#engagement gifts for her gift box

[unproduciblesmackdown]

linked to this article in another post not long after it was published, but revisited it just now and we can all do so. amazing headline obviously, great pictures, charming and fun all around

[rileyslibrary]

The team is invited to a wedding. You and Ghost are trying to pass time.

———————————————————————

You walk down the candlelit path leading to the wedding reception, holding a beautifully wrapped gift in your arms. A friendly usher welcomes you with a warm smile and extends his hands, offering to take the package from you. As you hand it over, a hostess greets you politely and asks for your name. You introduce yourself, and she scans her clipboard.

Your gaze is drawn to the chateau in the distance, which appears to have been plucked from a fairytale. Questions about its history and the people who once called it home fill your mind. Who used to live here? And who is generous enough to offer its premises for newlyweds to host their wedding receptions? How old is this place, anyway?

“Fourteen,” the hostess says.

“Excuse me?”

She takes a look at the clipboard before returning her gaze to you. “You’re seated at table 14.” She repeats.

You nod and walk to the garden to find your seat. Like the chateau, the dining area outside is quite a sight: tables with crisp tablecloths, beautifully decorated with floral arrangements, flickering candles, and elegant glassware.

You spot your table; it’s almost empty, save for a familiar face sitting on one of the chairs. Well, not entirely familiar, as you only see it on special occasions when he is absolutely required to remove his balaclava.

“Nice place,” you quip, and he turns to look at you.

“It’s not mine,” he murmurs, returning his gaze to the distance.

You sigh and roll your eyes. “It was a comment about the estate, you asshole.” You explain and take a seat right next to him.

He huffs and points his thumb at the chateau. “That thing is nice?” he retorts, slowly shaking his head. “Not my style.”

“What’s your style?” you ask, hoping to engage him in conversation.

“Something smaller, simpler,” he says, looking at the chateau, “without so many... windows.”

“No windows?” You inquire, raising one eyebrow. “You’re not secretly a vampire, are you, Lieutenant?”

He smirks and rolls up his sleeves. “Me? No,” he murmurs, “but this wedding is sucking the bloody life out of me.”

“Because you were so full of it before,” you say jokingly. “Can’t you be happy for your comrades for once?”

He reclines in his chair, intertwines his fingers, and places his hands on his stomach. “Let’s just say that I could have been even happier for them in the comfort of my own home,” he replies.

You set your clutch bag on the table. “Why didn’t you just stay at home then?” You ask.

“Social obligation,” he explains with a shrug.

You widen your eyes and raise your eyebrows. “Social obligation?” You repeat, a smile forming at the corners of your lips. “That’s something I never expected to hear coming out of your mouth.”

He scoffs and picks up the wedding favour that has been carefully placed on his plate. “Oh, yeah?” He points to the golden letters on the small pistachio-coloured box, “Wait till you hear me say ‘macaron’.” He replies sarcastically, attempting to pull off a fake French accent.

You playfully put the back of your hand on your forehead, pretending to be fainting. Simon smiles and leans back in his chair, repositioning the box on the table.

“The others?” You ask, “They’re not here yet?”

He scans the area with his eyes slowly before pointing in the distance. “There’s Price talking to the couple...” he looks over his shoulder and motions towards the bar, “...and Soap is waiting for his drink.”

“What about Gaz?” You ask.

“The Sargent was talking to the maid of honour a little while ago. They could be testing the stability of the century-old furniture in there,” he speculates, looking up at the top floor of the chateau.

Your mouth drops open. “Diana, the medic?” You yell.

He presses his index finger to his lips. “Shh!” He whispers sternly.

You apologise, then place your hand over your mouth and whisper, “Diana, the medic?!”

“Oh, please,” he sneers, “as if you didn’t notice how they greet each other at the base.”

“I had no idea!” You reply, surprised.

“Well, maybe if you stopped talking so much and started paying more attention to your surroundings, you’d notice things a little bit more.”

You stick your tongue out at him and mock his statement. He smiles and gently nudges your leg with his.

“You wore heels.” He comments, looking down at your feet.

“I did,” you confirm, “and what of it?”

He clears his throat, smirks, and shifts his gaze to the horizon.

“What?” You repeat.

“Nothing.” He responds, and his smile broadens.

“Tell me!” You command and crack a smile.

His shoulders move up and down as he suppresses his laughter. He’s thoroughly enjoying watching you beg for an answer. You pinch his arm, and he groans.

“Hey,” he says between laughs, grabbing your wrist to stop you. He gestures towards the distance, where the maid of honour walks to the front of the stage, explaining something to the DJ while instinctively fixing her hair.

“I wonder how long it will be before Kyle appears.” You mumble.

Ghost turns around. “Not long,” he says, motioning towards the bar. You turn to face Soap, straightening Gaz’s tie.

“You think MacTavish knows?” You ask.

“Soap?” Ghost asks, shaking his head. “Nah.”

“Why not?”

“Look at him,” he orders. “Would he be so focused on fixing Gaz’s tie if he knew? On the contrary, he’d be bugging him for details.”

You place your hand on his shoulder and lean closer to his ear. “Yes, but we know about their secret endeavours,” you whisper, “what do we say to him?”

He tightens his grip on your wrist and widens his eyes. “We say fuck all,” he replies sternly. “I told you, observe more and talk less.”

“Oh, unless you get to gossip with one of your teammates instead?” You tease.

“I’m not gossiping!” He protests. “Gossiping involves judging other people’s life choices.”

You lean back in your chair and cross your arms. “And what is it that you do, Lieutenant?”

He shrugs. “People-watching.” He states.

“People-watching.” You repeat.

He gives a nod. “And I guarantee you,” he murmurs, “that someone here is doing the exact same thing to us: watching us laughing, me pushing your leg, looking at your heels, you pinching my arm, whispering in my ear. Do you think we’re the only ones who keep an eye on others?”

You blush and look around, hoping to spot the perpetrator who will prove Ghost’s theory.

“You mean to tell me that other people are watching us and think we’re flirting?” you ask, embarrassed.

“Aren’t we?” He smirks.

You blush even more and sit up straight. “Yeah,” you admit with a smile, “we are.”

———————————————————————

A/N: Thank you to that anon who inspired me yesterday. I may have written half of the story while at the wedding reception. 😬

[i-am-baechu]

♬ Summary: The world knows that they’re a couple but Jungkook can’t stop himself from telling everyone that Y/N is his girl. While Y/N can’t help but love her drunk fiancée even though it's embarrassing. 

♬ Pairing: Established relationship; Jungkook x reader 

♬ Rating:   Pg - 14

♬Genre: Established relationship, comedy, and fluff

♬ Part of, ‘ His Fan Girl

♬ Playlist: Espresso - Sabrina Carpenter

Y/N looked at the mirror and frowned. She turned towards Jin with a nervous look, “Is this too much?” 

Jin looked at her through his glass and shook his head, “You look perfect.” 

They were all getting ready for Hoseok’s listening party. Jack In The Box was a huge change for Hoseok and she was excited for him. Throughout the whole process, Y/N would send little gifts to him and even showed up during filming. Jungkook melted at the fact she was so supportive of his brothers. It made him love her even more. 

Today was the party and she was nervous. She wasn’t used to meeting with other celebrities let alone be in the same room with them. She talked to Hoseok about it and told him that she didn’t think it would be a good idea for her to be there...she didn’t want to embarrass anyone. Hoseok told her that was nonsense and begged Jungkook to get her to say yes. After Jungkook begged her, she finally said yes (it also helped that he ate her out but that's just a minor detail). 

Y/N played with the end of her skirt and glanced at Jungkook who was on camera with Hoseok. That was another thing that made her so nervous. The cameras. Jungkook made it very clear that they wouldn’t film her but her voice will be heard in the clips. It was a nerve wrecking thing to think about for her. She knew this was Jungkook’s life but it was still hard. 

Y/N looked at herself in the mirror and stared at herself. She was wearing a simple white dress that had bows on her shoulders. Her hair was how she usually had it. Nothing crazy. Jungkook glanced at her and frowned when he saw that familiar face. He got up after talking to Hoseok and made his way to her. She looked up when she felt a hand on her shoulder, “Hey...”

“Hey babe. I know that face, what’s wrong?” 

“Just nervous. I’m going to be with other celebrities, it's crazy to think about it.”

Jungkook rubbed her shoulder gently and kissed the top of her head, “You're the only star in my eyes. There's something else bothering you.”

She frowned and nodded her head, “The cameras.”

“They won’t film you, I’ll make sure.”

“I hope Army likes my voice.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes at this, “They love you just as much as I love you.” 

She glanced at Jin who was talking to Jimin with the camera following them. She let out a sigh and then looked at him with a smile, “I heard Eunwoo was coming. That’s good for me.”

Jungkook frowned at this, “Why?” 

“He’s the only person I know.”

“You know bts...talk to them more.”

She let out a small laugh and shook her head, “Are you jealous?” 

“No, you're my fiancé. I have nothing to be jealous about.” 

The party started and Y/N watched from the sidelines. Watching Jungkook avoiding everyone was funny but it was very Jungkook. She took a sip of her water and smiled when she saw him dancing with Hoseok. 

She was going to walk away but stopped when she saw Eunwoo. She smiled to herself and walked towards him, “Eunwoo, it’s been awhile.”

He turned around and smiled at the short girl, “It’s been awhile. I hope you liked the flowers I sent.”

She smiled and glanced down at her glass, “I did. Thank you for congratulating us on our engagement. It meant a lot.”  

“I heard your interview, you did a good job.” 

She frowned at this and nodded her head, “Thank you, it was nerve wracking. I think it could’ve been better...”

Eunwoo shook his head and placed his hand on her shoulder, “You put too much pressure on yourself. It was good.” 

“Y/N.” She turned around to see Jungkook walking up to her with a glass of champagne in his hands. She let out a small laugh when she saw his buzzed out face, “I was missing you.” 

He wrapped his arms around her waist as Y/N patted his head gently, “I missed you too.”

Eunwoo smiled and brought his glass up, “You guys are cute.” 

“Thank you. I’m going to get him to drink some water now.”

“Good luck with that.” 

She walked towards the bar as Jungkook never let go of her waist. It was awkward but somehow she did it. She kissed the side of his head and smiled, “How much did you have, babe?” 

“Not that much. Why are you talking to Eunwoo? I missed you around my arms.” 

“Am I not allowed to talk to him?”

“No, because I missed you.” 

She made him sit next to her and let out a small laugh when she saw his pout. She pushed some hair back and brought the water towards him, “I missed you too. Now drink some water.” 

“I’ll do anything for my girl.” 

She felt her face flush and shook her head, “Don’t drink too much. Okay?”

“Okay.”

An hour later, Y/N was talking to Jin about Eunbi when she felt a gentle tap on her shoulder, “Are you Y/N?”

She turned around and her eyes widened when saw who it was, “Jessi?” 

She smiled at her and nodded her head, “You look so young. You're also hot.” 

Y/N’s face turned red and she bowed at her, “T-Thank you for the compliment...How did you know I was Y/N?” 

“Your fiancée won’t shut up about you. I wanted to see with my own eyes. He’s right, you are hot.” 

Jin let out a laugh and looked at Y/N, “Someone’s in trouble.” 

Her face dropped and glanced at Jungkook who was talking to a group of people. She looked back at Jessi with a nervous face, “Wh-What is he saying?” 

“My girl is so hot” and “she's the love of my life” that’s it really. He did say that this dress makes your body look good. I agree with him.” 

She bowed at her and gave her a nervous smile, “Thank you. I’ll be right back.” 

Y/N gave Jin her water and ran towards Jungkook with an embarrassed face. Jessi turned towards Jin and let out a small laugh, “She’s cute.” 

“She is.” 

Jungkook looked at Y/N and smiled, “My beautiful fiancé is here.”

Hoseok let out a laugh and patted Jungkook’s back, “I know I see that.”

Y/N frowned and looked at Hoseok, “How much?”

“Four glasses.” 

She glanced at Jungkook and then back at Hoseok, “He got drunk that fast?” 

“Well, he didn’t eat anything until the party started.” 

Y/N sighed and shook her head at this. She turned towards Jungkook with a frown, “You promised me you wouldn’t drink a lot.” 

“My cut off was four. I’m still here. Not drunk, just tipsy.” 

“You’ve been telling people that I'm hot...I’m taking you home.” 

Jungkook frowned at this and shook his head, “I have to take a picture with hyung. Also, you are hot. I want everyone to know.”

She shook her head and felt her face red, “You told Jessi that this dress makes my body look good.”

“It’s a sin to lie.”

She let out another sigh. Jungkook tipsy just means he’s more clingy and that’s not a bad thing, normally. It's a bad thing now because they weren’t with just the members or in their house. They are with other people, people who are famous and basically his coworkers. 

“Go take your pictures and then I’ll take you home.” 

Jungkook turned towards Hoseok and smiled, “Let’s go hyung.” 

She watched them walk off and she shook her head at him. She saw Taehyung making his way to her and she smiled but her smile quickly dropped, “Jungkook’s telling everyone that you're the hottest thing he has ever seen.” 

“Lord save me.”

[bumblesimagines]

Grateful You're Mine

Request: Yes or No

Summary: Princess Helaena finally weds the man she's been engaged to since they were children. She finds married life to be more than she expected.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical GoT/HOTD warnings, arranged marriage trope, fluff, they match each other's freaks and social levels, canon divergent/au since the twins aren't Aegons, literally nothing else just short and sweet

