#but my husband writes in whatever one is closest to him

[hippo-pot]

i kinda hate who i am on tumblr too (showing up only to reblog funny posts or vent, nothing else, it's not like i'm exploring a creative side on here) but i Cannot go back to facebook

[saturnville]

a night off, l. hamilton

pairing: he (lewis hamilton) x black!wife (she) content: she encourages her husband to take a night off. warning: angst. minor disagreements. an: thank you for reading <3 let me know what you think! tags: @boujiestpoet @mauvecherie-writes @saintslewis @greedyjudge2 @vile-harlot @emjayewrites @ggaslyp1 @neeville

“Can you just relax, please?” 

He was a self-proclaimed workaholic. Breaks did not exist in his world. Rest was just as foreign as a language different from his native one. If he wasn’t frequently working, he was unsatisfied with himself and his efforts. He refused to be seen as lazy or anything aside from a hard worker. He was a self-proclaimed workaholic who needed a night off. Just one. 

“No, baby. I gotta get this done,” he mumbled, mindlessly pecking her cheek as she rose from her position on his lap in frustration. His laptop had more of his attention than his sanity did and it drove her mad. She glanced at the screen. Whatever he was working on had a deadline more than three months away. She’d be damned.

Despite his protests, she clicked “save” on the document, closed the computer, and tucked it under her arm along with his phone. There was no way she’d allow him to overwork himself, especially not during a trip that had been planned for the sole purpose of escaping the normal day-to-day responsibilities he had. 

His grumbling was muffled and incoherent as she retreated further and further from the dining room where he was. She trekked up the stairs and into their shared bedroom. On the nightstand closest to her side of the bed, she placed his laptop and phone. Then, she made her way back downstairs. 

Her husband wasn’t where she left him, rather sitting on the couch, arms crossed with a television show playing on the large platform television ahead of him. She rolled her eyes in amusement. He was unbelievable. 

“You can’t have your way so you resort to this?” Her voice made his head whip around. His expression was blank. 

“I mean yeah. You took my phone and computer. What else am I supposed to do?” 

Her jaw ticked and anger began to bubble deep within her. He was unbelievable and she was ready to blow a gasket. “You’re supposed to relax, Lewis! That’s why we’re here. If you wanted to do the same regular-degular stuff, we could’ve done it at home. You complain about how we hardly have time together, but look! You’re in this overly-priced villa with a beautiful wife and you won’t even take the moment to relax with her. I could have stayed home if I knew you loved work more than you do me.”

Lewis stood from the couch at her comment. “That is not true and you know it.” 

“Do I?” She snapped before turning on her heels to walk up the stairs. The slam of the bedroom door was the last thing he heard before he was met with utter silence. Sheesh. 

-

The bath water scorched her skin just the way she liked. The suds surrounded her like a cape and she basked in the cover it provided. The speaker she brought from home played her favorite songs from Snoh Aalegra. 

It had been over an hour since their last interaction and she needed time to herself before facing him again. She tried to understand her husband’s mindset and for the most part, she did, but she firmly believed in rest. And the fact that he refused to do so, especially after she planned an elaborate vacation for them, hurt her feelings. It made her wonder what about spending time with her was so repulsing that work took more of his attention than she did. 

Sighing, she moved her arms in the water, preparing to dunk her head beneath the water until she heard the door peel open slowly. “Baby?” His voice was gentle, much different from the fierceness it held just an hour ago. She did not object, so the door opened wider and his body appeared. 

He closed the door behind him to keep the humidity from escaping the room and leaned against the counter. His muscles flexed as he put his weight on his arms. She turned to meet his eyes, which were filled with regret. Her eyebrow quipped. “What’s up?” Her volume was slow and her tone was even. 

“Room for another?” 

She nodded. Lewis’s hands went to his outfit, a matching sweatsuit, which he plucked off piece by piece. She leaned forward to make room for his strong body, which was more comfortable than the porcelain tub. Her husband’s tattooed hands found themselves palming her body--his left hand around her growing belly and his right squeezing her breasts. As much as she tried to fight it, her eyes fluttered closed and her head fell against his shoulder. Lewis’ lips pressed against her temple firmly. 

Silence surrounded them for many moments before he spoke up. “I didn’t mean to disregard you. I never want to be the reason why you feel ignored and unwanted. I’m not good at breaks and you know this, but it was no excuse. You put so much time into this and I blatantly ignored it--I’m sorry, beloved.” 

She didn’t speak verbally, but the squeeze of his hand let him know she heard him. But, because she said nothing, he continued, “I’m all yours.” 

“You promise?” She spoke quietly. 

Lewis's lip pulled in the corner. They were okay. 

-

“Am I too heavy?” She sounded unsure as she hovered over her husband’s muscular body. Her body had changed tremendously as she was carrying their child. Normally, she didn’t worry about it too much, but she had moments where her thoughts got the best of her. He found her beautiful in every state she was in, but even more so in the current one. She was carrying his child--how could he see any flaw within her?

Lewis shook his head against the pillow, “No, baby, never.” She squeaked out a quiet okay before finally putting her full weight on him, which made no difference to him. 

In her hands, she poured a considerable amount of oil into her palms, rubbed her hands together, and caressed his soft skin. The sounds he released were music to her ears and had a soft smile spreading across her lips. “Feel okay?” 

He groaned softly, “Feels amazing.” Silence, save for his sounds of approval, surrounded them. This was was he needed. The closeness, the intimacy, the love between a man and his caring wife during the hardest parts of his life. It was moments like these that he cherished deeply and would do so forever. 

Almost thirty minutes passed before she complained of her body becoming sore. Lewis adjusted their position so her head was against the pillow and her legs were spread just enough to welcome his body. She smiled at him as she welcomed the kisses he planted on her neck and collarbone. “Thank you, baby. Let me return the favor…”

With that, his hands palmed her thighs and pushed them upward. Her eyes fluttered as she prepared for the best. His lips caressed her sensitive skin and she sighed softly, her fingers finding themselves in her hair. He melted into the embrace of her legs and soon the room filled with whispers that turned into loud cries that played on repeat even when it was all said and done. 

They drifted off to sleep during the early hours of the morning, wrapped in the love of each other. With her bare body against his, she said, “See what happens when you take a night off?” 

Lewis chuckled and poked her side. “Yeah, yeah. I love you…”

“I love you more.” 

[samandcolbyownme]

more zach justice smut pleaseeee

As you WISH! I’m excited to write this one!

Warnings: SMUT18+, strong language/swearing, sneaking around, Bridgerton setting/themed, unprotected sex, kissing, biting, hair pulling, secret sex, almost getting caught, lots of proper language/actions, and lots of fluff and nasty filth

This is inspired by Bridgerton. There will be no spoilers for part 1 of season 3! But, if you have seen the show, you know they’re all british.. so.. read this as if everyone has an accent.

Word Count: 3.5k | not edited

I genuinely thought this song was bridgerton coded for this specifically?? (also, I added this at the end, so instead of daddy it will be mother - when you read, it’ll make sense, hopefully, k love you all bye!)

◦❥•◦❥•◦

You’ve been tossing and turning for hours into the late night.

Your mind bouncing back and forth between Duke Zachary, or as he likes only you to call him, Zach, and the Queen’s ball.

You loved Zach, you’ve come to love him with your full being, you just didn’t know if he knew that, but you didn’t think he was that foolish.

You were named, what the gossip letter in your town - Lady Felicity calls, the Diamond of the season. Mainly because you gained a lot more looks than any of the other girls who are also looking for a suitor along side yourself.

You wanted a husband, of course, but you want Zach to be the one to take your hand in marriage. He’s never said about if he wanted to or not, but you just wanted him so bad you didn’t care what you had to do or say.

You were wrapped around his finger, but he couldn’t deny it no matter how hard he tried - He was wrapped around yours, too.

You rolled over, staring up at the ceiling as you remember the first time you saw him.

- Your mother reaches over, tapping your knee gently, “Y/n, sweetheart.” You remove your stare from the window and place it onto her with a soft smile, “Yes Mother?”

“You look beautiful tonight, darling.” She smiles, placing the edge of her fan to her lips as her eyes grow watery, “oh.” She shakes her head, “I just knew you would be this seasons diamond.”

You shake your head as you look down, “I don’t recall you ever taking a liking to Lady Felicity, now Mother, I-..” The carriage jolts forward and you laugh slightly, “I will find a husband on my own terms. Lady Felicty can speak about whatever they must.”

The door opens and your mother steps out first, followed by your brother and sister, and then you. You look around, nodding your head at the man who helped you step down.

“Alright.” Your mother says as she links her arm with yours, “Come along, my dear. I hear there’s a Duke looking for a lady to wed.” You raise your eyebrows, “A Duke you say? Is he handsome?” You laugh slightly, eyes glancing around at the beautifully decorated ballroom.

“From what I’ve come to know, he is the most beloved suitor by all the young ladies.” Your mother nudges your side, “But just remember, you need to keep your options open.”

You walk up to Queen Darcie and the person closest to her, Lady Caswel. You both do a small curtsy as you bow your heads. “Your Majesty.” Your mother smiles, looking over to Lady Caswel, “Lady Caswel.”

They both nod and then their eyes turn to you. You give them both a smile, “You both look magnificent tonight.”

“Mm.” Queen Darcie nods, “I must say, agreeing with town gossip is not my strongest moment, but you my dear, are the diamond of the season, if I do say so myself.” She points to you and you manage to keep your composure, “Oh my, thank you, your majesty.”

You curtsy to her again and your mother thanks her quickly before walking away with you. You look up at her and you both can’t help but giggle happily as you walk further away. As you rounded the corner, you were bumped into, kind of roughly, by some man walking by.

“Excuse yourself, mister.” You say as you turn, giving him a glaring look, which quickly broke as soon as his eyes met yours, “Please, accept my apologies, um..”

You instantly finish his sentence, “Y/n y/l/n.”

“Please.” He repeats as he moves closer, his hand, his grip just hovering over the skin on your bicep, “My apologies, Miss Y/n.”

His hand moves down to take your hand in his. His lips press against your glove covered knuckles, and even thought his isn’t touching your skin, his touch still sets you on fire.

Giving you a feeling you have never felt for someone before, “Duke Zachary.” —

You let out a sigh before finally giving in to just being awake.

A yawn slips out as you swing your legs over the edge of the bed, reaching forward to grab your satin robe off of the arm of the chair by your bedside stand.

You slip your feet into your matching slippers before standing up. The back of the robe falling to cover the back of your legs as you tie it closed in the front.

You pause, your fingers coming up to cover your lips as your eyes meet the man you shouldn’t be seeing, like this at least.

You glance over your shoulder before you move to unlock your window and push it open. You lean forward, shaking your head as you fight back laughter as you watch the man scale the walls of your home to get to you.

He’s finally face to face with you and you can’t help but smile and lunge in to kiss him.

He wraps an arm around your waist, pushing you backwards as he climbs in and closes the window, “Have you missed me, sweetheart?” He whispers against your lips as his hands move to undo the bow resting on your torso.

“More than you can ever imagine.” You smile as you pull him back to your bed, “We have to be qu-“

He kisses you mid sentence, mumbling a quiet, “I know” before pushing you back to lay on the bed, his body moving up over yours, kissing the skin that isn’t being covered by your robe or nightgown.

“Please.” You beg as you lace your fingers through his hair, “Touch me. It has been far..” His hand drags your nightgown up your thigh.

“Too..” you breathe out as you feel his hand dip between your, now parting thighs, “Long, my darling.”

You lay your hand on his neck, biting down on your lip as your feel his lips press against your skin, his fingers moving to lay on your clit and he looks up at you with a smirk, “Mm, no panties, sweetheart?”

You bite your lip, giving him a shrug, “Couldn’t sleep.”

He licks his lips, parting them as he watches your face twist with pleasure as he starts to slowly rub circles on your clit.

Your nails dig into his neck and you let out a semi loud moan. Zach kisses your parted lips, your panting breathes brushing against his, “Shh.”

He slides two fingers down and pushes them into your soaked cunt, “Did you succeed with pleasuring yourself?”

You whimper as Zach’s question makes a rose colored tint appear a top your cheeks, “N-no.” He tilts his head, “No? Did you do it like I showed you, darling?”

You nod, rolling your hips as you desperately chase your release that’s building up rather quickly, “I-I tried, Zachary.”

He groans at his full first name coming from your lips, “We shall work on it another time, my love.” He leans in, moving his lips with yours and your hands pull him closer to you, whimpering against his lips as his fingers are dragging you over the edge.

He pushes his bicep under your head and curls his arm around to lay his hand over your mouth.

Your walls squeeze his fingers as they work you through your high, his other hand keeping your moans from getting the two of you caught.

That would be a nightmare, people knowing that you have been, as they say, defiled before marriage.

“I have missed this.” Zach whispers, “I have missed you.” He plants a few kisses to your cheek as he withdrawals his fingers from you.

He brings them up to rest upon your bottom lip and they part like they already knew what to do.

He gasps as he watches your lips wrap around them, humming as your tongue works up and down, licking off the taste of yourself, “If anyone knew.. just how devious you truly are..”

He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth as his eyes scan over your face and you smirk, bringing your finger up drag along his jawline, “And just what would they say?”

You hum lowly as your eyes meet his, “Do tell me, my darling.”

He rolls over, pinning your hands down by your head, “I think they would go on a ravenous tangent about how I defiled your pureness and ruined such a beautiful..” he kisses your chest, “young woman.”

He groans into your neck as his tongue drags up your skin, “But they wouldn’t be saying those things if they knew just how radiant you look beneath the touch of my own hand.”

You moan out at his words and his kiss cuts it short. While your lips move in a heated passion, his hand moves down to drag your nightgown up your legs and hold it at your waist while he grinds against you.

Your hand that isn’t still pinned down, moves down to undo the button on his trousers. Zach smirks and shakes his head, “Getting so much quicker at that.”

You smile and slip your hand in, both of you gasping quietly when your hand slides against his cock.

Zach reaches down, laying a hand over yours, “I need to be inside of you.”

You move to take off your panties as quick as you can, all while he’s pushing his trousers down his thighs, “so beautiful.” He leans forward, eyes locked onto yours as your legs fall over your waist.

You feel the tip of his cock rub against your opening and you feel your heart beating faster, “P-please.” You whisper, hips practically moving on their own, begging for the feeling of his cock inside of you.

Zach’s head falls, resting against your forehead as your moans from him sliding into you, mix together, “Oh, my god.” He sighs, shaking his head slightly, “It always feels like I’m taking you for the very first time again.”

You whimper as he crashes his lips onto yours, his hand sliding up to gently wrap around your neck, “I love you.”

You part your lips, adoring those words like you haven’t heard them over and over again.

You’d marry Zach now, but your mother thinks it’s best to give it a little while, make sure you truly feel happy with him, and not just because of his title.

