Sep 23, 2025
Holy fuck
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Holy fuck
Gold To Silver, Cotton To Silk
or Roving Blade Part Two
4k words
warnings: anxiety, slight panic about getting married, soft moments, wedding, crying, SMUT 18+, use of a knife, unprotected sex, dirty talk, sweet sappy shit, lemme know if i missed any!
a/n: So sorry it's taken me forever to get something out, Holidays are insane and also I've been sick with a major ear infection ugh. Anyway love yall! I'm still working on some other requests, so keep em coming!! <3
Masterlist
Nerves freeze you in place the moment you see your own reflection.
White. So much white.
The gown, the veil.
You huff a shaky sigh, glancing at Ella, “The gown is… rather large.”
She gives you a warm smile, “Traditional. But yes, it is… a lot.”
“I look ridiculous,” you whisper.
“You look beautiful,” she counters. “Jacob will certainly think so.”
Your heart eases somewhat at the thought of him. You wonder if he's nervous, too. He certainly never seemed to be.
“I wish I could see him,” you admit in a heavy breath.
She purses her lips, “You cannot see him.”
“I know,” you say sourly.
The corner of her lips lift, “However, there is nothing said about speaking to him.”
You turn to look at her, “Can that happen?”
She nods, “I can send for him–”
“Oh, Ella, please,” you say, shoulders sagging with relief.
She nods, giving you a quick curtsy out of habit more than anything, before she excuses herself. You grab your skirts, lifting them as you pace back and forth. You bite at your nail, immediately pulling your hand away as you sigh.
You're not sure how long it takes before you hear a light knock on the door. It eases open just a sliver, “Hi, my darling princess.”
You make your way to the door, leaning your back against the wall, tilting your head toward the small crack as you grin at the sound of his voice, “Hi Jacob.”
“You're nervous,” he says softly.
“Yes,” you admit. You hear him move, and you can picture him, leaning against the wall like you were, only the brick between you stopping you from each other.
“As am I,” he murmurs, “It's rather nerve wracking to marry a princess.”
You let out a soft laugh, letting your head fall back against the wall, “This gown is ridiculous, Jacob.”
“I do not believe that for even a second,” he says, voice certain, “You would make a flour sack look ravishing.”
You grin impossibly wide, “I love you.”
“I love you,” he whispers, “Your father told me if I hurt you, he'll have my head on the block.”
“I'm so sorry,” you say around an embarrassed laugh.
“I told him I would expect him to.”
“You won't,” you say surely, “I wish… I wish the wedding could be small. Just us. Not with the entire kingdom watching us.”
“It is quite frightening," he says dryly. “I'm not one for a crowd.”
“I wish I could see you,” you whisper.
“You will,” he says, “In about half an hour's time.”
You sigh heavily, “Give me your hand,” you demand.
It only takes a half second before you see his hand, open and waiting for yours. You place your hand in his, immediately relaxing when he tangles his fingers with yours. You can barely see the sleeve of his jacket, a deep black that you know is tailored to fit him perfectly.
And you know he can see the ridiculous lace wrapped around your own arm.
You let out a breath you didn't know you'd been holding as his thumb brushes over your skin.
He hums, “If this lace is any indication of how you look, I am doomed.”
You giggle, “It's preposterous.”
“I cannot wait to take it off of you,” he whispers.
“Jacob,” you chastise, despite knowing it was only the two of you.
“Do not pretend to be scandalized," he says, and you can hear the grin in his voice, “We may not leave the bedroom for a solid week.”
“You're a rake,” you mutter.
“I'm in love,” he counters, “And I'm marrying you.”
Your heart aches at how soft his voice sounds, like he's never wished for anything more. “It sounds so… surreal."
“Does it not?” He asks, squeezing your hand lightly. “My bride…”
“I love you so much,” you whisper.
“I love you,” he returns, “More than you could ever begin to fathom.”
You huff a laugh, feeling yourself settle already.
He sighs, “As much as I hate to, I'm afraid I must go, my love,” he murmurs, “I shall see you at the altar.”
You let out a sound between a laugh and a choked sob, “You shall.”
