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gojorgeous · 4 months

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"creature of myth."

pairing: vampire!gojo x fem!human!reader summary: when you receive an offer of marriage from a mysterious wealthy lord, it’s too good a deal for your family to turn down. but nothing could be so perfect... right? content: MDNI (18+ ONLY), dark content, nsfw, gets dubcon/noncon in some spots, yandere behavior from gojo, implied death/k*lling of a character (not reader or gojo), arranged marriage, victorian au, plot that ends with porn lmao, spooky dooky vibes, blood, blood sucking/eating, praise, biting, unprotected sex, creampie, virgin!reader, discussion of virginity, cherry popping, pain, pet names (princess/love), reader is highkey clueless about sex, discussion of masturbation, ideas of masturbation as “sinful”, very minor religious themes, fated “mates”, gojo is highkey insane, coercion and manipulation, like SO much neck kissing, ooc gojo??? (had to alter his character to match a victorian vampire lord LMAO). a/n: PLEASE READ THE CONTENT WARNINGS. THERE IS DARK CONTENT AHEAD. is this a gojo fic or a twilight fic?? Going back to my roots fr fr. straight down to the “SAY IT, SAY IT”. this fic is also way too long my apologies bbs. i hope you like a hefty side of plot with your porn. parts of this fic feel way too cheesy to me but sometimes i eat that up, yk?? this fic was inspired by this amazing work by @rice5x ! and, finally, thank you all for the support on my most recent fics. i'm just getting back into being active on this blog and it's been amazing reading each and every comment/reblog/ask. they genuinely fill me with so much joy. keep them coming hehe. anyway, i hope you enjoy and remember, ALL AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED. credits: dividers by @cafekitsune. banner art by @ndsoda on twitter. wc: 11.6k (sowwy)

You remember perfectly the way your mother’s jaw dropped when Satoru Gojo proposed to you. You’d never seen the man, and you still hadn’t. He’d asked to marry you via messenger, a simple letter delivered by hand with a list of all the things he’d be willing to pay for your hand. Offers of money, land, protection, connection- anything so long as he got you. You’d thought it was a joke. Your father nearly took a shovel to the head of the poor messenger, thinking the letter was some kind of cruel prank, some sort of targeted disrespect. You’d only started to believe when you really looked- saw the Gojo crest embroidered on the man’s suit, the fine leather of his boots. If it was a prank, somebody had spent a great deal of money and effort to pull it off.

You’d asked for proof nonetheless, and you’d gotten it. Documents signed and sealed with a well-known waxen crest, gifts that could only have been purchased by a wealthy lord. The one thing you never got was the lord himself. He refused to see you, to come down from his mysterious castle on the hill. It didn’t surprise you. He rarely deemed town worthy of his presence. He had a reputation as a recluse, as a man who only ever liked to see and never be seen. What little glimpses people got of him were usually through the dark window of his carriage. Still, his appearance preceded him. White hair, light eyes… “haunting” said those who had the luck to see him. Those who went to work for the lord tended to return… changed— if they returned at all.

You accepted, of course. How could you not? You were a peasant family with no status or wealth to your name. The promises Lord Gojo had made would make your parents into aristocrats all on their own. But that left you wondering… why did he want you? You offered him no benefit. If anything, you sullied his bloodline. The question scratched at the back of your mind. It came to you while you ate breakfast, while you washed your clothes, while you weeded in the garden. Some part of you told you that you needed the answer before you ever stepped foot in that castle. You needed that answer, but you’d never get it.

Your wedding wasn’t even a wedding- just a piece of paper that had already been signed and witnessed, once again delivered by a familiar messenger. You signed at your dining room table and… that was that. You were married.

Later that night the carriages arrive. Men flood your home, all dressed in blue velvet, the Gojo crest embroidered on their chests. They seem puzzled when you tell them you’ve packed all your belongings into a measly three bags.

You say a quick goodbye to your parents, drawing them into stiff embraces. You love them, and they love you, but you can’t bear to see their faces as they send you away to a man who couldn’t even show his face for your wedding.

The carriage ride is somehow longer than you’d thought it would be- apparently, the castle’s size makes it seem deceptively close. The trip is rocky and twisty and altogether unpleasant as you steadily make your way toward the castle gates. By the time you reach them you think you’ve probably dozed in and out of consciousness at least half a dozen times.

The castle is even more intimidating up close. Spires that swirl into the clouds, sculptures that stare, doors that look more suited to being locked than opened. It’s… terrifying.

When you finally roll to a stop, you move for the door. When you swing it open you get your fair share of strange looks from your attendants and remember that you should have waited for the footman. Your face heats as you climb out anyway, unwilling to subject yourself to the further humiliation of waiting for assistance.

Your feet hit gravel and all you can do is stare- up, up, up, to where the castle’s peaks disappear into the fog. When your eye flashes to a window on the east side of the manor you think you see a swaying curtain. You tuck your arms around yourself and shiver, but it’s not from the cold.

You nearly stumble over your feet on your first step inside. The entrance hall is larger than your former house, with ceilings that stretch so high you can hardly make out the figures on the frescoes that adorn it. Silver and blue drape everywhere, the Gojo family colors. You swallow when you see a chair that is most definitely worth more than your family’s annual income.

The floors are marble and when your worn heels clack against it, you only feel reminded that you don’t belong here. That question pricks in your mind again as you pass portraits of every Gojo heir to have lived in the last three hundred years. Why me? Why me? Why me?

Your footman deposits you in your room, a place more lavish than you’ve ever seen. You have a four poster bed with a canopy of blue velvet, a window that overlooks a sprawling estate, and more square footage than you’ve ever dreamed of.

“Pull this if you need any sort of assistance, ma’am.”

You turn to see your footman referencing a silver cord at your bedside. You assume it’s one of those contraptions that rings a bell in the servants’ quarters. You try to hide your amazement- you’ve never seen one in real life before.

You clear your throat and give your most ladylike nod. “Thank you, um-” you pause, your brow furrowing. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I asked your name.”

Your footman appears stunned to silence, like he’d never expected you to care about his existence, much less his name. He recovers quickly, though, and forces a small smile. “Thomas, ma’am.”

