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As most of Merula’s problems do — it begins with (y/n).
And it’s not like they haven’t been in love for years, and (y/n) didn’t propose at a fancy restaurant while their friends pretended to be inconspicuous diners, and they haven’t been planning their wedding for months — but Merula has about had it with all these outrageous suggestions.
Really, Merula should be used to how absurd their relationship is, but sometimes there are things that go too far.
“We are not going to have a dragon at the wedding.” Frankly, she can’t even believe that’s a sentence that unironically exists.
(y/n) frowns, obviously in disagreement. “Well, think about — “
“It is dangerous and not within our budget.”
She can feel a migraine coming as (y/n) gestures towards the haphazardly spread planning papers on the table. “Okay, but Charlie has agreed to find a nice, friendly dragon within the budget — “
Merula has no idea why this is even a conversation . And she’s never questioned wanting to marry (y/n), but at this point she’s thinking that might be because there’s something wrong with her.
She sighs, massaging her temple. Who is she kidding? There’s definitely something wrong with her. (y/n) could set fire to the world and Merula would follow.
“No. Dragon.” The only reason they’d have one is for the only three guests who would be excited about the prospect: Charlie and Barnaby and maybe Felix.
“Fine,” (y/n) huffs, displeased. Even then, Merula knows that nine times out of ten, she always gives into Merula’s demands. “What about this?”
Merula takes the blueprint offered to her and chokes. (y/n) wraps an arm around her waist and runs a soothing hand down her back as she hastily tries to breathe. “We are not having a five-foot tall chocolate waterfall,” she says when she finally gathers her bearings. “Where did you even get this idea?”
“Barnaby,” (y/n) replies noncommittally, and Merula rolls her eyes. Of course she did.
“Has it crossed your mind that these suggestions are—”
“Romantic? Whimsical? Symbolic of my undying love for you?” (y/n) fills in for her, and even after years of hearing it, Merula flushes all the way to her roots. (y/n) has gotten considerably more bold when it comes to declarations of love.
“—preposterous,” she finishes, ignoring how (y/n)’s arm is still around her waist and how the scene is painfully domestic. Ismelda would gag if she saw the two of them now.
(y/n) laughs and angles her head to kiss Merula’s cheek quite charmingly. “Not when it’s for you.”
Merula used to hate that kind of talk. It seemed too smarmy and insincere, but (y/n) has desensitized her to the embarrassment of it, and her heart no longer pumps (as much) like a jackhammer.
It’s strange because everyone told her that the feelings dry out eventually, that the honeymoon phase doesn’t last. But then, it’s been almost five years since they’ve been together and Merula still gets the warm fuzzies. (y/n) tells her the same every morning, tasting like over-caffeinated coffee when Merula leans in for a kiss.
Maybe the universe is making up for how shitty everything was when they were younger.
She knows she has to put her foot down now because (y/n) has gotten distracted with mouthing her neck, arms tightening around her waist.
“We are not—” she starts, but then (y/n) kisses the skin behind her left ear and that thought drains completely. She’s already lost the fight when she reaches for (y/n)’s shoulders to steady herself. “Fine,” she chokes out before she forgets. “We’ll get the waterfall but nothing else.”
She can feel (y/n) grin, lips pressed to Merula’s ear. “Great. I already bought it.”
Merula would pull back to sputter indignantly, but (y/n) is lifting her up, already halfway to the bedroom and she can only cross her ankles around (y/n)’s back and let herself be carried.
They don’t think about weddings for a while.