with him and that was all that mattered. I am his and he is mine. From this day until the end of my days. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.

[shaadiwish]

Pastel-Hued Anand Karaj Pictures

[hoardlikegoldenirises]

*leans casually on wall* hey,

i will take ANY excuse to design an outfit, especially wedding outfits, idk why— I just think they're fun.

there were originally two tuxedos involved in this (on the hair timeline drawing), with Flash's white and Peter's blue, but as I was editing my notes I ended up moving some stuff around and shunted Flash's transition forward by about a year and a half because it made more sense to happen around the time they get married instead of nearly 2 years later...

So like any reasonable person, I thought to myself, "oh boy! time to spend four days on a wedding dress!" (the drawing didn't take four days, i just spent a lot of time looking stuff up)

💐

closeups and thoughts under the cut:

in my head the top part of the dress is at least partially some kind of soft, flexible fabric, like a stretch satinet or whatever, or one of those really soft matte stretchy fabrics, but i honestly wasn't sure how exactly to handle that considering I'm not a tailor myself... like there should probably be a waist seam where the top meets the skirt, though probably hidden by the embroidery at least a little bit... though i guess it could also be that there is a layer of already-embroidered georgette over the top of a slip...

i did not hand draw this embroidery by the way. i almost tried. and then after .5 seconds i said, "oh this doesn't look good and i don't know what i'm doing." so then i used some brushes in clip studio paint and colored in colors i liked and added some beads that are basically not visible at 100% zoom (lmao)

they're there, i swear. i just think it would be cute if there were some very small beads adding a bit of sparkle...

Anyway, I just thought the flowers and colors would be nice. And I know you're probably thinking "huh, where'd they get sheer fabric that's only embroidered on part of it?" considering all those pre-made fabrics w/ the flowers all over... or "where did they get that dress custom-made? did one of their friends pay for it?" to which normally I would say "yeah lol they know at least a half a dozen rich people" but in this case... Well, this is a wedding that involves Peter. and Peter is nothing if not extra, impulsive, romantic, and a masochist—

Peter hand-sewed the entire dress, including the embroidery.

I figure, if he can embroider spider webs onto his suit then surely he can handle this ,as long as he has something to go off of. the dress itself isn't exactly the most complex, except maybe the skirt part falling in a specific way, so this is just another idk how many hours for him to spend futzing around with a needle and thread and insisting he can finish it in time. point in favor, because he does, but only because they have to postpone the wedding from March to May for other, unrelated reasons LMAO

also i just think it's romantic... and i like the idea of him making things with his hands all the time... he takes up woodworking a year or two before this iirc lol (the reasons for that are more morbid though... 😅)

anyway, i wanted the skirt to look nice in a wheelchair without getting in the way of things like the brake grips or the push-rims, so Flash can still move herself around (esp since she doesn't have handles on the back of her wheelchair lol) so that was another thing i was looking at pictures of. I really like georgette so I think it's probably layers of georgette, but drawing that is... hard.

probably looks a little more like this?

but plain ivory obviously, not plaid. drapey with a soft hand, not too fluffy or stiff. probably a satin slip or something underneath.

elegant... backless... I mean if Peter is the one designing it (though presumably Flash has SOME input, I mean, she's the one wearing it) how could he possibly resist the opportunity? (i just think backless dresses look nice) (also it shows off her back muscles, probably)

lmao

as it says in the pic, i figured this should be designed so it's comfortable to sit in and doesn't get tugged around a bunch but I will be honest. i did not have a lot of luck trying to research that so I gave up. I'm sure there's a way to do it but I have no idea how to draw it so I'm handwaving it along with the mysterious missing waist seam LOL

but also it's a wedding dress and most wedding dresses are wildly inconvenient even if you have absolutely no disabilities whatsoever.

at least she doesn't have to go commando...

though i'm sure going to the bathroom is a real nightmare lol

the bouquet and the veil are both on the back of the wheelchair—this was already true even before I decided Flash was gonna use this as an opportunity to be way more girly than usual, but it's still true here too. Though I did end up changing the flowers cause I realized I didn't like what I had, so the final bouquet is a mix of peonies, flowering dogwood, and some kind of wildflower that would be in season in May. Plus the red ribbon to match Peter's accessories.

oh and there's Flash's makeup too. Simple, not too dramatic. I don't imagine her ever being a red lipstick and dramatic eyeshadow kind of person, whether at a wedding with colorful dress or not, but some lip gloss and a little bit of shimmery eyeshadow that you can barely see sounds nice... maybe copper mascara or whatever but nothing dark.

her hair is also not super complicated or fancy, and she has no jewelry or anything like that, aside from the engagement ring... just a nice low bun with some pretty wisps 💞 Courtesy of MJ almost definitely!!

