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futurevision23454 · 5 months ago

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mehnazfinejewels · 8 months ago

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leyavo · 5 months ago

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Ghost getting badly injured during a mission that they have to call his next of kin.

Next of kin?? What do you mean next of kin.

Mrs Riley?! He doesn’t wear a wedding band to protect you. Not even at home, worried there’ll be a mark to show he sometimes wears one.

It’s then that the TF 141 find out he’s married to you. They’re all wondering what you’re like, convinced you must be in the same line of work.

You’ve been married for six years, only to be called if it’s serious like now.

Soap’s jaw is on the floor as you walk into the infirmary, you don’t even glance their way as you rush to Simon’s bedside. Your hand on his chest as you lean down to kiss his forehead and brush back his hair.

You’re well put together, a lightweight robe layered over jeans and a simple vest. Pops of colour on your olive thick framed glasses and golden wedged heels. Hair pinned back with a pencil, leather bag overpacked with a book, filofax, purse and little cosmetic bag.

Price introduces himself, shaking your hand. A dainty diamond ring sparkling on your finger. Your silver bangles jingle as you greet each man, repeating their names and they know Ghost has not told you anything about them.

All he told you is that he likes working alone, but sometimes works with others.

You stay at the base for a while till he’s well enough to travel home. Eating with him and the guys in the canteen, they’re still staring at Simon like he’s grown another head. Watching you two squabble about little things.

“Do not put that shit on my plate,” Simon grumbled.

“It’s broccoli not a bomb.” You can’t help but roll your eyes, shoulder bumping into his arm as you try to move him along in the line.

The art director job you have takes you all around the world, sometimes you get to meet up with your husband. Simon treating it like a mission in itself, you playing along as you talk to him over the phone as you walk the cobbled streets to see him. “Target engaged, moving in,” you whisper as you spot him standing outside a coffee shop.

FaceTiming him whilst he’s at base so you can show him the little trinket you found in an antique store. He’s laying down in his bed, headphones on so no one hears.

“Nearly the same age as you luv.” Anything to see that little poutie face and brows furrowed. He loves teasing you that you are older than him, but it backfires whenever he complains at his body aching. “You’re supposed to be young and spry.��

Being a couple years older than Simon, you’ve got your shit together. Which drew Simon to you. Both no nonsense, say what you feel and work it out. No games, no silent treatment.

“Watch your tone Si, you’re not in the army here. You’re home so don’t give me that shit.”

“Watch my tone, luv. You just flooded the bathroom!”

“You distracted me!”

“Why don’t I get some towels and we both sort it out.”

Once Simon’s fully recovered, you invite his team to stay at your shared home together for the weekend.

A cottage in the countryside, there’s an eclectic mix of vintage furniture and textiles. That one rug Simon shipped back from Morocco in the living room. Paintings, pottery and sculptures scattered around the rooms. Rocky, a German Shepard trailing after you as you give them a tour of the place.

You make friends with Price’s wife who’s around the same age as you. Even try to set Gaz up with a client you think he’d get on with. Bond with Soap telling him you lived in Scotland as a late teen where you had your first art assistant job there.

Price’s wife scheduling a double date in five months time. Simon side eying John. She’s also invited you to come stay for a girls weekend at the Price house.

[wife/gf masterlist]

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sonoor · 1 year ago

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weddingchuda8 · 1 year ago

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A post shared by Hitesh bangles (@wedding_chuda)

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lokischocolatefountain · 1 year ago

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at last, my love has come along

Fandom: Gladiator II Pairing: General Acacius x Wife!Reader Rating: PG13 Word count: 2.9k words Summary: After the end of a loveless marriage, your father finds a match for you in General Acacius. Warnings: age gap, arranged marriage, mentions of maternal and infant mortality, widowed reader, widowed Acacius, past neglect, virgin!reader. A/N: Marcus Acacius has me in a chokehold and he knows I like it. This is a second look at the characters from home in three days, do not wash but happens earlier. You can read them in whatever order you wish. Title stolen from Etta James' At Last.

“What is he like? The Dominus?”

“He is very kind,” said one of the girls who worked on your toga. You nodded, the pearls in your earrings brushing against your skin and making the hairs on your body stand upright.

“What of my hair?”

“What of it, Domina?”

“The sun has already set. You said the Dominus will be home soon,” you said, fidgeting with the silk fabric that your sisters had presented you with before you began your travel from your village to the city. Something that would help you fit in better with the fashionable ladies and not make your husband, the General, look bad in society’s eyes.

It was not for lack of wealth that you did not own many luxurious fabrics. Only that such things did not reach your village easily and your father, despite his place in the Senate, never brought the right things home. Not for a lack of love for you and your siblings but a lack of taste in women’s clothing and jewelry.

You thought as a young girl of only fourteen that your husband, the first one, would bring you the soft silks and lustrous gold unlike your father. But he did not even bring himself home. You had been married off through letters exchanged between him and your father. It took two of living in his mansion and raising his two children from his last marriage before he finally came home. And when he did, he did not act as a husband should. Not how your older sisters told you he ought to be.

When Consus passed, you mourned not as a wife but as a friend.

“The dominus prefers unbraided hair,” the girl standing behind you said. You nodded, registering the information in your heart. You wanted to know all that there was to know about him before he even arrived. Perhaps then you would be pleasing enough to have a fate different from your last marriage.