Crazy we hardly got to see the pleasant and happy girl she was described as 😔 WFMF coming soon!! just thought i'd give some other characters attention for once

~~~

As consciousness seeped into her body, the sweet smell of flowers filled her nose, powerful yet not overwhelming enough to irritate her. It took her brain a few moments to catch up and remind her that she no longer resided within the dreary walls of the Red Keep, but instead in her new home in Highgarden. She rubbed at her eyes with her knuckles gently and pushed herself into a sitting position, her eyes sweeping around the room before settling on the empty spot in the bed beside her. 

"Good morrow, Princess Helaena," Her handmaiden, Maecy, greeted with a friendly smile as she set down a tray with food to break her fast and herbal tea to warm her body. 

"Good morrow," She responded sleepily, slipping her legs free from underneath the blankets and wriggling her feet into the slippers beside the bed. "Has Lord (Y/N) gone somewhere?" 

Her handmaiden smiled knowingly, her slender fingers picking up one of the brushes set on the vanity. "I cannot say, My Princess. I am afraid I have been sworn to secrecy for the time being." 

Helaena's head cocked to the side but she nonetheless nodded silently and stood up, shuffling across the room to retrieve a slice of honeyed bread. She sat down on the comfortable chair and began eating, savoring each bite and licking her fingers clean as Maecy began delicately brushing her hair, untangling knots and smoothing the frizz out with oils. Once finished with her breakfast, Helaena stood up and blinked owlishly at Maecy when the brunette remained rooted in her spot instead of gathering the clothes she'd be wearing for the day.

Before she could question her, the doors parted and Helaena turned around, a smile immediately gracing her features upon seeing her new husband enter. (Y/N) returned it and walked forward, a servant following with a box in her hands as the doors shut firmly behind them. Helaena eyed the box curiously, her brows furrowing questioningly at him. 

"Do you recall that drawing you really liked of the beetle?" He asked her, leaning down to pluck a leftover grape from her plate and plop it into his mouth. Helaena gave a slow nod and he brightened, peering over his shoulder to nod to the servant. "I had a gift made for you."

Helaena watched as Maecy and the servant worked together to take the lid off before she gaped at the sight of a pretty soft blue dress with white accents. They lifted it from the box to showcase its full beauty, and her heart leaped in her chest at the lovely white design of a stag beetle threaded into the bosom area of the dress with small white flowers around it. She pressed her fingers to her lips, her pale lilac eyes widening as she fully absorbed the beauty of the dress. 

(Y/N) watched her, fingers fiddling with the sleeves of his shirt. "Do you like it?" He questioned somewhat nervously only for the nerves to fade at the sound of Helaena's giddy giggle. She nodded and leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips that made his skin warm. 

Eagerly, Helaena allowed Maecy and the servant to help her dress, the two women giggling softly under their breaths at the way Lord (Y/N) turned around despite the two having wed the week prior. When they finished, Helaena studied her reflection in the mirror, her teeth clamping down on her bottom lip at the wave of excitement and giddy rushing through her veins. The compliments and coos from the women were swiftly overshadowed by the way her husband's eyes lit up at the sight of her. 

"It is truly lovely," Helaena spoke softly, clutching the skirt to walk better as she strode forward before releasing it to take his hands into hers. He smiled again, rubbing his thumbs over the back of her hands soothingly, just as he had done under the table during their wedding celebrations when the music and loud chatter had become overwhelming for her. "Thank you." 

"Mother thought the fabrics would have been better in green but I've always thought you looked lovelier in blue." (Y/N) told her and she felt her own skin warm, a breathy and shy laugh escaping past her lips. He released one of her hands to brush back one of her silver strands, his eyes softened and filled with genuine warmth. 

After witnessing the loveless marriage between her parents and the chaotic marriage between Aegon and his Lannister wife, Helaena grew to fear her own wedding would be a miserable one. Her marriage to (Y/N) had been arranged by her grandsire after her mother dismissed the idea of her marrying her own brother and rejected her older half-sister's proposal to wed her to one of her sons, although he remained a stranger for many years until the Tyrells expressed their desires to see their heir with children of his own. 

She'd been nervous that day, and her mother's own anxiety hardly helped her own, but when (Y/N) stood before her with a pink hydrangea in hand and his eyes averted to focus on the floor beneath them, she realized she had little to fear. When they'd been left to wander the garden with a handmaiden trailing behind them, the awkward air faded with ease once she began speaking of her beloved crickets and the small creatures she found most interesting and he told her of the flowers that attracted certain creatures. A spark had seemingly ignited, one fueled the night of their wedding day when he offered to lie to their parents when she'd grown too nervous to consummate the marriage. 

"Oh," (Y/N) brightened once more. "You must see the garden at this time of year, Helaena. There's butterflies in every corner." 

And so they took a stroll through the garden, taking in the floral scents in the air and the vibrant rows of flowers with butterflies, other winged insects, and even a few hummingbirds bouncing from flower to flower.

Her mother had been right when she told her a girl of her disposition would do well within the peaceful walls of Highgarden; everything about Highgarden felt calming. The Red Keep had a tense air to it with its gloomy weather and near-suffocating residents but those who resided in Highgarden appeared more carefree and happy. Helaena enjoyed it, enjoyed being in a place where she received smiles instead of judgemental glances. 

Unlike in the Keep where time passed agonizingly slowly with little to nothing new happening, Highgarden always seemed to be bursting with life and music. Helaena found herself passing time with her husband in the garden, her hands focused on beginning an embroidery of a pretty butterfly she spotted whilst (Y/N) drew a flower with his chalk on paper. Things were silent between them yet merely spending time beside him satisfied her, allowing her to work with a small smile on her face. 

When they finished with their respective pieces, they returned inside and ate lunch in the quiet of their bedchambers. Helaena watched the servants scoop up the plates and take them away, cleaning the table and curtsying before swiftly leaving the room and leaving her to turn to look at (Y/N). His head remained tilted toward the balcony overlooking the large maze, his eyes distant but expression content. 

"Husband," Helaena roused him, bringing him back to the present. She licked a crumb off the owner of her lips and straightened up in her seat, casting Maecy a glance. "What do you think of having children?" 

"Babes are loud and messy." (Y/N) responded, leaning back into his chair and swirling around the last of his tea before bringing it to his lips. "It would be... nice to have some, though. I think it would please Mother to have grandchildren and Father would surely dote on them." 

"I'd like to have some soon," Helaena revealed. She'd always been told she'd make a lovely mother. "A boy and two girls, I think, would be nice. Mother claims Hightowers oft' have many boys, though." 

"We can have as many as you desire."

Children, Helaena came to learn, were rather interesting little creatures that brought forth such wonder and intense feelings out of her. Helaena simply couldn't get enough of watching her newest little one sleep cradled in her arms, her rosy cheeks more apparent from the complexion she'd inherited from her mother. Daenys gave a small yawn and squeezed her eyes before parting them to reveal the violet beneath. 

"Someone has finally awoken," Helaena murmured, tilting her head to look at her husband. He held a book in his hands, one about different flowers documented across Westeros, with their sleepy twins nestled between his arms. She reached out to run her fingers through Jaehaerys (H/C) hair, unable to bite back the smile when he nuzzled further into his father's chest. 

Carefully, (Y/N) set the book aside and scooped Jaehaerys up to settle him at his mother's side before he took Daenys into his arms, eyes crinkling with joy when she cooed at the sight of him. "I hear your nieces and nephews may give Queen Alicent some gray hairs." He chuckled. "It is no wonder why she visits as often as she does." 

"Maelor and his siblings have inherited much from their parents, I suppose. A lioness in gold forced to live in the cold will always have her claws out... and Aegon's never been... easy." Helaena spoke, her arm sliding around her only boy and the future heir to Highgarden. The look (Y/N) sent her way made her chuckle, lightly shrugging her shoulders. "I am certain he is a good father even if he may not be.. an adequate husband."

"If you say so." (Y/N) murmured, leaning down to nuzzle his nose against Daenys just to hear her burst with giggles. Her dozing sister parted her eyes at the sound and eagerly moved closer, eyes wide with adoration as she took in her new sibling again. Her father sweetly stroked the back of her head, tilting his arm so she'd have a better look at Daenys. "Though, he is as good of an uncle as Prince Aemond. He has already sent the finest jewels for Daenys."

"It's not so bad being married to a Targaryen, then?" Helaena asked teasingly, leaning toward him to rest her chin upon his shoulder. 

(Y/N) huffed a small laugh and kissed the side of her head. "Yes, it's not so bad. It's lovely, if anything, dearest." 

[blindmagdalena]

Center Stage in a Gilded Cage

18+ 3k. homelander x f!reader. pre-s1. stalking, kidnapping, imprisonment, forced relationship, slow burn, somnophilia, drugging, eventual smut. 1/8. gif AO3. directory.

Homelander was born with only one terrible poverty: loneliness. He's been starved of love his entire life, made sick by his hunger for it, but he believes you might have the cure. If you want to survive, you'll find a way to give it to him.

Homelander has never been able to understand people who bird watch. Of all the things a mundane person could do with their abysmally mediocre life, why devote what little free time they have to observing a creature even more dull than they themselves are?

Perhaps it's the gift of flight. By far, it is the ability of his that garners the most attention. Or maybe it's the power trip one experiences when observing something simpler and weaker than yourself for sport. The novelty of becoming endeared by their strange little behaviors and quirks. It's this line of thinking that eventually walks Homelander down the path of people watching. During his downtime, in the quiet moments he spends perched atop skyscrapers and apartment complexes, he finds himself watching the people miles below him scurry about like insects through a colony.

Over time, he begins to recognize regulars. People moving back and forth, day in and day out, no different than ants moving grains back and forth. He has to laugh. It's no wonder god abandoned man. Man is fucking boring.

Even the god they made for themselves thinks so.

To ease the monotony, he concocts little stories for the ones he recognizes. He imagines the kinds of lives they live outside of their commutes and the routines he observes. He names one of them Peter, and every day he invents a new reason Peter is yet again running late for his train. Because he's always late, Peter never stops for the woman selling street meat on the corner across from the station.

Homelander imagines that the meat she peddles is people, and that she's got her eye on that speedy little rabbit, Peter.

And then one day, he notices you.

It isn’t that you’re especially beautiful or noteworthy. Just like all the other busy little bees, you go about your same routine each and every day of the week. Sometimes you're in a rush, other times you enjoy your stroll. Regardless, you always find time to stop and give money to the same homeless man occupying one of the few alleyways protected by an awning. Sometimes you linger to chat, other times you can only stop long enough to drop something into his hands.

It isn't always money. Oftentimes you have food for him packed neatly into a little take-out box. Despite the packaging, it looks homemade. You always have a warm smile for him, even when you’re obviously frazzled.

To the rest of the world, this man may as well be fucking invisible, but here you are handing him a box of home cooked food like he's someone who matters. Homelander is the world's greatest hero, and yet some bum on the street is being fed with more love and attention to detail than he ever has.

It's a goddamn joke. More and more, it becomes apparent to him that you’re pathetically lonely. After a few days of observing you amongst the others, he starts trailing you more actively, forgetting all about Peter and his eventual butcher.

He wants to know more about you.

You live alone, working and cooking for only yourself and your stray pet. Sometimes you cook for your coworkers or the odd friend who stops by before leaving you alone all over again. He watches from a distance while you toil away, cooking more food than you’ll eat in a week for people you see for a fraction of each of your weekdays. It couldn’t be more obvious that you’re desperate for someone to take care of.

In a way, he can relate. 

Maeve has been more distant than ever, choosing to engage him only when there’s a camera present. When it’s only the two of them, she just drinks until he barely recognizes her. Madelyn has begun her “fertility journey,” words that set his teeth on edge, and has barely had a real moment to spare him as of late. The rest of his team doesn’t help abate his loneliness either; Marathon is a washed up hack who can barely sprint these days, Lamplighter is only ever interested in clubbing, the Deep couldn’t hold a conversation in a bucket, and Noir is a mute.

And so he soothes his solitude with thoughts of you. When he isn’t with you, he daydreams about it, imagining what life would look like if your worlds were to intersect. The more he learns about you, the more vivid his fantasies become, and the more intensely he aches when he still finds himself alone in his bed at the end of each night.

It spurs him to visit you more and more.

One particularly warm summer night, you leave your window wide open. He takes it for the invitation it is, drifting towards it under the cover of dark. Your screen is loose and pops out noiselessly. Not exactly safe, even if you do live on the fifth storey.

You just never know what might come lurking out of the shadows.

Slipping into your living room, he’s met with the sound of white noise playing from your bedroom. Is it the sound of the streets below that bother you? You’d never hear it from his penthouse a hundred feet in the air. You could leave the windows open all you like and hear only the roar of the sky, not unlike the ocean waves your phone is poorly mimicking.

He could take you to the actual ocean. A beach house far away from the buzzing neon lights and incessant honking and revving of traffic. Walking through your apartment, he makes his way to your tiny kitchen. The one in his penthouse puts yours to absolute shame, and yet the only thing in it that’s ever been used is the fridge. He’s certain he’s never opened the double oven or so much as turned on the gas range. Meanwhile, your kitchen is riddled with use, each cupboard stuffed with mismatched cookware and the like. It smells of grease and spices and love.

The sad irony of it is almost too much to stomach. You don’t belong in this cramped little sardine can. You should be in a proper kitchen. 

You should be cooking for him. The thought comes to him like a flash of genius. Of course. That’s the answer that will solve both of your little dilemmas. If he is a bird watcher then you’re a songbird snared in a net. It would be inhumane of him to leave you to die before you’re ever appreciated–ever seen–by anyone who matters.

You would worship him for rescuing you. His wealth and power would see each and every one of your material needs met with ease. You would never work for anything again. All you would ever have to concern yourself with was being loved and loving him.

He walks to your room with a hand pressed absently over his heart, cradling the anxious little bundle of nerves that have gathered there. He can tell by your breathing that you’re deep asleep, and yet he finds himself uncharacteristically nervous as he approaches.

His first time being so near to you after weeks of simply observing.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he steps towards you. The sound of him is masked by the ambient noise spilling from your phone, not to mention the fan you have pointed directly at your bed in a desperate attempt to save yourself from the summer heat.

You clearly weren’t built for this paltry life. Mary was no one before God chose her for greatness. Is that not what he’s about to do for you? It’s the will of a god that elevates you.

He kneels by your bedside, bringing himself face to face with you. Your breathing is even, each huff smelling faintly of mint. Your lips look soft, slightly parted in sleep. Everything about you is gentler, more relaxed than you ever are in the day to day grind of your life.

You could look like this all the time without it. He has the power to change your entire life with nothing more than a couple of numbers shifting from one space to another. Money has always been inconsequential to him, so abundant that it hardly means anything anymore. You, however, are ruled by it.

For the first time in his life, he recognizes the power in his wealth.

He brushes the tips of his gloved fingers along your cheek, down your jaw. He’s never used his hands so tenderly as when he traces your sleeping eyelids with his fingertips, imagining what dreams chase behind them and make them flutter.

You don’t stir. 

Emboldened, he follows the curve of your bottom lip with his thumb, imagining how soft you would feel against the bare pad of his finger. Leaning in closer, he indulges in the warmth of your breath tickling his lips. You’re a sound sleeper, the thud of your resting heart beating steadily in his ear.

Closing his eyes, he bridges the distance between your lips, pressing his own lightly to yours. For a second, he thinks he’s woken you, that you’ve caught sight of him and your heart is drumming loudly in his ears. He draws sharply back, but sees that you’re still deep asleep, your features peaceful.

It’s his heart that’s racing, a thundering sound that blocks out every other noise in the room. He’s breathing shallowly, excited in a way he hasn’t been in a long time. There’s a flush crawling up his throat, and it’s at that moment he breaks out into a wide, wondrous smile.

There’s no question of it now.

He has to have you.

The plan to acquire you ends up requiring very little setup. If Madelyn cares why Homelander’s suddenly spending so much, she’s yet to make a comment. 

Bitterly, he thinks it likely that she’s glad to see him distracted. 

He starts preparation by appropriately stocking his kitchen; you’ll appreciate the supply of ingredients, he knows. The quality of what he obtains for you is leagues above what you can afford, as is the cookware. He buys you new clothes, jewelry, imagining every step of the way how you’ll look in each piece. How you’ll look as he takes them off. He’s seeking to upgrade your life in every conceivable way, like bringing a cat home from the pound and teaching it the meaning of luxury.

