#attempted arranged marriage

[imhereformysciencefriends]

Day 1: Fairytales and Myths

Tags: @loturaweek2024 Curses, fairy tale elements, Bearskin (the myth), political marriage but also for love sort of, magic, background Alfor/Melenor, background Keith/Shiro, betrothals, attempted kidnapping, rescue, Lotor’s generals are there

Read on AO3

***

“You are fortunate,” mused the angry and spiteful druid while Lotor snarled up at him, ensnared in glowing purple chains made of magic and aether, “that the same magic you came here to steal from me does not allow me to kill you outright.”

Lotor thought, not for the first time, that it would be significantly more Galra to just put a knife in his gut than rely on their magic for literally everything. But if they were so wrapped up in their world of spells and power that they forgot their own fangs and claws that they were born with, well, Lotor wouldn’t be the one to remind them. This druid in specific seemed particularly filled with his own hubris.

A pelt, some heavy, thick-furred thing thumped down on his shoulders, and he shifted minutely from the weight.

“I curse you,” the druid said, voice going echoey with magic. “You shall not bathe for seven decaphoebes, nor cut your hair nor claws, you shall not cease to wear this pelt, nor sleep under one roof for more than a single night, and no one may travel with you for more than three quintents. Should you break any of these bindings, this curse will kill you.”

“And if I succeed, for seven decaphoebes?” Lotor asked, still snarling, still bearing his (small, Altean) fangs.

The druid was quiet.

“You must include a win-condition, witch. I know your magic’s rules.” He would not have risked infiltrating this place if he did not have a contingency plan for if he was caught, after all.

The druid made a snarling, growling, impatient noise.

“If you should last all seven decaphoebes, then the magic you seek will be yours. Now get out!”

Another rush of magic and Lotor found himself at the mouth of the small cave that hid the entrance to the druid’s lair. He grit his teeth and stood, shaking as though to dislodge the remnants of the purple magic.

Seven years.

More than he’d bargained for, but less than he was willing to pay for his goals. He already grew his hair long, and he was not one to frequently stay in one place for too long. That was doable.

The claws and bathing situation would be the most intolerable, he did not doubt.

Seven years.

He could do this.

In the first year: he could do this. He was centuries old and, if theories on how he aged were to be considered correct, he would have centuries more. Seven years would be nothing. A drop in a bucket. He used it to prepare, especially the first few months, when he smelled more or less tolerable. Any time it rained he spent as much time as he could in the water, knowing that washing in a river or stream would count. Magic was always fickle, and always skewed in favor of the worst. While he could still passably show his face in civilization, he stockpiled supplies enough to last him seven years, or near enough to it he could supplement when the time came.

In the second year: he had to leave Daibazaal. His country of origin was hardly a home, and hadn’t been since he was young and innocent and still so painfully naive. But he did know it, and he knew that all the many flora that thirsted for his blood and fauna that would chew on his bones could smell him for miles in each direction. He knew it intellectually, and he knew it viscerally, blood steaming across the pelt he wore and sliding down the blade he wrested free from the fresh carcass of a beast that wished to eat him. Oh, how he wished for a bath.

In the third year: he couldn’t do this. He could not bear this. He was not even halfway through and his own stench and fatigue were driving him insane. Being so constantly exposed to the elements was killing him, though the pelt was so thick and heavy it kept him plenty warm. And he was lonely. In the third year, Narti finally found him, Kova hissing and prowling just outside the edges of Lotor’s reach, recognizing him but also not. She wanted to help him, as best she could, but he explained the curse to her, the druid putting no binding on his tongue at least. She then offered to go kill the druid for him, and he insisted that she not, not until the witch’s power was his. She stated she would stay with him, despite her nose being even sharper than Lotor’s, and he reminded her that it could be for no more than three quintents, or the magic would kill him (and he doubted it would be instant, or painless).

She left with the promise to tell the others, and to bring back supplies for him. Just to drop off and then leave again. She promised she wouldn’t stay.

In the third year: Ezor found him, always best at finding things, and with her she brought Zethrid and Acxa. It was the best three days of these miserable three years, even with his companions wrinkling their noses at his scent the whole time.

In the fourth year: he left the billowing wilds that existed between Daibazaal, harsh and dangerous but inhabitable, and into Altea, the lush and verdant valleys beneath the billowing wilds’ mountains. Not to say that Altea did not come with its own dangers, no, just that they were more like the mountain creatures, not quite so capable of killing a lone wanderer as Daibazaal’s would have been.

In the fourth year:

Allura tied up her hair and shifted her hands, magic tickling as it turned her palms into suction cups. She descended from her room as only wayward princesses could, and hopped down onto the vibrantly green grass of the lawn with a little thrill of success.

With the tensions between Daibazaal and Altea on the rise once again, and all citizens from both countries feeling like a resumed war was all but a forgone conclusion, her parents had been increasingly strict with her. On a certain level, she understood, she was a princess after all, it was her job to understand.

On the other hand: she’d gone to the little brook with the little waterfall dozens upon dozens upon dozens of times, without any harm nor threat to her person. It was right next to the palace grounds, and she only ever managed to squeeze in an hour or two before her knights quit canoodling and came to find her anyway. She would be fine, just as she’d been fine every time before.

There was nowhere in all of Altea, in Allura’s opinion, that was a better place for magic than that little waterfall. Something about the place seemed almost to glow with magic, every drop of water and blade of grass and rustling leaf full to overflowing with rich mana. It drew her in, excited and comforted her, enthralled her and cleared her mind. Magic poured from her fingers like the water she lifted, guiding it to dance about her in a spiraling river floating suspended around her person, twirling slowly as she dragged the water about in lazy loops.

Even the sunlight here felt different, warm and yellow but not beating down on her, even in summer heat. It sparkled and twisted around her like the water did, slowly spinning and dancing across the shimmering surface, Allura’s skirts shallowly twirling around her calves, and she smiled and let her mind sink into the magic present here, imbuing everything.

It was that magic, present even in the twigs of a bush and the berries crushed underfoot, that alerted her that she was not alone.

She didn’t scream. She didn’t dare try to fight against near a dozen heavy boots. One moment she was smiling serenely, surrounded by glistening spirals of water, the next she was running so fast the water didn’t even have time to hit the ground before she burst through it. Shouts behind her, unmistakably Galra, and heavy footfall followed, but she didn’t dare look. She was fast.

But Galra were faster.

A giant, purple hand clamped over her mouth, a scream wrested from her too late and muffled by the flesh, and she hit the ground with a cry of pain, knees and palms skidding in the dirt.

