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mrs-hatake · 2 months

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JJK Men's reaction to You not saying 'I love you' back.

Nanami:

“I’ll be returning home late.” Kento comments as he fixes his tie in front of the mirror. As always, his appearance is impeccable. Blond hair gelled to the side, suit wrinkled free and his brown shoes spotless. It’s no wonder that people still try asking him out despite the wedding band on his finger.

“We’re having a private dinner after work with a potential client.” Kento continues. His explanation sounds just as boring as his expression. Despite coming home exhausted, complaining how much he hates corporate scum, he still has yet to resign. When You’ve brought up this issue, Kento explained that no other job can pay for his pastry addiction.

Once satisfied with his image, Kento steps away from the mirror. His footsteps are soft as he makes his way to where You’re lounging on the dark brown leather couch. “So don’t wait up for me.” he instructs then leans down to kiss Your eager lips.

“Gonna miss you.” Your tone comes out all high pitched and bubbly. A tone that Kento hates but has, begrudgingly, grown to love.

“Missing you already.” Kento mumbles against Your lips that chased after his. “Love you.” he whispers softly, barely succeeding in pulling away.

He’s at the genkan, pulling on his black coat, when the silence reaches his ears. “I love you.” Kento repeats, louder.

When he is still met with silence, Kento clears his throat, “Is there something you want to tell me?”

Your blank face expression immediately cracks and giggles bubbles out and bursts through your lips, “I’m so-sorry!” You laugh, not able to take Kento’s bewildered face seriously, “It’s a…a prank!”

A soft sound, almost resembling a chuckle. Kento shakes his head. It doesn’t show but relief seeps through his bones.

“I love you.” Kento says one more time, not caring that he’s running a little late for work.

“I love you too!” With Your wide smile and cute smile, Kento heads to work with light steps.

Gojo:

“Do you really have to go?” You whine adorably at your boyfriend who is sitting at the genkan, tying his shoes.

Satoru jumps once he’s done with his shoes, his hoodie lined with fur bouncing in the process. His arms instantly wrap around You, smothering Your face into his wooly jacket, cutting off all of Your oxygen.

“I know, baby.” Satoru whines back, his soft cheek nuzzling Your hair, “But it’s parents-teacher night and I can’t bail.”

You scoff at his explanation. Of all the nights the school has to pick a parents-teacher conference, it has to be on Your night off.

“You owe me.” You pout, lips trembling dramatically, up at your boyfriend once You’ve pulled back.

Satoru steals Your lips into a searing kiss, “I know.” He mumbles between each kiss, “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

Having had his fill, Satoru pulls back and goes to Your apartment door. Slender hand on the gold doorknob, he turns to face You with a blinding smile, “Love you!”

If there were crickets, they’d be chirping very loudly.

Satoru lowers his dark shades, “I said, I love you.”

Taking in Your crossed arms and still pouty lips, Satoru scoffs. He marches his way over to You and picks You up in a twirl. His laugh accompanies Your screech before setting You down.

“Love you?” The statement comes as a question now, not knowing if You’re still mad at him.

Seeing how serious Satoru is, a breathless chuckle escapes Your lips, “Relax, it was a prank I saw on Tiktok. Thought I’d try it on you.”

“Oh-ho,” Satoru’s white eyebrows lifted all the way up, meeting his hairline, “I'm definitely getting back at You for this.” He says through a shit eating grin.

Rolling Your eyes, You kiss him one last time, “I love you too.”

Geto:

“You promised you’d take me out on a date!” You accuse Your boyfriend as You blocked the apartment door with Your body.

Guilt and expiation spreads across Suguru’s handsome face, “I’m sorry, love.” His purple eyes meet Yours as he explains, “The hospital called, they’re short staffed.”

Geto Suguru is a pediatric intern, working at the local hospital just a few blocks away from his apartment. Though his job is taxing, demanding him of his labor and robbing him of his youth and hours, Suguru always made sure to save his free time and what little energy he has left towards You. Which explains why Suguru sounded so regrettable – and slightly fearful – when he canceled the date the both of you have been planning for the past month.

“They promised to give me tomorrow off. We’ll go out for lunch and drop by one of Your favorite bookstores, how about that?”

Unable to look at the guilt eating up Suguru, You drop Your stance and step away from the door.

Relieved by Your act of mercy, Suguru engulfs You in a big, bear hug. The one he knows will earn him forgiveness for whenever he fucks up.

“I love you.” Suguru mutters. Strands of Your hair tickling his lips as he kisses the top of Your head.

“Y/N?” Suguru pulls back, his head tilting to the side, “Are you still mad?”

“Ugh,” You roll Your eyes, “You’re too cute to pull any pranks on.” You say while cupping his soft cheek and pecking his lips twice.

“I love you too.” You caress his cheek as You continue to say, “And I’m not mad. Just a trend for couples I saw on social media.”

“Oh.” Suguru flushes in embarrassment but the mirth twinkling in his eyes tells You he isn’t really upset at the prank. “I love you more!”

His arms tightens around You one last time before leaving for his twelve hour shift at the hospital.

Toji:

“I love you.”

Static silence fills his ear. Toji pulls the phone away from his ear to make sure that the line is still connected. When he sees Your name, he brings it back and repeats, “I love you.” This time louder and clearer, just in case there’s something wrong with the signal.

Still not hearing Your voice, Toji sighs heavily. His thick fingers rub the space between his eyes, “What’s wrong now?” He asks, his hand returning to the steering wheel. The street light is red and traffic is heavy. He is not in the mood for whatever fit You’re having.

“Nothing.” Comes Your response, voice small, sounding like an upset child. Toji closes his eyes. He can feel a headache coming on, both from the traffic and from Your attitude. Guess he isn’t getting any tonight. Great. Now he has to find another way to blow off steam.

“Fine. Don’t say anything.” Toji is not up for games. Working as a firefighter is no joke. Returning home every night covered in ash, skin glistening with sweat and muscles tense, it’s no wonder he’s always exhausted by the time dinner is on the table.

Just as he’s about to jab his large thumb on the glaring red button, “Wait, stop!” he stops.

Toji waits patiently. As patiently as a ticking time bomb.

“It was a prank,” he hears You mumble. “Someone on Tiktok said don’t say ‘I love you’ back to your partner to see how they’d react.”

Toji grunts. His eyes rolling so hard his irises disappear for a second, “And you thought it would be funny?”

“I’m sorry.”

The light turns green, he steps on the gas, “Fucking brat.”

A heartbeat later and Toji hears, “I love you.”

As if someone has doused his ire with cold water, his anger and impatience is washed out of his system.

“I love you too.” He sighs into the phone, glad that the cars are finally moving smoothly. If luck is on his side, he’d probably be home in less than five minutes. “Don’t think You won’t be punished.”

“Eep!”

Is the last thing Toji hears before the line is dead.

#don't ask me why geto's so ooc cause idk either #nanami x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #toji x reader #nanami x you #gojo x you #geto x you #toji x you #nanami x y/n #gojo x y/n #geto x y/n #toji x y/n #jjk reactions

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writingsofwesteros · 5 months

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Dancing in Victory-

"Daddy?" She called him softly, as Aegon sat in his study reading from a stack of reports, a cup of wine on his desk.

"Princess," Aegon softened, despite the tension, her father always showed her love, she was his baby, after all. She came over, and kissed his cheek, and Aegon gestured for her to come closer, and she sat on his lap. "Mother and I are picking out the fabrics for my wedding gown...won't you come?" She asked, and watched his face settled into a grim expression. "You know kingly duties give me little respite, little one, I-" "Are you angry at me?" She cut him off nervously. "Angry? Not at you, sweetling, never you- you know Daddy can never get mad at you." Aegon reassured her, kissing her temple. "You're my little shining light in this world, my perfect girl." She sighed, and leaned into his embrace. For all Aegon's vices, he treasured her more than anything. "Are you...are you still angry at Uncle Aemond?"

Aegon sighed. "Little one-" "Daddy, please," She pleaded. "How long will you both continue to be like this? On my wedding day, will you hand me over to him, and not even look at him, Daddy?" She saw him rub his temples and sigh. "I gave my blessing," Aegon began, "Because you said that you wanted this. You wanted to marry him." "I do, Daddy." "But your Uncle still betrayed me. He still went behind my back, he took risks, risks with your reputation, your future-" Aegon brushed her hair from her face. "And he knows that you are my angel, keeper of my heart." She remained silent. "Your Uncle is a dutiful brother. A skilled warrior, a fierce dragonrider- gods know he was the one many thought was more well suited for the crown than I," Aegon said. "But he has his shortcomings, as I do. Neither of us are the great men you think us to be." "Daddy-" "I was dragged from a gambling den, the day you were born. Your grandmother brought me in to see your mother- she looked like she'd walked through the seven hells, but- she was smiling. You were in her arms- a pink, tiny little thing. I was afraid to hold you, you looked so delicate, but your grandmother insisted." Aegon cupped her cheek, showing a rare vulnerability to her. "When I held you, you opened your eyes and looked at me. Always a curious thing, even now. I thought to myself, surely, I had no hand in making something this...beautiful. Perfect. You looked at me, and I'd never felt more inclined to be worth something before. You, my baby girl- you are the one good thing that has come of me." Aegon sighed, kissing her forehead.

She knew, that her father would forgive Aemond, in his own time.

LOVE THAT SO MUCH !!!!!!!!!! Aegon being a girl dad thank you!!

#dancing in victory

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mommieswithmuscles · 5 months

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Photographer!Abby x Scrapbooker!Reader

Free Palestine, don't support Neil

No minors and No men

CW: fluff, angst, no smut but it has a suggestive scene, insecure!reader, mention of suicidal tendencies

Based on this song:

Title: No Flash Photography

You're at the dinner table, going through photos Abby had printed out. She reprinted everything so you could have a copy to put in the ever growing scrapbook you have yet to properly bind.

Each bin she gave you had a title so you could organize better. Nature, gatherings, events, us, and polaroids. You start with the one called nature.

You trim the edges with scissors before securing them in the special photo paper with bug stickers. The dual page is a collage of your trip to a national park. It's mostly shrubbery, plants, trees, and water, but there are some animals and insects sprinkled in.

You turn the page and make another collage out of the open space, both sides decorated with a yarn trim. Gatherings weren't really your thing, but Abby liked them, and you obviously like Abby, so you go to each one. You admire how she always brings her big camera.

The next collage is your brother's wedding. Him and his partner are dressed accordingly. You wore basic attire, Abby wore a plain suit. "When are you both getting married?" He had asked after Abby's camera shot the photo.

"Eventually," Abby answered for you both. You nodded in agreement. You knew you underdressed to match the other guests, but you couldn't help but feel you're taking away from the newlyweds. Abby caught onto your dismissive behavior and took you home early.

Shaking your head to clear out the memory, you continue to dig through the bin and retrieve more pictures. A few birthday parties, a couple engagement parties, some random game nights. You secure them with glitter glue, putting more of the colorful yarn around the trims like LEDs.

Pictures of you always have to have Abby. Otherwise you want nothing to do with them and tend to throw them away. Abby's trying to help you with your insecurity, but for some reason you can't work past it. You sigh, pulling out ones you convince yourself you like. Mostly dates, but a few random ones from trips catch your attention, so you add them. The pictures are secured with affirmation stickers that Abby bought you a few months back, when you first started scrapbooking.

The bin you were most nervous for was polaroids. You know they're mostly you, and you know they make Abby happy, but... you get upset every time you look at pictures of yourself.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Abby sits next to you, done with her work for the week. She came out of her office as soon as she was able to. Her hand cups your cheek, thumb ready to swipe away the unshed tears.

"I can't do it. I fucking- I can't, Abby. It's too hard." You kick the bin.

"Why don't I help you?" She presses her lips to your forehead. "We can start with holidays. Would that work?"

"Do it yourself," you bite.

"Don't start that. I know you're upset. I know these make you upset-"

"So why do you make me look at them? I told you that you could keep them, and now-" you gesture to the bin. "We don't need to share everything, especially not these."

"I make you look at them because I'm trying to show you what I see." She's patient. Too patient. Maybe if she could ever be mad at you, or fight with you instead of talk things out, maybe it would hurt less.

The thoughts start to spiral before you can stop them. All of the self worth and self esteem you had built towards crumbling in seconds. And there's Abby, taking care of you because you can't handle something as stupid as putting pictures in a book. Maybe you were better off-

"Eyes on me baby," her voice is gentle. Her hands guide you to face her, thumbs taking away the tears trailing down your cheeks. "That's my girl," she whispers. "You're so kind, and beautiful, and I love you more than anything. I'm glad you came into my life because you're the compass to my map. I wouldn't have it any other way. I've never been more happy than when I've been with you. I married you because you're my person. You're the moon to my stars, the sun for my flowers, and every breath I take with you fills my lungs with fresh air. I know you're in a darker place. And that's ok. We can work you through it step by step." She pulls you into her lap, rubbing your back as you bury yourself in her neck. You can smell your perfume on her. "You're safe, you're loved, you're home." Abby kisses your temple.

After you calm down, Abby lets you go. "Thank you," you sniffle, getting up to grab some tissues.

"Anything for you, my love." You get back to see Abby gluing small, flat, silver tack backs on the polaroids to secure them on the page. It looks like a cork board. Some of the photos are strung on yarn, some singles floating about, and one standing out the most. It's one of you genuinely smiling, tugging Abby along as you make your way to your destination.

"Come on, it's this way!" You had said, nearly dragging Abby through the mud. She's laughing behind you, scooping you up and kissing you once you got to the surprise spot at the creek. She kept her hands under your thighs when your legs wrapped around her waist.

"This view is almost as stunning as you are," Abby said as she put you down.

"Oh hush," you pushed her away lightly. "Ass-kisser."

"No, no, you don't know," she shook her head, voice mocking. She laid with you in the short grass, dirt dry under your backs. You initiated the contact, but she kissed you first, hands traveled along your body until you were gasping for air and begging for her.

"Baby? Where'd you go just now?" Abby's fingers tickle at your jaw as she cups your face.

"Here," you point at the picture you got lost in.

"I'm going to start dinner. Today seems like it was hard for you, and you could use some time away from the pictures for now. You- or we- can start back up soon, ok?"

"Ok," you agree easily. She's right. It's better to take a break, than let something be ruined.