“I love you,” he says, squeezing your hand one final time before he lets go.
You breathe out a soft response, a quiet I love you, taking a deep breath when you hear his footsteps echoing down the corridor.
You shut your eyes, taking a deep breath.
You square your shoulders back, eyes lifting when another knock lands on your door. “Your Highness,” Ella appears again, a grin on her face, “Are you ready to be married?”
You nod, certain this time, “I am.”
—
You had imagined this day your entire life.
It was what you had been raised for– what had been expected of you since you were old enough to understand duty. You had always assumed you would be wed to a stranger, some polite nobleman chosen for alliances and titles. Perhaps he would tolerate you. Perhaps he would even be pleased, in a way that made your stomach twist.
You had never expected love.
You stand behind the tall wooden doors, your gloved hands clasped tightly together. Your father approaches, his eyes bright with unshed tears as he takes you in.
“My darling girl,” he murmurs, his voice thick as he takes your hands in his. “You are the most beautiful bride this kingdom has ever seen.”
You manage a small, unsteady smile. “I am nervous,” you admit softly.
He nods, as if he understands far more than you have said. “He loves you dearly,” your father says. “You need not fear a single thing.”
“I know,” you whisper. “I only… I want him to be happy.”
A quiet laugh escapes him as he tucks your hand into the crook of his arm. “Then today will be perfect.”
The doors begin to open.
Music fills the hall, slow and reverent, and your breath catches as you step forward. The world seems to narrow, the murmurs of the court fading into nothing as your eyes find him.
Jacob stands at the altar, straight-backed and still, dressed in black that looks as though it were made for him alone. When he sees you, his composure falters– just for a moment. His eyes widen, his lips part, and then he smiles.
It is not the practiced smile of a knight before his court.
It is small. Warm. Entirely yours.
Your chest tightens, tears blurring your vision. The veil hides them, mercifully, though it itches against your skin. You hardly notice. All you see is Jacob.
As you draw closer, you notice the way his fingers flex at his side, restless without the familiar weight of his sword. It strikes you then how exposed he must feel– standing before you without armor, without steel, offering himself as openly as you are offering yourself.
And then you see it.
The shine in his eyes. The tears he makes no effort to hide.
By the time your father places your hand into Jacob’s, the rest of the hall has vanished entirely. His grip is warm and steady, grounding you in a way nothing else ever has.
“I’m here,” Jacob murmurs, so quietly only you can hear.
You nod, unable to trust your voice.
The vows pass in a blur– solemn words spoken, promises made that settle deep into your bones. You hear Jacob’s voice, clear and certain, and when it is your turn, your own words come more easily than you expect. As though they have been waiting all along.
When the crown is lifted from your head and set aside, when the blessing is given and the final words spoken, it feels unreal.
Then Jacob leans closer, his forehead brushing yours, reverent as a prayer.
“My wife,” he breathes.
The kiss is gentle, brief, proper– yet it carries more meaning than anything grander ever could. Applause swells around you, but it sounds distant, muffled, unimportant.
All that exists is him.
His hand tightens around yours, and for the first time in your life, duty and desire are no longer at odds.
You walk away together– not princess and knight, not crown and sword– but simply two people who found one another, against every expectation.
—
You're utterly spent.
You had danced until your feet ached, smiled until your cheeks protested, and received more congratulations than you could count. And yet, beneath the exhaustion, there lingered a restless energy– a quiet awareness of what awaited you once the noise and finery were finally left behind.
By the time the last goodbyes were said, by the time you clung to your father, tears soaking into his coat, you were worn thin.
Now you sat within the carriage, the steady roll of wheels beneath you, watching the hills slip past in the dimming light. Jacob sat opposite, far too comfortable for your liking. You could feel his gaze on you long before you met it.
After a time, he speaks.
“Do you intend to avoid looking at me for the entirety of our honeymoon?”
His voice was mild, almost amused, threaded with that familiar rasp he employed whenever he believed himself in control.
You turn at once, a touch defensive. “I am not avoiding you. I was merely… taking it all in. I shall miss this, while we are away.”