“Grab her!”

She fought back, because of course she did. Princess trained in the art of diplomacy and regal bearing though she was, Allura was no weak fighter, and she was not one to cow in the face of unfair odds.

But they were unfair. She knocked two briefly unconscious, but she hadn’t brought her staff, not believing she’d need it, and these Galra were armored and armed, one opening a deep gash across the back of her leg, another finally getting his dagger pointed at her throat and compelling her to behave.

“You won’t kill me,” she spat, even as her preservation instincts forced her to obey.

“No. But you don’t need both eyes.”

She screamed a protest—she was submitting!—as he raised the dagger to plunge it into her eye, but then a dagger protruded from his own, sinking much deeper than just the eye. He toppled off her, dead, and the Galra turned on their new aggressor.

A beast, wilder than all imagining, lept from the foliage, its pelt hideous and bloodstained, matted with mud and dried viscera, its claws long as knives and yellow and flaking, silvery lengths of something dragging behind it as it fell upon its victims. The Galra shouted, united now against this beast, and Allura staggered to her feet, or tried to. The gash in her leg made fleeing nearly impossible, and she leaned against the tree as she watched the beast dispatch of the Galra, one by one by one, until there were none left alive to contest it.

Its yellow gaze fell upon her next, and she realized belatedly that she looked at no monster at all.

“You’re Altean!” she gasped, the man before her so deeply dirtied with various filth that she could not see even an inch of skin beneath the horrible mess, but his face was, poking out from the disgusting fur, unmistakably that of, well, a man. An Altean’s proud cheekbones and narrow jaw, eyes yellow as a Galra but silver hair (it was hair!) long and ripe with magic.

The man chuckled at her. “I suppose it only fair that you confused me for a beast.”

“Good sir, anyone would.” Sounds of armor—familiar, Altean—and rushed footfall came from the direction of the palace grounds. “Please, you are my savior, come into my home and be bathed and rewarded for your service.”

“I cannot bathe, princess,” he said, with every reverence of her subjects, “nor did I do this for a reward. I will leave.”

“You saved my life!” Allura insisted as Keith and Shiro burst into the clearing, swords drawn and lips flushed and kiss-bitten, confusion on their brows as they took stock of the dead Galra on the ground and the beast man their charge now argued with. “You would do me a great dishonor by not allowing me to repay you!”

The man seemed visibly to hesitate at that, and then acquiesced. “If for your honor only, princess. But I cannot remain.”

“At least stay the night,” she insisted, now half-frantic to have this strange man remain for any time at all, curiosity burning through her as fervently as the magic had only recently flowed.

“The night,” he agreed, bowing low, the mess of fur and hair and viscera and fresh blood shambling with his motion, “but no longer.”

The man spoke of precious little, despite Allura’s best attempts at interrogation. She learned not even his name. He would not allow any of her staff to bathe or groom him, though she noted that while his hair was dirty, it was remarkably untangled. He was certainly Altean, but his nails were more akin to claws. And of course, the yellow eyes.

At dinner, her parents hosted the man who’d saved their daughter’s life, because of course they did.

“Traditionally,” Queen Melenor remarked, though she was severe and stately in the way Allura knew she held herself when she discussed things she’d rather not, “the reward for saving a princess’s fool life from a band of murderous kidnappers would be that princess’s hand in marriage.”

Allura heard the man’s breath hitch, and for a brief moment, open want lined his filth-obscured features, before he shuttered again to something vaguely polite and unreadable.

“I could never ask for such a thing, being as I am.”

“Being as you are?” Allura said, sounding more accusatory than she’d meant. “A kind stranger who saved my life?”

“You have no proof of any kindness,” the man said, with a low chuckle that made her feel strange and hot.

“Only my life and well-being.”

“You speak as though you would wish to wed me.”

Allura’s mouth opened, then shut.

“Exactly.”

“Perhaps I would!” she said, drawing herself to full height while seated and glowering at the man, challenge in her tone.

“Allura,” her father scolded quietly, as he always did when her temper and stubbornness sent her headlong down paths her good sense would otherwise steer her clear from.

“...Allow me three years, then, princess,” the beast man said slowly, gaze never leaving hers. “I have matters I must attend, and am unable to remain here, nor take you with me. If, in three years, when I return, you still wish to wed me, we might discuss it then.”

Queen Melenor sighed, and Allura winced only briefly at the tone of her mother’s breath. Oh the lecture she’d receive once this man departed would be mighty. “You have more good sense than my daughter, it would seem. Please be made comfortable in our home, and if there is anything you wish for, merely ask it.”

“A grimoire, Your Majesty, if I may be bold enough to request it.”

“You’ve magic?” Allura asked, reaching out to touch the man’s face, where his Altean marks should be beneath the dirt, and rescinding her hand when he flinched from her.

“Call it a future investment.”

“Grimoires we have aplenty,” her father stated, “I’ll have one copied for you by the morrow.”

“My thanks.”

Allura, kept up late by her own desperately curious, gnawing thoughts, had to drag herself, bleary and miserable, from her bed to prevent from missing the stranger’s departure. She witnessed her father hand him a grimoire, and he bowed, first to the sovereign queen, then to the king, and then, lower, slower, with something like heat in his eyes, finally to the princess.

“Damn,” she mumbled when the stranger was gone, but comforted herself that at least, for the next three years, she’d have an easy dismissal of all talk of suitors.

In the fifth year: Lotor was nearly killed by a huntsman mistaking him for a beast.

In the sixth year: Lotor was nearly killed by a team of monster hunters, who he had to persuade with Narti’s coin to leave him be, paying higher than the village who’d hired them. He wandered elsewhere with faster purpose, after that, and committed himself to greater stealth. Narti was unbearably smug when next she delivered supplies, forcing more coin into the hands of a man who had no reliable use for it.

In the seventh year: Nearly killed again, by huntsmen and monster hunters both. But he was on his way out of Altea. On his way through the billowing wilds, climbing and descending that mountain. He’d memorized the grimoire, but kept hold of it, a baffling yet precious memory now tied to its cover and pages.

At the end of the seventh year: he returned to the small cave where he’d first found the druid. His time was up, or near enough to it, and the moment the magic was his he would take vengeance for the seven years of misery he’d suffered. There he found Narti, there he found Ezor, there he found Zethrid, there he found Acxa, still loyal to him after seven years of absence, and he counted such loyalty more precious than all the gold in all the world.

