#with a special section for the weddings

[plaguethewaters]

i am having. so many au thoughts and i should not.

[thedensworld]

Right Time | K.Mg

Pairing: Mingyu x Reader

Genre: Angst, exes au

Summary: you both were too young when you get together, right person-wrong time. Two years after break up, destiny brought you two again.

Author note: i'm sorry, you've asked for fluff but i serve you angst :(

Mingyu stood beside Seungcheol, both of them watching Jeonghan, who was all smiles an hour before his wedding vows, as he greeted the guests who had come to celebrate his special day. Mingyu sighed, thinking that the day had finally come. Jeonghan had been under immense stress these past months, preparing for his wedding. He had been going through food tastings, making decoration decisions, getting suit fittings, and juggling his very busy job to earn enough money to give his future wife her dream wedding. Mingyu was tired of being his friend and unofficial personal punching bag.

Just then, Mingyu's eyes shifted to a three-year-old girl running toward them, and his smile immediately grew wider. Seungcheol picked up his daughter, giving her all his attention while her mother, Seungcheol's wife, was busy with her bridesmaid duties as the sister of the bride.

The little girl giggled in her father's arms, her joy infectious. "Daddy, look! Flowers!" she exclaimed, pointing at the floral arrangements that adorned the venue.

Mingyu chuckled, feeling a sense of warmth wash over him. Despite the chaos and the stress, moments like these made it all worth it. He glanced at Seungcheol, who was whispering something to his daughter that made her laugh even harder. Mingyu couldn't help but feel a pang of envy mixed with happiness for his friend.

"She's a bundle of energy, isn't she?" Mingyu remarked, smiling at the scene.

Seungcheol nodded, his eyes twinkling with pride. "She definitely keeps us on our toes."

As they stood there, watching the guests mingle and Jeonghan's nervous excitement, Mingyu realized that despite all the stress and exhaustion, witnessing his friend's happiness was something truly special. Today was a day for celebration, a day to cherish, and a day that marked the beginning of a beautiful journey for Jeonghan and his future wife.

Flowers hung elegantly, their sweet fragrance blending with the smell of freshly baked goods and sumptuous food. The lively chatter of people filled the air, a symphony of joyous voices. All of these scenes were too familiar to Mingyu. He sighed, the memories flooding back, reminding him of his first meeting with you at Seungcheol's wedding.

You were Seungcheol's wife's cousin and one of the bridesmaids, while he was one of the groomsmen. Mingyu vividly remembered watching you during the wedding preparations. He saw you running around, talking, and dealing with the organizer to ensure everything ran smoothly while the bride and groom enjoyed their final moments of calm before entering a new stage of life.

Your first interaction was unforgettable. Mingyu had saved you from a potential disaster when you almost tripped over a cable and fell into the dessert section. He immediately grabbed your arm, pulling you to safety, your body colliding with his.

"You good?" Mingyu asked, noticing the color drain from your face.

A heavy breath escaped your mouth. "I almost got myself in trouble," you mumbled, trying to steady yourself while your heart still pounded rapidly.

"Thanks... Mingyu, right?"

Mingyu nodded, giving you a reassuring smile. "Do you need help?" he asked, noticing how rushed you were earlier.

"Oh shoot! I need to go," you exclaimed, holding a key.

'You want to leave now?' he thought.

"The second dress was left at the hotel. They have to change in an hour," you explained after Mingyu inquired about your urgency.

Mingyu's eyes widened as panic surged through him. "Let me drive you there," he offered. You nodded, handing him the key, and the two of you sprinted to the car.

Just as you were about to leave, you received a call. It turned out your mother had already brought the dress, and it was in her car. The rush of adrenaline subsided, and both of you couldn't help but laugh at the chaos.

"Guess we didn't need to be superheroes today," Mingyu joked, relieved.

"Yeah, but thank you," you said, a warm smile spreading across your face. "I really appreciate your help."

After that day, the two of you kept in touch. Mingyu eventually confessed that he had a crush on you and asked you out on a date, which you gladly accepted. Months later, you were officially dating. Seungcheol and his wife were thrilled, knowing they had played a part in bringing you together. However, they were equally flustered when, three years later, Seungcheol was informed that you and Mingyu had broken up.

Three years of dating, and it's now been two years since you separated. Despite the passage of time, not a single minute went by without Mingyu thinking of you.

As he stood there, watching Jeonghan’s wedding preparations, the memories of your relationship played in his mind like a film. He remembered the laughter, the shared dreams, and even the arguments that made the bond stronger. You were his best friend, his confidant, and losing you felt like losing a part of himself.

Mingyu sighed, the weight of nostalgia heavy on his heart. The sight of the beautifully decorated venue, the smell of flowers, and the sound of joyous chatter brought everything back in vivid detail. He couldn't help but wonder what you were doing now, if you were happy, and if you ever thought about him too.

He glanced at Seungcheol, who was busy with his daughter, and thought about the twists and turns life takes. Love is unpredictable, he mused. One moment you're on top of the world, and the next, you're struggling to find your footing.

Despite the bittersweet memories, Mingyu felt a glimmer of hope. Today was a day of celebration, a reminder that love, in all its forms, is worth cherishing. As Jeonghan prepared to embark on his own journey of love, Mingyu silently wished for a future where he might find happiness again, perhaps even with you.

*

As Mingyu stood lost in his thoughts, he suddenly caught sight of you entering the venue. His heart skipped a beat, and he blinked several times, thinking he might be daydreaming. But you were really there, looking breathtaking in a beautiful dress that perfectly complemented your skin tone. Your hair was longer than he remembered, cascading gracefully down your back, and the sight of you took his breath away.

For a moment, everything else faded into the background. The smell of flowers, the chatter of the guests, the sight of Jeonghan greeting everyone—all of it became a blur as Mingyu's focus zeroed in on you. His heart pounded in his chest, beating the same way it did the first time he saw you.

He couldn't tear his eyes away. Every step you took seemed to bring back a flood of memories: your first date, the countless laughs, the shared moments of vulnerability, and even the quiet, content times you spent together doing nothing at all. Mingyu's pulse quickened as he watched you smile and greet the other guests, looking as radiant as ever.

Suddenly, Seungcheol noticed the shift in Mingyu’s demeanor. Following his friend's gaze, Seungcheol’s eyes landed on you, and he gave Mingyu a knowing smile. "Go talk to her," Seungcheol encouraged softly, nudging him forward.

Mingyu hesitated for a second, a mix of anxiety and excitement swirling inside him. Taking a deep breath, he began to make his way through the crowd toward you. Each step felt like an eternity, but eventually, he stood before you.

You looked up, and your eyes met his. For a brief moment, everything else disappeared, and it was just the two of you. The surprise in your eyes mirrored his own, and a small, nostalgic smile played on your lips.

"Hi," Mingyu said, his voice barely above a whisper, his emotions threatening to spill over.

"Hi," you replied, your voice soft yet filled with a warmth that made his heart ache.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, simply taking in the sight of each other after so long. Then, Mingyu found his voice again. "You look... amazing. More beautiful than ever."

A blush crept up your cheeks, and you looked down for a moment before meeting his gaze again. "Thank you, Mingyu. It's been a while."

"Yeah, it has," he said, struggling to keep his emotions in check.

Mingyu opened his mouth to say more, but the words seemed to get stuck in his throat. His nervousness intensified, making him momentarily forget how to speak. You offered him a gentle, understanding smile, perhaps sensing his hesitation.

"I should go greet the bride," you said softly, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze. "We'll catch up later, okay?"

Mingyu nodded, unable to trust his voice, and watched as you gracefully walked away toward the bride. His heart sank a little, disappointment mixing with his nerves. He had so much he wanted to say, but the opportunity had slipped through his fingers.

Seungcheol, who had been observing the interaction from a distance, walked up to Mingyu with a knowing look. "You alright, buddy?" he asked, clapping a hand on Mingyu's shoulder.

Mingyu let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair. "I froze, Seungcheol. I couldn’t say anything meaningful."

Seungcheol chuckled softly. "It's understandable. It's been a long time, and seeing her again can stir up a lot of emotions."

Mingyu nodded, his eyes still following you as you chatted with the bride and other bridesmaids. "I just... I didn't expect to feel this way. It's like no time has passed at all, and I still... I still care about her so much."

Seungcheol gave him a sympathetic smile. "Feelings like that don’t just disappear. But hey, you have the whole day ahead. There will be plenty of opportunities to talk to her. Maybe start with something simple, like asking her to dance."

Mingyu glanced at Seungcheol, a hint of hope in his eyes. "You think so?"

Seungcheol nodded confidently. "Absolutely. Just be yourself, Mingyu. You two had something special, and who knows? Maybe today is a chance to rekindle that."

Taking a deep breath, Mingyu tried to calm his racing heart. "Thanks, Seungcheol. I’ll give it a shot."

As the ceremony drew closer, Mingyu resolved to find the right moment to talk to you again. He couldn't let fear hold him back. Today was about new beginnings, and perhaps, it could be the start of something beautiful for both of you.

*

After the wedding vows, it was time for the group photos. Mingyu positioned himself not too far from the newlyweds, while you stood directly in front of him. The familiar scent of your perfume and your hair, the same fragrance you always wore when you were together, wafted toward him, triggering a flood of memories.

As the photographer arranged everyone into position, you brushed your hair back, and that's when Mingyu noticed it—a ring wrapped around your left finger. His heart sank, and a wave of conflicting emotions washed over him. You’re engaged? he wondered, his mind racing.

A mix of shock, sadness, and confusion gripped him. Part of him had held onto the hope that, despite the time and distance, there might still be a chance for the two of you to rekindle what you once had. But now, seeing that ring, reality hit him hard.

He tried to keep his composure, but his mind was in turmoil. He remembered all the moments you shared, the dreams you talked about, the future you once envisioned together. The thought of you being engaged to someone else was like a punch to the gut.

Mingyu forced a smile for the camera, but inside, he felt as if the ground had been pulled out from under him. He glanced at you, wondering if you were truly happy and if the person who had given you that ring knew just how special you were. Did they know your little quirks, your favorite things, and the way your eyes lit up when you talked about something you loved?

The photographer called for everyone to get closer, and Mingyu found himself standing right behind you. The scent of your perfume was almost overwhelming now, and he struggled to focus on anything else. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart.

As the flash went off, Mingyu realized he had to accept the situation. He had no right to feel jealous or upset. You had moved on, found happiness with someone else, and that was something he needed to respect. But the realization didn't make the pain any less.

After the photos were taken, Mingyu stepped aside, feeling a profound sense of loss. He had to come to terms with the fact that you were no longer his and that your paths had diverged. But as he watched you laugh and talk with the other guests, he couldn't help but hope that whoever had given you that ring cherished you as much as he did.

As Mingyu stepped aside after the photos, a deep sense of regret washed over him, intensifying with each passing moment. The sight of the ring on your finger brought back the memory of the night you asked to separate. He had replayed that scene countless times in his mind, wishing he had done things differently.

He remembered how you had looked at him, your eyes filled with a mix of sadness and determination. "Mingyu, I think we need to take a break," you had said, your voice trembling slightly. At the time, he had been too caught up in his own confusion and frustration to truly understand the depth of your feelings.

Instead of staying and talking things through, he had walked away, convinced that space would be the best solution. He thought that maybe, with time, things would work themselves out. But as the days turned into weeks and then months, the distance between you only grew, and before he knew it, you were gone from his life.

Now, standing at Jeonghan's wedding, the weight of his decision felt heavier than ever. He regretted leaving that night, regretted not fighting harder for what you had. He should have listened, should have stayed to understand the fears and doubts you were experiencing. Instead, he had let his pride and stubbornness drive a wedge between you.

Mingyu's eyes followed you as you mingled with the other guests, your laughter ringing out, a bittersweet sound to his ears. You seemed happy, and that was what he wanted for you, even if it wasn't with him. But the regret gnawed at him, a constant reminder of what he had lost.

As the evening progressed, Mingyu found himself lost in thought, barely aware of the festivities around him. Seungcheol, noticing his friend's distant expression, approached him once more.

"You okay?" Seungcheol asked gently, his concern evident.

Mingyu sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I just... I keep thinking about the night we broke up. I should have stayed, Seungcheol. I should have fought for her."

Seungcheol nodded, understanding the pain in Mingyu's voice. "We all make mistakes, Mingyu. What's important is what you do now. Maybe it's time to let go of the past and focus on the present. Who knows? Maybe there's still a chance for you to find closure, if not with her, then within yourself."

Mingyu pondered Seungcheol's words, knowing there was truth in them. He couldn't change the past, but he could learn from it. And maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to move forward.

As the night went on, Mingyu made a silent promise to himself. He would try to find peace with his regrets and open his heart to whatever the future might hold. And as he watched you, now engaged and seemingly content, he wished you nothing but happiness, even if it meant letting go of the dreams he once had for the two of you.

*

The little things had snowballed into something that finally hit you that night. You were exhausted from work, your phone buzzing incessantly with texts from Mingyu. Just as you managed to lay yourself on the couch, the door suddenly burst open, revealing Mingyu looking restless and breathless.

"Where have you been?! I've been trying to reach you all day," he demanded, his voice tinged with frustration and worry.

You sighed deeply, turning your back to him, too drained to respond. Mingyu let out a humorless chuckle, stepping closer. He grabbed your shoulder and turned you around, not realizing his strength might hurt you, and shoved his phone in your face, displaying your unread chat messages from the past week.

"You haven't read my texts for almost a week, Y/N. Don't you know I'm worried?!"

You felt the sting of his grip, but more than that, the sting of the situation settled heavily in your chest. You placed your hand on the sore spot, rising from the couch with what little energy you had left, trying to walk away to the bedroom without a word.

"Now you think I'm invisible? What the fuck, Y/N?" Mingyu's voice rose, a mix of anger and hurt.

Tears welled up in your eyes, a combination of physical pain, exhaustion, and emotional turmoil. You turned to face Mingyu, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'm just so tired, Mingyu. Tired of everything."

He stood there, watching you closely, his initial anger fading as he saw the tears streaming down your face. "Why didn't you just tell me?" His tone softened now, filled with concern.

You shook your head, feeling overwhelmed by the weight of everything. "I didn't want to burden you. You've got your own things to deal with."

Mingyu's expression softened further, but a flicker of hurt crossed his features. "We're supposed to share the burdens, remember? That's what being together means."

You looked into his eyes, searching for the reassurance you desperately needed. "I know," you admitted softly, "but it feels like we've been drifting apart. And tonight, I just... I couldn't handle it."

Mingyu's concern turned into frustration, his voice rising slightly. "So you decided to handle it all on your own? Do you know how that makes me feel, Y/N?"

You flinched at the edge in his voice, feeling the weight of his disappointment. "Mingyu, I didn't mean..."

"No," he interrupted, his tone sharp. "You didn't mean to shut me out when I've been trying so hard to be there for you?"

You bit your lip, tears now flowing freely. "I... I didn't know how to ask for help. I thought I could handle it."

"And now look where we are," Mingyu said bitterly, running a hand through his hair. "You're drowning in silence, and I'm left feeling useless."

"I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice breaking. "I didn't realize..."

Mingyu closed his eyes briefly, taking a deep breath to calm himself. When he opened them again, his gaze softened, but the hurt was still evident. "I love you, Y/N," he said quietly. "But I can't keep fighting for a place in your life if you won't let me in."

You reached out to him, wanting to bridge the distance between you. "Mingyu, please..."

He stepped back, shaking his head. "I need time to figure things out, Y/N. I can't do this if you're pushing me away."

You felt a hollow ache in your chest as Mingyu's words hung in the air. The idea of losing him was unbearable, but you couldn't shake the feeling that you were dragging him down, that you were undeserving of his love and patience. Summoning what little strength you had left, you took a shaky breath and spoke the words that felt like shards of glass in your throat.

"Mingyu," you began, your voice trembling, "maybe it's best if we... if we take a break."

His eyes widened in shock, the hurt in them deepening. "What? No, Y/N, that's not what I want."

You shook your head, tears still streaming down your face. "I can't keep hurting you like this. You deserve someone who can let you in, someone who can be there for you the way you are for me. And right now, I just... I can't."

"I need to figure things out on my own. I need to learn how to be okay with myself before I can be with you."

He looked at you for a long moment, searching for any sign that you might change your mind. When he found none, he nodded slowly, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "If that's what you really want..."

"It's not what I want," you said, your voice barely audible. "But it's what I think is best for both of us."

With one last, lingering look, Mingyu turned and walked away, each step feeling like a knife to your heart. You watched him go, knowing that you were making the hardest decision of your life, hoping that someday, you could find your way back to each other.

As the door closed behind him, you sank to the floor, overcome with grief and loneliness. The silence of the room was deafening, but you knew that this was the first step towards healing, for both you and Mingyu.

As the door clicked shut behind Mingyu, a wave of emptiness washed over you, mingled with an unsettling sense of disappointment. You had expected him to protest more, to fight harder to stay. Instead, he had walked away, leaving you to grapple with the decision alone.

You sat there, staring at the door, your thoughts swirling in a chaotic whirlpool. The weight of his absence pressed down on you, making it hard to breathe. Was this really what you wanted? Or had you hoped, deep down, that he would refuse to leave, that he would insist on staying and helping you through this?

The room felt colder, the silence oppressive. Your mind replayed the conversation, analyzing every word, every gesture. Had he given up too easily? Or was it your fault for pushing him away in the first place?

As you sat there, the silence of the room pressed down on you like a suffocating blanket. The ache in your chest grew with each passing second. Your thoughts spiraled deeper into despair, and a new, more insidious fear began to take root.

Maybe Mingyu had had enough of you. Maybe he was already tired of dealing with your endless complications and emotional turmoil. Maybe he, like everyone else, had decided you weren't worth the fight.

Your mind flashed back to countless moments in your past, memories you had tried so hard to bury. You remembered the times when your emotions had been dismissed, your thoughts invalidated. When you had tried to reach out, only to be met with indifference or impatience.

Your parents, who had always told you to toughen up, to stop being so sensitive. Friends who had drifted away because your struggles were too much for them to handle. Teachers who had dismissed your anxiety as laziness, your depression as a phase. You had learned, painfully and slowly, that you had to figure things out on your own because no one else would.

And now Mingyu had done the same. The last person you had hoped would stick by you had walked away. You had pushed him, yes, but you had also hoped, deep down, that he would push back. That he would prove he was different. But he hadn't.

Tears welled up in your eyes again, and you let them fall, each one a testament to the weight of your pain. It felt like you were falling into an abyss, a dark void where every painful memory and fear resurfaced.

You recalled a particularly vivid memory from your childhood. You were eight years old, sitting on the steps of your house, crying because the neighborhood kids had teased you for being different. Your mother had found you there, her expression a mixture of exasperation and disappointment.

"Why are you crying again?" she had asked, her tone sharp. "You need to learn to handle things on your own. The world isn't going to coddle you."

That had been the first of many lessons in self-reliance, each one more painful than the last. You had learned to hide your pain, to smile when you were breaking inside, to carry burdens that felt too heavy to bear.

And now, sitting alone in the silence of your apartment, you realized that those lessons had led you to this moment. You had pushed Mingyu away, convinced that you had to handle everything on your own, that you were too much for anyone else to handle. And he had walked away, just like everyone else.

The weight of your loneliness was crushing. You curled up on the floor, hugging your knees to your chest, and let the sobs wrack your body. It felt like your heart was breaking into a million pieces, each one sharper than the last.

You stayed there for what felt like hours, lost in the whirlwind of your thoughts and memories. Eventually, the tears slowed, and a cold numbness settled in. You knew you had to pick yourself up, to move forward somehow. But the path ahead felt more daunting than ever.

Maybe you were destined to be alone, to carry your burdens without help. Maybe you were too complicated, too difficult for anyone to truly love. And maybe, just maybe, the one person you had thought would fight for you had finally realized it too.

With a heavy heart, you forced yourself to stand, wiping away the remnants of your tears. You knew you had to find a way to heal, to navigate this pain. But for now, all you could do was take one small step at a time, hoping that someday, you might find the strength to believe in love again.

*

Seungcheol entered the car as soon as his daughter was settled in the backseat. He threw one last glance through the rearview mirror and smiled at the sight of her slumbering after spending all of her energy today. Her peaceful face was a welcome relief from the emotional turmoil of the evening.

"Are we gonna let him be like that?" Nari's voice broke the silence, and Seungcheol could sense she was referring to Mingyu.

He turned on the engine and hummed thoughtfully, "It's the best for him right now."

Nari stared at Seungcheol with a worried look, her concern evident. "But Y/N is not engaged. It's just a ring," she said, finally voicing the worry she'd been holding since the venue at Jeonghan's wedding.

"That's exactly why this is best for him," Seungcheol replied. "He couldn't even confront her and ask about the ring. He just stood there, trapped in his own thoughts, just like what happened two years ago."

Images of you and Mingyu after the breakup flashed through his mind. Mingyu, lost in his own assumptions, believing you didn't want him anymore. You, burdened by your unfinished past and struggling to heal.

"Y/N is different now, though," Nari insisted softly. "She's healed. Maybe there's a chance for them."

Seungcheol glanced at his wife and chuckled softly. "And what about Mingyu? Boys never learn, babe. It takes a man to confront a woman."

Nari sighed deeply, her eyes reflecting a mix of hope and sadness. "I just thought they were 'the right people at the wrong time.'"

Seungcheol grabbed his wife's hand and pecked it gently. "There is no 'right time,' babe. People make the time right. Mingyu couldn't do that. He might look perfect on the outside, but he's still a human with his own flaws."

Nari looked out the window, her thoughts seemingly far away. "Do you think they'll ever get another chance?"

Seungcheol was quiet for a moment, considering her question. "Maybe. Life has a way of bringing people back together when the time is right. But for now, they need to work on themselves. Y/N has come a long way, and Mingyu needs to catch up."

"But," Seungcheol continued, his voice filled with a mixture of hope and realism, "if they are truly meant to be, they'll find their way back to each other. And if not, they'll still be stronger and better for having known each other."

Nari squeezed his hand gently, her eyes softening. "I hope so. They both deserve happiness."

Seungcheol smiled at her, appreciating her empathy. "They do. And they'll find it, one way or another. We just have to give them time and trust that they'll make the right choices."

As they drove away from the venue, the city lights gradually fading into the distance, Seungcheol felt a sense of peace settle over him. He hoped that Mingyu and you would find the courage to face your fears and the strength to build the lives you deserved. For now, all he could do was support his friend and trust that everything would unfold as it should.

[dedicatednotobsessed]

Issa byka rūklon [Daemon Targaryen x Wife!reader]

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Other HOTD stories

Summary: Daemon is feared among men for his battle prowess, finding solace and love in his pure sunshine of a wife. One serene evening, amidst impending war, they steal a moment alone. His wife with gentle hands and a heart full of affection, braids Daemon’s hair, weaving delicate flowers into the strands…

*This was a one shot request from a very special person of mine, my bestie @mrsdaemontargaryen I had asked her to send me a prompt because I have been on such a long hiatus from writing. Writer’s block has not been fun {among personal things but let’s not get into that}. Please enjoy this Daemon one shot and soon enough, I will be taking requests again in time for season two. 🖤*

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You placed a hand on the ghost of your swelling stomach, your violet eyes shining from the fireplace’s flames. The incident was still fresh in your mind, your sister’s screams of calling you a traitor ringing in your ears. It wasn’t a surprise to see the twins together in Storm’s End, having been inseparable since birth, but you never thought Adryana* would try to murder you.

You turned your head slightly, hearing the footsteps, letting out a soft sigh, and feeling your husband wrap an arm around your waist and pull you back into his chest. “Is it done?”

Daemon nodded, nuzzling his nose into your silver hair. “Soon enough, she will feel the pain you felt.”

You took a deep breath, looking ahead. When Daemon was writing to his friends in the capital, you had mentioned to him how you wanted Adryana to feel the same pain you felt when she took her unborn babe from you. He added, “Along with the usurper’s son, take the life of his brother’s son.”

“I don’t want you to feel guilty,” Daemon whispered in your ear as though he could read your mind. “Those green cunts didn’t feel anything killing Luke and our child. You shouldn’t either.”

You nodded in agreement, furrowing your brows. “Can we go on a walk?” You knew this would be the last calm moment before Westeros is thrown into chaos.

You turned in Daemon’s arms, smiling a small smile when he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Of course, my love.”

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You wrapped your hands around Daemon’s arm as he led you down the familiar path toward Aegon’s Garden. During the day, it was a favorite spot for your young son, Alyster, to play in; he especially enjoyed the cranberries that grew there. The eye of the dragon statue glistened in the moonlight the closer you got, lifting your dress slightly so it did not drag too much through the grass.

You thanked Daemon quietly when he helped you into the plush grass, a hum passing your lips as you began to pick at the small white wildflowers surrounding you mindlessly. Since you’ve woken up from the incident, the two of you have rarely spent time alone, with Alyster not leaving your side and Daemon being preoccupied with the small council. For the first time in a long time, you felt peace.

Once he sat down, you moved to sit behind your husband, your fingers gingerly taking a section of his hair and beginning to work it in a braid. His hair was not as long as it once was but manageable. You smiled, hearing the light chuckle coming from him.

“What?” You asked as you grabbed one of the wildflowers you picked, placing it carefully within the braid.

Daemon kept his eyes ahead, a small smile forming on his features. “I’m only thinking back to our wedding day.”

“Our wedding day?” You repeated while beginning to braid another section of his hair, adding the little flowers as you went.

Daemon hummed in response. “You wanted to braid my hair that day, too.”

You smiled at the memory. You had a traditional Valyrian wedding against your mother’s wishes. You were never one to listen to your mother, to begin with, having gone against her wishes to become Rhaenyra’s ward at fifteen, shortly after Laena’s funeral, and two years later becoming Daemon’s third wife. Now, at the age of three-and-two, the two of you had a six-year-old son, a son your mother and father only met once.

“I’m hoping this war will be over quickly,” Daemon spoke quietly, breaking the silence.

You hummed, leaning back to examine your creation. “I do not want to talk about war this evening, my love,” You said softly, placing a few more flowers in the braids with a soft smile.

You enjoyed the calm moments while you could, not knowing if this would be your last one together. The war began when Aemond and Adryana struck in Storm’s End, and you knew Daemon would be restless until every one of their heads was on spikes. You were to cherish these moments while they lasted.

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You hummed as the sun filtered through the windows, stirring slightly only to feel the side beside you cold. You furrowed your brows while rubbing your eyes as you sat up, your stomach still sore from your injuries.

“You do not want to go to the small council like that?” You asked teasingly, seeing Daemon picking out the white flowers, having slept in them.

He chuckled, looking down at the small pile forming beside him at the vanity. “I’m not sure it would be proper attire for a small council meeting.”

You scrunched up your nose while slowly getting out of bed. Wrapping your silken robe around you, you walked up behind your husband, meeting his violet eyes in the mirror.

“Issa byka rūklon*,” Daemon said softly, placing his hand on your arm when you wrapped them around his neck.

You hummed lightly. “I prefer when you call me aōha vēzos*.”

Daemon laughed. “No one else can hear that.”

You smirked, moving back so Daemon could get up. You straightened his doublet for him, scrunching up your nose when he placed two fingers under your chin, making you look up.

“I love you, Y/N,” Daemon whispered, moving his hand to your cheek.

“I love you too,” You replied, meeting his lips in a short, sweet kiss.

You watched him pull away after a moment, a small smirk forming on your features. You noticed the stray flower tucked in the waves of his hair.

❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈

“You’re late, Daemon,” Corlys spoke up, seeing the Prince enter the council chambers.

“You should already know that I enjoy making late, dramatic entrances,” Daemon replied simply, sliding into the empty seat on Rhaenyra’s right.

Rhaenyra eyed her uncle curiously, tilting her head. “Daemon,” She called to him, clearing her throat while motioning to her hair.

Daemon furrowed his brows, reaching up to feel the soft petals of the single wildflower he had forgotten about. He untangled it from his hair, looking down at it with a soft sigh.

“Is the Rogue Prince going soft?” Lord Celtigar questioned with a laugh.

“I believe he is,” Corlys agreed.

Daemon only scoffed as the Black Council erupted in laughter, Rhaenyra even adding a giggle of her own. He sighed as the jesting continued around him, his eyes staying on the wildflower in his hand. He twirled it on its tiny stem, his mind wandering back to his wife, their son, and the babe they had lost.

There was no guarantee of surviving this kin war, but Daemon was determined to win it so that he and his family could finally live the peaceful life they had long desired.

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

*Adryana: Adryana Targaryen is my original character for House of the Dragon. She is the youngest daughter and fifth child of King Viserys and Queen Alicent (The reader is the eldest daughter and child). She is wed to her twin brother, Aemond, and they have a set of twins together; a son named Vanar and a daughter named Vhaenys. She is known to have a short temper and often accused her eldest sister of abandoning her to live with Rhaenyra on Dragonstone. She also felt hurt when she sided with Rhaenyra's children during the Driftmark incident. Her temper overflowed when her eldest sister made a comment about how their father would be disappointed in the twins and their actions after reuniting in Storm's End, ultimately resulting in Adryana attempting to kill her and the unborn babe. The eldest sister lived, but the unborn babe did not, leading to her and Daemon planning revenge on Lucerys and their child.

