#our wedding garment

[a-godman]

Cooperate with God to have the Second Garment, Christ as our Subjective Righteousnesses

We need to cooperate with God to have not only the first garment – Christ as our objective righteousness, but also the second garment, Christ as our subjective righteousnesses, so that we may be qualified to enter the wedding feast of the Lamb when the Lord Jesus returns. The two aspects of righteousness – the objective righteousness and subjective righteousness – are typified by the two garments…

[madzillus]

Ed asked Frenchie and Wee John to help make his cake topper dreams a reality

[persicipen-archive]

tbh this is my safe space, so it’s safe for me to say that i still think aglaea’s design is weird and… yeah, i will just say it — ugly. her splash art really grew on me and i still love my future wife (i hope she says yes), but her actual model is disappointing 💔 like many other designs in the game but shh… 💔

[softdedue]

In the morning I’m flying to see my fiancé so we can get married on Monday!!!!!!

[blackynsupremacy]

SO INTO YOU

pairing: older!smallville!clark kent x black!fem!reader

fandom: smallville (2001-2011)

summary: you and clark forget about the world as you indulge in each other on your honeymoon.

contains: 18+ content (mdni), smut, fluff, established relationship, reader and clark are newlyweds, l bombs, romance, oral (f receiving), praise kink, slight size kink, vanilla, missionary, implied unprotected lovemaking, squirting, i love welling clark but reader can imagine any clark they like!

taglist: @greengoblinswifey @thabiddie23 @miguelspvssy @hopefully-saturn @jkr820 @hoffmansgirl @austeenbootler @niteskysx @sabrinasopposite @thabiddie23 @hnch33rios @xoxoglittergossip @supaprettyg @afrogirl3005 @afrowrites @motherismotheringggg @oscarisaackissmykitty @simply-lovley44 @elitesanjisimp @gxuxhdjdu @venic-bxtch @stargirl-mayaa @ellethespaceunicorn

a/n: i swear imma get in requests! whenever i’m on pinterest i get a blurb i gotta write before i forget.

“hah, finally.”

clark kent sighed in content. your soft giggles were music to his ears as he carefully stepped over the threshold while holding you like precious cargo into the luxury italian suite that was graciously gifted to you both by lex luthor for your nuptials. the happiness you were both feeling was beyond words as you were just officially pronounced as husband and wife before your loved ones within the metropolis chapel. after a few hours of dancing and merriment at the reception, you and clark flew off to start your happily ever after in the beautiful city of venice. he smoothly kicked the door closed with one foot, never taking his eyes off of you when he placed you down to the stand on the ground. it was around seven in the evening when you landed, making the dim lit glow of the ivory and gold decor in the suite irresistible to pull your eyes from. you definitely weren’t in smallville, kansas anymore. you take clark’s hand within yours, slightly dragging him to peruse the area. you saw lex like a fairy godmother of sorts as he had exquisite tastes and boy, did it feel like you stepped in a fairy tale.

“oh, clark. can you believe this is ours? this is just—beautiful.” you confessed in pure awe. clark silently agreed, his blue eyes darting briefly around the room, but they can’t help to gravitate towards your figure. your ivory white corset dress that beautifully contrasted the melanated shade of your skin fit your body so perfectly that clark couldn’t wait another moment to remove the garment. he deliberately sauntered towards you, his large hands take ahold of your waist to press you closer to him. given his tall six foot stature, he leans down, so that his rose lips could press a kiss to the soft skin of your earlobe.

“that’s true, but it doesn’t compare to the beauty of my wife.” he whispered in a low voice and gripped tight tighter to your waist. clark felt a rush of joy course through his veins when he mentioned your new title. he couldn’t have been luckier to be with you in this moment. with the exception of a green rock, you were his true weakness. a sigh of his name escapes from your lips when his meet the warm, brown skin of your jawline to leave a trail of kisses against the bone before they descend to your neck. each kiss causes your skin to be ridden with goosebumps. he pulls his lips away momentarily and one of his large hands ascend from your waist, trailing smoothly over your chest for his palm to lay flat against your neck. the cold medal of his wedding band on your skin increases your excitement as clark pushes your neck backwards slowly for your head to lean. his face comes closer to yours for both of your lips to finally lock within each other. as they move in sync, you hold yourself together by bringing your hands up behind you, tangling your fingers in the plush, dark jungle of his hair. without breaking your lips from his, he swiftly turns you around and picks you up within his arms again, so that he could properly locate you to the master bedroom. clark lays your body down on cream, satin duvet where he temporarily pulls his mouth away from yours to just silently take in every part of what’s before him.

ever since your adolescence, you’d always held a deep respect for each other. as time passed, that respect slowly turned to admiration, transforming into the deep, true love you found in each other to this day. clark couldn’t count on his fingers the time that you’ve been there for him at his lowest. you never turned away from him when he revealed his powers or the time that he ran away from home. it had always been—you. the mere thought of you makes him almost grateful that he crashed down to earth on that fateful day in the fall of eighty-nine. you’d notice that clark had been silent for far too long, you’ve always been used to his lingering, blue eyes, but now you were starting to feel awkward as the desire for your new husband grew hungrier with each passing second,

“clark, baby, are you okay?” you softly inquire, your hands cupping the sides of his jaw as your fingers glide along his sculpted, blushing face. you beam with a small smile, you knew now that the feeling was indeed mutual.

“i don’t know if you know this, but i love what you do to me.” he pauses to press your lips in a searing kiss to pull away and resume speaking, “i love you—all of you.” you whine, pulling him down to take his lips to yours again, this time you let your tongue intrude into his mouth in which he graciously accepts by sensually intertwining the two together. you moan, bucking your hips into his direction, letting him know that your patience was running thin. you take your lips away from his, pushing any disheveled hair from his forehead to clearly peer into his eyes.

“i need you, clark—make love to me, please.” clark observed as you squirm, propping your legs up on each side of his hips, your thighs spread wider to signify of you both taking your relationship to a whole new level. clark’s breath hitched at your words, the urgency in your voice igniting a fire within him. he responded by leaning down and capturing your lips in another slow, passionate kiss that sent shivers down your spine. as he deepened the kiss, his hands roamed your body, exploring every curve and contour. he doesn’t forget sneak his hands down to your ass to reward it with a tight squeeze. the more he touched, the more you felt the white lacy underwear you had on seep in your arousal. you melted into him, feeling the strength of his muscles beneath your fingertips as you traced the outline of his shoulders beneath the fabric of the pristine button up, where your fingers succeed in their search to find and unravel each button.

“are you ready?” he murmured against your lips, his voice a mix of tenderness, hunger, and longing. “because once i start, i don’t think i’ll want to stop.” his blue eyes searched yours, wanting to ensure that this was what you truly wanted, but god, he’s practically waited years for this moment to come. your body was practically screaming “hell yes!”, but being the gentleman that jonathan and martha raised, your consent mattered, whether you’re his wife or not.

you nodded, your heart racing with anticipation, knowing that he can hear it clearly. “yes, clark, that’s the point—i don’t want you to stop. give it to me, baby.” you hastily replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

“whatever you want—mrs. kent.” you bite your lip as your new name rolls off of his tongue so smoothly. he sits up to finish the job of unbuttoning his shirt before shrugging it off his shoulders to reveal the beautifully sculpted body that you swear gets more muscular. those long days of farm work over the years had seriously worked in his favor. clark sits you up, so that he could finally unzip your dress. you allow him to swiftly pull it away from your body before you take turns to discard the rest of your clothing until you’re completely bare before each other. clark is instantly mesmerized by your true form and he lays you back down again on the bed, his eyes never ceasing to inspect of what he thought was the most beautiful body in the entire galaxy.

“you are—breathtaking.” he proclaimed, the heat of embarrassment rises on your face. clark’s large body loomed over yours and he shifted his weight, at last positioning himself between your legs. you could feel the heat of your dripping arousal intensify at the sight of him, and it made your heart race even faster. he marveled at you as one of his hands palmed against one of your breasts. you moan out his name, encouraging him to go further with his touch. he took his time, savoring every moment as he ghosted his mouth around the other, trailing soft kisses along your dark erected nipple before enclosing it in his warm mouth. the kryptonian hummed against the skin to create a sensual vibration, igniting every nerve in your body. he didn’t forget to alternate between the two to give them equal attention.

“mmm—clark, baby, that’s so good, but i need more.” you request, bucking up your hips. clark chuckled at your impatience, he knew exactly what you needed. he wanted this to be a perfect experience for you, but he still wanted to tease you just a little.

“where do you need me, sweetheart?” he questioned before trailing kisses along your stomach. clark’s dick grew larger when he heard you whining. “c’mon, beautiful. use your words.” he went just a little lower to your navel, swirling his tongue around the perimeter of your belly button. despite the electricity he was sending through your body, you managed to articulate your need,

“clark…” you breathed, the sound laced with desire. “need your mouth—ngh, on my pussy.”

he looked up at you, a playful glint in his eyes. “you deserve nothing less.” he said, his voice low and husky. as his head moved lower, he spread your thighs wider, spreading kisses within that area. he even lapped up a bit of overflowing arousal that stuck to your skin. clark was about to go crazy knowing that you were this wet for him and him only. he had finally reached to where you needed him, your scent of your desire drives him to cop a taste by dragging tongue in a deliver lick along your entrance to which you whimper in approval. clark immediately gets to work by swirling his tongue on your sensitive pleasure point like its a delectable piece of candy. you arch your back off the bed and your hands promptly find their way to grip onto his hair for leverage as his tongue starts to prod at your wet hole. the pad of his thumb takes care of your clit while his tongue explores deep into your pussy.

“oh, s-shit, clark. just like that, baby.” you want to clench your legs around his head to bring him closer, but he uses the strength of his elbows to keep your thighs separated, so that you could get all of what he was working with without you running away. you practically clench around his tongue, encouraging him to taste every single inch of you until you completely unravel beneath him. he brings his tongue back around your clit, giving the sloppiest of licks as if he were indulging in a melting ice cream cone, attempting to catch every drop. he drives you mad as you were still firmly planted on the bed, thighs wide open when you observe his head shaking side to side to bury himself deeper. with the little strength you have, you attempt to grind your hips. your thighs are trembling when you feel that ball of fire inside of you ready to erupt at any minute. the final straw when he takes your clit between his lips to firmly suckle on it.

“clark, m’gonna cum!”

at hearing your words, one of his hands grasps to yours, tightly intertwining your fingers.

“let go. cum for me, pretty girl. i got you.”

the movements of his tongue become more relentless as the other hand rapidly rubs on your nub to finally get you to the first of many highs for the evening. you cry out his name, arching your back and rocking your hips as you gush your liquids onto clark’s heavenly face.

“atta girl. you did so good.” he hums in appreciation by lapping up every single drop, never getting tired of the taste. he slides up to plant your lips on yours, slipping his tongue in so smoothly, so that you could enjoy the taste of yourself as he did previously. he takes your legs to wrap themselves around his waist before using his arms to prop himself up above you. as he finally aligned himself at your entrance, you gaze down and gasped at his impressive girth. he was well endowed as this wasn’t just some regular earth dick. clark paused, his gaze locked onto yours, ensuring that you were ready for this next step.

“i hope you’re ready, sweetheart. i’ll be gentle, but just let me know if it’s too much, okay? i love you.”

you nod, placing one last searing kiss to his lips.

“i trust you, clark. i love you so much more.” you say with sincerity, now gazing down again as he began to finally put your bodies together like two long lost puzzle pieces awaiting to complete the final picture.

you both shudder and sigh out in ecstasy once the tip was inside. you were made for each other. as he filled you up inch by inch, the world around you simply disappeared only leaving the rhythm of your breaths and the sound of your bodies moving in sync. every movement was a dance and every lewd vocalization was a song of celebration of your everlasting love. as husband and wife, you lost yourselves in the moment, surrendering to the bliss that enveloped you both for the rest of the night.

[random-twst-things]

Part 2 of this!

*After the interview, it was cut short*

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: Mal?

Malleus: ...yes?

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: HOW?! how is it that we're even married?

Malleus: Well-

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: We haven't even dated each other?!

Malleus: ...

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: Look, it's not that I mind, really but-

Malleus: Really? ☺️

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: Not the point Mal! How did this even happen? And for an entire year?!

Mc/Y/N/Yuu, turns to Mal: Mind explaining?

Malleus: Well, you were the one to court me

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: ...Me?

Malleus: Yes, do you remember around a year ago the time you gifted me a new tamagotchi, coupled with a pretty rock with a small card saying "love you"?

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: Yes? It was a while ago, but yea

Malleus: Well, I thought that was you courting me, dear

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: ...

Malleus: ...

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: You thought that I was courting because I gave you a rock? A simple rock?

Malleus: Correction, a very pretty rock, but yes

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: Please don't tell me this is the way faes court?

Malleus: Well, not exactly. Instead of the, VERY, pretty rock you gave me we usually find or buy an unpolished emerald rock and give it to the person we wish to court.

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: AN EMERALD?! UNPOLISHED EMERALD?! I gave you nothing close to that!

Malleus: Well, I assumed that given your living situation and expenses you sadly had to use a pretty rock you found instead of the emerald

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: Mal, you do know that our way of "courting" is very different, right?

Malleus: I am aware, but I assumed you knew

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: ...

Mc/Y/N/Yuu, sighs: Okay, okay- wait- this was when?

Malleus: A month before we got married

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: A MONTH?!

Malleus: Yes, a month, I wished to do it sooner but thought I'd wait to respect your human traditions. Lilla also said patience is key ☺️

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: MAL A MONTH IS TOO SOON?

Malleus: It is? 😔

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: YES BUT-

Mc/Y/N/Yuu, sighing: WHEN?! HOW DID WE EVEN HAVE A WEDDING?

Malleus: Dear, the event I held a year ago in Diasomnia's courtyard was our wedding

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: I thought that was some fae holiday or tradition you guys did?

Malleus: It was not, it was our wedding

Mc/Y/N/Yuu, pacing the room: wait- you need a marriage officiant for a wedding to happen though? What about the vows? The walking down the aisle?

Malleus: The vows we said we're done in private, remember? when I poured my heart out telling you how I could never imagine you not being in my life? The marriage officiant was Lillia and the walk down the aisle I chose not to do as I couldn't wait any longer.

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: Okay, so I remember the "vows" but when did I even sign the marriage license?

Malleus: As soon as you walked into the dorm doors

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: I thought that was a paper to see who came?

Malleus, worried tone, happy face: My, dear, you really should read something before you sign it 😊

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: yea, I really should

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: what about the wedding attire? I didn't wear a wedding dress/suit? The ring?

Malleus: The outfit of garments I sent to you the day before our wedding and the ring I'm assuming you thought was a "simple" gift 😞

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: THAT WAS MY WEDDING DRESS/SUIT?! And wedding ring?!

Malleus: Yes, I must say you looked positively gorgeous/beautiful/handsome and I chose the ring very well, it suits you tremendously

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: Thank you-

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: okay, okay- No big deal- I'm just married to the prince of Briar Valley, descendant of fae, the most powerful mages in the world.

Malleus: I prefer to be called "Mal", by you

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: ...

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: Oh by the Seven, I can't believe we got married all because I gave you a SIMPLE ROCK

Malleus: As I said before, a very pretty rock

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: Mal, we don't even live together

The rock You/Mc/Y/N/Yuu gave to Malleus:

Authors note: (this turned out longer than I thought 😭)

(FINALLY! DONE! No next part... Unless a part 3 where they talk it out better? Nah.... Unless)

Dividers by/from @/cafekitsune

[goldfades]

all my tomorrows | JOE BURROW⁹ [001]

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine it's crucial that we stand in solidarity with those who need our support. right now, the people of palestine are facing unimaginable hardship, and it's up to all of us to do what we can to help. whether it's raising awareness, donating to relief organizations, or supporting calls for justice and peace, every action counts. we can amplify their voices, shed light on their struggles, and work towards a future where every individual can live with dignity and freedom. your support can make a difference! FREE PALESTINE!

MASTERLIST

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 5.6k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | your wedding day - from start to (semi) finish. a night woven with love and laughter, where heartfelt speeches echo through the air. joe and y/n’s wedding glows with tenderness, from ja'marr’s playful tribute to y/n’s unshakable place in joe’s heart, to your best's teary words of lifelong friendship.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | fluff, mentions of drinking, emotional, ummmm pretty much nothing else! just tooth-rotting fluff!!

MAY 23RD, 2021

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐔𝐍 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐀𝐔𝐙𝐘 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒, painting the bridal suite in a soft, golden light. The air is alive with the hum of excitement, laughter bubbling over as your bridesmaids flit around the room. The scent of fresh coffee and the faint floral aroma from your bouquet mix with the sharp tang of hair spray.

Maisie, your maid of honor and partner-in-crime since middle school, perches on the edge of the vanity chair, scrolling through her phone. “Okay, ladies,” she announces, holding up a to-do list like it’s a sacred text. “We’ve got exactly three hours until we need to head down. Hair? Check. Makeup? In progress. Emotional stability?” She raises an eyebrow at you. “Questionable.”

“Excuse me,” you say, leaning back in your chair as one of the stylists curls another section of your hair. “I am perfectly stable.”

Maisie smirks. “Sure, sure. That’s why you’ve been bouncing your knee like a jackhammer since you sat down.”

You glance down at your leg, which is, indeed, in overdrive. With a sheepish laugh, you press a hand to your knee. “Okay, maybe a little nervous.”

“A little?” Olivia, one of your bridesmaids, arches a perfectly sculpted brow from her spot on the couch, where she’s applying a flawless coat of mascara. “Babe, you’re marrying Joe freaking Burrow. Nerves are allowed.”

“Not just allowed,” adds Camila, another bridesmaid, who’s currently rifling through a box of pastries. “Expected. Honestly, if you weren’t nervous, I’d be concerned.” She holds up a croissant. “Carb therapy?”

You laugh, waving her off. “Later. If I eat now, I’ll definitely spill it on the dress.”

From her seat by the window, Elena, your quiet but fiercely loyal bridesmaid, sips her coffee and smiles. “You’ll be stunning, no matter what.”

“Exactly,” Maisie says, setting her phone down and standing up with a dramatic flourish. “Now, let’s get down to business. Who’s ready for some champagne?”

There’s a collective cheer as Maisie grabs a bottle from the mini fridge and expertly pops the cork, sending a small shower of bubbly onto the floor.

“To Y/N,” Maisie says, raising her glass high. “The calmest, coolest bride in history. May your day be perfect, your vows unforgettable, and your dance moves questionable.”

You all burst into laughter as you clink glasses, the bubbles fizzing against your lips. It’s a moment of pure joy, a snapshot of the love and friendship that’s carried you to this day.

As you sip your champagne, Maisie sets her glass down and turns to the garment bag hanging on the door. “Alright, who’s ready to see the dress one more time before the big reveal?”

Your heart skips a beat as you watch her carefully unzip the bag, revealing the gown that feels like a dream. The room falls silent, the air thick with awe as your bridesmaids crowd around.

“Oh my God,” Olivia breathes. “It’s even more beautiful than I remember.”

“You’re going to take his breath away,” Elena whispers, her eyes shimmering.

Camila sniffs dramatically, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. “I’m not crying, you’re crying.”

Maisie steps back, hands on her hips, beaming with pride. “This is it, Y/N. Your moment.”

You stand, the nerves from earlier settling into a warm, steady excitement. Maisie reaches for your hand, squeezing it gently. “How are you feeling?”

You take a deep breath, your gaze flickering to the gown, then to the faces of your best friends. “Like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.”

Maisie grins. “Damn right you are.”

The rest of the morning unfolds in a flurry of final touches, shared memories, and stolen glances at the clock. With every passing minute, the reality sinks in deeper. In just a few hours, you’ll walk down the aisle, and at the end of it, Joe will be waiting.

The laughter and chatter around you start to blur, their voices melding into a soft, comforting hum. You watch the light bounce off the champagne flutes, the delicate lace of your wedding dress shimmering under the glow of the morning sun. Everything feels surreal, like you’re walking through a dream that somehow came to life.

This is really happening.

You close your eyes for a moment, letting the memories wash over you. The first time you saw Joe in that high school hallway, head buried in a playbook, hair a little too long, and a smile that made your heart stumble. The late-night phone calls during college, when the distance felt unbearable but his voice kept you tethered. The endless games, the victories and losses, the quiet moments when it was just the two of you against the world.

You think about LSU, that electric night when the stadium roared and confetti rained down like the universe was celebrating your love. Joe, on one knee, looking at you like you were the only person who mattered in the sea of screaming fans. And now, here you are, hours away from saying “I do” to the person who has been your anchor, your partner, your everything.

A soft voice breaks through your reverie. “You feeling it?”

You blink, returning to the present. The makeup artist, a kind-eyed woman named Grace, is watching you with a gentle smile, her brush paused mid-air.

You nod, swallowing the lump forming in your throat. “Yeah, I’m feeling it.”

