#color jitter is my new best friend

[ultrainfinitepit]

Chipping away at that Sam piece

[knmaskitten]

Love me back ⊹ ♡

Pairing: Kageyama Tobio/ afab!reader.

Summary: inspired by love me back by fromis_9. You moved to your new house thanks to college, and one day, as you were preparing to deliver a gift to your neighbour, you encountered said person, Kageyama Tobio. After that, you keep longing to bump into him and slowly get him to correspond to your feelings. But when that does not happen, you plan a scheme with your best friend as the ultimate test to see if Tobio likes you or not.

warnings/tags: afab!fem reader. No use of y/n. Neighbours to lovers. Kageyama really is bad at expressing love. Reader is head over heels. A little bit of physical descriptions but nothing specific like hair color, length, etc. You use Oikawa Tooru to make Kageyama jealous. Oikawa is your best friend.

notes: I wanted to write this since so long ago, Kageyama is one of my favorite boys. As always, this was not proof read so I apologize for any bad grammar. Not necessary but english is my second language so have that in mind while reading. As always my AO3 is here (I post there first).

wc: 2,500

It was so utterly frustrating having to look at him all day long, knowing how your heart wanted to escape your ribcage every time you exchanged glances with his dark ocean eyes. You longed to see him every day, whether the sun was at its highest or lowest. You wanted to see him. For him to notice you and to exchange more than just “Hi” or “How are you?”. You’re sure you would have a stroke if he ever said something related to your outfits, which you carefully picked whenever you were going to “accidentally” bump into him.

Being neighbours with Kageyama was going to be the death of you. Your anxiety went through the roof when you thought about him, which was no bueno. Your cortisol levels were so high that your therapist advised you to finally blurt out a confession to him so you could be let out of this misery. But no, you were not that kind of girl anymore. All your life, you were the one who always had to confess to everybody, and you hated not being the one being confessed to. This had a huge impact on your self-esteem and made you doubt if you were loveable enough to be even considered a lover.

You were a nice lover, you thought. It isn’t like you haven’t dated anyone before this crush. Your first boyfriend, Marco, was a nice guy™ and you two had a very nice relationship. The thing is, your first relationship was just nice—not passionate, not vehement, not ardent, not fervent—nothing. Just nice. And it was rare to feel what you felt towards Kageyama; you were sure it wasn’t just infatuation; you could already feel what it really was and what it really meant. 

You were Kageyama’s right-side neighbour. You moved by yourself, next to where he lived, a few years ago because of college. You met him on your second day in your new home. He was returning from practise; he looked sweaty and tired. He had a jacket that said “Japan” on it, a volleyball ball on his right hand, and his sports bag on his shoulder. His hair was dark and messy, giving him a certain kind of freshness. You were casually walking towards his house, a friendly gift on your hands, hoping to form good bonds with your neighbours.

He observed you carefully and analyzed you, as if he were searching for something else behind your clear intentions. He did not smile at you, but he did stop walking to face you fully, silently questioning you. So you nervously replied:

“I’m…I’m your new neighbour!” You tried not to yell, but your words came out a lot louder than you intended to. This made you feel wobbly, with the tray in your hands threatening to fall to the ground. “I made some strawberry shortcake for you.” You pointed with your head towards the tray; it was a cute, soft pink platter with a ribbon design. It was trembling slightly thanks to your jitters.

“Thank you.” He bowed towards you, his hair moving with its movements. You paid attention to how his muscles flexed and then relaxed, creating wrinkles in his jacket and sports shorts. “I’m sorry, I don’t have anything for you.”

“That’s not necessary; this was just a small gesture. You dont have to give me anything, really.” You blurted your verbiage out without thinking. What was going on? You usually weren’t this awkward with people. You had confidence, which you slowly but surely cultivated through the years, and it was really hard for your ego to accept that a mere boy could have this impact on you.

He was a handsome boy with knowing eyes; his eyes were hungry to analyze the world around him, and the profound, dark blue ocean that his eyes were had you wanting to explore every nook and cranny in them. He was taller than you—almost 20 centimeters taller, giving him a certain kind of power over you. He had a toned and muscular figure, which coincided with the fact that he was a volleyball player, which you admired. You guessed he played in the Japanese volleyball league, making him a professional at what he did. And that was so interesting.

It just occurred to you that he perfectly could have rejected your dessert, given the fact that he needs to eat well and your shortcake was considered junk food. This fact struck your heart like lightning, making you feel butterflies in your stomach. He looked at you expectantly, waiting for you to pass him the tray. It seems you were in awe for too long because he gave you a frown.

“Right, sorry, here you go.” 

"Later.” He said while walking towards his house, leaving you perplexed.

That was the first time you two had any interaction. You took every opportunity you had to talk to him: sometimes you needed sugar, other times you needed a kitchen supply he had, and one time you needed help grabbing something from the top of your kitchen cabinets that you couldn’t reach. Other times you nonchalantly waited outside your home, seemingly sweeping your entrance, while you knew he would return from practise around this hour.

One particular time, he looked strangely dazed and out of tune, which you knew (by observing him so much) was weird. You had your broom on your hand, and the leaves in the cement were in a little pile right to your feet. You kept looking at him without a care in the world, scrutinizing him. This did not go unnoticed by him.

“Do I have something in my face?” He straightforwardly said, making eye contact with you. His back was ever so slightly arched and his hair was sticking to his forehead. His blue eyes were lit up with annoyance.

“Kageyama-kun, are you alright? You look out of it.” Worry seeped out of your words, a tender breeze brushing your hair.

“N—no! I mean, yes! I’m fine” He replied a little bit flustered, like he didn’t expect you to read him so well.

You left your broom on the side of your fence and you started walking towards him until you faced him. Face to face, he had to arch his back a little bit more to look at your eyes, which were full of a weird determination.

“Kageyama-kun I know I’m not your friend, but I can help you if you desire; I’m right next to you, and I swear I will do my best.” You stated that you were dead set on helping him out; even if he rejected your offer, you wanted to let him know you were worried about him. The sun shone on the right side of his face, highlighting his skin in a dance of light and shadows. This made time slow down around you, leaving just the two of you in this odd bubble you created.

“I…” He pouted, averting his gaze from yours as he frowned. “I just had a bad practise, that’s all.” He reluctantly said it in a mumble.

With all the will and courage you could possibly muster up, you walked even closer to him and gave him a big, tight hug, mumbling in a low and serene tone, “You’re still an amazing player.”

He trembled and then squished out of your hug, flustered. “I know!” he yelled, pointing to you with his index finger. ”I won’t lose!”

Kageyama was never socially good, and he was even less good with friends. So he did what he knew best: yell and challenge. You stood still, thinking you fucked up, your feelings bubbling in the pit of your stomach as anxiety started to gain a strong presence in you.

“S—sorry.” You muttered before walking rapidly towards your home, obviously not before taking your broom with you. You stopped on your heels, turned towards him and gave him a bow “Excuse me!” You yelled, leaving him there.

And after that, you both exchanged conversations that tacitly had something behind them. You sometimes thought Kageyama hated you and other times that he merely had to stand your presence, but once you thought he saw you as something else. You wanted him to look at you the way you looked at him, to long for your presence like you did his, to analyze your figure and eyes like you did his. To invite you on a damn date! If he didn’t hurry, you were going to finally accept the advances of a guy at your college.

In the battle of egos, you were not going to lose; you had a strong resolve, and that was: Kageyama had to confess to you. And it is not like you didn’t do anything to achieve this; you kept giving him gifts and kept advising him when he looked troubled. You secretly loved when he gave you attention, even if it was just crumbs. You had the opportunity to know a little bit more about him in every exchange you guys had, craving every chance you had of getting his attention. The feeling of his eyes on you, looking at only you with a certain kind of intent.

This went on for about six months—six long months of crumbs. And you were so not having it that you managed to get Kageyama’s phone number and his socials (you always waited for him to text or call you, but he never did, so you reluctantly had to be the one to initiate the conversation), but even then, you were not certain as to what he felt for you. Did he love you as well? Did he hate you? You were so nervous, uncertainty filling your body to the brim.

So, you decided to do a scheme with your best friend, Oikawa Tooru. This was evil in many ways, as you knew the rivalry Tobio had with your best friend. You met Tooru on a trip to your aunt’s house in Miyagi, and after a weirdly funny encounter, you two hit it off as best friends. You rarely met, but this was no excuse for how close you two grew together. It really was a coincidence that the “stupid setter from Karasuno” that Oikawa often talked about turned out to be Kageyama, which was stupidly funny.

You definitely were not the type to do these type of schemes, but you were desperate. You needed at least a glance that said I love you—a lovingly full of attention glance. And this fact also ashamed you; a guy had you craving attention; he had you in the palm of his hand, and he was so oblivious to it. This simply made you furious; you were not one to give into a guy this easily, and it made you angry that he didn’t show any signs.

So, you decided to carry out your plan. You called Oikawa and discussed with him:

“Tooru-chan, accept, please.” You pleaded.

“Using me! Huh! And to make Tobio-chan jealous! Him, of all people!” He said, frustrated and a little bit offended. “Why him, dear? Why him?”

“Please, Tooru, he means a lot to me.”

“But he is an idiot if you have to go to these lengths to get his attention.” He scolded you.

“But, Tooru, I love him!” You cried over the phone.

There was a brief silence on the other line; you could only hear the faint sound of static.

“You are lucky I’m in Japan right now.” He said, resigning to your plan.

“I love you, Tooru! You’re amazing!” 

Happily, you hung up the phone. The plan was as follows: he was going to pick you up for a “date” at the time Tobio arrived home from practise, and then you two were actually going to go out because Oikawa asked to at least have some real time with his best friend. So you texted him with the date and time he had to be at your front door. You insisted on him looking extra handsome that day and reacted with, “I’m always extra handsome! >:c” .

When the day came, you decided to pamper yourself. You wore makeup today; you wore a light pink eyeshadow that highlighted your eyes, applying a little bit of glitter at the center of your lid. You carefully placed your blush to make you look naturally flushed. You did your winged liner and used mascara. You successfully enhanced your natural beauty. You left your hair down, as it was what you were most comfortable with. You wanted to look cute, so you picked a white, flowy dress that made you shine. You paired it with black Mary Jane shoes and white socks, as well as a pearly necklace with a purple gem. 

At six thirty, your door bell rang and a text bubble appeared on the screen of your phone: “Open the door, dummy.” . And so you hurried up. You put your phone in your black purse and grabbed a black jacket to pair your dress with. You ran downstairs towards the door and opened it very happily.

“Tooru!” you exclaimed, excited. As you hugged your friend tightly, you peeked over his shoulder and saw Kageyama’s figure approaching. You whispered, "Ok, Tooru, let’s do it. Kageyama’s coming”

You knew you were going to get a reaction from him, but not this one. He stopped, looking between you and Oikawa; he got the clue instantly as he saw you both well dressed. You could swear you saw fire coming out of him.

“Oikawa.” He said it in a low tone, angrily.

“Tobio-chan!” He cheerfully replied.

“What are you doing with her? How do you know her?” He blurted out, arching his brow, walking closer to you.

“Going on a date. Not that its any of your business.” Oikawa gave him an annoyed smile.

“No, you’re not.” You swear you and Oikawa are still in your places, surprised by this. Your heart started to race. 

“You’re not fair!” You yelled at him, feeling overwhelmed. “You ignore me, then forbid me from going on a date?”

“I…its just…I." He started.

“You what?”

He then walked towards you fully, and taking you by the shoulders, he kissed you passionately. His hands were not moving, and you were so stunned that it took you a second to correspond with him. Oikawa stood still, a little awkward. He decided to slowly walk towards your door and leave you two to it. He was still going to have his time with you nonetheless.

“Oikawa is not the right guy for you. I am. I think I love you. I want you.”

You didn’t say anything, as those words were the one thing you wanted to hear the most, for the longest of times. And you had it now, and it felt amazingly odd; it was a new feeling that meant your love was reciprocated. 

“Oikawa is my best friend. I love you, idiot.”

And then you hugged him, and this time he hugged you back.

Thank you for reading <3

masterlist and more.

[dystopicjumpsuit]

Hey, Sunshine 💙

A/N: Wishing the happiest birthday to my beloved @sunshinesdaydream!

Pairing: Hardcase x Reader (GN; Reader has a nickname)

Rating: T but minors DNI as always

Wordcount: 1.1k

Warnings and tags: fluff; kissing; Star Wars swearing

Summary: Hardcase has a birthday surprise for you.

Suggested listening:

Masterlist | Sign up for my tag list

Three hours, twenty-two minutes, and thirty-seven seconds. 

That's how long you had left until you'd officially be on shore leave. A whole week off. No handing out uniforms; no listening to sheepish explanations about how exactly a trooper ended up with an undersuit three sizes too small (HOW?!); no defending your distribution numbers in pointless meetings with your supervisor. Just five days, all to yourself. You could do anything you wanted. 

Well. Almost anything.

You finished taking stock of the Resolute’s uniform inventory and sent a quick comm to the supply officer to let her know the ship was running low on socks—again—while you tried not to think about a certain heavy gunner with the sweetest eyes and the prettiest ink in the GAR. The truth, which you would never admit even under pain of torture, was that you'd happily skip shore leave if it meant you'd get to spend more time with him.

But you couldn't, so you didn't.

Instead, you'd be spending the week on Coruscant, NOT with Hardc—your friends, which was FINE. It was absolutely FINE, and you were excited to finally have some free time, and maybe it sucked just a tiny bit that you'd be spending your birthday alone in a hotel room in the mid-levels, but it was FINE. There was plenty to do on Coruscant, after all. You were sure you'd be able to find something—

“Hey, Sunshine.”

You shrieked and jumped in surprise as the voice sounded close behind you.

“Hardcase, you scared the kark out of me!” you gasped, smacking him in the chest with a compression suit and doing your best to ignore the way the world suddenly seemed a little bit brighter. “What are you doing here? Don't tell me you lit your dress uniform on fire again.”

“That was two times!” he exclaimed, affronted. “It's not like I did it on purpose.”

“Then why are you here instead of getting ready to paint the Entertainment District red?”

He eyed the compression suit warily. “If I tell you, are you going to hit me with that thing again?”

“Depends on what you say,” you replied with a cheeky smile.

Apparently unwilling to take any chances, he took the suit from you and folded it neatly, then set it aside. When he turned back to you, he looked almost… nervous? That was new; you'd never seen him display anything less than well-deserved confidence. He licked his lips, and with an effort so heroic that you mentally awarded yourself a medal, you kept your gaze steadily on his eyes instead of staring at his mouth.

“I, uh, have something for you,” he said. He fumbled in one of his many pouches—why do they have so many pouches?—and produced a small box wrapped in colorful flimsi. “It's nothing much, just, er—happy birthday, Sunshine.”

He shoved the box toward you and looked away quickly. Surprised, you accepted the gift and examined it curiously as Hardcase watched out of the corner of his eye. On closer inspection, you saw that the flimsi was covered in hand-drawn geometric patterns in your favorite colors, and your heart gave a strange little thump at the thoughtfulness and effort he'd put in.

“How’d you know my birthday was coming up?” you asked.

“I have my ways,” he said in a dignified tone that was utterly subverted by the eager expression on his face.

“So mysterious!” you laughed.

He grinned. “A mystery, wrapped in an enigma—”

“Shrouded in flimsi,” you finished.

“Exactly. Now open it!”

“But the mystery!” you teased.

“Mysteries are meant to be solved. Open it!”

He was practically vibrating, his earlier jitters obliterated by anticipation. Unable to resist tormenting him (just a little, as a treat), you took your time to unwrap the box, painstakingly avoiding tearing the flimsi. Once you had it completely unwrapped, you held up the flimsi and admired the artwork.

“Hardcase, this really is gorgeous. I didn't know you could draw like this.”

“Kriff the flimsi, open the box! I know you're doing this on purpose.”

With one final, mischievous smile, you complied. Your breath caught when you saw what was inside: a simple cord necklace, and on it, a crystal pendant that flashed purple and green in the light, intricately wrapped in silver wire.

“It's beautiful,” you whispered. “Did you make this?”

He nodded. “I found the crystal on Saleucami. Reminded me of you.”

“Saleucami was months ago,” you replied, confused.

“I know.” 

Your eyes flitted from his face to the necklace and back again. On impulse, and before you could lose your nerve, you asked, “Can you help me put it on?”

He didn't reply, but he stepped closer to you and picked up the necklace. He fumbled with the clasp a bit and paused to tug off his gloves with his teeth. Once he got the clasp open, he lifted the necklace and fastened it gently around your neck, his calloused fingers ghosting lightly over your skin.

Maker, he smells so good, it's not kriffing fair, you mused, trying to refrain from huffing him like glue.

“Thanks.” Your voice sounded suspiciously hoarse, even to your own ears.

His thumb stroked softly down the side of your neck.

“Hey, Sunshine?” he whispered.

You swallowed, suddenly feeling a little lightheaded. “Yeah?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Your breath stuttered to a halt. “... Yeah.”

His eyes dropped to your lips, and he slowly closed the distance between the two of you. As his hand slid around to cup the back of your head, your heart hammered so hard you were sure he must be able to feel it. He glanced back up at your eyes, as though looking for confirmation that you wanted this, and whatever he saw there seemed to satisfy him. His lips touched yours softly, his kiss achingly tender at first. Then you brushed the tip of your tongue against his lips, and he drew in a sharp breath, pulling you tightly against himself.

How many times had you imagined kissing Hardcase? Dozens? Hundreds? It didn't matter, because none of them even came close to the reality. He kissed you like you were the only being in the galaxy, like you were his entire world. When at last you drew away, breathless and dizzy, he whispered your name—your real name—like a plea, quiet and reverent.

His thumb traced around the shell of your ear. He nuzzled your cheek, then pressed his lips to the corner of your mouth one more time.

“Been wantin’ to do that forever,” he murmured against your skin.

“What took you so long?” you asked in a hushed tone.

“Didn't want to kark it up,” he replied. 

“Oh,” you whispered. “Well. You didn't.”

He held you close to him, his breath soft and warm across your face as his fingertips drew tiny circles in the downy hairs just where the back of your neck met your head. After a moment, he spoke quietly.

“Did you have plans for shore leave? Because if not, I have a few ideas.”

---

Looking for more Hardcase fluff? Check out my ficlet, “A Question of Seman-dicks.”

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[romione-trope-fest]

Title: The Storm before the Calm

Author: my-patronus-is-a-champagne-glass

Selected Trope: Weasley Weddings

Brief summary: As Ron navigates the storm of pre-wedding jitters and the playful banter of Harry and his brothers, his quest for a private moment with Hermione intensifies with each passing minute. In the end a clandestine private first look is the ultimate antidote to his jangled nerves.

Rating: G

Word count: 8,320 words

Trigger warnings: -

Ron took a deep breath as he stood in front of the mirror in his old attic bedroom. His mother had insisted he spend the night in the old creaking wooden bed. Upon arriving yesterday, the first thing he had done was ask his dad to remove two huge spiders from the ancient roofbeams.

The room felt strange, somewhat unfamiliar. The vibrant orange walls pressed in, almost suffocating him. Had they always been so vividly orange? It was a mystery how he had endured this color all these years. Ron was still a strong supporter of the Cannons, but aside from shirts to support his beloved club and his distinctive ginger hair, the color orange no longer played a significant role in his life.

He ran his fingers through his hair, as a wave of memories flooded his mind. It seemed like just yesterday that they had been planning their mission in this very room until very late in the night. The war had ended more than three years ago and today, he was about to marry the brilliant bushy-haired witch who had been his constant through it all.

As he adjusted his tie, Ron’s mind replayed their journey – all the ups and downs of the past. His love for her was a steady flame that had grown from the embers of friendship and could weather even the strongest storms of life. A tender smile played on his lips and a profound warmth spread through his chest as he imagined Hermione in a beautiful white gown.

He wanted her to be his wife more than anything, to officially start this new chapter of their lives but the nerves tugged at him and he felt his hands get sweatier and his knees grow weaker by the minute. The impending chaos of the day, the countless guests, and the grandeur of the wedding ceremony somehow felt overwhelmingly daunting. He didn’t need all this fuss, all these elaborate decorations, all these people. All he craved was her.

The more Ron stared at himself, the more the mirror seemed to reflect not only his appearance but also his internal struggle. As he stood there, looking at himself, a gentle knock on the old door disrupted his thoughts. It creaked open to reveal Harry, his jet black hair disheveled as usual, clad in a white dress shirt, black dress robes, and curiously, a pair of grey sweatpants.

Ron raised an eyebrow. “Nice outfit choice, mate.”

Harry grinned, seemingly unfazed. “Well, your mother insisted my trousers weren’t well-pressed enough,” he explained, glancing down at the sweatpants. “She practically forced me to take them off so she could iron them again.”

“She’s mental,” Ron answered and managed a weak smile, but Harry’s keen eyes swiftly caught the pallor on Ron’s face.

“Are you alright? You look a bit peaky.”

“Yeah.” Ron took a deep breath, attempting to shake off the nerves. “It’s just...you know, a bit overwhelming.”

His gaze involuntarily drifted to the window, revealing all the extravagant decorations outside, their opulence feeling suffocating rather than celebratory.

Harry’s eyes softened, and he pulled out a chair, sitting down backwards, facing his best friend.

“Do you want to, you know, talk about it or do I get you a glass of Ogden’s to calm your nerves?” Harry offered.

“No alcohol until after the ceremony. I promised Hermione that,” Ron chuckled nervously, absentmindedly fidgeting with the edges of his robes. “I just... I can’t believe it’s happening, you know?”

“But it’s good, right?” Harry asked cautiously. “I mean, you’re not getting cold - ?”

“Of course not!” Ron interrupted. “It’s just…dunno…so many people.” A wave of nausea surged through him, signaling his intensifying nerves.”I’m feeling sick.”

He let out a deep breath, as he imagined himself in the spotlight of the impending ceremony. “I never thought I’d have to deal with so many people watching me get married. It feels like I’ll be under a microscope, and every move will be dissected.”

“Welcome to my life,” Harry chuckled, and with a casual flick of his wand, a glass on the nightstand soared into his hand. Water poured gracefully from his wand into the glass, which zipped into Ron’s hand moments later.

“Have some water. You’ll be fine.”

Ron, feeling the need to move, shifted uncomfortably and began pacing the room. The old floorboards creaked under his socked feet, as he shook his head, trying to dispel the overwhelming thoughts.

“I feel like I might just pass out or something.”

Harry leaned back on the chair with an amused grin playing on his lips, his gaze following Ron’s anxious pacing.

“Have some water and try to calm down.”

With a shaky breath Ron raised his sweaty hand to his mouth and took a sip from the glass but the water only intensified the uneasy feeling in his stomach. It wasn’t that he had cold feet, quite the opposite. He couldn’t wait to call her his wife. It was more about the wedding itself. He was so worried about the ceremony, about all the prying eyes watching them, that he just wanted to get it over with.

A few years ago, he would have eagerly embraced the spotlight, having felt overshadowed by both Harry and his siblings practically all the time. However, since the war had ended, turning them into overnight celebrities, Ron wanted nothing more than to disappear whenever reporters were around. Adjusting to being featured on tabloids and magazines, especially with his relationship with Hermione handed to the public on a silver platter, had taken him a considerable amount of time.

“Bloody hell, will you stop pacing! You’re going to wear a hole in the floor,” Harry warned, attempting to be the voice of reason. “You’re making me dizzy and I haven’t even had a drink yet!”

“I can’t help it. I’m so nervous,” Ron muttered, placing the water glass he still clutched onto the nightstand.

“Why? She’d marry you in a bloody potato bag in the middle of the Forbidden Forest.”

Ron rotated his aching shoulders in a circle, attempting to alleviate the tension that clung to them. Nervously, he tugged at the cuff of his dress robes, the fabric now seeming uncomfortably tight, as if it had shrunk two sizes in the span of a moment.

