#the king of slow burn

[ghosted-draws]

“Crowley? My dear, are you listening?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course Angel. Keep going, i’m here all night.”

[maelialuv]

A Farmer's Friend. a Bridgerton fanfic <3

part one: A Chance Encounter

Summary: division brings unity. secrecy creates infatuation. a king's venture into the real world reveals desire.

Warnings: slow burn! strangers to friends to lovers! (Charlotte does not exist) smut! cold showers are on me.

Wordcount: 3.4K

The country side , to you, was heaven on earth. The far roaming hills, the deep valleys. The wide expanse of nothing but lush green fields. There was truly nothing more beautiful.

Your father's farm, to you, was the most beautiful of all. Located at the farthest edge of the county, miles and miles away from the city of London, it was a haven of tall grass, fruitful crops and rich orchards. That is where you spent most of your time, perched between the trunk and wide branches of a tall apple tree in the deepest part of your family's gardens. Far away from the bustling farm house, the uproar of live stock and the erratic, but loving, nature of your home.

From the moment the sun rose over the hills and danced across your face in the morning, to the moment it tucked itself into the valley at night, you were out in the fields. Tucked away indoors, you found yourself claustrophobic. Cased in, stir crazy and a tad hysterical. From a young age, your parents had to heard you inside at the end of a day much like the sheep dogs would heard the lambs back into their pens. It was no different, even as you approached adulthood.

You had your back to the trunk of a tree, a book clutched in one hand and an apple - freshly plucked from the branch above you- in the other, when you caught sight of one of the stable boys chasing after your father in the field ahead of you.

A man of great strength and pride, your father took his work in the fields very seriously. Even after the death of his own father, he was back shearing sheep after just two days. This is why it confused you ever so much , brows furrowed in a frown, to see your father drop his shears at once in front of the stable boy and clutch his chest. The pair raced down the field, sprinting in the direction of the house with the dogs trailing behind them in a flurry of brown and grey and white.

You took a pensive bite of the apple, crunching deliberately. 'Whatever is the matter?' you thought. 'What is the meaning of such fuss?' You tried desperately to get back to your book, the words of the author falling on distracted thoughts as your mind pondered such a reaction from your father. You snapped your book shut with a huff, annoyed and now positively rabid with curiosity.

John, an Orcher in his late fifties, was plucking apples from a tree just next to yours. You peered your head over to him. "John," you called, "have you any reason for father's fuss with the stable boy?"

John's face paled, almost frightfully white, at your question. He took his cap off with the type of remorse one shows with deep apology. "I'm terribly sorry, madam. I thought all the children were aware." You quirked a brow at his words, irritated that the farms people still saw you as one of the children despite being the eldest daughter in the house. His voice was gruff and gravely, years of shouting at yardsmen wearing on his vocal chords. "There is to be a royal visit, madam. Today."

Your eyebrows shot up so fast , you wondered for a moment if they were still on your face. "A royal visit? Here?" The Dowager Princess had not been out in the country since the passing of the late King. Your brows furrowed in deep confusion. "Whatever for?"

John shrugged his shoulders earnestly.

"Lord knows but I, madam. Some sort of review of the farmland, but that's between the King and his advisors."

"The King?" you squawked. You hiked your skirt up, throwing your legs over the branch and jumping down. You stalked to the bottom of the ladder John was standing on. "The King is coming here?"

In all your eighteen years, you'd only ever seen one monarch. Even so, it was a painting of His late Majesty. All you knew of the current King was that he made no visits to the towns, nor galas or balls. He had been labelled somewhat a recluse of a man. You wondered how that could be healthy for such an old person. At least, you assumed he was old. The previous king had died aged seventy and two, so this king must have been creeping into his late fifties now.

"Yes, madam." John said. "Your father has been called now, to prepare. He is due to arrive soon."

Your feet sprang into action, galloping down the aisle of the orchard at lightening speed as you raced toward the direction of the house. You never cared for pompous displays, or the royal family as a whole, very much at all. But today was different. The king himself was visiting your home. Your fields, your valleys and your hills. You felt oddly protective. As if this inspection was to be one with an insulting conclusion. You reassured yourself that they would see the beauty in your home. In the sway of the grassy hills in the wind.

Knowing your mother would not let you close enough to see even the Royal carriage make its way through the wooden gates of your home, you rounded the corner of the brown farm house and clambered your way up the large oak tree in the middle of the drive way. From high above in the branches, you would not be seen by your mother - as she so preferred. She yearned for a daughter more like the ones her sisters had. Lady like and proper and ones that smile at every pleasing farmer their mothers set them up with.

Your mother was disappointed in the lack of girlishness in you. She was displeased in your fascination with reading, and your taking to the outdoors. She was put off by the closeness between you and your father, finding it strange that the two of you could be friends as well as father and daughter. She found your desire to spend all day outdoors odd, and you found her desire to marry a farmer whilst hating farms to be odd in return.

You gripped on to the tallest branches, peering through leaves in the hopes of seeing the gleams of gold as the carriage approached. You saw your father and the farmer boys line up in front of the door below, and your mother and younger brothers waited just behind them. In the distance, you heard a low thrumming sound. It got louder, and seemingly closer, as more seconds ticked by. You realised, as you heard the clop clop clop noise, that it was the sound of horses' hooves on the dirt tracks as the carriage came into view.

The carriage halted in front of your door, and your father outstretched his hand to an older gentlemen in a plush blue suit. Though your fathers clothes- an old grey shirt and black trousers- were not as elegant, he looked just as regal as he shook hands with the stranger, who you assumed to be the King. He had greying hair, curled into ringlets by his side. There were several other men beside him, ranging from young to old to very old.

You craned your neck to hear their voices, a chorus of low hums and stiff lipped compliments from the old man you saw to be the king. Several minutes ticked by, boredom creeping in as you swung your legs back and forth over the branch, before the group of men finally split to tour the farm land with your father. You rejoiced, a grumble in your belly making any words they said inconsequential. You began your decent from the tree.

With scraped palms and knees, you made it to the ground with a thud. A successful spying , you thought as you wiped your hands on the skirt of your dress. Your monologing was interrupted by the stifled chuckle of a man behind you. You whipped round, narrowing your eyes at the man. Dressed in a simple white shirt and the same black field trousers as your father, he looked to be a fielder himself.

"Hello," he said, voice even and light. He stood with his hands behind his back, polite and effortlessly straight. He was young, younger than the rest of the group you assumed he had been standing with. He must have been no more than three years older than you, as his cheeks still had the faintest roundness to them.

"What are you doing?" he asked when you did not say anything.

You knew your eyes were wide, those of someone caught. There was no use in lying , nor excusing. This man had watched you climb down the tree, from where you had spied. You outstretched your hands, as if stating the obvious. "I was climbing down. From the tree."

"From the tree?"

"Yes, from the tree."

"From that tree?" the man asked, voice teasing and smile irritating as he pointed to the tall oak you had previously been perched in.

"Yes, that tree."

"Whatever for?" He placed his hands behind his back once more, slowly pacing around you in a circle.

"I was hungry, you see." You deadpanned.

"Ah," he affirmed, "and you did not bring food when you climbed up the tree." He was enjoying teasing you, as the smirk on his face grew larger at your squirming. "Or simply not enough."

