#♡ ┋ royal garden.

[hereindreamlandpng]

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾. ‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾. ‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

[darkbluekies]

Christmas tendencies

Yandere!king x fem!reader

Summary: spending Christmas with Edmund can't go wrong<3 can it?

Warnings: Edmund not being nice, in fact being quite naughty, jealousy

Word count: 1.7k

A/N: i thought it'd be a waste to not post this when it was so near completion! So please enjoy and have a merry Christmas if you do celebrate it♡

As if on purpose, the snow has graced the earth for Christmas after not showing itself for the entirety of december. But now, a thick layer of snow covers everything that was once dead and grey. You can’t help but feel excitement. Maybe Christmas with Edmund won’t be hell after all? 

You’re standing in one of the gigantic windows, looking out over the castle grounds—the very same you’re not allowed out in. The castle’s gardeners have decorated every bush, every tree, with lights and decorations. 

“You’ve been standing here for a good forty five minutes now, my jewel”, Edmund says as he walks over to you, fixing his golden cufflinks. “How much more interesting can it get after ten?” 

“You don’t get it”, you reply over your shoulder. “The gardeners have spent a lot of time decorating the grounds, shouldn’t one get to admire their hard work?”

You feel how Edmund comes up behind you, sneaks his arms around your waist and buries his chin into your shoulder. 

“The staff has put a great detail into the interior too”, he mumbles. “Why don’t you stare at that for an hour or two?”

You scoff. 

“I think it’s pretty”, you reply and turn your eyes out the window again. “With the snow and everything. Besides, I’ve already inspected every decoration inside, I helped hang them up.”

“You did, and it’s very pretty. Just like you. I like your dress.”

It’s a red velvet dress reaching down to the floor with long, cape sleeves. 

You turn around to get a look at him. He's wearing a black suit with loose white pieces that puff out. Golden cufflinks and a white bow. His fluffy dark hair has been brushed back, face newly shaven—although there never was anything to shave to begin with.

“You look like you've been tortured”, you joke.

“Haha, funny”, he replies sarcastically, clearly not impressed. “I've told them time and time again that I have an extremely sensitive scalp but no one listens, they force me to do silly hairstyles like this. I think I must have lost at least half of my hair.”

You reach to fix a strand of hair that escaped his hairstyle. You can feel him shudder under your fingertips.

“You’ll live”, you say. “Besides, you look more grown this way.”

“Do I?” Edmund smirks proudly. “Do I look manly?”

“Don’t push it.”

He scoffs. 

Weirdly enough, Edmund has agreed on letting you out of the castle today. Just because it's a special day. The townsfolk are having a market that you have begged to visit and who is Edmund to deny your Christmas wish?

“Are you ready, my love?” he asks and takes your hand. “The carriage it out on the front yard. Let’s get this over with.”

“Can’t you at least pretend to be excited?” you ask with a sad pout. 

He sighs and rolls his eyes before nodding. 

“I’ll have to take a long, scolding bath right after coming back”, he mutters. “Who knows what kind of diseases they can carry? Oh, you’re taking that bath with me, by the way. My Christmas wish.”

He’s like a child when it comes to your bare body, getting eyes wide as moons when he gets to see the most vulnerable parts of you. It confuses you. In his past he has allowed himself to a majority of women and their bodies, so why does he look at you as if he’s never seen it before? 

It’s one of the few times you see him without his cocky exterior. He looks at you with eyes of gratitude, as if showing yourself to him is the greatest gift of mankind. 

Edmund holds your hand tightly as you walk out to the royal carriage. The driver holds the door open for you, but Edmund insists on helping you up in it. He sits down in front of you. The carriage is decorated with golden details and small cherubs.

“You don’t have to look like you’re being driven to your execution”, you say and raise your eyebrows. 

“I’m not happy about this”, he says. “This is something you want.”

“Can’t you be happy for me, then? Please, Eddie?”

His cheeks take on a red tone. The nickname has only been used by you, ever. You gave it to him, you’re the only one that is allowed to say it. The firs time you had said it, he hadn’t known how to react. He had been staring at you with large eyes, wondering what prompted you to give him a nickname when no one else had ever imagined to do such a thing. At first, he was unsure what he thought of the name. He was king Edmund. Had once been prince Edmund. Rarely Edmund. Never Eddie. 

“Fine”, he says and clears his throat, trying to play it off. “I’ll try. But don’t call me that when we’re there.”

“Are you scared that the townsfolk will lose respect for you if they hear that you have a cute, little nickname?” you giggle. 

Edmund rests his elbows on his knees and leans forward. 

“No”, he says, smirking devilishly. “Because I don’t want other people to know what you call out in bed.”

Your jaw hangs open in shock and you grab the pillow behind your back, hitting him. Edmund covers himself with his arms, laughing. 

“Watch the hair!” he shouts. 

“You didn’t like the hair anyway”, you remind him. 

“It’s Christmas, you’re supposed to be nice. Don’t be naughty!”

“Naughty? Who the hell started talking about naughty stuff? You started it!”

Edmund laughed. His blue eyes glittered. 

The carriage rolls into the town. You turn your eyes out the window to look at what you’ve been watching from afar. You get out together, Edmund holding onto you so that you don’t fall. The townsfolk keep a distance, knowing that the knights will go to attack if they come to close. Their bright eyes watch on as if they’ve seen something extraordinary. And maybe, you think, for them this is something extraordinary. 

Their eyes follow you to the christmas market. 

“All eyes are making me shy”, you whisper to Edmund. 

“Drink it all in, darling”, Edmund replies quietly. “They worship you, but not as much as I do … and if they try I’m going to kill them.”

“Be quiet!” you hiss. 

Edmund scoffs and rubs your back with his hand. You walk through the streets to the town’s square where multiple small sheds are put up, full of candy, baked bread, knitted goods and alcohol. While you walk around chit-chatting with the vendors, Edmund stands close behind you, a hand on you always. A warning, to everyone around you. You are his, and no one is going to forget that—absolutely not you. 

You buy something from every stand and insist of carrying it yourself. Edmund can’t understand why you want such … cheap crap. He can give you the same things but done well, made by professionals who cost him a fortune. He doesn’t let you eat anything and keeps a constant, watchful eyes around. 

“Smile a bit more, why don’t you?” he mutters in your ear. 

His jealousy is like a wildfire, spreading through him quickly and dangerously. With no easy way to stop it. 

“Edmund”, you whisper quietly. “Stop it.”

“You bought so much from that man”, he continued. “What did you hope to achieve?”

“Edmund!”

He stays silent the rest of the Christmas market. As soon as you get back to the carriage, he can’t keep quiet anymore. 

“Those are so fucking ugly”, says as the door to the carriage closes. 

“That is so unnecessarily mean”, you hiss back at him. “They don’t have what you have. They do their best. And, for having as little as they do, I think they look great.”

You hold your new treasures in your lap closely. 

“I don’t want to spend more time with you if you’re going to be like this”, you mumble without looking at him. 

You’re happy for your new things. But he doesn’t understand. Edmund sighs heavily, clenches his jaw and nods. 

“Okay”, he mutters and takes your hands in his. “I’m sorry … but I could have given you so much better things. If you wanted new mittens, I could have given you them. These things … who knows what could actually be in them?”

You put on the hand knitted mittens. 

“Take them off”, Edmund says, but he doesn’t sound angry or demanding like before. “Darling, my jewel, I’m serious. I don’t want you getting a rash, or something.”

“We’re taking a bath when we get back, don’t we?”

Edmund sighs and gives up. You hold up your hands.

“Aren’t they kind of cute?” you ask. “A little?”

“Fuck no.”

“What if I had made them?”

“You wouldn’t have. If you had knitted mittens, they’d be a thousand times better.”

“You are so mean.” You keep your eyes on your hands. “You were jealous out there too.”

“Of them? Of those filthy peasants?”

“Of those men.”

Edmund leans back in his seat, jaw tightening. 

“Men”, he scoffs and turns his head towards the window. “I wouldn’t call them ‘men’.”

“Childish jealousy doesn’t look good on a king”, you point out.

“You like it when I’m childish though. You laugh, whether you want to admit it or not.”

“You don’t need to be jealous over them. I don’t know them.”

“Everyone wants you. And it makes me sick.”

“Everyone wants you too.”

“They want to be me. But they want you. And I will never let that happen. You are mine.”

“I know. You’re the last person to let me forget that.”

When you get back to the castle, the two of you walk straight to the bathroom where the maids have poured a hot bubble bath that is burning to the touch. Edmund holds you close to him in his arms. 

The rest of the day is spent in the big living room, in front of the gigantic christmas tree that needed a dozen workers to decorate. Edmund wanted the entire town to be able to see the lights from his tree. 

“Merry Christmas, my love”, he says and holds out a red box.

You remove the wrapping smd open the box, finding a necklace with large, round pearls. It's heavy in your hands, and even heavier around your neck.

“These pears cost me quite a lot”, Edmund says and touches the pearls carefully. “But they're cheap in comparison to what my love for you is worth.”

And he means it. He really does.

[yan-lorkai]

I’m not sure if I can request this and I don’t know much about Halloween but I can totally imagine the first year gang starting a little pumpkin farm at Ramshackle. They’d carve pumpkins together and maybe sell some of them to earn a little pocket money

If it’s too much, no worries. just ignore this. Have a great day

.⁠｡⁠*���♡ A/n: This is such a lovely idea tbh, now i kinda of want to do something like this with my friends aaaa. This was supposed to be posted at 6am as always and i forget to queue it lol. Anyway, enjoy it darling!

The Ramshackle Dorm had never been busier nor more vibrant than now. It all started with a simple idea from Ace: “Hey, why don’t we grow some pumpkins here?” he had said a sunny afternoon, eyes glinting with mischief as gestured to the dead garden of his dorm.

“We can carve them for Halloween, and maybe even sell a few. Easy money, right?” He turned to Epel, who, just as mischievously, nodded.

With a few enthusiastic nods from Jack and Deuce, the plan was set in motion. Soon, even Sebek, who had initially scoffed at the idea as "a frivolous waste of time," found himself secretly invested when Malleus found out and praised him for having a hobby with a bunch of friends.

Days turned into weeks, and the once dead, wild yard of the Ramshackle Dorm was transformed. The first-year gang tilled the soil, planted seeds, and tended to their patch diligently. They took turns watering the sprouts, pulling out weeds, and shooing away curious crows. It was hard work, but there was a certain joy in it.

Jack took special pride in watching the tiny green shoots grow into fat, round pumpkins, while Epel appreciated the physical labor - he said that in that way he could gain muscles. Ace and Deuce made it a game, challenging each other to see who could grow the biggest pumpkin, which led to much bickering and laughter.

The yard was filled with the warm, earthy scent of pumpkins, and the air was filled with laughter. Each carved pumpkin was a reflection of its creator, scattered around the steps and windows of Ramshackle, glowing with flickering candles as the sun dipped below the horizon.

As the pumpkins ripened, the dorm's front yard slowly turned into a sea of orange, each pumpkin unique in size and shape. On one particularly crisp afternoon, as Halloween approached, they gathered around to start carving. Carving tools in hand, they sat in a circle, some humming, others chatting about what designs they’d make.

Ace boasted that he would create the scariest face, while Deuce shyly admitted he wanted to make a pumpkin with a cute smile so he could take a photo and sent it to his mother. Epel’s was, of course, carved with incredible detai l— a miniature masterpiece of intricate patterns, as he was used to carve apples. Jack’s was simple and classic, just like him. And Sebek, determined to outshine the rest, carved an elaborate dragon that he claimed was a tribute to his master, Malleus.

“Not bad, huh?” Ace said, admiring their work. “I mean, I could probably sell mine for way more than any of yours, but still.” He smirked, dodging a playful punch from Deuce.

“We’ll see about that,” You shot back, wiping your hands on your overalls. “Who wouldn’t want to buy one of mine?”

Throughout the day, the first-years ran the stand, chatting with students and selling their carved pumpkins. Sebek was surprisingly the best salesperson, his loud voice catching everyone’s attention and his pride making each pumpkin sound like a royal treasure. Epel made sure every customer left with a smile, slipping them a little extra vine or a perfect pumpkin seed as a token. Even Grim, though not directly involved in the growing process, found himself helping out, lured by the promise of sharing in the profits.

With their pumpkins carved, the group turned to the next phase of their plan. They set up a small stand by the gate, decorating it with the leftover vines and smaller pumpkins. A hand-painted sign read, "Pumpkins for Sale! Buy 1, Get 1 Free (if you can guess who carved it)!" It was Ace’s idea, of course, to add a little game to attract more customers. They were soon joined by curious students from other dorms, many who had heard about the little farm project and wanted to see the fruits (or rather, gourds) of their labor.

You still were surprised that their idea really attracted people. Even Sam was there, examining the pumpkins.

By the end of the evening, the pumpkin patch looked a bit emptier, but your pockets were a little heavier. All of you were tired, but it was the good kind of tired, where your cheeks hurt from smiling and your muscles ache in a satisfying way. As you sat together on the steps of Ramshackle, trapped between Deuce and Ace, watching the last of the daylight fade, there was a warm sense of accomplishment between them.

“This was a good idea,” Jack said, breaking the comfortable silence. “We should do it again next year.”

“Yeah,” Epel said, stretching out his arms. “Maybe we’ll even beat the big guys at their own game. Imagine if this little patch becomes the talk of Halloween.”

"What if other dorms try to do something like this, though?" You asked them.

You had so much fun those past few months, working at their side after clubs ended and the homework was made. You laughed, you chased them when they teamed up to tease you. Overall, it was the most fun you had since coming to this world.

Ace, who was using your left shoulder as a pillow, leaned up so he could see your eyes. "If this happens..." he looked at the other boys before catching your eyes again. "Then we'll crush them, no doubt."

"Figuratively speaking, right?"

Deuce smiled spread through his face as Epel laughed and Sebek and Jack tried to hide their face from you.

"Yeah... Figuratively speaking, of course, Prefect."

The others nodded, their eyes bright with ideas about what to do if the other students tried to do something like that.

As the night settled in, the carved pumpkins flickered warmly, casting playful shadows across the yard. And you felt as if, for just a moment, like you were back home with your small, happy family — gathered around a shared project, their laughter and camaraderie filling the air with something brighter than any candle could provide.

If you were here the next year, then you wanted to do the same thing with them again. And if you aren't... You wanted them to continue that little tradition.

[yearningandstillnotlearning]

𝑺𝑻𝑨𝒀 𝑺𝑶𝑭𝑻,

𝑮𝑬𝑻 𝑬𝑨𝑻𝑬𝑵.

A/N: okay bear with me, this is a ‘poem’ (i don’t know what else to call it) that i wrote and when i read over it i realised some girls here would appreciate this imagery with their own infatuations, so whilst its not written like fan-fiction i felt generous enough to share it and i hope at least 1 of you will like it, best part is that you can picture any one of your favourite girls!!! Instead of a name i call the other character “Pretty”, so keep that in mind while reading, and again, this isn’t written like fan-fiction, but still i would appreciate it if you gave it a shot and told me what you think ♡

tags: lesbian only, think anyone!, femme!r, metaphors, suggestive, nsfw undertones but they are so slight and hidden beneath the wordplay that i can’t really count this as nsfw, sadomasochistic in a way, did i forget something? Let me know!

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · ୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨ · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

I don’t want a cottage, i don’t want a life in simplicity and independency. I want a castle, i want an abandoned mansion adorned by vines hugging it long after solitude fell cold and loveless upon its very walls.

I want to hear the floors creak with every step, i want to hear the tremble of the floors effortlessly mirror the tremble of her legs, i want to have her, Pretty, and i want to keep her on her toes. I want, behind her gaze, to be as unpredictable as the grass around the mansion, a neglected ring of hues of green. Tall, short, eaten, rotten.

I want to give her the world, and i want to make her spin in the middle of it, i want to give her everything and make her feel like in a moment she could have nothing.

I want to make her dizzy and i want to make her euphoric, i want to see her scared and i want to hold her close, be the one to comfort her, Pretty.

I want our clothes to dance against each other when the weather drops and i take her out on walks, on the endless garden we’ve named ‘our hearts’ that no matter how long it’s been there for, untouched, unloved, uncared for, it just never seems to end.

I want her to let me tear her cotton fabrics apart and off, torn by grinding teeth and claw-like nails, hungry like a centuries-old vampire, lifetimes of self control and respect disintegrated in the very same time span Pretty’s clothes get ripped. Carefully laboured fabric, soft as freshly laved hair, made with the selfish, miserable thought of this granting them extra bread on their dinner plate.

And she would, she would let me tear her apart in one shared gaze. She would let me hold her and scratch her open, she would let me wound her because she knows i’ll be the one to heal her up again. And she knows i’ll do it before she can build the thought of asking me to.

She would let me darken her vision under the noon sun, heating and blinding. She would let me bruise her neck, violet splats trailing down her body like a rosemary. She would let me reach her depths and spin them around, it’d be nothing new to her, as long as her world is intertwined with mine she’s always spinning, she’s always dizzy. She would let me cradle her head as i treat her like fresh meat in aching, starved hands, because i’ve done so another hundred times, and each one she only seems more unwilted than the last.

Because she knows she’ll get me back.

Because she plans on making my darkest nights luminous, and she knows i’ll let her. The story is always the same; she unwraps me like a one-of-a-kind royal heirloom, her touches vigilant, precise on what she unfolds, what lies beneath her hands. And she knows i don’t fancy peace, her words forming clear juxtaposition to her touches, there are no blurred lines, my sense of touch and my sense of hearing are in two completely different words, and yet they co-exist in the pits of my stomach.

But like every child asking their parent to tell them a bedtime story, it doesn’t matter if its always the same, they always enjoy it the same. At the end of the day they fall asleep to it every time.

I’ll let her unwrap the lace off the corset, i’ll let her loosen every layer, watch the silks fall off my form, i’ll let her tell me the harshest things that leave my throat closing in on itself, as her hands soothe around my flesh getting me to ease up. She’ll rock me back and forth from being velvety to being cruel, i know it, and i will let her.

Because it takes two to dance, if you’re unable to match the other’s rhythm what’s the fun? It’s only enjoyable when you’re both having fun. 🫀

[cupids-chamber]

— THE CONCUBINE GAME !! | chapter one . . . The first chapter, where you'll be able to catch a climpse of the inner dynamics between the emperor's y/n's secretary and their personal guard, a small entry and brief taste of what's to come, while learning a bit more about our beloved emperor and their staff . . .

— Themes ; Harem / historical au , Twisted wonderland , multiple characters x reader , royalty au , includes rsa + yuuka/yuuken. ♡

The wind was howling, the pitter patter sound of rain could be heard throughout the grand walls of the palace. The sound of heels clicking urgently on the wooden floors, echoing through the empty halls, as Yuuken rushed his way through to the emperor's chambers. It was late, yet he’d been overworked all week preparing the palace for the arrival of certain selected members of the Royal Harem, some were particularly demanding with the way they wanted things sorted out and Yuuken prided himself on never failing to impress. 

He banged on the door rather aggressively, “Your majesty, I have certain design plans I need you to finalize before Prince Leona’s arrival, and the first few concubines enter the palace, we don’t have much time!”, he yelled out trying to get the emperor’s attention, it was already late into the night and the palace staff were working overtime meeting every demand that they were given. 

Yuuken flinched feeling something touch his shoulder, and right before he could move back and attack, he heard an all too familiar voice—”Don’t bother trying to get their attention, Y/n’s at a meeting”—Yuuka spoke, a small grin on her face while she watched Yuuken try and collect himself, “This late?”, he asked confused, “also please try and address them by proper titles in public”; Yuuka shrugged in response, pausing for a moment before she spoke up once more, “I’d like to keep things the way it is, and you should probably take a break because they’re not coming out of the room at all, it’s something about politics . . . I wasn’t really paying attention”. 

Yuuken sighed, slumping his shoulders as he leaned onto the door of the Emperor's chamber, “I-i . .  just want everything to be perfect, everything’s been so . . hectic for their majes—y/n and I just really want to provide some stability, you know?”, he said softly, letting his exhaustion take over for a moment and Yuuka’s expression softened, “Hey—you’re doing great, there's a reason y/n gave you full creative liberty”, she ruffled his hair giving him a genuine smile, “don’t push yourself too hard alright? None of us are expecting you to be perfect, not even y/n . .” she finished, as Yuuken closed his eyes and whispered a small, “I know . . .”

Setting: Meeting room Location: The west wing. Time: 11:36pm 

You fiddle with your fingers, trying to shift the jewelry that you were covered in, in an attempt to feel more comfortable with the weight that the jewels provided, holding you down . . , as another argument ensues between the nobles, these past few days have felt like a choir, in fact most of the months since you ascended have felt terrible, nothings been exciting—from inheriting an empire doomed to fail, to trying to pick up the scraps of what was left of your fathers reckless decisions and fixing it into something at least palatable, the pressure of everything has left you in a bottomless pit, you needed freedom a refreshing start—something you lost—when you inherited the throne . . . 

“—Ah, your majesty?”, one of the nobles spoke up, and you bit your lip, how you hated that title, the moment you inherited this role, your friendships haven’t quite been the same, everyone who you’ve trusted in the past, have now become just another subject, trust is no longer something you earn, as loyalty and trust is to be expected when the crown is on your head.

Setting: Inner Cold Palace Garden Location: Rundown Gazebo Time: 12:46am 

"—and they never thanked me'', Yuuken hiccuped out, words slurring due to his alcohol intake, he waved the half finished bottle of some form of expensive imported wine in his hands, swinging it around dramatically; Yuuka chuckled, taking a sip from her glass as she looked around at the scenery of the garden—it used to be much prettier and well taken care of, way back before the previous emperor—y/n’s father—went haywire. . . 

"Hey Yuuken, remember when we used to play together here?" she asked without thinking, meeting his eyes for a brief moment all the while Yuuken took another big gulp from his wine bottle . . and then he spoke, "Yeah—you and y/n pushed me into the lake, I still hate the water", he slurred over his words slightly and Yuuka chuckled in response, if only things could've stayed as simple, but now Y/n didn't even have the time to maintain the garden where they're friendship once first blossomed, Yuuka sighed, leaning her head down on the table—which had seen better days— . .  the same could be said about their relationship with y/n themselves . . 