It had been all but a year since you were widowed that your father brought you news that you would be wed to a General who lived in the capital. There was no wedding for you even this once. A repeat of your last fate. You had resigned to never knowing your husband when you reached his grand home and spent your night with servants rather than his bed.

How foolish you were to hope.

But the situation changed for the better quite suddenly when you received word that General Acacius was returning from his travel soon. You expected that the news would calm your nerves but it somehow achieved the opposite. Fear.

When the girls were happy with how they had decorated you for your husband’s eyes, they led you to his chambers. They left you there alone to stew in your anxieties about how the night would fare. The quiet of the night did not help matters. All that filled the space was the tides of the sea and the occasional clinking of your bangles as you fidgeted with your dress.

It was all you yearned for in your last marriage, a night of intimacy as a husband and wife should. But now that you were at the precipice of getting what you wanted, dread filled your chest. You’d heard from your older sisters and servants what it was like to lay with a man. From their stories, it did not seem enjoyable. Not for women. It was only something to bear for the sake of having children. And all you wanted was to have children.

You loved Consus’ children of course. They were all you had in the lonely life you led with him. But they were taken from you soon, married off or sent to battle in many campaigns. And you wanted your own children. Have what your brothers and sisters had. Hold your newborns in your arms and raise them from their first breaths rather than from the middle of their childhood.

In your fantasizing of motherhood, you had completely forgotten that you had to be bed by your husband to become a mother. You had forgotten your sisters describe how painful it would be the first time a man took you. If one’s husband was a barbarian with a big cock, it would hurt each time although not as much as the first. A servant girl told you that she had the luxury of a kind husband who would not touch her if she said she was feeling unwell. But there were also husbands who would beat their women for refusing to perform their marital duties when asked.

Your thoughts grew louder and louder in your head until you couldn’t hear the ocean anymore. And you most certainly did not hear when the doors opened and your husband entered. When you perceived his presence, he was already sat by you. When he spoke your name, your heart nearly jolted out of your chest.

He laughed softly and looked you over with a smile on his plush lips. The candle lights illuminated his golden skin and the strands of gray that interspersed his dark hair. The candle on his other side shone bright to highlight his silhouette, his aquiline nose standing bold, characteristic of a valorous man. The sight had you transfixed and you wondered if his godlike visage aided him in battle. If it distracted his enemies long enough for him to slay them.

He reached his hand out to yours, brought it up from your lap and placed a kiss on your fingers. He looked up at you from your fingers, his brown eyes drawing you in like Cupido himself was pulling your strings like a marionette.

“I have kept you waiting for long.”

Not as long as Consus did. But you kept the comment to yourself. You’d never come close to a marital bed but something told you that men did not want to hear about a woman’s previous husband.

You spoke for the first time in his presence. “You are an important man. I understand.”

He smiled, dropping your hand to the space between you but not leaving it. His hand was rough from battle yet gentle in touch. It enveloped yours, exuding a soft dominance like the rest of him did. He was quite large and you winced internally, hoping that it did not translate to his size elsewhere. Did your sisters ever tell you about the relationship between the size of his man and his manhood? You couldn’t quite remember.

“Have the servants made the home comfortable for you? It has been quite a while since this home had a domina.”

You nodded and licked your lips, wishing you could run out to fetch some water for your drying mouth. “It is comfortable. And very beautiful. I have never seen the ocean before.”

“There is nothing like the peace the sound of the waves brings. Nothing like the cool breeze at night and relaxing on the balcony to indulge in the stunning blue expanse.”

“The sight of the ocean when the sun sets is truly incomparable. I spent many evenings mesmerized by it.”

Like magic, the pressure in your lower belly disappeared. You spoke about the beauty of Rome and indulging in it. He put you at ease, drawing smiles out of you, each one wider than the last. But you had a way of finding something to torture yourself over. As you exchanged details about your past, you blurted the question out.

“Am I to your liking?”

“You are beautiful. Worthy of the praises your father sings of his younger daughter in the senate. And at banquets. The bathhouses and libraries and markets. Rome does not know your name but she knows you.”

“I…” you swallowed, relieved that he found you beautiful but afraid for everything else to come. You were inexperienced but even you knew that beautiful faces were not enough to be an adequate wife. It was not adequate for Consus and you did not want a repetition of that with the General. “I do not know what you require in a wife. But I will learn. I have kept my hair out of braids. I learned that you prefer it that way. I will learn everything else too.”

Please allow me to learn. Do not discard me for my inadequacies before I have the opportunity to prove myself.

“Your father also described you as dutiful. I see he was right.”

“Stand up,” he said and took your hand once again, guiding you to stand in front of him. “Undress. Let me see you.”

He leaned towards the headboard of the bed, relaxing with his arm draped over it as he looked at you. You felt your heart thud like a galloping horse on the battlefield. Like a good soldier would, you persisted into your own battle and undid the ties and clasps that kept your clothes in place. He sat back, exuding power with his broad shoulders, wide chests and thick thighs spread apart.

Something about the situation made you feel like cattle in the market being evaluated by customers. Did the cows feel the way you did? Did they wonder as they were purchased if they would be slaughtered for meat or kept to be bred and milked? At least they had the peace of mind knowing that the man who bought them was satisfied with his purchase.

The General hadn’t seen you before he took you for a wife.

Silk pooled around your legs and the cold breeze he’d waxed poetic about caressed your skin. The cold and the shame of being bare in front of a man persuaded you to cross your arms over your chest. You kept your eyes on the ground, focusing on his feet and yours being so close together.

