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lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom · 16 days

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Omega helping the reader try to plan the reader's wedding to whichever Batcher of your choosing and the batcher is in the other room overhearing everything.

Wedding Planning

Hunter x Reader

Summary- Now that Hunter has popped the question, you and Omega start planning the wedding! Little do you know, Hunter overhears and falls a little more in love. This is a part 2 to 'Marry Me?'

Part one right here!

A/N- Trust the process, romantic fluff near the end <3. Thank you so much for requesting! I hope you don't mind I took this opportunity to make a sequel to my most popular fic! To understand parts of this fic, you will need to read part one!

Word Count- 1,498

Your ring rested heavy on your finger. It wasn't anything fancy, not that you needed it to be, it was just a new feeling. While you hadn't had any jewelry allowed on Kamino- now that you had an engagement ring, you'd never go back.

"Omega wants you to finish putting her to bed, Hunter." You called to Him, entering the cockpit. His face lit up, you didn't know the real reason quite yet.

He nodded and headed back to her 'room' to put her to bed. You smiled, continuing to turn to Crosshair and Wrecker.

Though you couldn't hear them, the two people you loved most began their 'good-nights.'

"Holding up okay, kid?" He asked Omega, pulling her blanket up.

She gave a quick nod, "I... I missed you." She leaned closer, Hunter pushed back a piece of her hair.

"I think I missed you more..." She smiled, closing her eyes for a moment.

With a deep breath, Hunter started. "I know it's late, but I have to ask you something."

She found a new type of energy at his words, slightly sitting up. Much to Hunters dismay.

"What?" She was giddy, knowing it was good news from Hunters body language.

"How would you feel if I asked," Your name felt unreal on his lips, he was still getting used to having you back at his side, "to marry me?"

Her eyes grew wide, almost as big as her grin. She shuffled quickly, the blanket pooling at her waist. "Oh my gosh, yes! Please ask her!"

"Shhh, shh. It's still time for you to go to bed." He regretted asking so late, but he was eager to pop the question.

"How am I supposed to sleep after you've told me you're going to propose!"

Hunter gently guided her back into bed, pulling the blanket back up. "I know, I know. Can you keep the secret until tomorrow?"

She gave a vigorous nod, the covers resting at her chin.

He leaned down, pressing the ghost of a kiss on her forehead. Much like a father would. "I'm going to ask her tonight, but you need to try and get some rest. Promise you'll try?"

With a smile, she agreed. Even with the news, she was still exhausted.

You frequently thought back to the day Hunter got down on one knee in the middle of the ship for you. Your heart warmed every time, fidgeting with your ring.

"It's so pretty..." Omega commented. Just two weeks later you all found yourselves on Pabu. Rested and resupplied.

You were both crammed into her closed off space. You ignored the gunman seat, choosing to lay with her on the floor.

She had a grasp on your hand, analyzing the band. The twinkle in her eye matched the gem. "Thank you, Hunter has pretty good taste, don't ya think?"

She giggled, letting you have your hand back. You gave another glance at the ring you'd been staring at for days.

She rolled over, facing the ceiling, arms sprawled out. With a light sigh she began, "When will you have your wedding?"

You leaned back as well, one of your arms overlapping hers. "I...I guess I haven't thought about it too much. I'm content just finding an officiant tomorrow." All you needed was Hunter, who cares if you had a fancy wedding?

Apparently Omega, as she jumped up, "What! No, we have to have a ceremony by the shore! It'd be perfect!"

You laughed at her reaction. "This is no laughing matter!" She pointed a finger in your direction, "This is serious!"

"Omega, I have Hunter. A huge wedding will not change my love for him." She humphed and settled back down.

"What's the point of marriage if you don't have a wedding!" To be frank, Omega had never been to a wedding. Only reading about them in the books Nala Se allowed her, or hearing about them through her travels.

"I think marriage shows our devotion to each other. That we'll never part." You craned your head to look at her, she rolled her eyes at your confession. This caused you to let out another smirk.

Now, she was really getting annoyed. Giving your lips a swipe with your tongue, "Ya know, maybe having a small ceremony wouldn't be bad. But, I would need a maid of honor. Know anyone?"

Her smile reappeared fast, "Are you asking me to be your maid of honor!"

"I couldn't think of anyone better..." She shuffled to throw herself on you, giving you a big hug.

You squeezed her tight, just before a loud gasp came from her, "What?"

"The dress!" She yelled, "What will you wear! We have to see if Shep knows someone who can make you one!"

Her energy was contagious, you were starting to get excited too. "I want a ballgown dress...Oh and I could have off the shoulders lace, maybe even a train, but not too long. I'd hate to trip on it." Okay, maybe you had put a little thought into a wedding.

She was practically bouncing on her heels, now on her knees hovering over you. You still laid on your back, day dreaming about dresses.

"What color do you want your dress Omega?"

"I get to pick?" She questioned.

"Of course you can, sweetie." You could see the gears turning in her head. She was going to think on what style she wanted for a while.

You sat up, leaning against her side. "How would Batcher fashion flowers? Think she could learn to drop them? Cause I would certainly need a flower girl for the wedding."

"Yes, of course! I'll start training her!" She was excited to teach Batcher a new trick. You knew they could do it, but Omega didn't want to take any risks.

She raced out, completely missing Hunter. Who was leaning against the steps of the gunman room.

You let a breath leave you, slumping against the wall.

"Is she wearing you out already?" You jumped at the voice, immediately being comforted by the recognition of who it was.

"Hunter, when did you walk in?" You weren't bothered by it, just surprised.

He had a smug look. "I was just checking the fuel, then I heard you and Omega talking about weddings?"

You felt flushed, like you were caught doing something you shouldn't.

"You don't have to be embarrassed, I think you'd look beautiful in any dress." He stepped forward, about eye level with you. He reached a hand up, taking yours in his.

"You're such a charmer." You smiled, your head leaning back to hit the wall.

Hunter stepped up, joining you on the floor of the room.

You scooted closer to him, taking his head in your lap when he layed down.

"What kind of wedding do you want?" You asked, brushing your hands through his dark hair.

He closed his eyes, basking in your touch. "I just want you to be happy. I don't care what we do." You figured that's what he would say. You lowered your head and pressed a kiss on his forehead.

"Omega's ideas didn't sound too bad... A ceremony on the shore." He commented.

You continued to pet his hair, "Yeah, that does sound sweet. Who would we invite? I mean, I don't know too many of the natives yet." It was true you tended to keep to yourself on the island.

With his eyes still closed he responded, "If you just want it to be us five, I wouldn't mind."

"Well we'd have to send Echo a message, oh and of course Shep, Deke, Mox, Stak, can't forget Phee, also-" You ran out of fingers to count on. Opting to rest them back in Hunters hair.

He had a grin on his face, "We don't need to figure out the guest list quite yet. We can get married any day you want.." He was ready to bend at your will.

"Can..." You sucked on your teeth, changing your mind about asking.

"Hmm?" He pressed on.

"You don't have to... but," Why was this so hard to ask! "Can I wear your bandana?"

He opened his eyes, baring into yours. You struggled to read his expression.

"It's okay, it was dum-" You felt stupid for asking.

"If it would make you happy, I would be glad to let you." He reached a hand up, rubbing your side to soothe you.

"Really?"

"Yeah." He moved his hand to untie the cloth. "Here, try it on."

You snickered, gently holding the fabric. "What if I wore it on my arm?"

You tried to show him, but found it difficult to tie on your upper right arm.

He noticed and sat up, taking it into his hands. He took his time, smoothing it over your skin and tying it expertly. He only pulled away after giving you a kiss.

"I like it." You expressed.

"I love it." He stared, but not at the bandana- at you.

"I love you too..."

A/N- Thank you so much for reading! I hope it's as good as part one!!

Tags- (lmk if you want to be tagged as well!) @thethreeeyed-raven @dangraccoon @knight-of-flowerss

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white-wolf-actually · 3 months

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@probably-steve Sam is uninvited from the wedding. He keeps trying to convince me to make the color scheme red white & blue, and now he’s got Stark AND Clint AND Thor (i think he just wanted to be included) in on it.

Also, what the hell is a color scheme??

#bucky barnes rp #bucky barnes #mcu rp #james buchanan barnes #marvel #white wolf #wedding planning #steve rogers #stucky #captain america

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homoqueerjewhobbit · 1 month

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Thinking about how many people Hannibal would have to kill to cater his and Will's wedding reception. Like, he'd take out a whole orchestra bc he thought they played Music for 18 Musicians too quickly. Or the entire staff of a grocery store that ran out of fresh tarragon. Or every single person who laughed at them in middle school.