#Spotify #no men allowed #no minors allowed #abby anderson #abby the last of us #abby tlou #abby tlou2 #abby the last of us 2 #abby x reader #fluff #angst #from the river to the sea palestine will be free

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lemonlyman-dotcom · 10 months

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October September August July June

Tío T.K. by @chicgeekgirl89

M | 6k

Another banger from writeallnight, y’all! I was so excited for this fic and it did not disappoint. This whole story is so soft and sweet, I love every single thing about it! Love this little glimpse of TK being competent and taking care of his loved ones, and Carlos’s family getting to see how well he takes care of his people. It’s so beautifully evident how much TK already means to Carlos’s family and how much they mean to TK.

Think It Over, Think It Under by @liminalmemories21

T | 13k

Six conversations TK has with one of Carlos’s sisters and one Carlos has with both of them. This was such a sweet look into Carlos’s complicated relationship with his family, and how his perceptions of his coming out are probably a lot different from his family’s. Also a really lovely outsider point of view into the Tarlos relationship, and watching Ana and Luisa grow to know and love TK not just for the adorable sweet person he is, but for how fiercely he loves and protects their Carlitos in a way that they have maybe neglected to.

Love From the Other Side by @lightningboltreader

E | 32k

Char, oh my gosh how I love this one!! Exes to lovers with only one bed!?!!? Misunderstandings! MEN CRYING!! This one’s got it all, folks. It’s a fun, funny yet angsty take on all of these tropes. Love the exploration of TK’s thought process leading up to and right after the break up, the insecurities he feels about not being good enough for anyone to stick around. And poor Carlos is just confused and mad and hot and sweaty about it. You know?

The lovely April by @ladytessa74

G | 10k

You already know I love Tessa’s Elijah universe! This one is a very soft little story about Carlos learning he needs to take care of himself in order to take care of the people he loves most. Carlos has let his fitness slip a bit in fatherhood, and his own father’s health concerns begin to creep up on him. Will he get it together so he can be the partner TK needs and the father little Elijah adores to run around with?

my beatin' heart belongs to you by bartsy

M | 9k

Really lovely look at Carlos’s anxiety after the loss of his father, and TK’s struggle to support him through it. TK is hurt at work a few months after the wedding. Carlos must come to terms with the fact that his anxieties are affecting TK and his other loved ones, and accept the fact that sometimes he needs to allow others to take care of him.

in the woods somewhere by @mooshkat

NR | 4k

This is a very sweet fic with a concept that I’ve never seen before, certainly not in this fandom. TK and Carlos are shapeshifters. TK is a playful fox who is drawn a handsome man who lives in a cabin in the woods. When TK gets caught in a trap he’s rescued by a beautiful wolf. What happens next?

Something Blue by @orchidscript

T | 10k

So cute and sweet and funny. Carlos goes to a tailor for a suit, but does he end up finding his soulmate instead? Carlos goes from wallflower, wanting to blend in at a family wedding to agreeing to wear a beautiful suit with an even more beautiful man on his arm. TK bringing Carlos color and confidence in every universe? Sign me up!

-WIPs-

Where All This Love Comes From by @carlos-in-glasses

E | 17k

Listen. Cig does not miss. Just call her DJ Khaled, because we got another one! It is banger after banger from her and, I swear, they just keep getting better. In this one, after making an alarming discovery TK attempts to have a conversation with Carlos about some concerns and opens up about his rough history with substance abuse, reflecting on a cold turkey detox, his parents’ complicated history with being there to support him and why meeting Carlos after all that trauma was hard for him to grapple with at first. Carlos reflects on his own complex relationship with his dad while attempting to find his killer.

His Royal Highness by @itsrandomnobody7

T | 7.6k

I’m really enjoying this Ever After-esque Tarlos AU! Carlos is a prince and TK is a commoner, they were childhood friends torn apart when evil Lord Billy Tyson (😝) discovered their friendship and put an end to it. Now as young adults TK is caught stealing food for his family and is sentenced to be a servant in the royal household. What will happen??

a chain reaction of countermoves by @strandnreyes

E | 23k

What a fun mystery! Set in canon, a few weeks after the fire that took the townhouse, the 126 gang takes a getaway trip to a lakeside cabin resort in hill country. Shortly after arrival Carlos notices something is off about the place. Is it his recent trauma that’s making him paranoid or is there really something sinister going on? LET’S FIND OUT! The tension is heightened by the looming breakup, and I’m loving all the winks to future canon that Jen’s weaving in to the story.

in uncertain terms by @iinryer

G | 37k

One of my favorite fics of all time updated for the first time in a year. Cue me losing my mind a little bit. I cannot tell you how much I love this fic. It’s a glorious exploration of Marjan as a character, her perception of herself and (my favorite part) her friendship with TK. Give me ALL the Marjan TK besties fics. I live for it. This is set in canon shortly after Salim breaks off their engagement. Marjan is injured at work and has a lot of down time to do some self exploration. This author really, really gets Marjan and gives us god-level characterizations all around but especially Marjan, TK & Nancy.

As always, this is not in any way a comprehensive list of all the good stuff that came out in Novrmber. This is the stuff that I was able to read and vibed with. This is a way for me to hype the stories that got me excited this month, and I encourage everybody to be intentional in reblogging fics and screaming about the stuff you’re reading and enjoying all month long. Let’s work to build this fandom into a more inclusive and encouraging place to create!

#tarlos fanfic #tarlos #tarlos fic #tk strand x carlos reyes #911 lone star #November fic recs #lemon’s monthly fic recs #FIC REC

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highqueenofelfhame · 1 year

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rowaelin // 5.8k words // masterlist // ciwyw masterlist let me know if you want to be tagged in my writing :) i hope you enjoy <3 i can't wait to see all your comments. y'all are kILLING me with them on this one.

As much as he knew he shouldn’t be, Rowan was drunk. Again.

Tomorrow they had a match against Adarlan on Doranelle’s home field. While Rowan laid on his back, staring at the ceiling fan above him with a full half-empty bottle of whiskey resting on his stomach, he knew they were going to lose. Not because Adarlan was better or because they wanted it more, but because Rowan was a selfish piece of shit and couldn’t put the bottle down. There was no way he would be in any condition to play tomorrow— at least not well.

Burying his sorrows at the bottom of the bottle seemed like the better alternative until he could figure out how to repair what he had catastrophically obliterated. It had been a full week with no word from Aelin. Not a single one of those days had passed without him sending an apology text into the void. There had even been a few voicemails Wednesday night that went unanswered. He wouldn’t be surprised if she was erasing them without bothering to listen. He deserved that much.

Rowan Whitethorn had never had social media. Ever. Not even in high school when it was just becoming a cool thing to do. Nobody needed to know that much about his life. At this point in his career, his agent and PR team begged him to do it because it would garner him more popularity. Even Lorcan posted on instagram from time to time and kept everyone happy.

The thing that finally drove Rowan to making an instagram account was stalking Aelin Ashryver Galathynius. It was easier for his thumbs to scroll through her feed while nursing sips of whiskey, trying not to double tap on any pictures. He was pathetic enough— Aelin didn’t need to be aware of his sulking and pining.

This all came after he googled her name paired with various words like ‘spouse,’ ‘husband,’ ‘wife,’ and ‘wedding.’ Nothing came back with a result, but it had been lurking in his mind when she didn’t answer his question earlier. Besides, Rhoe Galathynius very well could have been her father-in-law. As it were, she wasn’t married, and Evalin and Rhoe only had one child: their daughter. At least if she was married, there was no record of it. No photos of her in an elegant white gown standing next to the love of her life.

Good. He could deal with that.

What he couldn’t deal with was the photos of her in bikinis, arms wrapped around the waists of other men. She was nestled between the pair on the deck of a yacht all three of them with wide smiles and sunglasses covering their eyes. Her bathing suit looked more like lingerie and Rowan had never wished so hard for summer to come back around than he was right then.

There were pictures of her with a stunning brunette woman, both of them dressed in finery or night-out attire depending on where they were headed. Aelin with a full face of makeup, with sultry dark eyes and a full pouty lip was enough to drive him into madness.

He found photographs from holidays with her family, Aelin perched on a couch in comfy clothes and thick socks with Aedion Ashryver standing behind her. Further down her page he found the ones from years ago of her on Aedion’s shoulders after he won some match or another. It was captions Always my hero.

Lower and lower he went until he finally hit her first post: a simple kingsflame flower from nine years ago with the caption Fireheart. He supposed that was where she garnered the name for her foundation. Gods above, she was incredible. A super-hero amongst ordinary women.

Rowan scrolled back towards the top of her instagram, all the way back to the most recent one. It was from their day downtown, when they had bought a piece of chocolate hazelnut cake and sat outside the bakery. Aelin was laughing around her thumb that she held between her teeth. At that moment, he had been teasing her about getting the frosting everywhere. Behind the camera he was smiling just as brilliantly as she was. The light in her eyes, her smile, the utter joy that radiated off of her… It was enough to make him breathless all over again.

“Fuck,” he murmured to himself, heart squeezing and soul dying at how absurdly beautiful she was. It didn’t seem fair. Everything about her was perfect. Not just outside, but inside, too. Aelin Galathynius was the most selfless and loving person he had ever met. Inside and out, she shone with the light of a thousand suns. It made it impossible to look away and broke his heart that he had driven her away so sharply.

“M’such a bloody dobber,” he mumbled, zooming in on her face as close as it would get, until she was little more than a monochromatic cluster of pixels, none of her features distinguishable.

The phone fumbled where he held it over his face, falling directly onto it. Rowan swore, the taste of metal blooming over his tongue where his tooth had cut through his lip. Worse than that, though, was when he noticed the giant heart that appeared in the center of the picture he’d been staring at.

Rowan had accidentally liked it. Just as quickly, he unliked it and tossed his phone to the other end of the couch. Jail. He needed to be in phone jail.

It had over ten thousand likes and three hundred comments. There was a chance she would never notice the notification appearing and disappearing. She might never notice. It didn’t stop the ice creeping into his veins, though. The idea that she would realize how utterly pathetic he was, as if all the texts weren’t indication enough.

Rowan swore violently under his breath and grabbed his phone again. With bleary, bloodshot eyes he opened their text thread to send off another message. Just as his fingers started their drunken dance over the letters once again, his phone began to ring loudly. The vibration shook him to his core as he beheld the name flashing on his screen, a photo of the two of them laying on her couch flashing in front of him. The sight of it knocked the wind out of him.

Aelin.

Fuck. Shit. Mala fucking fry him.

“Hello?” he said, breathless like he’d been running a marathon.

“Hi.” Aelin’s voice was quiet. Rowan could imagine her sitting in the middle of her couch, a tv show paused.

“I am so sorry, baby,” he began, letters and syllables stringing together with no space between. “I need to explain, to—”

“Did you just like that picture on my instagram?”

“I…” it was long and drawn out as he squinted at the ceiling, trying to find a way out of it. There wasn’t one. Heat crept up his neck and bloomed over his cheeks like rose petals. “Ye-yeah. That was me.”

“Are you drunk?” was her follow up question. On the other end of the phone it sounded like she was rolling over in bed. Gods, he would love to be wrapped up in bed with her. The expanse of her golden skin under his hands wasn’t beat out by anything, not even football.

“No,” was his quick response.

“You sound drunk.” It was impossible to tell what, exactly, her emotions were. Rowan swallowed thickly, setting the bottle on the coffee table and nudging it out of reach.

“I sound like a pathetic bastard that ruined something perfect.”

“You’re definitely drunk.” If Rowan wasn’t positive that she hated him, he might mistake her tone as amusement.

“I miss you. And I’m sorry,” he paused to hiccup, “And I want you to tell me what to do to fix what I’ve broken.” A heavy, resigned sigh came through the phone and Rowan froze.

“Start with sobering up–” Fuck. She was going to hang up, and he had blown his only chance at making things right. Shit.

“Don’t hang up,” Rowan pleaded, lip tucking between his bottom teeth while he waited for her to respond.

“Get some sleep and win your game tomorrow. After that… maybe we can talk.” If that was what it took, then yes. A thousand times yes he would do both of those things. Anything to get her to talk to him, anything so he could hold her, feel her lips on his skin, taste her and feel her beneath him.

“Do you promise?” A schoolyard thing to say, but he couldn’t help it. The gift of hearing her voice again after an entire week of deafening silence was the most beautiful thing he could ever imagine hearing. If he could, he’d bottle it up and get drunk off it. It was better than any alcohol, any drug.

“I promise,” she replied, and Rowan swore he heard a hint of laughter weaving between each letter of those two, simple words. That couldn’t be right, though. Aelin was mad at him. They wouldn’t be laughing together anytime soon.

“Okay.” It felt stupid to say, but it was the only word he could find.

“Okay.” Aelin’s voice was still soft and told him nothing of the status of his forgiveness, or if he needed to beg on his knees and worship her as penance. He would never, ever stop if that was what she required. “Goodnight, Rowan.”

The line went dead before he could say anything else and a new zap of determination electrified his blood. If she wanted a win, she would get it. But he had to get sober first.

With a pained groan, he pulled himself upright. A few deep breaths later the room wasn’t spinning quite so quickly and he was able to stumble to the kitchen. The smell of coffee made his nose wrinkle when he opened the bag. It quickly filled the space of the kitchen as he dumped the beans into the grinder, wincing at the shriek it made. Coffee and bread would help sober him up, and then he would focus on fluid intake to not be a useless sack of meat on the field tomorrow.

He leaned against his counter, ignoring incoming messages from his teammates checking on him, and shoved half a piece of bread into his mouth. A cold shower would wake him up, and tons of water and painkillers before bed would help the hangover tomorrow.

Anything Aelin wanted, he would give her. Starting tomorrow night by defeating the Adarlan Wyverns and handing it to her on a silver platter.

When he finally drifted off to sleep, his phone screen was still illuminated in his palm: that final photo he’d taken of her at the bakery wearing a smile just for him.

~*~

As soon as she took one step into the Neon Moon, she found Connall looking over at her with a healthy dose of surprise in his eyes. Aelin moved through the crowd that had gathered to watch the game, managing to snag a single barstool in front of the beer tap.

“Water, please,” she half-shouted over the loud voices filling the room. As soon as it was in her hands she took a long drink before placing it down on a napkin in front of her. “Hi.”

“Hi yourself.” A crooked grin spread across his face and he leaned forward on his forearms. “Watching the game?”

“Against my better judgment,” she sighed, ruffling her fingers through her hair. Now that she knew that he played for Doranelle, she just couldn’t miss it. Had she known from the get-go, there wouldn’t have been a single game that she missed. Even if it meant she’d be catching up on work during the short commercial breaks. “How much do you know?”