You smile and it’s genuine. “Thank you, Thomas.”He bows and makes a beeline for the door, but you have one more question. “Oh, um, Thomas-” He freezes, turning slowly on his heel to face you.

“Yes, my lady?”

You cringe at the title. The sound of it creeps across your skin, foreign and… wrong. Why me? Why me? Why me?

You clear your throat again. “Do you know, um, well-” You shift, trying to word your question properly. “Do you know when I might see the Lord?”

There is a pause, a moment of tension and silence, and then an answer. “No, my lady.”

Thomas does not stick around for more questioning. The door clicks shut behind him and then you're left with only the sound of retreating footsteps.

You’re stunned to say the least, mouth still halfway open, more questions on the tip of your tongue. Should you seek him out? Was that proper? Would he come to you? Would he meet you for dinner, perhaps? Surely he would come to your room tonight to… consummate. Would that be the first time you lay eyes on him? When he’s over you?

You sigh. There’s nothing much to be done about it now. You find your way to the bed and sit down hesitantly. It feels like a crime to rumple such primped and polished cotton. You do it anyway- it’s going to happen sometime, right? You fall back against the mattress and don’t fail to notice how utterly comfortable it is. The silvery patterns on your canopy swirl and bend together. You’re tired. You didn’t sleep much last night, anxious for the morning… and it’s only mid-afternoon now. You had time for a nap, right? Your eyes are closing before you can convince yourself it’s a bad idea and then you’re swept away into a world of warm darkness.

You wake with a start. Your first thought is that it’s dark now. Your room is pitch black except for the stream of moonlight passing through your stupidly large window. Your mouth feels dry and your skin is cold, like you’ve just woken from a nightmare. If you have, you don’t remember it. Perhaps that’s a blessing.

You sit up, combing a finger through your hair and laughing pitifully when you realize that you left your shoes on as you slept. You hope Thomas didn’t walk in to find you in yet another unladylike position. A glance at the foot of the bed reveals he might have. Your bags have arrived- all three of them. You eye them with a combination of longing and contempt. They don't match this place. They’re worn and used- everything here is shiny and new. Still, they’re all you have, and all you have left of your life before. All you have left of home.

You stretch your arms above your head, nearly groaning at the burn in your muscles. The carriage ride did your body no favors and you suspect you’ll be sore for many days to come.

You rise, no longer content to lie in bed. You’ve had your rest and, from the state of darkness outside, you suspect your new husband might be joining you soon. The thought twists a certain tightness into your gut, but you push it aside. If that was the price you paid for all he gave your family… then you’d pay it gladly.

You start with candles, finding a box of matches at your bedside. You light every candelabra you can find. The room, the castle, seems so perpetually… black- like it soaks up every ray of light it touches. Even when you’ve finished it doesn’t feel like enough. You make a note to ask Thomas for more in the morning.

You find a meal, carefully prepared and preserved, on a table near your dresser. Judging by the fact that it’s still warm, you conclude that it can’t be much past mid-evening. You originally intend to pick at the food as you unpack, but one bite has your mouth watering. It is the most delicious thing to ever touch your lips, complete with dessert waiting on the side. You clean your plate before moving onto your bags.

You lay your clothes out on the bed. A few dresses, riding pants, undergarments, an assortment of ribbons and bows. At one time these items had been the finest things you owned- now you owned a castle.

You find an armoire that looks like a master sculptor carved its edges and grab a dress, intending to hang it. Instead, your dress hits the floor when you part the doors to find the hangers already full. Your lips part. Luxury dresses of silk and satin line the rack, fading into some that appear more casual outfits of cotton and linen. You stretch a hand out, curious and utterly… amazed. To think your new husband had gone to all the effort… Your hand brushes purple silk and-

“Do you like them?”

You screech, jumping to face the voice at your back. It takes a moment for your eyes to find him, leaning casually against one post of your bed. Your breath is stolen for a second time. Snow white hair, piercingly blue eyes, pale soft skin… you know who he is even without looking at his dress, at the air of authority he claims. He’s your husband… and he is the most devastatingly beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

He laughs, then, and it’s a warmer sound than you’d thought it would be- rich and full. A sound that seeps into your bones and settles in your soul.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, but the twinkle in his eyes makes you think that perhaps that’s a lie.

Your heart pounds and your eyes flash to the door. It’s shut. You didn’t hear it open, nor did you hear it close behind him. You also didn’t hear footsteps, didn’t hear breaths, didn’t hear him.

He follows your gaze and laughs again, though it sounds a bit… strained?

“I have a habit of being unintentionally lightfooted. I apologize.”

Your heart is still pounding but you find it in yourself to have some decorum. You snap your jaw shut and bow your head slightly in respect. “You must be Lord Gojo. Forgive me for my insolence.”

There’s a beat, and then footsteps– ones you actually hear this time. You clench your jaw when he stops before you and then nearly gasp when he takes your hand and brings it to his lips.

“Satoru, please,” he winks and you think you might stop breathing. “I am your husband after all.”

You force yourself to nod, to swallow, to act normal. But how can you in the presence of a man that looks like… that? There’s something too unreal about him, too perfect. It’s almost… unsettling.

“Of course… Satoru.”

He straightens and shows you a close-lipped smile that digs a dimple into his left cheek. You have to look away to avoid stumbling over your own feet.

“So, do you like them?” Your brows furrow- “The dresses,” he clarifies.

“O-oh.” Your features relax into an easy smile. You turn back to your armoire, running a hand along another gown. You don’t think you’ve ever touched something so… finely made. “I like them very much. I don’t know how to thank you.”

There’s a little chuckle as you turn to face him again and you have to steel yourself before you meet his eyes. He’s mesmerizing, too mesmerizing. You think you could probably lose yourself in those eyes forever…

“No need to thank me. If they don’t fit, we’ll call for the seamstress in the morning.”

You nod softly, still lost to the situation. There’s a beat of silence in which your husband does nothing but… look at you. His eyes roam freely and the hair on your arms stands under his gaze. He traces the lines of your nose and jaw and lingers on your pulse. Can he see just how fast your heart is pounding?

“Did you… get dinner?” It’s a stupid question, you know, but you don’t think you can bear another second of that look he’s giving you. “I fell asleep and found a plate. I hope I didn’t prevent a proper meal…” You trail off. Perhaps you shouldn’t have pointed out your own shortcoming?