*Issa byka rūklon: High Valyrian for my little flower.

*aōha vēzos: High Valyrian for your sun.

[mickandmusings]

love you, miss you, mean it (ii)

*part two of the original!*

**read part one here!**

pairing: bob floyd x f!kazansky reader

word count: 3.6k

summary: during his time back at topgun, bob finds a found family within the daggers. now that the special detachment mission is over, the daggers are being recognized for their success, and all of their families are gathered around them. when rooster recognizes an esteemed guest arrive with shiny new wedding bands, bets are on who the admiral's daughter is married to.

based on this ask! (thanks for the best ideas frank <3)

warnings: mentions of injury and hospitals, a small section of angst, dagger family love, phoenix being my fav ever, angst followed by more bubble gum fluff.

-

Years later, after a long engagement and an intimate backyard wedding, flight school and master's programs, TOPGUN (the first time,) and a handful of deployments and moves, Bob and Y/N Floyd now lived in a cottage-style home not far from the beaches of North Island. Well, they did for the past few months, since Bob got his call back to TOPGUN. Y/N didn't mind, she knew what she was signing up for when she married a Navy man, she only missed Bob now more than ever. She occupied her time by walking their dog, visiting her Dad who lived only a ten minute drive away, and rewatching her favorite TV show while she waited for Bob to come home at night. This mission had been different from the others, not that Bob nor her Dad could tell her much, the details had been fairly secretive. Y/N only knew that Bob left early in the morning, almost always before the sun, pushing his glasses up his nose and kissing her forehead. He'd return home after the sun had set, reeking of jet fuel and sweat. He'd be exhausted and dirty, but he'd make sure to take his sleeping wife from the couch to their shared bed before going to shower the day off of him. He'd be gone by the time she woke every morning, but there was always a post-it on her coffee mug in his scratchy handwriting:

Love you, miss you, mean it.

Y/N knew about his new teammates, the cocky Hangman, the kind and charming Rooster, the pranking, jokester duo of Payback and Fanboy, the smooth talking Coyote, and of course the infamous Maverick, who she knew better as Uncle Mav. Maverick had been in and out of her house throughout her whole life, which Bob was somewhat shocked and also unsurprised to know. She knew every time he was about to go into the air, accompanied by his new partner, Phoenix, who he talked about most of all. Y/N would hear her phone ding with a message, checking it quickly to see Bob's name flash across the screen.

In the air with Phoe, love you, miss you, mean it. x

The phrase that had started as an inside joke had slowly become a term of love that she looked forward to every day. It gave her something to look forward to, a sign that he was okay, that at least for a brief moment in time, he was okay.

After a week or so into his new training, Y/N began to notice some differences in her husband. He was still mostly himself-quiet but talkative in her presence, talking about his day with an upbeat attitude, but any mention of their present mission would send the corners of his smile downward a bit. Y/N didn't fully understand why, but with the amount of talented pilots and WSO's on this mission, she knew it was a dangerous one.

Several days later, Y/N woke up feeling...out of place. She had woken earlier than normal, considering how late she had stayed up waiting for Bob to get home. She felt uneasy, but blamed it on her lack of sleep. She continued her routine like normal-coffee, breakfast, walking the dog, starting the laundry-but every time she started a new task her mind began to wander. She knew she was likely overreacting, her mind playing tricks on her. When she came in from her walk, she immediately checked her phone, her thoughts taking over. She breathed a sigh of relief, there were no terrible messages or missed calls, only random notifications from her installed apps. Y/N still feels shaky for reasons she can't explain, so she reaches for the one person she always calls when she feels this way. It rings for a few seconds before the call picks up and her father's voice fills her ears.

"Hey, pumpkin! What's going on?"

Y/N sighs, biting her lip.

"Hey, Dad, sorry to bother you at work, I just, I've got a bad feeling I can't shake...I-I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Hey, hey, none of that. Nothing's wrong with you," her father's voice was calm and comforting. "Remember what we do when you have thoughts like this?"

Y/N was about to respond when her phone beeped with another incoming phone call from an unidentified number. Y/N's eyebrows furrowed, she recognized the local area code.

"Dad, let me call you back, I'm getting a call."

Her father signed off quickly, and Y/N's heart hammered as she answered the other number.

"Hello?"

"Hi, is this Y/N Floyd?"

"Um, yes, this is she. May I ask who's calling?"

"Mrs. Floyd, this is the Naval Medical Center of San Diego. You've been listed as the emergency contact of Lt. Robert Floyd-"

Y/N's ears seemed to flood with water, unable to hear anything the nurse on the other line was saying as she sank onto the nearby chair, forcing her brain to tune into the words coming through the speaker.

"He is in stable condition, he is alert with no serious injuries. We would just like to keep him overnight for further observation."

"O-Okay, um, thank you. Am I allowed to see him?"

"Of course, he's in room 431, just visit the desk before to get a visitor's pass."

"Thank you."

Y/N hung up the phone and collapsed against the back of the sofa, her chest heavy and eyes overwhelming with tears. Her phone beeps, reminding her that her father was still on hold. She takes a deep breath, wiping away her flurry of tears before pressing the button and rising form the couch, in search of her keys.

"Hey, everything alright?" Her dad's soft voice entered her ears.

"Uh, no, no," She couldn't keep her resolve, her tough facade faltering quickly. She knew that Bob was fine, that he hadn't been hurt, but the phone call had terrified her. "Bobby and his partner had to emergency eject, he's at the hospital. I-the nurse said he was fine, but it scared the shit out of me, Dad."

She pulled her keys from the bowl by the door, all but racing towards her car as her father tried to calm her, reassuring her everything was fine.

-

Bob leans back against the pillow on the hospital bed, his few scratches and cuts already bandaged. Phoenix had been the same, the dark haired pilot now sitting in a chair next to her backseater's bedside.

"My wife is gonna kill me," Bob's quiet voice finally broke the silence, his eyes toward the ceiling.

Phoenix wasn't an idiot-she knew that her partner had a wife. Bob was quiet, private, especially with the other members of the squad, but Phoenix was incredibly observant. She noted the gold band on the chain around his neck under his flight suit, and the Polaroid picture of him and a girl tucked into his chest he glanced at from time to time. She'd never press him to talk about it, but she noticed.

"Doubt it," came her reply. "She's probably freaking out though. Not a common occurrence that your loved ones have to eject a fighter jet."

Bob's eyebrows raised, "When your father is the Commander of the US Pacific Fleet, you get used to it."

Phoenix's eyes widened, her jaw dropping. "Holy shit, Floyd! You married an Admiral's daughter?! Iceman's daughter, no less! I never would have thought that. Innocent little Bob, with an Admiral's daughter."

Bob chuckles lightly, sitting up with a slight groan. Footsteps sounded behind them, Y/N appearing before both of them. She had been crying, Bob noted quickly, her clothes disheveled as if she had simply ran out of the house.

"Baby," Bob's voice came, Y/N saying nothing as she approached him, doing nothing but wrapping her arms around his torso, her head tucked into the crook of his neck. She nearly cried at his familiar touch, his familiar smell-jet fuel, sweat, the lingering scent of his cologne. Any other time, she would've pushed him off lightly, telling him he needed a shower, but now, she wouldn't have cared if he smelled like rotting food. Bob's muscular arms held her tight, kissing the top of her head.

"Robert Floyd, you scared the living shit out of me. Never do that again."

He knew his wife's words were in jest, she had been shaken by the news of his ejection, but was thankful he was okay. The couple broke apart, Y/N's hands pushing Bob's hair that had fallen in his face, his hands on either side of her hips. Y/N turned to the girl in the chair, her face clouding over with embarrassment.

"I am so sorry, I completely barged in without even speaking. You must be Phoenix. I've heard so much about you, it's so great to meet you. I'm Y/N."

Phoenix smiles, "Natasha, it’s great to meet you too. Although I can’t say the same, Bob here keeps all intel about you on pretty tight lock. Don’t blame him though, the others would probably give him hell for snagging an Admiral’s daughter.”

Y/N blushes but laughs heartedly at Phoenix’s jab, the two quickly falling into a conversation with one another. Bob sits back and watches, his thumb rubbing his wife’s diamond ring and wedding band where their hands intertwined. As he watched the two women bond, he began to think of the rest of his found family. He wanted to introduce Y/N to the other Daggers, for his favorite people to finally all know one another.

-

The perfect opportunity presented itself in the form of the Daggers’ recognition ceremony after their successful mission. All of the Daggers and their respective families would be present, and of course, Ice would be there as well, as long as numerous other Navy personnel.

Under the summer sun of North Island, each of the Daggers sported their dress whites, their families in chairs in the crowd. Bob sat next to Phoenix, the pair exchanging knowing glances when people they knew arrived, or when certain family members arrived in a sort of over-the-top fashion. Phoenix had nudged him harshly with her elbow when Y/N arrived, dazzling in her sundress, sunglasses over her eyes as her arm was interlaced with her father’s.

“Since when was Ice Spice married?” Rooster’s voice sounded amongst the small crowd the Daggers had formed. “I swear I saw rings on her left hand. I mean I haven’t actually seen her since we were like sixteen, but I didn’t know she got married.”

“Ice Spice? The hell are you talking about, Bradshaw?” Hangman’s southern accent responded, eyes squinting as he looked into the crowd. “You mean Admiral Kazansky’s daughter? ‘Ice Spice’ where’d that come from?”

“It was her nickname, we grew up around the same people, most of the kids nicknames were extensions of their Dad’s call signs. Baby Goose,” he gestured to himself. “Ice Spice.” He gestured to Y/N. “I didn’t even know she had a boyfriend though, God I’m out of the loop.”

Bob couldn’t help but grin to himself, almost glad he’d not told anyone other than Phoenix, whose brown eyes were piercing the side of his head, as if to say ‘are you gonna say something?!’

“She’s gotta be married to someone here, though, right?” Coyote’s voice sounded. “Not like she’s coming to all her Dad’s events for shits and giggles. My money’s on someone higher up, some other Admiral or something.”

Fanboy scoffs, “Who? Cyclone?” His voice is laced with sarcasm.

“No fucking way,” came Payback’s reply. “She’s way too good looking for someone like him. Way too young too, he’s ancient next to her.”

All Dagger eyes were locked on Y/N from across the pavilion, her smile wide as she spoke with another Admiral’s wife Bob couldn’t quite remember the name of.

“I’m gonna go with Javy’s theory. Nobody under Ice would be man enough to try to date his daughter. I’m a cocky son of a bitch, but one look from Iceman makes sweat roll down my back.” Hangman’s response was honest.

“He’s not so bad,” Bradley spoke. “But you’re not wrong, he’s one hell of an intimidating man. You’d have to have balls of steel to approach him about dating his daughter, especially if you’re under him.”

Bob smirked, remembering just how nervous he had been on Tom Kazansky’s front door at seventeen years old.

“What about you two? Where are you placing your bets?” Mickey looked over at Bob and Natasha.

Phoenix’s smile widens into a sly grin, the one she gets when she proves Rooster wrong, or gets one over on Hangman in the air.

“Girl like her-gorgeous, high-ranking father, everyone seems to love her. My guess is on someone you’d never expect, someone out of left field.”

Hangman nods, contemplating. “What about you Baby on Board?”

Bob’s eyes widen beneath his glasses as he scrambles for a thought. He looks over at his wingman, Phoenix giving him a look that undoubtably means to play along with it.

“Uh, I gotta go with Nat’s theory.”

“Course you do,” Coyote jokes. “So $100 on the bets, winning team take all?”

The Daggers agree unanimously, Phoenix’s grin almost slimy with satisfaction.

“Floyd,” a slap on Bob’s shoulder jolts him into sitting straight before turning to look at where the voice came from. “Good to see you, man. Haven’t seen you and the missus around much lately.”

“Admiral Jones, good to see you,” Bob shakes the older man’s hand with a firm grip. “They’ve been keeping me busy. I think we’re coming to the barbecue Sunday, you and Mrs. Jones enjoy Boston? How were the grandkids?”

The Daggers watch intently as the most reserved member of their group chats animatedly with an Admiral that they’d only seen in passing, Phoenix stifling a chuckle at the secret only she seems to know. The Admiral walks away after a moment, and Bob turns back to the group, who all look at him as if waiting for an explanation.

“Neighbor,” came Bob’s short reply.

“Missus?” Rooster’s voice speaks, his whiskey colored eyes shooting down to Bob’s hands, his wedding band glimmering in the sun. “I’ve never seen you with that.”

“Oh, no, probably not,” Bob starts. “Wear it on my dog tags when we’re in the air.”

“Bob’s married, and we’re all bachelors? Never saw that coming.” Hangman’s voice pipes up.

“It’s always the quiet ones,” Payback’s retort is the last chuckle as the ceremony begins.

Admiral Kazansky opens the ceremony, introducing Maverick and the other members respectively, honoring them and finishing out the ceremony as quickly as professional. As the service ends, the Daggers distribute but keep close quarters, looking to see who the Kazansky girl ends up running to. Meanwhile, Phoenix watches as Bob interacts with nearly every member of high-ranking in attendance. He goes from bumbling, awkward Bob, to some other version of himself that makes dad jokes and has a firm handshake.

“Well Phoe,” Rooster speaks as he sits down in the chair next to her. “The only person I’ve seen her hug is Mav, and I know it’s not him. Should I just ask her myself?”

Phoenix face breaks out into a full blown smile as she watches Y/N make a quick sprint through the crowd of Navy uniforms to get to her husband, her arms thrown around his neck as her smile could blind.

“Won’t be necessary, Roo. I think the mystery has been solved, and I’m about to be $300 richer.”

Rooster’s eyes cut to his childhood friend embracing his teammate, Bob’s hands resting respectively on her waist, his blue eyes locked on his wife.

“Holy shit. Bob? And Ice Spice? Jesus-you-“ he turns to face Natasha. “You knew!”

“They’re high school sweethearts. Got married right after he finished the Academy, been together ever since. Live in one of those cute cottage houses by Penny’s, got a Corgi named Solo. Frequent guests at most Navy personnel barbecues, birthdays, weddings-it was Bob’s story, didn’t seem right for me to tell.”

Rooster sighs, standing to tell Coyote who stood talking with his sister. Javy’s eyes widen, looking over at the couple who is now talking to another Admiral and his wife, Y/N’s laugh fading into the crowd of voices. Javy nudges Jake talking beside him, Jake’s cocky grin fading as Mickey and Rueben have both already noticed. Their looks of shock fade momentarily as Bob pulls Y/N towards their direction, a smile plastered onto his face. Y/N’s smile is bright, her arm intertwined with her husbands, her pastel purple dress blowing in the sea breeze.

“Floyd! Got somethin’ you’d like to tell us?” Hangman’s shit-eating grin faced Bob.

Bob let’s out a chuckle. “Y/N, meet the one and only Hangman.”

Y/N smiles, nodding, “Pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant Seresin.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Hangman gives Bob a wink as Bob flips him off in response.

“Ignore him, baby.” Bob’s voice is full of good-natured humor, used to the teasing. “The tall one is Coyote, next to him is Payback, Fanboy, of course you know Phoe, and R-“

“Bradley Bradshaw,” his wife’s voice speaks. “How long has it been?”

She approaches Rooster with her arms wide open, Bradley reciprocating her hug.

“Too long, Ice Spice. How’d a nice girl like you end up with our Bob here?”

Y/N’s eyes furrow, her smile never faltering. “Um, when Dad and I moved, Bobby and I went to the same high school, been together ever since, high school sweethearts.” Her eyes sparkled as they met Bob’s sapphire ones, her arm going back around his arm. “What can I say? He’s a charmer.”

The Daggers hovered for nearly an hour, all taking turns swapping stories with Bob and his wife, getting to know one another. They mostly told stories to embarrass Bob, jabbing at him and his ‘balls of steel’ for not only dating, but marrying an Admiral’s daughter. Commending him on his royal stupidity for hiding his wife from them, all commenting that she was infinitely cooler than Bob himself. Bob took them all in stride, giving Y/N a kiss to her head before Phoenix began chatting with his wife. Standing in the center of the big group of people he considered family, his wife on his arm, charming them all, his heart swelled in his chest, warmness blooming, the same warmth he had felt when he spent time in the Kazansky house-true familial love, understanding someone without having to say a word.

As the Daggers split off one by one, leaving only Bob and Y/N, he pulled her close, hand on her waist, the setting sun and light breeze a picturesque backdrop for their night.

“Hey, Floyd?” His wife’s sweet voice reached his ears.

“Yeah, Floyd?” He chuckled back, pulling her in closer, leaving a kiss on her temple.

“We should have a celebration of your successful mission. A real one, not a formal one like this. We could invite everyone, all the Daggers, and their families. We haven't had Nat around at the house yet, and Dad would love it, would give him and Uncle Mav more time to conjure up how to terrorize the Navy even further.”

Bob nods, “I like that idea. Sounds good, I’ll text the group, see what weekend works best." His voice turns serious. "Thank you, baby, you’ve always been my biggest supporter, feel like I don’t tell you that enough.”

His wife is quiet for a moment, her focus on her shoes walking on the ground. She looks up at him, her expression serious.

“I’m proud to call you my husband. Always have been, but just thought I should remind you. And as much as I’ve missed you through this special training, it’s nice to see you have other people who take care of you, appreciate you like I do.” She’s quiet before she starts again. “All that to say, love you, missed you, mean it.”

Bob laughs loudly into the air, stopping to pull his wife into a proper kiss, one a tad more inappropriate than the chaste ones he’d given her after the ceremony. The two finally break after a need for air arises, their pupils blown wide as they stare at one another.

“How long do you think we have until your Dad notices we’re not at his place for dinner?” Bob’s voice is deeper, sultry.

“Long enough,” his wife replies. Bob smiles and picks her up into his arms bridal style, her laughter boisterous as he races her back to his trusty pick-up truck parked close by, his chest so full of love for her he simply can’t contain his wide grin filling his face.

As he starts the truck and peels out of the parking lot, he looks over at his wife, her curled hair blowing in the wind from the rolled down window, her pastel purple dress highlighting her best features. He’s hit with a wave of nostalgia, a younger version of his wife in this same truck-her hair a bit longer, her eyes still wide with new love, a purple corsage on the same hand where a wedding band now sits.

“What?” She giggles, noticing his stare on her as they’re stopped at a red light.

“You’re beautiful.” She blushes pink, just like she had at the bottom of her childhood home’s staircase, the night Bobby had uttered those words through a shaking voice.

He thinks of seventeen-year-old Bobby, the version of himself who had said those words for the first time, more in love with Y/N now than he was then. If only seventeen-year-old Bobby could see him now, maybe he wouldn’t have been shaking with nerves, sweating through his rented tux. Bob smiles to himself as Y/N leans to turn the radio up, a folk song they both love.

He shakes his head, maybe it’s best his younger version didn’t know the outcome. The nerves were good, healthy. Even shaking, stammering teenage Bobby had more nerve than he thought. After all, he was there to pick up an Admiral’s daughter.

-

[fandomnerd9602]

Only You

Bambi!Wanda x Reader

It all began when your doe-human mate Wanda skipped happily into the kitchen, her mind focused on asking you one singular question.

You were listening to Wanda’s favorite song on your Amazon dot.

Only you can make this world seem right

Only you can make the darkness bright

Only you and you alone can thrill me like you do

And fill my heart with love for only you

“Dance with me, detka!” She giggles as she takes your hand. The two of you sway to the music.

“Detka,” she smiled at you, “will you marry me?”

The question caught you off guard but happily off guard, “y-yes.”

“Good!” Your antler adorned mate hugged you tight and kissed you gently. “I want to marry you.”

“When do you want to tie the knot?”

“Tie the knot? Why would we do that? I wanna marry you.” She giggles, thinking that you were making some weird joke.

You and her didn’t talk about it much on the way to the Sanctuary but you found Wanda happily running around to the other hybrids, telling them the good news.

“I’m getting married! I’m marrying my amazing mate!!” She practically ran all the way around the Sanctuary grounds.

Natasha was practically laughing her wolf tail off as Wanda ran in. “I heard.” The red head wolf hybrid laughed, “can I be your maid of honor?”

“Sure!” Wanda giggles.

“Why do you suddenly want to be married?”

“I love my detka and I want to marry them.” Wanda found herself wistfully explaining. “I wanna spend my life with Y/N, I want to go to sleep in their arms every night, I wanna…”

“What?” Natasha’s tail wagged, “come on buddy, you can tell me”

“I want to have little deer babies.”

“Oh you scandalous doe!” Natasha giggled, earning a blush from Wanda.

“But I don’t know if I’m ready for kids yet” Wanda’s tail dropped a little, she sits down on her friend’s bean bag chair, “I still miss my boys”

Natasha gets down on her knees and hugs her friend tight. “Take your time. There’s no need to rush into a marriage. (Y/N) loves you and will understand”

Wanda couldn’t help but smile.

Meanwhile you took an early lunch and went with Yelena to a jewelry store you had your eye on.

“Why did you ask me to come with you and not sestra?” The blond wolf hybrid bemoaned.

“Because Natasha is with Wanda and I don’t want my mate to know what I’m up to. And I need you to keep watch as I browse the store.” You stepped into the store as Yelena kept watch.

You found the perfect ring. It was a gold band designed to look like interlocking vines and leaves with a simple diamond adorned at its center. You were just about to purchase it when suddenly Yelena tackled you to the ground.

“They’re here!” Yelena dragged you behind some tables. You looked under the table to see a familiar pair of legs and tails walking into the shop.

Natasha and Wanda walked in, happy as could be.

“Which one says I want to be your forever mate?” Wanda asked as she approached the wedding bands section.

“Any one of them, that’s the whole point.” Natasha smirked before a familiar scent caught her nostrils. You and Yelena.

She dropped to her knees and came face to face with the two of you. You gestured for her to stay quiet.

“What are you…you were gonna buy a ring?!” Natasha whisper-yelled, kind of happy and excited too. You hold up the ring you selected, Natasha smirked, “oh that’s very lovey but I don’t like you that way.”

“Steer her to another store, Fifi!” Yelena retorted.

“Fifi? Funny coming from you, sestra!” The two wolf sisters began fighting. You silently separated them.

“Gals, please this is the love of my life and I don’t want to ruin her special moment” you quietly begged them.

“I found it! The perfect engagement ring!!” Wanda called out with a giddy laugh.

Natasha quickly ran over and saw a simple band that looked like two antlers intertwined. Wanda looked to her friend with pleading eyes. Natasha peeked back to be sure that you didn’t see it. You could not.

“I-I don’t have any…” Wanda began to say.

Natasha gave a wave of her hand, “I’ll cover it.”

“Thank you” Wanda hugged her wolf pal tight.

“Just name your first daughter after me” Natasha said jokingly.

“Deal!”

The two bought the ring and left. You and Yelena got up from your hiding spot and approached the register. The cashier was practically laughing, “I take it your gal had the same idea?”

“Great minds,” you shrugged. Yelena stifled a laugh.

An hour or so later, Wanda was back in her friend’s den on the Sanctuary grounds, admiring the ring.

“Now you just need to find the perfect time to propose” Natasha smiled.

The sound of an aux cord plugging in caught Natasha’s wolf ears.

Only you can make this world seem right

Only you can make the darkness bright

Only you and you alone can thrill me like you do

And fill my heart with love for only you

Wanda rose from her seat, tears beginning to form in her eyes. It was yours and her song. Natasha peered out the den’s entry and smiled.

“You might wanna see this,” her wolf pal smiled.

Wanda walked out to see the Sanctuary gazebo decorated in Edison bulb lights and roses. Against the setting Sun, it looked heavenly.

And there under the gazebo roof was you, standing there with a smile on your face.

Wanda walked up the gazebo stairs slowly, tears of joy flowing down her face. You took her hands in yours.

“I love you Wanda Maximoff” you began. “I wanna spend each and every day of the rest of my life with you”

Wanda giggled.

“I wanna hold you when you’re hurting. And kiss you when you need a little love. I wanna raise a family with you and I wanna be there for you when we find your boys. And I’m gonna love you and them forever.”

“I love you.” Wanda whispered, “forever and ever”

You got to your knees and produced the ring, Wanda gasped. “Wanda, my doe, my love, my mate, will you marry me?”

Wanda got to her knees and pulled out the ring she got for you, “only if you will marry me”

“Yes” you smiled, tears forming in your own eyes.

“Yes!” She cries back. “Yes! Yes! You and only you!!!”

You slide the ring on her finger and she slides the ring on yours. A feeling of pure happiness takes over Wanda as she launches herself at you, knocking you to the wooden floor. She kisses you repeatedly, over and over, giggling against your lips as you held her tight.

The staff and other hybrids laughed and cheered as the two of you found each other lost in your moment. Natasha smiled and her tail swished back and forth happily.

It all started with a simple question. And it turned into a moment that you and Wanda would treasure forever. And you’d eventually tell it to Billy and Tommy: the tale of how you and Wanda ended up proposing to each other.

Tags @lifespectator @russianredassassin @revanshand @julieromanoff @multi-fandom-enjoyer @family-house-of-m @holiday-house-of-m @iiconicsfan25 @supercorpdanbeau @scarletquake-n7

[vivalabunbun]

Let's Look Over The Garden Wall

Summary: One wants an easy meal and one wants to play house. 

Word Count: 9.9k

Tags: Alhaitham x Fem!Reader, Smut(r18+), MDNI, Modern AU, Vampire AU, Contract Marriage, NSFW, Fluff, Heavy Angst, Unrequited love?, Vampire! Alhaitham, Dom! Alhaitham, Human! Reader, biting, pet name? (calls you good girl) TW: Blood & Blood drinking, TW: Death, Terminally ill! Reader, slight orgasm denial, slight corruption kink, wedding night, temperature play? He falls hard, slow fic, tragedy

Authors note: This whole fic was a challenge since I wanted to write it kinda from Alhaitham’s pov. I’m not really knowledgeable about vampires, so in this fic they’re just a type of monster and not undead, and vampire blood can turn humans into monsters. Enjoy!

Side note: Here is the other side, Finale

The secretary had just arrived at the office not too long ago, shift starting at six pm and going until midnight. The typical hours for a creature of the night. 

Like a sweet breeze that blew stray leaves through his office’s open window, a stranger came gallivanting through the boundaries of his door, contract in hand. Faruzan, the office receptionist trailing after you with your proper introduction. 

“Secretary Alhaitham, this young lady here would like to make a blood contract with you.” 

He certainly wasn’t expecting this when he walked through the sliding doors of the building. The biggest company in Sumeru, the firm that specialized in such dubious pacts. 

In an age where humans now outnumber vampires, with new technologies and weapons that can now threaten the once untouchable creatures, immortal beings now have to play by mortal rules. One such rule, vampires can no longer drink human blood. 

Animal substitutes were of course inferior in both taste and satisfaction, any vampire would know this. However, there’s a loophole to this law. Vampires can’t drink human blood legally unless it’s consensual by both parties, established through contracts. Business exchanges for money, power, or glory. 

Of course, this practice is heavily regulated. Hunters who uphold the balance ready to rip the hearts out of those who dare make an unfair deal. Alhaitham is the simple secretary who files these contracts, not one of the agents tasked with such things. 

Still, he’s intrigued. Even in this office there are many who have yet to see the face of this elusive vampire, how did this human identify him? He was looking for an excuse to stray away from dull lines of files, might as well entertain your musings. 

The ashen-haired immortal pulls out a seat for you, nodding to Faruzan sending her out of his office, giving you privacy. Alhaitham ambles to the other side of the polished wood, settling down on his plush office chair.

“The process for filling a contract is straightforward, even though this consultation wasn’t planned, if negotiations go well you’ll then undergo a psychological evaluation.”

You nodded your head lightheartedly, posture relaxed in the chair. 

“So,” he begins.

“What are your demands?” 

“Marry me.”

Dead silence. He certainly wasn’t expecting a proposal this Monday night. Were you wasting his time with a joke?

You must’ve read his unfazed mask. Quickly pulling a pen and notepad from your pocket.

“I’m being serious, I want you to be my husband.” Hands swiftly jotting sentences down on paper.

In your graceless handwriting, you listed all your qualifications. Age, name, blood type, and financial status. You also detailed some self-prescribed personality traits. 

Alhaitham skips over that section. 

Marriage contracts weren’t unheard of, nor were marriages between humans and vampires. He believes such practices weren’t deemed illegal solely because of human morbid curiosity and desires.

No immortal, with their centuries of knowledge and wisdom, would waste such energy on a mortal, without a price of course. It would be a fool’s errand to not have fair compensation.  

“For a fraction of your time, I’ll give you all of mine.” You point the pen toward him. 

How romantic. 

“I’d say you’re getting the better end of the deal, Mr. Alhaitham.” There’s a curl to your lips, resting your elbows upon his polished desk. 

With a slight sigh, Alhaitham pulls out a form, pen swiftly recording the necessary information. There’s going to be a long process of straightening out the clauses, but this should suffice for approval.

