#but i spent too much time on it to not post

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Harvest Moon

Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Pairing: Jackson Joel Miller x Female Reader Word Count: 3,100 Summary: It's Joel's birthday and you're going to make sure he has a good one. Warnings: smut, fluff, dancing in the kitchen to neil young, unprotected p in v, public-ish sex (but under a blanket), talking to neighbors while sitting on joel miller's cock, apocalypse birth control (pulling out), fingering, riding, joel has a filthy mouth, no use of y/n, not beta read.

A/N: I spent most of tonight adding 2,500 words to this barely written piece. Now it's two hours past my bedtime, but HAPPY BIRTHDAY JOEL MILLER!!! This can absolutely be read as a standalone, but, this is yet another singular smut entry for my Elks babies. This was originally going to be posted as a birthday celebration chapter for that, but I really wanted to give Joel his gift on his actual birthday. Happy birthday you gorgeous old man, you. Hope you like the porn I wrote about you. ❤️🥴

Masterlist

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You’ve been looking for the CD since you learned of Joel’s love of the song. Tommy did it, he actually did it. Somehow by some miracle he found the CD. 

“Not a problem,” he gives you that same shy Miller lopsided grin. “Milt had it. Told me to tell you it’s yours to keep… said he owes you since you were his daughter’s favorite teacher ‘n all.”

“Thanks Tommy,” you say, barely being able to contain your excitement, “this is going to be amazing.”

“Of course. Should be thanking you really,” he shrugs. “It’s about time he had a good birthday.”

—

Joel said he’d be helping fix one of the greenhouses today, but you’re still scared to ruin the surprise as you unlock his door. 

“Joel?” you yell out into the quiet, seemingly empty house. 

No answer. Perfect.

Quick steps lead you to his CD player, the same one he first showed you how much he cared for you with. Now, it’s your turn to show him just how much he means to you. The disc tray opens and you place the CD into the system, you can’t wait to surprise him. 

—

“More coffee?” you ask, holding up the percolator.

He nods and smiles, happily sitting at the table full from the steak, potatoes, and cornbread you made him. He had insisted on sharing the meat, but you refused, happy to let him enjoy the first taste of steak in over twenty years.

Your friend Helen got her boyfriend Greg to cut a small filet of steak from the newly butchered cow. She handed it to you with a knowing smile. It’s nice to see everyone accept yours and Joel’s relationship. 

You lean over his lap, and top his coffee cup off. 

“Have I ever told you how much I love seeing you in a dress? Can’t believe you got yourself all dolled up for me.” He surprises you by pulling you onto his lap. 

“Careful!” you shriek, quickly placing the carafe on the table. “Yes, you have… many times. That's why I wore it.”

“Hmph,” he hums happily, burying his face into the crook of your neck, his arms wrapping securely around you. “Thank you for dinner–and everything sweetheart.” He presses a soft kiss to your skin. 

“That’s not all,” you giggle as he nips at a sensitive spot under your chin. 

He chuckles, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re so good to me.” 

You clutch his chin tilting his head up to meet your eyes. “You deserve a happy birthday.” His big brown eyes search yours, like he’s forcing himself to believe it. “Joel, you do.” 

He rests his forehead against yours. “I love you,” he sighs warmly.

“I love you too. Now, I have something else for you,” you slip off his lap and head towards your backpack. “It’s something small, I promise.”

You return with a bundle of fabric held behind your back. 

“Remember when you tore your favorite flannel and you tossed it in the rag bag?”

You place the flannel in his hands.

“Well, a certain girl named Ellie grabbed it for me. I mended it, reinforced the buttons, and sewed up a couple holes. It’s not perfect, but it’s fixed.”

He holds the flannel up and inspects it. “This is–wow–this–I can’t believe it.” He looks up at you, his eyes wide with adoration. “I was wearing this that first day I saw you, y’know? This is so sweet sweetheart, thank you.” 

He likes it, you thank your lucky stars. Your handsome Joel, here with you on his birthday, allowing himself to be taken care of. 

You know the story of his birthday, you’ve retold the tale to yourself every night as you anticipated this day. Afraid to upset him, afraid to cross a line, but all you’ve wanted to do is give him the world he so deserves. 

It wasn’t just you who thought of him today. It’s Tommy finding the CD. It’s Helen getting you the steak. It’s Ellie grabbing the flannel from the rag bag. He deserves all of it. 

“You’re welcome,” you say with a kiss to his forehead. “Now, put it on. I have one more surprise.”

He slips the flannel on as you head to the living room. The CD waits in the stereo. You turn it on.

The soft guitar and brushes of a drum fills the air as you turn the volume up.  

Joel’s huge smile greets you when you walk back into the kitchen.

“You– how?” he asks, unbelieving. 

“Asked Tommy and he found it for me. Milt had his greatest hits. Now,” you reach your hand out to him, “may I have this dance birthday boy?”

He chuckles and takes your hand, pulling you into him. The two of you sway along to the music, his strong arms enveloping you as your cheek rests against his warm chest. You can hear the steady thump of his heart beneath your ear. Your hands slip around his broad back, one of them trailing up to play with the soft curls at the nape of his neck. He sighs deeply before placing a tender kiss against the top of your head. 

“This is my favorite song,” he murmurs.

The sun has long since set, the singular lamp above the sink casts a warm dark amber glow across the kitchen Your shadows dance across the walls as you sway. He smells of coffee and sweet corn bread, like home and comfort. 

He starts to hum then softly sing along. His deep voice reverberates through your ear, pressed against his heart. 

“Because I’m still in love with you,  I wanna see you dance again,  Because I’m still in love with you,  On this harvest moon”

You can hear the contentment in his voice as he holds you closer. Moving in synchronicity with each other, gently stepping across the small kitchen as the harmonica solo plays. If you could stay in this moment forever you would.

You tilt your head up, and his eyes meet yours. The smile he gives lights his face. Lines crinkling at the corner of his eyes, dimple sitting deep on his cheek, mustache curving with his plush upturned lips. He serenades you with the same lyrics as before, looking deep in your eyes. 

“Because I’m still in love with you,  I wanna see you dance again,  Because I’m still in love with you,  On this harvest moon”  

His lips meet yours, thanking you with a gentle kiss. The man you love and adore, feels good on his birthday all because of you. 

The song plays on repeat, the two of you dance together, Joel gently hums and sings along as the harvest moon rises above the mountains. 

You gently pull away, unclasping his arms from around you.

“Come on birthday boy,” you say with a playful smile, “let’s go watch the stars.” 

—

You and Joel sit beneath a large plaid comforter on his porch. The early fall breeze that rolls down the mountainside leaves a chill in the air. The night sky is lit bright with the orange full moon. Most of Jackson is at the Harvest Moon Festival tonight, you can just make out the distant sounds of laughter and music flowing through the air from the main street on his porch. Ellie was especially thrilled about the teen sleepover happening at the Bison tonight, giving you both this rare moment of solitude in his backyard. She told Joel she knew he was in good hands with you for his birthday. 

And he is–or at least you’re in his good hands. 

“Oh, god,” you softly whisper into the night, you’re so tense from keeping yourself quiet. The stars are a little harder to see tonight thanks to the ambient glow of the bright moon, and yet you see stars whenever you squeeze your eyes shut while fighting the urge to moan. Joel’s deft, large thumb rubs circles against your clit while you ride two of his thick fingers. 

He’s driving you crazy like this. His large body and the blanket wrapped around you, overheating all of your senses in this chilly night. You’re completely covered, nobody would know that your legs are spread wide, one draped over his thick thigh while his hand is stuffed up your dress making you quake as he finger fucks you.

“Easy now, easy now,” he says nuzzling against your neck, his large nose charting a course across the sensitive skin. “Gotta remember where we are. You're the sweet, innocent teacher 'n librarian here. Lotta people look up to you, can’t have them knowin’ what my girl really likes when she’s with me.” Your hips slow their movement, he makes up for it by pumping you harder. “See, I can help, just gotta let me know you want it baby.” 

“Want to take–neyugh–care of you,” struggles out of your mouth. 

“You’re taking care of me right now, sweetheart, touching you is my favorite thing to do.” 

“Want to go inside… w-want to–want–to, want to feel you in my mouth,” you grip the straining bulge underneath the fly of his jeans. 

“Not yet,” he sighs deeply when you squeeze harder. “Like seeing your skin glow in the moonlight. What you’re doin’ now is enough, want to enjoy my night with you.”

Your hold tightens around his cock as you fight harder to suppress the urge to scream into the night. His fingers angle up hitting your most sensitive spot and you feel like you could explode. You’ll be the fireworks to celebrate Joel’s birthday. A whimper is fought by biting your lip, it’s so hard to not scream. His brown eyes look almost black in the low light as he watches you struggle and blink rapidly. 

“Shh baby, you’re doing so good, bein’ so quiet, don’t ruin it now. If anybody was out right now they could walk right on by and they’d have no idea what I’m doing to you under here.”

You’ve never done anything like this, so out in the open. Jackson is a peaceful town full of law abiding citizens, and right now you’re sitting on the back of the porch of Joel’s house getting felt up by him. 

“Joel… I–I’m gonna—”

“Cum for me baby.” His hot breath hits your lips before sealing his mouth against yours. Your cunt spasms against his thick fingers, you feel set alight by your orgasm, overheated and burning. Maybe you’re glowing just as bright as the moon. His tongue dances with yours, swallowing all of your gasps and cries. You’re sure at this point, anybody that walked by would know exactly what was happening between the two of you. You don’t care, all you want is to feel Joel’s cock inside you.

“Want you, Joel, want you so bad,” you mew as his fingers rub against your sensitive folds. 

“Okay baby, okay.” His fingers slip from your warmth before he brings his soaked digits to his lips. His eyes flutter shut when he tastes you. 

“Sweeter than birthday cake,” he declares before raising his hips and pulling his jeans down with a grunt. “Come here. Come sit on me.”

Your legs spread wide as you straddle his large lap with your back pressed against the warmth of his chest. He grips himself and moves the half hard heft of his cock against your soaked core, swirling his tip back and forth across your clit. 

“Tell me you want my cock,” he whispers against your neck, licking a line up to your ear. “Tell me baby.”

“I-I want your cock–I need your cock Joel,” you beg. 

“I know you do darling,” he chuckles deeply, lining himself up to your entrance.

The sounds of the festival go silent and the bright orange moon fades as you slowly sink down on his cock. Taking all of him, thick and throbbing into your tight cunt. 

“That’s my good girl,” he grits. “Your sweet pussy is taking me so well, isn’t she?”

Clutching your bottom lip tightly between your teeth, you try to fight the moan his words bring up.

“Oh, you must like that. You’re squeezin’ me so hard sweetheart.” 

You set a pace, riding him gently under the moonlight, his fingers gripping your hips tight. 

His hot breaths hit the back of your neck as your back molds even tighter to his front. His hand snakes down to rub your clit, small circles making your body meld even more against him.. The rhythm of his fingers and cock spearing you pulls another orgasm down from the ethers of space. Shivering, sweating, and stuttering Joel’s name, you’re trying to be good for him, trying to not scream into the night. 

“That’s my girl, grippin’ my cock so good, cummin’ all over me. Getting yourself nice and slippery so I can fuck you real good, huh?” 

“Mmf,” is the only response you can muster. Your cunt flutters around him, and he doesn’t relent, slowly fucking into you while his finger pulses against your clit. 

The sound of two people conversing approaches. Your movements come to a halt, Joel stays still, his finger still resting against your sensitive bundle of nerves and his cock sitting deep inside you. Hank and Billie, the nice couple that lives three houses down from Joel, walk past the porch. Both look over and wave a greeting. Fuck.

“Beautiful moon, isn’t it?” Hank says with a smile. 

“Quite.” Joel responds. The rumble of his loud voice radiates through you.  

“You guys get any barbecue tonight?” Hank asks. “It was really go–”

“We stayed in,” Joel gruffly responds. He subtly knocks his hips into you causing a wave of sensation to hit against your already cock-drunk pussy.

Your nostrils flare with a deep exhale.  

“Oh, well, there will probably be leftovers tomorrow,” Billie offers. “Tell them I sent you and they’ll give you the good stuff.”

“Thanks Billie,” you breathlessly reply, wishing on every star you’ve seen behind your eyelids, they’ll leave. “We appreciate it.”

“Best be getting home,” Hank says, grabbing Billie’s hand. “We both had a bit too much to drink!” 

Oh thank god.

“Enjoy your night,” Joel says plainly as he starts to slowly rock into you once they turn away. 

To the eyes of your neighbors, you and Joel just look like a normal couple enjoying the night sky cuddled together under a blanket… little do they know he’s filling you with his thick cock under the shield. 

“That was close,” he whispers against your ear before nipping it. 

Your giggle is cut off by a moan when he fucks into you harder. 

“Guess we shouldn’t take our time, don’t want to get caught, now do we?” he asks. 

“We can just–nyuh–go inside,” you plead, wanting to be able to moan and scream Joel’s name in the comfort of his home. 

“Gimme one more baby, gimme one more,” he grunts against your neck. “And then I’ll take you into my home and fuck you.”

His hips pound against your body, his thrusts bucking into your core harder. “That’s it baby, you really want me to take you in and lay you down ‘n fuck you, don’t you?” 

“Mmhmm,” you moan, your stomach tightening and thighs trembling as the universe splinters around you. Your orgasm rockets through your body. Color turns to black and white, noise falls silent. All that exists is Joel Miller and his big cock shattering you into a million pieces like your own personal big bang on the back of his porch. 

“Good girl,” he groans, “let’s take this party inside.”

—

The plaid comforter is laid out on the kitchen floor. Your wobbly legs move your still blissed-out body to Joel’s stereo, starting “Harvest Moon” on repeat all over again. 

You lean against the kitchen entrance, admiring Joel as he rests atop the blanket, naked and supporting himself on his elbows. No man over fifty should ever look as good as him. Broad shoulders frame his strong arms, his chest has a smattering of dark hair that trails down to the slight bulge of his stomach. His cock rests in between his legs, still hard and shining with your slick. He’s so gorgeous, and he’s all yours. 

“Come here sweetheart,” his voice is gruffer. “Lay down next to me.”

His dick twitches as you walk to the blanket and settle beside him. 

He moves over you, covering you with his warmth as he engulfs himself in your slick heat. Your legs instinctually wrap around his waist allowing him to take more. 

“Joel,” you moan. The angle allows his cock to push farther in and your walls to tighten harder against him. 