“I need to see her. I can’t wait any longer. I really need to see her before. I need her or else I’ll probably faint right then and there in front of everyone and it’ll be all over the press.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Bullshit, you won’t faint. I have never heard of anyone fainting at their wedding.”

Ron shot him a look. “This is different, okay? I just...Fuck, I just need to see her. I need to make sure she’s really doing this.”

His pacing halted briefly as he stopped to rub his hands over his face.

“What if she changes her mind? I don’t know, it’s probably barmy but it’s so hard to believe that someone would willingly choose me. I just need to see her.”

Harry raised an incredulous eyebrow, his expression contorting into a weird grimace.

“Are you mental? Did you find a spare locket somewhere, and decided to wear it around your neck or something? Can you hear yourself talking?”

“I just need to know that she really wants to do this.”

“Come off it! Why the fuck wouldn’t she? You aren’t really afraid she’s getting cold feet? That’s bloody ridiculous!”

“No, yes, I…I don’t know…fuck…I don’t think so. I just…fuck…I just really want to see her.”

“If you keep pacing like this, you might just break through the bloody floor and land right in Gin’s room, where Hermione is getting ready. Maybe that’s your plan all along.”

“Does anyone feel like this right before?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “How the fuck should I know? Your stubborn sister keeps telling me she doesn’t want to marry.”

“She’ll get there.”

“Seriously, Ron. Sit down. You’ll see her soon enough, and trust me, she’s going to take your breath away. I’ve seen the dress.”

It seemed as if the whole bloody family had already seen the dress, and Ron was the only one still left in the dark. The mystery gnawed at him, intensifying his need to see her and unravel the enigma of the cryptic wedding gown that had apparently already captivated everyone’s attention. In his mind, Ron had pictured the dress a hundred times already. He was sure Hermione wouldn’t opt for a pompous ball gown. She was more likely to choose something elegant and understated, probably with a bit of lace, but devoid of unnecessary extravagance.

“Sit down, Ron,” Harry repeated, ripping him from his thoughts.

Ron hesitated but finally lowered himself onto the bed with a shaky breath, his jittery fingers still fidgeting with the collar of his dress robes.

“Why are you so nervous?” Harry asked with an amused grin, playfully rocking his chair backward. Before Ron could answer, Harry’s smirk vanished only a second later when he nearly tipped over with his chair.

Just then, the door creaked open, and Bill, clad in dark blue dress robes, his ginger hair in a neat ponytail, entered the room.

“Merlin’s beard, you won’t believe what Mum just did,” the eldest Weasley brother exclaimed, rubbing his ear. “She practically tried to rip my earring out, claiming it’s inappropriate for a wedding.”

Harry laughed out loud, “I feel you. She made me take off my trousers to iron them. At breakfast she took a swipe at my hair, and wanted to give me a tidy trim. Good thing Arthur rescued me.”

“She’s ten times worse than Fleur, and Fleur’s pregnant!”

“We should’ve just eloped,” Ron mumbled.

Bill noticed his brother’s grim expression, “Something bothering you?”

“He has the jitters,” Harry interjected, shooting Ron a knowing look.

A momentary sympathy crossed Bill’s gaze. “Oh, I know that feeling. But don’t worry, once you see her walking down that aisle, everything else will fade away. Don’t forget to pack the tissues, because it might bring a tear to your eye.”

Ron’s eyes widened, a sudden surge of panic taking hold as Bill’s words sank in. The realization hit him like a bludger straight to the gut, and he felt the knot in his stomach tighten even more. All those people - family, friends, superiors, coworkers, politicians and the bloody reporters - all those eyes would witness him turn into a blubbering mess before Hermione even reached the altar.

The mere thought of it made his palms grow sweaty and beads of nervous sweat form on his forehead. His throat suddenly felt very dry, constricted by the heightening anxiety building up inside him. In a desperate move, Ron snatched the forgotten water glass from his nightstand and chugged its entire contents, the cool liquid unfortunately doing little to quell his discomfort.

“Bloody hell, I’m feeling even worse now. All these people are going to see me cry like a baby.”

Bill chuckled, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. ”Would that be so bad? That’s what people do at weddings, right? That’s the magic of it. Embrace the emotions.”

As his brother spoke, more beads of sweat formed on Ron’s forehead. The room abruptly felt uncomfortably stifling, and his fingers instinctively moved to the upper buttons of his dress shirt, desperately seeking relief. Hastily, he undid the upper two buttons, as a burning wave of heat started creeping up his back.

It wasn’t that he was afraid to show emotions, it was the fear of becoming the center of attention, of exposing his vulnerability to the world. Hermione deserved better than a blubbering mess of a groom, Ron pondered, as he wrestled with his own twisted expectations of masculinity and the desire to make this day perfect for the woman he loved beyond words.

“I’m so hot,” he mumbled. “Who decided you can’t get married in jeans and a t-shirt?”

“You can get married in jeans and a t-shirt. If your mother isn’t Molly Weasley,” Bill stated dryly. “Calm down, mate. You look like you want to back out.”

“No, of course not!” Ron turned around, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. “It’s just...all these people!” He gestured towards the window, while proceeding to fidget with his tie. The heat wrapped around him like a second skin, intensifying the tension as he grappled with the suffocating atmosphere in the room.

Noticing Ron’s discomfort, Bill turned to Harry, who skillfully twirled his wand between his fingers. “Open the window and let in some fresh air. Seems like our groom here is on the verge of melting.”

Harry pointed his wand at the window, which creaked open a second later, allowing a gentle breeze to sweep into the room. The fresh air brushed against Ron’s sweaty skin like a soothing balm, momentarily alleviating the stifling heat and providing him with a bit of relief.

“Better?”

“Loads,” Ron murmured, inhaling deeply. “But it doesn’t change that I really want to see her now.”

“Mum’s going to kill you,” Bill remarked, a grin playing on his lips.

Why was it that couples were supposed to stay apart the night before the wedding and avoid seeing each other before the ceremony? Was it an old superstition passed down through generations, or perhaps only his mother’s ancient convention? Ron didn’t believe in bad luck. The idea of adhering to these traditions felt antiquated, breaking these customs most definitely wouldn’t have any effect on the success of the marriage. Walking down the aisle together, hand in hand, seemed like a more genuine way to approach this significant moment, rather than conforming to the conventional norm of the best man escorting the groom and the father of the bride accompanying the bride. The more he considered it, the more he questioned the necessity of these age-old customs. In hindsight, he should have been more vocal about it during the wedding planning. However, at the time, thoughts about how to approach the altar hadn’t really crossed his mind. The meticulous planning of other details had consumed so much time that he hadn’t spared a thought on this aspect. Tradition seemed like the default approach, but realizing his feelings now, Ron wished he had spoken up. If he had known back then how he felt in this moment, he would have been more assertive about challenging those ancient customs.

“Seriously, Hermione’s going to be a widow before she even gets the chance to say I do.”

“Maybe I’ll just do that and let Mum hurt me so we can get married privately in a hospital room.”

Letting out a hearty laugh, the eldest Weasley brother walked into the room, his laughter echoing from the orange walls. With a loud sigh, Bill flopped down next to Ron on the bed dramatically, the old mattress creaking in protest.

“I do understand you. There are quite a few people watching you, but you’ll get through it. It’ll be great once the official part is over. And just remember, Hermione’s probably as nervous as you are.”

“Bill’s right.” Harry nodded and searched Bill’s gaze while Ron fell back on his back, drawing in a shuddering breath.

Somehow, what his brother had just expressed made him ponder the possibility of Hermione being just as jittery as he was. The thought of it felt remarkably comforting. Ron briefly pictured her, dressed in a beautiful white gown, how she tried to navigate her own fluttering emotions while standing in front of a mirror in Ginny’s room. With this mental image, he attempted to steady his own anxious thoughts. They were in this together. And to be honest, Hermione, as the bride, would definitely bear even more of the spotlight, because wedding talk invariably revolved around the dress, the hairstyle, the presence or absence of a veil, and any other intricate detail. And yet, deep down, Ron’s biggest fear lingered - it was the mere thought of shedding tears in front of everyone that made another wave of nausea wash over him.

A resounding groan filled the air, and it took a fleeting moment for Ron to grasp that the sound had involuntarily slipped from him.

“Why are you so nervous?” Harry asked. “Everything is prepared. I did not forget the rings at home, you’re dressed up, and your bride is more than ready for you. Is it really just because there’s a bunch of reporters around and you’re terrified you’ll cry when you see her?”

“Seriously, what’s wrong with some happy tears?” Bill asked.

“It’ll be all over the bloody tabloids!” Ron whined, rubbing his hands over his face once more, before sitting up again.

Bill grinned, ruffling Ron’s hair. “So? What’s wrong with that? I did shed a tear or two when Fleur walked down the aisle. It’s allowed, you know.”

Ron glanced between Harry and Bill, “I just need a moment with her before the ceremony to make sure she really wants to do this in front of all these people, that’s all.”

“Screw all the people Mum insisted you invite. Just ignore them. It’s your moment. Don’t let a bunch of Ministry people take that away from you.”

As Ron took in another steadying breath, the door swung open, and George sauntered in, a bottle of firewhisky in hand and a sly grin on his face that got wiped away the moment he set eyes on his little brother.

“Bloody hell, what’s this gloomy gathering? Aren’t we about to celebrate the wedding of the millenium? I expected love, peace and harmony. I brought a bottle of Ogden’s and wanted to have a toast to our groom. You aren’t getting cold feet, Ronnie, are you?”

“Why is everyone asking me this?” Ron sighed, looking up at George. “Can’t a guy be nervous about the biggest day of his life?”

George chuckled, taking a dramatic step forward. “Finally realizing you’re stuck with her brilliant brain forever and that you’re about to commit to never getting a word in edgewise ever again.”

“He’s probably the only person on this planet that does get a word in edgewise when it comes to Hermione,” Harry answered, rolling his eyes.

Bill shot George a warning look. “Leave him alone, George. He’s just a bit jittery.”

“Alright, alright, folks, no need to get all serious,” George said, raising his arms in mock surrender. After a brief pause, he cracked open the firewhisky with a resounding pop and took a sip from the amber liquid right from the bottle.

When he spoke again, his teasing tone had changed completely. “What do you want me to say instead? That I’m proud and happy for you? You know, I am. I’ve said it before. Fred is too, wherever he is.”

Ron looked up, taken aback by the unexpected sincerity in George’s voice.

“What’s the problem, Ronnie?” George probed. “Afraid to fuck up the vows just like Lee did last month?”

“I don’t know. It’s just…” Ron answered, his gaze drifting to the floor. Only then did he grasp the significance of George’s words. Shit. Why hadn’t he considered this before? He should have committed every nuance of the vows to memory, and practiced them in front of the mirror (Hermione definitely had done that!) to ensure that they flowed flawlessly from his lips.

“Fuck! The vows!”

Another cascade of panic washed over him like a bucket of ice water as he pondered the next potential pitfall. The dread of stumbling over his words or, worse, forgetting the carefully crafted promises all together, and hence making a complete mess of the sacred moment, strangled him like a full-grown devil’s snare. As the vivid imagination of failure played out in his mind, more nausea churned in his stomach.

“What about the vows?”

“I’m going to fuck them up!”

“If you can’t remember them, just be honest - tell her what you feel. Shouldn’t be too hard. You pulled off the proposal just fine.”

“But there weren’t a million people staring at me back then!”

George responded with a hearty laugh, casually plopping down on the bed next to Ron.

“I’m going to cry and mess up the vows and make a complete fool of myself.”

“Of course, you’re going to cry. It wouldn’t feel right if you didn’t after chasing her for so many years and finally getting to marry her. This is a big moment. It’s okay to feel overwhelmed. You get to marry the woman you’ve been head over heels with for a bloody decade. It’s a good thing, really. I’m jealous.”

As George spoke, Harry and Bill exchanged surprised glances with raised eyebrows, as if George had grown a second head. They seemed genuinely surprised by his very untypical sentimental advice.

“Look, even if you start bawling like a baby or stumble over your words during the vows, nobody’s going to say anything about it. Even Fred up there somewhere will be cheering you on.”

Ron took a deep shuddering breath. “I wish he could be here.”

A heavy silence settled over the room, the absence of Fred casting a profound shadow on the joyous occasion. The pain of Fred’s passing felt particularly acute during celebrations, a lingering void that refused to be ignored. Over time, the raw edges of grief had softened, and living without Fred had become more bearable, at least for Ron. However, on this particular day, the absence of his older brother loomed larger than ever.

George silently offered him the bottle of Ogden’s but Ron declined with a firm shake of his head. Despite the temptation to ease his nerves with a sip of liquid courage, Ron remained steadfast in keeping his promise to Hermione. Besides, indulging in alcohol would only heighten the risk of messing up the vows.

“Right, guys! Enough of the sentimental stuff now.” George broke the poignant moment with a decisive clap of his hands. “Let’s get you down that aisle, Ronnie, before you decide to run off with your bride and Mum will have a heart attack.”

“Sometimes it seems as if it’s her own wedding,” Bill complained, snatching the bottle with the amber liquid from George’s hand and taking a sip from it as well. “It’s even worse than when I married Fleur.”

“She’s going completely barmy down there. Dad had to force her to sit down and have a cuppa. Bet he smuggled a few drops of calming draught into it,” George laughed, reaching out for the firewhisky again. Bill took another sip from the bottle, before passing it to George who indulged in another swig.

Just then, a loud sound check from the garden echoed, catching Ron’s attention. He rose from his bed and approached the window, gazing into the meticulously decorated garden. Every detail, from the huge flower arrangements to the white covers over chairs and tables, was meticulously planned. He sighed loudly. He really didn't need all this fuss. He just wanted Hermione; he didn't need extravagant flower arrangements or white covers over the chairs and tables, and he certainly didn't need the a million guests from every bloody corner of the earth, most of whom he didn’t even know, but whose invitation his mother (well, and on some unfortunately also Hermione) had insisted upon.

As Ron pondered the overwhelming spectacle below, a few raindrops began to tap against the window. Downstairs his mother was likely in a state of utter panic as light rain started to fall. White hussen over chairs, carefully arranged flower bouquets, and the meticulous outdoor setting even though protected by various pavillions – all threatened by a sudden downpour.

Upstairs he was indifferent to the weather brewing outside. The decorations didn’t really mean anything to him. In fact, he found himself yearning for a torrential downpour to sweep away all the extravagant arrangements, carrying off half the wizarding world along with it.

The thought felt good and brought a hint of a smirk on his lips. He would be able to marry her alone in the rain, the world around them fading away, leaving only them immersed in the quiet beauty of their love. The idea brought a rebellious thrill, fueling the desire to just whisk her away to a private haven, where only the rain would be their witness.

The mere thought of her made his eyes well up, the intensity of his love for her and the profound need he felt for her embrace overwhelming him again. He needed to see her now, he craved a private moment so much. A moment where he could lose himself in the depth of her fawn brown eyes if only for a minute. A moment where he could tell her how much he loved her, not as a grand spectacle for the world, but for her alone.

“I need to see her now.”

Before anyone could respond, Charlie walked in, his eyebrows furrowed in mock offense. “Are you arseholes seriously drinking without me?”

“Where’s Perce? Is he the poor sod getting an earful down there?” George asked, as the loud furious voice of Molly Weasley echoed through the house again.

“No, I don’t think so,” Charlie answered. “He was smart enough to keep a low profile. I happened to spot him sneaking off to the shed with Audrey. Seemed like they were escaping Mum’s temper and aiming for some fun instead.”

Charlie swiftly claimed the bottle from George’s hands, leaning casually against the doorframe as he took deliberate sips from the bottle. Harry extended his hand toward Charlie, signaling his desire to have a share of the amber liquid as well.

Watching the silent exchange of the bottle, caused Ron to briefly contemplate the idea of joining in to calm his jangled nerves. The idea of the warming embrace of the amber liquid seemed momentarily tempting.

After reluctantly surrendering the bottle to Harry, Charlie cleared his throat, issuing a warning with a smirk. “Mum’s on the warpath. She just caught sight of me in the hallway and was about to hex me into next week. She’ll throttle you if you come anywhere near Hermione right now.”

“I don’t bloody care about Mum. I have to see Hermione.”

Charlie nonchalantly crossed his arms, wearing a smirk on his lips. His dress shirt hung untucked, his tie was loosely draped around his neck and he wasn’t wearing shoes.

“Getting cold feet?” Charlie asked, the teasing tone laced with amusement.

“I swear to Merlin, if someone bugs me with that again today, I’ll end up behind bloody bars for murder on my wedding day,” Ron groaned, burying his face in his hands.

“I happened to catch a glimpse of your bride through the door. If you decide to back out at the last minute, I’m going to take over because let me tell you, she looks absolutely stunning.”

A collective chuckle rippled through the room, but Ron found Charlie’s joke far from funny and he shot his brother a pointed glare. “Seriously? Screw you.”

“Really, Charlie? You’re not helping,” Bill reprimanded his younger brother, giving him a disapproving look, before extending his hand toward Harry. A silent acknowledgment passed between them, and the bottle smoothly made its way into Bill’s possession.

Charlie rolled his eyes. “Alright, alright. Now, off you go, mate. Mum’s really not in the mood for surprises, and believe me, I don’t fancy being the target of her wrath. She sent me up to fetch you.”

There was a shuffle on the stairs and a second later a disheveled grim-faced Percy entered the room with his tie missing and his dress shirt only buttoned-up halfway. Without a word, he briskly snatched the bottle from Bill, took three substantial gulps, and let out a heavy sigh.

“If I’m ever getting married, it will be far away from Mum,” he declared, shaking his head in disapproval.

Another large sip followed, leaving his brothers highly amused by his unexpected appearance. Although the humor of the moment was not lost on Ron, he found it quite difficult to join in the laughter. His lips twitched, hinting at a suppressed smile, but the nerves and anticipation surrounding his imminent wedding prevented him from wholeheartedly embracing the jovial atmosphere that momentarily filled the room.

The bottle of Ogden’s seamlessly migrated from Percy to Bill and then back to George, who accepted it with a grin, before a second later the youngest Weasley burst into the room. Her fiery hair was neatly tucked into a bun, and she wore a floor length azure dress with a glittery bodice that sparkled in the subdued light.

“Really? What’s with this booze party here? You can get wasted later! Mum’s about to hex anyone who’s not downstairs five minutes ago!” Her tone softened as she noticed Ron’s anxious expression. “What is wrong with you? You look like you’re going to a funeral, not getting married.”

Ron sighed, running a shaky hand through his hair.

“Just nervous. Really nervous,” he admitted, attempting to calm his racing heart with what felt like the millionth deep breath today. His eyes darted to the mirror, and with a determined exhale, Ron stood up. Crossing the room, he walked over to it, checking his appearance once more as if seeking reassurance from his own reflection.

He just needed a moment alone with her. Just a brief moment because he was sure seeing Hermione before the ceremony would ease the tight knots in his stomach. The thought of her, with that reassuring smile and the comforting gaze of her brown eyes, promised a grounding force that he believed would make the nervous flutter in his chest finally dissipate. A quiet minute with her seemed like the only antidote to the pre-wedding jitters that threatened to overshadow the joyous occasion.

But now, with Ginny present, it was definitively too late for a private first meeting, and Ron had to admit defeat, whether he liked it or not. He knew his sister well; he didn’t even have to ask her because she would undoubtedly thwart any attempt to sneak down the stairs and get some reassuring minutes alone with Hermione.

“She is just as nervous, trust me. I have just talked to her. And I can tell you, she looks absolutely breathtaking,” Ginny told him very calmly, which made Ron look up in surprise because the tone of her voice sounded significantly different from the authoritative military-style tone she usually displayed. ”You better get ready for tears.”

“You’re not helping, Gin.” Harry warned.

Harry was right. It didn’t help much that everyone kept emphasizing how beautiful Hermione looked. The compliments, while well-intentioned, only fueled Ron’s nervousness.

“I am helping! In fact, I’m the only one in this room full of useless idiots doing anything helpful! Off you go, Ron, shed those tears in private!”

“What do you mean?”

“Go steal a private first look, you have ten minutes. I’ll cover for you with Mum.”

Ginny’s unexpected offer caught Ron off guard, and for a brief moment his jaw hung open as he tried to process her words. It took a beat to fully comprehend them but when he did, a broad grin spread across his face. It was like she threw him a lifeline while he was drowning in a sea of nerves. She seemed to be the only one of his siblings who understood the storm of emotions swirling within him and he was so grateful that he briefly flung his arms around her neck.

“Thanks, Gin. You’re the best.”

“Go, before Mum sees you!” Ginny ordered and ushered him out of the room, leaving Harry, Bill, George, and Charlie amused and slightly shocked.

As Ron walked down the old staircase, he could hear his sister’s angry voice resonating from his old bedroom. “Seriously! You’re a bunch of insensitive morons! Every single one of you!”

A second later Charlie remarked, “You didn’t just let him sneak off to see his bride, did you? That’s suicide!”

“You lot are just fantastic!” Ginny shouted. “You could have done this ten minutes ago! He clearly needs this moment with her to calm down. He looked like he was about to freak out. Why the hell didn’t you let him see her sooner? Just because you’re scared shitless of Mum?”

“She’s going to rip you a new one if she finds out.”

“I can handle Mum. Ron’s more likely to faint from nerves than make it down the aisle if he doesn’t get a bit of strength from seeing her. I did what I had to do. Come on, you wimps, let’s go before Mum turns us all into garden gnomes.”

*******************

Hermione stood in front of the mirror in Ginny’s old bedroom, the soft glow of the dressing table lights casting a warm ambiance. The fabric of her wedding gown hung gracefully, the soft tulle cascading around her in elegant folds.

It was a dress she had discovered in a quaint Muggle boutique, accompanied by her mother, Ginny, Molly, and Fleur. The moment she had slipped into it, there had been a shared, unspoken realization that this was the one. Ginny’s eyes had sparkled with approval, her mother and Mrs. Weasley had teared up, and even Fleur, with her impeccable taste, had nodded in agreement.

The dress had a quiet confidence about it, a reflection of Hermione’s own understated beauty. It was a masterpiece of elegance and simplicity, a far cry from the traditional A line or modern princess ball gown. The sleek silhouette gracefully accentuated her figure, and the delicate lace created a beautiful pattern all over the skirt. The slightly daring cut-out back and the hint of cleavage were a departure from the conventional wedding dresses, and Hermione was certain it would elicit a delightful mix of surprise and admiration from the crowd and especially from Ron.

She was positive that he’d love it (but he would probably love anything she wore). The thought of his blue sapphire blue eyes lighting up brought a smile to her face as she envisioned the moment he would see her in this gown - the awe in his gaze, the proud lopsided smile that he definitely wouldn’t be able to contain, and the warmth in his voice as he would undoubtedly tell her just how breathtaking she looked.

The room was quiet, and she took a moment to collect herself, the excitement and nervous anticipation making her heart flutter. The morning had been a whirlwind of emotions. She was so jittery that she hadn’t been able to eat anything for breakfast and the feeling of needing to use the toilet seemed to be a constant companion since she had woken up from a restless sleep. Every passing moment intensified the anticipation, and Hermione couldn’t help but check her appearance in the mirror repeatedly.

She had to admit she looked absolutely beautiful, her chestnut curls were tamed and she had chosen to wear them down, just the way Ron liked it. With trembling hands, she adjusted her veil. Never in her wildest dreams had she envisioned herself wearing a veil on her wedding day. As she had stepped into the bridal boutique, her conviction against a veil had been steadfast. However, Fleur, Molly and her mother had insisted she at least give one a try. To her surprise, when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror with it, she couldn’t deny that it added an exquisite final flourish to her entire look. It just seamlessly complemented the dress.

As she looked at herself, another overwhelming surge of nerves washed over her. It wasn’t due to any doubts about committing to Ron or questioning his role as the love of her life. Instead, it was due to realizing that she was about to step into the spotlight as the center of attention. The meticulous planning invested in this day had left little room for contemplating how it might actually feel to be a bride.

