Short Stuff

“…yes,” you whimper.

“Then fucking arch it.”

You sniffle. “Okay.”

He breaks character and huffs out a laugh as he watches you continue to helplessly stretch and squelch around him, making a creamy mess all along his shaft. He straightens his back, big hands now firmly grabbing your hips as he picks up the pace.

“Yeahh—stay right there,” his chest rumbles as he lets out a low, drawn-out groan. The smack of his hips growing louder, driving himself right into that little spot that won’t stop screaming for his attention.

It has his attention now.

The new angle had you whining into the pillow, absolutely reeling from how good he was at this, despite his complaints. He knows how to be rough. Nearly lifting you off the bed once he starts pulling your hips back, heavy balls smacking against your sensitive clit as he makes you meet each and every rough thrust he delivers.

“F-fuckk!” you choke out, barely able to form a coherent sentence as you start babbling out a bunch of words.

“So fuckin’ spoiled.” He complains, but just barely. “C’mon brat—you’ve been working me like a fuckin’ dog, give it to me already.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” He doesn’t believe you. You sound like you’re in heaven right now. “Mmhh—I love you so much.” His scowl deepens. “So, so much—you’re so fucking big.“

“Tch.” He grabs a handful of your hair, then yanks you back until you’re up against his chest, lips grazing your ear while muttering in it. “I don’t want an apology. What I want is for you to cum on my fuckin’ cock already. Or should I just stop?”

“No, no don’t! Please! I’m trying, I swear,” you begin to plead with the man.

“Try harder.” Then he smiled, because he felt you squeeze around him. “Jesus Christ—you need to me talk you through it too? The chocolates supposed to make you horny, sweetheart. Not useless.”

“It’s not my fault,” you whimper, and squeeze around him again, pulling a condescending huff out of him.

“You poor thing,” he hums. “Probably spent the whole day waiting for me to come home so I could make you feel better, huh?”

His breath tickles your ear and you nearly moan. “Mhm—I thought about it all day.”

“Well aren’t you sweet,” he mutters, tone as condescending as ever. “You got what you wanted, too. I’ve been taking care of you for a while now. How many times have I cum in you now?”

“I… I don’t know—“

“Of course you fuckin’ don’t.” He cuts you off, unamused by your answer. “Want me to do it again? Fill you up, make you feel all nice and warm?”

“Please.”

“Give me what I want then. If these sheets aren’t soaked by the time I’m about to cum again, I’m pulling out and finishing on your face,” he lets go of your hair and begins to laugh. You don’t get much of a chance to react before you feel the pads of his fingers on your clit, pulling a gasp out of you once he starts rubbing little circles on top of already fucking you. “Heh—let’s see if playing with this cute little clit saves you.”

And he knows you don’t deserve it—any of it, honestly. Unfortunately, he can’t help himself, not with the reactions he gets out of you. He married you for many reasons—getting to spend the rest of his life with a squirter was one of them. The moment your breathing grows labored and you sound like you’re gonna start to cry, his lids grow heavy and he starts saying all the things he told himself he wouldn’t say today.

"Yeahhh, that’s it, baby—fuuuuck—takin’ it so good.” He is fucking gone. Voice thick, filled with nothing but lust and awe as he presses against your lower belly. “C’mon, you want it here, right? Yeah, you know what to do—don’t let some fuckin’ asshole finish on your sweet little face.”

Yes. Your husband just degraded himself. And you just egg him on without meaning to. You were already whining about how it was too much, the incoherent “want it inside,” just made it better worse.

“I will, I’ll give you so fuckin’ much if you just give me one—just one. Easy. Shit—I’ll fill you up as much as you want afterwards.” He doesn’t know what he’s saying, but that doesn’t matter when it’s what has you crying and trembling and finally gushing around his cock.“Yeah, that’s it. That’s it, that’s—fuuuuck yeah. Good job, sweetheart—good fuckin’ job. Fuck.”

Funny enough, he came right after you, which was a relief because that meant his job was done and he was finally able to give his dick a fucking break after hours of feeling like he was working for free, when he had already worked a regular eight hour shift prior. The biggest relief of all was seeing you lie limp in bed, after slightly worrying if you ever actually would.

He leans over you with a smug smile, already having forgotten how much you pissed him off earlier as he moved some hair away from your face. Checking to see if you’re actually asleep or not, then feeling a deep sense of peace when seeing that you are. He presses a kiss against your cheekbone, and in the most loving way hopes you stay that way because he cannot do that again. Then finally, he gets up to use the bathroom.

The peace is only lasts four steps until it’s completely shattered again when he hears your weak voice.

“Are you ready to go again?”

"My Prince," you moan, legs shaking in his hold.

Vlad hums in response.

"Someone- Ah! Someone may see us!" Your breaths come in quick spurts, trying to get oxygen to your lungs before it is all breathed out again in a waning cry of ecstasy.

He shook his head as if to dismiss those thoughts, because even if the servants did see you both in such a compromising position outside of your bedchambers, he was their Prince and you their Princess; they could not scold you.

Your hips jerk when you feel one of his digits enter you, stroking your warmth until you could bear it no longer. "Vlad!" Your voice feels foreign to your own ears, high-pitched and whiny, on the very edge of rapture, echoing down the corridor.

The sounds of your pleasure only spur your husband on as he gives and gives until you finally break. He pulls away from you, pupils blown, and your release dripping down his chin and fingers.

"You, my Beloved, are a wonder." He grins, standing to his full height and capturing your lips with his own. You taste yourself and groan.

You pull away, chuckling, "Your mouth is the wonder."

He rests his forehead on your own. "Do you think so?"

Pulling him in for another kiss, you reply, "I know so."

