#tallest groom

[pinkfey]

tipsy thoughts 💭 is it really possible for two short people to be friends 😔

[muttball]

The Groom Cross

Groom, Texas is the site of the the largest free standing cross in the western hemisphere, located along interstate 40 in Groom, Texas. The cross was erected in 1995, and is 19 stories, or 190 feet tall. The giant cross can be seen from as far as 25 miles away and seen by millions of motorists every year.

[bro-atz]

fifteen inch club

in which: you're doing such an amazing job as maid of honor that you definitely need to be rewarded...

pair: stripper!seonghwa/stripper!yeosang/stripper!san/maid-of-honor!afab!reader

word count: 3.5k

content: smut, nicknames (doll, darling, baby), filthy?, face riding, throat fucking, fingering, double penetration, slight pussy slapping?, oral sex, anal sex, bukkake, unprotected sex (PLS REMEMBER TO WRAP UP IRL!), completely consensual!

rated: R | nsfw — minors do not interact

author's note: i blame @yunhoszn for sending me the pic that started it all and thank @bunny4yungi for helping me come up with this amazing plot <3

When your best friend asked you to be her maid of honor, you thought it was going to be the most fun experience of your life. You were sorely mistaken. Turns out that you weren’t her first choice— you were her third. You would’ve been more offended had she not been the most unbearable bride in existence (and if her first choices weren’t her family members).

For her bachelorette party, she had so many insane demands, one of them being that there must be strippers. Not only must there be strippers, but they must be hot according to her standards. You weren’t complaining about her standards since she did have very good taste, but you were complaining about the fact that her standards were quite impossible to find. You considered asking the groom if he and his friends would be willing to pose as strippers, but knowing your friend, she would be upset with you for doing such a thing.

Luckily, you managed to find a place. You had to pay a really pretty fucking penny to hire them, but you found one.

“So, when will the strippers get here?” your friend asked excitedly as you and several other of your friends waited in the private room of the hotel restaurant.

“Uh, soon,” you told her while glancing at your watch.

“What place did you use, Y/N?” another friend asked.

“They, uh… They’re called “Fifteen Inch Club”? I know the name sounds a little weird, but they’re supposed to be really good…”

"Fifteen Inch Club? Why are they called that? Is it because they have massive dicks?"

Everyone, except for you, giggled when the comment was made. Before you could explain the meaning behind the name, there was a knock on the door. Someone told them to enter, and three gorgeous men with insanely thin waists entered the room dressed in the skimpiest clothing— so skimpy, in fact, that you wondered what on Earth they would be stripping in the first place because you could quite literally see so much of their skin already.

As your friends cheered and whistled, you were simply staring with your jaw dropped to the ground. Your eyes were darting between the three men rapidly, and you felt your entire body tense up as the one with the broadest shoulders eyed you up and down and bit his lower lip.

“Now, where’s the special girl? Our bride-to-be?” the tallest one asked as soon as the screams and whistles died down.

All of the attention immediately turned to the bride, who waved her hand and fanned herself.

As the men danced and stripped their clothes off, you couldn’t help but feel the pool in your panties only get worse. The shortest one of the three men stopped by you first, and he rolled his waist towards you, making your entire body flush with heat. Your body temperature continued to rise when he held the back of your chair and closed the distance between you, his chest nearly grazing yours. You held your breath and did your best to keep your shit together when he turned around, his barely clothed ass shaking right in your face. You felt your friends shove a bunch of bills into your hands, and with trembling fingers, you managed to tuck one into the waistband of his underpants.

After he left, you truly thought you were going to be able to breathe easy, only for the other two men to approach you. They both gave you a personal lap dance at the exact same time, and whatever sanity was left in your brain flew out the window at the speed of light. You could barely remember to stuff bills into their waistbands— especially when they trapped you in between their thin waists. They kept rolling their waists on either side of your head, and as they kept doing so, you couldn’t help but wonder what they were packing in their underwear.

Your mind was swimming in the horniest of hormones as they continued to dance and turn you and your friends on with all of their grinding, and you completely spaced out until they were finished with their routine. Actually, you were spaced out until they fully redressed and left the room. After all of the squeals, screams, and laughter calmed down, the party finally ended, and you were left with the bride in the room. You started cleaning up as the bride leaned towards you, her lips by your ear.

“You’re going to pay for everything, right?” the bride asked you in a hushed voice.

“Yes, of course,” you responded to gritted teeth as your heart sank at the thought of your money flying out of your wallet. “I am your maid of honor, after all…”

“Thank you so, so much!”

With a pat on your shoulder, your friend scurried out of the restaurant, leaving you to clean up the room and pick up the tab. As you did so, one of the men returned to the room.

“Need any help?” he asked with a surprisingly soft voice.

You looked up to see the man with the broad shoulders. You shook your head and said, “No, that’s okay! Thank you for the offer, though.”

As you got back to cleaning everything up, the man decided to help you despite you rejecting his offer.

“So,” he said slowly in an attempt to start a conversation. “You’re the maid of honor then?”

“Unfortunately,” you couldn’t help but respond under your breath.

“Unfortunately? That doesn’t sound great.”

You sighed deeply. You could go on a rant about the bride for years, but instead of indulging him, you smiled and shook your head. Before he could ask more questions, you averted your gaze and finished collecting the remaining decorations.

“Here’s the rest of these,” he spoke up again as he handed you the decorations he had collected.

“Thank you,” you took them and shoved them into the box. The two of you were silent for a moment before you asked, “Is there a reason you came back, or…?”

"Oh, yeah," he cleared his throat. He looked around while scratching the back of his head as he muttered, "I can't find my phone."

And so, the two of you searched for his phone, and like a scene out of a movie, the two of you spotted his phone at the exact same time and reached for it. Your hand brushed against his, and rather than grab his phone, he grabbed your hand. You felt your face get hot when his fingers rubbed your palm. The two of you locked eyes, and you could've sworn that there was something darker behind his eyes, but before you could think about it, he let go of your hand, and you returned to reality. He picked up his phone and moved away from you slightly. Even though he had his phone, he lingered— he had something he wanted to say.

"You look a little sad— It seems like you're the one getting married with that look on your face."

"I'm not getting married," you couldn't help but laugh. "I just can't wait for this wedding to be over."

"So what I'm hearing is that you're single...?"

You looked at the man with slight confusion. His words felt genuine, but there was something in his tone that made you wonder if he left his phone behind accidentally or purposefully.

"So if I did this..." he whispered while closing the gap between the two of you. "Then it wouldn't be a problem, right?"

His arm went around your waist, pulling you sharply into his chest. The dark look in his eyes returned, and you realized that he definitely left his phone behind purposefully. You had heard stories about strippers hooking up with the best man, but you never thought that you, the maid-of-honor, would be hooking up with a stripper; and while all your logic told you that you should keep things professional, the tension rising in between your legs overruled your mind.

Before his lips met yours, the door to the room suddenly opened, and in walked the other two strippers. The two of you quickly separated, but the tension in the room did not go unnoticed by the other men.

"You lost your phone my ass," the tallest one commented with a sly smirk. "You could've just told us the truth, San."

"Shut up, Seonghwa," San mumbled as he retreated. "I really did lose my phone."

"On purpose for sure. I would ask if we should leave the two of you alone, but I don't think I want to let you do that."

"Seonghwa— What?"

"I'm just saying you're not the only one interested," Seonghwa responded nonchalantly before winking subtly at you.

As San and Seonghwa bickered, the other man approached you. He took one of the boxes from the table and asked you with a sweet smile, "Would you like help bringing these boxes to your car?"

"Actually, I got a room here," you shook your head. "But thank you."

"So let us help you bring these up to your room," he countered. "I'm Yeosang, by the way."

He held his hand out for you to shake, and the second you touched his soft hand, electricity ran up your arm. There was something about his low voice that made everything in you desperate for him to do something, anything to you. 

You weren't the only one who was desperate, apparently. Seonghwa and San, who were no longer immersed in their own conversation, watched as Yeosang got closer to you. It seemed like he wasn't really one to speak much, but when he did, he made you feel like you were fighting for your life.

“You’re so beautiful…” Yeosang whispered, his fingers tilting your head up.

He inhaled briefly before pressing his lips against yours, his lips encompassing your lower lip. You sighed softly when you felt his hands grip your waist and pull you closer to him.

“You were saying earlier that you’re staying in this hotel, right?” he asked breathlessly.

“Yes…”

“Let’s go back to your room, then...”

The second you got into your room, Seonghwa pulled you into his arms and made out with you roughly, and the other two men quickly worked on removing all of your clothes so that you were standing in nothing but your underwear.

"God, you're so beautiful," Yeosang murmured, his hands roaming over your chest before squeezing your breast tightly.

Seonghwa moved aside, allowing Yeosang to take your breast into his mouth and suck on your tit harshly. You moaned and whimpered, your hand moving to his hair. You ran your fingers through his soft locks, egging the man on further. His hand found your other breast as Seonghwa tilted your head to the side, his tongue immediately shoving its way into your mouth.

San, meanwhile, was on his knees. He lifted one of your legs so that it rested on his shoulder, and he left the lightest kiss on your throbbing clit. While you held onto Seonghwa's shoulder for stability, you subtly rolled your hips into his face, your clit yearning for his lips. However, you brushed your clit against his nose instead, which seemed to have more of an effect on you.

All three men working their simple magic on you was enough to bring you to your first climax of the night. You moved your hand to San's head to push him away before you could squirt, but he was an impossible force to move. He kept his face planted in your sweet cunt and slurped up all of your arousal as you came. You would've been more mortified had Yeosang not bit down lightly on your tit, completely melting your brain.

Before your legs could give out on you, San stood up. Yeosang and Seonghwa moved so that San could pick you up and toss you onto the hotel room bed. You landed onto the soft duvet and managed to push yourself up to see the three of them standing at the foot of the bed, the haze in your mind slowly beginning to clear up.

After they had finished work, all three men were dressed in casual wear ranging from simple t-shirts and jeans to sweatpants and hoodies; yet, their underwear was the same as before. So, when they slowly stripped themselves down— giving you a quick, private show of your own— you nearly giggled at the sparkly underwear. That giggle subsided quickly the second they revealed their stiff, throbbing cocks.

"Sit up properly for us, doll," Seonghwa instructed as he got onto the bed.

Obeying, you knelt so that you were upright for the most part. Once he got on the bed, Seonghwa immediately laid down and moved your leg so that you were straddling him, his face right below your cunt. He pulled you down, his tongue meeting your cunt immediately. You let out a loud moan, your eyes rolling to the back of your head, and your entire body shaking at his touch.

"F-Fuck," you whimpered and gasped the more Seonghwa's tongue ravished you from below.

"Darling, we haven't even started yet, and you already look so far gone," San chuckled, his low voice making your heart flutter. His hand reached for your neck, and his fingers pressed into your neck as he brought your face closer to his.

San's pressure on your neck, along with his words, made your mind swirl. Your mind got even more scrambled when he kissed you sensually, his lips enveloping your lower lip before sucking hard on it. You were going to bring your hands to his shoulders to hold onto him, but before you could, Yeosang took one of your hands and guided it to his cock, while San moved the other to his cock.

You had absolutely no functioning brain cells left, which made you grateful that both Yeosang and San were guiding your hands on their cocks. Seonghwa gripped your hips, but he didn't have to guide you as you were already lowering yourself onto him so you could glide your wet cunt along his slender face.

"Fuck, baby, just like that," you heard Yeosang gasp when you squeezed his cock lightly.

The man buried his face in the crook of your neck and sighed sensually, the air leaving a trail of goosebumps on your skin. San loosened his grip on your neck, and the second he did, Yeosang grabbed your cheeks and turned your face so that you were kissing him. His tongue dove deep into your mouth as he held your face tightly. You were so fixated on kissing Yeosang that you didn't realize San's hand had moved around your waist, his fingers nearing your asshole. Your entire body jerked when you felt his finger slip inside, and you felt your sanity melt away.

"Darling, you're okay with this, right?" he whispered with a sultry voice into your ear.

Yeosang let go of your cheeks, allowing you to gasp and agree with San. You watched San smirk before he slid another finger into your tight hole, his fingers starting to spread you wider.

"I just need to make sure you're prepared to take me, darling," he murmured before leaving a bite on your shoulder.

Before your brain had time to process everything, the three men had moved you so that you were lying on top of Seonghwa, your face right above his. He rubbed his cock along your folds before slowly slipping it inside you, a cry and a whimper leaving your lips.

"Doing alright, doll?" Seonghwa asked, his breathing hitching. "You're really fucking tight... You feel so good..."

You bit your lower lip and nodded at him, making him smile. He moved his head up and kissed you over and over again slightly, distracting you. San, meanwhile, had got on the bed, and he snapped your attention back to the position you were in when you felt his hands clench your ass cheeks tightly, his hands pulling them apart to get a good luck at your ass hole. You nearly bit down on Seonghwa's lower lip when you felt the tip of his cock prod into your ass.

"Oh God!" you cried loudly when San rammed the entirety of his thick length into you. "You're— Fuck!"

You moaned and cried loudly when the two men inside you bottomed out, your entire body throbbing with pleasure and pain. Yeosang grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled your head back so that you looked up at him, his throbbing cock hovering near your lips.

He didn't even have to tell you what to do— you did it so automatically. You opened your mouth and moved your head closer to him, the tip of his cock brushing past your lips. Yeosang inhaled slowly before humming, the depth of his hum ringing in your ears warming up your already insanely hot body.

You did as he expected, but it wasn't enough for him. As Seonghwa and San slowly began to roll their hips, their cocks moving inside you, Yeosang tightened his grip on your hair and moved your head forcefully along his length. You looked right at him when he started praising you, and you watched his eyes flutter as he tilted his head back to sigh with pleasure.

Suddenly, they all acted at once. Seonghwa rammed his waist upwards, San smacked and grabbed your ass, and Yeosang forced your head so far down his cock that you choked. Not a single man refused to let you breathe for a mere second, the three of them picking up their pace.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" you cried as you turned your head away from Yeosang's cock. "S-so good— So c-close!"

You were so close, yet, they stopped. Those words were the catalyst for the three of them to manhandle you. San's cock was still buried deep in your ass as you sat on his lap, and Seonghwa and Yeosang knelt near you, their hands rubbing their lengths quickly.

As they jerked themselves off, Seonghwa cupped your face and kissed you sloppily, allowing Yeosang to bring his fingers between your legs and slip them into your cunt. He fingered you roughly, and between his fingers ruining your cunt and San's cock ruining your ass, you lost your mind. You held onto Yeosang's wrist and tried to get him to let up, but there was no way in hell he was stopping.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, the pleasure building inside you rapidly. You came hard when Yeosang's fingers and San's cock rubbed inside you so perfectly, your arousal squirting all over his fingers and onto the bed. Yeosang withdrew his fingers, and you thought you were finally going to be able to breathe, but Seonghwa's hand rapidly replaced Yeosang's. He slapped your pussy several times quickly, sharply, the stings from his slaps stimulating your still-trembling cunt. Then, he rapidly moved his fingers against your folds, his nails repeatedly grazing your sore clit until you squeezed your eyes shut and bit back a moan as you came one more time.

"Doll, if you liked it, then you should moan out loud," Seonghwa whispered in your ear. "Did you like that?"

You moaned softly and nodded, your lips parted slightly as you turned your head to look at him with bleary eyes. A brief look of shock crossed his face before he inhaled sharply and directed his attention to his cock, his hand pumping rapidly, your eyes following. Climbing off San's cock, you faced Seonghwa fully and knelt on all fours, your face right near his cock as you looked up at him with wider eyes, an open mouth, and your tongue out as you waited in anticipation for his load.

Seeing you waiting so patiently for Seonghwa brought the other two men to kneel before you, their cocks right above your face. You locked eyes with all of them as they stroked themselves faster. You felt their cum land on your face and tongue, the three men groaning loudly as they covered you with white ropes.

After they all finished completely, you collected some of the cum from your cheeks onto your fingers and sucked your fingers while looking up at them with wide eyes. You couldn't help but let out a small giggle when you saw their cocks twitch and their faces turn a light shade of pink.

"Now why would you go do that, darling?" San murmured, his fingers trailing along your legs before his large hand gripped your thigh.

"Do what?" you asked innocently while fully knowing what San was talking about.

"Doll," Seonghwa sighed while he pushed your hair back with his fingers. "Just say the word..."

You looked at him with that same fake-innocence plastered to your face, only for your façade to break the second Yeosang wiped some of the cum from your face off with his thumb and stuck his thumb in your mouth for you to suck.

"Tell us you want us, baby," Yeosang's low drawl sent shivers down your spine. "We'll make you feel like the special one."

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[qwimblenorrisstan]

ParkRanger!Reader and Hybrid!141 Hc’s

This can really be interpreted as platonic or romantic, depending on how you look at it, but I just think it would be hilarious to be a fire lookout or one of those people who stays in the tall towers in a park for months on end.

Sure, maybe some of the wildlife was a bit too friendly, but that was just normal, right?

Like that burly bear that lived in a cave nearby, occasionally migrating, but never attacking you when you accidentally crossed its path. It got along oddly well with the other wildlife, well, except for the other male bears, who seemed to not respect its territory. You’d nicknamed it “Price”, because of how much money the park had to pay each year due to the bear mauling the electrical system sometimes.

Or the buck that would wander around sometimes, one of the prettiest deer you’d ever seen in all honesty. It was a wonder it hadn’t been devoured by some other animal yet. But it would sometimes let you give it secret little pets, even if the park discouraged any interaction with wildlife. You’d nicknamed it “Gaz”, because of the incident where it had gotten into a barrel of gas for your generator, and you’d had to rush it to a local vet.

The shaggy stray wolf that hung around was a bit odd, too. Blond fur hidden underneath grey and black patches, with keen eyes that you seldom noticed before it moved. It never let you pet it, but sometimes in the middle of the night, you’d be out on a trail, and you both would catch eyes. Or it would give little growls in warning to you, of whatever else lurked these woods. You’d nicknamed it “Ghost”, for obvious reasons.

And last, but certainly not least of your strange menagerie of animals, was the honey badger. It looked normal, other than some strange spots of hair sticking up that looked like some larger animal had tried to groom it. It snarled at anything, but as long as you didn’t get too close, it would happily trail behind you on whatever path you were taking for work. It was mischievous too, getting into your food and belongings in your backpack. You’d nicknamed it “Soap”, because, in the middle of the night, you’d woken up to find the thing in your tower, drinking some liquid soap. It had run before you’d gotten it to a vet but seemed fine a few days later.

Your odd little group of animal friends seemed weird, obviously, but you’d just chalked it up to them being exposed to park rangers and humans more often than normal wildlife. That was, until, one night you went out late to fix your generator that had run out of gas, only to hear footsteps crunching behind you, and whirling just in time to see a middle-aged man you’d given a fine earlier for setting off fireworks in the forest, holding a thick log, ready to smack you with it.

Rather, he was going to smack you with it, before he was tackled to the ground, and multiple fists began beating him into the dirt.

You stood there, dumbfounded, watching as four men, bare as the day they were born, slowly got off the unconscious man’s body.

One shorter man with a mohawk, one pretty one with browned skin, a taller one with a gruff beard, and the tallest, a grumpy-looking man who was built like a brick wall. They stared back, at least moving to cover themselves for your sake before the man with a mohawk and a stupid grin on his face spoke.

“Been wanton’ to bea’ his head in for a while.”

His chin jerked to the unconscious man, now bleeding everywhere in the grass.

You sighed, knowing that you were in for a long night.

(might write a fic for this?? lmk if I should)

[wardenparker]

American as Apple Pie

Jack Daniels x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 12k Warnings: Cursing, food/alcohol, meddlesome friends, mention of shooting/guns but the context is carnival games, cheesy flirting, Jack being Jack. Fingering, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, rough sex. Summary: Going to a Fourth of July party with your girlfriends turns out to be an unexpected whirlwind. Notes: It wouldn't be a holiday without a little fic to celebrate. Independence Day seemed best acknowledged with a heavy dose of Jack's good natured charm. 🎆🎇💗🤍💙

The Statesman Fourth of July celebration in Louisville, Kentucky is one of the biggest and loudest in the area. It was an excuse to drape everything in red, white and blue, perfect your Uncle Sam costume, and play Lee Greenwood’s ‘Proud to be an American’ on repeat. There is a special whiskey barrel that is opened every year since its founding in 1919. Huge grills are rolled out to cook hamburger and hotdogs by the thousands as it’s an open party for everyone. Ending in a spectacular fireworks show that lights up the sky.

Some friends wanted to go. Girls from the office who were looking for a more festive holiday celebration than watching their siblings' kids play in the pool and playing cornhole while their aunts bitched about grocery prices. Not having anything better to do, you had thrown on the only red, white, and blue clothes you had in your closet and punctuated the look with red lipstick just for fun. Maybe you'll have one too many and flirt with a cowboy. That wouldn't be too bad.

The bolero he normally wears around his neck with the button down and sports coat had been traded for an open collared shirt, a print of U.S flags on them. His normally painted on jeans exchanged for white shorts and cowboy boots changed out with boat shoes. Still, the black Stetson is firmly on his head, although the mustache was still impeccably groomed and no one would mistake him for anything but a cowboy as he drinks from a long neck bottle to beat the mid afternoon heat.

The music filtering through speakers all over the Statesman Distillery property is obviously country, but the actual number of Stetsons in the sea of guests is staggering even to a Louisville resident. It's that time of the year, you suppose, making your way toward one of the many drink carts with your friends as you scope out the crowd.

“Weeeeeellllll, holy shit.” Tequila whistles, twisting his neck as he looks over at the margarita cart, smirking at the choice of drink. “Get a good look at the shorts on those legs.” He nods, making Jack follow his gaze to the group of women who obviously just arrived.

"God bless the USA." Rum pronounces solemnly, only lifting his Stetson from his head to place it over his heart in salute to the group of four ladies in the tiniest shorts he's ever seen that are now getting their drinks.

“Goddamn I love the summer.” Jack whistles, winking at the one in the red top when she looks over at them. “Happy fourth ladies!” He calls out, lifting his beer towards them.