Masterlist | Introductions (being reworked) | Next chapter

♡. Synposis ; After many months of persuading, the emperor, Y/N L/N had finally agreed to take in a select few concubines and consorts—not an official partner.. but concubines. This caused an uproar in court; however the emperor promised to choose an official partner; amongst the crowd of concubines and consorts.. Who will the emperor choose?

— taglist ♡ (open) : . . tumblr is not letting me mention over 5 people per post, and the staff won't do anything about it, so I recommend just joining my server and picking out the new chapter ping role as it makes things easier for me.

© cupids-chamber, do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work without prior permission and or confirmation.

[wholoveseggs]

Yearning

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Request from @sweetieseven: Lissaa, I have something in mind right now I've been thinking about Elijah in 1400s (his long hair and sweet smile! The way he kissed Katherine's hand!) I would love to read a story about a lady that's very smitten of him! And that she's married (so, it's kinda controversial) And my favourite author is you, so I hope you can make this happen! Luvv

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!Reader} Hired by Rebekah to paint her family’s portrait, you find yourself irresistibly drawn to her eldest brother, Elijah. But with a husband bound by ambition and society’s stifling expectations, surrendering to forbidden desire could change your life forever...

♡♡ Thank you for the request darling!!! Medieval Elijah is such a dreamm ♡♡

9k words {I can't be contained} - Warnings: smutttt, oral sex {f!receiving}, riding, public sex, outdoor sex, forbidden romance, Rebekah wants to eat you... but then becomes your friend, medieval court intrigue, Elijah being devastatingly intense and charming, lots of sexual tension, marital discord, possessive Elijah, protective Elijah, manipulative dynamics, cheating, mild violence, betrayal, secrets, gardens, power imbalances && a family portrait..

@gorgeouslydangerous @starkleila @lydia1369sworld @notleylaaa @vampiresluv

@myanmy @xflowerbombxo @maryvibess @always-and-forever-daydreaming

@spnaquakindgdom @amournoir @meeom @damienmorton @wickedmuse

@cs-please @complicatedandconfusing-25 @youcanhavemybuckanyday @akala6670229 @yeaiamme2

@itsjulzandmydiamonds @witch-of-letters @elijahstwink @rosecentury

@amanda08319 @starshipcookie @li-da-savage @veggie-eggrolls @spideybv28

@sunkissedebony97 @idk00sblog @savannaounana @sekaishell @b1tchy

@loving-and-dreaming @fancycassie-stayfancy @hcqwxrtss123 @iamawkwardandshy @ziayamikaelson

@absolutemarveltrash @darkened-writer @nina6708 @evasmlp

@madeinmyownmind-blog @lovelyy-moonlight @blacknightrises @poppet05 @sweetieseven

@xoxo-shy @nova-j @decaffeinatedparadisepost @fandom-princess-forevermore @theotherworld97

@origshipfan @cocoabliss @eternalnoble

Your husband, the son of a wealthy trader, was as calculating as he was relentless. He lived for the approval of the court, bowing and scraping before the nobles in hopes of securing a title. You’d never felt much for him, even in the early days of your marriage, when your father had insisted this union would secure your family's future. But his recent desperation to curry favor with the visiting Mikaelson family had made his flaws all the more glaring. Every word from his mouth was flattery, every gesture self-serving. You knew he would sell his own soul if it meant earning the smallest amount of praise from one of his betters.

And yet, you could not entirely blame him. The Mikaelsons had a reputation that preceded them. They were a family steeped in power and mystery, their arrival casting a shadow over the court. The noblewomen gossiped in hushed whispers about their strange allure, their almost otherworldly beauty.

"Have you seen the younger one? Ser Kol," one woman had whispered during the last banquet. "He’s often in the lower streets... no doubt consorting with common girls."

Another had leaned in closer, voice dripping with scandal. "And the middle brother? Niklaus. I heard he shares his bed with whomever pleases him, man or woman."

"And the sister, Rebekah," a third chimed in, "has every lord at court vying for her hand. A face like hers could launch kingdoms."

But it was the eldest brother who had caught your attention. Unlike his siblings, he carried himself with quiet restraint, his presence commanding without needing to demand. You’d only seen him in passing.. a fleeting glance in the library, the sweep of his long hair as he walked the castle corridors, or the faintest trace of a smile during a royal symphony. The whispers about him were fewer, but they lingered in your mind.

Elijah Mikaelson. The name alone made your pulse quicken.

You knew better than to seek his attention. And yet, you couldn't stop yourself from wondering. What was he like beneath his noble composure? What thoughts occupied his mind as he listened to the symphonies, or perused the stacks of the castle library? Was his heart truly as cold and hard as the rumors suggested?

A royal feast had been organized in honor of the Mikaelson family, a grand display of wealth and power that you suspected was meant to impress the siblings. The entire court had been invited, including yourself and your husband, whose eyes were constantly darting between the different noblemen, as though seeking an opening for conversation. You knew he had plans to corner Lord Elijah and attempt to curry his favor.

You were already growing weary of his scheming.

The music drifted throughout the great hall, a delicate blend of lutes and drums that you could barely hear over the din of chatter. Your husband had left your side, and you watched as he approached a group of young lords, joining their conversation with the usual charm and flattery.

You sighed. How you despised these affairs. Nothing of substance ever came from the empty conversations, the meaningless platitudes, the frivolous displays. All around you, people were dancing and laughing and drinking, while you stood in the shadows, a hollow ache settling in your chest..

It was in this moment of despair, when you felt most alone, that you noticed him. Lord Elijah was standing beside the great oak doors, his long hair pulled back from his face, the faintest hint of stubble shading his sharp jaw. He was dressed in a black doublet and pants, the silver embroidery catching the light as he moved. His expression was placid, almost unreadable, his dark eyes focused on something across the hall.

When you followed his gaze, you saw he was watching his brother, Niklaus, as the blond lord conversed with a young lady. There was a strange tension in the air, one that was almost palpable. You couldn't be sure, but you sensed Lord Elijah's disapproval of his brother's behavior.

As if sensing your attention, Elijah's eyes shifted, and he turned his gaze to you. His expression was difficult to read, his eyes dark and deep, and for a moment, you thought you saw something there, a glimpse of the man behind the facade.

A flush rose to your cheeks, and you quickly averted your gaze, looking away, heart racing. You had not expected to be caught staring. You cursed yourself for your foolishness.

When you dared a glance back at Elijah, he was gone. You scanned the hall, searching for him, but there was no sign of him among the throng of people. He had disappeared as quickly and as quietly as he'd arrived.

You let out a breath, feeling strangely disappointed, and then headed towards the table, where the wine was flowing freely. If you were going to survive this night, you would need to numb yourself with drink.

You poured yourself a cup of wine, the dark liquid sloshing over the rim, and took a sip. The sweet taste washed over your tongue, and you closed your eyes, savoring the sensation. You had a feeling it would be a long night.

"It's not that good," a sweet voice teased from behind you.

You spun around, nearly spilling your drink, and came face-to-face with Lady Rebekah. She looked lovely in a soft blue gown, her fair skin glowing in the candlelight, her golden hair cascading down her shoulders and her eyes sparking with mischief.

"Forgive me," you said, trying not to sound as flustered as you felt.

She took the cup out of your hand and tasted the wine, her lips twisting with disgust. “Just dreadful.”

You smiled despite yourself, charmed by her candor. "What are you doing here?"

"I was looking for you." Her words were bold and direct, and you had the sense she was used to getting her way.

"Me?"

She nodded. "Your husband told me you're an artist. I wanted to see your work."

"You have an interest in art?" You were surprised. Most ladies of the court had no such inclinations.

"Of course," she said. "Everyone else is obsessed with the latest fashions and gossip, but I prefer to occupy my mind with more meaningful things."

You couldn't help but feel a sense of kinship with her, and your heart warmed towards her. It was lonely being a woman at court, and it was refreshing to have someone understand the need for more than just the petty concerns of the nobility.

"I'd be happy to show you my paintings," you said, and the smile she gave you made your stomach do a little flip.

"Excellent." She tucked her arm into yours, pulling you close, and began to lead you out of the great hall. "Let's go, before anyone else decides they need our attention."

You laughed, feeling light and free, as she pulled you down the corridor, the two of you giggling like girls at their first festival.

"Rebekah," a stern voice cut through the laughter.

You froze, heart pounding. The voice belonged to none other than Lord Elijah.

Rebekah's smile fell, and she turned, pulling you along with her. "Yes, brother?"

Elijah's eyes landed on you, and you felt your heart skip a beat. He was even more handsome up close, his features strong and striking. "Where are you off to?"

"To look at some paintings that my lovely companion has made," Rebekah said, her arm still looped around yours.

"That sounds delightful," he said, his tone even. "I'd like to join you."

Rebekah pouted, a silent conversation passing between the siblings.

"Please," he added, softening his words.

You weren't sure what was happening, but it seemed the two of them were having a private discussion, and you were only getting fragments of it.

Rebekah let out a dramatic sigh. "Very well, brother."

She led you down the corridor, Elijah following behind. You tried to ignore his presence, but the sound of his footsteps was like a drumbeat in your mind, a constant reminder that he was near.

You stored your work in a small chamber adjacent to your rooms. There was a single chair and a narrow window that looked out onto the courtyard.

"I come here to sketch," you said, by way of explanation. "It's peaceful."

Rebekah glanced around the room, taking in the canvases and the brushes, the jars of paint and the wooden easel. She seemed bored by it, which disappointed you, but Elijah looked curious, his gaze sweeping over the room.

"You are quite talented, a true artist," he said.

"It's a hobby," you replied, shrugging.

"No," he said, his eyes finding yours. "An artist is an artist, whether it's their sole occupation or simply a pastime. It doesn't diminish the passion and dedication."

"Such a flatterer," Rebekah quipped, a touch of sarcasm in her voice.

Elijah ignored her, his gaze still fixed on you. "May I see more of your work?"

You nodded, unable to find your voice. There was something about his attention that made your stomach flutter, and you had the sudden urge to please him.

You pulled out a sketchbook and handed it to him. He opened it and began to leaf through the pages, his eyes scanning the drawings. You tried not to watch his reaction, but it was impossible not to notice the small smile that tugged at his lips.

"These are lovely," he said, and the sincerity in his voice made you blush. "You capture nature in such a unique way."

"Thank you," you said, and he closed the book, handing it back to you.

"Perhaps you'll paint a portrait of me," Rebekah suggested.

You shook your head, the suggestion startling you. "I'm not very good with portraits. People are difficult to capture."

"Nonsense," she replied. "If my brother can see the beauty in your work, then surely you can capture my own."

"Rebekah..." Elijah's voice was a warning, and you had the sense there was more to this conversation than you realized.

She turned to him, a defiant look on her face. "What? I wish for a portrait. Is that so wrong?"

"Not at all," he replied, his tone measured. "But perhaps now is not the best time."

She crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. "Are you really going to spoil this for me? While Kol and Niklaus drink from every-"

"Enough," he cut her off.

She let out a frustrated sigh and stormed out of the room.

You stood there awkwardly, not sure what had just happened.

"My apologies," Elijah said. "Rebekah can be... a bit much at times."

"It's fine," you said, but the tension in the air was palpable.

He turned to leave, but then stopped, his hand resting on the door frame. "Be careful with her," he said, his voice softening. "Rebekah can be very charming, and she doesn't always think about the consequences of her actions."

"I'll keep that in mind," you said, not entirely sure what he meant.

He paused for a moment, and then met your gaze, his eyes dark and intense. "I look forward to seeing more of your work."

With that, he left, the door closing behind him, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

What a strange family.

Rebekah returned the next day, her demeanor much calmer. She came to visit you in the morning, before the court was abuzz with activity. You were seated in the main room of your chambers, sketching as your husband droned on about something unimportant. You could barely hear his words over the scratching of your quill on the parchment.

As soon as Rebekah entered the room, her presence commanded attention, and your husband immediately stopped speaking.

“Lady Rebekah,” he said, quickly rising to his feet.

“Forgive me,” she said, her words dripping with insincerity. “I did not mean to interrupt.”

“Nonsense,” he replied, smiling. “You are always welcome here.”

“Thank you,” she said, returning his smile before turning her attention to you. “I was hoping we might continue our conversation from last night.”

Your husband looked from you to her, clearly puzzled. He had been desperate to gain favor with any of the Mikaelsons, and the fact that she had sought you out was both unexpected and unnerving to him.

“Of course,” you said, rising from your chair. “You wished for a portrait.”

Your husband scoffed. He had never approved of your artistic pursuits and often complained about how much time they occupied.

“Actually, I was thinking a family portrait,” she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Wouldn’t that be splendid?”

“Absolutely,” your husband replied, eager to seize any opportunity to curry favor. “She would be honored.”

“Wonderful,” she said, her smile broadening. “I shall send someone to fetch you later.”

With that, she turned and left, leaving the two of you alone once more. Your husband was practically giddy, his excitement over the prospect of gaining favor with the Mikaelsons clearly evident. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of irritation, as though your work was only valued for its potential to impress the nobility.

“I don’t know how you managed it, dear wife, but you’ve secured us a place at their table,” he said, practically beaming.

You sighed, knowing there was no way out of this. The prospect of painting the family was daunting, but it would make your husband happy, and perhaps bring him one step closer to his dream of earning a title.

"Of course," you said, forcing a smile.

You didn't share his enthusiasm. In truth, the thought of spending any amount of time with the Mikaelsons made you uneasy, but you really couldn't say why. There was just something about them that told you to run far away.

Elijah had secured a large chamber with ample light, the morning sun streaming in through the tall, arched windows. The Mikaelson family was gathered around a heavy oaken table, their expressions ranging from bored to mildly irritated. Rebekah was the only one who appeared genuinely enthusiastic, her radiant smile lighting her face as she posed for the portrait.

"Is this really necessary?" Kol complained.

"Yes," Elijah replied, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"Kol, go sit next to Niklaus, and stop complaining," Rebekah chided.

Kol grumbled, but did as he was told, taking his place beside his brother.

You felt a nervous tremor in your hands as you adjusted your easel and arranged your pigments, your hands shaking slightly. You could feel their eyes on you, the weight of their attention making the task feel impossible.

Niklaus was particularly unsettling, his eyes tracking your movements, a slight smile playing on his lips. You couldn't read his expression, but something about it made you uneasy.

“I hear you paint landscapes,” he remarked, his tone laced with condescension.

“I do,” you replied, doing your best to sound composed.

“Interesting,” he mused, his words slow and deliberate. “What makes you think you are qualified to paint my family’s portrait?”

“I suppose I’m not,” you admitted, unable to hide the tremor in your voice.

“Ignore him,” Rebekah interjected sharply, shooting her brother a withering look. “He only grows competitive when the subject of art is raised. He acts as though he has some divine monopoly over the matter.”

“That is not true,” Niklaus retorted, though his tone lacked conviction.

“So you are a painter as well?” you asked Niklaus, striving to keep the conversation light.

“Among other things,” he replied, the faintest trace of a smile playing on his lips.

“Like what?” you asked, curiosity getting the better of you.

“Many things,” he said, his eyes meeting yours. “But mostly, I enjoy capturing the human form.”

The innuendo was not lost on you, and you felt your cheeks flush. Kol chuckled softly, clearly amused by his brother’s remarks.

“Enough, Niklaus,” Elijah interjected, his tone sharp and unyielding.

“Yes, yes,” Niklaus replied, his tone bored but his expression still mischievous.

You turned your focus back to the painting and began sketching the outline, but the arrangement of the siblings felt awkward. The positioning of their bodies only seemed to emphasize the tension in the room.

“How is this?” Rebekah asked, adjusting her posture gracefully.

“I’m not sure,” you admitted, struggling to find the right words.

“You could paint me nude,” Niklaus offered, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “That would certainly liven things up a bit.”

Elijah smacked the back of Niklaus’s head with a swift hand, and the room erupted in laughter.

“Enough,” Elijah commanded again, though the faintest hint of a smile tugged at his lips.

Despite your unease, you couldn’t help but feel drawn in by the Mikaelsons’ strange energy. There was something magnetic about their banter, even if it was overwhelming.

You stood and began repositioning Kol and Niklaus, each of them watching your efforts with mild amusement.

“Must I hold still?” Kol teased, feigning irritation.

“Yes,” you replied, your patience already wearing thin with his antics.

“How long will this take?” he complained, shifting in his seat.

“I’ll make sure to paint you first,” you promised, trying to keep your composure despite his constant interruptions.

“Excellent,” he said, grinning as though you had done him a great favor.

Rebekah was easy to pose, her natural grace evident in the way she carried herself. When you approached Elijah, however, your heart quickened, the thought of touching him sending a rush of heat through your body.

“Could you turn towards the light?” you asked, striving to keep your voice steady.

“Certainly,” he replied, shifting his position with an elegance that matched his demeanor.

You reached out to adjust his arm, your fingertips brushing against the firm muscle beneath his finely tailored doublet. You swallowed hard, determined to ignore the way his presence unsettled you.

“Is this acceptable?” he asked, his voice low and smooth.

“Yes,” you said quickly, stepping back to regain your composure.

He gave you a knowing smile, as though he could read the thoughts you were struggling to suppress.

As the session wore on, you found yourself more at ease among the siblings. They were an odd bunch, much like the other ridiculously wealthy nobles you had encountered, but with a surprising playfulness that set them apart. Their teasing and laughter filled the chamber, and by the time the sun began to dip in the sky, you realized you were enjoying their company.

“How many more sessions will there be?” Kol asked, stretching his arms above his head like a restless squire.

“As many as it takes,” Elijah replied, his tone leaving no room for debate.

“Only one more for Kol and Niklaus,” you said, carefully packing away your supplies.

“Thank goodness,” Kol quipped, his grin as mischievous as ever.

You smiled, charmed by his lightheartedness. Despite their eccentricities, the Mikaelsons were not as imposing as you had first feared. Perhaps, given time, you might even consider them friends.

“Shall we continue tomorrow?” Elijah asked, his tone both calm and assured.

You nodded, a strange thrill coursing through you at the thought of another day in their company.

With that, the siblings departed, leaving you alone with your thoughts. Your emotions were conflicted, and the sensation was foreign to you. You were used to feeling numb, resigned to your fate as a lonely wife, but the Mikaelsons had sparked a flame within you, a spark of curiosity and interest that you hadn't felt in years.

You let out a sigh and began tidying up the chamber. Your life was full of rules and obligations, but there was something about the Mikaelsons that made you feel like a bird longing for the sky. You couldn't explain it, and perhaps you never would, but the pull was undeniable.

You took a long walk before returning to your chambers and your husband greeted you, brimming with excitement.

“Lord Elijah has invited us to a private supper next week,” he announced, his voice filled with pride.

“A private supper?” You were surprised. Elijah had been polite but distant, and you hadn’t expected him to show such a level of interest.

“Yes,” he replied, practically giddy. “He is apparently eager to hear my thoughts on the kingdom’s trade agreements.”

You weren’t entirely shocked. Your husband had managed to carve out a name for himself among merchants and lesser nobility, though his opinions were rarely sought after by those of Elijah’s rank.

“That is wonderful,” you said, forcing a smile.

“Indeed,” he replied with a flourish. “We shall need to procure new attire.”

You frowned, knowing this would cost dearly. Your husband’s ambitions had already drained much of the household’s coffers, and yet another expense seemed likely to drive you further into debt.

“Whatever you think best,” you said, unwilling to provoke an argument.

He leaned down and kissed your cheek, his mustache brushing against your skin and making you suppress a cringe.

“It’s going to be a good year,” he declared, patting your arm with confidence. “I can feel it.”

You smiled and nodded, trying to match his enthusiasm, though the truth was, you longed for something of your own.

One thing that didn't have to be tainted by his aspirations.

The next few days were a blur as you worked to complete the portrait before the supper. The siblings had grown accustomed to sitting for the painting, and you managed to finish Kol and Niklaus without much difficulty.

Rebekah was particular, but you understood her desire to present herself at her best. You took care to subtly enhance her already striking features, ensuring she seemed alive on the canvas.

“You are all done, Rebekah,” you said, feeling a surge of satisfaction at the finished product.

She rose gracefully from the chair and approached the painting to inspect it. She looked radiant, her golden hair cascading over her shoulders, her blue eyes glinting with vitality.

“It’s perfect,” she declared, turning to smile at you. “All that remains now is dear Elijah.”

A flush rose to your cheeks at the mention of his name. Elijah was the last to be painted, and the thought of being alone with him was both thrilling and nerve-wracking.

He smiled then, his gaze locking with yours, and for a moment, it felt as if he could see straight into your soul, discerning every unspoken emotion swirling within you.

Rebekah kissed your cheek in farewell, her touch light and affectionate, before sweeping out of the room.

Now, only Elijah remained.

You had already sketched his outline, and all that was left was to refine the details. As you studied his face, your nerves fluttered anew. The faint creases of his smile, the dark stubble along his sharp jaw. He was so handsome that it almost hurt to look at him.

Picking up a brush, you dipped it into the paint and began the final stage of the portrait. His eyes followed your movements, though he remained silent, the quiet stretching between you.

“Have you always enjoyed art?” he asked suddenly, his deep voice breaking the stillness.

You startled slightly but recovered quickly. “I suppose so,” you replied, keeping your focus on the canvas. “Since I was a child, I’ve always been fascinated by color and light.”

“An admirable quality,” he said warmly.

“Thank you,” you murmured, your cheeks warming under his praise.

His eyes lingered on you, and you felt your pulse quicken beneath his steady gaze.

“Your husband has been quite vocal about his ambitions,” he remarked, and your heart sank.

You had hoped the task at hand would steer the conversation elsewhere, but it seemed your husband’s reputation for greed had preceded him.

“Yes,” you replied softly, unsure how best to answer.

“He seeks a title,” Elijah said, his tone calm and matter-of-fact.

“I’m aware,” you replied, unable to mask the bitterness that crept into your voice.

“You don’t seem enthused by the prospect,” he observed, his sharp eyes studying you.

“His ambitions are his own,” you said, deflecting as you focused your attention on the canvas.

“And what of your ambitions?” he asked, his words soft but pointed. You felt the air between you shift, heavy with unspoken meaning.

“What do you mean?” you asked cautiously, glancing at him.

“I mean, what would make you happy? Is a title something you desire?”

You paused, his question taking root in your mind. The truth was, you hadn’t often considered what might make you happy. Your happiness had never been a priority, least of all to your husband.