It's a long and laborious process to be dressed properly when the castle holds audiences for the many people who live on your lands and are protected by you and your husband's hand.

It takes so long, in fact, that every dressing turned into a full rundown of your private life, or lack thereof, with your dear ladies' maids.

The two of them were no strangers to the coupling of man and woman, but the things you have done with your husband could make even the most experienced whore blush.

"So, " Maria started, hands smoothing out your shift, "the two of you have been quite debauched. One of the kitchen girls came scrambling down the stairs this morning, heaving out that she had seen the Lord and Lady of the house coupling in the hall."

Your eyes grew wide, and your face grew hot with embarrassment. "Oh, I knew someone would see."

Irina chuckles as she guides a wool stocking over your foot and up your calf. "It's nothing to be sheepish about, dear, only you may have scarred the poor girl for life."

Laughing, you swat at her shoulder, "Do not tease me, please, I cannot bear it."

The two women begin to howl, a look shared between them.

"What is it?" you ask, eyes glaring suspiciously. "What are you both laughing about?"

"Oh, it's nothing," Irina assures.

Yet you catch the light-hearted jest Maria whispers as she bends to pick up your stays from the bed.

"Maria?"

She clears her throat and says between laughing breaths, "You do not say that when the prince teases you."

You gasp and turn to backhand her arm lightly, "Both of you, so cruel, I could have you punished for this behavior."

The three of you stared at one another before big smiles spread across your faces. They knew you would never chastise them for this; no matter their status or station, they were your friends, companions since you were all a mere ten and two.

"Is it not only natural that a husband and wife surrender to their carnal needs?" You ask, rather seriously, unlike the joking air around you.

The girls look at you and nod before Irina confirms, "It is normal, only I have never known it to be an enjoyable act, more a laboriously painful one that caters to man more than wife."

"Is that so? That has not been my experience. Vlad seems to enjoy putting my pleasure before his own."

They both look at you in awe.

"You must be a witch then." Maria laughs and youscold them playfully.

Once dressed completely, you met your husband in the private antechamber to the great hall.

When his eyes fell upon you, there was an instant change in his expression. The once bored downturn of his lips lifted into a delicate smile, one meant only for you.

"I darling beloved, how I have missed you." Vlad takes your hand and brings it to his lips, kissing the smooth skin of your knuckles.

You beam at him. "My love, it has only been two hours."

"Two hours too long," he groans as he crowds you against the stone wall. His eyes have already begun to dilate, the black of the pupil devouring the crystal blue iris. Before you knew it, his lips were on your own, enticing you with a deep kiss. Your hands found purchase, gripping his muscular arms.

Vlads hands hurriedly flip your many skirts up, granting him access to your most delicate areas. He wastes no time, calloused fingers dipping past your folds and toying with you.

"My prince," you moan, "you have an audience in the other room."

He only kisses you, "let them wait a moment more." His fingers are thick as they slide through the quickening slickness, tracing circles around your entrance before slowly inserting.

Your fingers flex in their hold of him, your head falling back against the cool stone. Soft, sweet moans flutter past your lips. Vlads own kissed hungrily at the skin of your jaw and throat, teeth nipping, creating marks on the most obvious of places.

Wetness drips down your trembling legs as your husband rolls his fingers inside you, pressing gently into that one spot that had you coming undone in minutes.

"Please, my lord," you moan, chest rising and falling in quick breaths as you feel the trickle of pleasure opening into a waterfall. "I'm- I'm almost-"

His kiss swallows any noises you make as the waterfall grows into a tsunami, creaking against you. Those thick fingers take no mercy as they move faster and faster. It it weret for his body corralling you to the wall, you knew you would be on the floor, knees weak and legs shaking.

"That's it," he grunts as he pulls away, a string of saliva still connecting your lips, "give me all that you have."

Obscene noises echo from your mouth and between your legs as you fall from the edge, hurling fast toward earth. You're so lost in Vlad's touch that you completely miss the door across from you opening.

The royal adviser stepped in, stopping abruptly, eyes wide at the scene before him. It takes him a moment to recover, averting his eyes from your disheveled form. " I'm sorry to interrupt my lord, but you have subjects waiting. They are becoming impatient."

Vlad does not answer him; he speaks directly to you. " Duty awaits, I suppose, but I am not done with you." The smirk he gives you is devilish, downright sinful. He lets your skirts go and sucks his fingers into his mouth, cleaning your essence from them. The act has you blushing a deep maroon.

He helps you fix the strands of hair that had escaped your veil, and you straighten out his doublet, hoping you both look presentable, like you didn't have an uncomfortable wetness dripping down your thighs and a warmth in your belly.

No one was any the wiser as to why you clutch your husband's arm so tightly as you walked through the great hall to your respective thrones. No one was any the wiser that if you were to have let go, you would have fallen like a newborn fawn because your muscles were still ticking, still exhausted from clenching so hard.

Nearly two hours of watching your husband half pay attention to the petitions being brought to him, they had all been answered, and Vlad abruptly ordered everyone to vacate the hall.

His heady gaze set upon you, and before you knew it, he was on his knees at your feet, gathering your skirts up.

"All these layers," he tisks, "such a nuisance."

"Ah, so you would like me to bare all?" You chuckle as you help him, holding the fabric out of his way.

Vlad looks up from between your thighs. "You, in your entirety, are for my eyes only," He kisses the smooth skin above your knee, "but I will not complain if you choose to forgo clothing in our chambers."

You hum in answer as his long, thick fingers travel over your thighs, latching at the backs of your knees and pulling you to the edge of the chair. Your legs spread wider, accommodating him as he buried himself against your core. His breath was warm against the bare skin, his tongue like a hot iron slicing through your wetness. Your body jerks when he laps over the flesh, still sensitive from your earlier encounter.