"Happy Fourth!" You call back, raising the frozen margarita you've just been served in their direction as you friends giggle mercilessly around you. The three men who are not bothering to censor their ogling are dressed in some of the worst outfits here. Tiny white booty shorts on one, a stars and stripes Kiss the Cook apron on the tallest, and the third wearing neon red shorts and a muscle tank depicting a bald eagle wearing sunglasses that says You Free Tonight? underneath.

"Rocks Paper Scissors for the tall one?" You friend Madi proposes to the group, eyeing the youngest and buffest of the men like he's the snack she didn't know she was craving.

“No, you can have him.” Tina snorts. “I’ve got my eye on the one with the eagle on his shirt.” She admits, drooling herself at the virile display of man, who can also enjoy themselves.

“Have fun,” you snort, shaking your head and focusing on your drink. “I came here to drink and to line dance very poorly, not to get picked up.”

“Why can’t we have it all?” Madi asks, giggling when the one in the apron motions the group over when no one has looked away.

“I’m not sure white shorts is the guy to break my dry spell,” you mumble to them with an amused grin as the four of you strut over to the men who were watching you. “And you two already called dibs on the others.”

“If you don’t want him, I’ll ride his mustache.” Sandra snorts, smirking slightly at the group of men. “I’m sure my fiancé wouldn’t mind.”

“Sure.” Tina giggles. “We’ll just call Brad up and let him know you’ll be late for dinner because you found a cowboy at a party.”

“He’ll understand.” All of you laugh, knowing that he definitely would not understand. He loved her completely and was lucky enough that she was just as crazy about him. Their wedding is only three months away.

“Ladies.” Kiss the Cook tips his hat gallantly and lets his eyes sweep over every single one of you. “A very happy Independence Day to you beauties.”

All three men clock the ring on the statuesque brunette’s hand and immediately understands that she is off limits. The other two tip their hats as well and Jack grins. “Can we offer you something to eat?”

There is a split second before you look over to fully take in the third man of the group that you’re apparently now hanging out with, and instantly regret the snap judgement made from yards away just a minute or two before. He’s only smaller by comparison, broad shoulders and a strikingly cut jaw accented by the aviator sunglasses he’s wearing and leading down to biceps as thick as his neck and hands that — fuck, if you’d seen his hands beforehand you wouldn’t have said a damn thing, he makes that beer bottle look like a doll accessory. “Ah—We—um, sure,” you manage to blurt out, nodding self-consciously and absolutely aware that your friends are never going to let you live down getting flustered in front of the cowboy.

Madi grins at the way you are suddenly tripping over yourself to accept the offer of a burger. “If we’re gonna eat, maybe we can know who is offering us a plate?” She asks, smiling flirtatiously at the taller man holding the spatula. The three men chuckle. “We go by our work nicknames.” Jack offers, pointing at Rum to start. “Ryan, also known as Rum. Because he can get any party started.” He introduces him with a grin. “Next, we have our ‘kiss the cook’, Luke, who we call Tequila. He thinks he can make clothes come off.” Tequila rolls his eyes and shoves Jack slightly as the older man tips his hat towards you girls. “And I’m Jack, otherwise known as Whiskey.” Tina grins. “Why do they call you that?” She asks, making Jack chuckle. “Because I go down as smooth as the finest whiskey.” He boasts, tipping his aviators down so his eyes find you again and he shoots you a confident wink.

“So you work here then, I assume?” Guys who work for a distillery having boozy nicknames it’s so far off base, but Jack’s declaration that he ‘goes down like the finest whiskey’ has you thinking mustache ride thoughts all over again and if you could do it you might just slap yourself for something so obvious. On the other hand? No man should be able to make a wink look as smooth as he just did.

“Only if you want us to.” Rum smirks at Tina and tips his hat back slightly. “Otherwise we can be whatever you want. Spies, cowboys, hell, maybe all three.” Tequila huffs a cough and slaps Rum on the back. “Are you ladies burger or hot dog kind of women?” He asks, changing the subject.

“I think there’s a rule that you have to have a hot dog on the Fourth of July, isn’t there?” Tina replies, batting her eyelashes pointedly.

“Absolutely.” Tequila agrees. “Now the question is-“ he points the tongs at all of you seriously. “Are you a chili cheese dog person or a peppers and onions person?”

The question sparks a full culinary debate, as Tina insists only mustard is necessary, Sandra and Madi are fans of peppers and onions any way they can get them, and you just shrug over it all because there's no point in trying to be dainty with a hot dog. A chili cheese dog is the only way to go.

Jack chuckles as the girls are chattering, except the one in the red. “You are awful quiet, sugar.” He comments. “Not choosy?”

"Very choosy," you tell him, laughing a little about how involved your friends are getting in this debate with the other two guys. "Chili cheese dog every time. But my friends like to pretend that it's possible to be dainty while eating a hot dog. I'd rather enjoy something delicious."

Jack grins at your answer and points a finger up to tip his hat back on his head. “No, you just gotta jump in and devour it.” He hums, his smirk slightly dirty.

"Whoever put you three in one place today is a menace," you inform him with a deeper, rounder laugh. "But I totally agree. The only way is to jump in."

Jack chuckles, leaning in a little closer to you. “Not true.” He coos. “We were brought together for a good time.” He shrugs and takes a sip of his beer.

It can be both," you concede, getting a whiff of an expensive, musky cologne under the grill and sunscreen smell that hangs all around this booth.

“Well then.” Jack snorts, tapping his bottle against your margarita glass. “To being a menace.” He offers with a smirk.

"Here." A long sip of your drink hides a flustered grin, but you don't mind having run into someone this charming and handsome right off the bat. You and your friends will wander away in due time, and they'll become a fun anecdote for the office, and probably material for the spank bank of each and every member of your group as well.

“So what made you decide to join our little celebration?” Jack asks without any sense of irony despite the bash being massive. There are bounce houses and carnival style game booths set up. Along with all kinds of food and drink.

"Girls' day out." Ordinarily you might feel bad for Sandra, being slightly singled out while the other three of you are being shamelessly flirted with, but she's chatting with Kiss the Cook as well and having a grand time. "When your day is office, home, and back again, sometimes a party is just what you need."

“Oh I understand.” He promises, even if his work is not as traditionally boring all the time, there are plenty of days that the paperwork tedium gets to him.

"Your days are probably a lot more fun than ours." Without knowing that you're reading his thoughts, you just decide to make conversation and enjoy whatever comes from it.

“Some days. Others it’s slower than molasses dripping off a spoon.” He likes the fact that you aren’t just flirting, there’s interesting conversation blooming. “Although I’m enjoying right now.”

"This must be one of the more fun workdays each year." Why wouldn't it be? There are half-dressed women all over the places, and whatever the orientation of these three might be, they're all definitely interested in women. You sip your drink again and find that your head tilts slightly in his direction instinctively. "We're not going to get you in trouble, are we?"

“Nah.” Jack waves away your concern, secretly touched that you would be worried about that. “Well just call this….public relations.” He teases, winking at you again. “How does that sound, sugar?”

"Like you should be a politician," you snort, but honestly you don't mind. It's been a while since you just flirted for the hell of it and it's fun.

Jack wrinkles his nose in disgust. “Sugar, you are breaking my heart.” He groans. “I would never want to be lumped in with those lyin’, thievin’ scumbags.” He shakes his head and puts his beer down to lay his hand over his heart. “I’m a patriot.”

Somehow that only makes you laugh more, and when you meet his eyes again it's with warm cheeks and a bright smile. "My apologies," you hum, tipping your margarita in his direction again like a salute. "We'll stick to drinking and flirting. No filibusters today."

“Now hold on….” Jack leans closer and chuckles. “Depends on what kind of filibuster we are talkin’ about.” He drawls. “Some of them can be a good time.” His eyes slide up and down your body suggestively.

Raising one eyebrow at him, sip your sour-sweet vacations through the bright pink straw and smirk. “You want to have a prolonged speech that stalls all activity about my body? Seems counterintuitive, cowboy.”

He snorts and shakes his head. “I don’t think you understand darlin’.” He leans in even closer. “We ain’t talkin’ during my filibuster, we’re just prolonging the main event.” He explains.

One second your head is tiled and the next second you're clamping your mouth shut on a bitten lip. He's just gone from casually flirting to casually painting a mental image that will last you weeks. "You're pretty sure of yourself, cowboy," you hum when you remember how to speak again.

“Have to be.” He admits, truth more than cockiness in his words. “You don’t have to accept, but….” He smirks. “You could always consider it your patriotic booty.” His pun is horrible and he knows it, but he uses it proudly. With the same confidence he wears his Fourth of July outfit.

You snort before you can stop yourself, shaking your head at him as you wave off the laugh as good natured. "That's awful." The play on 'patriotic duty' is absurd, but somehow he manages to make it circle back to charming in a way that is fairly impressive. From most guys it would just sound cheesy or plain bad.

“It is, isn’t it?” He agrees with a grin. “Really awful.” He reaches for his beer again and finishes it in one long swallow.

"Worst line I've heard in a very long time." Even though you're agreeing, you chuckle and shake your head. Why the hell not? When was the last time you just cut loose and had some fun? Can you even remember? "It's...not a no, though."

“Hmmmm.” He lifts a brow and smirks at you again as he reaches into the cooler next to him for another beer. “Well then, I better make sure that you are fed, sugar.” He tells you. “‘Cause you might be in for a hell of a night.”

"You promise a girl a hell of a lot." But for some reason you don't think he's lying, or even exaggerating that much. Maybe it's wishful thinking, you can't tell, but Jack fixes up your hot dog with flare and hands it over just as you finish your margarita.

He takes your empty glass and chuckles. “Would you like another frosty margarita? Or perhaps the blackberry old fashions that are being made?” He asks, pointing to another stand just a few feet away, featuring the ‘87 single barrel that Jack loves.

"I think I have to have whiskey this time, don't I?" Given his nickname, it would almost seem rude not to. Especially when you've decided to encourage him. At least you've been polite enough not to let your eyes wander down and inspect those tiny little shorts he has on.

“Right away.” Jack gives you a two fingered salute before he spins on his heel and hurries towards the booth to collect you the best blackberry old fashion you’ve ever had.

Sandra scrambles over during the momentary pause, searching your face for anything besides the focused attention you're paying to the cowboy's ass as he walks away. "Are we rescuing or retreating?" She murmurs, hot dog in hand but ready to bounce in a heartbeat if you need it. "Actually?" Glancing up at her, you offer a sideways grin of defeat. "I think I'm gonna hang out a while. Hot-but-cheesy cowboy kinda got to me. I wanna see how this plays out."

“Really?” Her brow shoots up and she grins at you. “Takin’ that mustache for a ride?” She teases. “I’m jealous. He’s got a fantastic one.”

"I'll tell Brad to grow one before the wedding," you tease, barely managing not to snort again with laughter as Jack heads back your way.

“Ladies.” Jack smiles with a charming aplomb as he hands you the old fashion he had made for you, and offers Sandra the one he had gotten for himself.

"Oh, I'm alright." Sandra insists, smiling her thanks but not taking the drinks. "Designated driver. I had my one and now I'm set for the day." That smile flashes over at you, and she squeezes your hip gently but encouragingly. "I think we're going to wander. You want to come?"

It's a clear chance to break away if you have suddenly changed your mind and you want to, but you shake your head and lean over to kiss your friend's cheek. "I'll catch up with you guys later," you tell her, though at present you aren't actually sure if you will or not.

“I’ll keep her entertained.” Jack promises when your friend’s eyes turn towards him and he can read a slight warning in them. “And return her to you when she’s bored with me.” He adds.

“You have our numbers,” Sandra reminds you. “One text and we come running.” She blows you a kiss before stepping away, satisfied that Jack will at least be respectful as well as pretty, and that’s worth its weight in gold.

“You don’t have to stay.” Jack hums. “But I’ll make sure you don’t regret it if you do.”

"Promises, promises," you sing song, but rather than letting the moment get heavy you take a first bite of your hot dog and groan happily.

He chuckles and lets you enjoy the hotdog, admiring the way you save a dollop of mustard before it escapes and takes a sip of his drink. “After you eat, are you wanting to dance or maybe play a few games?”

"Either." Pleased with the idea that he might put a little more work into this than just fucking you and having a nap after, you end up smirking a little before the last bite of your food. "Both?"

“Done.” He agrees easily, holding out a napkin for you like a gentlemen. Other agents have taken over the grills because Tequila and Rum have magically disappeared with your friends. “Games first, let your hotdog settle.”

Gone in mere minutes, you make sure you haven't smeared your mouth with mustard or chili before picking up the drink he brought you and motioning ahead of you toward the rest of the fair. "Lead the way, cowboy."

The first booth is one that all the agents have been warned to throw. It’s the shooting gallery. He grins as he cocks his head to the side. “Whatcha think?”

"I can't say I'm much with a gun. Besides maybe a Super Soaker." The big plushies and toys behind the counter look just as inviting as they're supposed to, though, and you shrug. "But what the hell. Think you can give me a few pointers?"

“Let’s see how you do and maybe I’ll help you win a prize?” Despite the warning, Champ won’t be too mad if he shows off just a little. Especially since all the prizes have been paid for by Statesman already, leaving the game free to play.

"I have a feeling I'm about to embarrass myself for your amusement." Despite that, you laugh and take your place at the booth. The moving targets are fairly standard — bright yellow duck-like figures that do not resemble the actual animals but look more like rubber duckies that will fall over on the track when shot. "Here goes nothing," you decide, figuring that if you get even two you'll be extremely proud of yourself.

Jack uses this to his advantage and presses close behind you, holding your elbow up. “Steady.” He murmurs in your ear.

"Hell of a thing to say to a girl when you're that close," you mumble, but the smirk in your voice is obvious.

“I can always say more.” He teases playfully, nudging your arm up slightly. “Be a good girl and take a deep breath.”

It's almost frustrating how well that works on you, making you inhale sharply and shallowly at the words and completely giving yourself away before you can follow the direction and inhale slowly like he's told you to.

You miss, but it was actually closer than Jack had figured the first shot would be. “Good job!” He praises, reaching for your hips and shifting your core slightly, brining you back against him more. “Try again, sugar.”

Whatever the cologne is he's wearing, it reminds you of a campfire in the middle of a forest and that might be fogging your mind more than helping you concentrate. Again, you inhale deeply and squeeze the triggering, putting far more work into this silly shooting game than you need to but finding that you actually clip one of the targets this time and manage to almost knock it over.

“Almost got it.” Jack hums in approval. “Let’s see you knock that same one down.”

Utter concentration isn't possible with him pressed up against you, but you breathe again and call yourself to order, managing to breathe and aim and drop your elbow and all of those other things in just the right harmony to actually knock over one of the targets on the next try. It's not enough to get you a prize, but it's enough to have you doing a little wiggled dance of celebration that all the effort paid off.

Jack chuckles, happy with your achievement. “Good job, sugar.” He praises. “You did a good job.”

"Not bad for an accountant," you joke, turning a little to beam at him.

“Not too bad at all.” He winks, nodding to the game handler as they set the target back up. “Now I want you to pick out which prize you want.” He tells you, taking the gun from your hand.

"Cocky." You smirk at him but glance back at the booth and consider the options hanging from the top of the booth. Right in front, there is a white teddy bear with blue and red stars wearing a Statesman t-shirt. "How about that one right there?"

Jack hums in approval and looks towards the attendant. “Ten shots in a row.” The kid, who can’t be more than seventeen explains. “Knock all ten down and you win the prize.”

There's no way he'll do it, but you step far enough away to give him room and wave one hand toward the little metal duckies. "Show off for me, cowboy."

Jack settles his hat more firmly on his head and since it’s ten shots, he picks up another gun to have one in each hand. “Oh I will.” He promises as he sends both weapons twirling around his trigger fingers in a smooth gun trick.

Despite literally asking him to show off, your eyes still widen with the trick and you're left half-giggling and half-staring as he knocks down every single target with grace and seemingly no effort at all.

The targets are easy and Jack might have been showing off just a tad by alternating shots with both hands, making sure that you know he’s just as accurate with both hands. The targets are down and he turns towards you with a grin. “Your prize, sugar.” He bows as the stuffed bear is handed to you.

More than a little surprised by the display that was just put on for your benefit, you choke out a laugh, thank the kid running the booth, and positively curtsy to Jack in exchange for the bow. “Alright, I admit it,” you laugh in utter surprise, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek like a fairy tale princess bestowing a token. “I’m very impressed.”

“Good.” Jack smirks slightly and looks at the bear. “I think it’s always important to impress a lady.”

“Consider us deeply impressed indeed,” you joke, holding up the bear beside you like it might have had an opinion in the matter all its own.

Jack smirks slightly. “Do you want to play some more games or dance?”

“I don’t see how we could do any better at the games.” ‘We’ here meaning him — your own performance was dismal but that hardly matters. He’s smiling at you like he wants to make you scream in the best way possible and you want to see if he moves as well on the dance floor if he claims to in bed. “Let’s go dance.”

“Yes ma’am.” Jack takes the hand that is holding your drink and carries it for you. Looping his arm through yours so you can still hold your bear. “We’ll let him watch and learn.” He jokes, motioning to where other stuffed animals are resting while couples cut up the large dance floor.

“For when all the other bears decide to have a hoedown of their own?” That’s about the cutest thing you can think of — aside from him — and you grin at the idea. “I like that. Teddy Bear Hoedown is like a sequel to the Teddy Bear Picnic.”

He chuckles and you go over to the large table, setting down your bear in a particular spot. “He will be safe.” Jack promises you.

“So full of promises today.” The little coo in your voice is teasing, but maybe that’s just how he is? Reassuring and protective is not a bad combination in a man. Not at all.

“My momma always said never make promises you can’t keep.” Even with your drink in your hand after he presses it to you, Jack sweeps you up in his arms to take you out to the dance floor.

“And you always do what your momma tells you to, like a good southern gentleman.” It’s just a guess, but as he twirls you around to settle against him, cradling you in his arms so you can drink and dance while you away with the slower tempo song that’s playing, you just have to grin. “Very smooth,” you admit without a hint of begrudging in the compliment.

“Sugar, all my moves are smooth.” Jack boast, smirking as he gently glides around the floor with you, taking special care not to jostle your drink. The next song will be faster, but right now, the breathless couples are resting slightly with the bluesy sounds of Patsy Cline crooning to them.

“I’m starting to get that.” Not that you mind. Coming to this whole big carnival for the holiday was just for fun after all. But you glance over at Jack after taking the last sip of your drink and find your smile going a little lopsided. It isn’t the booze. He is that handsome.

He hums, his voice a little rusty as he starts to quietly sing along with the song. Only slightly off key as he serenades you with a grin on his face. One that tells you he’s well aware that he’s not the best singer, but he enjoys being a little silly.

Maybe it’s silly. Or maybe it’s human. Maybe it’s because it’s both, you start singing along with him, quietly and just a tad off key. Two silly, awkward, imperfect little people out there on the dance floor swaying in each other’s arms and singing ‘Walkin’ After Midnight’ to each other like a chest moment from a 90s romantic comedy. It’s impossible not to look at his lips at least a few times, both of you grinning when one of you flubs a lyric. And at the end of the song when he twirls you around again to land tight against his chest? The only possible place you can look are his eyes or those lips again, like a magnet pulling you in.

He doesn’t miss the way your eyes drop to his lips, basically asking for him to kiss you. He leans in slightly right before the song changes and is incredibly peppy. A song to line dance to. “Oops.” Jack smirks.

One another day or with another man it might have annoyed or frustrated you to be more or less cockblocked by a deejay. Today? With Jack? Your answer to it all is just to snort in amusement at how pleased with himself he looks and let yourself get all swept up in the dance. It was barely an hour ago that you met him. It does no one any harm to spend a little more time together before things get frisky.

The beat is easy to dance to and despite the fact that you might not know all the steps, Jack does. “Just follow me, sugar.”

The trouble with line dancing is that if you don't know every move you end up looking like an idiot, but you nod and decide to put a little bit more trust in him for the time being. If you were about to kiss the guy, you should at least be able to do that, right? "I'm with you," you promise him, knowing you can keep up.

Jack files into the natural line that forms, partners slightly in front of their men and everyone starts to move together. ‘Heel, toe, dosey doe, come on baby. Let’s boot-scoot.”

Able to pick it up step by step, you follow Jack's lead for movement and watch the couple in front of you the once or twice you get confused, until you're very smoothly and easily moving through the dance with glee. It's such a simple thing but so welcome, and utterly fun to boot.

You are laughing and that is all that matters as Jack grabs your waist to pick you up and spin you around before setting you back down in time with the other couples on the floor. “Having fun?”

“Every second I possibly can,” you answer with a light, bubbling giggle. He’s a strong lead — which is wonderful in a dance partner but gives you ideas about what he could be like in bed. Not to mention how strong he is…

“Good.” Jack is almost ninety-nine percent certain that he is taking you home tonight, but he wants you to enjoy yourself.

"And I hope you are, too?" Glancing back at him as he turns you, you raise one eyebrow at him in question.

“No doubt, sugar.” Jack is a shameless flirt, but oftentimes it’s not leading to more than that. Unless it’s his mission to seduce a target. This- this is just for him and he likes that you are having fun with his corny nature. “Best damn party I’ve been to in forever.” He promises. “Company makes it good.”

“Company is what matters.” And maybe it’s the silliness of it all again, but you throw him a wink before the dance has you turning again. He seems to like a like cheese with his flirting, and frankly that just makes it more fun for you.

The song finishes up and Jack decides that he will twirl you around once more and dip you down low, just to make you giggle. People clap and he grins at you over his aviators. “Another dance, or another drink, sugar?”

“One more dance?” He’s far too much fun like this, with moves even you have to admit he can be proud of, and you’ll be damned if you’re going to give that fun up just yet. Besides which…it might be a bit embarrassing for the guy whose nickname is Whiskey to find out you’re a bit of a lightweight.

He waggles his brows when the song turns to another slow one, meant to press bodies together. “Never turn down a chance to hold a beautiful woman close.” He promises as he tugs you in.

“I don’t believe you do.” It may be a small moment of teasing but the fact that he doesn’t take himself too seriously speaks volumes to you. Relaxed and confident are too things that don’t always compliment each other well — it can come off as pure arrogance whereas he’s cocky in a way that is a bit cheeky and fun. Everything about the man is over the top. “But then,” you hum, winking for good measure. “Neither do I.”