“Are you married, Lord Mikaelson?” you asked, changing the subject as you carefully added the dark wisps of his eyelashes to the portrait.

“It’s Elijah,” he corrected gently, his eyes meeting yours. “And no, I am not married.”

“Well… marriage is about compromise,” you said, your tone measured. “My duty is to support my husband and help him achieve his goals.”

“But what of your own needs and desires?” he pressed, his gaze unwavering. The question caught you off guard.

“I am fortunate enough to have a hobby that satisfies some of those,” you replied, though the words felt inadequate, leaving you feeling unexpectedly exposed.

He was silent for a moment, and you thought the conversation had ended, but then he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You deserve far more than that.”

Your breath caught, and your gaze lifted to meet his. His words struck deeply, piercing through the layers of propriety and obligation that had shaped your life.

“I’m sure your future wife will be a fortunate woman,” you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

He chuckled softly, his eyes sparkling with quiet amusement. “I doubt that very much.”

You didn’t know how to respond. The sudden intimacy between you was overwhelming, and you quickly turned your attention back to the canvas, focusing intently on the portrait to steady yourself.

But Elijah continued to ask you questions... questions no one had ever bothered to ask. He seemed genuinely interested in your thoughts and feelings, and you found yourself opening up to him in ways you hadn’t expected. You spoke of your childhood, your dreams, your fears, and he listened, his attention unwavering.

“And what of you?” you asked, hoping to shift the focus away from yourself. “It must be difficult, being the eldest brother.”

“It can be,” he admitted, his smile fading into something more introspective. “My brothers can be… boisterous at times.”

“Rebekah mentioned that,” you said lightly, hoping to ease the mood.

“She’s the wildest of us all,” he replied with a soft chuckle. “But she has a good heart.”

“I can see that,” you said, smiling.

He paused, his expression thoughtful, as though weighing his next words. “It’s rare for my family to enjoy the company of someone outside our circle,” he said, his gaze meeting yours. “Your friendship is a gift.”

A flutter stirred in your chest at his words, which touched something deep within you. You hadn’t realized how lonely you had been until you spent time with the Mikaelsons, who had brought a warmth into your life that had long been absent.

“I am honored to be considered a friend,” you said sincerely, and his smile softened in response.

“May I see?” he asked, gesturing toward the portrait.

“Of course,” you said, stepping aside.

He moved closer to the painting, his gaze traveling across the canvas. His eyes widened slightly, and you caught the glimmer of admiration in his expression.

“You have captured us all so perfectly,” he said, the sincerity in his tone sending a rush of warmth through you.

“Thank you,” you replied, unable to hide the pride in your voice.

“Rebekah was right,” he said, turning back to you. “You are an artist.”

You smiled, and he stepped closer, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your breath catch.

“I shall treasure this painting,” he said, his voice low and earnest. “And, of course, ensure you are handsomely rewarded for it.”

“It’s a gift,” you said softly, wanting him to understand just how much this meant to you.

“Nonsense. I cannot accept a gift of such value,” he replied, though the faintest hint of a smile tugged at his lips. “Perhaps we could reach a compromise.”

“What did you have in mind?” you asked, curiosity stirring within you.

“I will grant the title your husband so desperately seeks,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper.

You could only stare at him, his offer leaving you stunned. It was the last thing you had expected, and for a moment, you wondered if he was jesting.

“But in return, I would ask for one more thing,” he continued, his eyes holding yours with unwavering intensity.

“And what is that?” you asked, your breath catching.

He reached for your hand, his touch warm and startlingly intimate. “A truth.”

“A truth?” you repeated, your confusion evident.

“Yes,” he said, his tone as soft as the flicker of a candle’s flame. “Tell me... do you feel the same way about me as I do about you?”

Your eyes locked with his, and your heart raced as if caught in a dream. The answer came easily, as if it had always been waiting to be spoken.

“Yes.”

His lips curved into a smile as he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of your palm.

“You are beautiful, like one of your paintings,” he murmured, his gaze never leaving yours. “I find myself quite envious of your husband, who shares your bed each night.”

You had been drawn to him from the start, and now, as he stood before you, you felt an undeniable connection. He was kind, charming, and devastatingly handsome, and for a moment, you wondered if perhaps you had found someone who could understand you, someone who could see past the walls you had built around your heart.

He leaned in, capturing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. A spark of heat coursed through your body, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to dissolve into nothingness.

The proper thing would have been to pull away, to remind him of your vows and the sanctity of your marriage. But instead, you returned the kiss, the passion igniting within you like a forbidden flame.

His hands found your waist, pulling you closer, and as the kiss deepened, you knew you were lost. Your heart was his for the taking, and nothing else seemed to matter.

Gently, he guided you back until you felt the sturdy surface of the table against your hips. Your fingers threaded through his hair, drawing him closer, and he let out a low moan that sent a fiery thrill through your veins.

Breaking the kiss, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his hands stilling on your hips, though his voice carried a tremor of restraint.

"No," you breathed, the word barely audible.

He grinned and lifted you onto the table, his mouth crashing back against yours. He lifted your skirts, his fingers brushing against your bare thighs, and you felt a thrill of pleasure run through you.

Your hands sought the laces of his doublet, fumbling as you tried to feel the warmth of his skin beneath the fabric. You couldn't get enough of him, his taste, his scent, the feel of his body pressed against yours.

"So lovely," he whispered, his hands moving up your thighs, his fingers finding their mark.

A gasp escaped your lips as your body responded to his touch, heat building within you. His grin was both knowing and triumphant as he began a slow, torturous rhythm that left you breathless, each stroke teasing and coaxing you closer to the edge.

He pressed kisses along your jawline, his lips trailing a molten path down the curve of your neck. Your body arched against him instinctively, your hips moving in time with his hand.

Then he knelt before you, his head dipping beneath your skirts, and you gripped the edge of the table, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Elijah, what are you-” The question died on your lips as his tongue found a place of exquisite sensitivity, drawing a low moan from you.

His hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer, and your toes curled as waves of pleasure rippled through you. You had never imagined that a man could kiss you there, and the feel of his hot, wet tongue was utterly exquisite.

His tongue danced across your most sensitive core, the sensation unlike anything you had ever known. The pleasure built steadily, a white-hot heat coiling low in your belly, threatening to consume you.

Your husband had never touched you like this, had never made you feel this alive. Closing your eyes, you surrendered to the moment, your moans growing louder as the ecstasy surged within you.

Your fingers wove into his hair, tugging him closer, and he groaned against you, the vibration sending a shudder through your body. The release was powerful, leaving you trembling in its wake.

He emerged from beneath your skirts, his lips glistening with evidence of his devotion, a satisfied grin lighting his face. Your cheeks burned, feeling exposed, and yet, utterly content.

He kissed you again, his lips warm and insistent, and you tasted yourself there. Instead of repulsion, it only stoked the fire within you, the desire flaring anew.

“If you were my wife, I would cherish you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

You froze, his words washing over you, leaving your mind spinning. Was he serious? Could this truly be happening?

“I would love you,” he continued, his gaze unwavering. “Every day.”

“Elijah,” you whispered, his name catching in your throat. Your hand rose to cup his cheek, and he leaned into your touch, his eyes locked on yours with an intensity that made your heart ache.

He was offering you everything you had ever dreamed of. It was all too much, too fast. You knew the cost of this moment. The ruin it would bring to your marriage, your reputation, and the life you had known. But as you looked into Elijah’s eyes, you saw the glimmer of something more, something wonderful. It was terrifying to believe in.

“We cannot,” you said at last, your voice trembling.

His smile faltered, and a shadow passed over his expression, leaving it guarded.

“I understand,” he said quietly, though the disappointment in his eyes was unmistakable.

“It’s not what I want,” you added quickly, desperate for him to know the truth.

“But it is what must be,” he replied, his tone heavy with resignation.

You kissed him once more, the touch lingering as if to hold onto the moment just a little longer, before pulling away.

He helped you down from the table, his hands steady as your skirts fell back into place. You straightened the fabric with trembling fingers, the weight of what had transpired pressing upon you.

He sighed, the sound heavy with resignation. “I will see you at the supper,” he said, his voice carrying a sadness that pierced your heart.

“Until then,” you replied softly, fighting the desperate urge to stay.

He took your hand, pressing one last kiss to the back of it, the gesture tender and filled with unspoken meaning. Then he bid you farewell and turned to go, leaving the chamber.

You watched him leave, your chest tight with conflicting emotions. You knew you had made a mistake, one that could ruin you both, and yet, as you recalled the way he had held you, you could not bring yourself to regret it.

The night of the supper arrived, and you felt a flutter of nerves. It would be the first time you had seen Elijah since your encounter in the studio, and you knew that your feelings would be impossible to hide.

As your carriage pulled up to the Mikaelson manor, its grand stone façade illuminated by the glow of torches, you could barely contain your racing thoughts.

Stepping out, you gazed up at the magnificent hall, its imposing architecture a testament to the wealth and influence of the Mikaelson family. Your husband, beside you, was brimming with excitement, his greatest ambition on the verge of realization. You, however, felt only apprehension.

He spoke animatedly with some of the other guests, his arm draped loosely around your waist, using you as an ornament to enhance his image.

“Ah, Lord Elijah!” your husband called out, his voice cheerful. “Just the man I wished to see.”

Elijah approached, dressed in a formal white doublet, composed and handsome as ever. His dark eyes flicked over you, lingering for a moment, and you felt a blush creep up your neck.

“What a splendid home,” your husband remarked, oblivious to the tension in the air. “It must require great effort to maintain a residence of this size.”

Elijah smirked, though his gaze was still drawn to you. “It does,” he replied smoothly, his words laced with an undertone only you could catch, “but I find the cost well worth the investment.”

Your husband launched into a lengthy discourse on his vision for the kingdom’s agricultural policies, extolling the opportunities for a new golden age and hinting at Elijah’s potential involvement. Elijah nodded politely, offering measured responses, but his focus never truly left you, his dark eyes drinking you in.

“Your wife is an astounding artist; the portrait she painted of my family was truly breathtaking,” Elijah said, his dark eyes meeting yours and holding them.

“Oh yes, she has many talents,” your husband replied dismissively, his tone devoid of the admiration Elijah's carried.

“We shall present it to the court this evening after the final course,” Elijah announced smoothly.

“We shall?” you blurted out, unable to hide your surprise.

“Of course,” Elijah said with a grin, his expression full of delight. “It is far too beautiful not to share.”

You blushed, the compliment sending a rush of heat through you. Your husband didn't value your work, not the way Elijah did. It was a heady sensation, knowing that someone thought so highly of you.

"Well, isn't it out darling artist," Kol said as he approached you. "My sister is absolutely mad about the portrait."

Your husband’s posture stiffened as he noticed how at ease the Mikaelsons were with you.

“Yes, well, my wife is skilled in her pursuits,” he said, his smile tight and uncomfortable.

Elijah continued speaking with you, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he encouraged you to share your thoughts. The conversation flowed easily, and you found yourself opening up in a way that felt both liberating and dangerous. Elijah seemed genuinely engaged, his attention unwavering, which only made your husband’s irritation more apparent.

Thankfully, Elijah soon excused himself, moving to greet other lords and ladies.

“I did not realize you were such a popular figure among the court,” your husband said sharply, his displeasure evident in his clipped tone.

You didn't know what to say, the question caught you off-guard. Your husband hated being upstaged, and by his own wife? Such a thing could not be borne.

“They seem to enjoy my work,” you replied cautiously.

“Are you blushing?” he accused, his voice low and edged with anger.

You avoided his gaze, fiddling with the clasp of your necklace instead.

“You cannot expect me to believe they are so enamored with you simply because of your art,” he pressed, his mustache twitching as his frustration grew.

"What should they be taken with? Your endless monologues about the economy?" You asked, losing patience with his jealousy.

He let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. "Do not let it go to your head. I'm the one who gives you that platform, without me, you'd be nothing," he spat.

“Nothing?” you scoffed, your voice sharper than you intended. “I could say the same about you. How many times have your dealings fallen through? How many empty promises have you made and broken?”

Your husband’s face turned an alarming shade of red, his knuckles tightening until they turned white. He leaned in, his eyes blazing with anger.

“You are my wife,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “Never forget your place.”

He stormed off, his fury radiating in every step. You felt a pang of guilt, but it was overshadowed by an unexpected surge of relief. For the first time in years, you had stood up for yourself, and it felt strangely wonderful.

Throughout the supper, the animosity from your husband was palpable. His simmering rage showed in his flushed cheeks and clenched jaw. The food was exquisite, but the atmosphere at your table was heavy with tension.

Elijah was seated beside you, and the placement only deepened your husband’s ire.

Kol, as ever, was holding court with his wild tales, Rebekah and Klaus laughing at his expense. Even Elijah allowed himself a rare smile, and you couldn’t help but giggle, his sister’s joy infectious.

Your husband straightened in his chair, preening like a peacock, desperate to reclaim attention. He launched into a self-aggrandizing tale about how he had single handedly financed the next great expansion of the local market. His gestures were large and theatrical, but his words fell flat. Rebekah’s eyes glazed over in boredom, and she stifled a yawn, twirling her fork idly between her fingers.

Kol, undeterred, followed with a ridiculous story of the time he had escaped an angry mob by rowing a boat down the river, only to be pursued by a flock of starlings. The table erupted into laughter, the sound spilling out into the hall.

You were enjoying yourself thoroughly when you felt a warm hand on your knee. Startled, you glanced at Elijah, whose gaze was steady and knowing. His smile was suggestive, and he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear.

“Once the painting is revealed, can you slip away...go outside?” he murmured, his voice low and intimate.

You nodded, your cheeks warm. Elijah sat back, his grin widening. You knew what was coming, the chance to be alone with him. It was forbidden, and yet, you couldn't deny how much you wanted it.

As the final course was cleared away, Elijah signaled for a footman to unveil your canvas. The gathered lords and ladies reacted with gasps of admiration and murmurs of approval.

Your husband’s displeasure was evident, his lips pressed into a thin line as he observed the attention your painting commanded. His frustration simmered beneath the surface, his irritation growing with each word of praise.

As the hall began to empty, you turned to your husband, murmuring that you needed fresh air. He barely acknowledged your words, too preoccupied with engaging another lord in animated conversation.

You stepped out into the cool night, the sky above alive with stars. The full moon cast a silvery glow over the gardens, illuminating the landscape in an otherworldly light. You paused, momentarily struck by the serene beauty around you.

Faint strains of music and laughter drifted from the ballroom, mingling with the gentle rustle of leaves. As you approached the rose garden, you felt the warmth of a hand resting lightly on your back.

“I love the scent of roses,” Elijah said quietly.

“They’re beautiful,” you replied, your gaze fixed on him, transfixed by his presence.

“They are,” he agreed, though his eyes never left yours.

“Are there any here you favor?” you asked, curious.

“This one,” he said softly, plucking a dark red rose from a nearby bush.

He presented the flower to you with a subtle flourish, its delicate fragrance drifting upward to greet you.

“It’s exquisite,” you breathed, running your fingers over the velvety petals.

Elijah stepped closer, his hands gently cradling your face as his dark eyes searched yours. Slowly, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss.

“You’re even more beautiful,” he murmured, his voice filled with quiet reverence. Your heart skipped, the words igniting a warmth deep within you.

His lips claimed yours once more, the kiss deepening as you surrendered to the moment. The rose slipped from your fingers, forgotten, as your hands found their way into his hair, drawing him closer.

His hands roamed over your curves, his touch igniting a fire that coursed through you. You could hardly believe this was real. That he was here, kissing you, holding you. It all felt like a dream, one you never wished to wake from.

He lifted you onto a stone bench, his hands unlacing the front of your dress. You knew this was forbidden, but you no longer cared. You wanted him, and in this moment, the risk felt worth taking.

Your gown slipped, pooling around your waist and revealing the soft lines of your bodice. Elijah leaned in, his lips trailing reverently across the exposed skin, eliciting a shiver of pleasure from you.

As he captured your lips in a kiss once more, his hands cupping your breasts, you moaned, a wave of desire flooding your core. You reached down to unfasten the laces of his breeches, your need growing with every passing moment.

He slipped a hand between your legs, finding that sensitive spot of pleasure, and you let out a gasp. Your fingers fumbled as you worked the laces loose, a flutter of nervous anticipation running through you.

"Is this what you want?" he asked, his voice thick with emotion. "If you're sure-"

"I want this," you cut him off. "I want you."

His fingers teased at your entrance, gently dipping into you, before withdrawing. He repeated this a few more times, before finally sliding a single finger inside of you. You let out a soft moan as he curled his finger inside you, before slowly withdrawing it again. He added a second finger, slowly pumping them in and out of you as you gripped his arm.

"I have a plan," he whispered to you, leaning closer to you as he continued to slowly move his fingers in and out of you. "When the sun rises, you are going to leave with me, and we are going to get as far away from this court as we can. Do you understand?"

You looked into his eyes, your breath catching at the intensity of his gaze. His words lingered between you, heavy with promise and risk. The court, your husband, the consequences. All of it seemed so distant compared to the man before you.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice trembling with both fear and excitement. “I understand.”

Elijah’s lips found yours again, the kiss deeper this time, as though sealing the vow you had just made. His fingers continued their deliberate rhythm, drawing gasps from your lips as your body arched into his touch.

“You’re mine now,” he murmured against your lips, his voice filled with possessive tenderness. “And I’ll keep you safe.”

His words could have terrified you, but instead, they wrapped around your heart like armor, shielding you from the unknown future that awaited.

Your hands slipped into his breeches, wrapping around his length. His hips bucked instinctively against your palm, a low groan escaping his lips as his head tilted back in pleasure.

His reaction sent a thrill through you, your core throbbing with need. You began to stroke him, your fingers sliding along his length, feeling him grow harder beneath your touch. His grip on you tightened, his breath hot against your neck as he struggled to maintain his restraint.

You knew how dangerous it would be if someone caught you like this, but your desire to be with him, to have him in any way you could, outweighed any fear of discovery.

The risk only served to heighten the pleasure, your arousal pooling at the apex of your thighs. You sat up on your knees and he helped guide himself into your warmth, the two of you both gasping as your bodies joined at last.

The feel of his hardness inside of you was exquisite, filling you in a way you hadn't expected. His hands moved to your hips, holding you steady as he began a steady rhythm.

The sound of his labored breaths mixed with your own soft gasps and moans as the two of you found a familiar rhythm, moving as one. You clung to him, your arms wrapped around his neck, letting him guide your hips up and down in the most delicious of ways.

Your husband was always quick, in and out, and gone before you could catch your breath, but Elijah took his time, savoring the feeling of being buried deep inside you, drawing out every gasp and whimper, making sure you both reached the peak together.

As the two of you came together, his warm seed spilling inside of you, the sound of his name on your lips seemed to echo across the stillness of the night. He kissed you passionately, his lips swallowing every last whimper, before breaking the kiss to press soft kisses down your neck and along your collarbone, making sure to leave no part of your body untouched.

You rested your head on his chest, feeling his heart thundering against your ear, listening to the soothing sound of his breath as it began to even out.

The sound of distant voices coming towards you broke the spell of the moment, and you both began to hurriedly redress. He helped you fix the bodice of your dress and tuck your skirts in order to keep up appearances. The two of you shared a nervous glance, a flicker of uncertainty flashing between you, as the voices drew nearer.

Then he grabbed your hand and tugged you deeper into the garden, the two of you hiding among the trees and shrubbery, pressed tightly together in an effort not to be discovered.

As the sound of the voices passed by, your nerves seemed to settle and a playful giggle slipped out of your lips. The look in his eyes when they met yours again was intense, and before you knew what was happening he was kissing you once more, the warmth of his mouth moving over yours, slow and passionate.

It was in that moment that a shocked gasp broke through the stillness of the garden. The two of you sprang apart, whirling to face whoever had discovered you.

Your husband stood there, his face contorted in horror and fury. You opened your mouth to speak, to explain, but no words came out.

His hand flew to the hilt of his sword, but before he could draw it, Elijah stepped forward, his hand pressing firmly against your husband’s chest.

“Please, sir,” Elijah said, his voice a commanding force that could have made the devil himself tremble. “Do not act in haste.”

Your husband froze, his hand falling still as he stared at Elijah’s outstretched arm in disbelief.

“How dare you,” your husband hissed, his teeth clenched, his rage barely contained.

Elijah removed his hand and stood tall, his presence radiating a quiet menace. “I know what it is you truly desire,” he said, gesturing toward you with a slight tilt of his head. “And it is not her.”

Your husband’s expression twisted into one of offense, but it quickly faded into something darker as understanding dawned.

“How much?” he asked bitterly, his tone cold and calculating.

Elijah smiled, but it was not a kind smile. It was sharp, predatory, a smile that promised victory. “Your wife, in exchange for that title you’ve sought so desperately. It seems a fair trade.”

Your husband was many things. A selfish, ladder-climbing opportunist. But even he had a shred of pride. Elijah’s offer was too much for him to bear.

“My lord, this is a dishonorable proposal,” your husband said, his voice trembling with indignation.

“No more dishonorable than your ambition,” Elijah retorted smoothly, his gaze unwavering.

Elijah turned to you then, his eyes searching yours. In that moment, you gave him a small nod, your love for him shining through, along with your silent plea for the freedom he had promised.

“You are a despicable man,” your husband spat, his voice filled with venom. “The king shall hear of this. I swear, I will see you both hanged.”

Elijah chuckled softly, a sound that sent a chill down your spine. Stepping closer, he grasped your husband’s face, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Do not make threats you cannot keep,” he murmured, his voice a deadly caress.

Your husband’s fury faltered as Elijah’s dark gaze bore into him, his expression shifting to confusion, then calm. His breathing slowed, his body slackening as if under a spell.

“You no longer have a wife,” Elijah said, his voice low and hypnotic. “Any trace of her in your mind is like dust on the wind. You shall never seek her again.”

Your husband’s voice turned hollow, devoid of emotion. “I no longer have a wife. I shall never seek her.”

“And when you return to court, you shall speak of her as if she has passed on. Do you understand?” Elijah continued.

“I shall act as though my wife is no more,” your husband repeated in that strange monotone.

Satisfied, Elijah released him, watching as he stumbled away from the garden in a dazed, trance-like state. The shadows of the manor swallowed him whole, leaving the two of you alone once more.