With a shuddering breath, she tried to calm her raging nerves. She tried to remind herself that she probably wasn’t the only one grappling with pre-wedding jitters. Ron, ever since the war concluded, vehemently disliked being thrust into the spotlight, so the ceremony undeniably posed its unique set of challenges for him.

Her mind traveled back to the days at Hogwarts, to navigating perilous adventures, to surviving a war, to grieving a brother, to trying to adjust to a new life without a constant threat looming over them. Their bond had grown stronger with each passing obstacle. Ron wasn’t just her best friend; he was her anchor, her sanctuary, the best partner in crime, the best lover she could ever imagine. The tenderness in his touch, the way he looked at her, the way he challenged her, the way he grounded her, the way he could make her laugh even in the darkest times – her love for him surpassed anything she had ever dreamed of. It wasn’t a love born from grand exuberant gestures; it was the quiet, steady kind of love that was always there in every moment of their life.

The significance of this day almost overwhelmed her. She wanted Ron to be her husband, she wanted nothing more than to officially start this new chapter with him, but the nerves fluttered within every cell of her body. Despite her status as a war heroine and being featured in magazines and newspapers practically all the time, it felt daunting to be the focal point in front of a crowd, especially on such a personal occasion. Vulnerability crept in, and as she envisioned all the people watching her, her knees weakened, and a wave of nausea washed over her.

For a very brief moment, she regretted not having entertained Ron’s half-serious, half-joking suggestion to elope. However, she tried to remind herself that even though today was primarily about her and Ron, their families and close friends, the people who were part of their lives and supported them through everything, the people who loved them dearly, deserved to be part of this special day too.

Unlike other women, Hermione hadn’t spent her childhood dreaming of the perfect wedding. There hadn’t been a box under her bed filled with pictures and ideas of how her special day should unfold. However, when Ron had proposed to her in the most romantic way nine months ago on New Year’s Eve, certain visions, like her wedding dress and beautiful flower arrangements, naturally found their places in her thoughts. Simply getting married without a celebration wouldn’t have been right.

Suddenly, a soft creak of the door caught her attention. Hermione turned, and her heart skipped a beat when she saw Ron, sneaking into the room with a mischievous grin playing on his lips.

“Ron, what on earth are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be here!” she chided.

Undeterred, Ron closed the door behind him, locking it with his wand. His eyes widened in awe as he took in the sight of Hermione in her wedding gown, the soft light streaming through the curtains adding a radiant glow to her.

Ignoring her scolding, he just closed the distance between them, cupping her face in his hands. The world seemed to fade away as he kissed her deeply without a word, and Hermione felt a familiar surge of warmth and love in his touch.

“I don’t bloody care about tradition, love,” he whispered against her lips, his voice cracking. “I just couldn’t wait any longer.”

Hermione’s eyes softened at his words, realizing the depth of his feelings. Before she could protest further, Ron pressed his lips against hers again in a deep, passionate kiss to which she responded immediately.

Ron’s presence enveloped her, and she couldn’t deny that his proximity made the flutter in her belly ease instantly. His touch, the way he cradled her face, and the intensity of love in his kisses dissolved most of the worry, making room for the deep joy of finally getting to marry him.

However, as their stolen moment persisted, a subtle undercurrent of concern crept in when Hermione’s acute hearing picked up the distant voice of Molly Weasley downstairs. The tone sounded stern, and it seemed like someone was on the receiving end of another bollocking. The realization that they might get caught and face Molly’s stress-induced temper made Hermione break away from the kiss.

“Your mum is going to kill us,” Hermione mumbled against his mouth.

“I don’t bloody care,” he whispered again before stealing another kiss. “Couldn’t resist a private first look with my soon-to-be wife.”

Hermione blushed, the warmth spreading across her cheeks. “Really, Ron, we’re not supposed to see each other until the ceremony.”

To be honest, Hermione had never believed in superstitions, especially not when it came to weddings. The idea that a marriage could falter simply because the couple saw each other before meeting at the altar seemed utterly absurd. It wasn’t about some cosmic consequence but rather about appeasing Molly, who firmly believed that adhering to these age-old traditions would set the best foundation for marriage. Ron’s mum wanted nothing but the best for them, which was why Molly was so steadfast in sticking to the ancient customs and keeping things as they had been for centuries.

“Yeah, I know. Bad luck and stuff like that. But like I said, I don’t bloody care,” he repeated, “I couldn’t wait. I was about to fall over. I needed to make sure you were really ready to do this in front of all these people. My mind was playing tricks on me.”

As he spoke, Ron slowly broke away from their embrace and took her hands in his, holding her at arm’s length as he absorbed every detail of her appearance.

For a moment, Hermione let herself revel in the way his dress robes perfectly complemented his tall frame, the subtle sheen of the fabric adding a touch of elegance. The way his ginger hair fell in a charming disarray, his intoxicating scent, the timbre of his voice and the warmth in his tender gaze - each detail possessed the power of slowly but gradually melting away her lingering nervousness.

“You’re so handsome,” she told him and smiled. “I can’t wait to marry you.”

Ron’s sapphire blue eyes began to shimmer at her words, and he shook his head in disbelief, struggling to articulate his thoughts. A soft, involuntary mix of a laugh and a choke escaped him as he tried to contain the overwhelming flood of emotions that swept over him in that pivotal moment.

Words seemed to fail him, and as a reaction he just pressed his lips against Hermione’s, kissing her deeply once more. After a few tender kisses, Ron pulled back, tears glistening in his eyes. Holding her at arm’s length once more, he savored the sight of her, gathering his emotions before finally managing to say, “Merlin, Hermione, you’re just...wow.”

As Ron scanned her body with the deepest look of love, Hermione herself felt an overwhelming surge of love that threatened to spill over, her heart swelling with an intensity she had never experienced before. Tears streamed down her own cheeks as he silently drank her in, savoring her like a thirst-quenching oasis in the middle of a desert.

“I’m the luckiest bloke alive,” he choked with a loud sniffle. “There are no words, Hermione. No words to describe what I feel right now. No words to describe how much I love you. What did I do to deserve you?”

The last words made his voice crack with the weight of his emotions, and he had to take a deep shuddering breath, as the tears now flowed freely down his cheeks.

“You’re my everything.”

In that moment, Hermione felt as if she were the centerpiece of a captivating fairytale, as if a script had been written just for the two of them. The breath she didn’t realize she had been holding escaped in a soft sigh, her shaky fingers finding strength in the warmth of his sweaty hands.

“You’re hopeless, Ron.”

“Hopelessly in love with you,“ he replied, leaning in for another kiss. “I can’t believe how lucky I am.”

Hermione’s heart swelled with affection as he spoke, the sincerity in his words touching her deeply. His open vulnerability only strengthened the bond between them, and she realized just how fortunate she was to have him by her side. Each word, each tear, each touch not only amplified the bubble around them but also skillfully dispelled the remaining jitters that had threatened to overwhelm her earlier.

However, as soft voices suddenly echoed from the staircase, reality nudged its way back in, popping the bubble around them, causing her to ask, “What are you doing here?”

“I was freaking out a bit. I just needed to see you before, to hold you and tell you that you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Deeply moved by his words, Hermione gently reached up, wiping away a tear from Ron’s cheek, whispering, “You big sap. I love you too.”

Another kiss sealed the moment, and Ron held her close, reluctant to let her go.

“I’m so nervous,” he mumbled into her curls.

“I was too. My knees felt like jelly,” Hermione chuckled, running her fingers through Ron’s hair. “But now that you’re here, I’m feeling so much better.”

“I’m seriously worried I might fall over.”

His vulnerability and self-doubt tugged at the strings of her heart. She knew how he tended to overthink things, constantly preoccupying himself with what others thought of him or how he was perceived. In certain pivotal moments, it felt as if he still carried the deceitful locket around his neck, allowing invisible voices to whisper nonsensical thoughts into his mind.

“What if I trip over my own feet or faint and make a complete fool of myself in front of everyone?”

While he continued to worry about potential mishaps, Hermione briefly marveled again how his mere presence, the caress of his hands, and the warmth of his kisses had worked like a calming potion, and had swiftly dispelled her own fears and anxieties. It dawned on her that she held the same power – the ability to unravel his nervous energy and to dissipate the whimsical worries that still lingered in his mind.

“Look at me,” she said softly, turning his warm face toward her so she could look into his eyes. “You won’t.”

“I apologize in advance if I mess anything up.”

“Nonsense, Ron, you couldn’t. There isn’t anything to mess up.”

“Don’t be so sure about that. I might forget my vows or stumble over my own words.”

“That’s not going to happen, Ron,” she reassured him, caressing his flushed cheeks. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

“Try me,” he whispered against her lips before stealing another kiss. “We should have eloped, you know. Skived off the whole big wedding thing. Just you, me, maybe Harry and Gin, and a quiet ceremony without any fuss.”

His words painted a vivid picture of a flushed Molly Weasley, standing in her kitchen with her hands on her hips, in Hermione’s mind. She shuddered at the thought of how Ron’s mother would react if they married without the family present. “Your mum would never forgive us.”

Ron sighed dramatically. “Yeah, the wedding of the millennium, with half the wizarding world watching us. Blah blah blah. I know, I know. But I don’t give a flying fart about the wizarding world; I just want you.”

As their eyes locked in understanding, Ron drew her closer for another kiss. Hermione instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck, enjoying the feeling of his soft lips against hers. What began as a sweet exchange of affection soon transformed into a more fervent, passionate snog.

Between kisses, Ron managed to mumble, “Let’s just skive off to Gretna Green or pop over to Las Vegas.”

Hermione chuckled into his mouth before breaking away. “Are you suggesting we ditch our own wedding?”

“Yeah? Why not? As long as I get to marry you, I couldn’t care less about the big show.”

“It’s too late.”

“I’m only kidding,” he said with that lopsided grin Hermione loved so much, his hands tracing gentle patterns on the skin of her back exposed by the beautiful wedding dress. “But, seriously, all this pomp and circumstance, it’s not about us. It’s about everyone else.”

Ron did have a point in a way, but he wasn’t entirely right. Their special day had to meet the norms of tradition and societal expectations, as Molly described it. But despite encountering certain predetermined notions about their wedding, Hermione acknowledged that they had earnestly incorporated many of their own desires and expectations into the mix to make it their day.

Hermione smiled, reaching up again to cup his flushed face between her hands. “This is about us, love. It’s about celebrating our love with the people we care about.”

“How do you manage to always make everything better? I’m not so nervous anymore now. It’s like you cast a calming spell on me. I feel like you lifted a weight from my chest,” Ron confessed, cradling her face between his hands to look lovingly into her eyes. “I love you so bloody much.”

A knock on the door interrupted their intimate exchange, causing them to jump apart. Ginny’s dominant voice filtered through, “Oi, lovebirds, Mum’s about to turn into a dragon. Move your arses downstairs. Separately! Do you want me to spell it? S. E. P. A. R. A.T. E. L. Y. Unless you want your maid of honor to meet a gruesome end at the hands of her own mother! Hurry the fuck up!”

Ron rolled his eyes, pulling Hermione closer for another quick kiss. “Ready for the grand spectacle?”

“More than ready,” she chuckled, dropping another kiss on his lips. “See you at the altar.”

[daisyvisions]

2 55 133 witg eric i promise its the last one have fuunnn

(A/N: hi! I altered the 133 to make it shorter hope you don't mind! Also, HBD ERIC! This one's for you puppy boy 😘)

...Surprise?

Member & Prompts: Eric Sohn (TBZ) + 2. "“I’m not sharing you with anybody. You’re mine, and mine only, and I’m going to make you remember that.”, 55. “Only I get to touch you like this, okay?”, & 133. “Then come for me”

Warnings: Smut (18+, minors DNI), brutal fingering, nipple sucking, pet name used (sweetheart).

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆.

12:22 AM

You were nervously shaking, biting your nails, pacing back and forth in Eric’s room.

You had snuck in hours before to set up a bunch of birthday balloons around his room and wait til he came home so you could show him the surprise you had hidden beneath your coat. What could it possibly be?

You’ve been best friends for as long as you could remember, practically knowing each other like the back of your hand, knowing all the favorite things each of you liked down to the dirtiest of secrets.

You’ve been planning to make this birthday one of the best ones yet. You always knew how to surprise him and always made it a point to one up yourself each time.

However, this year’s surprise would be different. You had to think of a gift that was so good no one could ever top it off. It would be the gift that would go down in history! So… what kind of gift DID you plan?

“I’M HOME!” You hear Eric shouting from outside the room and quickly ran to his bed, sitting at the edge to wait for him to enter.

While he was removing his shoes, Eric had noticed a pair of shoes that seemed unfamiliar to him, but brushed it off and headed straight for his room. As he turned the knob and opened the door,

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY ERIC!” You shout.

He was completely caught off guard. His room decorated from head to toe with balloons and streamers, music playing in the background, and you sitting on his bed. He quickly ran towards you and gave you a nice warm bear hug.

“Oh my god! Wha- how did you get here?!” he exclaims, having the brightest smile spread across his face.

“I asked one of the guys for an extra key of course! You think I would forget to surprise you?” You smile back.

“Aw thank you so much y/n! You’re the best!” He leans to give you another firm hug. You watch his eyes scan the room as he pulls away from you.

“Soo…”

“Sooo?” You mimic his tone.

“Where’s my gift?” He questions, his body jittering as if he’s had too much coffee to drink.

Right, you almost forgot the very reason why you’re here.

“Oh! Uh, it’s here.” you point at your coat.

“You got me a coat?”

“No! I mean, it’s under my coat.” you start to mumble. He tilts his head in confusion at first, but goes back to being excited.

“Well… don't just stand there. Show it to me!” he grabs your hands while jumping up and down.

“Uh…” you nervously reply.

“Is it a game? Money? a new part for my PC?” He rambles.

“No none of that!” You let out a big huff before continuing. “Okay… Close your eyes first.” He does as he’s told.

Your fingers start untying the coat that’s been covering you, making it drop to the floor. Here goes nothing… 

“Okay, open.”

“I wonder wha-” His eyes pop out at the view in front of him.

You’re wearing nothing but 2-piece laced lingerie set in his favorite color, fabric barely leaving anything to the imagination.

Eric doesn't respond for a while, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. His eyes scan your body very slowly, unable to utter out any word.

His cock twitches the more he keeps to memory every curve and area of your skin he’s never seen before.

“Happy… birthday?” you awkwardly say.

Still no words from Eric, practically frozen in his spot. You try to wave your hand in front of his face.

“Uh, Eric? Hello? Earth to Eric? It’s not like you’ve never seen a woman’s body before” you start to worry.

“I- I don't understand…” Ah, he speaks!

“It’s me Eric, I’m the gift…” He’s gone back to staring at you, making feel regret slowly seeping in your veins.

“Oh no, you don't like it…”

“No! No!” He instantly says. “I love it. It’s just that…” his eyes travel to your tits, the fabric of the bra barely covering your nipples with the see-through garment. His cock twitches again at the sight. “… I w-wasn’t expecting this at all…”

Time seems to go painfully slower the more he keeps staring. You let out a sigh before walking towards him, holding his chin with your fingers as your bodies are nearly pressing against each other. His strained cock beneath his sweatpants just a feather away from poking your core.

“Let’s just make this simple. You can do whatever the hell you want with me birthday boy....How does that sound?” You whisper into his mouth.

It doesn’t take a second for him to crash his lips onto yours and push you back onto his bed. He quickly removes his shirt, exposing his godly tan and sculpted abs.

He knees your legs apart, filling the space in-between with his body caging you. Eric starts peppering your face with warm kisses, and gives you a deep kiss on your lips.

His mouth starts traveling down your neck all the way to the valley of your breasts while his hips start grinding onto yours, feeling how rock hard he is beneath his sweatpants.

Your bra is quickly pulled down by his hands, exposing your breasts to the cold air. Just like a magnet, his mouth immediately latches onto your nipple, flicking and sucking the bud between his lips.

His hands start roaming down to your panties, gripping the sides tight. You suddenly hear the garter of your panties snap from Eric ripping the fabric apart, his feral mode making you whimper.

Without warning, his two fingers swipe the slick between your wet folds and inserts inside your aching entrance.

He doesn’t even wait anymore at this point. His fingers start curling inside you, moving at an ungodly pace making your hips jolt up.

“Eric-” you moan out his name. His mouth releases your nipple with a pop and goes back to kissing you feverishly.

“Only I get to touch you like this, okay?” He whispers against your mouth. You nod furiously at his confession.

He inserts a 3rd finger inside you, pumping them in and out of you like there’s no tomorrow. The sudden stretch and pacing makes you squirm, trying to cling onto the sheets of his bed.

“Oh fuck- shit- Eric!” you whine, feeling your eyes fluttering shut from the sensation.

“I’m not sharing you with anybody. You’re mine, and mine only, and I’m going to make you remember that.”

His deep voice ringing against your ear, sending electric waves to your core.

The squelching sounds of your pussy echoing the room alongside your wanton moans sound like they're straight out of a porn.

With his fingers relentlessly pumping in and out of you and his thumb circling your clit vigorously, you feel a coil twist inside you. Your climax right around the corner.

“E-eric, shit- I’m gonna cum” you cry out.

“Then come for me.”

And just like a press of a button, you release your gushing fluids onto his hand, some of it rolling down your ass and seeping through his sheets.

You try to catch your breath, tearing up from how good everything felt.

“Damn, you really made a mess here.” Eric looks down at his sheets while sucking the remaining juices off his fingers.

You try to slowly get up from your position, but Eric immediately pushes you back down and flips you over on your stomach.

His body cages you and he lowers himself, grinding his erection between your ass while grabbing a fistful of your hair. He gently pulls it enough to whisper in your ear,

“Don’t think this is over sweetheart, because I’m not yet done playing with my gift.”

[gunilslaugh]

hi! i really like your works <33 can i request seungmin x reader where reader is very spontaneous/random and loud? like they keep getting distracted by colorful/sparkly things or like hardly being able to focus and forgets about things easily

thank you <333

Hi! I hope you enjoy! Thank you for requesting

Oh Seungmin

Summary: How Seungmin is with a spontaneous reader, who’s easily distracted. (idol/non-idol au)

WC:674

Warning:none

photo not mine credits to owner.

Upon first meeting you, your spontaneousness immediately captured Seungmin’s attention. 

“I’ll have a coffee with ten shots of espresso,” you ordered.

“Ten shots! Y/n no! That sounds like liquid death,” the barista, who is also your friend, told you. 

“Come on I’m curious about what it would…” you trailed off. Getting distracted by the pastries in the display case. “Give me one of these too please,” you said pointing to the specific pastry. Your friend sighs as they grab the tongs to get your pastry. 

“If anything bad happens, I tried to stop you,” they tell you as they give you your insane coffee order.

“Yes, yes, yes you won’t be held responsible for my impulsive decision,” you waved them off. Bringing the warm cup to your lips you took a sip and quickly discovered that ten shots of espresso were a mistake. The bitterness of the coffee soaked its way into your tongue, causing you to have a small coughing fit. Effectively spilling some coffee on yourself as you did so.

“Here.” A kind man smiled at you, while handing you a napkin. 

“Thank you,” you thanked him, taking the napkin from him. 

“Are you alright?” he checked. 

“Yeah I just wanted to know what ten shots of espresso would taste like and- your necklace is pretty,” you complimented him going off topic. Seungmin smiled looking down at his butterfly necklace. 

“Thanks.” He fiddled with the necklace. Seungmin found himself frequenting that same cafe in hopes of seeing you again. To his luck you were quite the regular there and much to his amusement you were rather friendly to him after recognizing him. That’s how the two of you started to get to know each other. It didn’t take too long after for Seungmin to ask you out, to which you happily agreed. 

Seungmin adored your spontaneousness and randomness. There was never a dull moment because of it. Happiness filled his body every time he got a text at late hours of the night or early from you asking to go out on an adventure. Whether that adventure was a convenient store run, watching the sunrise, just going out for a walk with no destination in mind. 

“You’re like a vulture,” Seungmin teases as you stop mid-sentence to play with his shiny rings. 

“What?” you said, looking back at Seungmin briefly before returning to play with his rings. 

“They like shiny things. Like you.” Seungmin lightly poked you in your forehead. He takes one of his rings off and slides it onto one of your fingers.

“Well, vultures have good taste then,” you say, now fiddling with the ring that Seungmin placed on your finger. Seungmin can’t help but stare at you lovingly. 

Since you get distracted easily that means you can have a hard time staying focused. Seungmin does his best to help you stay focused whenever you're busy working. He will try out a couple different methods to see what works best for keeping your attention to the task at hand. Finds that setting a ten minute timer seems to work pretty good. At the end of each ten minutes you have a short break to get all your jitters out. Once you finish what you’re working on, Seungmin is so supportive, telling you that he’s proud of you. Overall Seungmin is very attentive to you and loves every bit of your spontaneousness. No matter how random it is, like wanting to rearrange your room at 2 o'clock in the morning or how loud you can be when you run towards him in excitement after discovering something new. He finds you so endearing. Even if he’s too tired to handle your random desire to go out on an adventure or on days where he might tease you a little too much. You both love one another too much for it to ever be a problem. You simply have to voice your concerns and the two of you are back to cuddling while you fiddling with whatever jewelry he is wearing. 

[strange-dreams-are-made-of-these]

You Made Her Shine (Part Four)

Pairing: Stephen Strange x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5,000

Summary: Weddings are meant to be nice days full of fun, a little bit of stress, and loads of romance. It was certainly magical to say the least, but it was never supposed to end this way

Warnings: canon-typical violence, wedding day jitters/doubts, fluff

A/N: This series makes me happy and I didn't think I'd be writing a chapter four, but here I am. I will link the images of the dress references here soon. I also made a lot of this up, as there isn't any reference material for weddings in Vishanti, so please don't look too hard into this. Though please let me know if you think I made a mistake. (gif not mine) Dress references; one (color and main style), two (sleeves), three (lace and belt)

Six months had passed since Y/n decided to go on the air to tell her story. She knew it was foolish in the long run, that more people would become invested in her life and pry on her privacy. She felt terrible bringing Stephen into it, protesting her stay as far away as possible. He insisted on being by her side, one of their first battles together after becoming engaged.

The time felt like it was flying by to her, living in bliss as the future Mrs. Dr. Stephen Strange, master of the Mystic Arts. The couple had spent as much time as they could researching everything they could find within Vishanti on marriage between sorcerers, with the help of Wong, of course. Wong had been trying for months to convince the council of guardians to reinstate Stephen's title of sorcerer supreme, feeling that he at least deserved picking the mantle back up. It was a choice that had to be unanimous, and Stephen was always against the idea. Today, it was no different.

"As always, I want to discuss relinquishing the title of Sorcerer Supreme to Master Strange. I have performed my duties for five years now, and I believe we are well overdue giving him his title back." Wong stood at the head of the table.

The groans of the other two masters, Master Chan from Hong Kong and Master Davies from London. "Master Wong, this is the eighth time we have discussed this. When will you stop?" Davies asked, his accent was thick, defined as cockney. Some vowels spilled together and flowed as if they were a single word.

Wong nodded, looking to the man with the scruffy beard and neatly brushed back hair. "Until Strange finally agrees. It is his rightful duty to be the sorcerer supreme."

"You know how I feel about this, Wong," Stephen spoke, casually leaning back in his chair, his right elbow propped up on the chair with his fingers curled together. "Besides, I feel like I'm earning the next best title in a week." Stephen was still amazed that Y/n accepted his proposal.

Master Chan chimed in. "Yes, which is something we should be more worried about. Master Strange has made his mind, and I believe it is in the best interest of Master Wong to accept and continue life as the Sorcerer Supreme." She was a lovely woman, who like Stephen and Master Davies were all very new guardians of their respected sanctums. She led fiercely but had a heart of gold. Davies on the other hand was a stricter man who wanted his students and apprentices to work hard on their skills and be the best out of all three sanctums.