And the yarmulke is for a multitude of reasons. "Technically" Flash is not "legally" a woman at this point, isn't even out to her family yet (lol. lmao.) and hasn't legally changed her name yet either (she's going to after they get married), and I don't even know what the rabbi would think (i mean, i'm sure they've discussed by the time the wedding happens lol) but women wear yarmulkes these days too (these days is... 2014... btw), and Flash will have converted like 4 years before the wedding already (for reasons unrelated to Peter) so it's important to her... so, ultimately, regardless of requirements or level of reformness, I think she just wants to wear one.

Peter gets one too.

isn't he handsome?

lbr he probably wouldn't have even thought about it if Flash didn't bring it up. too busy thinking about what color of tiny beads to sew onto her dress XD

I DID loosely base some elements of Peter's tuxedo on the one from the iconic PeterMJ wedding cover—

—but mostly in ways I probably would have done anyway (dark blue tux... red cummerbund... etc.) (actually now that i think about it, the comic tux is probably meant to be black, huh) and I didn't want to make it actually the same so I gave him a pleated shirt and I didn't use a carnation for his boutonniere. Instead, dogwood (to match the bouquet obviously)—all the flowers I picked I'm PRETTY sure are in-season in May in NYC. as if they couldn't just go to any random garden and get some damn roses but I wanted to be more specific.

Peter doesn't make his tuxedo XD He also doesn't buy or rent it—Johnny Storm is the one in charge here because he insists, Peter. It's a special occasion!! He'd never let his best friend who he's totally not a little bit in love with wear a rental tuxedo to his own wedding! God Forbid. Peter eventually allows him to do so under the stipulation that Johnny keeps it tasteful and classy and "not too expensive."

Which to Johnny means "expensive silks and wools."

he's probably wearing suspenders. i didn't bother drawing that.

also these fucking shoes

NO idea if Peter keeps these. I only came up with them today. He was just gonna wear normal shoes before... but again, this is tasteful a la Johnny Storm. But Peter doesn't usually have occasions to dress fancy so having weird pseudo-spat dress boots is like. "What do I even do with these?" ("Wear them!!!")

I almost made the top part white (thus, pseudo-spats) but I think that kind of requires more of a white tie look... it looks nicer black. and hides his spidey-tighties (except he's not wearing his costume under this). Snaps, too! easy on, easy off!

(vaguely based on (these shoes) btw but not 100%)

wedding rings 💍

i already drew the rings a while ago (though i did slightly modify the coloring) so that's still the same. the engagement ring is essentially Flash's very first step into admitting who she wants to be... Peter doesn't even have a proposal planned, he just asks one day over breakfast lmfao but Flash has to think about it a lot so by the time Peter gets a yes (after a serious conversation with Flash about it) Flash is also like... can I have a ring??? and Peter is like OF COURSE (and actually he did have some money saved for this but he didn't know what to do...)

he'd probably make the ring himself if she asked—he doesn't though, they get it from a jeweler. it's... not cheap but it's less than $1000 at least? benefits of being very small and discreet.

Peter probably also offers to get himself one so they're equals here esp since power dynamics is part of the serious conversation and why Flash has to think about his proposal, but it's just not practical for Science Teacher Spider-Man to have an engagement ring and also they do not have money for that many rings.

in my notes Peter is wearing his uncle's wedding ring btw 🥹 i don't think they have Richard and Mary's rings so that's probably not an option. so, resizing Uncle Ben's ring instead.

anyway...

that's everything

here's Flash again, look how pretty she is

normally she just wears comfy athletic clothes and no makeup lol

[sunshinebingo]

idk if your request is still open but i’ll try my luck 😭

could you please do a gwynriel angst where they have to attend a friend’s wedding party and their friends didn’t know they have broken up and they were forced into a seven minutes in heaven game but instead of what their friends have expected, the seven minutes turned out to be tears and heartbreak

i’m feeling kinda sad rn and this idea suddenly popped into my head. If you couldn’t do it, totally fine

Hi anon!! My request is always open so please feel free to send me any suggestion you might have.

