#farm wedding ceremony

[5qui99l3draws]

oops my stardew farmer got married and I got an emotion about it

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"Charivari comprises a cross-cultural range of originally European practices, symbolic means, and purposes. At their most extreme, charivaris approach or even achieve riot status; when benign they are simply playful gatherings. They include noisemaking, house visiting – usually unexpected and late at night – and often pranks. Most are associated with weddings – demonstrating approval of matches the community deemed suitable, or the converse, showing or stirring up disapproval of old/old, old/young, interracial, or inter-religious ones. Still others provide overt negative commentary on individuals’ behaviour, particularly in the political and sexual realms (see Alford 1959; Amussen 1985; Atwood 1964; Burke 1978; Davis 1975, 1984; Desplat 1982; DeVoto 1947; Dobash and Dobash 1981, 1992; Dufresne 2000; Greer 1993; Ingram 1984, 1985; Jones 1990; Kent 1983; Le Goff and Schmitt 1981; Pettitt 1999; Rey-Flaud 1985; Thompson 1992, 1993; Underdown 1985, 1987; Ziff 2002).

There has long been a range of wedding-associated practices usually gathered by academics under the heading of charivari (LeGoff and Schmidt 1981). In English Canada, charivaris were probably historically associated most often with heterosexual marriages considered in some way problematic by the communities in which they took place. In that form, charivari can be understood as an extra-legal mode of social control, ‘to publicly ridicule an object of communal scorn’ (Gilje 1996, 47). Historian Natalie Zemon Davis argues, ‘At best, a charivari in its boisterous mixture of playfulness and cruelty tries to set things right in a community’ (1984, 42). According to sociologists Russell P. Dobash and R. Emerson Dobash in their discussion of historic charivaris, ‘Public shamings were attempts to make unspeakable community grievances and private disputes into matters of community concern’ (1981, 565). At their worst, charivaris were a kind of local terrorism – directed to specifically punish a wrongdoer, but also making an example for the rest of the community to show what would happen if they were to do likewise – culminating, particularly in the case of interracial marriages, in murder (e.g., Moodie 1997; Roberts 2002). However, even negative charivaris by no means always led to bad outcomes; usually the recipients simply paid the charivariers to go away, because ‘accepting to make the payment demanded by the crowd brought charivaris and community disapproval to an end’ (Noël 2003, 61).

Canadian historian Bryan Palmer notes, ‘In nineteenth-century Upper Canada … the charivari was often a force undermining social authority, resolutely opposed by magistrate and police’ (1978, 24–5). Specifically, for example, ‘Three Kingston, Upper Canada, charivaris of the mid-1830s, all directed against remarriage, forced the hand of the local authorities, one leading to two arrests, another necessitating the calling into action of the Summary Punishment Act, the third leading to the creation of a special force of constables, 40 strong, to enforce the peace’ (ibid., 26). Just because it opposed formal legal structures, however, does not mean that charivari was not in its own way a quasi-legal form – enforcing good behaviour by negative example (this is what happens when you step outside the bounds of community morality) as well as punishing specific culprits. Well into the twentieth century, charivaris certainly provided a context for both criminal and civil charges. The combination of guns (used as noisemakers) and alcohol (lubricating the participants) made bodily harm and even homicide a rare but nevertheless predictable outcome. Recipients of charivaris sometimes brought trespass charges, and other illegal acts such as disturbing the peace and public drunkenness also occasioned court cases.

The significance of the quête manifests the charivari’s quasi-legal form. Reciprocity and mutual obligation were significant in working-class culture in the nineteenth century, as evidenced by the practice of the tavern ‘treat’:

Commensurate with early tavern culture was the practice of treating or the buying of rounds of liquor for all men present. Those on the receiving end were obliged to drink and to reciprocate at a later date, and those treating others were obligated by expenditure. Such obligatory expressions of manhood and economic exchange exhibited character and reputation that invoked a certain fraternity among drinking men’ (Wamsley and Kossuth 2000, 417).

[A] 1881 Ottawa charivari ... shows that the wedding of two older people (including the further problematic aspects of differing ages, widow- and widowerhood of the parties, and divorce) called for a payment in recompense to young men. That payment was also clearly part of the culture of reciprocity among those young men themselves, as the first set of charivariers went to a tavern to drink together. In some ways, the charivari treat money was a fine paid by the couple for their contravention of expectation. As Allan Greer argues, ‘More was involved than a simple clearing of the air; charivari was also … a punitive procedure. Victims were punished through both humiliation and monetary extraction’ (1993, 77). That fine, however, needed to be redistributed in a specific way, just as legal fines are paid to the court, not to a wronged individual.

But the notion of reciprocity and sharing of wealth is equally significant in rural cultures, as the examples of early- to mid-twentieth century western Canadian charivaris show. Individuals and communities survived the rigours of farming, economic depression, and wartime (among many others) primarily by working together, and the reciprocity of the treat echoed and cemented the relations involved. However, as the charivari changed from disapproval to a more positive statement, the quête as a collection of money – mere exchange value – was replaced by a treat in the form of specific commodities marking special occasions, such as alcohol, candy, and cigarettes, or, alternatively, as a full-blown party with sociability as well as consumption. Crucially, though it did not involve money, and sometimes not even the sharing of alcohol (though in the alternative, ritual tea and coffee would be served) that often marks a social occasion, this part of the charivari was frequently still called a ‘treat.’ The common nomenclature of charivari/shivaree is not surprising, however, especially considering that it retained the form of a special kind of sharing and reciprocity among community members.

The culture of the rural ‘good sport’ underlines these ideas of redistribution. Good sports are quintessential community participants, who endure hardships together but who also celebrate together. The quality of being able to take a joke, to laugh at oneself as well as at others, extensively comprises the male bonding experience of rural western Canadian good sports (Taft 1997). The development of solidarity means that no one must be consistently elevated or, conversely, debased. This notion of equality persists across the contemporary charivari. Reciprocity employs the notion that no individual should be markedly wealthier than another; similarly, no individual should be ritually raised above others – as happens during a wedding, when the bride and groom are the centre of attention – without experiencing some parallel ritual debasement (often seen in sexualized humiliation in charivari tricks).

The links between the earlier (disapproval) and later (approval) charivari are underlined further by the fact that just because a charivari was intended as a celebration of the wedding did not necessarily preclude damage or harm. Often such events came to the attention of the authorities because of problems that arose. According to folklorist Monica Morrison, who studied New Brunswick serenades:

General questioning also brought [this] response, especially from women. “I don’t like that kind of thing, it can go too far,” followed by a sort of cautionary tale … “This guy he was drunk and he put a fire extinguisher – a fire hose – he put the stuff in it in the groom’s drink … And he drank it and that poor guy was unconscious for two days … and that guy his kidneys were shot and they had to take them out and he died within a week. And that guy who did it, he didn’t know that the chemical was poison, he probably thought it was just water. But that’s where that sort of thing goes’ (1974, 295).

- Pauline Greenhill, Make the Night Hideous: Four English-Canadian Charivaris, 1881–1940. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2010. p. 17-19

[xoashdurham]

Fall Wedding at Elderberry Manor

John and Kristy's fall wedding at Elderberry Manor in West Bend, with an awesome firework show at the reception!

John and Kristy’s October wedding at Elderberry Manor was so much fun, and I’m excited to share more about it on the blog this week. I was at Elderberry Manor last year, and I love how absolutely welcoming Stephanie and the staff there are! Since last year, they’ve built a beautiful bridal suite, too! It was a pretty gray, chilly, cloudy day and I must have prayed a thousand prayers for the rain…

[feirceangel]

Asks are open you say? Well how about a dynamic flip? Feyd is the proud warrior but is unexpectedly bartered away in a deal his brother makes to humiliate him. Surprised and furious he fully intends to conquer his new "brides" family and kingdom only for them to recognize his strength and be met with the satisfying challenge of warrior/ farming planet.

So, I kinda went in a different direction with this, but I hope you still enjoy it, Anon!!

Imagine | A Match (Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen)

Imagine Feyd is given in marriage to a wealthy House in order to gain an alliance. His new bride is not what he expected.

Word Count: 1,737

Warnings: arranged marriage, attempted choking/stabbing, non-sexual nudity (reader), Powerful! Reader.

"What?" Feyd's voice is barely concealing his rage as he stares down his uncle and smug brother.

"It was necessary, my darling," the Baron's voice is rough, his tone placating. "We need this alliance more than you know."

Feyd finds his teeth clenching, hands forming fists at his sides. "Why not Rabban?"

"You know why," the Baron glares. "They would not accept Rabban as a suitable match. You are to go and wed their daughter. And in return they give us whatever we ask."

Feyd growls, "I outta slit your throat, uncle."

The Baron laughs, "This is for your benefit as much as it is mine, dear nephew. Now go."

Feyd storms out of the room, a hurricane of rage sweeping through the halls. He has never felt an anger this severe in quite some time. He should have known something like this would happen eventually. And, knowing his uncle, there is another scheme at play.

Always plans within plans within plans.

It's not the worst situation, he muses later when he has calmed and steadied his mind.

House Wallach would be a formidable ally, an asset that shouldn't be taken lightly. With control over three planets and being the largest horticultural power in the Landsraad, they are powerful indeed.

The leaders of House Wallach has birthed only a daughter, which leaves them without a male heir. All manner of eligible men have tried their hand at a marriage to their daughter. None has been successful.

Until now, apparently.

A feral grin spreads across Feyd's face as he thinks of the possibilities.

He will have no issue wedding the daughter and taking control of House Wallach when the time is right.

And, perhaps if he plays his cards right, take control of House Harkonnen as well.