Your mother would turn into an absolute lunatic if she knew just how often you see Duke Zachary and also, what you do with him when no one is watching.

“I love you.” You whisper, nodding up at him as you lay a hand on his cheek, “I love you.”

He pulls you close to him, rolling over onto his back. He grips your hips, getting you to keep moving. He moves the nightgown that fell down to block his view, “You take me so incredibly well, darling.”

You look down at him, biting into your lip to muffle your moans as your hands push his crumpled dress shirt up.

He reaches up, pulling down the low cut neckline so it’s under your breasts. His eyes focus on his hands moving to knead and squeeze, earning whimpers from you.

You gasp loudly and Zach pulls you down onto his chest, his arms wrap around your back before he begins to thrust upward.

You bury your face into his chest, gasping and clawing at his chest as you feel suddenly feel nothing but pleasure radiate all through your body.

It wasn’t long after, Zach’s hips come to a slow stop, his arms loosen around your body and his chest heaves you up and down with each quick breath he takes.

It’s silent, nothing but the faint pants coming from your bodies, which lay motionless together on your bed.

“The Queen’s Ball is tonight.” You say as your eyes glance over at the clock on your nightstand that reads 04:26 AM, “I’m going with Mother in a few hours to fetch my dress from the Modiste.”

You sit up, fixing your nightgown before standing, “Mother thinks I should explore more options.”

Zach furrows his brows, sitting up as soon as the words leave your lips, “Hang on, that doesn’t make any sense, I thought she loved me?”

You laugh slightly, “She does, darling. She does. And I do, too.” You lean down to kiss his lips, “I think the Queen wants to watch the men fall for this seasons diamond.”

“Mm.” Zach nods, pursing his lips, “I’m going to have to put up a harder fight out there, huh?”

You cover your mouth as you giggle, crawling back into his lap, “I think it’s quite..” you scrunch your nose and smirk, “Sexy.”

He straights his posture and smiles, “Well, thank you m’lady.” You laugh and press kisses to his neck. He pulls his neck away and turns his face into hours, “I don’t believe we have time to go again, my love.”

You sigh, still attempting to kiss him, “Are you certain?”

He chuckles quietly and lifts his hand and grabs you by the neck. You gasp at the sudden move and he pushes you back, biting his lip at how much control he has over you, what you and Duke Zachary have is once in a lifetime.

“My mind isn’t going to be able to focus on the Queen’s Ball tonight.” He shakes his head, eyes moving from his hand to your eyes, “Not when I have the imagine of my hand wrapped around this beautiful little throat in there, as well.”

Your breath hitches at his words and he can’t help but smirk, “I’ll see you tonight.” He pulls you in, pecking your lips before moving to fix himself as he walks over to your window.

“Be safe.” You stand up, watching as he climbs out the open window. He looks up at you and gives you a wink, “Always.”

And with that, he’s gone, but you knew you were definitely seeing him way before the Queen’s Ball.

◦❥•◦❥•◦

Your secret romance with Duke Zachary has been going on since the night he ran into you, even after the nights you spent dancing and flirting with other men, mainly just to make your other and the Queen happy.

You and Zach both knew that it didn’t mean anything. You saved everything for him, especially when you got him alone afterwards.

You were certain, as soon as you laid eyes on him, that he was the one, and just like you told Zach, you were the diamond of the season.

You had more suitors coming to your home to try and swoon you in a day than you really thought was unnecessary.

Zach, of course. Showed up everyday and stayed until they all left. He intimidated them, which you couldn’t help but snicker secretly at when you seen the look on the losing suitors face.

You can never bring yourself to ask Zach about it, you just convince yourself that it’ll happen, but it’s almost the end of the season and you haven’t had a ring slipped on your finger yet.

You took a deep breath, smoothing your hands over the fabric of the beautiful dress beneath your bare hands, “Anastasia did a marvelous job.”

You look over at your mother in the mirror, “Don’t you think, mother?”

Your mother looks up, “Oh yes. Yes. I believe she did do a very-“

“What is it?” You cut her off, turning to face her. The housemaid glances up at you and you sigh slightly, trying to compose yourself, “Sorry.”

You look up at your mother and she tilts her head, “The Queen wants you engaged by tonight.”

“Tonight? Why so soon? What has changed, mother?”

She tilts her head, “You are drawing.. too much attention away from the other girls. The Queen thinks it is best you accept one of the engagements you already have extended out to you.

You feel a dull ache in your chest.

The engagements.

You were actually dreading this, but you can only blame yourself in this situation. You were too caught up with sneaking around and lying to everyone around you that you’re forced to pick one of the options given and the one you one isn’t there.

“Talia. Please give my mother and I a moment.” You glance down at your housemaid and she instantly leaves the room.

“I love Duke Zachary, mother.” You shift towards her, moving the loose skirt of your gown with your hands, “He loves me. I know he’ll propose, I just..”

“He’s..” she steps close, leaning in, “Your brother told me that he’s what they call.. a rake.. I believe.”

You shake your head, “If Duke Zachary spent his time at that underground drunken gambling ring, he would know about the three engagement offers.”

Your mother raises her brows, “And you know this how, sweetheart?”

“He would have spoken to me about it, of course.” You swallow, “On our afternoon walks, he would have asked me what I was going to do because he is still an eligible suitor to me, mother.”

She nods, “Very well then.” She takes a deep breathe, “If Duke Zachary does not propose before midnight tonight. You will accept another suitors proposal. Right.”

“No.” You shake your head, “I won’t, mother. You cannot make me marry someone I do not love and I promise you I will not love anyone like I love Zachary.”

You step down off of the platform, “I will marry him. I will have him children.”

Your mother’s eyes grow wide and she lays a hand on her chest, “Have yo-

You bite down on your lip, “I’m not, but you should see your face.” You raise your brows, laughing at the fact that Zach has rubbed off on you in more ways that. One.

Your mother scoffs, “Y/n. You will not disgrace the name of this family by not obeying the queens order. You will be engaged by to-“

“I’ll tell you something right now, mother. I would rather burn my whole life down than to do something that will not bring me joy for the rest of my life.”

She stares at you for a few moments, “Is there a reason he hasn’t proposed yet, darling? Has that thought crossed your thoughts at all?”

You shake your head, “Have you not heard the rumors? What lady Felicity has said about Duke Zachary and I?” You walk over, ”He is poetry, and I am his poet.. Please, mother. Give him time.”

She shakes her head, “We must do what the Queen has asked of us.”

You take a few steps back, bunching up your dress as you shake your head, “No.” You run towards the door, dress unbuttoned and ruffling behind you as you run down the hall.

Your mother running out the door after you, “No! Y/n, come back here!”

“Mother no.” Your eldest brother grabs her and holds her back.

You make your way out the front doors, a small crowd following you, unsure of what’s happening, they’re just trying to ensure your safety.

“Y/n!”

You freeze, tear soaked face looking up at Zach, “Zach?” You whisper, barely audible, “What.. what are-“

You stop walking when Zach drops down to one knee, “Y/n..” he starts, reaching out for your hands, “My love.”

You walk up to him immediately, placing your hands into his, not even bothering to wipe away your tears.

“I love you. The other day you asked me why I love you and I told you the truth. You feel like home to me. You have bewitched me. Your mind, your body. Your soul. You complex me in the best ways and I just have this fire within me that only your kiss can put out.” He pulls you down to his level and you sit on your knees, hands moving to cup his cheeks as his do the same to you.

“The most beautiful part about all of this, is that I wasn’t even looking when I found you. If you hadn’t snapped at me for bumping into you, I would have kept moving right along.”

You laugh slightly and sniffle. Zach wipes away your tears and looks into your eyes, “Will you choose me to be the one to spend the rest of your life with?”

“You know about the other engagements?” You squint your eyes and Zach nods, “Well, when you’re running down the street trying to get to you while listening to your sister scream that you need to be engaged by tonight, I got the rest myself.”

“My sis-“ you look over at your sister and she smiles, giving you a small wave. You laugh, “Unbelievable.” You look at Zach, “So what are you asking Duke Zachary?”

He smiles, “I believe, I’m asking if you will do me the honor in marrying me, Miss Y/n.”

He pulls out a ring from his suit pocket and you gasp, “Oh my gosh.” You look up at him, nodding, “Yes, over and over. Yes.”

You pull him in for a kiss and everyone around you cheers as he brings you to your feet, slipping the ring in before he lifts you up, lips on yours as he spins you around, “I love you.”

“I love you.”

◦❥•◦❥•◦

Let me know what you thought of this! As always, I love you all and thank you for reading!! 🖤🖤

Likes and reblogs are majorly appreciated!!

[stvolanis]

Broken Heartstrings

(one shot)

warnings : dom & sub dynamics, Elvis is kinda abusive, age gap, INACCURATE TIME LINE, angst, Elvis is suspected of cheating,pet-names (baby, doll, darlin’, satin), a hint jealousy (Elvis and OC), manipulation, toxic relationship, OC is naive and kinda (not really) innocent, smut includes degradation (slut, brat), praising, dubcon-ish I guess, spitting, p in v sex, oral (f receiving),size kink, slapping (not hard enough to hurt), man handling, overstimulation, spitting, house wife kink (if you squint), stomach bulge, make-up sex, and overall rough sex. Sorry if I missed anything <3

this is my first story I’ve written for Tumblr, so it won’t be the greatest and might be poorly written to some, but I had fun writing it so enjoy to those who are interested :)

˚ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ˚

the days grew longer as the nights seemed to be getting unbearably shorter. Lucy was sitting on a tall bar stool swinging her little frilly sock covered feet back n’ forth as she waited for her husband to get to their shared home. It was late, ‘round 12:30 and he hadn’t shown up to the dinner she had graciously prepared for the both of them. The food was getting cold and her appetite was fading, being replaced by a feeling in the pit of her stomach she couldn’t seem to pin.

The couple had their ups and downs, as any other, but lately it seemed to be more downs. he’d come home late, his hair and clothes disheveled. sometimes he’d smell like cheap women’s perfume and other times he’d smell like gin and whiskey. he’d come home with an attitude, and take it out on Lucy since she was the closest one around. She knew he was struggling, but Elvis Presley was not one for opening up and receiving help.

the drinking and coming home late started happening after his mother passed away. he didn’t know how else to cope, so he did what he’d see his father do. he’d been chasing a high he’d never be able to reach, but his determined mind wouldn’t falter. one more drink. one more show. one more hit of whatever he was on in the moment or could get his hands on. anything to help relive the aching in his chest. It was like a poison that spread through his body, draining his energy and overtaking him. but he kept on falling deeper and deeper

but there was her. Lucy. the sweet little 20 year old who kissed his worries and pains away. Lucy, who made him feel like a young school boy all over again. Lucy , who batted her pretty eyelashes up at him when she needed some loving. Lucy, who’d perch herself on his lap and whisper sweet nothings into his ear when he was exhausted from shows, telling him everything he already knew, but it was coming from her, so he’d hear it a million more times if he could. Lucy, who was so sickeningly sweet and naive, she didn’t realize that not everyone wanted wanted to be just her friend.

Elvis didn’t like that.

Elvis knew he scored with Lucy. He knew that she was the purest thing he’d ever be able to obtain in his lousy life. the freshest, kindest and most beautiful little daisy in a field of weeds. Sure, people were throwing themselves at him left and right, but they weren’t real. Girls always on his arm, yet they only cared for his charm, fame and money. Only cared about fucking their way to the top just to be a nice trophy wife on the arm of some rich piece of shit. Running them dry. But Lucy was never like that.

Lucy was from a small town. A southern bell, and a hard worker who took care of her sick mother for as long as she could remember. She always seen the good in people, even when it seemed invisible to others. Her hearts too big for her delicate body, or at least that’s what her momma used to tell her. Lucy worked at a busy diner on the outskirts of her town, and traveling people were always in and out. So it was no surprise to her when Elvis Presley had shown up in a white button down, dark jeans and polished dress shoes with his friends following behind him.

Ever since that day, Elvis made it his mission to be with her. attached at the hip since they laid eyes on each other, and neither of them would have it any other way. But once her husband started touring again, their honeymoon phase was soon ending and arose more arguments, aggression and finger-pointing.

Elvis had promised to have a nice, civilized dinner with his wife as long as she cooked the food and not one of the maids. For hours, Lucy had been feeling waves of excitement as she cooked all day, creating a nice big meal for them to enjoy together for once. It had been so long since they sat down for dinner together. But alas, he was no where to be found.

She looked down at her hands that were between her thighs as she felt her eyes begin to water and her breathing uneven. of course he wouldn’t have come. what was she thinking? as tears began to fall, it seemed as though they wouldn’t stop. The girl wept as she began to throw away the food she had worked so hard to make.

Soon, that sadness and disappointment turned into a bubbling anger in her core. How could he do this to her? Why did she always have to be the one waiting around? She hated feeling reliant on him for the smallest things. Time, attention, love. Things no one else had ever cared to give her, but Elvis had so happily. She hated that they always fell into this routine of cat and mouse. And always, just when she’s about to call it quits, he smooth talks his way back into her arms.

Mumbling words of affirmation to her. How much he loves and cares for her, and how no one else will ever love her as much as he does. How she’s such a good housewife for him, always keeping the house together and waiting for his return like a good girl. How beautiful she is, and the things he loves most about her.

as the anger bubbled in her stomach, she could hear the booming laugh of Elvis through the halls as he cracked jokes with his choice of friends for the nights and all Lucy could feel was disgust. how could she have been so dumb?

In that moment, Lucy decided she’d had enough. She slammed the door open to the kitchen and marched her way through the long halls till she got to the entrance of the house where Elvis stood in all his glory. Oh, how pretty he looked. His smile becoming bigger as he laid eyes on his wife who wore a white, off the shoulder sundress and frilly white socks. she seemed so small and frail compared to him.

But his smile soon faded as he took notice of her puffy red eyes, red nose and trembling lips and worry consumed him. “Woah, darlin’, what’s goin on?” He asked as he took off his coat and laid it on a small round table. Lucy scoffed. “Are you fuckin’ serious, Elvis?” She said dryly as she squinted her eyes.

Elvis clenched his jaw, clearly displeased. “Watch ya mouth when ya talk to me, ya hear?” He said sternly as he pointed a finger at her. Lucy rolled her pretty green eyes. “Where were you? Huh? You were out with women, weren’t you? I can smell them on you Elvis!” She shouted as fresh tears fell from her eyes.

He groaned as he lazily dragged a hand down his perfectly sculpted face. “What the hell are ya talkin’ ‘bout, Lucy? I ain’t been with no women other than you!” He shouted back as he flared his arms out with a dry laugh. “I’m done with your lies, Elvis.” She said as she harshly wiped her tears and turned to leave.

Elvis made quick work of grabbing her arm and spinning her back around, harshly pushing her against the wall as his hand snaked up and snugly wrapped around her neck. Lucy was taken aback, Elvis had never put his hands on her in a way she didn’t like before.