Elijah turned back to you, his hands gentle as they cupped your face, brushing away a tear that had escaped down your cheek.

“How?” you whispered, your voice trembling. “How did you do that? It was as if you cast a spell over him.”

A sly grin spread across Elijah’s lips as he leaned in to kiss you softly. “Let us not waste another moment dwelling on such things,” he murmured. “Come away with me, my love.”

“And where shall we go, my lord?” you asked playfully, your heart lighter than it had been in years.

He shrugged his broad shoulders, his eyes sparkling with promise. “The world is ours, my sweet. Where shall we begin?”

[secretlovezz]

Kisses of the Crown | Part One

Knight!Simon "Ghost" Riley x Princess!Reader

Summary: The introduction to the relationship between a Princess and her knight.

Warnings: none really

Wordcount: 1,206

Not proofread | Series Masterlist

"Teach me to wield a sword."

The tip of your index finger poked at the sword's pommel attached to his hip, fingering the meticulously engraved metal and darkened blood red Ruby gem that adorns it. Simon looked down at you, eyebrow raised in question, with amusement decorating his covered face. Your curiosity led you to inspect his hilt and scabbard further. His body unconsciously leans into your touch; though you do not touch him directly, he secretly yearns for you to do so, body overcoming his mind.

He only moves to stop your overzealous inspection when you advance to remove his blade from its covering. The knight's hand is placed gently over your own, calloused fingers working to pry your wandering hand from his side, thumb smoothing over your delicately soft skin.

Your eyes meet his dark ones, a hunting glare staring into his punctilious glower, “And why, Your Royal Highness,” the title sounds almost belittling and mockingly cheap coming from him, “Would I do that?”

Your jaw drops a little at his blatant defiance, It's not often you’re told no, especially from someone as seemingly arrogant as he. “I- Well, you-” An annoyed scoff leaves your lips, and your glare hardens in frustration. “I am your princess- you must do as I say.”

The guttural chuckle that manages to escape between the lips of the dark knight in front of you makes your face heat up with what feels a little like shame at your outburst; with a pout, you snatch your once brazen eyes from his and rip your hand from his queerly soothing touch to cross your arms in an almost childish way that only seems to fuel his entertainment in the matter. His large hand reaches for yours, wanting again to hold a part of you close in a moment of fleeting joy. However, your stubbornness makes you step back, blowing an exaggerated huff at him while still keeping your gaze in the opposite direction, falsely staring intently at the rows of flowers leading up to the garden.

Simon sucks his teeth at your display and instead reaches for your wrist this time, lean fingers gripping tight but not painfully so he can pull you closer to him. Your chest hits his a little roughly, and the velvety satin of your bodice hits metal. He leans in close, the cold metal of his well-worn helmet brushes against the shell of your ear -you imagine it's the scratch of his lips instead- and when you hear him take in a breath, it makes yours hitch. 

He doesn't move for a moment, enjoying your closeness and cherishing the scent of you.

“Ghost…?” Your call to him is almost silent, but you know he heard it because his hand squeezes lovingly at your wrist.

When he finally pulls back a bit to stare again into your eyes, his lips quirked up only for a second, and you can only tell because of the crinkle in the corners of his stupidly radiant eyes. “I think you forget, Princess, I take orders only from Her Majesty- and last I checked, you weren’t queen yet.”

What. An. Ass.

You scoff for what feels like the nth time that day and swipe your hand away from his grip once again. He watches with smug self-satisfaction as you begin to walk away from him, your royal colored dress flowing elegantly behind you, making your way back to the castle. His legs allow him to catch up promptly and soon he is silently back at your side as he always is.

----------♡

The following day, you woke up much earlier than usual because of a hard knock on your bedroom door. You don’t get up at the sound, though, deciding to ignore it adversely, not wanting to get up just yet after a dream filled restless night. It seems as though whoever stands on the other side of the door won’t have that; they knock again- more demanding than before- finally willing you to get up and unhurriedly make your way to the double doors.

Your hand rubs lazily at your eye while the other pulls at the handle of the heavy door. When your head peeks out the small crack in the door that you created you see no one, your already squinted eyes from having just woken up narrow more in confusion. A deep smoky voice breaks the shuddering morning silence addressing you, “Your Royal Highness.” You jump when Ghost emerges from the darkness of the hall, stepping closer to you.

“Goodness, Ghost!” Your hand is pressed to your chest in an attempt to calm your now racing heart and your other is braced against the door, “What is wrong with you? Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

He raises a hand to point to the door, “I knocked,” His eyes seemingly empty but eyebrows raised in amusement -as they usually are around you-  as he speaks. You glare at him trying to keep an anger filled facade but you know that your body physically lightens when your knight is near and so does he. You clear your throat and straighten your back, “What could you possibly need from me so early this morning, sir Ghost.” Your brow is raised expectantly and do your best to smile despite wanting to be in bed ignoring his sarcastic comments.

“Did you want your lessons on wielding a blade or not?” Simon's heart tightens with feelings he is unwilling to admit he has when your eyes gloss over with pure excitement and your faux smile is replaced with a real lively one. He watches as your fingers anxiously fidget with the light fabric of your chemise, looking away when he realises he can see the soft curves of your breast through the cotton.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t teach me? What made you change your mind overnight?” The knight can tell you’re hesitant at his hasty change of heart and he does not blame you and now he is hesitant to tell you the true reason- he isn’t willing to admit that he simply doesn’t know how to say no to you- he’s willing to break a rule or two if it means bringing you even the most menial amount of happiness.

Simon decides to deflect the question even though he knows that would annoy you further, “If I am to teach you to wield a weapon I will train you as I would train anyone else, understood, Princess.”

There's that name again.

“Fine, when do we start?”

“Now.”

Your brows fly up, “Wha- Now?”

The Dark Knight glances your way again, “Yes, now,” he looks you up and down languidly no longer resisting the urge to keep his gaze appropriate, “And I suggest you get changed into something more… proper, before meeting me at the training grounds.”

You take a moment to take in your attire and your cheeks redden at the realization that you are in nothing but your nightgown. When you go to shoot back an impudent response in embarrassment, Ghost is no longer there. The darkness of the hall no longer encompassed his large form and you sigh dramatically at his usual mysteriousness.

“What an ass.”

[minniesmutt]

Lee Minho

princess x prince

7) “I’m not jealous! its just… you’re mine!"

11) “i wish we had more time"

22) “Spend the night with me.”

pleaseeeee~

Thank you♡

☾ ━━━ PAIRING: LEE KNOW X READER ☾ ━━━ PROMPT: 7 “I’m not jealous! its just… you’re mine!” 11 “i wish we had more time.” 22 “Spend the night with me.” ☾ ━━━ CONTENT: PRINCE! LEE KNOW, PRINCESS! READER, FORBIDDEN LOVE, UNPROTECTED SEX, CLIT PLAY, TEASING, QUICKIE, CREAMPIE ☾ ━━━ WC: 0.5K ☾ ━━━ 18+ work!! minors and ageless/blank blogs DNI! you will be blocked, put an indicator on your blog somewhere that you are 18+ before interacting with this work/blog

22 

     Minho hated hiding his relationship. He absolutely hated not being able to claim his love publicly because of the rules. They weren’t promised to each other. But it didn’t stop him from sneaking her away. 

      “Min,” Y/n moaned as his head was buried in her neck, hands holding her against him as close as he could.

     “Mine,” he grumbled into her skin

     “We’ll get caught here,” Y/n warned. It was dark in the corridor they had wandered to. Far from the ballroom where their families and other royals and upper class families were. 

     “Don’t care. Need you,” He groaned

     “Think jealousy is crowding your mind a bit,” Y/n told him

     “I'm not jealous. It’s just,” he paused his assault on her neck and locked eyes with her, “You’re mine.”

     “Always, my prince.” Y/n smiled

     Minho smirked before dragging her off to his bedroom. Needing her more than ever. Pinning her down to his bed the moment he locked his door. Lips quickly locking with hers and pushing up the skirt of her dress. 

     “Min,” Y/n moaned into his mouth,

     “Sorry love. I wish we had more time but I need you,” the prince apologized as he started stripping them of their clothes. Y/n helping to make the process faster. 

     “Need you too,” Y/n agreed, both royals throwing their clothes one way or the other. Not stopping until all bits of skin were exposed. Minho moved his lips down to her neck again as he wrapped her legs around him. Y/n held onto his shoulders as he reached between them and pushed the top of his dick between her folds. Spreading his precum along her before pushing in. 

      “Min,” Y/n moaned 

      “I’ve got you princess,” Minho whispered as he used his thumb, gently rubbing her clit. 

      Y/n bit her bottom lip to hide her moans. Minho smiled as he toyed with the bundle of nerves, slowly pushing further into her. Kissing her skin back up to her lips. Waiting till he gave her the go to move. It didn't take long for her to start begging him to move. 

      The prince started slowly. Building his pace and keeping his thumb rolling on her clit. Eventually both hands and hips falling in sync together. 

     “Min,” Y/n moaned, tightening her legs around him

     “Is my princess feeling good?” He teased

     “Yes!”

     “Don’t get us caught now,” he chuckled

     “Wanna cum. Please Min.”

     “Mmm good girl. Asking for permission.”

     Minho waited a few moments to hear her beg more and feel her pulsate around him. Desperate for a release before he gave her the go. Feeling her walls tighten around him as her head tipped back into his mattress. 

      Minho fucked her through her high as he worked his own. Not trying to ruin hers till he couldn’t hold it anymore. His own orgasm hitting as she was just starting to come down. Painting her walls white and burying himself inside her. 

     “Fuck,” the prince groaned

     Both royals took a moment to regain themselves as Minho wrapped his arms around her. Holding her close to him

     “Spend the night with me.” 

     “I wish I could, Min…”

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© 2024 MINNIESMUTT. DO NOT COPY, REPUBLISH OR TRANSLATE MY WORK ANYWHERE

[dseval]

So I posted this lesbian cream drawing and people seem to be eating it up (thank you for your support, everyone♡). Coincidentally, my bestie also said something something about them in the royal garden and Dream putting a flower crown on Cross's head? I procastinated and spent two days on this.

Lesbians with flower crowns? Cream with flower crowns? See the vision guys.

I think the biggest mistake is actually not using any references for this sketch, i don't know the first thing about how a skeleton's back look like, nor do I know what a royal garden looks like, gotta up my background game.

Credits (please tell me if there's a typo or if I missed anything!):

Dream Sans by Joku

Cross Sans by Jakei

[ice-cream-writes-stuff]

Spiders Into The Bat...Verse?

{Accidentally getting thrown into another portal, you have to figure out your way back! Yet Au's are tricky things...}

《BATBOYS and SPIDER!S/O》 Mini Series

╭╭(╭◕‿◕╮)╮╮ ♡ /|\ ^._.^ /|\

Bruce Wayne/Batman:

"Phew~... Well, that should be all of them." You grin, smiling at the Dark-Knight... Bat-Knight? Either or, you happily bump into his armor as you talk with Captain Gordon. The Knight looming beside you easily.

When you first arrived, you crashed into Wayne Manor's extravgent garden party. Crashing into tea sets and tables, while trying to fight off the pest that threw you there!

While simultaneouly keeping terrorfied citizens and guests away.

Finally throwing the creature back into the portal, you cheered. About to follow suit, yet as soon as your web was tossed in. It snapped as portal closed.

Groaning softly, your spidey senses alerted you to the knew presence in the room. Recalling being knocked out, you noted your suit is still on and your on a really fluffy bed.

You don't deem the butler as a threat, opting to instead go over and ask questions as he leads you down below the grandiose home.

The Bat-Knight is Prince Bruce Wayne, heir to the late King Thomas and Queen Martha. Yet is scene in the eyes of the royal council and public as...

Well, not a suitable candiate to rule quite yet.

Since most of his time was spent jesting with royals and nobility at soirees. Along with a few scandals of chasity here or there...

"Hmmm... I'll call you "Wayne" for short. You reply bluntly.

"...Do what you like then." He said distractedly, eyeing the paperwork on his desk.

Having the permission, you get up from your seat. Holding out your arms expectedly.

His saphire eyes narrow at you, "what are you doing."

"I wanna' hug. That's what I would like!" You reply.

With a bit of a clash, you found somwhat normalcy with him and his estate.

He too, had gotten used to your visits to his study. Never fully sure on how to debute you into high-society so he could keep an eye on you when out of the estate.

Quickly giving Bruce a kiss on the cheek in graditude, you step away, fixing the attire he made you wear for the gala. Before eagerly pushing him to join you at the table of desserts or savory snacks.

-

Dick Grayson/Nightwing:

Rolling your eyes at the hand outstretched for you to take. You ignore it as you walk beside the "Nightwing" of this AU. Glancing at the horse that neighed for your attention as well, you gave it a small pat.

"You' sure you don't need a ride?" He asked politely. The sun beating down on your backs.

Readying yourself, you shoot out a web to the clock-tower in the middle of the dusty town.

"Thanks, but I'll be fine." You said steadily, pulling yourself up high into the air. Web-slinging carefully on only the higher buildings.

A low whistle leaves his lips at the sight.

Dick is the eldest son of the Batfam, along with being apart of the wealthiest family in town.

The family owning a multitude of lands and ranches across the county and beyond in other cities.

Richard has high education and well respected in the community even without his fathers wealth. Takes care of the ranch in Büldhaven, mostly. But often visits Gotham, each time it's a celebartion of his arrival.

Sweet as a bell, always giving a helping hand.

"You.. You seem indifferent." The young man states curiously. You smile slightly, "Yeah. So.. Thanks for that." Holding up the item gifted to you, you head to the drawers to place it elsewhere. The peice of jewelry too dazzling to be out.

Glazing at your (modern) jacket, he picks it up. Tracing the fabric while your back was turned. Strange as it was, he thought it was quite cute. A bit odd, but it suited you.

As Nightwing, another vigilante of the west, the two of you work suprisingly well-...Enough.. As if you know what he has on his mind on the occasion.

Your fighting styles may-be different, but that hasn't stop you two before.

Poking at the boquet in your hand, you hear the soft steps near the horse stalls come closer.

"Hey." You greet, grogginess in your voice.

"Hello... It.. Seems you have a admirer, other than myself." He spoke playfully, side-eyeing the weeds.

You blink, turning away to hide your smile. Small bits of laughter spilling out of you as he stalks closer, pouting.

"So? Where is he?"

"Far." You shrug, gazing at him with mirth, eyeing the buttercups sadly.

Overall, just an idea I had! Maybe I'll do more in the future with other batfams members?

[Thwnk you for reading, reblogs, comments are apperciated! Fan art as well! See you soon! Yall want a part 2? *wink*]

[hereindreamlandpng]

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾. ‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾. ‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

[sukunas-wife]

I'm in desperate need of sukuna just catering to his pregnant wife. Like he's being too careful, caring and overall really really cautious around her. I just need some sweet stuff between the two. Idk how it'll happen but it must, and I think you'll be the perfect person for it♡♡♡ i love your work sm istg i could just smoosh u into a big hug, reading your posts just makes me all giddy and melt. thank you in advance!!!

Stop Ilysm 🥺🤍 imma do my best 🥹

In no way was Ryomen Sukuna a domestic man, much less a man who would show mercy or an ounce of emotion. Yet here he stood, both sets of arms crossed over his chest hard stare following your waddle around the garden, his face was void of emotions but internal something was ignited. Subconsciously, his body led him to find you almost always when he would wander about aimlessly in thought. Here he was, standing on the engawa. His eyes ran over your body, the small swell in your tummy was a pain in his ass but there wasn’t a thing he wouldn’t do to ensure your safety and his child’s. He was lucky you hadn’t noticed him or you’d probably demand something from him and there he would have to go to please you.

The cold rush of air on his skin didn't bother him, but he saw how you shivered, tucking your hands into the sleeves of your robes resting them on your swollen belly. You were persistent and stubborn it didn't surprise when the second rush of wind came and you side eyed the empty air as if threatening a being. You sighed continuing your walk in the garden, fingers grazing the flowers of the garden. The garden you had begged him to make because it had been your dream to have a lavish royal garden of your own. He remembers the first time he allowed you out of his sight, he found you sitting on a stone bench under the shade of a blooming sakura tree, you must’ve felt like one of those silly little princesses with how you slowly lifted your hand to catch falling blooms.

You felt the shift in the air but weren’t bothered to turn around and greet him, you were busy on your little adventure. You were looking for the perfect place, you kept walking until you came to a decent open space, in the centre was a ring of bushes. Staring at the space you started to space out thinking only pulled back to reality by your husband when he draped his Haori over your shoulders. He stood behind you, a pair of arms around you carefully tying it closed. His scent and warmth lingered over your skin when he stepped away, you looked back over your shoulder and up at him. He was looking past you at the bushes you were staring at, one of his left hands rested on your left shoulder. He brought a right hand up to his face, squeezing his cheek bones and running his hand down his face like he was thinking, “what have you decided?” You hummed, “A plum tree right there, as our child grows so will the tree, when he’s old enough to eat fruit it’ll start to bloom.” Sukuna didn’t understand the sentiment behind having your child grow up with his or her own tree. In the end one of them would die and they would have to part ways. “Uraume” “Yes Lord Sukuna.” It was an unspoken command. It was one of many he’d be giving for the next few months.

——————-

“…su?” Your voice was lost in the dark before you tried to sit up whispering, “..sukuna.. kuna… suuuu.” You laid a hand on your husband's chest rubbing circles, he took a slow deep breath opening his eyes to look at you. “Yes y/n?” Your hand trailed to his lower shoulder trailing down his arm and taking his hand holding it in your lap between both of your smaller hands in comparison. “I..I’m hungry..” he was looking at you with soft lidded eyes. His lower set of eyes opened when he sat up the arm he had wrapped around you in his sleep and moved to rub your side, he did his best to whisper “What do you need?” He never asked what do you want like it was a bothersome request, but rather what do you need like it was something necessary for you to keep living. “I want the melon from that fruit stand in the village. The one they had at the top in a small crate…” his mouth opened slightly like he was going to say something. Because here’s the thing, he bought that melon when he saw your eyes linger on it a little too long. But at the moment Uraume wasn’t there and he didn’t wanna carry around a small crate while he had things to do so he told the Vendor he would be back for it, and if he tried to sell it or let anything happen to it, it would be his life for that melon. He closed his mouth, “I…” he moved so he was sitting on the edge of the bed, “I’ll be right back.” You sat there rubbing your belly when he left, it didn’t feel like long considering the King of Curses was inhumanely fast. What took him longer was rummaging through the fruit vendor's stand looking for that cursed crate and melon. Finally he found it tucked away with a note in beg red characters, “LORD SUKUNA DO NOT DAMAGE DO NOT SELL AT ANY EXPENSE THE EMPEROR'S PREGNANT WIFE CAN STARVE IF IT SPARES MY LIFE.” He laughed to himself, a smug smile on his face, “These fools do have brains, how refreshing.”

He made it home and had your ladies in waiting bring you to the table, there he cracked open the crate showing you the perfect honeydew melon that had a thin layer of condensation making it look like the night dew had blessed it. Your tummy growled and your eyes shined bright for everyone to see. It was funny to see the melon on a red cushion in the crate before Sukuna carefully pulled it out and placed it on a wooden slab asking how you wanted it. You told him to cut it into slices, you watched him turn down the knife a lady in waiting offered him only to use to dismantle. It was faster, cleaner and efficient, he chose the best piece shaking off the seeds and handing it to you. You bought into it and it was the best thing in the world, until you finished your third piece and decided you didn’t want it anymore you were full and it started to taste funny. Your ladies in waiting giggled and Sukuna sighed when they started to clean it up, they decided to save the rest for you if you started craving it for at least the next two days.

——————

It wasn't long after that night, you found yourself awake at another ungodly hour of the night. You felt queasy and quickly jumped out of bed, rushing to the large washroom Sukuna loved to bathe in. You grabbed one of the brand new chamber pots the ladies in waiting had bought at Sukuna’s command for when you'd get sick in the morning. You thought you were alone but there was your husband, one arm rubbing your back, the other stilling your chalky hands, the second pair braiding your hair back and out of the way. Following you immediately he snapped at one of the servants to bring water and something to settle your stomach if it was needed. For now he provided the best comfort he could. His warm hands on your cold back and shaky hands might not have stopped your nausea but it was comforting to know he was there with you even if he could’ve just rolled over and slept. You would’ve kissed him or at least his cheek if you didn’t feel so dirty and your tummy didn’t ache and feel empty in a weird way.

——————

Here stood the King of Curses, it was past midday. He was lucky your cravings were during daylight this time but what he didn't understand was why you wanted to top your dango with crumbled salted egg yolk and mochi with dried squid topping. It made him sick and he was more than willing to eat raw human flesh. He sat there making sure the waiter never let your cup empty or your plates void of food but he stopped when you tried to top fried squid with a chocolate and red bean paste.

“Enough y/n, you will make yourself nauseous before the morning nausea starts tomorrow.” His voice and look were stern and authoritative which caused you to pout, “…fine.”

Of course that didn’t stop you from packing your left over into a little wooden bento box to take home.

So when you were hungry after being carried over half of the trip home you decided to eat that sinful concoction you called a meal. Just to find your bento had been tampered with and only had red bean paste buns and chocolate mochi. Your puffed out cheeks match your belly perfectly when you went around looking for Sukuna. Only to barge in on him having a conversation with Kenjaku. “Where’s my squid!” Kenjaku was surprised someone had the gall to raise their voice and be so demanding with the king of curses, “Not now Y/n” Sukuna tried to give you a look to tell you now isn’t an appropriate time, that didn’t stop you from getting closer seeing Kanjaku’s look of surprise when he saw your stomach swollen and prominent. The King of Curses’s wife was indeed pregnant meaning it was entirely possible for a curse to impregnate a human… but could a human.. “I told YOU I wanted that squid!” Your teary eyes had Sukuna’s eye twitching his mind was Screaming ‘dammit woman out of all the times you could cry and make a scene and walk out like THAT it had to be in front of this deranged man-?” He cleared his throat “URAUME- Yes Lord Sukuna.”

Uraume was quick to fry up squid for you, fresh, hot and crispy. It was perfect. His jaw dropped when he saw how you squeezed a drop of red bean paste and chocolate mochi filling on the squid just to take a bite. He also didn’t hesitate in running at you with one of the brand new chamber pots when all of your lunch came back up with that cursed squid. Your husband walked in and sighed, he looked at you as you wiped your mouth, “What did I tell you.” You avoided eye contact, “To not..” he placed a hand on your back rubbing up and down your spine, Uraume was quick to bring water.