“Ooh, you’re so fucking wet, you hear that?” he asks incredulously. The squelch of your pussy soundtracks along to the song quietly playing in the background. “Sounds so fucking good baby.” 

He gasps when buries himself to the hilt, soaking the curly hairs around the base of him with your wet.

Your body trembles as your hips meet his, his cock sliding in and out of your cunt at a brutal pace. 

He takes no time to own you now behind the walls of his home. Your hands clutch at his wide back, sobs and screams of his name echoing out into the air as Neil Young softly sings in the background. 

You’re so full of him. His body surrounding you, his lips against yours, his cock pounding into your accepting cunt, his name chanting out of your mouth. 

“You want it baby?” he growls against your neck, his cock pumping in and out of your hole at a speed no man over fifty should be able to ever reach. “You want my cum?” 

“C-cum Joel,” you cry, tears sprouting from your eyes as your fourth orgasm launches through you. 

He gasps your name, pulling out of your tremorous pussy and shooting thick white ropes of cum across your pussy and stomach. 

His sweat is slick against your overheated body, you’re a mess of sweat, orgasm, and love. 

He kisses you, his tongue licking against yours before he rolls off you. His chest rising and falling as he catches his breath. “Fuck,” he pants, stretching his limbs out. “Gonna feel this tomorrow.” 

“Well, you are another year older, old man,” you tease, curling up next to him. 

“Yeah,” he turns his head to look at you. “I guess I am,” he sighs. “Thank you for–my birthday and–all of this. I can never put into words how much it all means to me.” 

“So I guess you’re still in love with me?” you tease.

“Always. Especially on this harvest moon,” he returns your smile. 

---

Tagging a couple people who had asked about this piece earlier this month: @almostfoxglove, @sawymredfox, @burntheedges, and @littlemisspascal 🩷🌝

[landinhoe]

In Your Tender Light- Lando Norris

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Lando Norris dragged himself through the front door, the weight of the Singapore Grand Prix clinging to every muscle. The humidity, the grueling laps, and the relentless demand on his body had worn him down to the core. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion, and his entire being craved nothing but rest and comfort.

She herd the door open from the kitchen, where she had been preparing his favorite meal. The moment she saw him, her heart softened. He looked spent, his hair slightly damp, his shoulders slouched in that familiar post-race fatigue. But he was home now, and she was ready to make sure he left all the tension of the race behind him.

“Hey, babe,” she greeted, her voice a gentle melody as she approached him. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a warm embrace, her body pressed close to his.

Lando let out a deep sigh, the simple comfort of her touch already working to ease the weight from his shoulders. “Hey,” he whispered, his voice hoarse from the race and interviews, but the sound of her voice seemed to ground him, bringing him back to the safety of home.

“Go take a shower,” she said softly, brushing her fingers against his cheek. “I’ll meet you upstairs. I’ve got a few things in mind to help you relax.”

He smiled at her, a tired but grateful look in his eyes. “What would I do without you?” he mumbld, kissing her softly before heading upstairs.

By the time he reached the bathroom, his body was practically begging for relief. The heat and tension from the race still clung to him, his muscles tight, his skin sticky with sweat. He turned on the shower, letting the water warm as he undressed.

Stepping under the spray, the hot water hit his skin like a balm, cascading down his tired body, washing away the grime and exhaustion of the day. His head tilted back, eyes closed, as he allowed the warmth to envelop him completely.

The sound of the bathroom door opening pulled him from his thoughts, and he smiled without opening his eyes. She stepped into the bathroom, her presence calming in the midst of the steam.

Without a word, she joined him in the shower, her hands reaching up to gently run through his hair, her fingers light and delicate against his scalp. Lando let out a deep breath, his body already relaxing under her touch.

“You’re always taking care of me,” he murmured, his voice soft as he leaned into her hands.

“That’s my job,” she teased, but her voice was tender. She grabbed a small bottle of his favorite shampoo, pouring some into her hands before lathering it into his hair.

Her fingers moved slowly, massaging his scalp in gentle, circular motions. The sensation of her fingertips against his head was a different kind of relief—one that wasn’t just physical but emotional too. Each stroke seemed to ease not just the tension in his body, but the pressure that had been building in his mind. The delicate pressure of her fingers working through his hair sent ripples of calm through him.

As she massaged his scalp, she took her time, knowing just how much he needed this. Her hands moved with careful precision, pressing into the spots at the base of his skull, where the tension from the helmet and the race had gathered. She used her thumbs to knead gently at his temples, working out the tightness there.

Lando let out a soft groan, his head dipping slightly as he leaned into her touch. The feeling of her fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles on his scalp was intoxicating, each movement sending waves of relaxation down his spine. She focused on the sensitive points at the nape of his neck, rubbing in slow, rhythmic strokes. Her fingers glided through his damp hair, pulling gently with just the right amount of pressure.

“You always know exactly what I need,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of the shower.

“Relax,” she whispered back, her voice soothing and soft, as if she could sense how deeply worn out he was. “Let me take care of you.”

Her hands traveled to his temples, pressing gently with her thumbs, the movement both soothing and deliberate. She massaged in slow circles, easing the tension from his forehead and the muscles around his eyes. Each touch felt like she was unraveling the knots of stress that had built up during the race weekend.

“You don’t have to think about anything right now,” she murmured, her fingers sliding through his hair again. “Just breathe.”

Lando’s breathing slowed, his whole body surrendering to the moment. He didn’t realize how tightly he had been holding himself until her touch made him aware of it. Every time her fingers brushed over a new spot on his scalp, he felt his mind grow quieter, his thoughts drifting away from the intensity of the weekend.

She continued to massage the back of his head, her fingers moving in gentle waves, coaxing the remaining tension out. Her touch was light but firm, knowing exactly where to press, where to release. Her hands traveled to his neck, where the pressure from long hours behind the wheel lingered. She massaged the muscles there with precision, easing out the stiffness that had settled in his neck and shoulders.

“Mmm,” Lando hummed in contentment, his eyes still closed. He could feel the stress slipping away with every delicate movement of her hands.

The steam from the shower wrapped around them like a cocoon, the warmth enhancing the tenderness of the moment. She took her time, knowing he needed this, her fingers never rushing, moving with intention and care. It wasn’t just a physical release,there was something deeply intimate about the way she was caring for him, something that spoke to how well she knew him, how attuned she was to his needs.

When she was satisfied that every ounce of tension had left his body, she gave his head one final, gentle squeeze before reaching for the handheld showerhead to rinse out the shampoo. The water cascaded down, taking with it the lather and the remnants of the day’s exhaustion.

Her fingers trailed through his hair one last time as the water poured over him, making sure every trace of soap was gone. She turned off the shower, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around his waist before stepping out, her hands still lingering on his skin.

Lando’s eyes fluttered open, and he looked at her, his expression a mixture of love and gratitude. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this relaxed,” he whispered, his voice soft.

She smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead, her lips lingering there for a moment. “Good. That’s exactly how I want you to feel.”

After the tender moments in the shower, Lando and his girlfriend made their way to the bedroom, the atmosphere thick with warmth and love. The soft glow of the candles created a peaceful ambiance, and Lando felt a wave of gratitude wash over him for her thoughtfulness.

As they climbed into bed, Lando settled against the plush pillows, and she nestled close to him, her body fitting perfectly against his. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in tight, their hearts beating in a gentle rhythm together. The comfort of her presence was like a soothing balm, erasing the stresses of the day.

“Is this what heaven feels like?” Lando murmured, his voice a low whisper as he pressed a soft kiss into her hair, inhaling her sweet scent.

“Better,” she replied, looking up at him with a playful smile. “Heaven doesn’t have you.”

They both chuckled softly, their laughter mingling in the air like a sweet serenade. Lando’s fingers traced lazy patterns along her arm, their warmth enveloping them in a cocoon of intimacy.

“Promise me we’ll always have moments like this,” he said, his tone turning serious for a moment. “No matter how crazy life gets.”

“Always,” she promised, her gaze earnest as she looked into his eyes. “I’ll always be here for you, Lando. In the chaos and the calm.”

With that promise hanging in the air, they settled into a comfortable silence, the only sound being the soft rustle of sheets and their synchronized breaths. Lando couldn’t help but feel a sense of contentment wash over him as he held her close. It felt as if the world outside had faded away, leaving just the two of them in their little sanctuary.

As the minutes slipped by, Lando’s eyelids grew heavy, but he held onto her tightly, cherishing the warmth and peace that came from being together. Her presence was grounding, a reminder that no matter how intense the racing world could be, here in this moment, they were home.

“Goodnight, love,” he murmured sleepily, planting another soft kiss on her forehead.

“Goodnight, Lando,” she replied, snuggling even closer, a smile playing on her lips as she breathed in the safety of his embrace.

With hearts intertwined and dreams waiting to unfold, they drifted off to sleep, wrapped in the warmth of each other, ready to face whatever the next day might bring—together.

ღ

[azsazz]

Over Ice (Part 3)

Hockey!Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Anon Req: She’s walking around Campus and BOOM right smack dab into Broody McBrooder!! She THEN finds out he’s the tutor for one of her hardest courses (personally Psych would be a good one) and they become super duper close with him and the team!!!

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 3147

(Part 1) (Part 2)

_________________________________________

Rhysand’s face hurts.

His hands do, too, but the scrapes and splits in the skin of his knuckles have nothing on the cut in his lip, which currently stings from the rush of alcohol that passes over his lips.

It’s cold, crisp, and free, so it’s the best beer he’s had all night.

Hell, his cheek is bruised too. It’s not a Picasso of mottled yellows, greens, and purples yet—curtesy of the time he spent poking and prodding the knotted bump in one of the locker room mirrors, post shower.

The only thing that isn’t bruised is his ego because he more than won that fight against the Penguin’s center, Kallias Winterborough. He fucking wiped the ice with him and then proceeded to use the rest of his team to clean house.

Somewhere in the Hockey House—aptly named for the number of players that reside in the five-bedroom, two-story craftsman—you and his cousin meander around, violet Solo Cups in hand because the red ones are so overrated. Plus, one of their biggest rivals—the Foxes—wear crimson, and no one at Velaris University would ever be caught repping that team at one of his parties.

It's a move he’s regretting a little too much right now, unable to revel in the Bat’s big win with his lip split in two. Fucker got him good, he can admit, but never aloud. Cassian would never let him live it down and Azriel would shoot him a scathing glare at the mere mention of another school’s team under their roof.

Az takes his superstitions seriously.

“Rhys, dude.” Cassian stumbles in through the square arch connecting the spacious living room to the cozy kitchen. It’s the only thing Rhysand doesn’t like about the Hockey House: no open floorplan. That means, when he plays host as he so often does because he can’t afford a hangover from hell following most mornings, he can’t see what’s going on in the kitchen if he’s in the living room or vice versa.

He can’t see people sneaking up the stairs, and even though he keeps his room locked at all times following the Cassian Incident™ that included two leggy blondes and the Frozen Four first place trophy—announcing the next afternoon that blondes do, in fact, have more fun—he still doesn’t trust a horde of university students on a high from their win not to do anything stupid.

Speaking of stupid…Cassian slides to a halt beside him. He’s so eager to share whatever the hell with Rhys that he overshoots, slamming his hip into the counter. His friend howls, and much unto Rhys’ surprise, others join in, like it’s some kind of victory cry and not one that says ‘I just bashed my hip in, somebody help me, please.’

Rhysand is in no mood to help.

“What’s up, Cass?” Rhys sighs, frowning when he tips his bottle back to his mouth only to find it empty. He hadn’t realized how much he drank; thought he was nursing it with the way his lip burns.

Cassian’s face contorts from pain back to amused like a flick of a switch and the pain was long forgotten. His nose is permanently crooked from the number of times he’s broken it during fights both on and off the ice, and he’d be missing one of his pearly whites if he hadn’t just gotten it fixed earlier this week. Thankfully, his moustache has been shaved off for tonight, showing off his plump, pink lips. His brunet hair is the longest on the team, just brushing the tops of his massive shoulders, and thankfully. On one side, it’s tucked tightly behind his ear, showing off the gold ring he punched through it on a dare at their first party freshman year.

Cassian’s hazel eyes have a spark in them that 1: Rhys has seen too many times, and 2: never means anything good.

Rhysand narrows his own, breaking that eager contact to scour the kitchen for another beer because goddammit, he’s going to need it with the way his friend is all but shaking with excitement.

“Have you found your nurse yet?” Cassian asks, trailing him around the marble slab counter.

“My what?” Rhysand side-steps a couple making out so hard that they go crashing into the first thing that isn’t each other: the wall. The petite girl with bright blue hair whimpers loudly, and the noise is swallowed up by the guy that’s sticking his tongue straight down her windpipe.

It looks grosser than it seems, Rhys defends when a pang of want slaps him right in the chest.

“Your nurse, dude,” Cassian whines. He slips on a rogue wet patch on the obsidian floor tiles and now Rhysand has another thing to dislike in this house. All he needs is someone cracking their skull open on his kitchen floor or the couple to fall and have his teeth through her lips from the impact. “You know, cause you’re all injured.” He waves flippantly towards Rhysand’s wounds.

“I don’t need a nurse,” Rhys answers, confused. He pulls open the fridge and snags two beers off of the shelf Cassian and two of his other roommates have dedicated it to. He hands one to his friend, who pops the top off with his teeth, and Rhys raises an unimpressed brow. “I didn’t get that hurt.” Plus, he’s already been to see the team trainer for his shiners.

He busies himself with the beer opener that’s stuck to the side of the fridge, then grabs the roll of paper towels from their holder to wipe up the mess Cassian’s leaving footprints with. Well, he unrolls a few and tosses them onto the spill, anyway.

“No, I mean like a lady nurse.” Cassian waggles his brows. “Someone who can kiss you better, maybe even give you a hand—”

And, well, that might just help his mood.

“Hey.” Azriel breezes into the kitchen like he’s still on his skates. He has his own cup in hand, filled with water. Rhys know this because he’s never seen Azriel drink anything other than water and the occasional coffee. He takes his training more seriously than half of the team, which bodes well for Rhys because he always has a gym buddy, but sometimes, he wishes his friend would let loose, even if it meant seeing a girl. Or sleeping with one. “Heads up.”

The warning has Rhys standing straighter, ready to abandon his beer on the counter to play his role as captain and the one in charge of the party. His roommates naturally defer to him in house affairs because they’re used to it, but really, Rhys doesn’t have much more room in his packed schedule for warding off drunk students and stopping fights.