You jumped when his hand grazed your elbow but refused to look at him for fear of what you would find. Disappointment? Disgust? Anger? You could not fathom which would be the worse outcome.

“Do not hide from your husband,” he said, gently prying your arms apart. Arms by your side, you dug your fingernails into your palm to keep from covering yourself again. Consus never laid a hand on you— never bedded you, never hit you. The General had been sweet so far, but you did not know who he was and what he did when angered.

He held your hip and caressed your soft skin with his calloused hand. You inhaled sharply, overwhelmed by the proximity of his hand to your core. You pressed your thighs together, your feminine demureness anxious to keep your most intimate parts hidden from men’s eyes.

“Turn around. Slowly,” he said, guiding you by your hips. As soon as you faced away from him, you brought your hands back up to cover your breasts. He did not seem to notice as his hand trailed down to your rear and grabbed your flesh in both hands. You whimpered, feeling somehow more exposed though you had not become more naked.

“Beautiful…” he hummed as he rotated you to face him once again. You dropped your arms to your sides as though you had touched a hot pot, his instruction ringing in your ear.

“And obedient… I could not have chosen better. Now show me what you can do, girl.” It was enough for you to finally look up at him. There were none of the expressions you feared you would see. He looked quite relaxed and you were afraid you would ruin that with your ignorance of what you were to show him.

“I will do anything you ask,” you answer meekly, hoping he would tell you exactly what he wanted you to do. Hoping he would instruct you every step of the way.

“Show me how you will serve me.”

You swallowed, thinking through every bit of information your sisters and servants had given on pleasing a man. It all came down to obedience, to lying down and taking what your husband gave you. Were you supposed to do something else?

“P-please,” you whispered, the world distorted as it spilled from your trembling lips. “Show me what I should do.”

He stood up, startling you and forcing you to take a step back. He placed a hand on your lower back and caressed gently like you did a litter of feral kittens when you were a girl.

He placed a finger under your chin and nudged you to look up at him. “Nothing you should do, beautiful girl. I only want what you want to do.”

“I have never…” you trailed, shaking your head in denial. “I am still chaste,” you blurted out. He froze in place, deep brown eyes boring into you.

“Your father said you were a devoted mother.”

“To Consus’ children. Borne by his first and second wives. After his second wife died in childbirth, he— I raised the children.”

“You do not want children of your own?”

“I do!” You exclaimed quickly, afraid this life would be taken from you once again. You kept silent throughout your marriage and you couldn’t do that again. Not if it meant your womb staying barren. “I do. Consus, he— both his wives before me died in childbirth and the children— he did not want them to lose another mother. So he never touched me. I am chaste.”

“Your father did not tell me.”

“I did not tell him. Consus wrote to my family that I lost pregnancies. Had my father known that he was— that we did not live as a married man and woman— he would have had me divorce him. Consus did not want that for the children and I could not tell my family the truth until he passed. Please… If my father believed I could not bear children, he would not have arranged for our marriage.”

You naively believed your father would have informed the General of your predicament. Giving one’s daughter to a man when you believed her barren was no small slight. Your felt as though a stone had lodged itself in your throat. You had just doomed yourself and your father. He could march up to the senate come sunrise. Humiliate your father. Take his sword to his neck. All because you were too foolish to know how to please a man.

“What of you?”

“What of me?” You asked, confused. He took your hands in his and guided you to sit on the bed. He joined beside you.

“Why did you remain loyal to such a loathsome man? One who besmirched you to your family rather than admit to his deficiencies as a man?”

“I was young and foolish. When I realized that he would never give me children, I… he had already lied enough to my family about my—” you stopped and shook your head. There was no need to speak ill of the dead man. No need to remind yourself how your barrenness made you the laughing stock of the village. “I resigned myself to the fate the gods had chosen for me. And I grew to love his children as my own.”

“I want more children. I ha— all my sons are dead, a few daughters too.”

You nodded, your chest clenching from the pained look in his eyes. It was universal. Almost everyone who’d had children had lost children. But the pain never subsided. You’d seen it in your sisters, noble women of the highest ranking, in servants and slaves. The first time in a General.

“I want to have children.”

He smiled and nodded before picking up your linen stola from the ground and wrapping it around you. He cupped your cheek, his hand engulfing the entirety of your face. He tilted his head, a soft sigh escaping his lips as his eyes bore into yours.

You leaned closer to him, praying you remembered how to kiss from the few times with a servant girl when you were only thirteen. Anticipation and anxiety had your heart racing together. When he finally touched his lips to yours, he quietened every anxiety, leaving only excitement behind. You placed a hand on his armor, the hardness of the metal underneath the leather contrasting the softness of his lips. Your other hand moved of its own accord, finding the nape of his neck. His soft curls tickled your fingers and he sighed into the kiss.

He traced your lips with the tip of his tongue and you opened up, welcoming him. A sense of calm settled in you as you explored each other. In his arms, you found safety for the first time since your arrival. His lips coaxed you to the gates of heaven and you followed as you imagined soldiers followed your General into war. With some fear of the uncharted territory yet brave because they trusted his leadership.

When you pulled away from each other, something felt changed. He no longer felt like a stranger. Something in his eyes, an openness inviting you into his life.