“Really?” Jack’s grin blows into a fully devilish smile and he looks around speculatively. “And which beautiful woman would you choose?” He asks with a chuckle.

For his amusement, you make a show of surveying the room even while you’re pressed tight up against him, and nudge him slightly when you spot a cute girl in the corner being talked at by some other guests she doesn’t seem to be too interested in. “Do you see the cute little redhead over there?” Your own nose points the way to him when you nod. “In the corner? She’s at a table with a blonde, but these two guys keep trying to flirt with her. I think she’s talk rather be flirting with her blonde friend.”

“Good call.” Jack snorts. “That’s Grenadine.” He explains. “She works at Statesman too.” It’s interesting that you seem to have an eye for agents.

“Does everybody get a booze related nickname?” You ask, amused at the idea of it. If you all got accounting nicknames, things would start sounding weird very fast at the office.

“Mixers count.” Jack chuckles. “It makes it easy when there’s twelve John’s working around the place.” He reasons.

"Fair enough, I guess." That does, logistically, make a bit of sense. And frames Statesman as a fairly whimsical place to work in the process. After twirling around the dance floor a little more, you hum softly to yourself and lift your head, raising one eyebrow in question. "Did you always want to work in the booze biz?" He seems silly enough to appreciate the phrasing, and you grin. "Or do you want to be something else when you grow up?"

“Just wanted to raise some hell.” Jack admits with a chuckle. “Was in the Navy for a little bit. Found out I like the freedom of the private world better.”

“Rules.” You huff dramatically, blowing a raspberry to make him laugh. “Who needs ‘em?”

Jack laughs, a full belly laugh of good humor. “Exactly.” He agrees. “Plus the pay is better.”

“There’s that too.” A nod of agreement comes on the end of your own laughter. “Distilleries pay well? I can’t say I’ve ever thought about it.”

“Good enough to buy corny outfits for the Fourth of July picnic.” He jokes, taking his aviators off and turning them around to perch on your nose.

“That’s what your shorts need!” You tease, cackling out loud and pushing his sunglasses a little further up your nose. “Ears of corn! The perfect symbol of Americana.”

Jack laughs again. “I’ll have to see if I can order some for next year.” He hums.

"Perfect." The grin you aim at him is almost blinding. "I guess I'll have to come back and see if you found any."

His smug smirk deepens and he waggles his brows. “Yeah?” He asks. “Maybe I’ll have to model them for you.” He suggests. “Make sure they are cheesy enough. Rum talked me out of my Daisy Dukes of Freedom.”

"Oh my god..." You barely manage not to snort with laughter over that image. "Do I want to know?"

“Silkies.” He explains. “Running shorts in the military are…brief.” He hums with a grin. “I had some American Flag ones but then Rum was complaining my upper thighs were too white to wear them.”

"Your friend's objection was your lack of tan?" That only makes you laugh harder, and by the end of the song you're practically clinging to each other as you share that laughter between you. "I dunno, Jack." With your lips pursed, you correct yourself. "Whiskey." He's sure as hell smooth, so why not just use the nickname? "I think you might have to do a little tanning so you can wear them again."

“Well I left my speedo in Italy.” He chuckles. “So how do you suggest I tan?”

That opens up a whole new line of questioning, but in this moment you just flash him an even bigger grin. "Nude, hopefully."

He pretends to be shocked, mouth opened and he reaches for his chest as if he is clutching pearls. “Why I declare!” He drawls. “That is such a scandalous suggestion.” His lips curl into a smirk. “I love scandal.”

"I had a feeling you might." The song is over, your revolving has stopped, and as the next — much more upbeat — song begins, you tilt your head slightly to the edge of the dance floor. "You wanna go be scandalous, Whiskey?"

“Is that an offer?” He asks, lifting a brow and giving you a chance to change your mind. He loves to flirt and have a good time, but he wants it to be enthusiastic.

Hadn't he caught you staring at his lips maybe fifteen minutes ago? Was it really only just a few dances since then? It seemed like days spent basking in his energy and charm. Ah well. Why the fuck not? The Founding Fathers were all freaks anyway, might as well celebrate their way. "Yes."

Well, sugar…” Jack sweeps his hat off his head and holds it over his heart. “You just made my damn year.” He promises with a wink. “And I guarantee I’ll make yours.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that, cowboy.” Something tells you he’s bragging with plenty of proof to back him up, but you still give him a crooked smile as you dig your phone out of your pocket. “I’m going to tell my friends not to wait for me.”

“I’ll go collect Mr. Bear for you while you do that, sugar.” He nods and sets his hat back on his head and moves away so you can text your friends privately.

Sliding open your phone, the group chat you have with your friends is full of photos, videos, and excitement shared between them during the day. You’ve been apart from them longer than you expected but they seem to be having a ball — though Rum and Tequila don’t feature in any of the photos or videos so it seems like you’re the only one who stuck with an interested fella today.

Don’t wait up for me, ladies. You type out, and send along a selfie of you wearing Jack’s aviators with him picking up your prize bear off the table in the background. Gonna save a horse by riding that cowboy.

The answers that come back are swift and all congratulating you. Teasing you about your quick change of mind.

Yeah, yeah. I’ll give you all the gossip tomorrow. You write back, barely smothering a grin and you have to bite your lip to keep it at bay. I’ll send you guys a photo of his place and the address when we get there. If you never see me again, tell the cops it was the cheesy pickup lines that convinced me to go with him.

Jack watches you giggle as you put your phone away and walks back to your side with the bear. “See? Safe and sound.”

"Both of you." And something tight and gnarled in your heart seems to breathe more easily in a way you don't quite understand. It's an excitement you haven't felt in a very long time. "Lead the way," you say, accepting the bear happily when Jack deposits him in your arms.

“Did you ride with your friends, or do you want to follow me?” Jack’s Bronco is close to the party, having been here for hours bringing in coolers and helping to set up. He pauses by it and taps the side. “Give you a ride to your car if you want?”

“We all rode together, so I guess I have to beg a ride with you.” Saying it out loud makes it feel very real, but for some reason you’re not nervous. There is a tingle of anticipation and excitement but no worries.

Jack nods and opens the door to the passenger side for you. “Then let me give you the address of where we are going.”

“Thank you.” For both the door and for his understanding, you offer him a soft smile as you climb into the Bronco. So many men these days take the sensible precautions of women they’ve just met as an insult. It’s nice to not have to skirt the line and simply be upfront with him.

He smirks at you as he whips out his phone and opens it up to air drop you a location. “Nothing but details, sugar.”

“Which is the same thing the girls are gonna say to me tomorrow,” you tease, sitting back in the buttery soft seats as he pulls out of the parking lot.

“Then I better make sure you got nothin’ but good things to say.” Jack chuckles.

“I guess you’d better.” And you wink, even though the promise makes you squirm slightly in your seat.

“I don’t live too far.” Jack converses as he drives, wanting to you at ease. “That way I can be in the office easily in an emergency.”

“Like oh no, the whiskey isn’t old enough yet?” You ask, confused as to what kind of emergency a distillery could possibly have.

He chuckles. “Or the storage tanks collapsed and flooded the complex in raw, unbarreled whiskey.” He counters. “Thieves. Corporate spies.” He doesn’t get into the extra security Statesman has, that would be a little much for you to understand.

“Corporate spies. Thieves. You make it sound so…” Searching for the word, you notice he never even gets on a highway to get back to his place. He’s simply driving through a suburb as ramblingly as he pleases, and then turns down a long country road. “So very much like the beginning of a self-discovery novel, where the main character is just a lowly employee who finds out their job is really just a cover for something illegal or magical.” Grinning at him, you turn in the front seat and look at him instead of the drive. “Need an accountant? The place sounds fun.”

“Never know, maybe we could.” He chuckles, knowing he would enjoy seeing you around the office more. Might actually want to sit behind his desk more often if he could expect a view like you.

“Never know,” you agree, but your attention is quickly diverted by the little white-painted farmhouse with its picket fence and big shady trees outside that he pulls up beside. “It’s so cute!” You exclaim, having expected to see him living in something huge or deeply masculine. A house you’d see on Yellowstone or picture Clint Eastwood outside.

“Thanks.” He shoots the house a proud smirk. “My great-grandaddy built the place with his own two hands.”

“I love it even more now.” Madi would point out that you’re a sucker for a family story, and she would be right.

Jack is proud of the restoration and tasteful updates that have been done to the old place, an homage to the past. “Then you’ll love it when I tell you that they are buried up on that hill.” He chuckles, pointing to a little fenced off area around a large magnolia tree.

“Being a sentimental man runs in your family. I do like that.” When he pauses in sliding out of the Bronco to open your door and raises an eyebrow at you, you fluster. “Not that I assume you might be sentimental about me,” you clarify immediately. “Just that I appreciate a man who isn’t afraid to be passionate.”

“Sugar, that is something you’ll get to witness firsthand.” He promises as he climbs out and saunters around the front to help you out.

It’s a beautiful little place he’s got, and when he helps you out of the car you can see the wrap around porch does go all the way around, and that the house has been added on to in back. Maybe the second level was an add-on as well, you can’t quite tell. But it speaks to generations of love and stubbornness to stay here and add to this old place instead of moving or building new, and you like that. Loving and stubborn isn’t a bad combination by any means.

“Do you want a drink?” Jack offers. “Water, Coke?” He doesn’t just want to ply you with alcohol, so he offers other things, even though he is walking towards the bar cart in the corner.

“You can make two of whatever you’re drinking.” Whether that’s alcoholic or not, you have a feeling you’ll be putting your glass aside in favor of paying attention to other things soon enough.

“Hmmmm.” The countertop ice maker is put to use after you tell him this and Jack adds a little flair to his movements as combines orange vodka, pineapple juice and peach schnapps into a shaker and mixes it up before straining the cold alcoholic drink into two glasses and floats some blue raspberry vodka onto the top. “Here you go sugar.” He hands it to you with a wink.

“Do you have friends called Vodka and Schnapps, too?” It’s just a light tease, but he poured and mixed and assembled the drink so deliberately that you found yourself mesmerized by his movements. “Or one with the same name as whatever this drink is?”

“There are colleagues by those names.” He admits with a grin and takes a sip of his drink and groans in approval. “But this one was made just for you.” He hum. “I call this ‘Lick Her Right’.”

“Shit, Jack.” You end up smothering flustered giggles as you have your head at him and try a sip of the fruity sweet cocktail. It’s every bit as delicious as you expected and doesn’t taste a thing like alcohol — which probably means it’s the strongest drink you’ve had all day.

He chuckles at your cute little giggle. “Sweet with just a touch of twang,” he murmurs, stepping closer to you and leaning in to nuzzle his nose against your cheek next to your ear. “Just like the best pussy.” He murmurs in your ear. “Like I’m betting your pussy tastes.”

“Need you to do one thing for me before I let you find out,” you murmur, finding that just as you expected you’ve only had a few sips of the drink before something much more enticing has been presented to you.

“And what’s that, sugar?” Right now, he will offer you the moon. Give you whatever he needs to be able to strip off those tiny shorts of yours and drape your legs over his shoulders for a private Independence Day celebration.

“You’re gonna need to kiss me, cowboy.”

He laughs, tossing his head back and reaching up to take off his hat. “Much obliged to, sugar.” He promises before he swoops in for a kiss, his tongue still cold and fruity from the cocktail as he slides it into your mouth.

He’s playful and enthusiastic, two things you all but demand from a lover, and your arms slide around each other with greedy intensity as the rest of the room goes blank around you.

Jack’s drink is all but forgotten when he sets it on the table and pulls you closer, letting your body press against his as he plunders your mouth and groans in happiness that you accepted his invitation to come back to his place.

The half-wall behind you becomes the perfect thing to lean back against as Jack presses in, holding you as close as he is holding the last shred of decency you’ve got as you plunder each other’s mouths eagerly. You’re damn lucky your glasses didn’t get so thoroughly tossed aside that they fell over and stained his rug, but right now all you care about is chasing that sticky sweet taste from each other’s tongues.

His hands slide under your tiny little tank top, fingers pinching the back of your bra strap and unhooking it with one hand while the other slides under the cup to posses one breast. Keeping his tongue tangled with yours as he moans at the soft fullness of it, the hard nipple against his palm.

It's so smooth you might have barely noticed the movement at all, except his hands are hot and callused and the touch of them on your skin makes you moan into the messy kiss with enthusiasm. Nothing but the perfect heat and heaviness of him can penetrate your mind at this point — and that includes the heaviness growing hard in his own shorts as you both do your best to stay as pressed against the other's body as possible.

Jack presses his cock against your tiny shorts, grinding into you as he paws and plucks at your tit, pulling the most beautiful sounds from your throat as he slides his other hand to your neglected breast to give it the same treatment.

Pressed between Jack and the wall, your own hands wander freely. Mapping his body from broad shoulders down to slim waist, there is no hesitation there when you slide one hand into the back pocket of his shorts and pull him forward, inviting him to grind into you just as much as he likes as he swallows your moans.

There’s nothing wrong with a little over the clothing humping in Jack’s mind. Grinding against you and squeezing your tits as he kisses you is just the warm up for the night, although it feels pretty fucking good as you pull him closer.

The world has gone the most gorgeous shade of blank, narrowing down to just Jack, and when you finally can’t breathe in any more of him and have to break the kiss for air, the matching groans you let out are sweeter than any other sound.

You’re gorgeously giving and soft. Yielding to him. He reluctantly releases one breast and pulls back just a bare two inches to slide his hand between to you pop the button open on your shorts. His hand immediately sliding inside to delve into your panties.

“Fucking—” The rest of the curse, whatever it is, gets swallowed up by your moan as his thick fingers make quick work of finding your slick and swollen clit to draw circles around it that have you seeing double.

You’re wet and nothing is sexier to Jack than a wet pussy on an eager woman. He groans into your mouth. “Already so wet.” He rasps. “Want to see how much wetter you can get.”

“Before I dehydrate?” You huff, growling into a kiss with ferocity and angling your hips to try to get him to slide his fingers inside you. Not that it’s been very long at all since he first kissed you, but you’re on fire with wanting him and have been for hours. “Or before you finally fuck me?”

He chuckles into your mouth and bites at your lower lip. “Both?” He teases, rubbing your clit again before he finally gives you what you want and slowly sinks two fingers into you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Shaking as he twists his wrist and presses the heel of his palm against your clit, you’re even more pinned against the wall behind you than you were a second ago. Far from finding it confining, your fingers dig into Jack’s broad shoulders with enthusiasm as you cling to him in that moment.

“That’s it.” He groans, feeling your walls pulse around his fingers and he hums in approval. “You’re little pussy likes my fingers.” He coos. “Why don’t you cum on them for me?”

If you could ever cum on command, it would probably be right now. It would be for the pair of thick fingers curled so perfectly inside your cunt every time he pumps them inside you that your vision whites out a little at the edges. It would be for the man who makes you simultaneously tense and limp with need. As it is, your toes are curling in your sneakers and you're about damn ready to flood his hand any second while the only sound you can make as an incoherent moan.

“Sugar, sugar, sugar.” He groans. “You’re so close.” He continues to finger you, loving how your eyes are rolling back. “Just let go and give it to me.” He begs. “I want to strip you down and eat your pussy, but I can’t until you cum for me.”

The absolute whimper of frustration on your lips and hearing what's coming next mighty really be what does it. What has you moaning his name into the warm evening air and holding onto him so tightly that your fingernails leave neat little half-moon shapes at the base of his skull. When you cum it's full force, with shaking legs and an arching back, and all you can think — when you eventually get your thoughts back after the fireworks subside in all your nerves — is how fucking glad you are that you took a chance on going home with this man.

Jack loves to see a woman cum. Always beautiful and you are no exception. The hollow of your throat is the perfect place to moan his praise, the white shorts he’s wearing becoming damp and showing it as he leaks pre-cum into the material. His fingers are soaked and making the most obscene sounds as he pumps them into your cunt until your entire body sags against the wall and is only held upright by his pinning you there. Then he slows his wrist and ease you to a stop as you pant his name. “Good girl.” Jack rasps against your throat. “Now I want to see what kind of mess your pussy made.”

“You’re gonna have to give me a second,” you huff, giggling under your own breath and a little dizzy. If he can do that with his hand, the rest of him is going to reduce you to a puddle. “Stripping is tricky when my legs are wobbly.”

He chuckles and pulls his hand out of your shorts to grab your thighs. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of that.” He promises, pulling you up into his arms and guiding your legs around his waist as he pulls away from the wall to carry you through the house to his bedroom.

It only encourages you, which you’re sure was his intention, you steal kisses and swoon at this strength as you carries you down a hallway. By the time he turns into his room you’ve found the spot on the long column of his throat that makes him moan when you suck on it, and the bruise you’ve left there will be sure you remind of you every time he looks in a mirror for at least the next few days.

Jack’s bed is large, inviting and it’s not as heavily masculine as you might expect. The comforter is pillowy when he lays you down and smirks as he pulls back to look at you. “Now it’ll be easy to strip you down and not worry about those legs, except for how they look on my shoulders.” He boasts.

“I think I’m past the point in my dignity where I can dispute that,” you tease, wishing he hadn’t stood up fully because now he’s too far away for you to grab.

Jack unbuttons his shirt and shrugs it off his shoulders. Revealing the shape of his hard cock pressing through the white shorts and he grins down at you. “We will just have to have an undignified time then.”

“Deeply undignified, I hope.” You agree, letting your eyes wander down the length of his body and darken all over again at the sight of what is waiting for you.

“Is there any other kind of sex?” Jack snorts, quickly unbuttoning and stripping down his shorts to groan in relief when his cock bounces free.

If you were going to debate with him, whatever argument you had gets lost on your tongue. He's a mouthwatering sight — veiny, cut, and curved just right so you know you're not only going to have him pulsing against your g-spot later but you're going to be cross-eyed and breathless while he's at it. "Fuck I hope not," you grin, licking your lips. "At least not tonight."

He smirks proudly and kneels on the bed, shuffling closer to reach for your shorts. He drags them over your hips along with your panties while you lift your hips so he can slide them down your legs and toss them on the floor. Eager to spread your thighs and get a good look at that slick pussy.

Sure it was only five minutes ago that your legs were shaking in his living room, but when he very surely moves your ankles to open your legs wide on top of his bed, your fingers drop between your spread legs without hesitation. His eyes on your pussy have you craving touch all over again.

There’s only your shirt left and Jack hates for the material to conceal your tits from his eyes, so he slides his hands up, grabbing the hem of it to pull over your head, unable to resist dipping his head down and lapping at a hard nipple.

It was barely a scrap of a shirt and this is so much better — tits free for his attention and back arching up to meet his mouth just as eagerly as he dips his head. The cool air in his room makes your already hard nipples peak even tighter, but all you can think about is the heat of his mouth and the heaviness against your thigh. Every inch of him feels incredible and he's not even inside you yet.

He lavished attention on one, then the other before he pulls away with a pop and a grin as he starts to slink back down your body. Intentions clear as he scrapes his teeth over the top of your mound and pulls your legs up onto his shoulders to cradle his head.

"Jack..." his name is a whine from your lips as he kisses the insides of his thighs, and one of your hands fists in his hair to tug encouragingly at the short strands.

He chuckles and blows a little air on your pussy to hear you whine again, your hips jerking up to try to meet his mouth. “Now, let’s get down to the business at hand.” He intones seriously. “You’ve got a pretty pussy that is begging to be eaten.” He looks up into your eyes and winks. “And I’m just the cowboy for the job.”

He dives in like a man starved, making you feel like every single woman whose pussy he tried to eat over the years must have denied him otherwise there wouldn't be any reason to be this voracious. That first lap at your slit has you gasping sharply, eyes rolling back in your head and tugging tighter on his hair in needy, silent gratitude. You'll be lucky if you can form any words beyond his name in all this. His name and endless repetitions of 'yes' or 'fuck'. But that's all you need.

Anything that Jack sets out to do, he does with vigor and eating your pussy is no different. His hands are wrapped around your thighs, pulling your hips up to his month as he devours you. Wanting to feel the sting of your hands pulling at his hair while his tongue carves a path through your folds.

He means to overwhelm your senses entirely and he's doing a damn good job, right down to how tightly he manages to hold you in place while he leaves no part of your soaking wet pussy untouched. Maybe at another time you might have fought of wrestled or taken some of the lead, but he's swept you away so entirely today that all of your usual sass is reduced to whimpers and moans under his attention. Probably because the attention of that long tongue of his is well worth submitting to.

He had been right, you do taste delicious. Making him even more ravenous as he explores what makes you whimper and whine his name as his tongue laps at your swollen clit.

Every time your hips twist or roll to beg for a specific kind of friction. he seems to be anticipating it. He reads the waves of your body like it's a second language, intuiting what you need and giving it to you with growls and groans of his own that vibrate through you and make you see wave after wave of stars.

His mustache is coated with your juices, his chin slick with them, and still he continues to devour you. Licking into you and pushing his tongue into your pussy like he is starved for you, his hooked nose pressed against your clit as he groans in pleasure.

It doesn’t matter how long you lay spread out like this. Or how long Jack spends devouring you like you’re his new favorite dessert. The walls could crumble down around you and you would still be begging for more.

Jack can feel your body start to tense, your thighs tightening around his head briefly and then relaxing only to do it again. He holds them loosely, wanting you to squeeze him and he rolls his tongue back up to your clit to lap at it.

The second time you cum for him isn't like being carried away on an ocean wave. Even the arch of your back is like being washed out to sea, and the roaring of your blood in your ears making you feel like you've just crashed on top of a wave in some dramatic engraving. It's like all of your senses are both being hugged tight and being blasted wide open and you're drowning in every sensation but your nerves are tingling with life as you float back down to earth in his bed.

Humming softly, the pads of his thumbs rub your inner thighs, soothing you as your breath starts to slow down. You had screamed loud enough to wake the dead. A feat that has Jack feeling mighty smug as he watches your closed eyes bounce around under your lids.

"Fucking hell," you manage, once you stop panting and have the presence of mind to push up on your elbows to be able to see him more fully.

Smirking up at you, he winks as he unfurls himself from between your thighs to rest on his knees. “How are we doing so far?” He asks, even though he knows the answer. “Feeling patriotic yet? Or should we really make you see fireworks?”