He gives you another smile and you swear he inches just a little closer. “You did no such thing. I’m… perfectly satisfied.”

You nod, glad that he doesn’t seem upset at the very least. Your lips press together, unsure of what to do or say. You’ve never had a husband before. Wasn’t he supposed to just sort of… put you on the bed and… do it?

Your eyes flit to said bed and your husband must see because he hurries to continue.

“Well, I’ll see you in the morning then, hm?” His eyes flit to your armoire and back again. “Wear the blue dress with the lace to breakfast, yeah? Been dying to see it on you.” He chuckles like he’s just told some sort of amusing joke.

Your brows furrow. That was… not the topic you’d been expecting. “You’re not…” You feel your cheeks heat and tighten your jaw. “Not staying the night?”

His lashes lower a fraction and those eyes pierce you again. You don’t think you could move even if you wanted to, even with him prowling closer, each step eating up the space between you. He doesn’t stop until you’re nose to nose and you can feel his breath fanning over your cheeks. It’s cold somehow, chilling, and you shiver. He smirks.

“Not tonight.”

His head dips and for a moment you think he’s going to kiss you, but then he’s bypassing your mouth altogether and- his lips connect to your pulse. His mouth is cool, just like his breath, and you shiver uncontrollably under his touch.

His touch is just a fleeting moment, just a wrinkle in time, and then he’s gone. His footsteps are quiet brushes on the hardwood and the creak of the door even seems tamed in his presence.

“Goodnight,” is all he says, and then he’s gone.

You climb into your bed an hour later wondering what in the world just happened.

You do wear the blue dress to breakfast and you can only gape in the mirror when you realize that it fits perfectly. It has you second-guessing yourself. Had you sent your measurements in advance and forgotten about it? No, you’d only sent a handful of pieces of information to the Lord prior to your marriage and you remembered all of them very clearly. Everything had gone through a messenger, everything had been clear and direct– you would have remembered sending your measurements– you didn’t. So had he just… guessed?

That seemed impossible with how everything fit you like a glove, but it was the only explanation you had. The only one that made sense.

When you join Satoru for breakfast it’s in a sitting room as lavishly decorated as the rest of the castle, but perhaps organized to be a bit more… liveable. He has no plate in front of him, only a tin cup that hides the contents of whatever he’s drinking. You assume coffee or juice. Perhaps he’s just not a breakfast person.

“It fits!” he says. His hands clasp together in front of him and he smiles again, dimples and all.

You nod and fight the heat that bubbles beneath your cheeks as you take your seat. “Yes, perfectly.”

A plate is set before you and a glance up reveals it’s Thomas serving your breakfast. You smile, hoping for some acknowledgement from him, for a small piece of comfort. Instead, you get his averted gaze and quick retreat. Your brows furrow, but before you can say anything, Satoru is back to speaking.

“I hope Thomas treated you well yesterday?”

You glance up, but Satoru’s eyes aren’t on you, they’re on your footman. His smile is bright, but it’s anything but friendly. You fight a shiver.

You glance at Thomas. He’s perfectly still, perfectly straight, but you think you see a muscle clench in his jaw. You clear your throat. “Y-Yes. Thomas was very helpful.” When Satoru keeps staring the boy down you add, “-and very respectful.”

That seems to satisfy. Satoru breaks his stare and some of the tension in the air instantly eases. He shoots you another dimpled smile, this one with a little more warmth. “Perfect.”

There’s a beat and then he’s standing, draining whatever he has in his cup and then straightening his jacket. “Well, I have some work to do. I’ll see you for dinner?” He’s grinning again, like it’s so normal for a man to abandon his bride on their wedding night and then again the morning after. All you can do is nod. He chuckles. “See you then, princess.” And then he’s gone.

If this is to be your life you don't know how you will survive it. You spend the day milling about. Through the gardens, through the castle, through the stables. Thomas is never far behind, but any attempt at conversation is nipped in the bud by hit shortness. It’s like he fears coming too close. He’s never closer than a couple paces except when he has to bring you something, only to retreat again as soon as possible. The other servants barely pay you any mind apart from giving you a respectful greeting and then immediately averting their eyes. There is no work to be done, no guests to be had, no parties to plan… and no Satoru. You don’t see your husband once on tour around the grounds. You ask Thomas where his office is only for him to vaguely point out a window in the east tower. You don’t see so much as a ripple in the curtains.

Dinner comes around at the pace of a snail. When it’s finally time to get dressed a lady’s maid whose name you don’t even catch arrives to help you lace your dress. As soon as your corset is deemed tight enough she’s back out the door with a curtsy. Thomas leads you to the dining room and your eyes roam the whole way. Even after having spent the whole day exploring, there are halls and corridors that you’ve yet to step foot in.

The dining room is just as gorgeous as the rest of the place– filled with singular items that could feed entire families for years. Somehow, you think you’ve already grown accustomed to such things, since the only thing you truly care to look at is your husband. Satoru’s already seated, but he stands when you enter, looping around the table to pull a chair out for you.

You give him your most genuine smile, accepting a kiss to your knuckles in greeting before you settle. “How was your day?” you ask as he takes his seat again.

He chuckles. “Perfectly fine. And how was yours, princess?” Your nose crinkles. That’s the second time he’s called you that. Something about it feels wrong. You’re still getting used to being a lady. Princess feels even worse.

“It was… good.”

You watch a perfect white brow arch in the candlelight. “Oh? Just good?” You don’t miss the way his eyes flicker to the corner– to Thomas.

You hurry to elaborate. “Well, I just– I can’t help but feel as if there’s not much… use for me.” Servants flood in, some carrying wine, others carrying trays that hold more food than the both of you could ever possibly consume.

That brow arches impossibly higher. “Use?” His lips crack into that smile again, but it’s tight this time. Too tight. “You have no use. You only enjoy yourself. Surely Thomas has told you that.”

A plate of steaming food plops in front of you. Even its heavenly smell can’t quell the sudden dread in your gut. “Of course! Of course he did.” Your stomach twists and you decide that perhaps now is not the time to press the subject. “I’ll just… I’ll try riding tomorrow.” You hate riding, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind.