The last thing he needs tonight is to find himself in the middle of a fight.

“Rhys!” A perky blonde squeals, and his shoulders drop for a second only to tense right back up when his cousin throws herself into his arms.

He catches her with an oof, spitting out her wild locks that somehow always end up everywhere. He loves his cousin dearly, like a sister, but why is she here right now?

He doesn’t see you following your roommate into the kitchen, jaw slack like it’s been since you first saw the Hockey House lit up in all of its glory. The place is absolutely massive, it looks like it could rival one of the houses on Greek row.

The kitchen is moody yet warm. The dark tiles match the onyx-stained flat arch you just walked through. The lighter gray marble countertop brightens the room, and the deep blue cabinets paired with the soft lighting paints the room in perfect synchrony.

It’s absolutely stunning.

Neither of you see the other at first. Rhys because he’s still trying to blink Mor’s hair from his eyes and you because you’re entranced by the interior design of the home. There’s no way five boys could possibly live here, let alone five hockey players. It’s a bit of a mess with the party raging around you, yes, but you haven’t seen one hole in the drywall, not one forgotten dish nor a pair of boxers left of the bathroom floor—you checked.

Because you were using the restroom of course, you weren’t looking for that specific reason.

“Hey, Mor,” Rhys greets when she finally detaches herself from him. She doesn’t go far, only stepping back enough to introduce you to him. “What are you doing here?”

Violet eyes clash with yours, drawing your heart to a standstill. He looks just as good as he did when you were sprawled out on his chest: dark hair clean and mussed through, red lips parted as if the words he wants to say are stuck in his throat.

The only thing different about him now is that cut in his lip and the redness to his cheek from his fight on the ice that you bore witness to.

The memory replays in your mind again, awakening tingles in your body that shouldn’t be. And just how you’re praying for them not to, they converge right between your thighs, settling in nice and hot and begging for attention as the sight of him with burning violet eyes as he decks his opposition across the jaw replays.

It really shouldn’t have been as hot as it was, and he himself shouldn’t be as hot as he is, either.

You hold yourself still, focusing eighty percent on your attention on trying to calm your eager bits down and the other twenty percent on making sure you don’t look constipated while doing so.

Rhys blinks at you and you return his blank stare, watching, waiting to see if he recognizes you, too.

Oh, he does.

“We came to see your game tonight,” she says, as if it isn’t obvious from your attire. The attire that Rhys is currently dragging his eyes down, drinking in every inch—all four of them—of the jersey your roommate forced you into tonight. You watch his eyes flare as he reads the number across your chest. His number, you’re just now realizing.

Heat floods your cheeks but you’re unable to bolt like you so desperately want to. Your heart is beating three times as fast in your chest as he slowly, slowly, rakes his gaze up from your legs that are glued to the floor, all the way to your eyes, that are glued to his face.

“This is (Y/N),” Mor announces, gesturing to you with a flourish. When you make no move forward to greet them, her red nails curl around the hem of your jersey and yank.

You stumble forward, and the trance is broken. Unfortunately, so is your face, because you slip in something on the tiles and are plummeting face-first into the ground. You squeeze your eyes shut tight, lips parted to scream or groan, whichever your mind catches up to first—

The impact never comes. Strong hands grip your arms, stopping you from eating tile. You’re too stunned to speak, even when you’re planted back on your feet and staring into the chest you were lying on only this afternoon.

Rhysand Cunningham.

Jesus, you’re really going to have to stop saying his full name like that. It’s creepy.

“Easy now,” Rhys says, making sure you’re steady. You somehow find the courage to look him in the eyes, hastily tamping down the mortification that threatens to consume you.

As soon as your eyes lock, it’s like magic.

There’s no other way to describe whatever is happening between the two of you right now. His light touch is searing, and so are his eyes as he scans your face, making sure you’re not hurt.

Rhys’ abandoned beer sits precariously close to the edge of the counter, and Cassian accidentally knocks it off with his elbow when he dodges a playful swat Mor tosses his way. It goes crashing to the floor, startling you and Rhys from your trance.

You jump, gaze following the noise. Rhys’ hands slip from your body and you shiver at the cold that replaces him, even though it’s stifling in this house with the number of bodies packed into it. You manage one large step back that he doesn’t seem to notice because he’s already snatching the paper towels from where he put them last and barking at passerby to “be fucking careful.”

“I, uh,” you stutter, and holyfuckingshit, he’s leaning over to clean up the mess. You get a full view of that toned ass; despite the jeans he’s wearing. It’s perfect, round like an apple, juicy like one too, you bet. The sudden urge to lean over and sink your teeth into it hits you like a semi— “I need to use the bathroom.”

You scurry away from your roommate and her cousin like it’s your ass that’s just been bitten into.

Rhys grumbles the entire time he cleans up the spilt beer. Cassian tried to help, his chocolate eyes wide and sad, spouting off apologies like he did something much worse than break a fucking bottle, but hissed when he cut his thumb on a sharp edge. Rhys had pushed him away from the scene immediately after that.

He wonders if Cassian is going to bound off into the living room and find himself a nurse of his own, now.

“Hey, where did your friend go?” Rhys asks Mor who’s chewing on a cherry stem. He grimaces, not even knowing where those came from.

“Roommate,” Mor answers pointedly, serving him a harsh look that only confuses the hockey player.

“Okay…where did your roommate go?” He clarifies, eyes sweeping the room for you. Disappointment prickles at his skin just as much as the look his cousin is shooting him. He’d gotten his look at you alright, but he’s suddenly feeling like the single up-down he gave you was not nearly enough.

“To the bathroom,” she answers, rounding the counter, eyeing all of the opened bottles of liquor on top. She must not see anything she likes, because he doesn’t reach for anything. “Why?”

Why? Because you brought her here and I want to be nice? Rhys thinks. I want to get to know her, maybe somewhere private—

“I didn’t really get to introduce myself.” Is what he goes with.

Mor snorts, rolling her eyes because she is not falling for that one. “She’s off limits.”

“Then why did you bring her here?” Rhys blurts, unable to stifle the words before they slip out. Damn beer.

“Because we wanted to see your game,” Mor replies, watching her cousin closely.

If you wanted to see my game, you shouldn’t have warned me against your roommate, he thinks, and then cringes.

“Well, thanks for coming, cuz,” he offers, because there’s no good rhyme or reason to start arguing with her. Especially when both of their parents are just phone calls away.

He’d rather be getting the third degree from Mor than his mother, anyway.

Rhys swiftly changes the subject. “Hope you enjoyed me kicking some ass.”

Mor’s tight face melts into amusement. She laughs, tossing her head back on her shoulders. “Yeah, I really did enjoy that, actually.”

It’s at that exact moment that Rhys catches sight of you again. You’re caught halfway in the archway of the kitchen, presumably on your way back from the bathroom. Your lips are pulled into a smile as you giggle, and he wishes he could hear it over the gods-awful music. Your eyes are bright and he watches you brush a strand of hair behind your ear, cheeks pinkening with a blush that makes him wonder just who’s putting that look on your face.

Rhys takes one step to the left and his entire body begins boiling with heat when he catches sight of one of his players speaking to you.

If she’s off limits to me, then my players are off limits to her.

And that’s exactly what they are, too, players. Mor’s right, he can’t end up letting one of his teammates fuck around with you, not when you’re so close to his cousin. She’d be devastated if you got hurt, and fuck it, he would too. He’d kill one of his guys if they broke your heart.

Rhys doesn’t talk sense into himself as he stalks your way, doesn’t think about the repercussions or his actions when he slides up to your side, all rigid muscles and sharp looks.

“What do we have here?” he asks, drawing you away from the friendly conversation you were having with the handsome hockey player about the types of tapes and casts that can be used when treating different injuries.

It’s James Attor, from your Athletic Training Techniques class. You’d recognized him, but didn’t know he played for the Velaris hockey team. He’s a sophomore like you, and more interested in the injuries part of his sport than the actual scoring.

“Oh, hey, Cap,” James greets, shrinking under the scrutinizing gaze of his team leader. He knows that look, it’s the one Rhys gets before he’s about to lose his mind on the ice. “I was just talking to (Y/N) about—”

“About nothing,” Rhys finishes for him, and you frown. What the hell is his problem?

“James, wait,” you call, but it’s too late, he’s already slipped into the crowd of people dancing in the middle of the living room, and you don’t have supervision to see through them.

Whirling around on your heel, you glare up at Rhys. “What was that?”

“What was what?” Rhys asks, striding back towards the kitchen. You decide that playing stupid doesn’t look good on him. And neither does that split lip.

You can’t believe you wanted to get closer. For a better look at his wounds, of course.

“That!” You exclaim, throwing your arm out and pointing where you were just standing. It serves no purpose because Rhys isn’t facing you, which only stokes your anger further. “I was talking to him!”

“Yeah,” he rounds on his feet so fast you don’t even see it coming and for the second time today, you run smack dab into the middle of his chest.

This time, you don’t tumble into a pile of limbs.

You blink, dumbfounded.

“And I’d prefer it if you don’t,” Rhys finishes, chest tight. He feels on edge at the way your body pressed up against his, like lightning in his veins. He grits his teeth, willing the feeling to go away.

“Yeah,” you scoff, tossing him your best glare. You cross your arms over your chest for effect, but all it does is make that skimpy shirt you’re wearing ride up more, and both Rhys’ eyes and throat catch at the sight of your creamy skin. Your word sounds like a threat when you say, “Unlikely.”

_________________________________________

Over Ice Taglist:

@saltedcoffeescotch @acourtofbatboydreams @mrsjna @velarisdusk @bionic-donut @tenshis-cake @eleganttravelercloud @lilah-asteria @serena05 @bwormie @soph1644 @house-husband-of-castlemurdock @tothestarsandwhateverend @topaz125 @judig92 @se7enteen--black-blog @thecraziestcrayon @cherry-cin @itsinherited @justafictionalnerd

[nerdy-novelist017]

Soaked (Benny Cross x Shy!Reader Reader pt 8)

Hello, my lovelies! Sorry this took forever to write and post but I’ve been very busy with real life (ew) and I’m actually posting this while I’m on vacation. I wrote it on the plane and am posting in the car so please be kind if you see any mistakes hehe 😉

Benny x Bunny Masterlist

Word Count- 4.7k+

Summary- Benny’s never wanted anything as much as he wants to marry you, but with such different lives, you’re not so sure it will be as easy as he claims.

You felt the wind surge around you as Benny accelerated down the main road, his motorcycle roaring beneath you both. The world blurred past in a whirlwind of colors, but all you could focus on was the way your heart lifted, how a thrill of excitement shot through you as you zoomed past the rest of the gang. He did it just because he knew it’d make you giggle. And you did, the sound escaping you in a way that felt so carefree, so full of joy especially as you shot past Johnny and the others, leaving them in your dirt.

The wind was relentless, blowing your hair out of its carefully manicured braid, but you didn’t find yourself caring much anymore. The days spent with Benny had a way of shifting everything you thought had mattered. The things that once held so much weight – social status, gossip, public appearances – no longer seemed as important anymore. With Benny, it was almost like discovering a whole new world. No, not a new world. The same streets passed beneath the tires, the same faces you once worried about still existed. The world was still the same, but it was how he viewed it that felt so different. He didn’t care what others thought about him, didn’t pay attention to their expectations. He lived in his own world, surrounded by others like him that didn’t conform to the societal molds – people that you wouldn’t have even approached just based on their appearance. You never considered yourself a very judgemental person, but because of Benny, you have met and befriended people you could have never imagined.

That’s one of the things you loved about Benny. He wasn’t like anyone you had ever met before. He was different. And you were beginning to love that too.

He pulled off the main road, stopping in his signature spot in front of the club house. The roar of the rest of the gang pulling up sounded in the distance as Benny helped you off the bike. He held his grip on your hand, lacing his own fingers through yours as he pulled you gently into the bar. You followed him inside where the Vandals’ laughter and chatter soon filled the air. A familiar buzz of camaraderie enveloped the place, and before long, you found yourself seated around the table with a few of the core members. Benny was close – as always – with his arm draped over your shoulder.

“Hey, Bunny,” Cockroach’s voice cut through the sea of noise as he leaned forward and used his beer bottle to point at you. “When are you finally gonna say yes to our boy Benny, here?”

You stiffened slightly, the weight of the question hanging in the air and drawing the attention of the others at the table.

“Oh yeah,” Corky piped up, one eyebrow playfully cocked in a challenge. “He’s been asking, what, 100 times now? What’s the holdup? He’s not getting any younger, ya know?”

Heat filled your face at their teasing. Though Corky’s words were a bit of an exaggeration, they weren’t technically wrong. Since your kiss behind the clubhouse, Benny has asked you to marry him almost every day, sometimes more than once in a day. It had started by him mentioning married life in casual conversation, and you jokingly pointed out that he hadn’t actually proposed to begin with – not traditionally. And you were shocked to see him abandon everything he was doing in the moment to ask you to marry him. You giggled and rolled your eyes at his dramatics, but something deeper inside you caused your heart to flutter nervously. Since then, he’s asked several times, some in passing, a casual remark slipped into the conversation. Other times, he’d pause what he was doing, drop to one knee and grin up at you as if he were waiting for you to give in. But each time you’d laugh it off, brush it aside as him being unserious.

“Maybe I’m just waiting for the right moment?” you replied as you timidly played with the chain of your necklace, trying to deflect the attention.

“The right moment?” Cockroach parroted in disbelief. “He’s been proposin’ left and right for a week. Hell, I’d have said yes after the first time if it were me!”

The group laughed, and you tensed under Benny’s arm, wanting to melt into the floor from embarrassment. Benny squeezed your hand reassuringly, and he leaned, his voice dropping to a low murmur that was only meant for you, “They don’t mean nothin’ by that, you know that.”

You nodded, not trusting your own voice. He was right, you knew that. They didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, but the constant razzing – especially with this particular subject – was start to weigh on you.

“Yeah, c’mon, Bunny,” Cal chimed in from across the way, “What’s it gonna take? Benny’s a catch! He’s got the bike, the looks, the . . . mommy’s issues. If you don’t say yes soon, you might lose your chance.”

That playful jab was too much for Benny who stiffened next to you. You expected him to get angry, to blow up like you had seen your father do when he was upset. But instead, Benny leaned forward, eyes narrowing with a playful glint that you had come to adore. The table was buzzing with laughter, but he wasn’t about to let the spotlight stay on you for too long. Without missing a beat, he flashed a grin at Corky, his hand raised as he said, “Alright, alright. But let’s not pretend you all ain’t desperate for a distraction since none of you can keep a bike upright without fallin’ on your asses.”