“Dammit, woman, what’s it gonna take for you to calm down and stop accusin’ me of bullshit every damn day?!” He yelled out in her face. Lucy’s body wracked with sobs, and only then did Elvis realize what he’d done. He shakily removed his hands, but didn’t move away from her and instead caged her body in with his slender arms.

Lucy pushed harshly against his chest, trying to create some distance between them but Elvis wasn’t having it as he grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head. “Let me go, Elvis!” She said, her voice hoarse and broken. “Need ya to calm down first, baby.” He replied as he watched her body tremble

“Oh I need to calm down? How fucking funny coming from the man who just choked me out!” She laughed out dryly as she shot him a look of disgust and anger. “I’ve fuckin’ had it with this attitude you got. After everything I do for you, this is how you wanna act?! Huh?!” He yelled as he began dragging her up the stairs to their shared bedroom.

“Stop it Elvis, you’re hurting me!” Lucy weakly yelled as his grip tightened around her wrists, surely to leave marks the next morning. Elvis played deaf as he harshly threw her onto their bed, slamming the door shut and swiftly locking it. Lucy’s body bounced as she made contact with the bed before sitting up, ready to speak again till Elvis cut her off.

“Strip.” Was all Elvis said. His voice thick, deep and velvety. Such a sweet sound. If only the words coming out weren’t laced with disappointment and dissatisfaction towards the helpless girl on the bed. Her eyes widened and her words got caught in her throat. Again. Why does this always happen? right when she’s about to stand up for herself, she always backs down the very last second and the cycle continues and worsens each time. But it’s addicting.

Sickeningly enough, she thrives in it. She’s become so accustomed to it, she wouldn’t remember how to live like a normal couple again. The toxicity of their relationship kept her on her toes, and deep down inside, she knew she wouldn’t want it any other way. How boring it would be. She knew Elvis wasn’t with other Women, because if he was it would be the cover of every times magazine and she wouldn’t hear the end of it from her friends and family. She knew the perfume she smelled on him was his mommas favorite.

As her shakey hands met the fabric of her white dress and began pulling it off of her body, Elvis rolled up his sleeves and drunk in the sight in front of him. almond green eyes, plump lips and a cute button nose that’s still slightly reddened from her crying. long chocolate brown hair. Full breasts with perky, sensitive nipples that sat ever so perfectly. slim hips and meaty thighs with a round ass to top it all off. But god, how he adored how small she is compared to him.

How tiny she is, is one of his favorite parts about her, and oh, how he used it to his advantage in the most vile ways. it was so easy for someone as big as him to completely destroy her. and that’s exactly what he does.

“Please,Elvis, m’ sor-” she tried, but Elvis wasn’t having it. “I don’t wanna hear a fuckin’ thing from ya, baby.” He said roughly as he gripped her hair at the base and craned her neck up to look at him. her hands gripped his shirt and she felt her slick between her thighs at his tone.

Elvis brought his hand up to her mouth and Lucy stuck her tongue out, welcoming her husbands fingers that harshly hit the back of her throat, making her gag and eyes water. Elvis clicked his tongue. “How can ya take my cock when ya can’t even take my fingers, darlin’?” He chuckled out.

Her mouth closed around his fingers and she began to suck them seductively and Elvis felt his pants tighten at the sight. Pretty eyes staring back up with him, trying to prove she can.

Always a hard worker, huh?

Elvis smirked at the thought as he removed his fingers and instead harshly pushed her upper body down onto the bed, spreading her legs as he dropped to his knees. his mouth watered at the sight. Her cunt was puffy and pink, bud swollen with need and begging for attention. Her slick was seeping out, and there was a wet patch on the sheets of the bed where she had been sitting that was dark and visible. It was such a pretty sight for a starving man.

He spread her lower lips and dragged his tongue between the welt folds, gathering all of her essence. He hummed at the taste of her on his tongue before savoring it for a moment. Then, he sucked her clit into his mouth with such force, her back painfully arched. His tongue skillfully played with her overly-sensitive bud, teasing and sucking as her thighs closed in around his head.

Elvis was pussy drunk. He couldn’t seem to get enough of the taste of his sweet girl. He didn’t care if he couldn’t breathe, he didn’t care about anything besides making Lucy come as many times as she could on his tongue. He prodded a finger at her sopping entrance before slowly sinking them in, letting them sit before pulling out and harshly slamming back in. Lucy let out a gasp at the intrusion as he began to finger fuck her tight cunt with no remorse.

The small girl felt the coil in her stomach tighten as her fingers gripped his mop of disheveled hair as she pushed her cunt further into the dazed mans face. Elvis curled his fingers in her before sucking her clit harshly one last time, and that’s when it snapped. “Oh my god—Elvis!” She moaned out as she tried to shove his head away from her overstimulated clit, but Elvis wasn’t listening.

“Sucha good girl, satin.” He mumbled against her clit as he felt her juices drip down his chin. God, how sweet she tasted. His entire chin and chest were covered in her, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He’d fuck up a million more times if it meant he could come back home to this.

Lucy panted, out of breath underneath him as he crawled above her sweaty body. He laid the gentlest kisses upon her skin, so tender and sweet. The flutter of his lips against her stomach had her insecurities seeping away into the cracks of the floor boards. The suckle of her nipples, and the releasing ‘pop’, followed by the countless hickies laid where they both knew only he would be able to see had her blushing madly. The caressing of her neck and the soft kiss against her lips made her forget the reason this all started to begin with.

“Ya with me, baby?” He asked. “Yes, Elvis. ‘M here.” She softly replied. Elvis took that as his sign to tighten his hold around Lucy’s neck, lifting her slightly to better look her in the eye. “Good, ‘cause I’m gon’ show ya what happens to ungrateful brats when I’m done with ya.” He said harshly as he slapped the side of her cheek with his free hand, but not hard enough to actually hurt. Just hard enough to know he was gonna fuck her into oblivion.

He spread Lucy’s legs, slapping her puffy, over-sensitive cunt. She softly moaned at the impact, making Elvis chuckle. “Fuckin’ slut.” He muttered as he lined his throbbing cock to her entrance. Elvis inhaled deeply as he slowly pushed his tip in, teasingly pulling it in and out a few times. Lucy whined. “Elvis-” she began. “Shut up, ya take what I give ya, brat.” He said sternly as he gripped her hair. Lucy nodded I obediently as she whimpered out a small ‘sorry’.

Suddenly, the larger man bullied his way inside her wet cunt and she could feel his hair against her throbbing clit. She moaned out as her hand grabbed the arm Elvis was holding her leg up with to ready herself. Elvis spared no mercy as he ruthlessly began bucking his hips into hers, not waiting for her to adjust to his size. She felt like heaven to him, after all, he’d trained her pussy to perfectly fit his cock since the night of their wedding, but after so long of going without being inside of her, she’d tightened up again. Elvis hissed as her walls squeezed him before throwing his head back and letting out a deep groan.

Lucy gripped the sheets below her, desperately trying to hold onto something as the beast on top of her used her cunt like she was a rag-doll solely for his pleasure. “Tight fuckin’ cunt, all for me, mama. Takin’ my dick so well, just like I taught ya, baby.” He said between breaths. Her chest fluttered at his praise, and her cunt squeezed tighter around him. “Ya like that, hm? Like when I tell ya how good you are to me. How nice you fit around my cock. My good girl.” He muttered against your lips as his hands squeezed her hips with such force, they’d be sure to leave a mark.

“Yes, Yes, fuck—yes Elvis. ‘M your good girl. All yours.” Lucy replied through loud moans, her breasts bouncing with ever rough thrust he planted. Something snapped in Elvis at that, and he threw her legs over his shoulder, hitting a new angle. Just the right spot to make her vision blurry and seeing stars. Her back arched as his fingers found her clit, rolling it between his fingers before rubbing it just the right way that made that familiar coil tighten again.

“Fuck, ‘m gonna cum, Elvis! p-please mm- lemme cu-cum!” She stuttered out through moans. Elvis reveled in her satisfying sounds, every thrust sent him into orbit as he became pussy drunk, completely consumed in her. He could feel her everywhere. Her soft hands all over him. Her cunt squeezing the life out of him as she was on the brink of an orgasm. the pleas of her crying aloud. Her eyes watering as she stared up at him, overstimulated.

“Hold it, ‘m almost there, baby. Doin’ so good f’me.” Elvis replied as his hips shot further into hers. The sound of their sweaty skin echoed through the room, and surely could be heard through the halls. Elvis took notice of the prominent bulge on her stomach, groaning at the sight of him filling her to the brim. He pressed his hand against it. “Feel that? ‘M right here, doll.” He said, his voice laced with desire. Lucy merely whimpered, still trying to hold back on her orgasm.

The sudden pressure on her lower stomach made her eyes roll to the back of her head as she felt the coil once again snap, releasing all her juices on Elvis’ lower stomach for a second time. But Elvis wasn’t done yet as he kept his pace of pounding into her. “Please, I can’t-” she moaned out, Elvis slapped her cheek. “I told ya to fuckin’ wait, but you just hadda be a slut, huh? you’re done when I say ya are.” He hissed. Lucy moaned at the contact of his hand against her cheek before nodding her head vigorously.

Elvis felt his stomach grow tighter as he was closer and closer to finishing. “‘M almost there, j-just ho-hold on f’me, mama.” He stuttered out through the waves of euphoric feelings. All of his senses were overwhelmed and his body felt hot to the touch like it was on fire as sweat dripped down him. He slammed his cock into Lucys overstimulated cunt a few more times sloppily before his hips stilled inside of her.

Elvis soon pulled out and watched as cum dripped out of her sopping, pulsing hole before taking two of his slender fingers and stuffing it back in. “Don’t want it to go to waste, now do we?” He said with a smirk as Lucy’s body wracked with spasms as his fingers penetrated her. Lucy’s hand reached out and stilled his movements with a small whimper. “No more Elvis, ‘s too much.” She whined.

Elvis sighed. “Alright, satin, let’s get you cleaned up.” He said as he got up and went into their shared bedroom to retrieve a wet cloth before coming back and gently wiping off both of their juices from her sore cunt. Lucy sighed contently as Elvis pressed a few lingering kisses on her thighs and stomach. “You did so good.” Elvis said against her lips before softly kissing her.

“Want you to hold me, please, Elvis.” She muttered back with a cheeky smile. Elvis let out a small laugh, eyes gleaming with something she couldn’t quite decipher. “Whatever you want, Lucy.” He replied as he laid in bed next to her, bringing her closer and wrapping his arms around the smaller girl. She drew small patterns on his naked chest and smiled contently when she felt his hands begin to massage her scalp.

“Yknow I love ya, right?” Elvis said as he glanced down at her in his arms.

“I know, Elvis. I love you too.”

˚ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ˚

[three-realms-archive]

Hello! We all know (or hopefully perceive the idea) that Satan would be a sweet romantic at heart! So imagine Satan x MC in an arranged marriage in TSL AU! For eg: everything was going well, they’re slowly falling for each other but MC has to keep secrets that hurts Satan! So MC tries gaining his trust by being honest, while Satan falls for MC again, as much as he denies it!

Of course, feel free to discard the idea, no pressure :)

Just A Small, Little Lie (TSL Arranged Marriage! AU)

(first request! i won't lie, i'm relatively new to the fandom and couldn't find any specifics for the tsl!au other than mc being henry and the demon brothers being the seven lords. but! i hope this suffices! all the tsl writings out there seem to have a more darker, sombre tone, too - so i hope that comes across :D but thank you so much, anon, for being my first requester! i hope its decently alright ahaha)

(Full fic under the cut! And feel free to plop ideas in the idea box :D)

Synopsis:

(Takes place in the TSL! AU - reader is Henry).

You used to be a knight serving the Seven Lords, popular amongst all in the realm. Then one day, without warning, the Lord of Corruption orders you to marry the Lord of Masks; of whom you had the closest relationship with out of all his brothers. However, the feelings for him that had once been growing in your heart turn sour as you're required to give up your knighthood, your life and your freedom for this arranged marriage.

Your husband gradually drops his mask, as he falls deeper in love with you.

And you gradually put up your mask, as you fall further out of love with him.

_

You don’t tell your husband that your fingers hurt, as you wind the stems of green willow between them into something that maybe, possibly resembles a flower chain. Fake green willow; because nothing survives here except him, you and the cats he allows to come and go from the castle. Fake green willow; with plastic that splits into sharp prongs that dig into your flesh when you bend it. Your husband’s flower chain is made with real green willow that has long since withered away; but today, for whatever reason he keeps behind the mask he wears, he’s decided to bring the flowers back to life by winding them into a chain. And, for whatever reason, he’s demanded you do the same.

Your flower chain looks horrible. His chain looks perfect. Like your perfect husband, with his perfect kingdom, and your perfect marriage.

The perfect, perfect marriage you never even asked for.

You don’t tell your husband much of anything, nowadays. You remember your days as Henry, the brave knight, who fights against evil and protects the seven, wise sages of the realm. You used to talk with the Lord of Masks before heading off on excursions, during breaks in military council meetings, over private, celebratory dinners… Anytime you could, you’d seek him out. You remember shifting in your seat the first time you had invited him to dinner, avoiding his gaze bashfully as you both had placed your hands on the table, fingers inching ever closer to touch. You remember he had taken your hand in his, lifting it to his lips. You even remember the exact knuckle where his soft, gentle lips had kissed. Such a romantic night; where you were free to speak and laugh and smile as you pleased. Free to possibly even fall in love with him.

… Free. You were free, until the Lord of Corruption had suddenly forced you over to the Lord of Masks as a prize. He had stripped you of your title as a knight, had forbid you from entering any other kingdom, and presented you to his brother with a shackle on your ring finger and a matching mask to wear.

So now, you do what you do best as a knight and steel yourself, putting up your guard. Everything you want to think, say or do… you keep secret.

_

The Lord of Masks doesn’t realise your fingers hurt, as you wind the stems of green willow between them into something that maybe, possibly resembles a flower chain. Fake green willow; because nothing survives here and he wanted you to have only the prettiest things which come close to matching your beauty. Fake green willow; which pales in comparison to the adorable expression on the face of his dear, beloved Henry, your tongue poking out of the corner of your mouth in concentration. He, himself, doesn’t really know why he’s decided to come to your room in the middle of the night to make flower chains, but he tells himself it’s to keep his spouse entertained. Nothing more than his usual behaviour and cunning. To keep up the façade of an upstanding, untouchable member of society.

He marries Henry and keeps them happy.

He shares in Henry’s immense popularity and gets the knight’s military prowess at his disposal.

Such a good deal for Henry, the Lord of Masks thinks… ignoring the unfamiliar, warm heat spreading over his flushed cheeks when you hold out your finished flower necklace out to him.

A good deal for Henry - no, not himself - indeed.