After a moment of easy, lazy licks, he captures you fully in his mouth, sucking fervently. Your fingers rake through his hair, pulling him closer to you.

"My love-" you choke on a moan. You're so close, teetering on the edge of euphoria. "I'm not going to last much longer, please."

He pulls away, and the whine that left your lips was absolutely pitiful.

"Stand," he grunts as he removes himself from the floor, "and lean over the arm."

Your face flushes red as you follow his instructions. The arm of the chair is thin and digs into you; thankfully, the combination of all your layers keeps the pressure to a minimum against your stomach.

Vlad hurriedly unfastens his trousers and flips your dress up, exposing you once more. "I crave this, I crave you," he groans as he carefully aligns himself at your entrance. "I can never have enough of you."

The mewl you make as he pushes inside of you was loud, echoing off the walls of the empty Great Hall. Your fingers grip the cushion as he rocks into you. He feels so good, stretching you out like that, giving you all that you need. His own fingers hold your hips so tightly that there will surely be bruising in a few hours.

Slowly, his thrusts became faster, deeper, more desperate. You were gasping under him, crying in pleasure as he overwhelmed you.

"Vlad, my Prince-" your mouth hangs open in a silent sob as you feel the first wave of your orgasm rushing over you. Heat explodes from your core; your nerves feel as though they are on fire. He doesn't stop; his thrusts are encouraged by the wetness between your legs.

You reach a hand behind you, searching for him. He wraps his fingers around yours, and you can't help but sigh. There was something about his touch that kept you from hovering too far out of your body when you began to shake in rapture.

"That's it," he grunts as you contract around him.

Your grip on his hand tightens, and the flood comes, your release crashing through you, all-consuming. Vlad's thrusts become erratic before they stop abruptly. You can feel him deep inside, filling you.

Moments later, he is pulling out, breathing heavy. Your flesh is overstimulated and sore; the slight friction only makes you whimper.

He sushes you gently, gathering you into his arms after readjusting his trousers. "Let's retire for the afternoon. I'll have a bath drawn."

You nod and smile lazily.

As he carries you through the castle, the hushed whispers of the servants reach your ears.

A young maid asks, "When do you suspect the lady will be with child?"

Another responds, "With the way they are, it won't be too long."

Vlad chuckles and whispers to you, "Shall we go again? I believe we have some expectations to fill."

With shaking hands, you fixated on smoothing out the pleats in the skirt of your wedding gown. The dress was heavy and not because there were yards upon yards of fabric tailored to you or because of the silver embroidery and precious stones, but because of what this dress meant—the loss of your freedom.

"Stop fidgeting, girl. It is unbecoming." Your mother's shrill voice came through the fog, clouding your thoughts. "Now, stand up straight, it's time."

"Mother, please, I would rather be sent off to war than this. Anything but this." You held her hand like a vice, begging her for some way out.

She only shook her head and snatched her hand away. "I thought I taught you better than this. Do as your father says, and do not embarrass this family in front of the Prince." She pinched your cheeks to give them color before turning to leave. "The choir will begin in one minute, you will enter then."

It was no use calling after her, and it was no use trying to run away; there were guards at every entrance to the church, making it impossible, especially in this dress that needed at least two maids to help you remove. So, down the aisle to your doomed fate it was.

As the choir began, your heart leaped, beating faster than you ever thought it could. The giant oak doors opened, and every guest rose to their feet, all looking your way, all except your husband to be. He stood, back facing you, dressed in an armor chest plate and a white doublet and breeches with a sword attached to his left hip. The air that surrounded him felt thick as you approached, your dress restricting your movements. The Princeonly turned to you once you reached the stairs; he offered his hand to you, and you took it hesitantly, letting him guide you.

You took the few spare moments before the Priest began to examine the man you were to wed. His hair swept around his face, almost blocking him from your view, but as his head turned and you saw him fully, your breath caught in your throat. The stories told and the rumors whispered had led you to believe that this man was a monster, beastly and garish to look at, but the man before you was anything but. The candlelight made him look almost angelic with his sharp angles and full lips. His skin was white as milk and freckled. What demon would ever look so sweet? But that was exactly it, wasn't it? The devil will always come in a form you may trust.

The ceremony went by in a blur. You followed instructions and repeated words, but only because your body was guiding you; your mind floated miles above, enraptured with the man who was beside you.

It wasn't until you were being ushered into a carriage that you came back to your senses. As the door slammed, you realized it was just you and your newlywed husband. The silence was so thick, you could have cut into it. What were you to say? You didn't know the man, only what was said about him, and you doubted that it was an appropriate conversation to be held.

The ride was bumpy as the carriage took you farther away from the home you knew and towards an unfamiliar place. It had only been an hour, and still, neither of you had broken the silence. That is, until a quite harsh jerk had you toppling across the coach and into the Prince. He caught you in his strong hands and set you up right again.

"I am sorry," you apologize.

He waives his hand, dismissing you. "It is quite all right."

You couldn't help the blush that formed on your cheeks, his voice… this was the first time you were hearing it clearly, the thoughts in your head not distracting you from the low tenor that vibrated soul. You wanted to hear it again.

"Is your home far?"

He looked at you, eyes scanning, deducing why now you were asking him questions. "A three-day ride if the horses are fast."

"Oh, then we will be lodging somewhere for the night, I suppose?"

"We will make camp in a few hours. There are no lodgings on this road."

Your eyes widened. You were to spend your wedding night in a tent in the woods?