#Will I need a list of everyone who teased you as a child. Why? No reason. Don't worry about it.#Hannibal invites 300 professional colleagues and high society friends. Will invites Alana and his veterinarian.#Jack Crawford walking Will down the aisle and “giving him away” would just be redundant #Oh um of you're unfamiliar Music for 18 Musicians despite it's name is almost never played by only 18 Musicians #Anyway check it out it's delightful #post o' mine #hannibal #Hannigram #Hannibal Lecter #will graham #Wedding planning

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audrinawf · 8 months

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wedding season

#glow up #femininity #self care #manifestation #girly blog #hypergamy #law of attraction #soft life #self development #goals #law of assumption #aesthetic #girly glam #glam aesthetic #that girl #dating and relationships #wedding planning #wedding aesthetic

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hitlikehammers · 2 months

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party staples

rating: t ♥️ cw: criminal-levels of softness ♥️ tags: established relationship, rockstar husbands, wedding plans, soul-deep love, slice of life, seriously: the softness

for @steddielovemonth day twenty-one: Love is letting him pick the music (@sparklyslug)

look look it's the rockstar husbands' third wedding! ♥️

He wants this for Steve.

Like, it’s all for Steve. Kind of…not in a way that’s, y’know, where Eddie’s not living for himself, but in the way where who and what he is, the life he has: it’s something he’s woven alongside Steve into this tapestry that’s…that’s them and so every breath he takes is from those threads, right, so all of him, all he has and all he feels and all he does: it’s them, because they’re stitched together not so that you can’t tell the difference, but so that you…you can’t unravel them. They’re too entwined.

And it is glorious.

But so, here’s the thing: they’ve exchanged rings? Twice, now. Maybe kinda-more if you want to get technical: they’d asked each other for forever, though, well—

Technically, Eddie thinks they do that every day. So, fine, but—

They have managed two formal-ish proposals. As formal as you can get if one’s the morning after you moved in together and christened the new bed, with a bread-bag twisty-tie, and the other the night after a graduation from community college with an acceptance to the night educators program in hand from IU East, fresh off the most promising label talks Eddie’s had with anybody ever, and they both just felt it, y’know, like they wanted to mark this as always, that they were growing and changing and their lives were moving and the momentum of them both was the momentum of them both, their life together was this beautiful always they were actively taking steps into, and it was just: they were dizzy with it, they were overfull of it, they were so happy and the only thing they could do was stop at a 7-11 and buy goddamn Ring Pops but they’d laughed and they’d kissed so fucking drenched in that feeling and if Eddie’d ripped off Steve’s gown to the point where it was really good they hadn’t rented it?

Eddie’ll forever pretend that was planned in advance.

Point being: Eddie’d worn Steve’s ring—his grandpa’s, who’d loved Steve right and Eddie wished he’d have known him, if only to tell him thank you—and Steve’s worn a cheap ass band Eddie’s tried to upgrade probably every-other-month for a while now but Steve won’t have it, the sentimental bastards still wears the probably-rusting remains of the twisty-tie—but they’re…they’re already married in every way that matters. So the idea of doing it again? Isn’t…isn’t stressful.

It’s kinda…exciting.

Because they’re going to share this with all their friends, their family. They’re going to bring everyone to their little house when the kids are back from school and Robin and Nance can make it in, hell: Jon just left with the intention to spend the next month roadtripping his way from California for the occasion. They’re making real money, now; the band’s doing more than he ever would have expected, Steve’s beloved—of course he is, as he damn well should be—at school, he’s the kind of counselor Eddie might have made it through senior year the first time with, if he’d had someone that invested, showing that much care for him. They’re…they’re in such a good place, and it’s only looking brighter on the horizons to come, all the way into forever: and that isn’t more than Eddie could have expected.

No: that is more than he ever even knew to hope for, it’s…it’s so much bigger than anything he ever knew existed.

But Robin’s going to officiate. Hopper and Joyce, and Claudia too: they nearly squared off for who could stand up for Steve, not to give him away so much as to hold him close and make sure he knows what he means and Eddie could kiss them for it, because the look in Steve’s eyes when they’d asked if they could share the job, it was…

Eddie might just kiss them all for it, when the day comes. Hopper included.

But everybody: Wayne’ll be there, for him, the boys are coming, gonna play requests for a couple hours, which should be fucking hilarious, and then hand it over to a band Steve insisted they hire so everyone could enjoy the evening, and it’s gonna be in their backyard, with the barbecue and a bonfire, just this mastic joyful potluck and—

“You finish the playlist, so we can send it off? I figure we’ll let the three finalists react to the song selection, might make the decision easier if any of them hate it,” Steve’s leaning over his shoulder and he turns, bumps into Steve’s cheek and Steve ducks his head to kiss Eddie’s jaw: because he was supposed to be finalizing the list for the band that would come on to give Jeff, Dougie, and Gareth the rest of the night off. Because Eddie was the musician, here. Eddie would of course pick the songs.

Except…he’s not the only person who loved music, in this relationship. And…he doesn’t know what specifically makes it so strong, and obvious in his chest, but: Eddie…wants this, for Steve.

He wants to dance to the songs Steve picks, he wants his heartbeat to waltz in time with Steve’s, first-and-foremost-and-always, but then find the rhythms Steve likes most to pick up the downbeat, he…

He wants to drown in Steve, in as many ways as he can find.

So he hands the paper over and pops the pen out of his mouth, which Steve only eyes for the movement, doesn’t even bother chastising him for chewing on the plastic cap anymore, knows to pick his battles: but Eddie hands it over, wordless—an offering, and a request at once:

Let me dance to your music, with you in my arms.

Steve look at him for a long stretch of moments, and his lips are plush around the soft smile that settles on his mouth: contented. So wreathed in love.

He leans in and Eddie’s ready this time, tilts his neck so Steve can kiss him full at the neck, wrapping arms around Eddie’s waist so he can squeeze him close and breath against his jaw:

“I’ve got just the thing.”

And then he’s gone, and Eddie stares after him, just…lost in thought except it’s not lost, even inside his head: he knows exactly where he’s at in his thoughts. Same place he always is.

With Steve.

And then the genuine article is back, grinning a little…not nervous exactly, but something, as he walks over to the stereo and pops the cassette into the deck.

And Eddie raises an eyebrow at him, curious, as he reaches an arm out toward Steve, not really an invitation just a knowing, that Steve will come to him and settle in his lap, in his arms.

Which he does. Because that’s who they are.

“Strings?” Eddie asks as the sound fills the room and Steve just grins, a little bashful; huh. “And piano,” because the keys are swelling on the track and it’s pretty, no, it’s kinda beautiful, but Eddie doesn’t know what it…is.

“Seemed appropriate,” Steve mouths next to Eddie’s ear, warm and kinda almost impish.

“It’s perfect,” Eddie whispers close but what is it, I don’t…” but: oh.

Oh: but he does.

That’s…that’s his music. His song. The band, but this is, he’s—

“Stevie?” he asks, a little breathless, a little wondering because, because—

“I’d kinda hoped you might not fill the whole list,” Steve murmurs, lips pressed against his skin so warm, so firm, so…

Perfect.

Perfect, and it sends the most delightful shivers up Eddie’s spine.

“What,” Eddie starts, shakes his head, feels his cheeks start to ache a little as he smiles bigger and bigger because…this is classical, and this is fucking professional, and it’s goddamn Corroded Coffin, in orchestral…splendor.

“Friend of Robin’s is at Berklee, in Boston,” Steve nuzzles against his neck a little as he explains; “studying composition, I asked if she could,” and he sighs a little, the softest little breath and he drags his lips to catch against Eddie’s skin, wanting nothing from it; almost lazy as he exhales: “just if she could arrange some things.”

Some things, he says, like Eddie’s heart—which was already overfull—isn’t trying to burst not just out of Eddie’s chest, but out of its own size and shape, a glorious tender explosion of just, just…

Feeling.

“I thought we could have someone to play, these,” Steve nods toward the speakers; “and then Dustin said he’d play DJ for, you know. Party staples.”

Eddie leans so he can look Steve in the eye to ask the most important question:

“Love Shack?”

He is not ashamed to say he fucking loves when that song comes on at a wedding. Steve huffs.

“Of course, baby.”

“Van Halen?” and Steve grins. “All sorts of Van Halen,” which is as it should be. Steve wooed Eddie too fucking well with Why Can't This Be Love; “also some George Michael,” and that’s perfect, Eddie doesn’t even care, he just loves the sly grin Steve gets when he says it, wants to eat that grin, if he gets to see that mouth look so soft and happy he can sure as hell appreciate some George fucking Michael; “but if I miss anything, you’ll see it before Dustin gets his paws on it, you can add whatever I overlooked,” and he leans in again, this time claiming Eddie’s lips and Eddie gives willingly, gratefully—as always.

And it settles, all around Eddie in that moment: the way he’d wanted Steve to have this thing that’s so him on the outside, but if it is, then it’s them at its core, like all of it is.