“Why me?” He inquires, straightening out the proposal on his desk.  

“You’re handsome, have money, and I like your voice.”

The rustling of papers and pens stopped. Dead unamused silence. 

“Pfft! Too brash? Sorry, sorry, I was only joking,” giggling as you waved it off. 

“Well, to be fair the real reason isn’t much better, to be honest.” You leaned in closer, creeping towards the unseen boundaries of his personal space.  

“I often see you passing through the streets, guess I got enamored from there.” Your smile was shameless but your cheeks were tinted pink. 

A hopeless romantic, that answer suffices him for now. He could’ve easily shown you the door, but life has been stagnant for a few decades. History repeats itself if you live long enough to see it, new occurrences are rare. As the sky deepens from indigo to midnight, two bodies sit across from each other, discussing sentences written on paper.

“I’ll contact you in three business days with the verdict, have a good night.”

“I shall await the news.” You beamed at him, warm and icy hands meeting for a handshake. 

Just as you entered, you left with that same giddiness. Now left with his thoughts, Alhaitham reviewed the documents, he had three days to ponder whether or not to submit them to the legal team, and through the judgment of a certain scarlet-eyed General Hunter. 

As per Sumeru regulations, all offices run by vampires must have uncovered glass windows. An attempt conquered by humans to enfeeble creatures of the night. Alhaitham’s beryl gaze traveled up the length of the building stationed across the street. 

What an ironic placement for a hospital to be facing the biggest firm staffed by immortality. Or perhaps it was strategic, after all the most desperate humans are the ones who lay upon their deathbeds for one last hurrah. 

The perfect scheme to keep the blood contracts flowing in. 

Teal eyes observe the room right across through the glass, it seems freshly vacant. New untouched sheets, new unflatten pillow, and fresh towels. 

Alhaitham can now confirm the validity of your statement, a half-truth. 

When deciding on a contract, one must weigh the pros and cons, to see if they balance or if one side gives away to another. Your demands? You wanted to experience married life, all aspects of it. Your offer? Your everything. 

All your assets together can’t hold a candle to the amount Alhaitham has accumulated for centuries, but it’s a decent amount. Perhaps due to a medical settlement. 

Alhaitham has lived long enough to rein in primal desires, he can suffice off animal substitutes just fine. However, it doesn’t mean he wouldn’t want a taste of the real thing again. You offer him a steady supply, and to give him every last drop after seven years.

Yes, all of this for a mere seven-year contract. A deal heavily tipped in the favor of the vampire, not even a mere fraction of the time immortality offers. However, what piqued his interest the most weren’t the benefits listed.

A garden wall the tall vampire can’t peer over. Insight only attainable by those who near the end of their finite paths. What’s it like to have agency? What’s it like to have such finite time? 

He’ll have seven years to observe. He submits the forms on the third day, delivering your verdict over the phone. Alhaitham agrees to entertain your little daydream. 

On part that it was Alhaitham who personally filed the forms, the approval process went swimmingly, skipping the paper line. Tighnari oversaw the psychological evaluation, test after test confirming the sanity of your mind, speeding up the process of getting that stamp.

–

“What flowers do you like? I’m planning the decorations.” Your legs swinging under his kitchen table. 

The contract was approved, hands held and certificates signed at the town hall, your belongings moved into his house. It’s excessive to want a celebration after all of that. 

“Whichever flowers you want.” 

Alhaitham will hold his tongue, after all, he’s signed to play the role of a husband.

–

The venue was spacious, high ceilings with marble floors and pillars, all of which were lavishly cluttered with Padisarahs, Sumeru Roses, and Kalpalata Lotuses. Alhaitham stood at the altar just off to the side of the wedding officiant. Tuxedo crisp and hands folded together, he scans over the rows of guests invited. 

Since there weren’t any in-laws, Alhaitham assumed you wouldn’t have much of a social network. No one’s correct all the time, he ignores the piercing glares of a few eyes. The all-too-loud tones of a grand piano resound through the room. The previously shut doors open to reveal your figure. Embellished dress and veil perfectly framed by the carved entranceway as you ambled your way up the aisle. 

The twilight hues of the sky dye the white gown in everchanging vibrancy as you passed by the standing crowd, up the steps to the altar, and finally in front of him. The overwhelmingly floral scent of the bouquet itches his nose. 

Alhaitham pays no mind to the soliloquy of the officiant, he simply follows the rehearsed procedures. Sliding the gold band onto your finger and allowing you to do the same to him, lifting the veil to reveal your starry-eyed gaze he places a practiced kiss against your warm lips.

Is this excessive ritual over yet? No.

Alhaitham stands in the corner of the reception hall, hand nursing a glass of wine. The rich spices of the buffet offered to the guest irritated his palate. Supernatural creatures with their enhanced senses, a double-edged sword. Human food serves no purpose to vampires, it’s over-seasoned and pungent. At least your species has created drinks such as coffee and wine, delicacies even immortal creatures can enjoy. 

In the center of the artificially lit hall, you eagerly greeted all your guests as they beamed at you. Giggling and hugging each person as an entourage of three friends helped with that embellished gown of yours. Two pairs of eyes from said entourage occasionally glared at him, their bodies forming a barrier to separate groom from bride. Candace and Dehya were the names you introduced to him. 

Your starry-eyed self blissfully unaware of the silent cold war as the scarlet-haired dancer calls the attention of the two hunters back for the bouquet toss. Alhaitham was nothing more than just a decoration, you just wanted an excuse to prance around in a pretty white dress and throw a fancy party. He’s your husband, he’ll tolerate this daydream.

–

“Did you enjoy the reception?” 

Only after the send-off and closing ceremony of the celebration, when the bride and groom were behind the thick oak doors of their suite, that you seemed to remember the decoration named ‘Alhaitham’. 

“Yes, it was lovely.” The wine provided by the venue was of the highest quality, it entertained him enough. 

“I hope you’re not upset at me being busy with guests.” Your arms found their way around his waist. 

Quite comfortable encroaching on his space huh. 

“I’m not.” Better they talk to you and not him. 

As his cold hands pat the exposed skin of your back, his teal eyes didn’t miss the trail of goosebumps that prickled your skin. Shall he move on to the next scene? The lacing of your dress seems quite complicated, he assumes that it must have taken a few pairs of hands to tie it. Should he be a good husband? 

“Do you need help with this?” His baritone voice was right against your ear, noticing the flush on the tips. 

“Yes.” For once your voice was just barely above a whisper, a blushing bride. 

The lacing weaved in and out of eyelets running down along the length of your back, how troublesome. Always one for efficiency, Alhaitham simply takes a handful of the taught lace and pulls, they snapped like simple threads. Such things offer no resistance to a creature of the night. The gasp that escaped your lips feed into something deep within. 

With the bonds loosened, the embellished dress of yours lost the fight against gravity, fabric pooling at your feet. Revealing to teal eyes the lacy white stockings, garter belt, and panties, all the hallmarks of a wedding night. It’s impossible to deny the hunger crawling up his throat, no force of nature could resist such a sight. 

“Aren’t you forgetting something? It’s rude to not offer the groom some help, no?” His hunger enjoyed that scarlet flush on your face.

Indecisive fingers going for the easiest button, opening the tuxedo jacket allowing him to shimmy it off his broad shoulders. Teal eyes continued to survey your flushed face, the smirk on his waiting for your hands to continue. Obeying his silent command like a good bride, you loosened the bow tie next, finally freeing him from that stiff collar. 

Slowly your eyes peered up, asking if the torment was over yet, the slight rise in his ash brow directing you to resume. From your lips came the beginnings of a whine to which he sternly shushed. If you couldn’t even undress him how would you be able to do the other vulgar activities? 

Finally relenting, your fingers continued with their clumsy attempt at unbuttoning his dress shirt, once a small window of his chest appeared your face pressed against the cool skin, staying there until all the buttons were undone. Oh? So even you can feel shame?

“Shall we continue on the bed, my bride?” 

Your face was still hidden in his chest as you nodded, where did that shameless nature of yours go? With your gaze adverted he didn’t even bother hiding the curl of his lips. Sweeping you off the ground, he could hear the flutter in your chest increasing as the distance between the bed closes. 

Upon silk sheets, Alhaitham settles down with you in between his legs and back against his chest. One key difference between humans and vampires? Body heat, one creature’s cells produces warmth, while the other simply remains the temperature of the environment. Your flushed skin seared itself into his, icy and hot mending together to create an equilibrium. 

Of course, a good husband would warm his wife up. Alhaitham runs his cool palms along the length of your plush thighs and leg, absorbing the warmth as his own, soothing the shivers and goosebumps on your skin. Every now and then boldly creeping up the sides of your waist to twist at your perked nipples, enjoying every jolt and whine. 

“Oh? Since when was this transparent?” 

A firm hand grasps your chin, directing your vision towards white lace panties, the fingers on his other hand tracing over the shape of your cunt through the soaked fabric. Another lovely whine left your lips, face burning even more as you weakly protested in his hold, too powerless to do anything. 

Skilled digits honed in on the nub that made your body jolt away, rubbing the faintest of circles over the delicate fabric, your legs trapped by his robust arms standing no chance to preserve your shattered dignity. As such, you had to follow his desires tonight. 

“Or are you excited just by a few fleeting touches? What a lewd bride you are.” 

It seems that you were telling the whole truth when you exclaimed how much you liked his voice, his finger could feel the slick that began to seep through the lace. Brushing the fabric to the side, Alhaitham allowed his middle finger to collect the slick along your slit allowing the rest of his digits to warm up against your cunt’s soft mounds. His throat felt parched as the sweet scent teased his nose, but now was not the time, maybe later in the night. 

“Will you be honest?” The heel of this palm freely pressed against your clit as his middle finger continued to run up and down your wet lips, every now and then almost slipping. 

Your body couldn’t hide its eagerness, hole clenching at nothing every time his finger passed by. However, he needed confirmation from you. Communication is important in a contract no?

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“I’ll be honest.” You pressed your back flat against his chest, trying to hide your face but his firm hold wouldn’t allow it. 

“Good girl, then tell me what you desire.” His crisp breath provides your searing skin some relief. 

Your plush lips pressed into a thin line as your eyes shut, cheeks heating up even more. It wouldn’t be good if you passed out from heat exhaustion so quickly. He grinds his palm into that sensitive nub, tormenting the answer out of you, nectar now dripping onto the sheets below. 

“I want to c-cum,” You breathed out. 

How direct, close but it wasn’t what he was looking for. 

“You have to be more clear with your instructions, how do you want to cum?” 

“Y-your fingers.” 

“Good girl.” Finally, his finger breached your soaked entrance. 

Pulsating walls welcomed him with unyielding squeezes, dragging his soaked digit further. Your sweet moans and whines resounded through the spacious suite, the volume of your voice directing him toward that spongey spot deep within. You were wet enough for another finger, so Alhaitham adds another, two digits stretching and exploring your soaked cavern. 

“Mmmh! T-there!” Your toes were curling. 

“Mmm.” The hum vibrated in his chest as his fingers went hard at work, thrusting into your quivering walls. 

Each time his palm would slap against your clit your honest hole would clench down so endearingly. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, the muscles in your leg tensing up more and more. It’s obvious that you were close, but before he fulfilled your demands, he decided to be proactive and prepare for the next step. 

Releasing your chin from his grasp, allowing your head to lull back against his shoulder. Alhaitham reaches between your bodies, hands never pausing their pace, swift fingers undoing the confines of his trousers. Allowing for his member to lay right against your back, the jolt of your body at the foreign object pressing against you made his hunger worse. 

“Did you get more turned on? You’re clenching down tighter, did you want it that badly?” 

Even if your eyes refused to meet his, the way your hips grind against his length, warming it up, told him all he needed to know. Your gummy walls constrict more around his fingers, it’s time to wrap up this scene, the next one is even more exciting. So his palm now digs into your clit, circling the now swollen bud in combination with his finger pressing against that nice spot deep inside. 

“C-cummin-” 

How cute, he didn’t even need to ask you to announce it. Letting your body ripple with the force of the orgasm, trembling limbs within his solid hold. If he was merciful, he would’ve continued to slide his fingers in and out, or maybe continue to caress your little nub, guiding you back to reality. However, hunger doesn’t allow for mercy. 

Removing his soaked digits away from your pulsating cunt, teal eyes observing the transparent strings that clung to them with amusement. A small appetizer wouldn’t spoil the main meal, skilled tongue cleaning his fingers of your slick. Your head still limp against his shoulder, eyes rolled back in the throws of pleasure. To bring you back down to earth, it's best to use a new type of force. 

Effortlessly, your hips were lifted up dripping cunt lined up with his impatient length below. In one fluid motion, your walls encase everything, drenched cunt giving no resistance as his tip kisses the spongy spot. Alhaitham lets a hiss escape him, it was as if he thrusted into the sun, your walls quickly bringing his member up to its temperature. 

From your lips another moan was ripped out, oh it seems that you’ve plummeted back to reality. Your cunt trembled yet gripped onto his cock like a vice, coaxing him to go in deeper, encouraging his hunger to abuse your gummy walls even more. Barely riding out one wave of pleasure before another drowned you. 

The hunters at your wedding could stick to your side the whole celebration, they could glare at him all they wanted, and they could try their damndest to keep the vampire at a distance. However, it was all efforts wasted in vain. For it was you, the blushing bride, who walked straight into his arms in the end, so open and receptive. 

As he slides out just the slightest bit, your cunt protested by desperately clamping down, begging for his thick girth to stay in. In response he tightened his grip on your hips, lifting your body back up before bouncing you back down. What a glutton for pleasure you were, even as your little mouth whimpered and babbled, your walls thanked each slap of his hips with squeezes. 

Sadistic hunger wanted more, to thrust deeper, to bully that poor spot inside of you over and over again with his thick tip as your walls stretch to accommodate the girth. His thighs collected the mixture of sweat and slickness from your body at each thrust. Your fingers dug into his hands, fingers white as you tried to grasp at anything to ground yourself. 

“F-fast, too m-much.” There was drool escaping the corner of your parted lips, eyes barely back from seeing the inside of your head. 

“Oh? Do you want me to stop?”

Alhaitham grinds to a stop, member still pressing deep inside you as he pulled you closer so his breath could ghost over your nape. In an instant, your mouth and cunt protested, you should be more clear with your instructions. 

“N-noo.” Crying over the ruined tension. 

“No? You wanted this.” His finger finds its way back to that swollen nub, flicking it a few times to watch the jumps of your body.

“If I let you cum, then I’ll do it my way, is that clear, my bride?” Tormenting your clit with firm circles. 

“Yes! Please! P-pleasee.”

So weak against his voice, the sweet calls of a beast to lure you into the depths of depravity. Such is the fate of a shameless bride. Thus, his hips sprang back into action with renewed vigor. One hand keeps your hips still and the other remains on your clit to force that knot to reappear deep inside you. 

Nothing but nonsense and moans babbled from your loose face, nectar dripping down to his heavy balls as they slapped against you with each pistoning of his hips. Your frantic hands entangled themselves into ash-mint locks as he felt gummy walls closing in tighter and tighter, your toes curling at the end of spread legs. Sinful slaps increased in frequency throughout the room as did the pace of the finger on your clit. 

Your tense body held the warning of another storm, another fall off the edge into the depths. Alhaitham brushes his nose up your nape, the floral scent didn’t distract him from the goal laying just behind the skin. Your nerves were exhausted from the shooting pleasure, now was the perfect time to finally get his share. It’s only fair. 

Prepping the area with a slow lick as his hips continued their brutal pace, incisors brushed against the delicate skin before piercing through. His hand shot up from your hip to your neck, a loose grip holding you still as your body tensed then violently shivered. The frenzy clamping of your cunt on his length was proof of your fall. Loose jaw uttering out broken moans as tears dripped down your chin. 

The fresh scarlet flooded over his tongue and down his throat as Alhaitham continued with his slow suckling. Ah, you were very much like a flower, so delicate, so fragrant, and so bittersweet. It’s been almost a century since he last tasted the real thing, his body celebrated by filling your walls with thick release. An equivalent exchange of some sort. 

A human body is quite frail, losing over two pints of blood borders on fatal territory. It’s not good to deplete a resource so quickly. Alhaitham releases your neck, running his tongue over the wound to seal it up. Teal eyes checked your complexion to ensure his measurements were accurate. Cheeks still with a healthy red flush as your chest heaved with pants, eyes glistening with tears. Such a shameless sight. He allows your head to roll onto his shoulder. 

The rhythm of your heart settles back to its resting state as Alhaitham analyzes the taste he just experienced. 

“I love you,” you breathed into his shoulder. 

Alhaitham stiffens, the herbal aftertaste of your blood was bitter, the tang dried out his mouth causing a drawn-out pause. This is no good, he can’t miss the cue to say the line a bride longs to hear from her groom. 

“I love you too.” 

The choir of crickets from the world outside filled the void along with your pants.

“Pfft! Maybe let’s not say that, it’s too weird.” You shamelessly laughed, lifting your face from his skin. 

What a relief, at least you seem to still have sense. Such words felt forcefully wedged into a script that wasn’t written for it. Might as well remove the line altogether. Moving on from the scene, Alhaitham lets you enjoy the warmth reflected off his body by yours. 

It’s in the clauses to allow you to enjoy all aspects of marriage, so enjoy this honeymoon segment.

“Haitham, can you carry this for me please?”

“Haitham, I can’t reach, can you get it please?”

“Haitham, let’s have panipuri tonight!... Can you cook it please?”

It would’ve been better if he remained nothing more than just a decoration. It would’ve been easier if he was just a view for you to see behind glass. Perhaps Alhaitham’s acute eyes misread the contract, did you want a husband or just a maid? 

Instead of sitting down in his own house to enjoy a book, he finds himself saddled with domestic responsibilities. 

Must you call on him for everything?

Laundry and groceries aren’t that heavy. If you can’t reach the top shelves with the duster, then just get a chair. No ‘please’ or ‘thank you’ could prevent the downward tug of his lips every time you call him that doltish name. Your justification of a ‘nickname’ between lovers was moronic. 

“Huh… Haitham how come you only use salt?”

Why do you make a creature who doesn’t consume such foods cook them? You’re more than capable of cooking for yourself every day. Although, Alhaitham would prefer it if you stopped using such overly fragrant herbs and spices. 

Of course, when two breaths occupy the same space, there are bound to be pieces that don’t fit together, just as two breaths never sync. Alhaitham already factored those into his decision, but this was more proof of why a theory is always second to application. How troublesome the reality of marriage is, no wonder divorce rates are so high. 

A good actor knows how to stay in character, so he’ll keep these thoughts to himself. Just as he lists your quirks silently. 

One, you’re capricious. One moment silently enjoying a drama on the TV you asked him to purchase, body hogging the entire expanse of a couch. The next, you’ll be humming as plates and cups clatter in the sink, or the heavy thumps of your steps as you bound through the house with a mop. Alhaitham prefers it when you’re stationary, at least it doesn’t disturb his reading.

–

Two, you drink tea, an unfathomable amount of it. A warm cup always nestled between your fingers, bitter water mixed with honey. The herbal tang finds its way into your blood, making it taste like medicine. Thus, Alhaitham treats it as such, medicine just to alleviate suppressed bloodlust taken in moderation. 

–

Three, you wanted to celebrate everything. Each square of a calender marked with scribbles. Why celebrate a celebration that’s already past? What is so special about a birthday? The past two years you purchased the same bundle of pungent flowers that made up that bouquet on that day to gift to him. 

“Don’t you want a taste? I saved a slice just for you. Oh, would you eat it if I sprinkled some of my blood on it?”

Alhaitham swiftly accepts the plate from you, lifting the fork of overly sweet birthday cake into his mouth. Useless carbs take up space in his body, but such a thing causes no harm. Better to taste like pure sugar and not medicine. 

–

The worst quirk of yours? You rise as soon as the sun greets the sky, adamant to not miss a single second of a day. Every day’s itinerary is filled with spur-of-the-moment decisions, such as going to a farmers market only open on Saturdays between the hours of 9 am and 2 pm. And how you drag him along. 

 Curses, only a human would drag a creature of the night into the day. What sadistic creatures, delighting in others' misery, you’re no exception. 

“I thought you said vampires aren’t like how TV depicts them.” Curious eyes observe his slouched figure. 

Vampires aren’t like how those dramas of yours depict them. No formal invitation to cross wooden thresh holds, no garlic braids as an effective shield, and no turning into a pile of ash at the mere rays of a star. 

If so, then vampires would’ve been long gone by now. However, just because the sunlight can’t kill a vampire-

“It doesn’t mean it’s not unpleasant.” His stoic voice was too tired to add a bite. 

You continued to stare at him with wonderment, as if what he said was the most complex theory known to the universe. Those dramas must’ve rotted that mind of yours, he concludes. You’re beyond saving. 

“I see.” Gentle hands lift the excessive sun hat from your head. 

Reaching on your tiptoes you place it atop his head, the straw brim providing some reprieve for his irritated skin. Shuffling the hat around until it’s securely nested along his now trussed ash locks. Satisfied, you lower yourself back down. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know. We can go home..” 

Tenderly, your hands clasped around his, guiding him into the shade. The whole walk your hands never left his, eyes always searching for the next patch of shadows to lead him into. For the rest of the weekend, you just watched your dramas, the sensation of guilt must’ve muted your voice. 

Good. He celebrated this rare break in his library away from you.

Alas, all good things must come to an end. Monday night rolled around again, as he passes the living room, he spots your loafing body napping on his couch as the TV acted as white noise. Tsk. Regardless, it’s time to get to work, he walks toward the front door.

“Wait,” came a soft command, dripping with sleep. 

From around the corner, your figure comes stumbling towards Alhaitham, his hand still firmly on the knob. Hands busy trying to rub the fatigue away from your eyes, blinking away the pleasant dream you were just in. 

Why did you abandon it? Alhaitham doesn’t know. 

Your frame reaches his, transferring some of your warmth to him, arms outstretched towards his neck. Teal eyes don’t miss the way your drowsy legs were wobbling. To prevent any accidents, he supports your body with an arm around the waist. 

Just as he feels your body steady, clammy palms encase the sides of his face. Pulling it down as your supple lips pressed against his cool cheek. Did you traverse all the way from the sofa just for a kiss? 

“Have a good night at work.” Your shameless smile beamed. 

A habit formed from one of your dramas, a wife bidding goodbye to her husband with a sweet kiss to boost his spirits. Curiosity must have gotten the better of you, or maybe you wanted to amuse yourself, two possibilities Alhaitham devises. 

–

“So, how’s married life treating you?” Kaveh’s smug tone grated against his eardrums as the blond rested an elbow on the bar table. 

Alhaitham couldn’t stop the frown from forming, nor the heavy sigh, so he took a hearty sip of his wine. Emptying the glass in one fluid motion. 

“Heh, I see you’ve been enjoying the spoils of marriage very much,” Tighnari snickered. 

“Sure, if you wish to see it that way.” Alhaitham’s hand found itself pouring another glass. 

It seems that everyone around the ashen-haired vampire was enjoying the spoils of this odd union, everyone but him that is. His miseries fueling the chaff nature of his acquaintances, still he needed a reprieve to drink. 

Not that herbal blood of yours, but something actually palatable like the fragrant wine washing the frustrations down his throat. It’s not marriage, it’s having to work overtime. 

“Regardless, you signed a contract, you must uphold the clauses.” Cyno’s scarlet eyes leered over the rim of his glass. 

Alhaitham sighs, he should’ve drank alone. 

–

The tavern wasn’t a far journey away from his house. The deep hues of night slowly shift to the youthful flushes of dawn. He’s been drinking for quite some time, it didn’t matter, alcohol has no effect on a body such as his. 

Alhaitham twists the key, the door creaking ajar just to reveal your figure with arms crossed. Disappointment ever so clear in those eyes of yours. 

“Where’ve you been?” No chirp in your tone. 

After a few hours of reprieve, Alhaitham is welcomed home with an interrogation. Wonderful. Why should he answer this meek creature standing in front of him? He could just walk to bed and get the rest he deserves. 

‘You must uphold the clauses.’ 

Right, Alhaitham has to play the role of a husband, he signed a contract, too late to just burn the papers now. 

“I went drinking with coworkers,” he curtly answers. 

“Why didn’t you call beforehand?” Your head tilts, disappointed eyes still honed on him. 

Why does he have to inform you of his every movement? Who were you to demand so much of his individuality? Alhaitham couldn’t help the frown that reappeared, directed at you, the hurdle that blocked him from entering his own home. 

The grandfather clock counted the seconds in the background, two sets of eyes locked in a stare-down. One frowning and one disappointed. How long will this last?

Your shoulders slumped as a sigh left your lungs. Eyes finally finding rest behind two heavy lids. 

“My life’s too short for misunderstandings and messy communication,” you huffed. 

Your back straightens again as you lean in closer, eyes recentering on his towering form. They no longer held the burden of disappointment, they twinkled with something else. 

“I’m your wife, and you’re my husband.” You stated the obvious.

“So when my husband, who usually arrives home at half past midnight on the dot, didn’t arrive home until dawn without a single text or call. I got worried.” 

What wasted concern, why worry for an immortal creature?

“You don’t need to report every movement to me, I don’t want that either, but if you plan on staying out please give me a simple text. So I don’t have to spend hours worrying about why my husband isn’t answering my calls.” 

Alhaitham scans over the discoloration hanging heavily under your eyes. An unpleasant sensation crawled up his spine. Phone shut off by habit, unaware of how you were losing sleep as he emptied bottle after bottle. He has to remedy the situation now, it’s what a husband should do. 

“I understand, I’ll do that from now on,” he answers. 

Is he allowed back into the confines of his own house now?

Your hands were now positioned defiantly on your hips, brows quirked up as if expecting something more. 

No. 

“You’re supposed to apologize, ya know. ‘I’m sorry, I’ll do better next time, my wife’,” you advised. 

“I’m sorry, I’ll do better next time, my wife,” he parroted. 

The magic words to finally open the path into the house, words that finally returned that grin to your face. Arms outstretched you wrapped them around his neck as your lips warmed up his cool cheek. 

“Welcome home, Haitham.” 

Ah, he knows what that twinkle in your eyes was, sincerity. 

Audiences rarely see the behind-the-scenes of a movie, with directors always handpicking which mistakes are charming enough to be shown as a blooper. Audiences don’t see the multiple scenes filmed then refilmed, they can’t experience the long hours, and they don’t know how many times lines were misread. Three years is enough time for actors to learn their lines. 

“Is my drama too loud?”

Alhaitham peers over the top of the journal, focusing on your face peeking through the entrance of his library. Judging by the apron, he guesses it's almost time for dinner, the dialogue playing on the TV was just above a muffle from here. 

“It’s fine, remember to turn on the kitchen hood.”

“Okay, which wine did you want to baste the meat in?”

“Top left, how long will it take?”

“Pfft, famished already? 15 minutes, you won’t waste away in that time right, Haitham?”  

The ever-so-adventurous palate of yours and the ever-so-drab palate of his. An unstoppable force meeting an immovable object, two existences that bend and twist each other until equilibrium. Equilibrium in the form of a steak basted in red wine, rare for him and medium for you. A dinner that could be enjoyed by both breaths. 

–

“Oh?” Your bewildered eyes blink at the bouquet presented to you. 

A wrapped box held tenderly in your hands. Alhaitham had taken note of a certain scribble marked on the calendar, it was he who got the fourth bouquet. Placing an order ahead of time to ensure the freshest flowers. 

“You said they smelled bad.”

“I’m used to it.” A half-truth. 

Your lips couldn’t suppress its toothy grin, balancing the box in one hand as the other accepts the bouquet. 

“Since you have every book in existence, I got you something else.” You nudged the wrapped present toward him. 

Unraveling the decorative paper his eyes were greeted by the sight of a carved figure of a… what is it? Meeting your eager gaze, the quirk in his eyebrow told enough. 

“It’s a hawk, I saw in storage that you used to collect these decorations.” 

Ah, you found a petty hobby he had decades ago to torment a certain someone. A figure serves no practical purpose in a home, but the eagerness of your eyes was enough to find the endearing gift a place on a shelf. 

–

“How does one make their blood tastier?” You pondered into his embrace. 

His tongue traveled up the nape of your neck to collect the escaped drops of scarlet and to close up the wound. Your bare skin pressed against his, rising his temperature to a pleasant warmth. 

He could feel every shiver as his length shifted within your overstimulated walls, recovering the overwhelming pleasure experienced just moments earlier. 

What an obvious answer, stop drinking that tea of yours. However, Alhaitham prefers when you have the energy to trot through crowded walkways at dusk with him in tow. Bittersweetness is an acquired taste, one that took him some time. 

“Since you have enough clarity to ask questions, I’m assuming you’re up for another round.” His husky breath ghosts over your ear.

“Wait~ I’m still sens-Ah!” 

–

Over time, something as short as five years, even a trickle of water can crave a home for itself in the rocky foundations of the earth that’s existed since the dawn of time.

The side of the polished dinner table with the clearest view of the TV was your side. 

The mug left in the sink with the faint aroma of tea and sweet honey was your mug.

The couch with cushions misshapen and molded by repeated use was your couch.