The ravages of war and time were evident in his features. A scar on the bridge of his nose perhaps from a time he came too close to his own end. His skin was spotted with marks from the sun. His eyes were soft not from the naïveté of youth but from seeing the harsh world. His golden skin peeked from under his beard decorated with a few grey flecks. You caressed a patch of skin where his beard did not grow.

Not an hour had passed since you met him but in his embrace, glancing into his eyes, you knew life would be peaceful.

Follow and turn notifications on on @chocofountain-notifs to be notified when I post. Find my other PPCU fics here.

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aliyahwritings · 6 months ago

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RAFE CAMERON and his DESI!GIRLFRIEND

masterlist.

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who complains when you first show him Bollywood movies about how long they are, but ends up more interested than you (he cried during K3G because of his daddy issues).

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who gets laughed at when he first met your family because his eyes were getting teary when eating your mum's food. With time though, he became used to it and can handle it better... until he tastes your grandma's food and it's over for him.

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who didn't get to see you with your hair oiled up in the beginning of your relationship because you were scared the scent would be too much for him, but it has now become a routine. He literally drives you to your mom's for your usual head/hair oil massage, and watches intently how your mama does it, so he can do it for you later (that's so husband coded of him omggg).

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who watches you with unwavering attention every time you get ready, mesmerized by the way your bangles slide down your wrists and the soft clinking sound they make. His gaze lingers as you adjust your dupatta, taking his time to memorize every delicate movement.

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who's obsessed with the feel of your bangles against his skin—when your hands trail over his chest or cup his face, the cold metal pressing into his warm skin. Sometimes, he holds your wrist just to play with them absentmindedly, rolling each bangle between his fingers like it’s his favorite toy.

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who secretly practices pronouncing your full name in the mirror until he gets it right, savoring the way it rolls off his tongue. He knows how much it means to you, and when he says it perfectly in front of your family, the proud smile you give him makes every attempt worth it.

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who always makes an effort to wear traditional fits when it matters, showing up in kurtas that hug his frame perfectly. He stands out, but in the best way—earning approving nods from the uncles and heart-eyed stares from the aunties who pull you aside just to say how lucky you are.

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who thrives during family gatherings, blending in like he was meant to be there all along. The aunties dote on him endlessly, praising him for helping with the decorations or carrying heavy boxes during wedding prep. The uncles offer him drinks, impressed by how quickly he’s learned to fit into the chaos. He doesn’t even blink when the music starts and you’re pulled into the center of the room to dance. Instead, he watches, leaning against the wall with a soft smile, arms crossed over his chest as he admires the way you glow in your element.

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who never complains when you drag him to fabric shops or markets, even if you spend hours picking out the right color or embroidery. He stands patiently by your side, occasionally giving his opinion but mostly just watching how excited you get. He'll sneak up behind you, whispering how stunning you’d look in everything. More than once, he’s slipped away to quietly pay for the set you were eyeing, only for you to find it in a little box on your bed later that night.

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who's become so used to you calling him pagal (crazy/idiot) that he's started using it with his friends.

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who learned how to drape your sari. Did it take him a while? Yes, but that doesn't count. He knows where to make the folds and where to tuck in the fabric, and that's enough for you. He even starts buying you new ones because of how beautiful you look in them.

MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who's very committed to his bit (dance) and practices for days and days. He would act as if he's just doing it for your family and that's it's nothing, but you know he loves it.

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who turns into Nick Jonas for real!!! He's not complaining once about the amount of ceremonies there is. He's in awe of your culture and that's all.

HUSBAND!RAFE ... who, after the wedding, is constantly making sure you’re okay. He holds your hand tightly in the car, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb, always asking if you’re comfortable, if you need anything. Even on your honeymoon, when it’s just the two of you, he still can’t stop marveling at how lucky he is to have you.

HUSBAND!RAFE ... who spoils you relentlessly. He doesn’t care if you insist he doesn’t have to—flowers arrive at your doorstep every week, jewelry boxes sit on your dresser, and he’s constantly booking spontaneous weekend getaways just because. When you scold him for spending too much, he kisses your forehead and brushes it off.

HUSBAND!RAFE ... who keeps your wedding photo framed on his desk. He’ll sit and stare at it during late nights at work, running his thumb over the glass while thinking about how much he misses you. He counts down the minutes until he can come home, and when he finally does, he’s pulling you into his lap the second you greet him.

HUSBAND!RAFE ... who brings home little things that remind him of you. If he spots bangles, dupattas, or anything embroidered with colors you love, he’s buying it without hesitation. Sometimes he gets the sizes wrong, but the effort makes you melt every time.

HUSBAND!RAFE ... who’s absolutely soft when it’s just the two of you. His tough, cocky exterior melts the second you’re alone. He’ll wrap himself around you, burying his face in your neck as you stroke his hair. He’s happiest when he’s in bed with you, legs tangled together under the covers, whispering about how he’s never letting you go.

HUSBAND!RAFE ... who always keeps his promises. No matter how chaotic life gets, he’s there—by your side, unwavering in his love and loyalty.