And what did this magnificent bastard go and do, but give Eddie his own songs right back as a…a gift; songs that are all Steve, anyway.

He can’t help the laughter, this buoyant thing with its own velocity: he can’t help but let it shake out of him against Steve’s lips as he kisses him harder, deeper, as he tries to get lost in the feeling, in the reality of this man: his husband.

Because wherever he gets lost? Steve’s right there, always and forever.

He’ll be just fine.

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson

♥️

divider credit here

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wildlife4life · 4 months

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WIP Wednesday

*Peeks head out from hidey hole* Hey ya'll...I'm back! It has been a hot minute since I've been truly active here. Getting through the holidays, getting ready for school, general stay at home mom stuff, and just literal lack of writers block/motivation kept from working on wips. But I have seen and very much appreciated every tag! Thank you for not forgetting about me!

Today I've been tagged by the wonderful and glamorous @giddyupbuck, @wikiangela, and @disasterbuckdiaz. Looking forward to all your upcoming works and loving all that has been posted already!

Alright, so I know several are wanting some NFL Buck and I promise I will be getting back to the fic once I am finished with my 4+1 Buck's kindness being a cockblocker. So here is some of that! Enjoy!

A tear-filled okay is Buck’s only answer and together with Eddie, they sit there for a long minute, listening to Maddie take several deep breaths, each one becoming smoother than the last. After the fourth deep breath, she answer’s Buck’s earlier worries, “No one is hurt. I’m sorry.” Her voice is a little rough and she hiccups, trying to hold back more sobs. “Okay that’s good. Means whatever has you breaking our ear drums is fixable.” Buck reassures. “Our ears?” Maddie repeats, “Oh god. Eddie?” Mortification leeched into her sadness. “I’m here. Gave Buck quite a scare, me too.” Eddie answers gently. A short second of silence, then the sound of skin smacking skin, “Oh my god, I forgot all about the kid free weeks of debauchery Buck and you had planned! Oh god! Are you two even dressed? Did I interrupt?” Buck’s cheeks flare bright red and Eddie’s brain comes to halt for a moment at the Maddie’s description of their time without Christopher. “I swear I did not call it that!” Buck hissed under his breath to Eddie. Maddie clearly heard him and gives an awkward cough, “Um no. Actually, those were Howie’s words. Apparently, Eddie, you didn’t hide the uh contents of your duffle that well.” “Dios.” Eddie groaned, his mind flashing to bag he had packed to stay with Buck for the next weeks. Of course, he didn’t bring just clothes and basic toiletries. While Buck had an impressive collection of toys and other pleasurable items of his own, Eddie was a bit possessive. He wanted new, unused, and untouched by anyone but him and Buck. Mainly him. And Chimney somehow caught a glimpse of the debauchery Eddie was bringing with him. The elder Buckley sibling hummed, “Yea…” “Can I be struck by lightening again?” Buck mumbles, scraping a harsh hand down his heated face.

This fic is close to being done and I am super nervous because I am working on the final scene and its supposed to be very smutty with a very desperate Eddie. Never done that before and I'm hoping its up to standards. Anywho... Hope you all enjoyed! You can find previous snippets of this wip here.

Tagging (no pressure... bet you're surprised to me again! lol): @malewifediaz @exhuastedpigeon @hippolotamus @daffi-990 @jamespearce9-1-1 @thewolvesof1998 @jeeyuns @devirnis @lover-of-mine @911onabc @911-on-abc @bekkachaos @loserdiaz @hoodie-buck @try-set-me-on-fire @fortheloveofbuddie @spotsandsocks @theotherbuckley @ladydorian05 @elvensorceress @bigfootsmom @watchyourbuck @jesuisici33 @eddiebabygirldiaz @spaceprincessem @thekristen999 @spagheddiediaz @monsterrae1 @rogerzsteven @eowon @honestlydarkprincess @eddiescowboy @vampbuckley @bitchfacediaz @buck-coded @housewifebuck @arthursdent @glorious-spoon @buddierights @athenagranted @prosperdemeter2 @rainbow-nerdss @gayedmundodiaz

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forevery0urs · 1 year

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imagine wedding cake test with eren!!

“Babe why couldnt you just pick your favorite flavor?” Eren asks as he open the door for you.

“Cause WE need to choose a flavor we’re both going to agree on,Mister.” You poke his chest,walking inside the cake shop. You lift your sunglasses up into your hair,letting your eyes adjust to the lighting.

You walk up to the counter and talk with the worker while Eren looks around.

He looks at the little cake figures. He looks at each and every one of them,not noticing that you’re talking to him.

“Eren” You snap really loud in his face. He stops staring at them,finally looking at you. “oh shit sorry”

You extend out your hand,letting Eren grab it. You follow the worker to the back of the cake store and walk into this fancy restaurant place.

“Are we tasting cake or eating at an expensive restaurant?” Eren whisper in your ear. “It’s just the way they make their clients taste the cake” You whisper back.

You sit down at this round table and Eren sits next to you. “Are you nervous?” He looks at you. “For what,mama?” You just shake your head

“Doing wedding stuff doesn’t make you nervous?” He just sits and thinks for a little. “Yeah but i’ll be even more nervous on the actual day” You smile.

“You’re not gonna run out on me,are you?” You grab him by his jaw. “Of course not,baby.” He chuckles. You pull him in and kiss him.

He smiles,placing one hand on the chair and another on your waist. You place a few more kisses before letting go of his jaw and pulling away.

He blushes like crazy.He places his head between your shoulder and neck,gently placing light kisses on the skin.

“Thank you so much” He hears you speak, lifting up his head and seeing all the different cakes on the table labeled with their flavors.

“Which one do you want to try first?” You ask him,placing your bag in between you and Eren’s chair.

“Ummm we can do this one.” He says as he grabs the red velvet cake. He grabs a spoonful and feeds you it.

He notices how your face lights up by the taste but also how you scrunch your face a bit because it’s too sweet.

“The cake part was amazing pero the frosting was too sweet” He was right. He loves you so much that he can tell what you like and what you don’t like.

He sees you write down things on a little paper they gave you and he takes a bite out of the cake.

“What do you think,mi vida?” You ask him as you place the pen down. “I think that it taste good but i wouldn’t want it as our cake.” He says as he pushes the cake to the side.

“Okay next flavor. Umm i’ll do this one” You grab the Chocolate one. He lets you try it first.

“It’s super sweet” You scrunch up your face a bit,feeding Eren a piece. “Yeah.I’ll be too hyper.”

You smile. “Imagine how hyper the kids would be”

He looks at you “Mama, there’s gonna be no kids at the wedding cause everyone is gonna be stupid drunk” He says as he grabs the next flavor

“Oh shit, you’re right. Maybe we should get a alcohol infused cake!” You say excitedly,jumping up and down a little.

He laughs, kissing your cheek.

___________

“So definitely not pumpkin spice.” He gags a little, putting the last flavor aside. You laugh.

“So it’s in between, vanilla and red velvet.” You write down whatever you’re writing down and Eren tries the red velvet again.

“Hey baby what if we just ask for a less sweeter frosting for red velvet?” Eren suggest.

“We could do that cause i think vanilla is too boring” You look up at him. “So red velvet?” He asks

“yeah because for me it seems like a good flavor for a wedding.” You say as you push your hair behind your ear before writing down red velvet as your choice.

He stares and admires your beauty,wondering how he got the most beautiful woman in the world.

“Okay let’s go.” You grab your purse and get up,grabbing the paper too.

He gets up and follows you. He waits for you to give the paper for the worker.

“So we just have to ask how specifically you want your cake to look like…” He zones off from whatever the worker was telling you and stares at you.

“Do you want to do 3 tier or 4?” You ask him, turning around. “We can do whatever you think is enough for everyone”

“Yeah we’ll do 4 tier because it’s a of people” You tell the worker. She then asks you how you want the cake to look like and you show her the inspiration pic.

“Okay then your total will come out to… $2,521. You can leave a deposit of $500.” The worker tells you.

You look back at Eren because it’s a lot of money but he’s already pulling out his wallet to pay in full.

“I’ll just pay in full since i’m carrying the cash around anyways.” He hands the money to the worker.

“Eren es mucho dinero” You whisper to him. “Baby i want us to have our dream wedding,price doesn’t matter to me.” He whispers back, hugging you from behind.

The worker gives you the change and tells you to have a good day.

Eren let’s go and you open the door,putting on your sun glasses.

“Hey baby.what if instead of us being the wedding topper, it can just be you since most of the attention is gonna be on you” He wraps his around around you,kissing the top of your head.