And then, without warning, the weight of it all hits you. The love, the journey, the sheer magnitude of this moment—it’s overwhelming in the best way. Your eyes start to sting, the tears welling up faster than you can stop them.

Grace’s eyes widen in alarm. “Oh no, no, no,” she says quickly, setting down her brush and grabbing a tissue. “Not the tears, honey, not yet! Think dry thoughts! Puppies! Deserts! That scene in The Lion King where Mufasa—wait, no, not that.”

Maisie, ever the quick thinker, swoops in with a hand fan and starts fanning your face like her life depends on it. “Deep breaths, Y/N. In through your nose, out through your mouth. We are not letting you walk down the aisle with streaky mascara.”

Camila appears on your other side, holding a tiny bottle of setting spray like it’s a weapon. “I’ve got reinforcements. Don’t worry, we’ll seal it in if we have to.”

You laugh through the tears, shaking your head as you try to compose yourself. “I’m sorry,” you say, your voice wobbly. “It’s just… it’s a lot, you know? This is everything I’ve ever dreamed of, and it’s actually happening.”

Grace dabs at the corners of your eyes with the tissue, her touch light and practiced. “Of course, it’s a lot,” she says, her tone soft and understanding. “But that’s a good thing. It means you’re present. You’re feeling every bit of this moment, and that’s exactly how it should be.”

Maisie leans in, her fan still going strong. “And we’ll make sure you feel it after the ceremony too. Right now, though, we’re keeping that face flawless, okay?”

You nod, a watery smile spreading across your face. “Okay.”

Grace picks up her brush again, giving you a reassuring wink. “Alright, let’s get back to it. By the time I’m done, you’ll be glowing like the goddess you are.”

As the room falls back into its rhythm, you take another deep breath, letting the love and support of your friends steady you. This is it—the beginning of forever. And you’re ready.

┈┈┈

The low rumble of laughter echoes off the walls of the groom’s suite, mixing with the faint scent of cologne and the crisp aroma of freshly pressed suits. Joe adjusts the cufflinks on his shirt, his fingers moving with the kind of calm precision he usually reserves for pre-game rituals. Except today, he’s not suiting up for a game—he’s preparing for the most important moment of his life.

“You good, man?” Ja’Marr Chase, his best man and long-time teammate, asks from across the room. He’s lounging on the couch, one leg draped over the armrest, a glass of whiskey in his hand. His tie is still untied around his neck, but Ja’Marr never rushes.

Joe glances at him in the mirror, a faint smirk playing at his lips. “Yeah, I’m good.” He adjusts his collar, taking a step back to inspect himself. The suit fits like a glove—sharp, tailored to perfection—but it’s not the suit he cares about. It’s the moment waiting for him just a few hours away.

“Good?” Ja’Marr raises an eyebrow, sitting up a little straighter. “You’re about to marry the love of your life, bro. You better be more than good.”

Joe laughs, shaking his head. “Alright, fine. I’m better than good. Happy now?”

Ja’Marr grins, setting his glass down and standing up. “That’s what I like to hear.” He walks over, clapping a hand on Joe’s shoulder. “You nervous at all?”

Joe considers the question for a moment. “A little,” he admits. “But it’s a good kind of nervous. Like, the kind you get before a big game. You know what you’re doing, but it still hits you that it’s a huge deal.”

“Except this time,” Ja’Marr says, leaning against the dresser, “you’re not just playing for a win. You’re locking down your forever.”

Joe chuckles. “Exactly.”

The door swings open, and a few more of the guys—Sam, Tee, and Tyler—stroll in, already dressed and ready.

“Look at you,” Tee says, whistling as he takes in Joe’s suit. “Sharp as hell. Y/N’s gonna lose it when she sees you.”

Joe smirks. “That’s the plan.”

Sam drops into one of the chairs, pulling out his phone. “Alright, we’ve got time before we head down. Who’s up for a quick game of Madden?”

Tyler shakes his head, laughing. “You’re seriously trying to play video games right now?”

“Hey, it’s tradition,” Sam says with a shrug. “Pre-game warm-up, right?”

Ja’Marr rolls his eyes but grabs a controller anyway. “Fine. One game. But I’m playing as the Bengals, and if I win, Joe owes me a drink later.”

Joe leans against the wall, watching as they set up the game. It’s the kind of easy, familiar energy that’s followed them through years of locker rooms, road trips, and big games. And as much as he appreciates the distraction, his mind keeps drifting back to you.

He pictures you in your dress, walking down the aisle, the way your smile will light up the entire room. The thought sends a wave of anticipation and love crashing over him, so powerful it’s almost dizzying.

“You zoning out over there?” Ja’Marr asks, glancing over from the couch.

Joe snaps back to the present, his grin widening. “Just thinking about her.”

Ja’Marr nods, his expression softening. “Yeah, man. She’s something else.”

The game kicks off, and the room fills with shouts and laughter as the guys trash-talk and celebrate their plays. But through it all, Joe stays grounded in the reality that today, his life changes forever.

“Hey,” Ja’Marr says after scoring a touchdown, “just remember—when you’re standing up there, take a second to really take it all in. Don’t rush through it. That’s a moment you’ll wanna remember for the rest of your life.”

Joe meets his best friend’s gaze and nods. “I will.”

Because as much as this day is about promises and celebrations, it’s also about the journey that brought them here. And Joe’s ready to embrace every second of it.

┈┈┈

The sunlight streams gently through the wide windows of the bridal suite, filtering through gauzy curtains and casting a golden glow across the room. The air hums with quiet anticipation, the kind that wraps itself around every detail—the rustle of satin, the soft click of heels against polished wood, the faint notes of the string quartet warming up outside.

You stand before a full-length mirror, the lace and tulle of your wedding dress spilling elegantly around you. Every bead and stitch feels like a promise, every delicate detail a testament to the day you’ve dreamed about for so long.

Grace, the makeup artist, gives your hair one last fluff before stepping back. “Alright,” she says, her voice warm and steady. “You’re officially ready.”

You barely hear her. Your eyes are locked on your reflection, taking in the way the dress hugs and flows, the way the soft waves in your hair frame your face. It’s not just the look—it’s the weight of the moment that catches in your chest.

Maisie appears at your side, her own dress swishing as she moves. “You look perfect,” she says, her voice hushed, like speaking too loudly might break the spell.

You nod slowly, your hands brushing against the smooth fabric of your gown. “I can’t believe this is actually happening,” you whisper.

Maisie grins. “Believe it, babe. You’re about to marry Joe freaking Burrow.”

The mention of his name sends a flutter of excitement through you. You can almost picture him now—standing somewhere in the men’s suite, probably adjusting his tie for the hundredth time or cracking a joke with Ja’Marr.

As if reading your thoughts, Maisie nudges you playfully. “Think he’s as nervous as you are?”

You laugh softly. “If he is, he’s hiding it better.”

A knock at the door pulls your attention, and your mom steps in, her eyes already glistening with tears. “Sweetheart,” she says, her voice catching. “You look… oh, my goodness.”

Her reaction sends another wave of emotion crashing over you, and you have to blink back tears to keep your makeup intact. She walks over, taking your hands in hers, her smile warm and full of love. “You’re radiant.”

“Thank you, Mom.”

Grace, ever vigilant, gives a soft warning from the corner. “No tears yet, ladies. We’re too close to mess up perfection.”

The room dissolves into light laughter, the tension easing just a bit. Your bridesmaids begin gathering their bouquets, Maisie organizing everyone with the efficiency of a seasoned event planner.

Meanwhile, across the country club, Joe is standing in front of another mirror, adjusting his tie for what must be the fifth time in as many minutes.

“Man, you’ve got it,” Ja’Marr says from behind him, lounging in a chair with a relaxed grin. “Your tie’s fine. You’re fine. Stop messing with it before you undo all of Grace’s hard work.”

Joe huffs a quiet laugh but lets his hands fall to his sides. He steps back, taking in the full picture—charcoal gray suit, crisp white shirt, tie perfectly aligned. It’s a look he’s worn before, but today it feels different. He looks like a groom. He looks like someone about to marry the love of his life.

Ja’Marr gets up, straightening his own jacket before patting Joe on the back. “You ready for this?”

Joe meets his best friend’s eyes in the mirror, and for a moment, the usual swagger softens. “Yeah,” he says, his voice steady. “I’ve been ready.”

The groomsmen begin to gather, straightening lapels and exchanging last-minute words of encouragement. There’s a knock at the door, and the wedding coordinator peeks in. “Five minutes, gentlemen.”

Joe nods, the weight of the moment settling in. He takes a deep breath, letting it anchor him. Then, with one last glance in the mirror, he turns to Ja’Marr. “Let’s do this.”

Back in the bridal suite, the final touches are being made. Maisie adjusts the hem of your dress, while Camila ensures your veil is perfectly in place. The air buzzes with quiet excitement, but as the minutes tick down, a hush falls over the room.

Your heart pounds as the wedding coordinator steps in, her clipboard clutched to her chest. “It’s time,” she says with a smile.

Your bridesmaids file out first, their dresses swaying softly as they move down the hall. Maisie lingers for a moment, giving your hand a quick squeeze. “I’ll see you out there,” she says, her eyes shining.

Finally, it’s just you and your dad. He steps forward, offering his arm with a look that says everything he doesn’t need to.

“Ready?” he asks softly.

You nod, your heart full. “Ready.”

Together, you step into the hallway, the sound of the string quartet growing louder with each step. The doors to the ceremony space are just ahead, and beyond them—Joe.

As you pause at the threshold, waiting for the doors to open, you take a deep breath, grounding yourself in the moment. This is it. The beginning of forever.

The double doors swing open with a soft creak, revealing the grand expanse of the ceremony space. The world narrows, and for a moment, all you hear is the soft hum of the string quartet, transitioning seamlessly into Canon in D. The light spills in golden rays through the tall windows, catching on the polished wood of the pews, the delicate floral arrangements lining the aisle, and the beaming faces of friends and family.

But none of that matters, not really. Your eyes find him instantly.

Joe stands at the end of the aisle, a picture of calm and quiet strength in his charcoal gray suit. His hands are clasped in front of him, but even from here, you can see his fingers fidgeting just slightly. His lips are curved in a soft smile, but his eyes—those clear blue eyes—are what hold you. They shine with an emotion so raw, so overwhelming, that it catches in your throat.

And then, just as you take your first step forward, you see it. His smile falters for a second, his jaw tightens, and he blinks rapidly, a single tear slipping free and tracing a line down his cheek. You feel your own breath hitch, your chest tight with a swell of love so profound it feels like it could lift you off the ground.

Your father tightens his hold on your arm, his silent support grounding you. Together, you walk down the aisle, each step measured and deliberate, as if savoring every second leading up to this moment. The murmurs of the crowd fade, the music becomes a soft, distant melody, and it’s just you and Joe, two halves of a whole, moving closer with every heartbeat.

When you finally reach him, your father gently lifts your veil, pressing a kiss to your temple. He steps back, his eyes glassy, and places your hand in Joe’s. The warmth of Joe’s touch sends a comforting rush through you, anchoring you in the present.

The officiant begins, his voice calm and steady, weaving words of love and commitment. But it’s hard to focus on anything beyond Joe—his steady breathing, the way his thumb brushes over the back of your hand, the way he looks at you like you’re the only person in the world.

Then, it’s time for the vows.

Joe goes first. He clears his throat, his fingers tightening around yours as he begins.

“I was sixteen when I first knew I wanted to spend my life with you. You were standing in the bleachers, cheering me on like you always do, and I remember thinking that nothing else mattered as long as I could keep seeing that smile.”

His voice catches slightly, and he pauses, taking a steadying breath. “You’ve been my biggest supporter, my best friend, my home. Through every victory and every loss, you’ve been there, steady and unwavering. Today, I promise to be that for you. I promise to love you unconditionally, to stand by your side in every challenge and every joy, to be your partner in all things. You’ve given me a life I never dreamed possible, and I will spend everyday making sure you know how deeply you are loved.”

You’re barely holding it together by the time he finishes. Your heart is a mess of emotions, tears pooling in your eyes, but you manage a small, watery smile.

It’s your turn. You squeeze Joe’s hand lightly, drawing strength from his steady presence as you begin.

“Joe, from the moment we met, you’ve been my safe place. You’ve seen me at my best and my worst, and through it all, you’ve loved me without hesitation. You’ve shown me what it means to be truly known and deeply loved.”

Your voice wavers, and you pause for a moment, blinking back tears. “You’ve given me so much—your love, your dreams, your heart—and today, I vow to give you all of me. I promise to stand by your side through every adventure, every challenge, and every quiet, ordinary day. I promise to support your dreams, to cheer you on, to be your rock, your home, your everything. You are my greatest love, my greatest joy, and I can’t wait to build a life with you.”

The silence that follows is filled with the quiet rustle of tissues and soft sniffles from the crowd. Joe’s eyes glisten, and his grip on your hands tightens ever so slightly, as if to say I’m here, always.

The officiant smiles warmly. “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Joe, you may kiss your bride.”

Time seems to slow as Joe steps closer, his hands coming up to gently frame your face. His touch is tender, reverent, as if he’s holding the most precious thing in the world. He leans in, and when his lips meet yours, it’s like the world tilts on its axis. The kiss is soft, unhurried, a perfect melding of love and promise, and the crowd erupts in cheers and applause around you.

When you finally pull back, your foreheads rest together, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you, basking in the glow of a love that feels infinite.

“Hi, Mrs. Burrow,” Joe whispers, his voice filled with a mix of awe and joy.

You laugh softly, your heart full. “Hi, Mr. Burrow.”

As the applause swells around you, Joe flashes that signature grin—the one that’s a little mischievous, a little playful, and entirely him. Before you can register what’s happening, he scoops you up effortlessly, one arm under your knees and the other around your back.

A collective cheer erupts from the crowd, and you let out a surprised laugh, your hands instinctively wrapping around his neck.

“Joe!” you exclaim, your face flushing with joy and a hint of embarrassment. “What are you doing?”

“Carrying my bride into forever,” he says, his voice low and warm, eyes sparkling with pride and love. “Figured I’d start now.”

The guests eat it up, laughter and whoops echoing throughout the grand hall. Your bridesmaids are clapping and cheering, Maisie yelling, “That’s right, Joe! Set the standard high!” Jamarr, Joe’s best man, is laughing so hard he’s doubled over, while the rest of the groomsmen slap each other on the back.

Joe walks down the aisle, steady and sure, carrying you like you weigh nothing, as if this is the most natural thing in the world. The light from the chandeliers above casts a golden glow on the scene, making everything feel almost dreamlike.

You lean in close, your forehead brushing against his temple. “You know you’re setting a pretty high bar for the rest of the night,” you murmur, your lips curling into a soft smile.

He glances down at you, his grin widening. “Good. I want this day to be perfect, just like you.”

You feel your heart swell, your chest tight with emotion. How did you get so lucky? To have this man—this steadfast, loving, utterly wonderful man—as your partner for life feels almost too good to be true.

As you reach the end of the aisle, Joe gently sets you down, but not before placing a lingering kiss on your forehead. The two of you stand there for a moment, hand in hand, soaking in the love and energy radiating from your friends and family.

The officiant steps forward, raising his hands to quiet the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, it is my great honor to present to you, for the very first time, Mr. and Mrs. Joe Burrow!”

The applause erupts once more, and this time it feels like the sound of a thousand well-wishes, all wrapped up in joy and celebration. You and Joe raise your joined hands in triumph, sharing a laugh as you begin your walk—together—toward the next chapter of your lives.

But Joe, ever the showman, has one more trick up his sleeve. Just before you step out of the grand hall, he pauses, turns to face the crowd, and dips you dramatically, pressing a quick, playful kiss to your lips. The guests erupt in laughter and cheers, and you can’t help but laugh with them.

“Always gotta go out with a bang,” he whispers as he pulls you upright again.

“You’re impossible,” you reply, but your eyes are shining with love.

“And you’re mine,” he says simply, guiding you toward the door, where a new adventure awaits.

┈┈┈

The reception hall is bathed in a soft, romantic glow, the kind that makes everything feel like a scene out of a dream. Fairy lights are strung across the ceiling, casting a warm shimmer over the room, while candles flicker on every table, their golden light reflected in the delicate crystal glasses and polished silverware. The gentle hum of laughter and conversation fills the air, mingling with the soft clinking of glasses.

But now, the room falls quiet. The band begins to play the familiar, soulful opening chords of Tennessee Whiskey, and a hush settles over the crowd. All eyes are on you and Joe as he takes your hand, his touch warm and steady. The two of you step onto the dance floor, the world around you fading away until it’s just the two of you and the music.

Joe pulls you close, his hand settling at the small of your back, while your free hand rests lightly on his chest. His heartbeat is steady beneath your fingertips, a grounding rhythm that anchors you in the moment. He leans in, his forehead brushing against yours, and you can feel the soft, slow exhale of his breath.

The lyrics begin, the singer’s rich, velvety voice filling the room.

“Used to spend my nights out in a barroom…”

Joe’s voice is low, almost a whisper. “This is it,” he says, his eyes never leaving yours. “Our first dance as husband and wife.”

You smile, your throat tight with emotion. “I can’t believe we’re here,” you reply softly. “It feels like a dream.”

He tilts his head slightly, his lips quirking into that familiar, heart-melting grin. “If it is, I don’t ever want to wake up.”

The two of you begin to sway, the movement slow and intimate, as if the music is a secret meant only for you. His hand tightens slightly at your back, pulling you just a bit closer, and you let yourself melt into him, your head resting against his chest. The deep timbre of his voice as he hums along to the song vibrates through you, a comforting resonance that feels like home.

“But when you poured out your heart, I didn’t waste it…”

The lyrics seem to speak directly to your souls, each word a reflection of the journey that’s brought you to this moment. From high school hallways and Friday night lights to the bright glare of championship stadiums, every step has been a testament to the love you share, a love that’s only grown stronger with time.

As the chorus swells, you lift your head to look at him, your eyes meeting his. Joe’s gaze is soft but intense, filled with an unspoken promise, a silent declaration of just how much you mean to him. His hand moves from your back to cup your cheek, his thumb gently brushing away a stray tear that’s escaped down your cheek.

“You okay?” he asks quietly, his voice full of tenderness.

You nod, your smile trembling. “I’m just… so happy.”

He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Me too,” he murmurs, his lips lingering for a moment before he pulls back. “More than I can ever say.”

Around you, the room fades into a blur of soft light and smiling faces, but you barely notice. You’re lost in the moment, in the feel of his arms around you, in the weight of everything this dance represents. Every twirl, every step feels like a promise: of love, of partnership, of a future filled with shared dreams and unwavering support.

“You’re as smooth as Tennessee whiskey…”

The song reaches its final chorus, the music swelling with a quiet power that mirrors the emotions building in your chest. You close your eyes for a moment, letting the melody wash over you, and when you open them, Joe is still watching you, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

“I love you,” he says, his voice barely audible over the music but carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken words.

“I love you too,” you reply, your voice steady despite the lump in your throat.

As the final notes of the song fade into the air, Joe twirls you gently one last time before pulling you back into his arms. The room erupts in applause, but it feels distant, like the sound of waves crashing far off on the shore. All you can focus on is him, the love in his eyes, and the way his arms feel like the safest place in the world.

For a moment, the two of you stand there, holding each other as the world moves around you, and you know, without a doubt, that this is just the beginning of a lifetime of dances, each one more beautiful than the last.

The first dance gives way to the gentle hum of conversation and the soft clinking of cutlery. Dinner is served: a beautifully plated meal that looks almost too good to eat. Almost. You and Joe laugh as he insists on stealing a bite from your plate, claiming, “What’s yours is mine, right?” You retaliate by snagging a forkful of his mashed potatoes, and soon the two of you are sharing more food than you expected, all while sneaking adoring glances at each other.

As the last plates are cleared and the sound of laughter echoes from every table, the evening’s next act begins. Joe’s best man, Ja’Marr, stands and taps his champagne glass, the sharp ting ting ting drawing everyone’s attention.

“Alright, alright, listen up!” Ja’Marr’s grin is wide, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he adjusts his tie. “First off, I want to say how honored I am to stand here as Joe’s best man. It’s a big job, but hey, someone’s gotta keep this guy in line, right?”

Laughter ripples through the room, and Joe shakes his head with a chuckle, leaning back in his chair with an easy confidence.

Ja’Marr continues, his tone light but sincere. “Joe and I have been through a lot together. We’ve shared victories, defeats, endless practices, and even more late-night fast food runs than I care to admit. But what’s always stood out about Joe is his drive—not just on the field but in every part of his life. And that includes how he loves Y/N.”

He pauses, his expression softening as he looks at you. “Y/N, I gotta tell you, this guy…he’s been head over heels for you since day one. You’ve been his biggest cheerleader, his rock, and the love of his life. And if anyone ever doubted how much he loves you, well, they weren’t around for that time he turned down a post-game party just to FaceTime you for three hours.”