“First, we kill the druid,” he ordered, feeling the curse sizzle along his skin as it warped into a blessing. “Then I take a quiznacking bath.”

At the end of the third year of waiting:

Allura was forced by circumstance to put her curiosity for her betrothed-to-be on hold, as political upheaval shook the land.

Her father’s old ally finally declared war upon her mother’s country, and Altea raised its arms for bloodshed. But as they prepared their weapons and rallied their armies, another missive came: Emperor Zarkon was dead, long live the Emperor.

Lotor, former prince, son of Zarkon who Allura had never met, shame to his family line and whose mother was Altean, had bested his father in ritual combat, according to Galra custom and law, and had seized the throne. Altea continued to rally, not sure if the bastard son would hold the same temperament as his father, but the tension that had built between their lands hung now, most definitely confused in perplexed balance.

Then an official letter from the Emperor, validated by report after report from their scouts: Lotor was coming, not with an army, but with a diplomatic envoy, to speak to the royals of Altea face to face.

Her mother was stern and stately, poised and graceful and elegant, the sovereign of Altea, bearer of the Altean royal line, pride and jewel of their nation, its Queen.

Her father was tense and stiff, militant and grave, leader of their armies and father of the nation, sire of Altea’s heir and husband to their sovereign.

Allura wasn’t quite sure what she was. But she drew herself up, a shadow of her mother’s grace, stiffened her lip and brow, a mimic of her father’s gravity, and lifted her chin, a prideful stubbornness that was all hers.

Whatever the Emperor Lotor came here for, he would find it on Altea’s terms, or he would leave without it. Or, if it might make for a swifter path for peace, she would slaughter him in this very reception hall. She had her staff with her today.

The Galran procession arrived in waves, wargs and beastmasters first, towering Galra broad each as a mountain and bearing heavy shields second, four mismatched women each bearing the new royal crest and colors third, and in their center: Emperor Lotor.

He was the singularly most beautiful man she’d ever seen. Long, plaited, silver hair that nearly dragged the ground, Altean bones and Galran eyes, soft velvety purple fur so short it could pass for skin, pointed ears pierced with glinting gems in silver casings, and on his cheeks, two marks that glowed with powerful magic.

She shivered, feeling less certain of her ability to slaughter him where he stood, should he pose threat. His magic was enough, indeed, to rival her own, and she was famed throughout Altea for her prowess, her own marks pink and luminous.

“My thanks for hosting on such short notice,” the emperor began, seeming perfectly at ease surrounded by distinctly uneasy Altean guardsmen.

“Our thanks for your peaceful arrival. Are we too optimistic in hoping it may bode for a peaceful future between our nations?” Queen Melenor of Altea answered, staring down at him with regal coolness from the dias they three stood on.

“Not at all,” he assured with a smile. “I am as hopeful for such as you are.” A sigh escaped the whole room, tension palpably leaving. Allura was not exempt, tension loosening from her shoulders.

“Though I would start by returning what was borrowed. I know you gave it to me as a gift, but I would return it as a show of good faith.”

That piqued Allura’s curiosity. As far as she knew, her parents had never met the then-prince Lotor any more than she had. But as the emperor of Daibazaal approached, Allura’s breath caught in her throat.

He extended, to Alfor, a grimoire. The same grimoire her father had given her intended three years ago.

“You!” she gasped, rushing forward and grabbing him by the wrist, making his generals tense but ignoring them, staring instead at his yellow eyes.

“Me,” he agreed with a smile, staring at her with that same reverence he’d held three years ago. “I hope my appearance is more agreeable to you, now, than it was then, as I have little desire to return to such a state.”

“More than,” she said with a wild grin. “Please, come in and be hosted by us, I would have my betrothed explain to me how I may find him in such different states as this!”

“Well,” she heard her father murmur to her mother as she beckoned their guests inside, “I suppose a wedding is one way to end all this.”

And so it would be.

But first, they went to dinner.

[hellcifrogs]

I don’t know if you wanna know, but since you’re making fusions, I just curious what you might think of Himawari. The canon Naruto Hinata kid.

Because I love her. (I’ve never watched the anime but I’m chronically online and see her all over Instagram and I just love her cause shes adorable that is all.)

Obviously she looks more like what I imagined a NaruHina child would look like. But I will be FOREVER bitter about Hinata's children not having Hyuuga eyes!

She reminds me of kid Naruto though so that IS adorable, but I still don't know her enough to really have an opinion.

[leftythehelpingtankengine]

Beauty, the Pea, and the Beast

Chapter 2: Oh Balls.

Word Count - 2k

Also available on AO3 & WattPad

Summary: In an attempt to provide aid to a runaway princess, Luigi gets himself mixed up in an arranged marriage to a prince of a neighboring kingdom, what he doesn’t know is that a certain evil king also plans on having the princess’ hand in marriage regardless of whether or not (s)he’s partial to it. Will he find a way out of this, or will he end up falling for one of them? (or both >;))

Content Warnings: none yet

It had been about two months since Luigi had begun his stay at the princess’—well, his— castle until she returned. He and Toadette still weren’t on the best terms but she seemed genuine with her apologies and remorse. He would be able to forgive her in time, since then she’s been his rock and confidant. He adjusted well to the life of the princess of the Mushroom Kingdom, maybe even liked it. However, the most difficult part for him was shaking off his chronic nervousness about everything around him. 

Luigi was sitting in front of a grand mirror with Toadette showing Luigi different dresses for him to pick from for the Winter Solstice ball that was to be held after sundown. He was barely paying her any mind until Toadette spoke loudly, “Don’t fret Your Highness, you’ll do fine, you only need to look the part and occasionally converse with your guests. Why don’t you pick out which gown you’d like to wear for this evening?”

Luigi nodded, his nerves slightly eased, “You’re right, I would like to wear the blue and pink dress with long gloves and a shawl.” Luigi sighed, standing up and beginning the elaborate process of getting dressed.

Toadette was making the final adjustments to Luigi’s outfit when they heard a knock at the door, informing them it was nearly time for the guests to arrive. Toadette accompanied Luigi to the vast soon-to-be-filled room to sit on his throne until the first guests arrived. Not long after The doors opposite from him began to open and the guests came flooding in. He stood up as the first guests approached; lords and ladies from the Mushroom Kingdom. He stopped paying attention after the Royal family from the BeanBean Kingdom made their entrance. He finally understood why the Princess didn’t want to be here for this, it was terribly boring so far. 