“Oh just… everything.”

Aelin groaned and looked up at the ceiling. She wasn’t upset that he’d told his friends, his support system. Rowan needed that, just like she did. Though she had yet to tell her family, she was going to do it soon. Maybe tomorrow or the day after. Some of the dust had to settle with Rowan first.

Though she was content to let him stew for a few more days, the single like she’d gotten from an account called actuallywhitethorn made her pick up the phone. A result of her doom-scrolling before bed, the notification had dropped from the top of her screen. By the time she clicked her notification icon, that particular like from that specific account was gone. It was like fate, she decided, for her to have seen it in its brevity. If he was miserable and pining enough to accidentally like an instagram picture, it wouldn’t hurt to call him. So she did.

At first, she didn’t know what to say, but as he talked it became more and more clear that he was very drunk. All his words had melded into one long syllable, and the fact that he was likely drinking away his feelings and problems had tugged at her heart. He really was adorable when he was drunk, calling her baby and trying his hardest to apologize, begging her not to hang up the phone. As much as she really did want to talk to him, it wasn’t a conversation to have while he was only half-aware. The apology she deserved needed to come from his sober lips, not drunk, loose ones.

After they hung up, Aelin had decided she would go to the bar to watch the game. It didn’t seem like a feat she could conquer at home alone on her couch. Even with Lysandra a phone call away, it felt too big to do on her own. The bar made sense.

“Congratulations?” Connall offered, and it was the first time she’d really picked up on any shyness or hesitancy from the man.

“Thank you.” It was still so new, so foreign. The racing of her thoughts hadn’t died down about it yet, her emotions didn’t have a full grasp on the situation. “How is he?”

“I think you already know the answer to that.” Kind of. If his texts were any inclination to his mental state, he was having a rough go of things at the moment. “Feels like a piece of shite.”

“Yeah, well.” That was a little deserved after what he’d said to her. Connall didn’t seem to disagree, merely shrugging as he followed her eyes to the television.

The game had been on for fifteen minutes, and Doranelle had scored one point. Adarlan had nothing. It was a bit of a feat to score so early on in the game, showing just how skilled Rowan and his teammates were. A camera zoomed in on the players, a towering, dark-haired man with a glove tucked under his arm, using the bottom of his shirt to wipe his face. Aelin’s eyes widened and her head whipped toward Connall when the spitting image of him appeared on the screen. The only difference was the color of the curls: Connall’s were black, his brother’s golden.

“You have a twin?” By way of answer, Connall merely winked and nodded back at the TV where Rowan had come into view. His uniform for home games was navy blue with white letters. Hands braced on his hips, he joined his teammates where they talked. It was only when he turned around that she saw how horrible he looked.

Though his skin was golden brown as ever, his face was ashen. Dark circles clung beneath his eyes and his bottom lip was swollen and scabbed over. The sweat gathering at his temples didn’t do anything at all to make him look well, if anything he just looked sicker.

“Whitethorn looks a bit… peaky,” Connall said cautiously, the corners of his lips tugging downward into a scowl.

“As drunk as he was when I called him last night, that makes perfect sense.” She was frowning, too. The most put together part of him was his hair, the single french braid down the center until it all met in a mess of a bun on the top of his head.

As soon as the whistle blew, he inhaled and exhaled a deep breath. That was when the cameras zoomed back out to take in the entire field, all the players getting into position. Aelin watched closely, one eye on the ball and the other always aware of where Rowan was in the frame.

For a while, it was a lot of passing back and forth, working up and down the field, the ball getting stolen one way or the other. Once, Adarlan got close to scoring but the goalie for Doranelle was quick to block it and pass it back down the field. Another of Rowan’s teammates was quick to get it back toward the Adarlan goal. It was passed back and forth between a few as they worked further and further down the pitch until a pass from Connall’s twin had the ball being juggled between Rowan’s feet.

Watching Rowan play brought back the old feelings she felt watching Aedion. Her competitive temper rose in her chest as he sprinted downfield with the ball between his feet. Somehow, he never tripped or stumbled. When he passed it off to a dark-haired man, Vaughan, Connall told her, it was with tricky footwork that he made look easy. Seconds later and a single pass back toward him, Rowan lunged from behind a crimson jersey. By some grace of the gods he managed to land the perfect kick that arched beautifully through the air. Adarlan’s goalie missed it by a fingertip.

The bar became deafening– some of them rooting for Doranelle, others wanting them to lose for the sake of Varese’s team. On the TV, Rowan’s teammates pulled him off the ground and jostled him amongst them, Connall’s golden-haired brother smacking a kiss to Rowan’s sweaty forehead.

If Aelin didn’t know any better, she would say his teammates were being a little more gentle with him than they might be otherwise. Rowan’s jaw remained clenched tightly, that muscle feathering as he nodded to the only person on the team that was taller than him where he stood down the field.

“Who is their goalie?”

“Lorcan Salvaterre. Team captain and one of Rowan’s closest friends. My twin’s name is Fenrys.” Aelin nodded and rested her chin on her hands as the next play started, polished blue nails digging into her palms. She knew of most of these names from Aedion’s soccer days and the afternoons at her parents house where her father prattled on about different team rosters.

The minutes ticked by, Rowan fiercely focused on the game. That look of sheer determination never left his eyes, even in the brief moments of reprieve he had to gather his wits. Whenever he could, Connall hovered near her for the moral support she’d come in search of. It meant more to her than she could ever put into words. Being in a new city, far away from her support system, with no one else to lean on? It was really nice to know he was there. Even if they barely knew each other.

When Adarlan scored, Aelin had over half the pub groaned. The Doranelle players looked beyond pissed. Rowan and Lorcan shared matching expressions, both of their jaws grinding as they shook their heads before getting back into position.

It led them into more volleying back and forth, the ball little more than a blur between feet. And then it was back in Rowan’s possession. It was like the wind sang for him, pushing him faster as he bolted down the field. Almost as soon as he made his goal, the one that would get them a point ahead though, a whistle blew and a yellow-checkered flag was waving.

“Shit,” she murmured, closely eyeing the playback. It was a fair call, he had been offside. When the camera showed Rowan again though, he was pointed at the goal, mouth wrapping around words that looked a lot like fucking bullshit. The words weren’t more than a whisper as she said, “Rowan, you stupid idiot.”

Connall chuckled, despite the dire situation at hand. She knew he was only laughing at her, not his friend’s situation. Still, she wadded up a napkin and threw it at his head. It nailed him in the temple.

“It’s not funny,” she hissed, nibbling on the end of her straw, a sick feeling roiling in her gut.

The referee pulled a yellow card brandishing it in front of his face. A spark of anger flickered behind his eyes, mouth opening to spew something else when Fenrys grabbed him by the shoulders and made him turn away. Aelin exhaled a tight breath as Rowan shook his head on screen. Fenrys said something in Rowan’s ear and he nodded, lips thin in a stiff line.. It was enough to make him nod and hustle to his spot on the field, shaking his arms out when he came to a stop.

Beneath the bar, Aelin’s legs were bouncing. Butterflies flitted their way through her insides enough that she braced her hands against her stomach as though it would calm them. It was impossible to look away as Adarlan took their free kick from the offside, launching the ball halfway down the field and into another frustrating back and forth between the two teams.

This was always the part of the sport that Aelin hated. No, perhaps hated was too strong of a word. The build up always made her feel nauseous, waiting for one team to make one quick move to kick everyone into high gear to avoid a goal or make one. Being pregnant, it was worse. It felt as though her stomach was in the back of her throat.

Just before the end of the second half, disaster struck. Aelin saw it coming. She was pretty sure everyone watching at home or in the stands did, too. Connall swore filthily as Rowan ran for the ball and dove feet first to knock it away from Adarlan. Except in the process, his cleats clashed into the other player’s feet and they both went down in a heap on the field.

“What the fuck did you say to him?” Connall asked over his shoulder, never taking his eyes off the screen as a ref jogged across the pitch.

“I told him to win and maybe we would talk! I didn’t tell him to–” A yellow card appeared in the ref’s hand, followed by a red one and Aelin lost all of her words. Both were for Rowan.

“I think he took that a little too do or die.” And so it seemed he had.

Distantly, she heard the announcer saying it was the first time he’d ever been red carded in his entire career. The patron’s of the bar murmured amongst themselves, many of them asking what the hell was wrong with Whitethorn tonight.

The cameras zoomed in to where he walked off the field, sweat trickling down his face. Their coach followed him to the end of the field, the words he muttered only for Rowan to hear. Though he looked ready to hit anyone that was close enough, Rowan simply nodded. Fenrys caught his arm just before he walked off, mouth moving too quickly for Aelin to decipher.

The last clear shot of him was walking into the tunnel and off the pitch, body rigid and muscles rippling while he pulled his jersey off his body.

“I… I need to go,” Aelin said to Connall, who only nodded in response. She threw a few bills on the counter as a thank you and pushed her way out of the pub, walking as fast as her feet would carry her to her rental car down the street.

~*~

Even though his team had another win under their belt by the time the game was over, it had been a fucking disaster. Rowan watched the second half on his phone from the comfort of his car after getting kicked out.

It was the first time in his eleven year career he’d ever received two yellow cards, and consequently a red card, and been ejected from a game. All that anger and frustration from the week, from his hangover, had boiled to a head and exploded on the field. Next week he would have to sit out, too.

Failing his teammates didn’t sit right with him. Lorcan was probably fuming and Rowan anticipated a less than friendly visit from him tomorrow. Coach Malakai was mad, too. The last thing he told Rowan was to get his shit together before practice on Monday. Only Fenrys, who never missed a chance to be a jokester about anything, had murmured words of encouragement before he left the field.

By the time he pulled into his driveway, he was exhausted. His entire body ached from that last dive. There would definitely be bruises on his hips and thighs tomorrow from the way Ress Taylor landed on top of him. All he wanted to do was let his muscles thaw under a shower so hot it burned. A glass of whiskey would be great, too. Not that he deserved it after his performance on the pitch.

The game was… rough.The entire day was rough. From the time he’d woken up his mood had been in the pits of hell. Drunk Rowan hadn’t been able to piece together what Aelin said just before they hung up, but sober Rowan did as soon as his alarm sounded.

Win your game tomorrow.

Not win the game, like she used to say when she thought he was the coach. She didn’t ask him to wish the boys good luck like she had in the weeks prior. The words had changed. Win your game. The game he would be playing in, that belonged to him. She had given him a personal goal and though he helped his team achieve it, he still felt like he failed. Especially since he would have to sit out next week, too, because of the red card.

It had been stupid of him to think she wouldn’t find out the truth before he had the chance to tell her. Everything had just gone to such absolute shit before he had the chance. Rowan Whitethorn would be groveling at the feet of Aelin Galathynius for the duration of his life, and then some more after he crossed into whatever afterworld awaited him.

The news of his career was just another lie he had to make right. All day it sat with him, festering like an open wound. It wasn’t that he suddenly felt bitter about his job. He didn’t. Rowan loved what he did, he loved the sport. It was his greatest passion and love in life. But Aelin deserved to hear about it from him. Not knowing how she found out only made it worse, until everything he felt was bleeding out into the astroturf beneath his feet and getting him thrown out of a game.

Upon pulling into his driveway, something white in front of his house caught his eye. His heart came to a stop as soon as his car did. Rowan didn’t even bother to pull into his garage, just parked beside the white SUV and stared at his porch. It felt like a fever dream, getting home from a hard game and seeing Aelin on his porch swing. The wind slowly moved her back and forth, but when she saw him step out of the car she stood, hands sliding into her back pockets.

“I told you to win, not get a red card before the second half was up.” The lilting tone of her voice made his knees buckle. It forced him to gather himself before approaching, slowly walking up the stairs until he stood one below her.

“My mouth keeps getting me in trouble this week, it seems,” he said back, mouth completely dry. It was an effort to make his tongue form the words with his lips. “But it got you to my house, so I suppose there are worse things that could have happened.”

“Few things are worse than a red card.”

“Not talking to you might beat out all of them,” he said smoothly, fingers sliding along each of his keys until he found the one for his front door. He held it up between two fingers and Aelin nodded, stepping to the side and gesturing toward the door.

She wore simple leggings and an oversized t-shirt, a pair of socks and slides on her feet. Though she wore no makeup and her hair was twisted half-hazardly onto the top of her head, she had never looked so beautiful. Lorcan would laugh himself hoarse if he heard the thoughts Rowan had about this woman, yet he didn’t care. Even in her most dressed down and casual state, she was breathtaking.

He led her inside, locking the door behind them. It was late enough he assumed she would be staying for a while. Few people made a nearly two hour drive to turn around and leave upon arrival. Then again, he hadn’t seen last weekend going that way, either, and it’s exactly how that night ended.

“You played…”

“Shittily,” he offered, hanging his keys on a small hook by the front door.

“Brutally,” Aelin amended, slipping off her shoes and heading to the kitchen. Rowan watched as she grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge and handed one off to him before heading for the couch. “Have you eaten?”

“No. Have you?”

“Not since lunch.” Phone in hand, she curled up in the corner and pulled a blanket over her lap. “I doubt we have any notable options, but Taco Bell is open and is shockingly one of the few things not making me sick at the moment.”

Rowan watched her from where he stood in the center of the room. It didn’t feel real. None of today did, really. It could be the hangover talking, but the day felt like a horrible dream. He was scared to move, scared that if he sat on the couch with her that she would vanish into nothing and he would wake up alone in his bed.

“Are you going to just stand there all night?” Her eyes didn’t leave her phone while presumably selecting everything she wanted to eat, eyes narrowing at the screen briefly in thought. A moment later she held it out for him. Rowan stared at her, heart thundering away in his chest. “Rowan.”

“Right. Thank you,” he murmured, taking the phone and trying not to acknowledge the rush he felt when his fingertips grazed her palm. Not big on fast food most of the time, it took him a little longer to pick his dinner. “What do I owe you?”

Aelin just snorted as she submitted the order, eyes rolling slightly before placing her phone face down on the couch next to her, head tilting as she said, “Come to think of it, maybe you do. I think your twenty dollar fast food order might do me in completely. I’ll have to take out a loan.”

“I can Venmo it,” Rowan said dumbly, reaching for the phone in his back pocket.

“I don’t need your money any more than you need mine.” Once there might have been a teasing edge to her voice. Her delivery was much drier than he was used to from her. But there it was. That stupid thing he’d said before he could stop himself, the words that brought everything they were building crashing down.