He tells you too much, these days. He remembers talking to you: Henry, the knight - not Henry, his spouse. Faking his smile in the breaks between council meeting and pretending to care before you headed off on military excursions.

But then you had invited him to dinner for the first time after a victory. Then, he had seen expressions he had never seen you show anyone. Not even his brothers. The Henry that wasn't just the tool he could use to conquer territory; nor the Henry he could use to gain status. This Henry smiled at him. Stuttered and faltered and even blushed when he kissed their hand - like the princesses in the fairytales he pretended he didn't love to read, or the fairies illustrated in the bedtime stories he read as a child. Someone enchanting, perfect and loving in a world where's he's only known masks.

So he does what he does best and dons his own mask. Through his various connections in high society, he had covertly pulled the strings and had the marriage arranged himself; masquerading it as his idiot older brother's idea. It’s on-brand; a marriage proposal masked as pure business, so he never has to face what he really feels. But he can pretend. Pretend he was brave enough to get down on one knee, ring in hand. Pretend that his story was exactly like that of the heroes of his favourite tales.

Pretend it wasn't the prince, instead, who was hopelessly, foolishly, in love with his loyal knight.

_

The Lord of Masks smiles. If one looks closely, past the haze of the lamplight, they might be able to notice that the smile reaches his eyes. He takes the necklace made by his spouse and barely squeezes it over his head and around his neck. Green willow-shaped plastic digs into his skin.

You try to smile, too. You look at him and try to remember the man who had lovingly pressed a kiss to your hand on that night, small specks of emotion spilling out from under his carefully-crafted guise. You keep his true image in your eyes - that of your rage-filled captor - a secret. It’s the only way for you to keep up your own act… and maybe stop yourself from breaking the heart of the gentleman you once held feelings for. If he was even still there at all.

“I love you.” The Lord of Masks says, forgetting how tight the flower chain had felt around his neck only seconds ago. His mask slightly falls forward, loosely, as he leans his head against yours and gently nuzzles you - like a cat would. He even rubs his nose against yours, basking in your scent. Internally, he curses himself. His body is betraying him.

“I… I love you, too.” You say, the band of your own mask chafing painfully into the back of your neck. You're unable to move when your husband shows his affection and you ready yourself to play it off as nerves. But something in your heart - as you look at him and see the man who had leaned forward to kiss your hand - falters. Were you still holding out hope, even now? Internally, you curse yourself. You need to learn to be better at acting.

The two of you stay there a while: the Kingdom of Masks' happy, perfect couple. Your foreheads touch, your fingers intertwine and, yet, your hearts are far, far apart. Into the darkness, the two of you continue to utter that sentence:

"I love you."

It's a whole-hearted truth after a lifetime of hiding, for one...

… And one of many, many small, little lies, for the other.

(hello, anon, i hope you enjoyed this! i went kinda tragic love story route; with hopeless romantic satan and a trapped mc, though i'd like to think mc is still holding out hope that the man they fell in love with is still there. if you wanted something a little happier though, anon, please let me know and i'll write a sequel, this premise is one i really enjoyed!)

[vraisetzen]

Hi V! How’re you? 💕

After reading ‘Notte Stellata’, I keep thinking about it ❤️ I honestly think you did a really good job writing it 😘

I just had a couple of questions 🙋‍♀️

How do you think Tengen would react meeting the now-human Michikatsu? And vice versa.

Also, what was Mitsuri’s relationship like with our leading lady?

Of course you’re not obligated to answer them!! 🧡

Hi Anon — I'm doing very well, thank you! And I hope the same for you too.

Thank you for reading Notte Stellata — I'm really happy that you enjoyed my fic, and decided to drop by my Tumblr! I'm always happy to answer questions regarding the story.

"How do you think Tengen would react to meeting the now-human Michikatsu? And vice versa."

This is a fantastic question, Anon! And definitely one that took me some time to mull over.

Uzui, owing to his past as the oldest in a family of nine siblings, very likely saw the Reader as a surrogate sister — this meant that despite his frequent teasing, he kept those closest to him with a watchful eye, and the Reader was no exception.

Hence, when the Reader eloped with Michikatsu (they had no living relatives after all, and both of them wanted to bask in their newfound marital bliss ), and did not reveal her marriage for about six months until before the new year — casually, and as a footnote in a letter — Uzui understandably did not take things well. In fact, no sooner had the crow deliver the letter, did he rush over to her house, demanding an explanation:

"Uzui," you winced as he glared daggers across the low table and tray of tea and senbei to where Michikatsu sat, unmoved and undisturbed by Uzui's histrionics. "Calm yourself!"

"Calm myself?" Uzui retorted, crossing whatever was left of his arms. "You disappear for half a year, show up married with a man whom I have never seen, and you expect me to calm down?"

But Uzui was nothing if not a man of flamboyant, generous extremes. Prone to fits of pique as he was to forgiveness, the creases in his brow softened as he sipped from his teacup, and helped himself to the biscuit.

"And to think I believed that after all this time, there would be no secrets between us," he declared, shaking his head dramatically and taking a bite of the senbei. Chewing thoughtfully, he added: "It appears that I was the more decei- wait, this senbei is pretty good. Where did you buy them?"

"Isn't it delicious?" you beamed, the corners of your lips lifting in a gentle smile as you pushed the small plate closer to your friend. "Michikatsu made this!"

At your words, Uzui lowered his biscuit, a forced grimace marring his handsome face. He gave Michikatsu a pointed glare, and said: "No, I take that back — it's pretty terrible."

"Uzui!"

Eventually, you had to ask Michikatsu to leave the room simply because of how juvenile Uzui was behaving. Your husband was more than happy to oblige, and Uzui watched his retreating back with a sharp glare from his eyepatch and a petulant twist of his lips.

As the doors closed behind Michikatsu, Uzui picked up his senbei once more and continued munching on it.

"I thought you said they were terrible," you remarked as Uzui helped himself to a second one.

"That I did," Uzui affirmed, before adding: "But saying and thinking are two different things, aren't they?"

You scoffed, refilling your own teacup. Nevertheless, Uzui did have his reasons for acting in this manner. Though you would never admit it, and he might never find out the full story from you, Uzui knew that this was the man who caused you so much grief and was behind your suspension from the Corps.

And if Michikatsu's unusual hair, his sharp canines, and those scars on his forehead and cheeks were any indication, Uzui also knew your husband wasn't just any other man. He sounded different too, to the former shinobi — you could not hear it, but Michikatsu's heartbeat raced at twice the rate of a human being, the same as that of a wolf in the midst of a hunt. What other creature on this earth would share such characteristics, besides those he once swore to destroy?

But Uzui, brazen as he was, knew better than to ask. His eyes settled on you as you looked at Michikatsu, whose silhouette along the shoji door told you he had retreated to the engawa to continue his study of Honinbo Shusaku's Go game records. The softness apparent in your gaze, the curve of a smile that lingered on your lips — these were things Uzui could have never imagined on your face when he met you all those years ago. You have always been the mopey, melancholic kind, and there were times when it seemed you would never find what he had found for him, with his wives and children. And if there was one thing he ever wanted you to have...

"Are you happy?" he asked.

Your eyes never leaving Michikatsu, you answered: "I'm the happiest I've ever been, Uzui-san."

After Uzui left — but not without a whole charade of him pretending to be thoroughly unimpressed with Michikatsu, you finally heaved a sigh of relief and returned to your painting that you had been working on before Uzui's untimely arrival. Michikatsu sat down you as you ground the inkstick.

He was silent for a long time, content with observing you at work. You had a feeling, however, that he had something to say. Still, you waited for him to speak first as you busied yourself with choosing the right brush. It was only when you poised your wrist over the paper that he spoke:

"Perhaps we should have served him something you made."

The suddenness of his words threw you off guard; a drop of ink lands over your paper as you regarded him with wide eyes, a little loss for words. So he did care, was the first thing you thought; and why would he not? It was not lost on you that Michikatsu had known Uzui even before he became human, though only as a retired Hashira; back then, they would have viewed each other as enemies — but now, drawn together with you as a common denominator, Michikatsu had to contend with the prospect of dealing with Uzui as a brother-in-law.

"Or, we could invite him back again next week," you offered.

There was a moment's pause as Michikatsu stared sidelong at the splotch of ink, mulling over the words. It was the same pose he did when he contemplated his next move on the Go board, as he laid an elaborate trap of stones for his opponent for which they would most definitely fall. Because you knew that despite his silence and that steely, distant exterior, there was nothing that Michikatsu desired more than victory — especially one that was hard fought.

Eventually, he said: "Then I ought to make more biscuits."

You gazed at him wordlessly, noting the hint of playfulness that tugs at the corner of his lips. Taking the brush from your hands, he waved it in a single flourish, and turned the black smudge on the paper into a tomoe.

Also, what was Mitsuri’s relationship like with our leading lady?

This is also a wonderful question, Anon!

I think our Reader — as someone who lost her family to demons, and joined the Corps out of obligation and service — would have initially been puzzled by Mitsuri's decision to join the organisation. Mitsuri's family was still alive, and she was surrounded by so many wonderful younger siblings; why would anyone trade that for swordsmanship and risk their lives to protect others?

More than that, Mitsuri's sunny, outgoing disposition intimidated the Reader, even though the latter was a few years older than her. The first time they had met, Mitsuri marvelled over the Reader and how she was the oldest female member in the Corps, and asked her all sorts of things — how long she had trained, when she passed the Final Selection, and where she lived so that they could hang out after their duties. Needless to say, the Reader felt that Mitsuri was a little overbearing.

Over time, however, the Reader came to appreciate Mitsuri's presence. As someone who was naturally mopey (per Uzui's words), she understood Mitsuri's outgoing nature was simply her way of perceiving the world around her, and giving back to the Corps. There was already so much death, injury, and uncertainty in their line of work, and she respected Mitsuri's commitment in staying true to herself and giving all her love and appreciation to the people around her. And while she still struggled with catching up to Mitsuri's voracious appetite, she enjoyed the time they spent together, especially when they chatted about the latest clothes and foreign imports — it made the Reader feel like a normal young woman.

Eventually though, their conversations would swing towards marriage, and the prospect of finding a man who would appreciate their past and accept them for who they were. The Reader could tell that Mitsuri had a soft spot for Obanai, and would encourage her to confess her feelings for him. Mitsuri would however only blush and deny things by saying she loved everyone in the Corps.

"But what about you, senpai? What sort of man would you like to marry some day?" Mitsuri would ask, once the pink in her cheeks subsided.

You shook your head with a smile, and toyed with the knot of your obijime. "Whoever he is, I can only hope he's just a simple man from a normal family."

Thank you for your lovely questions, OP! And my apologies they took a while to respond — I wasn't sure if Tumblr would allow to post such a long reply, and I might have trimmed a few parts, but I certainly did enjoy coming up with answers!

xoxo, V ♥️

[weirdraccoon]

If I can ask you for another one shot 😙.It's set quite a few years after the events of Hogwarts and mc gets pregnant with Sebastian and it turns out it's a little girl and they call her Miriam, can I ask what Fig's reaction would be? 💜💜

Sorry for the wait! Been working on this during my free time and then I was writing it here in drafts and I closed it before saving it and had to rewrite half of it 😭😭 hope it's good. I really like daddy!Seb.

MC couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of her husband.

Sebastian was cooing at the bundle of blankets in his arms, making faces and showering them with all the love and affection he had. MC's heart was soaring, and it would probably explode if she could actually see the giggling baby inside the blankets.

As it was, Sebastian claimed it was too chilly for her baby girl and proceeded to cover her and wrap her in all the blankets he could find before they had to leave for Fig's apartment.

"Who's a good baby girl?" Sebastian cooed, nuzzling the blanket, or that was what it looked like, he probably had a better view of the hidden baby in there. "Who's the best baby girl?"

"I am," MC smirked from his side, making him choke on his own laughter.

"Merlin, MC, not in front of the baby," Sebastian scolded playfully.

MC only shrugged.

They finally arrived at the building and she pulled the door open for her babies.

"Why, thank you," Sebastian grinned jokingly, making her roll her eyes.

"Just get in," MC said. "They're waiting for us."

Sebastian's grin remained in place even as he leaned to kiss her chastely.

As she suspected, their friends and former professors were already there when they entered the apartment. Aesop and Dinah were the first to notice them, so they made their way to them.

"And how's my most troublemaker student doing these days?" Dinah asked with a teasing grin, trying to peak over the blankets in Sebastian's arms.

"She's talking to you, love," Sebastian told MC.

MC scoffed and Dinah rolled her eyes.

"I'm certainly talking to you Sebastian," the old witch said. "I have to admit sometimes I miss you in my classroom but not in the castle in general."

Sebastian feigned hurt and looked at Aesop for help when it was clear MC was not going to step in.

"I understand the feeling all to well, Dinah," Aesop shrugged carelessly, glancing at the red head on the other side of the room. "I can't believe we have to see them in this reunions. How Eleazar does it is anyone's guess."

"Aw please you all love us," MC teased. "I bet you do miss us. Tha castle must be boring if the new generations don't break the rules as often."

"With ideas like that? We don't," Matilda added with a tired sigh and a warm smile. "How are you doing? Is this the new Sallow?"

"Ah yes, quit distracting us," Dinah frowned. "When are you introducing your baby?"

"Unless you expect us to wait until they're eleven," Aesop said sarcastically.

"She," MC clarified, blushing. "I was actually- I wanted to talk to Eleazar first. Grandparent privileges and all."

Dinah, much like Sebastian earlier, feigned a hurt wince and even put her free hand over her chest.

"Sebastian, what about me?"

Sebastian chuckled and Aesop shooed them off with an eye roll.

"He was in the kitchen the last time I saw him," Matilda said. "Ignore Dinah. She's had a bit too much to drink I think."

"Nah, she's fine," Sebastian grinned. "But I wasn't the one carrying this cutie pie for nine months. So, mom's the boss. For now," he added in a whisper.

"I heard that!" MC called over her shoulder.

Sebastian snickered and followed her through the crowd, avoiding their closest friends and the nosiest people. Sebastian was surprised when he noticed Ominis in a corner talking to Poppy. Now he was even more excited to show off his little girl. He'd put her in his best friends arms and call him godfather before he could protest.

The kitchen was more quiet. Eleazar was standing near the oven, whispering something to the house elf guarding whatever it was in there.

"And when they arrive I want the other elves to bring out the cake," Eleazar continued. "Champagne too, although I'm not sure if she's allowed to drink while breast feeding. Maybe champagne isn't a good idea."

"Eli! Don't talk about me breast feeding with the elves!" MC cried, red as a tomato.

Eleazar spun around so fast he almost toppled over the elf behind him. Said elf looked at MC with fear and pulled on his ears.

"The cake is not ready yet, Misus!"

"Don't worry about the cake," MC waved him off. "Eli, tell your elf to stop punishing himself and come meet your granddaughter."