“Ahaha very funny,Eren” “I’m not joking”

#attack on titan #attack on titan eren #eren x reader #eren x y/n #fem reader #eren x fem!reader #shingeki no kyoujin eren #snk eren #eren jeager x reader #eren aot #eren x hispanic!reader #eren yaegar #fluff #eren fluff #wedding planning #eren headcanons #eren yeager

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v-tired-queer · 8 months

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Alright y'all I need to convince my sorta-but-not-really fiance of something for our may-or-may-not-happen wedding:

The maybe-wedding isn't for . . . *checks watch* seven years, but we've already established that she wants a beautiful, elegant, enchanted forest esk wedding, and I want purple and gold details. Given the overall ✨️vibes✨️, I think it's only natural that we honor my family's (distant) heritage with a sword exchange ceremony (we'll also be doing stuff in honor of her family's heritage too) (also: capes). Yay or nea?

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houseoftulips · 2 years

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Wedding Plans | L. Ackerman ~ your fiancé has been dismissing you and your wedding plans when he comes home from work

➤ ft: levi ackerman x f!reader

➤ content warning: hurt/comfort, levi says mean words out of anger - the man is just tired, a bit suggestive towards the end but like (??), also this isn’t completely proofread because I did this in one sitting

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You needed to go over a few things with Levi about your up-coming wedding. It was only a few months away and the stress was finally catching up to you.

Your chosen venue was currently on hold for your wedding but other couples are just trying to buy their way with higher offers to claim your spot. Your florist also said that she miscalculated the dates and ended up having to attend a different event the same day as the wedding. So now you’re dressed about flowers… Freaking flowers but it was you second favorite thing to pick out other than the flavor and design of your wedding cake so you didn’t let it get to you.

The one thing that got to you was your soon-to-be-husband not being there beside you during your wedding planning. The past two months he’s been getting his ass beat - mentally - at his job.

Being the best lawyer in Paradise Island had its pros and cons. Con being that he was busy. Busy with cases. Busy with helping the new interns with their cases. Having to be present in nearly every meeting because he’s on top was getting to him.

So he’s been coming home rather annoyed - well more than usual. You usually just give him a kiss with a ‘welcome home’ then give him his space. After showering and settling in, he’d start calming down and talking to you but today was not that.

He lost a case he new that was doomed but he still bothered to take the chance which was on him. Then his pack of problem children that are called interns were causing loud and petty arguments 24/7 that just had to be his problem for some reason so he was scolding them all day. Then the cherry on top, the opposing law firm - Marley Law Firm - had been trying lure one of the interns to their team as a permanent position so he’s trying to keep one of his strongest - one that he wouldn’t admit - interns on his team. He could practically feel the wrinkles forming between his eyebrows having to carry such a disdainful look all day. He couldn’t wait to get home and relax.

But you needed his opinion.

You had asked him to join you in the kitchen to look over wedding details and vented to him about your dress not going the way you wanted but it didn’t feel like he was paying attention considering the fact that he kept sighing rather loudly.

“Babe? Are you listening?” you asked with a soft smile.

“I am but listen darling, I’m tired and I just need a shower,” he sighed as he rubbed his temples.

“I understand but we need to make a real quick decision about the flowers. The florist needs an answer by tomorrow morning if we want to stay on schedule,” you smiled hoping it would coax him into staying a bit longer.

“Darling, please,” he said in a more stern tone, “I’m not in the mood for this.”

You gulped nervously and shifted the papers with pictures of potential flower arrangements. “You just need to pick one that you like-,”

“I don’t fucking feel like it, Y/n!” he raised his voice, “Jesus, you ambush me with this useless shit like it’s gonna make a difference in our marriage. I don’t care about the flowers right now and who cares was your dress is supposed to look like!”

Taken back by his words, you held you breath with a tight lip. He doesn’t care? He doesn’t care about your wedding? He doesn’t care about the dress that your wanting to wear for not only yourself but for him too?

“Levi-,” you began but you were interrupted by his groaning.

“Just leave me alone and deal with it on your own,” he said and walked away from you into your shared bedroom then closed the door after.

You stood in the kitchen with air as thick as the pain in your chest is. ‘Deal with it on your own’ he said but now? Now you don’t want to deal with it all. Not with your fiancé showing no emotion or devotion in making this wedding happen.

Was it because of you? It had to be, right? He’s been coming home to you rather annoyed at everything and everyone lately. He hasn’t shown any interest in your wedding or you at all the last couple of months.

He didn’t care what your dress looked like either. That hurt the most. It’s supposed to be the outfit where you look the most beautiful in, in your life. The dress that you’re supposed to feel more beautiful but it’s not fitting you. Maybe that’s what it is?

You’ve gained a small bit of weight but nothing too drastic. You didn’t think your wedding dress would feel tighter than the last time you tried it on so maybe he got tired of you complaining that it’s not fitting. Maybe he didn’t like that you gained weight and having to deal with the repercussions of it.

Yeah…that’s what is was…

You sniffled and wiped away your tears before collecting the near mountains of paper from the island table and putting it away in the wedding binder. Your tears still wouldn’t stop though. You silently sobbed as you put everything that you’ve been working on today into a drawer dedicated for your wedding plans.

While you were putting everything away, Levi was unbothered by what happened when it actually didn’t settle in his tired mind what he said to you. He continued his usual routine like nothing happened. After showering and getting dressed in his white t-shirt and black sweatpants, he left the room finally getting rid of the weight on his shoulders and couldn’t wait to wrap his arms around you that was until he didn’t find you in the living room or kitchen.

“Y/n?” he called you but no answer.

He was about to call you again till he heard your soft voice coming from one of the spare bathrooms in the house. He walked towards the closed door and was about to knock till he heard your sniffling. He froze immediately hearing your muffled sobs.

“He said he didn’t care, mom,” you whispered to her as you tried to hold in your hiccups. You were close to hyperventilating because you were crying so hard. “He told me to deal with it on my own but I have… He hasn’t been with me for months,” you continued to cry.

Boy, did it hit him like a fucking truck. His words from earlier finally came back to him as he internally kicks himself in the face for taking his anger out on you. Of course he cares about the wedding. He gets even more excited about it when you both would over over the details before he completely disregarded you. Fuck, he couldn’t wait to see you in your chosen dress because he knew he’d cry like a fucking baby once you walk down the aisle.

He’s always cared but work as gotten to his head. Casting a shadow over you, his fiancé, and the wedding he plans on having once and with only you. You’re it for him and have always been the second you passed him his coffee five years ago. He was going to make amends with you and by doing that he was going to take time off of work.

He quickly left the hallway where the bathroom that you hid in resided to go into his office to call him Erwin his boss to let him know. He had sick and vacation days stacked on top of each other so he was gonna take a couple weeks off.

“What do I do, mom?” you asked her as you wiped away your tears for the millionth time.

“Talk to him, lovebug,” you mom comforted you, “You guys have been together for so long-,”

“But he wants nothing to do with the wedding,” you interrupted her, “What…what if he doesn’t want to get married anymore?” your lip quivered at the thought as you tried to catch your breath.

“Y/n, if you think he feels that way then talk to him,” she repeated, “If he’s not ready to talk then maybe you both need space. Come home for a bit if things lead up to that, okay?”

“Okay,” you whispered and nodded, “I’ll text you later. Bye.”

“Bye, sweetheart,” she said before hanging up. You took a deep breathe before rolling up an excessive amount of toilet paper to dry away your tears that simply wouldn’t go the fuck away.

After gathering yourself together the best you could you quietly opened the bathroom door to head to the kitchen to make some tea. Hopefully that could calm you down a bit so you could talk to Levi with no problem. But you weren’t ready to see him in the kitchen already making tea for both of you.

You froze and swallowed you nerves as you and him locked eyes with one another. Again, Levi internally kicks himself in the face and now his stomach seeing how swollen your eyes have gotten.

“Darling,” he said softly and that broke the dam of tears again. He didn’t hesitate to wraps his arms around you with guilt forming in his chest. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, my love,” he said whispered to you before kissing your forehead.

“Do you really not care?” you cried into his chest.

“I care,” he was quick to say as he tightened his hold on you, “I care so much, my darling. Work has been hard on me and I never should’ve taken out my frustrations on you or our wedding.”

You sniffled as you buried your cheek further into his chest. “Do you still want to marry me?” you whispered to him.

He sighed in regret with how much he’s beating himself up for saying those things to you. He cupped your face that was wet with tears and smiled softly. “Tch,” he playfully scoffed with a smirk, “I knew I wanted to marry you the second you poured hot coffee all over my suit.”

You gasped and playfully hit his chest. “I didn’t pour coffee on you! I tripped and it happened to spill on you,” you giggled with a couple of tears still leaving your eyes.

Levi smiled softly as he wiped away your tears with his thumb. “Same thing,” he hums in amusement as he rests his forehead against yours, “My darling, I love you with all I got. You mean everything to me and I would never intentionally hurt you. I sincerely apologize for my words towards you…”

You sniffled and nodded as a silent way of telling him that you forgive him. “Do you also not care about my dress?” you whispered against his lips with uncertainty in your soft tone.