Thank you so so much for having sent this one. It made me cry a bit ngl 😂 I hope you like it 🤭

Gwynriel - 1.8k - No warning - Angst only

Read on Ao3 or below the cut

*****

Love is a losing game

Some said better to love and lose than to have never known love. Right now, Gwyn wished she had never known love at all. As she watched the two newlyweds dressed in lace and silks whiter than the roses that filled the small garden, their eyes sparkling with happiness and love, their laughs rising above that of the small party who had gathered to celebrate this new step in their life, Gwyn saw what she would never have. And she wished, more than anything, that she had never known what being in love felt like.

Her own bridesmaid outfit was a mockery of it. The ivory dress that Emerie had wanted her chosen sisters to wear when walking her down the aisle had seemed to laugh at Gwyn with every step she had made, blue bouquet in hand, towards the alter. It was all a cruel, sick joke and she hated it. Hated herself for having so stupidly walked into it.

“Hey,” Nesta’s gentle voice broke through her thoughts.

Gwyn turned to look at sister, blinking away the tears of anger that had started to fill her eyes. Nesta narrowed her eyes inquisitively. “Are you okay?”

No.

“I am,” she offered Nesta one the fakest smile she had ever forced onto her face. Gwyn shrugged at her sister’s silent insistence. “I’m just so happy for them.”

Nesta laughed and picked up her crystal glass. “You’ve always been the most romantic of the three of us,” she said, referring to Gwyn, Emerie and herself. Emerie and Nesta. The only true loves of her life besides her twin and her mother.

“And the funniest,” Gwyn added with none of the joy that usually accompanied her sass.

“And the sweetest and the smartest,” Emerie chimed in across from them, fingers entwined in her new wife’s.

Nesta hummed her approval. Gwyn wondered how long it would take for them to notice the walls she had built around herself to hide her misery. She hoped that the cracks forming in this wall as she watched everyone’s happy faces would not make the whole thing crumble before she could get far away from them.

An eruption of voices caused another crack to form. It got worse when Cassian’s boisterous voice called her name on the other side of Nesta, along with another.

“Gwyn and Azriel. It’s time to find out the truth.”

Gwyn tensed and blurted a, “What?”

She felt a wave of panic rising. Gwyn internally added more bricks to her wall. She slammed her hands against the cracks even as more tears threatened to bring it all down. She couldn’t be weak. Not now. Not in front of him. Not ever.

Not now. Please. Please.

“We need to find out if you two can spend seven minutes in heaven and keep things clean,” Rhysand explained across from Cassian, no doubt mistaking her dread for confusion. His words settled in Gwyn before she could sigh at the fact that no one had yet learned the real truth.

Only then, hours after having stepped foot here, did she look at him for more than a second. His hazel eyes were already on her. Gwyn refused to read any emotion in them. She could not bear anymore lies from him.

“Come on Gwynnie,” Cassian went on. “We already placed the bets. And I know I will win because Az hasn’t stopped looking at you.”

Feyre giggled next to Rhys. “That’s nothing new Cass.”

“I know but it’s different today. His stare has been...,” Cassian placed a finger on his chin as though he was looking for the perfect word. “...harder,” he finally added with a wink that earned him a laugh from everyone around the table.

“It’s probably the white dress,” Mor wiggled her perfect eyebrows at Gwyn.

A flush crept up Gwyn’s cheeks. Not because of the insinuation from the beautiful blond, but because there had been a time where she would have believed everything that they were saying. What a fool she had been. What a stupid, romantic, naive fool.

“Oh that pretty blush is promising,” Nesta teased next to her. “Come on.”

Before she could give any response, Nesta was out of her chair and pulling Gwyn up by the arm. Next to her, Cassian had already pulled a semi-reluctant Azriel out of his seat and was dragging him across the garden towards the small shed.

All words evaded Gwyn. All she could focus on was trying to keep herself together. She could do this. Seven minutes. She would be strong. For seven minutes.

“And no less,” Cassian exclaimed after pushing both her and Azriel in the shed. Gwyn stared at the closed door after the loud click of the lock sounded from outside.

The silence in the small dark place was louder than the faint voices on the other side. It stretched on for what felt like ten times more than seven minutes. Everything was so still around her that despite having her back to him, Gwyn felt Azriel lift his hand and reach towards her.