Eleazar looked stunned and Sebastian giggled into the blankets that covered his daughter. MC sighed fondly and took one of Eleazar's hands to pull him close to them.

"Seb," she asked.

Sebastian straightened up, like a proud parent, and offered his baby to the man that saved MC all those years ago.

"Meet Miriam Anne Sallow, Eli," MC introduced softly.

Eleazar was staring at the baby in awe and he jolted at hearing the name. He glanced at MC and Sebastian, the stunned expression not leaving his face. Sebastian nodded knowingly and offered a warm smile.

"She's beautiful, MC," Eleazar whispered, tearing up when baby Miriam grinned gummily up at him. "Looks exactly like you."

"Well, that's the Sallow hair," MC winced. "And she could have freckles."

"Babe," Sebastian took her fidgeting hand. "Accept the compliment. She's as beautiful as her mom and everyone can see it."

MC blushed, not as hard as before, and nodded.

"I'm proud of you," Eleazar finished, giving back the baby to her dad who welcomed her into his arms excitedly. "You're doing great."

MC hugged Eleazar while Sebastian jumped from one foot to the other. MC laughed.

"Go show Ominis, Seb."

Sebastian didn't need to be told twice. He left father-daughter in the kitchen while he took his own daughter to meet her godfather.

[httpsdana]

Can you do prompt 62 with Lucas paquetá when she doesn’t tell him she’s pregnant then all her friends find out before him?

Baby~Lucas Paquetá

*GIF isn't mine. credits to the owner*

first Lucas request. I hope I get more of those

does anyone have any idea why my posts are flopping😭

anyways keep sending in your requests <3

you can request from my prompt list

this is my master list

players/drivers I write for

62-"is that a baby bump or have you been eating a snack child?" "shut the fuck up, he doesn't know yet!"

She was pregnant. Her and Lucas have been trying to fet a baby for a while now. And y/n find out about two weeks ago that she was finally pregnant.

She had no idea how to tell Lucas. In fact, no one knew yet excpet for her mother. Not even her closest friends.

Her baby bump was showing off slightly. If she was wearing a tight shirt or something, it would be a bit obvious if you focus. But she was able to hind it, always wearing an oversized t-shirt or one of Lucas's hoodies

Her friends were over at her house, while Lucas was training in the backyard of their house. y/n was wearing a hoodie, and it was starting to get a bit hot. So she took her hoodie off and was left in a crop top of hers

"is that a baby bump or have you been eating a snack child?" one of her friends noted out, making her eyes widen at her loud voice

"shut the fuck up, he doesn't know yet!" she whisper/yelled, making her friends gasp

"you're pregnant?" they all yelled in one voice, making y/n's face palm

Lucas heard the voice of the ladies sitting in his living room, all yelling in one voice that someone is pregnant, so he stepped inside the house and to the living room, making all eyes avert towards his direction

"who's pregnant?" he asked curiously glancing at all the girls, but then maintaining eye contact with y/n

"no on-" y/n was interrupted by the voice of one of her friends

"your wife!" she exclaimed, making y/n glare at her, before turning back to Lucas

"you're pregnant?" he asked, his voice barely above whisper as he stepped closer to his wife

She nodded slightly, not knowing if she should curse her friends for telling him or thank him for making it easy

"pregnant as in you have our baby in there?" he placed his hand on her stomach, feeling the tiny bump that made his eyes widen

"yes Lucas pregnant with a baby. with what would I be pregnant?" she asked sarcastically rolling his eyes

"oh shut up" Lucas mumbled, wrapping his arms around her waist hugging her tightly

She wrapped her arms around his neck, as he buried his face deeper into her neck

She felt something wet on her neck, making her furrow her eyebrows before removing Lucas's face from her neck

"are you crying?" she asked, noticing his slightly red eyes, and one tear that ran down his cheek

"I'm just so happy meu amor. we're having a baby!" he excalimed making her laugh

"yeah yeah we are. now go get me some chocolate from the kitche. I've been craving it all day" she said

he smiled and leaned down m, pressing his lips against hers for a moment

"I'm telling you from now. she's gonna be one tough pregnant lady" her friend said, while the others laugh

"whatever. as long as I have my food and husband with me. everything will be great"

[shmowder]

Yeah marrying pathologic characters is fun and all but what about divorcing them? Just how petty would an ex-husband Daniil be.

Maybe it was his long overnight stays at Thanatica which was the final straw for you to hand it the divorce papers, or maybe it was a bunch of little disagreements that piled up until you decided enough was enough.

Whatever the reason was, your ex-husband never forgets nor forgives. Each time the two of you would coincidentally end up in the same social event or gatherings, he'd feign forgetfulness and still refer to you with the last name 'Dankovsky' before staring you in the eyes then correcting himself and offering a dry apology.

He's totally over it. What do you mean petty? Him? Never. He just doesn't get why you're suddenly so eager to attend to all of these gatherings when you used to complain whenever he took you to Thanatica's chairty events and networking parties. What's he doing here? Well, that's just none of your business, is it? Yeah, he never liked them either, but... something urgent came up, and now he's here.

Ex-husband Daniil, who's totally not bitter when you let other people flirt with you, especially when they get into your personal space and think they have the right to whisper in your ear so openly. Or maybe that's what you like? After all, Daniil was the perfect gentleman, or so he thought. Opening the doors for you, lending you his coat whenever it was windy, bringing your favourite treats after working overtime at the labs. And sure, his tone may have been less than ideal, not to mention his attitude, but his actions are what matters, right?

He'd scoff, walking up to them and rudely interrupting the intimate moment. Eyeing their arm wrapped around your waist with disgust, making his annoyance clear to the other person while hiding his insults under the pretence of a normal conversation.

What? He's not being unreasonable. He's just fascinated by their clothes and wants to know who was the mad tailor.

Actually, what are their qualifications? Any degrees? Which college did they attend?

Calmly sipping on his glass while keeping a civilised appearance as the other person gets more and more annoyed by his proding by the minute until they snap and storm off. Daniil feigning innocence as other people mumble around about how rude that person was to behave this way while talking to one of Thanatica's lead researchers.

Now, if the two of you end up at the same town during the events of the game? It's the closest Daniil has ever gotten to believing in fate. All he has to do is cure this plague, so you'll realise just how important his job is and that he wasn't neglecting you on purpose... and maybe get a second chance. But he'll never admit it out loud, but how about the two of you work together? Maybe you can help him focus... you know, like you did during his college days, maybe even stay in the same room?

You want to work alone? Are you insane? Did you go senile after the divorce? Whatever moment of softness he may have shown when trying to get you back is immediately washed away by his infamous venomous tongue, reminding you of why exactly you wanted a divorce in the first place. Fine, go walk to your death! He doesn't... goddammit, he deeply cares. Listen, at least come see him each morning so he is sure you aren't in danger. It is mandatory.

Daniil, who sends you a letter each time you make progress in finding more information about the plague, saying what you're doing is meaningless and stupid. It's especially worse if you decide to help the Haruspex make a panacea or encourage Clara's antics and believe in her powers. He's criticising your every step, writing it down on paper, and then mailing it directly to you. Addressing you by the same endearment names in his letters when the two of you were still together, "To my dearest love." Signing his obnoxious name at the bottom each time, "Yours forever, Daniil."

Having the audacity to still invite you over to show off his progress on the vaccine at the end of the letter. He still takes your account when buying groceries or rationing immunity pills and antibiotics, making sure to leave them in a package at the front of your doorstep if he's too busy to drop by. Ex-husband Daniil, who gets more irritated with your stubbornness, the more dire the situation in town gets, with danger lurking everywhere you're still the sole person at the front of his mind. Who tries to make a deal with the Kains or Alexander Block for a way to get you on a train and far off from this town.

[believesthings]

The sweetest words // Jason sudeikis x F!reader

A/N: AHHH. It’s finally here. Later than I expected, but it’s here nonetheless. Is this fic basically just an excuse for me to write a giant love letter to Jason sudeikis? Yes. But I hope you love it even if it is probably the cheesiest thing I’ve ever created.

Jason strides to be a pretty private person. Especially considering what he’s been through the last couple years with the media and his previous relationship. So when he settles into a relationship with you, a person who isn’t famous, he’s extra cautious.

You’ve never been a big fan of being the center of attention, so you’re a little nervous about a wedding and the idea of everyone staring at you. Jason has made it clear to you time and time again that you don’t have to have a wedding if you aren’t comfortable with it.

“Baby, the number one priority for me is that when this is all said and done, I get to call you my wife. As long as that’s the endgame, the journey to get there doesn’t matter.”

You hear him, you do. And you know he means it but you don’t like the idea of giving up the wedding entirely just because of nerves and sweet little daisy is so excited about her daddy marrying you. One day, in the early stages of wedding planning, she saw you looking at wedding dresses online and she immediately wanted to help. Jason walked in to find the two of you huddled over your laptop screen whispering furiously back and forth between each other.

“Whatcha doing?” Your head snapped up, both of you were so lost in your own world, you didn’t even hear him come in.

“Looking at wedding dresses!” Daisy declares proudly.

Jason can’t help but smile at his daughter’s obvious enthusiasm. He’s beyond thrilled that his kids have accepted you into their lives. He loves that Otis and daisy love you just as much as he does. It only confirms for him that he’s making the right call in marrying you.

“Oh yeah? Is that right? Maybe I need to take a look too.” He’s quick but his daughter is quicker.

“No! Dad you’re not supposed to see the dress.” She slamming your laptop closed before he can blink. “She’s gonna look like a princess!”

“Oh Dais, come on. She looks like a princess every day.” He leans down and drops a kiss on your forehead.

You and Jason eventually reach an agreement when it comes to the wedding, you assure him that you’re fine having a ceremony but the only thing you’re truly concerned about are the vows. You love the idea of writing your own vows to express your love for Jason but you and public speaking had never been the best combination. So you both agree: there will be a ceremony during which you will recite the typical ‘til death do us part’ vows. Then, afterwards, in the privacy of your own space, you’ll share your personal written vows with each other.

You were worried jason wouldn’t like the idea or would think you were being ridiculous but he (thankfully) seemed to agree that it was a wonderful plan. He didn’t want everyone to be privy to your business. You could have the wedding, the outlets would get their headline, but the personal aspects of it, the true feelings of your marriage, would stay where they belong: between husband and wife and - most importantly, no one would get to comment on it.

As it turns out, the ceremony is actually pretty easy considering that it’s a pretty private affair. A room of your closest friends and family, people that both you and Jason have learned to become incredibly comfortable around over the years.

Between all the congratulations and the hugging, you manage to slip out to the restroom for a breather.

“Hey there. Everything okay?”

You turn and there he is, your gorgeous husband, standing in the doorway, looking gorgeous as ever.

You let out an exaggerated gasp and place your hand on your chest, “Well as I live and breathe, famous comedian and actor Jason sudeikis! Whatever are you doing here?”

He rolls his eyes playfully at you, “well believe it or not I’m actually here getting married.” He holds up his hand and wiggles his ring ringer at you.

You hold up your hand, doing the same. “What a coincidence, so am I. So, tell me about your wife. She anything special?”

“Ehh, too soon to tell. What about your husband? he any good?”

“He’s alright. But there’s always room for improvement.”

His hands find their way to your hips while his lips start kissing your neck. “Well, it sounds like he should get to work then. Practice makes perfect, you know.”

He felt impossibly good. He always did and even after all your time with him, you’re not sure how he managed to do it.

“Jase.” You manage to get out, rather breathlessly.

“Mhmm?” He hums against your skin.

You manage to pull yourself from him. “Jason, we need to get back. Once people start to notice that we’re both gone, they’ll think we’re having sex.”

“Oh, great idea. Let’s do that.”

“Jason!” You gasp at him.

“What? We might as well do it since everyone thinks we’re doing it anyway.”

“As tempting as you are, husband of mine. We really shouldn’t keep everyone waiting.” You kiss him softly one last time and murmur against his lips, “I promise later, you can have me for as long as you want in as many ways as you wish.”

He fumbles for his phone retrieving it from his pocket, you watch him, biting his lip and opening his voice memos app, “if it pleases the court, could you just repeat that last sentence for me one more time, right here into the mic?”

You roll your eyes and grab his hand. “Come on, dork. We have a wedding to get back to.”

You can confidently say that you don’t understand the idea of sex on your wedding night. You’re fucking exhausted. Jason is insistent on doing the typical carrying you bridal style move, so you’ve taken to pressing soft kisses against his neck as he moves you into the bedroom.

“Jase?”

“Yeah baby?”

“I know I promised incredible sex - and I do intend to have incredible, mind blowing, married sex with you but do you think we could take a nap first?”

He halts his movements and stares down directly at you. You both stay like that, eyes searching one another, until he finally breaks the spell.

“I would love nothing more, you have no idea.” He smiles down at you, laying you down on the bed. Standing above you, he carefully removes his clothing. You’ve always been amazed at how attractive Jason truly is. He seems to brush you off when you mention it. You have to assume that he’s just being humble, there’s no way he doesn’t know. He has a tendancy to deflect with jokes or trying to shine the attention on others instead of sitting in praise for himself. It was one of the things that became apparent to you in your first year together.

“Who the hell is responsible for making these decisions anyway?”

Jason smirks and looks over at you, “Some overpaid executive, I’m sure.”

“Well, this entire thing is a scam. I can’t believe more people aren’t talking about it.”

Jason stops what he’s doing. His hands hovering in mid air, before he begins laughing. “You think the People magazine sexiest man alive campaign is a scam?”

You wave your hands aggressively at the TV screen. “No. I don’t think the sexiest man alive campaign is a scam. I know the sexiest man alive campaign is a scam.”

Jason looks at you, awestruck. “Explain.”

You look between him and the TV before finally speaking, “I know it’s a scam because you’ve never won.”

Jason looks down at his fidgeting fingers but you can see the light blush lingering under the living room lighting. “Well that’s sweet of you to say but I mean, come on, I can’t compete with that.” He gestures to the magazine cover on the screen, featuring an A-List actor leaning against the wall of some fancy L.A. mansion, the outline of a six pack peeking through a particularly tight v-neck shirt. It’s a conveniently nice image, sure. And while Jason may think you’re trying to appease him, it’s an image that really doesn’t do anything for you. It’s too airbrushed, too sculpted, too everything but what you need.

You glance over at jason, studying him in profile. His greying temples that you can’t help but find incredibly sexy, facial hair that tickles when he kisses you, chest hair peaking out of the buttons of his own shirt that gets you heated unlike anything else. Shoulders that he seems to carry the weight of the world on some days. Arms that simultaneously carry strength and solace. Strength that can lift his children up when he plays with them on a Sunday afternoon, solace that can tuck you into his embrace when the cold is just a little too bitter. Strength that can carry your fears and insecurities and solace that can make them come undone when he gets you alone.