The crowd bursts into laughter, and you cover your face, laughing as Joe groans, muttering, “Thanks, Ja’Marr.”

“But seriously,” Ja’Marr adds, his tone shifting to something deeper, “what you two have is rare. It’s the kind of love that inspires everyone around you, and I’m lucky to witness it up close. Here’s to a lifetime of happiness, love, and, knowing Joe, a whole lot of competitive board games.”

He raises his glass. “To Joe and Y/N!”

“To Joe and Y/N!” the guests echo, glasses clinking and laughter bubbling up once again.

Next, Maisie rises, her expression a mix of excitement and nerves. She smooths down her dress and clears her throat, giving you a wink.

“Okay, I’m not great at public speaking, but for my best friend, I’ll give it a shot,” Maisie begins, her voice warm and steady. “Y/N and I have been friends since middle school, back when braces and awkward school dances were our biggest worries. From the moment we met, I knew she was someone special—kind, fiercely loyal, and with a laugh that could brighten anyone’s day.”

Maisie pauses, her eyes glimmering with fondness. “And then Joe came along. At first, I was skeptical—football star, all the confidence in the world. I thought, ‘Great, here comes the cliché.’” She smirks, and the guests laugh knowingly. “But then I saw the way he looked at her, like she was the only person in the room. And it wasn’t long before I realized he wasn’t just the star quarterback. He was the guy who would drive hours just to surprise her, who’d send her good morning texts every single day, and who always made her laugh, even when she didn’t feel like smiling.”

Maisie’s voice catches slightly, and she takes a moment to compose herself. “Joe, you’ve made my best friend so incredibly happy, and for that, I’ll always be grateful. And Y/N…you’ve found the kind of love people write songs about, the kind that lasts a lifetime.”

She raises her glass, her smile radiant. “To Joe and Y/N, and to a love that’s as smooth as Tennessee whiskey.”

The room erupts into cheers and applause, and you feel a tear slip down your cheek. Joe squeezes your hand under the table, his thumb brushing against your skin in a silent gesture of love and reassurance.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[starmocha]

Relentless Conqueror [Sylus/Reader ★ 1790 words ★ Masterlist ★ Series Index ★ AO3] To be wedded to the strongest warrior in the village was an honor and a blessing. A/N: I saw someone specified that Sylus is dressed as a Mongolian wrestler in the new memory. I am so excited for it, but um…this fic has absolutely nothing to do with that. My mind just swerved completely off-course the moment I saw this man manhandling us again lmao And…yeah…this is based on this post I made earlier. Still in my ✨shameful Sylus posting era✨ 😔

In the wide-open plane of the grassland, everything could be heard for miles all around. Stretched across the vast expanse, one area was occupied by numerous huts making up a small but thriving village.

Within the village, everyone had a role. The elders guided and led the villagers with their years of wisdom. The men were providers, hunters, and warriors while the women sustained the community and reared the children who would one day take over, thus continuing this cycle of life.

You were no exception. It was time for you to take your place among others with the new role you were about to take.

Fortune had smiled down upon you. Hushed whispers wove through the village, going from mouth to mouth, passing loose lips after loose lips, before the news finally reached you.

Sylus had chosen you to be his bride.

To be chosen by the strongest warrior in the village to be his bride was an honor bestowed only on you. He would provide you with a life of comfort and in turn, you were to bear him strong children. Many of the other maidens envied you, wanting to covet your place, to steal him away from you.

However, Sylus was truly the epitome of the ideal warrior: Large, strong, and imposing. He was unyielding on the battlefield, and he was unyielding in his decisions.

Of all the maidens who had crossed his path, only one had managed to ensnare him, to captivate him like no others.

You.

It was a prosperous union witnessed in a lavish ceremony by the entire village, cheered to be blessed by the gods themselves. A true match made in Heaven, many declared, as the wedding ceremony ended and the celebration began.

Arm linked with your new husband, you greeted and thanked the well-wishers, watching with wonders as everyone feasted and drank to your marriage. The merriment started from morning and continuing well into the late night. After nightfall had descended, Sylus led you away from the celebration. No one noticed the absence of the bride and groom, too drunk on alcohol and the festivities to even be aware of their surroundings.

Sylus whisked you away to his quiet hut, far from the music, laughter, and cheers. He towered over you, holding aside the curtain at the entryway to allow you entrance. As you entered, you could see the hut had been prepped for the wedding night.

It was a very comfortable living space, more extravagant than many of the other villagers’ homes. You barely had a moment to fully take in the sight of your new home before Sylus swept you off your feet, cradled in his arms as he carried you to his bed. He laid you down on fur, your beauty illuminated by the lamps within the hut. You could still hear the residual laughter and chatters outside as the rest of the villagers continued in their merriment celebrating this union.

“Pay them no heed,” Sylus ordered, grasping your chin firmly and forcing your sight on him. “Tonight, and for the rest of our lives, you are mine.”

He kissed you roughly, not minding your inexperience. It pleased him that your chasteness meant you were untouched, meant that he would have the sole honor of claiming you.

He disrobed his blushing bride, guiding your nimble hands to his toned body, letting you touched upon his firm muscles, feel the heat from his body. One by one, accessories fell, clinking and clanking on the ground. Then, his own ceremonial garments were discarded, tossed carelessly to the side and leaving him bare and nude, your eyes feasting on the wonderous sight of your new husband.

You swallowed slowly, feeling the gentle flutters of butterflies in your belly. He smirked at your nervousness. One hand cupped your cheek, pulling you closer to him. You whimpered when he claimed your lips again, his large body overpowering you in seconds. He had you spread beneath him, his own body looming over yours and keeping you trapped under him. He cupped your sex, startling you as his long, slender fingers worked into your folds.

You let out a sharp gasp, fingers finding their way into his hair, and tugging at him nervously.

“Relax,” he ordered, “You’re not ready for me yet.”

He was well-endowed, his size intimidating, and you unconsciously clenched, only realizing when you heard Sylus’ deep chuckle. You blushed crimson, but your embarrassment soon passed the moment you felt Sylus working his fingers in and out of you.

“Ah—” Your hips moved on their own, desperately meeting his thrusts, wanting more, just a bit more. Your toes curled, body tensing up when you felt his thumb brushing against something that was causing you to jolt in pleasure. “M-more…Sylus…please…”

“You like that, sweetie?”

You nodded numbly, your voice coming out breathless. “Yes…please…my husband.”

You didn’t see the way Sylus’ eyes gleamed in satisfaction, didn’t hear his quick intake of breath over your own helpless moans. He smirked.

He seized your mouth again, taking in your startled cries, his fingers slipping in and out of your wet folds faster and faster. “My bride—my wife…” he murmured back, nipping and sucking greedily, “You’re so wet now, sweetie…Do you feel good?”

You sobbed and cried as his fingers curled inside. There was a tightening in your belly. You called out to him, scared. “Sy—Sylus…”

He shushed you gently. “Come for me.”

You clenched around his fingers, your cries filling the room. Sylus’ smirk widened as he watched you come undone by his fingers alone. He kissed your lips, praising you softly as you panted and sobbed. You barely recovered when he withdrew his fingers, his length taking place.

You bucked in surprise, eyes widening. “Sy-Sylus, no…”

“You are ready for me, my bride,” he assured. He pressed forward and you gripped a handful of the fur throw beneath you, your sensitive body feeling suddenly overstimulated by the massive intrusion taking place. Impossibly big, you thought, as your walls stretched around his thick length, taking him in slowly through much pain. He barely comforted you, seemingly enjoying the sight of you gasping and moaning as you were getting stuffed by him. His soft pants grew shallower, his eyes darkened with desire as he watched his beloved new bride taking him in inch by inch.

He praised you over and over once he was fully sheathed inside you, his deep voice comforting you in that moment. “You’re doing so well,” he said, voice thick with desire, “I have chosen the perfect wife.”

You felt a warmth in your belly, his praise filling you with unexpected joy. “Sylus…”

He smirked.

He took you brutally, riding you as rough and hard like his faithful steed. You wept and sobbed as his powerful thrusts reached that euphoric spot that had you writhing and moaning, begging him for more and more of this sweet, agonizing pleasure. You had never known the touch of a man before this night, and from this moment onwards, Sylus made sure you never will. He was going to make sure your body learned that you were his, craved only him, and only satisfied by him.

He was wrecking you, ruining you. You moaned as his large hand covered your flat belly. “You better prepare yourself, my bride,” he husked, “the women in my family only bear large children.”

You trembled, unsure if what you were feeling was fear or otherwise. He slipped his hands under you, groping and grabbing your buttocks and lifting you off the bed, your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. Immediately, your head lolled to the side, your moans resounded within the private space as you felt him penetrating you deeply, his pacing still unrelenting and unforgiving. This new angle had you calling out to him needily, feeling the second climax approaching fast.

Closer…and closer…and closer—

“Dear gods…” he groaned as you came undone again, your walls squeezing tightly around his cock. He pressed you back into the bed, letting you ride out your high as he chased after his. His hand grasped yours, pressing them deeper into the bedding.

“Gonna fuck my child into you,” he grunted, his hips slapping against yours, “Gonna breed you, have you heavy with my baby in your womb.”

He fondled your breast, massaging it roughly under his calloused hand. His mouth was close to yours, his hot, humid breath fanned over your lips. “Gonna have you swell, gonna have you bear me sons and daughters over and over again…”

Your legs locked around his waist, pulling him in closer to his surprise. He smirked. His hand reached out to brush your hair out of your sweat-slicked face. He leaned in closer, kissing you briefly, and then he asked, “Did you like the sound of that, my bride? Do you like what I am saying? Do you like knowing this is your role from now on? To bear my children over and over again?”

“Y—” you bit down on your bottom lip, embarrassed.

“Say it,” he demanded, thrusting in harder, eliciting more of your sweet cries.

He held you close and you sobbed into his shoulder, arms wrapped around his neck as you felt him still pounding into your pussy. “Yes…Yes…!” you cried out, clinging to him, “I want your baby…I want to have all of your babies, Sylus!”

“Fuck’s sake…” His eyes squeezed shut, feeling you come again already. This time, he also felt his own climax, felt himself pumping hot into you. He groaned again, “Take every last drop, sweetie.”

You felt so impossibly full, his seed flooding your womb. There was not a doubt in your head that this union wouldn’t be fruitful. You were going to carry his baby, bear him large, strong sons—future warriors to carry on his legacy.

“My bride, my beautiful bride,” he murmured, lavishing you in his sweet kisses as he pulled out. He gazed down at you, taking in the sight of your flushed cheeks and doe eyes staring back at him. He hummed softly, his lips finding yours again, his large hand interlocking with yours.

“Mine.”

Beyond the hut, the celebration continued. Laughter and singing continued well into the late night, but within this hut, there was only the labored breathing, desperate gasps and pleased moans filling the space for hours on end. Time seemed to have slowed down, the world quieting.

He took you, claimed you over and over again. Your body was his, and his was yours. From this day and onwards, in this life and all of the lifetimes to come, you were his bride, the only one capable of stealing the heart of the feared conqueror of the grassland.

[huskyweebo]

Kings accidental consort. PT. 1 [ ? ]

Tysm to this blog for inspiring me to make an RadioApple fanfic!

“ So do you Agree on the terms. “ Lucifer affirmed, folding his arms as if saying to not agree. He and Alastor were on the patio; the only quiet place in the now bustling hotel,

“ yes yes, “ The radio demon said somewhat dismissively, “ I would only act as a parent to dear Charlie when you are not here, “ he repeated.

A sudden, odd thought came to Lucifer, “ just like divorced dads, “ he heard in his head, making him snicker slightly, Alastor tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, “ what seems to be hilarious your Majesty, surely not our agreement “ he proceeded to hold out his hand, Lucifer grasped it.

“ oh nothing, I was just thinking that this deal seems like we act like a sort of divorced couple, and how it would be funny if we were actually, truly married “ they shook hands, around them powerful rays of light signaled a deal being made by an Overlord and King.

Downstairs Charlie and Vaggie were heading to their room after letting Angel handle the new guests for a break. Suddenly, the lights darkened around them and Green light was seen, both girls knew that all too well.

“ I’m sorry but who is making a deal with Alastor? “ Charlie asked. Vaggie raised an eyebrow

“ wait didn’t your dad go up with Alastor a couple minutes ago? … oh shit, “ Vaggie muttered, she grabbed Charlie’s hand and rushed up the stairs leading to the patio where Lucifer had said he will be. The was a lot of commotion behind the closed doors, Charlie kicked it open and ready to fight.

“ -re you shitting me! What is this?! This is your fault sinner ! “ Lucifer yelled once Charlie smashed the door open, her father appeared to be wearing a wedding dress, and blushing profusely. Vaggie burst out laughing.

“ well I wasn’t the one who made a frivolous joke about being married, am I ? “ Alastor said. he seemed frustrated, but he still held his smile. He himself was wearing a black tuxedo and holding a bouquet of flowers.

As they argued, both of their hands flared around. Charlie stayed quiet, not wanting to intervene but suddenly noticed wedding bands on each of their clawed hands, putting two and two together, she gasped loudly. She started squealing making both men stop yelling to look at her,

“ oh my gosh, oh my gosh, Vaggie!! Alastor is officially my Father!! They have Ringsss! “ she said shaking her girlfriend, Tears fell from her eyes.

“ ok easy on the sparkles Hon, “ Vaggie said while being shook, she turned to the males with a questioning look,

“ did you guys seriously get married? “ Charlie ran to hug Alastor, “ NEW DAD ! “ she yelled while sobbing madly,

“ What is this? Dear this isn’t for long, His Highness messed up a deal we were making and ended up like this, “ Charlie was peeled off of his body, and her face told them she was hugely disappointed.

“ what but what kind of deal can you botch that badly to- “

“ WELL TIME TO BREAK THIS MARRIGE “ Lucifer interrupted, snapping his fingers.

The wedding garments disappeared for both, Alastor brushed his clothes, “ There you go, the deal should be of- why do I still have another ring. “ Lucifer stretched out his hand in front of him, on top of his old wedding ring that Lilith gave him, there was still the new one. Alastor looked down, he still had his on aswell.

“ Now this is particularly “ he said off handly, “ I thought you had it covered your majesty, “

“ well I do, give me a second “ Lucifer growled,

20 minutes later and everyone was in the palace with Lucifer running everywhere and looking through all the books he can find, he was muttering under his breath frantically similarly to how Charlie did when she was in a panic,

“ HOW IS THERE NOTHING ABOUT STUPID DEAL BREAKS IN THIS SHITHOLE “ Lucifer yelled out from another room and a book could be seen thrown.

“ hmmm “ Alastor hummed through his smile, he enjoyed the little one running around with tarnish, but he knew the fun couldn’t last. He he assured Charlie then went through his shadow and to where Lucifer was.

“ Your highness what seems to be the problem? “ he asked knowing full well the answer to his own question. Lucifer looked like a complete mess: both his horns and wings were out and he wore a crazed expression,

“ well, funny thing, well um- “ he stammered, then flew up and took another book out of a shelf instead of answering him.

Alastor waited for him to come down, he was like a prissy baby and currently, he knew not that Alastor could hear him from down below. The king cursed him out and his past living self. The book he previously had in his hand fell with a slam right next to Alastor, Lucifer cursed even more and flew higher, deep into the high rise library, Alastor went to pick up the book but immediately dropped it when it burned his skin through his gloves.

It was a holy book, ‘ Deals With The Unholy ‘ it was called. All around Alastor was holy books similar to that.

Finally, Lucifer calmed down slightly and flew back to where Alastor was, he was panting heavily.

“ finally calmed down? “ the Sinner rejoiced, his smiled sickened Lucifer, “ I see you don’t got this handled, “ the King rolled his eyes,

“ looks like apparently once a deal is made it can never be broken until it ends, but we never put a deadline, so it’s not possible… but I swear I had saw something about breaking a deal somewhere! “ he said with a pout, Alastor laughed slightly.

“ well I suggest we go ahead and tell our daughter that becuase she is currently worried about you. “ Alastor said smoothly,

“ she worried about me ? “ Lucifer said excitedly, then clearing his throat embarrassed when he saw Alastors face.

“ what do you mean, ‘ our duaghter ‘ she’s my duaghter not yours “ he growled. Alastor laughed,

“ Well this ring says otherwise, so until we find out a way to break this frivolous deal, we are officially married so she is indeed my duaghter. “ Lucifer narrowed his eyes but didn’t say anything, “ go along now darling, please tend to OUR daughter “ The short king muttered angerly as he left, not waiting for him.

Alastor waited for him to close the door. The sound of a Wendigo could be heard from him.

he held his hand with his wedding band out, from it, sparks came from it and suddenly a book appeared in his hand. He reading for a brief moment before shutting and burning it.

“ A slight mishap that I could use, maybe being married isn’t such a bad thing “ Alastor started laughing, he continued on as he went through the shadows…

TBC [ ? ]

[gretavanlace]

Feels Like Gold

Jake Kiszka x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual content, unprotected sex, language, dirty talk, breeding kink, Jake drives a car (the most dangerous situation of all), extremely mild degradation, etc

Okay, in honor of our collective jakedown, I rooted around in my unreleased work and then did a little revamping. This one is for you, @piratejakesgf thank you for your request ❤️ *loosely edited, fair warning

And kisses to @jake-kiszkas-smirk and her brilliant mind for titling this when I was at a loss 💋 xoxo

“Fuck, these are so uncomfortable!” you hiss with exasperation, tugging at the itchy nylon hell encasing your legs.

“Told you not to wear them.” Jake reminds you, flipping on his turn signal before switching lanes, though the freeway is dark and nearly deserted.

“You know how my family is.” you remind him right back, annoyed with his flippant attitude. “If I’d shown up to that wedding in a dress with bare legs I’d have been labeled the whore of the family tree. My branch weighed down with bad choices; exposed skin and a degenerate rockstar on my arm.”

“I mean, to their credit, I actually am a degenerate so they’re just calling ‘em like they see ‘em.” His eyes are locked on the road, but a tiny smirk tells you he’s pleased with his cleverness. “Plus, your aunt tried to fuck me, so you aren’t the only whore in the family.”

An abrupt laugh trills out of you. “Right. Which aunt?”

“Does it matter?” he shrugs. “She told me she slept with Joe Perry and it left her with a taste for guitarists…I told her Perry could suck my dick because I could stomp his riffs any day, but that only turned her on even more.”

“And then what happened?” you giggle, falling into his little pretend world.

“Well,” he sighs wearily, “Promise you won’t be angry with me?”

You’re solemn and stoic, as if this is very serious business, “Scouts honor.”

“Then, I excused myself and wound up fucking your uncle in the bathroom, instead.” he squints at an upcoming exit sign to be sure you’re headed in the right direction, and then settles back into a more relaxed state, wrist guiding the steering wheel casually.

“Was he any good?” you ask, mock sincerity laced through your tone.

“I’ve had better.” He shrugs.

“You’re so stupid.” you shake your head with a doting roll of your eyes, and reach under your dress to roll the torturous hose down and off.

He watches out of the corner of his eye, stealing glances as safely as he can while driving.

“Jesus, they were thigh highs all this time?” he sounds a little like he’s considering jerking the car over onto the shoulder of the highway to drag you into the backseat.

“All this time.” the garment in question lands in his lap.

“Lemme see.” he orders quietly before you have a chance to remove the second.

Up the hem of your dress travels until he can get a good look at the black lace resting at the top of your thigh. “Fuck, pretty girl.”

“You like that?” you tease in a silken voice.

He nods, tightening his grip on the wheel.

You push a little further with, “Are you hard?”

“I’m gonna kick you out of this car and make you walk home.” he lies, reaching out to snap the elastic lace against your skin. “Take this one off, too…it’s doing unspeakable things to me. Especially since you’re only wearing the one. You look sloppy - like I just rocked your shit in the back of a tour bus.”

“Jacob Thomas..” you gasp lightly, as though scandalized “Someone seems a little worked up.”

“I might be, if only I didn’t have such a firm grasp on the power of will, my darling.”

He’s being untruthful, but he does it so elegantly - in that soft, slightly British lilt of his, you decide to grant him a very gracious pass and drop the second into his lap.

“You don’t look so bad yourself, Kiszka.” You wiggle your polished toes, enjoying the freedom. “My baby cousin, the one you let dance on your feet? She asked me if you were a pirate.”

This tugs an honest laugh out of his chest…a gorgeous sound that colors your cheeks pink. “You told her yes, I expect?”

You hum in confirmation, “I did. And I told her that you have a special sword with strings on it and it makes beautiful, dark music that people come from far away lands to hear. Just like the sirens in Peter Pan.”

His face visibly softens in the flickers of light shed by the street lamps whipping by. “You always did know how to paint a lovely picture, pretty girl.”