 Such is the lull of domestic reality, each kiss at the door to bid goodbye and each kiss to welcome him back.

Nothing, not even immortality, is resistant to time.

Due to the crowd you’ve built your circle from, hunters were semi-frequent guests at his home. Much to your delight and his dismay. A husband should get along with his wife’s friends. 

“Your complexion has gotten paler.” Candace’s heterochromatic eyes narrowed, her hands turning your face from side to side. 

“Mmm, I haven’t been going out during the day as much.” Resting the weight of your head within her palms. 

“Bullshit, he’s been using you like livestock,” Dehya snapped. 

“Mmm? Not really, he says my blood taste like leaves.” Halfheartedly lifting your face out of Candace’s warm hold. 

“Don’t cover for that bastard,” the Flame-Mane hunter scowls. 

“Need I remind you ‘that bastard’ is still in the room?” Alhaitham breaks his silence. 

“Who said you could speak?” Sapphires clash with beryls. 

“Who’s home are you currently guests in?” 

Even without glancing down, Alhaitham could tell that Dehya’s hand was twitching to reach for the silver dagger hidden up her sleeve. The hand then falters back down, Candace must’ve also noticed, steadfast eyes sending a warning to the other hunter. 

“Of all people, why did you have to marry this vampire?” Dehya turns to you exasperated. 

“Mmm,” you hummed. 

With the finger pressed against your lip and your eyes wandering up towards nothing, Alhaitham couldn’t tell if you were deep in thought or just faking it.

Your pondering filled the room with silence, three pairs of eyes intently trained on your frame. Eyelids closed as you deepened your thought. After a few beats, they fluttered back open.  

“Because he’s just too handsome.” There’s that shameless smile again. 

The disgusted expression that plastered itself all over the hunter’s face at your response almost pushed a quiet laugh from his lips. However, Alhaitham wanted to avoid a physical confrontation from starting in his house. 

If there’s one virtue you have, it’s that you’re a fair person. You perplex your friends and husband to equal degrees. 

It’s now time for the hunters to start their night, much like how Alhaitham will soon report to the office. The two women and you were now at the threshold of the door bidding goodbye, their skeptical eyes every now and then glaring behind you at the vampire. 

“Oh, one more thing,” your voice perks up. 

Arms encapsulated two sturdy frames, pulling them close against yours. 

“I love you guys.” Your words make the two robust warriors take a sharp inhale, bodies tensing up momentarily. 

“We love you too, very much.” Candace’s voice forced itself to steady. 

“Yeah.” Dehya pulled you closer. 

After a few beats, you pulled away from your friends. Lighthearted grin lopsided on your face. 

“Alright then, stay safe out there,” you chimed, waving at them. 

After their figures disappeared from view, Alhaitham shut the oak door. You still peered out the curtains, daydreaming something as the stars reflected in your eyes. He observes for a moment before he collects the cups and dishes that once held tea and sweets to entertain bygone guests. 

You were already surrounded by love, genuine love. Why did you sell your soul to experience something you already had? Alhaitham will save that question for another day.

Would you try saying that line to him again? Maybe this time he read his line without hesitation.

–

Alhaitham’s heavy lids shot open. The unwelcome greetings of morning birds signaled the time of day. Keen eyes scanned over the empty space beside him, sheets still trussed in the shape of a smaller figure. The bird songs rang like sirens, heightening his senses. 

For once his ageless body left the bed without protest, swift steps pattering through the dim halls until the backyard came into view. Sunlight poured in through the open door, the wooden mounts perfectly framing your slumped figure. 

Tired body balancing upon the basket of damp laundry, halfway from the backdoor and clothes line, you stopped to take labored breaths. 

Swiftly he was by your side, towering stature blocking you from the harsh rays. Alhaitham lifts your fatigued body from the ground, giving your aching legs relief. Even with the sun hanging high in the sky, your skin didn’t absorb an ounce of warmth. 

He takes you to the safety of the dim house, settling you onto the soft cushions of your couch. 

“Don’t push yourself.” Alhaitham shifts a few pillows behind your back. 

“I wasn’t, the laundry needs to be hung,” you huffed. 

“Just call for me.” 

You sounded out a whine of protest, but your breathing steadied. Alhaitham moves to stand back to full height, ready to finish the task awaiting out in the sun. 

“Wait,” came your soft call. 

Plucking your favorite sun hat off, you bestowed it upon unkempt ash locks still dusted with sleep. Fussing with the oversized straw brim until it stayed in place. Once satisfied you beamed, fingers caressing his smooth cheeks before placing a peck from curled lips. 

“Thank you, Haitham.” 

Adamant hands smoothed over the damp clothes, ensuring that they didn’t dry on the line with wrinkles that stayed stubbornly. The morning rays felt like sand against his exposed skin, but the hat bestowed upon him made it tolerable. 

–

“It’s dusk, would you like to stroll through the market tonight?” Beryl eyes inspect the curled figure of his wife among cushions and blankets. 

“Mmm, maybe not tonight.” You sink deeper into your couch, drama long forgotten. 

“I see.” Alhaitham moves to the armchair just adjacent to you, a frequent perch of his now. 

“Come here?” 

Just as you finished blinking Alhaitham was by your side again. Slowing lifting your upper body just off the cushion, you pat the now free space, welcoming him to sit. He wouldn’t be a good husband if he were to deny such a request. So he sits. 

Once the ashen-haired vampire was fully situated, your head found its place upon his thighs. 

“Lap pillow,” there was that giggle of yours. 

Alhaitham sighs, but he couldn’t prevent the corner of his lips from curling up, so he hides it with his book. This must be something you learned from those dramas again. He’ll humor it. 

His cool fingers run along your scalp as his teal eyes switched between your resting face and the words printed along the aged paper.

Maybe not today, perhaps tomorrow when the rays of a selfish star kiss your cheeks.

–

The drinks were served quietly, the tavern didn’t seem as lively tonight. Perhaps because it’s the busy season, Spring air carries with it the signs of renewing life and tax forms. 

“So, how is she, the wife?” Kaveh traverses the stagnant air. 

What a redundant question, Alhaitham knows they can smell the fragrance lingering on his body from you, the aroma of flowers only found in a garden beyond a line immortals can cross. The scent of an ending journey. 

“I’ll send some more Kalpalata Lotus tea, one cup a day should help with lethargy.” Tighnari prescribes, making a mental note to prepare the delivery once he returns home. 

“Thank you, how much would I owe?”

“None, just a gift for your wife.” 

Alhaitham hums in gratitude, and the table continued to play cards placidly. Throughout the rounds, his teal eyes stole glances over to a dark screen. 

The group dispersed at dawn, but it wasn’t long before Alhaitham acknowledged the presence behind him. 

“Alhaitham.” 

He only glanced over his shoulder at the tan vampire. 

“Remember the punishment that awaits those who dare disturb the cycle of life.” A threatening crackle resounded from the curled fingers by Cyno’s side. 

Alhaitham already knows and Cyno knows it all too well. After all, the privilege of a good true death was stolen away from the white-haired man many years ago. Cursing the shorter man to eternity. Thus, Cyno now spends eternity punishing those who dare break the most sacred law.

Alhaitham responds with a nod and with that the two men parted ways as the rosy hues of dawn dyed the sky. You’re probably in bed already, it’ll be his kiss to announce his return.

–

In an age where humans outnumber vampires, with new technologies and weapons that can now threaten once untouchable creatures, immortal beings now have to obey mortal laws. The most sacred of laws, vampires cannot turn humans into immortal beings. It’s illegal, it’s immoral even to curse such fleeting creatures with eternity. 

However, vampires are creatures born outside the grace of god from the very start, lurking in the shadows of iconoclasm. What difference would it make? 

It’s his night to make dinner, steak with red wine sauce. 

What is the difference between blood and wine to the inattentive eye? The scarlet hues could be easily mixed. All it would take is a sprinkle, drops stirred into the fragrant sauce served over the juicy meat, for you to abandon your humanity. For the ticking of a grandfather clock to stop its hands.

Who wouldn’t want more time? 

A scene from a night now long past resurfaces at the front of Alhaitham’s mind. 

–

“Would you want more time?” Came a question that broke the silence after a moment of passion. 

Your damp skin glistens under the moonlight, your chest rising and falling as the lust slowly blinks away from your eyes. Alhaitham’s hand on your back guides you down from cloud nine. You stared at him inquisitively, teal reflecting back to him as he remains silent. 

Ashen hair tussled and scratches fading away from cooling skin, he awaits your answer, schemes manifesting. 

You let out a hum, signing that you’ll humor his question this time, as your face rests against the pillow comforted by his woodsy scent. 

–

If you had more time, he would have more time. More time to pick your brain. More time to search through the archives of your thoughts to decrypt you. More time to grovel at your feet for forgiveness after he rips the humanity away from your arms. 

Alhaitham is a prideful thing, but he’s not a dense fool. He knows when an apology is necessary, insight gained from his time shared with you. 

Teal eyes glance back behind him towards the living room, where your figure sat quietly, attention distracted by the pair of lovers on screen in the midst of a tense argument. Never once turning behind to glance into the kitchen, not one ounce of suspicion. The scene finishes.

–

“I was born a human.” Your lids opened again, meeting his beryl-like eyes. 

Irises pure like the moonlight reflected in them. He hums in acknowledgment, fingers tracing mindless scripts into your tender back. 

“I will die as one.”

He hums in confirmation. 

–

A riddle he couldn’t quite solve to bypass the sphinx who guards the sanctuary of your mind. Humans are greedy creatures of conquest, always wanting more, always hungry for more. That’s why creatures like him exist and thrive, feeding into the natural greed of humans. 

Every human wants more power, more money, more wisdom. Every human wants more and more and more. Every human, so why can’t you want more? It seems that the breeze who gallivanted into his office, proposing to him with a contract, won’t reveal her secret. 

As it was outlined on the paper signed by two names, he shall honor your wishes for now until the end, such is the character of a husband. 

Alhaitham runs his hand under the kitchen sink, shameless eyes watching as the water turns clear again, and as the skin closes up. A feature only a creature born outside the jurisdiction of god would have. 

He finishes the meal with a few sprinkles of freshly cut herbs, serving the untainted sauce over juicy cuts of steak, one cooked medium and one cooked rare. He calls you over to the dinner table. 

The average human life span has increased drastically in the past centuries, it’s now about eighty years give or take. 

Still a mere fraction of the time held by vampires. 

Eighty years, and yet you could only have a fraction of that. You could only offer him a sliver of a fraction. 

–

“It’s been a while since you’ve fed, aren’t you hungry?” Your eyes peered over at him. 

Alhaitham wipes the washcloth along your back from beside the porcelain tub, steamy water carrying the fragrance of Nilotpala Lotuses. The humidity of the bathroom made the shirt cling to his skin like a wet rag, but the moisture helped with your coughs. 

“I’m satisfied.” Another half-truth, teal eyes scan for any signs of discomfort, he can bare it. 

“Really? I’m sure my blood doesn’t taste like leaves anymore.” You rested your cheek again on the warm washcloth, eyes twinkling under the fluorescent lights as you looked into his. 

The gift by Tighnari sitting untouched in the corner of a cabinet. Perhaps you’ve gotten tired of the bitter herbal taste, or maybe because there wasn’t a point in drinking it anymore.

Alhaitham fought the urge to click his tongue at your brash humor, only you would worry about how you taste during the closing days of a contract. However, his lips couldn’t form a frown when you beamed at him like that.

–

On the path to work, beryl eyes landed upon a bouquet arranged with familiar flowers, the petals dyed by the rich hues of dusk. The florist was busy gathering up the displays to bring them back inside for the night. 

“Excuse me, I’d like to purchase this bouquet.” 

That night at the office, the staffed vampires crinkled their noses at the overwhelmingly floral scent that plagued the floor. Alhaitham just shut his office door, bouquet resting in a hastily prepared vase, such a thing won’t kill a vampire it’s such a minuscule issue. 

“I’m home.” He locks the door after him. 

Keen hearing not picking up the pattering of feet along the hardwood floor. Placing the flowers on the entranceway table along with his dress shoes, the ashen-haired immortal trekked through the halls, silence ringing in his ears. 

Behind the solid bedroom lay his answer, turning the knob, Alhaitham feels tense muscles loosen as the steady melody of breaths resounded through the room. 

You’ve been here since this afternoon, body now imprinted into the plush mattress. Still, your blood still runs and your chest still rises, even if there were faint hints of wheezing it was good enough. Quiet as a shadow, Alhaitham removes his blazer and tie before joining you under the sheets. He’s been craving sleep. 

A timeless body doesn’t need sleep, ageless cells don’t require such downtime to recover. However, claiming that vampires don’t enjoy sleep would be a blatant lie. A calm way to pass the endless time offered by eternity, a nice way to escape boredom. 

Or maybe it’s because sleep gives immortal creatures a taste of an experience they’ll never have. Peaceful expiry. 

Teal eyes observe the ever-present curl of your lips before cool lips are pressed against your plush ones. A habit formed after six years. The flowers were still left at the door, but they’ll survive the night. Alhaitham will show them to you in the morning, and you’ll beam that grin at him in the morning. 

–

Fresh flowers rested in a vase gifted by friends on the nightstand, the last flowers of Spring. The delicate blooms give way to the vibrant greens of Summer. Such a cruel season for vampires, with days so long and nights so short. A cruel season that offered your body no additional warmth. 

Alhaitham’s hand brushes against the apples of your cheeks, your unconscious body protests in an instant with shivers and curls away from the thief stealing what precious heat you had. As if burned by fire, the vampire retracts his hand. 

Right, he can’t be greedy. Teal eyes watch every tremor until his legs finally remembered how to walk. Pacing to the closet Alhaitham pulls the Winter covers out from storage, insulating your body with the thick duvet. 

The layers form a barrier protecting you from icy touches as he smooths out the wrinkles. 

When humans walk into a garden, their eyes are immediately drawn toward the most beautiful blooms. Watching intently at how the petals of the young blossom unravel, their senses enjoying the heavenly fragrance. It’d only be a matter of seconds before their inevitable greed takes over, and they wish to claim the flower as their own. 

In this sense, the gods are no different than the mortals who were crafted in their image. Greedy to pluck the most beautiful blooms from the garden for their mere amusement. 

Is that what went on behind the garden wall those born outside the jurisdiction of god couldn’t peer over? Alhaitham wonders if you’d answer this inquiry of his. However, if he wants answers, he’ll have to ask soon. 

How should he say the last lines of this script?

Alhaitham ponders. There wasn’t a director to give a cue, no parenthetical to follow. Perhaps he’s entertaining such futile thoughts to distract himself.

With each wheeze of your chest, the itch in his palm grew unbearable. His thumb begged to dig its nail into the smooth skin until scarlet droplets trickled out. However, it never got its chance for soon your ailing fingers occupied the space, interlocking to halt its motion as gold rings clinked together. 

“My husband is such a handsome actor.” Breathy voice babbling with a giggle. 

Alhaitham’s cool skin hogged your warmth, trying to permanently sear the temperature into itself. 

“You don’t have to play this role anymore.” You craned your neck away with a deep exhale, exposing the vulnerable skin to him. 

There’s nothing viler to a vampire than stagnant blood. Blood that no longer runs tastes rotten, cold blood is worst than bile. Your blood still ran warm, he could sense it. This time it was his incisors that itched. 

Keen eyes don’t miss the way your nape prickled at the breath that ghosted over it as his lips parted. Your lids gently shut, bracing yourself. The incisors brushed against your exposed jugular, but they couldn’t break through the delicate skin. They wouldn’t. They just wouldn’t. 

Like the cowards they were, they retreated. Alhaitham closes his lips, deciding to press a tender kiss on the spot instead. His free hand guides your head back into a comfortable position on the plush pillow. 

“You don’t have to hold yourself back.” Your eyes were open again. 

“I’m not holding myself back,” he spoke the truth, the whole truth.

You were born with blood, it’s only right that you die with it, Alhaitham concludes. 

The ending clause of that contract be damned. 

“What a silly vampire.” Your bell-like laughter twinkled in his ears. 

Yes, he is. Even after all these centuries, Alhaitham realizes he’s still no better than a fool. A shameless fool. An idiotic hypocrite ready to stray away from the principles he thought he held firm. He’ll accept this verdict, he’ll continue this fool’s errand, if and only if you continue to giggle at his antics.

Outside the window came the dirge of Summer crickets, gentle crips accompanying your fleeting wheezes. Alhaitham shifts the thick comforter up your body, smoothing out the wrinkles as the soft warmth lulls you away. 

Your still fingers in between the spaces of his, your head curled within the space between his nape. 

Under the moon’s pure rays, lay two bodies atop soft sheets, curled towards each other, the fleeting warmth long dissipating. Atop silk sheets, one body envisions the two buried under cold dirt and not clean comforters with hands somehow still locked together. Deep under the garden wall.

Once the cruel sun creeps into the sky, and the night flees into hiding with her stars, Alhaitham will have to make a call. 

He’ll have to speak with the receptionist on the other end, with their bright customer service greeting, and get a legal pronouncement of death. Then soon after that, he’ll have to arrange the transportation of your cold husk. He’ll have to lower you into the ground alone.

However, the morning is still hours away, the moon is still here to lend her quiet sympathies. So tonight, just for tonight humor his little daydream.  

Fin~

©️vivalabunbun DON’T PLAGIARIZE, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS. 

[ghcstao3]

outsider pov, music teachers ghost

they both work for this small little studio that teaches a variety of instruments, though the staff all have their own specialities—ghost, for instance, specializes in piano, flute, and violin. soap, drums, guitar, and piano as well.

everyone is close-knit in the group, and for years colleagues have been witness to ghost and soap’s will-they-won’t-they for years now. it takes quite a bit of time to unfold, but there’s one student in particular that has observed the progression for as long as they’ve been learning piano.

while mostly learning with ghost, there are times that soap has filled in during absences, and there are often times that soap likes to peek his head in when not busy, so this student has become quite familiar with them both.

but being a student, they’re sometimes overlooked when it comes to their conversations, unlike how ghost and soap tiptoe around their colleagues. the student first listens as they discuss going to dinner or to the movies, a tentative step forward into a relationship. then there’s mentions of anniversaries, birthdays, holidays; a shared pet cat, renting a flat together.

and then one lesson, years down the line, after the student has nearly reached the top grade, they notice the ring on ghost’s finger as he teaches a complicated section of their newest piece.

a few months later, talk of wedding invitations and planning. a full year after noticing the ring, two weeks where the student’s lessons are postponed because both ghost and soap are on their honeymoon.

it’s sweet, they think. the gradual falling in love while working at the small music studio, a quiet but profound sort of thing the student has only seen in books and movies.

and of course, when they finally return, the student makes certain to congratulate them.

[pparacxosm]

something borrowed

(dearly beloved part 2: electric boogaloo ! ; tashi duncan x fem!childhood best friend!reader x patrick zweig ((x art donaldson?? a little?)); nonlinear narrative; playing fast and loose with tenses; where do i start; patrick and reader are their own trigger warning; tw pregnancy and childbirth; major major tw for talk of abortion; tw depression and antidepressant talk; cw breeding kink centric smut; more artashi wedding scenes; baby lily !! ; art donaldson #dadding out; grammy donaldson mentioned ! ; tw vomit again i’m so sorry lol; cw more menstrual talk; tw adultery but i mean come on; baby names; lasagna; we all have annie’s reblog to thank ((blame)) for this)

‘ JESUS: Judas—

JUDAS: You forgave Peter and bullshit Thomas—you knocked Paul of Tarsus off a horse—you raised Lazarus from the fuckin’ dead—but me? Me? Your “heart”? . . . What about me??!! What about me, Jesus?! Huh?! You just, you just—I made a mistake! And if that was wrong, then you should have told me! And if a broken heart wasn't sufficient reason to hang, THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE TOLD ME THAT, TOO!

JESUS: Don't you think . . . that if I knew that it would have changed your mind . . . that I would have?

Pause. ’

Stephen Adly Guirgis, ‘The Last Days of Judas Iscariot’

“Is it one of those ugly ones?”

You’re not special; you, too, hate hospitals. Not the least because your parents ralphed up all that cash for med school and you tanked like a castiron anchor. But there’s so much else to feel guilty for. You feel guilty for being alive while people are dying. You feel guilty for wanting to die while people are being born. You feel guilty, and nauseated, by this sickly visceral fume of birth and babyflesh, and the fact that you’re so upset.

You’d marked it on your calendar, is the thing.

March seventh, Doomsday, the purge, the end times.

Tashi Duncan’s Caesarean section.

Timely and clinical, fittingly so. You’d bought a little beanie for the occasion. The beanie is soft and grey and pink. It has a cartoon flower embroidered on the side of it.

But then this is the spawn of Art and Tashi Donaldson. The baby is inherently desperate, and eager, in that order.

It’s February twentyeighth.

It’s probably for the best, you think, while you and Art are on either side of the hospital bed, and he’s grasping Tashi’s hand more tightly than she is holding his, even though she is the one whose innards are being shat out. You don’t believe she could take another scar.

You grimace as she crowns. Art is sobbing and sniffing. He looks at Tashi like he’s getting to watch God populate the world with greenery. It makes your mouth tug sharply to one side, and you close your eyes, briefly, escaping the bright white light.

You watch the papery sheets go redder and redder with every gush from the cavity of her torso.

The baby is not rosy pink so much as she is carmine. Before this, as an idea, she’s existed mostly in black and white. Aminocentesis results on a MacBook screen. The sonogram on their coffee table. The concrete wall of your abject jealousy. The living colour of her, it shocks you more than her glass-shattering screech.

Art holds the baby first, of course, since Tashi is somewhat incapacitated. You soothingly caress her damp hairline.

“What was that like?” you whisper, wincing down at her.

Tashi sheds a few tears and manages a smile that’s part relief and all agony. “Remember…” she croaks, “Remember when Tre fuckin’… like, roundhouse kicked you up the crotch?”

You blink, quirking your brows. Then you snort in surprise, grinning. “Oh my God, yeah,” you giggle. “When Yas and Matteo got that trampoline.”

Tashi nods weakly, her desiccated mouth twitching at the memory, her eyes shivering gently closed.

The baby is tiny against Art’s body, cradled so carefully in his arms. He’s counting all her toes and fingers.

“Hey there,” he murmurs to her, like they’re the only two people on this earth Tashi made. Then he sinks down onto the stool by Tashi’s head, and holds this tiny, beautiful thing out toward her. “Say hi to momma,” he says, his voice soft as gauze.

Tashi reaches out. Her hands are trembling but all of her is trembling; both you and Art tried to get her on the epidural, but fuck if she’s not stubborn. She crooks the tip of her index finger into the fleecy receiving blanket, pulling it down just a little so she can see the baby’s entire pink face.

The baby opens just one bleary eye, only halfway, but it’s enough for her to see you, for you to feel yourself being seen.

Tashi sobs and Art sobs and you wonder, momentarily, if her obstetrician can reach up the cavity of your body, too, and tug out your heart.

So, of course you hate hospitals, and of course you feel guilty. For many reasons. Chief among them being how, the very moment your dear, gutted friend conks out, you’ve stolen to the hall to ring her ex. And he’s asking you, hopeful, if her fucking newborn is one of those ugly ones.

You sigh into the receiver, shaking your head all solemn. You’re sure any passersby think you’re delivering horrific news. “She’s beautiful,” you confess sadly.

“Fuck!” Patrick says forcefully, like he’s just stubbed his toe.

You can hear the hum of the highway on his end of the line, and he’s definitely a bad enough driver that he shouldn’t be calling you right now, because you don’t want to be back here at his bedside when he’s in a fullbody cast after a nearfatal accident—and you would come to visit, actually, if he were in the hospital; maybe that’d just be the guilt again—but this is pretty urgent.

You frown, tucking your hand under your armpit and managing a smile at a passing couple cautiously rolling their precious trolley to the NICU. “They named her Lily.”

Patrick scoffs. “Those fucking assholes.”

“Right?”

You appreciate his company in your deplorable sorrow. There’s a special corner in the firescape for the two of you, but at least it’ll be the two of you.

“That’s a beautiful name for a baby girl,” he says, practically insulted.

You sigh again. “I know,” you pout.

They’d planned the wedding, as they did all other things, a bona fide team. A well oiled unit. Art and Tashi. A&T. Handing off tasks with practiced efficiency, like another one of her hyperintensive drills, wherein he would sooner keel over heaving than drop the ball. The wedding planner was effectively ornamental once they really got into it.

And they really got into it.

Tashi was one of those little girls who stuffed a stream of toilet paper in her ponytail and pictured the vinyl flooring of her home’s warmly lit passage as a ceremonial aisle on the Amalfi Coast at sunset. Here comes the bride, aluminium foil wedding band, ramshackle wildflower bouquet picked from the backyard, et cetera.

Most times, she’d have you play groom.

But you don’t internalise that too much. Because she had you play a lot of things. And sometimes she’d have their senile Mastiff Mutt, Franklin, play groom, too. Really, the most important part was her having you at all.

And, apparently, as a little boy, Art used to page obsessively back and forth through the decrepit scrapbook of his grandparents’ Peoria union, the pictures frayed and hued dandelion. So it’s great that they found each other, and so many dreams were coming true, and everything was fine. Everything was better.

You’d been happy she was happy, really, you had. You hate big endeavours in your name. If she’d married you, you’d have made her elope to Puerto Rico.

And now she was all sprawled three-ring binders, pen behind each ear, Game Face On. And Art was there, talking place settings in full sincerity, so yeah. It’s fine. Better, even.

She let him intercalate all the mawkish, ubercorny bullshit—the Fleetwood Mac, the garter toss, the pictures of his grandmother at the centrepiece of every table. Because they were a team and it was his wedding as much as hers. And you’d told her, too. You’d told her that she’s going to have a mawkish, ubercorny bullshit wedding to a mawkish, ubercorny bullshit guy. But she’d waved you off with a dismissively sentimental smile. I just want to marry him, she’d told you, which had felt like a million and one serrated spurns all over.

A getaway car, really? you’d deadpanned. Then, leaning closer to her phonescreen, eyes narrowing at their shared twodozenpage Pinterest board, incredulous and disgusted, Are the cans really necessary?

Apparently so.

You were standing at the foreshore, toes all grainy, shoes in hand, pistachiorose and Patrick Zweig on your tongue, your ass still seadamp. Art and Tashi pulled up in front of you, cans rattling, like a justmarried Lyft order.

When you climbed into the backseat, they were in the middle of sharing in dulcet laughter over something or the other. Something that did not concern you. Which was fine, and better, and the flower arrangements were spectacular. And, anyway, you’re busy trying not to get sand on this vintage carpet.

“Shouldn’t you two be honeymooning?”

Art looked back at you, his arm outstretched, wrist resting on the bend of the wheel. He gave you this smile you couldn’t discern, which most of his smiles were, and are. He blew a raspberry from his rubicund mouth and tsked.

“What, without you?” he scoffed, wry but playful, and you realised that, though he teased, and wanted you to know as much, his goodnature was sincere.

And your fingers twitched to wrap his seatbelt—because he was wearing the seatbelt—around his rosy throat five or six or seven times and tug hard.

Tashi threw her head back and laughed into the humidity of the night, of their wedding night.

Tashi squirmed in the leather passengerseat of the ivorycoloured 1960 Ford Thunderbird convertible.

You were leaning over in between them from the back, straddling the armrest. And she watched Art turn his head and kiss you. His hand looked huge on the messy, delicate bone of your jaw. It felt cool and clammy, you remember. Tashi sucked in a breath. You two broke apart after a moment, laughing, your palm coming down on his forearm like he’d just made a joke.

“That,” you said, making a puerile face as he absently brushed a thumb over your cheek, “Was too far.”

Your eyes were still shining with tears.

Art nodded, grinning, slipping his hand from your face and running it through his sweaty shoresand hair. “Anything for you, baby, but maybe not that.”

Tashi was flushed and florid and tamping her thighs tighter together and she wanted you both to put your hands on her.

Her arm slunk across the centre console to press her palm into his chest. And she ran her nails along the tender skin of your inner arm. And Art looked back at you like he was asking for permission, which was the first time in a long time he’d done that. And probably the last time since. And you don’t know why you nodded, but you did.

He gave you another strange, cursory kiss on the corner of your mouth, then leaned across the centre console and nipped at Tashi’s earlobe. The whetted burst of pain sent a visible shiver through her bones. She bit her lip and sighed.

“Mrs Donaldson,” he’d murmured, all husky and low. His white buttonup was all sweatrumpled and unfurled. He looked handsome and disheveled like a fallen angel or those illustrations on the covers of erotic paperbacks.

You swallowed, overwhelmed by it all.

You pressed the seam of your lips to the skin where her neck met her shoulder and her lithe fingers encircled your wrist and guided it between her legs.

You and Art are friends—good friends, by now—but sometimes you feel more like business partners. Cofounders of Keeping Tashi Duncan Happy and Okay Inc.

So, when he cannot stomach all the vomit—so, so much fucking vomit—for all his earnest, anguished, tearful trying, he calls you. Because he and his hairtrigger loins can’t help her right now.