“Gwy-,”

“Don’t,” she took a step to the side before he could touch her shoulder.

“Gwyn plea-,”

“Don’t,” she said more firmly. Though her next words came out in a whisper. “Please, don’t.”

She turned around and faced him. She begged her heart to keep quiet and pleaded with reason to not abandon her. This situation seemed like a mirror of the last time that they had been in the same room. Suddenly, the last month faded into nothing. Gwyn felt like she was still in his living room, staring into his eyes and wondering why on earth she had ever trusted him. It was pity for herself that she had felt before she had stormed out of his apartment that night.

“Gwyn. Please,” he took a step forward and she took one back. “Let me explain.”

“What I saw was explanation enough,” she snapped.

“It’s not what you think.” His voice was laced with impatience. If she believed in his lies, she would have also discerned hurt in it. But it was probably a bit of wishful thinking from her part.

Gwyn let out a sardonic laugh. “And what would you have thought, Azriel,” she spat his name like it had become the hardest thing for her to say, “if you had seen me doing what you were doing with her.”

He ran a hand through his hair, pulling on the dark strands in frustration like he usually did.

“It was a mistake. A huge, fucking mistake. And I regret every fucking second of it.”

“A mistake...,” Gwyn tasted the word on her tongue. It was the same word he had used that day. That same word that she had turned around and around in her head for the past month while she had thought back on the years that they had spent together.

“This should have never happened, you have to believe me.”

“But it did.”

“It was a fucking mistake.” That godforsaken word again. As if saying it enough times would remove his involvement in the act he had committed. “I swear love, I never wanted to hurt you. She - ”

“She what?” her voice rose above his and made him freeze. “Did she force you to do anything?”

Azriel didn’t react. His silence was answer enough. And when he kept staring at her with those deep hazel eyes that she adored so much, with that same intensity that had made her lose her godsdamned mind so many times since she had first looked into them, her wall crumbled. Her strength to keep it up left her, running away to the darkest corner of the shed along with her resolve to keep her mouth shut.

“I thought that you would be the one to finally make me believe that I deserve this kind of love. But y-you...,” she wasn’t sure what to say except that she had to let out what had been plaguing her mind for a whole month.

“I trusted you. I...”

He took another step towards her but she stopped him with a hand on his chest. She ignored what touching him was doing to her. Ignored that she wasn’t the only one that had touched him and kept talking despite her voice coming out as sobs

“I never forced you to stay with me. You always had a choice. And you chose to hurt me.”

“I didn’t want –,”

“BUT YOU DID,” she shouted.

She didn’t notice the sudden quiet of the voices outside nor did she care. Azriel fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face. “Please, my love. This will never happen again.”

Looking at him like this made something twist inside Gwyn. Her whole body was trembling with anger and pain. An endless flow of tears started streaming down her face. How dare he make such empty promises after having ripped her heart out like he did.

“I know you still love me, Gwyn.”

She huffed. “Of course I love you.” There was no point in denying it. “I hate myself for loving you so much.”

Azriel grabbed one of her hands and brought it to his lips. “Please let me fix this. I love you more than anything.”

Another sentence that she had heard back then. As if trust could be fixed by simply snapping one’s fingers. As if those images that had haunted her for an entire month would disappear by simply piling new ones on top.

“If this is your idea of love, then it’s wrong,” she said, slowly removing her hand from his. She closed her eyes as she did so, knowing well that this would be last time she would ever let him touch her. Perhaps the last time she would ever let any man touch her. It seemed impossible in this moment that she would ever trust a man again with her heart. Not when it would always remain with the one kneeling at her feet. The sight was another mockery of the future she had dreamed for them. Another sick and cruel joke of life.

A knock sounded at the door followed by Cassian’s deep voice. “You still decent in there? Time’s over.”

Time wasn’t the only thing that was over. Gwyn was almost at the door when Azriel abruptly stood up and grabbed her wrist. Without even thinking, she turned around and slapped him so hard that the incessant knocking on the door stopped.

Azriel released her wrist and brought his hand to his cheek. His hazel eyes found hers again. His eyes were red and filled with tears, his expression full of something that she refused to acknowledge.

Since she had nothing left to say and so much more tears left to shed, Gwyn turned around and walked out, to somewhere she could mourn the loss of her heart.

[little-lynx]

A GREEN SILK DRESS I WORE IN 5

One day I will finish this series. Ugh. So it’s Everlark Outfits #20: Victory Tour, District 5. And I promise to draw Finnick/Annie version too.