Satoru’s smile thaws into something less menacing. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy that.”

You nod eagerly. “I’m sure I will.”

You grab your fork, eager for a new subject. From what you can tell, dinner is roast chicken and vegetables, though it’s the luxury version as everything seems to be. The spices are intoxicating and the green beans are even arranged in a pretty little pattern that makes them look too good to eat. You do anyway. The first bite nearly makes you moan, but you chew slowly, delicately, trying not to let your upbringing show.

It’s not until several bites later that you realize you’re the only one eating. A quick glance reveals your husband has no platter, no chicken or green beans. He’s only… watching you. You clear your throat, dabbing at your lips with a napkin.

“You’re not… eating?”

That permanent smile grows a little wider and you can’t help but feel as if there’s something… menacing about it. “Ate before I came.”

Your brows furrow. “Oh. Were you on the road?”

You think you see something wild flash in his eyes. “No.”

The rest of dinner passes slowly, almost painfully. Satoru doesn’t eat a bite, doesn’t even look enticed. You wonder how that’s possible when it smells like a spice bomb went off in the dining room.

By the time you’ve cleared your plate you’ve discussed everything from the number of horses in the stables to kinds of crops grown on the estate. It’s comforting to know a little more about your new home, but it’s not enough.

“Is there a library?” you ask. You’re on dessert now. It’s the best chocolate cake you’ve ever had and it takes everything in you to hold back a moan each time it touches your tongue.

“Of course.” Your husband’s eyes flicker to Thomas again and you’re honestly starting to fear for the poor footman’s life. Everytime you ask a question it’s like Satoru is angry it hasn’t already been answered. “It’s yours to use as you please.”

You smile lightly. “Perfect. Thank you.”

He softens a bit at that. “Is there anything specific you wanted to read about?”

You shrug. “The estate, I suppose. I should know my home’s history, no?”

His eyes get that wild look again, that sparkle that you know speaks to nothing good. “Oh, absolutely. I have some personal favorites to recommend. I’ll leave them aside for you?”

You swallow and give him a shallow nod. “That would be perfect. Thank you.”

He chuckles. “My pleasure.”

When dessert is finally over, you stand slowly. Satoru’s not far behind you, saying he’ll walk you to your room. Your heart leaps at his words. Will he stay with you tonight?

He offers you his arm in the hall and your mouth runs dry when you feel the corded muscle beneath his jacket. By the time you reach your room, you’re thinking of tugging him in behind you. His denial to stay with you last night was not only confusing, but… off putting. Nearly offensive. Did he not like how you looked? Did he think something was wrong with you?

You muster all the courage you possess and force your lips apart. “Will you stay with me tonight?”

His eyes spark again and you hold your breath. He presses closer. This is it, you think. His lips hover over yours, eyes glimmering in the candlelight. And then he dips his head, his mouth pressing to your pulse.

“Not tonight,” he whispers– and then he’s gone.

You wake suddenly. It’s the middle of the night, you gather. The light streaming through the window is weak enough to only be that of the moon.

Your heart is pounding and your skin is slick with sweat despite the chill in your bones. A nightmare, you think. It must have been a nightmare.

As you settle back into your sheets you swear you see a ripple in the darkness. You close your eyes. If your nightmare is real, you’d rather not see it coming.

The library is huge. It’s sprawling and smells of paper and leather and everytime Thomas lights a candle you flinch at the idea that one misplaced spark could end thousands of years of knowledge.

The books Satoru left you are… perfect. Just what you were looking for. They’re all comprehensive volumes of the history of the estate, many of which reference each other. You’re stunned to see that several are written by very well-known authors of both the past and the present. You knew the Gojo family’s influence reached far, but not that far. You peruse the titles. The Gojos: A History, A History of the Gojo Crest, History of the Gojo Castle, Revisiting the Gojo Family: A Comprehensive History. Altogether you have well over a few thousand pages of information– but there’s one book that doesn’t fit with the rest. It’s relatively unassuming. A black cover with some sort of gold rune etched onto its front. When you flip to the title page it reads “Creatures of Myth and Where To Find Them”. Your brows furrow. You slide it to the side– must have gotten mixed in with the others, you think.

You ask Thomas to bring the books to your room. He does. Very respectfully. He sets them on your bedside table and then retreats like a kicked puppy with only a polite goodbye. You sigh. His behavior has only gotten stranger in the past few days. You think the servants’ coldness must have something to do with Satoru, but you can’t figure out why. Had he ordered them to stay away? Why would he?

You decide it’s a question for another day and dive into your books. You spend hours, days, reading every chapter, page, and word. The pure amount of information is dizzying. Apparently this specific estate had been in the hands of the Gojo family since the eighth century (with several razings and consequential rebuilds). You also learn that Satoru was not only the most wealthy lord on the continent, but the most wealthy man. Even wealthier than the king apparently, though that fact was kept fairly under wraps to protect the crown’s ego. The estimates of your husband’s net worth made your head spin.

Satoru joins you for breakfast and dinner every day. You never see him eat a morsel. It’s… unsettling to say the least. It’s always just that tin cup, filled with something you could never quite see. You develop a pattern of waking in the night, too, with the overwhelming sense that something is watching you. Sometimes you could swear you feel the bed shift as you jerk awake. Each time you simply close your eyes and try your best to slow your heart, convinced your mind is playing tricks on you.

Your days feel a little more productive with a book in your hands, but you’ve read them all three times over by the time a fortnight has passed. You find yourself packing them up to return to Thomas when a certain black cover catches your attention. You grab it from the pile and settle back into your seat. You’ve nothing better to do, right?

You flip back the cover, revealing a familiar title. “Creatures of Myth and Where to Find Them”. You don’t recognize the author’s name. A quick scroll through the table of contents reveals nothing particularly interesting, but you pick a random chapter on ghouls and decide to start there.

It’s fascinating. Nothing about the style is boring and the words fly by. Your silly little myth book is a page turner. By the time you notice the light has started dying you’ve read about ghosts, fairies, werewolves, and goblins– all of which have been a delightful little read. A glance at the clock reveals you have a half hour before dinner. One more chapter, you think. Your eyes skim the title. “Vampires [Vampyr]”.