“Sit,” she told him, patting the cushion next to her. Rowan was careful to leave plenty of space between them. There were definitely lines and boundaries now. The risk of getting ensnared in one was too great and he had a lot of apologies to make. With his arms elbows braced on his knees and hands clasped loosely between them, he stared at the floor.

“You’re actually getting a pretty sweet deal.” Aelin sighed, shifting so she was facing him full on. His green eyes didn’t leave the rug. “According to google my net worth is two-and-a-half times what yours is. Isn’t that crazy?”

“I didn’t know,” he finally said. As much as he wanted to look at her, he couldn’t. He was a fucking coward. Guilt was a disgusting, oily thing crawling beneath his skin. It threatened to consume him whole even worse now that he was talking to her than it had the rest of the week.

Aelin sighed again, finally pulling his attention to her face. She laid her head back against the sofa and a few tendrils of hair fell down to frame her face. Rowan’s fingers curled into fists to fight the urge to sweep them behind her ear. She must have sensed it because she did it herself. The blue of her fingernails was the same blue as his jersey. Part of him wondered if it had been on purpose.

“I think tonight we can call a truce.” Aelin seemed to notice his gaze on her fingers because she folded her arms over her chest, curling her hands so her blue nails were hidden. “We’ll eat, sleep, and then tomorrow… Tomorrow we’ll talk.”

“Okay,” he agreed. The word was falling off his tongue as soon as she finished speaking. Her cheeks seemed to twitch with amusement, and if he had reacted differently last week she would probably be smiling.

“I am curious, though. Did you make an instagram for the sole purpose of stalking me?”

Rowan cringed. His eyes squeezed shut, lips rolling between his teeth as he looked away. Beside him it sounded like Aelin laughing, though it was little more than puffs of air coming out of her nose. It would have been easy to go on the defensive, to add one more lie to their crumpled house of cards. Instead, he went with the truth.

“I missed you. I just wanted to see your face.” He looked back over at her then, but it was she who looked away now. Her eyes were glassy, the dim lighting making the unshed tears in her eyes sparkle. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

“It’s these fucking hormones.” She dismissed him with a wave of her hand when he started to reach for her. It stung more than he would ever let on, but he retreated and dropped his hand into his lap while she used the collar of her shirt to dry her eyes.

It was silent after that, the two of them alternating from staring at nothing to sneaking glances at the other. Rowan only knew because he caught her staring at him more than once when he thought he could take a second to drink her in. It was only when the doorbell finally rang and he stood that she said his name, stopping him when he was halfway to the front door. Turning to look at her, eyebrows raised in question, he watched her lick her lips.

“I missed you, too.” It was barely a whisper, spoken so softly he might have dreamed it if he was any more tired.

Still, it was enough to get him through the rest of their silent night. Enough that it didn’t hurt as much as he thought it would when he insisted she sleep in his bed without him. Enough to chase him with sweet dreams when he finally slipped into the guest room down the hall and tumbled into a deep sleep.

@elentiyawhitethorn @autumnbabylon @fancysludgeshoelamp @wordsafterhours @live-the-fangirl-life @the-hospitality-of-knives @tangledraysofsunshine @readandlisten @westofmoon @rowanaelinn @morganofthewildfire @writtenonreceipts @feynightlight @emster1622-blog @scarblx @thefaetrove @loveyatopluto @actuallybarb @peppermint-fae @the-devils-own @scottmcgivemeacall @livingmylifeforme @wordsafterhours @foreverfallingforthestars @llyncooljones @emily-gsh @loosesimplicity @emilyrose111294 @charlizeed @aelinchocolatelover @cretaceous-therapod @sayosdreams @fireheart-violet @the-regal-warrior @backtobl4ck @shyvioletcat @mariamuses

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rogerswifesblog · 2 years

Note

Drabble request for Steve Rogers and reader:

Men in readers life (dad, grandpa, family friends etc) haven't worn wedding rings. They also didn't have very loving relationships with their wifes. So she thought it was normal. But her new husband Steve wears one. He wears it all the time. He has a silicon one for missions so his "real" one doesn't get broken. He's also very very loving to her and reader is kinda surprised by it? But she loves it

[ I had this in my drafts and since I have nothing to post rn, here you go, enjoy<3 I’m currently writing another Drabble for the special (finally 🤣)]

Thank you for the request! Its so so cute 🥺🥺

You never really talked about your family- well at least not about the male part of your family. Not your father or grandfather, even their friends were the same as them and you just never liked thinking about them.

Seeing how they treated their women scared you of getting married but then you met Steve.

He was sweeter than you expected him to be but maybe that’s how the beginning of a relationship was supposed to be? Your mother told you that’s how her and your fathers relationship was. Very sweet and caring the first year but after that he became cold. She married him anyway- sometimes you thought you were the reason for that but she always told you they married out of love.

Even though they never spend time together or go on dates. He didn’t even wear his ring anymore.

You always waited for the moment when Steve would start to become just like your father: colder, distant and would stop caring about you.

It never happened. Not even after proposing and marriage. He treated you so differently from the way your father treated your mother.

Steve always made sure you were happy, cuddled you and showed off his wedding band proudly.

It was… weird. But also nice. You hoped it wouldn’t change. At least not so quickly.

And it didn’t. Even after two years he was still the same sweetheart he always was.

He was currently putting on his suit for an upcoming mission, also taking off his ring- and replacing it with a silicon ring that looked the same as his gold band.

Steve noticed you staring at the ring with furrowed eyebrows. He sighed quietly. „I’m sorry for taking it off but I don’t want to lose it- so I thought it would be better wearing something like this“ he held out his hand to you, showing you the ring.

It only made the grimace on your face harder and Steve felt his heart shatter. Had he insulted you? Oh God. He didn’t want to make you mad.

“Why don’t you just take it off? I know it’s uncomfortable, you don’t have to wear it” that’s something your father has always said, rings were uncomfortable, why should he wear something that was uncomfortable? “It’s okay if you want to stop wearing it. I won’t be mad, I know how it works” you said with a slightly sad smile on your face.

There, you said it. He’d stop the game and finally be just like any other man you’ve ever observed, cold, distant and - “What are you talking about?” His words made you look at him, a bit unsure.

Steve didn’t know how you thought about marriage- how the people in your life treated each other and their relationships. You never talked about stuff like this, always dismissed talking about your family- he actually hasn't even met them, even though he really wanted to. He wanted to ask your father for permission to marry you but you never really wanted to even talk about your family.

You sighed quietly, grabbing his hand you brushed with your thumb over the silicone ring. “You know what I mean, I… I know you’re probably fed up with wearing it all the time and you… don’t have to be so… so sweet. We’re already married. You’ve got me. I won’t leave you anymore, you can just be-" ''Sweetheart, what… why do you think I don’t like wearing the ring or being like I am? I love you. I want to treat you right- I'm not doing it to… to keep you. Even if you’d want to leave me, you could do that” he whispered gently, pulling you to sit down on the bed.

Slightly confused, you looked at your hands. “You’re just so different, Steve. Every marriage I saw was so much… colder. I don’t remember the last time I saw my dad give my mom a kiss- or even wear his ring” while you tried to explain everything, Steve gently put his arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug.

Steve kissed your head gently, rubbing your back with his hands. You could feel the silicone ring against your back. “I want to be a good husband, I’ll never treat you badly, baby. I love you so so much.” Once again he kissed your head.

You looked up at the man, a small smile spreading over your lips. “I love you too, Steve. You promise you’ll always love me?” you asked quietly, making the blond chuckle quietly while he pulled you onto his lap. “I will always love you, you're my princess- my queen” Steve grinned into your hair, leaving many kisses behind.

Laughing you pulled Steve into a passionate kiss but his phone ringing interrupted you two, making him sigh. “I’m so sorry, but I should go. We’ll talk about it later, okay? We need to discuss it all, sweetheart. You deserve all the love I can give you” with that he laid you gently on the bed, standing up after and putting the rest of his suit on, finishing with strapping the shield on his back.

Before leaving the house he gave you a last kiss, once again telling you how much he loved you.

#steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #flood my inbox #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x y/n

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red-riding-wood · 10 months

Text

Chapter 1

OC: Aleera

Fandom: Game of Thrones / ASOIAF

Summary: Former protector of the last Targaryens and bastard daughter of the Mad King Aerys, Aleera ventures to Westeros in search of the family she's never known, and finds herself swallowed by a world of cruelty, ambition and lies... She must leave behind her heart to survive, and, like her ancestors, forge her path through fire and blood. Madness and greatness, they say, are two sides of the same coin, and may the world hold its breath to witness how this coin lands.

Warnings: (for entire story) angst, graphic violence, gore, cursing, sexual assault, graphic sexual content, incest, torture... standard GoT stuff. I'm not holding back with this story so if you're not a fan of dark or disturbing content this is not for you. Also future Ramsay x OC and Petyr x OC and those two are their own warnings.

~ Combines content from Game of Thrones TV series and the ASOIAF books. Some canon changes are made to suit the story. ~

“Here, allow me,” my sister spoke, her voice a murmur and her fingers like silk as they wove themselves through my long, tangled hair. She had always been soft-spoken, unless the fire awoke in her. Her voice was soothing, in these rare moments when I did not allow my envy to pervade my mind.

And while I initially relaxed under her touch, watching as she undid the snares in my locks, I could not help but allow my gaze to linger on the pale silver of hers, the arcane violet of her gentle eyes. Mine stared back a dull, cold grey that I could only imagine must have belonged to my mother, much like the red hair that came from being born of a Tully. Though only a half-sibling to Daenerys, I was twice the Targaryen she was. But it was hidden beneath the markings of a mutt.

“Do you know when your wedding is?” Daenerys asked me softly. “I wish to see you before I am pledged to Khal Drogo.”

My mouth pinched into a bitter line.

“Viserys hasn’t said.” As much as I tried, I could not hold the spite from my tongue, though I believed she would perceive its aim to be at our brother, who had made the arrangements.

“You haven’t asked?” Daenerys seemed genuinely surprised; out of the two of us, I had always been the more headstrong, even with the brother who proclaimed himself the last dragon.

“I have,” I said. “I believe he is still negotiating for a higher price.”

The only time my brother had ever called me a Targaryen was when he was selling me to amass wealth and soldiers for the army he planned to march on Westeros, the origin of each of our births. The land of the Seven Kingdoms, and the fabled Iron Throne he claimed awaited him.

Dany’s expression turned rather grave at that. Neither of us wanted to be sold like cattle, nor did we want to part from each other. Despite living in her winged shadow, we shared a bond that would never break, no matter how wretched my disdain grew.

“Viserys thinks Khal Drogo’s army will carry out his wishes when I am wed. At least with the gold, he can hire mercenaries loyal to his purse. Let us hope that he settles for less than you are worth.”

While Dany was being sold to the great horse lord of the Dothraki, I was offered to a wealthy magister in Pentos, a man whose name I had never heard uttered before my brother had told me the news. And while my sister would become a khaleesi, a queen of a warrior tribe, I would be nothing more than a housewife to one of Illyrio’s lazy aristocratic friends. Of what use would my swordsmanship be, my years of protecting my family from the many vile creatures and men in Essos? And of what would become of my sister’s soft skin and feather-like hair? When would the Dothraki break her gentle heart?

“And what am I worth?” I dared to ask, stiffening.

Her fingers didn’t cease their rhythm, not even now that she was making intricate braids from the outer layers of my hair. Her violet eyes didn’t even meet the biting steel of mine in the mirror. And she said,

“Sister, there is no sum of gold that could ever be worth your company.”

The thorns around my heart softened a bit at that, but guilt gnawed at my chest. I wondered, sometimes, if she was completely unaware of my envy of her.

“What of an army?” I asked.

The line of her mouth quirked into a smile, and she said, “There is no sum of men, either.”

---

The Dothraki had come for my sister when the sun was highest in the sky, the hooves of their mounts thundering through the snaking paths of the hills to announce themselves before they spilled into the courtyard, bare-chested warriors butting shoulders as their steeds snorted and bayed. Reins pulled taught and black, wild eyes flashed as their riders brought them to heel.

The entire ceremony had lasted less than a quarter of an hour, and not a word was spoken other than those I’d heard Viserys whisper into Dany’s ear, pointing out the long braids down Khal Drogo’s back. Each braid signified a battle won; the Dothraki cut their hair after every defeat. If it was fear or awe that had stricken my sister’s face, I was certain not, but I would never forget it. Nor would I ever forget the sinking feeling when she had strode towards her new king, could never forget how emptiness weighed so heavy in my gut.

Viserys had sent me away shortly after the meeting, wishing to seek council with Magister Illyrio, the man who had opened his doors to the three of us nearly a year ago. He had aided my brother in finding suitors for us both, was a believer in Viserys’ claim to the Iron Throne and wanted to bleed him dry of a king’s generosity.

All I knew was that Dany had come sobbing to me afterward, that she had tried to speak against her union to Khal Drogo, that our brother had uttered words so vile to her that they still echoed in my own ears. And while I dreaded my own dinner tonight with my suitor, while I found myself grimacing at the thought of having to cook for him and watch him grow fatter over the years, of having to clean his bed sheets each night after he used myself or one of his whores, of never again feeling the weight of a sword in my hand or my sister’s fingers through my hair, my heart could not help but fracture from her own miserable fate as her tears dampened the fabric of my gown. And though I would have traded places with her in a heartbeat, though I had always wished to be her, I had put aside my resentment and told her to be stoic, to let her tears fall quietly when Khal Drogo would take her purity. She was so fragile, yet she needed to be strong. I needed her to be strong.

Now, sun swept the bathhouse in a blanket of gold; dusk was within the hour, snaking its talons beneath the awning of the balcony overlooking the sandy hills of the Pentos outskirts and glittering off the colourful masonry of the bath’s walls. Tousled curtains of ridiculous proportion billowed from the great gusts of wind that poured into the every crevasse of the building and threatened to chill me past the dampened fabric of my gown. One of Illyrio’s servants scurried from my sight with the last urn of soiled water from my sister’s earlier bath, sandals landing heavily against the stone as I descended the steps. I could still picture Viserys handing her the fine silk she had worn for Khal Drogo, could still taste the bile on my tongue when I watched his hands wander across her naked form. As the servants slipped dragon pins that I would never wear through the shoulders of the light garment.

My wrath burned like fire beneath my skin, drummed against my chest like the hooves of the Dothraki stallions, and split the quiet of the building as I practically roared my brother’s name,

“Viserys!”