And you don’t tease, or berate, or say it should’ve been you.

And he doesn’t protest, or control freak, or remind you it wasn’t you, it was him.

He dips out to stock up on crackers and barley sugar sweets, and you stay with Tashi and stand sentry on emesis duty.

You hadn’t known that any one thing was capable of maiming her this way. Tashi Duncan, your impenetrable infanta. Fast to get up, faster, still, to dry her tears. But this baby is wringing her bone dry. She’s feeble, swollen, and practically debilitated.

You feel her spine shift as she shakes and heaves into the toilet. You hate her like this. At mercy to her bones.

You can’t help the archaic scorn. None of this, none of any of it, would’ve happened, had it been you. But it wasn’t.

You cradle Tashi’s feverish head in the bend of your knee. You thread your knuckles through her sweaty curls. You rub your fingers into her collar, tracing her bones where they have been swallowed by her plummy sallow skin. In college, you used to give each other lymphatic drainage massages.

You’re on Virginia Key Beach with T and her brothers, at the edge of the ocean. You’re, like, fourteen. Tevin’s mouth is a comically fluorescent shade of blue as he topes down a Slurpee. Tre hops over waves. Tre keeps saying the sharks will get you, they’ll smell it, blood in the water, blood in the water and Tevin keeps holding the Slurpee so high that the ultramarine of it obstructs the sun. And Tashi is yelling I’m not even on my fucking period! even though she is red and wet between her thighs, and give it to me, Tev, it’s mine, you took mine! as she reaches and reaches and reaches, unable to grasp what she wants.

There are some women unmoved by such trivialities as their own blood. Eightinch stilettos, eight months in. People will assume Tashi Duncan, pulchritude and powerhouse, to be one of these women.

But you’ll know better.

She’s so good at the tennis, ultimately, because she listens to her blood. She lets it move her. Lets it give her power. She is a mesmerising glass carafe of red.

But when it spills, it pours. When she breaks, she shatters.

Art Donaldson’s child writhes inside her, swills her blood. And you watch.

Patrick takes you home from the hospital. You were planning on sinking into the void of your couch while forking miserably into a whole tray of lasagna by yourself, but you feel bad. You feel guilty and lonely. So you invite him in.

You thunk your stoneware roaster on the granite of your peninsular countertop. He’s sat on a barstool and you’re standing across from him, and he wastes no time tucking in. You nudge at the broiled cheese with your fork.

You’re crying, which he doesn’t mind, but it’s a little distracting while he’s trying to eat, is all. He peers up at you, circumspect, as he chews.

You roll your eyes at him. “Please don’t make me cry alone,” you tell him.

He chews, swallows, licks some pasta from his gums. He rests the fork against the edge of the tray and dusts his hands off.

“I don’t cry,” he says, shrugging like it’s out of his hands. The corner of his mouth quirks up as you fix him with a sullen glare.

“I’ve seen you cry,” you say pointedly, dropping your own silverware.

He shrugs again. “Yeah,” he says, “One time. That was the only time I’ve ever cried. Ever.”

He has this way of saying things like he absolutely means them. This hamfisted sincerity, serrated deadpan. And, when you’re emotional like this, all husked and raw, it’s unfortunately an extremely effective way to make you laugh. His eyes gleam with victory as you duck your head and giggle wetly.

“You feel special?” he smirks.

You roll your eyes again, tears still trickling pools into the tender shadowed skin beneath your eyes. “I feel especially depressed,” you reply thickly.

He flits his eyes back and forth between the both of yours a few times. You’re reminded of the abject tedious torture of sitting through one of Art’s tennis games. “Are you really? Or are you just moping?” he asks you.

You reach into your pocket and pull out your little Effexor prescription vial, rattling it twice, and tossing it his way. It’s a sloppy underhand, but he catches it easily.

“Huh,” he muses, turning it between his fingertips. “That’s why you look so different? I thought you were just putting on sympathy weight.”

Your lips wobble, and your eyes burn and blur again, your throat swelling shut like fucking anaphylactic excoriation, and you catch your face with your hands and cry.

“Don’t be mean right now,” you blubber.

Patrick blinks, sobering with a smart, the humour seeping off his face and replacing itself with an almost comically disturbed frown.

“Okay, okay,” he says, his voice light with a culpable urgency reserved for a triggered, irate straitjacket patient. He reaches over the lasagna, the savoury brume warming his forearms, and he takes your wrists and peels your fingers from your eyes. “Hey, I’m sorry.”

You hiccup breathlessly. Your tears slithering down your cheeks in rills.

“I’m sorry,” says Patrick. He presses his thumbs into your pulsepoints, like he can quash your distress through your radial arteries. “You look hot, okay? Really, you do.”

For his part, he seems genuinely contrite, and utterly concerned, and he probably means it. He is rarely insincere, even when his tongue is in his cheek. But your sulky inner voice says he’s bargaining. How about I quit being an ass and you stop with the ugly crying and I can finish this pasta and hotfoot it out of here? But this is your house. And your pasta. And you think you should get to mourn his exgirlfriend’s womb, if you so choose.

You sob harder, shoulders quavering. His brows raise in quiet alarm when you wrest your arms from his fingers.

You snuffle and swallow. “Please stop,” you moan sadly.

Somewhere between the cake cutting—which walked that revolting, quintessentially Art and Tashi line between sweet and sexy; she daubed some frosting on his nose, he licked it off her finger—and your purloining of a slice or two for your and Patrick’s beachside bitchsesh, the speakers are thumping with ‘I Wanna Be Your Lover’.

Everyone is wasted.

You don’t even mean to, but one of Art’s cousins, who is clearly eking out his fraternity days that have long since started mouldering, keeps ordering you shots from the open bar. And you keep downing them, one after the other. He’s wearing a practically lurid red polo that really errs on the ‘optional’ side of Black Tie Optional, but he has a really charming smile, the light glistering off the white of his teeth as you dance.

And—fuck it—he’s hot. And he’s looking at you like he wants to kiss you in the middle of this dance floor, grinding against you like you’re teenagers at a CYO dance.

The lights are scintillating technicolour and the music is so loud you can feel it in your rib cage and it doesn’t take long for the room to start spinning like the world’s trippiest ferris wheel.

Cody—or Connor, maybe—goes to the bathroom to piss, and you track down the newlyweds on the other side of the room. Tashi’s beautiful eyes, already aglow, light up even more when she sees you.

“Hi, baby!” She kind of has to yell over the music. God, it’s been a while since you’ve seen her let loose like this. Either of them, really. They’re having a great fucking time. The Happy Couple. It makes you feel sick. “You good?”

“I’m fucked up,” you smile blearily, because all of a sudden the room’s spinning has increased in velocity.

You fight the urge to grab for her hand for some fleeting sense of stability. Because, if you do, you’ll tackle her to the ground and kiss her until someone hauls you off.

And her husband’s right there.

“Me too,” says said husband. He is flushed in the face, grinning elatedly, his eyes drunkenly disfocused, Tashi’s glossy, nudepink lip-print on his cheek.

Tashi, as ever, seems appreciably more put-together than Art looks and you feel. All silken and nitid. Art’s holding her with the desperate adoration of someone who knows, in the far far end of his bevvied mind, what you’re thinking right now. You narrow your eyes at him. Then,

“Do you wanna dance?” you ask on a whim.

“Sure,” Art shrugs, a sloppy smile curving on his lips. And by now Tashi’s turned to exchange polite smalltalk with some or other extended family member, so he impishly adds, “Let me ask the missus.”

He and Tashi have a short conversation that you can’t quite hear, and then she’s pulling you in by the wrist to whisper in your ear,

“Don’t let him drink anymore, okay?”

She pecks a kiss onto your cheek before you have time to question this rule, but you know her well enough to know she’s also surreptitiously telling you to slow down. You spitefully nab another shot on your and Art’s way to the dance floor.

Art’s a good dancer. You would certainly not have pegged him as one, if asked. But when he’s twisting and moving his feet and putting his hands on your waist in a halfway facetious impression of a slow dance, you realise it’s true.

“Congratulations, by the way,” you shout when you get close enough to his ear. “Happy for you.”

He winces at your volume, raising his fingers to his ear and laughing and looking at you and shaking his head. “No you’re not.”

Patrick watches you sob for a few more moments before smacking his hand against the counter.

“Let’s make one,” he says, declaratively.

You snivel and sweep some tears away, looking up at him. “What?”

“Let’s make one,” he repeats, more urgently now, “If we make one right now, it’ll show up before the end of the year, and we can still weaponise it. Come on.”

He’s sliding off the stool and reaching across the counter to grab your hand and tow you out of the kitchen.

“Patrick,” you whine in demurral, stumbling after him.

But he pulls you along even harder, making a decisive path toward the hallway. “Come on!” he insists, “I’m serious.”

“You’re broke.”

Which is true. He’s been snipped off from the trust fund, which you’d thought was purely the stuff of Murdochian nightmares. But he whipped out his Chase Mobile app and showed you the negative balance to prove it. He’d rather bum it out than suit up and schmooze. So he’s not spoiled for funds right now, nor is he spoiled for wins, and you aren’t equipped with great confidence in a potential future as his baby mama.

“They’re pissed, they’re not cruel,” he tells you, effectively shoving you into your room and kicking off his shoes. “I’ll be back on the payroll with a kid on the docket, I promise. My mom would love it, actually. My sister just had a hysterectomy, this’ll be like a family miracle. You’ll have the child support of a Kardashian.”

He grabs your head and kisses you sloppily—he tastes like tomatoes—clumsily walking you back into the bed.

You think he’s too old to be fingering you the way he is. Rubbing your clit all clumsy, like a faulty button on an old remote. You’re a little sticky, but not enough for what he plans to do here. He sighs and leans back.

“This isn’t working,” he says, all pensive, sitting back on his heels. It’s a little difficult, though, to take him seriously, when his cock is on the front end of halfmast and still rising.

When Tashi first started seeing him, you remember her barrelling into your room all stiff and saucereyed and clamorous. As though a particularly warhankering pigeon had just been elected president, or an alien society had been discovered in the thick of the Amazon. But no. She held your shoulders and shook them wildly and yelled, I’m telling you, it’s fucking huge!

She made a point to you that she’d never be caught dead gushing about his dick to his face. She said it was important to humble him.

So you want to maintain that tradition.

And, anyway, it’s a big dick, not the cure to cancer. You don’t even know what he needs it all for. It’s probably all he has left. You can’t imagine it even gets him very far.

People have frontiers. Parameters. Limits. To their patience, to their bodies. Patrick used to kill the sprinting drills, back in school. He likes going end to end, reaching those limits. But once you start pissing someone off and/or ramming into their cervix, everything else is probably a nonstarter.

You sit up, drawing your knees to your chest. “Uh, yeah. It isn’t.”

“Well, is there something I can do? Should I act like her? Will that get you going?” He asks, but he doesn’t wait for your answer. He huffs and crosses his arms and imitates Tashi’s angry moue.

And his dick is still hard, harder now, so you splutter into laughter. You laugh really, really hard. Then he guides your legs back open and swipes his fingers between them again.

And he grins and says, “Bingo.”

You got really into Pilates for about a month or two mid last year. You’re starting to think you should have kept at it. Your knees are hooked over his shoulders, the undersides of your thighs pressed to his chest. Your hips ache, but it feels, regrettably, really fucking great otherwise.

It’s eminently uncomfortable, sure. For your part, it hasn’t really occurred to you to let a man fuck you raw. Your lingering childishness still recoils a bit at the very idea. And it feels strange, that gauche drag of skin on skin. You’d need to be really wet for this to be working, and that hilarious necessity makes you wetter in response, and then he’s slipping in and out and fucking you raw and he doesn’t even seem to be trying too hard.

He’s a little relieved. You’re letting this happen and taking it like a champ and your pussy’s deep enough to give him room to work.

So he does. Because he knows how. He knows how to work things from here.

He’s had more sex than you’ve attended pilates classes.

The thought of you, splayed and tensile across a reformer, gets him pretty hot. Very hot, actually, and he can tell because the surface of his skin is bloomed pink, and your fingers blench away from his shoulders like he’s caught aflame.

He knows by now how tremendously warm he runs in these moments. He usually asks about a girl’s AC before things get going.

Should he say that aloud, or will it piss you off?

You probably see your appending to the convoluted list of unfortunate holes to sheathe the great penis of Patrick Zweig as a little beneath you.

This is his chance to remind you that Tashi Duncan doesn’t go back on her word for just any heavy pair of balls.

He angles your hips to get deeper, experimenting with ways to evoke a reaction. He’s working you like you’re paying him.

You’re trying really hard not to say anything too nice about his dick. But he’s plunging hard and fast into you, rolling his hips with all the dexterity of fucking Magic Mike, and—well—you wouldn’t be able to, even if you wanted.

The words you’re saying are not in the dictionary. You’re sweating, panting, tugging a little mercilessly at his hair. Patrick bends your legs and hoists your pelvis. He can’t keep a trainer right now, but some adrenalinefueled strength is allowing him to support your body like it’s nothing. He wasn’t bluffing about you looking hot. He’s groping you all over with the ferocious depravity of a necrophile.

There’s some real blasphemous perversion slipping off his tongue. Ersatz porno shit that should be giving you early onset morning sickness, but he’s going all Daniel Day Lewis with it, and you’re kind of buying it.

Fucking come-slut… fuckin’— fuck… gonna breed you… gonna put a baby in you.

You’re audibly wet. The air around you grows practically mephitic. You’re losing your fucking mind. If this shit falls flat, and he can’t get you pregnant tonight, and you dump and block him and never want to speak to him again, he at least hopes you remember this for a long time.

And—you know what—fuck it if that wasn’t memorable enough, he thinks, feeling his cock twitch as he slooshes molten litres into you. Because he’s pulling out, flipping you over, and hiking up your hips. Maybe this’ll be.

He fucks you, he comes in you. A lot. He needs a second to replenish.

You steal to the kitchen. Your inner thighs are chafed and viscid. You cover the lasagna dish and cache it away, and take a second to scoff at some vapidly controversial Twitter thread. You yelp when you feel his arms around you again, lifting you off the tile and carrying you back to the bedroom.

Patrick’s never really thought too hard about his come. It’s an ancillary deluge. A mess to clean most often. Maybe he’s considered meliorating his diet when someone’s gleaned a taste and gagged.

But right now it’s serving a purpose. And he is, among other things, relieved for that, too. He’s not gonna sit around and mourn this while it happens and ask you if you’d really have his child. He’d rather look you in your beautiful, milky pussy than a gift horse in the mouth.

He refuses to waste a drop of himself. He makes sure to coat your insides with it.

He lies sheathed inside you for many minutes after he comes, gripping your hips harshly to him, groaning like this were the real orgasm.

Afterwards, he holds your knees to his chest and lifts your ass and presses his palm to your cunt as if sealing an entrance, making sure nothing escapes. He’s trying to give his guys a fighting chance.

You were, at first—as in, after two or three rounds—a little amused by this stupid, elaborate routine. Something out of an old maid’s pastel mommy blog. You were amused, and frankly weirded out, by what seemed like a laughable lack of dignity on his part.

Now—now you’re feeling aroused by it. Because being aroused disrupts the dumb ritual and kind of annoys him.

When he is holding your knees up and your cunt twitches, he rolls his eyes.

“You already got off,” he chuckles, shaking his head. He sounds a bit spent, too. He’s usually flaked out by now, in his actual customary postcome routine. “Just stay still for a second.”

The fact that he doesn’t want you to come makes you almost desperately want to. He holds his palm over your cunt but he offers no friction.

The simple touch is enough, though. You can find your own internal rhythm.

Your head falls back against the pillow.

“Oh fuck.”

And maybe you’re being particularly loud and lewd in this moment, while he’s trying to be serious, and get something done. Because you’re still doing this longcon in calling his bluff. You don’t think he knows what he wants.

You don’t want to believe that you two are really so bitter as to start a life out of spleen.

You still don’t know if he knows whether or not he actually likes you.

“What the fuck?” he laughs, “I said don’t.” He squeezes your cunt like he wants to tear flesh from bone, trying to render you still again.

But it only makes you moan louder.

“Oh, fuck, that’s so good,” you mewl indecently, smirking a bit, because you’re joking, but you also sort of mean it, “It feels so good having your come inside me, I can already feel your little fuckass kid crawling around in there. He’ll grow up loving bagels, I just know it.”

These taunts are supposed to disgust him or hurt his feelings or simply turn him off, and Patrick does sort of look like wants to throttle you. Because he’s tired and a little grumpy and he knows you’re not letting him stay the night. But a part of him has always found you funny. So he just ends up getting hard again. Your crude, glib moaning brings him to such a pitch of want that he yanks you into his lap and fucks you roughly, gripping your jaw.

And you grin as he brings your head close. You feel it’s some kind of victory.

Even though you’re just prolonging this dumb, bitter, unfulfilling farce. Making sure there’s more of him inside you.

You two should not be parents.

By the eighth or ninth round, he starts getting conversational.

“I was one of those babies that never shut up,” he tells you, fucking up into you in cowgirl. He grunts and makes a thoughtful face. “Colic? Is that what it’s called? Yeah, I think I was a colicky baby.”

You make a face down at him. “I thought you said you’ve never cried,” you pant, rocking your hips back and forth.

He rolls his eyes again.

“Yeah, obviously I was lying. I cry all the fucking time.”

You consider this, your hips stilling, your palms resting against his hairy hotplate chest.

“Over what?” you ask, “Tashi?”

He blinks, scowling a bit, like he thinks you’re making fun. Then his grips your hips and starts to move you on his dick again. He doesn’t answer. Your pussy feels warm and raw.

Geez, how long have you two been at this?

He asks, absently, about baby names.

“I thought every girl had, like, a whole fucking list of them,” he says, pushing his semen back into your used cunt with his long fingers.

You don’t entertain that presumptuous conversation, but you don’t underestimate his commitment, either.

He’s back the next day, and the next, like clocking into a shift. He brings supplies. Sliced pineapple, fresh honey, ground cinnamon, cough syrup, two boxes of ClearBlue.

“I read acupuncture helps too,” he says.

“Absolutely not,” you say, but you let him feed you baby aspirin while you ride him in reverse on your couch watching Selling Sunset.

He feigns disinterest, but keeps tilting to look past your shoulder whenever the arguments start riling up.

“Ugh, Nicole’s a bitch,” he mutters.

Then he grunts and comes inside you, grasping your hips to sink you down and hold you still.

Her name, for the better or worse part of the first and second trimesters, was actually Stella.

Art’s grandma used to love that Philip Sidney poem, and Pam’s favourite film is Streetcar. It’s just that Tashi got sick of the name, and all other things, at a stage. So it didn’t stick.

They were oscillating between Lily and Rooney towards the end, and only made the final call when they saw her.

But, for a while there, she was Stella.

Stella’s craving peanuts, Stella’s the size of a rutabaga, Stella’s a kicker. And, boy, was she.

She’d ram her foetal feet into Tashi’s ribs over and over like she was on a treadmill. Which Tashi was starting to think of as karmic consequence for all the times she’d have Art doing cardio until he fainted.

You crouch down between her knees, resting your head against the amorphous motion of her distended stomach.

“Hey hey, Stella girl,” you whisper, “You wanna stop giving your mom a hard time?”

Tashi chokes out a wounded laugh from above you.

“That’s how Art talks to her.”

“Ugh, don’t ruin it,” you frown, moving to stand up.

But she sticks her leg out to halt you, grabbing your hand and tugging you back down, shifting her hips and spreading her thighs further apart.

You never could resist her sweet face when it was all crumpled up in asking. Because she got all soft and wet, like a flower caught in a gale.

She looks even softer now, over the horizon of her bloated body.

You gently tug her cotton shorts down and put your mouth on her and Stella stills.

“One more,” you say anxiously, eyebrows knitted in concern as Patrick sighs and unboxes a another pregnancy test—the fifth one—and you quaff down another glass of water to get your bladder teeming, because no way.

No way, right?

You’ve been taking him raw at all angles, and swigging shots of cough syrup, and weaning off the antidepressants, but no way.

“I don’t know what you thought was gonna happen,” he calls from beyond the bathroom door as you’re pissing on stick number six.

It’s just that you don’t feel anything.

You think you should be feeling more.

You think of Tashi, writhing and groaning like a bullet victim, miserably clutching her turgid body. You think of newborn Lily, her cottonsoft, tiny eye peeling open and seeing you. Deep steeped coffee, gleaming in the sterile light. Tashi’s eye. Tashi’s hair. Tashi’s baby. That tender absorption, that vivid creation.

If this kid is taking nothing from you, it’s gonna come out all Patrick. And—just—you don’t have the bandwidth to contend with such a prospect right now.

He drives you to the clinic every time. Every single time. One night, you rouse sharply from a morbid dream punctuated by the squall of wailing children. You call him. It’s 2 AM. He answers, and comes over, and drives you to the clinic, and tries not to nod off as you’re filling out the medical paperwork for the dozenth time. He also tries not to express any overt reaction to you changing your mind again.

Is it a kindness, to tease a man with the brutal decimation of his unborn progeny? No, of course not. His mum’s already preemptively enrolled the thing into a fancy German daycare.

But you hate that he’s given you an ultimatum and put it inside you. That’s the worst place, in relation to you, for an ultimatum to be.

If you tell Tashi, either he’s in, or you’re out. And those aren’t really odds you’re keen on rolling.

There are all sorts of ways to be a shitty friend. You opt for evasive gambits via claims of hectic work schedules and immovable errands. Any retching you do is that of guilt. You’re loathe to lie to her, to house this wretched zygote, to stay away. But she used to be able to tell when you’d changed your shampoo. She’d sniff him on you, in you, in a second. She’d just know. And she shouldn’t. She can’t. And if you could just unearth this presentient betrayal and toss it in a petri dish, she doesn’t have to.

You don’t know what matters more.

He drives you to the clinic. Teary teenaged girls, redcapped pickets out front. The receptionist knows you two by name by now.

Patrick slumps beside you. He’s still slogging through the first chapter of Last Child in the Woods. He’s pretty sure he’s never sat and read an actual, physical book to completion before in his life. But he’s too easily abstracted for Audible. So he’s working on it.

You’re groaning frustratedly and thunking the clipboard repeatedly against your skull. He absently slips a hand over your forehead, shielding the next few collisions before you huff and drop the board and turn to face him. He looks at you askance.

“You can change your mind,” he shrugs. Again, he generously omits.

You scoff at him, incredulous and a little irked. “I’m not gonna change my mind,” you grumble.

He shrugs again. “Okay.”

He knows what it’s like to have a mother in sackcloth and ashes. To be less of a son than a sentient thing of regret with little arms and legs. To not know what to do with that, or yourself. He wouldn’t do that to a kid.

You watch him thumb through Richard Louv for a few more moments.

Then, “You’re probably sick of me, aren’t you?”

He smiles a bit before schooling it stoic, slowly lowering the book and fixing you with this wry but incongruously tender look. “Of course I am,” he tells you.

“Get mad at me, then.”

He smiles again.

He knows what that’s like, too. Dad mad at mom. Stilted five course dinner. Dad telling him and Saskia what a goddamn headache mom is on the drive to school. Of course he’s sick of you, he’s always sick of you. But he likes you. And his head feels fine.

He turns back to the book, shrugging.

“Can’t,” he says simply.

You feel for baby Lily. She’ll never be able to get away with anything.

It’s Art who sniffs it on you, in you.

Tashi’s asleep upstairs when, after a fortnight and a bit, you rally up the guts to come over. Art opens the door and looks surprised for mere moments, and there is perhaps a flicker of concern, but then he smiles. And there’s only very mild ire there. The rest is fatigue and goodnature.

“Hello, stranger,” he smirks, turning to filch a set of keys from the marble catchall in the foyer. He is wheeling Lily out in the thirteenhundred dollar stroller he had lost six nights of sleep picking out. “You coming?”

So now you’re on a walk.

Lily lays on her soft belly in the stroller. The walls around her are a breathable mesh, and she fights to hoist her head and gawp at passing trees. This is, apparently, the only way she’ll do tummy time.

“And the only time she gets any sleep,” Art adds, jutting a finger over his shoulder in the general direction of their home down the street.

Lily’s wearing a ruffly lavender romper. Her skin is a healthy shade of linen and her hair is dark. Her fists have tiny moony fingernails that—when you comment how, Her nails are long. Like, sharp—Art explains how he keeps trying to cut them with a pair of tiny silver scissors. But they make Tashi nervous, their sharpness and its proximity to Lily’s fleshy hands.

“She said she wants her to get a grip on the world,” Art chuckles.

You snort, and you have to skip a bit to keep up with his brisk strides. “Oh, that’s definitely what she said,” you confirm.

Lily tosses and turns a bit in the strollerbed. She gurgles an impressive spit bubble, by Art’s standards. Most things she does are probably impressive to him, quite frankly. He tells you how, the other morning, she had thrown up breakfast onto his shoulder with such verve and accuracy that they’re already talking tennis lessons.

“Oh God,” you grimace. Not at the story, but at the memory of his nauseous pallor in the throes of Tashi’s own gravid sickness. “How’s that been for you?”

Art flashes a selfdeprecating simper. “I’m managing.”

When she casts her little coral taglet security blanket curbside, Lily scrunches up her face, grasping, gearing up for the Big Scream. Art sighs and says, “No, please?” as he stops to pick it up and give it back to her, and his arm, when he sticks it in, blooms with little ruddy strings as she claws at him.

He looks more than a little surprised she isn’t crying.

Apparently, in that meantime, you had jutted your fingers into the cot and offered her a pinky as a peace offering. Versailles-style, like you’ll be punished later.

But he seems content with how she’s chewing you and figures you guys can stop here, for a bit, beneath these treemottled springtime sunbeams. In the garden of the home in front of which you’re standing, huge orange bougainvillea loll their petaltongues in the breeze.

“I just…” Art flounders for his words, then scoffs a not unkind, but vaguely embittered, sort of laugh, shutting his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why him?”

You groan. “Don’t ask.”

“How is he?”

“He’s—” you waver, then shake your head, before finishing, “Ugh.”

“Patrick’s ‘ugh’? Patrick? Wow. Should we call all the outlets? I mean, that’s never happened before. Patrick. Ugh. You’re blowing my mind.”

You snort, and Lily laughs, and Art informs you that that is a very hard reaction to glean. And he rubs his temples, because all the wails sort of tremor at that same migrainous pitch. No matter if they’re amused or rabidly apoplectic. But you can enjoy it, the laughter.

“Can you just tell her for me?” you frown helplessly up at him.

That flicker in his tired eyes that wants to agree is purely paternal, but he sighs and shakes his head. “You know I can’t.”

He’s genuinely sympathetic.

“She’ll forgive you,” he tells you. You roll your eyes and hang your head, kicking piteously at the wheel of the stroller. He intercepts your foot with his, lightly shoving it away before bending to search for your gaze. “Hey,” he says, “She really will.”

You huff. “She’s never had to.”

You instinctively press your fingers into your womb, through your shirt. You feel the strange sensation of something starting to swell beneath the flesh.

“You’ll be a good mom,” says Art.

It’s a small relief, for you, to feel your face screw into its shut-the-fuck-up-Art expression. It’s something you know how to feel, a well trodden path. Maybe, once they drop you like a bad habit, he’ll still send you those furtive pictures he likes to take of Tashi sleeping. And you and Patrick can dualmasturbate to them, pretending your swollen belly isn’t in the way.

What you like about them, all three of them, is that they have all always loved you so simply. Tashi is severe, and Patrick is flippant, and Art is occasionally insincere. But they each care about you, to varying degrees, in their own ways. And they do so without reservation, even when you’ve been an ass.

You think that’s how you’re supposed to love your child.

You should probably figure out how he does it in the next five to ten seconds.

You ask, “What makes you say that?”

And his eyes flick down to where Lily is still gumming your knuckle like a dog with a bone, then back up to you, and he gives you one of those smiles. Your face screws. Shut the fuck up Art. Then, he tells you, “You love harder than you give yourself credit for.”

Lily gags around your pinky.

[wildflowerluver]

petals of a flower

emily prentiss x fem!reader

5 times the team suspects emily has a girlfriend and the 1 time it gets confirmed

cw: fem!reader, she/her pronouns, reader is referred to as girlfriend, homophobia, case details involving homosexual couples, slight injuries

wc: 3.4k

༺♡༻

emily prentiss is a mystery when she first joins the team.

garcia digs up the standard: parents, place of birth, etc. but the team doesn’t really know her.

they learn a lot about her as she settles into her position over the months. her high school emo phase had been a highlight. 

but there was one part of emily’s life the team still didn’t know about. 

her sexuality.

it’s not that emily’s ashamed, not in the slightest. she’s just nervous about the response. the bau team is her family and she doesn’t want to lose that. 

any girls night or dinner with the team where partners get brought up, emily does everything in her power to change the topic. she’s simply not ready. she’s not ready to tell them about you. 

you’re emily’s favorite person. the best girlfriend she could ask for. 

she just isn’t ready for her two worlds to collide.

1. flowers

a bouquet of flowers sits on emily’s desk when the agent arrives for work. they’re white lilies, wrapped delicately in brown paper and secured with a thin piece of string. a card is tucked in the top.