He cares not who he has to marry, even if he'll be mad about it for awhile. After all, he can dispose of her eventually.

~~~

Feyd arrives with much fanfare, as befitting the na-Baron of House Harkonnen.

Bright sunshine surrounds those gathered to greet him, people who are swamped in bright greens, yellows, and browns. All around the envoy are orchards of all kinds of fruit trees. A vibrant sea of green.

So much more colour than Feyd is used to.

His expression remains neutral as he greats the Lord and Lady of the House. They appear cautious of him, perhaps overly so. It seems they know House Harkonnen’s reputation.

"It is an honour to be here," he says, bowing slightly. The lie slides easily off his tongue.

"We are pleased to have you in our home, na-Baron." The Lord says, returning the bow. "Our daughter is so pleased that you accepted the match."

Feyd's lips quirk up. Surely he's lying, no noble lady would hold any desire for a creature like him.

"As I said, it's an honour."

His gaze sweeps around, searching for his wife-to-be. All he finds is diplomats and soldiers.

"Where is Lady Wallach?" He asks, unimpressed at her absence.

"Forgive us, your arrival coincided with an event she could not miss," the Lord replies. "She is attending a Munus Ceremony."

This catches Feyd's attention, "A fight?"

"Yes, if you come this way, we may still witness part of it."

Feyd follows Lord Wallach, silently fuming.

His betrothed is watching other men fight to the death instead of welcoming him? His outrage is unparalleled, yet he remains collected.

They lead him up to the viewing tower of an outdoor coliseum, with vines growing on every available surface.

The viewing box is empty.

"There my lord."

Feyd's attention is brought down to a figure in the ring who brandishes a dagger with a graceful air.

"Our daughter,” Lord Wallach smiles, the action appearing forced.

He hadn't expected this.

Feyd was picturing a regal noble lady, demure and pitiful. He had not once pictured this creature before him, fluid in her movements as she battles her opponent.

She blocks attacks with ease and avoids ones that would cause serious damage all while attacking just as fiercely. Her opponent is skilled, to be sure, but is no match for the ruthlessness of her attacks.

He falls to the ground, unmoving. Feyd’s bride-to-be lifts her arms in victory, grinning as blood drips down her blade.

“We honour!” She shouts, and the crowd responds with deafening cheers.

“We know she is not exactly… How can I put it? Traditional, let’s say.” Her mother frets, “But she will be a good wife, na-Baron.”

He barely hears her, eyes transfixed on the beauty in the arena as she battles another opponent. Yes, this is an interesting turn of events indeed.

“Of course she will,” Feyd replies. “I must meet her.”

He watches as she disappears into the building, no doubt going to change and bathe after her match.

“Certainly. She’ll be out to give you a tour in no time. Meanwhile, a guard can show you to your room.”

Displeased, Feyd nods and obediently follows the man to his room. As soon as he’s alone, Feyd opens the door and stalks out with determination.

He cannot wait.

There is surprisingly little security surrounding your change room, Feyd notes as he quietly opens the door.

Your piercing gaze meets him immediately. Instead of being frightened, like he had anticipated, you smile warmly.

“Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha, I was not expecting you here. I’m afraid you have caught me unprepared to greet you properly,” you say calmly as you continue to unbutton your fighting tunic.

He doesn’t know what to make of your reaction. You’re not put off by his presence at all.

“I couldn’t wait,” he replies honestly.

You hum, “Excited to see me, na-Baron?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

The sound of your laughter is unexpected, “Of course not. I doubt I was what you were anticipating.”

His gaze lingers as you remove your clothes and retrieve a washcloth and bucket.

“Don’t you have servants?” He finds himself asking, motioning to the washcloth.

“I prefer to do it myself.”

He frowns, “You don’t seem very noble.”

“I assure you, Wallach blood flows deep in my veins,” your voice has taken an edge.

It seems he’s struck a nerve.

“I meant no insult, my lady,” his grin says otherwise, his voice rough and teasing. “It just appears you have odd taste. Fighting and doing the work servants should be doing.”

You return his even gaze, “I am not some snivelling noble who cannot take care of herself. Feyd, it seems you do not remember me.”

Your last statement has him pausing.

“What did you say?”

Lathering suds onto your bloodied skin, you barely spare him a glance.

“I said you don’t remember me. We met once, you know.”

He does not remember such a thing.

“Don’t toy with me,” he snarls. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying,” you roll your eyes. “Feydie, I can’t say I’m not hurt you don’t recall.”

Your bastardization of his name brings a memory to the front of his mind.

A young girl bearing the Wallach crest getting angry with him over something and punching him clear across the face. He naturally returned the blow and they broke out into a fight right then and there.

He’s shocked he forgot it.

You watch as recognition filters through his eyes. Smiling, you rinse the suds off your body.

“Now you remember. To be honest, I don’t know why I was so angry with you.”

“You’ve always been a fighter,” he acknowledges with an inclination of his head.

“And I knew you could not be satisfied with a weak wife.”

He’s coming to realize this match may not have been a scheme of just his uncle.

“You wanted this match,” he phrases it as a statement as if he already knows the answer.

You smirk, “Does it not please you?”

“What makes you think I would want you as a wife?” He sneers, crossing his arms.

“I know you planned on controlling me, or killing me - whichever suited your needs best. You want power, Feyd. I can give you that and so much more. Is it too much to ask for you in return?”

He cannot find words, mulling over your proposal as his eyes study your every move.

You’ve certainly grown from that little girl who could barely throw a proper punch yet had the rage to carry through a fight.

Feyd observes as you dry yourself off. He leans over before you can, and grabs your fresh shirt from the table.

“Allow me, my lady.”

Surprised, you nod and present your back to him. A foolish mistake, to turn your back on a potential threat. He contemplates disposing of you right now, but finds himself frowning at the idea.

You’re so much more interesting than he first imagined.

Despite himself, he wants to know you better, to find out when you had your first gladiatorial fight or when you realized you could be so much more than wedding fodder for your parents to make a match with.

“So many suitors have tried to win your hand,” Feyd rasps as he guides your arms through the sleeves of your shirt. “Yet you denied them all.”

“None were you, my lord.”

“Why chose me?” He leans into you, pressing his chest to your back as he slowly starts buttoning your shirt.

You lean back into him, “You are a fighter, a warrior. You can wield blades and talk politics. And I know you can treat me right.”

“Why would I treat you any different than a common whore?” He suddenly presses his arm against your throat, cutting off your oxygen.

He looks at your expression, surprised to find a wide grin. A flash of pain goes through his side. Your eyes flicker downwards and Feyd looks down to find the tip of a blade piercing his skin.

He releases his hold.

“You will treat me differently, Feyd. And do you know why?”

You turn to face him, placing your hand on his bleeding wound.

“Because I will make you.”

Feyd cannot stop the smile forming on his plush lips as you bring your hand to his cheek.

He doesn’t say anything as you continue place a kiss to his lips before shoving him away.

“We must ready ourselves for the dinner tonight, there is much to discuss about the wedding.”

“Of course, my lady.”

[Likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated!]

[yanderenightmare]

would love to hear any thoughts you have of what you think sukuna was like with a darling 1000 years ago, in the past before he became a curse

Ryomen Sukuna

TW: noncon, death of reader, fluff to angst

fem reader

Back when you were both little, Sukuna was just a village clown – a little rascal old farmers would shout at after he’d set their farm animals loose, skipping down the dirt roads with a sun-swallowing grin as they chased him away with their cane in the air.

He was the one with the unruly hair, bruised hands, and scuffed knees who’d steal bread from the baker and set the temple on fire. The one everyone knew to suspect but who managed to slip away somehow, always scot-free.

And you were his little cheerleader. Always hiding your giggle behind two hands, knowing it wasn’t ladylike of you to encourage him.

But he’d pull shenanigans just to make you smile. Often acting scary, playing in the shadows before popping out with a roar, scaring all the other children around the campfire, and getting scolded by the teachers. He’d pout when put in a timeout, running away and pulling you by the wrist to keep him company while the whole village searched for the two of you long into the night.

He'd found a spot for just the two of you. A cavern behind a veil of green, with a crack in the ceiling that allowed the moon to spill in, just bright enough to still let Spiderlillies bloom. He'd make a small fire, and you’d play shadow puppets on the rock. You’d make pine people and play the villagers while he’d put bird skulls on his fingers and act as the village monster.

Your father didn’t approve of him. Especially as the two of you got older with marriage arrangements fast approaching. Like always, it was unladylike of you to run around with the boy who never seemed to grow up.

You’d always loved the same person, but it wasn’t up to you. And soon you’d been promised to someone else.

Sometimes, you wished Sukuna was just a bit different – or, at the least, that he’d act somewhat differently. Maybe then he’d been good enough for you in the eyes of others. In your heart of hearts, you can't help but think that he’s a little selfish for never having tried for your sake, but when he surprises you in the night with those devious eyes and that childish smirk upon his lips, you can never will yourself to say no – let alone keep yourself from smiling and leaping into his arms.

Even on your wedding day, you wondered if he’d come – if only to say one last goodbye. You even selfishly wondered if he’d apologize and tell you he’d wished he’d tried harder, fought, and insisted on being a man who truly deserved you – that he regrets he isn’t the one taking your hand.

But you were a fool.

Maybe it was best he hadn’t, you thought after sitting awhile – a silent tear rolling down your cheek. In your wedding robes with your heart breaking. The maids gush and think it’s just wedding jitters, and you allow them that understanding even though your wedding is the furthest thing from your mind.

Your mother tells you that you’re beautiful, and it’s but a small salve to your aching – but enough to make the tears stop. She wishes you good luck and leaves you with the maids.

It’s only a short moment later that you hear screams. Blood-curdling, dying wails – worse than anything you’d heard in your life.

You follow quickly and find the ceremony in a bloodbath. So many lightless eyes stare blankly toward nothingness, their fine-dressed bodies piled on top of each other on the floor, blood-soaked and ripped limb from limb.

There’s only one thing left standing. Splattered in red blotches and black markings you don’t recognize. It breathes like a beast but stands atop the carnage as though the kills were all for sport.

But somehow… despite the second eyes, you knew that face.

“Sukuna…”

He turned, and you saw the other side of him, a deformed mockery of his once so pretty face. His eyes had gone red, glowing like a wolf in the wild – four of them, you counted now. They all blinked at the same time when looking at you.

You flinched, looking back at the slaughter of your village. Breath shivering. “What have you done?”

 “I’ve ensured no one's left to stand between us- no one to take you away from me- no one to tell me I’m not good enough-”

That isn’t his voice. Those aren’t his words. This isn’t the man you know – not the one you love. Sukuna isn’t a murderer. This was… this was a demon.

You ran. Slipping in your drapes as you pushed yourself forward, heart in your throat with lungs bursting your ribcage. You make it out into the moonlight before he has you pinned in the dewy midnight grass.

He growls something, but you can’t hear it. There’s too much blood rushing past your ears, hot and deafening, as you shake your head – eyes squeezed tight while you claw and kick at the thing that has you pinned.

“Get away- don’t touch me-”

Two of his arms grab your wrists and push them down flat by your head. The other two grab your face – not entirely softly, but much softer than what you’d expect from a monster. 

“Are you gonna tell me I’m not good enough for you too?” His words waft onto your face, warm with the breath that feels so familiar – a taste you’ve swallowed so many times before. 

But it just can’t be him, you deny. “I don’t know you- I don’t know who you are-”

It angers him. His hands strengthen their hold, and you wince as he leans in closer with a sneer. “Sure you do. I’m that village pest you waste your precious time on. The one you can’t be caught with during the day.”

You shake your head again with a cry. “You lie. Sukuna wouldn’t do this. He’s not cruel- he’d never hurt me-”

“You hurt me!” He argues with a roar, cutting you off sharply.

There's a heavy pause.

His lips ghost yours with teeth, making you whimper caught beneath him before he continues kissing you with his words. “Whispering you love me during the night, with your hands and legs wrapped around me like a brazen little whore, before you go and marry someone else in the same fortnight. Who’s the cruel one?”

“It wasn’t my choice-” You deny then, finally acknowledging it’s him but still not daring to open your eyes.

“Tch-” He scoffs callously, bitterly disappointed and judging you just as viciously. “Is that how you console yourself?”

The hands he’d held your face with slipped down your neck, stroking your skin with streaks of wet blood and hot tears, traveling down the dip of your attire with fingers curling around the fabric before tearing it off you.

“Maybe you can seek refuge in that now, as well.”

You killed yourself that same night after he’d had his way with you.

You’ve been dead a thousand years now.

Every year, on the day of your death, he plants a Spiderlilly by his shrine to honor you. Sometimes, he gets the urge to rip them all up, but he just ends up shouting instead.

He can barely remember your smell, your warmth, your face, the size of your hand in his. But still, not remembering the exact feel of you just makes missing you all the more painful.

[targaryen-dynasty]

YOU’RE THE ONLY THING THAT I PRAY FOR. (3/3)

Daemon Targaryen x niece!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT-MINORS DNI; canon typical incest/Targcest (uncle & niece), p in v, slight degrading kink, slight breeding kink, this is plot with a whole lot of smut at the end, Valyrian wedding, mentions blood

WORDS: 4.6 K

NOTES: So, this Valyrian wedding is somewhat different to the one in Precious Delights. I took the Daemyra wedding for inspiration, and kinda blamed it on Grandmaster Benifer not being that educated on Valyrian customs (Maegor was just keen on marrying his niece and didn't care of the formalities).

Pentos' desperate need for an alliance against the Triarchy has really played into your hands when Daemon and you first arrived in the Free City. Two full-grown dragons descending not too far away from the city's borders didn’t go unnoticed, meaning it wasn’t long after that you’ve been summoned to the flamboyant castle of Reggio Haratis, the Prince of Pentos. 

Never before have you had the chance to marvel at Pentoshi architecture – or Essosi architecture in general – and were completely in awe as the gates of the castle opened to invite you inside. 

Even now, roughly a sennight after your relocation from the prince’s castle to an equally impressive manse, it’s still as mesmerizing as before; not as monotonous and undemanding as the architecture and tapestries harbored in the Red Keep. 

Reggio Haratis is generous enough to host you and your uncle, and has very recently offered to give you permanent residence in Pentos and gift you the manse you have occupied for no less than seven days. It’s a generous deal in exchange for the intimidating presences of your dragons, considering that with the manse also comes its farms, lands, vineyards, and wood. 

And of course your uncle hasn’t hesitated any moment to accept it – not if it keeps you away from Westeros.

You know Daemon has his own way of keeping tabs and staying informed of your family’s going-ons. He’s well aware of everything that’s happening in the Red Keep since there are several people lingering in it whose favor he has earned long ago that now are working as his spies and informants. 

They are procuring enough information to keep your fluttering nerves at bay, since Daemon is attentive enough to let you in on many of the things that happen in King’s Landing. And hence you know that the court is in a state of uproar, and your father balances between anger and despair, though you’re not aware that he has made it his personal mission to bring you back to the Red Keep sooner or later. 

Unbeknownst to you, this is one of the reasons Daemon all but presses to wed you, because it will not only solidify your relationship in an official way, but it also will make it easier for him to keep you safe should the king’s mission succeed. 

You’re standing on a tuckaway terrace of the manse, overlooking the gardens and extensive fields that frame and surround it. 

Reggio has been generous enough for you to carry out the ceremony in private with not many witnesses, other than the officiant, the Prince of Pentos himself, and the two servants that always tend to your and your uncle’s needs, present.

Ancient robes hug your bodies, and a matching headpiece rests on your head. They are pale white with reddish edges similar to the blood that trickles idly out of the cut on Daemon’s bottom lip. The shard of Dragonglass is still clutched between your fingers, while your other hand holds his chin. 

A gentle smile adorns your face, and though you want to watch the blood trickle out of the cut you have just caused, you can’t seem to tear your eyes off of his. The light of the evening sun is caught in the lilac of his eyes, reflecting and making them appear even lighter. 

As you hand him the shard, you briefly glance down to where your hands meet, before your gaze is fixed with his again, and as the sharp edge pierces your lip, you’re far too lost in the comfort of his presence to wince. 

This is all you’ve ever wanted.

Some of the blood amassing at the cut is gathered by the pad of his thumb, the touch so intimate it sends a shiver down your spine and heat to your cheeks. It is used by him to draw the Valyrian glyph for blood on your forehead, and you draw the supplementary glyph for fire on his. 

Knowing the scars that scatter all over his torso, scarring his pale skin, you’re not surprised to watch him cut the palm of his hand without any sign of discomfort or pain. He has endured far worse, and this is just too easy for him. 

However, the same can’t be said about you. 

You surely have hurt yourself plenty of times before, but it has never been on purpose, and never with something as sharp as the shard of dragonglass is. But that is the last significant step that has to be made to strenghten your one bloodline, to seal your union and signify that you are bound to each other. 

Daemon must sense the slight apprehension that spreads through your veins, and tries to comfort you and calm the raging storm of your fears by gently taking your hand in his, before the coldness of the fragment nestles into your open palm. “Issa sȳz,” he hums calmly, bowing his head once in a reassuring manner. It’s alright. 

Nodding meekly, you exhale a deep breath in the exact moment the dragonglass pierces your skin. The pain is delayed, and for a brief moment all that clouds your mind is the rush of your warm blood, and the sight of it so quickly filling the hollow of your palm. 