"Well," you trailed off, waiting for the man to introduce himself to you.

"Forgive me," he said, outstretching a hand. "I am George."

"Well George," you continued. "Usually the trees I climb have some sort of fruit or such for me to eat while I climb, or lounge, or read. This is not my typical tree to climb." You explained.

"And I suppose you have a typical tree?" His face was oddly gleeful, as if this conversation with you - a stranger- was the best part of his day. His smile was wide, showing teeth.

"Yes, I do."

"Which is?" He asked, stepping closer toward you. His smirk was a teasing grin now.

"The apple tree," you stated, that protectiveness creeping back into your tone. "at the farthest end of the orchard."

"Now," he said, voice lilted with mock impress, "I must see this tree, that you so fondly and regularly climb." His voice was a stage whisper.

"Alas, I cannot." You teased back, some what enjoying the banter yourself. "I do not simply show my tree to strangers."

"Ah, but I am not a stranger," he said, closer again now. "I am just George." He stuck his hand out again, waiting for you to shake it. Hesitantly, you did. "I would be honoured to see your tree."

"Do you not have business to attend to?" You asked, gesturing in the direction the other men and the Royal herd had walked in. George shook his head, waving off your remark.

"They are fine themselves. They have no use for my agreements here and questions there." He said. "And even so, if I were to re-join them now," he took another small step closer to you, eyes searching in the distance, "my mind would think of nothing but this apple tree at the farthest end of the orchard."

You smiled at the man as he looked down at you, and felt the strangest urge to lead him by the hand to your sacred reading spot. Something about George made you trust him, utterly and completely, as if you'd known him your whole life. As if you'd run through the fields with him as children, and he knew where the tree was already.

"All right, just George."

A bright, down right contagious smile etched itself on to his face. You couldn't help but smile just as brightly.

The two of you strode side by side through the back field of the farm, chatting idly as you lead him to the orchard. George told you he was a keen farmer himself, but his family bound him to the city. "Why don't you just leave them?" you asked as you opened the large wooden field gate for him.

George paused, leaning on the gate with both arms crossed. "It is not that simple," he said, his face contort in a frown. "I am obliged to stay there. It is a duty, of sorts." He looked around at the tall grass, the wild flowers that bloomed in the field at his feet. "If it were up to me, I would spend all my time in the country."

You felt immensely sorry for him. The thought of being away from the country for more than a day put a nasty pit in your stomach. Gently, you placed your hand on his arm. He looked up at you with glum eyes. You gave him your best reassuring smile as you squeezed his arm lightly. He smiled back at you.

You fell back into stride with one another after that. George asked about your family, and you told him about your father and your three younger sisters. He asked where they were, and you let out a haughty laugh. "They cower at the sight of mud. They are cooped inside with my mother, embroidering or learning the pianoforte or some other nonsense."

"You see no value in these tasks, then?" George asked with a small smirk.

"I see no point, given where we live. What use have I for musical impress or intricate sewing when I spend my time outdoors?" You paused your walking, gesturing to the cows grazing near by. "Any man I encounter in these parts will be as impressed by my pianoforte as those cows."

"Ah, I see." George chuckled to himself. "You are to be a spinster then." You whipped round to face him, annoyance turning your brows into a tight v shape. George laughed again.

"For a stranger you are certainly bold."

"I do not hear a defence."

"No, I am not to be a spinster." You crossed your arms, uncrossing them when George cocked his head to the side slightly. You must have looked ridiculous, like an petulant, spoilt child. You huffed.

"I am not to be a spinster. At least not by intention." You both began walking again, rounding the corner to the long aisle of the orchard. "There," you said, pointing to your tree at the very end.

You turned when George remained silent. His mouth was agape slightly, brown eyes wide and almost honey in the mid day sun. "Beautiful," he sighed out.

It caught you off guard, the strange desire to lead him by the hand to your tree and show him the very best branches. The way he looked at your favourite spot with such awe made you near desperate to share it with him. You had to restrain yourself from reaching out and touching his hand that was inches from yours at your side. You shook your head slightly, as if a jitter would rid of of such peculiar feelings. "Come along, then."

George walked obediently at your side, keeping perfect pace with you. As you walked, he couldn't help but notice the sway of your hair in the light breeze, the way it framed your face so gently. Or the patches of freckles that spotted the bridge of your nose, or the subtle fullness of your bottom lip, how it was slightly larger than the top.

"You said you are not to be a spinster by choice," he began as you reached the foot of the tree. "Whatever do you mean?"

"What I mean is," you said as you reached up to a near branch, pulling yourself up with little struggle, "no man here is in need of a wife, and I am in no need for an elderly husband." You frowned when George laughed again. "You must stop that!" You cried.

"Stop what?" He smiled through his teeth again.

"Laughing at me!"

"I am not laughing at you, forgive me." He said, reaching up to the same branch and - just as you had- hauled him self up with ease. "I simply find it hard to believe no one here is in need of a wife."

"Everyone is already married, or too old, or far too young." You deadpanned. "I do not want to marry a frail old man."

"Let me rephrase," George began. He reached across you, and for a moment you thought he was going to touch your cheek. You sucked in a nervous breath. He plucked an apple that was hanging just above you ear. "I find it hard to believe no one here wants you for a wife."

You found it hard to form words, stuttering over a response. George bit into his apple , smugness radiating off of him in reams.

The two of you sat in peaceful silence for a moment, your backs leaning against the trunk of the tree while your legs stretched out next to each other. "Do you sit out here all day?" George asked softly, turning his head toward you. His breath fanned over your face slightly. You nodded.

"Most days," you sighed contently. "I am usually the one that goes into the towns if needed. Otherwise, I am left alone to sit here as I please." You looked out as the sheep roamed the field ahead of you.

George rested his head back against the trunk of the tree.

"I am envious of you, truly." He said, looking at you from the corner of his eye. You turned your head to face him. Your shoulders were brushing against each other with every breath.

"You are welcome to come here," you said, in an uncharacteristically soft voice. "You can bring a book, and you may sit here for as long as you like, whenever you please. Whenever your family allows you to be in the country."

This close to him, you noticed the flecks of gold in George's eyes. The small freckle above his eye brow. The rosiness of his cheeks. His words echoed in your head.

'I find it hard to believe no one wants you for a wife."

In the distance, you heard the ruckus of the men returning to the front of the house. George shot up. You shot up with him.

"I must go," he said hurriedly. He swung his legs over the branch and jumped off. As you moved to do the same, you saw him waiting on the ground with his hands outstretched. He was helping you down. You reached a hand out to him, and he pulled you down. Expecting a thud, you noticed he had steadied you with a hand on your waist. "I wish I could stay longer, I truly do. Alas, they will run like chickens without heads if I am not back soon."

You wished to find some poetic goodbye, but all you could muster was a soft sigh. "Will you be back?" His hand was still gripping yours.

George chuckled breathily.

"Of course," he said, as if it was obvious. "I must bring a book and see if this really is the best spot for reading."

The voices in the distance got louder, calling George's name now. He looked over his shoulder, then back to you. "I am back in the country in two weeks time. May I see you then?"

You smiled at his politeness, hoping your hasty nod came across as friendly and not desperate. "Of course."

"Splendid."