The table roared with laughter and Corky’s mouth fell open in mock offense. “That was one time! And I had an oil slick!”

Johnny immediately jumped in, “Yeah Corky, an oil slick you created when your bike was leakin’ everywhere.”

Laughter erupted again and you shot Benny a grateful look as the guys started ribbing Corky about his infamous fall. Benny’s eyes met yours briefly, his thumb brushing your hand under the table in a silent message: I’ve got you. Most of the group knew you were shy and did not appreciate being the center of attention in a crowd, and they respected that. However, there were a few class clowns (as Benny called them) who loved to tease you, knowing it could get a reaction without fail. But Benny never let it go on for long, always shutting them down when he recognized your discomfort.

They’ve never teased you about marriage though. You had to wonder if Benny had voiced his irritation to them at some point or if they had picked up on your hesitation organically. Either way, it left you feeling bad. Excusing yourself, you wiggled out of Benny’s grasp as you stood and made your way for the restroom, needing a moment to breathe, to clear your head. But just as you reached the back of the bar, a voice stopped you.

“You ain’t gotta worry about what they say to you,” Funny Sonny stood leaning casually against the bar top as he sipped a glass of whiskey. “That just means they like you, accept you.”

You paused, glancing over your shoulder at the table of rowdy bikers. “I’m just not . . . used to it. All the teasin’.”

Sonny nodded, his disheveled hair falling into his eyes as he grinned. “You’ll get used to it. Won’t be long till you’re the one throwing out the first jabs.”

He said it so nonchalantly, as if it were the most obvious course of action, as if you weren’t from completely different worlds. You furrowed your brows, eyes casting downwards as you admitted, “I’m not so sure about that. I’m not at all like you guys.”

“You don’t gotta be like us to be with us. We’re family here and family means lookin’ out for each other, even the ones who came from different backgrounds,” he said, his voice lowering a register to a bit more of a serious tone.

His words settled over you like a warm blanket, the concept so foreign yet so familiar. Family. You knew what that was, you had one, you were loved by one. But for some reason, it felt like it meant something different with the Vandals. They chose their family, stood by them despite no blood relation. Your parents loved you, you knew that. They showed it in their own ways every day. But by default, they had to love you. With the Vandals, they chose to care for each other, chose to look out for each other. In a way, it almost seemed more powerful, more profound.

Being Benny’s girl didn’t just mean he alone had your best interest at heart. It also meant having the rest of the Vandals on your side too, all of them looking out for you. You weren’t sure if you’ve ever experienced such an intense loyalty before, even from blood relatives. And it left you with a warm feeling in your chest.

When you returned to the table, Benny was already standing as if he were waiting for you. His eyes met yours with a slight unease, almost like he thought you wouldn’t come back, like he thought you were so upset that you’d sneak out the backdoor.

“Wanna go for a night ride?” he asked, his voice soft as his hand extended out for you.

Your heart squeezed at his thoughtfulness. He knew how much you were growing to enjoy the feeling of blazing down the empty streets under a star-filled sky with him. A smile tugged at your lips, and you took his hand without hesitation, nodding.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips as your hand slid into his own. You were vaguely aware of the groans and exaggerated protests from the table about the night being still young, but you didn’t hesitate to follow Benny as he led you to the door. He pulled you along to his Harley, the cool and fresh air a welcome change.

The tension from earlier still lingered as Benny’s hand touched your leg, helping you onto the back of the bike. You wrapped your arms around his torso, pressing your face into his back, finding solace in the familiar scent from his jacket.

He drove you around the city, stars and stop lights shining above, engine roaring below. He eventually pulled off the main drag, heading down a quieter road that led out of town. The blacktop blurred beneath you as he slowed the speed to more of a lazy joyride. He took a familiar turn, stopping at the small pull off area before a bridge. The sound of the engine faded as he brought the bike to a stop, the air filling with crickets’ song. The night’s air was breezy, but a welcome change from the hot, loud atmosphere of the clubhouse.

Benny dismounted first, reaching out to help you down. His touch – lingering longer than necessary – against your arm felt electric, sending a jolt of butterflies to your stomach, his eyes searching your face as if he was trying to read your thoughts. The two of you walked over the concrete bridge, pausing once in the middle. You leaned over the railing, getting lost in the gentle swirl of the water below. But Benny was lost in the sight of you.

“You alright?” he asked, his voice low, the usual playful teasing replaced by something softer and reserved only for you.

With your heart beating hard at his gentle tone, you nodded. “I’m fine.”

He frowned, reaching out to brush a loose strand of hair from your face. “I know the guys can be a bit much. I don’t like when they tease you like that. I didn’t mean for them to make you uncomfortable.”

You couldn’t help but smile a bit at his words, knowing that wanting to protect you was something he took very seriously, even if it meant from his own friends, his own family.

“I know,” you responded softly, leaning your chin on your hand over the railing.

“I’ll talk to them, make sure they won’t raz you like that anymore,” he promised, his expression serious.

“It’s not that. It’s just . . . I don’t know. It’s a lot to get used to,” you admitted gently. Before Benny, you’d never even been in a bar before, never ridden a motorcycle, never stayed out past curfew. He was a completely different experience than you were accustomed to. And now he wanted you to marry, after only knowing him for a few weeks. He wanted to be your husband, your partner for life. Your life felt like a bit of a whirlwind ever since you met him, but you wanted to be certain it wasn’t just fun because it was new.

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just stood there, his eyes tracing your features, his hand resting over your own. You could practically see the gears turning in his brain, something in him conflicted. Finally, he released a soft sigh, putting an arm around your shoulders and pulling you in close. “You don’t have to answer them, you know. Hell, you don’t have to answer me. Not till you’re ready.”

Your heart skipped a beat as you breathed in his scent – leather, smoke and something uniquely Benny. “It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just that I . . . ”

Benny pulled back slightly, his fingers tilting your chin up to meet his gaze, his thumb gently brushing your cheek. “Hey, you don’t owe anyone an explanation, not even me. You’ll say yes when you’re ready. And when that time comes, I’ll be here. I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of your lips as it was your turn to kid. “How do you know I’ll say yes?”

Benny’s smile was gentle but still roguishly confident. His hand lingered on your cheek, his fingers tracing down the curve of your jaw as if he were mapping every detail of you. “I just know. When you feel it – when it’s real – you just know.”

He said it so simply as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, as if love were the most uncomplicated concept. You didn’t understand that, couldn’t see it that way. You’d seen the love your parents shared and that was beautiful and kind but it was also messy and cruel more often than not. And you understood that your parents were not the only representation of what love and marriage was supposed to be, but it was a constant presence in your life. They didn’t have perfect love, not like what you’d see in the movies or read in books. And you wondered if maybe you were giving too high of expectations for what love was supposed to be, but what you felt when you were around Benny . . . well, it felt exactly like the books described.

The way he looked at you, as if you were the most important thing in the world, made you feel so seen. The way he listened to you as if you were the most entertaining show, made you feel so heard. And the truth was undeniable: you were falling for Benny faster than you thought possible. It was terrifying. Benny was all fire and freedom, a rebel who didn’t play by the rules, who followed his own path with reckless abandon. And you admired that about him, but the thought of stepping into his world permanently felt like stepping off a ledge into the unknown.

“What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?” he asked, pulling you back into the present.

You pulled back slightly, biting your lip in contemplation before speaking your mind, “Don’t you wonder if there are other girls out there that you haven’t even met yet? Girls who are more suited for you?”

He shook his head, his voice light as he said, “Nah, I know you’re the only one for me, kid.”

“But marriage is serious. It’s forever.”

His hand slid down to your hip, turning you to face him fully, his expression solemn. “I never . . . I never thought marriage was real. The way I saw my mom and old man together . . . what they had wasn’t love. And I realized that at an early age. I didn’t think it was something that was real, just a bunch of fairytale bullshit you tell little kids. The girls I’ve been with, girls that may have been more suited for me, have never made me feel what I feel with you, Bunny. This is serious to me too because it proves everything I’ve never believed in.”

Emotion caught in the back of your throat as you pictured the man standing before you as just a boy living in a toxic household, an unloving home. It made you want to hold him tight, to shield him from the rest of the world. The man who held you so gently, who took you for night rides just to cheer you up. The man who came to your bake sale when nobody else did. The man who promised to drive slow so as not to scare you. The man who said he’d follow you all the way to California so that you didn’t have to go by yourself. The man who taught you about his hobbies with eagerness, and listened to yours with attentiveness.

He deserved to be loved in the same way he loved. But the tragic thing was that he didn’t see that, couldn’t comprehend someone loving him like that. He was damaged by his childhood, and you realized that he didn’t think he was worthy of repair. But you’d show him that he was, that he was worthy of everything he never had.

Slowly, you lifted your hands to gently cup his face, and his breath hitched in his throat. There was a shift in his expression – his usual teasing and bravado now replaced with some raw and unguarded as though he was offering you a glimpse into a deeper part of him, one rarely ever shown to anyone.

He pressed his forehead to yours, his voice dropping to a soft murmur. “You’re not just some girl to me, Bunny. You know that, right?”

The words sent a shiver down your spine. He wasn’t playing around now, not hiding behind his usual flirty quips. His sincerity was almost overwhelming. You swallowed thickly. “But what if I mess this up? What if I’m the one who can’t do this?”

Benny’s brows furrowed and he lifted a hand to brush across your cheek, his touch gentle but grounding. “You won’t. You couldn’t, even if you tried.”

“You’re making it sound so easy,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, as if you didn’t quite believe him.

Benny could feel your tremble, the shaky laugh betraying your nerves you were trying so hard to hide. He could sense your heart racing, and he wanted so desperately to be the one to soothe it, to take away the hesitation in your eyes. His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, the soft curve of it making his heart ache in his chest. He loved how your lips quivered just slightly under his touch. He loved making you blush, loved teasing you until you looked at him like you were annoyed or completely at his mercy. But this . . . this was different. His touch lingered on your lip, slow and almost reverent as he savored the way you responded to him. It wasn’t about teasing anymore – it was about showing you what you meant to him.

“It is,” he murmured, his voice a little rougher than he intended “It’s easy because it’s you.”

The air between you felt electric as his hand slid down the curve of your neck, his fingers lingering there, feeling the steady thrum of your heartbeat that seemed to match his own wild one. He ducked his head slightly as he whispered, “You’re scared. But you don’t need to be.”

He meant it, more than he meant anything in his life. He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes again, searching for any sign of doubt, any sign that you didn’t feel the same way he did. Your eyes – wide and uncertain – met his, and Benny felt the weight of his words over them both.

“How can you be so sure?” you asked, your soft voice almost disappearing in the night.

And how could he explain it, especially since he’s never been good at explaining his feelings? How could he put into words what was so abundantly clear to him? That you made everything – even the most outrageous things – seem possible. That with you, he didn’t feel like just some fuck-up waiting for the next diaster. With you he felt grounded, like he belonged somewhere. Like you saw him for more than just the wild, reckless kid everyone else saw.

“Because you make me sure,” he responded with a gentle, encouraging smile as his hands moved to tilt your chin upwards to him. “You make my life feel like it’s supposed to.”

His gaze moved down to your mouth once more as you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, and he simply couldn’t resist anymore. He closed the gap, brushing his lips so softly against your own. The kiss was gentle, tender, but as you responded to his touch, the need that had been simmering inside him for so long flared to life. His hands dropped down to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, smiling into the kiss when he heard your slight gasp.

His heart pounded in his chest as the world seemed to fade away briefly until it was just you and him, just this. He never wanted to stop, never wanted to let you go.

But you did eventually pull away, the need to breathe becoming all consuming. Breathlessly, he pressed his forehead against yours, his eyes remaining closed as he focused on slowing his pulse. His hands remained on your waist, holding you like you might slip away if he let go.

“You see?” he whispered as his lips brushing against your forehead softly. “It’s easy being with you.”

You giggled and his heart soared at the melody. It took everything in him not to pull you back into another kiss, not to hold onto you like you were the only thing that kept him grounded.

His lips still tingled from the kiss, and he could taste the faint sweetness of your breath, the softness of your lips. It wasn’t enough. It never felt like enough for Benny. He wanted more of you. He’d never wanted anything like he wanted you, never craved anyone like he craved you. It was almost unbearable, like every second where he wasn’t touching you was a second wasted.

And yet, he knew you were scared. He could see it in the way you looked down at your shoes, could hear it in the timidity of your voice. It only made him want to protect you more, to make you see that being with him would never be something you had to fear. But he didn’t know how to say that without sounding like he was pushing, without making you feel like you were being rushed into a decision that was as much about you as it was him.

But damn if he didn’t want to make you his.

He opened his eyes and pulled back enough to look at you face again, to really take you in. And my god, the way you were looking up at him with those wide, innocent eyes made his chest tighten. And you didn’t even realize how much power you had over him. One look, one smile, and he was a goner.

Before either of you could speak, thunder cracked off in the distance, bringing you both back to the present, back to the rest of the world. You glanced up at the dark clouds that blew in to cover the stars, wondering how long you had stood on this bridge with Benny.

“Guess we should get back,” you said sheepishly.

“Guess so,” Benny replied with a lazy grin as though the storm could come crashing down and he’d still be perfectly content standing here with you.

“Do you think it’s going to rain?” you asked as you walked to his bike, glancing up at the thick, dark clouds blowing in from the west.

“Nah,” he said as he swung a leg over the bike with that signature confidence that made your heart race. “We’ll be fine.”

Famous last words.

******

By the time Benny pulled up to your house, rain was pouring from the sky like a waterfall, fat and heavy droplets splattering onto the sidewalk. Despite wearing Benny’s Vandals jacket, the rain had completely soaked you. Your hair, which had been meticulously pinned up just hours ago, was plastered to your face, and your dress clung to your body like a second skin.

You didn’t wait for him to shut off the bike before you hopped off and tugged on his sleeve.

“C’mon!” You laughed, tugging on Benny’s sleeve as you ran for the safety of your porch overhang. Your heels splashed through the water pooling on the blacktop, and he followed quickly behind, his warm hands finding your waist to steady you from falling as you both stumbled beneath the overhang.