“Hen lantoti ānogar,” the priest cites, “va sȳndroti vāedroma.” Blood of two, joined as one. 

You tilt your head back up as Daemon unites your hands in a firm grip, and do not dare to look at where your hands meet. 

The sensation of your blood trickling out of the cut has already been very adamant, but with Daemon’s blood combined, several droplets all but seep out from your joined hands, gathered in a goblet your soon-to-be-husband holds underneath. 

A ribbon in a style similar to the robes you wear is tied around your hands, binding you to one another. 

“Mēro perzot gīhoti, elēdroma iārza sīr. Izulī ampā perzī, prūmī lanti sēteksi,” is said in the background, but you’re far too distracted by Daemon bringing the goblet full of your blood up. Ghostly flame, and song of shadows. Two hearts as embers, forged in fourteen fires. 

He holds it out to you, allowing you to be the first to drink, and you comply. 

Capturing the goblet between your fingers, you raise it to your lips, not hesitating one moment to take a generous sip. Daemon follows suit, and though the goblet is lowered by him, you two do not move otherwise.

“Hen jenȳ māzīlarion, qēlossa ozūndesi.” A future promised in glass, the stars stand witness. 

There is a thick tension between the two of you, and you gaze longingly into each other’s eyes. Only slowly there crawls a grin on your husband’s lips, matching the impish one that’s draped across yours.

You brush some strands of his silver hair behind his ear, before your hand comes to rest on his cheek, the pad of your thumb caressing it gently. 

Daemon’s gaze flickers between yours and your nicked lip, and he only slowly dips his head towards yours just in time with his free arm snaking around your waist. 

Despite the seriousness of the moment, there is a slight tint of amusement in the officiant’s tone as he voices the last part of the vow, clearly just as ecstatic about you being newly wed as you two are. “Sȳndroro ōñō jēdo, rȳk kīvia mazvestraksi.” The vow spoken through time, of darkness and light.

It is then that Daemon’s lips finally claim yours, and the taste of copper spreads on your tongue as his swirls around yours. The kiss is shy of being gentle, yet it doesn’t lack any passion or care. You have kissed plenty of times before ever since your arrival in Pentos, but none of them has ever felt as significant as this kiss does. 

To state it in the words of the Faith, you’re one heart, one flesh, and one soul now. Each other’s from this day, until the end of your days. And you finally feel whole with that prospect, the large chasm that has clasped inside of you filled by Daemon’s undeniable love. 

Reggio Haratis has spared no expenses when it comes to the celebration of your newfound unison. There are a handful of other people present, mostly some friends and acquaintances you both have made during your brief stay at the prince’s castle. 

In Westeros, you would have celebrated your marriage with a large feast in the Throne Room with no less than three hundred people present, following the strict rules and customs the Faith of the Seven prescribes. 

But in Essos, it seems to be a bit different. 

The large dining room is lavishly and opulently adorned by tapestries and ornaments, a goldish hue pervading the entire room with the sun that’s shining through the large apertures and tied-back curtains. 

It truly is a wedding for your caliber, though there’s no royal family accompanying you two. 

Everyone gathers around the large dining table that stands in the center of the room. They are all dressed in a similar fashion to you and your husband now, having changed into more elegant clothes not long after the ceremony, but the expensive textures and patterns of yours give away that this evening solely revolves around you two. 

The dinner and customs are far less formal than the ones back home, and with none of your guests being ill-mannered or impolite, a relaxed and open atmosphere characterizes the evening. 

There’s chatter and laughter everywhere while the food is served, quite a few bottles of wine emptied already, and not one thought of a possible bedding ceremony crosses your mind – because there’s no reason for it. 

Daemon and you have been on top of each other quite regularly, the Pentoshi way of living probably one of main reasons with your insatiable hunger for each other being the other. 

And thus, you’re not afraid of the thought of bedding Daemon once supper is over for your body has had quite a few days to get thoroughly adjusted to his sheer size. 

Only as the Prince of Pentos raises his glass does your breath hitch in your throat for a moment, not knowing what to expect from him. 

The room falls silent almost immediately, and if not everyone has gathered what’s about to happen, they certainly do the moment Reggio rises to his feet. 

“Let us toast to this exceptional match,” he starts with much eloquence, his choice of words bringing a warmth to your cheeks. 

Daemon smiles at you, and clasps a hand around your thigh. As you lean closer to him to hide your blush, he chuckles and rests his forehead against the side of your face. 

“Behave,” he chastises in a teasing manner, squeezing your thigh once. “Or do I have to teach you manners first?” 

Daemon’s words do little to help with the blush on your face, the warmth spreading from your cheeks right down to the apex of your legs, causing you to shift and squirm slightly to soothe the aching. 

Your host isn’t oblivious to what’s going on right in front of him, and merely chuckles, “I’ll try to keep this short.”

You take in a deep breath, and Daemon nods, a silent invitation for him to keep going. 

The prince speaks of your bravery to leave your House behind, of your undeniable love for each other, and how the Old Gods must have brought you together. He boasts of the strong bond you and your husband have, and how that alone is a testament to the Gods themselves. 

Everyone around you applauds as the speech ends, and Daemon raises his cup to toast with your host. “Hear, hear.” Bringing your own cup to your lips, you empty what feels like your fifth cup of the Lyseni sweet red they have procured only for you. 

You grab Daemon’s hand when the applause drowns out again, and squeeze it gently. Gazing at him lovingly, he leans in to press his lips to your temple. 

“Ivestragī īlva jikagon naejot ēdrugon, kessa īlon?” he mutters against your skin, and you sheepishly bite your bottom lip, bowing your head. Let us retire to bed, shall we?

“Nyke pendagon kesā dōrī epagon,” you reply. I thought you would never ask. 

Squeezing your hand back, you follow suit as he stands up from his seat after he has announced your departure and thanked everyone for the lovely evening. A hand of his rests at the small of your back to lead you towards your shared chambers, the lacking guests finally allowing you to catch your breath. 

He snakes his arm around your waist on your way, and pulls you tightly against his side, his hand traveling a bit lower than what’s appropriate. 

“Daemon,” you scold him, placing your hand above his to put it back on your waist. 

As you look at him, you’re greeted by a wide grin adorning his face. “I am sure you can forgive me,” he teases, his hand finding its way to your arse again, groping it roughly enough to make you yelp. “I just can not resist you, not in the prospect of us finally being able to truly celebrate our marriage.”

You shove at his chest on your way into your chambers, chuckling softly, but to no avail as his grip only lets go of you in order to close the door. 

And suddenly, there’s a thick tension hugging the two of you. 

You briefly glance around the room, noticing the many, colorful flowers the servants have placed on your bed; all of which can only be found in Essos. Everywhere stand lit candles, their flames flickering and dancing in the soft, Pentoshi gust of breeze that sweeps past the lightweight curtains concealing the floor-to-ceiling apertures. 

It seems inviting to push the silk aside and step out on the balcony, yet your husband beats you to it and pulls you against his sturdy frame by grasping your wrist, taking control over your movements. 

A soft gasp slips past your lips as you find yourself pressed against his body, the heat and his scent emanating from him driving you insane with lust already. You look up at him with half lidded eyes, your desire for him plain.

Standing on tiptoes, you tilt your head up to press your lips to his jaw in a chaste kiss, and trail some more down the curve of his throat, causing a soft hum to rumble in your husband’s chest. The gold, embroidered vest he wears is slowly pushed off his shoulders while the feeling of your lips on his skin distract him, falling to the ground and pooling around his ankles. 

“Let us not waste anymore time,” you whisper, your fingers almost eagerly fumbling with the laces in the front of his trousers. 

With every passing moment, you spot his breathing growing heavier, his body burning hot with desire. You sigh softly, “let us indulge ourselves in each other as much as we want, even if it means we will not leave our chambers in the morrow.”

His eyes peer deeply into yours when you tilt your head back, the mesmerizing lilac hue completely eclipsed by black. 

He brings a hand to the back of your head, holding it steady as the other clasps around your thigh. Your flesh is squeezed harshly under his tight grip, but you can’t bring yourself to care for there suddenly are not more than a few inches separating your lips from his. 

But instead of kissing you, Daemon bows his head down enough to press sloppy kisses to your neck, licking the side of your throat. His hand slides up to cup your clothed cunt, and you have to hold onto his broad shoulders for dear life, not risking your shaky legs to be the reason you fall onto the ground.

“My darling wife,” he rasps, and hearing him voice it aloud for the first time sends a shiver down your spine. “I should have taken you to Pentos a long time ago.”

With that, he spins you around and pushes you towards the bed. Toppling forward, you catch yourself and tightly hold onto the wooden footboard of it, crouched forwards and basically presenting him your arse. 

Daemon hums, clearly pleased by the sight, and approaches you with careful steps. 

You try to catch a glimpse of him from over your shoulder, not meeting his lust-filled gaze for long enough since he is quick to press your head forward again. When his hands fist the neckline of your dress, goosebumps start to prickle on your skin, coaxed by the warmth and roughness of his fingers. 

“‘Twas a mistake to wait so long,” he says, but it’s clear he’s speaking to himself. 

Then, the laces in the back of your lavish gown tear with an agonizing ripping sound, but the thrill of it doesn't allow your heart to grief the now ruined gift of your host. 

The skimpy underclothes you wear follow the Myrish lace just as quick, exposing your whole body to him faster than you could have wished for. His fingers trail slowly along your spine, and he chuckles as he watches your body tremble beneath his featherlight touch with a jolt of pleasurable excitement. 

His thick digits inch lower and lower, but never touch where you need him most. It’s agonizing, and your patience runs thinner and thinner. Your breathing is just as heavy as his own, and the tension has you moaning softly. 

And then he suddenly drags two of his deft fingers through your soaked womanhood, the ambush eliciting a shuddered breath to fall from your lips. Yet you also welcome it and eagerly buck your hips to chase the friction they grant you, which prompts him to seize your hip with one hand, the tips of his fingers digging into your flesh to keep your body still.

The lack of freedom to move feeds your impatience, and your head bows forwards with a sigh. “I-I can hardly take this any longer, husband,” you breathe, trying to make your frustration not too obvious. 

Another ambush overtakes you as Daemon connects the back of his hand with your cunt, the collusion sending a stinging pain through your body. He tsks in a manner that’s meant to scold a child, having heard it plenty of times before when he was around his nephews and nieces. 

“You can’t take it any longer? What a shame,” he teases. “If you’re feeling so overwhelmed, then perhaps I should stop?”

Remaining still for a moment, the weight of his heavy gaze pierces through your skin, and you’re glad he can’t see you rolling your eyes. You know that he has no intention of stopping, and he knows that you don’t want him to either. 

However, it seems he’s partly forgotten that you two share the same blood, and although he considers himself to be witty, you’re not lagging behind him.

“Oh, you want to stop?” you ask, a mocking edge to your otherwise strained voice. It is clear he’s taken off guard by your words, having expected you to beg and whine for more. “My, what a disappointing turn of events. I was so keen on experiencing you tonight. I–”

The rest of your protest dies on your tongue as he slides two digits inside without a warning, effectively silencing you. 

A jolt of pleasure surges through your body that has you clinging to the footboard of the bed, your knuckles blanching from the force. The moan you release is wanton, and brings a blush to your cheeks that’s intensified by the mocking scoff Daemon releases. 

Your legs are nudged further apart by his foot knocking against yours, causing you to be off-balanced for a moment in which he’s snaking his arm around your waist to support your frame. 

His chest is pressed flush against your back now, and you feel his breath fan over your ear, the heat emanating from him seeping into your skin.  

“I would not deprive you of that satisfaction tonight,” he rasps into your ear while his fingers pump into you at a pace that has your toes curling already, making it difficult to keep your composure. You don’t have to look at him to know he’s smirking, his amusement at the little back and forth of your flirting is perfectly audible. “My darling wife is brimming with pleasure already, but I am just getting started.”

Your eyes widen at his teasing, and if anything, it only makes you want him even more. As your head lulls back against his shoulder, you release another moan, dizzy with lust. 

With every passing second that you don’t have him inside of you, you grow more and more relentless. “Don’t you dare stop now,” you moan. “If you do, I shall feed you to Silverwing.”

Daemon lets out a breathy laugh at your words. “Quit being a brat, wife, or else I truly need to punish you to stop you from being so reckless with your words.”

You slightly push yourself up against his chest, but don’t manage to do more than hum in return at his words, the jolts of your impending peak coursing through your veins like liquid fire. 

There is a brief loss of friction that doesn’t diminish the pleasure that clouds your mind, induced by Daemon’s desire to withdraw his fingers to fill you with his stiff cock instead. 

Just in time with him aligning himself with your throbbing entrance, breaching your tightness to stretch you out with one, swift thrust, you topple over the edge. 

The spasming and shaking of your body has Daemon’s breath hitch in his throat, a strained ‘seven hells’ slipping past it that you barely register with you losing a little bit of control over your body. 

Your back arches against him, and he seizes the opportunity to set up a reckless pace from the very beginning on. 

“Well, now, if that isn’t a disappointing turn of events,” Daemon mocks with an amused chuckle, using your words against yourself. “I can… can not believe that’s all you can take, my dear.” There is a strain in his voice, one that tells you his mind is just as fuzzy with pleasure as yours, amplified by the way your cunt is clenching and unclenching around his hard cock. 

Daemon has both hands on your hips now, pulling you back halfway to meet the mercilessness of his thrusts. Each time the heavy sac of his stones slaps against your sensitive cunt, you feel it spasm again, bolts of pain and pleasure alike piercing your flesh. 

“I thought you would last longer, my sweet wife,” he groans, the term of endearment emphasized by a thrust harsh enough to coax a breathy gasp from your throat. “A sore disappointment.” 

At this point he’s all but assaulting your body, using you for his own pleasure like you’re not more than one of Flea Bottom’s common whores, pounding you hard enough that your vision whitens. 

Incoherent words and sentences are falling past your lips like a prayer, occasionally interrupted by his name, chanting it as if you’re praying to the Seven.

His grip on your hips is bruising, squeezing your flesh so tight you’re not sure if it brings you more pain or pleasure. But it’s something in his words that makes it all so exhilarating, reigniting the fire inside of you. 

Daemon is chasing his own peak with the will to fill you up with his seed, marking you as his and making his claim on you visible to everyone. But his stamina doesn’t seem to be able to handle the tightness of your cunt for any longer, running thin and threatening to burst at any given moment. 

It takes all your strength to hold onto the foodboard to keep yourself steady and upright, not wanting to topple over with the weight and intensity of his thrusts. But your slowly approaching high doesn’t make it too easy for you. 

Your second peak takes its time, but Daemon can tell it’s on its way, the clenching of your walls and trembling of your legs a telltale sign for him. One of his deft fingers comes to your pearl, and he proceeds to rub the bud with frantic movements that make sure to push you over the edge just in time. 

Your mouth hangs open, and there are no other sounds than breathy whines and hiccuped gasps slipping past your lips, the ability to speak completely taken by his cock repeatedly brushing the sweet spot inside of you. 

“I will not last any longer,” the man behind you grunts, the damp strands of his silver hair falling in front of his face. He buries the hand that’s not between your legs in your hair, pulling you upright against him. 

His hips are angled, allowing him to snap them into yours deeper and more precisely. “Peak for me again… now,” he all but commands, and it’s the sharpness and determination of his voice that eventually has you doing just that. 

Your arousal oozes out of your spasming cunt, coating the palm of his hand, the length of his cock and the sac of his stones altogether. 

Your head tips back in bliss, and hot streams of pleasure obscure your senses. The way your cunt is choking his cock makes it difficult for him to help you through it all, struggling to keep it together just a few moments longer. He’s brought you to such heights of pleasure that your mind temporarily blanks.

“Please,” you find your voice again, though it’s strained and resembles a whimper. “Put a babe in me. Fill me up with your seed… please.”

It might have been him being on the brink of his release already, or the meaning and significance of your words, but it is the trigger for Daemon to spend himself inside of you with a loud groan. 

“Gods be good,” he grunts, connecting his lips with the curve where your shoulder meets your neck as he works himself through the blissful high. Even as it subsides, he doesn’t stop and bites through the overstimulation, determined to fuck his seed as deep as possible and put a child into your belly. 

You’ve grown incredibly sensitive and overstimulated by now, and can’t fight against your body’s reaction to squirm out of his grasp to escape the uncomfortable feeling. But he doesn’t allow you to, keeping you flush against his firm chest. 

The soft whines you release, however, humor him, and he tilts his head to rest his forehead against the side of your face. 

“Let your foolish father come for you. I shall slay every man that even dares to look at you,” he rasps. “I possess you, you belong to none other than me.”

A blush spreads on your cheeks as his words sink into your mind, and you turn your head to meet his eyes for the first time ever since you’ve entered your chambers. The meeting of your gazes is intense, and you swear you can feel his flaccid member grow hard again.

You take his hand and bring it in front of you, placing it on your stomach. Without further encouragement, he starts to rub his palm over your skin as if his seed has already borne fruit.

“Let him come,” you whisper, licking your lips. “I have waited years to be with you alone, and to have you all by myself. And now that I have gotten my will, I will not give it up without a fight.”

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[cowboyfromh3ll]