He brought your hand to his lips then, placing a gentle kiss on the top of your knuckles. "It has been a pleasure, madam." He said with a gentlemanly bow.

He turned to walk away then, and you felt as though the wind had been knocked right out of you. Your feet were glued to the ground, unable to move you from that same spot.

"Oh," George called from a distance. "The inspection went fantastically. Your farm shall have a wonderful review." He grinned, all boyish and joyful, before turning back and sprinting in the direction of the loud voices.

His words only sunk in after he'd rounded the corner gate, and you nearly collapsed onto a log.

Not only had you spent your afternoon with a total stranger, telling him your deepest thoughts and secrets, scandalously close should a gossiping eye see it.

You'd just spent your afternoon with the King of England.

[cinnabon-sweetroll-tiramisu]

I think this is part three lol: clickmemysweets

❤💙👱🏻🧑🏻💙❤👱🏻🧑🏻❤💙👱🏻🧑🏻💙❤👱🏻🧑🏻❤💙

Arthur is King and Merlin is his trusty right-hand magical advisor who still refuses to be Court Sorcerer but what everyone wants to know is if they'll finally admit they're in love and marry:

If you're a noble from another Kingdom and you see King Arthur carrying his hissy Magical Advisor Merlin on his shoulder, that's just an everyday occurrence. You'll get used to it the longer you stay here.

Did you see the King carrying his lover Magical Advisor bridal-style to his chambers? That's normal, either Merlin was exhausted from taking care of a magical threat or he randomly fell asleep somewhere.

Did you hear about that noble who tried to blackmail Merlin into sleeping with him? Yeah, one of the kitchen maids, Sarah, overheard and immediately ran to the councils room telling the King who left quickly (with his personal guards following) and found the noble leaning over an uninterested Merlin. After that everything was a blur, all we know is that wanker was punished and banished from the Kingdom. Rightly so if you ask me.

Hey, did you see Merlin? He's looking quite gloomy today, do you know why that would be? Oh? The King and his knights are on a diplomatic visit and he left Merlin in charge? Oh wow. No wonder why Merlin is in a mood...I bet you 20 gold coins the King and his knights run into trouble that only Merlin can get them out of.

Anna! Look! King Arthur is glaring at Sir Powell flirting with Merlin...Oh. OH! Did you see that!? Merlin is eyeing Lady Surrey with a suspicious look! I don't know if he's jealous that the Lady is trying to attract the King's attention or that there's something really sus about the noblewoman. Honestly, it could be both.

❤💙👱🏻🧑🏻💙❤👱🏻🧑🏻❤💙👱🏻🧑🏻💙❤👱🏻🧑🏻❤💙

The citizens of Camelot are gambling folks, they got bets going on about their favourite couple lol

[fandoms-run-my-life]

For pride this year everyone should be watching Dead Boy Detectives on Netflix. 99% of the characters are either outright queer or queer coded.

Edwin - Gay

Charles - Queer (will be explored more in season 2 if we get one)

Crystal - Queer coded? (She starts to flirt with a girl (you know that one scene im talking about))

Niko - ???? (Find out next season maybe)

Monty - Queer

Jenny -Lesbian (goth butch butcher)

The Cat King - Queer

Ester - Queer vibes (that one scene with Crystal???)

Night Nurse - idk her deal but it doesn't give straight energy

Dandelion Sprites - Queer coded (nothing they did was straight)

It has a 30+ year slow burn.

It also has one of the best confession scenes I have ever seen in my life.

@neil-gaiman is a part of this show so you know it's handled well.

All I'm saying is if you like shows that ooze queer energy then definitely check out the Dead Boy Detectives on Netflix

[iiseult]

𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒯𝓌𝑜: 𝒜𝓈 𝒬𝓊𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝑜𝒻 𝒥𝑒𝓇𝓊𝓈𝒶𝓁𝑒𝓂

CWs →  fluff, ANGST, historical inaccuracies, slow burn, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, eventual smut (once reader and baldwin are both over 18), leprosy, time-period accurate sexism, arranged marriage, descriptions of birth (not the reader), blood and mild gore (they don’t call it the dark ages for nothin!), one-sided pining

Wordcount: 5.1k

Note: Remember like three weeks ago when I lied to you all and said I’d have this out in a few days? I had to plan out a bit of the actual plot so that’s what took me so long. But I finally did it, so eat up! Also, I really do NOT know how medieval royal weddings worked but the shallow google searches I made weren’t good enough so let’s all hope this isn’t horribly inaccurate, though I’m sure it is. Do we care, chat?

Every day leading up to the wedding was a day that you saw red. Greeting your traitorous mother in the mornings made you see red, sharing a meal with your power-hungry father made you see red, and listening to the two of them prattle on about how you ought to behave once you were queen? That turned the world absolutely crimson. Each night, you crumpled up and clutched your skirts under the dinner table with shaking fists, creasing them with deep wrinkles that would take days to iron out, but all the while you continued to hold your head high, speaking only when spoken to just as you were taught as a girl. Your strained, thin-lipped smile was only let go of in the privacy of your own bedchambers, when it was replaced with a cold expression and even chillier disposition. Somehow, drifting apart from your family day by day wasn’t as painful as you had imagined it would be. It was easy, really, because there was nothing left for anyone to talk about. After all, your mother had always taught you that if you had nothing nice to say, you shouldn’t say anything at all. However, your sudden “demureness and obedience”, as they put it, did not go unnoticed. 

Your parents were positively delighted with your recent change, or “improvement,” in attitude. Your lady mother congratulated you for finally agreeing to fulfill your societal role as a subservient wife and mother– an aspect of life of which you had previously been a bit resentful– and your father perpetually reminded you how beneficial this marriage would be to the rest of your bloodline. Even your younger brothers seemed excited for you, constantly coming up with new questions to pester you with regarding life as royalty. The only thing keeping you sane was the knowledge that soon you’d be living far, far away from your conniving parents, free to do whatever you wished. Whichever benefits a royal connection brought them would be nothing compared to your own guaranteed lavish lifestyle. You’d soon have your own castle, your own servants, and even your own soldiers! Oh, and the husband, too. You kept forgetting about that part. 

In some ways, the fact that he was a leper was a great relief to you. That meant you’d most likely be spared many of the wifely duties you had so been dreading; mainly, consummating the marriage. At your age, only 14 years old yet, there was nothing that interested you about the male body, giving birth, or raising children. It was not so long ago that you had helped raise your own little brothers, and the idea of going through all of that again made you feel so trapped. Not to mention the fact that giving birth was extremely dangerous. And painful. And frightening. That thought caused a memory you had been repressing for years to resurface from the depths of your mind, like a buoy in the ocean. It was the tortured screams of your mother the night your youngest brother was born. Had you not known better, you might have thought she was being ripped in two, and the labor lasted for so many endless, terrible hours, which felt more like days. You remembered the midwives rushing around, and the maids leaving your mother’s room with armful after armful of blood-soaked sheets and sloshing buckets of burgundy water. As they passed the place where you were hugging your knees in the corridor, a drop fell at your feet and sunk slowly into the stone floor, leaving nothing but a small round stain. 