He saw the room slowly fill up with people dancing and chatting around the edges, a gentle melody echoing and silencing their chatter. He envied them. He was taken out of his thoughts when all of the guests had been introduced, allowing him to sit down once more to eat and enjoy the party as much as he could.

Another hour had passed before the music was stopped and the announcer gained the attention of everyone once again.

“Thank you all for being here tonight for our Winter Solstice ball. In addition to the Solstice, we’re holding the ball in honor of the new happy couple! We’re thrilled to announce the marriage between our very own Princess Peach of the Mushroom Kingdom and-”

“The King of Koopas, King Bowser.” A large reptilian beast guffawed behind Luigi. 

Luigi stiffened, too frightened to react or even look back at him. Bowser took that as an opportunity to grab Luigi, toss him over his shoulder, and make a mad dash toward the nearest exit with minimal resistance, allowing him to disappear into the night.

Luigi snapped out of the shock and began yelling and fighting him to no avail. He continued for about ten minutes before giving up and letting out an irritated huff.

“Where are we going?” Luigi asked, his voice hoarse from screaming. He was doing the best he could to prop himself up, but settled for resting his head on his arm that’s now propped against Bowser’s back.

“Home, of course. We’re going to the docks first. I have a ship waiting for us.” Bowser explained, clearly pleased with himself.

Luigi sighed in defeat, there wasn’t much he could do at the moment. There was no way he could get away from him between blowing his cover and his current attire. Between the heels and puffy fabric he wouldn’t be able to get far. Oh, and Toadette would kill him if something were to happen to the dress.

Bowser noticed Luigi’s change in demeanor. “Don’t act so disappointed Peaches, I told you that I would come back for you. Don’t worry it won’t be much longer until we reach the boat,” he said, failing to lighten the mood.

Luigi remained silent, ignoring his kidnapper, his head swirling with many thoughts and feelings— fear, contempt, exhaustion. The king was blissfully unaware of Luigi’s mental gymnastics and decided to continue, “I made sure to have someone get your little handmaiden— I know you’re very fond of her after all. I have also arranged for us to be housed in close quarters with one another-” 

At this point Luigi stopped listening, Toadette was in this with him now? He felt a little better knowing that he was not alone and would still have help maintaining the facade. He couldn’t get caught, especially not by King Boswer. Luigi shuddered, he didn’t want to think about what might happen if the Koopa King were to find out.

“Are you cold Princess?” Bowser paused, placing Luigi down, and taking off his coat to give to him, then offering his hand. Luigi put the coat around him and hesitated before taking his hand. He decided it would be better to try to stay on Bowser’s good side for the time being. 

For the first time Bowser and Luigi got a better look at one another and time seemed to stop for just a moment. This was the only time Luigi had seen Bowser outside of aiding his brother in keeping the peace between kingdoms. He was….handsome? Luigi could not tear his eyes away, what about him is so alluring? He was tall, strong, his hair the shade of the most passionate of fires, hands so large to-

“You look more radiant than normal Princess…” Bowser begins. “Even with your swollen nose, you look like a goddess on earth glowing in the light of the new winter moon.”

He was sincere, his eyes were wide and full of an emotion Luigi couldn’t seem to comprehend, as he was still staring helplessly, now flushed. He opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by rustling behind them. They both turn their heads towards the sound, releasing them from their shared enrapturement.

A bit more rustling occurred before a small figure emerged from the flora; a koopa blissfully unaware at the verbal assault awaiting him.

Bowser’s face contorts to unbridled rage. You could nearly see smoke as he exhaled before going absolutely ballistic, screaming at the koopa for interrupting, paying no mind to Luigi anymore.

Luigi recoiled, disgusted with Bowser now. Concluding that his moment of weakness was nothing more than the winter moonlight. Now fully in control of his thoughts and actions, he decided that now would be a good time to try to escape.

Luigi wasn’t sure which direction to run in but ultimately decided any direction away from the scene unfolding would be best.

Bowser had soon finished his verbal onslaught and took a deep breath to regain his composure. With a calm smile on his face, he turned back towards the Princess but quickly realized she was gone. Panic. Sheer panic flooded his senses.

Luigi had only been running for a few minutes at most however it felt like it had been hours. He would have kept running if he hadn’t tripped over his own foot and twisted his ankle. Luigi cried out and laid there for a second before looking around. His blood ran cold. In an unfortunate turn of events, the direction he chose led him to the very docks he was desperately trying to get away from.

He was quickly surrounded by members of Bowser’s court bombarding him with questions, making his head spin, until a voice roared above theirs, “WHERE IS SHE??”

Silence followed as the crowd backed away from Luigi who was sobbing at this point. Bowser’s face dropped and rushed over to Luigi. 

“Peaches?!? Are you okay? What happened?” Bowser’s face was painted with worry and concern.

In between sobs and sniffles Luigi cried, “You were yelling at that poor koopa, my dress is ruined, and I twisted my ankle in these ACCURSED HEELS-” More sobs wracked his form.

Bowser was completely taken aback, “I sincerely apologize Peaches, you’re never emotional so this must be important to you. I’ll have someone fix your dress and-”

Luigi was seeing red. Him? Emotional? He gritted his teeth together, “You listen here, Your Majesty-” Luigi tried to stand up. “I would love to see you go through a day as me without losing your temper at the slightest of inconveniences. You have no right to call ME emotional when you act like a spoiled toddler if something doesn’t go exactly as you had envisioned it.” He was truly riled up at this point, beyond thinking of the where consequences his current actions would lead him.  

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I would like to get something to eat and then return to my chambers for the night without you, since you so rudely took me before I could even taste the hors d'oeuvres at the ball.”

Bowser was completely shocked, but quickly smiled, “There's the Peach I know and adore. I’ll have everything arranged for you.”

Luigi scoffed as Bowser picked him up and carried him onto the ship. He took Luigi to his quarters where there was a physician and an attendant waiting for him.

“Your Majesties.” The physician bowed down to Luigi and Bowser. He then waved him off and set Luigi down on the settee against the wall.

“I need you two to check and tend to her ankle and bring her favorite dishes. Once that’s been done leave her be.” Bowser sternly instructed, standing tall.

They bowed to Bowser once more, causing him to turn around and leave, the attendant following not long after.

The physician brought a small table over towards Luigi so he could prop his leg up and allow them to examine his ankle.

It didn’t take the physician long to examine Luigi's now swollen ankle. Telling him that it was sprained and that he needed to stay off his feet for the next couple of weeks. They wrapped Luigi’s foot in a splint, then bid him a farewell, closing the door behind them.