You know how in the epilogue John works on Mr Geddes ranch and the wife invites him inside the house (basically hinting at you know what) well that sparked an idea for a request. Could you do an Arthur fic where the reader is in a similar situation where she isn’t on good terms with her husband and she knows he’s cheating on her so after Arthur starts working on their farm she takes a liking to him and they have sex.

Sugar On My Tongue

(Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader Smut)

FINALLY UPLOADING A ONE SHOT YALL

Warnings: smut, infidelity

You found it hilarious that people thought you and your husband were the perfect couple based solely on looks. During the celebration following your wedding, his brother loudly and drunkenly declared just how attractive the two of you were, “a genetic match made in heaven.” he said, his words slurring together with noticeable envy. Later that night, his brother would have attempted to put a hand on your ass before throwing up in the grass behind your ranch. 

The two of you were needlessly attractive, and in your days working as a handmaid, you would have bragged endlessly about what a catch you got. Your fellow handmaids would’ve also raved on about just how good-looking he was, expressing their jealousy through lighthearted jokes. The wealth he possessed was another determining factor of your marriage to him. You supposed marrying him was worth it for his massive ranch alone. However, the real problems began just mere months after your wedding ceremony. What should have marked a beautiful beginning to your lives together quickly deteriorated into something else. 

The ring on your husband's finger didn’t seem to slow the frenetic pace at which he flirted with women and picked them up, never in the comfort of your own home but under the guise that he was headed into town to take care of business. You often wanted to argue back that all the business that needed doing was here on the ranch, but you did not want to risk your life of comfort. Part of you learned to put up with it only because it meant you could sit around all day, spend your husband's money, and watch loads of sweaty men work around your ranch. In the same vein as your husband's infidelity, his time away from the ranch meant being able to flirt with the ranch hands subtly. 

You were well aware of how attractive you were and were more than well aware that the ranch hands thought the same of you. You’d feel their leering gazes whenever you bent over to pick something up, the whole world suddenly stopping behind you just to stare at your ass. You found enjoyment in the act of undoing the top buttons of your shirt to expose your cleavage before heading out the doorway of your home, looking straight ahead while doing your best strut past the working hands. You would smirk openly as you heard their chatter between each other die down and fall silent, feeling all their eyes transfer to you as you walked past. Once you were several feet away, you’d hear the low whistles of the men, followed by their lewd comments: “She’s smoking hot.” “If I had a wife like her, hell, I’d be home all the time.” “Too bad she’s married to the ranch owner.” 

You knew this was the mindset you had to conquer in Arthur’s mind. In your conquest of the new aforementioned ranch hand, you had to rid him of the idea that what you were doing was wrong; it’d appear more as taboo flirting than actual infidelity. Arthur could also be described as needlessly attractive. He seemed to highlight every aspect that made up exactly what it was that you loved so much about your ranch hands: his sultry low drawl, his big arms with bulging biceps that would flex from any form of strain, his rough hands, callused from all the work he had done in his life, his full beard that he’d occasionally trimmed down to a fine stubble, and his wonderfully welcoming gentle blue eyes that contrasted every other bit of his begin. The sweat on his skin made him appear glossy and slick, and you’d taken a liking to the fantasy of licking his entire body clean of it. The perfect cherry on top.

At times you wished your urges for the man would remain dormant, but the silent cries from between your legs were hummed just loud enough that you were constantly aware of them; like a soundtrack to whatever it was you were trying to do with Arthur. And every time you ventured outside your ranch home, you’d spot Arthur in the distance, splashing his face with water and watching the way the droplets of water raced down his jaw and neck to see which was lucky enough to make it under the collar of his shirt first. Other times you’d see him shoveling dirt or hay, and you’d focus solely on the way his hands and arms worked. Your favorite was being able to watch him heave large sacks over his shoulders, often multiple at once. By the end of the day, the scent of Arthur’s sweat as he stood by you or walked past you was so pungent that it clung to your nostrils and made you dizzy with desire. 

You clung onto the hope that during one of these encounters, you might come across the best scenario possible: Arthur fixing a fence at noon when the sun was highest in the sky, freckles of blown dirt sticking to his sweaty shirtless torso, his dirt-stained denim jeans hanging lowly on his hips; one tug away from freedom. Your husband gone. In that case, you might be able to stumble across his working form and feign concern for his sunburnt skin. Would he mind taking a break? Allowing you to take him into your home for a cold glass of water? You’d been in the sun all day, you were both likely parched.

Your greatest bouts of confidence came during moments when you were able to find yourself alone with Arthur. You knew seducing any of the other ranch hands would be ridiculously easy, but Arthur had a little resistance to him, and you loved a little challenge. You pounced on the opportunity to talk to Arthur when you saw him standing inside the stables, soaked in sweat from head to toe while trying to evade the sun’s harsh rays in the shade provided. You saw him wipe his sweat off on the back of his sleeve, feeling as though it was a blatant misuse of a precious resource. ‘No!’ you wanted to shout ‘Don’t wipe it off! Let me clean it off you!’ 

“Real hot today isn’t it, Mr. Morgan?” You sauntered up behind Arthur, leaning your weight on the door of one of the stables. He pitched his pitchfork against a wall and turned back before smiling politely at you. 

“Certainly is, Miss. Why ain’t you inside, huh? You could get sunburnt.” Arthur warned, which you found incredibly endearing. It could’ve been just a simple show of concern, but you believed it to be far more than that. It sounded more to you like a declaration of love. 

“I just like making my rounds around the ranch, taking nice walks. It is my ranch after all.” You reminded. You found that an admonition of your position of power around here would cement you as someone with far more influence than any of your hands. It proved effective, as Arthur began nodding in understanding. 

“Right, my apologies, Miss.” He said, bowing his head slightly. 

“No need to apologize, say, do you wanna come into the house for a cold beer? Sure seems like you need to cool off.” Not just a beer, a cold beer. You had a way with words. How many hours had Arthur worked in the field, the skin of his back stinging from cruel sunburns while his vision blurred from his own sweat dripping into his eyes, parched beyond any relief the tepid tap water could provide, dreaming of a really cold beer? You shifted your weight onto one hip and allowed a small smirk to crawl onto your face. You began to shed all polite pretenses as you looked Arthur up and down, reveling in the way his body noticeably tensed. You weren’t being too forthcoming, but just enough that if Arthur decided to come onto you, you’d be doing him a great favor by entertaining his advances. 

“I don’t think I should, Miss, I-”

“Nonsense! You live on this ranch, after all, I see no harm in stepping inside my house. Especially since I’m allowing it.”

Arthur looked at you hesitantly, then quickly around him as if he didn’t want anyone to see him talking to you. Arthur wasn’t oblivious to the fact that every single ranch hand found you attractive, as well as himself. He just didn’t want to receive an endless stream of questioning as to why and what he was talking to you about. 

“If you insist.” He said, removing his hat from his head and following you out the stable. 

“I’m more than happy to.” You smiled, blithely patting his shoulders before sliding your hand down his arm. You passed it off with clueless laughter, shivering at the feeling of his eyes on your backside. Arthur fiddled with his fingers as he followed you up the path to your house. The glaring sun made the green grass appear brighter, creating a luminous passage toward salvation. 

The sounds of your footsteps up the wooden porch pulled him out of a trance he didn’t realize he was in. Arthur looked up at you from the bottom of the steps, still hesitant to make his way up. You looked down at him from where you stood, reveling in the faux height difference that made you far taller than he was; you felt half god to his mortal. 

“Come on,” You beckoned. “It’s just my house.” You shrugged and smiled, your lips twitching in an attempt to hold back a smirk. Arthur took one last cautionary glance around before finally making his way up. You opened the door and allowed Arthur to walk in first, stepping inside afterward with a large smile. The sound of the metal clanking as the bolt shut into place felt like a small kick in your loins that spurred you on in your pursuit. 

Arthur stood awkwardly in the center of the living area as he looked around. He became hyper-aware of his limbs, his arms hovering over his torso, unsure what to do next. You walked past him and smiled at him, motioning with your hand for him to follow you. 

You led him to your ornately papered kitchen, making a show of bending over in front of him to retrieve the box of chilled beers below the counter. You set the heavy box down on the table, digging a beer out, and popping the lid off on the corner of the table. Froth rose from the beer bottle, sliding over your hand and soaking the skin. Arthur watched, as if hypnotized, as the foam slid over and dripped onto your floor. He swallowed hard and squinted his eyes, the kitchen window behind you draping you in a soft sheet of sunlight as you eclipsed it; only adding to your godly image. Your movements seemed to play in slow motion as you stretched your arm out and handed Arthur the beer. Every turn or twitch of a limb felt somnambulant, his arm feeling like a sandbag as he lifted it and took the beer from your dainty hand. 

The condensation, combined with Arthur’s nerves, caused the bottle to slip from his hand and crash on the floor. The shattering sound caused Arthur to snap out of his daze, as thought it more some sort of anecdote to the hypnosis he was under. 

“Oh, Miss, I’m so sorry.” Arthur crouched down and began gathering the large pieces of glass in his hand, afraid of the possibility that if he looked up, he might see your disappointed face. Being able to step inside your home to be able to enjoy a cold beer already felt like a blessing. You bent down in front of him, placing your lithe hands on his wrists. He looked up at you, swallowing hard and preparing for any chastising he would receive. But it never came. 

“It’s okay. I’ll clean it up. It’s my fault anyways, I should’ve wiped it down before I handed it to you.” Normally, Arthur would have argued back, but he seemed to fall under your spell again. It was as if against his own will, he let the glass side from his palms onto the ground again and rose. You looked up at him with a smile, still kneeling before him. Arthur felt his cock twitch. 

“Why don’t you go sit down at the table over there? I’ll get you a new beer.” You smiled a bit longer, watching for any signs of refusal before getting back to cleaning up the mess. You waited for the view of Arthur’s boots to disappear from your peripheral before you decided to dispose of the glass in the trash. You turned your back to retrieve another beer, hearing the scrape of a chair against the floor. You took the opportunity to unbutton two extra buttons from your shirt so that it hung open and exposed some cleavage. You expected him to stare at you as you spoke inane details about how the ranch was doing in terms of business, then you could act surprised that his gaze had med your open shirt and possibly get a confession that he was indeed looking at your chest—information you’d pretend to find so overly flattering you’d offer to give him an even better look. 

The moment you turned around to face him, beer and bottle opener in hand, you caught his eyes flickering to your chest before quickly looking away. You would’ve passed it off as sneaky if not for the fact you were actively seeking for him to look. You walked closer, grinning widely and continuing to approach him until you stood closely next to where he sat, perhaps too close for comfort. Your hip bone brushed against his arm, something you pretended not to notice—you also pretended not to notice the way he shifted in his seat, trying his best to keep his gaze on the table. 

You popped the cap off the bottle, handing it to Arthur and ensuring he had a firm grasp on it. Arthur thanked you quietly before taking a sip. For the first time since Arthur entered your home, he felt comfortable and almost content as he sipped the beer. He took a large swig, his nerves washed away by the golden liquid as he allowed himself to slump in his chair. It was almost enough to make him forget that you still stood closely by his side, your hip pressed into his tricep at this point. 

Arthur continued to drink, trying to ignore the satisfied smile on your face that bordered on unnerving. He nearly dropped the bottle again when he felt your hand slide onto his shoulder before giving it a heavy and firm squeeze, full of intent. He nearly convinced himself he was hallucinating, hesitant to look up. Was this all just a mirage he had dreamt up, brought about by the scorching heat? But as your hand slid down to his firm bicep, delivering a gentle squeeze, it was confirmed to him that this was real. 

“Miss… What are you doing?” Despite having downed an entire bottle of beer, Arthur’s throat became instantly dry. He finally willed himself to look up at you, a chill wracking through his body when he made eye contact with your icy eyes. Eyes colder than any drink you could offer him, and it suggested that perhaps, you had something that could quench his thirst better than any drink as well. 

“Why don’t we celebrate a little more?” You swiped your tongue over your bottom lip, maintaining that same innocent smile. But the two of you were beyond the point of ignorance for what this was leading to; all it would take for this to escalate was for someone to say it. 

Your other hand slid around his shoulder, both of your hands coming to knead at his shoulders. You skillfully worked the muscles in his shoulders, making occasional comments about how hardworking he must be in order to be this tense. Meanwhile, Arthur sat in his seat, trying to weigh out in his head whether this was okay or if this was already too far. How much farther would this get? Would it go beyond the point of being able to say he didn’t engage in adultery? How long would your husband be gone for? Would he find out? You could say Arthur came onto you and he’d have no reason not to believe you. 

“Miss, I really don’t think I should be here anymore.” He didn’t turn to face you, occupying himself with playing with the bottle. 

“Why not?” 

Arthur was unsure of how to proceed. There was no way he was reading your signals wrong. You were feeling his chest up at this point, and so far, he’d made no movements to get your hands off of him. He’d be lying if he said part of him didn’t enjoy this. But what if he was reading this wrong? But how could he? It couldn’t have been more in his face. 

“Well, you’re… married…” He finally mustered up. Being reminded of your husband at a time you were supposed to be enjoying yourself nearly drove you to anger. You rolled your eyes and scoffed, confirming something in Arthur’s head. 

“Let’s not be dumb here.” There was a sudden seriousness in your voice that made Arthur nervous. “I’m tired of looking dumb to everyone on the farm while my husband goes out and fucks some birds in town.” You squeezed Arthur’s shoulder and moved around his body to face him now. Perhaps it was your honesty or your assertiveness, but not much else needed to be said. There was a sacred moment of understanding between the two of you that did not need to be verbalized. 

When your husband later found out, you wouldn’t have been able to recount to him the details of the time it took to get from the kitchen table to your shared bed. Time sped up the instant you crashed your lips onto Arthur’s, any tinge of hesitance leaving him as he kissed back hungrily. He gripped either side of your button-up and yanked, causing buttons to fly all over the bedroom floor—buttons you never bothered to pick up. You wore no chemise that day, so Arthur got an instant eyeful of your bare breasts. Arthur worked his shirt off while you slid off your skirt and drawers, leaving you completely naked. Arthur himself was only wearing his jeans at this point. 

You wasted no time in pushing Arthur on his back, the same spot where your husband slept; he had a moment of clarity when his head hit the pillow where he realized just how quickly this was moving. But before he could reach the point in his train of thought where he would begin defusing this sexually charged situation, you were on all fours facing him. You lowered yourself onto your elbows as you began undoing his belt buckle, sliding the leather out the loops of his jeans and discarding it next to the bed. You hastily undid his button and zipper, making Arthur feel like he was being pounced on by a panther in the woods, ready to be mauled by your lust and desire. 

Arthur rested his body weight on his elbows and watched you pull his cock out, looking on in amusement as you gawked at its size and held it next to your face in comparison. His breath caught in his throat when you licked up the side of his cock, reaching the tip and spitting a fat glob of saliva, allowing it to slide down his shaft. The two of you watched it in mesmerization before you began slathering his cock with it, swiping your thumb over his tip and circling your pad on it.

You lowered your head onto his cock, your hair coming down and framing your face while you sucked him off like curtains to a show. Arthur eyed the way your ass lifted in the air, curving into a perfect heart shape that was begging to be slapped. You wasted no time shoving his cock all the way to the back of your throat, swallowing around him as you tried to ease away a gag. You salivated around him, your body’s attempt to aid you. You slid your head back up slowly until breathing became difficult, various strings of saliva connecting you to his tip as you sucked in a breath. The strings broke and dripped down your chin, the sight so filthy and lewd Arthur almost didn’t feel bad about this. 

You licked up the side of his cock before reaching the tip and licking down again. You repeated the same motion while maintaining eye contact, smiling widely as you did so. Arthur was utterly debauched, his limbs feeling too jelly-like to continue to hold himself up. He crossed his arms behind his head, relaxing fully and claiming your husband’s spot like he was the new lion that crawled into the den. You began deepthroating Arthur, bobbing your head up and down as you moaned around him. You had never blown your husband with such vigor, and much recently, you had begun refusing to sleep with him. Probably spurring him on to keep seeking out sex work. But you couldn’t care less about his history of infidelity at this moment. You could only focus on the way Arthur's face contorted and tipped back in pleasure, his lips parting to pant. 

You lifted your head from Arthur, wiping your mouth on the back of your arm and eyeing him. The two of you synchronized as you climbed on top of Arthur, his hands taking hold of your own as he guided you on top of him. Arthur watched you take his glistening cock and line it up with your cunt, and in the blink of an eye, you had sunk down fully onto him. 

Arthur’s eyes went wide as he watched you instantly begin to ride him, not taking a second to adjust to the sudden intrusion. Your moans began loudly, throwing your head back as you bounced yourself on his lap. You supposed this was a bigger moment than this was for Arthur. A sense of control washing over you, feeling more powerful than ever. You imagined your husband’s face if he were to walk in. The horror that would cross his features.