The carriage stopped just before dusk, and the men worked quickly to build tents, gather wood for a fire, and cook. It was dark when your husband helped you to your tent. He stayed for only a moment to tell you dinner would be ready soon before leaving quickly.

Sighing, you went around opening your trunks, trying to find something more comfortable to wear other than this outrageous wedding dress, although you didn't know how you were to extract yourself from the copious amounts of pleats and lace when your ladies' maids were nowhere to be found. You refused to go looking for them as you were tired from travel and wanted nothing more than to be left alone.

It took almost fifteen minutes for you to even begin to loosen the tight bodice, but it only did so much when you had been tacked in at certain spots. Your hands ceased their flailing when you heard footsteps and the curtain over the entrance of your tent flung open. You turned slowly, face heating as you realized someone was watching you trying and failing to undress.

"My Lord," you startle when you see the Voivodestanding there.

He narrows his eyes at the awkward angle your arms are bent, "What are you doing?"

"Undressing," a huff, "well, trying to at least." You answered.

Taking a step forward, he lets the curtain fall behind him. "Would you like some help?"

You eyed him wearily. From the stories you had been told, he was a brute of a man, taking anything he wanted without asking, and yet here he was asking if you would like his help.

Reluctantly, you accept.

He strides toward you slowly, as if you were a terrified fawn ready to bolt at any moment. "If you could turn around, please."

His hands never left your shoulders as you turned.

A shiver ran down your spine at the electric touch of his thick fingers as he gently caressed the skin of your neck he moving your hair out of the way. Gradually, the lacing of your dress fell away, the cut the strings tacking you in with his knife. The moment was intimate, and you could feel your heart racing. His fingers brushed against the thin fabric of your shift, goosebumps rising in their wake.

"I shall leave you, dinner will be by forthwith." He gave you no time to respond before he left you, with a heart full of confusion, and clinging to the bodice of your unfastened dress to your chest.

Quickly, you untied your skirts and folded them neatly into a trunk before dressing yourself in a less restrictive dressing gown, as you weren't leaving your tent for the rest of the night.

Food was brought to you on a pewter plate. Bread and some kind of meat, it didn't look too appetizing, but you were starving.

And then, you waited. And waited. And waited.

Yet, your husband never came. The candles began to die as you laied on the makeshift bed and the only thoughts in your head were, Where is he? Shouldn't he be here? Wasn't this supposed to be our wedding night? Does he not find me attractive? You couldn't understand why they were swarming in your mind. You shouldn't be concerned whether or not a man you were forcefully wed to liked you.

You awoke the next morning to the rustling and murmuring of the men around the camp. The smell of porridge cooking had your stomach growling.

Elina and Alba, your ladies maids, found their way into your tent with breakfast, apologizing for not attending to you the night before.

"We thought to leave you and your husband be," they said, cheeks tinged pink at the implication.

"Your efforts were in vain, ladies, for he left quite abruptly after unfastening me from my wedding gown." You replied between bites of your porridge.

"How peculiar," Alba hummed. "Usually, men can't wait to get to the marriage bed; they always want an heir sooner rather than later."

You gasp at her forwardness before laughing softly; you had never known her to speak so forwardly.

"I believe I overheard a few of the men whispering around the fire earlier that the Prince had forgone supper and was acting out of sorts after leaving your tent. Are you sure nothing happened?" Elina asked.

"Yes, I'm sure. All he did was help me undress, and then he left, before anything could have happened."

You didn't catch the look the two women gave each other before starting to gather your garments for the day.

After having dressed, your tent was taken down, and you were again ushered into the carriage, only this time, your husband did not accompany you. Instead, he sat stoically atop a striking dapple grey steed.

He was so alluring, you couldn't bear to take your eyes off him even as the long journey began. The way he moved in rhythm with his horse became your entertainment in the boredom of the carriage box. You admired his hair as the sun shone upon it, bringing out the gold and copper tones, and imagined your fingers running through the tresses.

The curve of his lower back and the broadness of his shoulders completely captivated your attention. Your mind wandered to places it shouldn't have, explicit thoughts, unbecoming thoughts.

"What are you doing?" You shake your head, clearing the visions. "This man has murdered people, and here you are gawking at him like a Christmas roast."

Later on, the night progressed much the same as the night before, only your ladies' maids helped you undress.

Around midday on the third day of travel, your new home came into view.

Large and imposing with its spires slicing into the clear sky, and yet it was beautiful, magnificent. It was larger than any estate you had ever laid eyes upon. The stone itself seems to have been carved in the foot of the mountain behind it, leaving the western side a sheer cliff to the lake below.

Once the carriage stopped, the Prince opened the door, offering you his hand as you stepped down.

"Thank you, my lord."

He nodded curtly before speaking. "I am sure you are tired; allow me to walk you to your rooms."

You couldn't help the small smile that bloomed on your lips. "Yes, that would be wonderful, thank you."

Again, as you followed behind him upstairs and through twisting corridors, you became distracted by his straight posture and poised shoulders—enough so that you almost collided with him as he came to a stop.

He opened a heavy, creaking door and motioned for you to enter before him. The room beyond was beautiful. Red velvet curtains hung at every window, matching the duvet, a lovely contrast to the dark wood furniture and light stone walls.

You turned to him, still standing in the threshold. "This is wonderful.

"I'm glad it is to your tastes." A small smile crossed his lips. "I'll leave you then, let you rest."

As he turned to go, you called out to him. You hadn't been able to push from your mind the fact that he hadn't once tried to consummate the marriage or what Elina had said the day prior.

"I- my lord, am I not desirable to you?" You were surprised at your emboldened words.

He turned, an eyebrow raised in question. "What do you mean?"

"We have been married for two full days, and you have not once…" You couldn't bring yourself to say it out loud.