————-

Finally, here was Sukuna kneeling in front of you between your legs. You were close to birthing so this had become a very common position for you. Your robes were open and he was listening to your stomach. He could hear very clearly and distinct your heart beat from your child’s. That little heart beat was strong and present no doubt his child. You always ran your hand over his hair, your nails scratching his scalp and he’d humm before finally pulling back. Spreading oil over his hands. All those Japanese Camellia seeds he forced servants to gather and extract oil from because you’d become self conscious of your body and the marks in your skin where your skin was stretching. He’d kneel there between your legs, warm hands rubbing your belly, sides, breasts and thighs down with the oil that everyone had sworn would help you prevent and recover from stretch marks. As much as he’d like to have advanced on you in these situations, he would've been doing this for your last trimester daily. There was no doubt in his mind he would’ve induced early labour, so there he sat pent up but tending to your silly little self conscious needs. Honestly, how could you think yourself ugly when he thought you looked perfectly swollen with his child. If he chose you, why would you belittle yourself? He doesn’t choose and take things that don’t meet his ridiculously high standards. So he doesn’t understand why all of a sudden the change in your mindset. But he’s here with you muttering comforting words against your stomach and thighs if it help you truly understand how he feels about you.

Squishy: @sad-darksoul @satorisgirl @bontensbabygirl @lupita97lm @queen-luna-007 @venus-seeks

@cyder-puff @bofadeezs

Perm: @sakuxxi @mercymccann @certainduckanchor @najiiix @bakugou-katsukis-wife @amitiel-truth @souyasplushie @mylovelessnightmare @ynjimenez @dolliira

Broken🥺: @cyder-puff @simpforyoubitch @domainofmarie @ilovemybabies378

[lilylovestowrite]

LESSONS IN ETIQUETTE ୨♡୧

PAIRING: (Neuvillette x AFAB!Reader x Wriothesley) SYNOPSIS:After becoming the Acting Princess of Fontaine, you've been struggling to follow the rules, but it's all okay! That's what your royal tutor Neuvillette and bodyguard Wriothesley is there to help you with! WARNINGS:(NSFW, spanking, edging, overstimulation, handcuffs, blindfolding, oral (fem. receiving), praise degradation) MDNI

Divider by @/cafekitsune

“Princess?” 

Neuvillette’s baritone voice, although raised slightly so you can hear it from the other side of the door, holds the same tender lilt to it. You feel your heart leap slightly when you leap from your red chaise lounge and bound to the door to rip it open, ignoring the judgemental stare from your bodyguard, Wriothesley. 

“Neuvillette!” You beam as his purple eyes crinkle from the smile he gives you. He plants a chaste kiss on your knuckle, and the glimmer of affection in his eyes when he peers up at you through his long lashes send you reeling. Ever since you were forced to act as a stand-in Princess for Teyvat after the real one had been receiving threats from an unknown source, you believe Neuvillette’s lessons in etiquette are keeping you together. Even if the balls are unbearably boring and the fake smiles you master in the bathroom mirror strain your face, learning to dance and hearing Neuvillette praise your gleeful smile is all worth it. 

He allows you to lead him into your large bedroom, where Wriothesley is reading and sipping on tea. You never really understood why the dark haired man is to be by your side at all times. The Royal family tell you it’s because they don’t want to see you get hurt, but you know that it’s so you stay within the confines of the palace. Many times, you’ve leaped through the bushes of the rose garden, and Wriothesley has yanked you back and marched you back to the palace. Last week, you tried to escape through the library window, allowing the curtains to shield you from his view. You made it to the marble swan fountain by the exit before Wriothesley threw you over his shoulder with one arm and brought you back. At the recollection of the memory, you pull a face at Wriothesley as you sit Neuvillette down. He looks up at you with his eyes, the hue of rainy skies, and rolls them as if he were entertaining a child. 

“Now, Princess, I don’t mean to panic you, but I have been informed of some… mishaps occuring at the last ball you were at.” Neuvillette clears his throat and a small worried expression causes you to practically wilt. He notices this and scrambles to put the smile back on your face. “N-not anything too major though, I heard you did so well in dancing, I’m very proud of you.” 

“Thank you, Neuvillette, I just never want to disappoint you.” You practically simper, and Wriothesley hides a gag behind a polite cough, which Neuvillette is tactful enough to ignore. 

“You couldn’t possibly, my darling.” A gloved hand lightly pets you on the head, and you can smell the scent of moringa flowers get stronger as he approaches you. “Though I may need to teach you something a little different.” 

“Oh?” You reply, adjusting your blouse once you see how perfectly pressed Neuvillette’s navy three piece suit is. He sits you down on the armchair opposite of Wriothesley, the plush of the plum coloured crushed velvet material dipping under your weight. 

“Yes, Princess. It seems that last night,” he circles you behind the chair, his gloved hand trailing the golden embellishments on the back of her chair, “you were… enchanted by the Prince of Khaenri’ah.”

Ah, Prince Kaeya. Prince Kaeya, who moved with the unwavering elegance of a peacock. Prince Kaeya, who in his drunken daze, twirls you around when dancing, the khol lining his eyes causing that one beautiful, cobalt blue eye to gleam with brilliance. Oh, Prince Kaeya, who charmed you off your feet for one night only. You look guiltily at Neuvillette, “I apologise, I believe I had too much to drink-”

“You could have done worse, Princess. The error is on my behalf.” He murmurs from your left, still pacing across the room. You hear the clink of china on the table, and look up to see Wriothesley listening intently, even going as far as to slip a bookmark into the book he’s reading. “You see, people in balls may seem alluring to you-”

“They want you for your power, is all.” Wriothesley remarks, and Neuvillette clears his throat.

“That could be it, or they were simply taken by your own charms.” He offers. “However, I failed to warn you about this. And these men are dangerous, Princess. They might hunt you down, no matter how close Wriothesley is. This is why I thought of a… different way of teaching you.” 

“A different way?” 

Neuvillette’s long locks of white hair dance in the slight breeze as he approaches the doors to the balcony and closes them, causing the strands of starlight to halt to a stop. He pulls his hair up with a black silk ribbon in a high ponytail. The sunlight runs through the blue hued strands as he ties the ribbon into a perfect bow. “Yes, dear. Wriothesley over here and I thought that we could attempt to build up an immunity to seduction.” You feel a slight pang of fear as Wriothesley’s expressionless face glows with excitement, his half lidded eyes flooding with light.  

“You see, Princess,” Wriothesley practically snarls, “we’re going to have to show you the extent of what these desperate Dukes and Princes will go to for your affection.” He hisses into your ear, so Neuvillette can’t hear. “And I’m going to show you what happens when you make things difficult for me.”

Your face flushes and Wriothesley towers over your seated figure, his arms resting on either side of your chair. “I don’t…” You hesitate and clear your throat, your composure cracking like ice under a hammer from the dark haired man’s gaze. Seeking refuge, you look towards Neuvillette for some clarity, but instead you find your mind has gone haywire when you see him slide his gloves off with his teeth. “I don’t object to it, but why must he be here?” You nudge your chin towards Wriothesley, “He has it out for me!” You pout, knowing that Neuvillette will give you a warm smile, his pretty eyes skrunckled up cutely. He does, as you predict, but the smile is accompanied by a shake of the head which causes his ponytail to dance with it. 

“I’m sorry dear, but most of the people flirting with you do have it out for you. Whether it be for your fake status, money or beauty.” He approaches the chair you sit in, right beside Wriothesley, caging you in velvet. “We just want to make sure you aren’t so easily influenced, yes?” 

There is always something hypnotic about Neuvillette. An air of worldly knowledge interwoven with every spoken word, a charismatic voice that makes you feel as if you’re drowning in a sea of calmness. The trance he puts you in floods your train of thought and you wonder if he’s aware of the effect he has on you, the spell he has you under. When he says it like that, with so much care and tenderness, what other answer can you reply with other than “Yes”?

“Good girl, we’ll start easy, okay?” He murmurs, kissing your temple. How anyone has  ever survived this man’s charms is a mystery to you. Wriothesley on the other hand, grins down at you, fixing his glove and gripping your thigh.

“You’re gonna break tonight, Princess.” He sneers, and you feel red hot anger spurt out of you as if it were reflex. The warm, fuzzy feeling from Neuvillette boiling over. 

“I won’t. Not to the likes of you.” You tug on Neuvillette’s sleeve, “At least Monsieur Neuvillette is charming. You’re just annoying.” Comes your sharp retort, even though you both know you’ve been eyeing how perfectly his clothes accentuate his body. This causes Neuvillette to go slightly pink, the apples of his cheeks more visible due to the coy smile on his face.

“Come now, Princess, we shouldn’t play favourites.” He chuckles softly, stroking your cheek. You nuzzle into his palm and pout once more. 

“But you have faith in me, right, Neuvillette?” 

“Oh, Princess…” He pinches your cheek, but it is as light as a petal falling on your face. “I have to side with him on this one. You are going to break tonight. And that’s okay, because you can surrender to us.” Neuvillette muses, eyes glazed over with the sight of you undone and gasping already being painted in his mind. 

This is what strikes slight fear into you. You thought he would make it easy for you, maybe let Wrio bully you for a bit and then offer you dessert after a few crocodile tears. But the way that their sharp gazes pin you to the spot assures you that you are in for a ride.

“Now, angel. We are two princes vying for your attention. Keep your cool, do not show the slightest bit of interest. Not even in your body language. People will often notice what you do rather than what you say to see what pleases you, alright?” He instructs you in what is closest to a teacher's voice. You nod your head in agreement and Wriothesley snickers.  

“What a pretty little Princess we have here.” He practically spits at you, but oh-so-gently kneels and kisses the back of your hand. Neuvillette twirls a lock of hair around his finger. 

“Yes, they are, aren’t they?” You want to pay attention to the white haired man but you’re interrupted by the sharp bite on your hand from the still kneeling Wriothesley, who mischievously grins up at you. “Tell me, Your Highness, do you usually lure in people like this?” Wriothesley plays with the chain on your pants, pinging them. 

“I… Lure?” You reply, and the triumphant grin on his face urges you to collect yourself. “It is not my fault you can’t keep your hands off me.” A similar grin contorts your innocent expression as you press a heeled shoe to his chest, pressing his black shirt buttons and red tie with intricate stitching of a darker, sensual shade of vermillion, akin to the hot anger that flushes his cheeks. Neuvillette takes your ankle and removes it from Wrio’s dress shirt to press a kiss on your shin. 

“You’re right, Highness. I can’t keep my hands off you.” He muses, white hair framing his face, yet not concealing the brilliant violet gaze dripping with lust. Neuvillette’s voice is soft and gentle, yet you have to supress the urge to lean back against the chair to allow him to do whatever he wishes to you. “Nor do I want to.” Nevertheless, you keep your back straight and your gaze downcast towards them, even when Wriothesley stands up to grab your face and squish your cheeks together with one hand. It seems like the blatant act of disrespect has cracked his usually calm demeanour.

“You’re a fucking pain in the ass, my Princess.” He cooes, meeting your icy gaze and then pinning your shoulders back with both hands. “You’re touchstarved too, I’ve seen what books you hide underneath your pillow.” He looks at Neuvillette, and your eyes widen with horror. “Pure erotica.” 

You feel your face fall, and the perfect, golden act you’ve kept up to allow Neuvillette’s lilac gaze to consume you like you are the only one in the world seems like it is all for naught. Your heart pulsates in your stomach. Finally meeting Neuvillete’s flushed face, a tiny chuckle leaves his lips. “Don’t bully the poor thing, Wriothesley, we all have our quirks.” He kisses your nose, “So, Princess, what sort of things do you enjoy in those books, hmm?”

Heat builds up and you feel your composure slip as Wriothesley kisses down your neck, and Neuvillette presses a kiss to your lips. Wriothesley laughs cruelly, “I bet you enjoy being toyed with.” When you moan softly, he grips your thigh, allowing Neuvillette’s soft hands to cup your face. “This kind of reaction is unbecoming of you, Princess.” He emphasises this with a bite, causing you to yelp into Neuvillette’s passionate kiss. You feel the air hit your lips when Neuvillette descends to unzip your pants, sliding the fabric down your legs. At the same time, Wriothesley rips your dress shirt open, and you squeal at his roughness. “Stand up.” He orders. 

With whatever tatters of dignity you have left, you smirk at him. “Make me.” And within a split second, he picks you up. He raises your body like a ragdoll, ready to throw you onto the bed, but Neuvillette shakes his head and rushes to prep the pillows. Wriothesley sighs and places you on the bed, guiding one of the silk pillows under your hips, the cool fabric making you shiver. He unhooks the handcuffs from his belt loop and binds you with them, you thrash against him but Neuvillette hushes you, raking his hand through your scalp. 

“Wriothesley, you’re so rough with them.” He tuts, and the dark haired man only scoffs and pinches your cheek.

“Well, this one is a brat, and they’ve been trying to escape multiple times, haven’t you?” He nudges you, and you glare up at him. Neuvillette gasps, and you look at him guiltily. 

“Is this true, Princess?” He asks, his hand stops on your waist. You avert your gaze and nod. Neuvillette shakes his head in disappointment yet amusement glitters in his violet eyes. “You’re so good for me, but such a troublemaker for him. Is it that you’re more comfortable with Duke Wriothesley, here?” 

Wriothesley rolls his eyes and runs a hand through his dark hair. “A little too comfortable.” 

“We can’t have that, darling. Need you to be completely open with me as well. And here I thought I was the favourite.” He tuts, helping you up and laying your head against Wriothesley’s chest. His pin is nearly centimetres away from your eye, noticing this, Wriothesley takes it off and places it by the bedside table, such a kind gesture from him is unfamiliar to you. 

Nevertheless, you can’t keep your mouth shut. “You are my favourite, Neuvillette. He’s just an assho- mmph!” Wriothesley tilts your chin up uncomfortably and kisses you on the lips, your bottom lip in between his teeth as he grabs your chest. You gasp and hear Neuvillette chuckle in the background. 

“Fucking brat. You think you can get me riled up by making me upset because I’m not your favourite?” Wriothesley smirks and rolls your nipple between his fingers and jostles you in his lap. 

“You are riled up. Bet you’re jealous.” You laugh, the last of your pride melts away as you moan midway through the sentence. You look at Neuvillette, who with a tiny smile, parts your thighs. 

“I see what ails this Princess. I think an attitude adjustment is in order, no?” He muses, and Wriothesley agrees eagerly. 

“Yeah, like fuck they do.” He declares, rolling up his sleeves and holding your thighs open. “Aww, what a mess already. I think you need to surrender, Princess, it’s obvious that you’re desperate~” Neuvillette spreads you open further, and you shrink into Wriothesley from embarrassment as he inspects how much you’re leaking, inner pink walls coated in light cream sheen. 

“Not surrendering! Not yet!” You hiss, although your cuffed hands covering your mouth as Neuvillette plays with your clit. You try to shut your legs, but Wriothesley effortlessly has you spread open. 

“Fine, but if your struggle is as weak as the way you’re trying to hide yourself from us by closing your legs, then expect me to make it absolute hell for you.” You whimper meekly when Neuvillette licks up and down your clit, jolting in Wriothesley’s grip. “What’s that, Princess? Finally using that mouth to make pretty noises? Hmm?” He taunts, squeezing your thighs whilst Neuvillette groans into you, the vibrations causing you to pant. He continues the taunting all the way up to your climax, in which Neuvillette stops abruptly. He tilts your chin up and smiles when he sees your fucked-out gaze. 

“Princess, you need to surrender in order for me to finish you off.” He sits you up, and you shake your head in disdain.

“No, I… I can’t, not yet!” You mumble, and Neuvillette pets your head, kissing your forehead. 

“We’ll let you come down from your high, darling. It’s okay.” His voice is coaxing, baritone, it vibrates and you feel your heart and lower regions flutter. Hyper aware of every kiss of air on your exposed flesh, and especially aware of Neuvillette and Wriothesley. Their breaths reverberate against your ear and clit. Wriothesley’s breath is cold, yet sharp, and Neuvillette,  scorching hot, but ebbing tortuously. Oh, you could surrender, but he’s prepared this lesson for you. Sweet, caring Neuvillette, who only wants the best for you, so you will do your best just to please him. Even if it is at the expense of your own pleasure. However, a darker part of you notices the nonchalant, cocky attitude that envelops Wriothesley, and how you want to prove him wrong. Surrendering to Neuvillette’s overwhelming yet gentle pleasure would be a reward, but to damn yourself to give into Wriothesley? You may as well be a rabbit waltzing into a wolf's den. 

“No! I won’t!” And with that, Neuvillette withdraws himself from between your legs, the sensation of his silver hair gliding across your thighs when he pulls himself away makes you jolt. Neuvillette smiles softly, his light purple eyes glistening and scrunching up with adoration, the same kind looks that melts your heart whenever you please him. Except now, he licks his fingers coated in a sheen of transparent, viscous liquid. It makes you squirm and twitch, the knot in your stomach dullens, but does not unravel. Wriothesley lets out a low whistle, brows raised as he watches you whine from your denied release. 

 “Seems like your stubbornness finally has some use. But you’ll buckle now that I’m gonna do you nice and fast.” The two switch positions, with Wriothesley between your legs and Neuvillette behind you. The only difference is that your head lays in Neuvillette’s lap instead of resting against his chest. The ruffled lace sleeve of his white shirt tickles your cheek as he reaches to brush your hair from your face, smiling softly. His finger trails your nose, down to your lips, and although you want to admire his smooth hands, you close your eyes when the pads of his fingers smooth your brows. Meanwhile, Wriothesley rummages through Neuvillette’s briefcase, his gloved hands producing a device with a suction-cup top. He grins deviously, and you instinctively try to back away, but Neuvillette reaches down to kiss your lips softly, murmuring a gentle reprimand.

“It’s not polite to reject a gift, little Princess.” He whispers, and you mumble a weak apology. His hair flutters across your face as he moves to tilt your chin towards the dark haired man. His eyes, the hue of starlight, glimmer with malice, lust, and innocent glee all at once. “Ah, ah, you should apologise to that gentleman over there.” Neuvillette replies softly, taking your bound wrists in one hand and massaging your chest with the other. You feel your face burn with humiliation. Apologise? To Wriothesley? Who holds a bizarre device that he will undoubtly use to torture you? 

But one look at Neuvillette makes you gulp, the way his hands squeezes and rubs at your breasts making you keel into his touch. You have no choice but to do as he says: “I-I’m sorry, Duke Wri- ah! Wriothesley.” You moan and god, you realise how pathetic you sound because the Duke tilts his head to one side and edges near your sensitive clit with the device. 

“Oh, you will be.” He waves it near your ears, and your eyes widen in horror when you hear it vibrate. You catch on quickly, even with pleasure disgruntling your senses as if playing a piano piece with the pendulum on the wrong tempo. You feel Neuvillette chuckle as his lap trembles with a low chuckle. “This is something I first found out about in the Fortress of Meriopede. They say the Fatui sometimes use pleasure to break their prey, so I’m not sure your dainty little body can take this vibrator, Princess.” His voice drips with disdain and mockery, and you want to weep from the embarrassment. You try to free yourself but Neuvillette still has his finger looped around the chains of your cuffs. Wriothesley grabs your hips and spreads your folds, whilst Neuvillette moves to circle your nipple with his finger, and you finally twitch when the first touch of the vibrator on your clit, and you yelp. Wriothesley quickly withdraws it from you and giggles with sadistic delight, before regaining his composure and diving back in with it. This time, the tantalising pleasure of the device licking your folds with mechanical speed is constant, and you cannot stifle the moans that escape your lips. 

“Fu-fuck! Ah- Wriothesley, d-haah~ put it away! This is an- mm~ order!” You whine desperately between moans, and Neuvillette has to press your lower stomach into the bed to prevent you from escaping. Wriothesley cooes at you and narrows his pretty glacial eyes, only to squish your cheeks, lightly, but it stops you from speaking.

 “An order? From a tied up,” he increases the vibrations,“ fucked out,” once more, and you whimper, “ little mess?” With a final increase, you whine. “What gives you that jurisdiction, brat? You shouldn’t even be ordering me to clean up your messy clothes, but you still do, and you ask me to do things for you out of job requirements. I thought you preferred that, so why is it that the one time I volunteer to do what is not required of me, you protest? Hmm?” He towers over you and laughs in your face as you sob. He lets you go, but you can only whine softly. 

“Fuck you!” You weakly moan, and Wriothesley tugs on a nipple, causing you to squeal. The knot in your stomach builds once more, and you hate that with every mean name he addresses you with, it tightens. 

“Yeah? Fucking adorable. Already am, you pathetic brat. Not even at the highest setting of this toy and you’re already whining like a bitch in heat.” 

Neuvillette and you answer at the same time: “I’m n-not a b-bitch in- ah~! Heat!” Out comes your languid response. “Now, that’s no language we use for a young lady.” Neuvillette shakes his head disapprovingly, but Wriothesley rolls his eyes at him, gesturing to you. 

“What do you call this then? She’s panting.” Wriothesley spits out, and Neuvillette lightly presses on your lower stomach in what is supposed to be a comforting gesture, but makes you see stars from pleasure. 

“I call it a masterpiece. Look, she’s going on strong.” He affirms, but that is the exact moment you buckle. 

“Please, please, please turn it off! I can’t take it, I’ll cum, please! Wriothesley!” You beg, and Wriothesley crawls on top of you, his knees on each side of your hips. His glacial gaze meets yours, and you can’t look back at them. 

“Is that how you beg? You can do better. Come on, Princess. I know you can do it. In fact, here’s some incentive.” He increases the vibrations and you scream in pleasure. 

“Please! Please, Duke Wriothesley, I’m sorry, please, please stop! I can’t take it anymore, I’m so close, please!” You whine between moans, and the pressure in your lower stomach is so strong you feel your legs tremble. Feelings of desperation, humiliation and pleasure liquidise and pool at your eyes in the form of tears, which Neuvillette swipes away as they fall. Wriothesley urges you to continue, and you swallow your pride. “Please, please stop! I want to be- to be good for the both of you and not surrender- please! Please! I beg of you, Duke.” 