What do we know about this outfit: “I volunteer to take Annie back to my house in 12, where Cinna left a variety of evening clothes in a big storage closet downstairs. All of the wedding gowns he designed for me went back to the Capitol, but there are some dresses I wore on the Victory Tour. <…> Annie wears a green silk dress I wore in 5, Finnick one of Peeta’s suits that they altered— the clothes are striking. <…> As surely as the embroidery stitches in Annie’s gown were done by Cinna’s hand, the frosted flowers on the cake were done by Peeta’s.

Katniss: green silk dress + wavy sleeves + sea waves embroidery / Peeta: ivory dress shirt + knitted green waistcoat with sea waves embroidery + tweed suit

This dress… oh, I struggled with it so much! I did a countless number of sketches trying to find what would feel “right” and it never happened. I wanted it to be simple but classy and to fit both Katniss and Annie. And nothing was good enough. I was so tired of this dress so I just dropped this series all together haha. But hell, I needed to do it. So I just said to myself “f*ck it” and drew this. Not how I imagined. But it’s done. Finally. FINALLY! Woo hoo!

[skippyv20]

Angels Wept

Wed AM 2nd try…I sent this in yesterday but understand you are very busy with Ellie recovering etc.  Just thought it may have been lost in the wash…LOL

Hi Skippy & Friends-Well well welllllll…It is now being reported that the Paris Olympic organizers actually did title the tacky disrespectful part of the show “La Cene Sur Un Scene Sur La Seine ” The Last Supper on a Stage on the Seine.“ Another said the meaning of that translates to “A holy communion on a stage on the Seine”. Sooo, the Ivory Tower soulless elites can cry a river claiming we are ignorant about Greek history of Gods, but they cannot tap dance fast enough covering their humongous error of judgement, sliming the Olympics on opening night. They cannot say this is acceptable entertainment in the enlightened City of Lights and home of Notre Dame. They cannot shame us into thinking we are not cool enough to enjoy their idea of chic, night life shows. In reality, they could not help themselves from their own perversions on that tempting global stage, putting on a drag fashion show with gyrating “models” in offensive costumes in front of a sick representation of the Last Supper.

As a viewer mildly interested in what the French would produce for their opening extravaganza, which historically are outstanding, I decided to watch the NBC show, on mute most of the time, as I can’t tolerate the hosts talking nonsense. At first, my eyes were trying to keep up with the ever-changing images switching from hundreds of cameras faster than a speeding bullet. I could barely focus on vintage photos from historic Olympics when, like a slide show out of control, bam back to the boats…way out in the Seine, then, bam, zoom in to the players waving their flags frantically so they could be seen…then bam, back to the stage…what is that blue thing…yikes. Why is there a fat lady at the Olympics? I hope we don’t have to wait until she sings. With all this motion I was getting little seasick just like Serena!

As the images were flying by, my building excitement began to fizzle in the drizzle. Out of the gloaming came an ominous, hooded, lone rider on a galloping silver, robotic horse, skimming the water like Pegasus without the wings, carrying the Olympic flag to the grand finale. The sight sent a shiver down my spine as if this was one of the “Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse” bearing a dire message instead. The lone flame bearer became a gaggle of elders in white outfits shuffling towards a caldron on their last gasp. As a soaked real white horse clopped along, head down with a skeleton faced rider, this was not the beginning of international celebration of human physical excellence I was expecting. I wanted to give the French organizers who spent an insane amount of money on the show, credit trying to showcase Paris as a stage. I even tried to shrug off their idea of proper entertainment, but as a viewer, I just felt like a cat left out in the rain. Sadly, there was no warmth from a real Olympic flame as the balloon lite by lights, lifted off into the night.

Over and out from Cape Cod. Pilgrim-who does appreciate the efforts of the inspiring athletes.Referring to an article by Leslie Eastman in Legal Insurrection, “Olympics Back-tracks on offensive Drag Queen Opening Ceremonies Mocking Christians.”