Once it was time to leave your family home for the castle, you said goodbye to the view from your window, which you had become well-accustomed to. It was probably the thing you’d miss most, besides your brothers. You closed your bedroom door for the last time and meandered down the familiar, dimly-lit corridor, taking note of the particular stone which was still adorned by that tiny dot of brownish red. A shiver ran down your spine. You opted out of doing a final sweep to make sure you’d packed all of your belongings, because soon enough, you’d have better things to replace them with, anyway. The knights they’d sent for you had loaded your bags onto their horses about an hour ago and set off for your new home. Now, the only thing left to transport was you. 

Another knight was waiting for you outside with a large white horse. He watched as you hugged your mother and father stiffly, pretending not to notice your mother’s tears as she kissed you on the forehead like she used to when you were younger. Before you were a lady. Before you were the queen of Jerusalem. Your father said nothing, but his somber expression and the distant look in his eyes and the loose grip he had on your hand as he kissed the top of it told you everything you needed to know. The knight helped you mount the horse and get comfortable sitting behind him, and you waved goodbye to your family as you were carried away, truly intending it to be for everything you had ever known. But whatever sadness you might have been feeling was overpowered by sheer determination. Now, at 14 years old, your life was finally beginning.  

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

The knight who sat in front of you on the horse did not turn out to be a very good conversationalist. The only responses you could draw out of him were along the lines of “Yes, Your Majesty,” or “No, Your Majesty.” You were hoping for someone a bit more…engaging, perhaps, as you were feeling an odd mixture of excitement and anxiety that grew with each and every gallop towards Jerusalem. And anxiety always made you talkative. 

“Is it fun at all, being a knight?” You shouted over the clip-clop of the horse’s hooves, breaking the long silence that you had been enduring since the beginning of the journey. 

“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty?”

“You know, protecting the kingdom and such. Isn’t it exciting? I find the idea to be absolutely thrilling! Don’t you think so?” 

He paused for a moment, and then replied flatly, “Yes, Your Majesty.” 

You pursed your lips, waiting in silence for a few moments, expecting him to elaborate, but no such luck. Was it really so hard to share a gory battle tale or two to pass the time? You knew knights were known for having excellent integrity and virtuousness, meaning they would never say something that could potentially scare a lady, but couldn’t he humor you just this once, while you were alone? But maybe he doesn’t want to talk about it, you thought, imagining how burdensome it must be to know the feeling of cutting someone’s head off. So, you graciously changed the subject and mentally patted yourself on the back for being so kind and just. It simply wouldn’t do, as future queen of Jerusalem, to force sensitive information out of this poor, traumatized knight for your own fleeting amusement. Maybe a few months earlier and it would have been acceptable, but alas. You sighed.

“This noble steed of yours is breathtaking. Does he have a name?” you questioned, admiring the animal’s snow-white pelt, entranced by the way its powerful muscles rippled beneath it.

“I do not know, Majesty. This horse belongs to the king. It is the only one His Majesty trusts, so he instructed me to collect you using it.” Another memory flashed through your mind, this time of your first meeting with your future husband. He had been riding this very horse that day, its stunning color matching that of his robes. Your heart fluttered at the idea that he’d cared so deeply for your safety, although it shouldn’t have surprised you. It was not as if he had parents forcing him into this marriage. He was accepting you in holy matrimony for some other reason, a reason entirely of his own. His own choice. A blush crept up the back of your neck, and you were suddenly thankful for the fact that the knight was facing away from you. You cleared your throat nervously. 

“Well, what’s it like, working for the king? Is he nice?” 

You felt the knight’s huge sigh before you heard it, your arms that were wrapped around his midsection rising and falling in tandem with the breath. 

“Yes, Your Majesty, the king is very…nice.”

“Is that all?” you muttered, rolling your eyes at his reservedness. You got the hint. You understood he didn’t want to talk, that much he had made very apparent, but that was just too damn bad. As queen of Jerusalem, you wanted to get to know your subjects, and who better to start with than the one sharing a horse with you? 

“Will I have my own chambers, or shall I share with the king?” You asked, holding back a giggle at the expression you were imagining the knight had on his face. 

“I am sure you will be provided with your own chambers, Your Majesty, but the choice of whether to use them or not will be entirely yours and your husband’s,” he replied, a hint of dry humor in his voice. You let out a loud laugh, which actually startled him a little, and then followed it up with another. 

“I wonder if he snores!” you said, between giggles. The knight smiled, shaking his head. After that, the journey to Jerusalem was easy. 

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

The next time you laid eyes on the king was when you were getting married, standing opposite each other in an architectural marvel of a cathedral, both dressed in extravagant clothing and expensive jewelry. His silver mask had recently been polished, and it shone beautifully in the sun, but still not as beautifully as his blue eyes. They were as you remembered them, only a bit brighter. His gold-trimmed robes were as white as ever, freshly washed and perfumed for the occasion. Even the gloves on his hands looked new and clean. You admired them as the priest rambled on in front of you. If God was listening right now, you thought, he’d surely be bored to tears. There was one part of the day you had enjoyed, though, which was the preparation for the wedding. You had been doted on by countless maids all morning, lining your eyes with black powder and weaving your hair into an intricate, interlocking braid pattern. The gown was altered to fit you perfectly, and the large, bell-like sleeves fell around your arms like wings. You were finally beginning to feel like a real queen. 

The ceremony seemed to drag on forever, but you passed the time by maintaining eye contact with King Baldwin. You drowned out the rest of the world and focused only on him. When you smiled, he smiled back. You could only see the corners of his eyes crinkling, but you knew what that meant. You cocked your head to the side, trying to imagine what his smile really looked like. During that evening you spent with him, you hadn’t gotten the chance to see it. Just as soon as he had taken off the mask, he had to put it back on. The consequences of your parents seeing Baldwin’s face would have been disastrous, but thankfully, their loud footsteps and jovial voices had carried quite well down the corridor, warning you of their arrival. Regardless of how short they were, those few seconds you’d spent admiring his bare face were enough to conjure up a half-formed image of what his smile might look like. However, that image disappeared when you saw him cock his head to the side, too, just as you had. You blinked twice. 

He blinked twice, too. 

Was he copying you on purpose? 

You shifted your feet, and he mirrored you, his robes shimmering like the ocean as they fluttered around him. You bit back a giggle. He was. Flames of mischief danced in his eyes, and something else, too, ignited there when you grinned at him. 

“…that these rings shall forever remained blessed, O Merciful Lord. Amen,” said the priest, approaching the king with a book, two rings laid on top of it. Suddenly, Baldwin became very serious, plucking one of the rings between his slender, gloved fingers and holding it gently. You stared as it glistened in the sunlight, which was penetrating the stained glass windows and casting colorful shadows around the altar. He slowly stepped towards you, making your heart begin to beat faster. His head stayed bowed as he presented you with his open palm. You held your breath and lifted your left hand, gingerly brushing your fingertips against his palm, now understanding what was about to happen. He effortlessly glided the ring onto your fourth finger, where it rested beautifully. The diamond glittered like water, mesmerizingly. Baldwin wrapped his fingers around your hand, now holding it as gently as he could, and the priest was now presenting you with a ring. You followed Baldwin’s lead, pushing it onto his fourth finger, which was waiting outstretched for you patiently. You stood mere inches apart, fingers of your left hands interwoven as the priest finished the prayers. The ring, as breathtaking as it was, was somehow still only secondary to the cerulean eyes of your now-husband, which were like two rich sapphires lined with delicate blonde hairs. 