“Oh fuck! This is so much better than my husband…” You gasped. You gripped his shoulders and supported yourself on his, the burning in your legs increasing as you continued to ride him. Arthur eventually gripped your hips, moving you up and down with much greater force. Initially, it felt like you were fucking yourself on Arthur, but now it felt like he was the one fucking you. 

Your bodies move in tandem, heavy moans and pants and groans filling the room. The sheer scandalousness of it all tipped you over as you came all over his cock. You continued to ride Arthur, despite having been satiated yourself, set on having him cum inside you. 

“Finish inside me.” You demanded. His thrusts stuttered, a tinge of bewilderment in his eyes. 

“Are you sure? What if-”

“Just do it, dammit.” You said through grit teeth.

After a few more minutes of thrusting, Arthur emptied himself inside you, your cunt now a spent pool of pleasure. It felt as though a deep itch inside you had finally been scratched, and Arthur began to wonder how long you had been planning something like this or if this happened completely by chance. 

Golden rays began pouring in from your bedroom window, indicating a lot of time had passed. To the two of you, it felt so short. Your body shone with the afterglow of sex, the sweat glistening on your skin. You had never looked so heavenly. Arthur allowed you to be his god for the day, his savior. To you, godhood was just like girlhood, begging to be seen.

.

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Sugar On My Tounge - Talking Heads

[heartfullofleeches]

i'm obsessed with fletcher and foxboy darling too it's okay lol

ooooooh what would their wedding be like? like i can imagine foxboy darling talking with one of the townspeople who asks darling about what their wedding was like and darling's just like 'we....... eloped?' And the townsperson is like. 'Aw that's romantic :) but we should do something for you two!!'

Fletcher and Foxboy Darling have two weddings. The first takes place in the forest on the outskirts of town where Darling originates from. It's a ceremony between the couple alone and done to prove the bond between them is true despite Foxboy Darling's protest. Fletcher leads Foxboy out to the end of the safe trail for the rabbits and gives them two choices - stay with him, or return to the life they once had. Foxboy was in it for the free food and a safe place to sleep in the beginning, but slowly begins to reciprocate Fetch's feelings with this moment being when they finally admit/realize they are indeed in love with him too..

The second takes place on the barn. Most weddings are held there anyway, but the townspeople find it strange Fletcher and Darling haven't had theirs yet despite being husband and wife. Everyone gets on Fetch's case, but the main reason he's held off on a wedding for the town is because he doesn't want those with wandering eyes to see his wife looking their best. A handful of people still see Foxboy Darling as that mangy animal, but if they wear that dress those sweet seamstress bunnies made for them as thanks for all Fletcher's done he knows everyone will see them in a new light.

It's when someone makes a passing comment how they'd divorce their hubby if they had to wait this long for a wedding that Fletcher finally sits his ass down and gets everything ready. He gets some assistance from friends/family, but it's his and Darling's word before anyones. It's a happy time for the newlyweds... till someone scare Foxboy Darling off because they don't belong. Fletcher quickly nips this in the bud and the two are married officially.

Thinking about doing a full length fic with these two getting married now - likely the farm wedding with flashbacks/snippets of their first spliced between. Maybe some smut because why not. Sound interesting?

[hyperblue]

Farm Wedding of Timkon but Jason is their cameraman and this is the worst and funniest mistake they've made.

He films Dick, paired with Duke and Cass, preparing Tim for the wedding ceremony - styling his hair, making light makeup and emotionally supporting him. He is already wearing a soft milky suit. Damian is just sitting in the corner of the room and munching on a piece of Ma Kent's homemade pie.

The cloned Baby sleeps in his cradle, Kon copes with wedding anxiety and wants to watch Tim, but it was clearly explained to him: "Do not see the bride before the wedding."

And Jason also makes the most judgmental and slightly offensive comments.

"Well, look at him, look at that innocent face, that clean white clothes, Shame. What is he pretending to be? Does he expect everyone to believe that he's an innocent, un-kissed virgin! We already know everything, what he allowed Clark's Boy to do while no one has seen, even the child is living proof".

Dick and Duke ask him to stop, Jason doesn't listen to them, Tim and Cass are laughing inside.

I love you, Jason Peter Todd with the temper of a forty-year-old judgmental Catholic.

jason: they are clearly only marrying because of the baby, this generation couldn't get any worse

dick in a corner of a frame: jason, you and tim are like three years apart

[whore-ibly-hot]

OMG SPEAKING OF MARRIAGE honeymoon with Joey or like anyone really what would Fritz honeymoon be like? Like I'd assume they didn't get one cause man's busy

Honey-mooning with Joey would be fairly simple, he'd take you to the inn or motel of one of the slightly larger nearby farming towns, and treat you to all the southern comfort food and hospitality you could want. He'd get you a nice breakfast, and flowers, but in the evening he'd make it very clear that he wants to begin the process of knocking you up. He will back off if you tell him to, but he'll make his intentions known. He just wants you knocked up as quickly as possible, and as much as he wants to enjoy the honeymoon he mostly just wants you back in the farm, acclimating to life with his family and getting settled in. It'll feel all that more real that your truly his once he can wake up in his own bed, with you their everyday.

"I hope you liked dinner, I've never been to that restaurants before, but my chicken was great. Um, darlin'? I know your probably stuffed, but are you too stuffed to work up the energy to go for a roll in the hay with your new husband?"

Fritz wouldn't be able to spend anytime honey mooning with his bride, and as a traditionalist this upsets him. Instead, he'll settle for a very extravagant one night wedding and ceremony away from the small town he's stationed at. He wants to give his bride the luxury you've never been accustomed too. You'll meet all his fellow military officials, and be shown off like one of Fritz medals. That night, he doesn't let you do anything during the consumption of the marriage. He wants to worship you, not the other way around. He will insist on some sort of white lingerie being sent in, as he wants you looking like a bride when he takes you, but he doesn't want to ruin your dress or suit. He asks beforehand if he'll be able to start trying for a baby that evening.

"Being a woman is not enough for a slimy cadet or confident rookie to simply respect you my poor dear, and I am sorry for their behavior. Being an officers bride should help, but we get new soldiers so often on the front lines, they may not know."

"What are you saying?"

"I think it'll be a little more obvious your an officers wife if you're walking around with a little bump next time we go to town. All for your safety, of course."

BONUS!!!: Mattias doesn't have the money for a big wedding or an extravagant honeymoon, but while he may not have the money, he has the spirit to party, and he knows others who do. The entire wedding reception is held as a block party at his mother's home in old Harlem, and the guests are a mix of neighbors and family. Mattias loves his family, and his perfect way to solidify a marriage is to blend you in with them. His biggest regret about the wedding is his father wasn't there to see him get married, so it's also nice for him to be around his Mami at a time like this. He loves how the two of you get along, and the two of them share stories of Mattias's papa, from when he was alive.

Mattias cannot handle it when his sees you playing with his young primos and primas, and the other neighborhood kids. Dancing with them and helping them reach the tinfoil trays to get food onto their plates. This results in him returning back to your apartment and immediately begging to dick you down, and give you a baby.

"Cmon, pretty girl!" He's kissing up on your neck, pulling you out of your reception outfit. "Gotta have you, mi esposa guapa, give you some kids. I've been shaking with nerves and energy all day, and I can't exactly fight it off at a block party. So please-"

"Let's make some hijos..."

[fushipurro]

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy

Chapter 5 - Journey's End...?

<- Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter ->

☆ Content: 18+ MDNI, cowboy!au, suggestive in satoru and sukuna's part, implied murder, mentions of pregnancy/childbirth in toji’s, gangs, brief mention of gunplay in satoru’s part, description of gore and cannibalism in satoru’s and sukuna’s

☆ Word Count: 7k

As heartwarming as it was reuniting Kento with Clementine, the same could be said for your own reunion.

On your first night in Blackwater, Kento treated you to dinner at one of the classiest restaurants in town. There, he had eagerly listened to the events that followed his departure ─ from Valentine’s rescue to the massacre of an entire game. With you, he quickly learned that there is no end to the surprises in store.

Your life is one out of a story ─ an odyssey, and you chose him to enjoy the ride with.

You stayed with him in his hotel room for some time, savoring the mix of fine dining and high-stakes gambling located conveniently downstairs. During the day, Kento would be away at work, leaving you to bide your time. But once the sun sets, you two take the town by storm, whether that meant with cards, chips, or a dual in the streets. On some nights, or many, your fun was kept to the sheets instead, clinging to each other’s form.

Occasionally, the two of you would ride horseback instead of train, making memories through evening gallops in the prairie, or taking scenic trails to wherever his work needed him to be. He excelled at his job, simply because he knew how best to help others ─ it’s what he’s good at. But at a certain point, he began realizing where his priorities needed to be, and what he wanted in life more than anything.

That’s how you ended up with a ring on your finger, because Kento wanted you.

After a night of poker where the stakes were especially high, Kento came out with a large sum of money. It was enough to push him into finally quitting his job, and using those funds to purchase a farmhouse along that same prairie stretch you often rode across. Between banking and farming, the answer was clear, as farming allowed him to continue with doing what he’s good at, while also being closer to home and subsequently you.

The property needed a barn which was no sooner constructed after moving in. Acres of fencing seemed to sprout up overnight, all for whatever animals you two would go on to have, and a dozen more for the joint business you created for yourselves.

Kento spends most of his days out in those fields, tending to his ever-growing abundance of crops. You on the other hand have taken to the barn, working day and night to care for your animals, as well as your newfound business in horse training. Some days, when the cattle need to be moved, you two pack a picnic to enjoy out with the wildflowers as the herd circles around you. Those days are your favorite, since they’re all spent with him. Just the two of you, in your own stretch of the world, enjoying every little thing.

Life on the farm has been simple, quiet, and everything you’ve needed to sit back and enjoy the feeling of being alive without any need to rush. If you wish to stay as you are now, Kento would have no complaints; but if you ever choose to grow your family, then the space is there, and with an incredible husband-to-be at your side to walk down that path with you.

Like most evenings after a day of hard labor, the two of you currently are resting on a swinging bench that hangs from your front porch, all while admiring the picturesque view of your property and the prairie beyond. Kento has a book in one hand, the other idly drawing shapes into your shoulder as you rest your head over his lap. Your eyes are closed, savoring the gentle breeze in your hair, and the distant sound of your many animals.

“Darling?” Kento says to get your attention. You hum, a quiet request for him to continue. “What do you think about having our wedding ceremony in the summer?” he asks.

“We could get married right now if I’m being honest, but why summer?”

In truth, you know exactly the reason he’s making this request, but where’s the fun if you don’t tease him first?

You hear him close the book he’s reading before setting it down, replacing it with some homemade sun tea. As you turn your head slightly, you have the perfect view of the liquid disappearing, and the bobbing of adam’s apple with every sip, glistening with the evening light. That golden glow seems all his own, yet pales in comparison to that of his hair, eyes, and every freckle dotting his face.

“Weather, firstly,” he starts, clearing his throat after putting the glass back down on the table. “The rainy season will be here before we know it, and if we wait too long, I fear that with the harvest, we won’t have much time on our hands.”

That’s not all, you think to yourself. There’s one more detail he hasn’t explicitly stated yet, but one you know he wants to bring up. The wedding is big of a day to him as it is for you, only he’s willing to put aside his own feelings for your happiness. Not on your watch.

“And what’s stopping us from walking out into the yard and saying our vows now? Aren’t you excited to marry me, or is there something else?”The effects of your teasing are evident from the deep shade of red that comes over his face.

“I couldn’t be happier marrying the love of my life,” he refutes, sending color to your own cheeks when his honeyed eyes fall to yours along with that sweet smile of his. “I was however thinking of having it along the oceanside, but if you’re against that or waiting, I’ll gladly put my suit on now.”

And you know he would.

He even makes a move to get up from his spot, showing his determination to please you, to marry you. But you quickly stop him, forcing your weight down to keep him still.”

“I’m only teasin’, Kento,” you chuckle, fixing yourself back on his lap. “I know how much you love the beach, so I think it’s perfect. Consider the date set.”

“Thank you,” he breathes, happy you’re agreeing to his request. What’s waiting until summer, anyways? The way things are now, you may as well be Mr. and Mrs. Nanami.

A sudden movement arises from the corner of your eye, enticing you to follow.

“Kento, look!” You hush shout at your fiancé, shooting up from his lap and pointing out into the prairie. “Bison!”

“Beautiful,” he whispers, his voice low and husky. You turn to him all excited, finding that his eyes are instead resting on you. “Isn’t that right, my darling wife?” He smiles.

Kento gently pulls you closer, wrapping his arm around your shoulder to keep you secure at his side. Your faces near, eyes brimming with desire.

“It sure is… husband.” You smile back, and let your lips meet in the middle. The thunderous sound of the herd echoes in the distance, pairing with the whinnies of your mares calling out to the world.

This life is beautiful, and all you could ever want, but only when you’re sharing it with him.

Back in Valentine, Satoru was eager as could be to see you again. His excitement evident by the silver star he brandished you with before you could so much as dismount properly from your mare.

With every quality you’ve shown thus far, he was more than ready to start chipping away at the bounty board with a reliable partner back at his side, until he learned of your recent escapade. That cocky sheriff exterior faded into a delicate side you never knew he had. As it turns out, he’s fiercely loyal and protective towards those he cares about ─ which also explains why after all these years he remains on good terms with Suguru.

You had to hold him back from marching into Tall Trees himself to get revenge for you, with or without any lawmen at his side to help. His eyes, so bright and full of life never looked as dark as they did at the sight of your bullet hole injury, but you managed to calm him and reassure that you and the Outlaw Killer had already done the unthinkable.

His emotions went from anger to dumbfounded, with hints of remembrance in his stare ─ something you later learned was due to Toji’s deep involvement with his life as the catalyst for the destruction of Limpany and Suguru’s fall from grace.

During your recovery, you also learned that Satoru comes from money. His family being one of the biggest in the oil game and railroading, and yet here he is, protecting the peace from a lower level. That money is still his to claim, and his to use to pay for anything you need in this time and in the future, whenever, and whatever the cost may be.

Shoko became one of your closest friends, going from the doctor next door to someone you trust to have your back no matter what happens in life. She’s often stepped in to pry Satoru away from his doting duties to ensure you’re able to get a proper rest in. In a way, he’s like a lap dog, begging for any attention you’ll spare. Attention you always so happily gave.

You didn’t need any of the fancy meals or the shopping sprees across town. All you ever needed was right here at your side, with or without a wallet in hand. The two of you loved riding along the Dakota River, shooting glass bottles in the woods, or curling up in each other’s embrace whenever you could.

Although rare, some days and nights were shared with Suguru again, under the falsehood of collecting the bounty on his head, only to get some head in return. The weapons involved in these reunions weren’t for violence, but instead acts of love, all for the thrill of it. And speaking of familiar faces… it didn’t take long before you noticed Sukuna’s ceasing to pop up.

His presence in Valentine became that of a mystery, his name merely a rumor now, designed to scare children back to their beds and drunkards out of the street. The butcher now running his stall is someone by the name of Uraume, who never fails to show their disdain in passing.

You didn’t have much time to think on his disappearance before a spree of killings stole your attention. Each crime scene the two of you visited told the same gruesome tale through the bodies strung up and their organs splayed out, keeping them bound to rocks or trees. And every time, their blood was smeared into a cryptic message ─ one you knew came from him.

By the time Satoru ordered the move on Sukuna’s forest home, the devastation was clear from a distance. The cabin you once shared an incredible night with now a pile of ash and rubble along the forest floor. Though for better or worse, his cellar workshop remained nearly intact.

Whatever the case, it seemed his time of hunting in Valentine had reached an end, or so you thought. New rumors had begun sprouting up from the heart of Saint Denis, rumors of some bloodsucking “vampire” who matches Sukuna’s description seen devouring the hearts of his victims.

As someone branding a silver star, you knew what would have to be done should you ever cross paths with him again, although that moment may come sooner than you think.

The morning light flickers between the curtains, casting its rays over your form, sitting buried beneath Satoru’s. Your hand finds its way to his hair, combing through the white strands with your nails. This action stirs him awake, a breathy sigh escaping his lips.

“Good morning, princess,” he starts with a yawn, his eyes fluttering open, revealing a gaze so gentle ─ so loving ─ that you can almost forget the turmoil running rampant in your mind. But as he blinks away the sleep from his eyes, he catches on to how it eluded you through the night. “You look terrible,” he quips. “Don’t tell me you couldn’t sleep.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes to try and throw off the inevitable conversation to be had. “Wow,” you drawl the word with a teasing touch. “You really know how to make a girl feel pretty.”