You skim the first paragraphs until your eyes settle on a line that catches your eye.

“Contrary to popular belief, vampires are not always crazed blood-hungry monsters. Many live among humans quite comfortably and are able to avoid detection with a little well-placed effort.”

You purse your lips. What a… terrifying thought. You skim a little further.

“A vampire’s key characteristic is, of course, their desire and need to drink human blood as sustenance. However, a vampire can be spotted sooner if one is able to recognize their subtler traits. Vampires often have skin lacking any sort of flush. The lack of blood in their veins results in a sickly pallor, even after the most rigorous exercise. Their skin is also noticeably cold to the touch. At best, a vampire’s body will reach room temperature. Vampires can also be noted for their preternatural beauty. They will stand out as the most attractive person in any crowd. Finally, a vampire will have fangs. If one wishes to identify a vampire, one only needs a good look at their teeth”.

A chill settles over your skin. You flip ahead a few pages.

“Vampires are unable to consume typical human food. Should they attempt to, their bodies will immediately reject any and all foreign substances.”

Your stomach drops. You don’t want to think about why. You skip the rest of the paragraph.

“Vampires possess several supernatural abilities that set them apart as a human’s predator rather than their equal. Vampires are known to move unnaturally fast and are notably light footed. If a vampire does not wish to be heard, they will not be. A vampire’s strength is inhuman, well over ten times that of the average man. They also have a penchant for darkness, an ability to hide away in the shadows that cannot be explained. Oftentimes they will seem to appear from thin air.”

You skip ahead again.

“Vampires have been known to take mates. Mates usually come in the form of another vampire, but in some cases a human has been chosen. Vampires are fiercely protective of their mates, bordering on obsession. Any person deemed a threat to their bond or their mate’s safety is usually disposed of quickly. Oftentimes, vampires make these decisions with haste, with little regard for whether or not the threat was real. A vampire will do everything in their power to please their mate, but have been known to forcibly restrain their mates in situations of unrequited feelings. Above all else, vampires wish to possess their mates. Two bonded vampires will sometimes spiral into gloriously destructive fits in their endless desire to protect and possess one another. A vampire bonded to a human will show an increasingly protective nature, often isolating their mate from others.”

Your heart pounds. A bead of sweat rolls down your back. You flip the pages, desperate– desperate for a piece of information that will save you from the thoughts spilling in your mind, from the thoughts you will do anything not to believe. You reach the “Where to Find Them” subsection and nearly gasp with relief. Surely, vampires do not pose as wealthy lords of Europe?

“Vampires can be found everywhere. They do not exist in only one country or continent, but all over the world. Odds are that you have faced at least one vampire in your life, unknowingly or not. Some vampires choose to live solitary lives, surviving in the wilderness where human society will not attempt to tame their wild nature. Others choose to live among humans, some even existing in positions of very high authority.”

No, no, no. This can’t be happening to you. It can’t be real. You’re dreaming, you’re having one of those nightmares again. You’re going to wake up any second.

“One tale recounts a razing of the Gojo estate in the 12th century.”

You’re panting, hyperventilating. This isn’t happening.

“Soldiers of the enemy force recounted a singular man, the son and heir of the then Lord Gojo, taking out a minimum of 800 men. He was described as having his family’s characteristic white hair as well as blue eyes. Eyewitness accounts depict the Gojo heir as covered in blood and killing savagely and with inhuman strength.”

No, no, no.

“(See next page for only existing portrait)”

Your fingers tremble but you can’t stop them. There’s no way. It’s not possible.

You flip the page and Satoru stares back at you.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

You nearly scream. Your door rattles angrily, but you’re not sure you can answer it, not with the knowledge flooding your mind. The knocking continues. You run your hand over your face and smooth down your hair. You feel frazzled, dirty, despite not having moved from your chair all day. Another knock prompts you to set your book aside and stand. You do your best to compose yourself, to put on a straight face. You fail instantly when you pull back the door not to reveal your faithful attendant, not Thomas, but Satoru.

You bite back a shriek and instead force a smile. You’re suddenly very aware of the blood pounding in you veins and of the fact that he most likely knows.

“Hello,” he says, but his voice is lower than usually, more intense.

You force a breath into your lungs. “Hello,” you answer, but it sounds more like a squeak than a greeting.

Something flashes in his eyes, something familiar, something that is no longer interesting but rather terrifying. “Are you alright? You seem a little… flushed.” The concern on his face feels anything but genuine.

“I’m fine,” you answer, but even you can tell that reply too quickly, too eagerly. You rush to cover it up. “Is it time for dinner? Where’s Thomas?”

His lip twitches and you see a muscle in his jaw flex. “Thomas has… left us.”

No. This wasn’t happening to you. There was no way this was happening to you.

“He… what?” There’s an unmistakable wobble in your voice that only causes Satoru’s face to fall further.

“It’s no matter. He’s gone. Now it’s just you and me, hm?” He chuckles and the sound rattles your bones. “In fact, I was thinking I’d cut down on the number of servants we have entirely…”

You mind races with the memory of knowledge you wish you didn’t have. “Vampires are fiercely protective of their mates, bordering on obsession. Any person deemed a threat to their bond or their mate’s safety is usually disposed of quickly.”

You nearly stumble, but lean against the doorframe just in time. Your husband had disposed of a man, all because he brought you meals and books?

“What have you been up to today, princess?” The question breaks your trance just in time for you to see your husband’s eyes flicker behind you.

You wet your lips. “Just some reading.” You plead that he doesn’t ask anything further. He does.

“About the estate?” he asks.

You nod and try to swallow the lump in your throat. “Yes.”

His smile returns and this time it’s not forced. “You got my books, then?”

You try smiling back, but you’re fairly sure it looks more like a grimace. “Yes.”

“Anything interesting?” he presses.

This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. Does he know? Does he know that you know? “Yes, of course. Lots.”

He pauses and you see the debate and then the decision in his eyes. You think it’s the first time you’ve felt true terror when he meets your gaze again. “I think we should skip dinner tonight. It seems we have so much to discuss.”

You don’t even have the wherewithal to scream when he steps into you, forcing you back until he’s shutting your door behind him. He doesn’t stop there, though. He keeps pressing, keeps pushing until your knees hit the bed and you’re falling to the mattress. He crawls right after you.