One of the curtains whipped and curled around itself as the wind changed direction, before blowing back with another gust of wind that stirred the curls from my shoulders and revealed the bright red robes of Illyrio, surprise flashing across a pudge face as a bearded mouth parted to speak.

But, ushering him aside, was my half-brother, tall yet thin in frame and leaning to bark something in the man’s ear. Whatever he said, it was disagreeable to our host, who seemed all the more shocked by his words, but pinched his mouth shut and disappeared along the balcony.

Pain flared where my nails had dug into the palms of my hands, only noticeable when I peeled my fingers from my fists. Viserys knew better than to hit me; it was not a physical battle I would need to win today but one of words, and I could never twist and morph them into such sweet yet false promises as he did, could only spit them like hellfire as its flames licked at my throat and boiled my blood so hot it threatened to consume me.

And while I should have been silent, should have kept my protest and my sister’s admittances to myself, I could bear the echoes no longer.

“You are calling it off,” I ordered him, tone dark as the stallions’ eyes that had flashed at me in the courtyard. “You are calling it off – the wedding, Khal Drogo, the khaleesi and khalasar, so help me, by the gods, I will – “

My words were extinguished in a shattered breath as my brother’s finger rose to my lips, and he said to me, “Hush, dear sister. Do you wish to wake the dragon?”

My lip curled around my teeth as I glared up at him, meeting the lilac of his glittering eyes and taking note of the subtle yet gloating line of his smirk. As the sole surviving male Targaryen of the Rebellion, he had proclaimed himself the “last dragon”, though he had all the strength of a child still pink in its skin, and his foolishness was only at times mistaken for courage by imbeciles like Illyrio and the servant girls who frequented his quarters.

“If I must,” I growled.

“Khal Drogo is already expecting his bride come their wedding. I cannot withdraw my end of the bargain now. He would have all our heads.”

It was to be expected that my brother had chosen to weasel his way into a situation that could only benefit him but had mortal repercussions for his family. And it was only natural that he was attempting to use fear as a means to quell my fury.

“Then call off my marriage, and let me go with her, to protect her. As I have always done,” I suggested, trying not to let the desperation creep into my tone.

Viserys’ finger reached to brush a lock of hair from my face; I had undone Dany’s braids earlier and it must have made me unpresentable. I witnessed his smirk twist into a displeased line when pale eyes examined my face, felt my heart quicken in my chest, my blood boiling yet my stomach fluttering.

Though he looked about to comment on my unkempt appearance, his eyes wandering from my wild hair to my tear-stained gown, he said,

“She does not need the protection of a girl who thinks herself a warrior when she will have an army of the most vicious fighters at her side.”

I could not bring myself to draw from the touch that I craved, but his words stirred the hellfire in my chest and I practically spat in his face, “You said you would let every one of those ‘viciousfighters’ fuck her – and their horses, too, if it meant reclaiming your throne. And tales of the Dothraki and their brutality do not go unsung in any corner of Essos.”

Of all the dangers in this cruel world, it was not the rapers nor the thieves nor even the assassins sent by the usuper, but our brother she needed protection from the most.

Not a trace of doubt shadowed Viserys’ glittering eyes as he told me, as if speaking to a child, “She needed to understand how important my conquest is.” His deft fingers fell from my cheekbone and settled on my shoulder, thumbing at the fabric of my gown.

“Your conquest?” I spat, and his flinch came as a simple yet earned satisfaction. “Your army and your gold is bought by selling your family. Is this really how you want the great song of your reign to begin? How can you even expect to continue your dynasty, that you insist to be so pure? You cannot expect to wed Daenerys, not when she is pledged to Khal Drogo, and – ”

“Daenerys will mother my heir.” These words, spoken so calmly amidst the storm of my fury, brought mine to a slamming halt in my chest, my lungs screaming for air and my lips parted in a silent plea as a knife twisted between my ribs.

My brother’s hand slid to my other shoulder as his body pressed against mine, and his soft lips brushed the tingling flesh of my neck. I was paralysed, captive to his venomous touch and his cold words. “Khal Drogo will not be able to refuse a king,” he whispered in my ear, and I shut my eyes to find a tear suspended on my lash, now streaking down my cheek. Viserys worked the fabric of my gown from my shoulders, the winds outside now sweeping a chill across burning flesh, the garment tumbling slowly down to my breasts. “And neither will you, dear sister. When my army marches on the Red Keep, we will pay that usurper back with fire and blood, and I will ascend to my throne, and the people will cheer, and you will hear great songs about me from the bards in Essos.” I could almost feel the heat from his body and the fire of his touch melting my fury away into yearning. I leaned into him, if only slightly, a soft moan catching on my tongue as he groped at my breasts through the fabric that would only fall at his whim. “And tonight, you bed not a prince, but a king. The one, true king.”

And just as he released the fabric, I stole myself from my trance and I tore my body from his, tugging the sleeves of my gown back over my shoulders. His visage was blurry past my unshed tears, the silver of his fine hair undulating beneath the dusk’s blanket of rich gold so befitting of a king.

“Take me with you,” I pleaded, nearly breathless.

A grin so wide it came sickening to my stomach stretched across his features, and I blinked, his high cheekbones and his furrowed brow and his scornful eyes sharpening. “How absurd. Of what use would you be to me when I am king? Is it my throne you desire?”

I swallowed lead. And when my lips formed the confession, my voice was quiet, so quiet it mimicked the gentle whisper of a lover,

“It is not a throne I desire.” I looked him deep in his eyes, forcing back the new hail of tears that threatened me, and from his look I could tell that he knew what I meant to say, that mayhaps, in all our years of growing together as siblings, he finally understood me.

“You foolish girl,” he chuckled, the baritones of his voice loveless. “You want to be my queen.”

My fury surged again in my chest, stirred by the pain that had burrowed itself deep in my soul, and I suddenly found my voice as my tears streamed freely down my face,

“All I’ve ever wanted was to be worthy enough for this family, to be by your side.”

For you to look at me the way you do Daenerys. To speak of me not as a bastard but a Targaryen.

But I once more bit my tongue, a slave to my desires.

“Aleera, you are not a queen. You are a bastard – a whore, like your mother. Your blood is tainted, your flesh sullied by scars. You throw yourself at any man willing to offer a copper for your bedside.” If my words were fire, his were poison, sinking deep into the marrow of my bones, chilling my boiling blood.

Past his soured expression, I studied the beauty of his face – the fairness of skin that I had once known to be filthier, stretched gaunter over pointed cheekbones, before Illyrio had come along. The face of the Beggar King. Even then, I had found him handsome.

But each scar that had not tarnished his flawless skin nor my sister’s had scored cruel through mine, and I wore the stench of blood and steel to his bed, blood as red as the hair and steel as sharp as the eyes that marked me as half-bred.

And when I told my sister stories of my skirmishes and thievery and whoring, I looked upon her ethereal face that mimicked my brother’s so, and I would have given anything for her silver hair and her pale lashes, and the light rose of her cheeks, and the soft skin I knew my brother favoured.

And each time I bid her goodnight, I cursed the gods others prayed to for these differences that made me an outsider.

Years of this torment frothed at my tongue as I rose my voice, shaking, in more fury or fear I could tell not,

“You would be dead if not for my scars, brother. Each was earned protecting this family. Each meant another week that you could live. And each man I bed meant another meal to fill your aching belly.”

Each another step from the acceptance I craved.

“And I would do it all again, for you and my sister,” I told him, my tears still falling unbidden to my breathless lips. “I may not be your family, Viserys, but you were mine.”

And there it was. That awful, simple word. Were.

Now that mud no longer caked his clothing and hunger no longer gnawed at his gut and he slept in a bedchamber rather than a gutter, now that he was to be a true king rather than a beggar, I was no longer necessary. I would be gone, in a day, or two. Mayhaps sooner if he could be rid of me. And I would forget that beautiful face, slowly, as I spent the rest of my life serving someone who never made my stomach flutter as he once had.

And I needed to let go.

My gown swept across the floor as I turned to stalk across the bathhouse, towards the winds of Pentos that howled into the deathly silence of Illyrio’s seaside domain.

“Aleera!” Long fingers curled around my wrist, tightening so firm the flesh would surely bruise, and my head snapped around, my cold eyes surely shooting sparks as I let my gaze fall so tragically on the face that I would remember, for a time, not as my brother, but as the man who’d sold me.

“Do not ever touch me again,” I hissed, and shook him off as virulently as his own touch had landed upon me. And though uttering such words split my heart in two, twisted the knife deeper past my screaming ribs, I knew that it was always meant to be this way, that I was never anything to him but a means to an end and another body to warm his bed.

---

Each tide that drew back into the sea seemed to steal a piece of my heart with it, and each wave that crashed against the rocks below echoed my fury. I clenched and unclenched my fists where they rested on the sandstone railing, nails stinging my palms. Dark clouds crowned the bright of the sunset, and the winds swept sand into the frantic air and commanded the sea with an iron trident.

My sight rested where the sea gave the illusion of stretching forever into the light fog that crept along the water, and each time the chill of the western winds buffeted my face I could almost feel the beyond calling to me.

But it was not the Narrow Sea that called, but rather, the continent known as Westeros, the land of my birth and the home of my alleged mother, who in her late years came to be known as Catelyn Stark, wed to Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell and Warden of the North. A powerful title, and a powerful name; the Starks were one of the longest standing houses in Westeros, and commanded a vast, near barren stretch of land until the Wall of the Night’s Watch barricaded them from northern savages known as wildlings. Snow was said to fall from the sky, shadowcats and mountain lions and wolves said to prowl the lands, and great, white trees with leaves red as blood stretched into the heavens of the oldest gods.

My adopted mother had died giving birth to Dany when I was barely out of the womb, but a knight named Ser Willem Darry had smuggled us three children across the Narrow Sea to the Free Cities of Essos, in which he purchased a beautiful manor to raise us until I was the age of nine and Viserys the age of thirteen, when King Robert Baratheon’s assassins burnt it to its foundations. In his rebellion, he had usurped my father, The Mad King Aerys, the second of his name, and had commanded that every Targaryen be executed to ensure his claim to the throne and his dynasty.

As one of the last Targaryens, my mother Catelyn had given me to Dany and Viserys’ mother, Rhaella Targaryen, for my own safety. It was because of Ser Willem and Viserys that I knew these things about the mothers I’d never had, about the father who’d burned cities, about the houses that waged wars across the sea.

And while I had always yearned to seek the mother who had been forced to give me up as an infant, who probably still cried for me as I did for her still, I had always been needed here in Essos, to take care of this family that was never truly my own.

I would bring Dany there, to the North, where my birth mother would welcome me back as her eldest child, where my sweet, innocent sister could be free of Khal Drogo and our cruel brother.

Where he can never touch her again, a venomous part of my mind added as lead formed once more on my tongue. Where she cannot bear his children.

“Sister?”

I flinched at the soft lull of her voice, and when I turned to behold her, I found myself snapping with a still-virulent tone, “What do you want from me?”

Though evidently taken aback, fear dashing through bright, arcane eyes, she was calm when she spoke, “I overheard some of your words with Viserys.”

My stomach churned, and my heart seemed to clench in my chest. “How much?”

“Enough,” she said, and took a step forward, but no more. “I don’t mean to cause you pain, sister… I only wish to help ease it as you did mine.”

When I looked at her face, I saw the silver-haired beauty who had always overshadowed me, had always been more wanted. And when I looked at the silks that were draped across a now womanly figure, I thought of Viserys shedding them, thought of his hands entwining themselves into those silver locks as they once had mine. I foresaw her belly, swelling with his child, and it was all I could do to muzzle my rage.

“I’d rather be alone,” I said bitterly, turning my gaze back to the writhing sea and hunching over the railing with an almost petulance.

“I don’t want Viserys. Not in the way he…” Dany trailed off, her words nearly swept away by the winds.

I whirled on her, my heart clenching tight in my still-aching chest as I hissed, “Not in the way he wants you. Did you come here to remind me of that? Are you here to tell me that you don’t want Khal Drogo as well, that you don’t want to be a queen?”

While I would never wish to be pawned off by my own brother, in any circumstance, I wasn’t certain my sister realised how greater an honour it was to be sold to such a dangerous, prominent man than a nobody who happened to carry a large purse. And unlike my sister, I knew the Dothraki would not break me. If anything, I could learn to turn them against Viserys. Break free.

Dany’s eyes were more sad than fearful now, and something about them made my heart splinter. I closed my eyes, exhaling, realising that I was mayhaps unjust with my words.

Turning once more to the railing, I said, voice lowering, “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.” My fingers curled into another fist to quell my rage as I forced the image of her from my mind. “None of this is your fault.”

After a pregnant pause, and a few mournful cries of the gulls, Daenerys stepped beside me, her footfalls silent but her presence indicated by the sweet perfume Illyrio had gifted her. And she told me, plainly,

“I had a dream.”

I sighed. My sister had always thought her dreams had meant something; when she dreamt of the three of us prospering with mountains of gold and an army at our heels as we marched back to Dragonstone, the isle of Dany’s birth, she’d told me it would someday come true. When she dreamt of horrible monsters emerging from the darkness – likely a result of overhearing the priestesses who pledged themselves to the Lord of Light – she asked me to watch over her the next night closely with my sword.

“Please, spare me,” I said, imagining that she was about to try cheering me up with some pointless illusion. “Nothing but cruel tricks from the gods, no doubt.”

But she spoke anyway, her fingers landing across the railing adjacent to mine and her silver curls whipping back from her face as she stared into the blackening sunset,

“I dreamt of two dragons, one of ice and the other fire; one of silver scales and the other a crimson as blood red as your hair. The red dragon seemed to claw itself from the other, rising above it in a black sky.” Her head tipped back to regard the first stars emerging in the hollowness above. “And then both were swallowed by each other’s flame. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but now I wonder if it has come true. If the dragons are meant to be you and Viserys.”

I scoffed. Dragons had not existed for nearly a century, though tales of the great beasts tamed by my Targaryen ancestors were always favoured by mummers and bards. But it was her interpretation of the dream that baffled me most.

“Viserys is no dragon,” I said, my lip curling with more than a slight disdain.

“No,” she said, her voice soft but assured. “But you are.”

Something winked in the last, fading rays of the sun, and I looked to what she held out to me in shock.

The pendant was of the three-headed dragon, the sigil of the Targaryen house. The intricacy of the craftsmanship detailed even the ridges along the slender necks that reared above the body of the beast, its maws gaping and tongues as sharp as its teeth. I could not help but run my fingers across the silver-hued jewelry in awe, thumbing at the tightly woven chain that bound the circular pendant.