The low purr of the engine lulls your head against the window, but just as your eyes begin to grow heavy, he pulls you back to him with a quiet, “Hey,”

Turning your head against the seat, you study his profile, charting the map of your favorite face, “Yeah?”

”Whose baby was that you were holding? The tiny, tiny one,”

It seems such an odd thing for him to ponder, and you have to mentally sift through the reception a bit, you held a great many babies tonight…it seemed like every cousin and second cousin in attendance was weighed down by a diaper bag stuffed full of diapers and pacifiers.

”The one with the little headband bow-thingy.” He clarifies. “She was so small.”

“My cousin’s. He and his wife’s third in almost as many years. She’s only like a month old and smelled like heaven.” You draw in a breath and wish her silken tufts of hair were still pressed to your cheek, “Why?”

”I don’t know,” you know him well enough to know that’s a damn lie. “I just- I don’t know…do you ever think about it?”

Caught off guard, you opt for a little joke, “Does Jakey have baby fever?”

He smiles, and there is a touch of shyness that lives there, “Shut up. Do you think about it?”

“Do I think about having babies? Well, I-“

He interrupts quickly to set you straight, “Do you think about having babies with me?”

Oh.

Where is he heading with this? Will a bit of honesty scare him? Will it scare you?

Deciding to take the plunge, this is simply a conversation after all, and a subject that he broached to boot, you choose truth. “Yes, I’ve thought about babies with you. Although that whole twin thing is fucking terrifying.”

Again, you joke. Again, he doesn’t take the bait. “Identical twins aren’t hereditary. We’re just an accidental fuck up. When you think about it, what do you think?”

”A lot of things.”

Smoothly, he guides the car onto the off-ramp that leads to home. “Very informative, darling. A veritable treasure trove of information.”

He hasn’t tipped his hand and you aren’t about to let him off so easily. “”Do you think about it?”

”Honestly, not before. I mean, I think about how you’ll look in your wedding dress and if you’ll wear your hair swept up the way I like, and I suppose that’s sort of the same thing. Or headed in the same direction, anyway. But watching you hold that baby tonight…”

Your chest suddenly feels a little tight. You’re touched by his admission.

And how endearing that he wonders how you’ll wear your hair. You reach out and stroke the back of your hand along the cut of his jaw, “When the day comes, I’ll wear it up for you.”

~

Later, he’s draped across the bed watching you glide about the room in your bra and panties. Earrings unfastened and placed gently on your jewelry tray, necklace hung carefully, hair let loose and shaken out at long last.

Hands folded behind his head, he speaks up, breaking the spell you have unknowingly cast over him, “You said ‘a lot of things’. Elaborate.”

You turn, eyes drifting over the king lounging about upon the bed you share, in nothing but the dress pants he hasn’t yet bothered to shed. “What?”

He cocks his chin, summoning your attention further ”Babies. You said you think about a lot of things.”

He looks so fucking sinfully delicious…a sickeningly sweet cake sent from the bewitching trenches of hell to rot your teeth. “The normal things. Baby things.”

The heavy wooden frame creeks quietly as he pulls himself into a sitting position to study your expression, “Liar.”

”Oh, I’m sorry,” you dance around the accusation, “I just happen to be looking at a disgustingly attractive little shit waiting for me to climb into bed beside him. Forgive me for looking flustered.”

”Don’t be coy, darling,” he tsks, clicking his tongue against his perfect teeth. “I can see it written all over your pretty face. You’ve got a secret.”

He’s moving towards the edge of the bed now, drawing you in closer with his devilish stare. “Tell me.”

”I don’t have a secret.” Whose voice is that? Surely it’s much too quiet and meek to be your own.

”Tell the truth.” He hums, a knowing twinkle flashing in his gaze. “What do you think about?”

Your eyes refuse to meet his own as your stomach knots, warm and vibrating. “I guess…sometimes I - sometimes I think about the trying part of it all.”

He’s watching you closely, you can feel it like warm fingers dancing across your blushing skin. “So you think about fucking?”

He almost sounds disappointed. He had expected more judging by your hesitancy to share.

”Well,” your fingers are plucking at the comforter now, rooting out a loose thread to spin around your finger, “Yes, but it’s kind of more than that. I think about you… inside me.”

At last, you peek up at him. He looks curious, as if he can’t quite figure you out. “Why are you being such a little mouse about this?” His palms are cupping your face now, calluses soothing you like a song. “I’m inside you all the time, and I think about it all the time, too.”

Shaking your head gently, you find your footing…at least a smidge, “Not like that. I think about you inside me. The way you would have to be if we were trying.”

Your birth control rendered condoms unnecessary ages ago, yet he has always pulled out - ever cautious and responsible. Confusion is still painted across his features…until it isn’t.

“Oh,” a lascivious grin appears and you long to curl your tongue over his lips, “you fucking filthy little thing.”

In a blink, you’re dragged onto the bed and into his arms, tossed down with your back against the sheets. his body heated and flush against yours.

Mouth suckling and nipping at your throat, he rasps into your skin, “Is that what does it for you? Pretty girl wants my cum?”

Your body’s reaction is visceral, primal, and almost embarrassing. You’re arching away from the mattress, desperate to be even closer than you already are.

“Answer me.” He huffs, sinking a bite into your jaw.

”Yes…” your hands are in his hair, thighs around his waist, “I want it.”

”Say it.” He’s rocking against you now, hard and straining against your panties. “Say what it is that you want. What you think about.”

”I think about you fucking me,” once again, whose shaking voice is that? “I think about the way you sound when you finish, and the way your cock throbs and twitches in your hand, and how it might feel inside me.”

”Keep going.” He orders, soft and wavering in your ear.

”I think about how warm your cum would feel inside of me, and maybe I wouldn’t be able to keep it all in. Maybe it might tickle a little when it leaked out.”

”Fuck, baby…” his hands are everywhere, yanking your breasts from the cups of your bra, winding your panties down your thighs, fingers sinking into your soaking, clenching cunt with a groan that sounds pained.

He seeks out your favorite spot and tucks up into it, wrenching a wanton moan from your lungs “You want me to fill this little pussy up? Keep you dripping wet with me all day long? Fuck baby after baby into you?”

”Jake…” you’re clawing at his bare shoulders, fucking yourself hopelessly against his hand. “More.”

He slips a third finger inside you, “Is that why you get a little whiny when I pull out? My girl wants me to do it inside?”

”More,” you urge through gritted teeth, eyes locked in on his face and the lust so evident in the set of his features.

”You want four?”

”Please, Jake…” tears are threatening at your lash line, “more, more, more,”

“You’re having some trouble listening tonight, aren’t you?” he sounds diabolical, and turned on beyond belief. “I asked you a question.”

His thighs prise your legs open wider as he squeezes his pinky into your warmth to join the rest of his drenched fingers, “Do you want my cum inside you? You want me to give it to you? Keep it all safe and warm for me?”

With a mournful wail you’re reduced to a million little pieces beneath him. Rocking frantically into his touch…the heel of his hand grinding quick circles into your clit as his fingers fuck you through it. He’s covered in you, it rolls down his wrist and beads against his stomach like early morning dew, anointing him as you thrash and writhe like a beautiful, fluttering leaf in an autumn wind.

When the hazy fog clears, allowing your sight, it’s his face - stunning and beaming - you find, “Hey, pretty girl.”

Now that you’re coming down, your diffidence returns and you close your eyes in a pathetic attempt to hide.

He’s having none of it, “No, no, darling…you stay with me. Right here, baby. You look so pretty with my cock inside you, imagine how fucking beautiful you’re gonna be when I fuck you full.”

“Please, jake…” it’s pathetic really, and maybe you should care about that, but you don’t. “I need it, I need it so bad.”

“Yeah?” The gravel in his tone makes you shiver with frantic desire. “Pretty girl just wants to bounce on my cock all day? Just using me to get what she wants?”

Rather than answer, you elect to begin wrangling the button on his pants.

“Someone’s eager.” He teases softly, lifting up on one elbow, easing your struggle. “You want it that bad? Are you gonna let me cum wherever I want? Gonna let me put a baby inside you?”

“Fucking do it!” Frustrated and sparking with electric desperation, you give up and tug on his waistband feverishly until he takes over, popping the button with ease and kicking them off.

His cock is fisted in his hand now, with your eyes fiercely focused on it. Hard and beautiful and yours. “You want that inside you?” He whispers, watching you stare. “You want me to fuck you? You want me to fucking breed that pretty pussy? Make you a mama?”

You should be ashamed of yourself, you well and truly should be…but fuck if you don’t want more, “Keep talking while you fuck me,” you breathe, somewhere between imploring and begging, “Dirtier, come on…”

His cock slips inside. Just the cashmere tip teasing at you, “Dirtier?” He nudges in a little deeper, just enough to make you whine, “well what should I say, pretty girl? Should I tell you that you’re my beautiful little cum slut and if I’d known it sooner I’d have been stuffing you full all this time?” Deeper still he glides, “Or that I want to cum inside you and then fall asleep with my fingers buried in your cunt to keep it where it belongs?” He’s fucking you harder, faster…the pillowy head of his cock kissing your cervix in a divine dance between pleasure and pain. “Or should I tell you about how I think about licking it up? Kissing you with my cum on my tongue because I know you’d suck it off like the greedy little baby you are.”

“I-“ a pitiful whimper escapes you, but his fingers are suddenly grasping your chin, grounding you enough to collect your scattered thoughts. “I’m gonna cum, tell me where you’re going to cum. Tell me where you’re going to put it. Please, I want it,”

Hips rolling into a succulent grind against your swollen clit now, he begins “I’m gonna fuck you until you’ve got every last drop, pretty girl. It’s all yours, are you gonna take it for me like a good girl? Are you going to be a good little mama and take it all?”

His name is all you can manage as you shatter. It’s primeval and animalistic, sounds that would make you want to crumple in on yourself if anyone heard them besides your Jacob.

“You’re so fucking tight and wet..” his perfect cock is pounding you through it as he inches closer and closer, “are you ready for me to make a mess of this little beauty right here? Hmm? Ready for me to fuck this cunt all full and dirty? You want it?”

“Jake…” you trail off, eyes fighting to stay open and locked in on his face while you shake against him, twisting and clenching around his perfect cock, “you’re so fucking hard.”

He nods furiously, burying his face in the crook of your neck to lick your pounding pulse “That’s all you, baby. You make me that hard.”

Your hips begin rocking up to meet him even faster, hungry to please. “Good girl, you keep fucking that cock. Are you gonna take what you want? Gonna make me cum? Gonna help me fill this pretty little cunt?”

In response, your nails dig into his skin, raking your mark, claiming him. You’re almost there again, though you can’t imagine how. “I’m so fucking close,” you’re sighing and shaking the words into the room, offering confession.

“Again?” He’s mocking you so sweetly, teasing dirty words into your ear like lullabies, “Already? Is my pretty girl gonna cum on this cock? Squeeze and suck the cum right out of me to steal it away? You want it that badly?”

You let go, with a trembling breath of his name, and feel his body tense against the feverish grip of your orgasm.

”That’s it, baby,” his words are but a sigh skittering across your cheek, “That’s it. Feels so good. Feels like gold. My pretty, pretty girl…”

He fucks you faster even as you melt into a puddle within his arms. “Gonna cum for you,” he promises, “I’m gonna cum so hard for you. Who’s going to take it? Who’s gonna take every fucking drop?”

”I am,” have you even made a sound? You can’t be sure, you’re so lost.

”Yes, you are…” his forehead, slick with exertion and need, nods against your own. “You’re going to take it just like you take this cock. My good fucking girl…pretty pink baby doll just begging for me to wreck her.”

Without warning, he collapses into your arms, moaning and crying out, shuddering as he releases inside you. Warm and perfect, everything you’ve ever imagined and so much more.

His fingers sink into your muscles, clutching and pulling you closer still, “Baby…” he sounds raspy and pained, “Baby, baby, baby, fuck..fuck…”

And when at last, he calms, it is with his cheek pressed to your chest, clocking the wild metronome that is your heart with your hands sweeping through his hair.

Soon, you’ll both crawl out of bed, maybe into the shower…perhaps into the warmth of a bath, but for now it is simply you, and Jake, and this tranquil bliss.

Taglist: @gretasintrees @greta-van-chaos @celestialfauna @s0livagant @groggyvanfleet @kiszkathecook @brokenbellz @llightmyllovee @doodle417 @seventieswhore @jake-kiszkas-smirk @weightofdreams-gvf @imdepressedaf1996 @alisonwonderland29 @gretavanfleas @gretavangroove @sparrowofthedawn @xserenax-13 @tbagggvf @obetrolncocktails @tripthelightfandomtastic @tripthelight-fanfic @jakeslovehandles @poofyloofy @70sgroupielovr @heatmyfleet @age-of-nyahh @sammiboo162 @spicedandicedtea @jakekiszkasleftnutsack @saoirsemaeve @mywickeddivinity @lvnterninthenight @paintmyhouse @mckenna4 @sarakay-gvf @theweightofjake @thewritingbeforesunrise @joshsmama @sammysvanfeet @rhythm-of-space @highladyofasgard @calumspretty @sad1lynn @demolitionndann @gvfpal @starcatcher-jake @gretavangroupie

[chibinasuu]

Sanji x Reader ― baking; sweater

part of the cozy holidays event

🎁 ― anonymous tags: sfw, pure fluff, GN!reader, no use of y/n

Your thin silk pajamas did nothing to shield you from a draft of cold air that made its way into your bedroom, making you shiver as you pulled the blanket tighter around you. 

After a bit of mental preparation to brace for the cold, you threw the blanket away, got out of bed, and quickly pulled on the thick blue sweater that was draped over the chaise at the side of the bed. You inhaled the familiar scent of a masculine, musky cologne infused into the garment – tinged with a hint of tobacco – and smiled. You had your own collection of sweaters, of course, but none were as comfy as his. 

You leisurely made your way to where you knew Sanji was.

He had woken up early this morning, kissing your forehead sweetly before he got out of bed, whilst you opted to sleep in for a while longer, still worn out from the party that the crew had thrown you the night before.

As you leaned against the doorway to the kitchen, you saw that Sanji had not only been busy with preparing breakfast for the crew. Every inch of the room was now also decked in winter decorations – boughs of holly, tinsel, fairy lights, you name it. Chopper had introduced the crew to Drum Kingdom holiday traditions way back when, and it had since become a beloved annual event onboard the Sunny. 

It also seemed that the festivities did not stop at the decor, as the air was filled with the warm aroma of ginger, cinnamon, and clove. 

You silently watched your husband as he rolled out some dough on the flour-dusted counter. 

It still felt surreal, to refer to Sanji as your husband.

Your lips involuntarily turned up at the memory of yesterday. Your and Sanji’s wedding was a small affair on the deck of the Thousand Sunny. You had exchanged rings to the beautiful melodies of Brook’s violin, then your Captain excitedly pronounced you officially wed, with only the crew as your witnesses. Sanji had had to prepare his own wedding cake and feast, but he did it happily. He would never trust anyone else on the ship to do it anyway – everything needed to be perfect for the special day. After dinner, Sanji carried you through the threshold of your brand new quarters – some unused storage space that Franky magically transformed into a beautiful honeymoon suite – everyone cheered, and then you all partied and drank away the Sunny’s entire supply of alcohol. 

It was the best night of your life. 

Sanji was carefully cutting out the cookie dough into the shape of little people when you called out teasingly, “Good morning, my dear husband.” 

Your new title for him, combined with the sight of you in his sweater, was apparently too much for Sanji to handle. Blood gushed from his nose and you laughed as he desperately reached into his pocket, pulling out a handkerchief to staunch the bleeding before any drop could contaminate his dough. 

You loved how you could still affect him so, even after years of being together. 

You helped Sanji arrange the little gingerbread men on the baking tray as he quickly prepared the frosting. Once the cookies were in the oven, Sanji picked you up and placed you on the cleared countertop, positioning himself in between your legs. Finally having a moment of respite in his busy morning, he took the time to languidly gaze at you, his blue eyes overwhelmingly full of love, “Hi.”

You couldn’t stop the giggle from escaping your mouth as a surge of happiness washed over you, “Hi.”

Sanji took hold of your left hand, admiring the thin silver band around your ring finger, before lifting it to his lips, “I still can’t believe you’re officially mine.”

You smiled and threaded the fingers of your other hand through his soft blond hair, “And you’ll have me for the rest of our lives.” 

You sighed blissfully as Sanji showered you with lazy kisses – on your hand, and your forehead, then your cheek, down to your waiting lips. He hooked his index and middle fingers into the collar of your – well, his – sweater, pulling it down to expose your neck before leaving kisses there too. His lips were traversing upward to your ear when the shrill ring of the timer interrupted him. 

Not wanting the cookies to burn, he reluctantly stepped away from you with a smile and took out the tray from the oven. 

After the cookies had cooled down, Sanji snapped off an arm of one of the gingerbread men, and fed it to you, “How does it taste, darling?”

“Perfect, as always.”

You and Sanji stood side by side, decorating the freshly baked goods with colorful frosting. You drew curly eyebrows on one of the little people-shaped cookies, and a vertical line across the left eye of another. Sanji frosted a long nose onto one, and an x-shaped mark on the chest of the next one. 

The room was filled with the echoes of your laughter as the two of you competed on who could draw the most realistic-looking gingerbread skeleton. 

And you thought to yourself, it really couldn’t get any better than this.

a/n: is this the most tooth-rotting fluff i have ever written?? probably!

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[yourmomsawh0r3]

Benedict Bridgerton x wife/ fem reader

A Bridgerton Wedding

(if you want to hear the song i imagine for their wedding and when they consumate their marriage i’ll leave it attached. play it while your reading if you can)

The grand halls of Bridgerton House were adorned with cascading flowers, and the air was filled with the heady scent of roses and jasmine. Benedict Bridgerton, the charming and artistic second son of the Bridgerton family, stood at the altar, his heart pounding in anticipation. He was about to marry the love of his life, Y/N.

As Y/N entered the hall, escorted by her father, all eyes turned towards her. Her gown, an exquisite creation of silk and lace, shimmered in the candlelight. She looked radiant, her eyes locked onto Benedict’s, and a smile spread across her face that mirrored his own.

The ceremony was a blur of heartfelt vows and tender glances. When the officiant declared them husband and wife, Benedict took Y/N in his arms and kissed her with a passion that promised a lifetime of love.

The newlyweds retired to their chambers, the excitement of the day still coursing through their veins. The grand room of Bridgerton House was dimly lit, with candles casting a warm, flickering glow upon the walls. The heavy oak door closed behind them, the click echoing in the quiet space. Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, the reality of their wedding night settling in. Benedict turned to face her, his dark eyes filled with a mixture of love and desire

He took a step closer, his hand gently cupping her cheek. “Are you nervous?” he asked softly, his voice a low murmur.

Y/N nodded slightly, her lips parting as she took a shaky breath. “A little,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Benedict smiled, his thumb brushing over her lower lip. “There’s no need to be,” he assured her, his gaze intense and tender all at once. “We’ll take our time.”

With a slow, deliberate motion, he leaned in and captured her lips with his. The kiss started tender, a sweet exploration, but quickly grew more urgent, more demanding. Y/N’s hands found their way to his shoulders, clinging to him as the world around them seemed to dissolve.

Benedict’s hands moved to the laces of her gown, his fingers deftly undoing the intricate ties. He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, silently asking for permission. Y/N nodded, her trust in him absolute. With practiced ease, he undressed her, the fabric sliding from her body to pool at her feet.

Y/N stood before him in her shift, the thin fabric doing little to conceal her form. Benedict’s eyes roamed over her, filled with appreciation and desire. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his hands moving to her shoulders to gently push the shift down her arms. The garment fell away, leaving her bare before him.

Her breath hitched as he took a step back, his eyes darkening with desire. “Lie down,” he instructed gently, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down her spine.

Y/N obeyed, moving to the bed and reclining against the pillows. Benedict followed, his movements slow and deliberate as he shed his own clothes. The sight of his toned, muscular form made her heart race, her anticipation growing with each passing second.

He climbed onto the bed, his body hovering over hers as he lowered himself to kiss her again. This kiss was different, filled with a fiery intensity that left her breathless. His hands roamed her body, exploring every curve, every contour, until she was trembling with need.

“Benedict,” she gasped, her voice trembling with desire.

He responded with a low growl, his lips trailing down her neck, across her collarbone, and to the swell of her breasts. He took one nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak. Y/N arched into him, a moan escaping her lips as he lavished attention on her.

His hand slipped between her thighs, parting them gently. He touched her with a tenderness that belied the passion in his eyes, his fingers finding her slick with desire. Y/N’s hips bucked at the contact, her body aching for more.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice filled with need.

Benedict’s eyes met hers, and he nodded, understanding her unspoken plea. He positioned himself between her legs, the tip of his length pressing against her entrance. He paused, his gaze locking with hers. “Are you ready?” he asked, his voice a husky whisper.