“Who knew my little wife was such a reader? All those books in such a short time… You must be simply spilling with information.”

You retreat across the mattress, squeaking when your back hits the headboard and his arms cage your waist. You’re trapped.

His hands find your hips and you’re all too aware of how cool his touch is. Even more so when he pulls you right into his lap.

“Satoru-” your voice is pitiful, breathless, and you’re ashamed to say it’s not just from the fear in your gut. He’s never been this close before, never touched you, held you like this. “Thomas-”

“Don’t speak his name.” His face pulls into the first scowl you’ve ever seen and the sight is enough to root you to the spot. Never have you seen anything more frightening. A creature so beautiful, so perfectly angelic, filled with an insurmountable rage. It’s wrong. “He’s gone. He’ll never bother you again.” He’s closer now, his breath skating over your skin. It’s cool and now you know the reason why.

You shake and tremble and you know– Thomas is dead. Your husband killed him– killed him for getting too close when all he did was stay at a distance. Satoru killed him. Killed him.

He buries himself in your neck, his voice a near whine. “Thought I could put up with it, just so you’d have someone to take care of you…” He groans. “I was so wrong, princess. Couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand the way you smelled more like him than me…”

You feel him melt against you then, relief washing over his body in a wave. “But he’s gone. And now it’s just you and me, hm? Just you and me…” He hums, like remembering that fact is all he’s ever needed.

He’s kissing your pulse again, now, and your heart is racing faster than ever. Your fingers curl into his shoulders. You should push him away, away, away. He’s a killer, of thousands no doubt. You’ve never felt at home here, never felt like you belonged. This is why. You’re not even the same species. He’s something else, something your hands were never meant to touch.

Your mind screams at you to do go, to shove and kick at him and leave this place behind. Go, go, go your gut says… but you don’t. You can’t. It’s too… good. The feeling of his cool lips against your skin, of what you’re sure is his tongue prodding at your pulse… it’s intoxicating. He is intoxicating. How could anyone blame you for wanting more of someone, something, so divine?

“Have you figured it out yet, love?” Your breath hitches and he chuckles, licking a long stripe up your neck, before he settles back at your pulse. Always your pulse. “I can feel those little gears turning. Tell me, what have they discovered?”

He knows you know. But he’s going to make you say it. You swallow and feel his grip on you tighten. “You’re…” Your breaths come faster. You can’t. Not aloud. Aloud makes it too… real.

“Yessss?” he prods. He’s licking at you again, all the way across your throat to find your other pulse-point.

“You’re not…” Something sharps nicks at your skin and you bite your lip to hold back a whimper.

“Go on, princess.” You think he’s just smelling you now, just burying his face as close to you as possible and taking you in.

You close your eyes tightly, holding back tears. “Not human,” you breathe. A piece of you breaks with the admission.

He huffs a little laugh against your skin and pulls back to look you in the eye. “That’s good,” he purrs. “But I think you can be a little more specific, no?” His lips press to your chin, then the corner of your mouth, then down to your jaw… “Tell me.”

Your lips wobble, muscles clenching tighter with each passing moment. You don’t want to say it, don’t want to speak it into existence, but you also don’t dare to disobey him.

“You’re a…” You shake and tremble. He draws a line up your neck with the tip of his nose.

“Mhm?”

You open your eyes, thinking this might be the last time you see. “Vampire.”

He chuckles and you feel his teeth press to the skin of your neck. “That’s right, princess. So smart.”

He smiles and you suddenly realize you’ve never seen his teeth before. Everytime he smiles at you it’s close-lipped and dimpled. But this… this is the smile of a predator– all white and pointy and fitted with a set of menacingly long fangs. You sob at the sight.

“Shhhhh,” he coos. He has your chin in his hand, forcing you to truly look at him, to see him for what he is. “I won’t hurt you, love.” You want to believe him so badly it burns, but his laugh washes away any fire and turns it to ice. “Not unless you want me to.” He wiggles a brow like it’s just a little joke, like he’s not an actual fucking vampire that had his fangs over your neck just moments ago.

“Satoru,” you beg. You’re not sure what you’re begging for. Release maybe? But, no, that’s not right. You don’t want him to let you go, not when you finally have him close after all this time. “Why did you pick me?”

The question slips out. You hadn’t even been thinking about it, hadn’t even noticed it scratching at the walls of your mind, but it made its way out nonetheless.

His brow creases, but not in confusion. Moreso in… thoughtfulness. “Do you think about that a lot, princess?”

You nod and you suddenly want him closer, want him to touch you everywhere, hold you like his life depends on it. You want him, no matter how horrible it might be.

He nods and hums, kissing the tip of your nose lightly. “Well…” he says. His thumb swipes over your lips when he leans in to whisper in your ear. “At first I wanted you for this.” His head dips to your neck again and you feel the familiar brush of his lips against your throat. “You smell…” he chuckles. “Like heaven. Which is a place I’ll never get to on my own, so I had to bring my own little slice home, no?” He laughs again, a little louder this time, genuinely amused. “Went into town one day and caught your scent on the street. At first I thought I must be walking past the bakery, but, lo and behold, there was no baker in sight.” He’s still kissing at your pulse, worshiping it. “Went crazy, princess. Didn’t think I was going to be able to contain myself when I found you. Thought it might be quite the scene.” He huffs a laugh and you shiver, somehow both terrified and intoxicated. “But then I saw you–” he groans and something clenches deep at your center. “And I knew I needed more than just your blood. Needed you.” He’s rocking into you now, and your breath catches when you feel something firm against your backside. “Went to you in that little room you slept in every night. Watched you. Couldn’t stay away. Knew I had to have you.” You feel him smile against your skin. “After a week I couldn’t take it anymore. Sent you that letter, married you. Made you mine.” He groans again. “Then I met you and you were so pretty, princess. Already knew it, but hearin’ you talk to me, look at me.” Teeth graze your pulse. “Needed you more than ever. Almost took you right on the fucking floor in here while you were lookin’ at those dresses.” You whine when his hips roll into you again. “Oh, but I knew I couldn’t. You’re so fragile, love. Had to wait, had to make you feel safe, yeah? Spent all this time forcing myself to stay away, ‘fraid of what I might too if I was in your presence too long. Had to control myself. Had to make you realize you could trust me.” He panting, like he’s so pent up he can hardly sit still. “Do you trust me, princess?”