“Hmm, request declined.” But it’s too late. Something inside you snaps, and waves of euphoria cause you to grasp the chains that cuff your wrists together. The pleasure consumes you, your legs tremble and let out one last moan before going limp.

Wriothesley reacts first. “You stupid brat, you came without permission. You’re not allowed to do that until you surrender.” His voice goes in through one ear and out the other, because Neuvillette handles you and you find your hole being covered in a jelly like substance and stretched out once more, his violet eyes gleam with a voracity that makes him look so ethereal, he appears to be not quite human. His actions are gentle, he slowly unzips his pants and he calmly embraces you, but the veins in his arm and one side of his neck bulge with desperation. 

You look at Neuvillette desperately, “W-wait, I just came, I’m still sensitive.” 

He looks at you, still sensitive and fucked out from your orgasm, and caresses your cheek. “Although Wriothesley was slightly out of line, your disobedience requires discipline, dear.  But I’ll never be rough with you. You know what words to say if you want this to stop, Princess.” He whispers, slowly easing you onto his length. It causes you to whine and jolt, warmth blooming in your core once more, but you rest your cuffed hands on Neuvillette’s chest, the silk of his white dress shirt clenched in your fists.

“Shh, it’s okay, darling. But you have to take it, it’s a punishment after all.” He whispers in your ear, smoothing his hand through your hair before lifting you by the waist and slamming you back down. You let out a pathetic squeal, and feel Wriothesley snake his cold arms around your neck from behind. One hand holds your chin up, forcing you to look at Neuvillette.

Pink dusts his cheeks, and his high ponytail has blue strands escaping from it, framing his blushing face. He pauses bouncing you on his lap to roll up his sleeves, giving you a kiss on your forehead before picking up the pace: “There you go, Princess- ah~! You’re doing so, fuck- so well.”

His moans are higher than his baritone drawl, but they maintain the smooth lilt his speech usually has. They mix with your louder moans and pants. This dishevelled version of the usually put-together Neuvillette makes the experience seem so much more intimate, so even if you can barely think straight with the pleasure, you hold onto him for dear life. 

Wriothesley, however, had never planned to give you a moment of peace ever since Neuvillette asked him of this favour, and he lands a sharp spank on your ass. “Enjoying this a bit too much, Princess? Should have expected that from you. I know why you squirm when I lift you up to take you back to the castle after you try and escape.” Neuvillette, hearing this, angles his hips to curve his tip more upwards, and it ends up hitting you in just the right place. He continues, his own moans growing louder and breathier. Your pleasure becomes too much once more, and you cannot muster the energy to talk back to Wriothesley, who continues his assault on your behind. “Fucking look at him. What do you say to the Iudex for making you feel so good?”

You’re too busy catching your breath, but it catches in your throat when he spanks you again. “This mouth talks back all the time but the one time I ask you to use it, you don’t?” His voice is severe, and you feel him chuckle from behind. 

“Th-thank you, Monsieur N-ah~! Neuvillette!” It comes out broken and quieter than you anticipate, but Neuvillette feels himself lose control, tears building in his eyes, matching the drizzle that darkens the sky outside of your window. 

You whine at Wriothesley’s relentless spanks and tremble once more as another orgasm builds up, and Neuvillette feels you contract around him, the orgasmic waves of yours causing him to throw his head back. “Ah~ You’re close too dear, right? I’m- haah~ sorry, darling, but I can’t- can’t give you what you want.” He whines with almost the same amount of desperation as you, but pulls out, his own orgasm takes hold and he finishes on your stomach, leaving you high and dry. You whine desperately, but Neuvillette hushes you. The two of you take a second to catch your breaths, and he leans his forehead against yours. “Well done, Princess.” 

“But you’re not done yet, Princess. One last chance to surrender?” Wriothesley guides your cuffed arms around Neuvillette’s neck, allowing you to grasp onto the back of his silk shirt that now hangs off one shoulder, exposing the flesh underneath. His breathing is still rugged and deep, but somehow, the rise and fall of his chest makes you feel safe, so when he guides your head to lay against him, you don’t protest. But at the same time, you do not surrender. You shake your head, resisting the chance to finish. If you could take Neuvillette, you could take Wriothesley. That’s what you think, but as Wriothesley slides into you from behind after propping you on your knees and face resting against Neuvillette, who is slumped against the headboard, you realise how wrong you are.

Neuvillette was going easy on you on purpose, but Wriothesley graces you with punishing thrusts that leave you reeling so hard your moans become silent and only whimpers escape your throat. He finds your sweet spot and hits it at a fast pace, perhaps not going in all the way as Neuvillette did, but his speed much higher. His hips stutter, but his rhythm is consistent otherwise. Although the sensitivity from the previous orgasm has died down, this pleasure is hard to comprehend, so when Neuvillette finds the vibrator under the covers and you hear it vibrate, you begin to squirm once more. 

“No, no, no. You’re fucking taking this, Princess. You needed to be shut up, this was inevitable, so why not enjoy it, hmm? Why not let yourself become a pathetic little mess and maybe we can let you feel even better than you do now?” 

“I’m- I’m not surrendering!” You choke out, and Neuvillette rubs the vibrator across your nipples, dipping downwards to your clit, causing you to break out into goosebumps and quivers. 

“You’re not, dear? That’s great to hear, you’re doing such a good job, I’m so proud of you.” Neuvillette praises, and you cringe when you feel yourself flutter around Wriothesley, practically hearing shit eating grin. 

“Aww, Iudex, they like it when you praise them. Just felt them tighten.” He grunts, holding you up by the hips and thrusting into you rapidly. 

“Do you, now?” Neuvillette teases, kissing the crown of your forehead when you sob in humiliation and pleasure. “Then, darling, you’re doing so well, but you would do better to surrender, hmm?” He whispers, slowly palming at your chest. “Just let us make you feel good, you’re going to be our Princess from now on, okay?” 

“N-no! I won’t g-give- ah~! Give up!” You whine, and Wriothesley feels his own orgasm building. You can tell by the way he slows down and the way his groans become deeper. He hugs you close to him and kisses you down your spine as he gets closer, and you try and buck your hips to chase your own orgasm but he holds you so tight, you cannot move. 

“Well- fucking done, brat.” Wriothesley moans into your ear as you feel liquid stain your behind. He pulls out just before finishing and sighs in relief. Neuvillette takes your cuffed arms and ducks under them to allow himself to remove his arms around your neck and walks towards his briefcase. He takes out a blindfold and what seems to be a collar, and you feel your heart sink into your stomach, where it pulsates from adrenaline and want. You can’t want more, they’re breaking your defences down and you’ve already forfeited most of your pride when begging Wriothesley, but when Neuvillette praises you for enduring thus far, how can you refuse? Might as well enjoy the pleasure the two give you. Especially now that your blacked out vision enhances the sensation of Neuvillette’s tip tapping against your lips. Wriothesley runs his hand down your back, kissing and licking the flesh hungrily. The pleasure of the vibrator remains on your clit, and you beg and plead, but the two continue to toy with you and your senses, this lesson in etiquette seemingly never ending…

…Neuvillette and Wriothesley have you bent over the bed, with Neuvillette eating you out and Wriothesley sucking your clit, and it snaps. You really can’t take anymore of the edging. The blindfold increases your sensitivity by tenfold and you grip the sheets. “I- I surrender! Please let me cum, please!” You beg, and once you look back, you’re met with the vibrant, violet gaze of your royal tutor, and the jeer of your bodyguard. You feel yourself being flipped over for the nth time, and the two ravage you. Neuvillette, with his feather light touches, and Wriothesley, who targets the spots that make you keel in pleasure. 

Truly, you didn’t think the lesson was over yet, did you..? 

[viviennevermillion]

ᴀ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ʙᴇɢɪɴɴɪɴɢ ɴᴏᴡ ɪꜱ ᴏᴜʀꜱ...

❝ there's no storm we can't outrun, we will always find the sun, leave the past and all its scars [...] ; if we're facing endless night, take my hand and join the fight, past the clouds we'll find the stars... ❞ — cast of once upon a time

notes: these wedding headcanons are part of our @briarvalleyarchives wedding event! it was super fun brainstorming how weddings would be in the characters' homelands. used my own experience of german customs for vil's, for leona i checked out some kenyan wedding traditions and lion king lore! hope you guys like these ♡

contains: wedding headcanons, character x gn!reader

characters: malleus, vil, azul, leona

warnings: some blood in malleus's (pricking your finger)

You were a little nervous, when the day had finally come for Queen Maleficia to introduce you to her kingdom's people as Prince Malleus's fiance. News that the heir to the throne of Briar Valley was getting married travelled very far very quickly, and that despite the lack of modern technology. But contrary to your fears and extensive list of worst case scenarios, you were well-received as Malleus's beloved and your prince was more than excited about the upcoming wedding.

According to Briar Valley traditions, both of your wedding attire is going to be black, as it is the royal color of the Draconia family. Nevertheless, neither the queen nor the people will mind you having a little color on your otherwise black clothing, symbolizing how you were not native to your beloved's kingdom; yet your union made you a part of fae society nonetheless, regardless of your origins.

The wedding venue is deep in the forest and has been in preparation by the castle staff for months. Malleus and you are to be wed under a floral arbor, decorated with roses from Malleus's garden.

On the day of the ceremony, butterflies and fireflies surround the venue and rose petals are scattered across it.

You're waiting under the arbor as the queen leads Malleus down the aisle, guided by small forest fae who were chosen as the ring bearers. They carry a small wooden basket with local plants of Briar Valley and the rings are placed upon them. Halfway through, Queen Maleficia lets go of her grandson's arm and lets him walk the rest of the way to you on his own, symbolizing her trust in him to walk his own path from here on out and a new part of his life beginning. You can see a soft smile on her face that is only seen from the usually so serious and stern queen on rare occasions. The guests are assembled at the side of the venue, watching you unite under the arbor and giving you their blessings.

You and Malleus exchange your vows. He takes your hands into his as he speaks to you. "I have to confess that when I met you, I was inexperienced and still had so much to learn about this world. But sharing these experiences with you, exploring what lies beyond the borders of my home by your side, were some of the happiest moments of my life and I still have no doubt that they marked the beginning of something even more grand to come", Malleus's expression was so loving and soft, but you could also tell how giddy and excited he was feeling inside, "just by being there, you brought so much color and vibrance into my life and made me look at the world through different eyes. From the moment we met, I never wanted to lose you and now I promise to you to stay by your side forever, if you allow me. I love you dearly and with all my heart."

Malleus listens attentively to your vows and his heart beats faster when he hears them. He's definitely tearing up.

In remembrance of the Thorn Fairy, it is custom in Briar Valley to prick your finger on a thorn to sign the wedding certificate. Malleus heals the cut with his magic immediately, so there's no need to worry.

Next you shall be crowned as part of the royal family. Every member of the Draconia family receives a custom-made crown. You have a say in deciding how it looks and Malleus hasn't actually seen it until he gets to place it on top of your head at the ceremony. Before doing so, he kisses the dragon markings on your forehead or the skin where they should be, if you had them, and you do the same with him. Malleus smiles as he feels your lips on his markings, taking your hand into his once more and squeezing it gently. You know him too well not to be aware that he's basically itching to pull you into a kiss.

Malleus and you exchange rings and are pronounced newlyweds. "You may kiss-"

Malleus's lips are already on yours before that sentence is even finished. He kisses you deeply and lovingly and holds you tightly in his arms. He doesn't let go of you just yet even after the kiss has ended, hugging you closely and nuzzling your temple.

It is said that the marriage is sealed with true love's kiss.

The eldest fairies in the royal court bestow their magic blessings on you. How effective these actually are? You're not sure, but you're willing to be surprised.

The wedding reception is held in Malleus's rose garden and the guests are reduced to the royal court, both of your family members, friends and the closest noble associates to the Draconia family.

Bowls with flowers as well as twigs decorate the tables at the reception and fairy lights adorn the rose garden.

Traditional Briar Valley folk music plays as you and your guests dance the night away.

Vil and you ring in your wedding celebrations with a "Polterabend", as is typical in the area of the Shaftlands that Vil lives in. This custom is held on the night before the wedding. The guests bring porcelain, but also commonly flowerpots and ceramics to the party that are later smashed onto the ground, supposedly to bring good luck to the couple.

A barbecue is held to provide food for the guests. Vil made sure there's lots of salads and grilled vegetables as well to provide enough variety of foods. Lively chatter can be heard at the tables between your family members and friends as drinks are served.

This gathering is used as an opportunity to accept well-wishes from acquaintances, co-workers and people who aren't able to come to the actual wedding. They stop by for a while to give wedding cards and small gifts to you and Vil. This includes your former classmates from NRC.

"Epel, I swear to the Seven, this is your grandmother's antique tableware, don't you dare", Vil scolds his Pomefiore underclassman as the porcelain smashing ceremony is about to begin. "Are you kidding me, this is the literal point of this evening", Epel pouts. Vil also has to stop Ace from smashing a whole mirror. "Did you never hear about smashing a mirror meaning 7 years of bad luck?", Vil sighs. "Aw, come on, let them have their fun for the night", you chuckle. Vil raises his eyebrows at you. "If we end up cursed, it's your fault."

The actual wedding ceremony happens on the next day at the registry office. You greet your guests in front of the building and provide them with champagne and juice to toast to your marriage. The guests take their seats and eagerly await the beginning of the ceremony. You and Vil have decided to walk in together. One of your guests sings a love song with a piano accompaniment as you two enter and take your seats in front of the registrar's desk. Vil's dad is tearing up as he sees you walk in to the slow music.

You and Vil exchange vows. "Y/n... I have met plenty of people who have said that there's hardly one who understands beauty better than I do. But you proved to me that there were things I had yet to see and understand about the beauty surrounding me", Vil smiles at you and takes your hand into his, "your love made me see a new kind of beauty in this world and just like the radiance of the Beautiful Queen, our love, too, will shine on eternally. I cherish every day we spend together and I know that I can count on you to be there through the good times and the bad. And I promise that I will stay by your side and love you more with every year that passes. I will be there for you whenever you need me. I love you with all my heart."

You exchange rings (Vil's own design) and the registrar makes your marriage official. Vil seals his promise with a kiss. His kiss is soft and doesn't last very long, but you know he's saving the passionate kisses for later.

The guests congratulate you for your union and you leave the building, getting into the car that has been specifically rented for the occasion and decorated with flowers. With your guests behind you, you drive to the reception, hearing them honk their car horns in celebration of your wedding. "I just know we're interrupting some poor soul's afternoon nap", Vil sighs and chuckles.

A log has been placed in front of the entrance of your wedding reception, resembling the first obstacle you and Vil have to overcome as newlyweds. Vil's father hands you the saw to cut it as per tradition. "Hold on, I need to get my gloves", Vil gets his gloves from the car and you chuckle at how on brand this was for him. God forbid Vil Schoenheit breaks a nail on his wedding day. But since Vil is pretty physically strong, the two of you saw through the log rather quickly. "Magnifique!", Rook exclaims and starts clapping.

As the wedding reception you picked an elegant ballroom that reminds you a lot of Pomefiore during your school years. Carefully designed flower bouquets decorate the tables.

You and Vil sit down at the forefront of the tables where all your guests are able to see you. Before the buffet is opened, one of you holds a speech, thanking the guests for the gifts and their attendance and telling the story of how you met and fell in love. Vil's father and optionally, your closest family members, hold speeches as well to express their joy about your union.

After everyone has finished dinner, you share your first dance on the ballroom floor. Vil being Vil, has actually practiced this dance with you for a while before the wedding. Still, even if you'd step on his foot today, he's too happy to care. A slow song plays as you seem to only have eyes for each other for as long as your waltz lasts.

Once your dance concludes, you open the dancefloor to your guests as well to dance with their partners, friends and family. Vil and you hand-picked every song on your wedding playlist.

Sometime later during the evening, your guests have prepared some speeches and party games for you, including a slideshow of your most important memories together and a round of musical chairs which Vil happens to win.

Azul and you decide to hold two wedding celebrations, both under the sea and on land. You hire a wedding planner to help you set the whole thing up and you convince Azul not to charge the guests for the food.

Only your closest family members and friends attend the wedding ceremony under the sea, to make sure that Azul is able to provide enough potions for all of you to breathe underwater.

He's totally the nervous one out of the two of you. Kinda freaks out internally if anything doesn't go according to plan and during the time you spend planning your wedding, he sometimes needs you to take his mind off things and let him rest his head in your lap as you run your fingertips through your fiance's silver hair.

Since there's no real "wedding attire" for merfolk, Azul receives some traditional coral sea body paint which is temporary and luminous. You cup his cheeks before the ceremony. "You're so pretty", you gush quietly and Azul reminds you to save this for after the wedding with a blush on his face.

Azul's mother has to be the happiest guest. She sweeps her son up in a hug. "Awww my little Azul is getting married....they grow up so fast", she wipes her tears, "I remember when you were just 3 and you tried practicing your signature with ink on our living room walls." You giggle. "Mum...please", Azul groans and hides his expression behind his hand.

In remembrance of the mermaid princess's beautiful singing, the mermaids who have been invited to your wedding sing for you as you are united in front of the altar. Azul wraps an arm around your shoulder as the two of you listen to the siren song.

During your vows, you make sure to drive the point home about how beautiful you think Azul is inside and out, something that still gets him a little flustered even after all this time.

"My dearest y/n", Azul begins his own vows and can't resist pressing a kiss to your forehead before continuing with his speech, "when we met, my heart knew no rest nor satisfaction. I grasped for everything within my reach because I myself was unsure of what I was looking for. I know now, that what I really needed was closure and acceptance and love. You were there throughout my journey so far and I want you to be there for the rest of it. I have grown to love you from the bottom of my heart and I fall in love with you more and more every day. I want to share my future with you and I'll stand by your side, come what may, for as long as you'll let me be part of your world."

You seal your marriage with a soft and loving kiss and Azul can't repress the joyful "It's a deal!" that comes out of his mouth. "The only contract I'll be happy to sign with you", you joke.

You receive headpieces that are decorated with shells, featuring a golden shell reminiscent of the necklace the Sea Witch used to wear as the centerpiece.

After the ceremony you are given gifts by your guests. The merfolk typically give you items from land to accompany you on your journey beyond the sea, a tradition that originated from the collection of the mermaid princess and her union with the human prince.

Your celebration on land happens the day after at the beach. There's food and drinks and the atmosphere is as lively as you would expect from a beach wedding. There's sparklers and a bonfire as well.

As the sun sets, you and Azul are sent off in a boat to a ship you have rented where the celebration continues. Your closest friends accompany you with boats as well before the rest of your guests follow you. Your merfolk guests are watching from the surface of the sea.

The wedding celebration ends with a huge firework at midnight. "I love you", Azul whispers to remind you as the fireworks light up the night sky. He has his arms wrapped around you and presses a kiss to your cheek.

After the guests have left the ship, you and Azul are sent off to your honeymoon together.

Leona sees his family members gather around him and ask him a million questions about your upcoming wedding and everyone seems to have their own ideas for how to improve the festivities for the second prince. “You know”, he holds you in his arms on the evening before the wedding, “it’s not too late to ditch everyone and have a shotgun wedding in a neighboring country.” You chuckle and shake your head. “I think Farena would have a crisis if we did that.”

A couple of months before the wedding, the royal family invites your family and they get together over dinner to get to know each other better and discuss your wedding plans with you. Farena is really happy that Leona is getting married and that he’s seeing him actually put effort into something. 

The wedding ceremony is held at Pride Rock, just as recorded for every royal couple since the time of the King of Beasts. You, along with several guests, are wrapped in cloth and Leona has to guess which one is his betrothed. His senses never fail him though.

“You know, it would have been so embarrassing if you actually got it wrong. I would have never let you live this down”, you tease him. Leona shrugs. “Literally no one else here smells this much like herbivore”, he smirks and pokes your side affectionately. “I like to think this is a compliment”, you grin. “It is by now. I thought you were a pain back when I met you”, he whispers into your ear. You roll your eyes with a laugh. “What? I’m not allowed to say this during my vows, might as well do it now”, Leona pulls you close as your guests are busy talking to each other, “I don’t know what possessed you to stick around even through my obvious annoyance and terrible attitude but you crawled your way into my heart. I admit I wasn’t…the easiest person to love in the beginning. But I promise that I’ll never let you down again. Or… overblot. Actually I would appreciate it if we could just forget about the overblot.” Leona cringes. “Anyway, ‘suppose what I wanted to say is, thank you for stickin’ by me. I love you. A lot, actually. There was a long time where I didn’t really see a future for myself. But now I do. And I want to spend it with you.”

You are escorted to the wedding ceremony by your respective families. They shake hands before entering the venue together, accompanied by singing, dancing and drums. 

Leona’s official vows are very formal and something you knew Farena had beta-read. Nevertheless, you appreciate the gesture. You and Leona exchange rings and your families sign off on it as you are pronounced a married couple. Leona pulls you close and kisses you, wrapping his tail around your waist.

Your closest relatives and associates of the royal court assemble in a circle with you and Leona and your ceremony is concluded by the Royal Mjuzi giving his blessings for your marriage, just as it had already been done during the times where the King of Beasts roamed these lands. The Royal Mjuzi takes his bakora staff adorned with baobab fruits and shakes it in front of you. 

Leona and you light a unity candle before you ascend to the top of Pride Rock along with Farena and the queen. “I could lift you up and show you to the people like they did with Cheka when he was born”, Leona whispered with a smirk on his face. “I would prefer it if you do not do that”, you whisper back and shake your head. “Seriously don’t”, Farena warns his younger brother and Leona lets out a quiet laugh.

When you reach the top of Pride Rock, masses of people from Sunset Savannah have assembled below you, clapping and cheering as congratulations to your marriage. The royal family waves to the people and the live music reaches its climax.

As you descend from the large rock, the elders of the community give their wisdom and encouragement to you and Leona

The celebration after the ceremony happens on the palace grounds. Several emissaries from foreign countries as well as Sunset Savannah nobles have been invited and the celebration is also seen as an opportunity to improve Sunset Savannah’s ties with other nations. “Now we get to talk to stuck-up politicians, advocate for King Farena’s ideas and look pretty”, Leona whispers, never really having dropped the cynicism about his status as the second prince, “unless you’re open for suggestions…” “Leona, we’re not going to ditch the celebration, take a jeep out into the wilderness and kiss under the stars….okay maybe after the event we can do that.” “You know me too well”, your husband chuckles and wraps his arms around you from behind. 