"Ah. Yes." He took two long strides and was standing before you, his heat penetrating your skin. "Contrary to the beliefs of many, I am no brute. I will not touch you unless you ask it of me."

His words left you dumbfounded, and your preconceived notions of him started to crumble.

Several days later, you were taking a stroll through the gardens alone when you heard heavy footsteps on the ground.

"Hello," you smiled at him, and he gave you one back. You had learned rather quickly that he was a man of few words, but all that needed to be said shone through his eyes, like a fathomless ocean.

"Would you like to help me pick flowers? I'm making a crown." You held up your half-finished flower crown to him.

He reached out and touched one of the delicate petals. "I would love to."

You tasked him with holding your pickings until you had enough to finish the crown you were working on and to make another. He sat with you on the cool grass as you wove the stems together

"What is your favorite flower?" His voice softly broke the silence.

You thought for a moment before speaking. "I'm fond of Snowdrops. I haven't seen any in the garden, but there's still time for them to bloom."

The Prince only hummed in response.

"Do you have a favorite?"

"I haven't thought about it," he answered.

"Well," you look at the two finished flower crowns in your lap, "tell me when you have."

Standing to your feet, you placed a crown gently upon each of your heads before returning to the castle.

The next morning, you awoke to a vase filled with snowdrops greeting you on your nightstand.

You couldn't pinpoint the exact moment you began to fall for your husband, but as you sat across the informal dining table from him, you felt a warm tug in your heart. It had taken a while before your dinners were spent here rather than the extravagant dining room, where you both sat awkwardly at either end of the long table, taking sneaking glances at the other.

Now you were in a private parlor, seated only an arm's length away, enjoying food you could only describe as heavenly. Roasted chicken cooked to perfection with a variety of vegetables, breads, and fruits—but there was one thing you did not recognize. The dish was white; you could tell there were layers to it, but what you did not know, and pomegranate seeds were sprinkled atop.

The man in front of you, perceptive as ever, noticed your eyes examining the dessert. "Try some. It is good."

"I'm not sure I want to." You reply, unsure. "I haven't a clue what this is; we have nothing like it where I am from, my lord."

He rolls his eyes and scoots the dish toward you. "Eat it."

"I don't think so, no, thank you." You try to push it back to him.

"Then close your eyes."

"What?"

"I said close your eyes. Trust me."

Eyeing him wearily, you shut your eyes. You hear a stenciled scrape against a serving dish.

"Please, open your mouth."

Reluctantly, you did as told, and when you did, you were met with an interesting flavor. Sweet and milky with the slightest hint of rose, followed by the crunchy texture of slightly ground pistachios.

Opening your eyes, your husband is staring right at you, his eyebrows lifted, waiting for a response.

"That's actually really good," you express, and you reach for your own spoon to take another bite. "What is this called?"

"Güllaç. It comes from the Ottomans, and is one of the only fond memories that come from my time spent in the empire." His eyes darkened at the mention of the ever-looming Ottoman Empire.

You knew from stories what might have happened, what he could be thinking about. So you reached over and touched his hand, running your thumb over the back. "If it brings you pain to think of, please, don't relive it on my behalf, my lord."

"You are most kind… I believe I will retire. Good night." He kissed the back of your hand in goodbye as he stood abruptly and exited the room, leaving you with your hand tingling where his lips touched and wondering if he was alright.

Two nights after, you found your husband in the library, book in hand, lounging by the fire. He looked so peaceful as his eyes scanned the pages. You wondered what he was reading.

His eyes flickered to where you stood barely in the room and then back to the book. You took that as your cue to make your way to him, sitting in the chair next to his. The fire cracked, fending off the night chill.

You watched him for a good five minutes before he spoke. "You are staring."

Heat crept up your neck as you blushed. "I'm sorry, my lord, I was just admiring."

Looking up at you, he snapped his book closed and placed it on the table between the two of you. "I do have a name, you know," he said seriously.

"Yes, I know that."

"Then, I would prefer if my wife used it from time to time."

You smirked at him. "Only if you do the same, Vlad."

And he did, he said your name. It made butterflies erupt in your stomach. How could your name, the one your mother shrieked when you were in trouble or your father said with greed as he signed your life away, make you react this way? The way it rolled off his tongue like a prayer had you swooning, thankful that you were seated and not standing on shaky knees.

When you went to sleep, you dreamt of all the other ways your name would sound coming off his lips.

The next morning, you woke early, the sun barely peaking into the valley. The quiet footsteps of the servants that sounded off the rock walls let you know that the castle was wide awake, preparing for the day.

Slowly, you clambered drowsily out of bed, shivering at the cool morning air. Faint glowing embers shone through the ash in the fireplace, the minuscule emittance of heat not enough to reach you from feet away.

With shaking hands, you grabbed your dressing down, wrapping it around you snuggly.

Your slippers made soft thwacks against the flagstones as you walked aimlessly through the castle, letting your heart guide you. Before you knew it, you were outside and were met with the sound of metal ringing. As you ventured closer to the source of the sound, you began to hear muffled grunts.

'What could be happening at this time of morning?' You thought.

Turning a corner, you were met with the source. Vlad stood before some contraption made of wood, his sword in hand, chest bare. Your eyes examined him, watched each precise movement he made. It was like watching a dancer perform, entrancing.

He wasn't big and corded with muscle, but you could tell he was strong with the way he held himself upright and the amount of power behind each slice and lunge.

You couldn't help the flutter in your stomach, and you couldn't stop it as it traveled further down.

The rising sun brought along better light to which you were able to see the sweat covering his pale and freckled skin.

Your heart began to beat faster, and your legs crossed. A frisson of excitement could be felt in the warming morning air.