“uh oh,” derek muses from his own space. “someone has a secret admirer!”

not secret to her. they’re the ones who don’t know about the sender.

emily stands in front of the bouquet, hiding the card under a folder on her desk. if anyone saw the note, they would demand for her to read it outloud. 

“you know white lilies in particular are a popular funeral flower,” spencer jumps in with a fact.

“come on, pretty boy. it’s a romantic gesture. no need to drag down the mood.”

“actually morgan they’re used in weddings too. mainly christian ones but still they’re-”

“reid!”

the sound of derek and spencer’s arguing is drowned out as emily brought the flowers up to her nose. 

soft and sweet. 

she didn’t even need to read the card to know who they were from. 

you had first pointed out white lilies when on your first date with emily. 

it was when you were walking downtown after dinner. vendors had set up outside in the shopping district including one of the floral shops.

emily had stopped you in front of the bins of flowers. “which ones are your favorite?”

you didn’t have to think for very long. “white lilies,” you answered honestly. “they represent rebirth and purity.”

she hummed a noise of content beside you.

you reached into your bag to pull out your wallet, quickly grabbing the right amount of cash and handing it to the florist who sat outside. 

“to new beginnings,” you beamed, offering the pre-wrapped flowers to emily. her cheeks turned a rosy pink, a stark contrast to the white petals. 

she kissed you for the first time that night. 

ever since then, white lilies have become your mutual flower. 

“any idea who they’re from?”

that’s j.j. who asks after walking over to her with a stack of papers. 

“no idea.”

emily hides her smile in the petals. 

2. minimal loss

there’s a small group waiting in the quantico parking lot.

it’s late. the lights only illuminate a small section of the space. 

you’ve never picked up emily from work after cases. you hadn’t even been near quantico before today. but, this case was different.

emily let you know in advance she was going undercover. it wasn’t supposed to be for long, just enough time for her and her coworker reid to investigate an underground cult in colorado. 

it was hard to avoid the details of the case when every news station in the country was reporting on it.

you were cleaning around your apartment and had the news on as background, mostly to just hear the weather report. it had switched to live footage from colorado. your stomach dropped when you remembered that’s where emily was. 

“this is a special report from la plata county, colorado.

we're reminded of jim mckay's words from munich– our greatest hopes and our worst fears are seldom realized.

let's hope it's not the latter as we wait to hear the fate of the women, children, and f.b.i.agents inside the building.”

an explosion.

you covered your mouth, stomach churning at the site. emily was inside. oh my god, emily.

you sent a long string of texts; hoping, begging, praying that she was alive. 

when your fun buzzes hours later, you race to see what the message is. it’s from emily. she was okay, a little shaken up but okay. 

tears well in your eyes. you knew her job was dangerous but this was the closest you had ever gotten to losing her. you offered to pick her up when she landed and she agreed without hesitation. 

there were a few other cars in the lot when you arrived.

they had parked relatively close to each other. you stayed a ways away. you didn’t know these people and without talking to emily, you didn’t want to introduce yourself. 

they looked familiar but you didn’t quite recognize them. there was a blonde woman and a young boy, another blonde woman with bright accessories, and then a man. who on emily’s team had a kid?

you sat on top of the hood of your car, picking at the skin around your nails as you waited. 

it didn’t take long, nor was it difficult to spot the team when they arrived; two black suv’s pulled in one after the other. 

you slid down the hood to stand up straight. you need to see her, make sure she was okay.

the team offloaded at once, each member getting out of the vehicle and distributing their luggage. 

all eyes went to emily as she stumbled out of the car and hastily grabbed her bags. she had gotten hurt on this case, it was no secret everyone wanted to check up on her. she didn’t say anything before she headed in the direction of the car that was parked slightly away from the rest.

they couldn’t exactly make out the features of the person standing beside it but the way emily walked told them they were someone important. 

you surged towards her when she was close enough, taking her face in your hands.

“oh em,” you breathed out, voice wavering with tears.

“i’m okay,” she promised, thumb wiping away the tears that fell.

emily pulled you into her, hand cradling your head as you cried. she knew this was a lot more scary for you than it was for her. 

though the team had dispersed to greet their respected family members, no one failed to see the scene unfolding in the distance.

you hugged each other like you would never be able to again. 

they all knew that emotion like that wasn’t platonic. 

3. ring

a long weekend typically warrants news from some bau member.

whether it’s about a goal jack scored in soccer or a new house derek had renovated, people always seemed to have something going on.

emily sat at her desk and she scribbled away at files. one hand gripped the pen while the other sat on her knee. she twisted a band that sat on her left ring finger. it wasn’t an engagement ring but she liked wearing it on the one finger that connected to her heart. 

atop the small gold band sat a gemstone, the one to match the month of your birth.

you had gotten the ring when on a trip. a shop you visited had sold them and you picked out one as a gift. as cliche as it was, you thought of it as a promise ring. 

despite emily not being a huge jewelry person, she wore it every day. 

the bullpen was a comfortable quiet. other members of the team sat at either their desks or in their office and worked away. the silence made it easy to focus. 

a sharp gasp sounded behind her.

penelope had entered the bullpen, presumably to say hi under the false assumption she needed another cup of coffee. both of her hands had covered her mouth, effectively covering her shocked expression. “what is that!”

emily quirked her eyebrow at what the tech analyst was talking about. she was just at her same old desk doing the same old paperwork. she finally saw penelope’s line of vision and followed it down to her hand. 

oh. it did kinda look like an engagement ring. 

it wouldn’t be the most surprising thing in the world for someone to come back engaged after a long weekend, even if no one had been aware of their relationship. 

emily barely had any time to answer before derek was circling his desk to find the source of the commotion.

“what’s all the yelling for?”

“emily has a ring. she has a ring, derek!”

derek’s eyes too fell on her hand. “woah princess! you’re getting hitched and didn’t tell us?”

“who’s getting married?”

the entire team, minus hotch and rossi who remained behind closed doors, had circled emily. 

“you didn’t tell us you were dating someone!”

emily held her hands up to silence the group. “guys, guys. it’s not an engagement ring.”

a collective sigh echoed.

“it’s just a ring with my birthstone in it. my parents got it for me when i was younger and i found it when cleaning over the weekend.” emily doesn’t feel guilty for lying. it was a simple white lie, not something detrimental. 

the explanation seems to suffice the group who then begins to disperse. 

spencer is the only one who picks up that emily’s birthstone is an opal.

and an opal is not the gem on the ring.

4. home

nobody thinks much of it when emily neglects a saturday hang out in favor of having some personal work to get done.

derek, penelope, and j.j. all get together instead.

the girls drag derek around to a few shops they want to go to before penelope stops at a window with a gasp. “oh my god, look! that mug looks exactly like the one emily broke. we have to get it.”

there was no stopping the tech analyst who had a killer memory. it wasn’t false. emily had smashed her favorite mug earlier in the week accidentally and moped for days.

“we should surprise her! she said she had some personal stuff to do so she’s definitely home.”

derek shrugs. “i don’t know, baby girl. she probably doesn’t want to be bothered.”

j.j. digs around in her purse before pulling out a folder. “i did have to drop off her medical forms for her to sign.”

“you two have no boundaries.”

penelope is the one to knock on emily’s apartment door. she’s practically bursting with excitement. she loves her team and knowing how upset emily was over the mug, she can’t wait to give it. 

you’re sitting on emily’s couch when there’s a knock at the door.

the two of you haven’t officially moved in together yet, though more times than none you’re at hers. the lease on your own apartment isn’t up yet though once it is, you and her will finally be living together.

saturdays where emily is home are semi-rare. cases often stretch into weekends. she’s thankfully home today, though a few chores around the home dominated her to-do list. she worked upstairs while you relaxed on the couch. 

you were slightly confused as to who would be at the door. 

“can you get the door, baby?” emily called from upstairs. 

“got it!”

you trudged towards the entrance, sliding the peephole cover to the side to peer out. three people stood outside, two women and one man. they looked familiar. you had definitely seen them before. 

the picture emily kept of her team on the wall flashed in your memory. that and the time where you had picked her up at quantico. oh, they were members of her team. 

you finally opened the door. it was slightly amusing to see the three agents' faces twist in confusion when it was in fact not emily answering the door. 

“can i help you?” 

none of the three speak for a few moments. they’re clearly trying to rack their brain as you looked familiar to them too. 

“oh, um, yes!” the woman with colorful accessories stutters out. “is emily here?”

you open the door a little wider, motioning with your head for them to come in. once the door is closed, you leave them in the entranceway and head in a bit further.

“em!” you call up the stairs. “people are here for you!”

there’s a distance thud. “coming!”

you figure whatever they need to talk about is none of your business. when emily comes downstairs, you smile softly at her. “i’ll leave you all alone. i’ll be upstairs.”

you squeeze her shoulder when you walk by and within a minute, you’re out of sight.

“not to sound rude but why are you guys here? is the team okay?”

derek nods his head. “everything’s good, princess. though i have to ask, who was that?”

emily doesn’t have an excuse. referring to you as ‘just a friend’ feels wrong. plus, she hasn’t discussed if you’re ready for her team to know either. she then notices the package in penelope’s hand.

“what’s that?”

the original question gets blocked out by penelope’s squeal and presentation of the gift. 

derek and j.j. share a look. penelope’s not a profiler, she doesn’t pick up on some things, but emily’s deflection tells the agents all they need to know. 

they stay quiet, though both of their hearts soar.

no wonder emily has seemed so happy. 

5. case

emily’s not one to let her emotions impact a case.

she has a routine to prepare herself: kiss you goodbye, tell you she loves you, go to quantico, read the case, familiarize the victims, solve the case. all in that order.

this one throws her off. 

lgbtq couples murdered in their cars, all wearing formal clothing presumably from their date. 

emily’s mind immediately goes to you and her. though this case is states away, the unsub doesn’t have a much different mindset than a lot of people. 

she internalizes it as best she can, wanting to perform at her best to help solve this case before more people die. it works at first. emily’s able to go to the crime scene, distinguish evidence, and build a profile with ease. that is until two more bodies are discovered.

and one of them looks like you. 

j.j. pins the pictures on the board and emily’s stomach drops. she knows it’s not you. you’re miles away and you had just texted her a few minutes ago with a picture of the coffee you had gotten. but the internalized fear is very much present.

theories bounce around the room. why were these two targeted? sexuality aside, what about them was attractive to the unsub?

emily’s throat goes dry. she can’t do this anymore. 

“hotch, can i talk to you?”

the room goes quiet. hotch’s eyes flicker back and forth from rossi to j.j. before going back to emily. “of course.”

emily doesn’t stop at an empty conference room. there’s plenty in the precinct and yet they end up outside. emily sits on one of the steps and begins to toy with the ring on her finger.

hotch takes a seat beside her. 

“hotch i need to be pulled from this case.”

emily’s surprised she’s able to say the full sentence without breaking down. 

“okay,” he begins slowly. “can i ask why?”

internally, hotch knows. he picked up on emily’s behavioral change from the second the case got presented. 

“hotch, i-” the words seem to get lost on the tip of her tongue.

she shoves her palms into her eyes. she's flustered, embarrassed, scared.

she should be able to do her job. cases don’t usually get to her. it’s difficult to not feel helpless. 

a hand moves to rest on her shoulder.

“it’s okay you know.”

he doesn’t need to finish. what he’s implying is obvious.

the tears brimming in emily’s eyes spill over hot and fast. 

hotch moves closer to her, arm circling around her. all superiority dynamics have faded. it’s friend to friend, a moment of vulnerability. 

emily’s felt more accepted from his four words than she has in years.

+1 meeting

emily always goes into work before you.

between her commute with traffic and desire to get there a bit early, she’s up and running before you even get out of bed. 

naturally, you like to help her out as much as possible.

it comes in the form of packing lunch, organizing files, packing her bag (both personal and one for cases).

this morning was a complete blur. you had worked late the previous night and slept in before work. emily got ready around you, shaking you awake a few moments before she was set to leave.

when emily departed and you made your way downstairs, you noticed what she had forgotten. a brown folder stamped with the fbi logo sat next to an empty lunch bag. you frowned. file aside, you didn’t want her skipping lunch.

you took your phone out and sent her a text.

‘hi baby. you forgot a file and your lunch. can i stop by with them?’

she responds while you’re in the middle of getting dressed for the day. 

‘any chance you can bring them at noon-ish? we have meetings all morning but a break for lunch.’

you beam. seeing your girlfriend at her workplace is new. sure you’d seen pictures of the bullpen, mostly when emily showed you her desk whenever you gave her a new trinket to add, but you had never been there.

instead of packing a meal, you stopped downtown at one of emily’s favorite restaurants for take-out. a little surprise.

quantico is intimidating, even from the signage you see on the drive over. 

you park in the visitors lot and follow the instructions emily had given you on where to go. security was mandatory and a visitors pass was needed to access the floor. 

once exiting the elevator, you stood nervously. emily was at her desk, though so were her coworkers. you look out of place; reusable bag and folder in your hands and casual clothing adorning your body.

she finally looked up and out the glass door, smile enveloping her face as she raised her hand to motion for you to come in. the agents sitting at their desks naturally gravitate towards the commotion. all of them recognized you. 

the opal necklace the notice sitting around your neck suddenly makes sense. 

“any chance you can get them to stop staring?” you ask once emily stops in front of you.

“hi baby,” she muses, disregarding the question with amusement. “sorry to make you trek all the way out here.”

her hand finds its way to the small of your back, guiding you over to her desk. she lets you have the chair while she sits on the surface. you fight the urge to roll your chair forward and rest your head on her leg. “don’t worry about it. i brought you takeout from that thai place we like.”

emily beams. 

“you’re too good to me.”

“you deserve it.”

you stop taking the containers out of the bag and peer up at her. 

emily’s hand moves to rest on your cheek before she ducks down to kiss you gently. 

it’s revealing. you both know everyone in the room witnessed the act of public affection. “i love you.”

“i love you, too.”

when the team finally confronts emily, she has no problem boasting. 

“this is y/n,” emily introduces. she glances at you to which you tilt your head, lips upturned. the next two words come a moment later. “my girlfriend.”

like white lilies, this was a new beginning. one where she could be more than open about her lover. 

maybe the team's suspicion had been right, maybe some of it had been wrong. that didn’t matter now. all emily cared about could be open about your relationship. 

rebirth and purity. 

[pink-princess-pussy-pop]

Behavioral Lessons - King Ben x Reader

Summary: You push Ben's buttons too far

Words: 5.3K

Inspired by a section from my Dating Ben Would Include. Ben didn't lose his beard or fangs in this guys. He just didnt. So with that, he might just have some other… beast like qualities. (im so sorry i went rouge)

Link to photo of the dress, but if you hate it, just ignore when the dress is described and picture whatever you want to be wearing!

Warnings: Smut, uhhhh, thigh riding, a bit of edging, choking bro im not well at ALL for doing this to poor mitchell, not proofed

Edit: oh god. yall this is so dirty. i didnt mean to make ben a degrader but here we are... I’m sorry if I ruin this franchise for you rip i ruined it for myself

You had to take matters into your own hands. You hadn't seen Ben in weeks. And when you had, it wasn't for more than a few minutes when you passed each other in the corridors of the castle. He hadn't even been returning to your shared room at night, sleeping in his office instead. You were growing restless without your fiancé.

Since you were both twenty-one, your wedding was coming up. With the nearing celebrations on top of his usual king duties, Ben had been more stressed than usual, which is why you hadn't seen him recently.

So naturally, you just had to take matters into your own hands. You knew the way to help your fiancé was to help him relieve his stress, and you knew just how to push him to get there.

Every Friday night, you sat down with Ben and his parents for dinner. But this Friday was special. Not only were his parents going to be there, but so were your friends. It was the final Friday before your wedding and it would be the most you've seen of him in weeks so you were looking forward to it. And what was to come afterward.

...

You kept the dress hidden for months. It was strapless and fell mid-thigh. The body of the dress was a pale yellow, the outer layer was a sparkly floral pink fabric, and the bodice had tiny bows up the front. Evie had designed it for you and was standing in front of you now.

"Oh. My. God. I don't think I've ever made anything better. You look incredible. Ben is gonna go craaaa-zyyyyy." She was gushing over you, shoving a pair of gold shoes into your hands. "Now put these on, and then let's get to that dinner.

You looked at yourself in the mirror absolutely mesmerized at your reflection. Your legs looked incredibly long with the length of the dress paired with the heels. Dizzy had so graciously styled your hair, a simple updo, but with your small tiara on your head, it was perfect. You smiled at yourself, bringing your hand to your neck where a small, gold, necklace with the letter "B" sat.

...

You were giddy with anticipation, ready to see Ben, ready for him to see you. You entered the large dining hall, filled with your friends from the Isle and Auradon. Belle was at your side immediately, looking beautiful as always.

"Y/N! Sweetie! You look lovely!" The small woman hugged you. "I am so looking forward to you and Ben's wedding next week. It is going to be beautiful!" You smiled at her.

"Thank you! I'm excited about it too. Ben is a wonderful man. I’m very lucky to be marrying him." Then, Lumiere announced that dinner had been served and as you turned to go to your seat, Ben was behind you.

"Hi." He was giving you the smile that made your stomach flutter with butterflies. His hands were on your waist almost instantly, bringing your body closer to his. He looked perfect, would you expect anything different? The blue suit with the golden crown was a look you'd never get tired of.

"Hello." You smiled back at him as he kissed you for the first time in weeks. You broke it first, knowing that people were most definitely watching you and that you needed to leave him wanting more.

As you walked to your places at the table, Ben whispered in your ear...

"You look incredible, Y/n." You flushed at the compliment and at the way his voice sounded when he said your name.

You sit next to him, the chairs closer together than normal with the new amount of people. The plan was in full motion now.

The feast was grand, as it usually was, but before it began, Ben rose to give a toast.

"Thank you all for joining Y/N and me," He gestured for you to stand and join him. His arm wrapped around you instantly. "In our final feast before our wedding." He turned to you, his beautiful smile returning again. "I can't speak for my beautiful fiancé, but I am so happy that our closest friends and family were able to join us tonight." You spoke before he could go on.

"I am also very happy you are here!" The hall erupted in a chorus of laughs and Ben squeezed your side.

"I'm so honored to be marrying such a wonderful person. I cannot wait to share the rest of my life with you.” You smiled at him as he bent down to press a soft kiss to your lips. He whispers, "I love you." and then he pulls away to continue. “Alright, I’m sure you all want to eat, so I won't bore you with my love speech any longer."

...

As everyone else ate, you counted the minutes until you could begin your plan. You didn't want to start it too early or too late. You had to wait for the right time. Ben was such an attentive fiancé that he had noticed your behavior.

"Honey?" You were startled at his voice in your ear again. "Are you feeling ok?" You turned to him, noticing that he was looking down at your chest, blushing when he looked back up. You shifted at the sight of his tongue running over the tips of his fangs.

Now. It was time for your plan.

You set your hand on his upper thigh, leaning over to whisper into his ear.

"I guess I'm just hungry for something else..." You ran your hand up further before you were stopped by him. You looked down at his hand grasping your wrist, right above the seam of his pants.

"Y/N." His usually sweet voice was stern. You set your face with a smirk but innocent eyes, looking up at him. His jaw was clenched but you could tell you were getting somewhere. His skin was dusted pink and his pupils had dilated. "What are you doing?" You reached your fingers to brush against the fabric of his pants and he snarled, his grip on your wrist tightening.

"Ben!" His father interrupted and he swallowed, squeezing your wrist once more.

“Stop if you know what’s good for you.” His words were low and then he turned to his father who was across the table. You took this moment to shake yourself from him, turning to the former king, before placing your hand back onto his pants.

Ben jerked, trying to keep his composure in front of his parents and friends, but how could he when you were teasing him like this? In order to not draw attention to himself, he kept both hands on the table.

"Son, are you ok?" Ben eyed you, giving you a glare that only spurred you on further. He cleared his throat before speaking.

"I'm fine." He continued his conversation with his father, talking about God knows what, as you continued to tease him. You were half listening to Ben and Adam and the other half of your brain was only thinking of making Ben as flustered as possible, so you ran your hand over the growing tent in his suit pants. You could tell he was struggling to maintain his composure, his breathing had gone uneven, his face was red, and he kept glancing at the big grandfather clock behind his father's chair.

You smiled, gave his clothed member a squeeze, and withdrew your hand, reaching for a large piece of chocolate cake. You looked over at Ben, his eyes narrowed on you as you brought a bite to your mouth. His slip in composure was glorious and you winked at him as you brought a bite of cake to your lips.

You almost choked on the cake as his hand slid onto your thigh, just past your dress, fingers skimming the soft lace of your underwear, already wet from your actions and your thoughts of the night to come.

"So needy that you've resulted to disobeying your King? How pathetic." His lips grazed over the skin under your ear before he leaned back to look at you.

Your thighs squeezed against his hand involuntarily and it was his turn to smirk. He regained his composure, returning to “normal” Ben, now free from your teasing.

You, however could barely eat your dessert with his hand pressed between your legs.

“Regretting our actions are we?” He whispered to you as his engagement ring slid over your core. You covered the gasp with a cough. “That’s what I thought.”

...

The second dinner had ended, Ben's arm was around your waist. As the two of you neared the doors of the large hall, his name was called.

His dad and Lumiere were behind you.

"Your Majesty, your father and I have been talking and there are a few things we wanted to go over for palace security during the ceremony. If you come with us, it won't take very long." Ben's face was completely normal as he gave Lumiere a nod before turning to face you.

He plastered on his King Ben smile, brushing his hand against your cheek, bringing your lips to his, but he didn't kiss you.

"I hope you know, I'm not going to be nice tonight." His lips were on yours for mere seconds before he stepped back, running his tongue over his fangs once again. Then, he turned back to Adam and Lumiere, leaving you in the dining hall, thoughts running wild about what was to happen to you that night.

...

You called Evie as soon as you got back to your and Ben's bedroom.

"Do I keep the dress on? Or do I wear something else?" You were frantic, walking around the closet, not knowing what to do.

"Girl! Calm down!" You had told her what had happened and she was so excited she practically screamed. "If I were you, I would put on one of his dress shirts. He won't be expecting it when he comes in to punish-"

"Oh my GOD, EVIE!" The laughter on the phone was enough to make you roll your eyes. "Thanks for your help." You grumbled.

"Let me know how it goes!" Before you could reply, she hung up. You set your phone down and grabbed one of Ben's white dress shirts along with a simple, white lace lingerie set from a drawer.

Slipping the dress off, you carefully put it on a hanger and set it in your closet. You slid the shirt on, buttoning it up, leaving it open just enough to see the bra you had just put on. You began to take out your hair, setting the crown down on your vanity counter, and removing the pins holding the updo in place. Finally, you applied a bit of lipgloss and a spritz or two of Ben's favorite perfume before climbing onto your shared king-sized bed.

...

Thirteen minutes later, not that you had counted, the bedroom door burst open, and in walked your fiancé. His eyes locked on your body as he removed his suit jacket. You knew he was waiting for you to look at him, so you obliged, looking up from the random book you had picked up, you really weren't reading it anyway. He was glaring at you as his hand loosened his tie and removed it. You tried your best to look at him with the most innocent eyes you could and he chuckled.

You watched as he unbuttoned the first two buttons of the white shirt and rolled the sleeves up to his forearms. When you looked back into his eyes, they were almost black.

"Did you have a good time at the dinner, my dear? Did you enjoy yourself?" His hands were placed on the bed so he was leaning down. His tone was condescending, which sent shivers down your spine. He was always so sincere. This new side to Ben was intoxicating.

“Answer your King when he speaks to you.”

If he noticed your eyes widening in shock, he didn’t acknowledge it. He was unmoving, his eyes challenging you, taunting you.

“I’m not going to ask again.” You didn’t know how to respond, so you nodded.

Ben chuckled again, his fangs on display. Any sight of them made your heart race and he knew it.

“No, honey. Use your words.” His voice lowered. “Or do you want to disobey me again?”

“Yes, I enjoyed dinner.” Your voice was small but you held your ground, not breaking eye contact. You challenged him back. “Did you enjoy dinner, Ben?” A dark look crossed his face.

“Why don’t you try saying that again, using my correct title?” You had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes, but you had to admit, you liked this side of him.

“Did you enjoy yourself tonight…” You sat up from the headboard, leaning towards him, and bowed your head. Then, looking up at him through your lashes added, “…my King?”

His eyes narrowed again and his hands wrapped around your ankles, tugging you to the end of the bed. He settled his knee between your legs, brushing your clothed core on purpose, but not acknowledging it. His hands settled by your head and he hovered over you.

“No.” He dug his knee into you harder and you threw your head back, exposing your neck to him as you moaned. “No, I didn’t.” You felt his finger slide down the column of your throat before hooking itself around your necklace laced with his initial. He leaned down, mouth hovering over the pulse point in your neck. “My bratty fiancé couldn’t keep her hands to herself.”

His teeth ran down your neck and goosebumps erupted at the sharpness of the canines. “You haven’t touched your bratty fiancé in weeks.” He tugged on your necklace and your eyes found his again.

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

Now that was a surprise.

Though he got stressed fairly often, he never used vulgar language. You had heard him say “damnit” once after losing a Tourney game in high school, but that was it.

Suddenly, you felt your body flush at his outburst. You didn’t reply, too shocked to say anything.

Ben smiled, but it wasn’t his good King Benjamin smile.

This smile was positively wicked.

“I believe I asked you a question, Y/N.” The fingers hooked on the chain around your neck now rested softly on your throat.

Holy shit.

“Yes.” The words were almost inaudible.

“M’sorry… what was that?”

“Yes.” You spoke clearly now.

He snickered.

“That’s now how you properly answer a question, now is it? Let me ask again.” His fingers tightened slightly. “Do you want your King to fuck you?” The word rolled off of his tongue like honey and your hips rolled into his knee.

“Yes, I want you to…” His eyebrow went up. “…fuck me.” His fingers withdrew from your throat.

“Hmm.” Suddenly he was standing up, leaving you on the bed, catching your breath. “I don’t think you’ve earned it.”

You watched with wide eyes as he sat down at your vainity in the corner of the room. He looked so casually regal. His crown, the unbuttoned shirt, his crisp blue slacks. But there was some other air about him that was making you crumble in his hands. The way he was man spreading, his long legs awaiting as your own throne. His beard and sharp fangs you were aching to feel between your thighs. Your toes curled at the thought.

“You’re thinking about it now, aren’t you honey?” The mean tone from before had returned. “You’re thinking about me fucking you?” Your face flushed so much you were sure it went down your whole body. You quickly realized he’d asked you another question.

“Y-Yes. I am thinking about that.” Your snarkiness from before was long-gone. He gave you another wicked smile. His picked up your crown, which was much smaller than his since your coronation would happen after the wedding.

“Well, are you going to sit there all night or are you going to come finish what you started at dinner?” You got up from the bed immediately crossing to where he sat. His fingers wrapped around your necklace again, tugging you to his level. Your knees hit the floor, hands on his thighs while he brushes your hair from your face. He tilts your chin up to meet your eyes.

His hand retracts while he takes you in. On your knees in front of him, wearing one of his shirts and dear God, the white lace of your bra peeking out at him was making his head spin.

No longer having self-restraint, Ben’s lips lock on yours. You moan into his mouth as his hands wrap around your torso, pulling you to sit in his lap. He growls into the kiss as you grind your hips into his.

Finally. You thought to yourself. Ben’s control over his respectful manner had cracked a little but your goal was to break through it completely. And you knew by his bruising grip on your hips that you were on the right track.

Then suddenly, Ben wasn’t touching you anymore. Your body was left heaving on top of his while he leaned back in the chair, resting his elbows on the armrests.

“Go on.” You stated wide-eyed at him. “I’m not going to do all the work here, honey.” Your face flushed as you looked to his crotch, the tented fabric strained. “You did this…” His hand grabbed yours, setting it back onto his pants. “…so do something about it.”

Slowly, you began to move your fingers and Ben’s eyes narrowed.

“You and I both know you can do better than that.” His hand found it’s way back up to your throat. “Don’t you want to please your King?”

Dear GOD where had this side of him come from? He shifted the slightest bit so his pants ran against you.

“Ben!” Your eyes squeezed shut, brain foggy with him.

“Are you really making me wait?” You shook your head, avoiding his gaze as yours shifted to where your shaking hands were now trying to undo his belt buckle.

As you worked to free him from his pants, Ben’s hands found their way back to your hips, slowly pushing up the fabric of his dress shirt so he could see what was lying underneath.

His mouth almost watered as the white lace was brought into view. He licked his lips at what the fabric was trying in vain at hiding.

Ben had to remind himself that you were not being rewarded now. That you’d disobeyed him at dinner and now was not the time to be relishing in how lovely you were.

He was brought out of his thoughts as your hand slid into his boxers.

He threw his head back and muttered a barely audible,

“Fuck.”

As your fingers wrapped around him, timidly moving up and down.

He looked at you, so focused on what you were doing, so desperate to make him feel good, needing to hear his words of praise. Ben guided you to straddle one leg as he began to rock his hips into your hand.