“Do you think the great kings of the past give us their blessings as well?”, he asks, looking up at the stars. “I thought you said the stars were just giant balls of hot gas burning millions of miles away from us?”, you raise an eyebrow. “Eh, it’s a pick and choose thing for me, really”, Leona smiles and kisses your cheek, “I love you, herbivore.”

[dabisbratz]

forget me not — knight!satosugu x male reader

warning: mdni, porn w/ plot, royalty au, prince!reader, knight!satosugu, historical inaccuracies, two ( 2 ) smut scenes: brat!reader, spanking, dirty talk, light feminization, praise / degradation, backshots, possessiveness, jealousy, breeding, overstim, dp, oral, rimming, snowballing, eiffel tower position, mocking, unprotected sex, creampie, arranged marriage ( ment ), full nelson, sub!bottom!reader

w.c: 8.1k

.˚｡♡୨୧ ꒰ sonny says…: this took sooo long t’write but m’actually very happy with the result, hehe !! hope you guys like it too!!

There’s been a disturbance in the force. A rude, sudden awakening plastered on village bulletin boards and hammered into the story-seeking minds of money hungry journalists. The Baron’s son has gone missing.

They say it happened in the midst of the day, unexpected and all too sudden. He was left under the care of Kento Nanami— whom you’ve met a few times, and if you’re being honest. . . You wouldn’t mind taking up the man’s services while the Baron’s son is still missing.

It has nothing to do with you, frankly, seeing as you’ve never been kidnapped. You’re certainly not the Baron’s son— oh, you have much more authority than that— and you’re nowhere near as reckless as he is. Was? In fact, had you been as reckless as to take up the hobby of carriage riding, you’d have taken a butler or two with you. Not that you doubt your abilities in combat— sure, you’ve never thrown an actual punch in your life— but it shouldn’t be too hard. Whatever the status of his stolen life, it has nothing to do with you.

Until it does.

“Satoru Gojo, at your service!” The words are stolen from your mouth before they can even rise, and your hands are being enveloped in the warmth of long, pale palms. His grip is firm, albeit bouncy with vigor as he jolts your hand up and down, nearly snapping your arm clean off.

Satoru. . . Is very pretty. It’s apparent before you even take in his features. It shows in his voice, rich and sweet— you can hear the lopsided smile in it. It shows in his stature: playful yet confident, as if he’s done this a million times before. He doesn’t need good posture to tower over the masses, but he has it anyway. His blazing white hair…Now that’s an anomaly.

Taking note of your strain to wiggle free, he huffs dramatically, swatting your hand away as if it was him who wanted free. He taps a clean fingernail against his bottom lip once, then twice, and leans over to place his face directly in front of your own— increasingly taller by the second. With zero comprehension of personal space, he tilts his gaze up from your hand to your lips. His breath smells faintly of custard tarts, but it’s the smell of his expensive cologne that curves your judgment. For a moment, you consider what it’d be like— being wrapped up in his honey-smooth scent. His voice lowers to a whisper as he tilts his head, “The pleasure’s all mine.”

“You look a mess.” The voice behind him is just as smooth, rich and deep and accompanied by inky, dark hair that you’re sure is against the knightley regime. But you don’t mind it— it’s hard to, especially when it’s attached to someone so. . . beautiful. His eyes match his hair, sleek and sharp dark pools that you’re sure have maidens swooning. His earlobes are stretched, something not as common amongst those of a lower royal status, but it suits him. He’s Suguru Geto, you’ve learned— as Gojo introduces him without a thought, like they’ve known each other for years.

It’s quite evident they do, with the way the white-haired male swings a playful arm over his shoulders and a smile spreads across the brunette’s handsome face. It makes something in your stomach twist, and you’ve decided— just upon feeling it— that you don’t like it.

“He meant to say the pleasure’s ours.”

The garden is peaceful. Full of peonies and orchids, arrays of pink hues and periwinkle petals that dance in the breeze. Leaving little to the imagination sits green leaves of shrubs and berry bushes, lined up along the perimeter of the outstandingly large green-room. Gravel trails of small rocks and shiny pebbles leave a great walkway through the center of every row, bleeding into the rich soil that holds blush roses. You’d spent many sleepless nights here, bare feet digging into the pellets as you’d danced to the celebratory music of the crickets, joining fireflies in their soirée. Kissed by the setting sun, its glowing, orange-yellow rays beam down into the crisp air. You breathe in, deep and full, lungs expanding with rose seeds and baby’s breath. Running your fingertips along the dainty petals, droplets of rainwater tickle your skin. You wish you were a flower, self reliant and free. Devastatingly beautiful under every eye.

Smacked dead center of the garden is a large fountain, sculpted cherubs with gold leaking through the crevices of their wings. Baby cupid follows just behind, a smaller stream of water flowing from his bow and arrow. An extravagant spectacle that was much too flashy for your liking, but gorgeous nonetheless.

There are remnants of your childhood here, large overgrown trees that reach for the skyline holding a wooden swing, sole and lonely, worn down from the years. An unmistakably human dent in the freshly watered roses that fit you perfectly— have fit you perfectly. . . It’s yours.

Or, at least, it is now. After your mother died, you’d taken after her horticulturist nature. It was the last thing you had of her— her trees, her flowers, her soil. She planted the seeds and you nurtured the roots— just as she’d done for you. You used to imagine your life without her when she was around, so much so your throat would tighten and your vision would blur. But it never could’ve amounted to how it’d feel when it actually happened. When she was gone forever, in the midst of the night. Like she’d dissipated into thin air. She left you.

Your knees dig into the soil, a freshly installed pound of mulch to regulate the heat of the roots bound to the ground, scraped up and burning the further you kneel on its surface. You’re sure the fresh smell of grass and dirt will cling to the baby blue silk of your pajamas— especially the shorts— but you have only half the mind to care, shifting your weight ever so often as you spill your family secrets to the peonies. They’re great listeners.

The ground crackles beneath your knees, pebbles leaving behind thick remnants of dust as they’re kicked to the side beneath heavy shoes. It’s not hard to guess who it is, not when you’ve been around the same two idiots for the past several months, or so. There’s a bounce in his step, much bouncier than the other— so you know it’s Gojo.

“You’re so hard to find,” Exasperated and faintly out of breath, the high ranking knight pretends to gasp behind you. “Seriously! Like some kind of.. slippery.. snake.”

“Ugh,” You hear yourself groan, nearly planting your face into the roses to save yourself from facing the knight. “That was the point.”

The white-haired man hums, mumbling something akin to ‘pretty!’ under his breath as he crouches down on one knee beside you. The gesture makes your blood boil as much as your heart flutters, fast and hard as your shoulders inch closer and closer to your ears. Getting on his knees to face you like this. . . You’re a grown man! . . . Albeit on your knees.

Gojo sits the luminescent lantern down, appreciating the quiet sound it makes as it sinks into the gravel path. So dramatic, the moon has barely begun to show, and yet, he’s carrying around a damned lantern!

“Well,” His voice is soft and quiet, as if he’s trying not to wake the tulips. Gojo’s hand, long and thin, pushes down the strain of your shoulders and smooths them out until they’re lax and rested. “It’s time for bed! And I have to make sure you get to bed safe. You know that.”

“The sun hasn’t set yet,” You stand your ground, planting your knees further into the soil despite the jolt of pain shooting straight through them. It’s childish, really. The garden isn’t going anywhere, it’ll be here tomorrow morning, and the morning after that, and after that, and so on and so forth. But it’s your safespace, if you could sleep here you would. “What’s my schedule like tomorrow?”

You’re buying time. Satoru knows he can’t object to answering your questions, he’s legally bound to you— legally bound to answer to you. And if that wasn’t enough, he was bound by an oath of blood.

“Between you and me,” Satoru leans forward, resting his hand atop his knee. His breath tickles the shell of your ear, and smells faintly of sugar cane. “Same thing as always. I don’t know how you do it! I mean, I went to school to be appointed knight. . .”

You’d meant to distract him, but really, you ended up distracting yourself. The knight’s voice is just so smooth, warm and buttery. So you listen as he explains your schedule— breakfast, fencing lessons, fitting for a new set of outerwear, more fencing lessons, lunch— it’s all the same. It’s the small peek into his life that leaves you interested, the implication that his family was wealthy enough to send him to school. That he chose the life of chivalry.

“. .I met Suguru . .We were the strongest in our division, y’know. . .”

“Satoru?” You don’t mean to cut him off, but his recurrent rambling slowly weighs down your eyelids. You turn to sit properly, gritting your teeth as you rest on your backside and dust off your scraped knees. Dirt clings anyway.

It’s clear the knight notices, but he doesn’t make an effort to say anything. Instead, he chirps in acknowledgment to your upcoming question, raising his pale hands to lightly dust away the remaining soil. He’ll have to inform someone of the infirmary division about it after you're safely asleep in bed.

“Can we— I want to sleep here tonight.” His face noticeably contorts, dimples creasing his pale, but still rosy, cheeks as he furrows his eyebrows in thought.

“Knew you’d say that,” You nearly crash straight forward into the pale man’s chest, surprise etched across your features as Suguru’s voice rings behind you. How long had he been there? The trail crunches beneath his feet, slowly growing quiet as he stops adjacent to you and Gojo. He’s holding a quilt in his hands, sturdy and warm and large, accompanied by one of your expensive silk pillows in contrast to their strung together, straw cushions. “You took my lantern, Satoru.”

“Guilty!” The other responds, as if it were a question and not a proclamation of war— courtesy of Suguru.

If the three of you end up sleeping under the stars tonight, you only have half the heart to complain.

Tomorrow comes easy.

Though you suppose, that makes it today. You were left to your own devices, having clothed and groomed yourself accordingly. Your fencing uniform wasn’t entirely traditional, though it wasn’t as if you were doing traditional fencing in the first place. Satoru and Suguru preferred swordsmanship, the art of wielding and yielding a sword against their opponent. And, sure, fighting one against two wasn’t exactly fair, but it was realistic.

Or that’s what you tell yourself to get through it.

Satoru is relentless. The man looks like he’d fall apart after being struck with a particularly heavy gust of wind, but he’s sturdier than he looks. His lean nature only adds to his agility, and going against him is like learning to walk on your feet for the first time all over again.

“Don't think I’ll go easy on you just because you’re my favorite student.” You’re his only student, you want to add, but you’re too busy dodging his sparkling blade.

You haven’t been given the pleasure of using a real one, not like Geto and Gojo do, you’re stuck with a pathetic excuse of a wooden sword. It’s kiddie and cheap in your hand, almost as if you’re holding some sort of toy, but the two insist it’s for your safety. The two are masters at their craft, nothing but the best for the prince—you suppose—they have yet to knick you with their blades.

“Or because you’re the handsomest,” His smile is smug, watching your eyes widen by the centimeter. “Isn’t that right?” It’s accompanied by a grunt, whether it’s frustration or flustered, it certainly has you wound up enough to send a wooden jab straight to his abdomen.

“Atta boy!” He chirps, charging forward to knock you over with a strong, hearty embrace. He’s warm, much thicker and plush than his training garments let on. Suguru pushes him away with a blunt elbow to the ribs, a chuckle parting his pink lips when the man scrambles to shield his side.

“Speak to me like I’m some sort of pet again and my father will have your head.” You grunt, though it’d be idiotic to say you don’t miss the warmth of his body.

That gets an unrestrained laugh out of Suguru, but it dies down before you can truly appreciate it, “My turn.” The air thickens with intensity, and suddenly the wooden sword in your hand is a brick.

“Aw, c’mon! But I’m so hungry,” Gojo’s back just as fast as he leaves, jumping on the two of you with the entirety of his mass. “Don’t tell me you want to pass up soba!”

The weight of Satoru’s body has all three of you toppling over, limbs wrapped around each other as you tumble down the small hill. Blades of grass tickle your back, through your clothing, but your face is protected by the cushiony warmth of Suguru’s chest. He cradles your head the whole way down with one hand, the other wrapped around Satoru’s waist.

You’re sandwiched between them, one heart beat for each ear as your eyes slowly crack open. Their cheeks are dusted a rosy shade of pink, featherlight and sweet as it seeps into the apples of their cheeks and travels up their cheekbones, and back to their lips. Kissable, biteable, your lips can’t help but part as you gaze at them.

There are warm palms pressing into your wrists besides your lack of resistance, and you can’t argue until it’s too late. Warm, your face prickles as a pair of lips press into the fleshiness of your cheeks. Soft like pillows and smooth like silk, it’s a tender kiss to both cheeks that you can barely register. It must look silly, you’re certain, being pinned to another while both press a ginger, heat-of-the-moment kiss to your cheeks.

(It’s scandalous to be caught kissing before marriage, let alone with your knights. But you’re to be crowned soon, and you never liked listening to your father anyway.)

So you can’t help but smile, lips upturned as a hearty, genuine laugh floats into the air and bursts like a freshly blown bubble. Just as transparent— you’re truly happy. This is yours.

They are yours.

You feel cold just from hearing it. The cool breeze of spring beating against the glass door separating your bedroom from your balcony. Large, sculpted and plated in gold handles that glint under your bedside lampshade. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes with balled up fists, you’re quick to scramble out of bed. You slip off your thick blankets in favor of your robe, slipping your arms through the thin material that, really, doesn’t do much to aid your skin from the bitter cold that comes hand in hand with the midnight sky. You venture onward nonetheless, dragging the sheer, lace material behind you as you open the double doors with a quiet grunt.

“C’mon, don’t listen to him!” It’s Gojo, you can tell, the nervous smile in his voice is apparent. It echoes against the tall walls, loud and clear in comparison to the singing crickets and cicadas.

The silky tremor of his voice makes your shoulders relax in an instant, and you can’t help but peek over the sculpted balcony. The flooring is cement but the railings are cold metal, bent into flowery shapes and spiraling coils. You press your palms into the metal, leaning forward until the cold railing is pressed against your stomach.

Satoru stuffs his hands into his pockets, visibly deflating as he shakes his head. It’s hard to see his face from the angle you’re at, but you can tell his glossy lips are pulled into a tight lipped frown.

“I’m the Prince’s personal knight, all have you know!” He raises an accusatory finger toward the balcony at which you stand, and you nearly fall over when he lifts his blue-eyed gaze to meet your own. “Look! Look!”

You feel yourself leaning forward, chasing after Gojo’s dimpled smile until you’re falling fast and hard, but there’s a firm hand gripping the nape of your neck to prevent you from doing so. You nearly jump out of your skin, balling your hands into tight fists in preparation to swing, but the large hand is familiar. Warm, inviting, stern.

Suguru.

His long hair flows with the wind, blending into the inky black sky as he looks down at you through the bridge of his nose. Suguru is the scariest of the two, albeit just as goofy and sugar packed as Satoru, with narrowed eyes and knowing smirk. He’s always first to set things straight, and it’s as simple as a disapproving hum or shake of his head.

“Warn me next time,” Your voice crackles with disuse, but you swat away his guiding hand to emphasize your seriousness. Geto raises an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smile. “I wasn’t scared.”

“Yeah?” He doesn’t sound all that convinced.

“Not of you anyway. For you,” You clear your throat, watching Geto stalk over to the edge of the railing. “. . .Since I’ve been training. I could’ve…Y’know, really knocked you out.”

You neglect to acknowledge that you’ve been training with him and Satoru, that they’re the reason why you know what you do.

“Right.” The stifled laugh in his voice is evident, but Suguru doesn’t bother arguing with the statement. His eyes have traveled to the box in Satoru’s pretty hands, wrapped in silky paper and tied together with a bow. Small enough to fit in his pocket, he must have fished for it when you weren’t looking. You don’t get to inspect it for long, as he’s being ushered back in before your eyes can really make-out the shape of whatever’s packaged inside.

When you see Satoru again, inside the castle this time— in your very own bedroom, he looks just as good as the day he’d left you. Though his expression is twisted— confusion (toward you) and agitation (toward Geto)—he continues to get you into your actual pajamas, laughing away the embarrassment of stripping you of your garments.

While he discards your shirt, Geto undoes your shorts from behind, eyes dancing down your thighs, your legs, your ankles, to the floor. Where your robe sits, pooling around your feet. Your back is caged against Suguru’s front, his chest pressing up against you as he leans down to press his chin into your shoulder. Warm and big, his arms snake around your waist as Satoru’s long, skinny fingers trail down your bare shoulders, your chest, your navel. . . back up.

Squirming in his hold, Satoru’s fingers circle around your nipples, watching as they harden and stiffen. Cute, soft sounds leave your lips and your head falls forward, lashes fluttering as your back slightly arches.

“I’m to be married next month,” You blurt it out before you can catch yourself, swallowing the lump in your throat as the air chills with silence. It’s thick, frozen like ice and prickles at your skin. “There’s— We’ll be holding a ball for it, and you two will come with me for my suit-fitting.” Suguru’s grip around your waist tightens, and Satoru finds himself rolling and pinching your sensitive buds with more aggression.

“Why?” It falls flat on Gojo’s heavy tongue, and Geto seems too busy burying his face in your neck to ask further questions.

“Guaranteed protection,” Your shoulders stiffen, Suguru pressing his thickening cock against your ass with a grunt of disapproval. Satoru’s face darkens, in a way that’s reserved and scary, like you’ve insulted him and his entire bloodline. “You two are. . . unfit.”

“Unfit.” It’s spoken in unison, steely and hard in a way that has your knees wobbling. You’re lucky to be between them, leaning against them for support as Suguru’s teeth sink into your shoulder. His gaze flickers upward, straight to Satoru, and before you know it, they’re pushing you into your soft bed.

“Ow!” You hiss, hands shooting to cover the area Suguru’s palm crashes against. “The fuck are you doing?!” Heat blooms beneath your fingers, but you’re not able to cover your ass for long, because Satoru’s pulling at your wrists and properly positioning your backside upward. His grip is strong, nearly bruising, as he manhandles you over both their laps and pushes your underwear to the side, fully exposing your ass.

“What your father couldn’t,” Is all you get in return, squirming and thrashing in their strong grip as Geto’s big hand strikes your ass. Your hips twitch and jolt, grinding against a hard knee that has whimpers rising in your throat. You can’t help it, they sound so good when they’re angry, so deep and gravelly. It makes you want to present, to spread your legs and stick out your tongue for their use. “It’s about time you learned some actual manners, boy.”

Satoru’s thumb rubs circles into your cheek as he coos, pretty lips parted and wet— eyelids heavy and his gaze dark as he smiles, “Goin’ floaty on us already?”

You feel your eyebrows furrow, a simple and sweet ‘shut up’ dying out on your tongue and cut short when Suguru spreads the globes of your ass with his fingertips, watching the plush skin spill and swell between his fingers. Your hole is so small, pretty and sweet as it twitches in contact with the cold air. He wants to run his tongue along it, feel it clench and pulse around his tongue until you’re crying on it, rocking your hips and pulling at his hair to feel it deeper.

“C’mere,” It’s not a request, not with the way you’re being dragged closer to the brunette. His nails dig into your soft skin, squeezing and groping until it starts to hurt, but in a way that has your voice squeaky and shaky. Satoru’s there the whole time, his hand wandering down to your throat. “ ‘Getting married’…’unfit’. . .Tch, that’s funny.”

Your breath catches in your throat, eyes widening as Gojo’s hand tightens around your throat, emphasizing Geto’s words. Your moans are strangled and tight, vision hazy around the edges as the sides of your neck are squeezed. He keeps contact with you the entire time, cerulean eyes intense and deep. You can’t help but rut your hips, pressing your front against the surface of Suguru’s thigh again and again as he lets out a series of smacks against each cheek of your ass.

“You’re not—” You whine, rolling your hips as Suguru’s fingers tap at your hole in warning, watching the cute muscle twitch. Cute, winking back at him and slick with spit. It sticks to his fingers, wet and sloppy “You’re not the boss of me!”

“Waah, waah, ‘you’re not the boss of me!’,” Satoru laughs, tacking on a nasally, prissy voice that rings in your ears and has heat pooling in your stomach. It’s hard to hide the embarrassment in your face, the twitch of your brows as you grit your teeth and roll your eyes— but it’s not like you can keep up the facade. Suguru delivers a particularly harsh slap to your sitspots, enough to make your breath stutter as tears well in your eyes.

“Geto—”

“Suguru.”

“Suguru, stop…!” You kick your legs, scrambling under their strong grip until they share a growl, rumbly and deep and demanding. It’s Gojo’s turn to paw at your ass now, squeezing the flesh as it spills between each finger and circling a slick (when did he grab lube?) digit over the sensitive, winking muscle of your rim.

His fingers slip into the mushy, warm heat with little resistance, and your face lights ablaze when the two groan at the sight, “Don’t tell me you’ve been givin’ our greedy hole attention without us?”

Theirs. Yes— you suppose— in a way it’s theirs. Strictly theirs, with the sleepless nights they’ve spent burying the thickness of their cocks deep inside, pumping one load after another deep inside so it’d really stick. Enough to feel them for days, leaking down your thighs when your needy fingers don’t stuff you a full.

You don’t have time to answer, gurgling over the moans caught in your throat as Gojo’s long fingers twist and stretch you out. You're wrapped up between them, the thickness of their bodies pressing against you as you buck your hips into nothing in particular. Satoru's long fingers feel slick with spit, only moistening as he drools down your crack. Spit falls from his tongue, slow and thick, pooling around your rim before he rubs it deeper in with his knuckles. It’s too much, tears spilling from your eyes as you whine, “S’deep, ‘Toru, go slow—”

“Oh, my prince, are you alright?” Suguru sounds almost smug, muscles in his forearm rippling as he readjusts himself in bed. His thick legs spread wide, clearly comfortable and relaxed. He has an obvious dickprint through his pants, almost shameless as your eyes pan up and down his body. “Do you need saving?”

You sniffle, wet and pathetic as you shake your head, wriggling so rest your face against your pillows, silky smooth as you soothe the burning in your cheeks. There’s a shared tutt behind you, not at all frustrated, but it has you blinking away the tears nonetheless. It goes in vain, peeking back from your shoulder you can see the two knights inching closer, their breaths fanning over your throbbing, aching hole until they share a fat lick, pink tongue lapping up at the lube and spit keeping you slick.