You’ll want for nothing. You’ll be so grateful to him. And you, the sweet and perfect little thing that you are, make yourself painfully easy to ensnare. You come home under the cover of dark like clockwork, perfectly oblivious to his approach. You’ve just managed to fish your keys out of your bag when his hand closes a kerchief over your mouth and nose, stifling your cry. His other arm slips around your waist, holding you steady. The cloth smells overly sweet, ether-like, and though that scent has no effect on him, you respond to it almost immediately.  “Shhhhshhshh,” he soothes, letting the anesthesia do its job. Fuck, you feel good in his arms, back held tight to his chest, your delicate hands prying at his wrist as you kick, claw and scream–albeit muffled–into the cloth. He holds you with ease, keeping you close to his body, angling you in such a way that you won’t hurt yourself.

Despite your tenacity, you fight a losing battle. Your efforts grow weaker and weaker as you lose your grip on consciousness. He hushes you all the while, encouraging you. “That’s it, let it go. I’ve got you, I’ve got you...” Finally your head falls back against his shoulder, your face lolling into the crook of his neck, the rest of your body falling slack in his arms. He pulls the cloth away from your mouth, tucking it into your bag for now. He turns his head to yours, lips barely ghosting along your forehead. He takes in a deep breath of you, his eyes falling shut. Beneath the sickly sweet smell of the chemical mixture he knocked you out with, he can smell the remnants of your perfume. It’s not his favorite fragrance, but the underlying warm scent of you is intoxicating. He’ll collect whatever belongings you decide you want with you when he returns, if anything, but he doubts you’ll miss much. Your stuff will seem like a heap of rags and garbage by comparison. He’s looking forward to how the perfumes and lotions he’s bought you will smell on your skin, and how you’ll look in the clothing he’s picked for you. He adjusts you into a bridal carry in his arms and gently kicks off from the ground, holding you firm to his chest. The city is beautiful at night, a landscape of stars mirroring that of the sky above it. He’s always loved it here, and yet he’s shared it with a painful few.

Madelyn never lets him take her to the skies. Maeve had been wowed initially, but she had quickly grown disillusioned with it. With him.

You’ll be different. The trip back to his penthouse feels agonizingly slow, but he maintains a lesser pace to keep the wind from rashing your skin, savoring the featherlight weight of you in his arms at last. He lands deftly on his balcony, stepping through his open reinforced glass doors. After laying you down in his bed, he takes a moment to slip off your shoes, setting them aside. He eases your purse off of your shoulder, and places it on the nightstand. After sprawling a thin blanket over you, he takes a step back and puts his hands on his hips to admire the perfectly domestic scene he’s set.

Slowly, he breaks out into a smile. His bed swallows you up, makes you look small and lonely. He’s the missing piece, of course. He’s already looking forward to seeing himself complete the picture in the mirror above you. He imagines coming home to you like this, curled up in his–no, your shared bed, blanket pulled up over your shoulders to block the chill left by his absence.

Oh, how you’ll miss him when he’s gone.

You’ll have nothing and no one to concern yourself with except for him. No burdens, no dread, no stress. You’ll live in peace and security the likes of which you can scarcely imagine, spoiled rotten by the bounty of all that he is.

Neither of you will ever be lonely again.

Tilting his head slightly, he listens to the sound of you. Your breathing is shallow, the beat of your heart steady. Normal people don’t realize it, don’t have the capacity for it, but a heartbeat is as distinct as a fingerprint. Over the years, he’s learned to read them as such. He’s memorized yours. There isn’t much for him to do in the time that you’re asleep. He knows precisely how long you’ll be out; the anesthesia blend he gave you was straight out of Vought’s lab, and the dose he gave you leaves him with at least an hour before the two of you meet properly. The anticipation is enough to make him giddy. For all that Homelander knows about you, there is plenty he does not. The externals of your life have only provided him so much, but that will come in time. He didn’t bother with perusing your social media accounts, not being particularly proficient in them himself. 

Besides, he wants getting to know you to be an organic experience.

He remembers to take your phone out of your bag and dispose of that rag he used to dose you while he’s at it. He unlocks your phone the way he’s seen you do a dozen times before, and spends some time ensuring that no one will be expecting you anywhere any time soon. All it takes is one quick email and you no longer have a job. A few social media posts later, you’ve informed anyone who might think of you that you’ll be enjoying an impromptu sabbatical in Europe.

The power of technology. After that, he pops your phone into the safe behind one of the dozens of portraits on his wall.

When he hears you starting to stir, renewed butterflies start fluttering about in his stomach. You have no idea that your entire life–no, your entire perception of reality–is about to change. No more dodgy commutes, no more living paycheck-to-paycheck. You’ll be free to admire the world from the lap of luxury–his lap, to be specific. You make a quiet moan, the chemical fog wearing off gradually. He moves swiftly to your bedside, primed with a welcoming smile, hands on his hips. “Riiiise and shine, sleepyhead,” he coaxes, leaning forward at the waist. Still disoriented from the drugs in your system, you stare at him as if you’re dreaming. He doesn’t blame you. In almost every other reality, there’s no explanation for the fact you’re seeing America’s favorite hero, the Homelander, standing above you. He knows the side effects of the drug have left a strange buzzing in your ears, and that your tongue likely feels heavy and cottony. He’s already got water for you on the bedside table. “Home…lander?” You manage to get out. His smile broadens. That’s the first time he’s heard you say his name. You look cute like this, bleary-eyed and needy. He’s grown accustomed to seeing you as a put together provider, self-sufficient and tending to the needs of those around you, but rarely your own. Seeing you unraveled feels like a secret intimacy for him alone. “The one and only,” he preens. Now that you’ve seen him posed valiantly by your side, he takes a seat on the bed next to you, reaching out to brush his gloved knuckles along your forehead. He attributes the slight flinch to your drug addled confusion. Poor thing. If he’d had an alternative to using a sedative, he would have preferred that.

Not that it matters now. You’re finally here.

( chapter two )

[why-animals-do-the-thing]

San Antonio Zoo recently hosted a Zoo Camp for grownups, and I got to go!!!

It was VERY cool!

we got to go behind the scenes into the animal nutrition building and hear about all the varied diets and see the pantry and fridge and freezer.

we got to look in all the workshops. Paint shop, mechanic, wood and metal shops, etc.

We got to ask whatever questions we wanted, and our guides told us a ton of fun stories about the various animals we passed.

We got to see one of the education animals paint! Fancy the Ornate Box Turtle.

They even gave us a small piece of her painting as a gift at the end of the day!

Oh, that sounds fun! Like a whole day, instead of just a short backstage experience?

San Antonio does some fun events and fundraising ideas. Not all of them are to my taste, but they’re certainly good at drumming up novel ways to raise guest engagement. And some of them, like this, are things I’d totally do.

[reallyromealone]

Title: fate

Fandom: jjk

Characters: Gojo, original character for plot purposes

Fic type: story

Pairings: Gojo x reader

Warnings: male reader, reader insert, omegaverse, angst, soulmate, Gojo is a jerk, slow burn

Notes:

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

There was no space for weakness amongst sorcerer's, no space for mistakes and no space to be anything less than perfect.

He had always heard of his fiance, Gojo Satoru... The god amongst sorcerer's...

Though he never met the Alpha, the high and mighty sorcerer never bothered meeting the diamond of the (lastname) clan and did everything he wanted and everyone he wanted while (name) was expected to wait.

The only reason they were fiance's is because of stupid blood work, the two having extreme compatibility and thus an engagement... The Alpha apparently became a teacher.

(Name) Always stood out with people, clothes traditional and expensive as students gawked at the Royal looking omega with two S rank sorcerer's beside him as security and a calm yet serious expression on his face, he was rarely called here... Hell he wasn't even allowed to attend due to being the fiance of Gojo, the Alpha barring it.

That always made (name) laugh, couldn't meet his omega even once and downright ignored him but controlled every aspect.

"You will be expected to marry within the next month, you're both 19 and twenty and after the wedding we expect pups within the first year" Gojo sat beside him, legs spread out and sitting casual as if he didn't make them wait an hour for him to arrive. (Name) Didn't know what to do with the Alpha beside him, (name) expected to wear scent patches at all times and a collar but Gojo had his scent out and proud, it was almost suffocating.

The concept of marrying such an asshole... (Name) Didn't want that.

He didn't want to live a life being this fuckers baby machine.

So, a week after... He left.

Took the jewelry gifted to him by people wanting his hand or favor, once people learned who he was it was like floodgates opened and (name) just kept the expensive jewelry in a box... Now they served a purpose.

That was one year ago, now 20 and across the country away from Tokyo and away from... Him.

(Name) Lived in a farm house on a coastal village, trading his traditional clothes for t-shirts and cardigans, simple trousers and sneakers, all things he never wore before living on his own. The two was nice, the Omega had more money than god with the jewels he sold and worked part time at the small hobby shop in town, the elderly alpha woman introducing him to many hobbies.

For the first time, (name) felt calm.

His shoulders never tensed anymore.

But he knew to never eat his guard down.

(Name) Didn't keep much tech, he didn't really use it back in Tokyo so it didn't appeal to him but he did keep a radio and a small tv in the corner, his boss giving him her old dvd player and (name) would borrow movies from the library, catching up on things he missed.

Currently he was watching a drama as he crocheted another blanket for his nest, humming softly to himself as rain patterned outside against his roof and the smell of his food cooking in the oven.

Knock knock knock.

(Name) Was confused as he stood up, walking to the door and carefully he cracked the door open just a sliver when he smelt it... Pine and peppermint. The smell of Gojo Satoru.

"You are a very hard person to find, surprisingly" Gojo said as he pushed the door open, the smell of distress and anxiety filling the small space as the sorcerer walked in "cute place, not what I would have expected from the (last name)s clans little gem" his voice condescending as he looked around at the little decorations and such.

"I'm not going back" (name) hissed as he stepped away whenever Gojo got closer "im not being some daycare for your pups while you go sleep around japan!" Gojo wore his eye mask though even with that he could feel the glare, the man was done with this.

"So you're going to play farm boy here? We both know you're not even remotely cut out for that" Gojo taunted and (name) glared at him "you know nothing about me! I know you never opened that stupid packet about me! I was expected to give everything to you but you couldn't even muster up talking to me! You treated me like I didn't exist!" (Name) Yelled angrily, all the years of anger and resentment boiling over "you don't get to want me now, I don't care if we are fated or whatever! You are a jackass!" (Name) Felt the air knocked out of him as he was pushed against a wall, the infinity making him feel like the other was pressing against him as he realized that gojos mask was no longer present, piercing blue eyes staring down at him.

"Do you think I was happy with the elders deciding that I was going to marry some prissy Omega? That suddenly I was expected to play house with someone I didn't know!" He growled and (name) wasn't backing down despite the pharamones and pressure "you didn't even try and get to know me! You didn't want me!"

"Well I'm here now, aren't I !"

" A little late, don't you think!"

"God you're annoying!"

"Back at you"

This was not the Omega Gojo remembered, the poised and refined Omega who poured tea and wore pretty clothes was replaced by an angry man in comfy clothes and a heated glare and an attitude "we are literally bound by fate and we can't even hold a conversation without arguing" Gojo found the situation weirdly funny as (name) looked at him with a mix of annoyance and disgust as the sound of his timer went off and (name) managed to get away to go take his food out the oven.

Gojo followed the other and looked at the food, it looked really good "you know how to cook?"

"I was literally trained to be the perfect house wife" (name) said bluntly as the sound of a stomach growling caught both of their attention and Gojo looked at the other and (name) sighed "I literally can't make you leave" he hissed as he grabbed another plate.

Dinner was tense as (name) ate, reading his book as he did so as Gojo took the time to inspect his surroundings "it's like an old persons house, do you even have a computer?"

"Don't know how to use one, don't need it" (name) said as he took a bite of his food and Gojo looked surprised at his words "you grew up with cast wealth, how do you not?" He didn't believe it at all as (name) set his book down "an Omega and an alpha live different lives, you were given more freedoms then myself... You got to attend school and make friends and I was raised to be the perfect mate and technology wasn't deemed important to know compared to the art of tea pouring" he said simply as he looked into the others eyes "I have spent this year learning everything i was deprived of, I lived in Tokyo yet I had never seen it outside my escape"

If it was tense before then it was suffocating now, Gojo never considered these things.

He never once considered the life his fiance was living, having always been told he was living the perfect life of luxury and frankly assumed he was some spoiled Omega.

"I would have shown you..." Gojo started, guilt bubbling in him, "oh? You would have spared me time? Between your whores?" (Name) Tilted his head curiously and Gojo felt a headache form "I hear everything you know? From my maids... They always told me I should be lucky that I'm fated to you" (name) looked away and continued eating, book abandoned beside him as the smell of fury radiated from the Omega, Gojo sighing as he took a bite of his food. The food was phenomenal, seasoned perfectly and not one thing not amazing about it but he didn't comment "we can sort these things out when we go home" Gojo said finally, they would get everything in order when they returned home.

"I am home, I have no intentions of going anywhere with you" (name) said stiffly as he stood with an empty plate.

"Well, tough" Gojo said tired as he followed the Omega around the small farm house, cozy and warm "you're my Omega and I'm tired of this"

"Was I your omega when you screwed across the land?" (Name) Glared at him, he didn't care who he was or what strength he possessed... He was tired of everyone making choices for him! "You can go back to whatever life you had before, say I died or something... I know that there's countless omegas dying for a chance to be your fiance"

"Well if you're not going with me, in not going anywhere" Gojo said simply as he walked to the small couch and plopped down "you're like a child" (name) glared, wasn't even like he could go out, the rain so heavy.

"I'm going to bed" (name) grumbled as he went to his bedroom, Gojo getting up to follow but (name) slammed the door in his face.

This was going to be annoying, Gojo could feel it.

Come morning, (name) wore a loose shirt and sweatpants as he made himself his morning drink and stared at his mug sleepily as Gojo watched from the livingroom curiously, the other rubbed his eyes sleepily as calm and sweet pharamones filled the space. Gojo realized that this was the first time he could smell the others pharamones and not smell distress.

He never smelt anything so wonderful.

(Name) Set a mug of tea, brewed perfectly "how did..." "We were both given packets about one another, you pretended I didn't exist remember?"

Gojo had a feeling (name) wasn't going to let go of that anytime soon.

Gojo followed (name) around all day, when the Omega walked down the path towards the village "you really live out in the middle of nowhere" Gojo commented as they walked along the tree lined path, (name) holding a few bags "you know in Tokyo, I could have food delivered to us right?" Gojo remarked and (name) just ignored him, at least the Alpha had the sense to wear sunglasses instead of his mask so he didn't look insane "there's barely a connection out here" the Alpha remarked, (name) knew what he was doing and it wasn't working.

The villagers looked confused as (name) had a towering alpha follow him, the omega shopping as if he wasn't even there "(name)!" A couple kids ran up to the Omega who looked down curiously "what is it little ones?" (Name) Asked softly as the youngest clung to his leg, a little pup with wide eyes and a sweet smile "play with us!" One of the kids said excitedly and (name) smiled "maybe later little ones, I have errands I have to do" (name) ushered the children towards the small park area, Gojo watching the scene curiously.

"So why did you come looking for me? I thought you would have been elated at my sudden leaving" (name) asked as they walked home, Gojo forcing the other to let him hold the bags "my alpha... It practically destroyed half the estate when it found out you left... Geto ripped me a new one"

"So you had an epiphany and came here acting like everything would be fine" (name) said with a sigh and Gojo shrugged "I mean yeah" "and what? Expect me to be like 'oh thank you alpha! You're so kind and didn't make me feel worthless and your actions didn't cause me verbal and emotional abuse from my family!' been going to therapy and the therapist says you suck" (name) was way snarkier than Gojo thought he would be, he liked that his omega wasn't weak "I spent a year being on my own and doing what makes me happy, I don't want you messing that up"

"What do you even do out here?" Gojo asked and (name) shrugged "I have a part time job and I'm an active member of the community, no stress of either of our families... Everything is good"

"What would it take for you to come back?" Gojo asked "money? I can make sure you have everything you need"

"I don't want money, I don't want that stuff... I'm not marrying someone who doesn't love me and I don't love in turn"

Gojo spent the night thinking about it, while his omega slept peacefully in the other room and pulled out his phone to text Geto... He wasn't sure what to do.

[undreaming-fanfiction]

As a crazy cat lady, may I offfer...

Eddie who has always loved cats, how free and soft and elegant they are, how they purr and close their eyes in affection, how they make him forget all his worries and stress. He's loved them ever since a neighbor's cat found him crying behind the trailer after he got bullied for his new haircut, the last gift from his shitty dad before Eddie got whisked away by the social services. The cat ignored his sniffling and jumped in his lap, plopping herself over the bony knees and thin thighs, and when she started rubbing her face against his scraped palm, Eddie felt complete.