“You know what I mean,” Satoru chides, visibly pouting at your remark. He then lifts himself onto his elbows, pushing further up the bed until his lips can meet just under your eyes. “Did I not tell you enough last night how pretty you are?” he teases with a sly grin, though behind those crystalline eyes lie a deeper concern.

“Oh no, you did. I believe I remember you saying, ‘nothing compares to your beauty; you’re a goddess among humanity and no portrait could ever hope to paint you with everything I see and love about you.’”

“And I’m right, aren’t I?” Satoru chuckles, rolling off to your side. He reaches out, pulling you against his body. His arm, a shield from the world ─ his protection infinite. “So why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind?”

With a sigh, you let your eyes close, remembering all the things that have kept you up in the midnight hours, or rather, the people. Through everything, you’ve never felt as afraid as you are in this moment.

“I don’t know if I can do it, Satoru,” you tell him without any clarity on the ‘it’ in question, simply because he already knows what troubles you so. How could he not know?

Nevertheless, you continue, “I know what he’s doing is the work of a devil, but…”

“He’s still someone you liked,” Satoru finishes for you, the thought hurting more now that it’s out in the open.

You nod your head weakly, feeling a kiss against your temple ─ an affirmation.

“I get it,” he says, his thumb now smoothing over your skin. “I think it would be best if you stayed here, in Valentine.”

Astounded, you roll partway to face him, ready to open your mouth in protest before his words stop you in your tracks.

“Now I know I said before you’d be coming with, but this isn’t your burden to bear. Even if you wear the star now, your feelings still come first.”

“Satoru, I can’t let you go alone,” you claim, brows pinching in anguish.

“I won’t be alone,” he refutes. “I’ll have the other deputies and lawmen at my side, including the joint force in Saint Denis. I would feel better knowing you were here watching over everything, maybe throwing on that dress I got you for when I come back…?” At that, he pushes his nose into your neck, hands reaching up below the hem of your nightwear to tickle your sides.

With how often he calls his princess, Satoru simply had to dish out the funds needed for a dress straight out of a fairy tale novel.  He picked one adorned with colors resembling his eyes and some of your favorites. Jewels and an intricate hem from top to open. A dress he wants to see you in when you walk down the aisle and into his arms.

“You’ll be safe, right?” Your lowered voice another sign of your anxious state. “I better not hear about you getting reckless and hurt.”

Satoru laughs, a sweet sound the contrasts the way he holds you just a little bit tighter.

“Who do you think I am? I’m the sheriff after all,” he tells you, his words as confident as he was the day you met him. “Besides, we both know Shoko would have my ass in the dirt if I came home with another big injury after that last time.”

As the morning sun looms higher through the curtain, it becomes a bitter reminder of the dwindling time left together before he leaves on his biggest job to date.

“I love you, Satoru.” You take his hand, placing it close to your heart, hoping he feels how it beats only for him. “Come back to me and I’ll have on any dress you throw at my feet, ring or no ring.”

“You know I will, princess.” He kisses the crown of your head. “I’ll make sure you have the biggest dress, and the most expensive ring money can buy.” Another kiss, one filled with absolution. “And I love you too, forever and always.”

Following the map Suguru had given you, you were able to find his camp with ease, and were welcomed with open arms.

Well, from a few of them, at least.

Some of Suguru’s closest confidants were weary of you at first, and for good reason. They first recognized you as the Valentine showstopper who fired back without mercy in the midst of their robbery and grand theft equine. And here you are now, strolling into the heart of their camp with Suguru’s arm draped around you. Just who do you think you are?

They made their lack of trust apparent, never bothering to hush their voices when openly complaining. The worst of which came from a scrawny fella named Mahito, as he was always vying for Suguru’s attention and praise. Not to mention the other woman, Manami, who would stick to your outlaw like she was his own holster. A bunch of fools, you’d call them. Fools who in time will be akin to that of your own flesh and blood.

Regardless of it all, you knew where you stood. Something Suguru reminded you of whenever he could. After a few train robberies and drunken brawls, you went from being the stray that wandered in to Suguru’s girl.

To some others however… you were a mother.

Nanako and Mimiko ─ the children Suguru had rescued from that atrocious cell in Limpany the day his star dimmed to a void. They were incredibly shy with you at first, always hiding behind Suguru or cramming themselves in the back of his tent. He was their safety net, their savior, and most importantly ─ their father, blood or not.

You cried the first time those twins called you their mother; the memory of that day quickly became one of your favorites to date.

The camp itself never stayed in one spot for too long, and at times it felt as though you had traveled the world before settling in one place before carrying on with the next big heist. Your newfound notoriety began drawing attention across the frontier, specifically from the Outlaw Killer himself.

Toji always had a way of popping up when you least expected. “Hunting your bounty” he’d say, each time pretending he was just there for the cash, and yet, you always managed to get away without a scratch on you. Sometimes, you’d leave a richer woman than you were that morning ─ lady luck simply never on his side for monetary value.

Satoru was another familiar face, one more welcome than others. You’re more than aware how he and Suguru mail letters to each other from time to time, and sometimes you wonder if Suguru purposely guides him close for a reunion under the stars.

Those same stars that watch over and guide your travels are the same set looking down upon your camp now. The surrounding swamps come alive at night with a cacophony of crickets chirping and toads croaking, all meshing with the vibrant atmosphere after a robbery done well, earlier in the day. While Dagon prepares the feast, Mahito sings an out of tune monstrosity of a song for Jogo and Hanami, and all the rest to dance around the bonfire flame, hand in hand.

A sudden touch to your shoulder disturbs your peace; your beating heart calming when you realize it was merely Suguru having now returned from the house.

“That was fast, the girls went down that easy?” You scoot to make some room for him to sit, but your effort proves pointless when he pulls you by the hip against his side.

He kisses your cheek a few times, holding your head in place with one hand. “That easy,” he replies with another kiss to your lips. “I think they’re finally settling in enough to sleep. I didn’t even have to check under the beds for any ghosts and monsters,” he tells you, and you sigh with relief.

“Good, I was worried after all the shit today.”

Ever since the move to Shady Belle, it’s been tougher than any swamp gator to get those two to sleep an entire night on their own. The twins are strong after all they’ve been through, but the dark remains as one of their greatest fears. At some point in the night, they always end up squished between you both in your spacious bed.

“I think this calls for a celebration, don’t you?” he says, and from that smirk ─ one as sly as any fox ─ you know he’s referring to something that goes beyond the surrounding atmosphere.

Suguru pulls up by your hand, swinging you flush to his body, his other hand now resting gently against your waist. He begins to sway you to the beat of the song ─ one that’s no longer out of tune or a mockery of Mahito’s own guitar.

“Suguru, what’s this abou–“

He cuts you off with tender kiss. “Relax, just enjoy yourself,” he says. “We have a special night ahead of us, now let’s give them a show.” He smiles eagerly.

The rest of the gang cheers and sings along. Pairs coming together, some trios even, all circling the bonfire in song under the full moon sky. You dance your heart out with Suguru, his eyes never leaving you once. If they could speak a thousand words from his stare alone, they would each be of you, and all that his heart wishes to say.

At one point, the song slows into a calming tune, causing everyone to back away with all eyes set on the two of you at the heart of it all. You glance around the group first before looking to Suguru out of confusion. He returns your look with that same sly grin from earlier before falling to one knee.

“Suguru?” Your lips part slightly as he reaches into his pocket, the shock and anticipation of what you know is coming sets a stampede of thoughts off in your mind.

He says your name as he reveals his ornate offering ─ a ring, bound in the metal perfect for you with a diamond at its center. That precious stone is joined by two amethysts on either side, their hue nearly identical to his own two eyes.

“From the day I met you, I knew you were something special,” he continues.

A diamond in the rough, he’d go on to say ─ that, and a thousand other words on how you’ve been a guiding light to him in a world so full of darkness.

“Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife, from now until these very stars watching over us can shine no longer more?”

And you only have one answer.

“I would love you as your wife beyond that time and the end of time itself,” you tell him, feeling a tear fall from your eye as your smile grows wide with joy. “I will gladly marry you, Suguru Geto.” The determination evident in your speech.

He takes your hand, sliding the ring onto your finger. The fitting is perfect, just as the two of you are together, leaving no room for doubt. Suguru stands, bringing your hand up to his lips, kissing that very ring before sealing his vow against your lips as you do all the same to his.

“I love you,” he says, breathlessly, and with a look of love like no other. And as the gang cheers for you both, you know in your heart that you made the right choice and found your treasure.

Your return to Sukuna ignited many emotions, some more volatile, and others ─ true to his nature.

He welcomed you back with open arms, practically calling you to his side. There was praise with how you stuck to your word and came back to him, praise that evolved through that sensual reembrace into actions meant to… punish you for the marks left by another. The marks left by Toji.

Sukuna didn’t really care about them, or the fact that there was another. Why would he, when you came back to him, and all he has to do is bury them beneath his own, time and time again to remind you of that.

But then came the marks left by someone else, designed for absolution and oh, how that brought out a whole new side you hadn’t seen before.

He had a fire in his eyes, black flames that seemed to circle and smolder an intense red when he demanded the names of whoever shot that bullet into you. You were his now, and that means whoever lays an uninvited finger on you is his to do as he sees fit, and oh, the ideas he had in store.

You managed to quell the storm after telling him how it all went down. From hunting the coward down through the hills, to ending his life with your own two hands. Sukuna’s wrath took on a new form ─ pride ─ at your abilities in battle. How enchanting you are with blood soaked on your hands.

He still couldn’t help but pout over the missed opportunity of a new soul to torture, something you soon learned was a hobby beyond what most would consider as one.

Although he was careful to hide his tracks, it wasn’t difficult to figure out, not when every time some lowlife would make a pass at you with sinful intentions, they’d end up missing a short while after.

…Did you approve it? Maybe, if you’re being honest with yourself.

You can’t deny that the world isn’t a better place without all those creeps. Perhaps with all the time you’ve shared with Sukuna thus far, a part of him has rubbed off and embedded itself into your soul. Such is the nature of depravity.

During the day you would help him out around town, be it with livestock or adding to his stall with game from outside the city. You each had your own hunting grounds, with yours being the forests or down by the Dakota River, and for Sukuna? Well, he preferred his food close to home, food that was always ripe for the picking.

That went about as well as expected, taking into account the Valentine sheriff whose curiosity remained fixated on you. And while Sukuna isn’t a jealous man by any means, he made his disdain for the man evident, keeping his fangs forthright. After one passionate ─ possessive ─ night of romance, Sukuna told you as you rested in his grip that it was time to move on.

You hated to have to leave the cabin behind, especially when for the two of you, it was home. But as you watched the remains turn to ash before your eyes, the structure engulfed in a mighty, somehow divine flame, you remembered that so long as you have Sukuna, you have a home with him.

The journey itself was long, with many stops along the way before eventually reaching a spot high in the desert plateau, far from anyone to disturb either of you. Along the way however, among the many oppositions were a gang intent on seeking revenge. Whether it was for your killings or his, that much remains a mystery, but the outcome resulted in the right side of Sukuna’s face becoming marred by Molotov flames. Their bodies made for an excellent display along a grand oak tree, the final piece of art created in his name for some time.

The night sky never looked more beautiful than in the desert while leaning back against Sukuna’s frame, your forms carefully illuminated by the campfire glow beneath a sea of stars.

“Aww, don’t tell me you’re cold?” His voice mocks, paired with a suggestive move from his hand settled the curve of your hip. “If you wanted me to warm you up, all you had to do was ask,” he purrs, pulling you tighter against his core.

You exhale an amused sound at his offering, angling your head back to meet his gaze. “Was earlier not enough for you?” you tease back with that same flirtatious undertone that has his fingers digging just a little bit deeper ─ more possessive.

The reason you’re shivering to begin with is become of him. Your clothes have long since been discarded along the flooring of your home, and the arousal between your thighs, still glistening with the rest of your bare flesh.

“Is that a question?” He chuckles darkly before claiming your lips roughly and with a renewed flame. His free hand curls around your neck, preventing any chance of you turning away to avoid his touch.

Sukuna breaks the kiss, but his forehead remains pressed against yours. His eyes half-lidded with lust and a multitude of emotions he doesn’t dare claim to feel, but you know.

“You know better than anyone I could keep going until the sun rises,” he says confidently, and for good reason too. It’s one of the many things you’ve come to love about him.

The sex is good ─ perfect even, but his word, and the promises he makes are everything and more. When he claimed you as his, that wasn’t just for show, and he’s always eager to remind you of such and every little thing you do to him.

Sukuna may never say those three little words like you have to him, but that’s okay because his actions have always made up for it. Normal has never been your thing, so why stop now?

Your eyes move to his scar ─ the point in case that shows where his priorities have been since the beginning. He was the one who stepped in front of you, shielding you from the harm that permanently scarred his features.You bring your hand up to cradle his face, brushing your thumb against the rough texture. His left eye narrows at your action but doesn’t leave the hold he has with yours. With only one working eye… for him to see the world, he first has to see you.

“It’s ugly, isn’t it?” he says, not as a question or a plea for some sympathy, but rather to state the obvious. Personally, he has no problem with it, as with any scar on his body. Others are deterred, some viewing him like any other outlaw when he goes into town, but never have you looked at him with anything but adoration after that first night together many moons ago.

“Not at all.” You shake your head, a soft smile gracing your features. “I’ve always thought it made you look more rugged or badass.”

He smirks, nudging your face with his nose before another ─ more gentle ─ kiss to your lips.

“Careful, dove” he murmurs a faux warning before taking your hand into his, guiding you from his face to his chest, and further down to his stiffened length. “Look what your words have done to me ─ what you do to me.”

Sukuna lets out a hiss of relief when your fingers wrap perfectly around him, applying just the right amount of pressure to all the right places.

“Feels like you’ve got a pretty big problem here,” you chuckle, shifting your body around to better face his. “Need me to fix it for you?”

In one deft motion, Sukuna lifts you onto his lap, his hands finding placement along the curve of your hips. “I would hope so, seeing as you’re the cause. It’ll give you something to do to warm up.” He pats your side a few times. “Now let’s see how far your riding’s come along, shall we?”

After accepting his offer, your life with Toji exceeded every expectation you had placed in the beginning.

From bounties to bar fights, duals and a shit ton of gambling, your life became all about living in the moment, seeing to whatever whim you had in mind for where the day could take you. “Wherever the money is, we go,” Toji always said ─ up until you realized both you and Valentine had become pregnant.

It was a surprise to say the least, but what’s more shocking is that it didn’t happen sooner given Toji’s apparent breeding kink when it came to you. Whatever the case, the news couldn’t have come at a more perfect time.

Your travels brought you into the valley, not far from Lake Owanjila, in a field rich with lavender and all the familiar sage from your childhood home. These flowers serve as a reminder of where you came from, but the rest, it’s all of your own making.

For a while you two slept out of a tent. That is ─ until the local wolves became a tad too curious, often straying too close for anyone’s comfort. That, and the one day you came back from hunting to find a bear napping overtop your then-broken tent. Needless to say, Toji got to work on using those muscles of his not for show, but to build you a cabin, all from the ground up.

He worked tirelessly during the course of your pregnancy, often leaving you to stay behind in a hotel in the city of Strawberry. As for Valentine, you boarded her at a local stable to better monitor her pregnancy without any risk of predators interfering.

It was hard going days sometimes without any word from Toji, and not having Valentine with you left you feeling quite lonely under stars you equally shared. At the very least, it made your reunions a time to celebrate, with a night of making sweet love together again.

On the day he came to collect you, your heart raced ─ faster that any thoroughbred ─ with excitement and joy. The many months of effort and separation were finally paying off. And then your water broke mere moments later, delaying that journey to your new home by another few days. Neither of you minded, not when you were both too busy welcoming both Tsumiki and Megumi into the world ─ your beloved pair of twins.

You got married not long after that.

If having children didn’t seal the deal, the vibrant, emerald ring on your finger and the cabin built just for you certainly did. Pronghorn Ranch, you two named your stretch of the valley. You even had the ceremony right there on the property with a child in each of your arms, and a few close others to bear witness to matrimony.

Shockingly, Valentine ended up giving birth to a pair of twins as well. Turns out, all those gambling losses Toji’s accumulated made up for being gifted in other departments, his trusty steed included, considering the rarity of twin foals that manage to survive their youth.

After the death of your parents, you never imagined getting to experience family like that ever again, and how happy you are to share this again with Toji at your side. For someone as unpredictable and crazy as any bucking bronco ─ he’s shown you that anything’s possible, and he’d do anything to make your dreams a reality.