“I think he does, Suguru.”

Your cock leaps.

“It’s too bad we’re deemed unfit, Satoru.”

You’re greedy— and you know it. But once you’ve had both you can’t go back, not when their tongues fight to inch deeper and deeper inside your slutty hole, slick and wet and warm, impossibly deep in a way that has your toes curling and back arching. They eat you out like they’re starving, moaning vibratos through your skin until you're sobbing into your pillow. Even from here, you can feel drool and spit dripping from your sopping hole, past their chins and onto the silk sheets.

Your hands find themselves in their hair, curling into fists around soft bundles of locks as you push their faces in deeper, mewling. You can feel hot, open-mouthed kisses between each swirl and lick of their tongues, and it’s enough to make you squeal.

“M’gonna cum, gonna cum, wait—”

“No. This dick doesn’t get t’fuckin’ come unless it’s on our cocks, you hear me, Princey?” You can’t tell who’s talking— your brain is full of cotton and fog. Just like you can’t tell if you’re nodding or shaking your head, too busy focusing on the emptiness of your hole and tightening of your balls.

“No!” You hiss, trying your best to kick your feet despite the strong grip holding your thighs still. And, fuck, if you’re not a whitney mess. It’s just so good, the lewd sounds of them slurping at your hole and moaning into it, the messy sounds of their mouths on “It’s— M’so. . . achy, wanna cum! Please, Sugu? ‘Toru?”

“Alright.” It’s Gojo speaking, you can tell, because he’s got this saccharine lilt to his voice that makes your lashes flutter and heart skip. He’s moving— or moved, rather— seeing as he’s back to cupping your face with his big, pale hands. You let out a sigh of relief, shoulders drooping as you shimmy to palm at your cock, slick and weeping with pre. You’re sure your sheets are ruined.

“Aht, aht, aht!” Satoru chirps, and your heart plummets as your hand flinches away from your needy, dripping cock. He doesn’t look much better, pink fanning his cheeks as he looks down at you with heavy lids, lips shiny with spit that dribbles down his chin. From his angle his cock presses against your cheek, thick and throbbing as a patch of wetness grows through the fabric of his pants. Saliva pools in your mouth.

“We said you can cum,” It’s Suguru now, with a throaty voice that’s muffled as he keeps his tongue nestled in your warmth. He could sit there for hours. “Not when or how.”

Fuck. Them. Your whines are open-mouthed and pathetic, the perfect opportunity for Gojo to slip his pretty cock into your mouth and down the tight heat of your throat. Yeah, it’s tight, bulging around his cock as drool and spit spills from the seams of your lips and bubbles and froths around his balls and shaft. It’s tighter when he buries his cock to the hilt, pressing your nose into his crystal white pubes until you’re gagging for it.

There’s a particular vein by the underside of his shaft, pulsing and throbbing on your sloppy, wet tongue the more he uses your mouth, fast and rough like you’re nothing but a toy, just with extra steps and a few snarky remarks. He’s really shut you up now, his long cock leaving a bulge behind in your throat as he fills it with salty, bitter precum. His cock is heavy.

“Fuck,” Behind you shifts Geto, who frees his cock with the zip of his fly and the pop! of a bottle. They must’ve swapped before moving, you can hear the slick squelch of warm lube sliding along the length of his pretty dick, wet and loud as he eagerly thumbs his slit. You wish you could really see it, the veins in his hands pulsing as he squeezes his shaft, obscenely pulsing and weeping in his palm. “You’re so soft and warm. Gonna fuck this cute little hole full, till your sweet boycunt’s fucked stupid.”

You and your knights share a groan, loud and obscene as Suguru’s cock stretches your hole open. He’s so big, fucking you full until you feel it in your tummy. Your toes curl deliciously, vision hazy and white as you blink back tears. His fingers, his tongue, his spit, his cock. . . It’s all too good, too skilled and perfect as it angles just right into that special, sensitive bundle of nerves. He’s so deep, sliding in with ease as your puffy hole swallows him in full.

“Look at that,” He’s rambling now, slamming his balls against your thighs as he watches his cock disappear inside. Your hole clamps down around him, convulsing and spasming along his shaft just enough to make wet, sticky sounds. “Took me in so easy, so messy. . . Sure you’re not better suited to be free-use stress relief for the people than their prince? Take what we give you and say thank you, Princey.”

“Thmmph. . .” You can’t speak with a mouthful of cock, and your eyes roll back, stuffed to the brim from both sides. Suguru’s thrusts bounce you forward, whereas Satoru’s pulls you back. You can’t think like this, full and fucked stupid as you hollow out your cheeks with hot pants and wiggle your hips. You really are easy.

“S’a good boy, sugar. Don’t think, just keep fuckin’ yourself full of cock. Muuuuch sweeter this way.” It’s the vibrations that send Gojo over the edge, his head falling forward as he whines high in his throat. His balls clench and pulse against your chin, smearing more pre and spit along your face until he’s cumming, hard and without warning. It’s thick and hot, bitter and salty, as his dick throbs in your throat and slides along your tongue, like he’s milking himself with your mouth. The white-haired man uses you like a toy, keeping you still with a hand at the back of your head as he ruts and grinds his hips, moaning with each sloppy, sticky sound of your mixed fluids getting bullied by his dick.

Your nod is mindless, completely thought free as Satoru pops the pretty head of his cock in and out your wet mouth, “M’a good boy, ‘Toru.”

You can feel Suguru’s cock twitch inside you.

“That’s right! Now say ahh!” He makes an effort to stick out his tongue, slipping free from your mouth as his cum leaks around his cock and leaves behind a trail of white. It’s mostly decorating your tongue, though, thick and creamy ropes resting on the muscle and slowly cooling.

“Ah! Ahhh!” You can’t imagine how stupid you must look, staring up at Satoru with your mouth full of his cum and threatening to dribble down your chin. With the way you bounce with each deep, heavy thrust of Geto’s fat, girthy cock. But he kisses you anyway, slow and sensual as his tongue swirls the cum around in your mouth, keeping it warm and wet.

“That’s it, good boy, princeling,” Suguru moans, hips stuttering and pupils blown wide as he watches cum froth between your lips. He can’t wait anymore, snaking his arm around your waist to grip your cock and run his slick fist along it with feverish strokes, fast enough to have you wailing. His other hand grabs Satoru by the hair, white tufts in his fist as he pulls him forward and swaps his saliva for cum, still warm. “Cum on my cock, fuck it into that pretty hole while I taste ‘Toru’. Fuckin’ earn it.”

For once in your life, you don’t have to be told twice.

You take initiative, bouncing back on the long length of Suguru’s dick with tiny gasps and moans, eyes fluttering shut as he works your cock with the twist of his fist. You’re drooling, dribbling down your neck and chin and mixing with the tears rolling down your handsome face, “Pleaseplease, give it t’me!”

“Right there? Yeah? Rolling your hips, you’re a natural.” It doesn’t take much, not when Geto’s angling his hips just right and slamming into your prostate. Not when you’re watching the two kiss, swapping your spit and Satoru’s cum around like a sweet treat. Not when you’re being fucked deep, deeper than your fingers or any other toy could reach. Not when they pause for air and take the opportunity to ramble filth into your ears.

When Geto pulls out you can’t help but wail, pushing your ass back against his shaft. Though you can’t tell if it’s because you’re close or because you’re empty, but you do know thick, sticky ropes are starting to paint the expanse of your back and ass.

You’re marked territory.

The ballroom. . . Is packed, to say the least. It’s hard to see under your mask, the eye cutouts just barely cutting off into your porcelain mask before your pupils. There’s a distinct flash of gowns, all in many different shades— periwinkle, mauve, violet, ice—glittering and gleaming beneath the candle lit chandeliers. You suppose you look no different, the material of your intricately sewn and handcrafted suit looks jaw dropping in the limelight. Golden stitches and embroidery along the pattern of your suit, draped in lace ruffles to keep you warm. Though you’re already burning from the inside out, blazing with nervousness as your trembling legs carry you into the hall.

There’s a long, intricate table that holds just as intricate gifts and snacks— custards, cookies, cakes— chocolate covered strawberries. They remind you of your knights in a way, they’ve always tasted similar. Though you suppose it’s because they’ve shared more than a couple kisses in their lifetime. Whatever the matter, you expect them to have been gone by now, with Satoru’s sweet tooth and Suguru’s unpredictable appetite.

Everyone knows who you are, but it’s hard for you to pinpoint the others in the room. Your father sits on his throne, ridiculously large and cushiony as he oversees the ballroom. It’s gorgeous, admittedly, flashy and beaming with wealth and pride. Your nervous eyes wander, scouring over the smiling, lipstick stained faces until your eyes settle on your knights, who remain glued to the exits with only half a mask covering their faces. Their suits almost match yours, less intricate and not nearly as vibrant or high quality, but the implication that you’re sharing something is enough.

Suguru stands with his arms crossed, looking intimidatingly sharp as ever, eyes narrowed and lips pulled into a flat line. His hair is in a bun, and when he turns you can see the diamonds adorning the clip holding it all in place. Handsome as always, you’re turning on your heels to face him before you know it.

Satoru is all legs, standing absurdly tall in his fitted suit. His tie is a striking shade of blue, just like his eyes, and you remember having picked it out specially for him. You can’t help but smile, floating in his general direction as soon as your eyes land on him, but. . .

“His Highness,” Your vision is obstructed for the millionth time tonight, and you can’t help the growl threatening to rip through your throat. “Could I introduce you to my daughter? Really, she’s a sweetheart, and—”

“Sorry to cut this short,” The agitation leaves your body, and glancing back up to where your knights once resided, you find the spots empty. They’re behind you, stealthy as ever, and you can’t help the smile etching away at your features. “We have very. . . important matters to discuss with our prince.”

Subtle as ever, Suguru.

You’re sure he’s glaring daggers into the women in front of you, arms crossed and biceps bulging as he pulls them apart with his eyes— dissects them to their bare essentials, leaves them feeling uncomfortable in their own skin.

There’s a hand atop yours that doesn’t belong to your knights, instead it’s much smaller and not nearly as warm. Your fingers twitch, and your smile falters just slightly as the woman’s daughter presses onward. Nearly tripping over his glass heels, her face swims through your vision until you’re backing up into the solid chest of— Satoru? It must be, it’s still soft despite the solidity, and you can see Suguru’s inky black hair in your peripherals.

“My Majesty—”

“That’s enough,” It’s straight venom, and the choice of tone reminds you of that fateful night your knights spent making sure you knew just who owned you. “Hands off.”

Their arms loop around your own, strong and firm as they pull you away. You’re thankful for the loud music, symphonies and harps dancing in the air that cover the sound of slamming doors and frantic, high pitched apologies. Your damned knights, so possessive and jealous. They know what this ball was meant for, and yet. . .

And yet they’re stripping you naked, ripping the mask free from their faces as they corners you against a wall. The party is almost as loud as it’d be had you stood in the center of the ballroom, just muffled by the locked doors Suguru kept secured with the sheath of his sword. You don’t have much time, and for once the two are happy you’d spent the previous night fucking yourself silly on your fingers, because they’ve got one goal in mind.

Marking their territory.

You’re not sure what this position is— but it makes you feel full and properly owned. Gojo's strong arms looped around the back of your knees as he holds you open on display. Suguru looks ravenous. eyes dark and steely as he watches Gojo’s cock pulse and twitch against your hole.

“S’is our fuckhole,” Satoru smiles down at you, feral and manic as he buries himself to the hilt inside you, his balls slapping against the curve of your ass. He doesn’t seem eager to stop, lifting you off his cock and chasing that feeling of you clamping down on him— even when you’re almost too sensitive to take it. Even when you’ve barely adjusted to the stretch of his fat dick, fluttering and wailing around his pretty, veiny shaft. “Our job. . . our job, takin’ care of our boy’s pussy.”

“Think about this, boy,” Suguru groans, deep and rumbly in his throat as you’re made to watch him fist his slippery, squelching cock. “Whenever someone tries to court you. You’re owned. Your holes are owned.” He grips his cock tight, thumbing the slit and smearing precum all over the head as your own bounces along your tummy. Precum dribbles along the lace embroidery of your unbuttoned undershirt, ruining the bunched up fabric. He can’t help but jerk off watching the two of you, heavy pants leaving his lips as he fucks up into his fist, twisting his fist the closer it gets to the gland of his cock, slipping and sliding as he uses his own hand. Yours are much softer, less calloused, but you’re preoccupied. You’d have to use both hands anyway, struggling to wrap them around his cock.

“Whose are you?” And, oh, that’s an easy question. Gojo’s voice is so loud in your ear, even as you eagerly bounce on and off his cock like a sex doll.

“Yours, m’yours, belong t’you!” He makes a pleased sound in the back of his throat, groans and pants joining your moans when he speeds up, his slow and deep strokes becoming fast and hollow, pounding that sensitive spot deep inside you over and over and over. You’re fucked-out and borderline crosseyed as he pounds his dick into you, keeps you steady with his fingers locked behind your head. A string of precum connects you together, pooling at your ass and Satoru’s balls, and his hips crash down, yours convulsing upward to meet him halfway.

“Again.”

“M’yours, m’yours! ‘Toru, Sugu, m’yours! My mouth, my cock, my holes. S’yours.”

“That’s it, let me in,” He blows air out through his mouth, hot and warm as he sinks into your heat. Still tight, as if you haven’t been thoroughly fucked full of Satoru’s cock. His head falls forward, long hair falling from its bun and framing his handsome face. Your gummy walls are unmatched, and he swears he’ll blow his load if you keep squeezing down on him like this. “I know, it’s so big, just keep moaning for me, and I’ll keep pounding this hole, s’all your pretty little head can tell you to do, huh princeling?”

“Uh. . . Uh huh!”

Your crying sounds so cute, and for a moment they forget you’re a prince— not a slut. It’s pitchy in your throat and dragged out as your pretty hole eagerly takes in cock, clamping around it and sucking him deeper into your velvety walls. So good, you can’t help but rock back against it, shameless and devoid of any other thoughts as Satoru keeps his arms looped around your knees. There’s a chant of cockcockcock blaring in your head, Gojo’s cock pressed against your ass and dripping. He’d left behind thick ropes of cum, and as Suguru’s dick reaches deep inside you can hear it froth between the tiny rim of your hole and his shaft.

Your crown tips off your head, threatening to fall as you watch Satoru’s cock join alongside Suguru’s. You’ve never felt more full in your life, stretched and achy— when one pulls out the other pushes in, and you’ve got nowhere to go. The white-haired male behind you manages to grab it before it can fall, lifting your knees higher up for just a moment, and places it atop his head. You can’t protest, all you can do is drool and whine, eyes fluttering shut and hole spasming as the two take turns wearing your crown.

In a way, it’s theirs too.

“S’your favorite part, pretty!” Gojo purrs, shifting to lift your ass to and fro with each respective thrust, groaning as his shaft slides along Suguru’s veins pulsing and head weeping. He keens, high in his throat as his balls tighten for the second time tonight. You’re just too good, who’s gonna sue him for breeding you? “You get to feel our cum shoot deeeep inside! You want that, honey? To be full n’ claimed? Maybe we should walk out and show everyone how slutty you are. Those poor princesses, they have no idea the man they want likes his wet holes fucked too.”

Fuck.

“Jesus. . . Fuck, ‘Toru,” Geto groans, his balls tightening against your own as your cock spurts out rope after rope of cum, sticky and thick as it sprays along your face and unbuttoned shirt. “Never know when to shut up. Look— nngh—look at what you did.”

Satoru pulls out sloooow, and their cum gushes right out your creamy hole. They moan in unison, shaky and unstable, and the tight fit of your small hole has them both following soon after with choked up groans and whines, “Good boy, gooood boy. You take it so well.”

Your thighs shake and your throat finally gives out, your voice hoarse and tired as you squeal. You can feel each rope shoot deep inside you, thick, creamy pooling around their cocks and seeping out your puffy, used hole. Your knights huff, panting into your damp skin with sick, satisfied smiles. You’ve made a real mess of yourself— they’ve made a real mess out of you, and when you walk back into the ballroom they’re sure the smell of sex will cling to your skin. You’re claimed, thoroughly. Inside and out, and they’ll fuck you as many times as they need for others to realize it.

Satoru lets you down slowly, Suguru’s hands on your waist keeping you stable on your wobbly, jelly-like legs. Blinking away unshed tears, the two free you of your soiled garments in favor of something else, conveniently placed clothing that just happens to fit you perfectly. Had you the energy, you’d roll your eyes— they’ve planned this, in one way or another. But you don’t have the energy, not when your eyelids are heavy and drooping as you cling to their strong biceps and allow them to wipe you clean with their own sleeves.

Chivalrous as ever.

“I notified the King, my liege,” Satoru says, satirically proper as Suguru chokes on a laugh beside you. “Before leaving. Of your. . .”

“Predicament,” Suguru chimes in, the smile in his voice audible. You make an extra effort to shimmy free of their hold, face souring as they pretend they didn’t just ruin you from the inside-out. Your chest floods with warmth when they jolt forward, palms hovering over your sweaty body to catch you— just in case, “Looks like you’ll be stuck with us for the rest of the night.”

“But there’s one more thing!” Satoru scrambles to correctly zip up his pants, buttoning them back up with nimble fingers. Then, he fishes into his pockets, pulling out a small box— the one you’d seen quite some time ago— the one you’d forgotten about. Still as pristine as ever, like he’d kept it somewhere safe, he gingerly drops it into your hand.

“We got something for you,” Your eyebrows furrow. They don’t technically make money— sure, enough to keep their pockets open, but they have no need to spend it. They live with you, after all, and will continue to do so once you’re appointed king. Satoru urges you with a “shush!” before you can even speak, but you take the hint. You’re not dumb. “We couldn’t— it's not exactly a ring, but. . .”

Opening the gift— it flips open, you don’t need to unravel the bow at all— it’s a necklace. A thin, gold plated necklace with a small charm dangling from its center. The charm. . . Their coat of arms, shiny and intricate despite its small size. It glimmers in the light, sparkly like a diamond, and there are letters engraved on the flat underside of the pendant, curvy and cursive with hearts for periods. Your thumb traces the initials, the loops and curls of the letters until its shape is indented into the pad of your finger. It’s more than initials to you, it’s officiality, they are yours and you are theirs. You have the necklace to prove it, now.

‘S.G.’

If your mother were here to see this now, you’re sure she’d be jumping for joy. Happy her only child has finally found his match, has finally found something of his own. Happy her only child is marrying for love. Your father will just have to deal with it, you’ve never felt safer in your life. You don’t need a princess, you don’t need a stronger monarchy. You need your knights.

“We thought it’d suit you.” Geto finishes for his white-haired counterpart, a rosy hue painting the height of his cheeks.

It does.

[luveline]

Hi Jade, I’m thinking about soulmate prince Steve again. Can I request something (any length) with reader starting to feel like she fits in and finding something she enjoys doing around the palace (lending a hand in the library? Working in the garden? Helping in the kitchen?) and someone makes a comment about it and she stands up for herself?

Basically I think it’d be nice to see how her relationship with Steve getting stronger helps her feel more confident in her position

prince steve au ♡ fem

You find that with proper instruction, time, and resources, you love to cook. It's an odd thing to discover in your twenties, perhaps; any of your peers who liked to cook were already learning by the time you left school, dipping into restaurants in the wealthier north city, or training for prestigious positions in the Palace kitchens.

Steve sneaks in to see you every now and then. You're pushing the brunt of your palm into a soft dough when you feel his touch, a quick stroke of the knuckle against your lower back before his hand comes up, cupping your shoulder. 

"What's this?" he asks. "It looks good, smells good. You're smiling." 

"Yes, I'm smiling, I'm happy. And you've come to see me." 

"That's why you're smiling?" he asks. 

A strand of hair has fallen into his eyes, and a second chunk follows as he leans in. Not to kiss you, though you'd probably welcome it, but to make sure you can see his smile too. 

"Where's your crown?" you ask. 

"I'm striking. How ridiculous it is they expect me to wear it in my own home, I don't care if there are deputies visiting." 

"Can I take off my finery?" You've been dressed in very nice clothes considering they're now covered in flour, but the weight of the jewellery is the real annoyance. "It's too much, Steve." 

Steve's gaze dips down to the mass of jewels held against your collarbone. "Too much," he agrees, reaching around you. His fingers brush the back of your neck, eliciting a tiny metal clink as he unclasps your necklace and pulls it free. "Much better. You don't need any of this to look fine." He pockets it.

You stroke the loose hairs from his face. 

"Oh, sorry." You wipe at the smudge of flour you've left behind. "Sorry. I'm making it worse. Good thing you're so pale." 

"Alright." He looks like he might giggle. "So mean to me. I'll go do some fencing in the sunshine and maybe you'll grow to love me." He does giggle, then, at his own joke no less. 

He expresses that your loaf of bread should please god end up on his plate first, and then he kisses your cheek and tells you he'll see you at dinner. It's a very nice farewell that gives an extra aura of happiness to your bread-making. 

"You won't actually give the Prince your bread, will?" one of the cooks asks. 

It's innocuous, but it pisses you off. Steve is a Prince, yes, but he's your boyfriend, your soulmate (scream), he's your equal in partnership even if he's a royal, and isn't his treatment enough proof? Why would he come down to the kitchens to dote on you? Why would he ask to try your bread first? 

"I don't appreciate the idea that it isn't worth his time. I'm making something and he likes me enough to want to try it. Why wouldn't I give it to him?" you ask, not angry, exactly, no icy cold zing. Just irritated and honest about it. "It might not be perfect, but if he wanted perfect he could ask for it." 

"Who says you aren't perfect?" Steve asks.

You flush with heat. He grins at you and the cook who'd spoken, as well as the other assistants and apprentices who stop to stare. "Forgot to give you this." He presses a small pouch into your hand. "Dinner," he promises. 

"See you," you promise back. 

You let him leave before you turn from the counter to open his gifted pouch against your abdomen. Inside is a generous handful of sugar pear drops, the kind you ate together on your first stolen date a few weeks ago, and a note. 

To tide you over. 

P.s if I didn't make myself say it, you look super pretty today and I can't wait to see you tonight 

–Steve 

You put one of the sugar pear drops under your tongue and hide the note safe inside your jacket pocket, schooling your features into impassiveness as your soulmark glows a gauzy cerulean.