“Valyrian steel.” Though I had suspected it mainly from the ripples that ran through the metal like markings along the dragon, I could confirm it now that I held its unusually light weight in the palm of my hand. Few remnants of Old Valyria remained, but there were some blacksmiths and jewelers who still knew how to reforge the rare metal of our ancestors.

My heart swelled, warm and whelming, in my chest, mending the fracture the sight of her had carved moments ago. When I looked up at her again, everything about my demeanor must have softened, for my eyes were swathed again in unshed tears, and she bore a small yet loving smile, violet eyes glittering in the quickening dark. I glimpsed the silver dragons that Viserys had pinned to her silks, and I no longer looked upon them with envy, but rather, a strength that emerged deep from my soul and bound me to the one person who had always been there for me, who may, in fact, still have been my family.

Rendered speechless, another silence passed between us before she spoke, “No matter where our paths take us, promise me, Aleera…” Her fingers gently folded mine over the pendant. “… that we will always be sisters.”

The tear was warm against my cheek as it shed, and the smile that quirked my lip was genuine. I held the necklace to my chest, tightly as if in fear of it being swept away by the winds. And I realised that not all of my heart was torn empty.

“I promise.”

NEXT CHAPTER

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anxiousgaypanicking · 11 months

Text

Oreo

Synopsis: As a joke, Roman's forced to ask Virgil out after losing an oreo. Flustered, and somewhat embarrassed and humiliated by the connotation that dating him would be such a bad thing, he says yes out of impulse, and must now deal with what being Roman's "boyfriend" entails. Taglist: @renys @falsemood

Part Six: Sleepover Masterlist

"We'll be right there!" comes an excited response, with the sound of fast footsteps following suit Mere minutes later, two men come sprinting down the stairs, the shorter of the two nearly tripping on the bottom step. The taller of the two greets Roman with a big hug, though compared to Roman’s might build he looked just as small as the other.

“Who’s that?” the shorter one asks, smiling softly but keeping his distance.

Roman smiles wide, and his arm moves to be wrapped around Virgil’s waist. “This is my boyfriend! Virgil.” Roman gently wiggles Virgil back and forth, and Virgil’s face flushes dark. “Virgil, these are my dads: Bruce and David.”

David - the shorter one - offers up a small wave, while Bruce smiles.

“It’s nice to meet you, Virgil!” Bruce exclaims, as he reaches his hand out for Virgil to take. Virgil’s fingers feel crushed by Bruce’s firm grip. “I hope Roman’s been treating you right.” He backs up after, and waves them further into the house. Virgil and Roman follow them to the living room. While Bruce leads the way, David lags behind.

“How’d you two get together?” he asks, walking side-by-side with Virgil. Between the two, David looked more like Roman. Tanner skin and darker hair, with the same nose and eye shape. Though, Virgil notes he shares Remus’s birthmark; a white streak runs through his hair.

Roman glances at Virgil, and then vaguely answers “a game.”

"A stupid one,” Virgil clarifies, as he pulls away from Roman’s hold. “One that exists to make people feel bad.” He glares at Roman, who avoids his eyes.

Bruce lets out a laugh, as he gets settled on a nice, big couch. David settles next to him, leaning against Bruce and intertwining their hands, letting Virgil see the matching wedding bands.

“Most games are like that,” Bruce says, before turning to David. “Remember when we were kids, and were playing spin the bottle at Karen’s sixteenth birthday party?”

David smiles, but Roman looks uncomfortable. “Yeah, of course I do. And how when she spun the bottle, it landed on me.”

"I swear she was cheating!” Bruce interjects. “But when she went to kiss you, you chickened out. Boy, was she mad!”

Roman lets out a sigh, as he grabs Virgil’s arm and gently guides them away from his now reminiscing parents. He leads Virgil up the very steps his parents descended, and down a beautifully decorated hallway. There are plenty of family pictures featuring the four; with David and Bruce standing happily behind the twins, but Virgil notes there are none of them as children. Only as teenagers.

Roman turns into a room, and leaves the door open behind them, before flopping onto his bed.

Virgil steals a second to look around the massive space. The walls were bright white, with the trimming being painstakingly painted gold. He has a king sized bed with red bedsheets, and a plethora of fluffy pillows that are a mixture of gold and white. A massive flatscreen television sits directly across from the bed, and his dressers and end tables are lined with trophies and clay figurines, clearly homemade but equally as impressive.

Along with the figurines, there were also some canvases and framed art pieces hanging up.

His eyes then settle back on Roman, who’s been watching Virgil analyze his room. Virgil looks away as soon as he’s caught, but Roman chuckles.

“If you’re about to ask if you can lay on my bed, my answer is yes, so long as I can lay beside you,” Roman coos, playfully, which has Virgil huffing as he sets his bag heavily on the floor.

“No thanks. I’ll sit on the floor.”

Roman laughs, as he sits up, making grabby hands at Virgil. “I’m just messing around. Feel free to come sit. Or look around, if you want. Just don’t break anything.”

Virgil gives a small smile. “I won’t.”

He does circle around the room, studying each painting and picture decorating the wall in hopes it would reveal anything about Roman. Once again, Virgil only sees family pictures post childhood, with hardly any even featuring Roman’s friends from school.

Then, he moves to Roman’s bed, and settles down on it. Though, he makes sure to keep his distance from Roman.

Roman turns onto his side, using his arms to cradle his head as he stares at Virgil. “Do you want me to turn on a movie or something?” he asks, watching as Virgil leans back against the pillows, and then turns to bury his face in them. The mattress and pillows were extremely comfortable, and Virgil could feel his body sinking into them.

A muffled response is all Roman gets, so he clicks on a movie anyway. Virgil can’t help but groan when he hears the Disney jingle, already picturing the castle sliding onto screen and lighting up with fireworks.

Virgil’s arms slide under one of Roman’s pillows, reaching towards the cool fabric with a soft, comfortable sound. It didn’t matter what Roman put on; he wasn’t watching the movie anyway. He buries his face deep into the pillow, and lets himself stretch out and relax.

Somehow, his eyes relax, shutting, as he lets himself linger in a half-sleep state, before his mind eventually fades to black.

***

It was near midnight when Virgil finally stirs. He feels the bed shift, waking him up fully as he shoots up, wide-eyed and startled. He even jumps when he sees Roman, who’s leaning over onto the bed from a pallet made of loose blankets and pillows on the floor.

It takes him a few minutes to remember where he’s at, as Roman gently sets his hand atop his.

“Calm down,” Roman says softly, though there’s a hint of playfulness in his voice. “It’s just me.”

“Shit,” Virgil immediately curses, as he stifles a yawn. He feels around for his phone which has promptly slipped out of his pocket, and checks the time. More profanity spills from his lips when he sees the time.

“Fuck. I didn’t…” Virgil rubs his eyes, pausing to reevaluate his sentence, before sighing and slumping over, resting his head in his hands. “I didn’t mean to just come over and fall asleep. I’m sorry.”

Roman smiles and shakes his head. “It’s fine, mi amado.”

“I don’t speak ‘asshole,’” Virgil bitterly responds, narrowing his eyes at Roman, though it’s hard to look threatening as he lets out another yawn. “What’d you say?”

“I didn’t say anything bad, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“But what’d you say?” Virgil presses, but he’s ignored and laughed at as Roman lets out a soft chuckle, causing Virgil to groan.

“You’re a bitch.”

Roman raises his eyebrows, before sassily responding “ I’m not the one barking out orders.”

Virgil frowns and immediately moves to grab one of Roman’s pillows and toss it at him. Roman leans back onto his pallet in an attempt to dodge the pillow, but it misses horribly anyway.

Roman laughs, before he lets out a sigh. “My parents said you could stay the night if you wanted, as it’s already late anyway, but if you’d rather go home I can drive you.”

Virgil thinks for a moment, checking the time once again. A quarter past midnight.

He sighs, and shakes his head. “No thanks. I’d rather stay here.” As he looks towards Roman, he sees the latter’s raised eyebrows and skeptical, playful look on his face, which immediately has Virgil feeling embarrassed and defensive.

“Not because I like you!” Virgil’s quick to add, with a huff. “Or your fancy-ass house! I’m just too tired to tolerate spending ten minutes in a car with you. Especially this late at night!”

“But spending the next seven hours in my bedroom is a different story?”

Virgil crosses his arms over his chest. “Is there a comfy bed in your car? Didn’t think so.”

Roman laughs, and Virgil stiffens at the sound, before he’s crawling to the end of the bed and swinging his legs over the side. “You don’t have to sleep on the floor, Roman. I was just kidding about the bed; I can sleep on the pallet.”

Roman immediately shakes his head. “No. I’m not letting you sleep on the floor.” Roman leans onto his mattress, crossing his arms and laying his head atop them as he stares up at Virgil with those gorgeous, lush-green eyes. “You already napped in my bed; you might as well just sleep in it too.”

“I doubt I’ll be able to go back to sleep. I’ve already slept so much.”

“I’ll stay up with you then. I’m wide awake.” Roman smiles, and Virgil finally has to tear his eyes away from him and look at something else.

“Good,” he responds, after a moment. “You’ll provide nice entertainment. You are a clown, after all.”

Laughing, Roman asks “are you only able to insult me?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, in that case, I retract every nice thing I’ve ever said about you.” Roman sticks his tongue out childishly, and then grins wide, but Virgil just looks back at him, smiling, but with furrowed brows.

“The fact you’ve said anything nice about me at all astounds me.”

"Why?"

Virgil shrugs, a half-hearted smile on his face. “Because I’m not that easy to compliment. It’s not that hard to see, Roman.”

“I disagree,” Roman says, almost immediately, sitting up a little more seriously. “I could compliment like… ten different attributes of yours right now.”

Virgil raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing on the corners of his lips. "Doubt it."

“Oh?” Roman begins, leaning upwards. “Is that a challenge? Don’t tempt me, Virgil; I’m incredibly competitive.”

“You’re not competing with anybody-”

“Your bangs look soft and pretty hanging over your eyes, but I wish those beautiful irises weren’t so hidden. Your eyes are so dark they’re black, and are intensified by your makeup, which, while unusual, shapes your face well and pulls attention to your eyes overall. I’ve never seen someone with such an intense, alluring stare.” Roman speaks poetry into the air, and leans even closer to Virgil as he continues.

“You know how to dress your body. Maybe I’m biased because skinny jeans are form-fitting, but you always look good. It’s certainly a statement, but one you’re not afraid to make. And black nails really suit you.”

Virgil’s fingers flex, his nail polish chipped.

“And your voice…” Roman sighs, fluttering his eyelashes dramatically. “You speak primarily with your lower jaw, making you look passive despite the often biting undertones. But there’s usually a lot of emotion. If not in your voice, in your words . You’re passionate about things, and are quick to defend them. Like your friends, and yourself.”

Roman holds seven fingers up, but he’s nowhere near done.

As Virgil’s hands dig into the sheets, Roman moves closer, adding “you’re smart, and exceed in your classes, even if you don’t tend to participate in group discussions. I’ve seen some of your tests being passed back. You always have upwards of eighty, while most others have seventy or less.” Then, Roman smiles, cheekily. “And try as you might, I see you doodle on your paper during class, or even on your hand with a marker. It always looks deep and interesting.” Roman takes Virgil’s hand, and pulls his arm closer, thumbing over his forearm where barely noticeable marker stains persist; little marks that Virgil didn’t even know were still visible. One would have to look hard to notice the darker splotches of skin.

“You should show off your art more,” Roman says, softly. “I’m something of an artist myself. I’d appreciate it.”

Virgil ignores him, instead breathing out “and… the last one?”

He reaches to grab one of Roman’s pillows, squeezing it against his chest in anticipation as he looks over Roman’s nine fingers. There’s silence for a moment, before Roman grins, and sits back on his knees, clearly not intending to share the last one aloud.

When Virgil realizes this, he huffs out “you’re such a jerk!” and then tosses the pillow he grabbed at Roman, this one getting closer, but still missing and landing on the pallet behind him.

“Stop throwing all my pillows at me!” Roman laughs, as he tries to grab and hand the one just thrown back to Virgil. “You’re not going to have any to sleep with!”

“You have plenty up here. I have many spares I can use to hit you in the face.”

“You couldn’t hit me if we were standing chest-to-chest,” Roman insists, snickering. “Hell, I’m like five feet away from you and you’ve missed twice!”

“Third time’s the charm,” Virgil mutters, as he lays back down, and then tosses and turns in the sheets. His smile fades to a more neutral expression, before he turns to face Roman, looking over the side of the bed.

“Roman?”

Roman, who’s laid back on the pallet, stretched out and arms behind his head, looks back up at Virgil, responding with a sweet “yes?”

“I’m bored.”

“You’re bored?”

Virgil huffs out a laugh, before elaborating “I’m bored. Let’s go on a walk.”

Roman raises an eyebrow. “So, let me get this straight, you’re not willing to be driven home this late at night, but you’re perfectly fine taking a walk?” He shakes his head. “That makes no sense.”

“I’m complicated,” Virgil muses, which earns a laugh from Roman.

“No,” he then responds, shaking his head with a hum. “No, I don’t think you’re complicated. I think you’re trying to be subtle.” His smile stretches into a more devious smirk. “I think you just secretly want to stay here with me, and that’s why you don’t want to go home.” Roman leans up, and his fingertips dance over Virgil’s, as Virgil’s arm hangs off the bed. “Just admit you enjoy spending time with me.”

Virgil lets out a groan, and very quickly grabs another pillow, and throws it down. This one smacks Roman right in the face, leaving Roman to let out a muffled “humphf!”

As Virgil snickers, Roman groans, and pulls the pillow off his face.

“Ugh! I’d be safer taking you on a walk than staying in here,” he jests, playfully. “At least there are no pillows for you to throw outside.”

“There are rocks.”

Roman narrows his eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Virgil sits up, and slides off the bed, landing on his knees at Roman’s side. “You’d really consider taking me on a walk, though?”

“Of course,” Roman responds, immediately. “Why wouldn’t I? You ask, and you shall receive, my wonderful boyfriend!” Roman makes teasing kissy noises at Virgil, who immediately lets out a noise of disgust and scrambles away.

Virgil shudders, as though Roman grossed him out to his core. Sternly, he declares “don’t do that.” Roman smiles.

He stands himself, and grabs Virgil’s hand, as he leads him out of his room. There’s a dim light on in the room next to Roman’s, but it’s ignored as Roman pulls him down the stairs and through the living room. Both of them are quiet, out of respect for Roman’s dads, as they slip out the front door.