Wong nodded. "Those in favor of exchanging the title of Sorcerer Supreme to Master Strange, raise your hands."

The man stared at Wong, watching as one by one Wong, Chan, and Davies raised their hands. They turned to Stephen, in shock that he too was raising his hand.

Davies spoke up. "After all of this time? Are you mad?"

Stephen looked at the master. "I will resume the mantle of Sorcerer Supreme on the day of my wedding, and only for the day of my wedding. Then, Master Wong will resume his higher duties as the sorcerer supreme."

Wong stared at his friend in disbelief, wondering what changed in him. Well, maybe the better question was who made him change his mind.

Wong nodded. "We will discuss this in private. Masters, you are dismissed."

Both Davies and Chan left the table, heading out of the meeting room heading in different directions. This left both Wong and Strange alone, the perfect time to discuss what just happened. Though just as Wong opened his mouth, a woman entered the room. Stephen's eyes lit up watching as his fiance walked into the room. "There's my boys!" her voice was almost sing-song as she greeted Wong in a traditional bow before turning to Stephen. She walked behind his chair, resting her hand on his shoulder. "Anything exciting happened today?"

Stephen's hand reached up to hold her hand, staring at Wong and narrowing his brows, a quiet plea for secrecy. Wong nodded, placing his hands behind his back. "It seems we have finally finished rebuilding the London Sanctum."

Her head tilted to the side. "Finally? Wasn't it attacked back in 2017?"

Stephen nodded, his fingers slightly trembling as he held her hand. "Yes, there was still a crack in the foundations that required some magical intervention." He took in a deep breath before exhaling slowly. "Nothing much beyond that. Not that it should be your concern right now."

She looked down at her fiance, her free hand reaching up to brush his grey hair. She learned this to be one of his weak spots, and she loved to use it to her advantage. "None of my concern? I am a master of the mystic arts, Doctor Strange."

He turned his head to look up at her. "A week from today you will be Master Strange."

Her cheeks turned pink, her lips thinning into a line. She closed her eyes for a moment before placing a quick kiss on his forehead. "You still didn't answer my question."

He chuckled as Wong left the two, having several things to attend to. "What is important is that nothing is going wrong in the world. You and I have more going on right now and within the next few weeks than the whole of Kamar-Taj."

She sighed as he grabbed her other hand, now pulling both of them around from the back of the seat and guiding her to sit in his lap. She giggled a little before taking a rest in his lap, crossing her legs as she placed one hand on his chest, the other draping over his shoulders. His hands wrapped around her back and waist as she settled. "Next week can't come quick enough." Her voice was just above a whisper, her eyes making contact with his.

He nodded, resting back and closing his eyes. "It will come faster than you think."

She closed her eyes, resting her head on his shoulder. "May the week come fast, and our day lasts a lifetime."

--

"You are sure about this?" Wong asked Stephen, both of the men standing in one of the boarding rooms. Stephen was in the bathroom, a razor in hand with a towel draped over his shoulder.

Stephen had made sure his goatee was to his liking before washing his face, using the towel to dry off. "The choice of being Sorcerer Supreme for a day is not the most difficult choice I make today. It's whether I celebrate my marriage with a glass of wine or a martini." Strange walked from the bathroom into the bedroom area, seeing Wong watching him with his arms crossed.

"What if an attack is launched somewhere in the world? You will have to go and report on it directly, no matter what is going on."

Stephen nodded walking over to the wardrobe and grabbing his tunic. It was a fancier version of what he normally wore, embellished with more intricate designs. The colors all remained; a mix of three different blues with his buddy, The Cloak, to be on his shoulders.

"Then I'll go, take care of business, and come back and pick up where we left off. Knowing Y/n, she'll be at my side too. No matter how much we protest."

Wong shook his head. "Why not take the mantle back for your own? You were at the heart of the population returning, defending us with every little sacrifice."

Stephen looked to Wong, using magic to button his tunic together. "You were the one who kept the world safe while I was gone. You kept Y/n safe. Her knowledge grew while under your time as Sorcerer Supreme. Kamar-Taj has never been better."

Wong uncrossed his arms, taking a few steps toward his friend. He adjusted the collar of his tunic top before handing him his belt. "I can refuse to take it back, just as you have been this entire time."

Stephen knew that this was a possibility. "You don't think I took that into account?"

"I think we should worry about you taking your place at the altar to wait on the blushing bride. Come now, we have to have Davies and Chan witness this."

Stephen turned to look in the mirror one more time, the Cloak navigating into the room. He brought Stephen a piece of paper that was rolled up in a maroon-colored ribbon. "Hey, buddy. I take it you gave Y/n my gift?"

The collar of the Cloak nodded up and down before resting on his shoulders.

"A gift?" Wong asked.

Stephen nodded. "Most couples give their life partners a gift before the wedding. I sent buddy here with mine, and he gave me hers." He held the rolled paper up a little to show Wong.

"What did you give her?"

"I gave her a necklace I enchanted," Stephen spoke, pulling the ribbon loose from the letter. "If we are ever apart from each other on a mission or one of us is here and the other is at home, all I have to do is wave my hand like this," he demonstrated, "And the stone will illuminate. No matter how far away we are."

Wong nodded slowly, thinking it was a rather intimate gesture to his future wife. "What is that," he asked pointing at the letter.

Stephen's eyes looked at the paper, his eyes scanning her handwriting. It was beautiful, much like what she wrote. Along with the letter, there had been some photos. Photos only for his eyes to see. His face grew red as his eyes widened. "Uh- you said Chan and Davies were waiting? Let's go." Stephen placed the photos and letter in a pocket he had inside of his tunic before turning around to face Wong. "How do I look?"

Wong smirked, observing his friend. "Like a man ready to be with his wife." Wong held a hand out to the door. "Shall we, Strange?"

--

The woman had a couple of friends with her, helping her get into her dress. According to Vishanti customs and traditions, the bride had to make her own dress. That seemed alright and manageable hundreds of years ago, but Y/n wasn't made out for seamstressing. She spent hours finding some inspiration and trying to find her style. She wanted to show off her elegant side for Stephen. Her life was never as luxurious as his had been, she lived in the lower middle-class side of town. Working parents, able to participate in sports, vacations came every few years mostly to places that were within driving distance. So when it came to her dress, she wanted to put everything she had into it.

After many hours of struggling with a sewing machine, poking her fingertips with the sewing needles, and with the help of her friends, she finally had the dress she wanted. She couldn't believe how beautiful it looked on the hanger. Now it was time to put it on, and her nerves were shot. "I don't know about this. What if he hates this dress?" She asked.

"He won't. He's going to love it. He's going to love it on you." Her voice came from the corner of the room, standing up and walking toward the woman. It was Pepper Potts, dressed in a maroon dress. Her shoes clicked against the stone floors of the temple as she walked over to Y/n. "If he leaves you at the altar over your dress, I will personally drag him back and apologize to you. Then after that, I'll give you one of the apartments in Stark Tower."

Y/n laughed a little, looking at herself in the mirror. "How did you feel on your wedding day?" She asked her.

Pepper looked down at her glass of water, remembering her wedding fondly. " I was more nervous about how Tony was going to act during the party. I had some thoughts about the ceremony itself. Pepper, don't trip and fall. Pepper, stand tall. Pepper, pay attention." Y/n held the fabric of her dress in her hand, looking over to the woman before she continued. "But once I was standing up there with Tony, I felt everything become easier. Once I was with him, all those thoughts stopped and all I could think about was how happy we were."

Pepper put her glass down, taking a hold of the dress. "Come on, let's get you in the dress. Once you see yourself in it, I promise you, you'll be ready to run down that aisle."

"But please, don't run." Sara Wolfe had been in the room as well. She was another master at Kamar-Taj. "You and Strange will have plenty of time to run in your lives. Now come on, get dressed." She spoke, walking over to the other two women.

After a few minutes of getting into the dress, and fastening the buttons that trailed up and down her back, the three women looked the dress over making sure nothing was torn or frayed. It was exceptionally beautiful, something that was sure to make everybody's jaw drop. Y/n stood in the center of the room as Pepper and Sara checked the hem of the bottom of the dress. Y/n had fastened the necklace Stephen gave her around her neck.

A knock came at the door, and Sara rushed over to it. She peered through the crack, then opened the door up. Wong had come in, staring at Y/n. The woman took in a deep breath, her hands smoothing down the fabric. "What do you think?" She had asked him as Pepper grabbed her items and left the room with Sara.

Wong slowly walked up to the woman, his hands held out in front of him. He took a hold of her hands, looking her over while making her do a spin. Once she stopped, he smiled looking at her. "You are absolutely beautiful, Y/n." The two pulled each other into a tight hug, Wong making sure not to mess up her dress or hair.

Y/n sniffled a little as the two pulled away from each other. Y/n had sewn pockets into her dress, quickly pulling a tissue out to wipe away the tears threatening to fall down her face. "It's not white, but Vishanti customs state that the person who accepted the proposal must dress in colors that corollate to the person who asked for their hand in marriage."

Her dress was a dark navy blue color. It was a floor-length gown, the bottom of the dress was slightly longer than what she expected so it gathered on the ground. The sleeves of the dress reached the floor, sporting slits in them that exposed her skin from her elbows down to her hands. The elbows of the dress up to the middle of her upper arm were lace, a matching belt wrapped around her waist. She had some light blue details sewn into the neckline and pockets. Her neckline almost matched the way the collar of the Cloak stood up.

Wong nodded, looking at the woman. "Many years ago, when we first met, I never imagined you would become one of my closest friends. Now, here you are, marrying my other friend." He smiled, slightly shaking his head.

"Oh, Wong, nothing is going to change." She spoke, holding his arm.

He nodded. "Just your last name." He knew it was time for the ceremony to begin. "It's showtime."

--

Ten minutes later, Y/n took her place behind the closed doors. Everything was set up like a traditional wedding. There were no seats, but all of Kamar-Taj stood in the courtyard surrounding Stephen and the area where the Ceremony was being held. Y/n was by herself, looking down at her hands. She was holding a lantern instead of flowers. It was a mystic relic that was used during wedding ceremonies, signifying her letting Stephen guide her in her life with him. It played an important role in their ceremony.

A drum was struck, and music began to play. Y/n stood straighter, her shoulders slightly rolled back as the doors opened. She felt the sun kiss her skin as she took a small step forward. She didn't see the students standing around. She didn't see the many faces that filled between the students like Pepper, Sara, Master Chan, and Master Davies. What she saw was Stephen who looked like he was standing so far away from her. His hands were clamped shut over each other, feeling the world shut out around him.

He saw Y/n walking toward him, and his stomach was flipping the entire time. It almost felt as if the breath had escaped his lungs, never to return again. She was stunning, a vision of elegance. His eyes watered a little bit, threatening to spill over. Nothing mattered to him more during that time than to be able to hold her hands, to help him center.

Once Y/n had approached Stephen and Wong, who was conducting the ceremony, the music stopped. Y/n set the lamp down next to her on the ground before both Stephen and she reached for each other's hands. She smiled brightly up at him as he beamed down at her. Their thumbs brushed past the other's knuckles. "Hi." She whispered sheepishly.

Stephen nodded, his nose and eyes scrunching a little as he smiled at her. "Hi."

Wong spoke. "Today, we are celebrating a union between two sorcerers. This is a bond that not many people will ever experience, not like the level these two have. I have had the pleasure of watching both Master Y/L/N and Doctor Strange enter the halls of Kamar-Taj and grow as individuals. I witnessed them fighting side by side to keep our world safe. After many years, it is my honor to bring them together and fortify their bond."

Stephen winked at Y/n, noticing how nervous she looked. Wong gestured to them both. "Please hold your left arms out to each other and grab the other." Stephen let go of her right hand before extending his left arm to her. Y/n did the same, her hand gripping the fabric of his top. His hand gently wrapped around her arm, his thumb pressed to the inside of her elbow. Wong used a spell, pointing to their joined arms. A string of orange magic wrapped itself around their arms, looping within itself several times.

"At this time, Stephen, please make your vows."

Stephen never broke his eye contact with her, seeing her as the only person around them. "I vow to always protect you from harm, to stand with you against your troubles, and look to you when I need protection. Lastly," He paused to lick his lips, taking the moment to catch his breath again. "I promise you that my arms will forever be safe for you to fall in. And above all else, I promise to keep you safe."

Y/n felt a tear escape her eyes, using her free hand to quickly wipe her face. It was incredibly romantic to hear, and knowing that Stephen usually wasn't open on PDA, catching her off guard. Wong nodded, then turning to the woman. "Y/n, I ask that you now make your vows to Stephen."

She nodded, feeling his hand squeeze her arm reassuringly. She took in a breath, speaking clearly. "May you never steal, lie, or cheat; but if you must steal, steal away my sorrows. If you must lie, lie with me all the nights of my life. If you must cheat, then please cheat death, because I couldn't live a day without you." She took in another breath of air before speaking once more. "I vow to stand in every storm with you, be at your side when the earth shakes, and comfort you in your hours of need. I swear to love you all of my days, then into the next life."

Stephen couldn't believe how sincere her vows were, or how they were heartbreaking yet fulfilling to him to hear. Wong looked between his two friends before waving his hands again, watching as the orange strings of magic then dissolved into their skin. "These vows have been exchanged, the String of Fate sealing your bond to each other. I now ask that you both pick up the lantern."

Stephen and Y/ slowly let go of each other's arms, both reaching down to pick up the lantern. It had two doors on it, both opening up the doors that face them. They placed their hands in it together, holding each other's hands. "This is the Lantern of Magius. This lantern will bond your magic together when you both light the wick. Before we start, is there anybody who opposes the idea of these two bonding their magic and becoming one?"

Stephen's eyebrow arched up, looking around at the crowd. A slight rumble of laughter could be heard amongst everybody.

"I guess this means they really want us together," Y/n spoke, causing Stephen to look back at her.

He hummed a little as everybody settled down. "Well, when you look as good as I do-"

She gasped a little shaking her head before Wong resumed. "Let go of each other's hands. Both of you need to focus together and light the wick."

Stephen held the bottom of the lantern in one hand with his other in the case. Y/n had her free hand on top of the lamp holding the handle as her hand was also in the case. She smiled looking from Stephen and his icy eyes to the wick.

Stephen looked to the wick as well before they both closed their eyes. They took in a deep breath, then upon exhaling the fire ignited. A flame of orange magic illuminated the case. They both closed the doors of the lantern, watching as the flame danced and grew stronger.

Wong held his hand out, taking the lantern from them. "It's not every day we have two sorcerers devoting their lives to each other. This experience, no matter how incredible it is, should remind us all that we are destined for greater things." He hummed a little after that, looking between his friends. "By the powers of Vishanti, I pronounce you husband and wife."

Vishanti custom did not state anything about kissing, but as the two grew excited, Y/n threw her arms over Stephen's shoulders. His arms wrapped around her as their lips crashed against each other. The crowd of students, teachers, masters, and their friends cheered as the couple celebrated.

Wong held his hands up as the couple broke their kiss, then turning to face the crowd, Stephen holding her left hand in his right hand. "May I introduce to you for the first time, Master and Sorcerer Supreme Y/n and Stephen Strange!"

She turned her head to look up at him, her jaw-dropping before he looked over at her. "You're the Sorcerer Supreme again?"

He nodded before pulling her closer to him. "Only for today though." He winked at her before pressing another kiss to her lips seeing as the shock of his reinstated title was still settling on her. "Don't you know you'll catch flies with an open mouth?"

She scrunched her nose up at him, gently shaking her head as he led them down the little aisle path. Several students and masters were lined up, casting little spells as the couple walked by creating sparks in the air in lieu of rice.

Stephen and Y/n made their way back into the temple from the courtyard, being instructed by everybody to take a few minutes for themselves as they set up the rest of the party. The doors closed behind them, both Stephen and Y/n feeling the pressure of what felt like hundreds of eyes on them being lifted. Stephen still held onto her hand, taking a step away from her to admire her beauty. His eyes raced up and down her frame, examining all the little details. "Where did you find this?" He asked her.

She tilted her head to the side softly, watching him. "We just got married, and your first question is who designed my dress?" She teased him, her fingertips gently squeezing his hand.

He chuckled a little, shrugging his shoulder. "Not even five minutes into marriage and you are already accusing me of not caring?"

They had a very unique relationship, it was always about the banter. They chased each other like animals, tagging along for the ride. It was one of the things that drove Stephen crazy at first. Not many people put up with his sarcasm, yet she dished it right back to him without hesitation. "I made it."

His smile quickly changed to a shocked expression. "Are you serious?" His eyes once again traced her and the dress over.

"Yes," she giggled, "It's part of the customs. I accepted your proposal, so I had to make my dress and it had to match your master's robes."

He gave a little nod, his shocked expression morphing into a proud one. He let go of her hands, reaching behind him to grab the cloak. "There's only one way to tell if it's a match." He then moved both of his hands over her head before placing the cloak around her shoulders. He brought his left hand up to his face, running his hand through his beard.

She grew a little nervous when he went silent. Maybe he didn't like the dress. Had she been right? Maybe it was too many elements. Maybe there weren't enough elements to it. Maybe it wasn't elegant enough for him. She nervously ran her hands over the fabric of the skirt. "Oh, Stephen. I'm sorry, I-"

"It's beautiful." He commented, lowering his hand from his face, watching as she squirmed a little. He didn't mean to drag it out for as long as he did, but he found himself speechless. "Come here."

She pouted her lower lip a little before walking into his embrace, their lips meeting once again. She could stay in this moment forever, being with Stephen alone and enjoying their silence.

The doors opened up, Wong bursting through causing the couple to break their kiss and look over at him. "There's a monster loose in London. Master Davies is on his way."

Stephen groaned, tilting his head back while looking up at the ceiling. He then gave Wong a nod before turning to Y/n. "I'll be back."

Y/n shook her head, pulling her sling ring from her pocket. "We'll be back", she commented.

"Your dress-"

"Won't be an issue." She smirked looking up at him. "I believe there is a mystic event, and the sorcerer supreme is needed. I, as a humble master myself, wouldn't dream of missing out on witnessing him in action."

Stephen knew he wouldn't win. He summoned a portal as a set of heels clicking on the ground could be heard approaching them. "Oh no, this isn't happening, It's your wedding day," Pepper spoke looking between the couple.

"Sorry, Pepper. Duty calls." Y/n spoke looking from Pepper to Stephen. "Doctor Strange."

Stephen looked over to his bride, a smile spreading across his face. "Mrs. Strange, after you." He watched as she walked through the portal before following her.

Wong and Pepper stood in the corridor watching as they entered through the portal before it closed. Wong's hands were on his hips as Pepper balled her hands into fists. "What about the party?"

Wong shook his head. "They'll be back soon. Let's continue setting up. It wouldn't be a bad idea to have the healers on stand-by either."

"Healers?!"

Wong chuckled. "They'll be fine. Maybe a couple of scraps or bruises."

Pepper turned around, exhaling sharply as she headed back to the courtyards, overseeing the set up of the reception party.

--

Stephen had tried to keep his bride out of the fight, though it was hard when the beast they needed to contain was currently turning the river Thames into a slip and slide on the streets of London. The cloak returned to Stephen, helping him to get a good aerial of the fight. Davies and his team were working on containing the monster while Y/n was moving the water from the bridge back into the river. She was by herself when she felt a charge of electricity run through her, causing her to hit the ground.

A man walked up next to her before squatting down. She peered up before another wave of electricity jolted through her body. "My darling, Y/n. I think it's time we had a little talk." It was Rick Swann, her father in the flesh. As he stood up, a team of agents dressed in black swarmed around her, removing her sling ring and handcuffing her. She was lifted and then carted into a packing van. Once inside the van, she spotted two heavily guarded men sitting next to a Hydra sign. She went to speak but was suddenly knocked out by one of the guards. The van began to move, driving away from the sorcerers that were completing their duties.

Stephen had no clue what had happened. The team had finished containing the beast again, then turning their efforts to restoring the areas the beast damaged. Stephen tried to find Y/n but had no luck. He wondered if she had gone back to Kamar-Taj already. He portaled himself from London back to the temple. He quickly found Wong and Pepper back where he had once been earlier. "Have you seen Y/n?"

Pepper shook her head. "She left with you."

Stephen looked at Wong. "Nobody came for her?"

Wong shook his head as well. "Everybody is accounted for." He watched the panic begin to set on Stephen's face. "Strange, where is Y/n?"

"I… I don't know."

[thegreatarlecchina]

Chapter 2 suckas! Link to Ch 1 here: https://www.tumblr.com/thegreatarlecchina/718252328860483584/its-clown-time-bois

EDIT: Y’all I did a stoopid and printed the last few paragraphs twice. That should be fixed now.