He can't adopt one yet because he lives with Wayne who is allergic. Wayne offers to take antihistamines but Eddie refuses, he doesn't want to inconvenience him in his own home. Still, he dreams of one day sometime in the future, a small apartment of his own and at least two cats who will greet him when he comes home.

Eddie finds himself volunteering in a shelter and when a new cat café opens, he jumps at the opportunity. He is hired and spends his days taking of their cat ensemble and preparing delicious coffees. Cats help him be less jittery and more grounded, so it's a win win. Eddie loves this job.

Enter Steve Harrington, an insanely handsome man who stops by to make a reservation. Eddie is his usual flirty self, although he expects Steve will bring a date and that's the end of that. But then Steve leans to Eddie and asks: "Listen, uh...I will need some help."

Suppressing an internal groan, Eddie asks: "what, do you need me to drop an engagement ring into the coffee or something? Because can do, but it needs to be sanitized first."

"Oh no. Not that, no..." Steve runs his fingers through his hair and even though it looks like a nervous gesture, Eddie is seconds away from a cuteness induced nosebleed. "Not at all. I just...I have a little sister, you know? I mean, my adoptive dad is fostering her and she's the kindest girl you've met, but she had it rough in her original family. Apparently there was something involving animals and...she loves cats so much, but is terrified of hurting them. She would never!" he clarifies when he sees a frown forming on Eddie's forehead. "It's just that whenever she showed affection to any animal, her biological father made sure it would get hurt or at least chased away. And that's gone, that man is in jail and I just...I want to show her that it's okay to love animals again. That she can pet a purring cat without worrying about its safety."

Eddie just stares at him with mouth open. "That's...wow," he says. "Sorry. Processing."

Steve does the hair thing again and laughs and Eddie thinks that this man deserves a brother of the year award, yep, he'll ask Gareth to 3D print one right fucking now. "Yeah, sorry. I didn't mean to dump all that on you, but I had to be honest because this is a big deal to her. To me as well. Just...listen, I like cats a lot, but I'm not the best at interpreting what they mean, their body language and all that. And I really need Jane to have someone here that can tell her what to do, when she's doing a good job...someone who will protect the kitties if she messes up. Her words. I know it's a lot to ask, but..."

But Eddie shushes him. "Say no more, big boy. I'll be here and I'll give the young lady the cat experience of a lifetime."

Eddie used to think he couldn't love his job any more. But with Jane's uncertain smile and big eyes, her incredulous squeal when a cat chose her for the first time, when she kept asking Eddie for specifics of each cat in his care - "which one is more shy, which one likes to be picked up, which one is a picky eater?" - he thinks he's finally found his calling. Steve beams at him and comes back the next day with a bag of approved cat treats for the cats and a box of chocolates for Eddie as a thank you, then asks him out for a dinner - "if that is even appropriate, shit, sorry, I don't want you to feel pressured or something, this is your job, I get it, but I just really admire you and you were amazing to Jane, uh, and the stuff you say about cats is so interesting I'd just love to hear more". Eddie's heart flutters like the traitor it is and he thinks - maybe this is someone I could adopt a cat with one day.

And unsurprisingly, he's right.

[ludwigplayingthetrombone]

Your kakagai proposal comic has given me brainrot in the best way <3 but I can't help but to think that Gai already had a pair for kakashi. So did Gai already have a set and kakashi beat him to the punch or was Gai still looking for the perfect set?

Oh gai had them made already absolutely but never found the right time

I wanted to show gai's gifts to kks, so here's some extras and then gai's response gift under the cut!

[gai giggling] Kks: I'll see you at home, gotta pick up some things. Gai: Notice anything different? Genma: You got new chucks? Gai: From kakashi. Aoba: You're still not believing that are you? Gai: Papa, no wonder these fools are single Naruto: YOU'RE ENGAGED? Gai: I AM! Narts: You're not moving out of kakashi's are you?? Sakura: ....

Kks: hmm? Hello?...You were the odd smell then. Who- [for my beloved soon to be husband] Kks: Madman. Absolute lunatic [kissing noises] Gai: I heard that.

Kks: Good. you're a menace. You dont have enough dog hair on you yet? A small sacrifice! Kks: Hmm enabler. I can't tackle you so-... Did not expect the engagement puppy

Gai: I couldn't let you out-do me; what kind of rivel do you take me for? I know your heart as well. Plus she reminded me of a certain someone. Kks: You think so? Bull's not the baby anymore. Gai: Don't say that! He is to me!... I knew you'd give her an amazing life full of love and care. Like the rest of us here

Gai: Oh, last thing. Here's your set.[blows dust off box] Kks: Oh thank goodness, I thought you didn't love me. Gai: I KNEW AOBA WAS FULL OF IT Kks: Woah! Gai: You can run lightning through them! Kks: Holy shit, gai

Kks: You'll teach me some moves, right? Gai: I would love to!! Kks: New pack puppy! Ninken: New meat! Puppy?

[sorrowfulmuse]

Can I request a OPLA sanji x fem!reader fluffy story please? If you don’t like writing for Sanji, I’d also be fine with OPLA Luffy or OPLA Buggy.

Please and thank you. :)

♡ :: "opla!sanji x fem!reader." short imagine!

mentions/warnings:: nothing, just two pirates being in love although others had misunderstandings about your relationship but.. watch out for typos and whatnot, i am writing this at 4am TT also this will be a simple imagine as i’m rusty and didn’t know what prompt i should’ve used. 😭

p.s im sorry it took me so long!!! i got caught with a few things and almost finished it last night

✧ soft secret kisses being shared, longing touches and love affirmations being whispered into each others ears. sanji was floating on cloud9 every time he was near y/n, no other person could amount to her. not even a Goddess could compare to her beauty and light. she was everything to him, his universe.

sanji relished in her presence every time he was near her, his heart drumming to every kiss she left on his lips and ‘i love yous’. she was his own personal paradise. she hung the stars for him and he worshiped her for it.

although, in love and happy.. they never stated in their relationship to others, were they both single? were they long time friends? ex lovers perhaps? sanji being a flirt again? people had only guessed and assumed they both spoken for by other people. today, was very different that from that spotlight cause well,

"my love, you have to keep your eyes closed!" sanji laughed as he tried his best to guide to this ‘gift’ he kept talking about for weeks. "oh cmon handsome! can’t i just take a little peak?" y/n.. trying to use her charms against him was to no avail, sanji wasn’t going to give up and continued to lead her to his gift. "i wanna see your reaction so no peaks!"

y/n's palms were sweating, when questioned? she could only blame it on the summers heat. she was nervous, nervous about what sanji could possibly gift her. were they running away from the culinary life? the overbearing thoughts had consumed her in the worst ways possible until,

"okay, we’re here." he whispered in her ear, sending a shiver down her back. she almost didn’t want the blindfold off soon as the bright lights were hard to adjust to. "why.." now she was left speechless, a little hidden spot on a island, sanji had decorated the nature around them with beautiful colorful lanterns, bouquets filled with many sweets of her favorite candies and flowers. petals laid on the ground, kissed by more roses after roses.

"sanji.. what is this?" it was unusual for him to be this quiet.

turning to find him down on knee with a small box in his one palm while the other still held hers. "my y/n, we’ve hip to hip since the moment we were both stuck on that rock with zeff. we stuck with each other as we discovered the same passion for food, owing our own restaurant together and many more.. but i want something more than that. no, i need more. i want you and i.. to be happy and healthy forever."

tears flooded against y/n's eyes, "i know it’s just a ring but it’ll symbolize something in the future, anything you want! i just.. i.." now sanji was close to tears himself. "y/n.. will you be my wife?" without a word, the girl before him tackled him to the ground crying her heart out. "of course i will sanji!" they both laid there, crying and kissing each other. "oh! i thought you’ll never ask!" y/n giggled, (she knew) throughout the night they celebrated their engagement, celebrating to spending eternity together.

[ficeacs]

Dragons Fight, Little Light (Chapter 1)

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon OFC Synopsis: Dragons love a chase. Warnings: Enemies to Lovers, Violence, Targcest, Begins with HOTD S1, Not Proofread Word Count: 5,330 Previous Chapter

Eraena found little sleep that night. Her mind wondered if her uncle was telling the truth or was trying to get a raise from her. Was she really thought of as the promiscuous princess of Dragonstone? Well, she knew that many knew of her ventures to the village near the keep in Dragonstone but she did no wrong other than sneaking out. Eraena lay and stared at the ceiling, trying to convince herself she had not done anything wrong. The realm already saw her as a bastard; she feared that they would also see her as a whore, even though her honor stayed intact. Eraena groaned and covered her head with a pillow. 

When morning came, Eraena was groggy from the lack of sleep, though the bath drew for her helped her wake. “What dress will it be today, princess?” Lyn asked, and Eraena thought for a moment. “That one,” she pointed to a dress of strong blue that fashioned her skills in embroidery once more. A chain of sapphires hung around her waist, a gift her father had given her. Eraena ventured into the halls of the keep with a box in her hands. She headed towards her Aunt’s apartments. 

“Princess Eraeana, your Highnesses.” The girl tried to hide her distaste when she saw Aemond. The prince had caused quite the commotion last night, why could he not let a wholesome family moment be? Eraena licked her lips and turned to Helaena with a small smile on her lips. “Good morning,” She greeted and headed towards the princess. “Oh, Eraena, so good of you to visit me,” the princess smiled. 

“Of course, and I came bearing gifts,” Eraena said, placing the box on a nearby table, which Helaena made her way to. “Open it,” she said and smiled at the look of giddiness Helaena was trying to surpass. “Oh my,” she whispered. I had the resident entomologist in Dragonstone curate a collection for you of rare insects that only inhabit the island,” Eraena explained and checked the box to see if everything was in order as she had instructed. The princess had figurines in her hands for the children, but her uncle still sat with them; she thought it better that she would give it to them later when he had left. 

Avoid him; do not engage. The girl reminded herself she could not afford to cause trouble once more, especially with her Mother in such a state. “Are those for the children?” Helaena asked softly, eyeing the three wood figurines that Eraena had practically forced Lucerys to make. Eraena had spent days meticulously painting a princess, a knight, and a dragon. “Oh, yes, Lucerys had carved them for the children,” Eraena said, and Helaena took her hands to inspect the toys. “He painted them too?” She asked, pale fingers tracing the figurines. “Well, no, I painted them.” She smiled. 

“Come, let me introduce you to my children,” She said with a ghost of a smile. Aemond was still seated on the floor with the twins, both Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, on his lap. Eraena avoided her eyes from the prince, fearing it would entice him to tease and torment her. Helaena crouched down, and Eraena cautiously did the same. Five purple eyes turned to the girl, “This is your cousin, Eraena,” Helaena said to the twins and if Eraena were to look at the elder prince, she would see him roll his lone eye. Eraena felt her lips twitch when the twins hurriedly left their uncle’s lap and made their way to her. The look of shock and annoyance that adorned the prince’s face amused the princess, but she quickly turned away and focused on the babes in front of her. 

Jaehaera clung quickly to the princess and Eraena let out a laugh on how the young princess found her way to sit on her lap like she did on her uncle earlier. “They like you already!” Helaena mussed and watched as her children switched from their uncle to their cousin. Eraena gave the princess figurine to little Jaehaera and the knight figurine to little Jaehaerys. “You have a third child, do you not?” Eraena asked and brushed the little blonde hairs away from the babe’s eyes. “Yes, Maelor, but he is still fast asleep.” Eraena nodded and returned her attention to the babes. 

She would expect Jaehaera’s attention would be on the new toy but Eraena saw purple eyes on the necklace on her neck. “I—I want,” Jaehaera mumbled and tried to grab the emerald pendant that was gifted to her on her most recent name day. Eraena’s eyes widened as Jahaera pulled on the necklace, making the elder princess jerk her head forward. “Jahaera, no!” Her mother said and came to Eraena’s aid. “I’m sorry, I—“ Eraena smiled, “It’s fine; my younger brother, Viserys, has the same habit.” She said and moved to unclasp the pendant so the young princess could inspect it more. When Jaehaera had the pendant in her hands, a toothy grin spread across her face, making Eraena laugh at the adorable face of the younger princess. She surpassed the urge to pinch the cherubic cheeks and turned to Jaehaerys, who now played with both figurines. 

It was then that Eraena remembered that there was another party amongst them. Her obsidian eyes found a lilac one. “Do you not have to train, brother?” Helaena asked. The prince’s eyes moved to his sister, and he silently shook his head. “Really? You are often in the tiltyard at this hour,” Helaena mumbled, “Yes, won’t Cole miss you terribly, uncle?” Eraena did not even realize the teasing words escaped her lips. Once she did, she felt her hands grow cold. Aemond was ready to throw yet another disparaging word to the girl but Helaena was quick to speak. “Tea!” She said, and the two turned to her. “Eraena, would… would you like to join me for tea?” She asked, and her invitation was quickly accepted. They handed the children to a nurse and made their way into the gardens. The emerald pendant was long forgotten. 

“Oh, I’ve missed you terribly. It became dreadfully lonely these past years,” Helaena said truthfully. The princess sensed melancholy in her eyes and tone. I know what you mean, especially when you are mostly surrounded by brothers. I was lucky to have Rhaena. No matter, I am here now,” Eraena smiled, took her hand, and gave it a gentle squeeze. 

“Sister, there you are!” Jacaerys’ voice intervened. “Oh, Jace, join us, will you?” Helaena asked softly, and Eraena's brother obliged, taking his seat across from his sister. There was an awkward silence that enveloped the group. The one-eyed prince had followed the two princesses and sat across from his sister. A knight arrived, and Eraena thought maybe he was there to call over the other prince and save the group from tension. “A letter from Dragonstone, princess,” Eraena was handed a scroll of parchment with a seal she knew all too well; the girl tried her best to hide the blooming smile on her lips, remembering her brother was seated across from her. 

“Dragonstone? Who writes to you from Dragonstone? We’re all here.” Jace asked with a raised brow as Helaena turned to Eraena with an intrigued look. “No one. None of importance,” Eraena says and hides the scroll from her brother’s view. “Hm,” she heard a hum coming from the left, making her turn to Aemond, whose eye had been on the scroll. Eraena prayed, prayed to the gods that her brother would not question the scroll once more, and prayed that the burning gaze of a lilac eye would stop. Eraena tried to ignore the man on her left and listen to the conversation between Helaena and Jacaerys. Avoid him; do not engage. She told herself once more. 

When tea had ended, Eraena found herself with her sisters. “How long are we still to stay here? The trial had already ended. I doubt anyone else would question Driftmark’s line of succession after yesterday’s events.” Eraena asked the two. “Itching to go back to Dragonstone now, are we?” Rhaena teased, and Eraena let a smirk slip on her lips. “As a matter of fact, yes! I miss my room, the beds in here are quite lumpy. The sun is too hot; I miss roaming around without being judged! And I miss my other dresses and—“ She was cut off by Baela. “And Arthur,” She snickered, and Eraena rolled her eyes. “No! Well… yes, but I mostly miss my other dresses and jewelry.” She sighed and traced the flower patterns of her gown. “He sent me a letter,” Eraena then said, which intrigued the two girls.  

Eraena looked around. They were still in the gardens, seated on a bench in a spot that not many passed. She took the scroll from her pocket and broke its seal. The two girls hovered over their sister's shoulder and read its contents. 

My, Dearest, Eraena.

How are you, my flower? It has only been two days since you left, yet the island already feels so desolate without your radiant presence. The sun's rays seem dimmer, and the vibrant colors of your flowers are starting to fade; they are missing your touch. How long are you to stay there? Have the people of Kingslanding fared nicely to you, my princess? 

I long for your return, yearning for the day when you shall grace us with your presence once more. It would seem that my heart longs to rest its gaze upon you. Come back soon to me.

Yours,

Arthur.

Baela and Rhaena smiled at the blush on Eraena’s cheeks. “My flower,” Rhaena teased, making Eraena roll her eyes. “Must be nice to be sent a letter with such… flowery words,” Baela said. “Jacaerys’ letters only contained about health and the weather, sometimes a story about his ventures with Vermax but never like…” Baela drifted. “Aye, Jacaerys was never one for words.” Eraena agreed and took her sister’s hand in hers, giving it a comforting squeeze. 

In the afternoon, Eraena changed into her riding leathers. A wheelhouse delivered her to the pits, where her dragon awaited her excitedly. “Alina,” Eraena sang and waited for her dragon to reveal herself. The princess’s voice echoed through the pits, and what emerged was not her dragon but her uncle instead. Aemond had a fiery stare in his eye, and the girl wondered why he was already in such a state. 

“Will you be quiet? You are disturbing the dragons with your grating voice.” Ice-cold words clashed with the fire in his eye. Eraena pursed her lips and rolled her eyes but nodded. Standing still, waiting for her dragon, she turned to her side, and Aemond stood alongside her. “Why are you here? Vhagar does not even fit here,” she asked and folded her arms across her chest. “Mind your own business, niece.” He spat. 

Alina has still not emerged and Eraena was growing weary. She turned to her uncle once more; he had a torch in his hand. She thought to ask for it, so she could get Alina herself, but her mouth could not move and ask. Instead, she walked into the dark pits. “Alina,” Eraena called once more. The princess squinted her eyes in the dark. Only now did she wonder, where were the keepers? Eraena chewed on her lip and waited for the whine of her dragon; she was only met with furious footsteps and the orange hue of a torch. “What are you doing?” Aemond asked and took hold of her arm. “Trying to find my dragon.” She said as if it were the most obvious thing. “You do not go into the pits,” 