Thank you so much.  The Olympics have turned into a joke.  I am so sorry this happened.  All those athletes have worked so hard to get there, and this whole production was disgusting.  I have a special place in my heart for Olympians.  Christians are getting kicked at these days.  This can’t be allowed to continue.  God will NOT be mocked!  Great post dear Pilgrim!  Thank you for sharing…🙏🏻❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

[thebettybook]

｡ The Great Union That Defies All Odds ｡

💐: My entry for the @briarvalleyarchives “Wedding Day” event

💐: As wedding bells chime in June for the Fairy Gala’s Fairy Queen and her fiancé the Fairy Lord of Winter, Leona and gn!reader join hands in coming up with a wedding dress design for the Fairy Queen.

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Strawbetty’s notes:

🍓 Characters: Leona Kingscholar x gn!reader. Leona and gn!reader are in an established romantic relationship.

🍓 Warning: This fic contains spoilers from the Fairy Gala Remix: Operation Illusive Evolution event.

🍓 Song rec: In this fic, I included some lyrics from “The Great Divide” by The McClain Sisters, which is a total bop and I highly recommend listening to it!

🍓 Other notes: Text borders used from the website Cute Kaomoji

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ꕥ ┈┈┈┈┈┈ ⑅﹤୨♡୧﹥⑅ ┈┈┈┈┈┈ ꕥ

You tossed a crumpled ball of white mixed media paper over your shoulder unceremoniously for the umpteenth time that afternoon. Your eyes trailed to the glass window panes on the stone walls of NRC’s spacious attic-turned-elective classroom studio as you noted the spring sky’s robin-egg-blue hue dotted with wispy ivory clouds.

Around you stood adjustable dress forms draped with haphazard fabrics of students’ unfinished projects. Next to the dress forms were rectangular sewing tables with ruby pin cushions, cream sewing machines, and sewing threads of every color of the rainbow that were more than enough for fabled sewing mice to use.

Sigh. You turned your attention back to your mixed media sketchbook, flipping to a new page and tapping your pencil against it. I could use some fabled sewing mice to help me come up with a wedding dress design idea right now.

Your final assignment for Fashion Design class (a new elective class at NRC taught by Crewel) was to sketch a wedding dress design for the Fairy Queen, ruler of the Faeland’s fairies who held the recent Fairy Gala event in NRC’s Botanical Garden.

Ever since Ace, Jack, Ortho, and Silver were discovered by the fae at the event, the Fairy Queen grew enamored by their Fairy Gala outfits designed by Crewel. After the Fairy Gala, the Queen’s representatives sought out Crewel and asked him via translator bell to design a wedding dress for the Queen’s upcoming wedding to the Fairy Lord of Winter.

Crewel, who usually never turned down a challenge or opportunity related to fashion, thought this was an opportunity better suited for his Fashion Design students’ final assignments instead. The student whose sketch design gained the highest marks would be chosen to bring their wedding dress design to life with Crewel’s help. Crewel also emphasized the addition of extra credit points for the student whose sketch design would be chosen.

You didn’t want to pass up the chance to gain extra credit points to boost your overall GPA at NRC. Plus, it wasn’t everyday that one got to design a wedding dress for a Fairy Queen. What you didn’t anticipate, however, was that you’d have problems coming up with a wedding dress design in the first place.

There were just so many options when it came to wedding dress silhouettes, fabrics, and more. Puff sleeves? Tight sleeves? A ballgown skirt? A trumpet skirt? Chiffon? Lace? Tulle??

You wracked your brain, finding it difficult to commit to an idea when there were so many possibilities—the possibilities, not unlike the length of a wedding veil, were endless. Even all the episodes of “Say Yes to the Fairy Godmother’s Dress,” a bridal reality TV series you enjoyed watching with Cater, couldn’t help you think of an idea.

Instead of saying “yes” to a wedding dress idea, your head was filled with “no”’s to all your ideas. You let out another sigh and plopped your pencil down onto the sketchbook. Your eyes shifted to all the crumpled pieces of paper on the floor. I should clean this up.

Littering wasn’t helping you come up with any ideas either, so you decided to give yourself a teeny break and went over to pick up the three crumpled-up paper balls that laid a few feet away from your sewing table. You crouched down, your lips parting to hum a random song that just came to mind.

“Oi,” a voice called to you at the door, making you forget what song you were going to hum. Your eyes shot up to see Leona leaning against the door frame with his ever-so-smug smirk. Rather than one hand propped on his hip as usual, both of his arms bulged with two packaged sandwiches, various snacks, and two carton drinks from the Dining Hall.

You could tell that the smugness of his smirk came from how proud Leona was that he got lunch for the two of you on his own from the Dining Hall rather than Ruggie doing so, even if Leona overdid it a bit.