Luigi looked at his foot, frustrated that he ruined any chance of escaping on his own. He couldn’t believe how badly he had messed up in such quick successions. Not fighting or running at the ball, finding a chance to escape and running in the wrong direction, which had caused him to be immobile for a few weeks minimum. He really had hit rock bottom at this point.

Luigi heard a knock at the door and the attendant from before came in with a large tray of food. He pulled a small table over to where Luigi was sitting and set the tray down. He bowed to him then left without a word.

As soon as the door clicked shut Luigi moved the entire table closer and noticed that Bowser had his cooks prepare a several course meal, which he wasted no time eating. Then he moved to the large bed with great care as to not injure himself further. 

Luigi was exhausted. His mind replayed the instances of the past evening as he laid down. Neither Princess Peach or Toadette had mentioned an arranged marriage to him, or even hinted at it. Could this be the reason why she had Luigi take her place? Had she found someone, or was this the final straw? Luigi couldn’t say, after all, he didn’t know who he was allegedly marrying. Obviously it wasn’t Bowser considering their past and the fact he literally made an event of him kidnapping the ‘princess’. 

Luigi put his hands over his face when his mind shifted to King Bowser. He was so embarrassed with his thoughts and shift in character. How could he have let himself feel that way about an ill-tempered tyrant, even if only for a moment. He couldn’t deny that Bowser was attractive, determined, and confident—all qualities Luigi admired on their own— but his treatment towards others was repulsive at best.  Luigi yawned, maybe he could change that… and with that final incoherent thought he drifted into a dreamless sleep.

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AN: hey yall there were some edits that were done after I had posted this initially, so i finally got around to adding them 10/30/24

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[nostalgia-tblr]

u know, once someone has pointed out the orientalism in most of fandom's depictions of jotun!loki you can never unsee it.

[yellow-faerie]

How specifically does Lu Ten survive in the au?

The short answer: his betrothed.

The long answer: in this au, Lu Ten is betrothed at quite a young age to Makei, a noble woman's only daughter. They're both nonbenders, who both train separately to be equally deadly (Lu Ten under Piandao, and Makei under a retired Yuyan archer by the name of Izuki) and are probably each others only real friend at court, just due to the cutthroat nature of the court.

They both go to the siege of Ba Sing Se, probably a year into it, Lu Ten is an officer and Makei is a healer. They are very quickly disenfranchised with the whole idea of The War.

This is mostly because they were both very lonely children, Lu Ten moreso. When Lu was little, his mother was dead, his father was off at war more often than not and there were very few people who were consistently around him (Ursa would be around a bit but since Ozai does not want to be around him, even that's limited), but he made his loneliness better by basically saying that Winning The War will make it all better.

Newsflash: the war sucks and when fighting it begins to feel entirely pointless, and Lu Ten is very quickly like...oh. My childhood just sucked for No Reason.

(Listen, Iroh loved his son but I am of the firm belief that their relationship was not an easy one)

And then, Iroh dies on the front lines. Maybe Lu Ten should have been the one to die then - he certainly came close - but Makei is a skilled healer who makes sure he pulls through. But Lu Ten is neither the leader his father was nor someone who wants to be, and the siege is called off.

Still, he's angry and bitter and has a burning hatred for the war for taking his father from him in so many ways (and, later, when he's spent time among the earth kingdom, he'll be angry for them too), and when he returns to the palace, he does not exactly go along with everything Ozai has to say...

By which I mean he does multiple kidnappings but that's another post.

[green-mountain-goose]

-

[deadlyrose9086]

"Do try to make a good impression tonight,” Henry mutters under his breath.

Alex’s jaw clenches just for a moment before he wills himself to relax. “Only if you try to get that stick out of your ass.”

-

After two months - two dreadfully long, boring months - of being married to a man that seemingly does not want anything to do with him, Alex gets a tip that his husband is going to be the target of an assassination attempt. He deals with it about as well as you'd expect him to.

ft: light whump, rash decisions, and sex in a bath tub.

Language: English Words: 8,833 Chapters: 1/1 Comments: 68 Kudos: 866 Bookmarks: 155 Hits: 8,716

[kitwilsonsass]

i'm so glad i saved the second half of this chapter for today because every page i'm like lmfao what the fuck is happe-

[greendragonqueen]

"You know, it's a good thing Arthur doesn't know about us."

"Oh? And why's that?"

"Cause I'm pretty sure he'd execute me for what I'm about to do." With that, he leaned down and kissed her on the lips.

Morgana melted into his touch, his kiss, his warmth, with a smile. Just as she always had, just as she always will.

Although, despite mid kiss, she had to chuckle at his comment. It wasn't as if they hadn't been doing for hours now something that would no doubt get them into trouble if caught...

[starpros-sunshine]

wait what’s going on in the fine climax event ??

If only I could tell you

[whenthegoldrays]

No but one of these days I am going to write a LUTYN au where Yeon-kyung is the daughter of the Minister of War who helps keep Im's medical treatment of the servants a secret.

[you-have-been-frizzled]

thank you @a-withered-old-rose for finding this for me

EVERYONE QUICK describe your oc story in the worst way possible

[ozzgin]

Content: gender neutral reader, monster smut, NSFW!

I’m harping on that arranged marriage trope again, but imagine being kidnapped as a spouse for a monstrous demon lord who has a thing for humans. You’re not the first attempt, but the household servants have truly lost count on how many humans crossed their threshold. Some ran away, some were eaten alive: none of the poor, frail mortals could handle the grotesque creature and his equally terrifying temper.

They guide you to the sleeping chambers with a pitiful gaze. They expect to pick up your scattered body tomorrow morning and scrub the dried blood off the floors.

What no one took into consideration was that you’re a shameless monster fucker. One glance at the beastly husband, and you fumble to remove your clothes with trembling hands. This is going to be good, you tell yourself, face flushed in obvious arousal. His unholy majesty certainly didn’t expect you’d hop straight on his dick, no questions asked. Not that he’s complaining much; on the contrary, it takes mere seconds for him to become completely feral.

The next day, you peacefully sip on your tea, pretending not to notice the baffled stares of the servants. If that wasn’t shocking enough, their master walks in with a genuine smile on his face.

Who would’ve thought, all he needed was a good fuck.