“…And may God bless, preserve, and keep you, that you may have life and love everlasting. I pronounce that you now be man and wife together, in the Name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

The cathedral filled with polite claps and murmurs of “amen” as Baldwin released your hand and you turned to face the pews. Next to you, much to your surprise, he quickly dropped to his knees, his body angled towards you, clasping your fair hand between his. You gazed down at him through your lashes, suddenly feeling your cheeks burn. Boldly, Baldwin drew one hand up to his masked face, grasping it by the nose and swiftly pulling it to the side so that it was hiding his face from the crowd, but revealing it to you. He lifted your hand to his pink lips and pressed a searing kiss to it, liberally letting the physical contact linger, all the while maintaining eye contact with you from under his furrowed brow. You covered your mouth with your other hand to try and hide the toothy grin spreading across your face. He saw it anyway. The next thing you knew, he was grinning, too. You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear and laughed. He laughed. You realized that you no longer had to imagine what his smile looked like. 

After the wedding ceremony, you were promptly bombarded by happy civilians wishing to congratulate you, or simply to catch a glimpse of their new queen, and Baldwin was whisked away by his mother, who seemed to be perpetually by his side. It seemed that she was not quite ready yet to surrender the role of Baldwin’s caretaker to you– but you had no gripes with that. You figured you’d grow into the role of loving, doting wife, as opposed to starting it right away, and unfortunately, the idea of changing his bandages each night before bed still made you shudder. In reality, his mother was not exactly thrilled about the marriage, either. She hadn’t found you or your family quite noble enough for her precious son. However, she was smart enough to see that it was unlikely that anyone else would ever volunteer their daughter to marry a leper, so she begrudgingly allowed the union. 

From the crowd, two plainly dressed women had introduced themselves to you as Matilda and Amelia, claiming that they were to be your servants. They would apparently be with you at all times, tending to your every whim and aiding you during your ascent to the throne, as well as bathing you and dressing you. Matilda was an older, more severe woman who had immediately intimidated you; her lips were drawn together thinly and permanently pursed, creating deep wrinkles around her mouth, and the rest of her face was an intricate web of creases and lines. Her graying hair was pulled back tightly, exposing her thinning hairline and sun-spotted forehead. Even her hands looked harsh, the skin rough and dry, cracking in some places, like mud that had been baking under the summer sun for too long. Amelia was quite the opposite; a timid, pretty young thing with wide brown eyes, fair hair, and a delicate frame. She’d barely had the courage to tell you her name, and rushed into the curtsey to avoid having to make eye contact with you for too long. She seemed to be around the same age as you, if not even younger.

After the attendees from the wedding had mostly dispersed, Matilda brought you back inside the castle to finally see your bedchamber, which you were to have all to yourself. She and Amelia led you through winding corridors and beautiful flowering courtyards, pointing out all the most significant landmarks along the way, such as the great hall, the kitchen, the maid’s chambers, the library, the chapel, the towers, the gardens, and the hundreds of guest bedrooms with conjoined washrooms. The last thing she showed you before your own room was the king’s quarters, which were directly across from yours. 

“Now, Amelia, go draw us a bath. There’s no need for two of us to be standing around here idly while the Queen inspect her chambers,” she ordered, and Amelia nodded, scurrying away to the washroom silently. 

As Matilda threw open the giant oak doors of your room, you couldn’t help but gasp, suddenly rooted to the spot. It was glorious. Taking up the majority of the room was a massive bed with four handsome posts, all carved with intricate floral patterns and stained a deep brown. The mattress was topped with overly-stuffed burgundy throw pillows and a comforter to match. Connecting to the four posts was a frame, from which wine-colored velvet curtains hung to give you some privacy. The same fabric was used to shroud the windows, which were floor-length and leaded. At the foot of the bed lay a pile of bags and wrapped items– all of your belongings from home! On the wall across from them was a large dressing table, covered in jewels and precious metals and bottles of fine-smelling oils. A small, round stool with a cushion on it sat underneath. Your eyes sparkled with excitement, and you couldn’t help but abandon Matilda in the doorway, running and throwing yourself face-first onto the bed, just like you used to at home. You giggled and kicked your feet up into the air, unsurprisingly beginning to sink into the plush mattress. Immediately, you felt your body melt against the malleable, pillowy surface, deciding that you definitely approved of its fine quality. Your bed from back home simply couldn’t compare. However, your glee was short-lived, because it was abruptly interrupted by a stern voice. 

“Your Majesty! You must cease this behavior at once and right yourself! That wedding gown is priceless, and you mustn’t risk causing it any damage!” Matilda scolded, pulling you up by the arm and frantically kneeling to check the delicate garment for any possible tears or imperfections. You winced and apologized quietly, suddenly feeling embarrassed at your juvenile behavior. She was right. As a matter of fact, most things in the palace were probably priceless, and it wouldn’t do to act so impulsively, to be so unladylike. Even you, in your youth, knew better than that. You crossed your arms over your chest, beginning to feel rather insecure upon realizing just how much you had to learn about life as royalty. 

“Come, child, it is time to undress. You must be bathed and prepared for your wedding night,” Matilda called, holding out a hand, her voice much more soft and gentle this time.

You gulped, not wanting to think about that, preferring to cross that bridge when you got to it. She bustled over to the magnificent dressing table, pulling out the stool for you to sit on. You obliged, seating yourself in front of her and watching in the mirror as her spindly fingers deftly unwound your intricate braids. It was relaxing, the feeling of her experienced hands nimbly dancing around your scalp, so you let the buildup of tension from the day slowly seep out of your muscles, loosening up more and more every second that passed. Soon, she was finished, and helped you to your feet, ordering you to keep your arms out straight as she undressed you. She pulled out pins from here and there, untied laces all around, and in a matter of minutes you were ready for your bath. 

The water was warm and steaming as you stepped in, your skin breaking out into goosebumps at the feeling. Rose petals floated across the surface of the water, giving the entire washroom a fresh scent. As you expected, Amelia was waiting for you silently, brush in hand, ready to scrub you vigorously from head to toe. You braced yourself, expecting the rough bristles to be painful, but once she began working attentively, it wasn’t so bad at all. Yes, they were scratchy, but that’s exactly what you needed to get rid of all the dirt and dead skin. She lathered you in delicate smelling soap and added some more fragrant oils to the water, letting you soak until your skin had absorbed all the moisture it possibly could. Not a single inch of you was neglected by the time the water had grown cold, at which point you got out and were dried with a fluffy white towel. 

Next, you were ushered back into your chambers and changed into a pretty blue gown made of satin, which apparently “complimented the color of the kings’ eyes perfectly,” according to Matilda. You felt your gut twist at the mention of him, at the prospect of being alone in a room with him and that piercing gaze again. Now that you were man and wife, everything was different. You had a duty to fulfill, and it seemed to be unavoidable, despite how young and vulnerable you were. Despite how averse to it you might be. Your mother had told you all about it, about how it would only last a few minutes if you were lucky, and that you just had to breathe deeply and count the seconds until it was over. How it happened to every woman at some point in her life, and that what follows would be completely and utterly worth every second of endurance. How rewarding it was to raise a child, or two children, or as many as your womb could bear. But no matter how much you tried to reassure yourself, you were still scared. You didn’t want that yet. You were only 14. 