“Yes,” Y/N breathed, her hands clutching at his shoulders.

With a slow, measured thrust, he entered her, filling her completely. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and a slight sting as her body adjusted to him. Benedict stilled, giving her time to acclimate, his breath ragged against her ear.

“You’re mine,” he murmured, his voice filled with possessive tenderness.

Y/N’s heart swelled at his words, her body relaxing as the pain ebbed away. She wrapped her legs around him, urging him to move. Benedict obliged, his hips beginning a slow, steady rhythm that had her gasping for breath.

With each thrust, the pleasure built, a crescendo of sensation that left her dizzy and desperate for more. Benedict’s movements grew more urgent, his control slipping as his own need took over. He drove into her with a passion that bordered on wild, his moans mixing with hers in a symphony of desire.

Y/N’s nails raked down his back, her body arching into his as she felt the coil of pleasure tighten, ready to snap. “Ben,” she cried out, her voice a desperate plea.

“cum for me my love” he growled, his thrusts becoming harder, more insistent.

That was all it took. Y/N’s body tensed, her climax crashing over her with a force that left her trembling. Benedict followed moments later, a guttural moan escaping him as he found his release.

They collapsed together, their bodies slick with sweat, their breaths mingling as they lay entwined. Benedict held her close, his lips pressing soft kisses to her hair. “I love you,” he whispered,

The days that followed were a whirlwind of passion and discovery. Benedict and Y/N barely left their chambers, their hunger for each other seemingly insatiable. They spent their days in bed, wrapped in each other’s arms, exploring the depths of their connection.

Their laughter filled the room as they shared secrets and dreams, their love growing deeper with each passing hour. Benedict, with his artist’s eye, found new ways to express his adoration for Y/N, sketching her in the soft morning light and whispering sweet nothings as they lay entwined.

Weeks turned into months, and the intensity of their love showed no signs of waning. One morning, Y/N awoke with a sudden realization. She counted the days since her last period and realized she was late.

Her heart raced as she placed a hand on her belly, a mixture of hope and fear coursing through her. Could it be that she was with child?

She decided to wait a few more days to be sure. When her period still did not come, she knew she had to tell Benedict.

One evening, as they sat by the fire, Y/N took Benedict’s hand, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Benedict,” she began, her voice trembling slightly, “I have something to tell you.”

Benedict looked at her, his expression serious but filled with love. “What is it, my love?”

Y/N took a deep breath. “I think… I think I might be with child.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, Benedict’s eyes widened, and a tear slipped down his cheek. He pulled Y/N into his arms, holding her close as he wept with joy.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice choked with emotion.

Y/N nodded, tears of her own streaming down her face. “Yes, I’m sure.”

Benedict kissed her tenderly, his hands trembling. “You’ve made me the happiest man alive,” he whispered. “I love you more than words can say.”

They held each other tightly, their hearts beating as one. The prospect of a new life, a new chapter in their story, filled them with a profound sense of wonder and anticipation.

In the days that followed, the news spread through the Bridgerton household, bringing joy to everyone. Benedict and Y/N prepared for the arrival of their child, their love growing even stronger as they faced the future together.

Benedict often found himself gazing at Y/N with awe, his heart swelling with love. He sketched her more frequently, capturing the gentle curve of her growing belly, the serene expression on her face.

As the months passed, Benedict remained steadfast by Y/N’s side, supporting her through every moment. The love that had begun with a passionate wedding night had blossomed into something even more profound a bond that would endure through the trials and triumphs of life.

And so, Benedict and Y/N Bridgerton embarked on their new journey, their hearts forever entwined, their love an unbreakable force that would guide them through all that lay ahead.

As Y/N’s due date approached, the Bridgerton household was abuzz with anticipation. Benedict was a constant presence at her side, his excitement palpable. They had prepared everything meticulously, ensuring that the nursery was perfect and that Y/N was comfortable.

One evening, as they sat together reading, Y/N felt a sudden sharp pain in her abdomen. She gasped, clutching her belly, and Benedict was immediately at her side.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” he asked, his voice filled with concern.

Her eyes widened as she felt a warm gush of fluid. “Benedict, my water just broke.”

Panic and excitement surged through Benedict as he sprang into action, calling for the midwife and alerting the household. Within moments, the house was a flurry of activity, everyone preparing for the imminent arrival of the newest Bridgerton.

Hours passed in a blur of pain and determination. Benedict never left Y/N’s side, holding her hand and whispering words of encouragement. The midwife guided Y/N through each contraction, her calm presence a steady anchor in the storm.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the cries of a newborn filled the room. Tears streamed down Benedict’s face as he looked at their child for the first time.

“It’s a boy!” the midwife announced, placing the tiny, squirming bundle into Y/N’s arms.

Y/N and Benedict gazed at their son, overwhelmed with love and awe. The baby had a shock of dark hair and bright eyes that seemed to look right into their souls.

As Y/N cradled their newborn son, Benedict wrapped his arms around them both, his heart overflowing with joy.

“He’s perfect,” Benedict whispered, kissing Y/N’s forehead. “What should we name him?”

Y/N smiled, her eyes meeting Benedict’s. “We have to follow family traditions,” she said softly. “I like the name Alexander.”

Benedict’s eyes sparkled with tears as he nodded. “Alexander it is. Our beautiful son, Alexander Bridgerton.”

He kissed Y/N tenderly, then leaned down to kiss Alexander’s tiny forehead. “Welcome to the world, Alexander. You are so loved.”

As they sat together, a new family, the future stretched out before them, bright and full of promise. Their love had brought them to this moment, and it would carry them forward, always.

The days following Alexander’s birth were filled with joy and discovery. The Bridgerton household celebrated the arrival of the new heir, and Y/N and Benedict cherished every moment with their son.

Benedict continued to sketch his family, capturing the tender moments of Alexander’s first days. He marveled at the bond that had grown even stronger between him and Y/N, their love now enriched by the presence of their child.

As they watched Alexander grow, Y/N and Benedict knew that their love story had only just begun. They faced the future with confidence and joy, ready to embrace whatever came their way, knowing that their love and their family would endure through all.

And so, the story of Benedict and Y/N Bridgerton continued, a tale of love, passion, and the unbreakable bonds of family.

[gingerteawrites]

BY THE HEARTH: CRACKLE

A/N: Welcome back for yet another installment of by the hearth!! As always please let me know what you thought of this chapter! Let's goooo. Read the previous part here.

Content: Royalty!AU, Nanami x female reader, king Nanami, Princess Y/N, Widower Nanami, Toddler Yuuji, hurt, angst. Not beta read

Word count: ~5.5K words (they keep getting longer...)

Banner by: @cafekitsune

ACT IX

Nanami was a man of habit. As he did every night, he peeled away his royal garments and changed into a long chemise and loose trousers. Then sat on the cushioned chair of the small study attached to his room.

Following his evening routine usually brought so much peace to the man. A time to unwind, sort through his thoughts. And most importantly, remind himself he was in control. But alas, this control was slowly slipping through his fingers. Fluttering away in the direction of you.

Opening up the notebook that served as journal, he brought his quill close to the paper. The pages were filled with mundane phrases, recounting the outcome of a meeting. Reflecting on new policies. Or on occasion, excited tales of new milestone in Yuuji’s development.

He sat there for several minutes, willing himself to write something that followed this usual pattern. Something that fit in the well-drawn lines of his ordinary days.

But his mind was only able to compute suggestions of you. The way your smile shone so brightly when you danced together. The fire in your eyes when you spoke to the people. The feel of you in his arms as you twirled by the blaze.

Nanami dropped the quill with a sigh. This was not going to do. He feared that if he forced himself, the only thing he would be able to pen down would be your name.

This is not good. At all. This world that he had carefully crafted to protect Yuuji, and most importantly protect himself was crumbling. And you were the culprit.

Fraught with frustration, he closed the book and headed to the giant bed. Still, his mind, that was not his to hold anymore kept wandering. And a repressed part of his being started to wonder. How would it feel to hold your hand. To truly have you. To kiss your lips…

Except he had already done the latter. That dreadful wedding day. The thought of it makes him groan, and that same repressed part of his being wished he could go back and fix things. Maybe offer a reassuring smile to your then trembling self. But it was too late for that. He shifted under the covers, shaking his head as if to shake the thoughts themselves out.

Sleep. I need to sleep.

The large study always seemed like a peaceful place. With its mahogany shelves lined with historical records. And the imposing desk behind which the king was sat. Yes, Nanami felt in his element in this room. He was the king, and the king could not allow himself to be troubled by trivial affections. He flipped through the pages of the proposed budget that the royal advisors had produced. But his focus was interrupted by a timid knock on the door.

The royal counsellor pushed in. Ichiji always seemed on edge, his thin body tucked into itself. But as he approached, the king noticed his advisor seemed even more nervous than usual.

Nanami raised a brow when the man stopped in front of the table. ”I am not expecting anyone today,” he flipped through another page, his eyes returning to the tedious document.

“I know, your majesty,” the words tumbled out hastily, “but our guest today is one I cannot turn away easily-”

He had not even gotten around to announce the name of this guest when two men barged in. The sound of guards arguing and trying to hold them back filled the room, but Nanami raised a hand in quiet dismissal.

Duke Gojo’s smirk was wider than usual, flanked by his courtier, ever the shadow of the white-haired aristocrat.

He plopped in the chair across from the king, who silently watched his actions. It was customary that people of lower rank extend greetings first, but the man before him purposefully stretched the silence. After a few moments, he finally bowed his head.

“Your Majesty,” the duke’s tone was far from reverent. From the corner of his eye, the king could see the ebony-haired courtier bow as well. “What a pleasure it is to see you after so long.”’

“Duke Gojo, It is good to see you have returned.” The words were mere pleasantries, devoid of any sense of sincerity. “I trust your tour in the province went well.”

“Oh quite well indeed,” he sat back, relaxed into the chair.

The duke was a fascinating man. Irritating and grating beyond belief to some, and the object of blind adoration to others. While he did not hate the man, Nanami had grown tired of his lack of consideration for customs, and constant antagonistic attitude.

Despite the duchy's history of hunger for power and strife with the royal family, their sole heir did not seem interested in the throne. He was more concerned with living without regard for conventions, which was its own problem. The one thing that Nanami’s father, the late king, had always expressed relief over was how lucky he was that the Gojo heir was a boy. Otherwise the crown would not have been in a position to refuse a political marriage between the two.

But then again Nanami found himself wrapped in another political marriage.

“Though I must say,” Satoru tapped his fingers on the material of his expensive trousers. “I am quite disappointed that I have not had the chance to introduce myself to our new queen.”

Nanami’s brows immediately furrowed. Gojo Satoru was not one to entertain pleasantries just for pleasantry’s sake. You interested him, and that unnerved the king. What was this feeling?

“I hear she made quite the impression at the festival’s opening…” He dragged on, and Nanami closed the file was holding firmly.

“So what is the purpose of you barging into my study, Satoru?” Gojo smirked.

“Addressing me by my first name, now isn’t that unusual…” He turned to Geto with an expression beyond amused. “If I could venture to guess, I would say the king does not like me talking about his darling wife.” The courtier sighed under his breath, looking straight ahead. Provocation was the Duke’s favorite game, and Geto was not willing to participate.

“If you inserted yourself in my schedule to waste my time, you will be escorted outside the palace grounds.” Nanami leveled him with a stern look, and Satoru raised his hands defensively. But the amused glint did not entirely leave his eyes.

“Alright, alright, no need to kick me out, your majesty,” He stretched his hand out, a silent invitation for Suguru to hand him a sizeable batch of documents. Gojo leaned over and placed them on the table before the king, whose sole response was a raised brow.

“Though the aristocracy seems to think my time away from the capital is spent slipping from one woman’s bed to another,” Gojo began, holding a hand to his chest dramatically “I actually do quite the investigative work.” His eyes returned to the king with a smile, who crossed his arms over his chest.

“And what is the subject of these investigative efforts?” He asked, making no move to read the documents placed before him. But he could already tell there were reports. Other things slipped out of the bundle, though. Receipts, permits, letters.

“The question is who, your majesty,” he corrected with a wag of his finger. “Things in the South have been getting more and more unstable, that is no secret.” He sighed, expression now turning serious. “And the duchy has considerable investments in that region, so it was only fitting for me to have a look. These papers here,” he pointed at the pile on the desk “Contain a comprehensive record of activities of what I believe is someone or multiple people in the royal court funding the rebel uprisings.”

Nanami’s eyes narrowed. Of course, after hearing Haibara’s reports he knew something was off about this conflict. The insurgencies kept popping up, even when the knights seemed to have wiped out the bases. And those who fought were either poor people who lived by the border and mercenaries. There were a lot of possible benefits to destabilizing such a profitable area, but for it to come from inside? The king’s jaw clenched.

“I will review all of this information,” Nanami finally pulled the documents towards himself. The nobles always tried to defend their own interests. And he couldn’t entirely blame them for that. Afterall, the royal family operates on protecting itself most of the time. But such insubordination was way beyond justification. His expression turned deadly, and even Gojo’s smirk faltered at the sight. He had to set an example. And uproot this problem.

“Thank you for the information,” the king conceded.

Gojo stood from the chair, giving another bow “The things I do for this kingdom.”

“Your majesty,” Geto finally approached the table and bowed again, “We can also provide you with more details concerning what our informants have found, at your request.” The king nodded and voiced his thanks before the pair left.

The dull ache of an incoming headache was already beating at his temples when Nanami pulled the documents closer. And with every paper he sifted through, so did quiet fury simmer.

It was late afternoon when he called out from his office. “Get me Haibara!” Startled, poor Ichiji scurried away to fulfill the order. Whoever was behind this was going to get hell for it.

Having returned from the flower festival, you remember falling asleep with a stomach full of butterflies. He said he adored your speech. Somewhere, a voice in your mind screamed out about wanting him to adore you.

You pressed your face into the pillows, groaning deeply. You could not become greedy.

Wishing for anything more than what was given would only hurt you. Your dreams were filled of images of the king, of the depth of his eyes and closeness that set your heart alight.

But the king had left. You were fully awake, eyes scanning through the paper you held for the nth time.

[I will be away for a time. Please inform Alma of anything that you may need. Kento Nanami]

Your mind raced with questions. If he had left in such a haste, something must have been terribly wrong. He certainly would not do such a thing on a whim, would he? Had you done something to upset him?

You barely had the time to figure out how to overthink the situation, when Riko burst into your quarters. The prince was sick. The maid responsible to getting him ready, Kuroi took note of a burning fever while dressing him, and the child fainted soon after, inducing panic in the experienced woman.

“He is such a healthy child, I do not even recall the last time he was sick,” Alma rambled while you hurried over his room, instructing a guard to find the palace doctor.

You found Yuuji laying in his bed, round cheeks flushed a deep pink and eyes closed wearily in restless sleep. Your heart ached at the sight. Seeing one who always jumped around with so much energy in this state was startling. And you soon found a permanent place by his bedside.

Days had passed, and your position had not changed. You wrung a small towel in the basin of cool water that laid on the night stand and wiped at the child’s forehead and neck, watching his breath shudder at the sensation of the cold towel against his burning skin. A small whimper followed and you cooed gently.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, touching your fingers against his cheek. He opened his eyes, look unfocused, before closing them again. The sight hurt you even more, wishing you could take the pain away. “Are you okay, baby?”

He took in several heavy breaths, seeming to not fully comprehend the words that left your mouth. You recalled the doctor’s words when he had arrived that first night.

He shows symptoms of the smallpox, your majesty. Though not fatal, he might struggle to regain his strength for a few weeks.

The doctor instructed that only those who had suffered from the infection before could take care of Yuuji, which eliminated the head maid and the Kuroi. You on the other hand, still had remembered how a short smallpox episode had wracked your body as a child. So you stayed by his side, adamant about being the one to care for him.

You wrung the towel of the cold water again, pressing it over Yuuji’s skin in a soothing motion.

His lips parted, “Mama?”

The simple word left your frozen in place. Oh no.

The fever probably made him delirious, he is confusing me for his mother.

While still deciding how to tell him he was mistaken, his hand reached over and his small fingers closed around the fabric of your dress.

“Can you… Lie down with me?” he pushed out with difficulty, and you lost the heart to correct the boy.

“Alright, my darling,” your hand brushed his cheek and you placed the towel down. As soon as you circled to the other side of the bed and climbed in, Yuuji clung to your side, resting his head against your chest. He seemed to relax into what was finally a restful sleep.

You breathed out a slight relief, but sleep would not find you. Your mind drifted back to the departure of the king. Certainly if he knew Yuuji was this sick, he would have hurried back. You had written a note be sent to him immediately after finding out the child fainted.

You had chosen to keep news of the prince’s sickness to only those who had initially found out. Unwarranted attention was the last thing you needed.

Pushing the thoughts aside, you told yourself that it was fine. If you could not even deal with a few days in the king’s absence, what kind of queen would you be? What you needed to focus on now was ensuring the prince was okay. Yuuji would be okay.

Wasn’t this part of the deal agreeing to be his mother? You held the boy closer.

Just getting to the Southern port city had taken a week. One long, exhausting week as the king rode undercover with some of the knights, only taking short breaks to eat and sleep. And one week of sleeping in the woods and being separated from his family was enough to put him in a sour mood.

They reached the Gojo estate, where they had opted to stay rather than the royal residence by the beach. The last thing the king wanted was people knowing he was here. Even so, Nanami did not like the idea of having to rely on the Duke. Who knew what favor the man would feel entitled to after this?

He turned to Ichiji, the only person informed of the king’s sudden departure along with Alma and you.

“I need you to make me a list of all the aristocrats with sizeable investments in this region,” he spoke, taking off his soiled outer garments “Funding an insurrection cannot be untraceable.”

Ichiji nodded, leaving for the town with a knight in tow. All the businesses would be asked to produce tax records and investor information, which the king intended to compare with the royal records. Something was terribly off, and Nanami would not wait until things took a catastrophic turn before acting.

“Haibara,” he called, and the head knight entered the room that served as office and bedchamber, closing the door behind him.

“Yes, your majesty,” he bowed in response. He knew not to tease the king when he was so on edge. “Take me to the prisoners captured from the previous uprising.” The king rose, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt.

Haibara’s eyes widened slight, “We just got here, your majesty, you need to rest. And they have not yet been put on trial-”

“I said, take. me. there.” the chill of his tone shut the head knight up, who resorted to nodding tersely. Haibara felt bad for whoever was going to be on the receiving end of the king’s wrath.

Nanami’s knuckles were covered in blood, his sleeves neatly folded above his forearms. He moved his head from side to side, neck cracking as he circled the man sitting in the center of the cell. The royal guards in charge of guarding the prison watched in horror. They had never seen their even-keeled king in such a state.

He eventually came to sit on a small wooden chair facing the prisoner. The one whom all the others Nanami had “questioned” pointed as the leader of the movement, who had supposedly organized everything and gave out orders.

“I am not going to ask another time,” his voice was low. But only an idiot would believe that its quietness was indicative of anything but pure fury. He had been in this God-forsaken place for a five days now. Five more days away from his home. His patience was running very thin. “Name,” he grabbed a towel, wiping his hands in preparation for another round. The man facing him looked up, terror evident in his swollen eyes. “And location of your master.”

A few beats of silence passed. Nanami extended his hand towards Haibara, and was handed a knife. He sighed.

“I hate having to repeat myself,” he approached the prisoner, casting a looming shadow of him. “But by the end of this, you will be the one begging for me to stop.”

Three weeks had passes since the king left, and the prince’s health was finally starting to look up. You were utterly exhausted, having watched over the sore flares and nights of difficult fever. But above all, you were so proud of Yuuji for pushing through every moment of it.

The doctor returned for his nth examination, looking over the child’s condition with relief painting his features.

“The worst has passed. He just needs to eat, drink enough, and rest. The young prince is well on the right way to regain his strength,” You thanked the doctor, who thanked you in return for all the effort you spent.

You returned to the child’s side, running your fingers along his arm. Noting the small scars left behind by the rash that had littered his skin.

“You fought so bravely, Yuuji,” you whispered, leaning down to leave a kiss on his cheek. “I’m sure papa is so proud of you.”

You had still not heard news from the king, now convinced that the note you sent never reached its destination. There was no way he would have learned that and not come back. Right?

He opened his eyes, looking at you with a small pout. “Papa is proud?” his voice was almost back to its usual vitality. You brought a hand to his cheek. “Yes, my darling, so proud.”

“Where is papa?” he asked again. “I want to see him.”

“He’ll be back real soon okay? He’s away on very important business.” You pushed his hair out of his face. “Here, you must be hungry? Alma made your favorite,” you walked to the small table behind you, grabbing the tray of food.

“You should eat too,” the child retorted when you sat down. He had noticed the way you never left his side. There was no way you could have eaten enough in that time.

“Okay, okay,” you nodded, knowing he wouldn’t eat until you conceded. “We eat both then.”