“It will not be for long,” he replies, glancing out the window. “Time has an unfortunate habit of fleeing.”
“It always does when you are near,” you say softly.
He huffs. “If only these hours in this wretched carriage would do the same. How do you endure it?”
You smile, “I suppose I am accustomed to discomfort.”
“I loathe it,” he says plainly. “I am being tossed about like a sack of turnips.”
You laugh. “And you accuse me of dramatics.”
He sighs, though his mouth curved. “You are my wife.”
The suddenness, the ease with which he says it steals your breath.
“You are my husband,” you answer, scarcely above a whisper.
He hums, tipping his head back against the cushions. “Then perhaps we ought to find some means of passing the time.”
You catch the implication at once and laugh, shaking your head. “I think it unwise to consummate our marriage in a moving carriage.”
“Perhaps,” he says, studying you with intent, “though there are other diversions that come to mind.”
“Then perhaps we should wait until I am not buried beneath a small mountain of fabric.”
His grin widens. “Ah. You would make me wait.”
“You have always claimed patience, Jacob,” you tease. “Shall we put it to the test?”
His jaw tightens as his eyes narrow, the challenge clearly taken. “Very well,” he says, folding his arms. “I shall not touch you until we arrive. And you shall do the same.”
“Agreed,” you say, mirroring his posture.
His smile turns unmistakably mischievous. “Shall I recount, in detail, what I intend to do once we arrive?”
You exhale slowly.
It was going to be a very long journey indeed.
—
The manor is beautiful.
You aren't quite expecting it. It's rather large, intricate detail both inside and out, a warmth to it that you can only describe as a home. A home for you and Jacob.
And… in the future… your children.
The thought made you almost nervous. Hopefully it'd be in the very distant future.
You weren't expecting Jacob to immediately dismiss the servants, who smile knowingly as they disappear.
It makes your face heat, knowing everyone knows what is to take place.
You follow him, hand in his, as he leads you up the stairs. Not a word is spoken between the two of you, but you're both aware and eager for what's coming.
Your mouth falls open when you step into the bedroom. Rose petals are scattered everywhere, candles are burning around the room, and it smells of a sweet perfume that makes you inhale deeply.
Jacob grins then, “Someone's a romantic,” he murmurs, taking in the scene the housemaid had set up for you.
“Indeed,” you murmur, looking around with a soft smile. “I quite like it.”
“You're a sap, my dear wife,” he says teasingly, “Who is to blow out all these candles? Or get all those petals off of our bed?”
“You're a cynic, my dear husband,” you say with a grin as he turns to face you, “It is beautiful.”
“You are beautiful," he says, certain, “My beautiful bride.”
Your face warms again. You hated it. You'd already been all the way with him and yet he still made your heart race and your cheeks blush.
“You make me feel like a child with their first feelings,” you admit as he steps to you, his hands brushing your hair away from your face.
“You make me feel like an insatiable creature,” he whispers, “I cannot get enough of you.”
You smile at him, your heart aching the moment he connects his lips with yours. It's soft and tender, heated and urgent, all at once.
You gasp into his mouth when his fingers slide down your throat, trailing over the tops of your breasts until they're hidden by the fabric of your gown.
“Get me out of this cursed gown,” you whisper when he pulls back to trail his fingers over the curve of your chest.
“As you wish,” he whispers, pressing a final kiss to your lips. You swallow heavily, heart racing as he steps behind you.
“So many fucking buttons,” he says dryly.
“I believe you said you could not wait to take it off of me,” you say, turning your head to look back at him.
He gives you a wry grin, “Now I'm impatient.”
“As am I,” you admit.
He hums, stepping away from you, moving to the bedside table. Your hands tangle in the silk skirt as you watch him, and your jaw drops when he pulls out a small knife.
“Jacob–”
“It is not for you,” he says, “I'm only going to cut the dress off–”
“If you cut me,” you warn, pointing at finger as he moves back around behind you.
He presses a chaste kiss to your cheek, “You forget I'm very skilled with a blade,” he says, bordering arrogance.
“You forget I'm not something you should use a blade on,” you gasp when you feel the first few buttons being cut apart.