“When I say I don’t care, I don’t because it’s your dress. You’ll look beautiful in whatever style or way it fits you,” he says before placing a kiss on your lips.

You smile into the kiss and pull away with a giggle as you wrap your arms around his waist as he still gently holds your face in his warm hands. “You’re only saying that,” you laugh.

“Tch, you can pull off anything my sweet girl,” he gently praises you, “But I’ll be pulling off that dress no matter what, Mrs. Ackerman,” he smirks before kissing you again muffling your giggles.

You pulled away with the smile that he adores so much and kissed your forehead. “I took a couple weeks off of work to spend more time with you and to be part of the wedding plans so I’m all yours…,” he smiled softly.

Your eyebrows furrowed slightly as you looked up at him. “Honey… You didn’t have to do that. What about your cases?” you asked worriedly.

“Erwin is taking over for the time being. I’ve neglected you for too long, Y/n. Besides, those damn interns are giving me grey hairs,” he groans making you giggle.

“Thank you, my love,” you kiss him.

“Thank you for dealing with me,” he smirked as he drowned your face in kisses.

Three years later, you’re both happily married with a baby boy just two months away from his due date…

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punk-in-docs · 1 year

Note

I am OBSESSED with your Prince Paul series. I've been reading and re-reading them. I can only hope there's more coming! Like I'd love to see them dealing with the wedding preparations, all the related stress and Catherine being Catherine. Or the first time they say LOVE? Or the first time they see each other nekkid? Or, or, or, anything!! I just love your writing sooooo muuuuuch. (I am also getting inspired to write fan fic or your fan fic, if that's okay???)

🥀 And The Stars Sighed In Unison 🥀

Authors Note: That’s more than ok my love. I’m so flattered! That’s amazing. I’m so humbled the muse has struck you as a consequence of my foolish little words. So here I give you in no particular order; Wedding day planning. Stag party drunken naughtiness, and in general the excitement of the big day. Hope it meets the mark-

TW: m receiving oral, PIV , dirty talk, clit slapping, much flirting, naughty ren-dez-vous, little dirty in places I mean, c’mon now, it’s Paul x Tsarevna. Don’t be expecting saintly behavior from them (or me) now.

The Palace shimmers. These snake pit halls and cloaking walls, that will never really be home to you, are teaming with bliss. Air full of it. Perched on the precipice of your marital joy.

A royal wedding in December. Anticipation hangs heavy indeed. Heavier than the clouds above distended with snow.

You’ll be married in that snow, Catherine says. Bedecked in white and silver. Because that’s the way things were done here; most babes here learned to keep warm before they learned how to walk.

Lavish affair like no other. It will be ripe with nobility. Snow studded, crept with frost. How appropriate-

The great ballroom is packed with flowers. Crammed to choking. Quite literally. Stuffing the space with pollen and nectar. Outside the trees are thinned brittle with cold. Basked in snow. Icicles on the windows. Inside it’s like there’s been a second sunny waft of spring.

Catherine wanted silver and white inside here. Everything wearing ice. Staining these great baroque halls. A nice occasion that will perhaps wipe through the rusted blood smears, and gloss over her treachery for daring to rob this heaving sow of a country from a man.

Dark walls hung with garlands of scented white flowers, tender tendrils of creamy sweet peas, tulips, and roses. Strung with thick cream ribbons. The best silverware being polished by the servants to a high shine. Flowers wait in vases. The glassware winks like far off stars from the ice smooth linen tables.

You walk obediently alongside her, when she tuts and snaps her fingers at a maid and shoved a poorly polished candlestick back at her, to have it done again.

Her predator eyes on the prowl, nasty tongue in step with it; she never missed a single thing. Countess and you, by her side.

“Do it again. And get it right, or I will have you whipped.” She cuts low. It’s terrifying how calm she is with wintry rage.

Fuck the frost. Catherine’s demeanour bit more than frost could ever dare.

You’re too busy marvelling at the flowers. You’ve never seen the like. Not in the scrappy leaky roofed Manor House you call home in Rostov. This whole environment was groaning with imperial snobbery at a whole new gilded level. Bloated with pomp and circumstance.

Every touch is artful. The flowers, the candles, the feast that’s been planned. Four boozy fruit cakes with hand crafted marzipan icing. Eight types of wine. Shipped from Portugal and France. Vodka unloaded by the barrel full - naturally.

Roast pigs turned on the spits for main, with marjoram, apple and cognac sauce. Haunches of deeply red venison with stewed blackberries and rosemary. The kitchens are fired up night and day for this. The maids on a strict rotation to clean and ready the halls to a gleaming spectacle.

Your dress, Paul’s robes. One of a kind and being worked on by no less than ten dressmakers and tailors, each. It’s all truly beautiful, and mad. And you are struggling to believe - to comprehend - these efforts are being ground to the bone, to satisfy the tune of your own wedding day.

Eyes turned to the ceiling where the flowers are being strung up. Five strands meeting in the gathered centre of the ballroom. Floors being soapy scrubbed and polished to a mirror shine. Every step reflected back. Observed.

This circus court would be watching keenly in attendance. Which makes you want to gouge your eyes out with one of those very spotless fish knives, or a bouillon spoon. Whatever’s closer.

The wedding that is but two precious angst filled days away.

You’ll cease to be a Voronsky. From now on, you’re to be known as the Tsarevna. You turned your nose up when someone tried to call you princess. They quickly found better words in odes to your sharp displeasure.

Call me that again and I will cut your tongue off.

Yes, Tsarevna.

Catherine turns her attention back to you, as you wander along the tables. Drinking in the madness and the beauty.

The Countess is with you and she’s nattering guest lists of who’ve confirmed attendance, at you.

Royal protocol and what that dictates for the drowning numbers of nobles and the statute of those invited to your ceremony.

People will travel in from all over Europe for this. Brave the snow. Nobility came flocking from every corner to pick at the nuptials. Faff over the bride. Congratulate the groom. Throw toasts and hurl wishes. Gorge on the finery.

Then the Countess suddenly sucks air through her teeth seeing a certain princely name appear on her page.

“That will prove tricky-“ She remarks like a vixen, when she comes to the certain name of a royal Swede.

The one who left here jilted, several weeks back.

Catherine is not amused.

“I’m not dancing on eggshells for the ego of one swede. Let the prick come see her happiness. Be done with it.”

You smuggle a secret smile to yourself as you drape your fingertips over the petal of a dainty sweet pea in one of the table arrangements. Fragrance of it so sickly.

“He’s recently engaged, so I’m told. That flame is well and truly doused, I assure you.” You tell.

It never even began to flicker, you think.

“On your side, it may.” Catherine suggests with a pithy smirk. She saw how taken the boy was with you.

“My eyes wander to no other.” You smile at your Empress in law. “And the Countess tells me he was quite struck with that Petrovka girl.”

“Cuntstruck I said. Petrovka had her legs behind her ears since the day she joined court. And she’s sawdust for brains” The Countess took sordid detail in revealing.

Catherine sneered. “Better he found his easy prize. Left us with our Russian gem.” She walks up to you and lays her hand softly on your arm.

You’re not stupid. You know Catherine had her hand on the rudder of your early courtship for far longer than she pretended too.

And well, there’s certainly a great deal more than sawdust between your ears. There’s blade angles of femininity, blazing gunpowder wit, deep unending pools of ideas and intelligence in swathes. Cunning too, some diplomacy, and fistful upon fistfuls of hardy bravery.

“I’m very proud to see you take all this on. My dear. Many would envy you. But do not forget that the task placed ahead is a great one.” Empress reminds you.

“Must run in the family. Rising to greatness.” You answer. Petting her hand with your own. Her draconic red smile widens. Eyes wrinkle pinched at the corners in glee.

“I do enjoy you so.” She chuckles as she pats your hand like you’re one of her little perching obedient dogs. “How do you like the flowers?”

“Divine.” You remark as you wander your eyes around the huge room.

“We can have no less than. Cause people will fucking talk and bitch. They do nothing else when they come to a royal wedding. They want their flawless show of it all and they’ll pick pick pick at it like starved crows.” She comments. Inspecting a polished wine glass.

“You must recall your own.” You ask her as you dance your fingers over a place setting. Gold leaf on the China. Sapphire leaf accents.

“Short, swift. Painless. Much the same to be said for the wedding night.” She mocked. The countess cackled.

Charming.

“Do we need to give you any instruction on the matter?” The Countess winked at you. Dry chuckle as she attended her lists.

“I think I’ve gleaned enough by now. My new lady in waiting, is most vivacious in her manner of stories.” You concede. Lady Dimitrova was as unstinting to talking about sex, as she was formidable. Both were high measures indeed.