[More Monsters] | [Part 2]

[leftythehelpingtankengine]

The Princess, the Pea, and the Beast

Chapter 1: Grief

Word Count - 1.1k

Also available on AO3 & WattPad

Summary: In an attempt to provide aid to a runaway princess, Luigi gets himself mixed up in an arranged marriage to a prince of a neighboring kingdom, what he doesn’t know is that a certain evil king also plans on having the princess’ hand in marriage regardless of whether or not (s)he’s partial to it. Will he find a way out of this, or will he end up falling for one of them? (or both >;))

Content Warnings: none yet

It took Luigi about half a day to reach the castle, the sun could be seen along the horizon peaking over soft, lush green hills that seemed to stretch on forever. His attention was on the castle ahead of him. Princess Peach and her handmaiden, Toadette, were already at the gate waiting for him. They wasted no time ushering him inside, leading him to an empty room. Peach walked to the center of the room while Toadette closed and locked the door behind them. 

“Alright Princess, I’m here, can you please, tell me what’s going on now?” Luigi said following the princess to the center of the room. 

“I need you to attend an upcoming ball for me, I must leave the kingdom posthaste. I’m needed elsewhere, some personal issues have arisen and can no longer be delayed. Toadette will help you make sure you’re well-prepared for the ball and any other situations that may occur in my absence. I will be writing you as soon as I arrive at my first stop, the Flower Kingdom, in Sarasa Land, as I promised to keep you and Toadette updated.”

“Princess, you’re still keeping us in the dark, why can nobody know about what we’re doing?”

She was nervous, so she took a second to think before responding, “Mario would try to stop me, he wouldn’t approve of it. I cannot risk anyone preventing me from doing what must be done. I apologize to both you and Toadette for being so vague, but please, trust me.”

Luigi sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Going against his better judgment, he decided to trust her. He dropped his stuff onto the ground and turned towards Toadette who was now approaching him.

“Alright, what first?”

Toadette spoke up, “We need to get you fitted to Her Highness’ garments, we have also prepared a wig and a cover for the lower half of your face. Follow me, Sir Luigi, the Princess will wait here for when we’re finished.”

Toadette took him by the hand and hurriedly led Luigi to the Princess' chambers. The garments Luigi needed to try on were lying on the bed, seemingly prepared before Luigi’s arrival. Toadette instructs him to change into the chemise and she’ll take his old clothes to his other belongings and then lace his corset. Luigi went behind a dressing screen in the room and handed Toadette his clothes. 

He was left alone to think about what he’d gotten himself into, getting himself in the chemise and stockings. He was beyond embarrassed, he couldn’t bear looking at himself in the mirror on the opposite side of the dressing screen. He knew he would have to at some point but chose to wait until he was in the full disguise. Unfortunately for Luigi, Toadette returned motioning for him to sit and lift his arms. She made quick work getting the corset on him and then promptly lacing it. 

“So, what do you know about the ball, Toadette?” Luigi asked, breaking the silence.

“I know that it takes place on the Winter Solstice and it’s held in Her Highness’ honor. And… that we’re going to need to do something about that mustache…”

“Absolutely not, this is where I draw the line-”

“Sir Luigi we don’t have a choice, you can’t use a fan all the time to conceal the lower half of your face.” Toadette was stern.

“I want answers from the princess before we discuss this any further.” Luigi stood up and marched to the door, irritation and fear plastered to his face. 

Toadette chased after him, calling out in a vain attempt to get him to slow down or stop. Luigi threw open the doors to the Princess’ bedroom and found she was nowhere to be seen. His face paled and Toadette, panting behind him, was confused until she caught up to him.

“Oh… oh no.” Toadette gasped, her hands covering her mouth.

Luigi turned towards Toadette fighting tears, “Toadette. I’m done playing mind games with you tell me EVERYTHING.” Luigi’s voice cracked.

Toadette shrunk, “All I know is that since she was pulled aside and notified of the ball, she hasn’t been the same. I don’t know what about it has got her so worked up, she said the ball was celebrating the Winter Solstice, however, I doubt it now. I swear I know nothing more, she’s been unusually distant as of late. She was just here! She was here when I dropped off your clothes.” she sounded like she was one second away from crying.

Luigi frantically began looking for the belongings he had brought with him. Gone. All of it was gone.

Luigi is overcome with panic, “She deserted us… She-”

“Sir Luigi, we must get back to the fitting now that the princess is no longer here.” Toadette regained her composure, the gravity of the new situation donning on her.

Luigi did not attempt to resist and followed her to put on the rest of his new clothes. 

He looked at himself in the mirror while Toadette laced the back of the bodice and adjusted his wig. It was uncanny how much he resembled the princess.

“Sir Luigi, we must remove your mustache now. Do you know what they’ll do to us if they find out we let the real princess disappear?” Toadette’s tone is stern and serious.

“How are you going to explain the nose?” Luigi scoffed, folding his arms.

“We can say you were stung or bitten by something if anyone asks, now hold still, I don’t wish to nic your face.” She responded quickly.

It seems she had thought everything through, she turned him to face her and began to prep his face for shaving. Luigi was still fighting against it until she brought out a blade. He froze and she took the opportunity to shave his mustache off in two flicks of the wrist.

Luigi whipped around and began mourning once he saw a clean-shaven face staring back at him. He crumpled to the ground clutching his face, silent sobs racking his body.

“I do apologize, Sir Luigi, it had to be done. I’m hoping you will not have to do this for too long. The princess ordered me to make you look the most like her, including mustache removal.” Toadette apologized, her voice was sincere and remorseful. 

She took this as her cue to leave as Luigi didn’t respond. After hearing the door click shut, he couldn’t silence his sobs any longer. He moved to the bed, his crying filled the now empty room.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: hey sorry its been so long I'm working on the requests and the next chap, ive been super sick and busy ;( I hope you all are having a great day/night <3

<<Prev / Next>>

[chancellorofspira]

“Stop avoiding me!” (from Leblanc)

"Inside voices, please. We are inside a church."

Baralai withholds his sigh and the roll of his eyes, mentally preparing himself to face this menace from a bygone era of adolescence. Turning on his heel, he forgoes the typical title and pleasantries.

"LeBlanc. To what do I owe the visit? General Nooj is currently indisposed."

[cloudwisp]

𝐬𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬 · 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐦

contents: smut. minors dni 18+. reader wears a nightgown to subtly get the message across. attempt at seduction. lots of teasing and kissing. first time with him. size difference. fingering. borderline overstimulation. vaginal penetration. mostly sweet lovemaking but implications of leading to rougher sex. sylus has a huge dick (he is standing at 6’2 after all). 2.9k wc.