You brought the soup-filled spoon to Yuuji’s lips, who parted them without protests. Eventually, he grabbed the spoon, insisting on feeding you too. You compromised on you taking a bite for every five that he did, to which he begrudgedly agreed. Soon enough, he was well-fed and fast asleep.

You were putting the bowl away when a loud knock sounded at the door. You frowned, recalling having ordered the maids to try to be as quiet as possible around the child’s quarters. Still, you stood and headed for the door, grabbing the tray so whoever was knocking could help return it to the kitchen.

“Your majesty,” Riko rushes the moment your face appeared from behind the large door. “Alma says someone very important is here, and refuses to leave until he sees the king. He’s waiting in the courtyard”

Your brows furrowed, “Who is this person?”

You were convinced Nanami had not told many people about his departure. You had hoped for a swift return, and maybe even a word that he was well, but nothing. Radio silence. Still, you wanted to trust that he was alright.

“I apologize, I do not know your majesty. Usually counsellor Ichiji deals with these things if the king is busy. But he is nowhere to be found. Alma told me to just come find you and not worry about the king, he’s just resting. But his majesty never neglects official duty like this! Is he also sick? Oh no, that’s a terrible omen-” The maid's spiral was paused by your hand on her shoulder.

“Amanai,” you called softly, and she looked up. “Everything is fine, I will see to this issue. I won’t be long but I want you to stay around in case Yuuji wakes up and needs something.” You finally stepped out of the room. “And one more thing,” you watched Riko take your place behind the door “Not a word to anyone about any of this, understood?”

The young maid nodded with pursed lips, and you walked away in the direction of the courtyard, trying to smooth out some of the wrinkles on your dress. You had not met with anyone who did not live on palace grounds in three weeks, even sending Shoko a letter that you were feeling unwell to justify the absence. And you knew you certainly looked as tired as you felt.

On any other day, you would not have allowed yourself to be seen in any sort of disheveled manner. But the palace needed you, so you raised your head trudged forward.

As soon as you step foot in the court yard, the sight of a figure surrounded by royal guards came into view.

“Your majesty,” Marquess Kamo greeted from behind the guards who blocked the path. “It is such a pleasure to see you again.” His tone was saccharine sweet, the same one he had used at the ball for introductions.

“Marquess Kamo,” you greeted, not having the energy to muster anything beyond a polite smile. “I trust the guards have informed you of the current unavailability of his majesty,” you clasped your hands before you, “Unfortunately you will have to come at a later time.”

His expression soured, a polar shift to his previous pleasantness “I have been told that multiple times already…” he huffed “The king has already postponed two meetings with the council. If he is unable to grant me an audience at the moment, I have grounds to be worried don’t I, my queen?”

Your eyes fleeted to Alma who stood not far from the guards, lips drawn in a thin line. What was he implying?

Marquess Kamo is a cunning man, Nanami’s voice swept through your thoughts. You knew that the less you interacted with the man, the better. But you could not send him away without proper justification and let things fester. You had not been informed that the Marquess demanded an audience before. If just for the sake of appearances, you thought you should receive him.

A sudden anxious feeling crept up the back of your neck. Should you even make any of these decisions? What if all you did was make things worse in this place. You shook the thoughts away. Even if executive power had not been explicitly handed to you, doing nothing would only result in things getting worse.

“I understand, Marquess. I shall grant you a short audience in the gardens. But after today, the king will contact you when he is able to meet, so we will not expect your presence before then.” Your words were firm and the guards nod before stepping away from the aristocrat and leading the way to the main gardens.

The Marquess walked a step behind you, sending a wave of discomfort through you. The earlier this was done, the better. You sat at a small table in the middle of the lush garden, and Alma instructed servants to bring out tea and pastries. You took in a deep breath, bracing yourself for the conversation.

This is just to save face, you reminded yourself. The last thing you wanted were rumors that the king was ill or incapacitated in any way. You knew that was not what Nanami would have wanted. If servants were already thinking that, you did not know what could be going around in nobility.

“Thank you for your time, your majesty,” the man took a bite from the cake slice in front of him, making an exaggerated show of savoring it, seemingly having returned to his jolly mood.

“You are welcome, Marquess. I do not mean to sound short but I would appreciate if you would get to the point of this visit.” You forced your voice into an amicable tone, watching as the man finished the slice.

“I see you are fairly straightforward,” he put the fork down, eyes narrowing sharply. In an instant, his expression turned cold, sending a chill down your spine. “His majesty is obviously not here, so I won’t waste my time with official business.” You frowned. Had Nanami told him he was going away too? No… That did not sound right at all.

“I know you probably have many questions about this place. About the truth behind the king’s previous marriage.” He spoke quietly, causing you to narrow your eyes in suspicion. Where exactly was he going with this?

“All of which my husband has answered. I know Kaori was your daughter Marquess. I find this line of questioning highly inappropriate.” You lied.

He chuckled, a sinister sound. “Did he now? Are you sure he told you everything? The truth behind the nature of their relationship? Her death?” You went silent, eyes narrowing at the man.

“The king loved my daughter oh so dearly. Maybe that is why he is so distant now. You know what they say about losing a great love,” he recounted, timbre almost turned sappy. You could not figure this man out, but his words caused your frown to deepen.

Don’t let him get into your head.

“It is so nice of you to play nanny and try to keep appearances.” He stood, adjusting his coat over his shoulders, “I hope you don't believe the king actually cares about you. You may think yourself a queen, but you are but a glorified surrogate. A help.” The words knocked the wind out of you. The sheer audacity.

You watched him leave, escorted by the guards and leaving behind a deafening silence

Don’t let him get into your head

You repeated the mantra on your way back to Yuuji’s room. But how could you not? He had not say anything factually incorrect. Your role in the palace was to act as Yuuji's mother, even though you could never shake the shadow of the woman.

Help. That was all you were. To do what was needed for now, but destined to be eventually pushed into the background. The notion left a bitter taste in your mouth.

Pushing the chambers’ doors open, you expect to be greeted by Riko. But instead you notice Nanami sitting on the edge of the bed, hand resting on the sleeping child’s head.

“Your majesty,” you call out, staying by the door. He had returned. Finally. Relief filled your being.

“How long has he been ill?” The king did not turn around, his tone harshly breaking the silence.

The king was home. Finally. After what felt like an eternity away, exhaustion rocked his body. Unending days of riding and questioning had yielded results. He gained critical information about the insurrection. But the time away had also chipped away at his soul. He just needed to be home. To see his son. To know everything was alright. To be reminded he still had control.

Nothing could have prepared him for the sight of his child, sick, with a panicking young maid when he entered the room. He ordered her out after listening to her unprompted ramblings about Yuuji being terribly sick. Why wasn’t Alma in there instead? Or even the royal doctor?

He had left his son. Without even the chance to say goodbye. He had neglected his duty as a father and now Yuuji was ill. What if something worse had happened while he was away? Once again he had failed, utterly so.

And in the middle of this torrent of emotions you burst into the room. So comfortably. Like you had been here countless times. Like you were the righteous occupant of Yuuji’s space. His child.

Only then did Nanami notice the small traces of you littered across the room. A pair of gloves laying on the nightstand. Your shawl draped on the other side of the bed. Your flowery scent lingering in the air.

You had crossed the line. Nanami felt control slipping from his fingers. Control over the care of his own son. The feeling only contributing to the mounting frustration he carried.

“So you’ve been in here… The whole time-”

“Could we please talk outside? I would not want to wake him now,” you interrupted, despite noting his mounting displeasure. The king tensed, but he eventually followed you outside.

You walked back to the garden where you had met the Marquess in an uneasy silence. One that sent your mind into a frenzy.

“The prince had smallpox,” you finally began when you both sat, “He feels much better now, I was with him the whole time.” Crossing your arms over your chest, you felt the need to brace yourself for this conversation. “Where were you?”

He looked up, tired eyes still holding what looked like hostility. “Away.” The curt response made your heart squeeze painfully. “Thank you for taking care of him but this ends today. I am back to take care of my son.”

You frowned at the emphasis of his words. How did he expect you to just scram after having seen Yuuji in such a state? You bit your lip, refusing to roll over and take it. Not this time.

“What does that mean? You cannot just dismiss me like this.” you tried to keep your voice even, but found it shaky. Maybe it was the exhaustion from the past few weeks. Or remnants of your previous conversation.

He sighed, rubbing at his temples. He felt a headache coming. One too many, and he did not have the patience for confrontation at the moment. “I can. And I am. Y/N I did not ask for you to do what you did.” His eyes found yours, sharp as ever. “You overstepped. And I am asking you to step back. I am his father, and you-”

“Are just a help” you finished his sentence, chuckling humorlessly. "I understand, your majesty," you said, rising to your feet, the sting of dismissal sharp in your chest. "I’ll return to my quarters, then. Should you think of any further errands befitting a servant, do let me know."

This place would never be your home. This was a political marriage after all. One you were traded into. And as you stepped away, willing yourself to not look back you reminded yourself. Beggars could not be choosers. You could not desire more than was given. And that included a place in the king’s heart.

whew this was a hefty one. As always, do let me know what you think!

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated (❁´◡`❁)

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[gremlingottoosilly]

The Horror and the Wild [Emperor!Konig x fem!Reader]

It's time for the wedding - and the wedding night. Emperor is going to make sure you will bear his offsprings by the end of the night. Tags and TW: Dub-con, aphrodisiacs, power imbalance, breeding kink, size difference, loss of virginity, age difference(Konig in his forties, Reader in her twenties), medieval/fantasy AU, Konig is a pervert AND an evil dictator AO3

You weren’t saved from the humiliation of a public wedding. 

You weren’t saved the torture of picking the flowers as you were choosing the attire to your own funeral – and you weren’t saved your innocence by allowing yourself to ignore all the handmaidens and their horrible, disgusting picture books about penetration, pools of blood and hell that is saved between the legs of a man. 

“My condolences, dear princess. For your parents. And congratulations on your wedding. Our deepest hopes go to your coronation, Empress.” “From the king of South, we send our sheerest condolences. And congratulations on the wedding.” “May your parents rest in peace. And glory to the Emperor.” “Grief surely suits you, Dear Empress. As well as the crown.”

You think you might puke right in your royal garments, looking at all of the royal visitors. 

King Price of Southern Kingdom, with all of his knights – you do not know if you can find solace in the girl clinging to the hand of his masked knight, the stench of death filling you with calmness that you don’t know how to deal with. The girl is terrified, just like you – if you may, you’re probably the same age, that years of servitude grazing in the hands that are covered by the sheerest amounts of gloves. 

The lady – you don’t know her name, and you doubt that any woman in this hall is even allowed to have one other than her husband’s – is looking at you with understanding. You think you might actually die. 

— Lady Ryley? 

She smiles, and before you can go to her – hold her hands, ask her to disappear with you, maybe run away somewhere, you don’t even know where – the masked knight already drags her away, a firm hand on her shoulder. You’re alone, the weight of the royal robe is pinning you to the floor. 

You are dressed in black as the only form of rebellion – guests must assume you’re still mourning your parents, the grief in their eyes is mixed with congratulations on the Empire finally getting prospects of offspring – you hope you’d tore your womb from your body before König could lay his hands on you. Guests may assume that the wedding is a tab bit strange, maybe somewhat unusual for the emperor to marry someone of your status – tiny kingdom, no worthwhile resources, and almost zero prospects for trade. Maybe, you were the only treasure this kingdom ever had to sell so eagerly. 

König holds your hands because you know that you would try to run the second he is letting you go. You know he knows this, too. Guests may assume that he is being protective of his young wife – assassins aren’t unheard of in these places, after all, you were the empress now. The much smarter guests knew what kind of looks you gave him – perhaps, you had the best options at killing the notorious emperor right after he robbed you of the last remains of your dignity. 

You smile and wave like a damned pampered pigeon, pretty and useless, all dressed up in bows and black pearls, dark stones illuminating the depths of your despair – only the monster you had for a husband would even consider ordering a mourning dress this beautiful. You’re almost ashamed of wanting to paint it red – you almost feel bad while holding the butter knife and thinking about plunging it into your chest, ripping away all the delicate laces and ornaments that cut through your skin each time you breathe a bit too freely. 

— You look divine in this dress, meine Liebe. 

He smiles, you know he is – he didn’t forget about his damn hood even on his own wedding, but he holds you dearly, but he smiles with his eyes, an eerie sense of happiness that makes every guest shake in their seats. The Ruler of the Empire doesn’t smile. Not at his wife, who looks like she would rather kill herself, for sure – but he smiles as you say your wows, knowing full well you are not going to fulfill them, but he laughs when the priest stutters once you refused to say you do the first time – König has to squeeze your hands, reminding you of your place. Even your stubbornness has a limit, apparently. 

His lips are dry and chastity. 

König knows he can’t kiss you like he wants to – too many guests, too many pricks, thinking they have a look on his wife. If it weren’t for the admirers and desperate rulers of foreign lands, trying to force their songs and daughters to marry him out of a pathetic attempt at saving their countries, he wouldn’t even think about a public wedding. If it weren’t for the annoyance of constantly swatting the offers away, he would never allow the world to see you. Not how beautiful you look, not how pretty your eyes are, glistening with tears, not how much he just wanted to smother you with affection like there isn’t anyone around. 

Hells, if he knew so many people would accept the short notice for an invitation, he would invade their kingdoms while they were away at his wedding. 

König holds your face in his hands, the contrast between soft skin and his gloves is making you shiver – he pushes his hood up, even just for a little bit, and the only thing that is ever revealed to the audience is the scars on his chin and sudden dryness of his lips. He thought he overcame his childish anxiety when he was still a tiny bird stuck in his adolescence – but he looks at you, his pretty little princess, and his hands are shaking from the anticipation of a kiss. 

The guests will assume you’re crying because you love him so, so much. 

The Emperor knows better, kissing the tears from your lips like it was the sweetest treat around. 

*** You thought you were smart.

You really did. 

Such a slick motion, such an easy task – the girl coming with Knight Riley, the weak one, with trembling hands and face that spoke of innocence of lambs and with calloused hands of a fellow worker, took your hand as you were leaving. The veil of laughs and jokes about finally conceiving a worthy heir for the empire made you shiver from horror – and the girl swatted you to her side, a single sleight of hand putting…something in your palms. 

Some sort of plant – dried, smelling of something sweet and edible, flowers that would feel crispy on your tongue. She smiles softly, her hands are gentle on yours – she whispers in your ear before your respective monsters can catch you and throw you in their layers again. 

She said, it was mercy. 

She said, it would make -it- feel quick and easy. 

You hoped, it was a poison. 

It had to be, you wouldn’t accept anything else – the desire to die and fulfill the destiny of a loyal servant, the whispers of the god of dignified death – you may not see the sweetness of the afterlife with your Princess, but killing oneself to save their bodies from being violated is a worthy fate for any. You pushed the plant in your mouth as swiftly as possible, chewing on the dried grass and crispy flowers, hoping the effect would be immediate. 

You’re bathed and oiled like a pig for devour, short for the apple stuffed in your mouth – instead, you have forced a mouthful of wine, goblets after goblets. To ease the tension of the first night, the servants said, smiling understandably. You feel warm, you feel dizzy, you feel hellishly feverish, and it couldn’t be just from the alcohol – you close your eyes and hope that the plant took its way finally, releasing you from the shell of the mortal life. You’re dressed up in pretty garments, skimpy as something that the empress should never wear – you feel like a cheap whore when your skin is glossy with oils and decorated with flowers. 

Just before you started chewing on them too, your husband finally arrived. 

You hoped you’d be dead before ever seeing him naked again – but you’re forced to watch his muscles tense as the only thing saving his lack of dignity is the smallest ever piece of undergarments. It doesn’t help in hiding his arousal, the monstrosity between his legs. You knew you would have to die before he is ever putting anything in you – but you see the outline of his manhood, poking from the side of a simple cloth, and somehow, you feel hotter than before. 

You blame it on the wine, you blame it on the poison you took. The warmness is spreading in your tummy to your lower areas, forcing its way to moisture your garments, a wet spot, embarrassingly big for an Empress, is slowly spreading between your oiled, scented legs. You’re nothing but a feast for him, a pretty little snack – you knew how much he liked to eat, after all. What great talent he had in forcing your legs apart and showing his head between them, that sinful tongue of his speaking of prayers and soft little blasphemies in the sweetness of your maidenhood. 

— You’re burning, little princess. 

You hoped it’s the poison working. 

For a second, he placed his hand on your forehead and caressed it softly, accessing your temperature. For a second, the cold of his hands made you nuzzle into his palm like a cat that was fed nothing but the finest pieces of meat by the hand that was ready to skin it for its skin. For a second, you hoped that his embrace alone would be enough to kill you. 

If you die, which you must do, you wish it would be with his hands holding you softly. 

— A virgin fewer? I thought you’d know what we’re going to do by now, little prin…

— Don’t stop be from dying. 

You let go of those words before you could claim your silence. 

König’s hands are grasping you immediately, a finger lays in your mouth, making you gag – you open your lips from instinct, no matter how much you want to stop him from ever entering your mouth. He is weirdly smooth with you, the other hand going to grab your waist and press you on the bed – like you ever had a chance to stand against him and run away. Like he didn’t have a row of guards just outside the door. 

— Dying? Scheisse, dumme What did you do? 

He quickly grasped your tongue, the traces of the flower still lingered on your teeth, on the further corners of your mouth – you didn’t know if you had to spit it out or eat it whole, and you didn’t want to guess in the matters of death and loss of dignity. You gag on his fingers as he laughs – an unusual sound. First, the smiles and happiness in his voice, the rings and chains he put you in, and now laugh? Perhaps you died already, and this is your eternal damnation. 

— Let go of me! You have no…

— Were you still so scared, Liebling? 

— I wasn’t…what do you mean, Your Highness? 

The title is good, the title puts some distance between you and him. Only imaginary – he is still as close as possible, hands on your body, wiping the traces of the flowers on the silk sheets and holding you in his embrace again, as tight as he possibly can. You feel ill, you feel hot, every time he puts his hands on you, you can feel your core throbbing, the poison making you dizzy and dumb. 

You almost feel like begging him to touch you again – and again, and again. König, for one, can’t wait to watch. 

— I wonder where you got it. Such a clever Katzen, ja? Eating aphrodisiacs before her wedding night, like I would just mount you like an animal without preparing my wife? 

He laughs and laughs, hand in your hair, petting you gently like you truly were a cat. You’re dumbfounded, the fewer makes everything make less and less sense. You close your eyes, you open your eyes – you feel him on you. Looking, watching, observing, you want him to stop, and you want him to rip away those stupid garments and touch you, as he did in that dim hallway, to push his masterful, sinful tongue down your folds and treat you like a…

You whimper as you fell on the sheets, truly embracing the cat in-heat stance you were for the last few minutes. You roll on the sheets, smooth silk makes your core cool just a bit, the pressure only building with each time you try to hump the sheets, not caring anymore if you were behaving like an animal. 

Perhaps, the Knight’s maiden really wanted to make everything easier for you – just in her own way. 

— Wh…what have you done to me? 

He is bracing his hands between your legs, lingering touches on the wetness of your garments, making you both shiver in anticipation. He is forcing his tongue on you, the immediate pressure making you meow from the sensation. You hate it, you hate it, you have to hate it because if you don’t, then what the hell are you even doing. It’s too much and too little, it does nothing to relief the warmth between your legs, only making you wetter with each stroke of his wide, warm tongue. — I haven’t done anything, little princess. You just want me. 

— I would never want you. 

— I can stop. 

You snap your legs around his neck before he can withdraw his face. 

König is laughing, the sheer adorableness of your expression making him want you even more. You look perfect, so lost in desire for him – gods, he just wanted to devour you, to strip you of all you worth and make you his just as much as he is yours. But simply pleasing you with his tongue won’t ever be enough for this night – he had waited for so long, too long, disgustingly long, he had to have you in every way possible. If he won’t consummate the marriage today, he might as well just die. 

Other night, he will make you beg – plead for him to give you his cock, push the throbbing member in your trembling folds, snap the pleasure from your hands and force you to accept being his wife. The other night, he could wait and tease you for as long as possible. The other night…

He doesn’t have the patience for this night – he can’t even kiss you now, the mere feeling of your trembling lips would snap him beyond repair. It’s unfair to you, little princess, his desire is too much for someone like you to take – alas, he has to have you. Alas, he will have you, one way or the other, even if he’d have to push your pretty head into the pillows and force his manhood between your folds. 

But you plead for him, the desire in your eyes, mixed with fear and anticipation, is enough for him to laugh again, his hand squeezing your chest. You look divine, absolutely – you would look even better when properly bred, tits full of milk, and belly swollen with his little soldiers. Emperor never thought of getting an offspring, always knew his fate was to fall into obscurity with the country he created, but you have wide hips, a soft belly, and warm hands – all the requirements of a mother. But you have the submissiveness of a pet and the wit of a wife. 