Vlad continued his training, oblivious to your audience or how his ragged breaths made saliva pool in your mouth and sent a pang to your core.

You wanted to touch him, dig your nails into the soft skin of his back, and have him take you hard and animal-like. You had to have him now, and you would.

When he finally lets his sword rest, you stroll to him, swaying your hips just enough. When he spotted you, his eyes trailed your body in its state of undress, lingering on the swell of your hips in the fine fabric before locking on your own.

"Good morning," you spoke, voice soft.

"Good morning," he smiled back. "You're up early."

Wrapping your arms around yourself your you spoke, "I was cold."

"I can send for someone to relight your hearth."

Shaking your head, you placed a hand on his bicep. Your heart skipped a beat when it sent a tingle up your arm.

Looking at him through hooded eyes, you bit your lip anxiously, clearly nervous about what you were going to suggest. "There are other ways to warm up."

Vlad's grip on his sword tightened, his knuckles going white.

"Are you-"

"Yes." You were never more sure about anything in your life. You couldn't wait any longer.

Slowly, he stepped forward, and you took one back. He cocked an eyebrow at you, and you just grinned a wicked grin before turning on a dime and sprinting to the castle. "Catch me!" You called out, stooping briefly at the threshold to see if he was following. He was, and at top speed.

Screaming in excitement, you bolted down the hall, almost crashing into a group of servants as you rounded a corner. "Sorry!" you yelled after them, not stopping lest he apprehend you before reaching the bedroom.

While climbing the stairs two by two, you tripped over your nightgown, causing you to stumble slightly. You could hear Vlad bounding up behind you, gaining on you quickly. Swiftly, you regained your composure and raced for the door. You could just see him down the corridor, gaining on you.

You were almost to the door when he grabbed your wrist and pushed you against the wall. You shrieked in joy. His lips were parted, letting his heavy breaths escape, mingling with your own.

"Vlad…." Your chest heaved against his own.

His eyes were dark, void of that bright blue you were so used to seeing. They flickered from your gaze to your lips over and over, making you dizzy. Finally, before it was too much to take, he surged in and kissed you. His lips were warm and soft against your own. Hands roamed your body, scrunching in your night gown, groping for anything they could.

goosebumps appeared on your skin when his hand drifted up and lingered at your neck. You leaned into it, the feeling of him, wanting him, needing him to put pressure.

"My Prince-" a yelp severed your sentence. He was lifting you into your arms and carrying you through the door to your room, all without breaking the kiss.

You were only parted when your husband gently tossed you to the sheets. It was overwhelming, the lust you felt for him in this moment. It was almost paralyzing.

"I have waited for you to say those words to me for weeks. Have wanted you in silence; I could barely keep my hands to myself. You are a temptress, a succubus, and I will gladly fall to ruin for you."

He stepped into your open legs, pushing your dress up and over your head, tossing it to the side, exposing you.

You barely noticed your nakedness, all you knew was that you wanted him then and there, you disnt care how, as long as he touched you. "Please, please, I need to feel you." You pleaded, hips grinding into the air.

"Be patient, my Beloved, I will give you what you desire in time." He said as he fell to his knees, large hands caressing your skin, pulling you closer to him, and settling your legs over his shoulders. The air from his mouth cooled the wetness at your core.

Vlad let out an eager groan before licking his lips, like a lion about to devour its prey. In a single, fluid motion, he placed his mouth upon your center. The gasp that escaped you quickly turned into an uncontrollable moan when he began to softly suck. Your hands shot to his hair, gripping onto the strands for dear life. It had never felt like this, not when you had touched yourself.

His teeth nipped greedily at the sensitive nub until your hips bucked and strained against his hold. Your breath hitched and caught in your throat when a pang of arousal echoed through you.

Your legs snapped closed around his head, his low growl vibrating against you. His fingers gripped the tops of your thighs, but he did not loosen them; he only dove into you deeper, plunging his tongue into your opening.

"Oh- ahh." You threw your head back, closing your eyes tight. You could feel that spark, the growing electric feeling deep within your bones. He was bringing you to the very precipice of your being.

His tongue coaxed and teased until you finally gave way, body tensing in his grasp. Pulling your legs away from his head, he leaned up only slightly so that he could speak. "Look at me."

You shook your head in answer.

"Look at me. I want you to look at me." He punctuated his sentence with a sloppy kiss to the inside of your thigh.

Giving in, you propped yourself up, shakily, onto your elbows and gazed at him with lidded eyes.

Vlad kept contact with your stare as he sank back onto you like a man starved. The intensity of the moment, of being watched as you fell apart, had you coming undone in a matter of seconds.

He licked you through the shockwaves, pulling strained moans from your swollen lips.

Breathless, you stared at the canopy above your bed. "That was…" You didn't know where to start, how to describe what you had just been through.

Taking his time, Vlad crept back up your body, his hands began to move, sliding across your curves, fingers tracing over the flare of your ribs as you took a deep breath in. The warmth of his pals as he cupped your breasts had you sighing. His thumbs passed over your sensitive peaks, causing them to pebble in his wake.

"You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen," he breathed, voice filled with reverence. Leaning down, he pressed open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your breasts, tongue flicking over your hardened bud.

Pressing his body to yours, you could feel the evidence of his arousal straining against his trousers. Wanton need built up inside, emboldening you as your hand inched its way down to undo the ties of his pants. Before you could unlace them completely, Vlad stopped you.

"I told you, have patience. I don't want to hurt you." He muttered, teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your neck, nipping at your pulse point.

"But I need you so much, so I feel like I might die," you bemoan dramatically.

He only chuckles, "You'll have me soon enough."