"I think we'd both be missing out if we gave up now." After all, you've barely done a thing for him. And if his cock feels half as good as it looks, you refuse to miss out on that.

“I have to admit, I’m dying to know what you feel like around my cock.” Jack confesses, his hand squeezing his cock and pumping it lightly.

"I think it's time for you to find out." There is a smirk curling in the corner of your mouth as you sit up, and with one hand beckon him closer. "Don't you?"

“Yes ma’am.” He hums. “Do you want to save or horse, or see if I can hold on for eight seconds?” His brow arches in question and he wonders what you will say.

“On your back, Jack.” You grin up at him, already shifting over to switch places. Even if this isn’t where you end up, you want to ride that handsome cowboy for at least a little while.

“Never say I don’t follow a lady’s orders.” Jack drawls as he lays down, tucking one hand behind his head and the other still pumping his cock languidly.

“Not if you know what’s good for you.” That smirk stays in place as you straddle his hips and lift yourself up, braced for your cunt to be so wet from his attention that he slides inside you right up to your throat.

Jack helps, holding his cock up for you line up. “Take your time, sugar.” He coos, watching you with a predatory gaze. “It takes time to make sure you are seated right.”

“Not too long.” A moan escapes your lips as you sink down, but you take him at a slow, steady pace. “I’ve been thinking about this all damn day.”

“And here I thought I couldn’t be the one to break your dry streak.” He teases, having read your lips from the margarita stand with the assistance of his glasses. He had turned off the special features before he put them on your nose earlier.

“Were you spyin’ on me earlier?” The best you can do with him halfway inside you is to raise one eyebrow as if you vaguely disapprove, but it doesn’t hold a single drop of water when you let out a shuddering little gasp and take more.

“I can read lips.” He admits with a grin. “Don’t worry, sugar, I didn’t hold it against you. Just made me want you more.”

"Now I feel like I ought to have made it harder for you," you purr, but the truth is that he'd had you from the first real smile. Not the smirks, not the intrigue of just being handsome in general. The first time Jack genuinely smiled at you, you had felt your heart beat a little faster. Now it's your pussy that's reacting to him, though, and you shift your weight to lean back and give him a long view of your whole body as you start to bounce on his cock. Whatever his reason for being interested in you, it is well worth it.

“Jesus Christ.” Jack hisses, sliding his hands up to your tits again. “You are such a pretty thing, so fucking beautiful.” He groans, admiring the view as you use him.

"View can't be as good as mine." Panting between each word is the only way to get them out, because your mind is so fuzzy all over again from how good he feels that all you can focus on is how well he fills you.

He would have to disagree, but you steal his ability to speak when you roll your hips and squeeze him tight. All he can do is groan and squeeze your tits harshly before sliding his hands down to your hips.

"Hold on, handsome." It doesn't take more than a few movements of your hips to establish a rhythm, and one that you're both thoroughly enjoying. With Jack's fingers curling insistently into your flesh, you pick up the pace and let your eyes slide shut in bliss.

Jack groans your name again and again when you fully seat him inside you. Giving you the encouragement and praise through the panted words.

It's a damn good thing that his bed isn't an antique like his house. Once you get going, with his encouragements and your own seemingly insatiable thirst for this man, it would be a damn shame to sacrifice an heirloom to your shared lust. The sheer power and force of your enthusiasm with his strength makes it feel like you're going to fuck each other into the stratosphere to begin with, there's no reason to lose furniture.

“That’s it, sugar.” Jack slaps your flank in encouragement and moans when you roll your hips down at little harder. “Fuck, you do know how to ride a man, don’t you?” He counts his lucky stars you wanted to come home with him. “Ride me hard.”

He might have been the one to make the joke about lasting the length of the ride, but you have no intention of getting bucked while you're on him. The prominent veins of his cock scrub your walls like they were made for you, bringing deeps moans and shuddering growls of his name from your lips with every bounce and rock of your body on his.

Bracing his feet on the bed, Jack tilts his hips up, changing the angle and he chokes out a sound of approval when you squeal in pleasure. “There it is.”

It's the exact angle you need to have the head of his cock battering against your g-spot with just the right amount of pressure, and right now you're prepared to swear that no one has ever managed to find the spot that perfectly before. Just like his fingers curling against it earlier, your vision whites out as your eyes slide shut again and you could swear this is what being on fire feels like as you cry his name out in that quiet little farmhouse.

When your pace stalls, Jack picks up the slack. Driving up into you while your walls convulse and you shake on top of him. Groaning out your name raspily as he works himself towards that same peak you are currently cresting.

It's so easy to fall forward, bracing yourself on his chest with both hands and letting him take over the pace. Your third orgasm ripples through you so sharply and definitively that you practically scream, but his arms are there to catch you and pin you to his chest while he races toward his own pleasure.

It only takes a few driving thrusts until his holding you tight, locking his arms around you and grinding up into you. Your name is moaned into his ear as he floods your fluttering pussy with his cum. “Fuck sugar.” He groans. “Little pussy is milking my cock like a dream.”

"I'm afraid..." You're both panting, and you rest your forehead on his rising chest for a beat and giggle to yourself. The flow of endorphins is making you feel so light you could fly. "I've been neglecting her. She was hungry."

“Pussy like that needs to be seen to frequently.” Jack chuckles breathlessly and strokes your back as the sweat clinging to your bodies starts to dry and cool. “I’ll be happy to make sure that happens.”

"Oh yeah?" In the bliss of the moment, when you pull back to look him in the eye, it's like you're seeing a completely different side of the needy and addictive man who was pushing you up against a wall a mere hour ago. This Jack is soft at the edges, boyish and gleeful, not to mention beautifully relaxed as he cradles your body against him. "Thinkin' about asking me out, cowboy?"

“Considering it.” He admits before that soft smile curves into more of a smirk. “I think it would be my patriotic booty to keep you satisfied.” It’s the repeat of the joke from earlier, but completely worth it because of how cheesy it is. “What do you say, sugar?” He asks. “Want to make everyday Independence Day?”

"I think it's only right." Stretching slightly, the tip of your nose nearly touches his and you dip your head barely lower to hover above his mouth. A single centimeter of movement and you would be kissing him. "It'd be a damn shame to never ride my new favorite steed again."

“Damn shame.” He agrees. Since you’ve been in his house, the sun has slipped below the horizon and he reaches up to cup your cheek just as the first muted boom of the fireworks from Statesman is heard. “Happy Fourth of July, sugar.” Jack murmurs before he crushes his lips to yours, happy that he had decided to go to the celebration rather than taking a mission. He had never had a better Fourth than this one.

______

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My Masterlist!

[egcdeath]

out in the open

pairing: patrick zweig x f!reader

summary: your wedding night doesn’t go as smoothly as you expect it to. succession au - tomshiv adjacent (previous parts: part 1, part 2, part 3)

word count: 8.8k

warnings: failmarriage, fluff in the beginning, cheating, angst, jealousy, hurt/comfort, mentions of alcohol and smoking, suggestive content, insecurity, patrick is kinda the worst in this. he does get better though.

author’s note: full disclaimer things are pretty angsty and they only get angstier from here. cheating is a major plot point from this point forward. there will be a few happier moments but it’s mostly bad vibes and tension from this point on.

i say this with every fic i post in this universe but i truly could not have written this without the help of my succession anon!! weddingnightgate (WNG) is such a big moment in this au and they really helped me get my thoughts in order and helped me world build. i hope you all enjoy the upcoming pain!

When you were young, you always dreamed about your wedding. You fantasized about a huge venue somewhere halfway around the world that would easily fit all of your closest friends and family members and of celebrity guests who would give you well wishes for the marriage and smiled at you in spite of their envy at your beautiful event. You imagined a gorgeous, intricate dress with a train so long that you’d need assistance going down the aisle, a cake the size of your tallest guest, and a groom who was as handsome as he was loving, pressing the promise of True Love’s Kiss onto your lips after he read you his vows.

Maybe your enthusiasm for weddings was fueled by a few too many movies where the princess found her prince charming and lived happily ever after with him, but you still fell in love with the idea of love, and the thought that a wedding should be as beautiful as the love itself was.

You would never forget the first wedding you attended, despite being so young that you shouldn’t have really recalled it. You somehow managed to worm your way into being the flower girl at your aunt’s wedding, skipping excitedly down the aisle of the beachside venue, tossing flowers with reckless abandon. As you watched the rest of the ceremony from the safety of your mother’s hip, you couldn’t help but to imagine yourself being the one to walk down the aisle someday. 

Much like your first wedding memory, you also couldn’t forget the first time you learned about divorce. Though you were young, the memory of your best friend crying next to you during recess as she sobbed out the news that her parents were splitting forever stuck out in your mind. You’d been fed the idea that love was strong and everlasting for so long, that the very notion that there were some things that love couldn’t withstand rocked you to your core. 

From that point on, you became more grounded in your approach to love. Love was rarely a fairytale, and it was naive for you to assume that your future wedding would be one either. 

As the years went by, you grew more realistic about your expectations for the future. You found a boyfriend who you dated throughout the latter half of your undergraduate years and through your time in business school, and fully expected to settle down with him—though you knew you’d be settling in the most literal sense. While he was a stable figure in your life, he was boring, and his aspirations in life for both you and himself didn’t align at all with what you saw yourself doing. He wanted a wife, and you wanted to make a name for yourself doing the work that was meaningful to you.

When he got down on one knee in front of you, you realized that you had two options in front of you: follow your own dreams or follow his. 

Naivety be damned, you chose yourself and never looked back. 

In your pursuit of making your non-love related aspirations come true, you abandoned all hope that your pipe-dream of a fantasy wedding would ever come to fruition. It occasionally felt like your hopes were incompatible—to be a successful businesswoman meant giving up all prospects of a romantic life. It seemed like everyone you encountered was put off by your lack of work-life balance, or wanted to hunt you for sport and turn you into a trophy wife. 

You’d practically given up all hope by the time you met Patrick, fully expecting to be able to use him for a brief fling and a connection to get into his family’s company. What you weren’t expecting was to find someone whose company you genuinely enjoyed, who understood you on a level you hadn’t experienced with anyone else, and a love that occasionally left you wondering if you were a protagonist in the movies you loved watching as a girl. 

If someone told you that years after meeting Patrick, that one day you would be gazing into his eyes with tears in yours as you listened to his vows, or telling him that you do take him to be your husband, to have and to hold, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, ‘till death did you two part.

Your wedding ceremony felt straight out of your girlish dreams, with Patrick’s beautiful family castle serving as the venue, paparazzi-worthy guests, a dress that felt like a direct product of your wildest imagination, and a groom that seemed to be as close to a prince charming as reality could get. 

You were on cloud nine throughout the ceremony, basking in every single moment. You felt like you were floating by the time you got to the reception, your brain in the clouds as you and your now-husband cut your massive cake and gave toasts. 

It was all a blur in the best way possible, your elation making what you thought might be an embarrassing moment of a first dance exciting, and the subsequent socializing with guests substantially more bearable. 

What was slightly less bearable was the speed at which you were separated from your husband, the two of you occasionally catching the others eye from across the room, but otherwise being separated from surprisingly demanding guests who wanted to wish you luck on your marriage or excitedly share how amazing they found the ceremony to be. 

Occasionally, you were able to squeeze in a brief moment with your spouse, bringing him a flute of champagne and momentarily pulling him away from an exceptionally chatty shareholder, but you seemed to be frequently whisked away from each other. 

After what felt like a lifetime apart from each other, you felt the familiar, comforting warmth of Patrick’s hand on your lower back as he approached you from behind. When he announced to the extended family members standing across from you that he needed a moment alone with you, you almost leapt with joy. Nothing seemed more appealing than a private conversation with him after a long night of socializing with friends and colleagues. 

It almost felt ironic that during an event that should’ve been focused on the two of you as a pair, you were separated and kept apart by people with business pitches and opposing interests, excited to hop onto whatever opportunity your union might bring them. 

Patrick took you by surprise as he led you up the stairs and to your bedroom. It seemed a little early to begin your wedding night festivities, but if he was really that enthusiastic about it, you were certain that you could share some of his excitement. 

“Thanks for getting us out of there,” you commented as you shut the door behind you. “So much for not talking about work at the wedding. I guess it’s too much to ask for one day to celebrate you being my husband before talking about the business again.”

You walked over to the vanity, preparing to touch up your makeup. You shot a glance over at your partner, who cautiously sat himself down on your bed, fidgeting with his hands as he did so. Not paying him any mind, you began to reapply your lipstick in the mirror and looked at his reflection, catching that he seemed to be in deep thought, but not thinking too much of it. It was probably something a shareholder told him. Maybe his sister was planning yet another attempt at a hostile takeover of the business. 

“Husband. Wow, you’re my husband now. That feels so crazy to say. Husband, husband, husband,” you mused, a ball of excited energy.  “Well, husband, what did you pull me in to talk about? Is it Sherry’s dress? It’s really hideous. I can’t believe she would wear something like that to our wedding,” you continued to ramble. “Or do you want a sneak peak of what I’ve got going on under this dress?”

You were shocked to find Patrick mostly unresponsive to your rapid words. He was never one to turn down the opportunity to gossip about his social circle or flirt with you. You pulled your attention away from yourself in the mirror and turned your head back to look at your husband, only to be met with a mostly unreadable expression, apart from the hint of a sad smile on his face. 

Suddenly, things didn’t feel so fun. For some unexplained reason, you felt a small pit appear in the depths of your stomach. While you didn’t know exactly what was wrong, something obviously didn’t feel right. There was no reason for your partner to be looking as unsettled as he did on his own wedding night. 

“You’re not having second thoughts already, are you?” you stood up and began to approach him from where he was sitting on the bed, making it more apparent to you that his brows were drawn together in what could only be the beginning of a frown. 

“Of course not,” he assured you, though guilt was written all over his face. You weren’t sure how you should interpret your husband looking like a child who just broke an expensive vase on your wedding night, but whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. “But I need to tell you something.”

“What?” you laughed nervously, the small pit that appeared in your stomach growing into a slightly larger pit. As much as you wanted to dismiss it as nothing, the heavy tension hanging in the air warned you that the odds of his confession being nothing were growing slimmer and slimmer with each passing moment.  

“Uh,” he paused as if he was considering his next words very carefully—almost as if he didn’t want to say them at all. You desperately wanted him to speak, rather than keep you hanging. With your nerves exponentially growing with every passing second, you began to feel like if he didn’t say anything soon, you might throw up all over your reception dress.  

“Patrick, please spit it out. You’re kinda scaring me,” you could already feel yourself growing upset, despite the fact that he hadn’t said a single word to indicate what was going on with him. Your heart quickened in your chest as you anticipated his next words, despite not having a clue about what might come out of his mouth.  

“We always said that if something happened, we could handle it like adults,” the statement was vague and simple, yet Patrick seemed to be choking it out. His cryptic message rattled around in your brain as you desperately searched for meaning in them. Before you could even begin to ask him what he meant, you registered the dismissive, callous language. 

Though he didn’t say it often, he had confused you with those very words before—the verbiage alarmingly reminiscent of what he told you before your bachelorette party, or when you brought up the lack of an infidelity clause in his prenup. 

If anything ever happened with anyone else, we could both handle it. We’re adults and we can handle things like adults.

Though his words were curious, you dismissed them at the time, never expecting that to be an issue. Of all of your problems with Patrick—his difficulty expressing his emotions, his complicated relationship with his family, his lack of experience in love—you never expected infidelity to be one of those problems. 

You swallowed, your saliva feeling thick and poisonous as it slowly crept down your throat. “Honey, what do you mean?”

Patrick didn’t speak, looking down at the pristinely folded sheets in front of him rather than at you. “I’m sorry,” was all that he managed to get out. 

You looked at Patrick blankly, waiting for him to tell you that whatever you were assuming wasn’t true or that he was pulling some sort of cruel prank on you. Instead, all you were met with was the sound of blood urgently rushing through your ears and the faint bassline of whatever song the DJ was playing at your reception. 

“You know that love is complicated for me,” he looked in your direction, but couldn’t sustain eye contact with you. “Can we be adults about this?”

Once it became clear to you what exactly Patrick was trying to tell you, your knees gave out on you, the rest of your body overwhelmed with the unfathomable information that your brain was trying to process. Patrick cheated on you—and he was telling you just hours after you got married. 

The truth of the situation sucked the air right out of your lungs and the strength right out of your body. Your knees buckled under you, and you desperately seeked out anything you could sit on. You settled on the foot of the bed, across from where your husband nervously sat. 

“Fuck,” you dug the palms of your hands into your eyes, surely smudging the makeup on your eyelids as you attempted to collect your thoughts. “Who was it?”

“It didn’t mean anything to me,” he pathetically attempted to explain away. It all sounded like gibberish to you. For all you knew, your husband was speaking a totally different language to you. 

Despite your question and Patrick’s non-answer, you somehow felt like you knew exactly who he’d been with. The answer was all over his discomfort when he saw you talking to the woman without him by your side, and the way she sized you up and attempted to psych you out of marrying Patrick not even 24 hours ago. 

“Was it Tashi?” you asked, not even listening to his empty words and keeping your face frighteningly neutral. You spoke the words like you were playing a round of Guess Who, calm and even despite the budding feeling of dread in your stomach. 

He didn’t respond, but he didn’t need to. His deafening silence was answer enough

“Can I kick her out?” you asked with an alarmingly stable tone, still mostly unable to process this information, but knowing that it wasn’t good. 

“Yeah,” he replied quietly, head still hung and unable to make eye contact with you. 

As you took in the truly depressing sight in front of you—your husband’s hunched over posture, a shame so strong that he couldn’t even look at you, and his clipped, short answers—you couldn’t deny that you were tempted to comfort him. In any other situation, if Patrick was feeling a fraction of the negative emotion he seemed to be feeling in that moment, you would instantly be at his side, holding his hand reassuringly or holding him close in a way that told him that if no one else was there for him, you would be, but you weren’t sure you could legitimize his bad behavior with such a response. 

Instinctually, you reached out to touch him like you’d done a thousand times before, giving him a hug before a big event or spooning him after a family member said something that got under his skin, but you instantly reprimanded yourself. Despite how sad he looked, Patrick was the one who hurt you. You were the one who deserved comfort. 

You opted to pat Patrick’s back instead, a strange and impersonal action. For a moment, you felt less like his wife and more like a practically estranged family member, not sure how to greet you after meeting you for the first time three Thanksgivings ago. 

Your husband barely reacted to the stiff action, only looking at you wordlessly with glossed-over eyes. You got up from the foot of the bed and left wordlessly and neutrally, a robot whose only orders were to get out of the bedroom and shut the door behind you. 

The moment the door closed, the next goal settled into your mind—you couldn’t let Tashi spend another second in the venue, socializing with your family and drinking the wine that your parents so kindly provided to the wedding, as if she hadn’t been partaking in an affair with your husband. 

You felt half a bride and half a zombie as you left the confines of the bedroom and wandered the hallways. You were stone faced as you made your way back to the reception, trying to wrap your head and heart around devastating information that was shared with you at the most inopportune time possible. 

You made a slow march down the stairs, movement hindered by your dress, and imagined what you might say to Tashi once you saw her. You should’ve known something was off from the start. You should’ve trusted the bad feeling you had when she sized you up at the bar, smirking at you like the cat who got the cream before feeding you anecdotes about how sleazy your husband used to be for no apparent reason. You should’ve trusted that feeling when Patrick rushed over to pull you away.

You wished you paid attention when Patrick faintly smelled of feminine perfume when you surprised him by coming back from a business trip earlier than anticipated, or when you noticed a bracelet that didn’t belong to you sitting on your coffee table, one that disappeared the very next day. It was so easy to write the signs off at the time–the fragrance of your personal chef and the jewelry of one of his sisters–but it no longer felt that simple. Patrick was a lot of things, but you never expected that a cheater was one of those things.

The thought of Patrick with someone else made you nauseous, especially in your own home. You faintly wondered if they’d fucked in your bed or on the couch. If the answer was yes to either, you desperately wanted to burn the pieces of furniture. In fact, that would be the first thing you set out to do when you returned home after your honeymoon. Maybe you would even beg Patrick to move to a new place, one not haunted by the memories of him and another woman. 

That was, if your relationship even survived through the honeymoon. Let alone the night. You didn’t have a clue what your next steps would be. Would you be the fool who stays with a man who proved himself to be disloyal? Or would you be the fool who offered herself to the wrath of one of the most powerful families in the world? You would lose your husband, your job, and your livelihood in one fell swoop, surely being banished back to your family home in Minnesota, destined to be a receptionist at your father’s law firm for the rest of your life. 

The entire situation felt surreal in the worst possible way. You couldn’t believe that while you were dealing with the aftermath of this information, Tashi was waltzing around at your reception. More than that, you couldn’t believe the information itself: Patrick cheated. Your fiancé cheated. Your husband cheated on you. 

The same Patrick who became a groomzilla, laser-focused on giving you your dream wedding, cheated. The same man who confessed that he didn’t know what love felt like before he met you cheated on you. Your husband, who went out of his way to do anything to make you happy, even at the expense of his very powerful family, hadn’t been loyal to you. 

None of it made sense. Maybe you would walk back into the room and your guests would jump out from behind tables and reveal that this was all a cruel joke—a little hazing as you officially became a Zweig—their laughter filling up the room at the thought that you would ever believe something as ridiculous as Patrick cheating on you. 

You bit back bile as you walked into the room, the party continuing on the same way it had before you left and before you reentered—no prank to be found. The cacophony of loud music and the chatter of your guests filling your ears once more—what felt fun and exciting just moments before, now being far too overstimulating for someone trying to process information that could fundamentally alter the course of their relationship. You did your best to block out all of the extra noise and focus on your goal at hand. 

Find Tashi. Send her home.

You weren’t sure what you would actually do when you saw her. Would you yell at her? Slap her for being a homewrecker? Cry at the sight of her? Laugh at the absurdity of your husband telling you that he’d been having an affair with her on your wedding night?

Peripherally, you heard someone call your name excitedly, only slightly pulling you out of your trance. Still, you couldn’t find it in you to acknowledge whatever excited friend or family member as your eyes set on your target. Tashi Duncan, Patrick’s coworker and ex-girlfriend.

Where you admired her beauty and confidence just a day before, you found you now resented every positive aspect about her. As she stood by a table and talked to one of Patrick’s sisters, surely bored out of her mind by the delusional ramblings about his sister someday being the president, she nodded and smiled diplomatically. 