“One dare say they contain a prick of truth.” You add in a way that makes them both leer laughter.

“The veritable picture of a modest blushing bride.” The Countess remarks. Preening in delight at you.

“I heartily concur.” Interjects a voice you know all too well.

You turn your head and see none other than your beautiful intended drawing near,

Four male figures darken the golden horizon of this grand room. Paul and his usual party of scurrying sycophants and paper-pushing bureaucrats. Pillars by his side. Minister Panin, stout General Abramov, and a weedy bespectacled civil servant by the name of Berensky.

Paul wanders over to greet you with his party in tow. His arms clasped behind his back. Draped today in his glass green coat, accented with carmine-red. The clack of his boots joins in the wedding hubbub rioting noisily around you.

The red slash of a royal order dangling jewels and honour around his neck and the sea blue silk of his sash running from shoulder to hip. You like it when he’s all shiny and preening in ceremonial garb. Coiffed soldier. Sword swinging at his side all golden. He looks so pristine.

Only you grin because this was the same shiny and polished prince, who had spat in your cunt this very morning, and fucked you as if he were a beast. He went hard. It was bliss.

Handprints blazing their sting on your ass. Bruises on your thighs. Getting you dopey and all cock drunk before you had to scurry on back to your chambers.

Sustaining the false illusion that you’d spent the night there, and not sat on his cock, sobbing his name to kingdom come - as you then did.

Every slam of his hips into you was a fiery agony cracking across your skin - and oh, how it made the pleasure burn that much sweeter.

It’s so decadent a memory it’s got you wet at the mere sight of him. The glide of your chemise and dress on your raw ass cheeks has been a tender and delicious reminder all morning.

And no one needs to know that the cute silky lilac ribbon tied around your neck, dainty sweet, is actually there concealing fingertip bruises, churning to the colour of ripe mulberries.

“How well your bride looks. Does she not? Tsarevich?” The Countess beams at Paul. “All this wedding joy has cast such a lovely glow to her expression.”

“It has indeed. May I please request that you impart even more of it onto her. It becomes her quite dearly.” Paul charms.

“Radiant and pretty as ever.” He added. Overloading you with sickly sugar words. Churning honey off his silver tongue.

He’d said that this morning too. How pretty you look. Especially with his hand viced around your throat, til eyes fluttered, and you nearly passed out.

Catherine looks like she wants to roll her eyes back in her head and come back when this conversation has shifted elsewhere.

“I was warned by my mother that flattery was the infantry of negotiation.” You narrow your eyes playfully. Nothing slips you by. You’re too sharp to let it.

“As a military man, I do have much appreciation for such a diplomatic resource. Gets us out a lot of scrapes.” He explains.

“What cheek.” You surmise.

“Paul.” Catherine bites in her usual tone she reserved for him.

“I would make my goodbyes to your fiancée were I you. For soon we’re going to steal her away and lock her out your sight, until you’re walking to that altar.”

“And I believe, the men of court have planned a similar merry making event in your bachelor celebration.” She tilts her head and rakes her sherry eyes over Minister Panin. In the way she does that drags and curdles blood if anyone dares disagree.

The Minister leaps to words. “Of course. Empress.”

“Get to it. We have the dressmakers final fitting in half an hour, petal.” Catherine waves her hands at you. A warning.

She drifts away as does the Countess. Just enough edge to her sandpaper words to incite action.

Paul strides closer. Plucks a white sweet pea from out the table arrangement vases, and hands it over to you in offering.

“To match that bloom in your cheeks. Though it can seldom be rivalled by anything sweeter.” He smiles. Perhaps giddy. Totally enraptured by you, that was for sure.

Like he’s some stupid peasant boy gifting the girl he’s wooing, a simple picked flower. It’s actually quite fucking sweet of him. Simple things sometimes.

You pluck it out his hand, lift it up to inhale the sickle sweetness off its giving petals.

“You quote a sonnet at me, my love, I will have to go and be sick in the closest corner.” You warn with flirt traced on your lips.

He smiles back. It’s all doe eyed flirt. “Shall I compare thee to a summers day?”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” You threaten nicely.

“Look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under.” He decided instead.

“Much more me, you have to concede.” You state.

You step closer and lean across to peck a sweet kiss on his cheek. Such paltry stuffy affection, but it’s all you can show at present.

His chest bounces with a sudden intake of air. That darkly lustful hunger seizing his eyes. You’re the same. One whiff of his shaving foam cologne and the gut clenching nearness, and you feel slick as ever between your legs.

“I shall see you at the altar then.” You decide when you pull back. Twiddling the flower between your fingertips. Swirling the petals.

Oh no you fucking won’t.

You imperceptibly jerk your head to the doors leading back to the royal chambers. Your eyes flick across and then back to him so suavely it’s like butter wouldn’t even dare melt on your tongue.

“You will.” He answers. Following your gesture.

“Good day. Gentleman.” You say loudly. Turning to his companions. Inclining your head to them. And then him.

“Tsarevich.” You smirk. Running the flower petals across your lips. Saying his full title like a sultry purr like some empty headed courtesan. All wide open legs and easiness.

You twirl on your heel and crossing away to another part of the room.

He watches the delicious drag of your blue skirts sweep the polished floors. All those silken vines laid on cobalt, crowded with plump pink roses on your bodice. The teasing slip of your perfume leaving notes of peaches and orchid musk in your wake. The way your coiled hair lays down the back of your neck. Bounces when you glide away.

“Darya.” You call out to your maid.

She stands to attention with a nodded bob of her linen clothed head. Hands folded serenely behind her back. Walnut eyes whip to you.

“Perhaps some tea in my rooms before the dressmaker comes.” You request.

“Yes my Lady.” And she scurries away to do your bidding. You walk across the room and busy yourself talking to another group of maidens about the flowers.

Paul turns and drifts back to the men accompanying him. Minister Panin says how well you look with the upcoming joy of the nuptials. You sparkle with it. Paul agrees.

They walk along and discuss more treaties and the current state of the affairs in Kyrol.

You watch from the corners of your eyes as him and his entourage leave the room. You smirk.

Leaving it a few moments as you gaze at said buckets of flowers before you decide to depart the room also. Darya returns from laying the tray of tea in your chambers.

“Please inform the Empress I will be on time for the dressmaker.” You beam as you sway to the doors.

She steps to scamper after you. You call back without turning around.

“Unaccompanied, Darya. Go and have some cake or something.” Waft of your hand. You instruct her. Knowing full well you just left her floundering in what to do next.

She notices there’s definitely a sway in your step as you stride away, and out along the echoing gilded halls. She goes and finds something else to do. Keep busy.

You step one foot through the doors leading to the royal chambers. And suddenly arms are snatching you around the waist.

Tugged out the doorway and off path into the snug concealed by the edge of the doors.

“Oh you fucker-“ Is the gasped outburst he’s torn from you in surprise. You told him to go wait for you. You didn’t know he was going to pounce.

“Such an elegant mouth.” He croons. Before kissing you like he’s not taken any single ounce of air since he saw you last.

He walks you back in quick step, shoves your hips painfully up against a table. Clatters the candlesticks stood on it. Hands on your bodice. Smoothing your silk back. Plump lips sweet and hot, seeking yours.

Smothered to him in a hungry slamming kiss. Messy sloppy. When you break away with a moan and the parting sound of wet meeting lips.

“I have a dagger in my garter, careful sneaking up on me, or else I’ll use it.” You threaten with a silky purr.

He paws your ass over your blue skirts crudely to make you squeak.

“I am more than aware of your dangerous inclinations. Should you like to plunge it into my back or my heart, beloved?“ He offers. Eyeing up your lush mouth again. The long doe flick of those carob colour lashes. Fuck, he’s pretty.

You smirk, sharp like rose thorns, all angles and gleaming. You’re so terrifyingly beautiful. So Russian in that regard. You like when others think you dangerous - it means they have grasped the right impression of you.

“Throat. Dear heart. I always, always, go for the throat.” You whisper all flirtily as you lean in and kiss the corner of his pouting mouth.

He finds your mouth again with his. It didn’t take more than a nudge and he’s on you. You whine into his mouth. You wrap your hand around his back. The table scrapes against the floor with a loud scuff. His hips rut to yours.

“Any chance we’ll be caught? What of your guards?” You ask. Desperately gulping for air as he kisses your neck and makes your toes curl in your beautiful shoes.

“Dismissed.” He sighs into a kiss under your ear.

“So you have a few moments?” You seek.

“Yes. Why?” He grunts.

“Because you’re going to spend them inside me.” You fist the front of his jacket and medals bite your palm. You snag your lower lip between your teeth in a positively filthy grin.

You yank him, stumble him in his shiny boots, to an even more discreet corner. Hidden by large waterfalls of draperies. Shadows drawn in baroque arches from the side of a great branching candelabra.