Suddenly a soft “Hullo Luv.” echoed from behind them. Kyonia turned to see Mirage giving them a shy wave. Mirage was dressed head to toe in an adorable scarecrow costume. It had a brownish-red top with pants clearly meant to imitate woven straw. Their face was painted a pumpkin orange with yellow glow paint and shimmering gold eyeshadow around their eyes and mouth. Their hair had little bits of hay strewn about in it and overall they looked like a cutie patootie. “Oh, Mirage! I didn't see you there!” They exclaimed. Mirage had a tendency to sneak up on people without knowing it; for a 6ft 150 lb hunk of metal, that bot was very quiet. “Ready for the show M?” Kyn inquired, noticing Mirage somewhat stress stimming with their hair. “Oh me? Yes-well um just a bit nervous luv. Nuffin to worry about…” They mumbled. Kyonia gave a skeptical look as Mirage turned away from their gaze, instead focusing on the ground. “Somthin bothering you friend? Pre-show jitters maybe?” Kyonia asked, softening their tone. It wasn't unusual for Mirage to be a bit shy now and again, but for the most part they loved performing. “It’s just that- well…um, you see… I um…” Mirage tapered off, clearly frustrated at their own inability to articulate their feelings. “Its ok bud! Take your time. If somethings upsetting you, me and Quinn wanna help!” Kyn reassured the bot. Taking a moment to gather themselves, Mirage began again. “Well you see luv, Ery really wanted to be here and watch… b-but she’s not part’o the act y'know. And I-i don’t want her to get hurt or nuffin backstage so I had to leave her in my room. But now I’m thinkin she might get lonely wiffout me…”. Kyn took some time to take in all that Mirage had said. They knew it took a lot for Mirage to feel comfortable sharing something like this so they took a second to respond, delicately they replied, “Don’t worry M! I’m sure she understands, you can’t be everywhere at once. Besides, she has Pierrot and Colombina to keep her company!” The Jester seemed unconvinced for a bit until Kyn added, “Oh! I’m pretty sure one of the techies is gonna record the whole show for one of our new advertisements! I can get you a copy and you can show Ery then!” At this the bot perked up, “I’m sure she’d love to see that! Thanks a bunch luv!” Mirage smiled brightly before being called over by Quinn for their check. Now if they could just find Zavy… “Hey best friend!” Chimed a jubilant voice as Kynonia was quite literally swept off their feet. “Woah! Warn me next time bud!” Kyn chuckled as the darn near 10ft robot twirled them around. The lanky bot finally set Kyn down, giving them a chance to look at the costume Zavy had on. It was a truly beautiful display of color, beginning with a black based suit coat splattered with a vivid mixture of neon pinks and purples with an orange dress shirt underneath. In place of his conical clown hat was a small decorated top hat; hot glued to a sequined headband. He had bracelets with various voodoo-like charms and a necklace to match as well as vibrant face paint meant to resemble a calavera. “So how do I look?” Zavy remarked smugly as he struck a pose. Kyn chuckled, Zavy was such a goofball but he was their goofball. “So are you gonna stay and watch the show? Quinn said it was your first time and I’m so so SO excited for you to see me out there!” Zavy shared, doing excited stims with his bottom set of hands. “Dee and Helia are in the crowd, but me and Quinn are gonna be in the wings in case you need us. Don’t worry though we’ll still be able to watch!” Kyonia explained before being approached by Quinn. “Ready for final checks Zav?” Quinn cut in while prepping his tools. “You know it!” Zavy practically sang, somewhat bouncing on his heels. Quinton gave Zavy a fairly quick check while chatting with Kyonia and the other bots. “...Too bad Mirage’s costume has to burn off. I thought it was really cute.” Quinn thought out loud while giving Zavy his final once over. “What was that best friend?” Zavy questioned practically doing a 180 to face Quinton. (Who was working from the back)

“You didn't know? Mirage is doing Diabolo fuega. Their costume burning off is part of the act.” Quinn stated quizzically. Zavy’s eyes darted around the room scanning for the others' reactions, trying to hide the anxiety that plagued his sensory system. He stemmed anxiously as he forced the words, “No… I-I did Not know that… Cool!” He chuckled nervously, Quinn and the others didn’t seem to notice but as Quinn began to move towards one of the sets to ensure that everything was in tiptop shape, Kyn pulled Zavy to the corner of the room.``Zavy, is everything ok? You seem tense, what’s wrong?''They whispered while rubbing the back of his hand with their thumb. “O-oh, N-nothing’s wrong best friend, nothing's wrong at all, everything's fine… just fine! I’m ok.”He laughed nervously. Kyn wasn’t satisfied with that answer but their time was up. “OK PEOPLE WE ARE GOING ON IN 2 MINUTES, 2 MINUTES!” Quinn yelled from somewhere in the mess of people. “Welp! Looks like I have to go get ready!” Zavy squeaked, “See you after the show!” He said pulling away, quite obviously trying to escape the topic, but before he could get too far Kyn had grabbed him by the wrist, “I know something is up,” they pronounced, loosening their grip as they held his hand with their’s, “just… sigh…I just need you to know that if something starts going wrong,” they tightened their grip a bit, “you can come off stage… just be safe.” They finished, letting go of his hand. Zavy, a bit taken aback, opened his mouth to say something, but before he could Quinn yelled, “1 MINUTE FOLKS, WE GO ON IN 1 MINUTE!” Zavy started moving away but before he left he turned and responded, “I’ll tell you later, I promise.” He disappeared as he ran to get into position for the show. Kyn took a deep exhale and went to go find Quinn. “There you are!” they turned to find Quinn heading straight for them. “I’ve been looking for you! Come one we gotta go!” He whisper-yelled running for the wing Mirage was in. Kyn ran to follow, still worried for the bot, wondering what had made him so anxious. As they got to the wing they and Quinn were in charge of, Quinn asked, “What were you doing over there?” Kyonia took a minute to contemplate telling him, when they finally decided to say, “Something is going on with Zavy. I’m not sure what it is but something is up.” “Is he ok to do the show today?” Quinn questioned readying his walkie-talkie. “I’m sure he can, but pay attention just in case please.” “Yeah of course, should I call it in so the others can watch as well?” “ No… I’m sure it’ll be fine… just… I wanted to let you know in case anything goes wrong… you shouldn’t be in the dark about that at the least.” “Ok”, Quinn said sliding his walkie-talkie back on his belt. “Thanks for telling me, I’ll keep an eye out!” He walked away to talk to the light crew and as he did the lights dimmed and the amphitheater roared as Zavy and Mirage stepped on stage. Kyn knew this night was big when it came to company funding. They just hoped that whatever happened out there, that Zavy would be ok.

[lady-assnali]

The Rosenali teacher au but they go to celebrate Crystal’s birthday, and if this isn’t totally coherent? Oops.

   “We’re all going tonight for our friend Crystal’s birthday, wanna come?”

            “I mean, I don’t want to be that random person like…intruding on your time or anything.”

            “you’re not random, you know me!” Jan throws her arm around Denali’s shoulder, squeezing her into her side with a strength unknown to herself. Denali squeezes in a breath at the loving yet harsh contact once it is broken, Rosé affectionately rolling her eyes at Jan before continuing. 

            “-and you know Jacks, It’ll be fun! Plus, you’ll love Crystal. She’s into the art scene too-definitely more underground type stuff, but she’s working on this really cool collection for a cute little indie storefront uptown who’s been stalking her on instagram. You’ll die, her stuff is great.”

            “And she’ll get to see the beautiful surprise Crygi reunion that’s definitely not going to make me cry or anything.”

            “Long story short, Crystal’s best friend has been in LA for work for a month and Crystal doesn’t know she’s flying back tonight to surprise her. She thinks she’s not coming back for another two weeks.”

            “The translation is that Crystal’s stunning and beautiful and kind best friend Gigi who is literally a model she totally doesn’t have any feelings for dropped everything and has been working 12 hour days to cut her timeline in half just to be here for her birthday.”

            “And with Jan telling you all this subtext and uh, keeping you up to speed? You’ll fit in just fine. Plus, I really think you and Crystal will get along great!” Her sentence fades out as an smirk plays on her features. She’s leaning on the counter cockily, shrugging her shoulders. “You keep saying you need more friends here, I’m just trying to help.”

            “And if the two of them aren’t fucking by the end of the night then I’m buying everyone a drink.”

            “so you should come for the free drink, at least,”

            “so you should come, but I’m sorry you won’t be getting one. I call it like I see it and I’ve been right every time.” Rosé doesn’t miss the way Jan’s voice is an arrow pointing directly at her, the way she wiggles her eyebrows, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Rosé shoves her then, rolling her eyes as Denali looks on affectionately. Theyr’re a fun group of people, Rosé and Jan and Lagoona. Every one of their acquaintances has been kind to her, and Mik always takes care of her at the bar and texts her stupid tik toks at random times throughout the day. More friends certainly couldn’t hurt. And if she’s momentarily paralyzed by the thought of Rosé so eagerly opening up her friend group to include her? It may be April but it’s still the new girl jitters, surely. Nothing more. 

…

            There are a lot of people at the bar. 

            Correction; there are a lot of Rosé’s friends at the bar. It seems as though the entire crowd had turned out just to celebrate Crystal, who seems equally as mesmerized by the sheer amount of bodies who crowd her when she comes through the door. She’s the most interesting person Denali has seen in a long time, dressed up in a mismatched button up shirt and some brightly colored wide-legged pants, her hair a playful mullet of brown curls. 

            “Oh! Denali, my Latina ally!” They’re the first words she says to Denali when the crowd has simmered enough for her to make her way over to their table. The blonde stands, holding her hand out, but is blindsided by Crystal engulfing her in a hug. 

            “I’m so happy to meet you, thanks for coming! Rosé and Jan have been catching me up with your adventures in teaching art-you’re changing the world, it’s such an important job and I’m so proud of you for doing it.”

            It takes a second for Denali to take it all in, the flurry of Crystal clambering around the table, hugging everyone while still holding their introductory conversation. She finally lands with a sigh in the seat next to hers, phone face-side up on the table. She taps the screen once, and Denali just catches the flicker of disappointment in her eyes before she’s perked up again, addressing Jackie from across the table. Jan leans over then, a hand on Denali’s shoulder and an unmistakable mischief in her energy. 

            “When I called to finalize plans this morning Crystal told me Gigi wasn’t able to get a break from filming until tonight, poor girl’s deflated. I can’t wait to see the look on her face.” 

            “You’re sure you won’t be handing me a free drink later on? I’m kind of looking forward to that shot, I might need it.”

            “Long week and it’s only Wednesday?”

            “Something like that. I’m not sure, I’ve just been a little off lately. It’s nice to be celebrating tonight though.”

            “Since your birthday-and you still don’t want to talk about it? I know I talk a lot but I can also be a good listener.”

            “How about this-when  I can form a coherent thought about it, you’ll be the first person to know.”

            “As long as you’re okay.”

            “I’m okay.” She finds herself smiling at the way Jan has turned so nurturing in such a short moment, jumping from meddling child energy to concerned and attentive when Denali’s energy shifted. 

            “Good. Feeling your feelings is okay, but don’t drown yourself in them. Now that Rosé brought you here you’re with us now. And you can always talk to her too, you know. She loves you-she’d literally pick up the Empire State Building with one finger for you.”

            Denali answers with a blush, busying herself with taking a sip of her drink. But the blush is not accompanied by her usual slightly dimpled smile, and although everything seems right on paper the reaction sits in Jan’s brain for a while. She makes a mental note to dig further when her phone blings from inside of her pocket. Looking at the notification she attempts to restrain her own jump, channeling the energy to slide her body down in her chair (not subtly, but rather strangely) and kick Jackie’s leg underneath the table. 

            Jackie flinches, but understanding is reached when Jan winks at her, a sneaky thumbs up resting on the table. The brunette turns her attention back to Crystal and she immediately delves into a long, complicated, and rehearsed melodrama from work that is nothing but an intricate weaving of names and incredibly raucous situations that has her friend hooked and in full focus. 

            The entire table has begun to emanate a nervous, anticipatory energy that Denali immediately gets swept up in. They keep half-worded conversations but their eyes nonchalantly slip to the door occasionally, everyone waiting for the real reason for Jackie to be weaving this incredibly detailed, incredibly faked story. 

            Gigi is all auburn hair and long legs, Denali instantly recognizing her from some of Jan’s instagram posts. She’s impossibly pretty and well put together, clothed in a stark white mock neck dress with a very short hemline and large triangular cutouts on either side of her waist. She practically bounces across the room, too fixated on the task at hand to notice the faces that stop and wave to her. She’s grinning from ear to ear, her eyes leaving the back of Crystal’s head only briefly to nod at Jan and mouth a hello. She slows down upon approaching their table, collecting herself with a deep, shaky breath. 

            “Excuse me, do you know what time it is?” Crystal shivers at the hot breath on her neck, jumping a bit at the sudden contact of a hand on her shoulder. Her brain is a wheel turning dangerously fast; the electric touch, the familiar voice…she processes the information a bit slower than she’d care to admit, but the turn of her chair is fast enough to knock it on the floor. Other patrons swivel in their own seats, staring as the offender tackles a beautiful ginger with a force that almost takes them both to the ground. 

            “Geeg!” Crystal’s voice is a blissful meeting of a whisper, a squeal, and the sound of letting out a breath of air you hadn’t realized you’d been holding for an entire month. The girl in question melts into the hug, squeezing back and tilting her head to fit in the crook of Crystal’s neck. 

            “What the hell, what the actual hell! What are you doing here?!”

“It’s your birthday, Crys.”

“I know!”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Weren’t you all in the middle of a project?”

            “We finished early. I figured I might as well come back. I know Tic Tac misses me, I couldn’t stand to be away from him any longer..”

            “I hate you.”

            “Love you too, bitch.” She leans in, her lips lingering on Crystal’s cheek long enough to leave them both blushing. All Jan has to do is smile before Jackie steps in front of her, patting Gigi on the back. 

“Welcome back, California. How does it feel to be such a big shot?”

            “It was good! Interesting...they were such nice peopl, and their house was so fun. But it was just one collection, guys, it’s not a big deal.”

            “it’s a huge deal. That’s your face on the cover of magazines people will be seeing in every grocery store checkout.”

            “it’s not my clothes, though.”

            “but it will be. Theres no way this world put someone like you in it without giving you a way to let everyone know how brilliant you are.” Crystal  squeezes Gigi’s waist, both their eyes glittering with unshed tears. They haven’t dropped contact since she’d turned around, seeking what they’d missed so desperately during FaceTime calls and their sneakily whispered five minute middle of the day phone calls that were totally not allowed on Gigi’s end. It’s all worth it to feel the weight of Gigi’s head drop on her shoulder, the way she threads an arm through Crystal’s and hums happily. 

            “I’m just glad to be back. L.A was nice, but it was a bit lacking.”

            “Yeah, all those parties with your hot friends really seemed boring.”

            “They were fun, and  I’ll miss them, but I don’t know. I love what I do, and I love the girls and the house and the things we get into there, but right now I just feel me.”

“We’re all really glad that you’re back. If it takes Crystal’s birthday to get you here then we’ll just have to throw a party every time you leave for work. You’ll get famous and Crystal will turn 95 in two years.” 

“I mean, I don’t want you to be 95, but I want the work so…”

“If it means you’re finally getting your own line then call me grandma, Geeg. I’ll do it.”

Crystal’s smile is unshakable, and warm, and Denali feels their energy from her place at the table with such a strange sense of emotion that she has to pick at the ice that rims her drink to stop herself from feeling the bubbling, tear-jerking happiness this reunion has caused. She’s glad to see Jan’s eyes brimmed with tears at the two friends, who cling at each other as Crystal excuses them with a soft, thankful fondness. 

“Guess I’m not getting that drink after all.” Denali says with a sigh. From beside her, Rosé shuffles down from her chair and around the bar, weaving past their current bartenders to stop in front of her.

“You’re in luck, as my current best friend it’s within my rights to offer you a free drink tonight. Just don’t tell Jan, she’ll be all over me with ‘I told you so’.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” She drums her fingers on the bar top, watching Rosé’s careful work as she makes her favorite without even having to ask what it might be. They’d been friends for a while now, but the mindfulness warms her heart each time. Rosé is confident behind the bar. She hums to herself, smiling and pouring varying amounts of liquor into a pre-chilled glass. Watching her work is like watching a trained athletes run a marathon, or watching Beethoven at the piano. There’s a way she handles herself that is so intriguing, the way she zeroes in on a task without question, her focus poured into one thing while she still manages to keep up with conversation. She does it while she’s singing, too. Some of Denali’s favorite moments have been watching Rosé on the stage, fire in her eyes,  banter with the audience while still spinning and shaking and perfecting choreography. She’s a piece of moving art, and the familiar swoop of her stomach when Rosé holds up her glass is an anticipated response.

“Hang on, I think we need quality control here.” She holds out Denali’s glass and then smiles mischievously, pulling it back to draw a long, languid sip. The younger girl starts, reaching her hand over the bar top.

“I thought you made that for me!”

“Yeah, but I’m also owed a drink. Besides, you have great taste.” She runs her tongue over her top lip appreciatively and Denali withers, internally fighting off every stuttering heartbeat and cursing at her own weakness. It’s not supposed to be like this, not anymore. 

She manages to whisper out a thanks before sliding off of her stool, moving to find conversation with Olivia instead. She’s not sure if she’s overreacting-she’s not sure of anything anymore. But as she leaves Rosé behind the bar she considers Jan’s offer to talk even more. Maybe it’d help her find some clarity.

Behind the bar, Rosé is left a bit puzzled. She’d made a drink, they’d been talking perfectly fine. Denali had left the bar as if she’d been kicked in the gut; it read in the slight fall of her eyes, the lack of banter. It read in the way that their conversation hadn’t lasted all night. It read in a way that made Rosé feel as though she were trying to learn a second language only using road signs and the blurbs on the back of cereal boxes. Lately, nothing made sense at all.  

“I told you, I see what I see.” Jan settled where Denali had once been, nursing a glass of something green and choosing to ignore the fact that it wasn’t her ginger friend’s night to bartend. “Don’t worry, Rosé, you’ll be next.”

“There’s no next to even be had, Jan.”

“I know you don’t believe that, but you’re talking to the person that convinced everyone to go out with a bet and yet doesn’t have to buy a single drink.” She points to the end of the bar where, tucked into a tiny corner booth, Gigi presses her forehead close to Crystal’s. One hand tenderly on her cheek and a leg tucked over the brunette’s in a wrapped up moment of sweet, earnest connection. Rosé’s entire body seems to sigh at the idea that one day, that could be hers. 

“It’s been like, eight months since you met her. Please don’t give me another intensely slow burn. I know they’re cute, but I can’t be tortured the way I had to listen to Crystal moan on and on about Gigi for five years. I’d rather you be a UHaul lesbian than do what they did. Please. As your best friend I am quite literally begging you.”

“Alright,  alright. It’ll happen.”

“Now?”

“Soon. For now, I think we should just get the cake.”

[heniareth]

OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH my brilliant friend you know what? First the notification that you liked the ask game came up and the jittering began BUT NOW YOU HAVE REBLOGGED!!!! PREPARE. TO BE. ASKED.!!!!! Ok now I'll ask a lot, because I'm curious about a lot, and you just pick whatever you want to answer yeah? Yeah! <3 <3 I'll put this under the cut as it's ended up quite long (you said you were on the road tmrw and I didn't know if you'd be on mobile to answer, so I wrote the prompts here so you didn't have to get out of this to go back to the list-- god help me if it turns out there's an easy way to do it and I don't know it :P) Hope you're having a grand time!!!!

NOW!!!!!! For Astala my beloved, as she is always on my mind, let me put forth requests FOR: 1 (what is their colour palette), 2 (what does their handwriting look like), 10 (what piece of moody poetry or novel quote best encompasses your character), and 22 (what is some advice or guidance they received that had a big impact on their lives or outlook? was it a positive or a negative impact)

For Ilanlas my bitey beloved, who spins in my head like he's been glued to a chair-o-plane seat, I'd like to enquire about 4 (if your OC likes art, talk about what they would like best), 8 (if your OC were to live in an alternate time period, which one would suit them best), 12 (what is their character theme song and why? if it has lyrics, pick which ones best suit them), and 24 (is mental, physical, or emotional wellbeing most important to them)

And for Marelas my brand spanking new beloved, who is shiny and taking shape so gorgeously in my head, may I ask 3 (what architectural or design aesthetic would suit them best), 9 (if your OC were to imagine their idyllic life, realistically or otherwise, what would it be like), 23 (what sort of rules, routines, and rituals do they set for themselves), and 26 (if they were to lose the person closest to them, how would they mourn them and how would they handle their grief)

Plant, lovely friend!!! I am so excited for this!!! I did end up having to drive the other day (this is why the asks are trickling out of my askbox rather than being answered all at once), but here we are!!! And such asks!!! Let's talk about the beloveds! A cut is required because this never is short (please take as long as you like with this because it’s. Really Long.)

I appreciate you putting the whole questions into the ask so much!!! It makes life easier (and asks long, but no long asks ever intimidated us, did they? XD)

Astala

1 (what is their colour palette)

Oh boy. Astala loves her colors. She usually goes for muted colors. You know, kinda something like a fall palette. Here are some examples:

When she’s at court as arlessa or as the Hero of Ferelden, however, she very deliberately wears brighter and more saturated (and thus more expensive) colors, and if there’s jewelry involved she’ll go for gold. She’s definitely flaunting her status here in front of all the shem. At the Landsmeet, she’s well known for her red dress; a callback to her first encounter with the most esteemed nobility of Ferelden (aka. Vaughan). If she’s somewhere in her capacity as Hero of Ferelden she’s restricted to blues and silvers, sadly, but she makes it work (and work very well indeed, as Zevran would add). Below are the same colors as above with higher brightness and saturation to give you an idea of what that might look like:

2 (what does their handwriting look like)

Astala, dearest Astala, started her career of doing paperwork while having a fancy title with nothing to prepare her for hours spent writing (she does know how to write, thank you very much). In the beginning, her handwriting suffers from it. She grips the pen with way to much strength and either ends up with a hole in the paper or a cramp in her hand (or both). But practice makes perfect, and after a bit of practice, her handwriting is even and orderly as can be. She tends to make her lowercase letters pretty tall and overall her writing leans to the right. If she's sending informal letters (like the one to Sten) she likes underlining the important words to accurately convey the meaning and intonation of her sentences. She's also one to use several instances of P.S. to tell the whole of what she wants to tell. Her letters are mostly always nice and structured; she's better at accounting than writing, and tables are amazing, so she makes liberal use of bullet points and the like to speed up and organize the flow of information.

10 (what piece of moody poetry or novel quote best encompasses your character)

We've got a couple different ones here, so I stitched them together!

"It is never too late to be what you might have been." —George Eliot

This quote spoke to me because Astala was supposed to be a troublemaker like her mother and live a quiet, unassuming life like her father, was supposed to get married and start a family and is now a Grey Warden.

"Nobody protects us. So we protect us." —Miriam in Dragon Age: Absolution

This one is pretty obvious. Astala is big on protecting and wholeheartedly believes in her community and the need to stick together.

"All you need is love. But a little chocolate now and then doesn't hurt." —Charles M. Schulz

This one just made me laugh XD XD Astala loves to enjoy things (regardless of whether they are luxuries or not), but she does yearn for close connections. And when she can't have them, having access to nice things is definitely a way she copes with a potential lack of close relationships

"But of course, your Excellence. A true commander takes responsability for the life and death of the men he sends into battle; it's only right and proper that he should be held accountable for them. At the first stolen chicken you may have my head." —Rankstrail in The Last Orc by Silvana de Mari (a bit of context: Rankstrail is sassing the local governor's military people bc they wanted to torture one of his soldiers over a stolen chicken. And the chicken wasn't even a fat one to begin with!)

This book series is a YA fantasy series that I stopped reading after some installments because the characters I loved the most kept dying or falling into depression with no visible way out, but it handles poverty, government incompetence and injustice beautifully. Incidentally, the government in question has a very futuristic style of architecture, and given the Italian name of the author I wonder if there are some intended parallels to a fascist government. Back to the book, Rankstrail is definitely one of my favorite characters and the whole series was very formative when I read it as a teen. I wanted to include a quote and this one stuck out to me because Astala has to navigate some authorities trying to pull one on her while sneering down on her as well. I think she and Rankstrail would find common ground in that (and in the book series the whole thing is amazing bc Rankstrail dances circles around these people but they always maintain the upper hand in the end because they have the power and the resources and he doesn't!)

22 (what is some advice or guidance they received that had a big impact on their lives or outlook? was it a positive or a negative impact?)

I've talked about how Astala has been impacted by her mother, for good and bad. Her father mostly taught her by word and by example how to look for work and keep it, as well as how to care for her family. I really should talk more about Cyrion, because obviously he had the bigger impact on her here, but I want to talk about Valendrian.

When Cyrion was still recovering emotionally from losing Adaia and physically from having spent a winter sick (half of it working), Valendrian often took the Tabris kids with him when he made his rounds around the Alienage. Other children in sinilar situations had other adult family members (aunts, uncles, grandparents, adult cousins) who could do the same; not the Tabrises, so the hahren had to step in. Working with Valendrian gave them something to do, connected them more with their people and allowed them to feel useful and capable in a situation that was very much beyond their control. He sent them to run errands for families who couldn't, to deliver medicine or food, to watch over kids, to help clean a house or a street or warehouse, or took them with him to visit people who were sick (and not contagious), alone or grieving. He also often took the scenic route to his destinations and tried to send two of them ahead or something to get time with the third one alone. With Astala he talked about her mother, about her father, about the weather, her future, Soris, Shianni, and, when she was fourteen and still helping him out, her crush on Alarith (that moment in the first chapter of her story when she offers Valendrian her help with Vaughan and Valendrian tells her to step back? That's a callback to those days, when she and her cousins used to help him all the time).

Basically, Valendrian tried to lend these three kids what support he could give them. He's Astala's reference for what leading a community looks like, and what a community is, how it works, and so forth. This comes in very handy during the Blight, but especially later, as arlessa. She is some steps further removed from her people than Valendrian was at that point, but the basic procedures stay the same.

Ilanlas

4 (if your OC likes art, talk about what they would like best)

Ilanlas is very much about statues and abstract art. I think he’d love the black and white paintings of Franz Kline. It's the kind of art where he feels like he can step into it; the feelingnis comparable to when he sees a grove of trees or a structure of rocks or a bend of the road in the distance and wants to go and check it out. These paintings form a kind of space for him where he can retreat into. It's very nice and calming.

He'd also love sculptures made out of driftwood, particularly those where the wood has been left to stay in its original shape. In his opinion, taking the raw material as it is and working with its shape instead of bending said shape to one's will is much more imaginative, creative, respectful.

And then, while snooping through the internet, I found this piece, Burning from Within by Christopher David White. It's ceramic, not wood, which is a feat in and of itself, but what Ilanlas would find amazing is the way the copper leaf on the inside really makes it look like it's wood being consumed by embers. He'd see it from the back and get all excited about it jntil he'd realize that the thibg is not a piece of a hollowed-out tree but. Y'know. The naked torso af a woman. That'd bother him a lot; the ubiquity of naked women in art in general would. Why does everything have to be about having the hots for random women? Wtf??? (He's very unimpressed by the countless Andraste statues everywhere as well. At least they're clothed.)