As you really began to think about it, you realized that she was the perfect candidate to be Patrick’s wife. She came from a background similar to his, his sisters liked her far more than they liked you—though that didn’t mean much—and physically, she seemed to be exactly your husband’s type. 

Part of you wondered if she was feeling as miserable as you were; if she’d spent the day imagining your wedding to be her own, if her own jealousy was blinding her the way that yours currently was blinding you, or if she’d begged Patrick not to marry you during their work meeting the previous night. The other part of you wondered if she thought of you as pathetic as you currently felt—a stupid woman so blinded by her own love that she overlooked every beaming, bright red flag.

Your pace quickened as you walked towards Tashi, heels clicking annoyingly as they marked your pace. As you made your way to the table, you found yourself growing more anxious, the first real feeling you’d felt since Patrick shared with you the truth about his infidelity.

“Hey,” you greeted Tashi and Patrick’s sister, voice surprisingly even for how agitated you were. “Mind if I chat with Tashi?” 

“Go ahead,” Cornelia shrugged. “Let’s stay in touch?” she asked Tashi, who politely agreed and watched the other woman walk off. 

Tashi opened her mouth to speak to you, presumably to comment on something asinine about the wedding, or to make an observation about your wedding that you’d already heard a thousand times that night. If you weren’t so upset, you would make a bet with yourself on whether she’d tell you how beautiful the wedding was, or how beautiful you and your husband looked at the altar.

“Your housing for the night fell through,” you explained in a very level tone. It wasn’t the best excuse, but it was what came out of your mouth.

“Oh?” she asked, sounding more than a little skeptical, before lifting her drink to her lips. “Do you know where else I might be able to find lodging at this hour?”

“No,” you replied quickly and with ease. “Actually, it’d probably be best if you just went home now.”

“Home like…?” she trailed off and eyed you curiously. 

“Like back to New York. I’m sure you can find a flight.”

She laughed in slight disbelief. “You realize this is a work function for me, right? I have work to do.”

“I’m sure you can do that work back home,” you dismissed, not backing down. By now, it was clear that Tashi was putting together the pieces of what you knew. In fact, you could pinpoint the exact moment when it occurred to her why the two of you were having this conversation in the first place.

Maybe it was the lack of your now-husband beside you, or the barely concealed emotion on your face. Regardless of what was your biggest tell on the situation, you continued to stare her down, resenting the way her lips shifted into a small smile, as if she still had the upper hand and knew something that you didn’t. It was almost as if she found the whole ordeal to be a little amusing, which only bothered you more. 

“No need to make a scene at your wedding. I’ll be on my way.” She lifted her glass up once again to finish the drink off, but you stopped her. 

You returned intense eye contact with her as you took the stemware right out of her hands and put it to your own lips, finishing the drink in a few large gulps. Though your action was impulsive, it felt like somewhat of a necessity. You desperately needed the liquid distraction from your less-than-ideal situation, and you didn’t want to give her an excuse to linger at your party a single moment longer than she needed to. 

She continued to stare at you, her expression somewhere in the middle of being impressed and weirded out. “Alright then. Well, congratulations on the wedding.”

“Fuck off,” you spat out, turning on your heel and walking away without bothering to see if she stayed or left. 

You made your rounds around the reception, smiling and talking to your guests with a fake smile plastered on your face. The shock of Patrick’s initial confession wore off shortly after you told Tashi off, but you still couldn’t help but feel completely numb to the situation. How else were you supposed to react when you found out the love of your life was sleeping with someone else? 

You continued to man the reception on your own, occasionally scanning the room but not catching a glimpse of your husband. You wondered if he was still in your bedroom, head in his hands as he wondered if he just opened a Pandora’s box on your relationship, or if Tashi went to go find him to discuss how poorly you reacted to the information. For all you knew, the two of them could be laughing at you or having sex in your wedding bed at the same time that you attempted to pretend that everything was perfectly fine. You grew faint at the mere thought. 

Eventually, you felt a familiar hand on the small of your back, something that typically was a welcome, comforting gesture. Instead, you wanted to flinch away from his hand like it was hot. You couldn’t believe that Patrick had the nerve to touch you like everything was fine after dropping such devastating information on you. Then again, at least he wasn’t hooking up with Tashi one last time. 

Still, even under the spell of a sadness that hadn’t quite settled in yet, you leaned into his touch instinctively. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t feel as comfortable as it did a few hours ago. 

“Such a beautiful ceremony,” a family friend of Patrick’s gushed to you. “You two have something really special.”

You felt Patrick’s eyes sear into you, desperately pleading for you to look back into them and show him that everything was going to be okay. That what you had was special enough that you’d be able to move past this. Like adults, as he said to you earlier.

You weren’t so sure that you could. 

The rest of the night moved painfully slowly. Where the two of you socialized separately before his private conversation with you, he seemed to be attached to your hip now, bringing you apology offers of champagne flutes and hor d'oeuvres.

Though he pleaded with you to handle your situation like adults, you wanted to act more like a petulant child. If you had it your way, you would reject his offerings of food by tossing them onto the floor, or throw a glass of sticky alcohol in his face as if you were a Real Housewife. 

If you had it your way, Patrick wouldn’t have cheated on you in the first place, and you’d be celebrating your wedding without the baggage of uncertainty for the future of your relationship. 

As you walked through the reception, you weren’t particularly angry or sad, you just felt numb. There was a strange concession in knowing that what happened in the past already happened, and that there was no way for you to change your husband’s behavior. For a moment, you wondered if the numbness was a symptom of the shock that was Patrick’s confession, or you would feel the dull thud of nothingness for the rest of your life. 

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding as you watched the last of your guests filtered out of the venue, relieved to finally drop the façade of being a happy newlywed and to embrace the true feeling of shock that had been biting at you all night.  

Somehow managing to break away from your suddenly very clingy spouse, you wasted no time gathering an unopened bottle of wine for yourself, along with a cigarette and a lighter, which you unceremoniously exchanged with a caterer for a Venmo payment. You then headed outside to a balcony that overlooked a beautiful sprawling garden. 

You looked out on the neatly trimmed hedges and the bench where you sat with Patrick not even twenty-four hours ago and distantly thought about how perfectly the night should’ve gone. You got married at a beautiful venue, had every detail down to the positioning of napkins meticulously planned, and most importantly, were marrying someone you genuinely loved and couldn’t see yourself living without. 

It was all rather devastating now, to see how just a few words managed to ruin what was supposed to be the happiest day of your life. 

You took a swig from the bottle, lamenting the fact that his affair partner had been drinking this very wine earlier that night. At the thought of Tashi, you took yet another hefty swig. 

Just as you reached for the lighter to light the cigarette you so desperately needed, Patrick burst through the doors of the balcony, slightly out of breath and sweat beading on his forehead. In between his heavy breaths, you swore you caught a sigh of relief. 

You couldn’t say that you were pleased to see him—after all, you’d escaped to the balcony to get a little time alone and to think through the night—but as you took in his dramatic entrance and disheveled appearance, it became abundantly clear to you that he’d been urgently looking for you. 

“Want some?” you asked, gesturing to the bottle. Your question was more than just an offer for a drink, but a peace treaty, offering Patrick to stay outside with you despite your more complicated feelings towards him. 

“Sure,” he agreed, still slightly out of breath. He collected himself as you passed him the bottle, locking eyes with you as he took a swig from the expensive drink. It felt like time moved a little slower as you watched his lips wrap around the opening of the bottle and the way his Adam's apple bobbed while the drink went down. 

You suddenly realized that complicated didn’t even begin to cover how you felt towards Patrick. You loved him more than anything, and you were sure that you needed him in your life—but beneath the thick layers of numbness was a reservoir of hurt, far deeper than you ever imagined you could harbor for the man. 

He passed the bottle back to you, his hands gently brushing over yours. Momentarily, you felt scandalized by the action, unsure if you should feel your cheeks heating up from the small touch or if you should flinch away from it. By the time the brief moment was over, you hadn’t done either, electing to set your gaze back over the rail instead of at your partner. 

Patrick stood silently beside you, not requesting anything more to drink or even attempting to make small talk. It seemed that he was just as aware as you were that he’d changed your entire dynamic with just a few words. You wondered if he realized just how much he’d fucked both of you by fucking someone else. 

You shivered in the cold night, your dress not providing you much coverage in the elements. If your wedding night had gone any differently, Patrick would’ve offered you his suit jacket, draping the item over your shoulders and kissing you sweetly. Then again, if the night had gone differently, you likely wouldn’t be shivering on the balcony in the first place. 

You squatted to set down the bottle on the ground and rediscovered the cigarette and lighter. Though you weren’t usually one to smoke, you desperately needed it after the shitshow that was your wedding night.  

Though you put the stick to your lips, you struggled to light the cigarette, the frigid breeze making everything slightly more difficult. It didn’t help that you hadn’t smoked since you were a teenager, giggling with your friends as you clumsily attempted and failed to light up the stick, the match pinched between your fingertips quickly burning down. The contrast between the silly memory and your far less silly reality felt jarring, to say the least.  

“Here, let me,” Patrick said softly, taking the lighter from you and cupping his hand around the tip of the cigarette. You tried not to look at him too closely as you listened to the soft clicking sound of the lighter. Though he should’ve focused on the action so he didn’t burn his finger tips or the palm of his hand blocking the wind, he didn’t seem to be able to look at anything but you. The light of the flame briefly illuminated both of your faces, momentarily giving you a better look at his sad eyes. 

You inhaled as the flame touched the tip, and turned your head to exhale the smoke, not wanting to blow it in the face of your partner or have to spend another second under the scrutiny of his intense eye contact.

Even as you looked away and into the garden below, you could feel Patrick’s eyes burning into you. You were sure that if you looked back over at him, you would see him looking particularly downtrodden, lips parted for words that were on the tip of his tongue that he couldn’t quite say yet, and eyebrows drawn together in a way that only seemed to highlight the sadness in his eyes. 

Unspoken questions lingered in the air like the smoke from the cigarette dangling from your lips. Though you didn’t care for the smell, you were pretty sure you preferred the smoke to the questions. 

Finally, a quiet question was spoken into the air,  “Can I?” Patrick asked, his eyes flitting from your eyes to your lips. 

“Sure,” you replied noncommittally as you pulled the cigarette away from you and passed it to your husband. Electing to watch him instead of the unchanging garden, you observed as Patrick’s lips closed over the space where yours had just been, covering the hint of a lipstick stain that you’d left on it. After a long drag, he passed the cigarette back to you, his hand brushing softly over yours once more as you did so. 

This pattern continued, a heavy silence falling between the two of you as you shared the cigarette, your hands caressing the other’s softly.

“Here,” you murmured as you approached the filter. Instead of passing it back to Patrick, you brought it up to his lips, watching him intently as he breathed in the smoke. 

For a moment, all you could see was his face, illuminated by the burning end of the cigarette, pupils blown with something you couldn’t quite place. You weren’t sure if you wanted to ravish him right there on the balcony or push him off of it.

He blew the smoke right back into your face, electing to still share the last of the cigarette with you. You wondered if that meant anything. It probably didn’t. 

The two of you stood looking at each other, staring wordlessly as you waited for the other person to move a muscle or say something—anything. For a moment, you considered telling Patrick that you wanted an annulment. But then again, that wasn’t exactly the truth. 

“I’m going to bed,” you broke the silence with your announcement. “I need to change out of this dress.”

You wished it were that simple. You desperately wanted to scrub the day off of you and to pinch yourself until you woke up. Surely, this couldn’t be your actual wedding night. Maybe you could wake up in the morning and find that this was all a bad dream—the manifestation of anxiety before your big day.

But, as Patrick trailed behind you in the hallway as if you would disappear if you left his sight, you were pretty sure that this was the reality. You wouldn’t wake up and find that your husband had been loyal to you. 

Your return to the room was a silent one. The moment you stepped foot through the door, it felt like you were back in that horrible moment; like Patrick was moments from revealing to you that Tashi was the tip of the iceberg. 

Bile rose in your throat once more. You made a beeline to the bathroom, hoping that the change of scenery might halt your thoughts altogether. 

You stepped out of the bathroom with an entirely different mindset than what you had as you entered. Sure, your wedding night wasn’t at all what you expected it to be, but it didn’t mean that you couldn’t put it back on the right track. In the bathroom, you slipped on a silky nightie, what you hoped would be a reminder to both of you that this wasn’t any old regular night, but your wedding night. Though, with the day you just had, you weren’t so sure that either of you would be up for a particularly romantic night. You guessed it couldn’t hurt. 

You left the bathroom as a woman on a mission, your eyes set on Patrick as you crossed the bedroom floor to get to him. Though he’d been laying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling like it had the secrets to the universe written on it, the sound of your entrance drew his attention over to you. You gently bit your lower lip and hoped that your face said ‘sexy’ rather than ‘so nervous you might be sick.’

His eyes stayed locked on you as you crawled into bed, and you hoped once more that the action of you moving towards him on your hands and knees didn’t appear as desperate as you felt on the inside. 

It felt like your evening consisted of one desperate plea after another: Please don’t do this to me. Please just pretend that everything’s fine. Please don’t leave me. 

He followed your lead as you trailed your hand up his arm and looked at him as seductively as you could manage before pushing him down onto the bed and straddling his lap. Distantly, you wondered how Tashi imitated things with him—if she did anything that Patrick liked more about her than you. You did your best to push that thought away, but failed miserably. 

Mechanically, you ran your hands through his hair and kissed him passionately. You tried to ignore the lump in your throat and reminded yourself that it was just Patrick. Things weren’t all that different, except for the fact that he was your husband now—and that he cheated on you.

You tried once more to push that thought out of your mind as you moved your hips against his lap, but your attempts were in vain. It certainly didn’t help that as you kissed him, you tasted the cigarette you shared earlier in his breath—an unwelcome reminder of the awkward tension that lingered between the two of you after he shared the truth about his infidelity. And surely, it was just your mind, but his lips almost tasted like the chapstick of another woman. 

Suddenly, all you could think about was Tashi with your husband. Him and Tashi in your bedroom, or in a hotel room, or on your couch. Did she do anything special that drove him crazy? What did she have that you didn’t? 

Your body said one thing, but your brain said something completely different. You did your best to power through the thoughts of your husband being with another woman, but you were beginning to realize that when it came to cheating, you weren’t all that tough. You bit down on Patrick’s lip in what you hoped would be a light nibble, but the taste of iron quickly filled your mouth. 

You slowed down your movements as your thoughts sped up before you gave up entirely. You supposed it was a classic case of mind over matter, and your mind was not nearly as strong as any of your physical urges. 

You shifted off of Patrick far later than you should’ve, feeling like a complete and utter failure. You couldn’t even do the one thing you should’ve been able to do during your wedding night. No wonder he found solace in someone else’s body. 

“I’m sorry,” you said weakly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

It took you rolling off of Patrick to realize that his face was damp, eyes glossy with a thin layer of tears threatening to fall. The pit in your stomach that had been steadily growing since Patrick pulled you aside to tell you something finally came to a head when you realized that your husband was crying.

“Why are you sorry?” he asked, his voice cracking on the last syllable of his question. 

A fresh tear rolled down his cheek, which was then followed by a few other droplets. He turned his head away from you and wiped them away quickly so you wouldn’t notice them, but the damage was already done. 

You’d never seen Patrick cry before—not when you watched sad movies that left you bawling, not when the two of you watched advertisements for puppies in shelters, not even when he thought his dad might be dying. To see him shed tears over you felt particularly unsettling. 

“Patrick?” you said his name softly, like he was delicate and going to break. 

“I should be the one who’s sorry,” he looked towards you once more, eyes now rimmed with red. “I ruined everything already. I'm so sorry.”

This was a complete wild card on top of a stack of wild cards. If someone told you that your wedding night would end with your husband telling you he cheated on you, a pathetic failed attempt at sex, then watching your partner cry for the first time in front of you, you would’ve laughed in their face. 

His crying continued, becoming slightly more intense as sorrow racked through his body. You’d never been in a situation like this before, so you were completely unsure of what to do. 

With all prior restraint to show him physical affection gone, you awkwardly slotted your arms around your husband. He automatically leaned into you, burying his face in your shoulder as he continued to shed quiet tears. Your shoulder quickly grew damp as you threaded your fingers through his curls, the repetitive petting being just as soothing for you as it was for him. 

Despite it all, you still felt a general sense of nothing at all. You were beginning to grow concerned, knowing that deep down there were certainly emotions that weren’t ready to approach the surface. You worried about what it might look like once those feelings finally came out, but that was the least of your worries when it came to your weeping husband. 

Patrick continued to cry quietly, the only sound in the room being his soft, occasional sniffles. You couldn’t even place how you felt or how long you sat there stone faced as you cradled your husband. 

Eventually, the tears on your shoulder dried and the intervals between sniffles grew further and further. Soon, the soft sounds of weeping turned into the long and deep breaths of rest. Between you playing with his hair and holding him, he must’ve fallen asleep. You couldn’t really blame him—given your eventful day, your all-nighter the previous day, and the energy it took for him to cry. 

You gently laid Patrick back down on his side of the bed, pulling a blanket over his chest and pushing back the hair on his forehead to press a kiss to him. He stirred slightly against the forehead kiss, but didn’t seem to wake up all the way. Even when your feelings were complicated towards the man, you couldn’t help being affectionate towards him. In some ways, you felt like you needed that affection just as much as he did. 

You let out a long sigh as the reality of everything truly began to set in, and you no longer had to be strong for your weeping partner. You couldn’t wrap your head around the sight of Patrick crying for the first time, or the fact that he cheated on you. You flicked off the bedside lamp, the only source of light in your otherwise darkened bedroom. 

You rolled over in bed and laid on your back, setting your hands on your stomach and staring up at the ceiling. You traced your eyes over the pattern of the ceiling, though it was dark and not all that clear. You wondered if you looked at it long enough, if you’d be able to make some sense out of it. You glanced over at Patrick and wondered the same thing. 

You just couldn’t understand why he’d cheat on you. You’d always been under the impression that he was just as happy in your relationship as you were. Despite his promiscuous past, he never seemed like the type of person to not be loyal to you.

You noticed a teardrop trail down his cheek in his sleep, and you gently thumbed it away. The small movement turned into you tracing a line down his nose and over his lips, then over his eyebrows and back down through the few freckles that dotted his face. Maybe if you watched him long enough, if you learned every detail of his face, someone would reveal to you why he’d done something so illogical and cruel. 

You worried about how the two of you could move forward from something like this. Though Patrick always approached the topic of infidelity with a dismissive attitude, cheating had always been a deal breaker for you in your past relationships. It shattered your trust in a way that was so foundational, you couldn’t fathom a world where your relationship with Patrick stayed exactly the same after this. 

Part of you knew already that moving forward, you’d constantly wonder if he was genuinely working late or if he was having an affair, or if his eye was wandering at events despite you standing by his side. And that was just trust when it came to relationships—obviously his lie was far deeper than just that. Now, you knew that Patrick had the capacity to hold a secret that massive from you, then share it at the worst possible time. 

In fact, his timing felt so terrible that you momentarily wondered if it was some sort of power play. Was Patrick trying to remind you that you weren’t equals in this partnership? Was he trying to manipulate you by only sharing this information to you after you were married to him and couldn’t easily call everything off? 

Your stomach turned at the possibility that Patrick wasn’t really who he said he was, and that you’d been baited and switched. You recalled the first time you met Patrick’s family, how he switched on a dime and became far more calculated and cruel to them than you’d ever seen him be with you. Was that the realest version of your husband, and the person he was with you just a façade? Was this some sort of long game he was playing with his family to piss a few people off? Did Patrick even love you?  

For the first time in your relationship, you felt like you didn’t know who you were sleeping next to. Surely, this couldn’t be the same Patrick who you set out to have a quick hook up with, and ended up talking to him for hours. It couldn’t be the same Patrick who held you tight at night and gave you kisses every morning in your kitchen. The same Patrick from your vows a few hours ago, whose hands shook as he read from notecards and declared his love for you.

You frowned as you looked over Patrick once more. You resented how he was able to sleep so peacefully after inflicting such hurt on you. Did he even understand how destroyed you were? You couldn’t see yourself sleeping through the night in the foreseeable future, your head too filled with questions about your relationship and questions about his relationship with her. Would they continue the affair? Would they still work together after this, leaving you to wonder for the rest of your life if they were still going behind your back?

You desperately wished the thoughts would stop, but they kept coming, punctuated by the sounds of Patrick’s soft snores behind you. 

By the time the sun began to peek through the blinds, your hand was on Patrick’s face once again. You wondered how it was possible for him to hurt someone he loved as much as he loved you, if his definition of love was so skewed by a lifetime of abuse labeled as love from his parents, and siblings who used cruelty as a form of affection. 

Maybe you should’ve listened to the warnings everyone gave you, from your parents who warned that your husband and his family may be more than you bargained for, from his sisters who never seemed to be able to fully wrap their head around Patrick committing to someone, let alone you. Maybe you should’ve even listened to Tashi’s coded warning about his inability to commit and stay loyal. It seemed like everyone saw the fate of your relationship coming except you. 

With the early morning light illuminating the room, things felt a little clearer for you. Beneath the numbness that protected you the previous night was a more painful undercurrent of hurt that was already beginning to eat away at you. 

For the past several years of your life, you hadn’t had to deal with any painful feelings on your own. Patrick was always there beside you to hold you tight and reassure you that everything would be okay. As you laid next to him, you realized that despite all the pain he’d inflicted on you, all you really wanted was to be held by him. 

Knowing that he was sleeping peacefully beside you, you opted to hold him, draping your body over his and pulling yourself as close as you could manage to him. You leaned your ear against his back, taking in the warmth he gave you and listening to his heart beat. As the two of your breaths and heartbeats began to match the other’s pace, you lamented that even now, your hearts beat as one. 

For the first time that evening, your eye prickled with the threat of tears. 

You lost track of how long you held your husband, but it was long enough to notice the pattern of his breath changing. You’d woken up beside him enough times to recognize that he was clearly awake, yet he made no other indication to you that he was awake. He wanted you to hold him. You wondered if he thought this might be the last time you ever do that for him. You wondered if it was the last time you’d ever do that for him. 