“Hm, were you not the one who often got into trouble for constantly venturing here?” She asked innocently, remembering an instance from their childhood. The ground shook, and they turned to the she-dragon with pearly white scales that shimmered gold in the light. “Hello, my love!” Eraena said giddily and practically skipped toward her dragon. Alina bent her head toward the girl, who placed a kiss upon its snout. Eraena inspected the mighty beast, trailing her hand upon the scales. She checked the breastplate that secured her saddle, a breastplate made of gold and dragon glass.

Alina growled lowly as her obsidian eyes, eyes like her rider, landed upon the prince. “Lykiri. Lykiri, Alina.” Eraena murmured and stroked her dragon’s snout. “It would seem you agitate my dragon, uncle,” Eraena observed as she made her way to her saddle. She turned to the prince who seemed to have a contest of stares with the beast. “Do not mind the small man, Alina,” Eraena said in ancient tongue and stroked its neck. “If you would, uncle, please step aside. Would not want you to get trampled on, however tempting it is.” Eraena said. She watched as Aemond huffed and was certain that he mouthed the words ‘spoiled bastard’ under his breath, but Eraena could no longer find care; she was to fly!

Alina soared through the skies, and Eraena smiled widely, seeing Kingslanding grow farther and farther away. Alina ascended higher, and the familiar feeling of liquid in Eraena’s stomach returned, and she felt her heart pace faster. Alina liked to toy with her rider, flying as high as the heavens and then dropping back quickly to earth. “Alina!” Eraena shouted in glee as Alina flew downwards. Another roar of a dragon took Eraena’s attention, and she felt her stomach fill with dread as she saw Vhagar heading towards them. “Higher, Alina.” Eraena quickly commanded. Scared of the mighty beast her uncle rode. The princess turned back and still saw the dragon behind them. 

For what seemed like hours, Eraena tried to find ways to avoid the two beasts. Stirring Alina in every direction, she tried hard not to let her fear shine through, knowing her dragon would feel it through the bond. Eraena sighed and decided that maybe she should stop flying. The girl felt annoyance surge through her as she returned to the pits once more. She sullenly removed her riding gloves and entered the wheelhouse, wholly upset at Aemond for ruining her ride. 

When afternoon came, the princess found herself in the library scanning through the books she had read from childhood. Countless tales of princesses and knights, wizards and kings. Little Aegon’s name day was approaching, and Eraena thought it a good present that she made one of her favorite stories into an illustrated book for her younger brother. Little Aegon loved her paintings and illustrations, often sitting on her lap as she painted back in Dragonstone. She originally wanted to write the story herself, but it was quite a large undertaking to create a story that her brother would enjoy. Eraena stared at the stack of books before her, thinking hard as to what story she would use. 

“A book is to be opened and read, not stared at.” Eraena heard a cold voice cut through the stony silence of the room. Eraena turned her head to Aemond, who stood before her. The girl was still quite annoyed by his actions earlier. The princess crossed her arm across her chest once more and stared unamused at the prince. She watched as Aemond raised a blonde brow at her scowling face. “You look ghastly when you scowl,” it only made Eraena’s frown deepen as he said words that Jacaerys had said before. It made her believe that she did look ghastly with not just her brother’s testimony but as well as her uncle's. The girl started to unconsciously pout as she tried to remove the scowl on her face. 

“No word for your uncle, I see,” Aemond said and took a seat across the girl. “I have no words for foolish men who would use a dragon of war to chase other riders. Do you realize how dangerous that was?” Eraena asked and sat up straight. “It was simply a jape,” Aemond reasoned, and Eraena could not help but frown once more. Since when had he been one for japes and jests? 

“That is not a jape; that is how war starts, Aemond,” the girl sighed. “Do not be so dramatic, Eraena,” the prince rolled his lone eye. “I am not being dramatic! You do not use a war dragon for a simple chase! It only knows of conquest and blood!” She watched as the prince pursed his lips, thinking of a reply. “What are you even doing here?” she asked, letting annoyance seep into her tone. 

“To read,” He said as if it were the most obvious thing. “Why here?” Eraena asked, and Aemond only frowned. “Because this is the library, has your stay in Dragonstone turned you into a simpleton, Eraena?” He asked, lips twitching upwards as the frown returned to the princess’ forehead. “No, what I meant was, what are you doing here, sat upon where I had sat first. There are other places for you to read.” She said and pointed to an empty nearby table and chair. She watched as Aemond turned to the spot she had pointed to, and the prince shrugged. 

Eraena rolled her eyes in response and stood. Taking the stack of books and moved to the empty spot, not wanting to be near the prince. Aemond watched, amused, as the princess took a seat that had her back turned to him. He was not even sure as to why he was in the library, not quite certain as to why he was engaging with the girl. She obviously wanted to be left alone, but Aemond could not let her have what she wanted, not when her whims and wants were always met. 

Eraena tried to focus on her task once more, trying hard not to turn and glare at the prince whose gaze burnt in the back of her head. For just having one eye, he surely knew how to stare someone down, the girl thought. It was quite some time as the two sat separately in silence; Eraena was done for the day, already picked a story that she would draw illustrations of, but she did not want to be the first to leave. Somehow, her pride convinced her that she should not be the one to leave first the uncomfortable presence of the room; it would be seen that she was bothered by the prince’s presence, that Aemond had the capability to unnerve her. So, she just sat there, staring blankly at an open book, pretending to read, turning its pages as if she were actually consuming literature. 

“Eraena, there you are!” She heard Rheana’s voice, and the princess quickly looked up. She watched as her sister cautiously eyed the prince seated behind her. “Your… brother has been looking for you for the past hour.” She said, confused as to why it was just the two of them in the library. Eraena nodded and stood up, taking her chosen book in hand, and quickly rushed out of the room. Her pride cannot be wounded in this situation; she did not leave because of him; it was because her brother had asked for her presence!

“What were you doing alone, with Prince Aemond.” Eraena frowned at her sister’s query, “Do not word it as such! I was not alone with Aemond. I was… was simply in an empty common room… with him.” Eraena explained. “We saw you two in the skies earlier,” Rhaena said. “That idiot made his dragon chase me and Alina!” Eraena complained. “Really? It just looked like the two of you were flying around in circles; it looked quite fun.” Rhaena shrugged, and Eraena frowned; it certainly did not feel that way. “Why was Jacaerys searching for me?” Eraena asked; Rhaena shrugged. 

“Sister! There you are!” Jacaerys said from the end of the hall, walking briskly toward the two. “What is it?” Eraena asked. “There is to be a hunt two days from now,” Jacaerys said, his excitement obvious. Though Eraena was at a loss as to why he had concerned her with this. “So?” She asked. “You must teach Lucerys and me to shoot again. Luc is waiting for you in the tiltyard.” Eraena looked at her brother oddly. “What? Why me? Ask Ser Harold or even Father to teach you.” “I’ve asked them, and they told me to ask you instead,” Eraena shook her head, “No, I cannot; I will be under scrutiny from the court. They already frowned upon my venture in the gardens alone; what else if I be the one who had to teach my brothers to shoot an arrow?” 

“Who cares what they think? Come now, sister, you are the best archer here!” Jacaerys tried to persuade the girl. With a couple more compliments and flattery, Eraena reluctantly nodded. “Fine! But I shall only stand by the side and watch you two. I’ll make comments here and there, but I will not touch a bow or arrow.” She explained as they headed to the tiltyard. Eraena’s eyes enclosed on their younger brother who had failed to set the arrow free. Rhaena no longer followed them, not interested in watching as Eraena grew frustrated teaching the two boys. 

“Straighten your back,” Eraena instructed from the side. “Keep your shoulders lax. Lucerys feet apart,” she said. “Only use your dominant eye upon the target,” “We know Eraena!” Lucerys groaned. “Do you? You have missed every time, brother.” She said, her eyes going to the failed attempts of the two. Arrows started to pile up on the dirt ground. “You are lacking force, Lucerys; readjust your shoulders,” she said, and Luc nodded. She then turned to Jacaerys, “You do not have an aim. I fear for the others joining you in the hunt.” She said and saw as her brother rolled his eyes. “Release,” she instructed. 

Lucerys had not quite hit the center but at least his bow finally stuck to the target instead of just falling into the ground. Jacaerys’ arrow, however, flew to a pile of hay. “Good Luc!” Eraena said and smiled at her younger brother. “My, my, what do we have here? Training for the hunt boys?” Aegon’s voice sounded out making three dark eyes turn to the prince. “And what are you doing here, Eraena? I had never thought you were one to spend time in the tiltyard, or are you training once more on how to maim men.” Eraena tried to surpass the grin as she saw Aegon had a slight limp to him. “Just watching my brothers, uncle,” she replied. 

Aegon made his way to where the princess stood. “Then let me join you, dear niece.” The elder prince stood a bit too close to Eraena and the girl was quick to step away, putting. A hearty distance between them. Her brothers turned to her and she nodded, and the two set aim once more. Once again, Lucerys lacked force, and Jacaerys lacked aim. The girl wanted to groan, growing frustrated at the two. “Feet apart, Lucerys!” Eraena cracked, not caring that Aegon was there. She went to her brother and used her foot to indicate what the younger prince’s stance should be. “And you, Jacaerys, you must close your other eye! Your vision is being split!” She groaned and used her fingers to forcefully close her brother’s eyelid. “I can’t! I physically cannot just close one eyelid!” He said, and Eraena huffed. “Might you borrow one of my brother’s eyepatches?” Aegon mused a smirk on his lips as he watched the princess scold her brothers. 

Eraena turned to Aegon, considering his suggestion. She knew it to be a jest but it would solve Jacaerys’ lack of aim. “No!” Jacaerys said, seeing the look his sister held. “Well, you won’t do well in this hunt!” Eraena returned to her spot next to Aegon. “Again!” She instructed. “I must say, I never thought you to be such an authoritarian,” the elder prince said and inched closer to the princess, though it was futile as she was returning to her brother to show him the proper stance once more.

“Back straight, Lucerys, and your foot! I swear to the gods I will nail your foot if you do not keep them apart.” She warned. She now remembered why she had not been assigned to teach Joffery high Valyrian or teach anything for that matter. The girl was too impatient. “You're growing red, Eraena,” the younger prince mumbled, and his elder brother snickered. The princess threw her brother a glare. “I’ve had enough of this, I told you. You should have just asked Ser Harold,” Eraena grumbled and returned to stand next to Aegon on the side. “So impatient, little niece… Though, I think I like you better domineering.” The elder silver prince mused. Eraena turned to the prince with a disgusted look on her face, her round lips upturned, brows once again furrowed. Aegon only laughed at his niece’s face. “Do not fret, Eraena; I shall teach your brothers to shoot. Would not want to aggravate that pretty face of yours.” 

The prince made his way to take the bow from Lucerys, and the younger prince turned to his sister, who nodded. The two brown-haired princes watched as their uncle took his stance. Aegon had let go of the arrow and had impressed Eraena. He was not a terrible shot. She thought. It was slightly off-centered, but it was better than any shot her brothers had made. “Luc, look at Aegon’s footing,” She instructed, and her brother mimicked their uncle’s stance. Eraena walked closer to them, Aegon ready to let go of another bow. He felt fingers upon his upper back, “Straighten your spine, Aegon; do not hunch,” Eraena instructed. He did like her better when she was giving out orders, obviously growing annoyed. “As you wish, sweet Eraena,” he said and let go of the arrow, landing it upon the center. 

He turned to look at the girl, hoping to find a look of impressed on her pretty face, but she had moved her attention to her other brother. “What are you doing?” Jacaerys asked as Eraena wrapped her handkerchief around his head, covering one of his eyes. “Shoot,” Eraena instructed; her brother was hesitant but did as she told. Finally, a centered shot from Jacaerys! A look of achievement adorned her brother’s face. He made to shoot another, and a laugh escaped his lips. “This is easy!” He said, and Eraena rolled her eyes. “All right, don’t get cocky.” Eraena returned her attention to Luc. “Ready?” She asked and her younger brother gave a nod. “Release,” The bow was off-centered, but it was close enough. “Good,” Eraena said. “Just try to aim better, and do not forget your footing.” Aegon and her returned to the side, “Thank you,” she said lowly. If he had not intervened, she would have stomped off the tiltyard. Aegon nodded with a smirk on his lips, his eyes not turned to his niece but to the figure above, watching them with a burning eye. 

Another supper with the entire family was held. However, the girl could not fathom why they would think it was a great idea, especially after the events of the other night. As Eraena entered the dining hall, her seat in between Jacaerys and Aegon was gone, instead, the only empty seat was next to her other uncle. The gods really love to toy with me, don’t they? The girl thought. Dinner was started with prayer once more. It would seem appetite eluded Eraena, only pushing around the food on her plate. “I saw two dragons in the skies earlier, Vhagar and Alina. Did the two of you enjoy your ride?” Alicent asked the two silent individuals to her right. Eraena peeked through her lashes to look at Aemond, his good eye on her. He made no indication to respond to his mother, so Eraena forced a tight smile on her lips. “You can say that, my queen,” she fibbed, she did not enjoy her ride, not at all. Alicent gave the girl a small smile and returned to her meal. 

“I saw the prince Aegon with his nephews and niece in the tiltyard, practicing for the hunt, I assume?” The hand inquired. Eraena turned to the three, who nodded. “The princess? In the tiltyard? You are not joining the hunt, are you, Eraena?” The queen asked, almost scandalized. “I—I am not, your grace.” She replied. “Eraena was merely supervising her brothers,” Daemon interjected. “Supervising? I would not think that a princess should have been the one to teach princes a skill such as archery,” Eraena bit back her tongue and took a chalice to her lips to hinder her from speaking out of turn. 

“It…gladdens my heart to see… to see you all getting along.” The king suddenly spoke. “This… this is how it should be,” Eraena could see a smile breaking upon his cracked lips. Her mother smiled and took hold of her father’s hand. Supper ended fairly quickly, unlike the other night; this held less violence. Eraena walked the hallways of the keep, alone and her mind wandering off once again. She passed by a window alcove and paused, staring up at the crescent moon before her. Eraena leaned upon the opened window and took in a deep breath, the cool night breeze fanning her face. 

“It is not wise to lurk these halls at night,” she heard the cold silky voice of Aemond. “I am not one to lurk, uncle; that is your specialty if I remember correctly.” Eraena sighed and turned to the man who stood behind her. “You seem to enjoy my brother’s company,” he said, and Eraena raised her brow. “Well, I would always enjoy the company of those who do not make chase on a war dragon’s back,” she said and watched as Aemond’s jaw ticked. “Let it go, Eraena,” The prince sighed and stepped closer to the prince. “No,” the girl felt a smirk coming to her lips but hindered it. “I will not until you apologize,” she said and wanted to laugh at the look of appalled on Aemond’s face. “I will never apologize to a bastard like you,” the girl shrugged, the word bastard rolling down her back as if it were not a deep insult he had made it to be. 

“Then I shall be here to constantly remind you of your idiotic actions; what happened to the cautious boy I once knew? Has your vigilance gone with your eye, uncle?” She asked and finally let the smirk pass to her lips. It was quick to be wiped by Aemond’s next actions, forcefully pushing her to the curved wall of the alcove, his hand enclosed on her neck. Eraena’s obsidian eyes widened in fear, and her breathing stopped. She clawed at the prince’s hand. “A—Aemond,” she wheezed out, but the prince was too far gone in his own rage. Eraena closed her eyes, feeling his hold tighten, lifting the girl from the ground by her throat. “How easy it is to be rid of you now, bastard,” Aemond seethed, and Eraena felt tears run down her face. It was not until her salty tears hit Aemond’s hand that he grew aware of what he had done. 

The prince quickly let go of the girl, who fell harshly to the ground. “Eraena…” he managed to say, voice growing soft. Eraena tried catching her breath and turned to the prince in horror. She quickly stood up, gathered her skirts, and ran to her chambers in fear. When in the solace of her own chambers, Eraena broke into tears. Anger cannot find a place in her being; she is only wrapped in fear. What has Aemond come to? So cruel and callous that he did not even give a second thought about taking her life.

[giorno-plays-piano]

Proposal | Gojo, Nanami, Sukuna

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x reader, Kento Nanami x reader, Sukuna Ryomen x reader

Warnings: fluff, some cursing, a little yandere-ish Sukuna, mention of pregnancy

Satoru knows everything about you, including the way you drink your coffee: he generously adds cream and that fancy caramel syrop he bought for the occasion in the cup he prepared for you, giggling like a child. He feels really proud about making his proposal so creative and unusual. Proposing with a cup! Isn't it sweet?

It's hard to keep a straight face when he hands you your coffee, but Satoru is trying so much, leaving a tender kiss on your temple as you smile. Then you're softly tugging him by the collar to make your shamelessly tall boyfriend bend down and give you a real kiss, and he complies without a word. He really knows everything about you, and yet, every single moment you spend together feels like a gift.

As he sits opposite you, devouring warm waffles you made him a couple of minutes ago, he does his best not to shift nervously in his seat. All his thoughts are about the face you'll make once you see the bottom of the cup. If Geto ever asked him about it, Gojo would always reply with the exasperated sigh that you'd accept. He loves you. He knows you love him, too, even if sometimes he turns into a literal manchild with a penchant for drama. But he's caring, soft-hearted, and ready to walk alongside you for the rest of your lives because he can't imagine spending it with anyone else. There's nothing he wouldn't give you.