“Leona,” your face lit up at the sight of him nonetheless, and especially at the sight of lunch. Leona set down all the food at the nearest table, making his way over to you.

Bending down on one knee, Leona picked up all three balls of paper for you. “What’s got you litterin’ like there’s no tomorrow?” The lion beastman raised an eyebrow, his smirk softening into an amused smile as he stood up and threw the paper balls into a nearby recycling bin.

“Uuugh, I can’t think of a wedding dress to design for the life of me.” You joined Leona in grabbing all the food off the table before both making your way to your sewing table. He settled onto the wooden stool next to yours, his knees brushing against yours.

Leona’s emerald orbs settled on the blank paper of your drawing pad. “A wedding dress?” His fingers swiftly unfolded the sand-colored sandwich wrapping paper of a menchi katsu sandwich while you opened a (your favorite meat/veggie/filling) sandwich. The crinkles of the wrapping papers added to your chatting with Leona, making the classroom seem livelier despite it being just the two of you. “Who’s getting married?”

“The Fairy Queen from the Fairy Gala,” you tapped your pencil against your cheek while you held your sandwich in another hand. “She’s getting married to the Fairy Lord of Winter from a neighboring kingdom in a few weeks. She comes from a land of warmth, while he comes from a land of frost. They met last winter and fell in love despite all odds, so the theme Crewel gave us is ‘The Great Union That Defies All Odds.’ But how can I put that into a wedding dress?”

“‘The Great Union That Defies All Odds,’ huh?” Leona sipped his earl grey milk tea box, his thin dark-brown eyebrows knitting together as he pondered over the theme. “To me, that sounds like the impossible being possible.”

You paused your pencil midway before the pencil’s charcoal tip could land on the page. “Wait, you’re onto something,” you set the pencil down on the page and munched on your sandwich. “The Fairy Queen embodies spring, while the Fairy Lord of Winter embodies winter…You’d think nothing could bloom in winter, like their love, but it’s possible. Just like flowers that bloom in winter!”

Without a word, Leona pulled out his sleek ebony smartphone from his school uniform pants pocket and typed “flowers that bloom in winter” into MagiGoogle with one hand while still holding his sandwich in his other hand. You scooted on your stool closer to Leona, your shoulder touching his as the two of you scrolled down a list on MagiGoogle of all the flowers in Twisted Wonderland that bloomed in winter.

“Leucojum, camellias…,” you read the list aloud, none of them screaming “wedding” to you yet. “Wait!”

Leona paused his finger on the smartphone screen. “Did something in the list catch your eye?”

You nodded, leaning in closer to his smartphone screen. “Ornamental cabbage…it says here that the colors of ornamental cabbage grow more intense as the weather grows colder…which could be PERFECT for the ‘The Great Union That Defies All Odds’ theme!”

“I could use the ornamental cabbage as the main material for the Queen’s wedding dress, and have the colors be more vivid at the skirt of the dress like a gradient…,” your voice trailed off as you thought of possible wedding dress design ideas with ornamental cabbage. You finished off your sandwich with a hearty bite, now energized to start designing a wedding dress.

Leona lifted an eyebrow, but his lips quirked into a loving smile at your creativity. “Gotta tell you, herbivore, you know I’m not surprised by many things. But an ornamental cabbage wedding dress takes the cake. The wedding cake, heh.”

“Haha, you’re so punny.” You lovingly rolled your eyes at Leona, who simply winked at you and resumed eating his sandwich. “But now that I’m saying it out loud, ornamental cabbage might not be fitting enough for a queen’s wedding dress. It’s a good start for brainstorming, though.”

Leona finished his sandwich, dabbing a napkin against the corners of his mouth. “Why don’t ‘cha go with camellias? They symbolize romantic love, adoration, devotion, and care,” Leona listed off the symbolism of camellias as if remembering flower language and symbolism were the most casual things in the world.

Those who didn’t know Leona well would never guess that he was well-versed in flower language and symbolism. It was one of those well-hidden hobbies or topics of interest of Leona’s that he shared with you over time, and it added to one of the many things you loved about Leona: his love for the knowledge of topics that related to nurturing the world.

To Leona’s surprise, you brought your right hand up to rest it on top of his left hand—the hand you wanted to hold while you walked through life with Leona. “That sounds perfect.”