“I would never forget that,” he whispers, and you feel your gown begin to loosen as he continues cutting it open. “I'd give my life for you, Y/n. I would never hurt you.”
You blink as the gown falls away, leaving you in your ridiculous corset and your soft slip. His hand trails up your thigh for a moment, warm and rough against your skin.
Then you feel a slight tug, the quick sound of fabric being torn, and your corset is falling away next.
He helps you step out of the material bunched at your ankles, turning you to face him. His eyes are impossibly soft, enamored as they trail over every inch of your revealed skin.
Your body prickles from the heat of his gaze, your nipples pebbling beneath the thin material of your slip.
His eyes linger on your chest, and you step forward, your hands tugging at the jacket of his suit. He slips it off, and your breath catches at the sight of him in white. You'd only ever seen him in dark colors, the white shirt makes your insides heat as you reach for the buttons.
You avoid his eyes as you focus on unclasping each button, pretending you were much more interested in the task at hand.
His lips turn up, “You're nervous again.”
“Yes,” you admit, “It's ridiculous.”
“It isn't,” he soothes you, tossing the knife onto the table, “I am too.”
“You?” You ask, tugging his shirt up from where it's tucked in, “I hardly believe that.”
He grins, pulling his shirt off as you step back again, taking a moment to drink in the sight of him.
You bite your bottom lip, smiling softly at him as he steps forward, grabbing your waist and tugging you to him. He kisses you slowly, sweetly, like you're made of glass, his hold on you just as gentle.
You step backward, hands on his to encourage him to move with you, to get to the bed so he can get to it already. You want it badly. You're nervous, but you've come to realize it's not so much nerves as it is want. An anxious need for him.
He moves, walking you backward. His hands fall to the edge of your chemise, lifting it up, tossing it away without a care.
You hum softly as he places his hands on your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples.
You reach for his pants, the knot tied tightly enough that your fingers fumble, and you let out an annoyed sigh, “Take those off,” you demand.
He smirks, moving his hands away from your chest to untie the knot with ease. You watch eagerly as he loosens the ribbon, eyes never leaving your face.
You're expecting him to undress completely then, so when he grabs your waist and pushes you backward against the bed, your tummy twists with a heat that makes your lower half throb.
You lay before him, watching eagerly as he knees himself up. His hands slide up your thighs, and you bite your lip when he tugs one up to his shoulder, your ankle resting over it as he presses his lips to your skin.
You can't look away from him, your eyes locked on each other's as he kisses your skin. You sigh dramatically when he kisses past your heated center, ignoring it completely. Up your stomach, between your breasts as he moves your thighs around his hips.
He kisses along your throat, nipping lightly at your jawline as you melt into the bed beneath you, and then you're face to face with him.
“Hi,” you whisper when his fingers brush over your cheek.
“Hi,” he whispers, smiling softly at you.
Your hands find the waistband of his pants, “You're still wearing these,” you complain quietly.
He presses his hips against you, the ghost of a smirk playing at his lips as you moan softly. He tilts his head, eyes falling between the two of you as he rocks against you.
“Take them off,” you say in a sigh, “Let me feel you.”
He reluctantly pulls away, slipping them down his legs without any qualms.
You let out an embarrassing sound when your eyes land on his cock, hard and mouthwatering. He immediately presses against you again, and your hips move of their own accord.
He hums, low and warm, as your slick center slips along the length of him. He moves in tandem with you, the pressure making your head spin, and you breathe out a soft, “Fuck me.”
He grins, “Princess,” he says, pretending to be shocked at your language. “The mouth of a whore,” he murmurs, making your cheeks burn as he slips a hand between the two of you.
“Don't say it like that,” you gasp as he pushes two fingers inside of you.
“It makes your pretty little cunt tighten around my fingers,” he says quietly, “You like it as much as I do.”
You whine when he pulls his fingers away from you, feeling empty and incredibly miffed as he brings them to his lips.
Your mouth falls open when he wraps his lips around them, and you suddenly wish they were in your mouth instead.
“You tease me,” you whisper when he slips them away from his lips.