You were so trained on pleasing your fiancé, that you hadn’t even noticed that you’d begun grinding on his thigh.

Ben had noticed. He watched as your breathing became more rapid and how your strokes became less careful. You looked up, meeting his gaze, sucking in a breath at the primal look in his eyes.

His eyes flashed with pleasure as your thumb ran over the tip of his cock. His fingers stopped your hips and he said,

“Stop.” Right as you were about to come. You did as you were told but you couldn’t help the whine that escaped at the lack of sensation.

Ben rolled his eyes, the hands on your hips forcing you to grind into his leg once again. You moan, tossing your head back to avoid looking at him. The fucker was edging you.

“So Goddamn needy.” His hot touch on your skin was gone and you had to steady your breathing before looking at him again.

Ben had begun to unbutton the rest of your shirt, pushing it off of your shoulders once it was fully undone. He shamelessly raked his eyes over your body, grinning that evil grin as he did so.

Then, his hands were under your bottom, picking you up before setting you down on the bed.

“Are you going to behave now?” The dampening of your underwear at his words is embarrassing. Ben’s thumbs skim over your abdomen, right on the waistband of your underwear. Ben doesn’t break eye contact with you, smiling once again. He looks hot as hell, his fangs and the beard along with his crown.

Was he going to fuck you while wearing his crown? God you hoped so.

“Honey?” Ben lowered to his knees, fingers now on the sides of the lace fabric. You instinctively close your legs but Ben’s strong hands are there instantly, forcing them back open.

Embarrassment floods your system as you watch him look down, a shit-eating grin appearing on his face before his eyes return to yours.

“Keep them open.” His fingers dance dangerously close to the damp lace. “Answer my question, please.”

He’s so close that you can feel his breath fanning your core.

“Yes, Ben. Fuck! I’ll behave.” He kisses your inner thighs which are now practically shaking in his grasp. His mouth moves to your hips, right where your waistband is.

“Do you want to know a secret?”

“What?” You sound breathless.

He looks directly into your eyes.

“I’ve been able to smell you this entire time.”

You’re too late to react as Ben rips through the white lace with his teeth. His hands are keeping your thighs to the side and he looks at you for a moment: A shaking little mess before him, your cunt dripping and clenching around nothing. You watch as he smiles again, bracing yourself for the contact of his tongue, lips, and teeth.

His tongue licks your glistening cunt from the bottom up twice and your hand clamps over your mouth when his lips wrap around your aching clit.

And then.

Oh, fuck.

You’d forgotten about his facial hair.

The delicious roughness contrasting with his sweet mouth made the pleasure skyrocket.

Ben loved the taste of you. He was never able to get enough. So anytime he went down on you, he took all he could get. He moaned at the taste of you, the vibrations going straight through you.

Your hips lifted off of the bed as one of his hands moved off of your thigh and a thumb pressed hard against your swollen clit. At the same time, Ben bit into the soft skin of your thighs, marking his territory. He repeated his actions on the other side, now rolling your clit between his fingers.

If you weren’t covering your mouth, you were sure the whole castle would be able to hear you.

Ben’s mouth returned and you let out a scream as his teeth bit your clit gently. He let his tongue swirl around it as his thumb ran down your slit, parting your folds, exposing more of you to the cool air. He moved the slightest bit and the roughness of his mustache brushed against your clit, sending you into your awaiting orgasm.

Ben continued devouring you through it, eating you out like a beast, already wanting to get another one out of you like this. He looked up at you, realizing he hadn’t been able to hear you, eyes narrowing once again at the hand over your mouth. Your hips rocked again as he slid his middle finger into you easily but then he stopped all of his actions.

Your grown was muffled but one look from Ben and your hand fell to the side.

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of being too loud…” his finger curled inside you and you let out a loud moan, a blush settling over your cheeks instantly. “…because I don’t care if anyone hears. They’ll know how good the king is fucking you, right?” His mouth was on yours again, finger pushing in and out of you slowly. Your hips jerk up and you moan into his mouth, making him smile into yours.

Ben pulls away, making you groan in frustration. As you sit up on your elbows, you watch as Ben steps away from the bed to undress and you know he's doing it slowly on purpose.

"Ben-"

“Shut up. You brought this on yourself, honey.”

Once again, your cheeks heat. His harsh glare makes your heart pound.

His eyes tear away from yours as he finishes undressing. Yours close, waiting for what's next half in anxiousness, half in eagerness. His warm hand on your knee snaps you out of your thoughts.

His tongue runs over his bottom lip before he brings it between his teeth. He pulls your body down and steps between your legs. Ben's hand settles on your neck again, smirking at the feeling of your racing pulse.

"Don't tell me you're nervous, sweetheart." You take a deep breath before looking into his eyes with a smirk of your own.

"Why would I be nervous if this is what I wanted?" His jaw sets as the smirk disappears.

And then under his breath,

"Such a fucking brat." Before his hand fully wraps around your throat as he brings his lips to yours.

Your hands reach up to wrap around his shoulders pulling him down on top of you.

You pull away when Ben bites your lip, tasting blood.

"Benjamin!"

His smirk is back.

"Oh, so you're using my full name now. I thought this is what you wanted." You glare at him as you run your tongue along the bite. His head dips as he kisses you again, sucking on your bottom lip. You are so enthralled with the feeling of his mouth on yours, you don't register what else he is doing until you feel the head of his cock pushing into you.

You act on instinct, pushing your hips into him but he pulls away.

"Don't be impatient. That stunt you played at dinner was cute and all but-"

"You thought it was cute?" You pout. "I thought you were going to punish me for it, my King."

With that, Ben pushes into you the rest of the way, wrapping his hand around your throat again, silencing any moan trying to escape.

"You were saying?" Your pelvic muscles clench around him which spurs him on further. "What's the matter, my love?" He pulls out of you and puts the slightest bit of pressure on your throat. "You want me to punish you?" He leans in to kiss you again but stops centimeters from your lips. "You asked for it."

Ben kisses you once again, hands now on your hip bones as his hips roll into yours at a brutal pace. Your hands wrap around the back of his neck, pulling him closer to you as he does the dirty work.

Your nails dig into his skin as you near your orgasm, pulling away from his lips as you struggle to catch your breath. Then suddenly, Ben stills inside of you and laughs as you whine.

"Would you like me to keep going?" You nod, although you know he will continue to fuck with you. "Really?" His lips find your neck again, kissing the spot beneath your ear. He grins against your skin at your whine. "Alright."

Ben begins to move ever-so-slowly. Annoyed, you begin to roll your hips into his but he is quick to stop you. His hands press your hips deep into the bed, forcing your movements to stop.

"Ben..." You trail off, eyes closing as Ben continues. He leans back, his beautiful smile gracing his face.

He gradually picks up speed, every movement into you brings you closer to the brink but Ben knows your body well. He's memorized your body and the ways it reacts to his. He knows that when you throw your head backward and try to cover your mouth to subdue the noises you're making that you're close. That's when he knows to stop.

"Fuck, Ben, please." He leans over you again, his beautiful smile still plastered on his beautiful face.

"Please what?" He has the audacity to rub soothing circles on your skin.

"Damnnit Ben." Your eyes are squeezed shut, unable to look him in the eyes. Ben leans over more, his lips brushing against yours.

"Please what, honey?" Your eyes open and narrow at him.

"I already asked Ben..." He chuckles.

"And I'm asking again." He raises his eyebrows. "Now unless you'd like me to," his hips roll again, "continue with your punishment, I suggest you use your words and answer my question."

"Benjamin," You pause briefly, waiting to see if he will stop you and make you use his title, but he doesn't. "Please, please, fuck me."

Ben smirks, making him impossibly more attractive.

"That's all you had to say." His hands grab your thighs, wrapping them around his waist before turning his smirk into a grin.

He moves again and it is glorious. Ben does all the work, which is fine for you because you're too enthralled with the pleasure to do anything about it. His hands tighten on your legs and pull you to him, bringing your bodies impossibly closer. His pace is brutal, fingers most definitely leaving bruises in their wake.

Instead of covering your mouth, your hands wander up his arms and pull him down to you again before resting on his broad shoulders. His crown glints in the light and your eyes roll at the sight. His hand leaves your thigh and reaches between your bodies to pinch your clit. To cover your moan, you pull his lips to yours, releasing it into his mouth. Ben smiles in return, rolling your clit between his fingers.

You break the kiss, gasping for air as your head is thrown back, He takes the opportunity to attack your neck again, his teeth gently biting at the soft skin.

His hips slam into yours once again and it pushes you over the edge. Your mouth opens in a silent scream, your body going limp in his arms.

Ben follows not far behind, groaning into your neck.

"Fuck."

After the two of you calm down, he pushes himself back, looking down at you.

"I'm sorry if I went a little overboard. I just-"

"Ben..."

"No seriously I-" You cut him off.

"Benjamin shut up." His eyes widen. You look up at him, a small smile on your lips. He watches with wide eyes as you push yourself up to sit under him. His smirk returns as you wince at the soreness he left you.

"Did you just tell me to-" You cut him off with a kiss, hands pulling his face to yours.

You break away from him and his eyes are wide.

"Ben, if you had gone overboard I would have told you." You kiss him again. "Besides, it's what I wanted." His eyes narrow.

"What?" You giggle, squishing his cheeks together before his hands wrap around your wrists, pulling your hands down. "Y/N, what did you just say?" You fall back onto the bed, laughing.

"I had this whole thing planned out, Bennie Boo." His eyes roll at his ex-girlfriend's nickname for him. "You were stressed and we hadn't..."

"Fucked?" He finishes for you.

"...in weeks, so I put this plan together to help you relieve your stress and so we could..." It's Ben's turn to grin.

"Say it."

"Make me."

His smile drops.

"Oh, you're asking for it now, sweetie." His lips were on yours before you could even think of a clever response.

I'M BACK!!!

bro ive literally been working on this for like 3 months.

:) ENJOY

[srbachchan]

DAY 6092

Jalsa, Mumbai Oct 23, 2024 Wed 10:16 pm

Birthday - EF Kankana Chakraborty .. Deepak Jain .. Atul Kumar Shrivastava Thursday, 24 October

and our greetings to the Ef from the Ef on this special day .. with love

❤️

I am ahead of it on this hour and wanting to be in the spirit of being so in the coming days .. errr ... DAYS

It has been a sluggish day .. a short break after some hectic work schedules .. and an early call again tomorrow ..

The anticipation of the KIDs with their wit and confidence , in their amazing form awaits me .. and a wonder for all that shall witness it soon to know of what I have been talking about ..

There is ofcourse a lamentation towards the pending large sections of work that need to be done for Babuji's work .. and one that is now becoming a MUST DO , SOON ..

I shall need the inputs from all concerned to be able to put together , what bears in my mind .. and the immense facilities available 'technically' do seem challenging .. but then it is a challenge that must be taken ..

Assimilation is an art too .. how and when to execute it .. and the manner in which it needs the perfection of a finality , is daunting ..

But it must be DONE .. time is running out and before it reaches the finishing tape .. I need to strive to be ahead and breast it , to be declared a winner ..

fingers and hands that are concerned about fixing my face and hair .. a bother .. its not going to make any difference , but they do it .. and the reason being that the camera lenses are such now that they pick up every grain of your skin hair etc., and it looks bad for a broadcast .. Or so they say while holding up the game time of the show ..

But the ending be of the words of Babuji and how ecstatic they make me , when I discover that they be similar to mine ..

And his golden words :

'मेरे लिये मेरे पाठकों का स्नेह सौ पदों-पुरुकारों-अलंकरणों से बढ़ कर रहा है '

for me the love of my readers has ever been greater than titles, awards and the graciously decorated complimentary words

I believe .. for I am ..

Amitabh Bachchan

[ghostofhyuck]

Taguan ng Anak series 1

CEO! Mark x former secretary! Reader

Summary: Years after you resigned as his secretary, Mark bumps into you once again, not knowing that something bloomed from your secret office love affair.

cw: mentions of pregnancy.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It’s seldom for Mark to make time for himself.

Well to start, Mark excused himself that he’s in the mall to buy a gift, which is a surprising excuse for a CEO who’s such a workaholic. But in his defense, he wanted to buy a gift for his parent’s wedding anniversary and Mark wanted to make sure that he’ll be the one who’ll pick the gift personally.

That is why he’s in a well-known mall, wearing his casual clothes on a Saturday afternoon. The mall was pretty crowded given that it was a Saturday. Mark has been walking around thinking what to buy for his parents. It’s not like they’re hard to give presents, but Mark wanted to give them something special.

His feet dragged him to the mall’s department store, heading to the accessories section. Maybe his parents would like new sets of watches — that’s a bit common, Mark thinks. He had bought them watches many times. Mark ponders about it as he walks around the selections.

He didn’t notice that he’s in the jewellery section when a saleslady called his attention, offering him promos for a certain brand.

“You can be engraved in the ring! Are you going to buy it for someone special?” the saleslady asked.

As he stared at the display, Mark thought that it’ll be nice to buy his parents a new set of wedding rings, maybe they can even renew their vows. Thinking that it was a bright idea, Mark immediately asked for help from the saleslady who happily offered assistance for him.

Watching the jeweller engraved on his parent’s wedding anniversary date on the right, Mark couldn’t help but ponder at the thought of getting married. Seeing how happy his parents are and how their love created a strong and loving family, Mark wonders when it will be his turn.

But perhaps he’s passed his prime, all he can think about right now is the paperworks he left to his staff just because he decided to have a day-off.

“Thank you,” Mark mumbles as he grabs the paperbag from the saleslady. The paperbag felt light but Mark couldn’t help but feel lightened as he swayed the paperbag, excited for his parent’s reaction to his gift.

But just as he was about to walk away, a small figure bumped into him. It didn’t bother him a bit but the kid fell on the floor.

“Careful there!” he shouts. Helping the kid stand up. Mark then kneels down to check if the kid got any scratches but it seems like she wasn’t hurt at all.

“Sorry mister,” the kid apologises.

Mark looked at her and for a second, he felt something weird. The little girl looks eerily familiar that he can’t pinpoint it. For a minute, Mark thinks that he’s just seeing things so he gives her a smile, “it’s no worries, don’t run around okay? It’s dangerous.”

Looking left and right, it seems like the kid ran off from her parents. He stands up and offers his hand to the kid who immediately accepts it.

“What’s your name by the way? And where are your parents —”

“Minah!”

Mark wasn’t able to process everything when he heard a familiar voice and as he turned around, a familiar face welcomed him.

“It’s you,” Mark mumbled.

You stopped on your tracks, frozen to see your daughter with your former boss. You immediately bowed as an apology and snatched your daughter away from him.

“I’m really really sorry sir! I hope she didn’t disturb you,” you quickly said.

“Oh it’s nothing, and please, can we drop the sir? You’re no longer my secretary too,” he calmly said.

You only nod and as you felt that your daughter is now right beside you, you tried to walk away from the scene when Mark held your arms.

“It’s been a long time since I saw you,” Mark said quietly, as if he was trying to collect his words. “Can we talk?”

“What?” you asked.

His eyes landed on the child beside you, then as he looked at you, he gave you a meaningful smile. “I just wanna know how you have been.”

You thought that you could endure it. You thought that you could run away from everything — even from Minah’s father. From the very start, you always knew that it was forbidden. You were his secretary and he’s the head of the company. Everything was hidden, behind closed doors, and only hushed words that can be exchanged with you two alone together.

And damn it. It was Mark Lee. Mark Lee who’s loved by everyone, praised by his skills and nice personality. Mark Lee who Korea considers as one of their hottest bachelors. He was everything and then, there’s just you. His competent secretary who has to survive living in this world. Yet, you were willing to enter this kind of relationship. You were a fool to think that your romance with Mark will turn out right like the movies.

“So, how have you been?”

But it wasn’t. One day, you just woke up with an unexplained morning sickness and a trip to the hospital made you realise that your daydreams may not only ruin yours but also Mark’s future.

“I’m doing great, I found a better job with a better salary, I moved to a bigger apartment, and Kiwi’s still alive, still a grumpy cat you know?” you smiled, trying to brush off any topic that may land on the child next to you.

“I see,” Mark bitterly said. Grabbing the cup of coffee on his table. “So, who’s the little girl beside you?”

Your smile faded. You glanced at your daughter who innocently stared at you and your eyes wandered to the man in front of you.

“You know that there’s a possibility right?” Mark taunted, and you could only look at him with a guilty look. He still can read you after all.

“There’s no possibility Mark,” you told him. “She’s yours…I never entered a relationship after I gave birth.”

A beat of silence swallowed you too. You could only lower your head in shame.

“So why hide her from me? You think that I won’t take responsibility?” Mark’s tone turned full of anger and disappointment.

“No! It’s not like that, I just…I don’t want this to get into your way.”

You saw how Mark’s forehead creased, “what are you talking about?”

“Mark, we were young okay!? You have a long way to go as the head of the company, I don’t want a kid to get in your way.”

“And what, let you raise her without knowing her father?”

“You think it was an easy choice for me!?” you saw how surprised he was when you raised your tone. “You were my boss, you’re a CEO and I’m what!? I’m just your secretary Mark!”

“Don’t say that,” Mark calmly said, trying to reach out for you. “You know what we had was real.”

“Of course it was, but we’re just too different,” you mumbled.

Mark didn’t say a word. You could only lower your head out of guilt. It didn’t occur to you that Minah was trying to reach for your hand. Her small hands brushing to your arms making you look at her.

“Mama, are you crying?”

“What?” and before you could even touch your face, Mark already has wiped your tears away.

“You don’t know how much I was devastated when you left the company,” Mark confesses, gently wiping your tears away.

“It’s all my fault, I let our relationship be a secret, I shouldn’t have done that.”

“No Mark, it was okay for me.”

“I know, but it was better that I fought for you. Years of not seeing each other…I don’t even know what you’ve been through when you’re raising our child alone.”

You could only smile bitterly, “it’s okay Mark, I’m over it.”

“Maybe, you’ve always been brave and I’m…I’m just me. I’m sorry for everything and I just want to make it up for the years I wasn’t there,” he holds onto your hand even tighter. “Can we start all over again? I want to be there for both of you.”

His eyes were pleading, desperate to meet yours. Mark was begging to be part of your life again and although there were things that you two haven’t talked about, you couldn’t help but glance at your daughter who cluelessly watched the scene unfold.

Remembering her drawing in her daycare where she draws a complete family, maybe it was time for you to grant her wish.

And as you glance back at Mark, you could only give him a smile as you muttered, “yes.”

[mistydeyes]

little moments and little voices

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

summary: Despite the long hours and constant threat of death, the 141 always has something to return to. Even when they're away, they love the moments you share with them and your children.

pairing: 141 x fem!Reader (established relationship)

warnings: none :)

a/n: i redid my little headers for each section so hope you enjoy!

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

price

“C’mon babies let’s call daddy,” you said as you gathered your three little children. “Mum we’re not babies anymore,” the eldest spoke up as your youngest climbed in your lap. “Alright my mature adults, let’s call your father,” you said in a fake stern voice. Your children laughed as they got settled. “You sound like daddy,” your son giggled as he sat down. "Okay is everyone ready?" you asked and they all nodded in agreement. You grabbed the laptop and pulled up Skype and they all giggled as it rang.

After two rings, John's face lit up the screen. "Well hello there," he said as he sat back and your children rushed to wave hi. "We all miss you, sweetie!" you exclaimed and blew him a kiss. "I miss you all too," he replied as he held a hand up to the screen. "Daddy guess what?" your middle said as she climbed onto your lap to see her dad better. "What, pumpkin?" he replied happily. "I lost a tooth," she exclaimed and showed her dad the empty gap in her front smile. "She's been showing everyone, sweetheart," you laughed as you placed your face back in the frame. You continued to have your other two children provide their updates, your eldest had gotten the best marks at school and your youngest recently learned how to tie their shoes. You could see your husband smile at them proudly as he praised all of their achievements. Eventually, you saw the time and knew it was time for bed. "Kiddies I think it's time we head up to bed, yeah?" you asked and you were immediately met with groans. "Don't act like that for your mother," Price scolded and the whining stopped. "Maybe if you ask nicely, Daddy can read us all a bedtime story," you smiled and they begged your laughing husband.

Eventually, he relented and your kids happily climbed down and raced upstairs. This was their favorite part of the night when John was away and were all dutifully ready to be tucked in. You followed with the laptop in hand and set it up so that all your children could see. "Alright, let's see what we have here," John chuckled, "I have a new one for you it's called '‎Goldilocks And The Three Bears'" your kids oooed in response as you sat next to your youngest bed. "I have a special guest," he continued and shifted the camera to the left, "Uncle Kyle is here and he'll be doing some of the voices." You waved as you saw the Sergeant appear on the screen. The kids screamed with happiness at the sight of their favorite uncle appearing. "Hi kids, I'm Goldilocks," he said in a high-pitched voice and you let out a small laugh. As soon as everyone settled, John prepared his best narrator voice and opened the book. "Once upon a time, there was a young girl named Goldilocks," he began. Before you knew it, he was reading the last few lines. By now, your children were fast asleep. The excitement from seeing their father and the laughter from Kyle's impressions had tuckered them out. You kissed them all gingerly before picking up your laptop and heading downstairs.

"Hi sweetheart," John said as you settled on the couch. "How are you doing?" you asked and his smile faltered a bit. "Tired, missing home," he replied and your heart ached slightly. "We miss you too, John," you whispered as you brought the device closer. "I'll be home soon, just have to tie up some loose ends," he noted. God you missed him. You knew what you had signed up for on your wedding day but these last few months had been hard. You sighed as he looked at your thoughtfully. "Want me to tell you a bedtime story?" he joked and that's how you fell asleep to your husband just talking.

soap

“Daddie daddie daddie!” is all the warning Johnny got before his two twins came running to him. “Slow down there, wee little ones,” he laughed as he went to pick them up in his arms. After four years, Johnny would never get tired of this. “Mammy did face paint with us,” his son said as Johnny examined his face. You had in fact painted their faces and they were excited to show their father. “Let’s get a proper look at both of you,” he said as he sat them both down on the kitchen counter. His kids smiled widely at him and he could see a collection of butterflies and bees on his son’s small face and hearts and flowers on his daughters.

“Where’s your mam now?” he asked as he lowered them off the counter. His daughter excitedly grabbed her dad’s hand and led him to the master bathroom. You stood there washing off your hands and brushes to see your tiny terrors dragging Johnny in. You smiled when you saw them tugging at your husband's arm. You put the brushes down as your twins jumped up and down in excitement. “Hi sweetheart, everything good at the brief?” you asked as you walked over and kissed his cheek. Your kids squealed in disgust and hid their eyes as he held your face gently. "All good, love," he replied, "now what's all this face paint business about?" You looked down to see your kids running around as if they were in a sugar rush. "Ah I had them lying around and they were getting antsy waiting for you," you said and gestured for the twins to settle down. As you continued to clean and chat with Johnny, your daughter had a brilliant idea.

"Mam, can you do some face paint on Daddie?" she asked sweetly and you looked over at Johnny who looked equally as excited. You sighed as you had just finished cleaning your brushes but you always folded for your children and your husband. "I guess I could," you said and the whole group cheered. You set up your station again and Johnny sat on the bathroom counter, leaning down so you could see his face. He squirmed a little under your grip and you ran your fingers over his stubble. "I could make something work," you said before pulling out the paints in your other hand and beginning your masterpiece. You made sure as you were painting to tell your kids not to ruin the surprise. Johnny held onto your waist as you painted. Your children moved around every so often to get a better angle of your work.

"And done," you said with a smile and he turned to look at himself in the mirror. "You've outdone yourself," he said as he examined the delicate brush strokes. "I wanna see!" your son called and Johnny hopped off the counter so they could get a better look. The twins gripped his cheeks and giggled at the splashes of yellow and blue and white. "It's a duck!" your daughter exclaimed. "It's a family of rubber ducks," you said as you bent down, "There's a daddie, a mammy, and two little ones following." They moved Johnny's face around to see the two parent ducks on one cheek and the two smaller ones on the other side. "That's us!" your daughter said as she touched the wet paint. She quickly rubbed it off on her dress and you sighed as you had just gotten them changed that morning. They ran to the playroom and before you could follow, Johnny held you back and kissed you. At first, you thought it was romantic but you soon realized he had brushed off the paint onto your face. "You're a bastard," you joked as you examined your face. "Ye but I'm yours," he said and you laughed as you went to follow your wild children.

gaz

"Shhh don't ruin the surprise," Kyle could hear you say as the door slowly cracked open. All morning, you and your daughter had worked on something special for him. According to your five-year-old, it was "Top Secret" and Kyle was happy to catch up on some shows while you and her worked in the living room. Your daughter jumped onto the bed as Kyle reached to pause his show and you joined soon after. "Okay it's time to close your eyes," she said and Kyle put his hands over his eyes. You smiled as you handed your daughter the masterpiece she had been working on. "You can open them now," she giggled and shoved the paper into his hands. "This is amazing Ivy," he said as you lay down next to them. "She made it all himself," you smiled as you turned to see the drawing.

Today was Kyle's last week before a long deployment and your daughter had wanted to give him something to have. All morning, she drew and colored a drawing of your family including your German Shepherd. The childish drawing had you and Kyle in front of your house and your daughter running around with your dog in a yard of green grass. Kyle kissed your head as your daughter described the scene and pointed out all the drawings. "...then we have mummy, she's wearing the green dress you got her," she said as she continued to point. "And who's that handsome guy?" Kyle said as he pointed to himself. Your son smiled up at you before replying. "That's you, Daddy," she said, "I wanted to draw your uniform but it was too hard so you're wearing a shirt and shorts." Kyle laughed as the drawing was surprisingly accurate, the clothes were things you wore daily and the house looked like the one you were sitting in.

"Well I'm sure my little artist is hungry," he said as he got up and placed your daughter on the ground. "Let's go out to eat today," he announced and your daughter jumped up and down. "I wanna pick out my outfit today," she triumphantly said before running off to her room. Kyle took this opportunity to grab you and hold you in his arms. "Thinking about another little one?" he joked and you laughed as you rolled over to face him. "Not when you're away," you exclaimed, "don't even get me started on the weird cravings Ives gave me." He kissed you gently and you knew you would revisit this as soon as he got back. "She doesn't want you to leave," you whispered after you sat in silence for a few moments. "I'm going to miss you too," he replied and held you closer into his chest. Parting was always such a bittersweet time for the family.

Before you knew it, Ivy came storming back into your bedroom. "Look at me!" she said as she twirled around. You and Kyle propped up to see her in a similar green dress. "Oh Ives, I told you that you were going to wear that when we picked up Daddy from the airport," you scolded but Kyle placed a gentle hand on your waist. "It's a special occasion though!" she exclaimed and you just smiled at her early surprise. "I love it, sweetheart," Kyle replied as he helped you up. "I only think it's fair if Mum wears her green dress," he smiled and kissed you on the forehead. Despite having the surprise ruined, you enjoyed walking around the streets of your town with your daughter in matching dresses and your husband lovingly smiling at you.

ghost

Simon woke up to hear the soft taps on the piano and your soothing voice guiding your son. “Alright sweetheart let’s try that again,” he heard your voice instruct as he played the beginning notes to Heart and Soul. Simon lay in bed for a while as he listened to the peaceful melody. He had been gone for too long and your son had gotten even better since he was last home. You were now able to play duets with him and didn't have to direct him through the sheet music. He smiled softly as he got out of bed and made his way down the stairs. He made sure to walk gently as to not disturb his two musicians. As he descended, you joined in with the duet and began to play the other notes. “Heart and soul, I fell in love with you,” you began and Simon heard your son's little voice join in. Your voice was light and it filled the home with life. When you were first pregnant and he found out it was a boy, Simon feared he would turn out like him but after seven years all of his worries were quelled.

"...and stole a kiss from the night," you both finished as Simon entered the living room. After a few years, you knew when Simon was watching so it didn't surprise you to see him in the doorway. "When did you learn that?" he asked as your son ran up to hug him. He held him to his leg as he watched you turn from the piano slowly. By now, you were about 7 months along and were clearly showing. In just a few more weeks, you would be welcoming a little girl. "I taught him a few weeks ago, he's a fast learner," you proudly announced as you closed the piano lid. "I can play two songs now," your son boasted as Simon lifted him up and tussled his dark hair. "Better than I could ever do," he replied and he lowered your son and made his way over to you. "We might just have to get you lessons, Elliott," you said as your son joined you back on the piano bench. He beamed at you as you looked at Simon's mini-me. "And soon we'll have our own little orchestra," you continued and patted your growing belly, "she loves when Elliott plays, I imagine she's dancing in there." In the morning sunlight, you looked radiant and Simon kissed your forehead gently.