Quietly, Roman leads Virgil a little down the sidewalk, before he squeezes Virgil’s hand and smiles.

“Alright,” Roman starts, his breath fogging due to the cool night’s air. “Anyplace specific you’d like to go?”

Virgil takes a moment to answer, before whispering “anywhere you want to take me.”

“Then we’ll just walk wherever the sidewalk takes us,” Roman decides, pulling Virgil forward.

They walk slowly side by side, Roman humming a soft tune that sounds suspiciously like a rendition of “Once Upon A Dream” from Sleeping Beauty. Neither has let go of the other’s hand.

Virgil is comfortable in the silence for a bit, before he suddenly clears his throat and goes “so… are you adopted?”

Roman laughs aloud at the question, urging Virgil to quickly add “you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to; I don’t mean to be nosey or insensitive.”

“I don’t think you’re either,” Roman assures him, through a few loose chuckles. “I’m not adopted. Bruce is my step-dad. My dad and mom got divorced a couple years ago; Papa and Dad married earlier this year.” Roman sighs, though it’s hard to tell if it’s out of adoration, or disappointment. “They’re newlyweds.”

Virgil nods, as Roman squeezes his hand again, before suddenly Roman’s tugging his arm a little harder.

“All right, my turn. What are your parents like?”

Virgil’s a bit surprised at the question, but after a moment he answers “it’s just me and my dad. My mom died when I was young. I don’t remember her at all.” They take a few steps in silence, before he adds “he never remarried. I don’t think he wants to, but I don’t see him much. He works out of the house, and when he has free time he chooses to travel. So he’s mostly out of state, really.”

“Do you wish he was home more?”

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Virgil uncomfortably pulls his hand from Roman.

“I guess? I don’t know him that well. We just sort of live our lives next to each other. We both have other things going on. Sure, he’s lonely, but I think if he rushed into things he’d be more unhappy. If he ever wants to get remarried, he deserves someone who loves him and wants to spend their life with him.”

“You deserve that too,” Roman replies, in a hushed voice. Virgil turns to look at him, questioningly, prompting Roman to let out a nervous laugh. “Which is why you have me, of course! I’ll treat you like the prince that you are!”

He leans forward and scoops Virgil up, tossing him effortlessly over his shoulder, earning at first a surprised gasp, and then a bout of laughter.

“Roman!” Virgil shouts, squirming as Roman carries him like he’s a sack of flour. “Put me down!”

“Never!”

Virgil laughs some more as Roman starts to jog with him, bouncing him up and down. “If your goal is to treat me like a prince then you’re doing a horrible job!”

“How about I do a little better, then?”

Roman readjusts their positions, so that Virgil’s off his shoulder and now being cradled in his arms, held bridal-style. Virgil’s arms wrap around Roman’s neck, and he’s smiling dopily, though his face is flushed, something Virgil’s sure is obvious even in the darkness of night.

He holds to Roman as Roman carries him forward, before suddenly he says “you can put me down now, Roman. I’m sure carrying me isn’t easy.”

“You underestimate how strong I am,” Roman responds, grinning wide.

“That’s not-” Virgil snorts, and tucks his face into Roman’s chest. Believe him, he can feel the muscle clearly beneath the thin fabric of Roman’s shirt. But that’s not the issue. “The thing is, I’m not… exactly the lightest person out there.”

Sure, skinny jeans were a common piece of clothing present in his wardrobe, but the name was misleading. They’d be better off called “form-fitting” jeans, or “tight” jeans, and frankly Virgil’s pudgy stomach often hung over the waistline if he didn’t hoist them up past his belly-button!

But Roman doesn’t bat an eye.

“So?” he prompts, squeezing Virgil’s body in a manner that’s meant to be comforting, but just makes Virgil flush. “Once again, I’m very strong. I don’t care how much you weigh. As long as you’re not starving yourself or over-eating, and you’re healthy, I don’t care. And it’s not my business.”

Roman then grins cheekily. “Isn’t that what you always say? That it’s not my business.”

Virgil smiles, a bit sheepishly. “Yeah,” he mumbles, hiding his face further in Roman’s chest. “I suppose.”

Roman carries him a few paces farther, before he softly asks “do you actually want to be set down? I won’t if you don’t want me to; I’ll hold you for as long as you’d like, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Yeah,” Virgil sighs. “I’m ready to keep walking.” As much as he enjoyed being carried, the action of being cradled flustered him.

Roman sets him back on his feet, and then shoves his hands into his pants pockets. Virgil flexes his fingers, before glancing at those very same pockets.

He decides to tap his fingers against his leg.

“So…”

Virgil turns to look at Roman, who’s clearly trying to think of a different conversation starter. He seems to debate a few, before settling on one, and continuing with “so, why did you say yes to my Oreo?”

Fingers tapping harder against his thigh, Virgil shrugs. “I don’t know. I was angry?”

He sounds very unsure of his answer, and that’s because he is. Sure, Virgil was angry. But that was only part of the reason. Impulsivity can only explain the initial acceptance; not anything that followed afterwards.

“What were you angry about?”

Virgil turns to look at Roman like he’s stupid. “I was angry over you, over Remus, over that stupid fucking game-”

“You keep calling Oreo stupid,” Roman interrupts, bringing them to a halt on the sidewalk. He looks confused. “But, you’re actively playing. Forgive me for being puzzled, but why do you hate this game? And if you really hate it, then why even entertain the concept?”

“To humiliate you,” Virgil responds, feeling his face warm with shame and humiliation at the admission, as though he’s finally admitting to the both of them that he’s out of Roman’s league. Roman stays quiet, giving Virgil the space to look away and suck a deep breath in. “It’s… it’s insulting to the people you ask out sometimes,” Virgil further clarifies, gritting his teeth. “Usually, when someone loses, their friends either pick out some secret crush they haven’t confessed to, or someone gross they think will embarrass them.”

He kicks a rock, and shoves his hands into his own pockets. “And… and Remus told you to ask me.”

He steps forward, but Roman catches his arm.

“Virgil… I didn’t know.”

Scoffing, Virgil tries to pull his arm away, and Roman does in fact let him go, but he moves to stand by Virgil’s side.

“Virgil, genuinely. I didn’t know. I guess I never thought about it from that perspective. I can see how that’d be degrading.”

Glancing upwards, Virgil sees Roman’s brows furrowed in concentration as he seemingly processes what Virgil told him. There’s no doubt, or malice. Just… contemplation.

Roman’s fingers graze Virgil’s knuckles.

Their hands once again fold together, fingers sliding into crevices until their palms are pressed against each other. They turn on the sidewalk, and start heading back the way they came without a word.

It’s only when they’re right outside the front door that Roman speaks again. As he slowly twists the doorknob, he looks back at Virgil.

“You don’t humiliate me, by the way,” he says, softly. “And it makes me sad that you think so little of yourself in order to believe that.”

Then he’s opening the front door and holding it chivalrously as Virgil walks inside, hunched over, as though trying to make himself appear smaller. He doesn’t say much as he heads back up to Roman’s room, but there isn’t much he thinks needs to be said. But he does think he’s going to lay down and try and get some more sleep. If not to make sure he’s well rested, then to simply avoid looking at Roman, who silently tucks himself into the pallet on the floor, leaving Virgil wide-eyed and alone with his thoughts snug in Roman’s bed.

#prinxiety #prinxiety fic #sanders sides #agp fic #prinxiety fluff #prinxiety fanfiction #sanders sides fic #ts virgil #ts roman

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nandostateofmind · 5 months

Text

Getting Married………Again

Vow Renewal Vibes…..

Every five years my wife wants to get remarried again. Treats our relationship like a car lease except we not getting the newer model. I just want her happy so I agree to most of her ideas. I love a good party. Getting to see old friends and family. I hate to pressure people to come to anything I invite them to, if you pressure people or insist they may come with a vibe that isn’t what you are looking for. I also don’t believe in being sore if someone doesn’t come because I understand, life can happen, sometimes you agree in the moment then you regret it later when the time approaches because you tired or broke and finally sometimes you hold someone in certain esteem in your heart and they don’t see you in the same light as you see them. If the event doesn’t move them to attend then why be bitter allow them the room to do what they want. While you would love everyone that you love to be there with you during the important events in your life sometimes for whatever reason they can’t be there and you shouldn’t hold that against them. Those who do make get to be there for life long memories.

In total about 50 people attended. I remember I got a terribly mean text from one of my sisters and it bothered me really bad because it felt like it was meant to be as painful as possible. This particular sister doesn’t love me, we do not speak. She did it because he wasn’t invited and she wanted to make it about her. It really threw me off mentally. I spent the day with in the back of my mind. She won that battle, had me being short with my wife and children I wasn’t excited I was upset. Then my wife left to get ready. I texted one of my groom’s men Richie and he asked if I was good. I said yes. Then I remembered calling him the night before my wedding I sat in my car my 1990 Mazda protégé for two hours listening to Nas Getting Married. I immediately put the song on repeat as I ironed my sons suit. It put me back in the zone I was in the wedding morning. My sister and her text suddenly meant nothing I was in love again all I could think about was my wife. I looked over at my son looking cool as could be dressed like a miniature model. I was back.

The set up was beautiful on the beach everyone including us dressed in all white. The music started playing. I started to recall what the church felt like on my wedding day. You can’t always remember exactly what happened but often you can remember the feeling. I remembered that feeling. You ever smell your mother’s cooking and you are transported to the moment in time and you remember exactly how it felt. That is exactly what happened to me at that alter. I was 25 again standing at the alter waiting to exchange vows again. Getting choked up holding back tears but I’m not sad. We changed vows we’ve written. The moment was perfect, again. I’m grateful, grateful to have these moments that provide perspective. Things that remind me when things get difficult. Every time, I get mad every time, we fight every time, when I cant figure out life. I cant remember everything but always there for me is the vibes and I can never forget that.

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thekatebridgerton · 2 years

Note

I want to add that Eloise chose this? The whole thing was Eloise and Phillip seeing if marriage suited them, they were even getting a chaperone. Eloise was free to leave the arrangement at any time.

The reason why they got married so quickly was because Anthony got his shotgun and aimed it at Phillip.

And while I'm not a fan of TSPWL, the one driving of that book is Eloise who decided that this is her new life, this is her family now and she will do what she can to be wife and mother and never losing herself.

And since she's basically the one in charge in that household, she never does.

I am imagining that will happen in the show if they get to Eloise's season (AFTER THEY DO BENEDICT SEASON 4 WILL BE BENOPHIE!!!), it will be of that vein, but things will change.

I do hope they will have the time skip and Eloise will have her plant nerd when they are in their late 20s early 30s.

for Context about where this anon is coming from. this ask was sent after I posted my rant I mean reply. you can read the ask in the link here Where I was talking about how Phillip isn't any more problematic than other Bridgerton men, it's just that he looks that way because instead of gaining anything she didn’t have before (love, money, protection..etc) Eloise is virtually “losing her freedom” unlike Sophie who will live a better life after marrying Benedict. Eloise already had those things, and the only one who stands to gain from this relationship is Phillip. Who gets a loving wife, a mother for his children and someone to brighten his life. And I cannot stress enough how much of a double standard that is.

I completely agree with Anon, Eloise is the driving force in her book, she was free to tell Anthony she didn't want to marry Phillip. Anthony told her that, to her face, he said something along the lines of 'Eloise if your only objection to marrying him today, is that he hasn't told you he loves you yet, that's a very flimsy hill to die on'

And lets be honest, Phillip said he loved her what? a week later?. Anthony was right, that was a seriously flimsy hill to die on.

In fact the shotgun marriage is really funny, because Eloise gets mad, not because she doesn't want to marry Phillip, she does even when she's not sure they would suit, but because she doesn't get to marry him on her terms, when she wants. (Phillip going "Oh let me show you why we will definitely suit, wanna speed up the wedding now?" will never stop amusing me)

When Eloise goes to Benedict's house, and stays for like a day. Phillip almost has a mental breakdown because he IS aware that if Eloise gets tired of him, he can't stop her if she decides to leave him. Because Eloise does what Eloise wants. And nobody can make her do anything different.

So I agree with Anon. I hope in s4 we get to see more of Eloise gaining maturity and becoming the kind of woman we see in TSPWL who can and will do things her own way. And get her plant nerd without sacrificing her independence or individuality! because she's confident in his love.

and that's the tea

#philoise #phillip crane #eloise bridgerton #phillip x eloise

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dalleyan · 1 year

Text

Elfwine Chronicles (new LoTR stories, Distraction posted, 4-8-23)

Dariel has wedding jitters and needs something to distract her. (Anxiety, Family, Comfort)

Distraction - (Mar, 22 IV)

Too fast. It was all happening too fast. Dariel felt panic welling up inside her at the prospect of soon standing before the King of Rohan and speaking her wedding vows. She loved Elfwine – passionately – yet this ceremony would not only make her his wife, but eventually the queen of Rohan. The walls felt as though they were closing in around her, and she tried not to let anyone notice that she was having trouble breathing normally.

To her consternation, Queen Lothiriel rose and began clearing the room of everyone but her mother, Lady Eowyn and herself. When the four women were alone, she gave Dariel a tiny wink. “I do not know about you, dearest, but all that fussing before my wedding to Eomer very nearly drove me mad!”

“I would say it did drive you mad!” Eowyn countered. “Why else would a usually rational woman postpone her own wedding so she could sneak away and be married privately – in a cave!” Everyone broke into laughter at this. It had taken a while before the entire story became known, but now the events surrounding Eomer and Lothiriel’s wedding were almost legendary in their own right. Ever since first hearing it, Dariel had envied it, thinking it both wildly romantic and certainly far less taxing emotionally. At this very moment, it was looking like a most enticing idea.

Eowyn’s eyes shifted to each of the others, and then she proposed, “Many years ago, when they were off fighting together, Faramir told me of a night before they were to return home. Our husbands were sitting around a fire, preparing to turn in for the night, when Faramir suggested they each describe their wives in a single word. What say you? Shall we take a turn at such a challenge?”

As everyone seemed in agreement, they began considering the matter.

At length, Arwen chose to go first. “Estel is...compassionate,” she offered thoughtfully. The Elf-woman rose to gaze into the fire, explaining, “Some part of him always knows when another has pain in mind or body, and he empathizes with their suffering. Then he does all in his power to alleviate it. The world of Men admires his courage, his strength, his nobility, but my heart is touched by his gentleness and compassion toward others.”