8 (if your OC were to live in an alternate time period, which one would suit them best)

I answered this one here! It’s kinda hard to find a time period that’d suit him. He’s so integrated in Thedas. But, now that I think of it, he would’ve had a blast in the 80s. He’d have his own painted van and everything. He and Tamlen would just take off and make a long, long roadtrip to wherever the road will take them. They'd set up camp in the middle of nowhere, stop in the desert and spend the whole night looking up at the stars, park the van in the curb of a steep mountain road to climb those extremely climbable rocks, watch the sunrise next to a gigantic waterfall that douses them from head to toe in fine spray water. Merrill comes along sometimes and has them stopping at tourist attractions, museums and canyons. Can you imagine Ilanlas with sunglasses and a bandana holding his long hair back? He’d have so much fun XD XD XD XD

That said, big aside: since the Dalish have ties to Native Americans, Roma and jewish people, all of the above might not've been possible. I don't have a lot of knowledge on the situation of these people in the 80s, in the USA and otherwise, but what little I know makes me think that Ilanlas would've been more preoccupied with travel restrictions, bad faith from the authorities and just the general population, poverty and all of its lovely companions. For his sake, I'd like that not to be so. On the other hand, erasing the past of other people is not good. I hope he does get to see at least one sunrise next to that waterfall tho

12 (what is their character theme song and why? if it has lyrics, pick which ones best suit them)

I have. Several songs I relate to this man, but here’s one. Sound the Bugle from the movie Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron.

If you lose yourself

Your courage soon will follow

So be strong tonight

Remember who you are

I don't have a lot of smart things to say here, except that he's really going through it. Where Astala is doing her damnest to eke out a place for herself, no matter how small, where she can live her life as close as possible to what it used to be, Ilanlas has thrown himself wholesale into the Grey Wardens. The only thing he keeps for himself is the right to take vengeance for Tamlen, and since that means killing darkspawn, it's not really something that detracts from his role in the order (while Astala very much does try to put as much distance between herself and the order as she can). Losing Tamlen was like losing a huge chunk of himself for Ilanlas. When he finds Tamlen again, these verses will be significant.

24 (is mental, physical, or emotional wellbeing most important to them)

I think his emotional wellbeing is the most important to him because it's the most fragile. He has a very decent pain tolerance and doesn't mind getting sweaty or having his legs full of mud after trekking through the countryside for hours. He's also good at problem-solving and decision-making generally comes easy to him (even if they're not always the best decisions).

It's the emotions that get him; some things hurt him deeply and he doesn't know what to do with that. In other instances it's just him losing his cool or being brusque and not thinking much of it, only to then turn around and find that the other person is offended and blames him. There are many people that feel things more deeply than him, and he finds it hard to understand that because to him it's no big deal. It's a bit of a vicious circle, tbh. He seriously and unwillingly hurts somebody and then gets hurt back bc the other person reacts negatively for no reason, seemingly. Or even lashes out. Long story short, it's the emotional wellbeing that bugs him the most and that is thus most important to him.

Marelas

3 (what architectural or design aesthetic would suit them best)

I think Marelas would enjoy the Arts and Crafts Movement. It's beautiful (could do with a bit warmer and more vibrant colors though), practical and it puts great emphasis on the craft of the artisan. This man enjoys having beautifully made things around him, and that's one if the tenets of the Arts and Crafts Movement. You bet he had a say in Skyhold's furnishing, much to Vivienne's chagrin. Too Dalish for her taste.

He'd also have a field day in the Library at the National Palace of Mafra, Portugal. Baroque isn't his favorite (it's very Orlesian), but this building in particular is grand, but not gaudy, well illuminated, probably very cool in summer, and has tons of space in case he wants to strew his papers around to arrange them on the floor and look at them from a certain distance to get a look at the big picture of things. He likes mind maps. Also, the building apparently houses bats!! How cool is that?

9 (if your OC were to imagine their idyllic life, realistically or otherwise, what would it be like)

Here are some of the things Marelas would love to have in his life if you’d asked him right before the plot in Trespasser kicks off:

Study lore!! So much lore!! All the history and the magic, medicine, cultures, all of it!!

Peace for clan Lavellan.

A long life for Keeper Deshanna.

Many people around him he can trust and rely on.

Frequently meet the members of the Inquisition, see what work they have been doing, maybe even continue working with them to enrich the lives of the people of Thedas (and enrich is the keyword here. He’s no fighter when he can help it. He’d rather pursue social or cultural goals).

Be able to often visit Dorian, very often (the separation hit him hard, harder than he wants to admit. He thinks it commendable and a good thing that Dorian wants to better his homeland, but at the moment when Dorian told him he was leaving, Marelas did feel a bit abandoned in favor of more exciting pursuits. He and Dorian did have the chance to talk it through, however, and have settled on an arrangement that, so far, is satisfying to both. Still, he misses Dorian).

Not have any world-ending threats hanging above his head.

Foster more community between the city elves and the Dalish clans (I think somebody from his family came from the city, probably an uncle who married into his mother’s side of the family).

23 (what sort of rules, routines, and rituals do they set for themselves)

Back at his clan, his routine looked something like this:

Wake up, have a handful of something, pray alone.

Do some stretching, have some real breakfast, revise what has to be done that day with Keeper Deshanna and the clan’s Second, and start. He sometimes works alone, sometimes they all work together or in pairs. They have a well-honed system.

Part of his routine is taking a round of the premises (wherever he is) and see how everybody is doing. He tends to do that around mealtime, after getting some work in.

If somebody wants to converse with him, he will tend to schedule it in the afternoon, preferrably right after having eaten lunch and taken a bit of quiet time to himself, or when the sun is already lowering towards the horizon. He finds these are hours best spent quietly, and that they lend themselves more to thinking than to doing.

He will also pray alone in the evening, right after dinner if he can manage. He will go over the day, write up things that have to be done next (either the following day or at some point in the future), offer up the good and the bad, and enjoy the quiet as the sun sets and the stars start to shine.

Prayer is very important to him, and throughout the day there would be more opportunities, mostly with Keeper Deshanna and clan Lavellan’s Second. He tries his best to keep this routine after the explosion at the Conclave, although Keeper Deshanna and clan Lavellan’s Second are replaced by Cullen, Josephine and Leliana. He does miss the more relaxed rhythm of the life in his clan, but he makes do well. It is strange to him to be at the head of a group instead of the leader’s right hand. He takes responsability quite seriously and the biggest break in his routine is him doing paperwork until way later than he intended. Sometimes, it’s almost a relief when he can leave Skyhold to go roam around Thedas.

Another big interruption to his routine can be any sort of magical or historical study that catches his interest. He’s an academic at heart. In the Jaws of Hakkon DLC, he was happy as a clam at first, searching for Inquisitor Ameridan, and even in the Descent DLC he would rather have spent time studying the runes on the wall than investigating the earthquakes. The Emerald Graves were a treasure trove (albeit a bitter one). If there’s a piece of work that captures his interest, he will get his duties done, sure. But later you’ll find him writing deep into the night. Sometimes his room looks like a tornado came through and scattered complex diagrams and drawings throughout. This turns a bit unhealthy after he drinks of the Well of Sorrows. He now has direct access to knowledge from Arlathan, and he considers it one of his duties to record EVERYTHING the well tells him. He ends up with incoherent scribbles more often than not, but at other points he wrote down a poem, sketched a view from the temple of Sylaise, found a recipe to help with some kind of cough, found hints of an old technique to enrich iron, and so forth. It’s fascinating, but dangerous. More than once, somebody else had to take the pen out of his hand and send him to bed, or otherwise bring him back to reality.

26 (if they were to lose the person closest to them, how would they mourn them and how would they handle their grief)

Ooooh, this is a heavy one. Let's do it >:)

Okay, first of all, Marelas would nowadays have been diagnosed with some form of anxiety disorder (or maybe even PTSD, since the symptoms manifested after an accident in which he nearly drowned). As part of dealing with persistent worries, intense fears of danger and death, and with a generalized feeling of helplessness and loss of control, Keeper Deshanna encouraged him to seek special connection with Falon'Din. The reasoning was that if he died, Falon'Din would be there; he wouldn't be alone. Take away some of the fear that death inspired, and everything would be much easier to deal with; that was Deshanna's reasoning. After all of that and all the events in Inquisition, Marelas likes to think of himself as someone who is familiar with grief and who knows that a loss such as this one will take time to heal. He will do his best to be patient and lean on other loved ones for support, to give himself time, to cherish the memories while stepping out of himself to create new ones. And he does good! He tries his best! He is able to step away from the moment, take a deep breath and brace himself for the things that are to come and he is able to stay moderately aware of his own wellbeing during the period of intense turmoil that follows the death of a loved one.

The reality, however, is that he's a very sensitive man who feels things deeply and for a very long time. He might be patient, experienced and good at taking his own feelings at face value, but his emotions are stubborn buggers. He'll most likely spend a couple of days numb, think that it's going better than he anticipated, until reality catches up to him and everything comes crashing down. After that, he will cry, a lot, but try to keep some of it to himself. He does occupy a position of responsibility after all, and he has to keep doing his work.

In fact, although he knows that giving himself time to actively grieve is important, he definitely puts his role as First (or the Keeper if it's Keeper Deshanna who died), well... first. If Keeper Deshanna died, he would even officiate the funeral. Embodying the figure of the First/Keeper removes him from his pain by focusing on other people's pain, although that's not the only reason why he blends into his role in the clan. He does genuinely want to help. It is, however, part of the reason why he spends some days functioning well while emotionally numb. He's not entirely conscious that he does this, and there's no easy answer here because he does have a responsability for the well-being of the clan. He does best when he has somebody that will step past the whole "he is responsible for everybody" thing and makes him contemplate how he is doing as a person. Hold a mirror in front of him, so to say. So yeah, that's him if somebody close to him from his clan dies.

If Dorian died... well, that's a whole other thing. He doesn't have any official role to disappear behind here, although he definitely would find something to try and occupy himself with. He'd definitely be at the funeral, and he'd definitely ask if he could help with anything. But he's out of his depth in Tevinter, and he's Dorian's partner from down south. Despite his best efforts, he'll have everybody's attention and he'll be at an utter loss on what to do.

So he'd do his best to hold his tears in and cry when he's alone. He'd try to meet Dorian's friends and family and establish at least a bit of a positive relationship with them. And in the process, he'd probably have at least one moment where he'd crack under the pressure and either run away or cry somewhere totally inappropriate and end up mortified and with all the pain spilling out.

All of this, of course, if Dorian or Keeper Deshanna didn't get assassinated. In that case his new mission would be hunting those bastards down, and that's what he'd stand behind until the emotions one day suddenly catch up to him. And he’d go for it with a lot of zeal. He isn’t an easy one to anger, but when he is angry, it holds for a long time.

After having digested the heap of emotions, he does his best to celebrate the person he's lost. He's quite meticulous about marking death-days, and consciously makes space on those days to remember and honor the deceased. He might put up an altar with things that remind him of them and spend a good chunk of the day reminiscing and talking to them (without receiving an answer of course. He might be a mage, but communion with the dead is rare). And he would honor them by trying to help along whatever efforts they pursued in life, if the chance presents itself. Falon'Din is still a god he holds in high regard, even if after Trespasser the elven gods as a whole are unstable ground to him, and honoring the dead is very important to him.

---

And that’s a wrap on these three! I hope the wait was worth it, and if you’ve read the whole thing, kudos to you! This was a very nice brain exercise XD XD XD It was really cool to get to know Ilanlas’s taste in art, tbh. I had a vague idea, but now I really want to sit down with him and talk about modern art. There’s a lot to go into there (starting with what the devil IS art??) and it’d be so interesting to hear what he likes and doesn’t like. Thank you so so so much for these wonderful questions!!!! I hope you are having an absolutely splendid few days!

[caramelcuniculus]

It was a lovely day on Planet Popstar. The sun was warm, the air was fresh, and almost not a single cloud was in the sky to cover up the brilliance of the nice day.

And on days like this, it's nice to spend time in the garden.

In the gardens of Castle Dedede, a certain pink puffball was chasing a butterfly, happily following the insect as it fluttered around all of the flowers, fruits, veggies, and other things. After a few minutes of following it, however, the puffball came to a screeching halt, allowing the butterfly to fly away. In the corner of his eye, he could see his friend Taranza tending to some of the plants. Curious, the little puffball wandered over to say hi.

"Poyo! Taranzaa, Hii!" he greeted.

Tranquility was a must in the royal garden, or all gardens really. Not only would one have to keep the peace to not alarm any of the local wildlife, but to allow oneself to bond with the plants populating the garden. Such an area wouldn't exist if it weren't for them, nor could any other local life. That was how nature worked, how kind and cruel it could be under the best and worst circumstances. Taranza knew too well the pros and cons of the soil and the flowers that bloom from it, but with each new day, a bud continues to grow. Especially on a beautiful day like today. The royal gardener was thankful he could experience all of this; ripe as fresh fruit.

Taranza's personal watering can rose carefully as it tipped over a bustle of orange flowers, a similar color to that of her own gloves. The petals almost looked to be dancing when they were lightly soaked by the downpour, a glimmering drip or two presenting the picture of being fully fed. The arachnid hummed and put the watering can down, taking in the sight of the flowers for a few moments. Suddenly, another orange figure appeared in her line of sight, albeit much higher than herself and the plant life on the ground. A peaceful butterfly, fluttering so elegantly that she couldn't help but watch the being make its way further towards the sunlight. Pure, tranquil nature; Taranza will never get tired of it.

A familiar intrusion to his meditation made Taranza freeze up at first, startled by the fact that he was no longer alone. The royal gardener listened to the rest of Kirby's words, digesting them the best he could. A sigh escaped his lips as he pressed one of his many hands to his chest, getting all the jitters out. Then, the arachnid happily turned around to face the Star Warrior, possessing a smile that could almost match Kirby's. Almost. Not even he could match up to his childish whimsy, though he doubted many could.

"Greetings, Kirby!" All of the arachnid's hands waved at the young boy, her head tilting a bit to the side. "Such lovely weather we're having! I have no doubt in my mind that's why you've stopped by?" There could be a handful of reasons; Kirby wasn't exactly the most predicable despite his predictability with matters such as food. Not that it mattered too much, either. Taranza's friend was here, and she wouldn't waste the opportunity! "Either or, come over here, Kirby! Since you're here in the royal garden, let me show you something."

The arachnid turned around and slowly floated towards the same bundle of flowers he'd just been tending to. There weren't as many water droplets as there had been before, but there were just enough to present the pretty sight. "See how lovely these flowers are? I just watered them, right before you made your own appearance. Surely you agree, yes?" Taranza's head faced him while speaking, but then went back to admiring the bustle.

[hymnal-lips]

An unexpected Letter.

Alyriel was amidst writing a letter of her own when she heard a knock rapping on her door. "Come in!" Her head did not lift yet to see who it was, but her quill had stopped moving as her hand stilled.

"You were out quite late last night," the gentle voice of an old woman teased. "Surely for a pleasant reason?"

Aly mustered a tempered smile before she turned in her chair to look at her head maid.

"It was alright. One of the souls I met was pleasant, as you say, the other interesting I suppose."

The elderly matron smirked and nodded, as she held up a letter. "This arrived this morning."

Alyriel shot up from her chair with a surge of both expectation and anxiety, racing across the room. "Is it... Is it from Aurinise?" Her voice was incredulous and cautious. She was afraid to be too hopeful.

Morithea slowly shook her head, an expression of sympathy on her face. She peered at the shorter woman with a silent apology. The maid extended the letter in offering. "No my dear. No news yet from Miss Sharphade. But I hope this will contain words to cheer you up?" The maid's other hand moved from her back and revealed a black rose. "This came with it too," she gave an encouraging nod.

Alyriel felt a pang of terrible disappointment, but curiosity soothed her as best as it could. "From who...?" She reached for the small rectangle envelope, turning it about to see a return address or the name of the sender.

"Whoever this polite individual is, you seem to perhaps have made a good impression?" Morithea offered the rose as well.

The priestess seemed perplexed, unsure of what to think. "Thank you... I'd like to read it alone."

"Of course Lady Duskborne. Call if you need me." With that, the head maid left the chambers, closing the heavy doors behind her with a soft thump. She was glad the doors to her chamber were thick and heavy... insular. It shut her off from the world in comfortable isolation. Even the ongoings in the manor were closed off to her, not much sound penetrating.

Alyriel returned to her desk, pushing away the parchment she had been scratching on. As she sat, the rose was twirled between her fingers, in inspection. She felt no magics from it, no trap, no harm. It seemed like a perfectly ordinary flower. Beautiful. The rose was set down on her desk, atop a stack of papers. Her thumb then brushed along the smooth surface of the letter, pausing to press along the seal. "Hmm..." Carefully, she cracked the wax apart and pulled a letter from it. Something in her made her nervous... sent her into a brief jitter. What could it be about?

Lady Duskborne,

I hope this letter finds you well. I was careful to spell your name as best I could, though I have no address to label this letter to, so we ought to both hope that the mail system is enchanted enough to see my message safely to you.

For the sake of not alienating our Dracthyr friend, I'd not allowed myself to express how much I look forward to meeting you again. You are quite interesting, and I hope to speak with you without intrusion soon enough.

Regards,

Syn'daria Vilesun.

She read it not only once, but twice. This was entirely unexpected, but it brought a small smile to her lips. She hummed a melodic tune, pondering, reminiscing. She brushed the tips of her fingers across the page before she set it down. The cushion tailored onto the back of the chair welcomed her as she leaned back. Her hands reached to caress the pair of earrings she never took off. There had been no connection flowing through it as of late, whereas prior it would have been an open connection to her friend. There was a deep sadness and longing that had settled into her very bones. Her arms felt heavy and they dropped into her lap. The inky rose on her desk caught her eyes, however. Such a dark color rarely made it into her space. She mustered the strength to pick it up and clutch it to her chest. Perhaps too tightly, the petals squished into her bosom.

"It will work out," she murmured, as she mentally dove back into the memory of the conversations she had the night prior. Of how the whispers had tickled her ears. Her lips pulled into the beginnings of a mournful smile. Her eyes closed and she faded from the world into a lucid dream.

[writingmochi]

! “first lines” tag game !

rules: list the first lines of the last ten stories you published. look to see any patterns you notice yourself, and see if anyone else notices any, then tag some friends

tagged by: @orpheyeux (ik you tagged me in february to march-ish lmao soz)​​

note: i’m gonna bend the rules and include my unedited and always changing wip drafts cause i don’t have enough published stories to be put here (and i’m only be using time wave chapter i cause i don’t want to spoil anything) + i include some status update on the wips

1. a story of two broken hearts | jake

you felt your heart beating faster as you saw him.

your mind spinning in a circle as you saw him.

your breath hitches as you saw him stand there at the front of the classroom after he walked in from the doorway.

park jay. student council president. your best friend since you were children. your long-time crush.

in your mind, he is your soulmate.

he has been there since, seeing your highs and lows, your most embarrassing moments, and your proudest moments. your heart flows to him. yet, it doesn’t seem that his heart flows to you.

because he has someone else.

2. time wave | yeonjun

the air around you is frigid when you open your eyes.

you gripped your blanket closer to your body, trying to fight the cold. but as you tried, you felt colder instead. the sound of the strong wind outside didn’t help either.

you sit up and grab your phone from your bedside table, trying, at least, to get some information from the weather app. you were met with your reflection instead of the usual lit-up screen. you proceed to charge it but when you turn your socket switch on, the light didn’t light up, electricity has stopped running. the wind then suddenly knocks on your window, making you jump from your bed, yet your curiosity continues.

you stood up, noticing your legs jittering as they came in contact with the floor. you walk to the window where light still comes into your room. but, everything is white outside.

it’s not supposed to be this white at this time of the year, not the right time at all as you recollect what date and month was it that you last saw before now. you then look at your calendar to match it.

but why is the month on the calendar different from what you remembered?

3. smirch episode 1: heeseung | heeseung

you've always heard the phrase ‘the night is young’, but surely it goes older as time passes.

colours of blue, pink, and gold embrace the dawn sky as you stroll on the pavement of your neighbourhood from your nightly rendezvous with your friends, feeling all the energy softens in your body after experiencing a whole different part of the universe from your usual teenage life, shedding all the troubles away for a night of fun and freedom. but all of them must come to an end when the hint of the sun starts peeking from the east.

wrapping your hands around yourself in your thin-layered clothes as you step past the other houses to your home, the make-up on your face smudged from the greasy foods and beverages you consume, your eye-lined eyes smeared and messier than when you put them on the previous night. spring's cold weather greets you with a sudden blow of wind as you cowered for the warmth of your body heat. when you see the silhouette of your destination with the sun peeking behind it, you pick your phone up from your pocket, pressing a speed dial to the only boy you can put your trust to.

4. crossroads | jay

the yellow sky slowly sinks down to greet the blue that reflects the ocean beneath it. the white clouds' transformation is almost complete as a few peach-colored spots are visible on the feather-like edges. seagulls gawking as they fly to the sky that you're looking at while leaning against the bright red yet rusty railing. the breeze that the sea blows lightly kisses your cheeks, making your hair flow along with the ends of the white top of today's uniform. the corner of your lips is signaling to your brain that it is tugging up, to greet the new day with a positive light like the ball of fire that is crawling up somewhere on the edge of the horizon of today. it makes a smile on your face, just perfect enough to make you feel good, and a muffled rumbling sound came from behind as it remains before falling into its normal state.

turning around to see the digital clock on top of the station's name, seeing the 07:30 with a blinking 'on time' words right beside the set of numbers, you see the blurry train coming closer and closer as the brake screech the rails beneath the pit the train will go by. people all around you—all uniformly wearing formal clothes with different types of bags on each of their figures—stood behind the faded yellow tiles on the edge of the platform as the train cars smoothly stopped in front of all the passengers, followed by a hiss as the door opens. the announcement coming from the speakers stops as the train settles down.

5. (wip) pizzeria run | sunoo (writing and editing)

"what do you guys know about freddy fazbear's pizza?"

"that pizzeria franchise? what about it?"

those two sentences were the start of a pretty unusual conversation you have with your friend group during recess. lifting your head from opening the snack you bought before as you and your friends sit in the cafeteria hall, other students walk around trying to find a table or return to one. the conversation continues with the boy and girl sitting across from you while another boy sits silently eating the snack that you open.

6. (wip) troubled pixies | taehyun (first draft)

it is almost noon on the first day of august in the year 1999. heavy panting and sounds of metals colliding softly with each other filled the four walls as a boy drops his barbell on the stand behind the bench he is laying down on. a new personal best for him. different paraphernalia of a teenage boy covers two corners of the room, one is full of textbooks for school, the other is full of workout items, with a desk right in between those corners that somehow integrates both of the corners, a roll of hand wrap in front of the box-shaped personal computer's desktop that shows the latest operating system by windows, windows 98, and its teal background. chiming bells of messages the boy knew from his instant messenger makes him sit up from his bench. the t-shirt he wore sticks onto his sweating body as he stretches his legs by standing up, then stretches his arm muscles to cool them down.

7. (wip) terra incognita | jake (first draft)

2035

"swan song."

a woman said to the man beside her, her husband, as they look at a figure from the open door frame, sleeping in a coma as they can hear the stable heartbeats from the monitor beside the bed, bandages enveloping the joints in the figure’s right shoulder and right thigh where the limbs have been cut out from. their eyes sting seeing the little body with tubes of chemicals and metal tools around the sleeping figure, all the child-like items are out of the room, the wall that was painted the pastel color look more saturated than ever before, in replace for things to help the little body to live and survive.