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unintentionalseductress · 4 months ago

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Hi! I had a request if it's okay and I thought I'd send it to your inbox like you asked me to :))

The vision I kinda had for it was ultimately inspired by the fanart and now that I actually think about it, perhaps it's something like rafayel's an outlaw and she's the future queen or sm and they're having a secret affair and ultimately they're caught one day and so her father's furious cs like as you said in the Nanami one, she's supposed to be absolutely pure until marriage so when she's caught with Rafayel doing the dirty, it's absolutely js like 😨😡🤯 for her father, I didn't know how else to explain it srry 😭😭 but yh and so now her father's in a rush to marry her off without further embarrassment but then her and rafayel elope but they go through the deserts, like in the fanart, so nobody can chase after them and uh yh 😭 the only smut I envisioned would be at the beginning of it cs personally, I can't see them doing it in a hot and sandy desert 😖 so uh yh

But tyyy 🫶🫶🫶

-📚

Promised Sands

Warnings: MDNI, sex, angst, mentions of death and violence, reader experiences depression and thoughts of taking her own life briefly A/n: Book anon and I had a chat about this fic, and after getting more details, she said she wanted it loosely based off the Aladdin AU I wrote for Nanami . I am still writing the Zayne and Dawnbreaker fic but inspiration somehow found me and this ended up being written quite quickly. And this is only my second oneshot for Rafayel, like WHAT?! I don't write enough for him.

You sit miserably on your bed, staring out of the barred window at the silhouette of the city in the distance. The bars were a recent addition, placed to discourage you from trying to pull a Houdini a few days before your wedding.

Your future in-laws were already at the palace, no doubt being shown the lavish grounds and amenities they could expect once their son officially became your husband. The thought made you sick to your stomach because you neither asked nor wanted this wedding. The setting sun cast long shadows across the palace grounds and painted the sky various shades of gold, tangerine, and magenta, and your mind couldn’t help but wander to last week, when you had been unburdened by the prospects of marriage and your heart had been full of love.

You supposed you should have known better, but how was one expected to resist the natural pull of desires coming alive when your loved one was near? The longing of wanting to be tucked into their embrace, of feeling their lips on yours, and the press of your skin coming together as passions overflowed, the magic of it all glowing like embers from a fire, rising and disappearing into the air.

No one had suspected the Lemurian initially. It was well-known he was a gift to you, and that due to their unwavering loyalty bond, he would never be able to take advantage of you. But what the royal family hadn’t anticipated was that you would consent to being taken advantage of by the Lemurian.

Rafayel had been your steadfast companion for years, since you were a child and he had been presented to you on your birthday. And although you had given his freedom, he returned to visit regularly, bringing back gifts each time; bangles for your wrists, fancy hair ornaments, and little glass figurines that littered the small tables all around your room. No one had suspected that as both of you grew older, that you’d develop feelings for each other that went beyond master and servant. No one thought the princess with the blessed heart would choose him, someone that they had considered less than human, unfit to be your romantic companion in their eyes. But how wrong they had been, and when the king had discovered the extent of your affair, his wrath was terrifying.

When Rafayel had been discovered in your bedchamber fully clothed, while you lay naked on the bed with nothing more than a bedsheet wrapped around you, the king had demanded his life as retribution. You had screamed, begged and pleaded, and the memory of the king’s look of disgust was burned in your mind as you kneeled at his feet, clutching the bedsheet like it was armor. It had taken 4 men to restrain Rafayel, and as they dragged him away, you could still hear his grunts of pain as the guards had kicked and punched him as they took him away to the jail underneath the palace.

It had been a week since then, and you had trailed pathetically behind the king ever since, until he had coldly informed you that Rafayel had been beaten to death. There was no remorse in his tone, not even a slight offer of comfort. In the same deadpan voice, the king had informed you that your marriage to the prince of a neighboring kingdom had been arranged, and that no one needed to know you had been “ruined” before your wedding night.

Shortly after, he had hired some servants to put bars on all the windows in your bedchamber, and security constantly patrolled the wing where your living quarters were. It wasn’t necessary; you had lost the will to fight after learning about Rafayel’s demise.

You cried, feeling like your heart was breaking into pieces, bleeding, yet cruelly refusing to stop beating. Why couldn’t it halt, just give out and end it all? You’d considered taking your own life, yet each time you eyed the small dagger that you’d hidden under your mattress, an overwhelming bond held you in place; perhaps your self-preservation instincts were too strong. And thus, you fell into a trance, a state of being on autopilot. Dutifully, you had presented yourself to the prince, had allowed your handmaidens to preen and fuss over you, dressing you in fine silks, painting your lips the reddest of reds and patting rouge onto your cheeks to give you the look of a blushing bride besotted with her betrothed.

Internally, you were screaming, but your body felt too exhausted to muster the energy to match the rage boiling inside you. You had looked in the mirror, not recognizing the reflection that stared back at you. There were bags under your eyes, a grief-stricken droop in your posture, yet all your ladies in waiting tittered on about how beautiful you looked, and that once you were married you’d have more dresses than your wardrobe could accommodate. You felt ashamed. If any other person had been as close to you as Rafayel had, you’d be wearing the standard black gown that signified mourning. It felt like a smear on Rafayel’s memory that you were lamenting his loss so keenly, yet unable to show it in your attire.

Now with two days left to your wedding, you had resigned to your fate. Dusk had fallen, yet you can hear the cacophony of voices from the balcony. A pre-weddng celebration. Delicious smells wafted into your bedchamber, accompanied by the sounds of laughter and music. Everyone was celebrating your upcoming nuptials except you. Your handmaiden had attempted to get you dressed for the evening but you had been so uncooperative and listless that she’d given up, settling for the reassurance that at least you weren’t trying to escape anymore.