You turn back to the television, missing the smile on his face, when you say, “you could compete with that Jason and if it were up to anyone with taste, you would win.”

Jason hovers his face over yours. “Penny for your thoughts, Mrs. Sudeikis?”

You smile up at him and lean up to give him a kiss. “Just thinking about how handsome you are, Mr. Sudeikis.”

He kisses you lightly before tucking you into his chest. “Come on, let’s get some sleep.”

You really were tired, your eyes drooping closed once you settled you were settled. “Goodnight husband.” Dropping another light kiss to his chest before sleep took you.

“Goodnight wife.” He whispers back before falling into a slumber of his own.

You were awoken with kisses to your shoulder blade. “Hey there, gorgeous.”

“Hi.”

“Did you sleep well?”

You nod your head dramatically at him. “Yes. Married sleep is definitely better than normal sleep.”

“So..” he leans over and opens the bedside cabinet drawer, pulling out a folded up piece of paper. “I think it’s vow time. What do you say?”

“Okay.”

You both get settled on the bed, sitting across from one another. Jason speaks up, “ladies first.”

Writing your vows for Jason was probably one of the hardest things you’ve ever had to do. How do you find the words to incapsulate all your feelings that you hold for him? You stressed for weeks about making them perfect and funnily enough, Otis was the one person that was able to talk some sense into you about the whole thing.

“Why should it matter if you say everything? You can just tell him the other stuff later.” He said to you one day at the kitchen counter.

And really, he did have a point. That’s what a marriage was, right? It was forever. You had your whole life to tell Jason how you felt. At the end of the day, these vows and the paper they were written on were just the beginning. You had a lifetime to fit in everything else.

Still, Jason knew you better than anyone else and he seemed to sense the nerves brimming under the surface.

“Hey, it’s just you and me, yeah? No need to be scared.” He lifts your hand to his lips and presses a kiss to your wrist.

“Yeah. Okay.” You unfold the paper in your lap and clear your throat, read aloud.

“When I was a kid and all my friends were talking about getting married, they always seemed to focus on the wedding part. Talking about dresses and flowers but that part never appealed the me as much. I was much more concerned with my name. When I would develop a crush on a new guy I would roll this last name around in my head and try to decide if I thought it was a good fit. Whenever I told this to my friends they didn’t seem to understand why it mattered so much to me. They always told me that I didn’t actually have to change my last name if it bothered me so much. Obviously, I knew that but I wanted to. I like the idea of taking the last name of my love. It seemed symbolic to me. It was a way to say that we’re a team, I know I always have you in my corner and we can tackle all of life’s challenges together. I had very particular criteria for acceptable last names, I didn’t want anything too funny or clunky, nothing that rhymed too close to my own name. By the time I had reached high school I had developed a list of names that were tolerable, that was admittedly embarrassingly short.”

“I was venting out all of this to my father one day - and at the end of my speech about marriages and last names, he didn’t say anything for a while. I thought he wasn’t going to speak at all. Until finally, he said ‘I see where you’re coming from, I do. But I think you’ll find when you’re in love - truly, decidedly in love, that the name won’t matter to you.’ I don’t think I quite understood what he meant at the time but now, on the other side of it all, he was right. I’m happy to be Mrs. Sudeikis. I’m proud to be Mrs. Sudeikis.

You are the love of my life. You’re my favorite person in the room no matter where we go. I love you. I get to love you. For life. And it’s the best thing I’ll ever do. There is nothing that is more important to me than your love and your time. The way you’ve loved me has changed me. I’ll spend the rest of my life proud to share your name. A marriage is as strong as you make it and I think, the two of us, are going to make a pretty everlasting one.”

He leans in and kisses you. When you open your eyes, you can see his teary eyed ones gazing back at you before he clears his throat. “Damn. I’m starting to think I may have underdelivered.” He says waving his own hand written vows in the air between you.

You roll your eyes at him. “Oh please. You’re the award winning writer, not me. But if it helps, your son actually gave me some pretty excellent advice.”

“Really? What would that be?”

While repeating his son’s words back to him, Jason can’t help but laugh. “Smart kid. Still have no idea where the hell he gets it from.”

He unfolds his own paper and you take his hand and press a kiss to his wrist. “Okay. You ready?”

You nod enthusiastically.

“In the interest of full disclosure, I was having a terrible day when I met you. I was in the middle of a huge project that I had taken on completely on my own. My mind was locked into a work fueled tunnel vision thinking about the million little tasks that needed to be completed that rested on my shoulders if they wanted to get done. I’ve grown really bad about this, often neglecting myself in the process and, I fear, extending that neglect out to the people who love me.”

“My children have always been the best judge of character and they seemed to know that I loved you even before I did. One time a woman had asked them what my type was and they screamed out your name, telling her if it wasn’t you, I wasn’t interested. I don’t think she knew what to do with that and honestly, at the time, I didn’t either. But looking back on it, they were right. I just didn’t know it yet.”

“It’s almost like a magic trick to me, how you can fight to guide me through those tunnels when I bury myself deep within them. Just like my children did, you seem to know what I need before I do. Whether it be sitting me in conversation and understanding when I need it or silence when I don’t. I don’t think I thank you enough for that. It’s not lost on me that being able to do that and make it seem so effortless takes a certain level of kindness and patience, which never seems to be in short supply with you. You hold my heart in your hands and you treat it with a compassion that I’m not always sure I deserve but yet, you offer it so openly anyway.”

“Every room you’re in, it’s like the sun comes out. Whether you’re tucked away in the corner or whether we’re skin to skin. There’s a light, a comfort and ease that occupies the space between. So much of my time feels like a performance. The actor, the writer, the funny guy. And even when I’m not working, I’m usually in dad mode. I’m always something to somebody every hour of the day. But with you, I just get to be Jason. And to be perfectly honest with you, baby, that was something I thought I lost a long time ago.

“It’s a reminder that I have to give myself. That the only things that really matter are me and the people I love. As long as I have those people that continually are willing to show me how much they care, happiness will find it’s way into my life and it will be comfortable, just the way it should be. I feel loved and because of that I feel peace and through that peace, I feel hope. A hope that I haven’t had in a long time. A hope that you, through your care for me, put back into my life. I probably can’t promise you much. But I know that I’m so grateful for the love that you have for me and for my children. And I want to spend every day, sharing that hope you’ve given me, so that you can feel the same peace in your life that you’ve placed into mine. I love you and I want you to be happy and through this marriage, I want to make sure you feel that everyday.”

Before he can fully fold his paper back up, you’re kissing him. You pull apart briefly to say, “if that was you underdelivering, i don’t think my heart could handle you when you’re really putting in an effort.”

You sit in silence for a while, taking each other in before Jason breaks the silence. “So… about this incredible, mind blowing, married sex that I was promised.”

You feign innocence. “Did I promise that? I don’t remember.”

He pulls you down onto the mattress, hovering over you. “See, I knew I should have gotten you to repeat it into the mic.”

[verdemoun]

Hiii been a minute since I asked something. I know Mary Beth didnt timewarp (it makes me both happy and sad 😞) but if she did what would it be like (I'm very interested in how she and Jack would interact. Pls pls pls)

Okay iiiiif Mary-Beth timewarped:

Mary-Beth was murdered by a stalker following the success of her novel mere weeks after John saw her in Saint Denis. In this AU, this stalker would later be the bounty that successfully got the one-up and murdered Sadie Adler, too, who was in a recklessly blind rage trying to avenge one of the woman who had supported her following the death of her husband.

Mary-Beth was obviously traumatized by this experience, clinging onto Arthur in tears when he was there ready to pick her up. Being a well renowned author already in 1907, she was easy to locate. She originally stayed with Arthur due to him having the spare room, but despite loving the space and generally what a nice house it was she realized she couldn't handle being alone after the experience. She moved in with Hosea, Bessie, and of course, Kieran (later, Javier too).

Mary-Beth was truly had symptoms of agoraphobia, including severe monophobia. She had to be with at least one other person or she would get panicky, even if she knew others were in the house but not in the same room. Even with others, she struggled to leave the house.

But she was lucky in that being around a group was exactly what she needed. She had, privately, gone through a very similar thing when she left the gang: learning to be alone again and coping with that anxiety. Being with the VDLs was one of the only times if her life she felt safe, and being with the gang again was a balm for her soul.

Shout-out to her and Kieran just besties. Autism be damned my boy felt a debt needed to be repaid. Mary-Beth was his best friend and closest thing he had to an ally in canon era, and if she was hurting he was going to be there for her. They were joined at the hip and some of the glares Kieran would give people when Mary-Beth needed space really reminded them he was as much an outlaw as them once upon a time. Femme-nb solidarity they share clothes.

Predictably she becomes an ao3 queen, secretly writing sequels to her own novels. She also earns a tidy living writing dime-store erotica, which she reads aloud to Kieran to proofread. Hosea and Bessie both sit at the kitchen table drinking their coffee very slowly when she's proof-reading because - well she's a damn good writer.

At first Jack is a little bit intimidated because 'holy shit since when was Mary-Beth Leslie Dupont what do you mean an aunt I don't remember is the Leslie Dupont'. You meet one of your favorite authors only for them to laugh, affectionately say they haven't seen you since you were thiiiiis tall, that they remember changing your diapers, only to then enthusiastically ask to see your writing the second your pain-in-the-ass well meaning cousin drops that you write too.

After getting over a lot of his own awkwardness and other assorted issues, Jack will go to Hosea's because really all his favorite people are there. Hosea might be his papa and go-to for new book series he's obsessed with, or really anything he's reading, but he loves sneaking looks at whatever Mary-Beth's writing and sometimes very rarely sheepishly asking her to read his stuff which makes her whole face light up in the most overdramatic gasp yes of course imaginable.

He also does not know he sits there like an excited puppy waiting for her reactions and comments because she is so positive and supportive of his writing and poor boy craves validation. It could be red hot garbage and she would still give him an essay of what she loved about it before gently making corrections.

They are losers your honor Jack and Mary-Beth sitting in Hosea and Bessie's chairs respectively in the reading room parallel play style both frantically writing and teasing each other with spoilers.

[sweet-honey-tears]

3 Wishes

Tanjiro x fem!Reader in Aladdin Au

Hello! Long time no see! So this was a request for Tanjiro x femReader in an Aladdin Au. Imma deal with you all- I haven’t watched the movie in years and kinda hate Disney- don’t ask. So I hope you all enjoy and I’m sorry about the wait and how… off this story line is. This is my first time EVER writing for Demon Slayer soo…. Advice is welcomed.

Tanjiro counts his stars when he looks at you. The princess of the empire who somehow fell in love with a boy who barely scraped by.

His honesty and pure heart never allowed him to steal like others in his position, and he seemed to always give away what little food he got.

"His parents would be proud." The old ladies would say.

The town believes that's why you fell in love with it. A Jem in the city of filth and decay. There was fear in the streets, something you hadn't been aware of till the day you traveled there. You had been being followed by a group, likely those under Muzan. Yet, you only knew once it was too late- or so you thought.

"Are you okay, Miss?" His big red eyes held nothing but kindness despite the crimson color. "Ah! I'm so sorry!" He pleaded with surprise, his arm leaving your waist from where he pulled you away from the group. Hiding the two of you in a small ally.

From that day, Tanjiro seemed to find you, or you him.

He always saw you dressed as the citizens you ruled. Yet.. they were always clean. You seemed to… kept? Too unaware of the dangers to truly be from around the area.

"Do you work in the palace?"

"W-what?"

"You smell like like dried flowers and jasmine" Your face made him regret his words. "AH, I have a really good noise! Like I can smell the bread being baked down the street right now!"

A servant at the palace. Yes… that's what you were.

"What is it like there?"

"Smothering, but.. It's a good life. I'm grateful for where I am." Especially after seeing the truth of the kingdom you were destined to rule.

Months passed, and you met his closest friends and even his little sister. It all worked until Muzan found out you were unguarded walking around the streets.

"Please stay behind me." "Tanjiro!" "I'll be okay."

"Come now, princesses, it's time to return." The voice caused your skin to crawl. You knew this man, his white hair and colorful eyes. He was a monster.

"Pr-princesses?… No, it doesn't matter. She doesn't want to go!"

You were wrong, Tanjiro. His Eyes weren't like blood; they were like fire. Blood is too sticky to compare to the beauty of his soul.

——Skip——

Tanjiro had been lucky to find the lamp and lucky to love you. Three wishes: Your safety, wealth…

"Tanjiro!" You had screamed, seeing the male limp on the ground as Muzan laughed. What had gone wrong? You had been stabbed, yet the blade seemed to cut nothing; only your clothes showed you had been stabbed.

"I wish for her to always be protected."

"Young master, whatever she becomes afflicted with, you will instead."

"That's okay, as long as she's safe."

He had risen in status, wishing for wealth and handing it out as quickly as he received it.

"Now I can be with you if that's what you want."

"Ha! I see. How pathetic." Muzan had grabbed you, trapping your form against his own. "If I can't harm her, then I'll take her. You'll live enough to know everything you wish was in vain. Even in death, you'll mourn. You're pathetic."

—-Skip—-

How strange and horrific, watching the man melt into a pool of black as his soul left his body. Pulled from the air and trapped in the lamp. A fever dream, one would say, but it wasn't.

"Tanjiro!"

You grasped the boy's battered body as he gave you a sweet smile. "You're okay, I'm glad."

Tanjiro survived-a slight limp and scar is the only thing left. He was your right hand, your husband. Loved by the people and generous beyond words.

"Be free, enjoy the world."

"I wish you the best of luck."

@princeasimdiya12

[kelyon]

Courtship 19: Reception

Mrs. Gold dances the night away

Read on AO3

By the time Mr. and Mrs. Gold arrived at their wedding reception, the party had already started. The creme de la creme of Storybroke was decked out in sharp suits and elegant evening gowns. Most of the crowd wore black, which was sophisticated, but not exactly celebratory. Mr. Gold had provided an open bar, so everyone had a drink in their hands. On the bandstand, Storybrooke’s own Firehouse Five played subdued lounge music. The songs were barely audible over the dull roar of more than a hundred different conversations going on at the same time. All twelve of the Dodici sisters were wearing out their shoes passing out hors d’oeuvres among the mingling throng.  

The round tables were set with china and silver. White linen tablecloths and pressed cloth napkins. Every centerpiece was a tasteful explosion of crystal and gold ribbon so thin it looked like thread. There were candles and mirrors on every table, reflecting the light that reflected itself in a one-color kaleidoscope. The effect was more than elegant, it was opulent. It was dazzling. The entire hall was decorated in white and gold and black--and not a single flower in sight.

Standing in the doorway under a ribboned arch, Mrs. Gold took a moment to let it sink in. All of this--all the grandeur, all the expense--it was all for her. All because she was marrying Mr. Gold. He had chosen her. He had decided that she had potential. This night was all her potential realized. 