Your brows scrunch. Say no, say no, say no a part of you screams. Run, run, run. You can’t. “Yes,” you breathe.

You feel him smile again, feel the pleasure of submission. “Good girl.”

You’re on your back. It happens so fast your eyes don’t even have time to gasp. You don’t see Satoru, but you feel him. Everywhere. His hands are roaming your body softly, sliding under buttons and laces and popping them off. Your dress loosens with every passing moment until Satoru reappears above you, diving straight for your neck again. “So good, princess. Let’s get you out of this dress, yeah?”

You nod wordlessly, entranced. He finds your mouth as he rids you of your clothes. His tongue presses in and you flail against him, unsure of what to do, of how to handle the intrusion. The kiss is heavy, too heavy, but Satoru can’t seem to stop. He devours you as he gives up on laces and buttons and simply shreds your dress down the back. You tremble when the cold air hits your skin, when his cool fingers dust your collarbone.

“I always forget how many damn layers they make you ladies wear,” he chuckles. His hands run beneath your shift, up across your bare thigh. You gasp at the touch. No one has even been so close to you before. You feel the threads of your corset snapping away, feel your breaths growing deeper. You tremble when he pulls your sleeve down past your shoulder and runs his mouth along the newly exposed skin.

“Satoru,” you gasp, and your hand pulls at his flowing white shirt.

He chuckles, pulling back just enough to see your face. “You wanna see me too?” You nod, lips parted and eyes glassy, and he laughs again. He lips dust over the corner of your mouth. “Alright.”

His hands shift from you to himself, working at the laces on his chest. His movements are speedy, practiced, like he’s been lacing and unlacing shirts for hundreds of years. Your throat tightens when you realize that he has.

You gasp when he reveals himself, when his shirt slides away to reveal an expanse of pale skin and carved muscle. You’ve never seen a man like this and seeing one this close up for the first time is nearly blinding. He’s art, you think- nothing less.

“Touch me, princess,” he says. You can’t. You shouldn’t. He’s too beautiful, too perfect to be beneath your insignificant hands. “Need a little help?” he asks, and there’s a lilt in his voice that makes you sure he’s grinning.

His hands find yours and bring them to his chest, running your palms over his collarbones, his pecs, down, down, down across his abs that you can feel each and every one… You whimper, watching your own fingers grope his skin. He pulls you lower, lower, lower, and you gasp when your fingertips brush the waistband of his pants. But then he’s laughing again and he’s throwing your arms over his shoulders and pulling you closer, kissing your neck like it pained him to be parted from your pulse for so long.

“Not so fast,” he says, like he wasn’t the one nearly stuffing your hands down his pants. His hands are on your corset again. You can feel it dangling onto you by a thread, literally. All he needs is a couple more pulls and you’ll be bare. By the look he gives you, you can tell he’s

thinking the same thing. “You touch me, now I touch you, yeah?” There’s a tug and a tear and then so much… cold. You’ve never realized how cold this castle is, not until you’re exposed to its elements fully. You’re naked.

Satoru sits back on his knees and just watches. His gaze is searing, burning, despite the iciness of his being. It’s too much. Your hands move to cover yourself, to maintain some modicum of your dignity-

“No.” Strong hands find your wrists and pry them apart. “Let me see you,” he says. His tongue darts out to lick his lips.

Your jaw clenches and your frame shakes, but you do as he asks, letting your hands fall limply at your sides. There’s silence for many more moments and it seems to go on so long that you can only squeeze your eyes shut under his gaze. Surely he will turn you away now, get up and leave, tell you this was a mistake, tell you that you’re–

“Beautiful,” he breathes. Your eyes snap open to find him already staring at you. “Beautiful,” he says again, and then he’s on you, lips at your pulse, hands on your skin. His touch is cool and you squeak at the chill that runs up your spine. You’re not sure it’s entirely from his temperature.

His mouth seeks yours and he devours you. You feel as if he’s sucking your soul out through your lips. “Tell me you’ve never done this before,” he begs. “Tell me I’m the first to touch you.”

You whine against his mouth, both aching for more and overwhelmed by what he’s already giving you. “Y-You’re the first,” you whisper.

His groan is deep, primal. It rattles through your chest and you whimper when his hands dig into your waist hard enough to bruise. “Yes,” he breathes, and you shiver again. “Lie back, princess.” Your eyes widen, with anticipation or fear you’re not sure. Probably both. He chuckles. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.”

You pray he means that. “Just relax, love. Here, hold my hand.” His fingers find yours, twining them together. When you swallow, his eyes follow the bob of your throat. He leans back again and your body twitches when his free hand skims the skin of your thighs. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he finds your knees and you gasp when he parts your legs, revealing you so completely to his gaze. The way he stares, like he’s committing you to memory, it’s nearly enough to make you snap your thighs shut, but a squeeze from his hand reminds you to relax, to trust.

His palm skates up your thigh and settles near your hip, his fingertips inching closer to where you can feel an embarrassing throb.

“Tell me, love. Have you ever touched yourself here?” His fingers dust low on your tummy- just low enough for you to catch his meaning, but not low enough to give you any relief. Your face heats and your teeth dig into the flesh of your cheek. You have, you have touched yourself there, but it’s the last thing you want to admit to your new husband. It’s shameful, it’s dirty, it’s- “Don’t think I’ll judge you, princess. Just wanna know.”

You gulp down a breath. You should come clean. “Y-yes,” you stutter, and the sound of your voice so weak and helpless only makes you flush further.

He chuckles and squeezes your hand again. “On the outside or the inside?”

Your eyes widen. I-inside? You’d never considered that… “J-just the outside,” you answer.

Your eyes grow even wider when his head rolls back and he moans straight up to the ceiling like your answer is heaven-sent. When he looks back to you his fangs are on full display. “Well, I think you and I are in for a little treat today, hm?”