Suddenly, your stomach roiled, feelings of deep disgust welling up inside you and bubbling out like molten lava. You slammed all the windows shut, making no effort to hide your disdain for the sham of a welcoming party the king had put together for your supposed fiancé. You locked the door and began to tear apart everything in the room. You knocked over lamps unflinchingly as the delicate glass shattered onto the floor. You threw the fairytale books from their shelves, ripping out pages from some of them, tearing the pretty illustrations depicting princes and princesses getting their happy ending. You dipped your calligraphy brushes into various pots of ink and dragged them along the walls, haphazardly stroking chaotic lines of color into the walls. And you screamed all the while this happened. Tears flowed unrestrainedly down your cheeks. If they refused to let you honor him quietly in black, then you’d do it loudly, in the most violent shades you could find.

This was your grief. It was not theirs to control, and you felt the dam of emotions you had been holding back come flooding through. You allowed yourself to remember everything; nights spent on the balcony whispering your fears and secrets to him, using little henna cones to trace patterns onto his hands, and letting him do the same for you, marveling at how much bigger they were than yours, with those long, slender fingers. You remembered the softness of his hair and how the wind messed up his bangs and how his eyes turned into the most breathtaking shade of lilac as the sun caught them. The way his eyelashes rested like fans on his cheeks while he was sleeping, and the gentleness of his lips as he kissed you.

You didn’t care about the purity laws. You had done nothing impure, nothing worthy of the scorn the king had been giving you the past few days. What was revolting was the way everyone else was behaving, acting nonchalant like your childhood companion hadn’t been beaten to death within the very walls of this palace you had called home. So you kicked, your voice calling out his name like a wild animal, holding yourself to prevent your being from falling apart at the seams, your fingernails leaving little bloody marks in your sides as you did so.

When the rage finally quieted down, the room was in shambles. It brought you a great sense of satisfaction, your throat raw from your lamenting. Exhausted, you collapsed on the bed, and the anguish turned quiet. You could feel it still crawling under your skin but the cathartic destruction of your bedchamber had dulled it.

You knew you’d never love the man who was to be your husband. How were you to sleep with this man? This person who hadn’t even questioned the circumstances under which this marriage had been proposed?

Shivering from the adrenaline withdrawal, you bury your face into your pillow, desperately recalling all the times Rafayel had made love to you. Your hands start to wander, softly touching yourself, cupping your breasts, and sighing as your fingers wandered to the space between your legs.

Rafayel’s lips were cool against the heat of your bare skin. You were blushing from your lack of experience. There’s a playful mischievousness in his eyes as he trailed kisses down the column of your neck, coming to the valley between your breasts.

“Is your highness pleased?” He had teased, looking up at you slyly, enjoying the way your cheeks turned pink. You had averted your gaze, trying not to make it obvious how much he was affecting you, which had only amused him.

“It pleases me when you’re pleased, ya know?” His mouth had closed over a pert nipple, suckling with the perfect pressure that had made you whimper needily, feeling moisture gathering in your core. Heat gathered in your belly and your toes kept curling into the sheets as he pleasured you.

When you dared to look at him again, his eyes glittered with dark desire.

“Tell me my lady,” he had whispered as he’d pushed your knees apart to settle in between them. “Are you in need of my services? All you need to do is ask.”

Your breath had caught in your throat as his fingers gently spread your wet lips apart, revealing the little engorged bud in between them. Rafayel’s tongue gave it a wet lick and your back had arched in pleasure, a wanton noise escaping you. You had waited for him to continue but when you felt nothing, your eyes cracked open for a second only to see him gazing intently at you.

“I await your command my princess,” he had said patiently even though desire was eating away at him.

“Rafayel, please,” you had gasped. “I’m yours.”

Relief had flooded your system as his tongue found purchase between your folds, his spit gathering onto the swollen membranes as he tasted you. Your body felt like it was in heaven, becoming lighter and alive under his ministrations. The room had filled with the lewd, moist noises of his tongue lapping away at your slick folds, sucking your clit with care until your mind was a mess of hot need. You had struggled to reach the peak, almost losing concentration until Rafayel’s hand had reassuringly held yours and your fingers had interlaced with his.

The thoughtful gesture had been the thing needed for you to find the courage to tip into the abyss of desire where all that existed was him and the desires of your own body. You felt all the senses leave you as you orgasmed, your clit spasming in ecstasy as your hole fluttered in urgent need. Your thighs trembled and you moaned his name as he licked through the aftershocks.

After every last drop of your pleasure had been drawn, he’d held you against him, helping you come down from the intensity of the high. You could feel his erection pressing hotly against your thigh, barely contained by the thin fabric of his underwear. Boldly, your hand had slipped into it, grasping his length and stroking, drawing a hiss from him.

“Impatient princess?” he had asked with a lilt, trying to fluster you again, but his teeth were gritted at how good your small hand felt on his cock. He’d guided you, showing you how to hold him, how much pressure he liked, and once you’d mastered the movements, he’d allowed himself a brief moment of indulgence, surprising you when he stilled your hand.

“I won’t last long if you keep this up.” His hand brushed your cheek and he’d kissed you before rolling you under him.

“I promise this won’t hurt too much.”

Your body tensed when you felt his thick, rounded head probe your entrance, carefully notching into the tight space.

“Don’t worry.” Rafayel snuggled your body close to his, peppering your face with little kisses. “I’ve got you. Just keep breathing. Nice and deep.” His hands cushioned behind the back of your head and you trained your eye to focus on the fine ring of inky black that surrounded his mesmerizing irises. Your body stretched around him, the tightness almost unbearably painful, and Rafayel had paused several times to let you adjust, gently sheathing himself inch by inch, kissing away your tears. He’d stilled when he had finally bottomed out, and you realized your body no longer felt like it was being split apart. You let out the breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding in, and everything inside you changed.