She took a breath, a shallow one because of her tight wedding gown. Mr. Gold squeezed her hand.

“Is it everything you expected, Mrs. Gold?”

She gazed up at him. If a fraction of the adoration in her heart made it to her face, he could see the answer. 

“This is more than I could have ever dreamed of, Mr. Gold.”

Her husband scoffed. “You’re going to have to start dreaming bigger, my dear. You’re not in Old Town anymore.”

Technically they were, but she knew what he meant. The sad, limited life of Lacey French was gone. Mrs. Gold was more than that girl ever could have been.

Just then, she heard a voice shout, “Smile!” and then there was a blinding flash. 

Blinking through the spots in her eyes, Mrs. Gold squinted at the man with the camera. 

“Sydney Glass?” She kept blinking. “Are we gonna be in the newspaper?”

The editor of the Storybrooke Daily Mirror was a middle-aged man whose smile was usually more fawning than friendly. He took it for granted that everyone wanted to show up in his paper and was often confused when they were less than happy about his surprise appearances. He acted like if he offered a good write-up, that should be his ticket to getting people to tell him whatever he wanted to know. 

“Can I get another?” he asked eagerly. “Storybrooke’s most eligible bachelor tying the knot with a nobody is front page news.”

Fragments of Lacey French bristled at that. She wasn’t a nobody! She’d had her picture in the paper before. She was the valedictorian of her graduating class! She was the heir to a beloved family business! She was--

But she wasn’t any of those things anymore, was she? She had put that all behind her. How could Mrs. Gold be angry that these people didn’t know Lacey French? Forgetting that life was what she wanted. It was what Mr. Gold wanted. 

It occurred to her suddenly that this party was really a funeral: The death of who she had been, the birth of who she would be.  

Dazed, she posed for the newspaperman, let him take his little pictures. She waved to the crowd when band leader Kim Ward announced their arrival. She walked on Mr. Gold’s arm to the two-person table on a raised platform in front of the dance floor. She turned a blind eye to the round table closest to the front, the one that had been set aside for her friends and family, the one that was completely empty. 

This was what she wanted. This was who she was. Mrs. Gold had won. Who cared that Lacey French was lost forever?

****

Dinner was a multi-course meal: a winter kale salad, Italian wedding soup, steamed broccolini, truffle risotto, whole lobsters and filet mignon. Each course was served with its own wine pairing. It was a feast like Lacey French had never seen before--but Mr. Gold acted like it was nothing special. He would take a few bites of each dish then have the waitress take it away. He always seemed to be waiting for something actually remarkable. 

Taking the cue from her husband, Mrs. Gold buried her delight and acted like all this extravagance was beneath them. Of course everything was excellent, it was for Mr. Gold. He wouldn’t tolerate anything but excellence, not in his lifestyle and not in the people he associated with. Anything that wasn’t absolutely perfect might as well be trash.

Throughout the meal, she kept stealing glances at her husband, making sure everything was good enough for him. He seemed pleased enough, if not particularly impressed. He did grin every time one of the Dodici girls served Mrs. Gold another glass of wine or champagne. 

“You’re still underage, aren’t you?” he asked when they were alone.

Mrs. Gold took a bubbly sip. Even dry alcohol tasted better the more you drank. “Yeah, my birthday’s in March.” 

He nodded out into the crowd. “District Attorney Spencer is here tonight. There are judges and lawyers, Sheriff Graham. And of course, Mayor Mills herself.” He smirked. “You’re breaking the law in front of all of them.”

Mrs. Gold burst into giggles that she didn’t try to hide. “And I’m getting away with it!”

“Yes you are.” Mr. Gold pressed a lingering kiss against her cheek. “As long as you’re mine, you can do anything I want you to. Damn everyone else.”

She pulled away, just far enough to look into his eyes. They were just as dark as they ever were, just as cool and considering. That darkness was her home now, the whole of her world.

“I’ll be yours forever, Mr. Gold.”

“Yes you will.” He kissed her again, on the lips this time. 

Someone below noticed them kissing and let out a woop. That garnered attention. People began to clap for the bride and groom. By the time the kiss was over, all the guests were cheering or ringing their spoons against their glasses. 

When her husband let her break away, Mrs. Gold beamed. 

****

After dinner, Mrs. Gold descended from the high table so she could mingle with the guests. Mr. Gold had given her strict instructions and she was eager to obey. She kept her legs close together as she walked in her short dress. The ‘results’ of Mr. Gold fucking her in the limo were at the front of her mind and the tops of her thighs. If she wasn’t careful, everyone would know what a slutty little bride she was.  

Mrs. Gold shivered. God, this whole night was delicious!

The round table closest to where she and Mr. Gold had eaten was empty. None of her family had come, not even for free food and booze. Well screw them. Mrs. Gold strutted past to the second table, where the actual important people were sitting. 

“Mayor Mills?”

The Mayor turned to her when she spoke. She was a graceful woman, with a hard, sleek beauty that came from power and skill. Even though Mayor Mills was a woman and younger than anyone else in Storybrooke politics, she knew she was the queen of this jungle. That confidence wafted off of her like an intoxicating perfume. 

When she saw Mrs. Gold, the Mayor smiled with red lips and white teeth. 

“There’s the blushing bride!” Graciously, she stood up and put her hands on Mrs. Gold’s shoulders to look at her. “Now you’ll have to forgive me, your first name…?”

“Mrs. Gold is fine,” she said. “That’s all I need to be anymore.”

“Of course,” Mayor Mills nodded. “Everyone has their place in this world. You are so lucky to have found yours so young.”

“Yes.” Mrs. Gold found herself a little breathless. Being this close to her was as intimidating as it was thrilling. “Yes, Madame Mayor. I’m very lucky to be where I am now.”

“Weddings are always such joyful occasions,” Mayor Mills spoke to the whole table--and the tables around them who had stopped their own conversations to look at what the Mayor was doing. She took one hand off Mrs. Gold’s arm and held her by the chin. “I hope you always cherish the memory of this happy, happy day.”

“I will, Madame Mayor,” she said obediently. “Um, Mr. Gold instructed me to ask you something.”

The Mayor raised one black eyebrow in amused curiosity. “What’s that, dear?”

Mrs. Gold pressed her nails into her palms. This was harder than she had thought it would be. 

“He told me to ask you who I should dance with first tonight.”

Mayor Mills smirked. “Your husband is leaving that decision to me?”

“Well, he said that I should start by dancing with the most important man in Storybrooke. Normally, that would be the mayor, but--”

“Oh yes, gods forbid two women do anything romantic together!” 

There was contempt in the Mayor’s laughter, but she seemed to take her task seriously. She looked around the table for her substitute, then broadened her search until she found the perfect man.

“Hunter!” Mayor Mills called to a few tables down the line. “Hunter Duke, come over here.” 

Immediately, there was a scraping of chairs and a hulking mass of muscles and hair gel thudded forward. Mrs. Gold’s stomach sank. Of all the men in this room, Mayor Mills had to pick Lacey French’s ex-boyfriend.  

The Mayor squeezed Mrs. Gold’s bare arm, “He’s a handsome fella, isn’t he? About the only man in town as beautiful as you are.”

He was handsome alright. And dumb. And conceited. He had never been for her.

“Lacey!” Hunter’s voice boomed out even though he was now standing in front of her. His broad smile revealed a bit of broccolini stuck in his teeth.

“It’s Mrs. Gold now,” she said evenly. She forced herself to take this oversized child by his clumsy meathook of a hand. “Let’s dance.” 

****

Hunter Duke slow-danced like a Homecoming King--stiff and graceless. For all the athleticism he’d displayed on the football field and the wrestling mat, he’d never known what to do with his body if it wasn’t colliding into another boy. Lacey French had always hoped that he’d improve after they broke up. It had to just be immaturity. He would learn how to be a decent boyfriend. Eventually, he’d have to be some kind of useful to someone, right?

Maybe, but not yet.

She had to reach up to put her hands on his musk-ox shoulders. She didn’t even try to wrap her arms around his thick neck. His grip on her waist was heavy--not strong and possessive like Mr. Gold’s, but a limp, dead weight. His palms were sweaty. Throughout the dance, she kept looking down to make sure he didn’t step on her feet. Tromping around wearing boots--to a wedding!--he was liable to break her ankle. 

“You’re really hot tonight. How come you never wore stuff like this when we were dating?”

Mrs. Gold rolled her eyes. “Should I have worn a wedding dress when you took me back-roading through the woods? Or to a rager on the beach?”

“I’m just saying, you could have done something to make yourself look like a girl. If you had, we might still be together.”

“Oh, I… don’t deserve that.”

Hunter’s laugh was so friendly it was clear he didn’t know what she meant. “Hey, as long as you figured out what you wanted. Though I gotta say, I never thought Gold would be the man of your dreams.”    

“What would you know about my dreams, Hunter?”

“Not much, I guess.”

Even that much conversation was exhausting, and she wasn’t even pretending she liked him anymore. What had Lacey French ever seen in this guy? Had she really been so low that spending time with him had seemed worthwhile?

Never again. She was better than that now. 

Before the song had properly ended, Hunter’s father tapped him on the shoulder.

“That’s enough kiddy time,” said Richard “Big Dick” Duke. “I’m sure the lovely lady is ready for a real man.”

The tops of Hunter’s ears turned red, a thing that only happened when his dad was being an asshole. Lacey French had spent too many hours of her life watching father take digs at son and then listening to son vent about father. Thank God that wasn’t her problem anymore. Hunter muttered some vague assent and then sulked away from the dance floor.

Dick swept Mrs. Gold into his arms. He had more flair than his son, but no more actual skill at dancing. In most ways, he looked like what Hunter would become as he got older and let himself go. He had a receding hairline and a beer belly, and jowls around the cleft in his chin. Most importantly, he had an uncomfortable habit of trying to flirt with very young girls when he was a married man.

“Is there anything more beautiful than a bride?” He danced with his hands just far enough away from her ass to say he wasn’t groping her. “And you look like you stepped right out of a porno, sweetie. God, that boy was an idiot for letting you get away from him.”

Mrs. Gold smiled brightly. She ran her hand over his lapel. “You know, Dick, I think Mr. Gold and I both owe you some thanks.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“Well, if I hadn’t seen for myself what kind of man you are, and what kind of husband you are to Karen, I might have thought there was still some hope for me and Hunter.” Her smile deepened. “I might have settled for him and wasted my life in a tacky McMansion spending every holiday with you.” Mrs. Gold began to giggle. “Can you imagine anything more horrible?” 

Big Dick’s face froze. He began to look around for someone else who might want to cut in. Mrs. Gold kept smiling and didn’t let him go. She forced him to stay in that awkward moment for the rest of the song.

****

It was strange how un-wedding-like everything seemed. Lacey French had helped with floral arrangements for plenty of weddings, and none of them had ever been this serious. 

True, there was dancing, fast songs and slow. But the Firehouse Five seemed determined to only play couple dances. There were none of the party songs that always got people up on their feet--everybody from kids to grandparents. No corny novelty songs that people could laugh at but go along with because of tradition. Not even any rock ballads for everybody to belt out at the top of their lungs. It was all music for ballroom dancing. Very classy, but not as much fun as it could have been.

After an hour or so of music, the band took a break and the Dodici sisters passed out cake. Mrs. Gold had seen her wedding cake, a multi-tiered  masterpiece of gilded fondant. But she had expected that she and Mr. Gold would cut the first slice together. It was a kind of ceremony at most weddings. She’d always liked the symbolism of the bride and groom feeding each other all the sweet things of life. Now, at her own wedding, someone else had cut her cake without her even knowing about it. She went back to her seat beside Mr. Gold and saw that he wasn’t eating any. 

Of course not. Mr. Gold didn’t like sweets. 

She didn’t have a bouquet, so there was no bouquet toss. No opportunity for her to share her joy and good fortune to all the girls who wanted their own weddings. 

She was wearing real garters, which was more than most brides in Storybrooke could say. But she knew without asking that Mr. Gold was too dignified to reach under her skirt to remove a garter and then toss it to all the bachelors in the room. When he took her underwear off in public, it would be because he wanted to, not because a crowd of people expected him to.

Maybe that was what the dancing was for. Maybe sharing her was his way of sharing his luck with every other man in town. Or maybe it was showing off. Yes, that seemed much more characteristic of Mr. Gold.

Because of course her husband was different from any other groom she could have had. Of course he was better. Obviously their wedding had to be different. It had to be better. They couldn’t bother with ordinary traditions. They wouldn’t make promises of everlasting love, promises nobody ever ended up keeping. They knew each other better than that. This wasn’t going to be a regular marriage. She was stupid for even thinking about a regular wedding.   

****

“So settle a bet for me,” Sean Herman said as they bopped along to a fast dance. “My dad says you’ve gotta be pregnant to get Gold to marry you. Are you?”

Mrs. Gold laughed at the boy. “Your dad would think that, wouldn’t he? He’s such an asshole.” 

“Hey!” He stopped dancing. “You can’t say that!”

Pouting, Mrs. Gold flung her arm around his neck. “I can say whatever I want!” She moved against him. “It’s my wedding day!”

He sighed but began to bounce again to the music. Mrs. Gold rewarded him by resting her head on his shoulder. 

Sean Herman was one of Hunter’s friends, another rich and pretty prince of high school. He hadn’t done much since graduation. He didn’t work, lived with his dad, and took just enough gen ed classes to stay enrolled at Storybrooke Community College. The most interesting thing about Sean was his moderate rebellion of dating Ashley Boyd, a poor girl from Old Town. 

Mrs. Gold had a sudden flash, a memory of the last time she had seen Ashley. She began to laugh.

“What’s up?” Sean asked. 

“Did Ashley ever get a hold of you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like two weeks ago she asked me if I’d heard from you. She said you weren’t returning her calls.”

Sean shrugged. “I’ve been busy.”

“You should call her,” Mrs. Gold giggled. “I think she has some big news for you.”

“What kinda news?”

God, this kid was a bag of bricks! Mrs. Gold patted him on the cheek.

“Let’s just say your dad is wrong about me, but he’s not wrong about her.”

Sean stepped back. His blonde eyebrows had fused together in confusion. “What?”

Mrs. Gold shook her head. “There are pay phones in the lobby outside. I’d give you a quarter myself if I had one. Go call Ashley. She’ll be so happy to hear from you.”

Still looking like he was just barely putting the pieces together, Sean backed away off the dance floor. He moved faster the closer he got to the payphones. 

Mrs. Gold rolled her eyes and looked around for her next partner. Who hadn’t she danced with yet? District Attorney Spencer had barely moved when she’d danced with him. Sheriff Graham was surprisingly sensual in his dancing, but too embarrassed to look her in the eye. He’d kept glancing over at Mayor Mills, like he thought she was going to have some kind of objection. Too bad Mrs. Gold had already danced with Mitchell Herman, Sean’s father. Seeing his reaction to Ashley’s big news would have been a treat. 