With a fervent motion of his hand, Vlad pushed the waist of his trousers down his hips, exposing himself. Your eyes widened at the sight, and your breathing became ragged as he slipped himself past your folds into your aching center.

The stretch wasn't painful, only slightly uncomfortable. As he sank into you deeper and deeper, the pressure built. Your legs wrapped around him, urging him further into you.

"Yes, my love, my prince, yes- ahh," you keened, shuddering as he bottomed out.

Vlad's right hand cupped your thigh while the left tangled in the hair at the nape of your neck, pulling you in to kiss him. "I want nothing more than to map your body in kisses, learn every secret, sensitive spot that brings a moan to your lips and causes your body to writhe."

His mouth barely left yours, locked together like you were his lifeline, tethering him to this plane of existence.

Your fingers clawed at the expanse of his back, no doubt leaving long, red marks as a testament to your ecstasy.

"Move," you whine, "I need you to move."

Vlad obliged, slowly beginning to rock his hips. Your own rolling to meet the shallow thrusts. Moans mingled in the air shared between you.

He sat up onto his knees and grabbed your waist. From this angle, the thrusts were more intense. You could feel him better this way, punching into you.

"Faster," you begged him, needing to find release from the throbbing ache building inside you.

"I don't want to hurt you." He rasped.

Shaking your head, you cry out, "You won't, my love, you won't hurt me."

He studied you for a moment before gripping your hips and pistoning in and out.

The room might have been cold when you awoke, but now it was stifling hot. Sweat was beading across both your foreheads and where skin touched skin.

A chorus of grunts, groans, and whimpers echoed through the room as he began to rut into you.

And then, it was like something snapped within you. Your cries became louder and your back arched off the bed. "I- I'm-" you stutter out, hand reaching for him.

He locks his finger's with your own. "I know." The rhythm of his thrusts begins to falter, "I am as well."

With one last drive, you came undone, body shuddering rapture. Vlad wasn't far behind, spilling himself into you.

Exhausted, you both lay there, catching your breath. As you came down from your high, the room began to feel cold once again. Vlad noticed you shivering and pulled you into him before covering you both with the duvet.

His fingers played with your hair, pulling you into a blissful sleep, but before falling into slumber, a voice kept you.

"You," Vlad says before kissing your lips.

"What?" You ask with confusion etched on your face.

"You," he says once more, his fingers caressing your face. "In the garden, you asked me what my favorite flower was… It's you."

Thank you for reading, everyone! Please take the time to like, reblog, and comment! It is really encouraging to read all of your reactions!

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03. KNEADLESSLY IN LOVE

Gojo Satoru can bake. He's actually pretty good at it. But tonight, he's not trying to impress you — he's trying to make you laugh. (The flour is everywhere. The cookies are burnt and are practically charcoal. He's never been happier.)

04. I'LL FIND YOU (I ALWAYS WILL)

You're tired of being his second priority. Tired of loving someone who's never there. So you leave — into the cold, into the rain, into the dark. He follows. He always follows. But this time, he's scared he won't find you in time.

05. AISLE BE THERE FOR YOU (IN THE SNACK AISLE)

You brought him for emotional support. You forgot he's the reason you need emotional support. Grocery shopping with Satoru was supposed to be quick. Thirty minutes, in and out. That was an hour ago. He's put pudding cups in the cart three times. You've taken them out three times. He's now fake-crying in the frozen foods aisle. You're dating a toddler. You wouldn't trade him for anything.

06. GOLDEN HOUR (AND SALTWATER KISSES)

The beach at 2 AM is empty, quiet, and yours. Satoru drags you there to wait for the sunrise — but somehow, you spend more time watching him. (He pretends not to notice. He's lying.)

07. I'M FINALLY HOME

He's been gone for weeks. Missions, meetings, responsibilities — always something. You miss him. He misses you. And then one Saturday, you come home to find a dress you've never seen before, and a man who's been trying to find his way back to you.

08. CARRY ME HOME

Gojo Satoru carries you to bed when you fall asleep on the couch. You mumble "love you," in your half-asleep haze. He doesn't forget. The next morning, he teases you about it — and you both end up laughing, blushing, and tucked back into each other's arms.

09. GOJO SATORU'S GUIDE ON HOW TO SURVIVE A FAMILY DINNER

It's the first time you're bringing Gojo Satoru home to meet your family. They have no idea he's a sorcerer. You know. He thinks he's being subtle. He's not. ("The baby photos are worth it!" he says.)

10. HOPELESS (FOR YOU)

Gojo Satoru is absolutely useless at folding laundry, but he's an expert at stealing your heart. ♡

11. THE STARS YOU LIKED

Gojo Satoru pretends to forget your one-year anniversary. You try not to be hurt. He's been planning this all along. (He remembers everything.)

12. JUST BECAUSE (I LOVE YOU)

Gojo Satoru's been working on this for weeks. Late nights, crumpled paper, messing up the folding, starting over. He wanted to give you something that showed how much you mattered. (He's never been more nervous in his life.)

13. A STUDY IN SAYING "I LOVE YOU" (Part 2 of "Just Because (I Love You)"

Gojo Satoru spends three weeks writing you a letter — 520 reasons, pipe cleaner flowers, gifts and all the words he couldn't say out loud. A letter about love as something you can hold.

MORE COMING SOON . . .

It should have been clearer to you, what Martha Kent had been busy creating for you prior to your own bridal shower held in the garden of the Kent Farm. She had sworn herself to secrecy ever since she causally asked you to stand in her beloved sewing room, only weeks before the shower, so she could measure every curve of your body. 

You hadn’t questioned it at the start. Nor, did she let you in on her intentions at the finish line either. 