Rafayel gave a testing roll of his hips and when you clung to him moaning, he’d picked up the pace, thrusting into you, merging your bodies into one. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist and you held on tight as he pushed into new realms of discovery.

You withdraw your sticky fingers from your cunt, skin slick with sweat, glowing with the effort of giving yourself that orgasm. They could marry you off, tell the world whatever they wanted, but they couldn’t take away what Rafayel had shown you. You would play the obedient, meek, little princess for now. But someday, you didn’t know when, you would leave. You would find a way to escape from this gilded cage, and never look back.

This newly found resolve calms you, and you manage to fall into a fatigued sleep.

𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ 𓇼

There’s a tapping noise on the glass of your window, and you awaken abruptly, eyes blinking to adjust the darkness of the night. You find your heartbeat quickening as you spy a shadowy figure lurking outside the glass. Who had managed to get up there? You glance around your room for a weapon, then freeze when an achingly familiar voice calls, muffled through the closed window.

“Open up!”

You blink, looking wildly at the blurred stranger. It couldn’t be. He was dead. You scramble to your feet, trying to calm your frazzled nerves.

A ghost? Had he come to say goodbye?

With a trembling hand, you reach out to undo the lock, not daring to breathe as a tall man dressed in black leather pulls out a strange looking tool, cutting the iron bars in one go before swiftly entering your room.

“Rafayel?” Your voice is unsteady. You can tell he’s injured. His wrist had been splinted and his beautiful face bore bruises.

“Yeah, who else did you think it was?”

“They told me you were dead!” The words were a broken whisper.

“What, did you think I’m that easy to kill?” Rafayel tries to smile but his lips bear a half-healed cut and he winces as he does so. “Princess, I could never die so easily. Didn’t I promise that I’d get you out of here someday?”

Your heart was beating wildly in your chest. Needing confirmation that he was indeed whole and human, you cup his uninjured cheek with an unsteady hand, feeling the heat of his skin, and the soft expulsion of air as it left his nostrils. Rafayel’s eyes soften, and he pulls you into a tight hug, reassuringly patting your hair.

“I’m here my love.” He presses a kiss to your hair. “But we have to move. Quickly. My comrades said they’d keep watch, but it won’t be long until they give the signal. We need to leave as soon as they do so.”

He looks around the room, inspecting the havoc. “What happened here?”

You manage a watery smile, dashing away a tear. “A funeral.”

No sooner had you said the word than a sudden flash of light burst into the sky. Peering outside the window, you see it ascend into the sky, before exploding like a firecracker, the lights arranging themselves to form a fishtail. Screams erupted from the palace grounds which had otherwise been peaceful.

“We’re under attack! Call the guards!” Voices echoed from the din, panic setting in amongst the citizens.

“That’s our cue.” Rafayel looks at you and there’s a hint of uncertainty in them. “Unless you’d rather stay?”

“Never.” You quickly tiptoe to plant a kiss on Rafayel’s lips. He’s startled for a brief moment, then breaks into a wide grin.

“Time to go my beautiful bride.”

He takes your hand and helps you out onto the narrow ledge of the window. It was pitch black outside, the fishtail signal’s brightness engulfing all the stars glimmering in the background.

“We jump.” He holds your hand firmly. “One, two, three!”

You wisely hold in your scream as you leap off the edge with cold nothing underneath your feet, plummeting a few feet before you suddenly bob up into the air. Looking down, you realize you’re standing on something soft and fluid. A flapping noise can be heard as whatever it is rises into the clouds and whisks you away from the palace. Night air wipes your hair as Rafayel holds you tightly to his side.

Once you begin to sail through an unbroken patch of moonlight, you glance down to see your vehicle was a giant manta ray, its flat, pancake-like membranes lazily undulating in the sky as it carried you into unknown lands.

Rafayel helps you sit on the massive creature’s back and joins you, protectively pulling you against him to shield you from the wind. You glance up at him.

“So you heard about the wedding then.” You probe and Rafayel nods, but you notice a flicker of rage in his eyes when you brought it up. Hastily, you add, “I’m sorry. I know you probably don’t want to talk about it. I only asked because you called me a ‘beautiful bride’.”

He turns to look at you, lowering his hood as he does so. “If I recall, I called you my beautiful bride.” The intensity of his gaze makes you blush and you quickly avert your eyes to the starry sky.

“What do you mean?” you ask shyly, then your breath catches in your throat as Rafayel digs into an inner pocket of his garb and pulls out a ring of gold, with a large sapphire set in the middle.

“My beautiful bride,” he repeats, and wordlessly slips the ring onto your finger. You look at it with tears in your eyes, then sniff as you’re pulled into his loving embrace. It was almost presumptuous of him not to ask, but wholly unnecessary in your opinion. You didn’t want to be anyone else’s but his.

Very little was said for the rest of the journey, but words weren’t needed. You knew there would be plenty to talk about once you got off this ride, once you were presented to Rafayel’s entourage, wherever they were. Instead you settled for the knowledge that he was alive, and that you were free from the expectations of the palace.