But he can’t wait to push his seed into you – with a groan, before you could even lay your eyes on his cock, he is already forcing it in, ravaging all the resistance you once had. 

The plant made you warm, aroused, and wet enough to be dripping when he first pushed his cockhead between your glistening folds. You cry, the feeling of being intruded, ravaged, bot entirely painful, but now very pleasant either, is nothing you were expecting of the first night with your husband. You were expecting screaming, pools of blood, half of your organs falling out from the newly made hole between your legs. 

You just feel…intruded. The knot in your stomach is as tight as ever, even as König gives you a few minutes to adjust, the outline of his manhood throbbing in your tummy. You don’t even want to look at him, and he allows you to drift into a trance, the aphrodisiac you took doing all the job of preparation for him. 

He is feeling you, raw and sensitive, your maidenhood is dripping down your thighs and his cock as he wasn’t exactly gentle – he will be the next night, and the night after, and after, he will promise to take care of you, little princess, but this night is about taking what belongs to him – and he will never allow you to keep your dignity when you can simply be his dumb, adorable wife. 

— You’re so…heavens, princess, you’re strangling me. 

He laughs, struggling to push in and out, his hand finding its place on your folds, playing and tugging with your swollen little clit. The bud is wet, no matter the pain you’re experiencing – the drug won’t allow you to stop wanting it, wanting him, König knows it’s not genuine, he has to work to make you this aroused, but for now, it will work. He doesn’t want you to feel pain – and he will make sure you’re able to take him. 

— Too much, it’s…stop, wait, I am…

— You can take it, Schatzi. 

— I can’t! — You will. 

You whimper under him, you cry under him, he only continues to move, tearing your loyalty to your kingdom with each harsh thrust. You came to this room wanting to die, but now you feel your hands wrapping around his neck, your hips buckling to meet his, to bring the overcoming pleasure like König isn’t the one to tear you apart – you feel raw, you feel tainted, the pleasure in your folds is nothing what you ever had before. 

You’re betraying yourself with each moan and each whimper – you find yourself begging for him, the tears of yours is not just from pain anymore. He kisses you, rough lips on your mouth, making sure you’re as prepared for him as he is, you want for him to stop, but you plead with him to continue. 

— Stop already…I…

— I only came twice, little princess. And you – trice. Doesn’t feel fair, ja? — ‘s not, I can’t take it anymore…

— I will breed you, Schatzen. Until you’re swollen with my sons. — It w…won’t be royal children…

— Ach, my blood is enough to make a dog royal. — But…

— I will breed you, little princess. You can stop pretending you don’t want it.

You’re not even sure at what orgasm you are already – you feel like he came already, the wetness in your cunt should be evident of his already breeding you quite a few times, but the time is a blur when every time you cum, your vision blurs and your brain becomes foggier and foggier. 

König knows you will look perfect, all thoughtless and swollen with his children – not now, maybe, with a few elixirs to enhance your ability to bear children, but he can’t wait till you’re done. You might not like it at first, princesses do tend to be just a bit dumb when it comes to their duties, but there is something in your eyes that is telling him you’re going to bring him sons just like a good girl you are. Just like he expects you to do, your pretty tummy all swollen, and your body is barely handling the passion of his lovemaking. Gods, he knew you would be worth it. Even if, to his knowledge, you’re not a princess at all.

[riizegasm]

Blossom || M. JH

❀ pairing: crown prince!myung jaehyun x princess!reader, implied fem!reader

❀ genre: royalty!au, arranged marriage!au, fluff, minor angst

❀ word count: ~4.6k

❀ warnings: very minor royalty-typical misogyny (not from jaehyun)

❀ summary: A loveless marriage isn't high on anyone's list of desires, especially yours. However, all it takes is a certain crown prince to show you that duty and desire don't always have to conflict. With a little nurturing, love, too, can blossom.

❀ a/n: The writer’s block was so real for this fic!! Despite that, I do think it turned out pretty well. I hope you guys think so too. As always, likes, replies, and reblogs are encouraged. Happy reading!

masterlist

Dreams of your wedding day always consisted of one thing: love. Ever since you were little, you imagined being married to none other than the love of your life. It didn’t matter what dress you were wearing, be it the custom garments of your kingdom or the ornate ceremonial dresses of another, because you would be marrying someone you loved. The cake could be flavorless and bland, and the crown that you wore could be heavy or feather light. None of that mattered. Because you would be in love. 

You were not in love with Crown Prince Myung Jaehyun. And yet, you were set to wed him anyway. 

Your stomach churns as the traditional shell calls of your kingdom go off, their airy whistle signifying the entrance of your guests. As the gilded doors to the throne room open, your breath remains caught in your throat as you lay eyes on the procession of people that enter. First, an older man, dressed in bright gem tones that match the ones in his crown. Then there’s a woman, her yellow and green satin dress flapping behind her in the wind. And finally, a young man. 

You don’t know what you expected the Crown Prince to look like, only having heard stories about how charming and personable he is. But when he enters the room, you are stunned by his appearance. He is breathtaking. 

His charisma bleeds off him in waves, emphasized by the kind smile he wears. It pulls his rounded cheeks upwards, boyish dimples indenting the golden surface. His gaze betrays some of his confidence, however, pupils shaking as they take in the room around him. It is only when he finally arrives at the center of the room, standing proudly next to his parents, that his eyes land on you.  

As a child, some of the aids in the palace used to tell you fantasy stories about what it felt like to be in love. They spoke of fluttering tummies and reddening cheeks, of a smile you’re unable to fight off and a lighter feeling when you’re around them. Looking at Crown Prince Myung Jaehyun gives you one of those four sensations, but by the glimmer in his eye, you’re sure it won’t be long before you check all of them off the list. 

“Welcome to Vyrona,” your father greets. “It is a pleasure to see you again, King Jaeseong, Queen Jirae.”

King Jaeseong grins, bowing his head in greeting. “It’s an honor, Your Majesty. I am delighted to introduce you to my son, Myung Jaehyun, the Crown Prince of Nexdor.”

The man in question bows at the waist, his crown not moving from its perfect position atop his light brown curls. “It’s an honor, Your Majesty.”

When Jaehyun returns to his upright position, his eyes find yours once again, not even bothering to continue to address the man in power. You can’t help but cock an eyebrow at the bold gesture, confused on why the man would choose to focus all of his attention on you instead of the conversation around him. At your silent question, Jaehyun just shoots you a small smirk, still refusing to break eye contact. 

“Well,” your father says, clapping his hands together once. “I am truly excited for the merging of our kingdoms. My daughter, Princess Y/N, is just as excited about the marriage as we are. I hope she is to your satisfaction, Prince Jaehyun.”

“She is breathtaking, Your Majesty. I would be honored to have her as my bride.”

Jaehyun speaks with conviction, words tinged with a hint of awe. It’s as if he genuinely believes what he’s saying, as if he is truly honored to be married to a woman he doesn’t even know. You can’t say that you necessarily agree. 

“Then it is settled,” your father declares. “Y/N will move to Nexdor in one month’s time, and the two of you will be wed in three.”

“That sounds lovely, Your Majesty,” Jaehyun beams. “I am looking forward to having such a gem come join us in Nexdor. I promise I will be nothing short of an amazing husband to your daughter.”

Your father chuckles, “I can tell.”

.         .         .

Lush grasses and sprawling gardens are all you can see as you peer out from your balcony. Nexdor has always been known as the “Green Kingdom”, but you were never able to experience it for yourself until this very moment. It makes sense that Nexdorians always have a lovely tan complexion and full, rounded faces. The sun is strong and the soil is rich, leading to plentiful harvests that never seem to wane. 

The pale color of the sky is dull in comparison to the rich ocean blue that you are used to in Vyrona, making you miss your sandy shores and the permanent sound of crashing waves. The wind doesn’t have a salty smell, but instead carries the mild scent of fresh flowers. Instead of crashing waves and gulls cawing, there are the faint squeals of livestock and the occasional bark of a dog. 

Nexdor seems to be teeming with life in the opposite way that you were used to in your kingdom. But you suppose the two simply exist as opposites, land and sea, sun and moon, meat and fish. You wonder if you and Jaehyun will exist as opposites as well, or if you can find some way to overcome your innate differences for the sake of the marriage. 

“Your highness?” A voice calls, punctuated by a firm rap of knuckles against the wooden doorframe. 

A glance over your shoulder reveals Jaehyun standing there, dressed much more casually than you had priorly seen him. It’s a good look on him, looser, relaxed garments and unkempt curls. He looks youthful and relaxed, undeniably attractive in the confident set of his shoulders and the soft smile he wears. It makes you wonder why rumors always raved about his personality rather than his looks. You guess he just must be that charming. 

“Come in,” you call from the balcony, not bothering to continue to look as the man approaches. 

In your periphery, you can make out the man leaning his forearms on the wooden railing of the balcony. He seems to be taking in the scenery, much like you are, eyes fluttering shut as a warm breeze begins to blow. 

“How are you settling in, Your Highness?”

You scoff. “We are set to be wed in a few months. I don’t think we quite need to refer to each other by title, don’t you agree?”

Jaehyun chuckles, ducking his head so it hangs between his shoulders. When he straightens up, he props his head in his hand, twisting his upper body to face you. You try your best not to stare at the slope of his nose or the plush of his lips, fighting the heat that is rising to your cheeks. 

“I guess you’re right. How are you settling in, Y/N?”

The flutter through your core has you taking a deep breath to steel your nerves. “It has been fine, I suppose. It has only been about an hour, so I can’t say that I have seen much. But it’s beautiful. Your kingdom is beautiful.”

Jaehyun’s smile widens, gaze never once leaving your own. “It surely is.”

There’s a moment of silence as you turn back to take in the scenery, letting the warmth of the sun caress your face. The Crown Prince simply continues to regard you, shameless in the way he scans your face. The undivided attention has anxiety bubbling in your abdomen. Never before had you been on the receiving end of such a stare, not during the numerous balls you had attended or during any royal appearances outside of the palace. 

“Is everything okay?” You ask softly, voice shaking with uncertainty. 

“Do you like flowers?”

The question takes you aback. “I suppose I do.”

“Which is your favorite?”

“I have always been quite fond of azaleas, specifically the bright pink ones. They tend to grow on bushes not too far from the shores of Vyrona.”

Jaehyun just smiles, nodding softly. “That suits you.”

When he finally turns to look out at the landscape, your shoulders sag in relief, no longer the sole object of the prince’s attention. You wonder if he is often like this, wide eyes sparkling as they take in every detail. Do his cheeks always dimple, or is it only when he smiles on certain occasions? Does his mouth always look so plush as it parts to form slow syllables?

“How are you feeling about the marriage?” His voice is softer as he speaks this time. “I mean how do you really feel, not the answer they make you rehearse in etiquette class.”

His request for candor makes you smile. “I don’t quite know, yet. You know, as a young girl, they tell you stories about the glamor of finding a husband and getting married. But I’m not quite sure what to expect anymore.”

“Are you saying I’m not glamorous enough for you, princess?”

You can’t help but giggle as the man places his cheeks in his palms, fluttering his eyelashes repeatedly. There’s something in the tilt of his head and the fanning of his eyelashes that truly is glamorous, but you fear the result of telling him so. Instead, you just roll your eyes playfully. 

“You know what I mean.”

Jaehyun smiles, finally dropping his pose in favor of leaning back against the railing. “I do. But in all fairness, we have only known each other for mere hours. If you give me the chance, I promise I will try to make this life glamorous for you.”

You return his smile, trying not to stare too hard at the way the sun highlights his Cupid’s bow. “I’d expect nothing less.”

.          .          .

Wedding preparations are more strenuous than you could have ever imagined. Dress fittings and pastry tastings prove to be tiresome, while ballroom dance lessons leave your feet sore and aching. You spend hours per day learning about Nexdorian customs and ceremonial practices, all with the expectation of having them memorized in less than two months. 

As exhausting as it is, having Jaehyun by your side makes everything a little easier. 

You grow accustomed to the way he whispers jokes under his breath when the history teacher drones on and on about traditional wedding practices. He busts silly dance moves and makes funny faces during ballroom class, stopping at nothing to simply make you laugh. Everything he does in your presence proves to be for the sake of making you comfortable. 

You hate to admit that it works like a charm, making you smile even when you’re feeling extra homesick. Just thinking about his soft jokes and melodious laugh is enough to bring heat to your cheeks. It’s odd to acknowledge that Jaehyun is simply perfect, and he’s about to be yours. He works hard to prove himself to you everyday, as if his devotion to making you comfortable can be substituted for the lack of love. 

Maybe you can mistake it as such.

When Jaehyun knocks on your door with a picnic basket and a blanket in hand, it’s easy to mistake it as love. When he leads you out to a meadow dotted with purple and yellow flowers with a hand on your waist, it’s easy to mistake it as love. When he tucks a vibrant purple blossom behind your ear, it’s easy to mistake it as love. 

Even now, as soft winds ruffle Jaehyun’s curls as he tilts his head back, facing the sun, you wonder if this could be love. He looks extremely serene with his eyes closed and dimpled cheeks, a soft smile permanently gracing his face. You don’t think you’ve seen him frown once since you have moved into the palace, the man always wide eyed and positive down to his core. 

“You know,” Jaehyun starts, eyes still closed. “You do a lot of staring at me.”

Instantly, you avert your eyes, fighting the heat rising to your cheeks. “Consider it payback for how much you stare at me.”

Jaehyun opens his eyes, shooting you a small smirk. “Well, can you blame me? You’re gorgeous.”

“And you’re quite the flatterer.”

“I hardly think it’s a crime to compliment my fiancé.”

For some reason, the word makes you cringe, harshly gripping the picnic blanket underneath your fingers. It’s hardly the first time you’ve heard him refer to you as such, but it always leaves a stale taste in your mouth. 

“Does it not bother you?” You question. “The fact that we are set to be wed and we have only known each other for mere months?”

Jaehyun sighs. “I think the strength of a connection cannot be determined by the time spent together, don’t you?”

The implication has your heart pounding in your chest. “Are you saying that we have a strong connection?”

For a moment, there is mere silence, only interrupted by the soft rustle of leaves in the wind. Jaehyun seems calm as he begins to lean forward, only stopping mere inches from your face. The close proximity has your breath stuttering in your chest, still not used to Jaehyun’s confidence in displays of affection. 

“I feel it,” Jaehyun murmurs softly, eyes momentarily flicking down to your lips. They return to your eyes just as quickly. “Don’t you?”

A flutter runs through your core as Jaehyun’s tongue darts out to run across his bottom lip. 

“I-I do,” you whisper, breath stuck in your throat. 

With a bright smile, Jaehyun pulls away, forcing you to come back to your senses. 

“Good,” he beams. “Now let’s eat.”

It’s almost as if the man can sense his effect on you, constantly meeting you with fleeting touches and secretive grins in the coming days. After the picnic, he makes a point to surprise you with a random wildflower each day, always tucking it behind your ear as if leaving a garnish on an exquisite dish. His fingers will lightly trace your jaw as they retreat, leaving a path of flames in his wake. 

His touch emboldens you, allowing you to reciprocate his affections bit by bit. As the days pass, you begin to lean into the hands that guide you by the waist. You joke alongside him, feeling free to put on your silliest face and tell your cringiest jokes. 

It begins to feel like a relationship, one that goes beyond the simple pressures of royal duty. Smiles begin to turn purposeful instead of secretive. Knowing glances are exchanged as you both seek each other out in a crowded room. Pulses go from racing at the first glimpse of each other to mellowing out when the other finally makes an appearance. 

In a month’s time, you will be married to Crown Prince Myung Jaehyun. And for the first time in a long time, you start to believe that maybe love will make an appearance at your wedding after all. 

.         .         .

The days when Jaehyun leaves you by your lonesome prove to be the hardest. You understand, of course. He is the Crown Prince with a plethora of obligations to his Kingdom, unable to solely sit back and prepare for the wedding like you do. Ruling comes first, always, even before being a fiancé. 

It’s a particularly gloomy day when an aid informs you that Jaehyun will be in political meetings all day to address a recent conflict at the northern border. With soft rain pelting the windows, you have no other option than to explore the palace. 

Polished wood squeaks under the weight of your slippers as you roam the seemingly endless halls. Every room that you pass seems to serve a different purpose, some being bedrooms while others are studies. You even find yourself in a room lined with portraits of past rulers and their families, each one telling a little bit of the history of Nexdor. Adjacent to the portrait of King Jaeseong and his family lies an empty space, just waiting for the portrait of Jaehyun and his family to fill it. You cringe at the thought of your face permanently plastered here for any wandering eye to see. 

Further down the hall from the portrait room seems to be a series of meeting rooms, each one with a different set up. As you venture down the hall, a half opened door piques your interest. But just as you move to push the door open, a frustrated groan stops you in your tracks. 

“I promise you, Father. I’m not losing focus.” There’s a frustrated edge to Jaehyun’s voice that you have never experienced before. “I know what I need to do to rule my country.”

“Clearly, you don’t!” King Jaeseong booms. “Instead of attending to your duties at Crown Prince, you are too worried about caring for the princess. You cannot let petty feelings get in the way of you ruling this kingdom to the best of your ability.”

“Feelings?” Jaehyun scoffs. “This marriage is purely political, you know that just as well as I do. I don’t even care for her. She is simply set to be my wife for our kingdom’s gain, and that is it.”

Despite King Jaeseong’s reply, the words seem to echo throughout the empty hallway, setting off a ringing in your ears. 

You release a shaky sigh, feeling your heart plummet to the pit of your core. The corners of your eyes begin to sting with the force of incoming tears, forcing you to blink rapidly to keep them at bay. It’s impossible to tune into the rest of the conversation, your mind having shut down after hearing Jaehyun’s comment. With no other choice, you flee back down the hallway, seeking nothing more than the solace of your room. 

What feels like hours pass as you simply stare up at your ceiling, letting your emotions ebb and flow like waves against the shore. As devastated as you are, you can’t help but be upset with yourself more than anything. Jaehyun was right, after all. The marriage is simply political. There is no place for feelings in ruling a kingdom, the fairy tales you were told as a kid being nothing more than just that, tales. 

Yet another part of you aches at the thought of Jaehyun viewing you as a political move. All the jokes and smiles were nothing more than what would be displayed at a public hearing. The fleeting touches and the brushes of fingers against bare skin existed simply to placate a political tide. What has begun to feel like more has been reduced to a political pawn game. 

Your chances at being in love had been squashed. 

So, you began to reciprocate. Gone were the giggles when Jaehyun cracked a joke in history class. Attempts at getting sidetracked during ballroom dance lessons were met with a blank stare. Picnic requests were denied and touches dodged. After all, there are no feelings involved in politics. 

It seems like the change takes a while for Jaehyun to register, meeting your blank stares with concerned gazes and questioning looks. His fingers halt in midair when you flinch away from his touch, clearly still hoping to grasp onto you. Dimpled smiles turn into exaggerated pouts when you deny him time and time again. You would find his reactions cute, if not for the reason this is all happening. 

It’s all political, you remind yourself. 

It isn’t until a few days before the wedding that Jaehyun seems to have had enough. He corners you after a particularly grueling ballroom practice, grabbing you by the hand. His grip is tight enough that you aren’t able to pull away, helplessly following along as he drags you through the palace corridors. 

The two of you end up in the portrait room, with the eyes of all of the past rulers staring down at you. It’s only when you come to a stop that Jaehyun releases his grip from your hand. The man is clearly irritated, cheeks ruddy and eyes glassy. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he had been crying. 

“What is going on?” 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“Our wedding is in a few days and you have been ignoring me!” Jaehyun sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I just want to know what happened. I thought…I thought—,”

“You thought what?”

“I thought that you were learning to love me! I thought that you were beginning to feel the same way.”

Jaehyun’s exasperation rings loud in the otherwise silent room. His chest heaves with the force of his words, fingers twitching as they seek something to grasp. You can’t help but scoff at his demeanor. 

“Feel the same way? You were the one who said that I’m only going to be your wife for the kingdom’s political gain!” A hot feeling begins to bloom in your chest as you remember the encounter. “I believe your exact words were, ‘I don’t even care for her.’”

Jaehyun’s face falls, eyes glossy. “You heard that?”

“Of course I did,” you mumble, crossing your arms over your chest. “I was walking around the palace and I heard you meeting with your father.”

“You don’t—I meant—just…I promise it’s not what you think!”

“I heard you loud and clear, Jaehyun. You can’t take back your words now.”

“I know, but I promise I didn’t mean that.” Jaehyun sighs. “Can you follow me for a second? Please, I just need to show you something.”

Jaehyun’s hand is shaking as he offers it to you, reaching out with his last shred of hope. His eyes bore holes into you, as if looking at you can keep his tears at bay. It takes a few moments of staring at the hand, taking in its subtle tremor, before you finally exhale, letting your palm meet his. The smile that he shoots you is blinding, forcing you to look away from its power. 