꒰ note ᰔ based off of this arranged marriage sylus x wife!reader post but can be read as a standalone. smut writing is never one of my strengths but I had fun with this one!! and I can only hope it’s an enjoyable read to those who were anticipating a sequel 🤍꒱

“Doing a little late night reading?” Sylus glances at your form through his peripheral as you enter his bedroom with a light skip in your steps. He’s perched at the end of his bed with a high profile report in hand, and with a tilt of your head and prying eyes you hover over the document between his fingers as you stand before him. You skim through a few lines before he tosses it aside, murmuring that it’s nothing of importance when something more interesting happens to catch his attention and you feel the heat of his gaze doing you a once-over.

Your cheeks warm and you feel a tad shyness wash over you when he quietly appraises your body clad in a gorgeous silk slip with lace embellishments. He hums in appreciation, a slow smirk curling on his lips before he reaches out to grasp your waist and pull you forward onto his lap. He secures one arm around you to keep you in place and his thumb sweeps over the delicate sleepwear and the bare skin of your thigh in a soft, languid motion. “You’ll catch a cold in just your nightgown, kitten. Or did you wear it for me?”

“Maybe I just wanted to change into something a little more comfortable.” You respond with a coy smile and playful shrug of your shoulder which causes the thin strap to fall from just a whisper of movement. He enjoys your little display and act of innocence if this is your way of telling him that you want to deepen the relationship through shared intimacy like normal marital couples do during this time of night. And truthfully, he’s been waiting far too long for this moment to come but he didn’t expect you to offer yourself on a silver platter. What a sweet and precious wife you are.

“I’m sure you could find something more suitable than a flimsy nightgown.” His knuckles brush up along your arm and hooks the fallen strap around his finger to slide it back into its proper place. “But then, perhaps you wanted to tease me, too?”

You click your tongue in disappointment. No matter what you do he was always two steps ahead of you—it’s thoughtful yet infuriating especially when you want him to act more surprised. “Nothing ever gets passed by you, it seems.”

His large hand slips under the lace trimmings of your nightgown and moves closest to your backside for a firm squeeze. “You should know by now how badly I want you, sweetheart. And with you sitting in my lap, looking breathtaking like that. I’m tempted to just rip this little thing off of you.”

You purse your lips into a small pout that’s adorable to him and grunt in disapproval. “What if this night dress is one of my favorites? Don’t I get a say in what you can and can’t tear?”

He arches a brow as though to challenge you by putting the theory into practice. You keep forgetting that he could read you like an open book, and he loves nothing more than proving you wrong at every chance. “Are you saying you wouldn’t enjoy it if I did? I’ll buy you new ones. Better ones.”

You mull over at the thought. “Sounds troublesome. I’ll have to keep making these frequent shopping trips.”

“I just mean the nightgown is in the way of me seeing all of you. You’re more than welcome to wear it any other time, but right now… I want it off.”

“Well, it’s only fair you make the next move.” He groans lowly when you shift your weight in his lap and rest your head against him. You drag your manicured finger down his chest and gently flick at the silver chain looped between his collar. “I did come all this way just for you.”

He understood your meaning and leans down close enough so his warm breath fans over your lips when he tilts your chin to look at him. “If you want me to take off my clothes, you’ll have to undress me yourself.” The soft spoken words in his deep voice send a tingle to the back of your brain, and the lingering kiss he places on the corner of your mouth adds a fluttering sensation in your stomach.

“Still making me work for it? And here I thought I would be cherished and wouldn’t even need to lift a finger.” You bring yourself upright and shove him down onto the bed to climb over him and straddle him. He gives you a knowing smirk at the sound of your cute gasp when you feel just how hard he is for you against your clothed cunt. You make quick work of undoing the underlay of buttons tucked beneath the thick fabric of his tailored dress shirt and remove it entirely to reveal every bit of lean muscle. His build akin to that of a spectacularly sculpted marble statue down to the details of his veins on his strong arms.

“Making you work for it is half the fun, kitten. But just remember who will be putting in the most work tonight.” His hand wanders up your thigh again and moves along the curve of your waist, the expensive silk bunches under his touch and he gropes the fullness of your breast. You feel the strap loosen around your shoulder once more. “Are you liking what you’re seeing? You’re allowed to mark what’s yours, you know. But I’d like to be able to mark you as mine too, wife.” His hungry eyes slowly roam over your matching panties and midriff before he returns your gaze.

Your smaller hand covers his knuckles meanwhile his thumb brushes across your nipple and he revels in the feeling of the bud hardening over the material. “You’re just always so straightforward, aren’t you?” You sensually wrap your finger around the other strap that’s perfectly intact and at your cue Sylus glides his hand down to the small of your back and watches as the dress cascades down to your midsection.

“And you’re so beautiful.” You’re a heavenly sight to behold with the way his amorous stare commits your very existence to his memory, particularly the swell of your lovely breasts that’s heavy with lust and begging for more of his attention. He gently reaches for your wrist and his fingers smooth under your palm to bring your hand up to his face. His thumb runs over the wedding band that binds you to him laying a light kiss against your knuckles, then places your hand over his shoulder waiting for your next move.

You don’t waste another second closing the distance between you two and crash your lips against his for a needy and desperate kiss. Your fingers tangle into his silver locks and your heat grinds against him hoping for some semblance of relief from the ache that’s building inside you. You feel him envelop your breasts fully with each caress and tender squeeze and a little bit of nipple play.

Sylus tastes faintly of sweet, tannic notes from the lingering aftertaste of red wine as your tongue meets his through parted lips. His arms and hands alternate between hugging your body and grip tightening on your hips, bucking himself up into your heat. You feel yourself needing more, wanting more and being closer to him so you hurriedly unbuckle his belt and suddenly the sound of fabric tearing reaches your ears.

You muffle in surprise against his lips and push him back just enough to see him wearing a smug expression. “I should’ve known you’d go against my wishes.” You scoff in disbelief and yet there’s a grin playing across your features that betrays your earlier words. You hate to admit he was right from the start—that you’d find the ripping more attractive instead of being carefully unwrapped like you both have all the patience in the world.

Sylus discards the now ruined piece of clothing aside. He lifts you with ease and your back embraces the cool sheets when he drops you down on the mattress and returns to his full height. “I was never one to follow rules. Besides, you look perfect like this.” You support yourself up on your elbows to follow his movements, and any smart comeback you have dies in your throat when he picks up where you left off by unfastening his belt and stripping out of his trousers. His boxer briefs follow suit and he thinks it’s adorable how you look mesmerized from this performance alone.