He tilts his head, and before you can complain again, he's pressing his fingers to your own mouth.
Your cheeks flush hot as you open your mouth further, wrapping your lips around them as he had. You aren't sure what to do, but you curiously move your tongue along the seam of them, getting a feel of it.
“Fuck,” he breathes, his eyes heavy as his mouth falls open around the word, “You've got a sweet mouth, darling.”
You hum, taking a deep breath when he pulls them away from your mouth.
“I like that,” you admit in a whisper, "Though it's lewd…” you trail off, swallowing hard as he smiles.
“I cannot wait to show you just how lewd we will be,” he murmurs.
You can't help but smile, leaning up to press your lips to his. His fingers, still wet from your mouth, wrap around himself. You can feel his knuckles against your heat as he moves, and then you feel the warmth of him pressing against you again.
The blunt head of him slips along you, like he's either teasing you or warning you what he's about to do.
It still doesn't prepare you when he finally pushes into you.
You let out a soft sound, your hands grabbing his arms as he eases inside. He hums roughly, his hands grabbing your thighs tight as he presses until he can't.
Your eyebrows tilt up, your mouth falling open as you adjust to him.
He hadn't done this with you since that night. No matter how many times you'd asked or begged or demanded, he wouldn't budge. He'd insisted you wait until you were wed, that the reward would be greater for you both.
You hate to admit that he was right.
His mind is seemingly in the same place as yours, as he leans in, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “I told you so.”
You huff a breath, “Shut your mouth.”
“Don't be mean,” he murmurs.
“I'm not,” you lie, eyes fluttering when he moves back.
You let out a content sigh when he pushes back in, your body relaxing as he slowly moves. You tangle your fingers into his hair as he works up to a set, steady pace. Firm and intentional, as he fucks into you.
You trail your hands up his sides, nails scraping lightly, and you can't help but smile at the goosebumps littering his skin.
He hums, moving closer to you, his forehead resting against yours. “You feel like heaven,” he tells you, his voice rasping into your ear.
“I love you,” you breathe out in a sigh, “I love your cock.”
“Filthy little thing,” he whispers, “Where'd you learn to speak like that?”
“You,” you say honestly, “You're corrupting me,” you add in a tease.
He grins, “I'm just beginning to do so,” he admits.
“Touch me,” you gasp, your hips rolling up into him, meeting his thrusts with your own movements, “Please, Jacob.”
He obliges without a question or a quip, his fingers finding your clit with ease, immediately working tight circles over your swollen bud.
“Oh, God,” you whimper, the heat burning hotter in your lower belly, spreading achingly slow through your limbs. “Please–”
“You don't have to beg,” he says gently, “I'll give you what you need, my love.”
Your whole body tightens, your breath coming in quick gasps, “I love you,” you manage to get the words out, but just barely.
“I love you,” he says, eyes burning with something you can't quite put your finger on, “My beautiful wife. Come for me, Y/n. Come on, darling.”
You shatter then, spasming wildly around him, your walls contracting in rhythmic pulses with desperate intensity, drawing him deeper inside. Your thighs quiver uncontrollably against his hips, your back arching and pressing your bare chest to his.
Your swollen clit throbs under his circling fingers, each press sending fresh jolts that prolong the waves crashing over you, until you feel utterly spent, trembling in his arms.
His body shudders as he curses, muscles tensing
as his hips stall. His mouth falls open around a sound mixed between a moan and anguish.
Your eyes flutter, rolling when you feel his warm release coating your walls.
He slows to a grinding roll of his hips, working you both through it until you're both collapsing. He pulls out, moving to lay beside you, his eyes shut in contentment as his hand finds yours. You smile when he tangles your fingers together, and you tilt your head to look at him.
“I love you,” you say, voice hoarse.
“I love you,” he says, his own voice gruff.
You grin at the ceiling now, “You're my husband.”
“And you're my wife.”
rich because i have seen this live 🖤
Roving Blade, my beloved.
I just know Jake has been wanting to write like this. this is the most Jake set of lyrics ever.
If you like Jake Kiszka AND Chris Turpin, stay tuned…