Breathless and grinning like an idiot, you turned to face him, and you were momentarily stunned by the sight. Rainwater rolled down from his usually swept up hair, sliding down the curve of his cheekbones and falling off his jawline. He only wore a whote t shirt, the wet fabric turning almost transparent as it clung to every ridge, every toned muscle and you blinked before your gaze shot back up to his face. Even as wet as a drowned rat, he still managed to look so effortlessly sexy.

He was grinning at you with that boyish expression, and heat filled your face at the realization that you were just as soaked as he was but definitely not as pretty a sight. You probably looked like a mess — makeup smeared, hair ruined — but he was staring at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

“Not gonna rain, huh?” you teased, quirking an eyebrow at the heavy rainfall just off your porch.

“Just a light sprinkle,” he returned easily, but you noticed he had to bite his bottom lip to keep from laughing.

“Do you wanna come in?” you blurted out before you could stop yourself. “To dry off?”

He sobered instantly, his gaze raking over your form before moving to your front door. He’d never been inside your house, never seen where you call home, where you lay down at night and replay your memories of him. There was never really an option for him to be inside your house. He’d never met your parents — despite asking multiple times to meet them, but you couldn’t bring yourself to put neither your parents nor Benny though that. Deep down, you knew your father would never approve of Benny, never give him his blessing. It was a disaster waiting to happen when he found out that you were dating a biker. You begged your mother to keep it a secret to which she obliged, but you knew it wouldn’t be long till he found out.

Benny took a full step back from you, hesitation obvious in his face, his voice low and almost regretful he said. “I—I better not, Bun.”

Normally, you wouldn’t ask again after being denied, wouldn’t be so bold. But you weren’t the same girl you were a few weeks ago before you met Benny. Emboldened by the perfect opportunity to have him inside your home, to share a piece of yourself with him, you stepped forward.

You took a step forward, your voice soft but sure. “My parents aren’t home. C’mon, just to dry off and wait till the rain lets up a little. You can’t drive in that anyway. It’s not safe and I won’t let you.”

Benny released a breath that sounded a lot like a laugh as he shook his head, clearly conflicted by your invitation. And for a moment, you thought he might shake his head and turn away. You thought he might face the rainstorm and leave you behind.

But instead, he nodded and your heart soared at the small gesture. Filled with hopeful energy, you shot him a smile, moving to open the front door and invite him inside your home, inside your world.

-Tag List-

@beebeechaos @imusicaddict @elizabeth916 @jaiuneamesolitaiire @dudii4love @ironmooncat @astrogrande @pearlparty @themorriganisamonster @sillylittlethrowaway @ughdontbeboring @penwieldingdreamer @charmingballoon @eugene-emt-roe @sunnbib @killerqueenfan @cynic-spirit @pomtherine @tranquilty @m00npjm @justsomewritingblog @thepassionatereader @rebecca-hvnstn @nethanybear @dreamlandcreations @buckysteveloki-me @simsiddy @zablife @sansaorgana @autumnleaves1991-blog @butler-trouble @lindszeppelin @wavyjassy @real-lana-del-rey @ilovehyperfixating @xcallmetaniax @lovenewfandoms @youngestxhearts @abaker74 @ateliefloresdaprimavera @thefallofthedamned @hottpinkpenguinreads @nctma15 @vendylewin @capswife @alexa4040 @pearlstiare @sweetestrose569 @18lkpeters @mrsalwayswrite @thedreamingfish99

[elllisaaa]

hi eli!! hope you’re well 💖💖 was hoping you could write husband headcannon for dino? including nsfw hc? 🫣 i know you wrote bf hc dino but i feel like husband hc would hit differently ykno lol tysm!! 💖💖

HUSBAND!CHAN hits different, that's true, because if as your boyfriend he was whipped, now he's a simp and he isn't ashamed of it.

he's so proud that you're his wife that he doesn't even call you by your name anymore, always saying my wife this, my wife that, because he cannot get enough of saying it, knowing that you're his forever brings a smile to his face and a warm feeling in his chest everytime. chan is also a sucker for the way you present him as your husband, and it's like he's never gonna get used to it. even if now that you're married he should trust you even more and feel less possessive because he knows you're his through and through, it gets worse. everytime you're out together, he needs to have his arm wrapped around your waist or your shoulders, showing off to everyone that you're taken, showing off his ring to anyone. even in private, chan is a lot more clingy and touchy (which is surprising because he was already very clingy and touchy before) but now it is necessary for him to be with you all the time, he never lets you go. and now that you're his wife, he can easily take you with him during tours and any event. it allows you to travel too, seeing so many cities and countries you didn't think you would ever visit.

"we're going to berlin next week honey, i'm taking you with me."

chan still feels shy sometimes when you compliment him, but now, he has found some ways to make you blush too. now, he's the one to fluster you most of the time instead. he's the type to retweet the posts saying "goodnight to my wife, fuck everyone else" without feeling any guilt because it's true. he takes the opportunity that he's your husband now to take care of you and spoil you even more. the way he sees it is that he has to be even more worthy of you and not make you regret marrying him. he buys you jewelry, clothes, books, flowers, everything that you want and need, and even what you didn't even asked for, he's always one step ahead of you to make you smile. you would've thought that after so many times, you would've been used to his affection and his tendency to spoil you, but you weren't, and chan loves how you react just like the first day when he gives you something new.

"this necklace is so pretty on you " - "but channie, it was so expensive…" - "don't worry about it my love, i just love to make my gorgeous wife happy."

HUSBAND!CHAN whose sex drive is even higher now that you're fully his, now that you live together.

chan cannot take his hands off you anymore. the day of your wedding was the happiest day of his life, yes, without any doubt. but as the night came to an end paired with the many drinks he had, by the time everyone left, he could hardly holdback from fucking you right there. chan definitely fucked you while you were still wearing your wedding dress and he was still wearing his suit. and then he spoiled you all night, only really falling asleep as the sun rose up through the window. also, during your honeymoon, chan had the same energy going on. he spent so much time in between your thighs because he couldn't get enough of your taste and the way you were his wife now.

"come on honey, please just let me give you one more. you can do that for me right ? my gorgeous wife…"

at first, he was scared that a routine would settle in your intimate times just as it did with your everyday life. and he didn't want things to get boring, so i think chan would probably want to try a lot of new things with you. he asks you to make a list of all the things you wanna try out, and he also makes a list. whenever the two of you have the time and the energy for it, you pick something from your lists to spice things up. you love that chan tries to keep things interesting, but you also do things to surprise him too and he melts down from the inside everytime. a lot of people told him that once you're married, nothing's refreshing anymore, but chan always brags about the fact that he never once got bored with you. there's also a lot of public sex with him once he's your husband, because as i've stated before, he cannot take his hands off you. be that at the fancy restaurant he took you out to, at a birthday party of one of your friends, in the middle of the park you planned your picnic date to. every occasion is worth pushing his dick inside of you.

"fuck, yes, bend over just like that for me. gonna make you scream my name for everyone to hear."

[joosthead]

can i do more than one? 👀

13 & 29 & 30

₊˚⊹⋆ prompt: 13. who reaches for the other’s hand first? || 29. one headcanon about this otp that breaks your heart || 30. one headcanon about this otp that mends it

₊˚⊹⋆ reader: gn!reader, 29&30 revolve around normal au

₊˚⊹⋆ cws: none

₊˚⊹⋆ junote: thank you sm for requesting!! 29&30 seem to be very popular hc requests lolol 😆😆

RPF/REAL PERSON FICTION BELOW CUT, DNI IF ANTI-RPF

13 who reaches for the others hand first?

you do :3 i mean obviously it depends but it’s mostly you.

in the beginning it was mostly him—he’s a level 100 clinger grabbing your hand out of the blue and kissing your knuckles but i think he likes when you chase too. he’s the most expressive guy… ever lol jk so seeing you be that level is so 😆😆

he likes when he walks ahead of you a little when you’re out on the town; you get distracted by a storefront or something or other and his long legs carry him ahead of you so you have to catch up.

from behind, you grab his hand and he looks back and smiles at you, pulling you in closer so you’re side by side, his earphone wires tangling and up in your business, your hands together behind your back as he kisses your temple.

“ohhhhh, my baby, you missed me soooo much, hm?” all sickly sweet and a tiny bit patronizing, fully joking but also meaning it a little because the annoyed look on your face makes it for him.

“suuuurree,” you say, sarcasm dripping off your words, but when you untangle your arms, kissing his tattooed knuckles as you talk about what distracted you—joost knows you mean it.

29 headcanon that breaks your heart

(normal au)

it takes a really long time for you two to get together. really really long time. the vast majority of the time spent was full of doubt and insecurities. he questioned—is this really what you want? you questioned yourself—is this really what he wants?

the utter mismatch of your lives were not lost on you. it took a few years to get your shit together and finally admit it to yourselves that regardless of your doubts, you wanted each other.

your schedules were chaotic as it is and you didn’t want to let each other down; neither of you would back down, always butting heads about making sure the other wouldn’t have to compromise their life just to be with the other.

even after you got together, there was still a lot of guilt on your end about how long it took; he was always the one who wanted to push the boundary, finally make it so he was yours, but you objected out of fear.

tbh it was the opposite of commitment issues—you two were so committed to each other and didn’t want to let go, it was just the whole label part.

-

this is meta about normal au, jtsfaoi, and tt, but this is why there’s so much guilt on reader’s end about not showing up for him!! they feel like they wasted 2 years (oops is that a spoiler) out of the sake of being scared and for a long time feel like they need to make up for that for him :’’’) there will be lots of this talk in the future prequel parts of normal au so more heartbreak lols

30 headcanon that mends it

in my head normal au reader and joosti tosti get married and have 3 babies LOLZ soooo… i wanna share more but idk how much i can spoil ab my plans for the future ?!? i can prob write a little bullet point post about it if anyone wants it 👀

the wedding is soooo small and spontaneous—like you woke up that morning not even planning to do anything that day, next thing you know you’re at town hall at noon with as many of your friends that can make it to witness for you. you have a second bigger ceremony so you can have all the pictures and little wedding customs, but that first wedding still ended up being your favorite. can also write drabble about this lolol but can’t promise i’ll share much 🤫🤫

[suzukiblu]

Thank-you sentences for derpsheep behind the cut; weird amnesia Timberkon. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“You can recognize their heartbeats?” Bernard asks incredulously–that is a very creepy and invasive thing to recognize about someone, much less be passively listening to, what the fuck–and then frowns. “Wait, got back from where?” 

“Long story,” Superboy mutters. “Alternate realities were involved. It sucked. But I got back here, and it’s supposed to be right, and there’s people I recognize, but there’s . . . different people, too. And no one here recognizes me. And I thought . . .” 

“That you were either totally insane or just stranded in the wrong reality for no discernable reason with no idea how to find the right one?” Bernard assumes. 

“That, yeah,” Superboy says tightly. “Definitely that.” 

“Good news, I guess, if you are insane, it’s a shared delusion, and if you’re in the wrong reality, so am I,” Bernard says. “Because again, I definitely remember you. And Hawaii. And Superman being dead. And like, all that shit in general. Also you kinda died that one time too? There was a statue, I’m pretty sure. Actually I think there were two.” 

Superboy’s smile is tight and humorless, and he digs his fingers into the inside of his wrist. Bernard has no clue how a dude in such severe and obvious distress can look so fucking good about, like . . . literally everything he’s got going on over there. It’s a lot of “everything”, is all. Superboy is a lot no matter what, obviously, but still. Like, extra a lot. Secret bonus levels of a lot. 

A lot. 

“I mean, there used to be,” Superboy says, and the pained smile he’s wearing turns–bitter, kind of. 

Fuck, Bernard feels so bad for this dude. Like so many levels of so bad. 

“Don’t take this the wrong way but I need to google some shit,” he says as he digs his phone out. Tim is clearly taking his sweet-ass time in the bathroom, and since he isn’t actually in there waiting for Superboy, it’s gotta be a Bat thing, which usually gives him a good fifteen or twenty minutes of fuck-around time before Tim makes it back with the weak excuse du jour. Or, like, three and a half weeks, one very memorable and kinda fucking awful time that Bernard had spent wondering if jumping into the timestream was how vigilantes ghosted you. “And maybe check some forums or something.” 

“I don’t think ‘is this weird dude at the boba shop crazy’ is gonna pop up on Bing, man,” Superboy says, still wearing the same bitter smile. Bernard wonders why he didn’t just go to the Justice League and explain himself to them. Like, they’d probably believe him, right? Or at least they wouldn’t instantly not believe him; they’d check things out or whatever. 

Alternately, though: half-Kryptonian full-telekinetic with Lex Luthor’s DNA and Superman’s face who doesn’t even know if he’s crazy or not.  

So like . . . that seems like an awkward conversation to have with Superman, maybe, Bernard allows. Or just fucking agonizing and terrifying and wildly, wildly likely to end in one of those stupid misunderstanding-based super-fights and, like, maybe also getting drop-kicked into the Phantom Zone because said stupid fight would be against Superman and that is, apparently, what Superman usually does with supervillain Kryptonians. And probably Superboy is having some very understandable issues about getting drop-kicked out of reality right now, if that’s a concern he’s had. Which–the Phantom Zone isn’t the same thing as an alternate reality, as far as Bernard’s aware, but also what the fuck does he know about the Phantom Zone? 

Bernard googles, in quick succession: Superman’s death, the Phantom Zone, and Superboy. He gets a ton of articles and photographs and blog posts with absolutely zero trace of Superboy in a single one of them, a lot of contradicting intel about what the hell the Phantom Zone actually is, and also some blurry candid photos of a ten year-old in ripped jeans and an S-shield hoodie that he’s never seen before in his life. 

. . . so that’s weird, yeah, Bernard observes, blinking down at his phone. 

“Huh,” he says, brow furrowing. “Hey, should I know this kid?” 

“Did you literally just google ‘Superboy’?” Superboy asks, which is notably not an answer to Bernard’s question. 

“Obviously, yeah, the entire internet is in my pocket, why would I not do that,” Bernard replies reasonably, still scrolling through random photos of this completely unrecognizable kid. Said kid continues to look like a total fucking stranger and Bernard continues to have zero clue who he is or why he’s wearing the “S”. Another clone, maybe? Like, an even mini-er mini-Super? Bernard can’t see his face all that clearly in any of the pics, still, but he’s at least got Superman’s coloring, it looks like. 

“Because Tim would give you shit about it, probably, I don’t know,” Superboy lies, because he very obviously does know. Probably better than Bernard does himself, come to think of it, which is kind of a weird thought but also, like, an obviously objectively true one. Superboy’s spent a lot more time with Tim than he has, even having been, like . . . unrealitied and all. 