The two of you pretended to be asleep despite the fact that you were both obviously awake, but no one commented on anything. After your arms began to grow numb, you turned your back to Patrick, hoping that he would return the favor and give you what you really wanted. You were pleased to find that he just as eagerly wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight and breathing quietly in your ear. 

The two of you sat in complete silence, pretending you didn’t know what the other person was doing. Somehow, it felt like that was about to become a recurring theme in your relationship.

[lendeah]

Grooming Dilemma

Pairing: Gale x Fem!Reader/Tav Summary: Gale wants to shave his beard, and Tav decides to help him with the task. or Horny shaving with your favorite wizard. Tags: Fluff and smut. They are so cute. Word count: 4.2k Warnings: Facial Shaving, Horny shaving, Porn With Plot, but just a bit, Vaginal Fingering, Finger Sucking, Frottage, PInV Sex, Vaginal Sex, Unprotected sex, fluff and smut. AO3 link

a/n: Just pure filth. I have no excuse. Not proofread, so may contain mistakes (sorry)

After your arduous journey to Baldur's Gate, you and Gale finally find a moment of respite in the Elfsong Tavern bathroom. Weary from weeks of travel, you are perched on the edge of the bathtub, with your legs inside, as Gale relaxes in the warm water. You take a moment to appreciate his appearance: his hair is damp and unkempt, falling in dark waves around his face, and the exhaustion from weeks of travel has softened his strong features, making him look more vulnerable than usual. Without thinking, you reach out and gently thread your fingers through his wet locks, placing them behind his ear. Gale's eyes flutter closed at the touch, a small contented sigh escaping his lips.

The two of you sit in comfortable silence as you continue to play with his hair, occasionally twirling strands around your finger.

"I want to shave" he suddenly says, breaking the peace.

Your face falls at his words, and you can't help but feel a pang of disappointment. "You can't be serious," you protest. "Your beard is your best attribute!"

Gale chuckles softly, clearly amused by your reaction. "But how could you possibly know what I look like without it? " he teases.

You pout and cross your arms over your chest. "I just know it!" you insist. "It's so soft and nice. And it makes you look more manly."

You take the chance to lower your hand to his cheek, feeling the soft hair there. Gale's beard has indeed grown significantly since your time at the Last Light Inn. You suppose he hasn't had much time for grooming during your journey to Baldur's Gate.

"Well I was under the impression that I already was manly, with or without the beard," Gale says. "You would prefer a rugged, manly husband, yes? A strong, burly protector, who would not hesitate for a moment to defend his bride from any peril that came her way."

You roll your eyes "Yes, my love, because you are so burly and very rugged indeed."

Gale laughs, shaking his head at your sarcasm.

"Well, I'll have you know that I am quite proficient in combat," he retorts. "I may not be the tallest or bulkiest, but I can certainly hold my own."

"Oh, I have no doubt about that. I fight alongside you every other day. But what does that have to do with shaving?"

Gale looks at you lovingly. "A new look couldn't hurt, right? It's important to switch things up now and then, keep people on their toes. In addition, what if I end up looking like Elminster?"

You laugh at the thought of Gale sporting a long, white beard like his mentor.

"I don't think you have to worry about that just yet," you say with a grin. "Maybe in a few years..."

He mock-pouts and runs a hand through his hair, causing droplets of water to fall onto his chest. You watch as the droplets trail down his toned chest, feeling a familiar warmth in your stomach at the sight.

"I'll keep some stubble," he concedes, running his hand along his jawline.

You smile, relieved that he won't be completely clean shaven. You've grown accustomed to his signature scruff and it would feel strange to see him without it.

"Fine, but you have to promise me one thing."

As you continue to play with his hair, Gale leans in and presses a kiss to your knee. "Anything to make you happy," he whispers.

"Promise you will let me be the one to shave you," You whisper, leaning closer.

Gale's eyes widen slightly, surprise flickering across his features.

“I strictly forbid anyone from touching my razor, especially you,” he says, his face still relaxed from his recent bath. Yet, his eyes narrow in a suspicious manner as he looks up at you. “I cannot take the chance that you might accidentally cut my delicate neck and leave an unsightly scar.”

You pout "But I am good with blades, I'm sure it can't be that different!"

Gale's expression softens and he gives you a small smile."Oh, yes, it’s that different. It transcends mere physical actions of grasping a blade and pointing towards the hair. It’s—" He pauses, trying to think of a metaphor that you would understand. "It is akin to the intricate task of chiseling a fragile masterpiece. One would not bestow such a delicate endeavor upon an amateur, would they?"

You sulk and try to think of a counter-argument. Suddenly, an idea sparks in your mind and you can't help but smirk mischievously. Without hesitation, you climb into the bathtub, fully clothed, and wrap your arms around his neck. The warm water splashes against your skin and clothes, creating a pleasant sensation. "Please, my love," you plead with a playful glint in your eye. "You can teach me, I promise I will be the best razor-shaving student."

Gale raises an eyebrow at your persistence. "Why would you want to bother with something as tedious as—" A pause. "Ugh, Fine."

A victorious grin stretches across your face as you plant a swift kiss on his lips before stepping out of the tub, leaving puddles of water in your wake. He follows suit, grabbing a towel to dry off while you eagerly gather everything you need. He takes a seat on a sturdy wooden chair and pats his lap, inviting you to join him. With a rosy blush on your cheeks and a wide smile, you perch yourself on Gale's legs, which are covered only by the towel.

The position makes you warm up, even more so with the wet clothes still clinging to your body. But as your eyes meet his, you can't hold back a burst of laughter at the sight of the fluffy shaving foam covering his face, transforming him into a comical cloud.

"It's not that funny," he grumbles, wiping some foam off his face with a towel.

You shake your head, unable to contain your laughter. "I'm sorry, love." You attempt to stifle your giggles before asking, "So, Mr. Dekarios, where do we begin?"

Gale's eyes meet yours, shining with mischief as he struggles to conceal his amusement. "Step one, naturally...you grasp the razor..."

You smirk, "I was hoping to use my longsword instead."

"Mocking your shaving instructor already? Not a good start for you." Gale maintains a stern expression, but the corners of his mouth betray a small smile.

"Alright, fine." You say prying the razor and gently grabbing his jaw. "Okay, instructor, what next?"

"Well, you hold the razor this way..." Slowly, he wraps his fingers around yours and places your thumb in the thumb hole so your grip is firm.

Your heart flutters as his fingers brush against yours, and you try to focus on the task at hand. "And now what?" you ask eagerly.

"Now, you want to make sure you’re holding it at a slight angle against the skin," Gale instructs. "Not too steep or else you’ll cut yourself or me. And then it’s just a matter of gentle strokes." He takes your hand and demonstrates on his cheek, showing you how to move the blade in small, precise movements. Slowly, he releases your hand and places both of his over your hips, steadying you as you practice the delicate motions with the blade. The warmth from his palms seeps into your body, sending shivers down your spine.

You try to mimic his actions on your own, but your hand feels a bit shaky and uncertain without his. "Am I doing it right?" you ask nervously.

"Not bad for a first-timer," he comments with an approving smile.

Soon enough, you start getting comfortable with the movements. You even start humming a tune under your breath as you shave away. The razor glides smoothly over his skin, leaving behind a trail of freshly groomed skin. It’s surprisingly satisfying to watch the transformation taking place before your eyes.

As you reach his jawline, your free hand starts to wander, moving from his shoulder and threading through his hair with the excuse of holding his head still. Gale's eyes flutter closed and he releases a deep, satisfied sigh. The tension in his muscles dissipates with each gentle touch, and you can't help but smile as he melts into your hand like a lovestruck puppy.

"Enjoying yourself?" you tease playfully, while carefully shaving his jaw, making sure to leave a bit of stubble.

Gale looks up at you, a soft smile spreading across his face. "I must admit, I am quite enjoying myself," he says, his voice laced with amusement. "But I'm more curious as to what you're doing with your free hand."

You chuckle, "I am taking my liberties as your best student, of course."

Gale raises an eyebrow, "Is that so? And what liberties would those be?"

You look at him, and even with the foam covering his face, he is the most handsome man you have ever seen. You lean in closer, your lips brushing against his ear as you whisper, "The liberty to touch you wherever I please."

Gale's breath hitches in his throat, his eyes locking with yours as your words sink in. Desire flickers in his gaze and he rasps out, "I don't think that's part of our lesson plan."

You smirk, "Well, maybe you should change the curriculum, Professor," you suggest playfully.

Gale turns his head towards you and captures your lips in a searing kiss, his calloused hands gently cupping your ass through the wet clothes. Your own hands roam freely over his half-shaved face, tracing every rugged edge and soft curve, committing them to memory. The rough texture of his newly shaved stubble prickles against your fingertips, adding an extra layer of sensation. As the razor slips from your hand and clatters to the ground, the sound startles you both, bringing you back to reality.

You pull away from Gale, both of you breathing heavily and trying to regain some semblance of composure. "I should finish my job before I get more distracted," you say with a shaky laugh, picking up the fallen instrument.

Gale beams at you with a mischievous grin.

"It appears it is your turn for a shave, my dear." You glance at his face, covered in a mess of shaving cream, and realize yours is probably just as chaotic. You blush as he playfully grabs your cheeks and cleans off the foam with a damp cloth. "There, all better," he says with a final caress to your cheek. You meet his gaze, feeling a flutter in your stomach at the tenderness in his eyes.

Trying not to break the moment, you begin to carefully shave his cheeks again.

"I have to confess, I've found shaving to be surprisingly enjoyable," Gale says with a chuckle.

You smile at him and run your fingers over his clean-shaven cheek. "Well, you do make it quite pleasurable."

You finish up carefully shaving the few remaining patches of hair on his face before leaning back to admire your work. He looks so... different. His sharp features seem more defined without the shadow of a beard, giving him a sharper look, but he still has the lingering stubble giving him that rugged charm you've grown so fond of. As you rake your fingers over his smooth jawline, Gale captures your gaze with darkened eyes full of admiration and desire.

“You don’t think I look silly without my beard, do you?” he asks, self-consciously running his hand along his stubble once again.

A small, loving smile graces your lips as your thumb lightly glides over the newfound ridges and dips on his face. He has a new youthful freshness and a clean, radiant glow about him. But still, he is just as handsome as ever, if not more so. Your heart swells with love for this man. Leaning in, you press a gentle kiss against his cheek, savoring the moment and letting out a contented sigh.

"Not at all," you assure him, your voice barely above a whisper. "I must say, you look rather... enticing." Gale's eyes widen in surprise. Before he can say anything else, you add. "Should we shave the rest?"

Your gaze travels down the expanse of his chest, the dark hair that travels down his stomach and lower...

Gale blushes fiercely, his cheeks turning a deep red as he stares at you. But he doesn’t move away, and he doesn’t protest. "Y-yes," he whispers. "You can...uh...I will...yes," he splutters, struggling to think of what else to say. He looks more nervous than you’ve seen him in a long time.

You chuckle at Gale's flustered state and lean in closer, feeling a surge of confidence. "Don't worry," you whisper, gently tracing your fingers along his jawline. "I'll be gentle."

Gale's gaze follows your every move as you pick up the razor, anticipation and excitement brewing in his dark eyes. As the sharp blade glides across his chest, his muscles tense under your delicate touch. The smooth skin revealed by each stroke of the razor is glowing, almost golden, and you can't resist tracing your fingers along it.

You feel him shaking, his breath quivering, and he groans slightly. His hands grip your thighs tightly, and you can feel his arousal growing beneath the towel that you are sitting over.

"A-apologies, I can't remain still," he apologizes, squirming slightly under your touch.

You smile softly at Gale's nervousness. "It's okay," you reassure him, continuing to carefully shave off the remaining hair. His skin is hot, but you can feel the goosebumps rising under your touch.

Gale lets out a shaky breath, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "I-I just...it feels peculiar," he mumbles, trying to keep still. You lower the razor from his chest to his stomach, your own breath a little shaky. You trace your fingers there, following the trail of the razor as you admire the smooth skin. Gale's muscles tense under your touch. You can feel your own arousal at the feeling of his hardness against you, and can't help moving your hips slightly over him. A low groan escapes Gale's lips as he responds eagerly to your movements.

"Everything alright, professor?" you ask breathlessly, your fingers still tracing patterns on his skin.

Gale's eyes fly open at your question, a look of confusion and desire in them. "I-It's...it's fine," he stammers, trying to compose himself. But his body betrays him, his hips moving against yours as he moans lowly.

Your own breathing quickens as you feel the heat between you intensify. Without hesitation, you lean in and claim Gale's lips as your own, savoring the hint of shaving cream and the feeling of the soft skin of his face, so different from the tickling you are used to. The kiss is intense and passionate, your tongues dancing together in a heated rhythm. You can just let out a soft moan into his mouth as his fingers trace up and down your spine, sending shivers down your body.

This time, you have half the mind to put the blade aside before turning back to him. Your hands start roaming over his smooth chest and stomach before trailing lower toward the towel that covers his arousal.

Gale's breath hitches as your fingers brush against him, and he breaks the kiss to look up at you with his eyes almost black with desire.

"I need you," he whispers huskily.

"So eager, Mr. Dekarios. You have to learn about patience," you tease, starting to unbuckle your trousers.

"I apologize, Miss, I must admit, patience has never been one of my strong suits." he replies, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You let out a soft laugh as you finish undoing your trousers and get up from his lap to let them fall to the ground. The rest of your still damp clothes follow, leaving you bare in front of him. Gale's eyes roam over your naked body, taking in every curve and detail.

"You're magnificent," he says, his voice low and husky.

"I could say the same about you, Mr. Dekarios," The words leave your lips with a teasing smirk, trying to mask the nervousness you feel under Gale's intense scrutiny.

You move to straddle Gale's hips once again, grinding against his now rock-hard cock, the contact making you both moan. His hand trails down your chest, until his fingers rest over one of your nipples. The electric sensation makes your body tremble and you can't help but whimper as he teases and toys with your sensitive flesh.

"I want to make you feel good," Gale whispers, his breath hot against your skin.

"And I want to make you feel good too," you reply, leaning down to capture his lips in another passionate kiss.

Gale's lips move from yours to trail down your neck, leaving a trail of hot kisses and love bites in their wake. Your head falls back in pleasure as his mouth moves to one of your nipples, sucking and nipping at it while his hand continues to fondle the other. The sensations are almost too much for you to handle and you can feel yourself getting wetter with each passing second. Gale is thick and throbbing against your core, and you grind yourself against him, both of you letting out low moans of pleasure. His fingers trace down your stomach until they reach your cunt, "You are dripping," he murmurs against your chest, his breath hot against your skin.

You can't help but let out a soft moan as his fingers begin to tease your folds, spreading your wetness and circling around your sensitive clit. You move against him, desperate for more contact, but he keeps teasing you with slow and deliberate movements. When his first finger finally enters you, you are so wet it almost gets sucked in. You cry out in relief, clenching around the digit as Gale's finger moves in and out of you, the slow and steady pace driving you mad with desire.

"I need more," you pant, unable to form any other words.

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as he adds a second finger, stretching you in the most delicious way. Your walls clench around him eagerly as he sets a faster pace, his fingers moving expertly inside of you. With each thrust of his fingers, your moans grow louder and more desperate.

Cursing the gods, he mutters to himself, "I can't believe my fortune. Here you are, a perfect mess, so desperate and eager. I am so overwhelmed by the depth of my love for you." Gale whispers against your ear as he adds a third finger, making you gasp at the slight stretch but also reveling in the fullness it brings. His thumb joins in on the action, rubbing circles over your clit and sending jolts of pleasure through your body.

"Please, my love," you whisper, looking into his intense brown eyes, which now look almost black with desire.

You can feel the coil in your stomach tightening, aching for release. Your hands grip onto his shoulders as you ride his fingers with with abandon, your body trembling with each thrust. Gale's lips find yours once again and he kisses you deeply, swallowing your moans as your body tenses and convulses. You come hard against his hand, your whole body trembling and shaking as waves of pleasure wash over you.

Gale doesn't stop though, his fingers continue to move inside of you, prolonging your orgasm until it becomes almost unbearable.

"I love you," Gale whispers between kisses.

"I love you too," you reply breathlessly, lost in the sensations coursing through your body.

He finally withdraws his hand and brings it up to his mouth, sucking on his fingers while staring into your eyes with a hunger that sends shivers down your spine.

"Allow me to make love to you," he pleads huskily.

With the last of your energy, you eagerly nod and open the towel beneath you, revealing his cock as it springs out. Gale's eyes rake over you hungrily before he positions himself between your legs, his erection rubbing against your wet folds.

Without breaking eye contact, you slowly lower yourself onto Gale, feeling him stretch and fill you in the most delicious way. A moan escapes your lips as he fills you completely, a perfect fit that always leaves you breathless. Gale's eyes never leave yours as he enters you, inch by inch. You still feel sensitive and spent at the recent orgasm, so you lean in and wrap your arms around his neck.

You whimper, "God, you're so big...filling me up so perfectly..."

He moans in response, spurred on by your filthy words as he always is.

"Only for you," Gale responds, his voice no more than a hoarse whisper. "Always for you."

His fingers dig into your waist as he holds himself steady, allowing you time to adjust to his size. You can feel the throbbing heat of him within you and it sends shivers of desire spiraling down your spine. After a few moments, you begin to move, rocking your hips in slow circles that have both of you gasping. Gale's gaze is on your face, drinking in every flicker of pleasure that crosses it. A loud moan leaves your lips as he hits a particularly sensitive spot inside of you. Your nails dig into his skin as you ride him, meeting his every thrust with your own movements. The sounds of your bodies slapping against each other mix with your moans and gasps, filling the room.

Gale's lips find yours once again, kissing you deeply as he continues to pleasure you. His tongue expertly explores your mouth, before he leans back and looks into your eyes with his big brown orbs you have always loved so much.

"You're so pretty," you whisper, "even without the beard."

Gale's lips quirk up into a smile at your words.

"And you're my everything," Gale whispers against your lips, making your heart swell with love for this man.

At this point you have stilled again, just grinding against each other and whispering sweet nothing. You just can't seem to get enough, your forehead against his, lost in the sensations of his touch and warmth.

"Mhmm," you hum, your body clenching down on him again "I could do this all night."

He chuckles softly, "And I would let you, but there's one thing I want even more than this..."

"Oh?" you tease, arching an eyebrow.

"I need to feel you unravel yourself around me," his words send shivers down your spine.

"You'll have to work for that," you say with a grin, and start moving up and down his cock in slow strokes. The feeling of him sliding out of your tightness is followed by a squelching, and you are sure at this point you must be dripping all over him. The thought makes you clench again. Your breath hitches as the tip of his cock brushes against your most sensitive spot.

"Shit" Gale groans, closing his eyes in pleasure. His hands grip your hips hard enough to leave marks, but you don't care as he matches you stroke for stroke. He starts whining lowly, and it turns you on so much when he becomes whiny and desperate for you. "Please," he begs, "I need--"

You interrupt his plea with a hungry kiss, swallowing his desperate noises as you ride him harder, faster. Gale's hands wander over your body, caressing every inch of skin he can reach. His lips trail down from your jaw to your neck, nipping and sucking on the sensitive skin. You let out a moan as his tongue flicks over your pulse point, sending sparks of pleasure throughout your body.

Gale's hands then travel lower, cupping your breasts and massaging them gently. His thumbs graze over your hardened nipples, making you arch into his touch. You bring your hands to his hair, pulling at the base and eliciting a low growl from him.

You look into his eyes as you feel him getting closer to release, moaning against his lips. His hand finds your clit again and rubs it in a circular motion, adding to the pleasure coursing through your body. You meet his gaze and let out a long, drawn-out moan as you feel your walls gripping onto him.

"I love you," you moan against his lips, your voice filled with adoration and need.

Gale's movements become erratic at your words, his hand working faster on your clit. You both let out a symphony of moans and gasps as you reach your climax together.

You collapse onto Gale's chest, both of you trying to catch your breath. His arms wrap tightly around you, pulling you impossibly closer, still buried deeply inside of you.

"I love you so much," Gale says between breaths, kissing your shoulder.

You lean down and kiss him softly on the lips, your hands running soothingly over his chest. As you lay there in each other's arms, the world seems to fade away. All that matters is the feeling of being connected to Gale.

"You know, I think could get used to this," you whisper against his lips "Your skin is so soft now." Gale chuckles, "I hope you do, because you are performing my shaving duties from now on."

[hisokakissmeplz]

hisoka and illumi dick size and appearance, please?

Oh I've been wanting to do this one for awhile

Adulttrio's dicks

Nsfw obviously mdni

Illumi

Tall and slender like he is

he thinks it's average but also doesn't care about that kinda thing

its not btw

He's longer than he is thick but oh God is it long

Curves slightly up to reach deep inside your cervix

It's extremely pale too

tip is #BC8F8F and probably the most sensitive part

he has one very prominent vein the stretches from the top of the base to underneath

his balls get super big and heavy when he hard

just swollen with cum to breed you ofc

speaking of his cum it's super milky and foggy white

he's extremely fertile

I've said it before but you will most definitely choke on his dick

Hisoka

His dick is so pretty omfg

He's the tallest out of the trio so I think he'd have the biggest one

And it's so big too big enough to reach every spot in you and more

he's confident for more reasons then one

he knows you have trouble taking his size but that just gets him off even more honestly

smth about seeing you choke and slobber over his dick just gets him all worked up

Pale and curves a little to the left

Tip is #FFCOCB and mushroom shaped

He has lots of little veins around the tip and the base and more prominent ones over his v line

Perfect for littering with hickies

His balls are always filled with cum so they're pretty heavy average in size though

His cum is super sticky and oddly sweet with a sour aftertaste

When he cums he cums enough to flood your insides though

Chrollo

He's above average but thicker rather than long

It's not super veiny like Hisoka's but there are a few small ones at the base

He keeps it well groomed as well maybe a few hairs here and there but that's it

Loves when you softly kiss the tip

Which is #E9967A btw

Like Illumi's it curves up but to the right

His balls are also pretty average in size

his cum is really thick and salty with a slightly sweet aftertaste

Idk what else

[2012wannabe]

6. Dubcon

cw/tw: no outbreak, stepmom!abby, virgin/innocent reader, grooming, mommy kink

wc: 1378

an: is Abby a lesbian? Yes. Is she married to a man in this au? Also yes but just for useless plot purposes.