“Ma wants to see you.” Clark catches you mid-stride, catching the faint surprise worn on your face as he peers over the top of the morning newspaper. He turns the page, satisfied that there had been nothing regarding Superman in the headlines, “She said she needs more measurements.” he informs casually. 

You turn your head to stare down the familiar hallway of the Kent household, lowering your voice to speak, “Again? She just measured me last week. You know she’s doing all sorts of measurements of my body from head to toe?” Clark looks back up from his newspaper and shrugs, “Head to toe, Clark!” 

“Honey, no doubt it’s a wedding gift. It is only a few months away.” Clark folds the paper in half to give you his undivided attention, “She might be making you a dress for the reception. I did mention that being a trend.” 

“She’s already doing the alterations for my actual wedding dress. For free.” you argue in a panic.

Clark stands and your head falls back to stare up at him when he saunters over to you—a handsome smile with prominent dimples spreading across his face. His palms smooth over the swell of your hips and you are reduced to a puddle of goo when he dips his head to press a featherlight kiss to your lips; leaving you craving more as he pulls back. 

“Just accept the love she gives you, okay?” Clark mumbles and pecks your lips again, this time with a little more passion. “You deserve it.” he hums. 

You give some form of a nod, with your head a little woozy from the way your husband-to-be was handling you. He tilts his head, brows raised as he waits for verbal confirmation that you were going to stop resisting the way the Kent family cared for you. 

When you verbalise the promise he needs to hear, he kisses you once more, and longer this time. One large palm trails down to your backside and he grabs a firm handful, humming with the deepest content before playfully smacking it as you take your leave. 

You swat at his hand with an airy laugh, unable to contain your own giddiness over the little love bubble you share. You peer over your shoulder when you walk down the hall, to see Clark drag his bottom lip between his teeth, arms folding across his broad chest with his blue eyes cast downward on your frame. 

It makes you sway your hips more, and he clasps a hand over his mouth before you disappear into Martha Kent’s sewing room. 

“Hi, Ma.” you say as you enter. 

“Oh! Hi, honey. You’re not busy are you?” Ma stands from her position behind a mountain of glittery tulle that was part of a commissioned prom dress. Her hands come to either side of your face when you respond that you’ve got all the time in the world for someone like her. “Good. Now, I just need to take a few more measurements to ensure I’ve got it all correct. Stand up there for me, sweetheart.” 

You do as she says, standing in front of the floor length mirror. Martha hurries to your side with measuring tape and taps the inner part of your leg so you separate them. She mumbles the numbers to herself, and then lowers her tone even further to discuss what her next steps will be for her creation. 

Once she stands to full height, you observe as she walks to her desk and is quick to take note of the last remaining measurements required. 

“You excited for your bridal shower?” Martha asks and looks to you with a warm smile. 

“Nervous, but excited to see everyone.” 

“Oh, it’ll be fun.” she chirps. 

You twiddle your thumbs, “Can I ask what you’re taking my measurements for?” your tone gives off the energy of a scolded child. 

Martha taps her nose, “That’s for me to know, and you to find out, sweetheart.”

That should have been a signal to where opening the gift from Martha Kent was going to go at your intimate bridal shower. You were sat amongst your closest friends and family, showered in gifts from the majority of them—even after you had insisted that presents were not mandatory. Some were sentimental such as, hand painted plates for display, or two coffee mugs with the date of your wedding and a photo album to keep the memories lasting forever. Naturally, with some mischievous friends involved, the gifts turned explicit and you were left swatting at them with pink fluffy handcuffs and a pleather whip that they insisted were for the horses on the farm. 

Martha Kent sat close by with a pale blue box sat upon her lap, amused by the younger generations antics and watching her future daughter-in-law swelter with mortification. 

When you eventually reach Martha for the gift, your tightened muscles from embarrassment loosen when you let out a sigh of relief. Martha Kent was a respectable, midwestern woman who sewed for a hobby and made chilli and cinnamon rolls on the weekends. There was no probable cause for the contents of the box to be…suggestive. 

(Wrong!) 

“Now, I made this in a pinch. I hope the measurements are correct, but we can sort it out no bother if it isn’t fitting right.” Martha explains as you sit back in your seat, fingers dancing over the pretty lace bow she had wrapped around it. 

You shake your head, “You’re one of the best seamstresses, Ma. I’m sure it’s perfect.”

You undo the bow and remove the box lid, expecting some sweet item of clothing—you know, like a modest dress—and you can see through the thin tissue paper that the fabric is a deep red. Almost burgundy. Once the paper is peeled back, you hook your index fingers under the thin straps and raise it out of the box to inspect. 

It’s a dress. If you could call it that. More of a dress for behind closed doors, never to see a public setting. It’s entirely sheer, aside from the intricate flower patterns that were embellished with tiny blue beading. 

There was no denying it was beautiful but—

“Where is the rest of it?” you blurt without thinking. Your gaze drops from the dress to Martha Kent who wears the broadest smile. “It’s amazing, Ma. I just—I don’t think I could wear this out. Is there—” you dip your hand into the shallow box to locate the rest of the dress amongst the tissue, “—Is there another piece to go underneath it?” 

Martha grasps your forearm, “Bless your heart. No, honey. This is it.” 

Your friends with more sexual prowess begin to sing their excitement over the suggestive dress. In this setting, your skin begins to burn from a sudden spout of coyness. 

You also take a moment to think about how Clark will like it without a shadow of a doubt. It’ll take all the sternness you can muster for him not to tear the fabric in a hurry. 

You blink, “…This is it?” you repeat quietly. 

“Yes, sweetheart!” Martha cackles, “I want some grandkids outta you two!”