God, that is still so disturbing a concept, too. 

[bikananjarrus]

on the topic of how infuriating it is to read 300 pages of percy calling himself stupid, of other characters calling him stupid, of even the creatures/animals implying that he's stupid, a scene that really bugged me was when hecate checked in on percy while he was on the train, and it was such an effort for him to remind himself that he can’t lie, and he can’t tell her the truth, ie: he has to trick her and talk his way out of this situation.

(this is certainly not the most egregious example of percy's apparent stupidity in this book, but it allows me to talk about one of the ways in which percy IS, in fact, very smart!)

throughout the books, one of percy’s strongest traits is how clever he is! he is extremely good at manipulation (and he’s a bit ruthless in his manipulation too). he's an excellent swordsman and he's almost better at talking through a situation in such a way that he can exploit his enemies weaknesses.

example: at age 12, still very new to the mythological world, he manipulated procrustes into climbing into one of his own enchanted beds, used his own magical bonds to keep him there, and then cut off his head (while saying “i think i'll start with the top." he's so iconic for that). procrustes unwittingly handed 12-year-old percy everything he needed to turn the trick around on crusty. percy observed how he tricked grover and annabeth to getting close to the beds, listened for the magic word (ergo) he used to bind them there, and in the very short amount of time they spent around him, percy was able to get a feel for crusty's personality/ego well enough to know exactly what to say to trick him into getting into one of the beds so he could kill him.

there are SO many more examples of percy using tricks and manipulations to defeat his enemies. but all this to say: percy is clever and smart and thinks quick on his feet and he’s damn manipulative (the trickery is such a hermes trait, too, which makes for SUCH a nice foil to luke in the og series).

so for him to be breaking such a sweat trying to make sure he doesn’t spill the beans to hecate just rubs me the wrong way.

which! this could have been used to say something about percy’s newfound anxiety post-hoo. this could have been used to say something about his trauma from all those events and how maybe, right now, he’s not quite himself and so he’s not as quick on the draw as before. but rick absolutely did not put that much thought into it. It’s not about any of that, it’s just another moment played for laughs about how dumb and stupid percy is, and how he suddenly can’t handle himself in front of a god, even though he’s been getting in their faces since the day he learned he was a demigod.

[kalolasfantasyworld]

Shippy couch shenaningans

with @f-oighear and moi

(We're not going to admit how much time this took)

Lola: Yuno third wheeling from the back 😭😭😭 Oighear: DON'T BE SHY. SCOOT OVER! Lola: Please do! Asta Noelle won't blast you off the couch (probably...)

Yami: Prickly Queen Oighear: DON'T BE SHY. SCOOT OVER. Lola: DON'T BE SHY. SCOOT OVER. They need a shove.

Lola: Cuteness overload! I can't 🥹 Oighear: Look at the babies!

Lola: Proper... dignified... MY EYES ARE HERE! Oighear: They're trying so hard to pretend they don't know each other. 😭 Lola: As if they didn't just come back from the backroom 😭

Zora: Hey 😏 Nebra: Peasant LEAVE! Zora: You're ASKING FOR IT!

Yami: Hey Julius said it was a costume party tonight btw Fuegoleon & Nozel: serious nod At the party: Yami: BWBHWABAHAHHAHAHA Nozel: i'll kill him Fuegoleon: let's refrain

Lola: Grey don't be shy 🥺 Oighear: She is shy but she's trying not to be! fists! balled! determined!! proud of her

Oighear: She knows she looks good. He knows she looks good. Everyone knows she looks good. Just scoot over. Oighear: also Finral isn't hiding at all that he's looking. Lola: I wouldn't either.

Lola: THEM! Oighear: Nozel looks so tiny next to Jack. Lola: Little bird.

Lola: Luck! Oighear: Luck! Lola: Look how MAGNA'S SITTING! Oighear: He knows he's on the shippy couch.

Oighear: Kahono's hair is piercing the shippy couch Lola: Noelle is cheering on Idol kahono

Lola: Menspreading Oighear: Even worse because they're royals Oighear: Royalspreading.

Lola: Marx looks... big in this one... Oighear: who knew Marx was this wild. Lola: Hey I heard you are a wild one...

Oighear: They're just staring ahead 😭 Lola: They're focused on their passions!!!

Lola: It's a crackship let's make it crack Oighear: I HAVE FANCY ZORA Oighear: YOU SWIMSUIT UP YOUR GAUCHE

patri: so this is what a squad is patri: uninteresting william: *exists* patri: patri: i'll stay

Oighear: 'let's hold hands' is out, 'let's hold wings' is in

Oighear: look at them sit. none of them know how to sit. also yami is staring at that leg Lola: Jack is just... He's all legs. Lola: You stare and there's a 90% perfect chance you'll land on legs.

Lola: Since we took so long to actually post this DottyZel joined us on the shippy couch. Lola: Why is Dotty's head so big??? Lola: She's supposed to be ity bity! Oighear: She really is taller than him with the witch's hat 😭

POSTED! We did it! @f-oighear!!! Only way too much time spent on BCM to create this masterpiece of a post.

I hope everyone enjoys their favorite cc x cc ships hanging out on the shippy couch 😂

[sparklingcid3r]

Do you have headcanons for the Curtis parents

HELL yeah i do‼️ a lot of these are inspired by my own childhood bc i got nostalgic😭

- I’m gonna call Mrs. Curtis Josephine because I saw it once and ran with it, also it’s not fair we don’t know her name :(

- But in my head, Josephine accidentally got pregnant in her senior year to Darrel Sr., who’d already dropped out of high school, and they decided to keep the baby, and Josephine ended up dropping out

- Josephine’s parents were furious over the situation, both her dropping out and getting pregnant to someone like Darrel. They kicked her out of the house

- Darrel worked like hell to provide for her and his own family put up money for them to try and help, but it wasn’t much. Despite that, they were happy

- Shotgun wedding! Not a big thing or anything, Josephine wore her patchy homecoming dress and Darrel’s mom sewed up one of her husband’s suits for him, and it was a quiet affair

- Darry lowkey tricked them into thinking parenting would be easy because he wasn’t a crier even when he was born. He was well-behaved and didn’t cause them that much stress. Like he still cried but not nearly as much as a normal baby would. It was a little nerve wracking as they wondered if something was wrong with him or if this whole parenting thing was easy asl

- Uh yeah so then Soda was born

- Josephine had bad post partem depression after Soda where she couldn’t spend a lot of time with Soda and kind of used Darry as a crutch, spending more time with him as a result was Darrel spent more time with Soda. I imagine this being the reason Soda took on more of his dad’s mannerisms while Darry took his mom’s

- Slowly Josephine started coming around, but it was still hard. She spent as much time as she could handle with Soda, but Darrel always told her not to pressure herself and that she just needed to give it time, but he was anxious about the situation too

- Darry was actually the one who coined Pony’s name. When Josephine was pregnant with him, she let Darry and Soda touch her stomach and feel for him, and Darry said he kicked like a pony and Darrel and Josephine looked at each other like 👁️👄👁️☝️

- Originally it was just going to be Pony, but Darrel started saying “How’s our Ponykid doing in there?” and so when he was born and they found out he was a he, Josephine switched it because she didn’t want him to be called a kid his whole life

- Josephine was the cook of the family, but some days Darrel would make pancakes for the family while Josephine would make faces out of syrup and fruit for the boys

- Same with the grill, Darrel would ask for everyone’s order: burger, cheeseburger, hotdog, and Josephine would help them making faces and (not very good) pictures with the ketchup

- Darrel always woke the boys up saying “Time to make the donuts!” and while Darry and Soda knew what that meant, it took Pony a little longer to stop getting disappointed when there weren’t any donuts waiting for them in the kitchen

- Josephine was the one who tucked the boys in, but Darrel usually came in a few minutes later to say goodnight to them as well, and if he hadn’t shaved that morning he’d rub his face against theirs without them expecting it and hurt like a mf, Soda swore he’d always be clean-shaven

- Even though they didn’t call him Superman, Darrel was the one they all associated Superman with. Before closing their doors at night, he’d always do the motion of ripping his shirt across the middle as if to reveal the logo on his chest, so Pony calling Darry Superman meant more to Darry than he ever wants to admit

- Josephine was always singing or humming, just making music. When she was cooking, cleaning, doing the laundry, music was always going in the Curtis home. I’m pretty sure in the movie there’s a piano in the house, and it absolutely belonged to Josephine. She tried to teach all three of her kids how to play, but Darry was the only one who really took to it

- Josephine could have died from joy hearing Pony and Soda singing Andy Williams and Hal David off key while Darry stumbled through a song on the piano

totally feel like i could go on about this family, they mean so much to me🙏

[westanthewaterman]

Feel You - Dark x GN!DA!Reader

Rating: NSFW

Word Count: 1700+

Summary: Reunited after a century apart, Dark and the District Attorney spend some quality time together. Or more simply put, love sick Dark -> feral Dark.

Contents: handjobs, penetrative sex, no pronouns or body parts used for reader, standard Dark pet names (dear heart, pet, etc.), mild voice kink, blink and you miss it references to Dark's mind powers

AN: Idk where this came from, but it was fun to write. I'll post to AO3 and add all my usual links later, I should've been in bed an hour ago. If you're still here despite my hiatus, I appreciate you.

         Dark hikes your leg up onto his hip. He relishes in the softness of your skin beneath his fingers, a concrete reminder that you’re here, that you’re together again after everything.

         The new position allows him more space to roll his hips, grinding down against the heat between your legs. You shudder beneath him. He repeats the motion once, twice, and you throw your head back against the pillows.  His hungry, grey eyes follow the column of your throat upwards until they land on your mouth. Your lips part around a whimper and he can’t stop himself from pressing a kiss against them.

“I’ll never tire of hearing you sing for me, dear heart.”

“Damien,” You whine before hiding your face in the crook of his neck.

“I think it’s a little late to hide from me now.” He chuckles. “What’s gotten you so shy, darling?”

“You never talked this much before.”

         Dark tenses, a familiar, far-away look in his eyes, one he always gets when the two of you discuss the past. You cup the side of his face, gently guiding his gaze back to yours. He blinks. A melancholy smile settles on his face. You pull his head down so that you can press your forehead against his.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong, my love. There are bad memories, yes, but also good ones. In fact, I can recall quite a few memories of us just as we are now, bare in each other’s arms, locked in the throes of passion.”

There’s a wry smile on his face, one that reminds you of evenings spent tucked away between bookshelves, sneaking out of dormitories at the crack of dawn, a rendezvous in the storage closet of a crowded chapel. Your heart aches for all the two of you have lost and can never get back. But despite everything you had been through, the two of you were together again.

Dark presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “I can feel how your mind races. I think about it too, even now. Almost a century without you and I never stopped feeling your absence. I ached to hold you in my arms, to have you beneath me, to feel you tight as a vice as you come apart around me.”

A thought creeps into your mind and turns your stomach to lead. He had been by himself for so long, sure you were gone forever. You couldn’t blame him or be angry, but still the thought makes you sick.

“Was,” you pause a moment, steeling yourself for his answer. “Was there ever anyone else? In your heart, or your bed?”

He looks at you as if your words have burned him. When he speaks, his voice is firm, unwavering.

“No. My dear heart, there could never be another. I vowed to love you in sickness and in health, in love and in death. There could only ever be you.”

“Oh.” You blush.

The intensity of his answer makes you feel foolish for even suggesting such a thing. You drop your gaze, absently picking at the sheets beneath you. It’s Dark’s turn to take your face in his hand and bring your gaze back to him.

“I loved you deeply, but I know my actions did not always convey that. At times, I allowed my responsibilities and ambitions to blind me to how I was neglecting you. You deserved a better man than I knew how to be back then, and I have spent a century regretting it. But now, despite terrible circumstances and the battles still to be fought, we have a second chance, and I intend to use it to do right by you.”

“Damien, I…I don’t know what to say.”

“There is no need to say anything, dear heart. I know you feel as strongly as I do; I feel it through our bond, and soon I’ll feel it here as well.”

Dark presses a finger against your entrance, pressing it into you slowly. You cry out, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him flush against you

“You said earlier that I never used to talk very much when we were intimate, and you were right.” His voice drips with venom as he continues. “The prim and proper mayor, so worried about civility and manners. Too obsessed with his image and what was ‘acceptable’ to truly speak his mind.”

You want to argue, to defend Dark’s former self against his own harsh criticism, instead a moan rips its way out of your throat when two more fingers fill you. Dark’s grin is wicked. He ducks down to press his lips to your ear, taking your earlobe between his teeth and giving it a quick tug. You clench around his fingers, earning an amused chuckle.

“I have no such worries. My only concern is pleasing you and, by the way your body responds for me, I can tell I’m doing just that. This little hole of yours is so hot and tight around my fingers, and it’s all for me, isn’t it?”

A shudder wracks your body and you moan, digging your nails into his shoulders.

“Oh,” Dark purrs. “Now what got that reaction? You like when I talk to you like this, don’t you, pet?”

“Y-Yes.”

“But what is it that has you so responsive? Is it my voice in your ear? The things that I’m saying to you? Or maybe none of that matters. Perhaps I could say anything, and you would respond just as wantonly, so long as I have you filled with my fingers or my cock.”

“All of it, it’s all of it. Damien, fuck.”

“Dear heart, such foul language. Have I already wrecked you so thoroughly?”

You scowl at him but you both know there’s no mirth behind it. “Fuck you.”

         There’s a wicked glint in his eyes as Dark grabs a handful of your hair, pulling just enough to force your head back and bare your throat to him. Sharp canines scratch playfully against the sensitive skin of your neck.

“You should be careful what you ask for, my love. I am a changed man with a century of pent-up sexual frustration. I could take you over and over and over again, never tiring until I have given you every drop of my spend and the only word you know is my name.”

Dark sets a languid pace thrusting his fingers in and out of you.

“You want it now, just as much as you did back then, isn’t that right? You wanted the serious, respectable mayor to break. You craved to be taken passionately, for him to make love to you like a man starved.”

“Yes, yes.” You nod frantically, bucking your hips against his hand.

“I have hungered for you for so long, dear heart; I feel almost ravenous with it.”

Dark removes his fingers from you and fists his leaking cock, stroking himself slowly. You find yourself mesmerized by the motion and the way his stomach muscles tense and flex with every stroke of his hand. Your eyes follow a drop of his arousal as it drips down the underside of his cock. You lick your lips. Knocking his hand out of the way, you take him in your own, his length hot and heavy in your palm.