Finally, she settled on a tall, burly man with long white hair. He had the weathered face of a sea captain, but was actually a titan of Storybrooke industry. It was Ken Andersen, the owner of the cannery. The Fish King himself. 

Uncle Peter had been at the cannery for twenty years. Andrew had just started but people said he had lots of promise, lots of opportunity to rise through the ranks. When they died, the company sent Aunt Terri a fruit basket, but no one had come to the funeral. Did Ken Andersen even know they had worked for him? 

Mrs. Gold pushed aside Lacey French’s grievances. She made herself smile as she danced a slow waltz with him. 

“You’re absolutely lovely,” Ken said in a deep but gentle voice. “You remind me of my Jodi.”

Everyone knew about Jodi Andersen. She’d disappeared when she was sixteen. No one knew exactly what had happened to her--if she had run away with a boy or been kidnapped or grown fins and swam out into the ocean. What they did know was that Ken Anderson had all but killed himself trying to find her. He’d neglected his six older daughters, took out second mortgages on his house and his factory. He’d poured everything he had of time, money, and effort into bringing his daughter home. But it had all been useless.

“I hope she’s as happy as you are,” he said sadly. “Wherever she is, I hope she’s found someone who loves her.” 

Mrs. Gold said nothing. She just barely managed to keep from rolling her eyes. It had been years since Jodi Andersen’s mysterious disappearance. By now, the only place anyone was going to find that girl was at the bottom of the harbor.  

****

While she danced with a different man every song, Mrs. Gold kept her eyes on her husband. Sometimes he watched her, with that cool-but-not-cold look of distant approval. He didn’t seem to care what she was doing, except that she was doing what he’d told her to. That was all that mattered. 

More often when she looked at Mr. Gold, she found him in conversation with someone--usually someone she had just finished dancing with. They seemed to think that paying their respects to her granted them access to her husband. Maybe it did. Mrs. Gold had no doubt that she was just a small piece of the grand and complex puzzle of Mr. Gold’s life. These men came up to her husband like he was a mob boss--did everything short of kiss his ring. Mr. Gold remained seated at the high table. The supplicants stood on the platform, but in order to be at his level, most of them had to stoop or bend or at least take a knee. 

Mrs. Gold cackled at that. The most powerful men in Storybrooke, on their knees for her husband. They were no better than she was, groveling for his scraps. Only she had the privilege of actually sucking his cock, instead of just sucking up to him. She was Old Town trash and she was his wife. These fine men in their expensive suits with their piddling power and money--these were the beggars. Mr. Gold was better than all of them and she belonged to him.

Something inside her clenched. A wave of heat bloomed under her tight skirt. Mrs. Gold pressed against whatever man she was dancing with, but she never lost sight of the man who really mattered. 

[bluegekk0]

for the whole family, what would you describe as a comfort item for each of them?

Vyrm - I like to think that whatever Grimm's first gift for him was after their reunion would hold special value for him. Generally though, anything that reminds him of Grimm would count as one, his husband's smell always brings him comfort no matter what the item is. But in particular, I think the casual cloak I included in a lot of my recent drawings would be my choice for his comfort item. I love the idea that it was tailored specifically for him at Grimm's request, as a birthday gift (of course it's very hard to determine the day he was born, so I imagine Vyrm just chose the date that resonated with him). It's comfortable, warm, and it carries a subtle smell Vyrm associated with his husband. He changes to it every time he takes some time off, or whenever he feels stressed.

Grimm - years ago, long before Vyrm disappeared, he made a little music box locket in his workshop which he then gave to Grimm as a gift showing his gratitude for being there for him. Since then, Grimm holds it very close to his heart. Listening to the soft music box tune got him through a lot of dark moments during Vyrm's absence, and even though the reminder was often painful, he didn't want to forget about his closest friend, his potential love, his soulmate. Vyrm's return meant that he didn't have to find escape in the tune anymore, but that doesn't mean the locket lost its value. He still listens to it while at work, and especially whenever he leaves Dirtmouth for a ritual, a show or any other reason. On top of that, his babies really enjoy the sound of it, so he plays the tune for them to help them fall asleep.

Hornet - her needle holds a lot of sentimental value for her. It serves as a reminder of her mother she never got to know that well, as well as her childhood. When she was still young, Vyrm often told her about the needle that Herrah gave him, and the promise he made that he'd eventually pass it to Hornet. The training was something she really looked forward to, and she was grateful to her father that he negotiated those sessions with Queen Vespa. After his disappearance, she put great effort into making sure the needle was always in top shape, since she knew he would want her to take care of it. She might have been angry at him for disappearing, but deep down she still loved him, and many of her childhood memories were stored in that blade. To this day she takes a lot of her free time in order to maintain its shape. Another item she finds a lot of comfort in is an old Grimmsteed plushie she got as a present from Grimm while she was still a baby. This one she feels a little bit embarrassed about (especially since she still struggles with accepting that she does in fact view Grimm as a father figure), but despite that, she managed to keep the stuffed toy safe throughout all those years, and it now sits comfortably on top of a shelf in her room. It might have lost one of its eye and she had to patch it in certain areas, but it's still in a pretty good shape, and seeing it still brings her a lot of comfort.

Holly - while they were recovering from their injuries under Grimm's care, he gave them a blanket that would calm them down, which they still own. They don't really get cold, but the soft texture and it's weight help them relax whenever they feel stressed. Aside from that, they were given a little journal by Vyrm a while back, so that they could write down their thoughts as they rediscovered the world. It's been filled since, but they still keep it as they enjoy reading through it from time to time. It's a nice reminder of how far they've come in regards to being more open about their thoughts and emotions, the progression is very noticable as you flip through the pages, and that thought is very comforting to them.

Lewk - he's very close to his parents, so I think his favorite blanket would be a comfort item for him. It smells like them, and so it makes him feel safe and loved, which is something he needs - he might have grown up a lot in those 2 years, but he's still a little pup. And after an entire day of experiencing the world, the sense of comfort is exactly what he looks for. He always brings it with him whenever he feels scared at night and wants his dads to cuddle with him so he can fall asleep, so for that reason he associates it with comfort and safety.

Asta and Milo - I like the idea of Asta having some kind of chew toy Grimm got her. If Milo is the shy and weak one of the two, she is definitely the biter. It's mostly because of her teething, but it also calms her down, so I could see that being her comfort item. As for Milo, it's fairly obvious - he doesn't go anywhere without his Tiktik plushie, which was made by Hornet and Holly but also carries the smell of Grimm and Vyrm. Out of all the little kids of the family, he is the most reliant on them, so he really needs that to feel safe.

Zote - definitely the Life Ender, his nail made of wood. I like to think it's a weapon he's had since childhood, so it would carry a sentimental value for him even if his birth home rejected him. It's a symbol of his mission to be the greatest knight (or at the very least to prove to himself that he's not the failure they called him), so he takes great care of it. Before he was assimilated into the Vyrm family, the Life Ender was his only constant company, so it means a lot to him.

[mostremote]

@traveling-khajiit: How quickly do you realize that chapter needs a rewrite? Is it easy for you to make those decisions of what to throw out/change?

Well, I am an extremely messy writer. I almost never sit down to write a chapter beginning to end. I write scenes, moments, snatches of conversation, then develop them out. This means that I do sometimes end up writing several different versions of the same scene and have to combine or delete them. Not very efficient but that is just how my brain works. Final drafts are all about the vibe and rhythm and atmosphere and I cut what jars. Most of the stuff that gets cut that I like ends up somewhere else in the story.

There are some scenes that never made it in anywhere. Here's some extracts from those.

In "Bombs", there was originally a scene with them talking in the rose garden. But it just repeated the beats of what they discuss later, when he gives her the knife, so I didn't keep it.

There was a scene where Snow hosts a dinner party and the guy Katniss is chatting with thinks she's basically a sex worker and grabs her thigh, and Katniss stabs him with a fork. That was fun, but it didn't accomplish much that "Killings" didn't already accomplish, and it was hard to imagine anyone would be stupid enough at that point to grab the thigh of the president's wife.

The mayor of District 2 puts his hand on her thigh. Katniss has two thoughts. The first thought is: Only Snow touches me like that. The second thought is: The forks are the closest weapon. She doesn’t think about the rest. It’s pure instinct to reach out, grab a little fork, and drive it with all the force she possesses into the man’s large, spider-body hand. And then he’s screaming, and everybody is looking at them: first in alarm, then in confusion. ‘You bitch!’ shouts the man. ‘You fucking stabbed me! You crazy bitch!’ All eyes are now on Katniss. She regards them with the same coolness she has watched Snow employ a thousand times. ‘He put his hand on my thigh,’ she says; and then, in case this is not sufficient, she clarifies: ‘Only my husband is allowed to do that.’

There was a scene where they ate breakfast together and Katniss was in full dissociation mode. (I remember having my biggest anxiety attack writing that one.)

Pancakes again. Katniss turns them over with her fork, over and over. They’re always making her pancakes. Is it because they know her mother made them? Is it to try to make her feel better, remind her of home? Or hurt her? Make her miss what she can’t have? She cuts them into little pieces and makes towers. She builds the town hall of District 12 and the square, and she smiles as she makes the street with the bakery. She imagines Peeta, coming and going from the little pancake house. He would think it was funny to live in a pancake.

Sulla dress scene was funny:

She turns her back to Snow. ‘Unzip me?’ ‘What? No.’ The refusal comes too fast. There is that edge of discomfort in his voice that even at his most guarded he is unable to suppress. Katniss keeps smiling. She shrugs. ‘Okay.’ She opens the hovercraft door and sticks out her head. ‘Sulla?’ she calls. Snow sits and watches and does an admirable job concealing whatever he’s feeling as his head of security appears at the doorframe. ‘Ma’am?’ Katniss presents him with her back. ‘Sulla, would you unzip my dress?’ There is a moment of silence which must surely be the most uncomfortable of Sulla’s life as he tries to process this request and analyze the situation. Snow gives a sharp sigh. ‘Get out, Sulla.’ Obviously relieved, Sulla nods his curt goodbye and leaves rather more quickly than he entered. Katniss smiles. She waits expectantly as Snow comes to stand behind her. She can feel his breath on the back of her neck, she can smell him. She feels a shift in the fabric as Snow pinches it, finding the zip, trying not to touch any other part of her back. ‘You don’t like other men touching me, do you?’ ‘Not particularly.’ ‘Why?’ She hears the sing of the zip and feels the pressure of her dress freeing her, and then she feels Snow’s presence retract. She turns and sees him sit again, keeping away from her, as though air and distance will be sufficient to cure the terrible cancer brewing between them. ‘You’re my wife. It’s not seemly for other men to touch you.’ His voice is absolutely immaculate.

And I also cut a lot of sexual stuff, Katniss masturbating, Katniss harassing Snow, them having to make out for the cameras, Katniss dressing very provocatively, lots of stuff. I didn't want it to get gratuitous though so lots of that got cut.

[callmewrinkles3]

Foreword of Dan’s Book

I hope you all know that Daniel is still not good being bored, even ten years after retiring. Yes, we live in a farm and have three kids and life is incredibly busy. We never complained, not even on the hard days when we were exhausted because we knew just how fortunate we are. We love our daughters and son and we’re so, so lucky to have them and a beautiful life.

But some days the kids go to school and it’s quiet and easier. Depending on the day it feels like I have four kids instead of three purely thanks to Dan. We love being parents and we love having fun with them and they’re good kids. It’s Danny’s (and mine as well) pride and joy to go outside running around with them and playing whatever random game they want to play.

I’m not joking when I tell you that being a dad is Dan’s favourite thing in the world. He’s the happiest man you could imagine when he’s riding bikes with them in the dirt. He’s happy being a dad in general. Changing nappies, too early mornings, complicated long nights when each child wants something different, telling the same story hundreds of times. You name it, he loves it (And for the record, his favorite bedtime story is Sleeping Beauty). Normally our days are busy and running around with the kids and whatever work obligations we have, him locked in his office doing a podcast or an interview. So when he told me one morning that he wanted to write a book I really thought he was joking. But again, he’s not good at being bored.

I thought it was a really bad idea at the very beginning. Our lives are completely different to what you might imagine. We’ve a normal life on the farm in Perth, the kids go to a normal school and it’s the parents who are more excited when Dan goes in for “What does your parent do for work day” than the kids. We never liked having the spotlight on our personal lives and knew that when we had kids and Dan chose to retire, we would return to Perth full-time. Now that Dan isn’t in the spotlight every week we get to have peace and quiet and it’s what I prefer. We get to be the Ricciardos and sometimes someone will ask “Oh, like that racing driver?” and that’s perfect to me.

I love my family more than anything and when my darling husband came up with this idea of writing a book my immediate thought was “What is this going to do?”. Our kids know what Dan did. Our eldest spent the first two years of her life in F1 paddocks, and all of them have been to multiple races. They know their dad raced fast cars and won pretty trophies and was the best driver in the world. But they don’t know the details.

They don’t know how hard an awful lot of it was. We were and are privileged beyond belief, but when the media are screaming your name it’s incredibly difficult. They don’t know about the online comments and the way people talked about their dad as if they knew him. It’s our job as parents to protect them and as their mum, there are some things that I didn’t know if I wanted them to know. A book is permanent. This book contains details about our life we’ve never revealed to even our closest friends and family and I didn’t want the kids finding out about it here.

But thinking about it made me realise maybe this is a good idea. Or at least not a bad one. There’s some stuff here that you’re gonna read about Dan’s life and it might make you think a little more. And maybe you read this looking for gossip (there’s not a lot of that, he’s almost too fair to people) and that’s fine too. But maybe there’s a kid reading this and thinking that if a lanky, curly haired kid from the city in Australia most people forget about could make his dream come true then maybe they can as well. And if you are that kid I believe in you.

Before I even said yes about it, Dan was already doing it. I got home from work that same afternoon and he’d written three pages about when we first met and I realised he wanted to do it. It’s one of his favourite stories to tell our kids before they go to bed (without some of the details about just how many beers we had that night) so I wasn’t surprised he decided to start there. When I read it after the kids were asleep and saw how happy and proud of himself he was I knew there was just one thing I needed to do.

So I did what I’ve always done for him and he’s done for me. I gave him a kiss and told him I support him.

You all got to see Daniel Ricciardo in front of the cameras, but I’m the lucky one who’s gotten to see the man behind them too. And to be fair, he’s basically the same in front of a microphone as when he’s at home. But I get to live and be in love with the man who’s an expert at making breakfast but a complete disaster at making dinner. I’ve gotten to spend nearly two decades of my life listening to his ridiculous jokes that make him laugh more than I do. But then his laugh makes me laugh so we’re good.

He’s never hidden who he is to the public, but I just hope that after you read this you get to know a little bit about my favorite racing driver in the world, but also the best man I’ve ever known.

Emma Riccardo.