Walking through the door you sighed upon seeing a very particular set of keys on the ring. There was only one set, letting you know that your dad was out while your new stepmom Abby was home. You walked up the stairs, attempting to bypass your dad's room and not see her but to your annoyance you heard her voice calling you.

“How was your day sweetie?”

“Uh it was good.” You said shortly looking up her. She was different than all the other women your dad dated, but just personality wise but appearance wise. She was 5’8 which isn’t very tall, but coming from a very short family where the tallest man is 5’7 it was a big difference. She also had the most muscle mass you had ever seen on a woman. Her thighs were bigger than your head and her biceps bulged with every movement of her arms. Her personality matched her appearance, being strong willed and dominant while still being generous and kind to others.

“I’m glad to hear,” she said before pausing.

“How would you like to watch a movie, get in some bonding time?” She asked pursing her lips. You kind of liked that she made the effort to hang out with you even though you had just turned 18 and would be leaving your childhood home soon.

“Uh sure, let me just get settled.” You said, walking down the hall to your room. Entering the room, you plopped your things on your bed, slipped off your shoes and changed into one of your sleep shirts and a pair of shorts that barely covered your thighs.

“What movie are we watching?” You called.

“Some kind of wonderful! It was my favorite movie when I was your age.” She called back excitedly. Putting on your slippers, you went back down the hall and entered your dads room.

“When is my dad getting home?”

“He said he’s working until 6 so around 7.” She said popping in the DVD. You sat on the bed with her and being so close you started to realize just how much bigger she was. You felt tiny and that you paled in comparison to her. Instead of feeling intimated though, your brain felt kind of fuzzy. Her nature of causal touches, rubbing your arm, resting her hand on your back only made it worse. Your eyes trailed from the screen up at her, taking in the beauty of her features. You always thought she was pretty but never really studied her. Her eyes met yours and you quickly looked away embarrassed. Abby gave a laugh.

“You know,” she started.

“I realize that it must be weird to have a new step mom so late in your life but I do want us to keep the really good relationship we are starting have. You can take all the time you need but I want you to know that you can always come to me when you’re feeling down or just need some extra support.” Your face flushed and the moment made you weirdly emotional. You never really had any semblance of a normal mom, a good one. She smiled warmly and let you hug her, your arms wrapped around her middle. She kissed you on the forehead and you both cuddled together. Her strong arms held you close and still fighting off your emotions, you felt her hands slide up to patch of skin right underneath your breasts.

Another reason you had been so surprised when your dad brought her home is that she defied many stereotypes and roles that you grew up believing. Granted you were extremely sheltered and were homeschooled your entire life but it was a surprise nonetheless. Just like that moment, a swirl on confusion formed in your brain. Her fingers gently brushed the underside of your breasts and you heard her take a breath before saying,

“You trust me right?” You nodded and she continued to speak.

“How you do feel about me making you feel extra special?” Her fingers reached the hem of your sleep shirt and started to slip underneath.

“What are you doing?” She responded by ghosting the pads of her fingers over your nipples, tracing circles around them and twisting them. You instantly felt it in your cunt wetness pooling in your panties. She cupped your breasts, massaging the fat.

“Mmm, that’s it baby.” She cooed as you leaned into her moaning slightly.

“You can take off my shirt.” You whispered warning a grin from Abby. She slid the shirt off of you tossing it the side and pressing light kisses to your breasts.

“You’re perfect.”

“You like them?”

“I love them. You’re gorgeous.” She confirmed latching her mouth on one of your nipples while squeezing the other breast in her other hand. She swirled her tongue around it and it hardened allowing her to suck harder.

“Oh my god, Abby!” You moaned. She switched breasts and the other opposite treatment.

“I’ll give you more if you ask nicely.” She teased.

“Please Abby,” you begged.

“Please what?”

“You know…” you trailed off embarrassed.

“Make me feel nice.” You whispered, barely audible.

“Alright sweetheart,” she giggled.

“But remember this is our special secret, no one but us will ever know.”

“Ok.” Abby looked at you expectantly like she was waiting for you to finish your sentence. You looked at her confused,

“Ok…” she repeated, mouthing ‘mommy’ afterward.

“Ok mommy.” You said, the same feeling stirring in your cunt.

“Can mommy take off your shorts?” You nodded yes and she cooed slipping them off revealing a tiny black thong.

“Look how beautiful.” She mused. You yelped as you suddenly felt her hand collide with your ass slapping it.

“God.” Abby groaned. The movie still played quietly in the back long forgotten. She pushed you against the bed laying down on your back with your legs to the side and your hips up. She left the bed and retrieved something you couldn’t see before returning and showing off a strap on. An 8 inch black strap on dildo with a girth that instilled fear in your chest. You flushed with panic as she crawled on the bed.

“What’s that for?” She giggled,

“I’m going to show you how much I love you. Now, open your legs.”

“Wait, you’re going to put in there?” You asked.

“Yes, baby.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s going to feel amazing baby I promise.”

“What if it doesn’t fit?” She laughed again.

“Of course it will fit. Just try to relax.” She said, letting her fingers drop down to your pussy.

“Gotta warm you up first.” She traced the the outline of your pussy letting your wetness soak your fingers.

“You’re so pretty.” She murmured before slowly pushing in one of fingers. Your body twitched and grabbed her forearm. The intrusion felt strange but not totally bad just a sting. She moved her finger around exploring and let a second finger work its way in.

“You’re so tight. Let it hurt a bit, it’ll feel so much better in just a moment.” She breathed. She lined up her strap with your pussy and pushed it in stretching you out. You gasped and curled forward groaning.

“Shhh it’s ok baby girl. Mommy’s got you, mommy’s got you.” She continued thrusting in and out.

“Hurts.”

“It’s ok, it’s gonna feel good I promise.” Abby cooed. The pain turned to pleasure as you started to gasp. Your grip on her tightened and you looked at her wildly for reassurance as you started to moan. Her thrusts got quicker and she bottomed out against your cervix. You let out another languid moan and your eyes rolled back.

“Ah wait, I have to pee. I have to pee-“ you said, your panic returning.

“You don’t have pee i promise.” She said.

“Let go, it’s gonna ok. Mommy promises.” Abby’s thrusts started to stutter and you go, squirting onto the bed sheets. You immediately started to apologize and she was quick to correct you.

“It’s perfectly normal, don’t worry about it. It’s okay.” Your eyes softly closed and she kissed your lips softly.

“Can I clean you up?” You nodded, watching her take a rag and wipe between your thighs.

“You’re such a good girl.”

[b0ylik3r]

I dont wanna get myself involved in any more ZADR discourse, but I also don't want misinfo to spread around and people to get discouraged or anything like I had been for a while. So I'm going to say this: Zim in Invader Zim is most likely a child.

There are a plethora of reasons I think this, but if you don't care then scroll. I'm going to provide my reasoning under the cut.

My first reason is that from a writing standpoint, there is absolutely nothing appealing about the dynamic between Dib and Zim if Zim is an adult. What would or do you find enjoyment out of their dynamic if they are not meant to be foils of one another like the show HEAVILY implies them to be NUMEROUS TIMES? If Zim is a child, their dynamic becomes "2 children want parental approval and go against each other for it, when in reality the approval and love they seek is unattainable because the parental figures will never give them it. They would be better off being friends or allies, but instead keep fighting to be loved because they're dumb kids and don't realize that it's fruitless and dumb". If Zim is an adult, their dynamic becomes "Immature man cannot beat child". What is to be enjoyed or explored there?

My second reason is that Zim acts like a child in a multitude of different ways. His interactions with The Tallest, his general immaturity, and even how he surrounds himself. He goes to school. He has made himself robot parents to support that idea. He needs different disguises to act like an adult. Again, from a writing standpoint, if he was an adult infiltrating a school building and pretending to be a kid, that's just fucking weird. I don't think Jhonen is that type of person. I don't think the writers are that type of people.

Also on this subject is the episode Tak: The Hideous New Girl. At the point of the episode, Zim was trying to impress and "crush on" and be the boyfriend of this middle school girl. It doesn't matter if Tak was actually irken. It doesn't matter if she is the same age as him actually. It doesn't change that Zim was trying to get into a human relationship with what he thought was a middle school girl. If he is an adult, that's pretty fucking weird. Again, I don't think Jhonen is that type of person and I don't think the writers are that type of people.

The "flying ships before you were born" only proves that on Irk, he was an adult or at least the age that would permit him to fly ships. Calendars are manmade, why would irkens use the same years? Zim's age could also easily translate into human years into the late tween years. We also have to think logically about things.

Also, I sometimes feel like people are forgetting that Irk is a dystopian society. They are a hyper-militarized alien race that codes people's brains on the daily and does not wait for the children to grow up even a little before they start military training (or, at least training for military training). What morals prevent them from using child labor or child soldiers? We also have to remember that in accordance to The Trial, Zim was a smeet or older allowed into violent chemicals and resources that can kill, like it did Tallest Miyuki and Tallest Spork. That, in a way, proves that Irkens are not above dangerous child labor.

One other argument I have is that in Enter The Florpus, during the species change clip, Zim, Dib and Gaz switch species. The thing is, Dib and Gaz look the same as Zim in this clip. They don't become little smeets, they don't become tiny kids. They become Zim's age. Zim also does not become an old man in this clip. He stays the same as Dib and Gaz. Being that these are their canon human/irken translations, I don't see how someone could still defend this.

You could take all of this and say "Okay, but ZADR is still proship because they are abusive to each other so why are you so pressed". But like I said in a previous post, there is a major difference between "haha 2 people fight each other n get hurt haha" and "this adult man is grooming this child sexually". That's not funny. That isn't cartoony. That is a fully serious topic taken seriously in every single media that it is represented in. Cartoony unserious fighting has been a staple for years in animation and media. Grooming is not cartoony. That is why so many people have a problem with it. Some people don't enjoy shipping things that are seriously fucked up in the real world like that, or shipping proships.

This all started because of one singular tweet Jhonen made that you all believed. I bet if he tweeted "guys invader zim didnt actually happen and dib was hallucinating the whole time, lmao dream theory is canon", some of you would believe it.

I leave you off with this: "If it looks, sounds & acts like a kid, it's a kid, no matter if it's actually 1000 years old or not."

[jjungkookislife]

La Boda

pairing: bts x f. reader

genre: exes to lovers, some angst, fluff 18+

summary: Your seven exes attend your wedding ceremony and don't plan to leave without you.

wc: 1.1k

warnings: mention of fainting, mentions of cheating, mention of fighting

a/n: title credit and inspiration from la boda by Aventura

date: April 20, 2024

“If there’s anyone who objects to this matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.” The officiant says looking around the room to make sure nobody is raising their hands or rising from their seat.

As he’s about to move on after no objections, the doors burst open. The groom is surprised, as are the wedding guests, but the bride is wide-eyed as she clutches her bouquet to her chest. Her eyes water as she sees not one, but multiple of her exes, seven to be exact.

The groom looks at the bride in confusion as the first ex walks down the aisle. He’s wearing a tuxedo and looks smashing. He’s easily the tallest out of the bunch as they all file in, one behind the other. 

Time slows down, everything fades to the background as the bride follows their movements. Namjoon is leading the pack of her exes and her heart flutters against her will. Tears roll down her cheeks as she sees Jin, Yoongi, Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook following him.

The bride’s mother faints as she recognizes them, her husband catching her in his arms. The maid of honor looks at the bride and then the exes before stepping aside, and giving the bride a thumbs up.

“I-We know this isn’t the best time to do this, my love,” Namjoon starts as he reaches the altar, stepping to the left when Seokjin steps up.

“But we couldn’t let you go through with this.”

Yoongi nods, his deep gaze penetrating the bride’s body, the bouquet falling to her side. “We love you. We’ve always loved you.”

Hoseok steps up when Yoongi moves to the left. The bride’s eyes are tearing up, sniffles are heard through the building as everyone holds their breath while the groom is fuming. He turns to his groomsmen, who shrug, unsure of what to do. The last thing anyone was expecting was for the bride’s exes to show up. Honestly, the wedding party was too into the drama to intercept.

“Please, give us another chance. We won’t let you go this time,” Hoseok pleads, stepping forward to take the bride’s hands in his. The bride swallows thickly, nearly sobbing when Hoseok steps aside and Jimin steps up.

She doesn’t think she’s ever seen him this distraught. “He can’t love you like we do. If you marry him, you’ll be taking our hearts with you.”

Taehyung can’t wait his turn. Stepping up beside Jimin, taking his hand in his and yours in his other hand. “Please, tell me this is a nightmare. You can’t marry him, he’s not us.”

The groom scoffs. Jimin has to hold Taehyung back from lunging at him. 

It’s chaos.

Complete chaos.

“He’s not the man you think he is, love. Do you know he was the one who planted everything to make it look like we were cheating on you? As if we have eyes for anyone else,” Taehyung grits his teeth.

The bride turns to her groom. “Is that true?”

“Are you going to listen to them? This is insanity!” The groom shouts, turning to demand the ceremony continue.

Jimin and Taehyung get pulled away and the youngest ex-boyfriend steps up. Tears well up in his eyes as his dark, fluffy hair falls over his eyes. The bride’s breath catches in her throat as she takes him in. He’s wearing a tuxedo like the others but his waist is the most prominent and he smiles softly when he catches her gaze. 

Jungkook clears his throat, his hand reaching for the bride’s. She gives her hand to him easily, a triumphant smile appearing on his lips as he raises a brow to the groom. She’s theirs, always has been, and always will be.

“She’s never been yours, this is just a nightmare,” Jungkook says, directed at the groom. “We’re here to fight for her. We’re not leaving this place without her.”

Jungkook turns back to the bride. “You remember how in love we were. Swore we’d always be together, love each other, not even death could do us part.”

“Remember all those nights we’d climb up to your balcony, to hold you on nights you couldn’t sleep?” Namjoon asks as he steps forward once again.

“Or those love letters we used to write when we couldn’t stop thinking about each other?” Seokjin asks, biting his bottom lip.

“All those nights we made love under the stars, promising forever with every kiss?” Yoongi asks, no longer able to contain his emotions as tears flow freely from his eyes.

The bride nods, sniffling as she squeezes Jungkook’s hand.

“You can’t marry him! We all want what’s best for you, and he’s not it,” Jimin glares at the groom, who’s long since stopped paying attention. He’s trying to see which of his groomsmen will help him fight the seven men.

“Please, baby. We belong together. You know it, and we know it,” Taehyung states and Jungkook nods. His hand cups the bride’s face, gently wiping away her tears with his thumb. She looks up at him with tear-filled eyes, memories of their relationship hitting her hard.

“Don’t marry him, please,” Jungkook begs softly. 

The bride finally drops the bouquet on the ground, and the guests do a collective gasp. The wedding’s over.

The bride lunges forward, her arms wrapping around Jungkook to kiss him. He welcomes her gladly in his embrace, kissing her through his tears. A laugh bubbles in his chest, giggling against her lips when she pulls away to kiss Taehyung, Jimin, Hoseok, Yoongi, Seokjin, and Namjoon.

Taking Namjoon’s hand, the bride smiles. “Uh, wedding over?” 

The maid of honor laughs, cheering the bride on before the bride’s family cheers her on, never too fond of the groom.

“Let’s go!” Yoongi exclaims.

“We’ve got a car waiting,” Hoseok informs the bride as all the exes hold hands, running out of the building with the bride.

The bride giggles, her heart soaring as she gets into the getaway car with all the loves of her life. She was about to make the worst mistake of her life, thinking she was in love with the groom when in reality he had been nothing but a placeholder, a replacement for her seven exes.

Her love for them never vanished, never dimmed. As she sits in the middle of all of them, her heart flutters in her chest. She never has to leave them again, they’re all hers and she’s all theirs.

“To the bride!” Jimin cheers once everyone has a flute of champagne in their hands. His six boyfriends hold their glasses up as the bride flushes with heat, a shy smile on her lips.

“To the bride!”

© jjungkookislife - I do not allow reposts or translations of my work on any platforms, this includes Youtube.

[amazingmsme]

...

Do you have any preferences in design choices with Polites, Odysseus and the other characters from EPIC? Or any specific headcanons with specific designs/ design choices you love seeing in different person's designs?

Anything specific you use in your designs for all of them?

It's late for me, I hope that question makes enough sense— did I say something with DeSIgN???

And once more, how are you? I hope you are having/were having a great day! (And no more MoRe trauma from the trauma-bringer-saga)

Thank you, I’m doing pretty good! So sorry it took a while to get to it, but I’m finally clearing out the ol’ ask box a bit! I absolutely love seeing all the different designs for the characters from different artists, but there are a few staples I love!

Odysseus: never has hair shorter than his shoulders, & it’s got some wave to it! Maybe he’s born with it, maybe it’s maybeline ✨ really enjoy the armor designs I’ve seen for when they’re in battle, but I feel like he’d wear the chest plate more often. He’s got the lil hat that Penelope made for him! Idk if he’d wear it a lot after everything that’s happened to them because he’s so worried something will happen to it. Instead he’d keep it somewhere safe that only he knows about, it in a very secure pocket

He always has some facial hair, even when he’s not hermit evil man trying to get home. But he keeps it short & well groomed, along with his hair. This bitch is probably so particular about his hair care & has special oils n shit

Eurylochus: I am such a fucking simp for the one shoulder pad design, it’s always a banger but it just looks SO good on him! He likes to keep his hair shaved & has a curved knife he uses just for that. He’s actually a bit of a germaphobe & lowkey freaks out if he sees anyone using it for something else

He’s one of the tallest in the whole crew, so his toga rides up a lil bit higher on his thigh than some of the shorter crew members

I haven’t seen this anywhere else, but I think he’d have one of Ctimene’s scarfs to use as a belt

Polites: the glasses & headband are practically canon at this point, are you kidding me? I’ve always pictured it as a red headband, but I don’t think the color matters much here

I picture him with short curly hair that gets floofy & messy when it grows out. He fusses over it so bad when it grows out too much, so the headband absolutely serves a purpose

His face is more round & full & he has an absolutely dazzling smile & the biggest dimples you’ve ever seen

[calcedon79]

I was bored

Okay, to prevent total withdrawal, I'll serve you guys from the mine crew a little treat from a nonsense story I write on from time to time. It's only roughly translated and not stylistically polished (and it's late). So have mercy.

Boli, this opening chapter was heavily inspired by your Mud story, but somehow our chaos-blorbos have to run into each othe

Random acquaintances

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Sifo-Dyas brushed a few sweaty strands out of his eyes. His hairband had fallen victim to a low-hanging branch. (Message to self: pack a second one for next outing)

"Of course," Jocasta Nu gasped stubbornly, struggling the last few meters up to the ledge of the old castle wall, "Master Sinube did say we could look around a bit."

"Yes, but we were supposed to stay in sight," grumbled the third of the group, his normally immaculately groomed initiate tunic soiled and torn in one place. (Stupid thorns)

" We are, Yan." The petite girl took a deep breath and put her arms on her hips. " We can see the big plaza from up there."

"I don't think that's what he meant," the slender Minashee boy dared to disagree.

"Mmmpf. Then he should phrase it better next time." She stared calculatingly up the half-collapsed defensive wall. Why did all the masters thought that Jocasta was the voice of reason in their trio? (Laughable!).

"Come on, exploring an old fortress like this is much more exciting than listening to lectures about textiles all day."

The two boys looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders. "True enough."

*

From the courtyard of the old fortress, there was the sound of metal hitting stone.

"Let's go and have a look."

"Jo, do you really think that's a good idea?" Sifo-Dyas made no secret of his skepticism.

"Oh, don't be such nunas." The eldest of their group rolled her eyes. "Come on. Let's go and see what this is."

"If we ever die trying out one of your ideas, I won't say another word to you," was Yan's reply as he walked past her.

After all, it had also been Jo's idea to bypass the fuse on the old turbolift and travel to the lower levels of the temple. (Maybe they should have checked the power supply first. Their two-week stay in the Halls of Healing had been no fun - neither had the trouble they'd gotten into with Master Sinube).

*

Jaster lowered his Beskard. (Okay, actually, it wasn't his.) Why did ba'buir have to take this job? No fighting, no proper libraries, how dull!

"That looks interesting," a friendly voice interrupted Jaster's exercises.

In front of him were three other children his age. Locals? Although, the other people's clothes were much more colorful than those of the newcomers. Maybe it was a school uniform or something. Jaster shrugged inwardly.

"Did you hurt yourself?" the tallest boy asked cautiously, taking a step towards him. "We didn't mean to scare you."

"No, no. Everything's fine." Jaster hurried to his feet. "I just didn't hear you coming."

"It's important to always keep an eye on your surroundings." The second boy's dark eyes scrutinized him coolly. At least until a blow to the back of his head from the girl sent the little guy staggering forward.

"Yan! Behave yourself and be polite," she hissed, to which the black-haired boy immediately muttered an apology in Jaster's direction.

Wow, the petite figure had her companions well in hand.

"Uhh, no problem. No harm done," Jaster waved it off. "My name is Jaster Mereel, by the way, and who are you?"

"The tall one with the long hair is Sifo-Dyas, the rude one is called Yan Dooku," introduced the girl with the turquoise ponytail. "And I'm Jocasta Nu."

Before any of the boys could make a sound, she continued: "Is that a traditional Midrim sword? I didn't know swords were used here. What metal is it made of?"

"What?" Jaster blinked, caught off guard by the volley of energetic questions. "Uh, no… it's a beskad and it's made of beskar."

"Beskar?" the boy introduced as Sifo-Dyas now asked with interest. "Ohh, that super cool Mandalorian metal."

"How did you get your hands on a weapon like that?" the Dooku boy wanted to know with narrowed eyes.

"How do you think?" Jaster rolled his eyes. They were asking strange questions. "I am a Mando'ad." "Uhh… Mandalorian?" he added slowly. Stupid basic. Jaster still had trouble with some words.

*

Oh.

Mandalorian?!

Dooku exchanged an alarmed glance with Sy. "'Mandalorian'?!"

Like in "Mandalorians - the enemies of the Jedi Order"?

Jo didn't seem to share their concern. A sparkle appeared in her eyes, showing her two companions that she had caught fire for a topic. Oh oh!