         He groans appreciatively as you stroke him from base to tip, occasionally rubbing your thumb over the head of his cock. You guide his hand to rest over your heart.

 “You’ve spent all this time talking about what I want and how you can please me. What do you want?”

“I want to make up for lost time. I want to give you everything I could not before.”

“But that’s still about me. Damien, what do you want?

He falters. “I…I just want you. I want to feel you. I want to know that you are real, and not just some illusion he made to torment me.”

“I want to feel you too.” You guide the head of his cock to your entrance. “I’m here, my love. I’m real. This is real.”

Dark presses into you in one long, slow thrust that has him buried to the hilt. Both of you moan at the sensation. You wrap your legs around his waist and urge him forward, forcing his cock deeper inside.

“Fuck, my love, I never thought I would feel you like this again.”

You smirk. “Such foul language, Damien. Now who’s wrecked who?”

Instead of a response, Dark grabs your face and presses your lips together in a passionate kiss. So much is shared between you in this single moment of contact, decades of sorrow and grief, an emptiness immeasurable by time. But there is also hope and joy, lust and elation. Most importantly, there is love; a love that has weathered the test of time and survived even the most unthinkable circumstances.

The two of you pull apart, both crying and holding each other like your lives depend on it.

“I love you, dear heart. Thank you for coming back to me.”

“I love you too, Damien. Thank you for finding me.”

Dark speeds up the pace of his thrusts, breathing heavily in your ear.

“I am afraid it has been too long, my love. I have spent a century waiting to feel you like this again and now I find myself unable to hold back my release.”

“I’m close too. You feel so good.”

“I want you to cum with me now. Let me feel you.”

         He grabs your thighs and presses them back so that he can rut into you, ruthlessly. You cry out at the way the new angle causes the head of his cock to brush against a sweet spot deep inside that has you seeing stars. Your orgasm washes over you and you finish with a cry of his name. The tight heat of you bares down around him and the dam holding back Dark’s climax breaks. Waves of pleasure crash over him as he stills inside you, filling you with his release.

         The two of you lay together in silence, collecting your bearings. You think you might fall asleep until Dark gives a shallow thrust, his cock still hard inside you.

“How-”

He gives you a wicked grin and presses his lips to your ear.

“I told you I was a changed man, dear heart, and we have quite a lot of lost time to make up for.”

[maybe-im-dark]

Embracing the beast

A short piece based on this post https://www.tumblr.com/maybe-im-dark/761522294450487296?source=share, where i share my theory that Logan is stronger in D&W because he has embraced his inner animal, after having witnessed the death of the X-Men

-------------------------------------------------------------

The attic of the abandoned house was dark, the smell of dust and decay filling the stale air. Logan crouched in the corner, his breaths ragged and uneven. It was the only place he could find where he could be alone, where he could escape the world that had taken everything from him. The X-Men were gone, wiped out by forces they had never seen coming, and in the aftermath, after killing everyone that came across his path, Logan had fled, running until his legs threatened to give out, until he could no longer feel the weight of what he had lost.

Now, he sat huddled in the shadows, his mind replaying the last moments—the screams, the blood, the faces of his friends twisted in pain. His own hands were stained red, blood from enemies and allies alike, and he could still feel the warmth of it, still smell the iron tang of death clinging to his skin. It was too much, too overwhelming. Everything he had tried to bury, everything he had tried to control, came crashing down on him all at once.

Logan gripped his head, claws partially unsheathed, and let out a choked, guttural growl. He was tired—tired of fighting, tired of trying to be something he wasn’t. There was a monster inside him, always had been, and he had spent his entire life trying to cage it, trying to be a man instead of the beast they had made him. But now, with nothing left to lose, what was the point? What was the point of pretending?

He slammed his fists against the wooden floor, his claws digging in, tearing gouges into the rotting wood. “Enough,” he muttered to himself, his voice raw and strained. “Enough.”

Logan’s body shook as he let go of the fear, the guilt, the pain. He closed his eyes and surrendered, allowing himself to fall into the darkness that had always lurked beneath the surface. The process was excruciating, every nerve in his body catching fire as he let the animal inside him come to life. He fell forward, muscles seizing, his back arching painfully as he dug his claws deeper into the floor.

“Let it go,” he whispered through gritted teeth, his voice barely more than a growl. “Let it all go.”

He bit down hard on his lower lip, tasting blood as it seeped into his mouth, mixing with the saliva that dripped from his fangs. His eyes rolled back, and for a moment, everything was chaos. The beast roared within him, surging forward, threatening to consume him whole. It was like a tidal wave crashing down, but instead of drowning, he rose with it. He didn’t resist. Instead, he surrendered, letting it wash over him, through him, around him.

And then, something changed. The animal didn’t take him over—it didn’t reduce him to a mindless killer, as he had always feared. It merged with him, filling every crack, every broken piece, every scar he carried, until he was no longer just Logan, or just the beast, but something more. Something whole.

His breathing slowed, and the world came into sharper focus. He could hear everything—the creak of the house settling, the faint rustle of leaves outside, the distant hum of life miles away. His heart thumped steadily in his chest, and he felt… calm.

For the first time in years, there was no inner conflict, no voice in the back of his mind whispering that he was nothing but a weapon. There was just him. Complete.

Logan lay still for a moment, the world around him fading into the background as he adjusted to this new sensation, this sense of being. He could feel the power coursing through his veins, the primal energy that had always been there but had never felt so… right. When he finally opened his eyes, they glowed a bright, piercing yellow for a heartbeat, then faded back to their usual dark hue.

Slowly, he rose to all fours, feeling the raw strength in his limbs, every muscle coiled and ready to strike. He tilted his head back and let out a deep, rumbling roar that shook the rafters, a sound that spoke of pain, of rage, of a lifetime spent running from what he was.

But he wasn’t running anymore.

Logan stood there for a moment, feeling the vibrations of his own roar echoing through his chest, before a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t a smile of joy or happiness. It was a smile of acceptance, of defiance, of power.

He needed to move, needed to feel the wind against his face, the ground beneath his feet. He needed to hunt. The world could burn for all he cared, and maybe, just maybe, he’d be the one to set it ablaze.

“Time to have some fun,” he muttered, his voice rough and low. With that, he slipped out of the attic

[enerjax]

髪型をセットしているティナ🪞

It’s been a while since I posted here, but here’s Terra tying her hair up w the help of Mog✨ He can’t see anything 😆 A sketch I spent too much time on today

[mariyekos]

I like to imagine Dante's able to use some basic magic beyond just typical demonic stuff. In the opening of DMC1, a magic circle appears below Trish when Dante shoots the motorcycle back at her, so I like to think Dante knows some basic spells, wards, and the like. For the most part he uses it for little things like making a special lock for his Devil Arm vault, maybe heating up soup or a drink that's gone cold, and so on, rather than any combat things. Dante's spells are not at all refined and he doesn't have a natural talent for it, per se, but he has a lot of power he can put into things so he often ends up brute forcing whatever it is. It's not necessarily efficient, but it works, and that's all he cares about. He's not really interested in most precise or specific things.

Vergil on the other hand has a lot more control and a much greater interest in magic in general. A post DMC5 Vergil (and pre DMC3) would use magic a lot more often, and without as much prep. He spent a lot of time learning different charms etc. to use in daily life, and he's a lot more elegant about it. Some he learned when on the run and trying to hide from demons, while others he learned when trying to track down Sparda, and others still he learned for purely convenience reasons. Post DMC5 he gets a lot more into it than he did pre DMC3 when it was more a thing of survival, even if it had the convenience aspect back then too. He's the kind of person who would learn spells for the sake of knowing them, and while he prefers using demonic abilities in combat, he might try to learn a magical combat spell or two just to see what it's like. He mostly sticks to practical things though (which sit on the border of practicality, but he considers them practical, uses them often, and makes Dante's magic look like child's play).

On the magical third (regrown!) hand, Nero's absolutely horrible at magic, to the point of not being able to do basically anything. He's got the magical reserves, but unlike Vergil who can cast precise spells with relatively little effort, or Dante who gets through spells by basically overloading them until they work, Nero just can't get magic to work for him at all. Lessons with Vergil end with him stomping out when he gets fed up with Vergil commenting on how easy it should be, while attempts to get Dante to explain how he casts magic end in frustration when Dante's explanations basically start and end at "I dunno, it, it just works." Sure Nero can memorize and draw a warding sigil perfectly, but any and all attempts to get it to actually do anything end in failure.

Kyrie, in a reveal that surprises everyone, most of all herself, is apparently extremely talented at magic, which she does not know until she sees Nero trying and failing to activate a warding sigil Vergil taught him, puts a finger on it so she can trace over it as she reviews Nero's work in case he messed something up, and inadvertently activates it. After that they end up doing some testing and discover Kyrie is a natural when it comes to magic. The only problem is that while casting spells, activating sigils, and the like come easily to her, her magical reserves are rather small, limiting what she's able to do. When she first activates the sigil Nero had drawn, she ends up unable to get up and Nero has to carry her to bed (which she insists he doesn't have to do, because she just needs a minute to catch her breath, but he insists on)

Nico is stoked to hear about this and ends up figuring out a way to essentially fit Kyrie and Nero with a magic converter that allows Kyrie to draw on the magical reserves Nero can't utilize so that she can use them for whatever she wants to. While Kyrie isn't someone who really cares to use magic for things in her daily life like Dante and Vergil, she does use it to make little charms for the kids, and to establish wards around the house to protect them from demon attacks and other small misfortunes. She and Vergil end up bonding a little bit as he teaches her the spells and other bits of magic Nero was never able to pick up on.

(Vergil himself feels a mixture of pride at how quickly she picks up on things with his instruction, and jealousy when he sees how good she is at things first or second try when he knows it took him a good five or ten attempts to get it down when he was first learning. Kyrie notices and tells him that he's still much better than her in the long run since he's able to use magic without needing a separate "battery" to power him, but Nero absolutely digs into Vergil about it when Kyrie isn't there. Dante meanwhile finds it all hilarious. But he and Nero are pretty proud of Kyrie too.)

[eaissilyy]

This post is approved by the Mohgwyn Dynasty PR Department. 🩸🥀✅✅

fun fact : Tarnished only has 2 likes from themselves and Melina who is here for moral support

fun fact 2 : Ansbach doesn’t know how to change his name

fun fact 3 : Varre cannot make his username “LordMohgNo1fan” because some random sanguine noble already used that name (they are not here because thet are busy invading tarnished)

Here’s the ref because it’s the funniest thing ever and I spent too much time on this 🙏🙏

[tkwrites]

An Infinite Kind of Love - A 300 follower celebration fic - Matthew Tkachuk x ofc

Photo from Pinterest

Title: An Infinite Kind of Love

Author: Tory / @tkwrites 

Relationship: Pre-established: Matthew Tkachuk x Sophie (ofc)

Warnings: Other than mentions of a not great biological father, it’s all fluff. 

Summary: Matthew and Sophie get married! 

Word count: 3,800

Comments: I hit 300 followers way back on July 12 and set up this poll to determine the fic I would write in celebration. We’d just passed the 4th of July, and I had a very specific idea for Matthew and Sophies wedding because of it. 

This fic has actually been finished for about 3 weeks, but I was worried people would be upset if I posted it before the latest Quinn and Sarah Snapshot went up. So, here it is. 

I hope you enjoy seeing Matthew and Sophie get married! If you did, please consider commenting, reblogging, or sending in an ask. I love hearing your thoughts about my writing!

Also we're just going to pretend the suit in this photo is navy because I couldn't find a photo of Matthew in a navy suit other than last years NHL Awards suit, which is not a suit for a wedding.

An Infinite Kind of Love

A Matthew and Sophie Fic

“Can someone get Matthew?” Sophie asked. 

“Of course.” Taryn darted out to run across the courtyard. 

When she got back to the suite, Matthew was running in after her. 

Gwen was naked to the waist and yelped. 

He slapped a hand over his eyes. “Sorry! Sorry! Soph?”

She rushed to him, pulling him out onto the balcony. “It's safe,” she said, nudging his hand down. 

The late afternoon sun turned her into nothing more than a silhouette. He had to blink a few times before she came into focus. She'd changed from the short ivory colored dress she'd worn to brunch into a set of loose satin pajamas. Her hair was in rollers, and even with brows that looked too heavy without the rest of her makeup done, she still looked beautiful. 

“What's wrong?” he asked, his hands automatically going to her arms, rubbing up and down. He didn't think it would actually happen, but thoughts of her calling off the wedding had still weaseled their way into the back of his mind when Taryn raced into the groom's room telling him Sophie wanted to see him. 

“Nothings wrong,” she said, looking into his face. Despite only wearing a t-shirt and shorts, he looked fresh faced, and handsome. He and the boys had gone to the barber shop after brunch, and they'd done his hair so his curls were perfectly set and defined. It took all her willpower to not run her fingers through them. They’d also given him a straight edge shave, and she could tell how soft his cheeks would be without even touching them. 

She preferred a bit of scruff on him, but he'd insisted he'd rather be clean shaven, saying he didn't want to look like a Muppet on their wedding day.

“Plus,” he'd said with a mischievous glint in his eye, “don't want to give you any beard burn,” before rubbing her cheek with his stubbled jaw.

She’d laughed and told him she didn’t mind. 

“What's up?” he asked now, looking relieved. 

“I just wanted to see you,” she said, stepping into him and wrapping her arms around his chest. 

As his arms enclosed around her, she felt his chuckle at the same time she heard it. 

“I missed you, too,” he said. With the rollers, he couldn’t tuck his face into her hair the way he liked to. He settled for resting his lips on her forehead. 

“For being our wedding day, we don't see very much of each other,” she said.

While they’d had a brunch with many of their wedding guests before coming to the ceremony venue to get ready, they’d slept apart the night before and spent much of the morning away from each other. Then, they were supposed to be apart until the first look and the ceremony. It felt incongruous. This was a celebration of their union. Shouldn't they be together?  

“I know. It's bullshit,” he whispered. 

“What aftershave did they use?” she asked. He smelled fresh like cut grass and mountain air. 

“I'm not sure. I picked it because I thought you'd like it.”

The simpleness of the act and of his thoughtfulness made her a little weak in the knees. “It smells really nice.”

Matthew closed his eyes, drinking in the feel of her body pressed to his, her breath on his neck and her nose in the soft spot under his jaw. Knowing that he'd picked right made pride swell in his chest.