You struggle to keep up as Jaehyun practically runs down the hallways, hair flapping in the wind. It reminds you of a puppy, how overeager he is, and you imagine that if he had a tail, it would be fiercely wagging. Every so often, he looks back, shooting you a smile that has a stampede running through your abdomen. 

With the speed that you two are moving at, you seem to arrive at your destination in no time. Jaehyun’s panting as he leads you to a final door, sunlight flooding your vision as he pushes it open. Trekking down a pair of outdoor steps leaves you along the eastern palace wall, the once empty space now a sight that makes your jaw drop. 

Numerous flower beds and bushes form a maze along the rich soil, some of them still only budding. Even though many of the flowers are not yet in full bloom, it’s easy to tell what they will be. A specific set of hot pink buds on a nearby bush steals your breath away. 

You release Jaehyun’s hand as you walk deeper into the garden, squatting in front of the bush to see if your eyes are deceiving you. It’s hard to be sure as you squint, but when a breeze blows, flooding your senses with an all too familiar fragrance, there’s no mistaking it for anything else. 

“Azaleas?” You breathe. “But how? They don’t grow here. The closest azaleas are in—,”

“Vyrona,” Jaehyun interrupts. “The closest azaleas are a few hundred miles away, but I had some staff travel to uproot some to bring here.”

You’re frozen in place as Jaehyun approaches, utterly breathless. “But why?”

“Because you said they were your favorite.”

As Jaehyun closes the gap between you two, you find yourself blinking back tears. This time, when he attempts to gather your hands in his, you let him, not daring to put up a fight. Slowly, he brings your left hand to his lips, placing a soft kiss on your knuckles before repeating the move with your right hand. 

“Y/N, I wasn’t lying when I said I felt a connection between us. From the day I first saw you, I knew I would do anything for you, and I still will.” Jaehyun lets out a wet chuckle. “You know, if we weren’t already set to be wed I would have proposed to you again, right here in this spot. That’s how much I want to be with you.”

You shake your head, fighting a grimace. “But, your father…”

“I only said what I had to in order to appease him. He is nervous that I’m losing focus of my duties and losing sight of what I need to do for the kingdom. And honestly, he’s right. Because these days, all I can think about is you.”

The feeling is undoubtedly reciprocated, but the words to tell him such remain caught in your throat. All you are able to muster is a questioning hum. 

“You’re constantly on my mind to the point where I feel like a fool. I can’t seem to stop talking about you to anyone who might listen, my father included. Honestly, I have never experienced love before, princess. But to the extent I do, I want to experience it with you.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, trying your best not to get lost in the reflection of you in Jaehyun’s eyes. “I want to experience it with you, too.”

Dimples indent Jaehyun’s cheeks as a relieved smile crosses his face. He uses his grip on your hands to pull you even closer, causing you to stumble into his chest. Both of your hands fall to his chest to stabilize yourself, while his own fall to your waist. This close, you can see the soft shadows that his eyelashes cast on his cheeks and the sharp swell of his Cupid’s bow.

You find yourself thinking the same thing that you thought when you first saw the Prince. He is breathtaking. 

“Jaehyun…” you trail off, watching the way his tongue darts out to trace his bottom lip. 

“Will you let me love you, princess?”

A small nod is all you’re able to get out before a soft pair of lips meet yours. 

Jaehyun kisses the way you would imagine a young prince would, unrestrained and confident. He takes the lead in letting his lips blanket yours, grip tightening around your waist as he draws you in for more. It’s addicting, the way he strikes a balance between giving and taking that leaves you panting when you both pull away. 

“Let’s get married,” Jaehyun breathes out, letting his forehead rest on yours. 

You can’t fight the giggle that bubbles up in your chest. “We already are next week.”

“Oh, right.”

At his sheepish tone, you can’t help but laugh fully, throwing your head back in an unrestrained fit of giggles. The sight proves contagious, as Jaehyun’s laughs begin to harmonize with yours. It’s an addicting sensation, to hear the laughs of your fiancé while the fragrance of your favorite flower fills your nose. 

“Jaehyun,” you whisper after you are able to tame your fit of giggles. “Thanks for making this all feel a little more glamorous.”

Jaehyun just smiles, giving your waist a light squeeze. “You don’t have to thank me. I promise that I’ll do whatever I can to make each day feel more glamorous than the last.”

You nod, feeling the sun warm your lips as you smile softly. 

“I’d expect nothing less.”

.FIN.

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (XXX)

Chapter 30: ‘You liked me well enough in black; I make you a gift of these objects’

Hi! Here is a new chapter! Some shopping for our lovebirds that turns into Andrew fighting for his life…

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 3322

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Here are my black clothes

I think now it is better to love no one than to love you. Here are my black clothes, the tired nightgowns and robes fraying in many places. Why should they hand useless as though I were going naked? You liked me well enough in black; I make you a gift of these objects. You will want to touch them with your mouth, run your fingers through the thin tender underthings and I will not need them in my new life.

Louise Glück, The First Five Book of Poems

The tailor was posh but undoubtedly talented. Then again, it was a tailor, posh was to be expected.

It was the old type of tailor, the one you saw in movies, the type that hid a secret passage to the secret service. Wooden walls covered with wooden shelves and clothes, wooden tiles on the floor, large corduroy armchairs. You walked in feeling like you didn’t belong there, like you should never have come in the first place.

Frank spotted you instantly when you walked in. You hadn’t seen each other in a few weeks, there were times when you missed him. There were times when you didn’t think of him at all… what a strange feeling… he was always in your thoughts for years…

You wished Andrew was there with you. You wondered if his classes were going well this morning, you wanted to make him a coffee and chat instead of working…

“Y/N!” Frank beamed at you, crossing the room to give you a hug. “I’ve missed you! We’ve spent too long apart!”

“Missed you too. You look well! Are you ready to choose your suit?”

“I’m so nervous,” he admitted with an uncomfortable laugh.

“It’ll be just fine.”

You said hello to Frank’s friends and family members gathered in the shop. Only a few people, including the three best men.

The tailor came in a few minutes later, started taking care of his clients. You remained quiet while the group was splitting its attention between Frank’s suit and his best men’ clothes.

The plan was simple. You had to give him terrible advice. You had to ruin the suit, make him look ridiculous. Something that Sam would hate.

That was the only way to weaken the wedding with today’s activity.

You waited patiently, watched Frank try suits on. Every piece of garment shattered your heart.

You should have been the one discovering the suit on your wedding day. You should have been the one he talked about now, asking if you would like that colour on him, hoping you would find him handsome.

He was. He was handsome. So fucking much. You wanted to shout, to claw your eyes out of their sockets with the pain of it. He was so handsome, and you should have never been here. Instead of seeing him try on all these suits, you should have been the bride hiding her dress from him. But you weren’t. You were just the friend he was turning his attention to now, asking for an advice.

And you couldn’t do it. Couldn’t ruin this for him. You were too kind-hearted for that, or perhaps, you were simply too much in pain.

You struggled to put a smile on your face.

“I think navy blue is better than green on you.”

“You think?” he asked, looking at the two shades.

“It matches your eyes better. Makes them pop.”

He smiled, bright and excited.

Had he ever smiled like this thinking of your wedding? Of marrying you?

“Thank you, Y/N. You’re always right with those things.”

“Because I pay attention.”

Your answer held more meaning than it seemed, but he didn’t notice. He never did. Not when it was you.

And you wanted revenge now. You wanted him to regret you. You wanted him to see that you were enough, that you were always enough, that Sam wasn’t better than you… even if you didn’t really believe it. Frank had chosen Sam. Andrew had been in love with her, and now that he was starting to move on, it was to be with a woman who wasn’t you.

You excused yourself, looked for the bathroom. The moment you turned the lock on your door, the tears were let free.

You looked so sad when you came back.

It was almost noon when you stepped in the office, Andrew had been waiting for you to eat his lunch. He didn’t have classes for the rest of the day, and neither did you. He was relieved about it, you clearly needed some help.

“How did it go?” he asked as you closed the door behind you.

You didn’t answer at first, instead you took the time to take off your coat, let yourself fall in your office chair and throw your head back towards the ceiling. You let out a dramatic moan, Andrew chuckled at the sound.

“That bad, huh? Did you make him choose something terrible to wear?”

You didn’t answer.

“Let me guess… you saw him in there, it broke your heart, but you didn’t lie and helped him look stunning for his wedding day.”

“How do you know? That’s exactly what happened.”

“I know you. You’re too kind to do something so mean and selfish. Hiding a few bottles of champagne is one thing, making your ex look like a fool on the most important day of his life is another.”

“I’m so pathetic. I feel so… pathetic…”

“You’re not. You’re just heartbroken.”

“Same bloody thing.”

“What can I do?”

You looked at him then, tears in your eyes and looking so sad… so damn sad…

But then you looked angry instead, wrath burning through your gaze and Andrew shuddered at the sight.

You looked gorgeous like this, despite your eyes reddened with tears. Fierce was a good look on you, it had always been…

“I’m going to make him regret me so fucking much he’ll beg to get me back.”

He raised an eyebrow, surprised by your determination.

“And how do we do that?”

“By making me look so fucking good he’ll have nightmares about leaving me.”

Andrew’s heart skipped a beat. His words came out in a whisper you didn’t hear.

“You’re always gorgeous, Y/N…”

“We’re going to this party they’re throwing two weeks before the wedding. So… in…”

“Two weeks.”

“Yeah… in two weeks. God, I can’t believe it’s the end of April already. Exams will be back in no time.”

“Don’t mention that…” Andrew winced. “Besides, we’ll have to go through the conference first…”

“Did you have an answer for that by the way?”

Andrew smiled.

“Main speaker on the second day. Forty-minutes presentation.”

“That’s awesome, Andy! Congrats!”

“I’m going to hate every second of it.”

“You’ll be brilliant.”

“We’ll need to rehearse your presentation too.”

“Yes, thank you for helping me.”

“Don’t mention it. We’re a team.”

You exchanged a tender smile, one that reached gratefulness for more than professional support.

“Anyway, I’m going to go shopping after work,” you declared. “I’ll buy the most gorgeous dress for that party. And Frank will be at my fucking feet.”

Andrew chuckled at that.

“Alright, good plan.”

“Actually… can I be insufferable and ask for your help?”

“Pardon me? My help? I don’t know anything about dresses…”

“You’re a man. You know what men like. Actually, you know what? We could go now. Be back before two and work this afternoon.”

“Now?”

“Now.”

“Okay…”

Andrew gathered his things in a hurry, let you babble away while you exited the office. He didn’t mention the way your voice was shaking from time to time, how your eyes still glistened with withheld tears.

He didn’t mention any of it. He merely drove you to the shop you liked.

Andrew didn’t know what to do while you browsed through expensive dresses, selected a few, asked for his opinion. He didn’t really have any. He had no idea what he was supposed to do to make you smile again, to make you happy, to make you feel as beautiful as you truly were…

You walked in a fitting room with five different dresses to try on. There weren’t many people in the shop at this hour, only an old woman with her grand-daughter were looking for a dress for the young woman. The elder lady started chatting casually with Andrew while they both waited in front of the cabins.

“Your girlfriend is looking for a dress for a special occasion?” she asked, and Andrew fiercely blushed.

“Oh… no, she’s not… we’re not… She’s not my girlfriend.”

She gave him a look, one that annoyed him a lot.

“Right… I see…”

Andrew ignored her, her grand-daughter showing her a dress the perfect excuse not to answer.

And then he heard you calling his name in a quiet voice…

His heart didn’t just skip a few beats, it stopped altogether. Butterflies didn’t cut it, these were fireworks in his stomach.

You were standing there in an emerald dress that fell across your calves, a low cut on your cleavage that made his wildest fantasies about you seem mild.

“What do you think? I like this one.”

You turned around to show him the back, or rather, the absence of clothing on the backless dress.

Andrew couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think…

You were so… so…

“How do I look?”

You were so… so…

“…Breathtaking.”

You blinked up at him. And he tried to hide his reaction, but he couldn’t. He must have looked stunned, a deer in headlights, and he couldn’t help it. You were so…

“…Perfect.”

You raised a surprised eyebrow, a shy smile forming on your lips.

He wanted to kiss you so badly. He wanted to touch the skin of your back the dress revealed. He wanted to run his fingers along your cleavage. He wanted to tear that gorgeous dress off you…

He cleared his throat, averted his eyes so he would stop staring at you.

“Yeah… that’s… a good one.”

“I have another I like, hang on.”

He nodded, unable to look at you. He could feel warmth spreading through his body, but he would never survive the humiliation of getting a boner in the middle of a shop because you were trying dresses on…

“Not your girlfriend, huh?”

Andrew turned to the stranger, the old woman giving him a knowing smile.

“You’d better make her your girlfriend, before it’s too late.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No, of course not.”

She heaved a sigh, looking at the closed curtain of the fitting room where her grand-daughter had disappeared.

“My husband looked at me like that, you know? The way you look at her. And I can only hope my grand-child will find someone who will look at her like that, too.”

“Like what?”

“Like she is the most beautiful thing on this earth.”

She stared right into his eyes.

“The way you must be looked at when you are loved.”

Andrew struggled to swallow, looked away, fiercely blushing.

Christ, he was a desperate case. And if a stranger could notice his feelings for you, surely everyone had… what would you say if you noticed? Would you push him away? Would you break his heart?

You walked out of your cabin again, wearing a black dress this time. And Andrew tried to hide it better this time, but you looked divine. It fitted your curves perfectly, it made your body look like sin…

“What about this one?” you asked, turning around, and Andrew hated himself for being unable to stop himself from staring at your arse.

“Yeah… that’s a good one too,” he nodded, clearing his throat.

“Which one do you prefer?”

“I… I don’t know…”

“Come on! I like both. I don’t know which one to pick. What’s your favourite?”

He struggled to control his breathing, to slow down his heart.

“I… erm… I really liked the green one.”

“The green one?”

“Yeah, it… you’re gorgeous in this dress too though.”

He heard you clearing your throat too.

“Right… the green dress it is, then.”

“Yeah… okay… grand… erm, like… good…”

“Thanks, Andy.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Christ, please, don’t mention it…

“I’ll get changed real quick.”

He hummed as he nodded, still unable to look at you.

By his side, the elderly lady chuckled, and Andrew wanted to dissolve into nothing, a puddle on the ground, to simply be atomised into thin air…

You bought the dress, Andrew drove you back to Trinity in relative silence. He was too busy picturing you in these dresses again, too busy trying not to picture you in these dresses again.

When you walked back to your office though, it was obvious that you were still sad. That search for a semblance of power over a situation you couldn’t control was gone again. He let out a long exhale through his nose as he looked at you sitting behind your desk. He crossed the room, avoiding the lamp hanging from the ceiling, and gave you a soft smile.

“You’re alright, Y/N?”

You shook your head.

“I’m sorry… I just… I can’t get over it.”

“It’s okay. You’re upset, that’s all.”

“Seeing him like this… wearing these suits… he should have been wearing them for me…”

“I know. I know, Y/N.”

“I want my life back.”

“But you have one. You have one now. You don’t need him in it.”

“I feel like I need him. I feel like I… like I just messed everything up.”

“You didn’t. You didn’t mess anything up. None of this is your fault.”

“If he chose her, then I must be lacking something…”

“You’re not. Trust me, you’re not lacking anything. It’s his loss if he can’t see what’s right in front of him.”

You looked up at him, surprised by the sudden harshness of his tone.

“You don’t need him, Y/N… you… you could have better than him. You… he’s not… He’s not even paying attention to you.”

“What do you mean?”

“He doesn’t really care. I think he’s a little too selfish for that.”

He shook his head.

“I see you with him, you know? You’re not yourself. You’re not… babbling away about cinema, or literature, or art or this recipe you’ve just tried or… it’s like you just shut down. And you listen, and then you make a tiny summary of all the things you wanted to say… but you’re so fucking smart. You’re so fucking interesting. You’re… you shouldn’t be with someone who doesn’t care about what you have to say. And he fucking broke your heart! Why do you still want him? Why…?”

Why do you still want him, instead of me?

But he didn’t say it. He stopped, and closed his fists tightly.

Andrew was growing annoyed, angry even. And of course you noticed, he reckoned he was doing a pretty bad job at hiding his true feelings.

“Y/N… Frank… I’m not saying he’s a bad person, but…”

“But?”

“But he doesn’t deserve you.”

You raised an eyebrow, visibly unimpressed.

“Really? Why not? It’s not like I’m anything special, anyway.”

Andrew frowned hard.

“Are you listening to yourself?!” he asked with something aghast in his voice, a genuine incomprehension that surprised you. “You’re… you’re amazing. You deserve so much better than him! You deserve to be treated with respect, to have someone who actually pays attention to you, who cares about you, who listens to you when you’re talking about your passions, who’s not going to disregard what you’re saying simply because they disagree…”

But you interrupted him with a scoff.

“Perfection doesn’t exist, Andy. I’ve learned as much in life. I don’t have a choice but to settle for less than that.”

“There’s a difference between accepting someone’s faults and flaws and setting the bar so low it’s actually buried underground…”

“You’re one to talk! You’re still in love with Samantha despite how she hurt you, despite the fact that she doesn’t give two shites about your poetry or your work, about the fact that she won’t make a single fucking effort for you…”

“Who says I’m still in love with her?”

You raised a surprised eyebrow, and you were genuinely taken aback this time, Andrew could tell.

“You’re not?” you asked, your tone quieter, Andrew guessed that it was a side-effect of your surprise.

“No, I’m not. I’ve learnt my lesson. I want to move on. I… I’m moving on.”

“Wow… that’s… good… That’s really grand, Andy. Is it… because of that woman you mentioned?”

Andrew’s heart sped up, he could feel himself panicking, he closed and opened his fists multiple times in an attempt to slow down his breathing.

“I… I mean… kind of…”

“Kind of?”

“I…”

He took a deep breath, gathering his courage.

“I want to be with her. I… I just… I haven’t told her yet.”

“Why not? You should ask her on a date.”

But he shook his head.

“She won’t say yes. I know her, she won’t go on a date with me, not for now. Besides… It’s too soon… for me too, I mean. I need to put Sam behind me for good, before I can try to be with her.”

You stared at him with a blank expression… or rather, not blank. The opposite. Like you felt something but tried to show the opposite reaction. The result was unreadable to him.

“I’m glad you’re moving on.”

But your tone was flat, and you didn’t seem happy at all.

“Thanks,” Andrew answered anyway.

You heaved a tired sigh.

“Please, don’t judge me with Frank. I… you don’t understand.”

Andrew sighed too, let the air out through gritted teeth.

“No, you’re right. I don’t understand. I mean… I do. I do understand the process of grieving for a life that wasn’t fully yours to begin with, but you thought would belong to you. But that’s the thing, Y/N. You need to start grieving now. You can’t remain stuck there forever. You… You deserve to be happy. You deserve better than that. Don’t do that to yourself. Especially not for someone like him. We deserve better than this, Y/N.”

You stared at him now, tears in your eyes, a sight he wished he could banish forever. He would take all of your pain away if he could, he would suffer it in your stead.

“It’s not that easy, Andy,” you shook your head, taking a step back.

“It could be. It could be, Y/N…”

“I’ve loved him for so long…”

Andrew slowly nodded.

“You could love again, with a little bit of time. He… he doesn’t care about you, Y/N. He doesn’t… listen when you talk. He acts like he does, but he doesn’t. He’s not interested in what makes you happy…”

“Neither is Sam with you.”

“I know. I know, and I don’t want that anymore.”

“But I want Frank.”

Your voice was shaking, it didn’t sound either earnest nor convincing. Still, hearing the words broke Andrew’s heart.

After everything… how could you still want Frank… why couldn’t you want him instead?

Could you… could you ever want him?

Andrew closed his fists tightly, until he could feel the sharp pain of his nails digging crescent marks into his palm. Perhaps you would never want him. Maybe it wasn’t just about Frank, maybe it was about him… maybe he was simply… not your type, not attractive to you, not good enough.

He let out a long, painful exhale through his nose.

“Would that make you happy?” he genuinely asked, voice quiet, deeper than usual, but softer than before as well. “Is that what will make you happy?”

You stared at him for a moment, then clenched your jaw. When you answered, he couldn’t read in your eyes whether or not you were telling the truth. Maybe you were lying… against all odds, he hoped you were lying.

“Yes.”

One word, breathed out, it was enough to break his heart.

Slowly, Andrew nodded.

“Alright, we’ll do it then. We’ll go to that stupid party. We’ll make him jealous. We’ll make him see what he’s losing by choosing Sam over you. If it’s what it takes for you to be happy… As long as it makes you happy.”

“Thank you.”

He stared at you as you walked back to your desk, sat before your computer, looked at the screen.

He turned around, blinking tears away, stood in front of the window behind his desk.

As long as it would make you happy…