As you shared a brief moment together, your son insisted on playing a new piece you had just started to teach him. "I don't know El, you heard how bad I was singing last week," you joked as he looked at you with puppy eyes. Eventually, you relented and you motioned for Simon to watch. You cleared your throat as your son stretched his fingers and found the starting notes. Simon's ears were soon filled with the melody of Edith Piaf's La Vie en Rose. He smiled softly as you soon began to sing. "Des yeux qui font baisser les miens," you began in an attempt at emulating Piaf's elegant French accent, "Un rire qui se perd sur sa bouche." He watched as Elliott's hands moved around the keys as you sang the romantic song. Despite not being as musically inclined, Simon recognized you were in the key of C, something you had taught him. He closed his eyes as you both continued to perform in sync, savoring the melody and your soft vocals. As soon as he finished with a few ending notes, Simon clapped softly. You and your son laughed as you bowed to your audience.

"It's still a work in progress," you laughed as scooted off the piano and joined next to Simon's side. As you enjoyed the soft moment with your head on his chest, Elliott posed a question. "What if we name the baby Rose," Elliott spoke up and you both thought for a moment. "But out of all the songs why Rose?" Simon asked as you looked at your son. "Mum's always so happy when she sings it, I think the baby would like it," he continued and Simon listened intently. You had been flipping through baby books for weeks and no one of them truly resonated. As you thought about the idea, you suddenly felt the baby kick and smiled. "I think little Rosie agrees," you said happily before sitting down. Simon joined on the other side of the piano and you three squished on the small bench. "Rose it is then," Simon said and enveloped you all in a hug. Before you could get up, your son had a brilliant idea. "Dad let me show you how to play 'Chopsticks'" he exclaimed and Simon knew he was trapped with his musicians.

[glorified-red]

Auburn Traditions (Damian Wayne x Reader)

summary: After your wedding, Damian spends the night finding his name in your bridal henna. In the safety of your presence, he can share his true feelings to you. word count: 1,550~ warnings: none Special thanks to @quillsareswords for bouncing ideas around until this fic was born. I am soft for this man. This is the mushiest thing I've written in so long. Literally kicking my feet writing this.

It came as no surprise when Damian popped the question. 

You two flourished beside each other, growing individually in the comfort of each other’s embrace. For years you stood beside Damian. Through high school you helped him study every exam season, said quick greetings in the halls, and even helped him find all his classes his first year. In college you motivated him through finals, went to every pesky orientation, and cheered the loudest when he walked across the stage one final time. 

Almost in tandem, Damian returned the favor. He asked you to Prom your senior year, holding up a shy bouquet of flowers and a corsage. He attended every performance of yours, big or small, because the mere presence of him was more support than you could ever wish for. Damian dragged you to bed on long nights and held you through so many tough ones, never letting go through it all. 

You moved out together years later after you found the perfect forever home and finally made it yours. The walls were painted deep into the night, muted tones swiped onto his nose only for him to fling it back at you. Together, Christmas lights were hung across the house year after year as you danced to the upbeat tunes in your own living room while the fireplace warms you up after a long day in the snow. 

So when Damian kneeled before you, his heart pouring out of his chest as he spoke words of reflection and his own green eyes shining with affection, you had to say yes. A year of bliss with Damian Wayne, your fiancé, soon to be husband. You carved out a section of this chaotic world and made it your own, a section full of adoration and unwavering love. 

The wedding night was one to remember. It was an extravagant night filled with family, music, and laughter. Damian couldn’t keep his eyes off his bride for very long, far too many of the wedding photos showed Damian’s soft gaze towards you. 

Your vows were heartfelt and private, opting to say your true feelings in the comfort of each other and no one more. Damian Wayne, the man of very few words, had the most poetic words fall from his lips that day. Damian Wayne, the man with ironclad emotions, cried in front of you when the vows continued forward—not that he’d ever admit that, but you knew. 

So here you were, the wedding night bliss still radiating off of you as you sat in front of Damian—your husband—on your shared bed. Your outfits were hung up ages ago, torn off the second you could and changed into something more cozy with softer fabrics and looser seams. Bobby pins were scattered across the bathroom sink as you let your hair rest. Damian’s own hair was ruffled, the gel long since worn off. 

Neither of you minded, no amount of makeup or luxurious outfits could make Damian fall for you any harder than he already has. 

“You’re really intent on finding it,” you commented playfully, your voice dipped into softer volume. Your hands rested in his, decorated in vibrant amber. Delicate florals weaved their way across your fingertips and palms, vines twirled across the negative space until their leaves grew on your hands. Mother Earth herself had kissed your hands and let her beauty flow across your skin—her own blessing to the marriage. 

Henna: a tradition that was nothing short of mesmerizing. You remembered the day Damian asked for this, a small portion of his heritage incorporated into the best night of his life. And of course, you said yes, accepting every part of him happily. 

His hands traced along the arabic style that seeped into your skin, spaced out leaves and florals that left a gorgeous amount of free space to show off your own beautiful skin. It wasn’t nearly as intricate as Mehndi, for this style of henna focused on the palms to bring in love and cherish memories. But every dot on your skin was as fascinating as the one before it, carefully placed into a beautiful design. 

“Of course,” Damian responded, his gaze incredibly focused on the detailed pattern on your hands. He flipped over your hands to look at the top. “The fate of the marriage rests on this moment.” 

You snorted, “You just don’t want to admit that I’m the dominant one in the relationship.” 

Damian tsked, “You wish.” 

“Well,” you looked over at the clock, “you have five minutes before that superstition comes true. Better hurry up, bird boy.” 

“There’s no need to rush me, I will find it before the night is over.” 

You hummed in disbelief, a playful tone falling from your lips. The room fell to comfortable silence once more, the only sound was the soft breathing that landed onto the tips of your fingers. 

His hands were so gentle as they touched yours, a faint warmth emitting from his own hands and transferring to yours. Even as he turned your hands this way and that, his fingertips traced along the design. The touch was feather-light, almost tickling the surface of your hand. 

He never touched with much pressure. Even though the dye was a deep rich color, beautifully stained on your hands and wrists, he didn’t dare to wear it thin. Talia herself told you every tradition as she crafted the henna on your hand, happy to play such a significant role in her son's marriage—and welcoming you to the family? She was overjoyed to receive that call. 

So when your henna turned into a darker tone overnight, you immediately knew the deep connection between you and Damian was gorgeously on display. The color signified more than just love and an unwavering bond, but it also represented your place beside your new family, and the love you will surely receive from them. 

“You look beautiful with this on, Zawjati,” he spoke just barely above a whisper, as if the amber design had Damian mesmerized. The words fell from his lips absent-mindedly, a new term of endearment taking flight in an instant. The gesture meant more to him than he could ever explain, from the reconnection to understanding, all the way to acceptance, his heart was unbelievably full. 

You glanced up at him, your eyes met the softened gaze of a man so deeply in love, the rest of the word slipped away. That gaze conveyed more to you than any poetic vow. 

Your heart was equally as full. His simple wedding band was smooth against your fingers, the new shimmer of metal was vibrant against the tan of his skin. Your own traditions having melted into the wedding with the rings, a permanent symbol of the promise Damian made to you each and every day: to love and cherish you.

“That’s a new one,” you said, pushing past the breathless feeling in your lungs. 

He rolled your fingers in his and sparks flew up your chest just like the first day you met him, even after all these years. He hummed in question, his eyes scanning the patterns with deep concentration. 

“Zawjati,” you continued. “What does that one mean?”

Damian shifted slightly, not uncomfortably so, but as if his brain was mulling words around behind his eyes so his body swayed on instinct. “My wife.” 

The smile that broke across your face happened in an instant, a full gleam of happiness filled your body that you couldn’t possibly contain. “Oh?” you teased, as if the words didn’t burrow themselves in your chest to create blossoming trees, “I’ve upgraded now.”

The corner of his lip ticked upwards so slightly you wouldn’t have caught it if you weren’t staring. There was a tint of your lipstick stained on his lips that you didn’t notice before. His fingers toyed with yours, they slipped in between yours with a ticklish touch. 

“I’ve been wanting to call you that for years,” he said it so simply, like that profession didn’t take the air out of your lungs and make your heart flutter alongside it. 

“Years?” you breathed out, stunned by his words. You knew his love for you was profound, but to be looking forward to spending the rest of his life with you for years? Your head whirled from the whiplash. 

“Yes.” Just as simply as the words that came before. “My heart knew who it belonged to the second you entered my life. You were the only one who ever saw me for who I really was, not who I could become. You were the only one who made me look forward to living, not for the sake of saving lives to simply do it again the next day, but to keep coming home to you.”

“You make the future seem possible. You,” he breathed, “you make me want to be better, not because I have to, but because I truly want to. That is why I’ve always been more partial to the other translation of Zawjati.” 

The word rolled off his tongue and your heart danced. “And what’s that?”

His thumb swiped across your pulse point where his name was imprinted on your skin in subtle cursive, easily blending into a vine. He gently brought the point to his lips. 

“My better half.”

Taglist ♡

@anothertimdrakestan

@cherry-dropp

@missredrobin

[13as07]

Elegant #1

(Shino Aburame)

[Artwork is not mine! Credit to JUHiHUJi]

Requested by: Anonymous

Word Count: 3,502

Warnings and/or Pre-Notes:

It's a western theme wedding style cause I was lazy and didn't want to do research

Alcohol Use

———————————————————————

     I let out another strained breath, glancing over my wedding dress in the body mirror again. What if Shino doesn't like the style? What if he's getting cold feet? What if he leaves me alone at the altar? What if -

     "Wow," a voice says softly, drawing out the word. "You're so... beautiful." My sights jump up, glancing in the mirror to figure out who's behind me. Naruto's frame fills the mirror as he walks closer, settling behind me as his eyes jump over my dress. He's smiling ear to ear, with stars hanging in his eyes as he looks at me. "You're the second prettiest bride I've ever seen."

     "Second?" I ask, smiling back at him.

     "Ya, sorry but you can't beat out how pretty Hinata was at our wedding. She'll always hold that first place price."

     I laugh at the love-struck newlywed. Hinata and Naruto got married two months ago, and I swear he still looks at her the way he did at their ceremony.

     "Now, I know Sakura will drag me out by my ear if she catches me in here, the whole bad energy from seeing you - "

     "That's only for the groom, Naruto. Groom's men aren't included in that," I correct, shifting around so we can face each other. My squadmate looks pretty nice when he gets dressed up, even if his hair is still messy and pointed every which way.

     Naruto's cheeks dusty a slight pink as he rubs the back of his head. "Oh, right. Anyway, I remember the whole 'new, old, borrowed, blue' thing from my wedding. I don't know if you're doing that like Hinata did but I did bring you something blue just in case."

     "I wasn't planning on it but I appreciate the thought, Naruto," I tell him, leaning forward to wrap my arms around him.

He wraps his arms around me too, being careful not to mess up my perfectly constructed look for my special day. "Anyway, you want to see my gift?"

"Yes, I do."

"Just so you know, this is fully from me. I did it - well Hinata stitched it - but it was fully my idea, all of it," Naruto rambles, digging through his pockets in search of my gift.

He tugs out a square cloth, the main color being a rich blue with the edges being his signature obnoxious orange color. Naruto holds it in front of me, letting the cloth tumble undone to its full size. It's no bigger than a napkin. In careful stitches is the quote 'Trust is knowing that when a squad mate pushes you, they're doing it because they care'.

"Naruto," I mumble, reaching forward to hold the ends of the cloth.

"Pretty nifty, huh? Hinata had a section of Neji's robe turned into a handkerchief, so I asked her to do the same with my old jacket. I figured you could pin it under your dress. If not that's cool too. Oh! And don't worry, Hinata cleaned the material like a bazillion times."

     "Naruto," I call again, tears in my eyes as I lunge forward, wrapping my arms around his neck again. "You dumb gushy fox," I say with a smile and tears of appreciation.

     "Do you not like it? Oh! Please don't cry, you're going to ruin your makeup," he rushes out, carefully slipping at the water that threatens to ruin the makeup I spent an hour on.

"I love it, Naruto," I tell him, smiling at him to send the point home. "You big goof. Would you pin it to my dress?" I ask, shifting my skirt around to figure out where I want it pinned.

"Of course! Let me go find a pin."

————————————

"Just some final touches," Sakura mumbles, running the makeup brush over my cheeks again. "Oh, and a few puffs of perfume," she says, jumping to her feet and rummaging around the table covered in different products.

     "I can't wear perfume, you know that. It messes with Shino's kikaichus."

     "So, you know how Shino has been queasy off and on the last couple of months?" She mumbles, now digging through her bag.

     "Sakura," I utter, my tone warning because of the way our conversation is heading.

     "Well, it's because Hinata and I have been testing different perfumes," She finishes, standing up with a small box in her hands.

     "Sakura!"

     "Oh calm down, it was only a handful of times and only a squirt or two every time. No Shinos and no kikaichus were harmed. Besides, it’s your wedding day. You should be wearing a new perfume to celebrate. It just so happens to be the only perfume that doesn't annoy or make your husband's parasites sick. Now come here and let me spray you down."

     I roll my eyes at her but do get up from my spot. I twirl in a slow circle, letting Sakura coat me in the flower-scented perfume. "See? So much better, plus you can wear perfume more often since it doesn't mess with Shino."

     "I guess so," I mutter, shaking my head at her. I swear Sakura never uses her brain outside of missions.

     "Alright, I'll leave your fancy new scent here on the table," She says, making a show of putting it back in the box and leaving the box on the table. "We need to get going for your first look and such." Shino isn't much of an emotional man and is rarely emotional around other people, so we decided a private first look would be best.

     She leads the way, my veil in her hold, held above her head so it doesn't drag on the ground as we head outside. "Wait here," she mutters after the short walk, stopping long enough to situate the clips of my veil into my hair.

Sakura slips away, leaving me to admire the cherry blossoms as she goes looking for my husband. I do just that, walking along the small path and toying with the heavy branches being weighed down by the weight of their blooms.

Enjoying the scenery helps with some of the anxiety surrounding today. I'm more than thrilled to spend the rest of my life with Shino, but it's still nerve-racking to think about all the things that could go wrong today, let alone the future.

"You don't always have to be such a lug!" Sakura's voice rings out after a few minutes, tugging my focus in the direction we came from earlier.

My best friend is dragging my very soon-to-be husband down the short path, a blindfold wrapped around his eyes to ensure he's not cheating. Shino looks nice, dressed fancy for once and his hair slicked back instead of loose and bushy like usual. "I do not see the point in doing this. I will see her when she walks down the aisle," he grumbles, slowly trudging after Sakura as she pulls him my way.

"I don't want you loosening your macho-ness because you burst into tears in front of everyone," I tease, causing his head to snap in the direction of my voice.

A group of his kikaichus slips out, eagerly flapping their way toward me. Some stay buzzing around me, with a few others clinging to different parts of my clothing. This has been a common thing during our relationship, Shino's bugs ditching him to investigate me or chew at a bit of my chakra. I freaked out the first time it happened but he insists they mean no harm and it helps him feel close to me. Since then, it's come to be something that calms me down, which I need with how loud my heartbeat seems to be.

"I would not and will not cry," he mumbles, stopping in the spot Sakura leaves him in.

"Lug," she murmurs before turning toward me. "I'm going to go make sure everything is settled. Once you two are done, send Shino in and come wait in the corridor, alright?"

"Alright, I'll see you in a few minutes."

With that, Sakura turns on her heels to head towards the waiting guests, leaving the two of us alone for the first time today. "You don't think you're going to cry when you see me?" I ask, reaching forward to toy with his sunglasses that Sakura slithered the blindfold under.

"No, I do not," he whispers, his hands sliding up to wrap around my arms, causing more of his kikaichus to spill out, coating both of our arms now.

I slowly slide my touch backward, taking my time to rest his glasses on his head before I tug at the knot keeping the cloth in place around his eyes. Once the cloth is loose, I take a step back, letting the material dangle from my fingertips.

Shino's eyes are squinted because of the setting sun. I knew they would be, but I want to see his whole reaction especially since this is something that won't happen again. His sight crawls around my body, falling down my dress like a waterfall before climbing back up my frame like a mountain. "Perhaps," he starts, voice cracking as he repeatedly blinks. "Perhaps, I was wrong."

     Once the words are out, he breaks, tears rolling down his cheeks, chasing away the kikaichus that have been clinging to his face. Shino moves forward, enveloping me in his arms so he can hold me. "You look elegant, my Ladybug," he whispers into my hair, his little friends following their leader and knotting themselves in my locks.

     When Shino pulls back, his focus shifts from me to helping his beetles untangle their legs, being careful not to mess up my hair and not to hurt his bugs. He spends the whole time trying to blink away the fresh tears forming in his eyes; he fails, forming water lines down his cheeks.

     "Oh, Shino," I coo when he pulls the rest of the way apart from me. I cup his face, using my thumbs to brush away his tears. "You look very elegant too."

"Not as elegant as you, my dear," he mutters, leaning down to brush a kiss against my lips.

————————————

I shift my dress again, making sure it's laid perfectly as I wait for Kakashi to join me. There's about ten minutes until I'm expected to walk down the aisle with my Sensei giving me away to my husband, to my Shino. My nerves have evened out since our time together under the cherry blossoms, leaving me filled with nothing but joy.

"There's my gorgeous daughter-in-law," Shibi's soft voice calls from behind me.

I turn a bit, making sure not to mess up my carefully laid-out dress and my thin veil settled on top of it. I decided on a royal-length veil, more so because that's what Shino wanted than me, but it is his wedding as well. If he wants me to wear a long veil that trails behind me, I don't mind.

"You look lovely," Shibi compliments again, making his way forward. He stops in front of me, careful hands cupping my cheeks. He tilts my head down, brushing a gentle kiss to my hairline. "You are beautiful. The most beautiful bride my son could ask for."

"Thank you," I mutter, tilting my head back up so I can look at my father-in-law. A soft smile is on his face as he looks down at me. This is one of the few times I've seen Shibi truly content, which only solidifies my decision to marry his son. Shibi is the smartest man I know, and if he agrees with my decision it must be the right one.

"I have a gift for you, a temporary one," he mutters, pulling away from me. "Since Shino and you decided to have a night wedding, I figured a little extra glow would be nice," Shibi tells me, throwing up a few hand signals.

Soft flapping fills the space, a small squirm of bugs following the command they were given. "What are you doing?" I ask, tilting my head backward, watching the bugs settle in a neat line along the hem of my veil.

"Watch," he orders, shifting his hand placement to send out another command.

The bugs shift their wings, a soft glow coming from them, decorating my veil with the soft yellow coloring. "Shibi!" I call in joy, lunging forward to catch him in a hug. "It's beautiful! Thank you."

"You're welcome," he utters, unclinging my arms from around him. Shibi isn't much of a touchy person, a trait his son inherited too. "After the ceremony, I'll need them back, of course."

"Of course," I echo, sending him another smile.

     He nods his head, letting his hands fall back down to his sides. "I should get seated before the ceremony begins. I look forward to seeing you walk down the aisle," Shibi mutters, nodding his head once more before he slips around the corner, heading into the crowd that's eagerly waiting for me to enter.

     I adjust my dress again, carefully toying with my veil so I don't hurt or knock off any of the lightening bugs clinging to it. I have a few moments of silence, giving my anxiety the chance to crawl into my rib cage again. After today, Shino and me will be bound together forever, until the end of our time.

     "There you are," my Sensei calls, pulling me out of my head. "I didn't know you were done getting ready yet." He mutters, adjusting the pin-comb that's holding my veil in place. "You look like an angel."

     "You don't look too bad yourself," I tease, glancing over Kakashi's put-together look. It's weird seeing my Sensei out of his usual outfit.

     He rolls his eyes, letting out a disapproving hum. Despite the small banter, Kakashi still leans forward, resting the side of his head against mine with his arms loosely wrapped around me. "The lightning bugs are a nice touch," he whispers, squeezing me before he tugs himself away.

"They're a temporary gift from Shibi."

"Well, I have a permanent gift for you. Just don't tell the others, they might get jealous."

"Ya?" I ask, watching Sensei dig through his pockets, the familiar sound of our training bells filling the air when he tugs them out of his pocket.

Kakashi hums again, giving me a rare masked and closed-eyed smile. "Naruto gave you his gift already, yes?" He asks, clinking the bells so they'll ring again.

"Yes, he did," I answer, lifting a layer of my dress to show off the handkerchief Naruto pinned to my dress.

He nods again, bending down so he can kneel on the ground. Kakashi works carefully, unlike my clumsy squad mate. Sensei moves slowly, unpinning the handkerchief and laying it on his knee so he can wrap his bells around the pin before pinning both items under my dress again. "There, now you'll have all three of us attached to you during the night."

"When did you get all gushy?" I tease, shaking my leg a bit. You can't hear the bells around the fabric but I can feel their imprint against me.

"When Naruto got married, and again now. I'm sure it'll happen again when Sakura and Sasuke get married too," Kakashi answers, straightening up before taking his spot next to me. "Are you ready to do this?" He asks, prompting his arm out toward me.

     "As ready as ever," I answer, clinging to the bend of his elbow.

     "That's my girl," he mutters, poking his head around the corner to send Sakura the signal that we're ready.

————————————

Shino's hands cling to me for dear life, his social anxiety at an all-time high as he spins us in slow, small circles. His left-hand grips mine, his ring digging into my fingers, threatening to leave an imprint. His right-hand rests on my waist, clinging to the material of my dress. "I despise dancing," he mutters, focus flickering around the millions of eyes watching us have our first dance.

"I know."

"Everyone is watching us."

"I know."

"You are my wife now."

"You are my husband now," I echo, shifting forward, I loop my arms around his neck, laying his head on my shoulder. Shino gratefully takes the change, his arms tight around my waist and his nose buried into my neck.

We sway, still moving in slow circles around the dance floor. "I will not be dancing again tonight," he whispers into my neck, the feeling of his kikaichus exploring the new position, little legs tugging at the material of my dress.

"I know, I appreciate you doing this though."

"Of course, Ladybug."

Shino reluctantly pulls away from me as the song comes to an end, fresh tears raining on his face. "What's wrong?" I ask, hands jumping up to wipe away his tears before anyone else notices.

"Nothing, my dear," he answers, fingers wrapping around mine to pull them away from his face. "You... are perfect," he mutters, glancing around before quickly pressing a kiss to my fingertips. "Can we go sit now?"

"Yes we can," I murmur, smiling from ear to ear as my husband tugs me off the dance floor.

Cheers from the guests fill the room, a few of them jumping up from their spots to take up the dance floor as the next song starts. Kiba and Naruto are beaming from the head table, as are my bridesmaids; Sakura and Hinata. "Our baby is all grown up!" Kiba cheers, Hinata giggling and nodding in agreement.

"Be quiet," Shino mumbles, helping me into my chair before he sits down alongside me. Once we're situated, his hand messes with my dress, ruffling my layers in search of a small amount of skin on skin. "What's that?" He asks as his fingertips slide over the pinned presents from my squad mates, head tilting down to glance at the items.

"Bells from my Sensei and a handkerchief from Naruto," I answer, helping him move my dress out of the way.

He hums softly, fingertips digging into my knee as he clings to it. His thumb slides over my knee on repeat, a kikaichu or two crawling over his fingers, occasionally dipping down and crossing my knee. "You are perfect," he repeats, sending me a rare smile before turning to hell at Kiba again.

I smile to myself, soaking in the repeated compliment. "Well, Mrs. Aburame," Sakura teases, a huge smile on her face as well. "What does it feel like being officially married now?"

"Wonderful."

————————————

Sakura and I belt out jumbled lyrics of the song playing, the liquor in our system commanding our dancing with both of our wet blankets of partners watching. Sasuke and Shino are sat near each other, both men's full attention on us as we dance. "What do you think they're thinking right now?" She asks, her arms dangling over my shoulders as we move in beat with each other.

"Well, knowing Sasuke he's probably talking himself out of killing me and Shino might have one or two more songs in him before he gets clingy again."

Sakura lets out a loud cackle, the alcohol chipping away the bubbly cute persona she tries to maintain. Her laughter only increased when Shino starts heading our way. "You're wrong about Sasuke but it seems you were right about Shino."

"Right about what?" My husband asks, impatience in his voice as he stands next to us, both of us still swaying to the music.

     "About you wanting my attention," I answer, pulling away from my friend to wrap Shino up in my arms.

     "That is not what I want," he mutters, staying still as I squeeze him in my hold. "I wish for us to go home. I would like some alone time with my wife," Shino airs out the last word like he can't comprehend being able to use it.

     "What kind of alone time?" I ask, sliding my hands up to toy with the ends of his hair, fluttering my eyelashes at him.

     "Just... alone time," he whispers, a hint of pink dust on his cheeks. "Should I have it announced that the ceremony is over?"

     "Have them announce the party is over in thirty minutes," I mutter back, letting my arms fall to his shoulders, leaning myself against my husband. I tip my head up, lips brushing against his ear as I speak. "If you can't wait thirty minutes I'd be more than happy to give you a little... support." I let a hum out, flickering my eyes down.

     Shino's face is full red now, mouth gapping a bit. "That is not... we cannot... Ladybug," he stutters, as flustered with my straightforwardness as ever. "I am... that is something I have been excited about today, but that... that is an at-home activity."

     "I know, I'm just teasing."

     He lets out a sigh of relief, gently pulling me off of him. "Your mind is lacking the elegance the rest of you possess."

     "I know."

———————————————————————

[withlove-amber]

Practice Dance

gibbs x reader

“Oh hey (Y/N)!” The loud voice of a Very Special Agent Tony DiNozzo rang through the air, and into (Y/N)’s ears. “Hey Tony, what’s up?” (Y/N) replied. “You got an invite to a wedding, and it says you can bring a plus-one.” “A wedding invitation? Who’s inviting me to a wedding? And how do you know I got an invite?” “I might have looked through the mail on your desk this morning.” Tony sheepishly responded. (Y/N) looked at the wedding invitation (after glaring at Tony), and saw that it was from her cousin. 

“Awww, they look so happy!” (Y/N) said as she read over the invitation. As much as she hated to admit it, Tony was right, she was allowed to bring a plus-one. She didn’t realize Gibbs had come up behind her, and was looking over her shoulder the whole time. She just about jumped when she turned her face an inch to the left, and he was right there behind her. “God, Gibbs! Thanks for the heart attack!” (Y/N) said, now clutching her chest, right above her heart. “Anytime, (Y/N).” 

Throughout the day, her gaze kept lingering back at the wedding invitation. At one point, Gibbs noticed her zoning out in the direction of the invitation. (Y/N) felt a crumpled piece of paper hit her shoulder. “Earth to (Y/N), are you there?” “Yes, Tony, I’m here. What do you need?” (Y/N) replied, slightly agitated at Tony’s interruption from her daydream. “Are you daydreaming about your Prince Charming over there?” She glared at him slightly, but ultimately said, “Nah, I’m just not even sure I’m going to the wedding.” “What?! Why not?” Tony impatiently asked. Gibbs was also slightly curious as to why she wouldn’t go. “Because, I don’t have anyone to go with, I don’t know how to slow dance, and I have nothing to wear to a semi-formal wedding.” (Y/N) responded. “Well (Y/N), I have to say, that sucks for you.” Tony said laughing towards the end of the sentence. 

(Y/N) spent the rest of the day, daydreaming about a familiar silver-haired, steely-blue eyed man. She couldn’t stop thinking about the two of them dancing around all of the other couples. There were just a few problems: she can’t slow dance, she hasn’t told Gibbs how she feels, and they’re not a couple. The only thing that brought her out of her daydream, was Tony saying goodnight. She didn’t even realize it was time to go home. Oops. The only two people left in the bullpen were (Y/N) and Gibbs. Right before she picked up her things to leave and say goodnight to Gibbs, she heard “Moonlight Serenade” by Glenn Miller Orchestra playing over the speakers in the office. 

She looked up from her desk, and saw Gibbs standing in front of her desk, holding out his hand for her to take. She stood up and took his hand, and he led her to the middle of the bullpen. Her eyes widened slightly when she felt Gibbs’ hand on her waist. “Put your hand on my shoulder and take my other hand in your left hand.” Gibbs instructed her. She felt small sparks when she felt his gentle touch on her waist, and his gentle touch while holding her hand. She often wondered how gentle his touch would be with his rough, veiny hands that were a sure sign of carpentry. The months of daydreaming about Gibbs, had nothing on the real thing.

He set the pace for them both, slowly extending one foot forward, and she slowly extending one foot back. The two swayed slowly and softly, and she could feel herself blushing at the very close contact. While the two danced to the soft music in the background, they observed each other’s features in the soft glow of the dim office lighting. His eyes appeared to be much more blue than they’d ever been, and if she looked hard enough, his silver strands of hair appeared to softly glow in the dim lighting. The front section of her hair appeared to be brighter than it’s ever looked before, and he noticed how plush and soft her lips look. ‘God,’ he thought, ‘I could kiss her right now.’ As the song played in the background, the two gradually closed the gap between their bodies, so they were now standing so close, there wasn’t even an inch of space between them.

“Jethro,” (Y/N) whispered, “Would you be my plus-one?” “I would love to, (Y/N).” Gibbs softly spoke. “You were right Dr. Mallard. They do have feelings for each other.” Said Director Vance, looking over the balcony from upstairs into the bullpen. “I was hoping to finally get them to act on it, but this works too.” Said Ducky, watching (Y/N) and Gibbs dance around the bullpen.