But before attending to your marital duties, first, there was dinner. You were seated at the complete opposite end of the table as Baldwin, as far as physically possible away from him, despite the fact that he was the only person there you had ever spoken to. You were too far away to be able to tell if he was even looking at you from under his mask. Next to him was his mother, who proceeded to shoot you sideways glances the entire night. The rest of the table was filled with noble men and women whom you did not recognize, their titles unfamiliar to you and the lands they hailed from even more obscure. You picked at your food and tried to stay as silent as possible to avoid making a mockery of yourself on your first night as Queen of Jerusalem. Sooner than you had hoped, dinner had concluded, and you were taken aside by Matilda, who pulled you into an empty corridor as the guests began filtering out of the castle. 

“Child, do you know what is expected of you on your wedding night?” She asked, her voice low so that nobody except the two of you could hear the subject matter at hand. You took a deep breath and straightened you back in an attempt to appear more mature, before replying, 

“Yes, I will lie down and be still and hope that I am blessed with a child.” 

The woman smiled at you and clasped your shoulder, seemingly approving of your answer. 

“Exactly right, my dear. The king will call on you when he is ready, so you may go back to your room and occupy your time with an activity of your choosing until you are collected.” 

You nodded solemnly and thanked her before slowly making your way back to your room, trying to take as long as possible in an attempt to actually slow down time. Upon deeper reflection during this walk, you came to the conclusion that it was not being alone with the king that you were afraid of, but rather the act of consummating the marriage, which was, of course, something he had every right to do with you that night. It was the correct course of action. It was what all newlyweds did, no matter how young and afraid they were. Did he know what he was doing, you wondered, or was he just as oblivious as you? You couldn’t imagine the young king being oblivious about much of anything, in all honesty. He was far too intelligent– something you had seen for yourself over that game of chess. 

Once you arrived at your room, Amelia was waiting at the door for you, an even more wide-eyed look on her face than usual. Uh oh, you thought to yourself. 

“His Majesty the King has requested your presence in his chambers, Your Highness,” she said quietly, bowing her head as she spoke. How did he get here so fast? You thought to yourself, terror rising in your chest. Amelia watched in half fear and half amusement as you frantically wiped your clammy hands on the bodice of your dress and ran your fingers through your hair, which was cascading down your shoulders freely. She was young, too, and unwed, and the idea of a wedding night was something that made her stomach churn as well, so she offered you a sympathetic look and watched as you dragged your feet across the hall, knocking on the imposing oak doors of the king’s bedchambers. 

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

Baldwin had never been so jittery in his life. As he sat on the edge of his bed, waiting for you to arrive, he fidgeted with his gloves, pulling them off by the fingers and then pulling them on again, over and over. All throughout dinner he had been gazing across the table at you, ignoring his mother’s neverending ranting as you stared down at your plate. Though you were only a blue blur with a vaguely maidenlike shape from where he was sitting, he was still completely enchanted, his heart beating in his throat every time you looked up in his general direction. He wondered if you could tell he was looking at you. Since the hour you were wed, he was able to think of nothing but you; your dazzling smile, your gorgeous hair, your playful sense of humor, the way the light in the cathedral illuminated your eyes. As the servants bathed him in strong-smelling medicinal herbs and wrapped the raw areas of skin with fresh bandages, he daydreamed about your voice, your laugh. And now, as he sat on the edge of his bed, awaiting your imminent arrival, he thought of practically everything except you. 

He panicked about the state of his body, the pressure of consummating a marriage, the burden of fathering a child at such a young age. He panicked about the weight of ruling an entire kingdom all by himself, no longer able to entrust the brunt of the work to Raymond, and of being a suitable husband. He panicked about how many years he might even have left, if his illness continued to progress. But every worry, every fear, every doubt left his mind as soon as he heard you knock on his door. 

He leapt to his feet, hastily pulling his left glove all the way back on and bounding over to the door, throwing it open wide with a grin on his face, to reveal… you, standing there, gaunt and sweating, looking like you had just suffered a bout of cholera. The smile on his face fell a bit, but it couldn’t be wiped completely clean. At least he could finally be with his bride, his love, his queen. 

“Good evening, Your Highness,” you murmured, your head bowed, pointing down at your shoes, as well as the freshly polished ones directly across from you. 

“Good evening, my Queen,” he breathed, heart beating quickly as you shuffled into his room. He closed the door behind you, letting it shut with a ‘click’ before following you over to the middle of the room, where you hovered like a ghost, still staring at the ground and clasping your hands tightly in front of you. A tense, silent moment passed, and still, you didn't move. Whatever was left of his smile faded from his unmasked face, and the panic from earlier began to return, crashing over him in icy waves. Why wouldn’t you look at him? He cleared his throat, shifting his weight from leg to leg. 

“Are you feeling very well tonight, my lady?” He asked tentatively, shuffling a bit closer. 

You sucked in a sharp breath and suddenly turned, stiltedly making your way over to the bed. 

“Let’s just get this started then, shall we?” You said tersely, laying down on your back on the plush covers and screwing your eyes shut tightly. 

“I am ready.” 

King Baldwin stared at you blankly, frozen in the middle of the room, and completely panicking. No, no, no, this was all wrong, this was not how he wanted it to go…he absolutely did not want to force you into it, to do anything you didn’t also want…and you clearly didn't want it. You were lying there, as stiff as a board. This was the final straw for him.

He wasn’t ready for it yet either, he decided. He would just have to lie to his mother. When she discovered that the queen was, in fact, not pregnant, he would blame it on his own body, claiming to be infertile. It was probably true, at any rate. He took a deep breath, feeling shame and embarrassment at not being able to consummate his own marriage rise to his cheeks, and spoke three words, 

“You may go,” 

And those were the last three words he spoke to you for the next three years. 

Note: I'll give you a kiss if you can count how many times I reference you being the "Queen of Jerusalem" in this chapter.

[bluehairperson]

I had to.

Original tweet here.

[naifaylin-of-syllandesa]

“AFTG isn’t a Slow burn until the second time you read it” ?????? yeah okay what kind of fluff are y’all used to reading on AO3. I was recommended that series by a friend, Andrew decked Neil with his exy racket 20 seconds into the book, and followed that up by tHE most sexually charged scene between Andrew and Neil in the elevator and I was at lunch with that friend that same day demanding answers as to when they were getting together. How did nobody see it coming until the 3rd book ISTG for the love of queer coded characters they had more tension 3 chapters in to the book than Keith and Lance had 6 seasons into voltron and that drawn out queer-baiting pile of bullshit

[bean-bean2000]

The Maid - Series Masterlist

Pairing: Loki x reader

Summary: You wake up one day to the man who held you prisoner, throwing you to the ground at the feet of the royal guards. You’re being sold to work for the royal crown, as repayment for the debt left behind by your deceased parents. What will you do when the guards are given too much freedom to treat you as they wish. Will you get your revenge? What will happen when you’re suddenly chosen to be the king’s personal maid?

Note: I do not accept nor allow any of my work to be copied, reposted, translated, or used for anything without my explicit consent.

I am not responsible for what you consume and read on the internet. Please read all warnings at the beginning of each chapter before proceeding. Read at your own caution. Thank you!