Your life went from that same unpredictability and camping under the stars to enjoying that same night sky from the view of your porch with the ones you love with all your heart and more.

“There you are, Ma,” Toji greets, hugging you from behind. He pulls you closer by your waist, kissing you along the side of your neck. Your giggling only serves to entice him further, but with Megumi in your arms, he knows he can’t get too carried away. “Been lookin’ for you, what are you doing out here with Megs?”

It’s become your daily tradition to go on walks around the property with Megumi. Compared to his sister right now, he holds a lot more energy. Seeing all the animals around the ranch has become his favorite activity. And right now, he’s found you up close and personal with Valentine and her foals.

“’Gumi here”–You pinch his chubby little cheeks–“wanted to see the babies up close.” You turn your head, smiling at Toji for a second before your eyes wander. “Where’s Tsumi’?” you ask.

“She’s fine,” he says, pointing back to the porch with a thumb over his shoulder. “Let her with her toys so I could come see you.”

You’re surprised he managed to get away without any tears. Tsumiki has a way of getting what she wants when it comes to Toji, and how could he ever say no to either of his kids?

“Well, you’re just in time to watch Megumi ride a horse for the first time.”

Toji about chokes on his own spit when he hears that.

“Ma, are you sure that’s a good idea?” he questions, his tone full of worry. “He’s two, what if he gets hurt?”

“He’ll be fine, Valentine wouldn’t dare do anything to hurt him,” you refute, and Toji knows it’s meaningless to argue, but the thought of anything happening is one of the few things in this world that genuinely scares him. This family of yours matters just as much to Toji as it does for you, if not more than you can imagine given his own upbringing in a shitty cult of a family.

What a story that was the night he first told it.

“Besides, it’s about time he saddles up,” you add.

“Is he even going to remember this?” Toji stresses, biting his lip as you place Megumi on the mare’s back. He finds himself unconsciously stepping closer.

“Maybe, maybe not, who knows?” You place a hand on Toji’s arm to reassure him, keeping your other one around your son’s. “This is something my father did for me, and someday one of these foals will be his to ride on, and Tsumiki the other.”

You wonder if Megumi will take up the soon-to-be black colt like his father, or the chestnut filly. With their baby coats having almost finished shedding, their true colors are finally revealing. It’s one of the many joys of watching foals grow up, and a gamble in itself at what coat colors two parents could pass on.

Toji still isn’t convinced, but at the sight of your bright smile, and Megumi’s joyful babbles, he finds himself grinning with amusement ─ something you don’t miss.

“Go get Tsumiki so she can have a turn!” You tell him, patting his bicep eagerly. His smile no sooner disappears, replaced with that of a stern father’s gaze.

“Absolutely not. She can wait another few years to try.”

And by few, he means a decade or more, depending on his mood.

“That’s not fair, her brother is already riding.” You plead to him, pouting all the while, but this is where arguing becomes impossible for you.

With Megumi, he’s Toji’s son through and through. He believes Megumi to be a miniature version of himself and will prove that in time as he gets older. Tsumiki however, she’s a princess in his eyes, and you swear you’ve seen him tear up over her getting the smallest of cuts.

Overall, he’s the best father you could’ve asked for with your children, and an even more loving husband to yourself. You look forward to growing old with him at your side, and with your children living their best lives like you are now.

“If you don’t come up to the house, your dinner’s gonna get cold,” he says at the sound of your stomach rumbling.

You gasp, “Why didn’t you say that earlier? I’m starving!”

Toji lifts Megumi, holding him in one arm, with his other all for you. “Because someone didn’t hear me callin’ for them,” he scolds. “Now come on, sweetheart. I made your favorite.”

You wrap yourself around his arm, leaning into him on the way back up to your home. “I love you, Toji,” you tell him fondly, eyes staring into his equal weight to your words.

“I love you too, Ma.”

Life couldn’t possibly get better than this, not when you’ve already found everything you could’ve possibly wanted in it.

Fate has many things in store for you, even if you weren’t previously aware how knotted into its red fibers you are.

Instead of choosing one, or any of the men ─ you continued on with life as you originally planned before stopping in Valentine. Rather than settle for anything domestic, you opted to continue your journey across the frontier, sleeping under a blanket of stars, and meeting a whole new realm of people along the way.

You spent some time with Choso and Yuki for starters, hunting bounties together or raving in the nearest saloon. Both you and the couple shared many experiences, somehow always finding each other despite parting in separate directions each time without fail.

There were other faces and names that also crossed your path ─ some good, some bad. You might have even considered a life with them if you were ready to aside your reins. At the end of the day, your best company was found with Valentine, your beloved mare to have seen it all and come out on top, regardless of the circumstances.

All in all, the life you were building was entirely of your own making, and to you, that was the way to live. “Pick a direction and trot on,” became one such motto of life, through deserts and mountains. Every step brought a brand-new experience, and that experience was everything you unknowingly needed in order to be prepared.

It was a day like any other, or so it had seemed. The sky was clouded over, on the brink of tearing forth with the full wrath of nature. The only thing is… the calamity that came forth didn’t come from the heavens ─ no.

It came from down below, in what could only be described as hell, and the catalyst that sent you back to the city you strayed from in your journey of life.

How else were you to survive the apocalypse once the trumpets sounded, and the undead came to life.

☆ Notes: sorry this took 3 months almost lol

I won’t go off with any heartfelt messages just yet, but I am incredibly grateful to everyone that’s stuck around this far, and I hope you like how I did this “ending” :)

Honestly, when I first started this series, I was going to make Toji the endgame, but then thought that would piss off anyone who came here for the other men, so I came up with multiple routes instead. It may not be everyone’s preference, but I thought it to be fair and it lets me go off with more headcanons separate from smut.

In light of that though, I hope you guys look forward to the bonus chapter I’ve kept a surprise until now ^^ aka, the secret polyamory ending.

Lastly, linked below are some of my favorite cowboy artworks of the jjk men, some of which helped inspired parts of this series <3

NANAMI 1 & 2 | SATORU | SUGURU | SUKUNA | TOJI | CHOSO

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"Though many respondents indicated that a couple could be shivareed only once, that rule does not always apply. When I asked for reasons why people would receive more than one shivaree, the responses were that different social groupings might organize events separately, or that they could be shivareed any number of times until their first child arrives. The latter explicitly links the shivaree with fertility, and makes it a negative incentive for reproduction. The connections to sex, gender, and sexuality are multiple. The noise that begins the shivaree is arguably male-associated; the best noisemakers are purpose-built by men or appropriated from tools used in male-dominated work. However, the tricks most obviously directed at women are planned and carried out by women. The shivaree is an example of women doing the work of maintaining mores and practices that are not necessarily in their own interests – or those of their female friends and relatives. There can be an element of collective delayed payback: if I had to put up with these pranks, I’ll make sure that you have to put up with them also.

But the consequences for women (and couples) who don’t fit in can be dire, especially in locations where they must depend on their neighbours and community for assistance. The seriousness of the test echoes the deep play of the Louisiana country Mardi Gras described by Ancelet, Sawin, and Ware. Failing the shivaree test means you are not part of the group. The anonymous Ontario woman above who ‘moved on,’ however happy she may be with the ultimate outcome of a professional career, may have had little choice. Those who can’t take the surveillance, gossip, and conservative mores of most rural communities generally leave them. But those communities – perhaps Avonlea, Saskatchewan, is an example – that appear to welcome outsiders, and whose shivarees are more friendly than they are edgy, survive and sometimes even flourish.

The fact that shivarees are now understood as intending to welcome newlyweds into the community, as I’ve stated already, does not mean that they never include dangerous and/or illegal actions, or insensitive and/or inappropriate ones. Like many other traditional practices, shivaree is good or bad, and its outcomes positive or negative, based on the specific congeries of individuals and community expectations with luck and good management. Just about any otherwise innocuous social event can turn ugly, and even the most serious political protests can remain decent and safe for all involved.

That being said, I doubt that I would appreciate being shivareed. I suspect I would not be considered a good sport in most rural communities. I value my privacy, I’m not particularly sociable, and I’m offended by the ritual debasement particularly of women in the sexualized pranks of some shivarees. I would find it overwhelming and frustrating that as a woman I would be expected to suffer in silence through an extensive series of pranks intended to test my ability to endure unreasonable provocation without protest. I’d like to think I would appreciate one or two jokes, and that I would understand them as part of tradition. I do think, however, that the women I’ve quoted above are justifiably upset about their shivarees. ... the debasement of the couple in shivaree pranks may relate to the idea that no individual or couple should be elevated over others, without some ritual action that pulls them down to the common level. But symbolic explanations don’t mitigate the individual effects of shivarees, nor do they comfort those who may be on the receiving end of specific practices.

Finally, because a practice helps to maintain a certain status quo doesn’t mean that the status quo is actually worth maintaining. The biological offspring of locals aren’t the sole route to community continuation. Groups can be reproduced by migration into them, for example. The division of insiders from outsiders that renders incomers a problem is not a reflection of their actual worth as human beings – or as potential community members. But there’s nothing fundamental to the symbolic means of shivarees that make them inherently problematic or otherwise."

- Pauline Greenhill, Make the Night Hideous: Four English-Canadian Charivaris, 1881–1940. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2010. p. 210-212.

[cirrus-grey]

Arranged marriage AU where Jon and Martin are Nobles With Neighboring Estates who meet as teenagers and fall in love. When they come of age they find out their respective families have engaged them off to strangers, so - unwilling to face a life apart - they flee their homes in the middle of the night to be together.

Cue Peter Lukas (distantly related head of Martin’s family) and Jonah Magnus (ditto for Jon) frantically beginning their own months-long searches for the runaway grooms, desperate to find them and drag them back to their weddings.

Eventually the two are located on a small rural farm, living the cottagecore life. Peter and Jonah are summoned; their carriages pull up outside the small house at the same time. They disembark, frowning at each other.

"What are you doing here?"

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm looking for my family's runaway groom, Jonathan Sims."

"I'm looking for my family's runaway, Martin Blackwood."

They both look at the house.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

-

There's a knock at the front door. Jon opens it and finds himself face-to-face with Jonah.

"Hello, Jon."

Jon pales and takes a step back. "You can't make me go back."

"I think-"

Before he can speak, Martin enters from another room in the house. "Jon, who's-" and then he freezes, and pales as well.

"Hello, Martin," Peter says.

"I won't go back," Martin replies, his voice shaking. He steps up next to Jon and puts a hand on his shoulder. Jon reaches up to hold it with his own, and Peter and Jonah's eyes focus in on the rings on their fingers.

"Please," Jonah says, through gritted teeth. "For the love of god. Tell me the two of you didn't run away to marry each other."

Jon's chin juts out in defiance. "And if we did? You can't separate us."

"Oh for goodness-!" Peter says. "We've been looking for you for months! Countless man hours we’ve wasted to bring you back for your wedding, only to find out you're already married?"

"Maybe you should have thought of that before you went and sold our futures away!" Martin says. "We're not pawns in your chess game, we're not just going to go along with whatever schemes you come up with to marry us off to-"

"-each other?" Jonah interrupts.

Jon and Martin freeze.

"...What?"

Peter waves a hand at Jon. "Martin, this is the Magnus boy you were arranged to marry!"

Jonah nods at Martin. "This is the Lukas child to whom you were engaged, Jon."

"What?"

"Did you seriously," and there is a vein throbbing in his temple, "know each other for years, run away from your homes together, get married, and it never, not once occurred to you to tell each other what families you came from?"

-

Jmart get their asses dragged back home for a Real and Proper Legal Wedding (the first definitely wasn't - they exchanged rings and declared their undying love for each other in a moonlit field with no witnesses). As soon as the ceremony's over they're banished back to their farm because no one wants to put up with any more of their bullshit.

And there they live happily (if somewhat embarrassed) ever after.

[maremartinelli]

YOU'RE THE ONE THAT I WANT

Sírius Black X fem!reader

Summary: Lily and James get married. And in the middle of their waltz, Y/n has a great choreography idea for when she gets married. And of course Sirius wouldn't fail to make a wish later.

Words: 2.4K+

Warnings: Nothing that alarming. Just drunk Remus and couple's sweetness.

Author: English is not my first language, I apologize for any errors there may be throughout the story. Second, I'm addicted to writing imagines based on my wishes. Today, Y/n (I) want to dance You're the one that I want at my wedding🥹

MASTERLIST

The long-awaited wedding of Lily Evans and James Potter had arrived. The biggest day of their lives.

They were both so excited for that day that they almost couldn't sleep close to the date. Rumor has it that James has been waiting for this day since his first year at Hogwarts, when he first laid eyes on the redhead.

The day was cool, but not cold. It was perfect for a country wedding. As Lily expected.

Lily and James had made a reservation at a farm hotel in the Muggle community. Where Lily always went when she was little. They rented the space for the wedding, the party and the rooms for some of their most special guests. Which was the case with Remus, Marlene, Sirius and Y/n.

Especially for these. Since they would be the couple's godparents and bridesmaids.

Y/n was in her shared room with Sirius getting ready and putting the finishing touches on her hair before heading to the ceremony.

Y/n had gotten ready with her fiancee. Lily made a point of doing this with Y/n, as the woman had been the redhead's best friend since their first year at Hogwarts.

Of course, Y/n can't refuse this beautiful request.

However, now after they were tidy, Y/n went back to the room and Lily went to take some photos.

Sirius was in the bathroom still finishing fixing his tie and Y/n was sitting on the bed putting on her heels.

"Baby, is it ending there? There are 40 minutes left before the ceremony starts and Lily wants the groomsmen there, in 10 minutes" Y/n says, soon standing up and looking once again in the mirror to fix her dress.

As the wedding was in the countryside, Lily chose a color palette that highlighted everyone who would be at the altar with her and James.

And each groomsman couple had a color. If the bridesmaid's dress was red/blue or another color, the best man's tie would be the same.

However, as Y/n and Sirius would not be godparents to the same person. They were different colors.

Lily said she had a fight because she wanted Y/n and Sirius as her godparents and James as well. And the only solution they had was to separate the couple and each have one. Which resulted in Sirius and Marlene being James' godparents. And Y/n and Remus are Lily's godparents.

"I am going!" Sirius exclaims as he exits the bathroom, still trying to tie his tie. "What a pain!! I spent my entire adolescence doing this and now I'm blank" he says and Y/n quickly looks at her boyfriend.

She lets out a smile as she approaches.

"Help me-- OH MY GOD. YOU LOOK DIVINE!!" Sirius' eyes widen when he sees his girlfriend wearing a navy blue silk dress.

It had a low back and straps, and on the right leg there was a not very large slit.

Y/n smiles shyly. Even hearing these types of compliments for more than six years.

"You look divine too, darling" Y/n approaches him and places a kiss. Sirius soon gets excited and delves deeper.

Y/n moves away and places her hands on her boyfriend's chest.

"Okay, as much as it hurts to say this. Enough!!" She laughs and Sirius smiles. "We have to fix your tie and marry Prongs and Lils"

Sirius just nods and Y/n fixes his dark green tie.

As he would be Marlene's date at the wedding, he had to buy the same color tie as his friend. Even though he hated it, because he said he was in Slytherin.

Marlene and Y/n almost hit him the day they went to buy it. Because he looked like a child having a bad time in the middle of the store.

After they both finished getting ready, they left the room they were staying in and walked around the place where the ceremony would take place.

"There are a lot of people here already, how many minutes left?" Sirius whispered to his girlfriend as they walked to where they would be positioned before entering the ceremony.

"I think there's half an hour left, or less" Y/n says quietly too, while looking around behind Remus or seeing someone she knows from school.

"Hello, good afternoon. Are you the groomsmen of the bride or groom. Right?" The officiant asks and Sirius and Y/n look at her at the same time.

"Hi, Yes!" Y/n smiles kindly.

"Okay. Are you godparents to the same person?"

"Oh! no. I'm the bride's godmother and the groom's Siri" Y/n explains.

"Okay. So Sir...what's your name?"

"Sirius Black. But you can just call him Sirius. I prefer it" he says and the officiant agrees.

"This way"

"Bye, my dear. I'll wait for you at the altar" Sirius places a kiss on Y/n's forehead.

Y/n laugh.

"Okay dear. But I'm not the bride, so you can wait for me at the altar" she smiles.

"But it will be someday" he winks and Y/n smiles, rolling her eyes.

She gets lost in her world looking at all the decorations, until she is awakened by Remus and Marlene arriving together.

"Hi, Y/n" Marlene says and she turns around. "Have you seen where Sirius is?"

Y/n smiles when she sees her friend. More precisely, your second best friend.

"Hi Marls. He's up front" Y/n informs and the shows him discreetly with his finger.

"I thought he would be late."

Y/n smile.

"That's not the case with me. Either you're late or you're left behind"

"It's good that you started dating him. Sirius was always late"

Y/n and Marlene laugh at Remus' comment.

"I remember. I almost had a fit when we were still just friends and I had school work to do with him. I was always late for the library" Y/n laughs along with the two.