It feels like you've been together for eternity, but it hasn't even been that long. He just... doesn't want to delay it anymore. What for? He knows he wants to see you in a wedding dress, walking down the aisle and smiling at him, shining in all beauty. Surely, you want the same?

The minute he sees your face changing, Satoru is jumping off his seat, hands shaking a little. You have just finished your coffee. You are now staring at "Will you marry me?" written beautifully at the bottom of the cup with googly eyes, blinking away tears.

The second you turn your head to him, he's already on one knee with a beautiful engagement ring he spent several weeks searching for, dragging Shoko to every decent jewelry store he spotted for "moral support".

You say yes before you even register what's happening, hugging the cup close to your chest like it's your greatest treasure.

Kento Nanami is not a nervous man by a mile, and yet he finds himself furrowing his brows as he pours down your favorite green tea in the new cup he secretly got you, mulling over the fact you might not find his proposal adequate. Wasn't it better to do it the old-fashioned way? Book a nice restaurant, buy you a huge bouquet of red roses, propose like any other decent man on his knee with a fancy ring...

"But it's really getting old," Shoko enlighted him as she handed him a perfectly normal cup in a box, tapping it with her slender finger. "Look, haven't you heard how Gojo proposed to his wife?"

Then Nanami sat there like a fool and listened to that story, questioning himself if the old-fashioned proposal was really the right way to go about it. You did joke he reminded you of an old man sometimes, and he certainly didn't want you to think that when he'd be proposing.

He still wonders how Shoko managed to change his mind in a heartbeat, but what's done is done. You are setting down the table while he is pouring green tea right into that famous cup, knowing you will see its bottom the second you take the cup into your hands.

Kento Nanami realizes he is sweating profusely, the red velvet box with your engagement ring burning a hole through the pocket of his dress pants. Are you going to say yes? There is't a day he was unsure of your feelings, but he can't help feeling a little self-conscious today. You didn't date long, to be fair, and yet he was convinced you were going to be his wife the second time he saw you. It was that simple.

He likes everything about you, regardless of how cringy it sounds when he tries to put it into words. The way you smile at him every morning after waking up, and how you look when you're packing him lunch before he leaves for work, and how your face lights up when he comes back, tired but happy to find you in his home. He is seriously thinking of changing his god-awful corporate job just to spend more time with you because you make him realize how precious the time you share together is. Marrying you is only logical when every moment he spends away from you, he thinks of coming back and having you pressed tightly against his chest.

Do you feel the same way?

He knows you do when you turn to him, smiling so wide it almost hurts, and he's on his knee before you can say a word. The next second, he is putting the ring on your finger and kissing your knuckles as you say yes, laughing, tears streaming down your cheeks.

Sukuna had never planned to propose. Hell no. Him? Marrying some woman? Whoever even joked about it was going to get their ass kicked. He never even cared for serious relationships, much less marriage that was akin shackling himself for some girl's advantage.

No, Sukuna is never going to get married.

And yet, he is standing in the kitchen in nothing but his gray sweats, holding this stupid cup with its stupid "Will you marry me?" all over its damn bottom. He wants to say he hates it, break it, and throw away the fragments before your eyes land on it, but he also sort of... doesn't.

He does want you to stay. Not like his girlfriend who comes and goes, but like... like someone who doesn't leave. Not now, not ever. Sure, he isn't stupid to believe marriages are binding people forever like they were half a century ago - Sukuna thinks it's a shame, really - but he knows you wouldn't leave. Not with a ring on your finger and his child in your tummy. But both things need work, and thus he is now standing in the middle of a kitchen like a fool, dumbly pouring you coffee in that fucking cup that's supposed to help him propose.

What a fucking pain.

"Can you give me my cup, please?" You ask, hurriedly putting his sandwiches in a lunch box for him to eat at work, and Sukuna nearly splashes coffee all over himself.

"Oi, can't you wait one more minute, woman?!" He yells, enraged he almost dropped the dumb cup and ruined the whole thing, and you immediately send him a death glare.

No, meek little girls wouldn't survive a day with Sukuna. You, on the other hand, are ready to fight him at any given moment, which is precisely what you are going to do now.

"I'm only asking for a cup of coffee, not a dry martini with a lemon twist!" You retort, furious at his attitude, and Sukuna does his best not to throw the kettle in the sink, instead shoving the cup into your manicured hands and turning away as quickly as he can.

This is going so wrong. Why can't he be at least a little more patient? It's his goddamn proposal, and he's fucking it up right from the start.

"You forgot to add sugar," you add dryly, and he thinks he's going to explode.

"JUST DRINK THE DAMN COFFEE, WOMAN!"

Maybe it could have scared anyone else, but you are a woman bending aluminum spoons with your stare, and Sukuna's outbursts aren't scaring you. Instead, you scream at him with the same intensity, "WHY SHOULD I DRINK THIS NASTY COFFEE?"

Sukuna is now fully turned to you, his face contorting in anger, "BECAUSE I CAN'T PROPOSE TO YOU WITHOUT IT!"

He realizes what he just said a second too late, slapping himself in disbelief as you're staring at him wide-eyed across the kitchen. What a fucking moron. He should've just proposed in a restaurant or some shit. How was he going to do the right thing now?

But you finish your coffee in two big gulps and then stare at the bottom of the cup with a dumbfounded expression like you never in a million years expected him to propose. Your eyebrows are so high on your forehead it almost looks comical.

"Are you for r-"

"Yes," he cuts you off impatiently, and you see, he really is nervous. "So, what? Are you going to marry me or not?"

He's going the wrong way about it from start to finish, and yet, it doesn't deter you as you nod, unable to utter a word. He has finally managed to leave you speechless.

Nice, Sukuna thinks before he draws you to him, giving you a heated kiss before you have the time to ask him why the hell couldn't he propose normally. Then he says, "Your dress fitting is on Tuesday. I'll text you the address."

"SUKUNA, WHAT THE FUCK?!"

________

Tags: @minshookie29

[6okuto]

HOW FANS FIND OUT YOU’RE DATING: SAKUSA VER.

gn!reader | timeskip!sakusa

sakusa wanted to marry you. he had said as much drunk and clinging to you, and while sober, falling asleep to your voice and fingers running through his hair. but he knew he’d have to wait, be careful with what could happen if word got out msby’s sakusa kiyoomi had a significant other.

but even kiyoomi couldn’t help himself from getting rings. promise rings, he emphasized to you.

he handed the carefully wrapped box to you, tense, only able to hope you'd like them but ready to return them at your word. you looked up after opening the gift, and his heart skipped a beat. “kiyo—”

“it’s a promise ring,” he said quickly and softly. “they’re just promise rings. don’t worry. i just…” he reached into his pocket to take out his own. his ears embarrassingly hot as he tried to explain, “i wanted us to have them.”

“...unless you don’t like them, or this is still a little–”

“‘omi.” he froze at your voice, and you stepped forward to wrap your arms around his neck as he held you to his chest. “it's perfect. thank you.”

and he’s careful. so, so careful to keep his safe and always on him, even if it's hidden in a pocket somewhere, only out so he can kiss it before each game. and that’s why it's a shock, especially to him, when a reporter comments on it during a press interview.

“sakusa, would that happen to be a ring on your finger there?”

that's all it takes for kiyoomi’s mind to blank. he had fiddled with it while on a call with you, what? 10, 15 minutes ago? and apparently the voices of his teammates caught him so off guard that he forgot to put it away before being called over.

kiyoomi wasn't stupid—the opposite, really. with everyone's eyes on him, he knew there was no believable way out of this. his eyes flicker down to where the band of metal sat and stared back, as if taunting him for his mistake, and all he can say is “yes.”

a grimace pulls at his lips when the camera flashes seem to get brighter at the word, and he can feel the stares of his team and management unintentionally burning holes into him. the reporter moves a little closer. “does that mean—”

“no, i’m not married, or engaged.”

“ah,” she replies, shifting a little in her seat again. her confusion was evident, and she hesitates in confirming, “so it’s just a ring, then?”

“no.”

“i–i’m sorry?”

“it’s a promise ring," kiyoomi explains. and he sees the reporter is about to speak again, but he's quicker. “yes, i'm in a relationship. but that’s all i have to say about it today, thank you.”

so the interview carries on with his announcement in the air, and he can feel an oncoming headache when he overhears the trending headlines and hashtags after they're done. "sakusa kiyoomi confirms he's in a relationship!", "how long has sakusa been dating somebody? is he secretly married?", and apparently threads of images where fans tried to collect evidence for and against it all.

it's too much, and his mind's muddled and reeling by the time he gets home. he doesn't know what to do or what to say next; the only thing kiyoomi knows for certain is that he has to find you. so he takes off his shoes and jacket, padding up to your shared bedroom. slowly, he opens the door to see you in bed on your phone, and he wonders if you're reading the news.

“hey,” you greet him quietly.

“hi.” he breathes. opening your arms, you gesture for him to join you under the covers and he complies easily. he makes his way into your arms, face burying into the crook of your neck. there's a few seconds where neither of you speak until he finally mumbles, “i’m sorry.”

and he knows you know what he’s apologizing for. kiyoomi also knows you won’t be upset, he just thinks you should be; he had one job outside of volleyball, and it was to keep you safe. but your voice remains gentle as you begin to rub circles on his back, “why are you apologizing? you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“tell that to everyone else.”

“well, they all love me so i’m sure i could pull some strings for you. y’know, keep you out of trouble.”

he huffs, “you say that as if it isn’t accurate.” you feel him frown against your skin and a laugh escapes you. hearing the sound, kiyoomi can't stop himself from smiling despite the nerves in his stomach.

he licks his lips and using his thumb, spins the promise ring on his hand before asking you, “you know i won’t tell them anything else, right? unless you wanted to?”

“yeah, of course i do. never worried about that.”

“we’ll have a meeting this week to figure out what to do, or say, or whatever. i’ll—”

“the only thing you’ll be doing right now is resting,” you cut him off. he moves to look up at you and opens his mouth to speak, stopping himself when you run your thumb against the nape of his neck. “you’ve had a long enough day, ‘omi. leave that for tomorrow.”

“but—”

“nope, sleep time. i better hear you snoring.”

he frowns. “i don’t snore.”

“oh really? you’re gonna say that to me?” a smile dances on your lips and kiyoomi scoffs, a smile already on his own, before nudging your cheek with his finger, and you feel the cool metal of his promise against your skin.

“but seriously, we can figure it all out later. and if this is how everyone finds out then, you know. it won't change anything, maybe just the amount of fan edits i get to watch,” you joke lightly.

kiyoomi blinks, both at the news of you watching fan edits and the implication of your words. “you think i'll lose fans?”

“what? oh, no, are you kidding? i think you'll gain a lot. 'hot, brooding volleyball player sakusa kiyoomi is actually a sweetheart who loves having his hair played with—” you let out a yelp as the aforementioned volleyball player suddenly pulls the blanket over your head. the both of you laugh as you take it off and pretend to be offended.

kiyoomi's gaze softens at your reaction, and instead of apologizing he says easily, “i love you.”

the words catch you off guard, but after a second you reply just the same, “i love you too.” and kiyoomi's heart aches at it—the way you comfort and love him so effortlessly. but it's soothed by the sensation of your own ring against his face as you hold his cheek, and the reminder that no matter what happens next, his reputation be damned, you'll both be alright.

🏷 | @devilgirlcrybabiey @lordbugs @smiithys @xfangirl-trashx @passionateuchiha @scaramouchesfootstool @fifteenshadesofpinkk @lotus-sukimono @chloee0x0 @kenmaslov3r @bakugosgrenade @semifilms @sakusasdirtyragdoll @dai-tsukki-desu @Thathoneybee3 @momoewn @aintgeluh @dazaisfavgf @simpforerenn @crystal-lilac @vhenis @omiigad @kur0-kawa @semispilledcoffee @idontlikeyourjob @awkwardaardvarkforever @rory-cakes @prblmtc @kuroaka @vampyrkookie @sunaslay @h0n3ysgh0st @lackey-laufeyson @bontensbabygirl @dira333 @the-b-u-n-n-y @Kamukayakmonyet @danyisapingu @isentsworld @lilithlunas @anime-ships-gay @todorokiskitten

[carolmunson]

is he rich like me? (wealthy!s.h. x thick!reader)

desc: hi, we've missed you here at slate insurance hq. i've been working on this WIP since i think october, having the initial idea back then and then going back and forth on it for a million years. anyway, i finally finished it. you and big money steve are finally both on the same page, so here's some porn with plot. big money steve is big money steve, and he loves to spoil his girl. especially before a big dinner deal closing with a new client. tw: 18+ minors dni. p in v sex, oral (f and m receiving), some daddy kink (it's steve c'mon) but he's pathetic, some breeding kink. casual dominance. big wealthy tings. recommended listening: time of the season - the zombies

"what's your name? who's your daddy? is he rich like me?"

Big boxes and gifts were nothing new anymore. Selfishly, they'd become expected whenever you walked in the door from work. Though, if it were totally up to Steve, you would have quit your job the moment the last box of your things came past the threshold of his Tribeca apartment in January. But having at least some semblence of your old life was important to you -- and Robin would lose her mind if she didn't have you to share an office with anymore. Steve on the otherhand, was adamant that once the first baby was on the way, you'd put your career behind you. Presumptiuous of course, considering you weren't even engaged. Tonight was a dinner -- not for the both of you, but for business. Sales pitches, deal closings, re-enrollment. He'd never take you a steakhouse for a date, he'd rather die. But, always a steakhouse for business, 'It's just more -- I don't know how to explain it baby -- money talk, red meat, stuff like that. I know you hate it, I'm sorry, but it just looks good when I bring my girl with me.' He'd make it up to you every time with a new dress, a new pair of shoes, his lips on your neck, your knees to your chest. This dinner was no different, coming in from a nail appointment and a pedicure out to see an array of boxes laid out on your side of the bed. Your main component, which you were expected to wear to dinner tonight, was a black silk dress. "It looks small, Steve," you mumble, holding it up by the skinny straps. Sometimes your wonder if he forgets how full your hips are, how things that look chic on Kate Moss can sometimes look suggestive on you. Not that he minded, he was always very suggestive whenever you dressed up.

"It got it tailored to your measurements, so it shouldn't be," he explains while tying his tie in the mirror, "Just put it on, baby. The car's gonna be here soon."

You huff a little, turning on your heels to his walk in closet -- it might as well be a second bedroom with how big it was. You laid the dress down on the center island where he keeps all of his ties and watches in specially made drawers. You eyed the dress for a moment -- it really was beautiful. Black as night with a high slit on the right side -- of course he made sure it showed some leg so he could run his fingers along the hem under the table.

You take a look at yourself in the mirror in the long line black bustier he bought you. Breasts lifted and high, nearly spilling out of the cups. You'd never seen something without straps have so much support. But then again, you'd never had a bra be custom made either. The matching satin panties sat high on your waist, cut high enough that you'd never see the lines under the silk dress.

Moment of truth, I guess, you think, taking the dress and stepping into it. You waited for the resistance when you pulled it up over your hips but it never came. You waited for the uncomfortable pull of trying to get the skinny straps over your arms and shoulders, but it didn't happen. The dress slid on like butter, like it was made for you.

Oh yeah, duh, it was made for you.

"Can you help me with the zipper, honey?" you call out. Steve still loses his breath when you call him a pet name. So overwhelmed that you want him, that you call him baby and handsome and honey. Honey, honey, honey. Maybe someday husband. Maybe.

He steps into the room with purpose, stopping short when he sees you in the dress.

"Oh, wow," he gasps, "Wow, wow, wow."

"Stop," you bloom heat when he eyes you, "C'mon help me, we gotta go soon."

He steps behind you and you can smell the cedar and sandalwood in his cologne -- having long traded his Aqua di Gio for Creed's 1992 Bois du Portugal. His fingers are warm when he trails his middle and pointer up the skin of your back where the zipper opens, just to watch you shiver. He hooks the closure at the top carefully before pulling the tab at the bottom to slowly close the dress up. At the finish, everything is pulled into place. It was perfect. Dipping and flouncing exactly where you wanted it too, every curve perfectly showcased.

“Do you know where my clutch is?” you ask him in the mirror while his fingers trace your shoulders.

“It’s on the island in the kitchen,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss over the strap of the dress, “But I have another surprise for you.”

“Another?” you ask, eyes wide. He already bought you the dress, the shoes, the lingerie. What else was left?

"Close your eyes." You do, you hear him open one of the drawers and can feel him behind you when something cold hits your chest. He fastens it at the back of you -- you know it's a necklace but it must be nice if he's having you close your eyes.

"Keep 'em closed, baby."

You hear him come around to the front of you, adjusting the necklace, feeling his breath againt your ear. His fingers trail from your shoulder, down your arm to lift your left hand up, "Stay like that." Your heart hammers, but quickly fades out when you feel him put on a bracelet. His delicate touches quicken your pulse, his scent makes your mouth water. Steve had a way of making everything romantic -- getting coffee, going to the grocery store, taking out the trash, putting jewelry on you. Jewelry he bought. Jewelry you know you'll love.