8. (wip) blitz storm | txt ot5 (first draft)

hey!

you're wondering how you got into a situation where you are adopted with six other children who has superpowers?

well… all of you have a very unique start to your life… this is yours…

9. (wip) we are dreamers | taehyun & hueningkai (first draft)

tap tap tap tap tap

your fingers fidget against the desk below you. the silence in the room deafening but only the sound of the clock pierced through it.

the long hand ever so slowly but surely on its way to number 12

you glance at your classmates whose either heads on top or on the desk, laying on top of their hands. the teacher leans back at the front, looking towards the students.

the hand has reached number 11 when you glance back at the clock. you quietly put all your supplies in your case and rearrange the stuff on your desk.

10. (wip) chromaquest | sunoo, jungwon, & niki (first draft)

"sweetheart, wake up" you felt something caressing your upper arm. you stir, letting know the figure that you have woken up. "breakfast is ready. i'll be waiting downstairs, okay?" you heard the voice said, your mom said.

as you heard footsteps going away from you and the sound of a closed door, your eyes flutter open as you see the ceiling looking down upon you. you tilt your head to strech yourself and your eyes landed on soojin, your sister's, side of the room. oh how you miss her as she is away for college. the only person that you consider your friend. you sit up and put your foot on the floor.

as you prepare yourself, you glance around the room, numb to the feeling that you have always been the abnormal one. seeing the accolades and trophies on her side while yours are plain. you know you have always been in your sister's shadow, following where she went, hanging out with her friends with minimal interaction. yet, you feel comfortable with the numbness, with being in the shadow, you were the adopted daughter of the lee family after all.

from the length, there is no obvious pattern as i can make a 3 paragraph-long intro or a short one like blitz storm. but, if looked closely, i realized that my introduction usually starts with characters doing something: waking up, thinking, wondering, going to school, going back home, talking, etc. just like what camille said in her post, i acknowledge that i use the pattern of 'people doing something' to ease into the story as usually after read more, the exposition will come out as i start setting the scene and world-building

tagging: @euphor1a @heartandfangs + writers that i’m loving their works recently @yunjardi @wildernessuntothemselves @pshflrts @isunoos + other writers that wanna join ! (though if you don’t wanna make one, it’s alright :] )

[bluestripedspeedo]

Indiscreet – 00. Prologue Pairing: Writer/Producer!Javi Gutierrez x you (Hollywood AU) SERIES MASTERLIST

Image credit

Series summary: Fresh off the success of his project with Nic Cage, Javi dived fully into his true passion, screenwriting. A few more hits later, his best friend is making his directorial debut with his script. Trouble comes in the form of you, a beautiful young new actress brought on to the project… and there’s an impending threat of quarantine, too.

Chapter summary: The director, Óscar Morales, invites you to dinner.  Chapter warning: Nothing spicy yet, but there’s only one bed and an age gap. For those fasting or sober, there are mentions of food and alcohol here. Words: 2,8k

Playlist: Fireplace burning through the night

Author’s note: Thank you so much to everyone who liked, reblogged, and asked to be tagged! I’m excited to finally share this baby that I’d been dreaming up for almost a year now. I'm dropping you smack dab in the middle of the timeline, but you'll get to see how they initially met on the next chapter in a few days. Special thanks to @dontshouthisnamelikehesathing @just-here-for-the-moment​ @beaucannon​ for being my first readers. Enjoy and happy TUWOMT release weekend!

Edit 14/10 - Disclaimer: I feel the need to address this concern. Óscar (Morales) isn't an RPF of Oscar Isaac. While I borrowed Isaac's first name because I couldn’t think of anything else that fit, Morales is not inspired by and does not bear any resemblance to Isaac. I initially had Isaac's look in Dune in mind when I started writing him, but in some scenes I also envisioned Edgar Ramirez. But if you imagine their looks differently than I do, go ahead and keep it that way! Cast anyone you want.

✧✧✧

FEBRUARY

“CUT!”

You stand there exasperated across your co-star who looks like he’s had enough. That was the fourteenth take. For some reason, today you just couldn’t get anything right. Lacing your shaky fingers together on your front, you wait for the crew to set up the scene - again - but the same voice announces, “Take five, everyone!”

You let out a sigh you didn’t notice you were holding and you see the director walking towards you and motioning you to another room. Here goes, you think. He’s gonna rewrite my role and I’ll barely have any lines and he’s gonna think I’m not serious enough about this and oh my god he’s gonna regret this—

“What’s up with you today? Did something happen?” Óscar Morales, the director who's personally responsible for you being here, runs his hand over his thick and graying beard.

Something happened, all right, but nothing you should know.

“Uh, no. I just couldn’t get into her headspace today, you know, it’s been really overwhelming, this is all still new for me, and you know I have trouble remembering lines sometimes, and–”

“I thought you said you’ve been practicing with Javi?”

Fuck. “Yeah. Yeah. It’s just… I don’t know. It’s just a weird day today. I don’t even have excuses. Sorry.”

“Seriously, are you okay? Do you need a break?” He asks softly.

“I’m good. Really. Just… give me 5 more minutes?”

“Okay. Sure thing. But get it right this time. We’re gonna lose the light soon. You got this, kid.” Óscar squeezes your arm and leaves you alone with your thoughts. Get it together. Do not disappoint him.

You decide to walk around the massive library to calm your jitters. Books adorn all four walls surrounding you. Curious, you pick up a leatherbound and open it to a random page. Blank. Ha! Should’ve known. You’ve heard about people buying blank books in leather spines by the foot just to decorate their “home library”. What a scam. Why bother! Everyone should have a personalized collection. Filled with books that mean something to them. Hardcovers and paperbacks stacked on top of each other without rhyme or reason. No alphabetization or color coding. Dog ears and doodles and an old bar receipt in place of a bookmark between pages… No, don’t think about him right now. Focus. 

Focus. FOCUS. What’s that line you keep forgetting? A wistful Spanish quote, then a goodbye. Fuck, you’re not even sure what it means. There goes your two on and off years of Duolingo. Javi was supposed to teach you how to say it correctly, tone and all.

“Hey, you ready?” A PA interrupts your running thoughts with a loud opening of the door.

“Yeah, sure. Oh, could you tell Óscar I’m going to the bathroom and I’ll be there in like, two minutes? Th–” The PA doesn't even let you finish your gratitude before slamming the door carelessly. Get it together. Get this one take right. Get this right and you’ll be back in your plush hotel suite, having a nice long bath with a bottle of wine, before…

✧✧

TWO NIGHTS AGO

““I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too. Yo la quise, y a veces ella también me quiso,”” Javi’s warm, smooth voice reads the text from his phone. It's cliché. But you sound so adorable following his intonations that he could look past it. That part isn't going to be in your scene, but he's a hardliner for tone and insists that you fully understand the entire poem to deliver the dialogue.

“I like it better when you say it,” you giggle. Spread on his sofa and three glasses in (or four?), you can feel the words coming out before you fully think it through. “Not my favorite part, though.”

“You have a favorite part? Esto es muy triste,” he says, tilting his head up to you from the floor he’s sitting on, one arm now dangerously close to your leg.

“Nope… es muy romántico, Javi.”

“Ugh, you’re such a sad person,” he says in fake mocking.

“Excuse me!” you lift your head laughing.

“You know what I mean! Everything you like is so sad. Cheer up.” Javi laughs.

“Seriously, it’s romantic. He still loves her, even way after… well.”

“How does this fit into the scene anyway? And why wasn’t I consulted?” He'd come home to revisions in his emails and was about to tell Óscar to axe it all, until he read that it was your suggestion in the fine print.

“Because Óscar loves me and trusts me,” you say with a sweet smile. “And I’m gonna add my favorite line after the goodbye to my ‘boyfriend’ with your great big speech...”

“Which is?”

“”Love is so short, forgetting is so long.”” You stand up and walk towards his kitchen for your fourth (fifth?) refill.

“Oh, that’s cheesy. Cheer up,” Javi says, laughing at your consistency and cliché. He has never let anyone tweak his script in any of his previous works, no matter how big their star power is. But, whatever makes you happy.

✧✧

“See? That wasn’t hard.” Óscar says good-naturedly with a big grin. “I knew you’d nail it. That’s a wrap for today, everyone! See you all tomorrow!”

You're about to dash for your dressing room to finally change into your own clothes and go home when Óscar reaches for your elbow.

“Hey, why don’t you have dinner with us tonight?”

“I don’t know, Óscar. I’m a little tired…”

“Come on, it’s still early. We’re just gonna be at home. Give me half an hour and then we’ll go, alright?”

And how could you say no? You wouldn’t even be here if not for Óscar taking matters into his own hands when you needed someone, anyone, to pull you out of your mundane life. And you wouldn’t have even met him if not for Óscar either. Caving in, you start to do the math in your head. Maybe I’d still make it if I only stayed for an hour.

✧

Óscar notices you’re looking out the window into the vast views of rolling hills throughout the entire drive, far lost in your thoughts that he doesn’t bother to make small talk. He finally speaks up when you follow him to the front door.

“Sorry to make you do this. But we know you’re alone and probably sick of room service, so... Ava insists. I’ll drive you back after, of course. Or you could stay the night if you’re too tired later.”

“I really don’t want to burden you, Óscar.” And I wouldn’t be alone.

“I promised to take care of you. It’s really nothing.”

Óscar’s place, his rented residence for the time being, is a cottage half an hour away from the city surrounded by tall trees and seemingly endless fields of green - well, white now. When you first came here weeks ago, Ava said it’s good for the kids; they could be outside all day and Óscar wouldn’t have to worry about privacy. Javi said Óscar’s not even famous enough to worry about that - which earned him a wet willy into his ear. You thought you could see yourself living in it if you’re ever sick of the busy city life. You fell in love at first sight with the indoor-outdoor dining area with vines overhead. It reminded you of home.

“We’re here!” Óscar announces as you both take off your coat and shoes by the door when you notice a pair of men’s sneakers too large to be Óscar’s. You’ve seen the same pair on the floor of your room last week. Your breath catches in your throat.

“We’re in the living room!” answers Ava.

Following her voice, you find a familiar sight: Lightning McQueen on TV, toys scattered around the carpeted floors, and Óscar’s eldest child passed out on his favorite tío’s lap. It’s so cute. Then, as if on cue, Javi looks up at you and gives you his signature smirk before he catches himself and averts his attention to Óscar.

“He wouldn’t go to his room until you’re home.” Ava says to Óscar.

“Is that right?” he says to his sleeping son before picking him up from Javi’s lap. “Come on, buddy. Let’s get you into bed.”

“Hey honey, how are you?” Ava gets up to kiss your cheeks in greeting.

“I'm good. Thanks so much for having me. I know it’s last minute…”

“Don’t worry! Javi brought us pasta and it’s too much for just us three,” she laughs. “I’m gonna tuck him in. Go ahead and dig in. You must be so hungry.”

Javi gets up and leads you into the kitchen. It's now too cold for the outdoor dining table so the island would have to do. You look at the unopened paper bags – Padella.

“I got you your favorite,” you hear Javi’s familiar, velvety voice.

“I was going to te–” you start.

“I tried ca–” he says at the same time. “Yeah, I was going to let you know I’d have to be here.”

“What for?”

“Script revisions. Might be too late for it now, though.”

“Yeah... that’s kind of my fault.” You give him a sheepish grin.

“Something happened?”

“No, I… Well, I forgot my lines... a lot. But it’s okay now... I hope.”

“You’ll be fine. We could fix it in post.”

You clear your throat, changing the subject. “So, now that we’re both here… Was this your plan? Takeout pasta for dinner?”

Javi meets your eyes and chuckles as he starts to plate the food. “More like satisfying my girl’s cravings, one way or another…” he says with a wink. My girl. You bite your lip at that, the endearment making you blush. “No, actually, I’d already booked out Daphne’s when Óscar called. He said you were coming here too, so… this is the best I could do. I’ll make it up to you, promise.”

You feel mushy that he remembers your blurb about loving that place and dying for pasta on set a few days ago. He’d refused to let you know where you’d be going, only that he’d pick you up at your hotel. But buying the place out for a whole night, for a date? That’s another level.

“I don’t mind this,” you tell him, gesturing to the containers. The takeaway is your go-to whenever you need a delicious, no-dress-code-required pasta fix in town. He had looked at you in bewilderment when you told him you used to line up for at least an hour just for it. How he managed to get all of these in a short time, you could guess.

He’s busy twisting the noodles to perfection, so you continue. “Well, I was planning on pampering myself and then putting on this lacy thing and slip dress I just bought, and asking you if we could just stay in,” you tease with a wicked glint in your eyes. At that, he stops his motions and his eyes immediately drop to your torso, even though nothing is showing through your sweater.

“Yeah, you do that. Tomorrow night.”

“You’re not taking me to Daphne’s anymore?”

“I mean… if that’s still what you want? We’ll need to fuel up anyway,” he says before rounding the corner and standing next to you to put a hand on your hip and caress it. “And if that’s really what you’re gonna wear, I want it off on the ride back home,” he whispers in your ear. His hand moves to your lower back and up your spine under your sweater. You close your eyes and hope you don’t whine. “I won’t let you leave my bed, so we’re gonna have to come up w–” 

“It’s my house so dibs on the ragù!” Óscar’s voice approaching from the living room startles you both, making Javi jump away from you. You cough and pretend to reach for the water pitcher, hoping you don’t appear too flushed.

“There’s only one and it’s for her.”

“Dammit. Fine.”

✧

Both you and Javi are going to win an Oscar (ha) one day for the stellar performance you put on tonight. Neither Óscar nor Ava suspect anything throughout dinner. Not when Javi stares at you a little too long. Not when he attentively refills your wine glass and switches to water without asking for your okay - like he already knows you. You laugh at stories he tells them as if you haven’t heard them before while he was massaging your tired feet on your bed weeks ago. He listens to you intently and asks you questions about your life as if you didn’t tell him the exact same things over cocktails in the past month. As far as your two hosts are concerned, neither of you knows what the other is doing in your daily life outside of the set. 

Time flies and suddenly it’s already close to midnight. “I have a morning start tomorrow, mind if you just stay here, we’ll work on the script first thing?” Óscar asks Javi.

“Sure, yeah. You don’t mind, Ava?”

“Of course not,” Ava replies immediately, as if that’s even something to consider. Then she turns to you. “Why don’t you stay too? You’re going to set tomorrow anyway, right?”

The invitation sounds sincere, and it is, but you know it’s because she doesn’t want her husband to drive you to the city and back this late. It’s been a long and tiring day. “No, but… sure. If you don’t mind too, of course.” 

“If you don’t mind sleeping on the sofa bed. And if Javi doesn’t mind sleeping on the floor,” Óscar says.

“Damn. Can’t I just cuddle between you two?” Javi asks Óscar in mock disappointment.

“You’re a dumbass.”

“No, you.”

You look at them back and forth in fascination. Their banter is always entertaining - be it in private, on set, on interviews (and yes, you’ve seen them all). It’s the real playful Javi and Óscar that you know, not the calm and collected mask you sometimes see them put on for other people.

“At least my back still survives going up the stairs,” Óscar says before sleepily getting up from the stool. 

“I’ll do the dishes.” You quickly say before Óscar and Ava could even reach for their empty ones.

“By the way, turn the fireplace up high, you don’t wanna wake up freezing your dick off,” Óscar says to Javi who rises up to his feet to help you.

“Why don’t I set everything up then I’ll help you dry these?” Javi says to you as you start to roll up your sleeves.

“No, go ahead, I’ll be done in no time.” He nods and you get to work, missing the brief look on Ava’s face as she looks between the two of you before you all say your goodnights.

✧

You find Javi back in the living room, still setting up the massive sofa bed in front of the roaring fireplace. It basks the surrounding in a warm glow, making the scene unintentionally romantic. You look down to a pathetic stack of pillows on the floor, not even on the reading nook by the window.

“We could just share, you know. It’s big enough.”

“I don’t know,” he says. “Not here. I don’t know if I could… if I could keep my hands to myself. After what you said.”

“Me? What about what you said?” You take a sip of your drink, a glass of hot tea with lemon slices you just made as you settle into the corner of the makeshift bed. “Come on. I can’t let you fuck up your back. And not when you have an early start tomorrow. Just put a pillow between us.”

Javi contemplates for a moment before giving in. He picks up his pillows off the floor and slips under the blankets next to you.

“I wish we were back at yours.”

“Uh huh.“

You put your glass on the coffee table and crawl closer to him, your nose touching his, fingers tugging on the hem of his shirt. “So I could sleep on you.”

Javi wraps an arm around your waist and squeezes, as he lets out a sigh. “Behave, baby. Please.”

“If you say so,” you say playfully. You move back to your side of the bed and take your jeans off. Your sweater follows to reveal a thin tank top underneath. You look at his stunned face and make a show of covering yourself up with the blanket to your neck. You turn so that your back is facing him and you look over your shoulder to say, “Goodnight.” 

What you don’t know is that it takes Javi ten minutes to readjust his composure (and himself) while looking at your sleeping form. That it takes every bit of his willpower to not throw the pillows separating you from him to the floor to drape his body over yours, bury his face in your neck, slip his hand under your top and your panties... Eventually he closes his eyes and reminds himself that Óscar would happily replace the fireplace logs with him if you get caught. He wishes the two of you were back at his house, too.

✧✧✧

Taglist: @just-here-for-the-moment @dontshouthisnamelikehesathing @beaucannon @sherala007 @littlemisspascal @harriedandharassed @wardenparker @queridopascal @saintcooper @lovesbiggerthanpride @druigswh0ree @peaches-roses-sins @thereisaplaceintheheart @spideysimpossiblegirl

[untaemedqueen]

Third Wheeling

CEO!Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Strangers to Lovers!AU, Angst, Fluff, Smut

Chapter 29.

Warnings (Updating Still): Smut, Cheating, Unexpected Pregnancy, Unfaithful, Emotional Damage, Love

Warnings For This Chapter: Pre-Wedding Jitters, Dirty Talk, Daddy Kink, Fingering, Praise, Lactation Kink, Milk Drinking, Pregnancy Kink, Wife Kink, Glazed Donut!OC

A/N: Today’s chapter is late because I’ve been busy playing New Pokemon Snap... sry. Shout out to @xjoonchildx, @ladyartemesia and @ppersonna because I’d be lost without them.

There are undoubtedly many events in life that make a person nervous -- your first day of high school and college, your first kiss, your first sexual experience, and for some even your first phone call you give to your doctor when you're no longer under your parents protection. But no one -- not a single person, told you how nervous your wedding day is.

Maybe it's the amount of people that are attending. Two hundred is no small number.

Or maybe it's the fact that with your belly sticking out so far you can barely see your feet makes you feel like you'll be judged.

Whatever it is, the feeling fucking sucks.

You've seen so many movies where the woman who is getting married is all laughs and smiles, giving cheers to anyone and everyone because it's her wedding day. But now, you can officially say it's bullshit.

The best part is, it isn't even today, it's tomorrow and you still are frightened to the bone at the thought.

"-And I mean, yeah. Fine. We chose the taupe napkins but who the fuck is Aubrey to say anything, y'know? Like she knows her colors… Evil witch. I swear I don't know how she passed kindergarten!"

Leena's rant drifts through your ears like a soft breeze. You haven't been paying attention for a while, if you're being honest.

"Y/N? Are you listening to me?!" Leena gawks, grabbing her glass of champagne from Taehyung's hand.

Again, you're caught up in your own mind. You play every scenario of how tomorrow will be and they all seem to be terrible ideas.

What if you trip walking down the aisle?

What if your heel snaps on the way up?

What if your water breaks in front of two hundred people?

What if-

A small square of balsamic bruschetta appears in front of your face and your eyes narrow at the piece of bread.

You feel your soon-to-be husband's fingers pushing back some stray hairs behind your ear. "Food for thought?" he quips happily.

He has not had a frown on his face in what seems like forever. You adore it, you really do. But how can he not be nervous? Your heart is practically thrumming out of your chest.

"Open," he whispers.

Reluctantly, you open your mouth for the appetizer. When he leans in, you look back down at your lap.

"I can see your heart racing through the artery in your neck," he murmurs against your ear.

His hand squeezes your knee under the table reassuringly as he pulls away.

Yoongi wants to pry, he wants to ask you what's got you so in your own head but there are a few too many people here for that.

"Noona, you're an amazing cook." Jeongguk whines, grabbing another piece of steak off the platter.

"You're actually disgusting." Jimin breathes, wrinkling his nose at the youngest's third steak.

"I need my meat, that's how I win in the ring. Gets me all big and strong." Guk beams, cutting into the large t-bone.

"That's what she said!" Hoseok and Taehyung chirp at the same time.

You watch as they high five each other with child-like smiles plastered onto their faces.

"Are you tired? Do you want to call it a night?" your fiance inquires softly, turning his whole body towards you so the rest of the room can't hear him.

You would never want to take away from the festivities. It's just that your stupid anxiety is overwhelming. Looking over at your handsome partner, your fingers intertwine with his. He's quick to kiss the back of your hand, searching your eyes for some sort of hint as to why you're so down.

"No. I'm fine. I'm sorry." you reply, giving him a small smile.

His eyes narrow at your smile and he takes a sharp breath through his teeth in confusion.

"Al...right, if you say so." he says unsurely, running your intertwined hands over your belly.

"Y/N!" Leena whines from across the table and this time you give her your full attention.

You need to try and push this anxiousness elsewhere even for a little while. You will not be a horrible host.

"Yes Beena," you inquire, leaning your chin on your hand.

"Did you hear me? Did you hear what Kim Aubrey said about my wedding planning skills?!" she screeches.

You can only snort as all eyes around the table land on you. "I don't know why you indulge her. Isn't she the one that shit her pants in chemistry when she was fifteen?"

Yoongi laughs loudly, throwing his head back and placing his hand on his chest.

"Actually yeah, she sat two rows behind me!" Namjoon chimes in with wide eyes. His nose wrinkles at the sudden memory and you don't blame him as he pushes his plate away in a sudden state of queasiness.

"So I don't suck at wedding planning?" your best friend pouts across the long table to you.

"Absolutely not." you insist, winking at her.

"This wedding is going to be the biggest event of the entire year. Maybe even the biggest event of the next ten years." Anna, Jimin's wife cheers.

Oh.

Good.

Love that.

"Well, I think we just want people to have a good time. We aren't worried about what impact it will have." Yoongi says quickly, caressing his thumb over the back of your hand to calm you down.

He's not dumb. He's figured it out by now, but he'll still want to hear it from your lips later on.

"Yeah right. 'Min Yoongi and his artistically talented fiance WOW people with their show stopping matrimony' is gonna be on the cover of Dispatch in two days." Hoseok murmurs.

"Oh yeah? And you're gonna be the one giving them the hot scoop, then?" Namjoon jeers, pointing his index finger over the lip of his glass of brandy at the handsome man.

Hobi sneers in his direction and Yoongi can only respond with a chuckle.

"My fiance is pretty show stopping." the CEO surmises, leaning back in his chair.

"Please. I'm eating. Christ." Leena groans through a mouthful of pasta.

It is nice to have so many close friends around tonight though. You hope it can distract you long enough for the nervousness brewing and bubbling inside of you to subside.

When conversations begin to break up and become between smaller groups of people, you can feel his eyes on you like a heat source.

"Little dove?" Yoongi coos softly, rubbing your distended side.

You hum to him, turning to give him your full attention.

"Tomorrow is going to be beautiful and perfect." he promises, tilting your chin up with his index finger.

"No, I know. I'm just-"

"Worried." he finishes for you and he's not surprised to see your reluctant nod of agreement.

"I know. I'm nervous too." he admits, kissing your cheek.

"You've already gotten married before," you scoff, allowing his arm to curl around your shoulders.

"Actually I was black out drunk and can't remember a single thing because I was venomously angry with the dumb bitch that ruined my life before you." he replies with a wide smile.

"Oh. Good." you reply, rolling your eyes at his playfulness.