**ONGOING SERIES**

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

..................

[1pcii]

I love how zolu fics that included marriage are usually between two extremes:

Either they got married in their solo sailing days/before meeting nami and have been married the whole time.

Or they're going through the slowest of slowest burns ever spanning the entirety of one piece and vow to get married after they fulfill their dreams.

Edit: fic recs in the notes

[the-whispers-of-death]

Reader is male & his hair is described to be long enough to reach his nape (long hair symbolizes a time of peace in his culture). I just made up kingdom names. Part One, Part Two

**

After a morning in council with your advisors, seeing to your subjects and their grievances, you were in desperate need of some stress relief. So you put on your armor and made your way to the training courtyard where veteran knights and trainees alike where training, your hands itching to have a sword in them.

"My king!" Several knights around the training courtyard cried out at the sight of you, bowing. But your eyes were trained on Ghost, who had stopped the training match he was overseeing.

"Sir Ghost, I wish to spar with someone. And I figured you were the best knight of mine to spar with," you said, walking over to Ghost. You smiled at him, able to look him into the eyes easily since you were around the same height. "If you're up for it, of course. If not, I can spar with someone else."

Ghost shook his head. "No, I can spar with you, my king." He gestured for someone to bring you both training swords and shields. "It would be my honor to help you keep your swordsmanship skill sharp."

You laughed at that, placing your hands in gloves before taking a training sword out of the two you were given and taking a shield in the other hand. "Are you keeping my swordsmanship skill sharp or am I keeping yours sharp?" you teased, waiting until he held a sword and shield before getting into position.

"How about both, my king? Neither of us can get rusty."

You nodded in response and those were the last words spoken between you two as Ghost strikes first, swinging his sword. You parried with your own and pushed him back, quickly striking back just as quick as he struck first.

Since they were training swords, they barely made dents into either of your armors. Still, the act of swinging and wielding the sword was enough for you, enough for you to love the thrill it gave you to spar with your knight.

Parry, block, strike.

The movements seemed so rhythmic, your sword and shield an extension of yourself. Even then, exhaustion was wearing on you both as you could feel it settle in your bones and see his balaclava and white mask start to get soaked with Ghost's sweat. Your movements were starting to slow down, but neither of you were giving up yet.

That was, until Ghost unarmed you. One second you were thinking of parrying his upcoming strike, the next he was sending your sword flying in the air and away from you. You heard it clang against the ground, signaling the end of the match.

"Well done, Sir Ghost," you said, panting. A small smirk made its way onto your face. "Though I'm quite glad that my knight is good enough to best me. Means I'm placing my life in the right hands."

Ghost straightened up from his hunched stance, nodding. "You gave me a run for my money, my king," he said, though that might've been to make you feel better about losing the match.

You chuckled and followed him to where his canteen of water was, watching him pull up his balaclava enough to reveal his mouth. You greedily watched him take a sip of water, a few drops dripping from his mouth and down his chin.

He must've seen you watching him because as soon as he finished drinking from the canteen, he didn't cap it again, instead he offered it to you. "Are you thirsty, my king?"

"Oh, I can't drink from your canteen, it's yours. I'll be fine," you replied, trying to refuse the canteen, but he wasn't having it.

"Nonsense, you must be thirsty after out sparring. Drink, I don't mind," he murmured, his gruff voice softening just softly.

Ghost didn't let you hold the canteen, instead tilting it himself so you could drink from it. Your eyes closed as the water hit your tongue. It was an intimate gesture, but everyone else in the courtyard was too busy training to watch you two.

You made sure not to drink too much of his canteen, pulling away when you were done. "Thank you."

You watched him cap his canteen again, nodding in response to your thanks. Silence washed over you two for a few seconds and you were about to excuse yourself when he spoke.

"You seem troubled, my king." Ghost turned to you once his canteen was set down on the bench again. "Come, sit with me please. Talk to me."

He sat down on the bench and you hesitated before sitting down. Your weary bones felt relief at sitting down. Sure, you spent the best part of the morning sitting on your throne, but you hadn't relaxed since you woke up, not until now.

"My advisors are worried that I don't know how to rule this kingdom during a time of peace," you murmured, your voice soft so no one else heard word of your advisors basically thinking you were unfit to lead the kingdom during an era of peace.

It was true that when you took the throne from your father when you were twenty-four, Eridies had been in war with Loria for at least a year and the war lasted until six months ago which meant the kingdom had been at war for eight years. Your reign had started with war and a warrior king was what you had been for eight years. Just because you ushered peace to the kingdom, didn't mean that you knew how to keep peace.

Ghost huffed at that, clearly thinking differently. He hesitated for a few seconds before he rested his gloved hand on your knee.

"My king, you've been doing a wonderful job of ensuring the peace you've won stays. You might have been a warrior king for the past eight years, but you've had a kind heart and a heart of a peaceful king. You care about Eridies, its people," he said, rubbing his thumb against your knee. "I have no doubt you'll continue to keep the peace alive."

Your eyes flickered from his hand on your knee to his own eyes, holding eye-contact.

This man, a man you had never fully seen his face, was a steady presence by your side for the past eight years. You never went into battle without knowing he'd be covering your back, your own personal shadow. You knew him like you knew yourself, he was like a sword; an extension of yourself. You didn't know what you were like without him and you found, you didn't want to know what life was like without him by your side.

A smile graced your lips and you rested your hand on his, squeezing it gently. "You know, I think as long as I have you, I won't mind listening to the people's grievances over one farmer stealing the other's crops," you said, intending on lightening the mood.

Judging by the soft chuckle, a sound only you managed to get from him, your response had its intended effect. Ghost turned his hand over so your palms were facing each other and he could intertwine his fingers with yours.

He knew what he was doing was dangerous. He should be keeping his distance from you, but you pulled him in like no other. Every time he wanted to pull back, his heart drew closer to yours. It felt like your soul was intertwined with his, trying to come together to form a whole soul.

"I'll be by your side for as long as you need me to, my king. As long as you'll have me."

Reblogs are welcomed & appreciated! Asks are open, feel free to pop in and talk or request something! (SFW requests only, please and thank you)

[cheesecakemermaid1048]

Does like anyone notice how pre-corruption burning spice's hair was up in a bun or least some kind of ponytail.Compared side by side,the pre corrupted version's hair looks way more neat and well kempt while post corrupted one's hair is more disheveled and messy.

Other stuffs I have noticed in his pre corruption form is that ,he seems to be wear shirt or some of top clothing.The silhouette doesnt seem to match his shoulder plates.

Lastly,his...ummm,head thing?I don't know the world for but here it seemed to be making perfect ring.While in corrupted version,it looks like angry ice brows.

So in short, burning spice let his hair down,took off his top clothing,and separate his crown ring(?)(Someone if you know what this is,please correct me)

[arsheyee]

Sukuna x Y/N: Your first blowjob

SMUT AHEAD KIDS BELOW 18 STAY OUT

I saw this Sukuna fanart and I was inspired to write a new smut 🫣🫣🫣🫣

Sukuna is hot 🥵 I am sorry he is toxic but hot 🥵😍

Hope you enjoy this smut 😅😅😅

I tried my best to write it ❤️🥹

TW: maybe a bit of Somnophilia

Sukuna the jujustu sorcerer , the king of curses. He is well aware of his superiority complex which is why he is conflicted about you.