" Mandalorian? How exciting. I thought all Mandos wore armor."

*

"But not from the beginning," protested Jaster - horrified by so much ignorance. That couldn't be allowed to stand! "You have to earn it bit by bit. Look, I've already got bracers and a back plate. And my beskad."

"Yours? It's much too big for you." Oh, did this Yan know his way around swords? As professionally confident as his words sounded, that seemed to be the case.

"Well," Jaster admitted. "It's not mine. My ba'buir lent it to me."

"Your … ba'buir?" Sifo-Dyas tried to repeat after him and tilted his head questioningly.

"Ba'buir means … mmh grandparents in Basic. He is my grandfather"

"And he just lets you go off on your own with that?" The tall boy seemed taken aback by this.

"Of course." What was the problem? On safe planets and as long as he was back at the ship at the agreed time, he was always allowed to do what he wanted. Apparently this was a foreign concept to his new acquaintances. Poor things. "Ba'buir has to work, after all. How else am I supposed to practise? Besides, ba'buir always says it's too dangerous to go out without a weapon."

*

Okay, that was pretty sensible of said grandpa. The youngsters nodded in understanding. Children were kidnapped and sold into slavery all the time. That's why they were also allowed to take their training swords with them on their excursion. These weren't as dangerous as real lightsabers, but at the highest level they could still inflict quite serious injuries.

"Hmm, can beskar really withstand a lightsaber?" Jocasta suddenly wanted to know.

"A Jetii kad'au?" Mereel looked at her questioningly, as if he couldn't imagine how she had come up with this idea. "Hmm, I don't know."

"Maybe it should be tested." Jocasta's scientific interest was obviously piqued.

Yan didn't even bother to shield his alarm in the Force. "Yo! I don't think it's such a good idea…"

"Testing?" Jaster interrupted him curiously. "How is that supposed to work?

"Well, with this." Jo nonchalantly pulled out her training sword.

Cursing, the other boy flinched and then stared at the three of them like a Tooka in a thunderstorm. "Jetiise!… ah Jedi…. You're Jetiise?"

"Well, not quite yet," Sifo-Dyas clarified sheepishly, deliberately ignoring the other boy's raised weapon. "Strictly speaking, we're initiates. At the moment, anyway. You can only call yourself a Jedi once you've become a Padawan, built a proper lightsaber and then passed your knight's trial."

"Ohh." From one moment to the next, Jaster seemed to have overcome his shock and he lowered his sword again. "There are different Kad'aue … ah lightsabers? And how do you become a Padawan? Can anyone become one or do you have to fulfill certain requirements? How old do you have to be to take your trial?"

"Did you have a good day, ner ad?" Athas Mereel added the last of the spices to the boiling stew. A balanced diet was important for children. He may not have been the best chef in the galaxy, but he insisted on serving his grandson fresh food as often as possible. Ration bars were for emergencies. "Did you experience anything exciting, meet other children?"

"Hmm," Jaster barely lifted his head from the datapad, whose contents he was studying intently. Good boy. So studious. "I met some nice kids. We exchanged our com numbers."

(Communicators that the little Jetiise were apparently not allowed to have. "Don't you dare call us, Mereel. Only write, understand? Otherwise we'll get into real trouble with the masters.")

"That's nice," Athas nodded happily. Sometimes he was worried: Jaster was a bright boy, clever and resourceful, but he had a hard time making lasting friends. They had moved so often in the last few years, and each time his boy was forced into a new routine. Jaster's initial enthusiasm for adventure and new places had waned considerably in recent times. The new contact could only do him good.

*

On the other side of the planet, Sy, Yan and Jocasta didn't get a chance to talk about their Mandalorian encounter. When they returned to their quarters far too late, sweaty, tired and with dirty clothes, a highly annoyed Master Sinube was already waiting for them.

(Before the next outing, Yan would remember to pack some ration bars. Being sent to bed without dinner after a two-hour meditation was not acceptable to him or his body).

[thatfreshi]

"Did I Smudge the Scars?" (Uni AU P. 19)

Hello. The long-awaited Halloween party (I know it's almost spring whoops). This took a different turn than I was expecting, but it felt right to me.

TW - alcohol, references to grooming, references to self-harm

When you get to Karlach's dorm, you're met at the door with a lot of scuffling and 'ow!'s, as well as other pathetic hurt sounds.

"Tav, they've been fighting and I can't get them to stop."

A disheveled Gale and Shadow are on the shitty dorm floor, pulling at each other's hair. You glare at your tallest friend.

"Are you... you're serious? As if you aren't literally an athlete?"

She shrugs.

"Well, I'm not going to tell my girlfriend what to do, and I think if I touched Gale he'd fall into tiny pieces. C'mon, please? Just say something to try and get them to break apart?"

The heaviest sigh you've ever let out released from your lungs.

"Hey losers! Astarion and I kissed!"

And as if magically, they stopped clawing at each other. The pale girl is the first to talk.

"What?! And we weren't there?"

She gets off of the artist and fixes her braid.

"Yeah, you guys weren't there because it didn't happen! Karlach's phone call interrupted what was about to be the best kiss of my life, but thanks for getting into another stupid argument that I have to solve for some reason! If I get brought into your bullshit one more time, I swear I will burn this university to the ground."

Gale's eyes go a little wide.

"Can we... at least be outside when you burn it down?"

Your strong gaze doesn't falter, causing him to abandon his lame joke.

"And next time Karlach, please just manhandle her. That's probably what she wants anyways."

You open the dorm door and proceed to slam it, hearing Karlach laugh at her lover.

~~~

The next evening, the seven of you are in Astarion's dorm getting ready for the Halloween party. Shadow and Gale seem to have put their feud away, at least for the night. Your best friend is helping Karlach put on fake horns. You remember her explaining her costume a while ago.

"Listen, I know I'm like super nice! That's why I'm gonna be a demon, because it's like the opposite of me!"

You stare for a while, since your outfit is already put together. Gale catches your gaze lingering for a little too long and gives your shoulder a push, and the two of you laugh a little under your breath.

"Alright, if that amount of eyelash glue doesn't hold those in place I'll give up on makeup forever."

Astarion finishes testing the horns, and they seem to stay in place.

"Tav, come here darling."

You're taken aback, considering your costume was finished first.

"What? Did I smudge the scars?"

Your look for tonight is a scrappy adventurer, something you'd find in a Dungeons and Dragons campaign.

"No no, they're fine my dear."

You sit on the couch beside him, and he grabs his eyeliner.

"If you're going to be some fierce adventurer, your eyes have to stand out at least."

You're not sure if it was just in your head, but it felt like the entire room got silent. He grabs your head and goes to work on his craft.

"You know you have to close your eyes for me to do this properly, right?"

You didn't realize you had been locking eyes with him.

"Right, sorry."

A light chuckle comes from your throat as the cold, black liner hits your skin. After what feels like only a moment in time, he lets go of you, taking in his work.

"Hm, I probably could've done that a little more evenly, but it'll do. Besides, I doubt eyeliner is all that even in the wilderness."

You open your eyes again, and he smirks when you do.

"Well, thanks for making sure I look 'fierce' or whatever."

He smiles.

"Are we all ready to go then?"

You look at a bored Shadowheart, who is unsurprisingly dressed as a sexy nun. Apparently the lovely couple's costumes matched more than you thought.

"Yeah, I think everyone's done getting ready. Gale, you good?"

You're checking on your friend in a shitty cheap wizard costume, who has been intently staring at his phone for the past 20 minutes.

"Yep, ready to go!"

And suddenly his phone is back in his robe pocket, and the air around him dissipates. So, after a long walk to the parking garage, Gale drives you all past GU, onto the rich area outside the city. When you get to the location on the invite, you're all a little baffled.

"Is Halsin secretly a millionaire? Because he should teach us a thing or two about finances in college if so."

Everyone laughs a little at Wyll's quip as the seven of you exit the van. You all decided to get to the party about an hour after it started, leaving plenty of time for things to pick up. Astarion is a little paranoid before you get inside, and you tug at his vampiric blouse sleeve.

"Hey, it's fine. No one has any reason to think you're here. And if it just so happens that someone less than friendly finds you here, then we leave, simple as that."

"Right, of course. No reason to be worried."

He's trying to convince himself, but before you can further reassure him, Halsin meets your group outside the front door.

"Ah, if it isn't Tav and their lovely friends! Please, come in."

"So like... do you own this place? Or like your mom?"

Halsin turns to respond to Karlach.

"Hah! No, not in the slightest. A friend of mine let me borrow the place. He's from a much richer family than I am, and I figured a party should be held in a vast mansion such as this. Anyway, there's plenty of food, beer pong, board games, and plenty of stunning people looking for a fun time."

He winks at Shadowheart playfully.

"I'll be around, let me know if you all need anything. Please though, go have fun!"

Karlach and Shadowheart look at each other knowingly and start eyeing a couple across the room. Wyll and Lae'zel make their way to beer pong, and Gale wanders off to wallflower somewhere, very unlike him. That leaves you and Astarion, gazes skipping around the room.

"Certainly a much larger abode than I expected. Don't get lost in here darling, I can't remember the last time I went to a party that wasn't purely for PR."

Astarion seems excited. The news of his social media blackout seems to be relatively hidden for now, and there's almost a manic sense about him. For once, he's not a model, he's not repping a brand, he's not watching his figure for some shoot, he's just a college kid.

"Well, what do you want to do then?"

"Perhaps go check and see if the punch is spiked?"

There's a little bit of lust on the tip of his tongue, lust for life, and maybe even you. It's hard to tell though. Emotions have been so high as of recent, and Astarion is difficult to read at best.

"Perhaps we shall."

You playfully extend your arm to interlock, and he accepts. There are most definitely whispers as the two of you go across the main room, and you start to wonder if the articles are coming out, if everyone knows. You try desperately not to grab your phone, and succeed, at least for now.

As you two take a sip of unspiked punch, you take in the scenery. It's quite dark, obviously. Halsin and his friends have very intensely decorated the entire first floor, with all eco-friendly and thrifted items as he constantly reminds everyone.

"Hey! You're that ghost lookin' model boy right?!"

Some party-goer yells, who is clearly drunk. Astarion ignores him at first. The random drunk then yells even louder, as if the music was drowning him out.

"He's gonna fucking kill you!"

He perks up after that, making eye contact with the stranger.

"What did you say to me?"

"I said that weirdo is gonna fucking kill you! Szarr or whatever? I mean good on you though, making a cool statement or whatever. I used to date a model that worked under him, and a couple months after we broke up she went 'missing!' Crazy right?! Anyways man, I hope he doesn't kill you because you're a fuckin' looker. Have a good night!"

After the guy walks off, you and Astarion look at each other.

"Did you know about that?"

"I mean, I knew one of the models he used to work with disappeared, but it was never determined what happened. You don't think..."

You put a hand on his.

"Let's not right now. Let's not go down that route right now."

"Right. I think I need this to actually be spiked."

He leans down and grabs a flask out of his boot.

"I didn't know you brought booze."

"Eh, an emergency stock in case they didn't have any here."

You twiddle your hands nervously.

"Just don't get like, drunk drunk, please? I really cannot handle that tonight."

"Dear, you think I can't handle my liquor? How little you must think of me."

He takes a sip of his newly mixed punch, tapping red acrylics on the cheap plastic cup.

"Let's see if our wonderful Wyll and Lae'zel are winning beer pong, shall we?"

It's as if you've seen a new man tonight, overconfidence to mask fear. Of course it concerns you, because he constantly concerns you. You want to reason, to say that he's enjoying some kind of newfound freedom, but this isn't the Astarion you've come to know. He's not the simple dorm room you've come to love, the glasses he won't tell anyone about, the late-night hours spent on reviewing law papers. Something about it makes your stomach sink a little, wondering if this is who he is now, somehow. That maybe-

"Are you coming darling?"

"Of course."

And your lips curl into a smile, one that you find yourself faking the way he does.

"Bullshit! You moved the cup you fool!"

Lae'zel has already started arguing with various frat bros. Her and Wyll are a surprising duo, already wiping out the competition and taking several cups of shitty, watered-down beer.

"Lae, it's fine, be a gracious winner!"

The guys across the table disperse and leave the champions to reset the table, clearly being the sour ones in this situation.

"Well well well, already winning silly little games are we? Might as well start putting money on it."

Lae'zel turns to Astarion.

"As if I would waste my money on chance. Some people have brains around here."

He simply rolls his eyes, and turns his attention to Wyll.

"I'm sure daddy wouldn't feel too good about you being in a place like this."

Wyll mocks him back.

"I'm pretty sure 'daddy' doesn't even care what I'm doing right now."

He then goes to somberly refill the rest of the cups on the table. You push Astarion's shoulder and give him a look that should clearly say 'hey, that was mean, what the fuck are you doing?' but all he does is shrug at you.

"Don't mind him Wyll, his father doesn't care about him either. That makes you even."

Before the three further bicker about parental relationships, you hear a familiar voice off towards the corner of the room.

"Because Gale, I miss having a friend! I miss knowing you were in control of your life, not some stupid professor. And right now? Right now I'm yelling at you, at a party, instead of hanging out with my hot girlfriend and that sexy GU couple we just chatted up."

"As if you haven't been hiding things from me too Shadow."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm just saying, maybe there's a reason you picked sexy nun instead of sexy cat this year."

"What does that even mean Gale?"

"Oh, don't think I didn't notice during our little scuffle earlier, your arm?"

Suddenly, she gets very quiet, extremely aware of how many people at the party can hear her and Gale yapping. She then grabs his arm and drags him outside the side door. Your stomach is in knots at this point, because for some reason everything is wrong. Everything was supposed to be right after the blackout. Your friends would all be happy and get along, Astarion would be a free man, you'd finally get that kiss you'd been waiting for, and yet here you are, at some Halloween party hosted by your ex, and everything is just... wrong.

Without thinking, you go to the nearest exit of that room, the staircase. You're trying to block out the loud music at this point, but it feels almost impossible. The closest door is the first on your right and you open it, slamming it behind you. You're met with a large bed, probably belonging to some rich couple. The giant windows are covered with blackout curtains, and the carpet is luscious. Things are quieter in here, except for a soft knock at the door once you sit at the edge of the bed.

"Go away!"

"It's me Tav."

Of course Astarion followed you up here, how inseparable the two of you are.

"C'mon Aster."

When he comes in and quietly shuts the door, your head is in your hands. You feel the mattress move as he sits down next to you.

"I'm sorry."

You wipe at a watery eye, the tears just beginning to come in.

"For what? I'm the one that ran off."

He doesn't say anything at first, pondering how to best word this new thought.

"You- you're the first person who has helped me recognize my own patterns, that when I get scared I have this wall up. I've been feeling it since we sat down and cleared all my socials, this overwhelming feeling, like I'm being hunted to the ends of the Earth. And that fear, it makes me someone I don't like. Especially tonight, being outside of campus for the first time since, I just-"

He cries too, the first time you can remember seeing him cry. You lean on his shoulder. He continues.

"I thought I was ready, and I'm not. I'm not ready to be a normal person right now, a college kid that goes to parties."

You scoff slightly.

"I thought things would be normal too. Like somehow we had fixed everything, ya know?"

"Yeah... I do."

"I would like to find normal though, someday... with you."

He turns toward you, forcing you to pick your head back up.

"What does that mean?"

"It means, I think it's time to admit that this isn't just a close friendship. Not to me at least. And that scares the shit out of me too, just like everything else right now."

"Out of billions of people in the world, you would choose to try and find normal, with me?"

"Yeah, if that's okay?"

He hesitates, fear.

"Why?"

"I don't know. Is that bad, that I don't know? I just know you're different, and special to me, and that's enough to me."

"Well... maybe we can give you some time to find out?"

"Well, could I kiss you then, and maybe I'll learn something?"

You two laugh, quiet enough as to not disturb the room, but loud enough that the two of you feel the happiness radiate. He wipes at a tear and nods. It's different than the first time you met, vastly different, as if you've gotten to know someone entirely new. Although, you're not sure what words could really describe the kiss. Fearful, yet excited? Nervous, yet brave? It's over before you know it though, leaving a little flit in your heart. He interrupts your thoughts.

"We should definitely try that a couple more times."

And so you do, alone in a stranger's bedroom, and for once you forget about the various issues spiraling back at RU, about Gale and Shadowheart hating each other, even about Szarr. There's just this soft time in between, where two barely adults having fun just kissing each other, even if it's only a short moment in time, it's yours forever.

[blessed-by-umbral]

Fatalem iter

Fatality / Journey- Day 3.

@daily-writing-challenge

---

Two Years Ago

The moon ascended gracefully in the night sky, casting its luminous beams upon the gentle flow of the fountain at the heart of Cress Estate, resembling polished silver in its brilliance. The evening air was imbued with a serene stillness, punctuated only by the subtle sounds of nocturnal creatures that inhabited the towering trees scattered throughout the estate's expansive grounds.

Within the tallest bell tower, a foreboding and muted light flickered behind the stone-arched windows, creating an unsettling contrast to the otherwise peaceful ambiance of the estate. This eerie illumination hinted at secrets hidden within the ancient walls, drawing the eye and stirring the imagination as the night deepened around the tranquil setting.

Inside the expansive, dome-shaped chamber, a multitude of flickering candles radiated warmth, casting a soft glow against the stone walls that were richly decorated with intricate tapestries depicting the storied lineage of House Cress.

The imposing iron bell, which typically occupied a central position within the chamber, had been carefully unfastened and moved aside to create a sacred area for a life-affirming ritual. At the heart of the room lay the meticulously prepared and groomed body of Argost Cress, surrounded by personal artifacts that spoke to his identity. His favored weapons, the armor he once wore, and an assortment of bourbons he relished were thoughtfully arranged along the base of a stone slab, which was intricately engraved with ancient runes.

Among those gathered were his bereaved spouse, Elisia, who wore a black veil that gracefully draped over her face, and beside her stood Argrin, her eldest son, clad in traditional mourning attire. Onora found herself positioned closely next to her brother, her arm comfortably wrapped around his. The color of her clothing leaned more towards grey than black, as it was contrary to her usual practice to don garments that were entirely embellished in black. Ondrea, resembling her mother in both appearance and attire, also wore a dark covering that shrouded her face in a concealing veil. She stood before her father's lifeless form, holding a lit matchstick poised above the wick of a candle, ready to ignite the flame that would symbolize the light of his memory and yet all that impeded her thoughts were his final words.

“Your presence within this family is akin to a blemish that tarnishes its integrity. It is a mark that penetrates deeply, much like ink that seeps through the fibers of parchment, leaving an indelible impression that cannot be easily erased. This stain not only affects the surface but also alters the very essence of what it means to belong to this lineage, casting a shadow over the shared history and values that bind us together.”

A subtle smile began to emerge at the edges of her concealed lips as the anticipated flame finally made contact with the wick of the candle. In an instant, the fire surged forth, causing the candle's flame to flicker uncertainly for a brief moment before it steadied itself, rising tall and unwavering.

Ondrea's voice emerged from the heart of the room, gentle as a spring zephyr, yet imbued with an executioners last rites.

Ó coinneal sruthán geal (Oh candle burn bright)

Ó coinneal sruthán le cuspóir (Oh candle burn with purpose)

Ó coinnea treoir a thabhairt do na mairbh (Oh candle guide the dead)

Ó coinnea coinnigh do lasair ar lasadh (Oh candle keep your flame lit)

Ó iarrthóir na fírinne (Oh seeker of truth)

Las do choinnle (Light your candles)

A profound quietness pervaded the bell tower, with the only interruption being the sporadic, gentle pops of the candles as they burned.

As she turned with deliberate slowness, Ondrea's skirts swept against the hard surface beneath her feet, the fabric whispering against the stone as she drew nearer to her brother and mother.

Argrin's voice cut through the stillness  “This fatality is a dark mark on our history. His fatality will linger in our hearts for years to come.”

“Indeed, this situation presents a significant loss, and the path that lies before us is extensive, fraught with challenges and difficulties. Yet this is a journey we all must take.” Onora articulated her thoughts, gently withdrawing her grip from Argrin's arm to extend her hand towards Ondrea. The moment their hands made contact, a powerful surge reverberated through Ondrea’s senses, filling her ears with a tumultuous sound until her sister's voice emerged distinctly amidst the chaos.

"Patricide, sister?"

Ondrea removed the obstructive veil from her face, allowing her striking gold-green eyes to lock onto those of her twin. The moment was charged with an intensity that seemed to suspend time, as if the world around them had faded into the background, leaving only the connection between the pair.

The atmosphere was thick with an unspoken understanding, on that cultivated a silence that enveloped them. In that stillness, the bond they shared became almost tangible.

A silent acceptance.

--

Mentions: @onora-cress

[homunculus-argument]

Random character concept: Baz the Beautiful

 Originally thought of him for some Golden Age of Piracy setting. Baz the Beautiful - also known as Tall Baz - is most distinctly a very tall man, slim, slender and long-limbed in build. Many people have described him as “the tallest man I’ve ever seen”, as a matter of fact. Also having a complexion about as dark as people come - he has cool undertones and in certain light his skin tints more to blue than brown, and though an untrained eye couldn’t quite spot it, he has a remarkable knack for dressing in colours that complement his complexion.

 His voice is so low that it’s almost more of a rumble, like a cat’s purr, and he speaks so softly that the whole room must go quiet when he speaks for him to be heard. And the whole room does go quiet, because the people who know him know that he is a man of very few words, and if he has chosen to speak up, it has to be extremely important. He could speak up and train his voice to carry better, to be more audible, but he has chosen not to. He likes knowing that the whole room will go quiet for him.

If one would look closer, it becomes apparent that most of his choices on how to present himself are about a very certain style of quiet, subtle and understated vanity - you won’t see if you won’t look. And he’ll take it as a compliment if you do look and see what he’s doing. The understated quietness is deliberate and carefully cultivated, and he is genuinely flattered that you noticed.

 The epithet, “The Beautiful” didn’t really come from the fact that he really is a remarkably handsome man - in the circles he moves in, the nicknames are rarely compliments and you’re lucky if yours is only sardonic and not downright cruel - but a remark on his habits of hair maintenance. He wears his hair on immaculate waist-length dreadlocks, and spends practically every moment of free time that he has grooming them, sitting in front of a mirror like beautiful women do.