Moved by this apt tribute to a man they each knew and loved, there was a long silence before anyone else took a turn.

At length, Eowyn ventured, “Faramir is astute – in all things. He sees more than other men, and seems to understand better. Sometimes he sees things in others that they themselves do not see, and yet it is there. Whether it is kings, noblemen, soldiers or servants, he seems able to read men’s hearts and act accordingly.” The others nodded their agreement of this assessment of Gondor’s Steward.

Lothiriel elected to go next, saying, “Eomer is surprisingly complex.” Chuckles erupted in Eowyn, with Arwen following suit, and Lothiriel could not restrain a grin. Attempting to clarify, she told them, “To most, he is merely the noble King of Rohan – strong, brave and a proud, capable leader – but I see things that others are not privy to witness. I see his tenderness and passion with me, his warmth and gentleness with our children, his kindness and respect toward those who serve him, and his easy good humor with his friends. Most see only his practical efficiency, but not his intelligence and wisdom. He is so much more than what meets the eye.”

As all smiled their approval, Eowyn in particular nodded her concurrence. “Perhaps that is why the two of you fit so well together – you see far beyond the obvious in him,” she suggested.

After a moment, everyone’s eyes turned to Dariel and she shifted nervously under their regard, feeling out of place in this gathering of women. Though one was her mother, and she had known the others her entire life, Dariel was still somewhat in awe of them and did not yet consider herself equal to joining their ranks.

Forcing her attention back to the topic of discussion, she considered her betrothed carefully, then said, “Elfwine is dependable, in all things. Any task he sets himself to, he is completely reliable. I have no doubt of his love for me, of his devotion to the Riddermark, of his concern for his people. He will one day be an excellent king, but first he will make the finest husband a woman could ever hope to have.”

Lothiriel had been standing nearby and moved behind where the girl sat. Stroking her hair, she pressed a kiss to Dariel’s head, saying softly, “Nor could I ever hope to have him find a finer wife, dearest. He will be even better for having you at his side.”

Dariel could not restrain her tears at the warm endearment, and she looked up to find all the women smiling at her with understanding.

A knock sounded at the door, breaking the spell that seemed cast in the room, and Arwen laughed lightly. “It is time, iell nin. Let us go bind you to this fine man.”

Only as they made final adjustments to her dress and hair, then stepped toward the door, did Dariel realize her nerves had fled. Yes, these were extraordinary women, but canny also. They had known just what to do to relax and reassure her in those tense moments of waiting. She could do this. She could be Elfwine’s wife, and eventually Rohan’s queen.

THE END

also on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/46346377/chapters/116686798

#Eomer #Lothiriel #Lord of the Rings #Elfwine Chronicles #LOTR #Dariel daughter of Aragorn #Eowyn #Arwen

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libidomechanica · 2 years

Text

Clothe mothers taught in liking about with Lar and a slaves

A cinquain sequence

Her to word. But we know just don’t knows the small speak, and her like and you and just disposit.

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Apart, greater of parcely mask. With fine dawn accomplied, peace though each and close our fists.

She call in domestics danger answered. Of word of beauties, be idolatry to you.

But for flightfote Nymphes curb, and make fault, she door in fact, who, which the bear it forgave mad.

And charm being new open- hearts. And how of your land, it doth damask for all; if loath thee.

If their loved, as here t is come where as rarely. Silver sex, there you so talk on again.

It’s declared to try to knees again. Every day by rends, ’tis for her eyes instead: but you.

Your Prince folly, within the sung. And she intention, sweet bears to that the catch’d as the star.

And I no more. The tide should rob that men down! Between my Belovëd, dost thou may come tomb.

Above them, and glutton. Not the pensiueness with piteous blessed in after much treaty stay!

My Muses glow-wounds the un-green his digree! How behold the gain his station, the clichés.

But of folks of us sober heart the frail some do it was mind. Do nothing of action.

Not the nag like me out my mammy yet beloved the paces. And all the different hill?

To me; Blythe appointed at the dusk cocoons, she sad thou wishing in her by this behind.

It is vestals are no couth I hearted, by him? Or art a garden down worms adorning.

’ Dash of nation. ’Er, and thought I don’t afraid of modern in my loue, and gloves, whose bright do.

To us. He had peace of my though with bright had been Petrarch’s wind ought wither could face look!

Above the dare not much, Cynara! Of the horn instant first is it be remain despise.

Who seldom used awhile we kept with that it’s gayer waist, that night. And fault, shall such a wife.

How love and looked arrow- land, when I could be. Your strength of rose it! He loved his polar stay.

To turned at the bed to end the thousand yet the moss, of mourn. But a side in would compare.

Past behind, while my gude fair its only given some coast of the vales, all. Could example.

’Ve done the fondly! And the struction, and came invite tillage of healthful follies are?

—Let me forgetful due, longing metaphysics! Will never the living present despair.

—Thought still affir, Hotten into the stood, crept the woman’s bloom. And the deeper warm within.

Bee, Hark! Of festive it will not lives. Printed sires, which habbe y-yerned much civility.

And Mary. Nay, when I again, and, the too much brick. When displays he walks which, like a trial.

Leave they were his travels forsake, Clarinda knew incremendous tell your Highland Mary!

No this? The mounterbuffed with mode of liking the early transmitted, with won a side.

How mind: and thousand yoke. Put only law.—Yet hee was sickness Union. And Pegasus run.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 5 #125 texts #cinquain sequence

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mmmmuffins · 2 years

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ethnic wear is so >>>>

#i think!!! i think indian ethnc wear is so so so so beautiful #the prettiest i EVER feel is when im wearing a nice good lehenga #omg... lehengas my beloved #i am forever thinking about that art of the lesbians touching foreheads in their lehengas #and their dupattas are on top of their heads... and their hands are joined and close under tham... UGH i keeo trying to find that art but I #but i CANT*#makes me ACHE i love it so much #its like lkgslkjdfhglkjshdfg #and like... kurtas.... mens indian ethnic attire #i want to wear it i need it i need to wear the kurta and the #and that coat im not sure what its called #omg... gives so . SO . its so ...#it makes me so mad when i see men in SUITS... at weddings. suit.. A SUIT #you could wear the most amazing kurtas and you choose to be mediocre and wear a black suit........ if you arent going to wear your ethnic #attire WHO WILL #every one who dresses in ethnic attire at weddings i love you #anyway all my love to indian ethnic wear i went to my family friends wedding and its been so long and i wore lehenga an di felt amazing i lo #love #wait i hv so many thoughts im adding to this #i love to see #i love seeing characters in ethinc attire in media too it js!!! it makes me so happy #seeing people embrace culture is jsut lakjflkjhdg #i can only speak mainly for indian ig and i wish i knew more!!!!!!! bc i dont #i dont live there but #im lucky to live somehwere with a lot of different people from different asian cultures and aaaa it makes me so happy to see when people wea #wear ethnic attire #its js l;kjfljsd;lfkjlsjhg

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galaxyedging · 2 years

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Shards

Part of Wardrobe

Dieter Bravo x female reader.

Angst, fluff, tiny bit of smut.

Trigger warning: mentions of abuse and addiction.

Dieter patted his pocket, a little habit he'd developed to reassure himself. The wedding was only a few hours off. You had both decided to do the 'can't see the bride on her wedding day' thing. Which had meant Dieter dragging you to bed at 3 pm the day before to 'make up for lost time.' He kept you there, showering you with affection, adoring your body, pleasuring you in any way he could. Until 11.59pm, with a kiss goodbye he headed to his hotel suite.

You had stayed home, the one you had bought after your divorce, the one that Dieter had moved into after you returned from the UK. After a good night's sleep you took your time getting out of bed, you listened to music for a while then showered and made breakfast. The team you had covered for on Cliff Beasts were coming over to do your hair and make up. Like the rest of the crew they had been laid off but managed to land on their feet. Sitting at the kitchen table, you sipped your tea, trying to relax. A knock at the door jarred you from your peace. Clutching your cup you moved the door. Another knock. "I'm coming!" you reached the door, slightly annoyed, snatching it open. The cup dropped from your hand as you saw who was standing on the other side. Your ex-husband.

"Hi, Buttercup. Guess I should have called ahead." He smiled nodding at the broken shards on the floor. "Here, let me."

"No! I'll do it." He backed away at the bite in your voice. "Why are you here Michael?"

"I wanted to talk to you. Can I come in?"

"No." There was no way you were letting him in to your home. "What do you want to talk about?" You moved onto the porch, closing the door behind you.

"Your fiance."

"Why?"

"I care about you. I want to make sure you know who you're marrying."

The bile in your throat threatened to choke you. "In case he turns out to be a cheating asshole?"

"We both know why that happened." This was his defense, he cheated because you weren't 'physically available'. It didn't matter that you were in chronic pain, you had neglected his needs.

"Do you know he's an addict? That you see him out with women but he low key fucks men too? That his mother was suspected of killing his father?"

Every bit of hatred you had thought you had let go of came rushing back as he tried to tarnish Dieter. Anger flared in you.

"Do you know why he changed his name to Bravo? It was the first compliment that he received that wasn't followed by a 'but'." Tears welled in your eyes at the thought of it.

Dieter had told you about all his Mom's praise coming with a caveats. "That's a lovely picture, Sweetie, but your Dad's gonna be mad at the mess.", "Am so pleased you got the part but you're Dad won't like you doing that. Why don't you play football instead?" "You're so sweet for looking after me but your Dad's going to take it out on you." His Dad was an abusive drunk. He made choices on impulse and when they turned bad he took it out on Dieter and his Mom. That impulsive streak was in Dieter too, sometimes it scared the life out of him. Instead of facing it, he leaned into it, moulded it into his craft. Using that energy to bounce off his scene partners. Being completely in the moment. He won so much praise from it, he didn't worry too much about it bleeding into his personal life. It was just a drink to relax, just a social thing, just a line now and then. He didn't look to far ahead until he got to the point where, he started letting people down. He didn't have a lot of friends but he had some good ones. Hurting them made him see sense. He got help, found a meeting met a sponsor who understood him. When he gave up the drugs but found giving up drink as well tough the old man hadn't judged him. "I meet people where they are, not where they should be. Take one thing at a time." So he did. After his relapse he did the same. Until the day he realised you wanted to marry him. He called his sponsor straight away, told him he was giving everything up. Now he had a six month chip in his pocket to prove he could. There was no way he was going to put you in the position his Mom was put under arrested and her name dragged through the mud because her drunk of a husband fell down the stairs while screaming at her. It was sheer luck that Dieter had been making a film on his camcorder that caught a glimpse of his Mom at his door as his father fell down the stairs at the end of the hall.

"Do you know about the millions in donations he has secretly given domestic abuse charities? Or the support he gives he LGBTQ community?"

"So he throws his money around. It doesn't mean he cares about you." He moved closer. "Not like I do."

Taking a breath, you didn't rise to it. "He cares. He shows me every day. He's thoughtful and sweet. He treats me as a partner. We're 50/50 in the production company we started. Every decision, in work or at home is done together. He honest and loyal."

"Anyone can fake that for what, a year?"

"You'd know, you faked it for longer."

"I didn't fake anything!" He was in your face now.

As you went to step away, he grabbed your arm. "Let go, Michael!" He had been emotionally abusive but had never laid a hand on you before.

"No, not until you listen!"

"Let go!"

"No, it's for your own good."

"Let. Her. Go." Dieter appeared on the steps behind you.

Michael whirled on him. "Or what? You going to hit me or maybe you can get one of your boyfriends to do it?"

"It's not me you have to worry about hitting you." Dieter nodded to you.

Breaking his grip on your arm, you grabbed his arm, pulled it up behind his back in one smooth move. Before he could react you had manhandled him down the steps. Once you were at the bottom you shoved him towards his car. He stumbled to the ground, as he picked himself up he muttered vengeful threats, like a recently unmasked Scooby Doo villain. Thankfully, he was soon driving away.

"Di! It's bad luck for you to see me!" You suddenly realised hiding behind a hanging basket.

"Your ex-husband turned up. I think we've had our bad luck."

"Have you even seen a movie?! You say that then something worse will happen. The band will split up just before they are due to go on or they'll run out of chicken and everyone with have to have fish."

"Baby! One, we're not even having a band. Two, not everyone hates fish like you do. Three, they can eat pizza for all I care as long as I get to marry you."

"Thank you. You always know just what to say."

"I guess it's like you say 'Be the person you needed.' "

That was something you lived by. The whole quote is 'Be the person you needed as a child.' As a kid you were lonely, your Mom didn't understand how to connect with you. As long as you were fed and clean she felt like she had done her job. She was no good with emotions. She didn't know how to praise you or express love. Maybe that's why you had fallen for Michael. He had given you love and attention when you were at your lowest. Your friends had all gone to college while you had stayed to look after your Mom. He took you on dates, helped with your Mom. He seemed perfect. It took a while for the gaslighting it was subtle at first. It was only after you were married it became worse by then you were in too deep to see it for what it was. After he cheated, it still took a while for you to see him clearly, you learnt a lot about yourself as you worked it out. Now you knew what you needed in a partner, what you needed to compliment your life.

"Why did you come home?"

"Mrs Roberts, called me."

"Of course 'Mrs Robinson' called you. She was probably hoping I was cheating. That you'd find out, leave me and be super grateful to her. The she could move it and keep you for herself."

"She was concerned. She recognised your ex from the news. She definitely wouldn't have been mad if her phone call split us up though."

"I can't be mad at her. She has great taste in men." Wrapping your arms around his waist, you pulled him in to kiss him.

"So no last minute nerves?"

"Tonnes! Not about about you though."

"Same. I feel like am going to mess up my vows or step on your feet during the first dance."

"So what if you do? We've both made mistakes but we moved on and did better. This wedding could be a complete disaster, as long as we say I do, it will be fine."

"You're right."

"Plus, we have the best part of the wedding to look forward to...the honeymoon."

Before you knew it, you were thrown over his shoulder. "Let's do a dry run....we can dry hump."

"I've having my make up done in half an hour!"

"We'll dry hump quickly."

Half an hour later, Dieter cleaned up the shards while the Hair and Make Up team, got to work on your messed up sex hair and hiding the fresh love bites on your shoulders.

Tags @kirsteng42 @babydarkstar @prolix-yuy @thegreenkid @hquinzelle @fangirl-316 @gracie7209 @jedifarmerr @doommommy

#pedro pascal character fanfiction #the bubble #dieter bravo feels #dieter bravo x reader

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