Those red eyes glowed in the dark and stared down at your sleeping posture. Your ass up and you looked so defenceless and soft. What has gotten in to him a mere human like you has changed him completely. Sleeping with his robe wrapped around your body. You fell asleep inhaling his scent from the robe. It’s smelled like everything you dreamed of.

You lied deep in slumber.

He watched you everyday. You sweet innocent face. You were the perfect form of what they call a people pleaser. The meekest of the flowers.

Despite being your boyfriend he couldn’t get enough of you. The toxic nature of your relationship excited him. To defy the rules and standards . The king of curses head over heels in love with you.

You turn over on your back and your shirt rides up revealing your boobs. Your soft hums in your sleep made his cock harden. At this sight he starts palming his cock through his pants .

Fisting his dick he pumped in steady but quick pulls, tugging himself closer to the brink of ecstasy as he imagined you kneeling batting those innocent doe eyes as if you didn’t know how fucking pretty you were.

Would you blush when your lips wrapped around his swollen red tip, would you grimace at the salty taste of his arousal on your tongue.

He comes closer to the bed and started with little touches; his big palms and long fingers gently roaming your exposed thighs, the curves of you waist and your chest, earning a moan from you that aroused him even more, giving him sinful ideas on how to fuck you in your sleep.

He looks up to see you still sleeping and continues to remove your shorts feeling your wetness.

“I see you are soaking already. Even in your sleep you little slut” he smirks

“Seems like it is a good dream you’ll be having. I’ll be your living dream babygirl” he whispers in your ears.

You can hear him but you are trapped in your dream that it is to good to feel real.

Without a warning, he slipped two fingers inside you, making you jolt in your sleep. He checked to see that your eye lids remained closed, but your face scrunching up. His smirk grew wider, seeing how innocent and helpless you were under his control.

“So fucking warm” His fingers curled inside you as his long nails digged deep.

The overwhelming pleasure got you tossing, closing your legs still deep in your sleep but his large hand forced them open.

You realise that this feels too real to be a dream and you shot your eyes open.

“Su-Sukuna what are you.. ahh~” you moaned as he added a third finger in you his fingers worked faster and faster. Your hands tugged on your bed sheets, as your moans became loud. You were about to come but he pressed his hand on your stomach and pulled his fingers out.

“ Wh- Whyyy give it to me I was so close” you whined for him to continue.

“Nah, not yet, not yet..”

He stripped himself of the flimsy robe. The cool air kissed his cockhead, the relief of freeing himself from of his clothes was intense and he gave one lazy pump of his length whilst he waited for your reaction.

The precum was dripping down making your drool. Your eyes widened are were, transfixed by his cock and that only boosted his ego even further.

He sat on the edge of bed and told you to get up and come to the spot on the floor between his thighs, spreading himself wider and rolling his hips forward.

You were kneeling before you even realised you were complying with the silent order, every inch of you shivered in anticipation of what he was going to do next.

This was your first ever blowjob. That only made you more excited and wet.

Fixed by his grin and the calculating eyes that held your gaze on him, you hadn’t noticed that he was wrapping your fingers around his erection.

Heat, heavy and decadent seared your palm. You gasped at how his skin felt under your touch, how prominent the veins were against your fingers and how he twitched in your grasp as you tightened your grip. 

“You'll taste it, won't you?” he grunted with a smirk on his lips, daring you to even consider disobeying his wish.

You grimaced at the bitter taste, two fingers pressed down on your tongue and sampled the precum that continued to leak from him. 

The longer you savoured his unique flavour, the more you grew accustomed to it. Certainly, it wasn’t some delicious taste but saliva pooled in your mouth, ropes of it connected your lips and fingers.

“Open your mouth more slut.” You forced himself into your innocent and inexperienced mouth until you gagged.

Big doe eyes were his reward, your entire posture straightened as if you were lit up from his words, lewd though they may be. His hand stroked at the back of your head, brain running a mile a minute as he changed tack and fixed you with another slight pout.

“You’ll take all of me, won’t you, little one? My good girl is always so willing to make me happy. That’s it. Just… like… that. Fuck.”

He was guiding your head down as he spoke, bending you to his will with ease. Your mouth parted much like he knew your thighs would do soon enough and he groaned in delight as his aching tip grazed against tongue. 

Mere minutes into your first-ever blowjob and your jaw was aching. Saliva escaped the sides of your mouth, slurping noises making you blush as your watery eyes went up to meet his.

His gaze was hooded, lips parted with pants of air passing through them every few seconds. When he locked eyes with you, he licked those devilish lips with a smile offered along with a soft groan.

“Oh, little one, you’re a natural. Don’t fight it, relax baby. Let me feel your throat,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

You fought down the instinct to reject the intrusion as it neared your throat, the muscles working furiously and causing you to gag around him.

Shifting on your knees in discomfort, you blinked, letting the tears fall from your eyes. Gripping the base of his cock, you squeezed roughly and heard him curse under his breath from the pressure. The nails from your free hand found purchase in the material covering his thigh and bunched it in your frantic grip.

“Fuck fuck fuck” cursing out he came in your mouth.

“Swallow little one. Don’t waste even a drop. It’s tasty isn’t it”.

Yes it was musky and salty but regardless it tasted delicious to you. You swallowed all of it.

“Now your turn baby” he smirked pushing you down on the bed harshly.

[olessan]

Made a full compilation with every scene. Timestamps below 😘

00:00 (1x03) Whomst? 00:15 (1x03) One who loves the Stars 02:34 (1x04) Just a Petty Lord Actually™ 02:49 (1x04) White leaves 04:06 (1x05) Tactics/Faith 05:21 (1x05) [majestic parade music, Bear McCreary you're a blessing] 05:53 (1x06) Ship's cabin 06:16 (1x07) THE QUEEN!!!! 06:36 (1x07) "I see." "Do you?" 08:33 (1x07) Cliffside chat 10:21 (1x08) "I have you." 14:30 (2x03) Mourning 16:33 (2x03) Coronation 19:04 (2x05) Night discussion in Miriel's quarters 21:27 (2x06) "What of my heart? 🥺" 23:11 (2x06) The parts of the trial where they're behaving like THAT in front of everyone's salad 25:49 (2x08) "My place is here" Then where is mine if not with you?", AKA Narsil 27:37 (2x08) In the ending montage

[radioregia]

First chapter up! If you're feeling down, go read "Moonlight Sonata"! It's a radioapple fiction that I've made!

UPDATES ARE EVERY MONDAY- UNLESS SPECIFIED OTHERWISE!

I drew some basic art to celebrate It's official release!(I'm a better writer than artist LOL)

[pinklikeroses]

Moon star au~🌙💕

Realizations

Her:

Wants to be in a relationship but is incredibly anxious and insecure, thinks aside from her appearance and class status no one would ever truly love her. Thinks she’s boring, with her talk of politics, birds and botany

Him:

Desperately wants to be in a romantic relationship but has enemies that won’t hesitate to hurt him and the ones he loves. He doesn’t want to risk falling for someone he could lose so soon

[doodlesdreaming]

When you’re the voice of reason, but they woke up and chose violence.