Leona slouched in his stool and nuzzled his cheek against the side of your head. His eyelids drooped as the daffodil-yellow afternoon sunlight danced through the glass panes of the classroom windows, adding to the warmth that embraced Leona with your hand on his.

You rested your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes to enjoy the moment as well. The fact that it was just you and Leona in the room, with comfortable silence now between you two as you basked in each other’s company, made a melody bloom from your mouth.

“Mm, mmm, mmm, mm,” You began humming the melody of the song you were going to hum before Leona came in. It was a song known throughout Twisted Wonderland about bringing all species—no matter how great the odds were—together.

Leona’s lion ears flicked at your humming as your lips parted.

“I’m on your side, let’s take this ride.”

Your singing voice possessed a softness to it, yet the lyrics you sang were loud enough for Leona’s ears and heart to hear.

“And together we’re facing the world, doing things nobody’s done before.”

With your right hand still on Leona’s left hand, you used your thumb to draw circles across the somewhat-dry skin of his hand. Your thumb moved upwards to massage his fingers—first his pinky, and then his ring finger.

Before you could massage his other fingers, Leona flipped his hand up so that his palm faced yours, and he intertwined his fingers with yours. His fingers wasted no time in giving yours a firm yet gentle squeeze. The lyrics you sang made Leona think about you—how he too wanted to hold your hand while walking through life with you.

It was your hands, with always the most loving and caring of even the smallest of touches, that helped him gain the courage to want to care for his own life—from the days where you would brush away a crumb from the corner of his mouth with the back of your thumb, to the nights where you would thread your fingers through his mane during the rare times he had trouble falling asleep.

It was those touches from your hands that motivated him to bring to surface and share with you and others his interests, passions, and just anything genuine that Leona thought he had given up hope for or thought he kept hidden painfully well for a long time now.

Because why nurture anything in an endless winter of being overlooked and compared to, with none of his achievements or even actions mattering for as long as he could remember?

His endless winter wasn’t endless anymore, replaced by the blooms of Leona sharing his passions and interests with others (such as teaching you about flower language and symbolism or about the stars, or spending more time with his Magift Club teammates by watching Pro Magift games with them) that led to his experiences over the past year at NRC with those he could now confidently call his loved ones.

While being each other’s most significant loved ones, you and Leona weren’t perfect, and the two of you had your fair share of squabbles from time to time. At the end of any squabble, however, the two of you would always communicate, take each other’s hands, and choose to be part of each other’s lives.

Leona cracked his eyes open, taking in the view that was your hand in his. It was your hands, soft and warm as spring, that never failed to make Leona feel safe, loved, and supported. He wanted his hands to make you feel the same way for the rest of your life.

The first thing you saw when you opened your eyes only a few minutes later was Leona admiring your hand in his. When his eyes shifted to meet yours, you returned his squeeze with your own before gently prying your fingers away from his. “I should get started on my drawing.” You wanted to keep sitting there with your hand in Leona’s, but the lunch period was probably ending soon.

Propping his right elbow up on the table, Leona rested his cheek against his palm and watched you etch light charcoal lines onto your paper.

A low hum rose from his throat. “Mm mm mm mmn.” The light scratches of your pencil against the paper created an odd harmony with his low humming, but your smile at his humming encouraged Leona to keep going.

In a near whisper, he sang the same lyrics you sang to him just moments ago in his baritone singing voice that never failed to soothe you.

“I’m on your side, let’s take this ride.”

To Leona, the lyrics sounded like a marriage proposal disguised in a song. He wondered if you thought that, too, with the way the song came to your mind earlier in the midst of coming up with a wedding dress design for the Fairy Queen.

“The Great Union That Defies All Odds.” It was the theme that symbolized the Fairy Queen and the Fairy Lord of Winter’s love story, but the theme made Leona reflect on your and his love story.

The love story of a human from a magic-less world and a lion beastman from a magic-filled world, where they experience adventures and chaos practically every day on the campus of NRC.

No matter what life threw at you and Leona everyday, the two of you chose to stay by each other’s side.

Hand-in-hand, through it all.

Leona cracked a grin while singing when you parted your lips to join him.

“And together we’re facing the world, doing things nobody’s done before.”

If his relationship with you wasn’t a great union that defies all odds, Leona didn’t know what was.

ꕥ ┈┈┈┈┈┈ ⑅﹤୨♡୧﹥⑅ ┈┈┈┈┈┈ ꕥ

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