“I'll ask them and get some,” he said. 

Pulling back, she leaned up to kiss him. 

It wasn't anything extravagant. It wasn't a kiss that made him break into a hot sweat or one that brought him to his knees. It was loving and soft. There was tongue, because with Sophie, there was always a little tongue. 

They kissed a few more times before she pulled away to find a look of adoration on his handsome face as he smiled down at her. 

Caught in the moment, they stayed that way for a few beats longer, just staring at each other until someone cleared their throat.

In the back of her mind, Sophie knew they were all in the room, but it was still a bit shocking when they looked over to find all her bridesmaids, both of their moms and the wedding photographer all gathered around the balcony door. 

“You guys are so cute,” Gwen gushed. 

There wasn't much about their wedding that was traditional. Instead of the usual noon, 2 or 5 o'clock ceremonies, their ceremony was set to begin at 8:30 so it would be dark enough by the time they kissed. They served a cocktail hour with food before the ceremony, at which the bridal party, minus the bride, mingled. After the vows, they were headed to a late-night reception with food trucks, cocktails, and partying. 

With 20 minutes to go before the ceremony, they all snuck off to a more secluded part of the garden. The groomsmen insisted they wanted to do a first look with Sophie. It turned into a whole thing: groomsmen along with Keith and her stepdad Greg. Then Matthew would come in and join them to get his own first look.

Sophie was hidden behind a trellis in another part of the garden with both of their moms and her bridesmaids. 

Her mom grabbed her hand to stop her from nervously pulling at her dress, and Sophie felt butterflies attack her stomach. 

Before the bridesmaids went out to join the guys, Taryn wrapped her in a tight hug. When they parted, she held Sophie at arms length to look her over. “Matthew’s gonna shit himself,” she said, tone full of a kind of teasing approval Sophie never experienced until she’d met Matthew. Their family teased, but mostly, it was all in good fun. It was rarely the kind of needling teasing she got from her dad as a child.

Once she’d tried it on for the first time, Sophie couldn’t stop thinking about Matthew seeing her in this dress. She’d had it custom-made, pieces of a few dresses stolen and sewn together to make exactly what she’d wanted. The bodice had a plunging neckline that narrowed between her breasts, so it wasn’t all that scandalous and floral embroidery that cascaded down onto the A-line skirt. It was simple and understated, just left of center enough to make it unique and just off white enough to be flattering. If the color were a little darker, it might be called blush.

She knew Matthew would love it because she loved it. That was just the kind of guy he was. But Taryn’s reaction still made her insides fizz like champagne. 

Upon a prompt from their wedding planner, Sophie walked out. 

The groomsmen were lined up, facing away from her.

They turned around when the photographer, who was standing off to the side with full view of everyones reactions, gave the signal.

As Sophie watched, a broad grin spread over every face. Greg and Keith both started crying, which she hadn’t expected. Keith pulled his glasses off so he could wipe his eyes. 

Greg rushed forward to gather her into a hug. His chest shook with sobs as he whispered, “thank you for letting me be here.”

“You’re the best dad, Greg. I’m so glad you’re here.” 

“Matthew’s one lucky son of a bitch,” he said, wiping his eyes. “I’m so proud of you.” 

She hugged him again, squeezing extra tight. 

Her brother followed. “You're so pretty, Soph,” he said.  

“You look really handsome in your suit,” she said, wiping at her own tears that had finally spilled over. 

He worked his thumbs under his suspenders and puffed out his chest. 

Their laughter was loud and raucous as she struck a pose of her own. 

When it was his turn, Keith gathered her into his barrel chest and lifted her off the ground in a bear hug.

She let out a surprised little squeak and giggled as her feet kicked out behind her.

“I don’t know —” Keith had to stop to wipe his eyes again after he set her back down, “I don’t know what Matthew did to get on your good side, but I’m sure glad he did.” 

“You raised a good man,” she said, patting him on the chest as they parted, “that’s what he did.” 

He gave her a watery smile and went back to Chantal and Taryn, slinging an arm around each of them.

“Matthew’s gonna lose his mind,” Sam whispered in her ear as they hugged.

She giggled, hoping he was right. 

And finally (finally, finally!), Matthew was walking down the garden path next to Brady, looking as nervous and excited as she felt and so handsome in his navy blue suit. He had his Louis Vuitton belt on. Even though she thought it was a little distracting to wear to a wedding, he insisted it was his signature piece and couldn’t go without it. She found an indulgent smile on her face, glad he was wearing something he loved so much. At least she’d convinced him to wear real dress shoes and not those ridiculous mules he’d been sporting to the arena all season. 

Sophie came into view, and all at once, Matthew felt tears sting his eyes. He’d known he would cry. He knew there was no hope of stopping it. He loved her so much, and this whole day had him all discombobulated. This wasn’t even the first time he’d cried, and he knew it wouldn’t be the last. 

After today, he would be her husband. Her husband. He would be her husband, and she would be his wife.  And —

She was wearing the most beautiful dress he’d ever seen. Simple and elegant and completely Sophie. A strong pang of longing, love, and nostalgia pulled through him when he realized her lips were even painted the same pink they had been on their first date. 

She was perfect.

“Oh my god,” he said, awestruck as they joined the group. 

She knew he would probably do that no matter what she was wearing, but it still felt good. 

Brady stepped forward and gathered her into a hug. “You look beautiful, Soph,” he said before going to stand with Emma, wiping a few tears from his eyes as he leaned down to whisper to her about how much this reminded him of their own wedding. 

Finally standing in front of her, Matthew was at a loss for words. Eventually, he just said the thing that kept running through his mind. “Holy Shit.”

Everyone around them laughed. 

Matthew continued to stare silently as everyone else headed back to start ushering the guests into the ceremony seats. 

“I don’t…” he paused, trying to articulate the words. He wasn’t sure there were words for what he was feeling. “Fuck.” 

She burst into laughter. “Is that good? Or bad?” 

“Good,” he said, half of his mouth tipping up in a smile. “You’re –” he blinked a few times, “you’re so pretty, Sophie.”

Heat flushed into her cheeks. “Thank you. I think you look really handsome.” 

“You don’t mind the belt?” he asked, tone and eyes teasing as he hooked his thumbs behind it. 

“Nope,” she stepped forward and threw her arms around his neck. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he said into her hair, getting a mouth full of hairspray. He turned to lay his cheek against it instead. 

“I can’t believe it’s finally here.” 

“I know,” she whispered. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket at the same time he saw her mom walking down the path that led from the ceremony. 

“It’s time for me to go,” he whispered. 

Tightening her arms around him, she resisted nuzzling into his shirt, knowing she’d get makeup all over the starched white material. 

“I’ll see you in a minute,” she said, pulling back to look into his face. 

He dipped down to drop a quick kiss to her lips. “See you in a minute, my betrothed.”

He’d started calling her that after some venue asked him if he and “his betrothed” would be attending a catering tasting together. 

“Soon not to be,” she said with a wink. 

He laughed, stole another quick kiss, and hugged her mom before jogging to meet Brady, who was waiting at the end of the path. 

Sophie asked her mom to walk her down the aisle. She thought the idea of a man giving a woman away was archaic anyway, but especially after her dad left, she vowed never to have a man walk her down the aisle at her wedding. 

So when the music started to play for their bridal party, an instrumental version of Here Comes the Sun — requested by Matthew because he called Sophie his ray of sunshine and they were heralding her entrance — she and her mom walked to the end of the pathway that was serving as their aisle. 

Everything looked beautiful. Matthew was standing with their officiant — someone he grew up with who was now a pastor — under a large trellis, covered in a vine of blooming jasmine. The small white flowers (another reason her dress couldn’t be white) stood out against the mens dark suits and the lilac of the bridesmaids' dresses. Everything was bathed in the gentle golden glow of the candles, lanterns, and fairy lights strewn throughout the garden. It was like walking into a dream.

The song she would walk down the aisle to began, it’s jazzy, guitar playing softly from the speakers hidden around their guests. 

The officiant instructed everyone to stand, and they did, turning to look at her, as she and her mom stopped at the end of the sidewalk. 

While everyone looked at her, she looked at Matthew. Watching his smile and his breathless excitement as she made her way to him. He was even bouncing on the balls of his feet. Her own heart ticked in her ears, and she concentrated on the song lyrics in an effort to keep herself from running to him. 

When we were strangers I watched you from afar When we were lovers I loved you with all my heart But now it's getting late And the moon is climbing high I wanna celebrate See it shining in your eyes Because I'm still in love with you I wanna see you dance again Because I'm still in love with you On this harvest moon

Watching Sophie walk down the aisle, her lips painted the same color pink they were on their first date, it felt a little like watching her walk through their history. He was outrageously glad to be on this side of it, having won her trust and love and finding himself in a situation where he had the chance to be with her forever. 

Her mom hugged her and went to sit with Greg. 

Sophie took the last three steps to stand in front of Matthew by herself. She was ready to take this last leap, eager to no longer do this life on her own.

The officiant invited everyone to sit and began talking about matrimony. She missed most of the speech, too busy thinking about the vows she’d written and watching Matthew. The navy suit made his eyes a deeper shade of blue than usual. 

Finally, after what felt to Matthew like forty minutes, though it couldn’t have been more than five, they were invited to read the vows they’d written. 

“When we agreed to write our own vows, I made Soph promise to let me go first so I didn’t have the pressure of trying to follow her.”

Sophie and the crowd laughed. Matthew noticed his mom wipe a tear from her cheek. His dad put an arm around her. 

Taking in a deep breath, Matthew closed his eyes for a moment before looking back to the printed piece of paper Brady had handed him. 

“Sophie,” he began. His voice wobbled a little. The way she was looking at him made him feel light-headed. The culmination of the day coming together and seeing her looking so beautiful in her dress was too much. Truth be told, he was a bit shocked he was even still standing. 

She took his free hand, and the grounding in her touch centered his breathing.

He looked at her and began again.  

“Sophie, if I tried to articulate all the ways I love you, I’m pretty sure we’d be here for several days because I don’t think I could ever find the right words.” 

The audience awed. 

“So instead of that, I wrote down some of the things I love about you, and what I’ll try to be for you, and you’ll just have to put up with the words I’ve got.” 

She snorted, and he heard Brady laugh behind him. 

“So here goes. I love that you make me quiet.” 

Tears pressed behind her eyes. She hadn’t expected him to go for the jugular right off the bat. 

“Most people know I have a pretty hard time shutting up,” he paused, listening to his dad laugh, “but you taught me the value in quiet moments, and I love that I fell in love with you in them. I love that I get a side of you no one else does, and I love that you trust me enough to show it to me.” 

A few tears leaked out and slid down her cheeks. Gwen slipped a tissue into her hand, and Sophie smiled gratefully, pressing it to her lashes to stop her mascara from running.

“I love that you love my family and that I feel like I could be with you forever, and we would never get bored. I love that we’ve created our own little ecosystem and that it thrives because we’re both invested and working on it.” 

His mom was crying into a handkerchief.  

“I can’t promise that I’ll always be this good looking.” 

The suddenness of the joke made Sophie bark out a sudden laugh, much too loud over the amplification system. Her hand slapped over her mouth to quiet the sound, and he laughed indulgently, as if that was the exact reaction he’d been going for. 

“But what I can promise is this: that I’ll always try to protect you, except when it comes to spiders.” He paused for the laughter to die down, “That I’ll always do my best to be present when I’m home, and that I’ll always listen to and help you achieve your dreams. Most of all, I promise that I won’t ever stop trying to earn and deserve your trust and love.”

He folded the paper up. His mom was crying, as was Emma. He was pretty certain Taryn would be tearing up, too, but he couldn’t see her with the way the bridal party was standing. He wanted to end it in some fancy way like he knew she would, but he didn’t know how, other than to say, “I love you and I can’t wait to start this new chapter with you.”

Sophie wiped her nose and dabbed at the tears in her eyes. “I love you, too.”

She sniffed and swallowed, trying to get her bearings.

“Matthew always tries to tell me he isn’t good with words,” Sophie said, giving him a wry look as her fingers squeezed around his, “but I think you all can be the judge of that.” 

He laughed. 

She coughed gently to get some of the tears out of her voice. “When I started writing my vows, I couldn’t think of anything but love. I’ve been trying to understand it my whole life. When I was a kid, I thought I had to parcel out my love to make sure it didn’t run out, and other people had to do the same. Matthew, although you didn’t teach me that there’s an infinite amount of love in the world, you did prove that infinite love exists in a way I had never experienced before with a man.” 

Now he was crying. 

“I’ve always felt a little on my own,” she explained, “a little too quirky to be loved in that big infinite way.” 

The audience was listening, wrapt. This was exactly why he didn’t want to go after her. Not only would he be a mess, there would be no way he could possibly follow her words.

“The last thing I expected in life was for this muscle-bound, curly-haired, rough and tumble hockey player to not only understand my quirks but to embrace and encourage them.” Her voice trembled. “I’m forever grateful I can take down my walls with you, Matthew.”

He took the tissue Brady handed him, unashamed, and wiped the tears from his eyes. 

“And for your patience and consistency, even when I can be skittish and uptight.” She paused, listening to her half of the audience twitter.

“I promise I’ll kill the spiders,” she said, and he laughed along with the rest of their guests. “And I promise to never be unreasonably jealous of your job. But most of all, I promise to always be honest and to love you in the infinite way you showed me was possible.” 

He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to lean in and just lay one on her. Tradition be damned. He pressed his mouth to hers, mumbling how much he loved her against her lips. When he pulled back, her eyes told him how much she loved him in return.

The officiant led them through the traditional “til death do us part” stuff, and they exchanged rings. It was a strange thing to feel the weight of the band on his finger, but Matthew had never been so glad to have something tying him down. It felt like he might just float away without it. 

“You may now kiss the bride,” the officiant said with a wide smile. 

Matthew’s hand slipped up to cradle her jaw, and he looked into her eyes as the fingers on her left hand tapped out five beats on the back of his arm. 

And just like they rehearsed, just like they planned, just like Ryan said it would happen, the moment their lips touched, fireworks screeched to life behind them, screaming into the sky and exploding in a fan of sparks and color and sound. 

It was perfect. 

It was this video, first showing their faces as they looked adoringly at each other and then cutting back to catch the fireworks igniting the moment they kissed, that Matthew shared on his Instagram. 

It’s been fireworks from the first kiss, and we’re still going strong. 

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