"I'm going to go there, before Lily comes and kicks me there." Marlene says before leaving. "By the way, you look beautiful in that dress" Marlene looks her up and down. "Sirius is lucky"

Y/n widens her eyes and laughs. "Thanks"

"What the hell. I'll tell your girlfriend, Marls."

"Nothing" Marlene makes a gesture with her hand. "She said that day that we all went to try on the dresses together."

Remus and Y/n laugh.

"Bye Marls, see you soon." Y/n nods. "BY THE WAY, YOU CAN PINCH SIRIUS IF HE DOESN'T BEHAVE OR WANT TO TAKE OFF HIS TIE" Y/n says louder, when Marlene was already close to her friend's boyfriend.

"IT CAN LEAVE!!" Marlene smiles and makes a piece of jewelry with her finger.

"heyy," Sirius protested.

It doesn't take long, the ceremony begins. James enters, then the groomsmen and then the bride.

She was beautiful. The chosen dress fit Lily perfectly, as if it were made especially for her.

The ceremony wasn't that long, but it gave some people time to shed some emotional tears. Which was the case with Y/n and Marlene.

Which made Sirius look at his girlfriend with even more love. He couldn't wait any longer to live this moment with Y/n. It was everything he had ever dreamed of, ever since he asked her to be his girlfriend in his fifth year at Hogwarts. Under a flowering cherry tree in front of the lake.

As soon as the ceremony was over, the bride and groom asked everyone to go directly to the reserved room.

After they had the reception, they opened the dance floor, dancing to a slow and beautiful song to the sound of Abba.

"Look how beautiful" Y/n says, already at the table reserved for all the groomsmen.

Sirius, who had an arm around his girlfriend's waist, looks at her passionately and agrees.

"Yes, it's very beautiful" he says, still looking at her.

"But you know what..." she turns to her boyfriend, still saying quietly. So as not to disturb the moment. "I wouldn't choose to dance to a slow song to open the dance floor"

"No?"

"No! I would choose something more lively"

"y/n!!" Sirius laughs.

"I'm serious... I know it's their wedding. But in mine--OUR" she pauses and looks at Sirius. He smiles from ear to ear. "...I would want to dance some crazy choreography made by us"

"Like those choreographies we did at communal parties?" Sirius smiles.

"That!!"

Sirius laughs.

"I don't know, some song like You're the one that I want..." Y/n says, and then realizes what she said. "AND THAT!!" She says loudly turning to Sirius, making some look at them, especially James and Lily who laugh. But Y/n doesn't even notice. "We can do a choreography for You're the one that I want. What do you think?" She says quietly again and then turns to see Lily and James finish the waltz.

"I would love!!" Sirius says smiling and then kisses Y/n's neck. Leaving a little bite before walking away.

"Aah" she complains, but smiles.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Hours had passed and the party was still going on. Most had already left, but the people from Lily and James' school days were still there and didn't intend to leave anytime soon.

They were enjoying themselves so much that they even got poor Remus drunk.

Y/n, who was sitting with Lily around a table, laughs when she watches James, Sirius and drunk Remus dancing.

"Poor Moony, look what they did to him" Lily comments, holding back a laugh.

Y/n laughs.

"My stomach hurts from laughing so much."

After the song ended and another one started that didn't catch Sirius' attention. He returns from the dance floor and approaches Y/n and Lily.

"What did you do to poor Moony?" Y/n asks and Sirius looks back and laughs seeing Remus.

"We didn't do anything. He went crazy alone"

The two women laugh.

"What a gift"

Sirius smiles and sits next to Y/n.

Y/n didn't notice, but he was a little distressed. He snapped his fingers and banged his finger on the table.

Lily looked at him and whispered quietly to him, while Y/n was talking loudly to James who was on the dance floor with Remus, Frank and Peter.

"Are you well?" Lily asks.

"More or less..." Sirius says and then discreetly opens the blase and shows a small velvet box.

Lily widens her eyes and puts her hand over her mouth discreetly.

"Marriage?" He moves his lips and shows it on his dress, in case he didn't understand.

Sirius shakes his head and smiles.

Lily looks emotional and tries not to express too much. Until Y/n turns around.

She looks at Sirius and smiles without showing her teeth, before taking another sip of her drink.

"I danced so much that I ran out of breath. Do you want to take a walk with me outside?" Sirius asks and looks at Y/n.

She shakes her head and asks for a minute with her finger, to finish drinking the liquid that was in her glass.

"I'm done. Let's go!" she says excitedly and Sirius laughs.

He stands up and extends his hand to Y/n. She takes it and smiles at Lily, who was sitting across from her.

"We'll be right back, Lils. Keep an eye on Moony" she says and Lily laughs.

"Leave it" she smiles and then looks away at Sirius, as Y/n bent down to button her heels again. "Good luck" Lily says excitedly and makes a jewel with her hand.

Sirius just blinks and smiles.

After Y/n put on her shoes, they left the room and went for a walk around the field that was lighting up with cute lights.

Some ceremonialists were still at the ceremony site, arranging and removing some chairs that were still there.

"Did you see how radiant James and Lily are after today?! I'm so happy for them." Y/n says, holding hands with her boyfriend, as they walked to a pergola that was in the center of a lit lake with some flowers scattered around.

"Oh, I didn't know about this place" Y/n says looking at everything, while walking on the bridge that connects to the pergola. "I thought it would be cool for Lily to decorate here, even though we couldn't see it from the hall or the ceremony location" She says, arriving at the place and looking at the water of the lake, which was dark because of account of the night.

"Actually...I asked for the decoration here" Sirius says and then Y/n turns and looks at him.

"Why?" She says suspiciously.

"I came to make a request" he kneels down and removes the black box from his suit and Y/n's eyes widen. "Since the day I laid eyes on you at Hogwarts, I've fantasized about you for a lifetime. And all the moments I've spent by your side, since the day we became friends, hookups and boyfriends, have been the best. And today , when we became engaged, it couldn't be any different. Y/n, you are my point of light in the midst of so much confusion that I went through, you are my support, my heart, my love, my life and my future wife. n Y/s, will you marry me and dance? You're the one that I want at our wedding??" Sirius asks and opens the box revealing a beautiful pair of silver rings.

Y/n laughs at the last sentence and wipes away her tears.

"How can I say no to you?? Of course I accept marrying you, and especially dancing You're the one that I want with you" Y/n laughs with a few tears falling.

Sirius smiles and then puts the ring on Y/n's finger.

"I love you so much, my heart" he stands up and kisses his bride passionately.

"I love you infinitely, my life" Y/n responds and then touches her forehead to his.

"SHE ACCEPTED?" They hear James' muffled voice in the woods.

They look back and can see James, Lily, Peter, Frank, Alice and Marlene who was holding Remus by the shoulder so he wouldn't fall into the lake.

"Yes, she accepted guys!!" Sirius shouts, still hugging Y/n on his side.

"What's going on?? Who accepted who?" They hear Remus' questioning drawl and they all laugh.

"We better go, we have to get our Moony back" Y/n says and Sirius throws his head back laughing.

Author: I always forget to let you know, but I'm always open to requests. Just go to my question box and ask!!!

[fanfictionalraven]

Marry Me

Title: Marry Me

Song Inspiration: Marry Me by Thomas Rhett

Characters: Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel, Jody Mills, Original Characters

Word Count: 2, 258

Warnings: Angst

Author's Note: This story was originally posted by myself under the account Winchestersgirl92. It was published November, 2017.

Dean’s hands tremble as he fumbles to get his tie put on correctly. It was the third time he was attempting to tie it and he was beyond frustrated. It’s not like this was his first time tying the damned thing. He was in his fed suit, the same suit he’d worn dozens if not hundreds of times before, but suddenly it felt too tight. Almost like it was trying to strangle him.

A gentle rapping at his bedroom door pulls him from his claustrophobic thoughts. It opens and Jody’s head, her hand covering her eyes, pops in through the crack.

“Are you about ready? We’re gonna be late,” she tells him. He lets out a nervous laugh.

“I’m decent, Jody. Just can’t get this tie,” he says. Her hand drops from her eyes and she smiles at him as she walks over. Taking the two ends of the tie in her hands, she quickly starts to work on it.

“Can’t tie a tie?” She asks, quirking her eyebrow at him. He shakes his head quickly.

“Course I can. Just –,” he stops, unsure of what explanation to give her. She nods her head slightly as she looks back at her hands.

“Nervous?” She asks. He scoffs a laugh.

“Why would I be nervous?” He asks her. She smiles gently and pats his shoulders once she’s finished with the tie.

“Oh, I don’t know. It’s a big day after all,” she says. Dean nods slightly, a faraway look in his eyes. He blinks and refocuses on Jody’s face.

“Well, let’s go. Can’t be late,” he says.

They go down to the garage together and find Sam and Cas both waiting by the car. The four pile in, Dean driving, naturally, and head out on the road. It’s a short drive from the Bunker to the old farm Y/N’s family had rented for the afternoon. Dean parks amongst the other vehicles. The other three get out of the car as Dean stares at the white balloons and streamers marking the path to where the ceremony would be held.

“You want to get married on a farm?” Dean asks, staring at Y/N. The two are sitting on the trunk of Impala, passing a bottle of whiskey back and forth. Y/N takes the bottle and shrugs before taking a quick drink. She hands it back to Dean and wipes at her mouth.

“It’ll be cheaper. Family friend willing to rent theirs out to us when the time comes,” she says. Dean nods, taking a long drink from the bottle. He sets it down on the trunk behind them and shakes his head.

“I can’t believe you’ve actually planned out your wedding,” he says. Y/N rolls her eyes and Dean can’t help but smile. He loves teasing her, just to get a reaction. “You don’t even have a boyfriend.”

“So? I know I’m gonna get married one day. Might as well be prepared,” she tells him. He laughs now and shakes his head.

“Aren’t you a little girl scout,” he teases. She narrows her eyes at him.

“That’s the boy scouts actually,” she says, pushing off the trunk. Dean jumps down quickly, catching her elbow.

“Hey, hey, hey. Calm down. You know I’m just messing with you,” he says, turning her to face him. She crosses her arms over her chest as Dean’s hands come to rest on her waist. “I, personally, think it’s adorable that you’ve planned out a wedding with an imaginary groom.” She pushes away from him quickly and starts walking down the road. Dean laughs as he watches her. “Where do you think you’re going?” He asks.

“As far away from you as possible,” she calls back to him. He rolls his eyes and leans back against the car, crossing his arms. He glances up at the cloud darkened sky.

“Storm’s moving in,” he says. Her shoulders go up and down.

“I don’t care!!” She shouts to him. She’s several yards away at this point, still marching on.

“Y/N, come on. Don’t make me come get you,” he threatens. She stops dead in her tracks and turns slowly, looking back at him.

“You wouldn’t dare,” she challenges. He can’t help the smirk that spreads across his face. He does love a challenge, especially from her. He slides his leather jacket off and tosses it onto the trunk.

“Last chance,” he calls to her. She crosses her arms, feet planted firmly on the ground. He lets out one short laugh and shakes his head. “You asked for it.”

Thunder claps and lightning streaks across the sky as Dean breaks into a run. Y/N’s eyes widen and she turns on her heels, running away from him. She knows it’s futile. His legs are longer than hers so even if she was a little faster, he could catch her. His arms wrap around her waist just a moment later, knocking her off balance. The two tumble to the ground in a fit of laughter. Y/N lands on her back and lays her arms above her head, trying to catch her breath. Dean quickly moves to hover over her, pinning her hips to the ground.

“Told ya I’d get you,” he says, smiling down at her. She rolls her eyes and pushes at him.

“Get off me,” she says. He catches her hands and pins them to the ground above her head. The look on her face changes in an instant.

In the blink of an eye, Y/N shifts from the little girl he’d always known to the woman he was rarely given the opportunity to see. He’d see her sometimes in a bar when she’d had a little too much and some undeserving guy was hitting on her. He’d see her when they were on a case and a suspect needed some special persuasion to give them the information they needed. He’d see her on the very rare occasion that he’d move in a little too close. Just like now.

Her long eyelashes flutter over her y/e/c eyes that had suddenly grown darker. Her beautiful, pink lips are slightly parted, still trying to catch her breath. Her tongue darts out quickly to wet them and Dean nearly groans. He leans in a little closer and watches her eyes close, waiting. The whiskey on her breath teases him, enticing him to close to distance. His nose bumps against hers and his own eyes close.

Dean jumps at the sharp tapping on the driver side window. He looks over and his brother is standing there, waiting for him. Dean lets out a sigh and gets out of the car now too. Jody and Cas are already making their way to seating area. Sam is watching his brother closely.

“You good?” He asks. Dean looks at him and rolls his eyes.

“Of course, I’m good. Go on. I’m right behind you,” he tells him. Sam nods and turns, following after the others. Dean runs a hand over his face then glances around. Quickly, he pulls a metal flask from his inside jacket pocket. He takes a long drawl from it before returning it its hiding place. “Showtime,” he mumbles to himself.

He makes his way up the balloon marked path and finds where everyone is gathered. There are about 50 chairs set up, divided by an aisle. A simply decorated arch waits at the front, Y/N’s grandfather standing beneath it with a Bible in his hands.

“Dean,” Sam’s voice calls. Dean blinks and looks around. Sam is waving to him from a row of seats about midway on the left. His heart sinks as he makes his way to the chair between Jody and Sam.

For a moment, he’d almost had himself convinced that he had actually kissed her on that stormy afternoon not long ago. He almost believes that he was the one who had taken her out every weekend for six months before finally giving her the ring she’d always wanted. He’d been lost in a fantasy of her in a white dress making her way down the aisle to him. But as he takes his seat, reality washes over him.

He hadn’t kissed her. The rain had come suddenly and drawn him away from her beckoning lips. He hadn’t taken her out. She’d met Derek two days later and Dean knew right away he was already too late. She’d be walking down the aisle in a matter of minutes to Derek, her future husband.

Music begins to play from somewhere nearby and Derek takes his place next to Y/N’s grandfather. Her sister, the maid of honor, comes down the aisle, followed shortly thereafter by the flower girl and ring bearer, Y/N’s niece and nephew. The music changes, the traditional wedding march starting, and everyone stands. Dean forces himself to his feet before looking over his shoulder. The sight he’s met with takes his breath away.

Y/N’s standing at the end of the aisle, her arm looped through her father’s, looking positively glorious, as if she wasn’t already the most beautiful woman Dean had ever seen. Her make-up was light and natural, accentuating her eyes and lips, her best features in Dean’s opinion. A halo of flowers sits a top her head making her look like an angel. Dean’s eyes roam over her body as she walks down the aisle. The dress was simple, a perfect mix of classy and sexy Dean didn’t even know was possible. He shakes his head, forcing away the thoughts of slowly taking it off of her.

Her grandfather tells everyone to be seated once they reach the other end of the aisle. Dean falls into his seat, earning a concerned glance from his brother. Dean stares at the back of the person in front of him as her grandfather begins to speak.

“Who gives this woman today?” He asks in the traditional manner.

“Her mother and I,” her father says before placing a kiss to her cheek. Dean squeezes his eyes closed. And me. He thinks to himself. A hand comes over his quickly. He opens his eyes and finds his hands balled into fists on his thighs. Jody has one of hers over his and squeezes it gently. The ceremony continues and Dean does his best to block it out until one phrase falls on his ears, his head shooting up quickly.

“If anyone has any reason these two should not be married, speak now or forever hold your peace,” Y/N’s grandfather announces, eyes roaming the crowd.

It was a statement made out of tradition, no one ever really expected anyone to object. Dean can feel three sets of eyes on him; Sam, Jody, and Cas all expecting him to speak. Time seems to stop. The thought had surprisingly never crossed his mind. He could stand up right now and tell Y/N exactly how he feels. Tell her that he loves her and wants her to marry him instead of Derek.

Jody’s hand squeezes his again and time resumes. His fist she’s holding opens and clasps her hand tight instead. Vows and rings are exchanged. A kiss that makes Dean’s eyes sting with tears and it’s all over. Everyone stands again and claps as Y/N’s grandfather introduces Mr. and Mrs. Derek Cypress. Dean’s still clinging to Jody’s hand as they stand in line to congratulate the happy couple. As they move closer, she pulls her hand away. Y/N looks over and breaks into a wide smile.

“You made it!!” She exclaims before throwing her arms around Dean. He lets out a laugh and returns the embrace.

“Always underestimating me,” he tells her. They stay that way, neither breaking away from each other, until a hand presses against Dean’s back. “Congrats, Sweetheart,” he whispers, kissing her cheek quickly. She looks up at him as he pulls away from her slowly.

“Are you staying for the reception?” She asks, her eyes pleading. Dean balks at the thought of spending two or three hours watching her with Derek. Sam clears his throat quickly.

“Actually, I just got a text about a case. Seems pretty urgent,” he says. Y/N makes a face but nods as Dean sends a thankful look towards his brother.

“That’s too bad. But I get it. Family business and all,” she says with a wink. Dean nods, avoiding her eyes. “It means a lot that you were all here.”

“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” Jody says, her hand still resting against Dean’s back. She presses on him gently and he takes a step.

“Be careful!!” Y/N says. Dean steals one last look at her before continuing on to the car. Jody’s hand stays on his back as he pulls the flask from his pocket again. He finishes it off then tosses the keys to Sam.

“Where you wanna go?” Sam asks, catching the keys. Dean pulls open the passenger side door for Jody and looks at his brother.

“Anywhere with a lot of liquor,” he tells him. Sam smiles a little sadly and nods before getting into driver’s seat. Dean closes the door for Jody then gets into the back with Cas. He leans his head back against the seat and closes his eyes as his brother pulls away from the farm.

So I'm in my black suit, black tie, hiding out in the back, Doing a strong shot of whiskey straight out the flask, I'll try to make it through without crying so nobody sees, Yeah, she wanna get married, Yeah, she gonna get married, But she ain't gonna marry me.

[no-white-dress]

One cool thing about Eragon and the Inheritance Cycle is that it's all incredibly grounded in the lower class. Sure there's lots of kings and queens and all that, but it's all filtered through the lenses of a farm boy.

I mostly thought of this because I realized there is no Ball Scene TM in the whole saga. Yeah Eragon dances during the ceremony in Ellesmera but he's high af, I don't remember any other scene of him dancing with someone rather than watching other people dance during a party (Orik's wedding I believe).