"So this is my first real wedding too. And even though I'm nervous, I'm excited. Because then when the wedding is over and we get to our honeymoon-"

"Uh uh." you gasp, smushing your finger to his lips.

He pouts against your finger, kissing it softly. "What?" he garbles against your digit.

"We have company." you whisper fiercely.

"Didn't stop you a few days ago when you sucked my cock beneath the desk upstairs while I was on a video meeting." he deadpans, pulling your hand away from his face.

"Yoongi!" you gasp, glancing over the table who hasn't heard a single thing.

You'd like to keep it that way.

"I can't wait to fuck your little pregnant cunt as you're Mrs. Min Yoongi." he beams, kissing your temple.

You can feel your cheeks flushing with embarrassment and you can only blame the man beside you for that one.

When you smack his chest out of shame, the noise echoes throughout the room, earning attention from all of the guests.

"Abuse is not nice, Y/N. Do you want to file a lawsuit, Yoongi?" Yoona quips, sticking her tongue out at you.

The CEO chuckles, squeezing your shoulder with glee. "No, she couldn't handle my lawyers." he bubbles.

"Oh yeah, you know you aren't supposed to sleep with each other tonight, right?" Leena inquires, moving her fork between the both of you.

The cackle Yoongi gives is loud and absurd, much like your best friend's comment. "I can't do anything to her she doesn't have proof of." he banters, pointing at your large belly.

Leena scoffs, pointing down at her plate. "Again. Eating. Gross." she enunciates, pouring herself another glass of expensive champagne.

Jimin's laugh rings throughout the dining room and Yoongi knows that he's the only person who could truly understand him in that moment.

"Why do people do that dumb tradition anyway?" Jeongguk asks, finally finishing his food.

"It actually comes from arranged marriages. When people didn't know who they were marrying." Yoona informs him.

"Fuck that luck shit. That's the saying, isn't it? 'It's bad luck to see the bride' or something like that." Hoseok breathes.

"I think I'm lucky," Yoongi, Namjoon and Jimin reply all at once.

Your best friend takes the opportunity to sneer at her boyfriend and you can't help but giggle at his hopeless expression. "You know I love you, baby." Taehyung coos, sliding his arm over her shoulders.

"Mhm." she drolls, rolling her eyes when both of you look at one another.

"What's for dessert?" Jeongguk asks pleasantly, tying his long black hair up into a ponytail.

"Are you serious? You're not full?" Namjoon gawks at the boxer.

"I was saving room for dessert!" he beams, looking over at you expectantly.

Jeongguk is sweet, sweeter than most younger men you've ever met. He feels something akin to a little brother to you at this point and it's wonderful to see that even if you're rich you can still have manners.

"I made just a simple cobbler, since the wedding cake tomorrow is going to be super heavy and rich." you announce.

Yoongi shoves his chair back, holding out his hand to help you up like the gentleman he is.

He watches you carefully sprinkle powdered sugar atop the dessert with warm eyes.

You don't know how difficult it's going to be walking up that aisle tomorrow, but you do know that your ankles are going to be on fire. They already are.

He picks up the ceramic dish for you, nodding to the chair for you to sit back down and your heart warms for what feels like the billionth time today.

He's such a special person.

"Yoongi is really cool these days, huh?" Jimin jeers, elbowing your fiance when he steps between him and Jeongguk to place the dessert onto the table.

"I've always been cool," he counters, nudging the younger man back

"Well…" Jeongguk and Taehyung droll at the same time.

"Whatever," the CEO breathes, rolling his eyes.

Your giggle seems to light up the room as well as Yoongi's heart. Slamming down in his chair beside you, he can't help the glee that courses through him.

He can't wait for tomorrow.

Climbing into bed, you let the mattress mold to your body and it feels like heaven to be finally laying down, your body certainly thanks you for it.

Yoongi leans against the wall, watching as you sigh happily. "I can just come to bed y'know? I don't need to stay up and hang out." he offers, padding towards you.

"No, that wouldn't be fair. It's your bachelor party. You should be able to play poker and drink." you reply, cupping your stomach.

His eyes drift over you and you can see how soft his expression is in the dim lighting. "You got out of your bachelorette party," he adds, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"I have a reason. I'm pregnant." you deadpan, lifting your head to look at him.

"With my baby," he coos, stretching up the bed to lay down beside you.

"Don't get comfy." you warn him, running your fingers over his clothed chest.

"I'm not, I'll just stay until you fall asleep." he promises, kissing your forehead.

His hand drifts over your stomach and the tiny kick he feels makes his heart beat faster. "Hey, kid. How you doin' in there?" he whispers, running his thumb over the spot his son just hit.

You hum gently, letting your eyes flutter closed.

"I'm so tired but I'm so nervous." you announce in the quiet room.

Your fiance looks away from your belly to look over at you. "It's okay to be nervous, but don't let it supersede your happiness for tomorrow either."

You nod gently, wrapping your arms around his neck. "I just have so many scenarios going through my head."

"And none of them are nice, I'm sure." he replies, booping your nose with his index finger.

Scoffing in agreement, you bury your face into his sweet smelling neck.

"I can make you cum, it might make you sleepy," he offers.

"I can't return the favor though, I'm too tired. It'll be unfair," you whine.

When he clicks his teeth, you only hold him tighter to your body.

"I don't need you to 'return the favor' when you love someone as much as I love you, you'd do anything to see them comfortable." he replies, kissing the top of your head.

"They're waiting for you downstairs." you remind him.

"Let them wait. You come first," he breathes, running the tips of his fingers over your soft inner thighs.

You whine in disagreement but your body betrays you naturally. Your legs spread wider and your breath hitches, your lips softly suckle on the thin skin of his neck waiting patiently for what he will do next.

"Your skin is so soft," he whispers, tugging the seat of your panties to the side.

He pulls away from you just far enough to be able to see how well he pleases you and he's already aroused at the sight.

Your eyes are low with lust, bottom lip clamped between your teeth. Your nipples are stiff peaks, straining against the grey silk nightgown you adorn. He can see the grey fabric becoming darker with each passing second as you bead milk.

"God," he groans, parting your lower lips.

"Tomorrow when we fly to Japan, I'm gonna fuck you in every way you could possibly think of." he promises, running his middle finger through your arousal.

"H-How?" you inquire curiously, gasping when he taps the pad of his finger to your clit.

His lips part and his teeth clamp down on one of the cups of your nightgown before pulling down harshly.

You whimper at the chilly air that glides over your now exposed skin.

He lays soft, hot opened mouthed kisses to your nipple, watching your eyebrows furrow in pleasure.

"How am I going to fuck you?" he prods.

You nod fervently, capturing your index finger between your teeth.

"Well," he begins, drawing smooth, slow circles to your swelling clit, "I'll start on the red eye. I'll take you back to the bedroom and take off that pretty wedding dress you'll be wearing just for me."

"Daddy," you whimper, spreading your legs wider for more.

He hums in agreement, pulling off your underwear to free you completely before him.

"I'm gonna make sure the whole crew of my plane knows you're getting fucked by your husband. Gonna have you screaming my name while I fuck your tight little pussy with my thick cock." he avows, kissing over your shoulder.

His words send shivers up your spine and your toes curl with excitement.

"Fuck," you whimper, grinding your hips down onto his hand.

"Gonna hold your big belly in my hands while I fuck you from behind. Let your milk drip all over the sheets of the bed on the plane. You're gonna beg me to go harder, to fill your dirty pregnant cunt full of my cum. I'm gonna make you feel so good, you aren't even going to care that everyone can hear you calling me daddy."

Shoving two fingers inside of you, he skillfully taps the soft patch of nerves within you and your brain is already firing on all cylinders to cum for him. His thumb begins to press harder circles into your clit and when you cup your belly, his eyes roll back at the sight.

"Gonna get you to the secluded hotel and fuck you out on the balcony, in the bath tub, on the bed, anywhere I can get my hands on you. Because I need you wrapped around me. Always." he murmurs into your ear.

"Shit!" you cry out, letting your head loll back to the pillow.

"Good girl, little dove." he praises, unbuttoning his pants for relief.

The head of his cock peeks out from the lip of his briefs and you whimper at the pearl of precum that beads at the tip.

"You're so beautiful," he breathes, kissing from your collarbone to your pert nipple.

When he suckles softly, your hips lift at the erotocism. He moans at the taste of your milk and his hand ghosts over his hard cock.

"Daddy," you cry out, starting to shake from the overwhelming pleasure.

Sitting up on his knees, he shoves his pants down further. He parts your legs wider and he doesn't seem to care that all of his friends are waiting patiently for him downstairs.

His cock ruts between your folds and you're ever so close to cumming with every swipe the head of his cock brushes against your clit.

"So warm," he murmurs, purchasing his bottom lip between his teeth.

Your moans begin to get louder and he knows you're so close to releasing your pleasure.

"That's it baby, you're so close." Yoongi notices, running his hands over your stomach.

"O-Oh my God!" you cry out, grabbing his hands over your belly.

"I know, little dove. Feels good, huh?" he coos.

You're so obscenely wet, that even without him being inside you he's finding himself close to his own end.

It's just you in general, you overstimulate him in ways he can barely understand.

"Daddy, I'm gonna cum." you bleat, gripping his hands harder.

"Cum for me, little dove. I want to see your pretty face when you cum for me." he begs, rutting his hips harder against your core.

You do as told, cumming for him with white spotted eyes and loud sobs of pleasure.

"Good girl," he praises, pulling away from your weeping pussy.

He fists his cock in hand, dragging the swollen, leaking tip over your belly. "Such a pretty woman I have beneath me. Fuck," he curses, jerking his hand faster.

Even as tiredness begins to shroud you, you want him to orgasm too. "Daddy, cum all over my belly. Want to feel your warm cum."

He takes a sharp breath between his teeth, his eyes snapping to yours.

When you palm your breasts, his eyes immediately falter to them. You pinch your nipples purposefully, earning droplets of milk that stream slowly over your digits.

"Oh fuck!" he gasps loudly, pushing his hair out of his eyes.

"Want your cum so badly," you whimper, looking up at him with doe-like eyes.

"Yeah? You want me to cum all over your belly?" he prods, feeling his balls tightening.

You nod fervently, leaving your breasts to rub circles to your distended skin.

"Fuck!" he curses, squeezing his eyes shut as his orgasm courses through him. His cock throbs and stutters in his hand and you hum with satisfaction when you feel his warm cum land on your belly.

"God, you're too sexy for your own good." the father of your child jeers, sitting back on the heels of his feet.

You find yourself giving a tired giggle and your eyelids slowly begin to shield your eyes from view.

"Good girl." he whispers softly, hopping off the bed to clean your stomach.

When he comes back with a wet towel, he can see that you're already fast asleep. He's happy knowing that you'll be able to sleep even if it's only for a few hours.

He can understand your worries and your fears but he wants you to be able to enjoy your wedding too.

Kissing your forehead as he cleans your belly, he sighs softly. "My wife," he breathes, closing his eyes.

"I'll be back later, my love." he promises, tossing the rag back into the bathroom.

Yoongi covers your naked body with the comforter and his heart is thudding in the recesses of his chest with joy.

Just a few more hours and you'll be legally his.

"Remind me why we're playing poker the night before your wedding instead of going out?" Taehyung asks, throwing chips into the center of the green felted table.

"Because there's no pregnant strippers around these parts," Jimin jeers, picking up his beer.

Yoongi sneers at the younger man beside him, elbowing him almost out of embarrassment.

"What? If I could go see a pregnant strip show, believe me, I would."

"We know." everyone replies, rolling their eyes.

"Last time you had a bachelor party, man, that shit was fun." the hotel CEO recalls.

"You had fun." Yoongi reminds him, ashing his cigar.

"Also, aren't you completely smitten with Leena anyway? You want her to have your baby." Namjoon prods, placing his cards down on the table.

Taehyung smirks at his comment, leaning back into his chair and slinging his arm over the lip. "Oh, I'm very happy. She's everything I could possibly want." he affirms, smiling to himself.

"Then why do you want to go to a strip club?" Hoseok adds, throwing chips onto the table.

"Because I like tits. Jesus Christ, just crucify me why don't you!" Tae replies appalled.

Yoongi snorts loudly, clamping his teeth down on his cigar.

He wonders if you're okay, if you've woken up in the past few hours due to his son being so active.

His fingers flex uncomfortably and he's still surprised how much his life has changed in such a small amount of time. He's gone from being a violent, sadistic, narcissistic asshole to being a needy, loving and adoring man. And that's all thanks to you.

You've completely changed the pattern of his DNA and he could never appreciate you as much as you deserve.

"You excited for tomorrow, hyung?" Guk's voice pulls him from his thoughts and he smirks at the younger man.

"Very excited but very nervous." he admits to his group of friends.

"I remember the night of his other wedding. He was so fucking drunk he could barely stand up on his own." Jimin recalls with a laugh.

"I had to hold him up with my shoulder from behind so he didn’t fall backwards." Namjoon adds with a sharp laugh.

Yoongi smirks to himself, looking down at his pocket which holds his wallet. "Well, I'm just glad we don't have to have a repeat of that horrible day again."

"You got lucky dude, not many people find their soulmate when they were an asshole like you were." Hoseok says, pointing at the Kisung CEO.

His sneer is terrifying but probably only to himself as the other men laugh at Hobi's words.

"Y/N completely made him do a 180." Joon concurs.

"I like Y/N noona a lot. She fits in well and she's always optimistic and sweet. We needed someone like her in our lives." Guk beams and your soon-to-be husband seems to glow in their praise.

He loves hearing his friends talk so highly of you. He loves knowing that you're loved for being yourself, especially because you don't know it very often.

He can remember when he first met you, in the back of Seokjin's club. You were sweet and kind but a smart ass and cheeky at the same time. You intrigued him on so many levels and he can remember how badly he wanted to destroy you. But he never would have expected to fall in love with you as earnestly as he has.

And he wouldn't change it for anything in the universe.

"Leena has been putting in so much work for this wedding, you would think it's hers." Taehyung laughs, pulling Yoongi out of his reverie.

"And when are you getting married to her then?" the Kisung CEO inquires, ashing his cigar.

The question seems to stupify the handsome hotel owner, he stutters and shifts awkwardly in his seat trying to reply to the sudden question.

"Jesus, you broke him!" Jimin laughs, clapping his best friend on the back.

Taehyung's cheeks burn bright red and his hand immediately cups the back of his neck out of embarrassment. "I mean I bought a ring. I just haven't thought of anything romantic to y'know… ask her."

Beer goes flying out of Jimin's mouth and the sneer Yoongi gives makes him want to die on the spot.

"Jimin. You're paying for the new felt, you fucking animal." Yoongi gripes, watching Namjoon and Hoseok heartily laugh at the younger man.

"That'll be great! Leena noona is really nice!" Jeongguk cheers, hugging Taehyung happily.

"Thanks…" Tae breathes embarrassed.

Yoongi winks at him and he isn't surprised in the slightest, he knows just how smitten the man is with your best friend.

"Yoongi?"

The voice is gentle and tired.  In an instant he's burning out his cigar and waving the smoke away.

"Yeah, baby?" he calls to you, disregarding the others in the library.

"Just checking to see if you were all still here," you murmur, stepping into the library doorway.

You're beautiful in the dim glow of the library's lights and the smile that spreads over his face is heart shatteringly perfect.

"Still here." he beams, padding over to you.

"Okay." you bleat, rubbing your sleep hooded eyes.

"What're you doing up, my dove? You must be so tired." he inquires, pushing hair back behind your ear.

"I'm thirsty. Wanted water." you chirp, pressing your forehead into his chest.

"Okay. Get your water and I'll be up in a few minutes. Alright?" he promises, tipping your chin up with his index finger.

You hum in agreement, starting to yawn.

He chuckles at your sleepy state, kissing your forehead. He pats your backside for good measure before turning to his friends that are seated around the poker table.

"I think it's time to get some rest before the big day tomorrow."

The guys hum in agreement, tossing down their cards and standing up.

"Tomorrow's gonna be great, man. I'm really happy for you." Joon whispers, patting his shoulder as he heads out first.

Yoongi can only agree with a wide smile.

Tomorrow is the start to the rest of his life. And it's perfect, just like you.

Next Chapter ----->

Third Wheeling Taglist -  @wickizer, @imluckybitches, @slothykrueger, @claireelise19, @ggukkieland, @rspbrryy, @iv-bts, @bambuzlee, @chanelbts, @mxxngxdss, @bluewhale52, @milesjeon11, @diamonddia-mond, @vinylphwoar, @xnxy97, @hubbytaehyung, @140503at-dawn, @bts-7beauts, @jadeblackwoll, @sunshiine-hobii, @creatorspalace, @eclectically-esoteric, @nikkiordonez12, @kaitswrld, @skamlover200, @sevgilove98, @kooeuphoria, @jikooksgirl19, @hobbledehoy26, @singular-itae, @dchimminie, @lowlifeoeuvre, @sugaslittlekookies, @bloopbloopb, @pjmcth, @softysuho, @codeinbelle, @jaiuneamesolitaiire, @betysotelo18, @jeonmisha, @iwanttohitmyself, @ayyyocee, @neverthefirstchoice, @itsbangtanoclock, @little7bitchh, @veryuniquenamegoeshere, @deathkat657, @firstlovesuga-93, @namjoonia, @paperpurple, @muzikabijou, @liebeoppa, @veronawrites, @kleff03, @ruinsofangels, @brightwingr5, @leekanchol, @rkivemagic, @ithinkileftmycoatoutside, @melaninkpops, @y00ngisbabygirl, @ungodlyjoon, @prochnost513, @dunixxd, @athenakyle, @igotnotype, @chxmachxps, @tinymintyoongi, @vangameren-blog, @alpaca1612, @ohcarolinamin, @thegreatestsushi​, @eltrain80, @btsmylife21, @deeepvibes, @httpminyg, @deliciouslydisturbed365​, @rkchmestizangmaldita​, @jimin-chu, @pimpnameyannie​, @preciouschimine​, @daughterofthequeen, @monetsberet​, @vanillamyg, @aamxxrii​, @kooafraid​, @ladykadyrova​, @singjisu​, @yazanii​, @moonlitmyg​, @justzeera​, @absolutefantrash​, @whocaresarchives​, @loosewindmill, @vantesfx​, @bt21chim​, @flowerboyhobi​, @kozuume-kenma, @taepiper​

Sorry for those it didn’t tag!

[drysuitdivingdrone1950]

FAGGOT ALLEY

To many uninformed passersby the numbered alley looked like any other alley in any other big city.  Faggots as well as many ALPHAS had coined the name for the alley. It was well known as the place an Alpha should go if they needed to unload.  Faggots knew where to go to get their next fix of Alpha juice.  

 During the pandemic, many of the bars were shut down and restaurants could only provide take out order.  The Alley also seemed to adapt to the changing times.  

 Adam was labeled as a ‘frequent flyer’ on Faggot Alley. He had an insatiable appetite that required multiple loads on a daily basis.  Some of the Alpha’s that he serviced had become regular customers. He was a pleasant colorful character who soon became a favorite of many of his Alpha’s.  After a particularly long Saturday of several regulars, Adam was approached by a new customer.

Adam was tired and had his fill for the night when he was approached by a new guy.  Initially he tried to walk away but the new customer would not take “NO!” for an answer.  Adam being passive and submissive was not prepared for what happened next.  Before he could even think of resisting the customer had him on the ground in a choke hold. It was the last night Adam was seen on Faggot Alley. 

Adrian had become a good friend of Adam.  While they many times competed for the best Alphas, they made reasonable accommodations for each other.  Adrian was usually satisfied after a couple good Alphas each day.  When Adam was missing many of the Alphas who knew Adrian was a friend with him, began to ask what had happened to Adam.  Some of the Alphas wondered if Adrian had arranged to have his competition taken out.  Secretly, Adrian had reported his missing friend to law enforcement.  Law enforcement had no appetite for yet another missing person case.  Especially one that involved an adult fag.   Even when Adrian went missing the legal officials paid very little attention to what was happening.  

Rumors on Faggot Alley began to fly.  How could two young men just evaporate into thin air.  Speculation was they both had been abducted and sold on the slave market. Easy way to recruit new ‘meat’ for the slave market.  Who would bother looking for them?  

A year passed and the jitters on Faggot Alley seemed to settle down.  The rumors faded.  It seemed like it was returning to business as usual.  Suddenly, without warning a young newcomer to the alley was missing. Archie was an athlete at a local college.  His father was a CFO for a locally based corporation.  Now a serious investigation was under way.  

Well, maybe not so serious! They assigned officer Daniels and a new recruit fresh out of the police academy to the case. I happen to be that young recruit. Daniels was just a nick name for my partner. He was a 20-year veteran of the police force on Faggot Alley. He was very jaded by all the politics involved in law enforcement. It had driven him to drinking. He came by his name because he was usually seen with a bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand.  Because Daniels was a big-time gear freak, he was well liked by all who occupied Faggot Alley

The plan was to have me go undercover in hopes of finding out who was abducting the victims from Faggot Alley.  Right after I consented to the assignment, Daniels and another officer suited me up.  I would become just another faceless rubber gimp on Faggot Alley.  As a gay cop it was thought I would blend in well.  I was instructed to use my own judgement when it came to interactions with other on Faggot Alley.  They did not want to make me ‘do it’ with anyone.  If they had required it they would assume liability for it.

When one of the Faggots was taken out by a biker, I reported it to Daniels as something suspicious. Daniels was rather skeptical of my observation but checked it out anyway.  Like he expected the lead amounted to nothing. It was just part of the 'take out service' that was available on faggot alley.

 I met Austin the second night I was on duty in Faggot Alley. After he got his first load from an Alpha, we had some down time to chat a bit.  He indicated he came from a strongly conservative family.  

“They were pro-life until it came to the life of their own son who turned out to be a faggot.”  Austin indicated.

His story was similar to mine and many others like me on Faggot Alley.  Fortunately, I still managed to get into the police academy and had some sort of life to look forward to.  

When asked if he was concerned about the recent abductions, Austin seen to shrug it off.  It was as if he was in a game of Russian Roulette.  His life no longer really mattered to him.  He was just here to serve the next Alpha.  It did not matter if it came in the form of a guy on the street or a master who abducted him.  

“Who knows?  Austin commented, “Maybe my life could even get better than it is here?”

By the end of the week, I was losing some of my objectivity and becoming friends with Austin.  Daniels saw what was happening and warned me not to get too close.  Daniels was right.  It tore me up when I realized Austin was no longer around.  

I was startled when suddenly he showed up behind me. I was keenly aware of my surroundings at all times.  But suddenly he was there.  It was as if he showed up out of nowhere.  

He nonchalantly pulled out a cigar and lite up. Somehow that seemed to put me at ease. He just stood there puffing away on his cigar.  Slightly worried about what he may be up to, I did not want to take my eyes off of him. Nor did I really want to take my eyes off of this specimen of a typical Alpha Male.  I had never seen him before on Faggot Alley.  

Finally, he spoke. “You want a piece of me?” He asked without making any eye contact.  He just continued to puff away on his cigar and look down at the pavement.  

My eyes were still glued to him.  It was obvious that he knew I was checking him out.  We were about the same size and age.  What was I going to do?  What was I going to say?  I could not blow my cover.  

He was probably just another Alpha who was seeking some relief for his nuts. He picked me to be his cum dump. Regulations allowed me to 'take reasonable action' at my discretion. It was my choice to make.   If I did not perform properly, it would blow my cover and could set back all our efforts to solve the mystery of the missing people.  

He pulled down his zipper and let all ten inches hang out for me to examine.  Duty called! I had to do this. I could not blow my cover. Secretly, I wanted to do this.  I was about to go down on him when he spun me around, patted me on my ass, and unzipped my backdoor.  My backdoor indicated that I was available for breeding. He grabbed ahold of me with both of his hands on my hips.  

I now suspected that he was just like all the other Alphas that came to Faggot Alley.  It would not take him long to relieve his nuts.   Once his nuts were relieved, he would be on his way.