"And lastly..." he continues, while putting your hand down. His nose brushes your cheek when his nimble fingers click a pair of earrings into place -- they're heavy and cold. "Harrington," you sigh, squirming at the pinch of the back going too far into your lobes, "I can put these on myself." "Don't be such a baby, Manhattan," he tsks, smoothing your hair away from your ears before standing back and looking at you. He smiles big at the sight, you simply adorned in his gifts. Steve doesn't know whether to cry or kiss you when he feels his heart leap in his chest. It happens all the time when he stares too long at you, no matter what you're doing. You're his. "Can I open them?" "You can open them," he encourages. When your eyes flutter open and adjust to the light, you see them in the mirror. A platinum set tennis necklace sat across your chest, a matching bracelet on your wrist. Earrings in your ears to complete the collection. You gape at your reflection, mouth hanging open while you try to wrap your head around it -- about how much money you're wearing right now.

"Steven -- they're beautiful..." you gasp out. He stands behind you in the mirror again, grinning at your reaction.

"Sorry there's no ring," he pouts before kissing your cheek, "Not yet, at least."

It was an every other day mention -- the ring. You'd only been officially together for half a year, but Steve knew what he wanted. It felt like you both had been together for six years anyway. You knew the ins and outs of each other, literally and figuratively -- there couldn't be anyone else quite like him. It helt like you both had PHDs in each other's likes and dislikes, needs and wants, goals and dreams.

"Don't worry," you breathe, still not over the sparkle on the rest of your limbs, "This is...this is plenty, babe." He burns in his cheeks -- babe. He's your babe! He presses a kiss to your cheek, settling by your ear to mumble a heady 'I love you,' from the deep base of his chest. His lower lip coasts your earlobe and your eyes roll back in your head, feeling his warm breath fan over your jaw. "I love you so much," he murmurs, hand gripping your waist, you can feel his grin against your skin, "But I need you to hurry the fuck up or we're gonna be late, angel." "You're so annoying," you glower when his sensual demeanor turns into a mean snicker, tapping your ass to get you to move out into the kitchen.

It took every ounce of will power in his body to not cover you in hickeys in the car. He had to give it to himself, he knew how to dress you for stuff like this, and God did your body alway deliver. He had to keep looking out the window so he didn't catch a glimpse of your crossed legs in the rear view mirror of the Bentley. It didn't help that you smelled like heaven, dirving him crazy with every movement, sending Mulger's Angel through his olfactory straight to his boy brain.

He helped you out of the car and waked you arm in arm to the door of the restaurant, always sure to be there at least 15 minutes before his guests. You got accustomed to the song and dance: exchange pleasantries, only ask the wife of whoever he's with direct questions, feign some form of old school obedience, let Steve do all the talking and so help you God if you roll your eyes once he has no problem letting you pay for when you get home. Always in good fun, of course.

Tonight is no different, you look over the menu, sharing sweet moments with each other before his guest arrives. Guessing the status of every couple there, what they're talking about, how long they've been together. A few celebrities come in laying low and you never get excited but Steve always does, still deep down a sweet boy from Indiana. "I think I'm gonna do the salmon," I say with a sigh, "I know that's boring."

"Not boring, honey," he shakes his head, taking off his glasses to clean them off before settling the silver frames back on, "The salmon's really good here." "You're really good here," you tease. "Yeah?" his brow quirks, a smile pulling at his lips, "I heard you're really good here." "Actually, you're really good here," you start to giggle. "Surprised to hear you say that because it was reported in the Culiniary section of the New York Times that you're actually really good here," he laughs, but you're both cut short when you see the m'aitre d guiding your guests to the table. You keep giggling, sitting up straight and crossing your legs under the table cloth so that your thigh peaked out of the slit of the dress. "No more fun, Harrington," you say faux seriously, "No laughing, we have to be boring now." "So boring," he agrees in a fake whisper, but his demeanor changes on a dime when his guest and his wife arrive. Steve stands immediately, hand out for a firm shake.

"Mr. Parker, good to see you tonight," he flashes an award winning smile, the kind that make older men wish he was their son and older women wish he was their husband, "Mrs. Parker, you look stunning. He let's you leave the house looking this good?"

Only Steve can make a joke like that and have it be charming. He pulls the fake string in your back and you start your performance as Business Dinner Barbie as soon as everyone sits down. When the sommelier arrives Steve orders a bottle of white and red for the table and when the waitress arrives he gets himself and Mr. Parker their second highest priced scotch. 'Just because it's the most expensive doesn't mean it's good, they just wanna get the suckers to buy it.' You could mouth the words as he says them at this point, the same schpiel every time.

"And would you like to put your entree orders in as well?" the waitress asks. Mr. Parker orders the steak dinner, rare, which doesn't surprise you because he sort of looks like someone who gets joy out of consuming blood. Mrs. Parker orders the salad because of course she does, she's never eaten a starch in her life, or at least not in the past forty years. Steve places his dinner order, always filet mignon medium rare with a side salad. Steve takes your menu from you to pass to the waitress when her attention turns to you for your order. You open your mouth to speak but Steve's hand finds yours with a light squeeze, keeping eye contact with the waitress. "She'll have the glazed salmon, medium. And I hate to bother the chef but can we pass the broccoli rabe on for asparagus?" he asks, eyes dropping from the waitress to yours as she answers 'Absolutely, Mr. Harrington'. You swallow when his gaze lingers on you, a smirk flicking on the ends of his lips, a moment only shared by the two of you.

"Thank you so much," he replies, still looking at you, "She just doesn't really care for it." He smiles back up at the waitress as he finishes his sentence, pulse quickening when he sees you adjust slightly in your seat. You liked that, and he likes that you liked that. He continues the conversation with a winning smile, pretending like he doesn't know you're melting next to him. Staring at him in his suit acting like you care what he's talking about, like you're not watching the way the leather band of his watch hugs his wrist, how he gesticulates when he talks, his long fingers and big veined hands emphasizing his words. The way his brow furrows when he listens, the slight tensing of his jaw while he thinks of what to say next. While Mr. Parker discusses the potential pitfalls of partnering with Slate Insurance, you feel one of Steve's big hands under the table, resting on your knee. His thumb traces circles on your joint for a minute, you figure it's a comfort touch, something to ground him while he considers his next move. You learn quickly that it's not that at all. He lets a finger trace slowly and softly up over your knee and half way up your inner thigh before grabbing it, slowly and intentionally massaging the fat there, slipping his fingers under the black silk. Your back straightens in your chair, trying to keep your cool while he continues -- soft grazes with his finger tips, back and forth, inching further up as he goes. You grab his hand tightly under the thick white table cloth, catching his lips curl at the edges while he speaks -- no one else would be wise to it. You curse him silently at his ability to always play it cool.

"Have some water, honey," he says sweetly, taking his hand from your grasp and pushing your glass toward you, "You're looking a little flushed." You swallow, your smile a little tight while you take a sip and he watches. A battle between the two of you that you know you've already lost. The cool water passes your lips and you're nearly reinvigorated to try your hand but he comes in with a final strike -- a death blow -- "Atta girl," Steve grins. You've never wanted to pull him out of a restaurant by his collar more than you do right now. Just like always, dinner is a success. Steve always closes the deal before the second scotch so that the cool down conversation can feel more friendly. 'You want the client to feel like they made a friend when they leave so that they trust you. That's business, angel.' He'd say. You say your goodbyes and tell Mrs. Parker you'd be happy to join her book club -- you're unsure how many book clubs you've 'joined' at this point, how many invites got 'lost in the mail'. "Very darling woman you've got there, Steven," Mr. Parker says as he and Steve shake hands, the final seal.

"Isn't she?" he asks, giving you a quick once over. Your blood rushes in your ears at his look, the rest of their conversation muffled by an infuriating need for him. As Mr. Parker and his wife leave, he cleans off his glasses while you both wait for his credit card back for the bill.

"Beautiful job tonight, honey," he smiles, putting his frames back on.

"Do not speak to me," you say with a smile, heat pooling through you while a soft pink appears on his cheeks. "Don't worry," he shakes his head, getting his card back and signing off on the receipt. He helps you out of your chair like a gentlemen, passing you your purse as a means to press a kiss to your cheek, "We won't be doing any talking when we get home."

By the time you get home to the Tribeca apartment, all of your lipstick has been worn off. You're lucky if Vinny doesn't quit being Steve's driver after all of that. "Sorry," he says to Vin while you get out of the Bentley, "Won't happen again, I'm so sorry."

You try not to count how many hundreds Steve flips through when he goes into his wallet, you try not to see how many he slips his driver in embarrassment. Sometimes it still made your chest tight. "You say that every Friday night," Vinny laughs, taking the money, "And every Saturday I gotta get the interior detailed. Goodnight, Mr. Harrington."

The air is a little humid when you get out of the car, sticking to your skin slightly -- the soft rush of the river calms you in the quiet of the night, and there he is, in the glow of the lights outside of your building. He doesn't say anything when he approaches you, just pulls you in for another air stealing kiss. Steve's big hand pushing you in at the nape of your neck to give him better access to you. You frown when he breaks away, a small one, a gentle tug on your eye brows an lips. His hand drops to yours, taking you inside, greeting the doorman and front desk concierge by name as he does every morning and night.

The brightness of the lobby is a harsh contrast to the low light outside and the burst of air conditioning makes your nipples peak in your bra. Goosebumps trail up your arms, but you aren't sure if it's the blast of cold air or the way Steve impatiently waits for the elevator to get you both upstairs. The door barely closes when he's on you, shoving you against the wall of the front walk way. "How dare you," he murmurs, lips peppering kisses from your lips to your jaw, tongue licking hot at your neck, "Look this fucking good all night." "It's kind of your fault," you laugh, panting slightly while his teeth graze over a sensitive spot by your collar bone. You kick off your heels, leaving $2600 on the floor of Steve's apartment.

"Mostly yours," he grunts, pulling you over to the living room after taking off his own shoes. He opens the big vertical blinds so that the city glitters into the penthouse apartment. Steve wastes no time however, getting behind you the same way he did earlier, fingers nimbling unzipping your dress. You both watch it fall to the floor in a delicate puddle, black water silk at your feet.

Now there was $6600 on the floor. Steve takes a second to admire you in your skivvies, his bottom lip tucking between his teeth. He surveys you like a work of art, like a statue carved just for him. You shudder while he circles you, feeling the heat of his ambers eyes burning with need on your skin. He chuckles when he notices you get a flustered, settling down on the couch. He motions for you to you come forward and while you are never one to listen, you make your way over to him without question.

"You like when I spoil you?" he asks huskily, pulling you down to straddle his lap. One arm wraps tight around your waist while the other wraps delicately in your hair. Your stomach presses against him while your breasts heave in his face. He pulls your head down to kiss you, hungry and powerful, while his hips press up to grind against your satin covered cunt.

"Mhm," you whimper into his mouth. His hands reach behind you to the hooks and ties at the back of your bustier. Steve's fingers never met a bra that they couldn't take off in an impressive flick of the wrist.

"Let's get all this off you," he mumbles breathily before sliding his lips from your mouth to your neck. The bustier falls forward slightly before he gets impatient, pulling the straps down your arms before discarding it on the ground. You reach for the necklace but he stops you, reaching back up to capture you in a hungry kiss. "Keep the jewelry on," he says, ambers eyes meeting yours. He's stern in his request and you nod obediently, hands lowering down to meet his chest.

Now there was $8,000 on the floor.

His hands find your breasts and he lets out a rugged groan, massaging them with his hands while he presses kisses down onto the soft skin.

"You can't come with me to dinner looking like this anymore," he murmurs between kisses, "Barely closed that deal. Too busy staring at these tits."

"Steve," you gasp out, giggling, "You closed it just fine."

"Mmm," he nods, mouth occupied by taking a nipple between his lips. You can feel the flutter of his tongue over it while he looks up at you, eye shining wickedly. Your whine just encourages him to keep going. Your hips press down against him, reminding him what you want more than his mouth, than his hands. He pops his lips off of you, the sound echoing in the open living room.

“Is there something you want?” he asks sweetly, leaning back on cushions of the couch. You nod, rocking your hips over his hard cock in his pants, letting out a soft tiny moan at each bit of friction.

“You're so spoiled angel,” he teases, thumbs brushing over your nipples before rolling them between his fingers, making you whine. His voice still dripping in depth and heat, “I think you should work for it.”

“I thought the whole point of this was so that I didn't have to work anymore," you tease back, leaning forward to kiss him. He hums into your mouth and you can feel him smirk into the kiss. Bastard, you think to yourself.

“Hmm,” he considers, palm skating over your thigh, “You do make a good counter point."

“I think giving into my demands is a good return on investment,” you assure, hips rolling against him in a way that makes his thighs tense up, "Imagine the long term benefits?"

He groans when you parrot him, getting harder at the thought of you genuinely listening to his business speak when you do these dinners. He squeezes the fat of your hips, tongue gliding over his kiss bitten lower lip while you take off his tie and start to unbutton his shirt. “Take these off,” he says, looking up at you while his finger traces your panty line. You heat up when he says it, a smug smile blooming on your face. His actions only confirming that he’ll always give in, “If you ask for want you want, I'll consider it."

“Oh, you'll pass that on to your team? I'd love to be considered,” you ask with a laugh, but he's done joking around, a tap to your thigh reminds you that he asked you to undress. You stand up off of him, your feet meeting the cold hardwood, your panties sliding down your smooth legs.

Now there was $8250 on the floor.

He undoes his belt while you stand in front of him, eyes glued to yours while he does it. You swallow when he winks, thighs pressing together — you know he notices. Steve shimmies his pants down slightly, enough that he can keep his legs spread wide while pulling out his length. It's clear that he's painfully hard, a guttural groan escaping him while his hand offers him some minor relief, “Is this what you want?”

“Y-yeah,” your voice barely above a whisper.

“Why don’t you suck on it first and I’ll tell you when you can ride it," he smirks, and without thinking, you start getting to your knees. He stops you before you can make it to the floor, putting a throw pillow beneath you to protect you from the hardwood. Steve can't help but kiss you softly once you make it to your knees, he was never any good at being mean and forceful with you. You'd been right the whole time, he couldn't boss you around -- at least not for too long.

You unbutton the rest of his dress shirt that will now need to be dry cleaned and repressed. You let a hand trail down his chest, gliding through the hair there while pressing wet hot kisses down to his pelvis. Pulling some of the skin between your teeth to leave red and purple bruises behind.

“That’s it, baby,” his breath blends with his words as he adjusts on the couch, leaning back so you have more access to him. You kiss close to the base, tongue trailing over the crease of his thigh, breath ghosting over his shaft while your mouth stays occupied with his heavy sac. You feel him lean back, relaxing while you work him up, his hands coming behind his head, arms bending at the elbows. "Just like that, honey," Steve purrs, "Just like that."

Your hand reaches up to stroke him, slow and deliberate, mouth getting wetter while you leave sloppy kisses at the base and on his pelvis. Your thumb glides over the shining bead of pre-cum pooling out of the tip, teasing over the seam just under it. Your tongue finally glides up to the tip expertly, letting your lower lip catch on the head -- his eyes meet yours behind his glasses, burning with need. It feels cruel to keep him waiting when he looks at you like that, so you don't wait. While keeping eye contact you adjust, taking him all the way to the back of your throat without so much as a wince.

“Oh fuck, good girl,” he gasps into a growl, hand reactively entwining in your hair, “That’s daddy’s girl.”

You groan into the praise, sucking diligently on his cock, thighs pressing tight together. Your back arches into a posture he can only recognize as needy, making him grin while he runs his free hand through his own hair.

“Learned to like that, huh? Whose your daddy, angel?” You smirk up at him in response, tongue gliding from the base to the tip again, taking half of his shaft in your mouth before taking it out with a low laugh, "You are, honey."

His eyes roll back, hips canting up towards your mouth while his grip in your hair tightens. You press him by the thighs back down onto the couch eyeing him while he whimpers when your tongue traces the curve of his cock again. Always on top even on your knees. "Fuck, don't stop," he breathes out. He lets go of your hair, arm reaching behind him to clutch the back of the couch. His hips roll up again, disrupting your rhythm slightly. You taste the salt of him on your tongue while you continue, a soft giggle erupting from your throat, sending shockwaves through him.

"Having fun, honey?" he asks, pulling himself away from you slightly. You sit back on your heels and smile, nodding. He leans forward, blessing you with kisses, deep and slow, "Let's take this to the bedroom."

"I'm on top, right?" you ask. He smirks, watching the jewelry glitter on you in the low light. "Not a chance," he giggles darkly, "Not tonight. Really wanna show you how bad I want you tonight."

"Oh, just tonight?" you ask smartly, getting up from your knees to head to the bedroom.