You claw your your skirts into gathered silk fistfuls. Bunched in your hands. Face the grazing threads of the tapestry clad wall. Arch your back. Jut your hips. Pussy just throbbing for the bliss of his touch.

He pasted his body to you, enclosed, and his hand snuck under your skirts. Lips perched at the shell of your ear. He hums all pleased when he finds you sticky wet. Silky and slipping over his fingers. Plump lips grazed between his fingertips.

“Are you still sore from our session last night?” He cooed all low. Cupping you crudely, and enjoying the way you tipped your head back. Pushing into his hand for more.

Your hair catching in his lips. He kisses your neck so sweetly. It belies the way he’s grabbing at your cunt like you’re some common street wench he’d pay pennies for.

That little split of pain - you’re such a drooling whore for it and he certainly knows how to give it. Knows when to knock his hips rougher and truly start to rearrange your guts. Knows when his words need to come out nastier, when he needs to grab and spank, and when to still his hand.

Paul rips at the falls of his own breeches. Messed up all those neat gold buttons. Theres your good toy soldier.

There’s the wonderful sting where he palms your ass as he crushes right up to you. His cock finding purchase to slide into your cunt with one breaching snap of his hips. You whine. He sighs. Your fingernails dig into the threaded wall. Snag on the fabric.

God, your pussy is gorgeous. Like wet velvet or warm satin. Or silky creamy peaches and butter sunshine. All good glorious things when he pushes deep into you.

“Fuck, my love, you’re incredible. You feel incredible. Holy god.”

“Don’t let the Patriarch hear you. He’ll have you in that chapel on your knees til you’re black and blue.” You sigh smartly.

Your hand reaches between you to rub slow pressing circles on your swelling clit. It makes his thrusts come harder because you’re throbbing tighter, fist tight, around the girthy drive of him.

“I can’t wait two days. Can’t fucking wait that long to have you again.” He babbles. Cuntstruck by you already.

You huff a laugh. “Mmm. Give me that over a dry sonnet any day.” You plead.

“I can’t go long without you. I walk through my day listening to treatises and proclamations. Yet all I can concentrate on is how you taste, and kiss, and, ugh fuck, how I just want to pin you to the bed with your ankles behind your ears...” He growls with a particularly knocking thrust that makes stars skip on your skin and your belly.

His praise and need cracked a heat over your throbbing hard nipples. Nestled in your stays, swaying and chafing when he fucks.

He tore a shocked gasp right out your mouth when he starts even harder punching thrusts and then bites your neck. Hard.

“More marks a ribbon can’t hide, hmm?” You remark archly. Turning your head to the side. Coaxing out that spit of spoilt fire you adore.

He pulls back and sees the purple-red of blood rushing into the crescents of his teeth marks, welted deep in your skin.

“They’ll look beautiful on our wedding day.” He huffs against your ear.

“Fucker-“ you grin and tip your head back and a loud, a too loud, moan, slid out your throat before you could stop it. Ran away from you.

It haunts the room. Haunts you. Echoing. Humiliating you with mocking. He makes you produce noises like an unbidden harlot.

Paul slams a hand over your mouth. Wet lips kissing your ear as he speaks. “Keep rubbing your cunt. I may not have the time I want to fuck you endlessly. But you will cum over my cock and be thankful for it. Do you hear me?”

Oh you could kiss him.

You nod like a demon is gripping your glass bones and you’ll shatter with it soon.

He felt how those words made you clutch down on him. Pussy choking his cock. Like you never wanted to let him leave.

Swallow him up and keep going til you have all of him. Sinking. Despair. A man whose love struck and who cannot ignore the ocean even as it’s drowning him alive. You are too knotted in everything. Tangled and twisted up inside him with that vital string.

He takes you fast and hard and he doesn’t let up for even a damn second. Perfect boy, he knows exactly what you needed.

Your little gasping cries. His grunts. The smack of hips and skin. The clutch of his palm on your handful hip. The dainty clack of your shoes on the floors. Unable to think about anything but chasing that fiery gut punch of pleasure.

“You like it when I give you orders…hmm” He huffs out suddenly. A statement as opposed to a question. Spoilt mouth at your jawbone. He takes his hand from your mouth to require an answer.

“Only sometimes.” You reply. Mouth slipping into an oval shape. Browns drawn. Searing liquid heat slaps and sloshes low in your gut. Spilling from you and dripping along his cock.

He pierced you so deep it’s like he’s prodding at the back of your throat. Prick of tears is looming in your eyes from this feral fuck.

“You love it when I say nasty filth as I fuck you deep? About how I want to to tie your hands to my bedposts, like a tamed wild thing, keep you edged for hours til you beg to finally cum. To rut you like I loathe you.”

As he whispers to you, his hand drifts and joins yours over your clit. He urges your hand out the way and gives your soaking pussy an open handed tap, that leaves you reeling. Clit stinging.

Your animalistic moan eats into his palm all slippery. Your eyes flutter in your head.

“Or is it you prefer my sweetness? How I would drag you to the edge of the bed, and feast on your cunt for days? Lick you so slow and tender, digging my tongue in you, call you by loving names, hold your thighs open and eat, until you flood my mouth.”

Another moan of yours sinks into his hand. It’s over your mouth once more. It sounds suspiciously like the warbled shape of his name. He tempers you with another little slap that makes you lurch.

He hums against your neck as pleasure begins to bend, and dip, and take him too. Drawing the same opium daze out of him. The ludicrously loud wet squelch of your cunt is signifying your climax is bearing down fast, also.

He buries his mouth in your shoulder as his strokes get harder and faster. Crumpling your body into the wall before you both. Strands of thread plucking under your nails. White knuckles. Drooling in his hand.

He’s cursing, spewing out filthy whispers and groans, because you get so crushing tight when you’re about to cum. Doesn’t relinquish his hand clamped on your mouth. Nor your clit. He’s pinching it and rolling under fingertips and you’re going mindless. Brain wiping out.

“Yes my love. That’s it. That’s it- fuck.” He pants as he feels you spasm and snap down on him.

Scream bitten in his palm. Spurt of your release slicking his cock, rolling down the tight sac of his balls too. He pounds even harder to chase his own release, and tears bite the corner of your eyes. Cock piercing somewhere so deep inside you it’s fiery bliss. Punching a spot that just makes your whole gut melt.

He sinks deep and thrusts hard. Fucking the hard beast of his orgasm so far inside you. You’re held up, back pasted to his chest as you’re licked entirely in sweat and sagging to the wall with a blissed out sigh. Muggy wet across his palm. Cries melt into his skin.

Your nails bite into his coated arm. The other snagging the tapestry. He takes his hand away and his lips retrace your ear. Indulging himself in the last few spasms of your climax as it fizzes away. Slowly dripping the evidence of the encounter down the insides of your thighs, and his.

“Fuck me-“ You rasp out. Voice still laced with pleasure. Airy and dancing on a laugh too. An unbelievable one. He loves it when you go all gooey and soft. It’s so unlike your usual hard as steel state.

“There’s not going to be a room in this palace we’re going to leave unsullied is there?” He asks you.

“I highly doubt it.” You preen. Lower lip caught between your teeth as he finished petting gentle circles around your clit. Cupping your whole peachy shape in his hand. The short fuzz of your curls nestling against the arc of his palm.

“Now I really feel like I should be in church. On my knees. Praying our shared sins away to the Patriarch.” He said. Ghosting his plump lips down your ear.

“You’ll need to be on your knees for eternity for marrying the likes of me.”

“I don’t plan on atoning for anything regarding you. Tsarevna.” He insists as he scoops you in.

Kisses you once before he pulls back. You fight to right your clothes. Feeling him slip further and further down your legs. You fix your skirts. He rights his breeches. And hastily does up all those buttons.

“Enjoy your stag merrymaking.” You offer with a sly grin. “Try not to get carried away with your rutting in those remaining hours of singledom.” You tease, with flirt skated on your voice.

You thumb the corner of his mouth where he’s all spit wet. Looking at you like you’re every sort of devilish temptation he’s been warned to resist.

“Although if you share this gorgeous cock with any of those painted whores. I will have to punish you.” You sharpen your already pointed eyes at him.

“I think my sore head tomorrow will be punishment enough.” He skims his hands over your back. Settling in the slope of you there.

“Good boy.” You wrinkle his coat where you grab it in a fist and drag him in for a kiss. Devouring and sloppy kiss that makes sparks shoot to your knees and throb your veins.

When you’re done with him you rudely pull away and he stumbles. Kiss drunk. It makes you grin.

You slink away. A long straight walk along the corridor, aiming in the direction of your rooms. Best you snap to action before his mother sends someone to root you out.

He watches every step as you leave him aching, heart pounding war drums in his chest for more, blood fired. He wants you again as he admires the sway of your hips that was definitely deliberate.