Your eyes settle on his huge cock. Almost gawking at it and you unconsciously clench your thighs together. It’s perfectly proportioned to the rest of him—long and notably thicker with an upward center curve and a few prominent veins here and there. He flushes a pretty shade of red that’s gradient from the head down and his pubes are neatly trimmed.

“You don’t have to look so scared, kitten.” He rasps an amused chuckle, and he feels you tense slightly when his hand scales up along your knee to your inner thigh and he dips his fingers between your legs. “I’ll take my time with you so you can handle me.”

Your breath hitches when he feels how drenched you are through your panties. He offers a gratified hum, his handsome face and broad shoulders become your main focus as he closes in on you. “Spread your legs wider.” He murmurs into your ear, and as soon as you give him more access he delves into your mouth for a bruising kiss and chases you down onto the bed. His ministrations on your clit feel absolutely sinful yet so wonderful and your arm wrap around his back meanwhile your hand explores the muscled panels of his upper body and the areas that are within your reach.

A string of saliva connects you both then disappears as your lips come apart. But he doesn’t stray far when the exquisite look on your face is a breath away and he pulls your panties aside to collect your arousal with two digits sliding through your puffy folds. Your lustful sounds escape in a warm exhale as soon as he slowly inserts his thick fingers into your tight pussy, and you’re quite the vision arching your back so tastefully.

“Mmh, that f-feels so good, Sylus.” Your eyes glaze over when he steadily pumps in and out of you, curling so deliciously at your sweet spot and he marvels at the way your cunt is greedily sucking in his fingers. There’s nothing else like him, the way he stretches you and reaches the deeper parts and hits the bits you can’t yourself. He adores the breathless sighs and mewls of his name when he pushes you to the edge even more while kissing you senselessly.

“You sound beautiful. I love the way my name tastes on your lips.” You can feel him smirk against you, but you’re too immersed in your pleasure to respond in words that aren’t broken syllables. He trails open-mouth kisses down to your jawline and along the column of your neck, grazing his teeth and softly sucking on your skin until hues of velvet purple form. Your head burrows into the soft cushion of the mattress, hips squirming as your hand clutches onto his forearm from tension coiling inside you.

“M’gonna come soon, Sy—!” Your pretty moans and pants grow heavier each second, and he loves feeling your body quiver when you’re pressed under him. He’s still knuckles deep inside you with every intention of bringing you up to heaven and back down to him. After all, he doesn’t believe in doing things halfway but can’t pass an opportunity to tease his darling wife.

“You’re getting so close already? I barely got started with you, sweetie.” He chuckles lowly yet his cock twitches as precum oozes and leaks down from the slit of his tip. “Don’t hold it in now. Let go and come for me.”

He’s met with your gorgeous o-face when the euphoric bliss courses through your entire body as your walls tighten around his fingers. Your moans turn into squeals and you try to shove his hand away to soften your orgasm but he doesn’t budge from being much stronger than you. The feeling is more than you can handle when your thighs clamp together to stop his movements. But you don’t want the addictive sensation to leave just yet when he borderline overstimulates you, turning you into a trembling and writhing mess.

You barely have a moment to catch your breath when a chortle escapes you from watching him bring his fingers coated in your cum to his mouth for a curious taste. “Mm. Sweet, just as I thought. You did great, kitten.” He leans down to plant a chaste kiss on your forehead, and the first wave of your drawn-out release slowly ebbs away. “Don’t you think you deserve one more?” Sylus pulls your soaked panties down your legs and casts them aside, leaving you completely bare under his gaze.

“I should hope so. Been wanting for you to stuff me with your fat cock tonight.” You’re still a little breathless when your finger glides down his toned chest in a sensual and playful manner. He makes a content hum at the sound of that with an upward quirk of his lips.

“What a bold and resilient wife I have on my hands. As long as I have you, I’ll never be bored again.” He gladly hoists your leg to wrap around his waist and spits down, giving himself a few strokes making it slick before aligning himself to your dripping cunt. His precum mixes with the remnants of your previous climax with the heavy drag of his tip from your opening up along your clit. He revels in the way your body responds with a little spasm. “I won’t have you going back on your words now.”

The flutter of your lashes steers away from his deep and enigmatic eyes, a nervous gnaw of your lower lips as you anticipate the painful stretch from taking him. “Go slow, okay? Because you know…” He knew you were implying about his sheer size, and you feel him grab hold of your hand and press your interlaced hand against the bed beside your head.

He captures your swollen lips that feel entirely too sweet and intimate, replacing your worries with a gentle tangle of his encompassing love and adoration that seeps into your soul. “I wouldn’t dream about hurting you. That’s a promise. But you have to let me in first.” Your breath hitches when his aching tip probes your entrance, yet the tension doesn’t leave your body until he tells you to focus on him with the exchange of kisses laced with a growing insistence. “You’ll let me know if it hurts, kitten? I want to make you feel good.”

With that said, your sharp nails dig into his shoulder blade and draw red lines at the burning stretch that feels too much yet so good at the same time. Your soft sighs and whimpers fill the hazy room and he’s fucking you slowly with just the tip to help ease the initial discomfort. He searches your face every now and again making sure you’re okay before he continues, letting out a guttural moan when he slips in a little more with each thrust until he carves his way into you completely.

“You’re in too deep—hah. Feel so full and good.” You shudder when he stills his movements, throbbing cock nestled inside you to the hilt and kissing your cervix. There’s a carnal desire brewing in his stomach seeing you pinned under his weight keeping him nice and warm. He wouldn’t mind spending the entire night with you, any plans and commitments he had prior be damned the moment you swayed in through the double doors. “Want you to m-move, please.”

The sound of your polite begging makes him twitch involuntarily, and he could only imagine what desperate pleas you have in store for him tonight and he’s looking forward to it. When your pretty lips implore him to fuck you faster and harder he won’t be able to hold back. After all, he has always been ready and waiting to give himself to you that aligns with your willingness to accept him. There is no love purer than his, this craving he has reserved only for you. “You know you only have to ask, and I’ll give you everything you want. Just be careful what you wish for, sweetie.”

Sylus chuckles at your cute whine shortly after—such a needy little thing you are. He falls into a sweet and slow rhythm that makes you feel each thrust, the head of his dick down to its shape and following the shaft that caresses the underside of your pleasure endings so incredibly good. Your legs wrap around his back and you pull him in deeper because close just isn’t close enough for you. You need to feel the heat of his body sear against your skin as you hold him, and in turn you feel him squeeze your interlaced hand. “Tonight, you’re all mine. Forget anyone else in the world but me.”