"Every night," he says with a roll of the eyes, getting up and tossing his dress shirt and tie on the couch. He watches you as you walk slowly to the bedroom, eyeing your smooth skin, the way your hips and waist twist when you walk. He knows you're walking like this on purpose, but he'll never complain. You fall back on the sheets you've been sleeping in for six months and he watches your breasts and thighs and tummy jiggle when you land. Steve grins, sliding off his slacks, socks, and boxer briefs before stepping between your legs, standing over you while you lay on the bed. "Hi," you say, a genuine smile pulling at your mouth when you look up at him. A stripe of amber light from outside pools into the room from between the billowing white curtains, coating you both in a dreamy haze.

"Hi, baby," he says back, his hands reaching down to slide from just under your breasts to your waist, "So beautiful," he whispers to himself.

"Move up a little for me," he instructs, his voice sweet and deep. You scooch up the bed, settling between the mountain of pillows leaning against the short head board while he settles between your legs again. He watches you and the way your body manipulates when he reaches down behind your thighs, pressing the tops of them to your chest. He leans forward, pressing his own chest against what can be felt of yours. Your knees are at your decolletage when he leans in closer to give you another deep kiss before leaning back again, quickly tossing his glasses on the bedside table.

You both stay quiet while he strokes himself a few times, smirking down at your glistening core while he lines himself up to push in. You aren't sure why, but every time he does, it feels like the first time.

"Oh my God," you whine while he pushes in slow, "Stevie." "I know, angel," he nods, gliding in all the way to the hilt. He grunts when he feels you grip him tight, trying to pull out slightly only to get sucked back in. He grips the back of your thighs for leverage, pulling back half way and pressing in, feeling you get wetter around him while he picks up a rhythm.

"Shiii-Steve, that's so deep," you whine. It only encourages him to push in deeper.

"Gotta practice, honey," he grins, starting to pant while he looms over you, letting go of your legs to get close to you again, "Need it to stick when we do it for real."

You pulse over him when he says it, back trying to arch despite your position beneath him.

"You like when I talk like that?" he whispers, his voice sliding back to gravely in your ear, "When I tell you how bad I wanna cum inside you?"

"Mhm," you whimper, nodding against his searing kiss, working himself up the more he thinks about it. "Get you all fuckin' full with me?" he growls, "Keep you nice and pregnant the second I get that ring on your finger?" You burn with lust while he babbles on, wrapping your legs around his waist while his thrusts get rough and desperate. Your body shakes and quivers while his hips slam against you, filthy wet squelches filling the high ceilings of the room. Mixing with a symphony of both of your sighs and moans, the smell of your sweat mixing with his cologne. Slam, slam, slam, slam, slam. The headboard beating the wall between the windows with a thud over and over again. "I fucking love you," he grits out. "I love you, too," you whine, eyes rolling in the back of your head. Heat licks at your lower belly, building while the slight curve of his cock makes the head brush over your g-spot in rapid succession, "Baby, I'm..." "Yeah?" he asks with a knowing smile, "So close for me, hm?" He sits back on his calves, still able to thrust while he looks down at you. His thumb presses against your lips, asking for entry. You let him in, making sure to get it extra slick with your spit before he takes it out, reaching down to slide it in circles over your clit. "How's that, angel?" he asks, thrusts not showing a hint of slowing down, "Does that feel good?"

Your thighs shake, eyes pricking with tears, shining while they look up at him. Well he's pleased with himself, you think, making a mental note to throw him on his back tomorrow and ride him into next week until he's a babbling mess. "It does, huh?" he asks softly, nodding down at you while you nod up at him. "Shit," he huffs, "Oh fuck."

"Not so...oh my god, oh wow -- not so t-tough now, are you?" you giggle. He groans when you giggle, Why are you so fucking precious? he thinks to himself, Who allowed this?

Heat rises even more, the jewelry starting to feel clingy as it sticks to your shining skin. Steve keeps his pace, eyes closing softly while he leans his head back, the column of his neck begging to be bitten and kissed by you. You whimper, pulling at the clasp of the bracelet, tossing it onto the carpet next to the bed. Now there was $48,250 on the floor. Feeling less trapped and more desperate to destroy his neck and chest, you sit up, your manicured hand pressing against his hair covered pecs. It doesn't take long for him to allow it, looking up at you while you climb on top of him.

"That's it, honey, give it to me," he breathes, "Show me how bad you want it."

Your hips move with a slutty percision that he loves, grinding against him for your own pleasure and his. He hisses when you bite down on his neck, letting out a soft laugh when you pull at his hair, "Come for me, angel, c'mon." He hears you pant in his ear while you lean over him, the diamonds in your necklace shimmering in his eyes. You sigh, sitting up straight, unclasping the necklace while you bounce on top of him, gently tossing it to meet the bracelet. Now there was $198,250 on the floor. "Do not," he groans out, hands grabbing your hips with bruising grip, "Put those earrings on the ground, we will never find them until a post ends up in my fucking heel." You laugh, your own head leaning back, making him yearn to taste the column of your neck this time. But your laugh doesn't last long, it morphs into guttural moans while he holds you in place, thrusting up into you in an unforgiving speed. Steve gasps, watching your breasts bounce in front of him while he continues on unrelenting. "Baby..." You squeak out, "Steve...oh fuck, oh Steve -- Steve, Steve, Steve..." The heat builds and builds and builds. Your eyes water while his cock bullies into you. The head hitting your g-spot, pushing in deeper while he goes. You let out a cry, nails digging into his broad freckles shoulders while our hips slam down on him, thighs vibrating while white blooms behind your eyes.

"Good girl," He coos while you shake, collapsing onto his chest, "That's it, angel, that's my girl." He eases you onto your back again, giving you slow kisses on your neck and chest while he chases his own orgasm. It doesn't take long, nearly on the precipice of cumming since he zipped you up in your dress earlier in the evening. His mouth gapes while he sends his seed over your tummy, painting you with ropes of glistening white. "Jesus Christ..." he gasps, settling himself with some big deep breaths that expand his sculpted chest. You both look at each other, panting and sweating, the passion wearing off to a pure and gentle love for each other. You both start laughing. "We swear we're sexy," you laugh up at him. His smile makes you melt all over again. You watch him ease up off the bed, leaning forward from the side to kiss your forehead. He picks up the jewelry, inspecting it for missing gems, or - god forbid - a scratch, and places it carefully on the side table with his glasses. "Wanna get cleaned up with me?" he asks, tilting his head, "Can you stand?" "Oh please," you roll your eyes, sitting up slowly, "I can..sort of stand." You already feel the ache between your legs from taking him, knowing you'll need at least a day to recover from something so big. He helps you up, taking you into the en suite bathroom and getting the water just right for you to step into. "I'll be right back," he says, pulling you in for a kiss on the temple before he disappears in the steam. When he returns behind the glass of the standing shower, covered top to bottom in dark green tile, he passes you a glass of Malbec that matches his. "A little celebratory night cap," he says sweetly. "To closing the deal," you grin, giving his glass a clink to cheers. "To closing the deal," he says back before you both take a sip.

"I know you're not wearing those earings in the shower, Manhattan," he sighs, putting the glass on the product shelf out of the water. He reaches for you ears but you yelp playfully, stepping away from him, "You're gonna be the fuckin' death of me, honey. I swear."

[egcdeath]

going the extra mile

pairing: patrick zweig x reader

summary: patrick takes care of you after a rough day at work. 

word count: 2k

warnings: domesticity, established relationship tooth rotting fluff, so much fluff you might have to visit your dentist, brief mention of alcohol, eating, baths, mentions of sex but no explicit scenes, so sappy, very lightly edited

author’s note: this fic is part of my succession au (previous part here) but you don’t need to read it to read this! all you need to know is that patrick and reader are engaged. 

“Honey, I’m home!” you called out as you stepped through the door of your shared apartment, voice a little flat from an exhausting day. 

What began as a joke after you first moved in with Patrick quickly began a critical part of your evening routine, where whoever got home from work later called the cheesy phrase out to the other person, then was excitedly greeted at the door. It was a cute routine and something for you to look forward to after a long day at work—much like the one you just experienced.

Just as you predicted, Patrick appeared at your door shortly after you announced your arrival, beating your equally excited cat by just a few seconds.

“Hey, baby,” he greeted you warmly before entering your space to give you a quick forehead kiss. “How was your day?”

“Stressful,” you huffed, allowing Patrick to take your work bag and hang it up for you. You squatted down to pet your cat, who was now enthusiastically rubbing her chin on your shin.

“I figured it would be. I know big presentations aren’t your favorite,” he acknowledged, ruffling your hair from where you were petting your cat. “So I picked up a bunch of food from that Italian place you like. Want to change into something comfortable then eat?”

“Oh Patrick,” you sighed in relief, looking up at him with love in your eyes. A huge feast was exactly what you needed after such a rough day. “You might be the best fiancé ever.”

As promised, when you returned to the kitchen after putting on a satin pajama set—one that Patrick randomly gifted you early on in your relationship—a variety of takeout boxes sat on the counter from one of your favorite restaurants. You didn’t even think that they did take out, but Patrick must’ve convinced them somehow. Knowing that he would go out of his way to do something like that for you made you want to grab and kiss him. 

You grabbed what you wanted then sat down on your couch, not even bothering to care about marinara stains that might end up on the very expensive piece of furniture. At that point, your comfort mattered more than any material items—a sentiment that you were sure that Patrick would agree with. 

Your fiancé joined you not too long after you sat down, bringing you an offer of focaccia and a glass of wine. 

“You know me so well,” you practically purred, a soft smile on your lips as you gladly took the glass of wine from him. 

Patrick smiled back at you in response, not outwardly acknowledging your praise, but the light dusting of pink on his cheeks letting you know that he appreciated it anyway. You always loved seeing the effects your compliments had on him, even if he didn’t immediately speak his mind. 

“Do you want to watch a movie? Want a foot massage?” he offered, remote to the television already in one hand. It was sweet how he seemed to be going down a checklist of all of the things he knew you liked after a long, stressful day. 

“I think I just want to enjoy your company for now. Maybe an early debrief? Tell me about your day?” you suggested, setting down your glass of wine to take a bite of the food on your plate. 

“My day was pretty boring, to be honest,” he sighed. “We did some run-throughs of Glenn’s speech, then went back to the office and got some boring work done that you don’t want to hear about.”

“Maybe I do wanna hear about it,” you challenged, sitting up slightly straighter to indicate your interest. “Or maybe I just want to hear you talk a little more?” you added, figuring that it would be better to be honest. 

Information about the campaign Patrick was working on would probably go in one ear and out the other, but his voice was always a comforting, grounding thing for you. After having such a busy, stressful day, you couldn’t think of a single better way to unwind than to hear Patrick talk endlessly to you. 

Being the supportive fiancé that he was, Patrick did exactly that, telling you about all of the ins and outs of his day until you finished eating and drinking and were halfway into a food coma. 

Sensing your sleepiness, Patrick paused in his storytelling. “I was gonna run a bath for you, but I wanted to wait so it didn’t get too cold while we ate. What do you think?”

“I think I want to marry you right now,” you gushed, thrilled at the prospect of a warm bath to help you fully unwind from the day. 

As promised, Patrick set up a bath for you, complete with a candle-lit room and the soothing aroma of a bath bomb. You sat in a fuzzy robe and watched from your bedroom as Patrick set up the bath for you, flattered by his commitment to giving you a relaxing evening. 

After he was satisfied with the bath he put together for you, Patrick retrieved you from your bedroom and led you to the tub, as if you didn’t already know where it was. 

“Just yell for me if you need anything,” Patrick told you, letting go of the hand that he was holding.

“What if I need something now?” you questioned as you shed your robe and stepped into the warm, soothing water of the bath.

“What do you need?” he asked curiously, already preparing to get whatever it was that you wanted. 

“Well, I don’t need it, but it would be nice if you joined me. If you want to,” you added shyly, still worried about accommodating your partner years into your relationship. Patrick wasn’t always in the mood to do super romantic things, but after giving you such a nice night, it seemed far more likely that he would accept your offer. 

Your request was received even better than you expected, with Patrick making quick work of stripping and getting into the tub behind you, before letting you recline against his chest comfortably. 

The two of you sat in the tub for a long time, occasionally talking about whatever came to mind, but mostly unwinding in silence and sharing the intimacy of having skin-on-skin contact. 

Once again, you were sure that you could fall asleep right then and there, relaxed by a tiring trifecta of your dinner, the warm bath, and your fiancé’s comforting presence. 

“I never wanna get out,” you sighed contently, turning your head to dreamily look at your partner. 

“I don’t either, but I’m starting to worry that if I stay any longer, my skin’s gonna start falling off,” he showed you his pruning fingers to prove his point. 

“Ew,” you said simply, that being all you needed to hear to get you out. Besides, the water had gone cold a long time ago, and you were itching to lay in bed. 

“I want to get out, but I don’t think any of my muscles work anymore,” you explained as you watched Patrick wrap a towel around his waist after stepping out of the tub. 

“Is this your way of asking me to carry you to bed?” he asked with a hint of laughter in his voice. 

“Depends. Are you offering?” you fluttered your eyelashes at Patrick as if that would somehow sweeten the deal. 

Patrick gave you a wordless grin, one that told you that you were about to get exactly what you wanted. He helped you out of the tub and carried you to bed as he promised, before setting you down and tossing some pajamas at you.

After he cleaned up the bathroom, Patrick joined you in bed, where you were chewing on your bottom lip as you answered a few work emails. 

“Put that away,” Patrick gently chided you, shutting your laptop for you. “They can have you tomorrow. Let me have you for now?” 

You couldn’t argue with that logic, not protesting when Patrick took your computer and set it on the nightstand on his side of the bed. Though you really would like to get more work done, your partner was accurate in his assessment that nothing would change if you answered that night rather than in the morning, other than your peace of mind. 

Once your laptop was out of the way, Patrick wasted no time pulling you in for a passionate kiss, which felt like the perfect way for you to end your night. As his hands eagerly roamed your body, you thought about how this was something that you both earned, with Patrick treating you to such a lovely evening, and you needing this one final action to complete your night of relaxation. 

Just as Patrick found his way between your thighs, your heated moment was interrupted by the dejected sounding meows of your cat at the door, wanting to be let into the room. Both of you groaned, knowing that if you didn’t address the angry furball waiting for you, you really wouldn’t be able to enjoy your night. 

“We’ll pick this back up in the morning,” he promised you as he got out of bed. 

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” you laughed, sitting up and pulling your discarded nightgown back on while you watched Patrick open the door for your pet. Predictable as ever, she jumped into your bed and sat down where she always liked to sit between you and your fiancé.

“This has to be the most spoiled cat in all of human history,” Patrick commented as he sat back down next to the two of you in bed. 

“Whose fault is that?” you teased as you pet the purring feline. Though he would never admit it, Patrick somehow loved your pet even more than you did. You often found him holding and cooing at the cat, or doing research on new toys and puzzles to enrich her.

“We share responsibility for it,” he dismissed, causing you to giggle. 

“Sure,” you replied, not even bothering to hide the incredulity in your voice.  

As the two of you sat in bed, you settled into your typical evening routine, with Patrick reading a book beside you and you catching up with your friends over text. 

Out of the blue, your partner spoke up, grabbing your attention. “You still haven’t told me about how the presentation went.”

You groaned aloud and turned to look at your fiancé, reading glasses perched on his nose and an open book laid on his chest. His beauty, even in a moment of not being all put-together, felt like it should be a crime. 

“It wasn’t my best work,” you confessed. “It was kinda my fault. I’ve been so preoccupied with all the wedding stuff, that I basically just let Art throw together the presentation. I just felt so unprepared, but it’s fine, I guess.”

“I’m sure you did better than you think you did,” he assured you. “And if you didn’t, that’s also fine. It’s over, and I don’t think anyone’s gonna remember that you were a little unprepared.”

Though you’d reassured yourself with similar words, it was nice to hear it coming from your partner. 

“You’re right. Presentation aside, thank you for making me forget about the real world and all of my problems for a little while,” you leaned over and kissed his cheek, and felt your cheeks warm as Patrick followed up your kiss on the cheek with a real kiss. It amazed you how even after years of being together, he was still able to give you butterflies. 

“That was the goal,” he was obviously happy to see that this evening of sweet actions had the intended outcome, based on the wide smile on his face. 

You bit your tongue to hold back a sappy love confession, knowing that Patrick surely wasn’t in the mood to return you one, but you couldn’t think of anything else more obvious than the mutual love you felt sitting in that bed, thoroughly pampered after a rough day. 

As you laid there next to your grinning fiancé, you couldn’t help but wish that your wedding would come even sooner, so you could look forward to endless nights of domestic bliss.