“I do so enjoy the length of these hallways.” He calls in flirt after you.

You cross your hands behind your back and turn over your shoulder and smoulder at him.

“Careful. Tsarevich. I’m a taken woman.” You purr at him. Laughing as you glide away. Biting your lip.

“So I’ve heard.” He calls at your retreat.

He’s so drunk. He’s so beyond drunk he doesn’t think he’s ever felt a sensation like this before. Such a loss of faculties and control.

His head is swimming. A whirling drag that doesn’t keep up where he moves. When he turns his eyes it’s all blurred distortion.

Gorky kept pressing drinks to his hands. Abramov made rousing toast after toast which ended in all the men breaking into jeers, and slamming their emptied vodka glasses on the floor to the tune of his name.

The room is spinning endlessly. There’s bawdy chorus singing of a lewd folk song. The painted whores and their shrill laughter raising to brush the gold ceiling. He watched Count Orlov across the room perch one on his knee. Her dress was petal pink. Undone at the low bodice. Lips cherry red. He stuffed his hand up her skirts as she nibbled on his ear.

They kept smirking at him all night. The ladies. Some of them draped themselves across his lap. He shuffled away and the men roared laughter.

“Saving yourself for that firecracker of a Voronsky you’ve won?” Lord Petrova asks, slurring.

Paul won’t say that actually, yes, it’s something along those lines. He drinks til there’s nothing left in his glass.

“Enjoy the warm cunt of that plump Italian whore before you’re shackled to that fiesty bitch.” He barks out. Paul eyes him tiredly.

“Fetch me another drink, why don’t you.” Paul requested. Shoving his glass at the foul mouthed lord.

“That thing between your Tsarevna’s legs probably bites.” The man claps his shoulder and cackles as he walks away. Stopping to place an open handed slap on the ass of a whore stood drinking with his fellow nobles.

Paul glares. He gets this jagged feeling of protectiveness in his gut. Wants to stroppily tell him to fuck off and that your cunt is heaven and a fat oaf like him could never be so lucky.

Some are dancing to the sharp chirp of music. The air sways with songs. All of the men are as gone on drink as he is. It’s a riot of Russian revelry.

Lord Dymov stumbled up, smirked and clasped Paul’s very unsteady hand as he poured a great shaking glug of vodka into it. Spilled half over his lap and hand.

He tips it down his neck. Warmth fizzes low in his belly. His limbs feel too small and slick and he’s aching for sleep.

And you- he does so ache after thoughts of you. He’s laying back staring at the swirled gilding on the ceiling. How it fractures into patterns; into jewels and precious swirling white and gold. Like gem studded crowns and butter yellow autumn leaves twirling off the trees.

He doesn’t realise he’s speaking, a stream of words just dribbling out his mouth of how lucky he feels, how he’s going to be married. He’s going to have a wife. He’s going to have make heirs and spares, and all of this terrifying icy Russia will be writ into his future. Just like his father before him.

Gorky comes and hauls him up. “Come on my friend. I’d say you need your bed.”

“I need my wife.” Paul slurred with a thick and fat feeling tongue.

“She’s not your wife yet.” Gorky told him. Paul slurred something, snuffled, into his shoulder Gorky didn’t catch it.

He tries to stand. It’s like a newborn deer - knock kneed and incredibly ungainly - in his nice shiny soled boots over glass shards that crunch and crack under his weight. The floor is littered with broken glass from all the toasts.

It’s early by their standards. The party will continue on without its Prince. Slings an arm around his shoulder and dips to lever him off the chaise he’s sprawled on. Wig askew. Coat all rumpled. Vodka stained hands and mouth. They trip and stagger out the hall and along to the Tsarevich’s rooms.

Gorky hauls him through the doors and clumsily drops him on the bed. Discards the wig. Yanks off his boots. Off with the coat too. Leaves him sprawled on the mattress in his shirt and breeches.

“Sweet dreams, dear groom.” He sing-songs as he slipped out the pocket doors. Paul thinks he raised his hand to wave. He can’t be sure. His arms won’t follow his brains directions anymore. There’s fluffy-stuffy cotton where his limbs once were.

He sinks into the bed. The warm, lushness of his luxury bed. Stares at the heavy drape of canopy. It’s crushing sapphire blue weighing down his vision. Drowning him like the sea would. A sea of vodka. That sounded nice. That sounded like his salty, entirely alcohol laced bloodstream at the moment.

A slow knock rams against the inside of his very muzzy head.

He tells the door to go away.

“I don’t want to be disturbed.” Comes melting out his mouth off his tongue with the slowness of hot sticky honey.

The door opens anyway. It closes. He struggled to sit up on his elbows. Slanting vision tipping all over the place shows him the stretch of the door.

And you-

Stood there in a swathing lilac dressing gown. Hair loose. Silk ribbon tied around your neck. You’re stood there looking like some sainted angel whose walked right out a stained glass window in the church.

Botticelli’s Venus climbing out her shell and the waves. Skin stroked in candlelight like a glowing Raphael. La fornarina. La velata.

Paul finds his woolly tongue. “Tsarevna.” He nods his head. Belly erupting into a tangled hot jungle of his feelings for you. The drink seems to have amplified their intensity. His heart could crawl up these very walls it crashes so loud like waves in the cage of his chest.

You look at him with a mild expression of amusement. But there��s warmth there, too. A stunning amount.

“I take it your evening was pleasant?” You ask.

He nods. Taking in the state of your gown.

“Shouldn’t you have….more on?” He asks disguising a drunken hiccup in the middle of his sentence. His voice dips with it.

When he thinks about you walking through the palace for the guards to see you like that, he wants to go and have their eyes put out with a poker.

You smirk. He watches it curl up one side of your mouth. He thinks he hears harps.

“I was just thinking about all that bachelor fun you’d be having tonight.” You say as you reach for the sides of your gown. And slowly open them. Dropping your one item of clothing to the floor.

Paul’s eyes don’t know where to rest on your entirely naked body that you’re offering up to him.

Your nipples are hard. He watches the quake of your plump thighs where you move. The c-bout of your hip to waist.

You’re walking, padding slow, big cat slow, towards the end of the bed. Predator hunger glimmers sharp in your eyes.

“I wanted to make sure that you didn’t spend all night writhing under a painted whore. When you could spend all night under me instead.” You beam brightly.

“Did I make you envious?” He asks in sheer alarm in those big brown eyes. Like he’s looking for the matching puzzle pieces.

You narrow your eyes. Tilt your head. “Maybe a little. I told you. I’m a bitch and I don’t care for sharing my husband-to-be.”

“I didn’t go near them.” He insists boldly.

“Aren’t you sweet.” You coo.

Paul’s certain his tongue has shrivelled to dust. It’s taken his brain with it. And every drop of blood in his body rushed, beating to somewhere entirely south of his head.

You stand right between his legs. Kneeling yourself onto the floor. Soft antique rug catching your knees. Trailing fingers up his thighs.

You rip open his breeches. He squirms. His lungs cease to function. It’s like he’s breathing in claggy sand.

“May I suck your cock, my darling?” You ask with a genuine panthers grin.

He actually shivers when you ruck the clothing down his hips. Freeing that gorgeous cock laying flushed with blood up against his thigh. Head already leaking for you - shiny even in the dozy gold low light.

His mouth falls open when you suck him deep into your mouth. You twirl your tongue around around the swollen pink tip like the taste of him is your favourite thing in the world. It is. You moan at the heat of him. At that taste.

You suck him deep. An obscene gargle where he jams into your mouth. You’re flushed with pride when he bucks off the bed. He cant control himself. He’s humming and squirming from that strong hungry suction.

You pull off him. Lap the head with kitten licks. Then swallow him again. Tears prick your eyes when you relax enough to nudge him right down.

You flick your eyes up at him through your lashes. Lips glossy red. Eyes vibrant and watering with each slide and glug that comes so lewdly out your mouth. Your nose brushing against the short sweat-damp curls of his groin.

He’s jammed his fingers into your pretty hair. He can’t contain himself. He’s a mess.

Laying back on this bed and just sloppily fucking his hips up into your face. Calling for god in every way he knows how. Praying and stumbling, cursing.

“Oh my love. Your mouth, you’re so- better than any whore- even better cause you’re all mine. Christ.”

You pull back off him with a pop before he can spill into you. He follows your pull back with a thrust of his hips. Looking at you with shining puppy puddles for eyes.

You grip him by the base and lick a hot stripe right up him. Collecting one last taste.

You climb onto him and straddle his waist. Run your nails right up his chest. Digging in just a little - for fun.

“I did think you might want to fuck a Voronsky. One last time.” You purr. Sitting on his thighs. Your eyes gleam, it looks wicked. Snake eyes sharp. Sly smile.

He’s definitely fucked.

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