It was uncertain how much time had passed, but the manta ray began to descend, the air growing warmer as it got lower to the ground, casting a long shadow as it did so. You look around and sense the dry quality of the air, seeing the sand dunes that were everywhere and realize you were in the middle of the desert. The area was still and quiet as your ride landed with a soft thump on the sand. You and Rafayel disembark, and the creature vanishes into thin air.

“Where-?”

“Back to the sea. A god never forces a creature of the deep to remain on land for too long.”

You glance around and squint, seeing silhouettes in the distance that seem to be heading your way.

“That’s our party. Right on time.” Rafayel offers his hand to you, smiling.

“Let’s go say hi. I want to properly introduce them to the future queen of Lemuria.”

Your heart swells with affection, remembering all the times you’d talked about marrying him, about being completely his for all of time. Holding onto his entwined fingers, you take your first step into a life of beautiful freedom.

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n0cturnnymph · 28 days ago

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fluff. kento helping you with your blouse. nanami kento x desi!reader

The soft click of the apartment door echoed in the quiet night as you stepped out of your heels with a sigh, wiggling your toes on the cool floor. Once perfectly draped and pinned with surgical precision, your pink saree now felt heavy on your shoulder, your body aching from hours of smiling, hugging, and dodging relatives' questions about when your baby shower would be.

Kento shut the door behind you gently, his suit jacket already folded over one arm. His tie had been loosened in the car, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, timeless and handsome didn’t even begin to describe him.

You made your way towards your shared bedroom, both floating in the quiet afterglow of your aunt's baby shower. It had been beautiful, your whole family had shown up in bright colors, and the house had smelled like roses and incense. Your aunts and mom led the baby shower ceremony, circling the mom-to-be with trays of rice, flowers, and gifts, singing blessings with joy.

You, however, were outside, nursing homemade lemonade while your cousins tried to figure out which side of the family one person was from. Kento had stuck close, hovering beside you like a quiet shield. He didn’t ask about the ceremony. He didn’t pretend to understand why the baby bump got blessed with rice.

He just fit. Like he always did.

At one point, your niece offered him a piece of dessert with sticky hands, and he accepted it with a soft “thank you, sweetheart.” That was when your aunt whispered, “he’s a keeper.”

You set your bangles on the vanity table, then moved to the stubborn safety pins near your shoulder. The weight of the saree had made them shift, and now they wouldn’t budge.

Kento noticed. “Need help?”

You met his eyes in the mirror. Warm, steady. You nodded, lifting your hair out of the way.

He stepped closer and unfastened the pins carefully, his fingers moving slowly and reverently. You felt the light tug of fabric loosening, the air brushing against your skin.

“Do you need help with the blouse too?” he asked gently, his hands still hovering near your shoulders.

You paused. Nodded once.

His fingers were warm against the small of your back, careful, reverent. He worked slowly, not because he didn’t know how, the man learned after your second wedding function together, but because he treated it like a ritual. His fingers brushed your skin lightly as he unhooked each clasp, his breath soft against your shoulder.

Before you could say anything else, you felt his arms circle around your waist from behind. His cheek rested near your temple, his palms warm as they rubbed slow, soothing circles into your sides.

“You looked beautiful tonight,” he murmured, eyes meeting yours in the mirror. “They couldn’t stop looking at you. Neither could I.”

“Pretty sure, they were staring at you.” You smiled, closing your eyes. His scent, soap, sandalwood, and something utterly Kento wrapped around you, grounding you in a way nothing else could.

“I was worried,” you whispered. “About… all of them. Staring and judging.”

Kento didn’t respond right away. He held you closer, his hand pressing lightly against your stomach, the other drifting up to cup your shoulder where the blouse hung loose.

“They weren’t judging you,” he said quietly, almost against your skin. “They were wondering how someone like me got someone like you.”

You huffed a soft laugh, but it broke halfway through, tugging something in your chest. His words weren’t sugary—they never were. But they settled deep, warm, and sure, the way everything from him always did.

You reached up and touched his hand at your waist. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“You were so good with them. My mom loves you, you know?” You turned in his arms, fully, and rested your forehead against his chest. He held you without question, rubbing your back slowly.

“I didn’t do much.”

“You didn’t have to,” you said softly. “My family can be… a lot. But you didn’t flinch. You didn’t perform. And they could tell. That’s why they liked you. Not because you fit in, but because you were just yourself.”

“You make it easy.”

“Come on,” he murmured, thumb tracing along your jaw. “Let’s get you out of this before you collapse.”

You let him guide you gently out of the last remnants of your saree, then into an oversized t-shirt and pajama shorts. He settled beside you, fingers kneading slow, soothing circles into your tired leg. The steady rhythm was a quiet promise—a wordless ceremony of care and love.

author's note: my mother would love nanami kento. this isn't proofread and is a bit indulgent. i'll write more jjk x desi!reader.

#nymph's nanami #nanami kento x you #nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #kento nanami #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk #kento nanami x you #kento nanami x reader #kento nanami smut #kento x reader #jjk kento #kento smut #jjk nanami #jjk imagines

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futurevision23454 · 5 months ago

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Trendy Designs – Keeping up with the latest fashion trends.

Budget-Friendly Prices – Offering luxurious designs at an affordable price.

Where to Buy Affordable Fashion Necklace Sets?

Finding the perfect affordable fashion necklace set price is easy with HRS Decor and Fashion. Our online store offers a wide range of stylish and high-quality jewellery that suits every taste and budget. Browse through our latest collections and find the perfect piece to complete your look.

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