Your brow furrows and your lips part to ask him what he means– his fingers travel those last few inches down your tummy and find your clit. You squeak and jolt so violently that he presses a hand to your hip, holding you to the mattress. “Somebody’s sensitive,” he chuckles. He holds you still for a moment and then lets your hips go free. “Try to stay still. I promise it’ll feel good.”

You nod hopelessly, but this time you’re prepared for when he touches you again. Your muscles clench at the first touch, at the foreign sensation of a touch down there that wasn’t your own. But then it’s more. It’s languid, slow circles around a spot that you’ve never been able to pinpoint so well on your own. It’s heat building in your tummy that seeps through every vein and into every pore. It’s relaxation that you’ve never known, that has you melting into the mattress despite the chill of the touch.

There’s a little huff of a laugh and then his voice. “Good girl. Feels nice, yeah?” You nod hesitantly and squeeze desperately at his hand, searching for an anchor. His head cocks to the side and you watch the smile slide across his lips. “It’s about to feel even nicer.”

By the time you realize what he’s doing it’s far too late to stop him. His mouth closes around your cunt and you yelp, trying to wiggle away from the overwhelming sensation- but he’s got his freehand on your hip again and his grip is bruising, punishing, as he holds you in place. He licks a stripe through your folds and you find yourself jolting again, uselessly so against the pressure of his palm on your hip. “Stop that, princess.” Your heart drops at the admonishment until you feel his guiding touch. “Rock into me like this.” His hand rocks your hips into his mouth and the pressure of his tongue against your clit is so delicious that you whimper. “Good girl,” he says and your heart rises right back up. “Keep doing that, now.” You don’t dare defy him. You rock like he showed you, a little jerkily at first, and then you find a rhythm that has you seeing stars. “That’s it, love,” he says, and the sound is muffled against your cunt. “Here, put your hand in my hair.” He finds your wrist and guides you forward until your fingers are tangling in those snowy locks. They’re even softer than you’d imagined. “Good girl,” he whispers and suddenly he’s taking one last long lick and lifting his head to meet your eyes. “‘M gonna put my fingers in you now, princess.” Your chin wobbles. “It might hurt a little bit, but stay still, okay?” You can’t do anything but nod.

His eyes return to your cunt and you can feel him prodding at your entrance, circling the hole as you clench in anticipation. “Relaaaaaax, love,” he says and you nod. A deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth–

You feel the exact moment he pushes into you and a whine of pain rips from your throat. Your walls clamp down like a vice, angry at the intrusion– but it’s already too late. There’s a beat of silence, of anticipation, and then he’s– laughing?

Your brows furrow when you hear it, your head lifting to a sight that locks your limbs in shock. Satoru’s hand is lifted in front of his face, his pointer finger coated in– blood, you realize. Your blood. And he’s a fucking vampire.

“Oh princess,” he coos, and the manic look in his eyes makes you tremble. “You really are perfect.”

Things seem to slow as you watch him take his blood covered finger into his mouth. You’re sure you’ve never seen an expression more blissful, more lost to sensation. His eyes roll back and his body shivers, like he’s ascending to some higher plane. Maybe he is.

When he pulls his finger from his mouth it’s completely licked clean. You hold your breath. He’s going to go for your neck now, right? He’s had a taste and now he’ll want more of it, all of it?

“Fuck,” is all he says. His mouth is back on your cunt so fast you don’t even see him move.

Your mouth falls wide. It hurts, the way he is so desperately licking at you. You feel his finger again, pressing in, in, in, only to pull back and suddenly be joined by another. The stretch tears at you. You thrash and jolt, but Satoru doesn’t bother telling you to stop this time. His arm wraps over your hips, holding you in place. He seems immune to how hard your legs squeeze at his head or your hands pull at his hair. He’s lost. You can feel him licking, lapping, and prodding at you like you’re a fucking gold mine. He’s lost to desperation, to the need for more, more, more. Every so often he lifts his chin and you see his mouth smudged with a mixture of your wetness and your blood. He laps at his lips like an animal, dragging his thumb across his chin and sliding it into his mouth to make sure he gets every last drop.

You’re not quite sure when the ravenous pain turns to a ravenous pleasure, when it turns from terrifying to downright delicious. You don’t notice your moans filling the air until Satoru joins you, groaning and whining into your cunt and telling you to keep going, to keep making those sounds. The hand you have buried in his hair doesn’t fight to push him away any longer, only to pull him into those now practiced rocks of your hips. His fingers thrust deep, curling into a spot that makes you feel so good and his mouth has found your clit again. He sucks your nerves lightly between his lips, tongue swirling in little circles. Your thighs start to shake.

“Yes. Yes. Give it to me.”

“S-Satoru–” you breathe. Warmth and tightness pool in your tummy, and you recognize it as your approaching orgasm, though you know this one will be far different than any you’ve ever managed to give yourself. Your body shakes and your breaths tremble and then– you fall over the edge, rocking your hips senselessly, losing all form of rhythm. Warmth tingles in your spine and seeps all the way down to your toes. You think you cry out, cry for your husband, cry for more, cry for less, but if you do you don’t hear it. All you hear is the pounding of your pulse, of pleasure throbbing in your veins until the world slowly seeps back in through the corners of your vision.

Satoru is grinning. A speck of your blood clings to his chin and his fangs peek out from behind his lips. The sight makes your blood run a little colder. If any part of you doubted what he was before… well, there was no doubt any longer.

There’s a shift between your legs, his hips slotting between them, and you’re suddenly snapped back to reality. From the look in his eyes, you’re not done.

Frantic hands find his pants and he undoes each button with a quickness that is almost inhuman. You wonder if he could go even faster, if he’s holding back so as not to scare you. If he is, it isn’t working very well. Fear surges in your veins right alongside anticipation.

“S-Satoru–”

“It’s alright, love.” His hand finds yours without his eyes ever looking up. His grip is just a little too firm, a little too cold. “Just stay still.”

You whimper, but you don’t think he’s paying attention to that, and soon enough, neither are you. His pants slide down just past his hips, just enough. You gasp.

You’ve never seen a man in the nude, never even dared to think about what it might look like, though it seemed you no longer had to guess. His hand wrapped around his shaft, giving one long and slow stroke that made his breath hiss through his fangs. The tip was flushed, angry, and leaking something that looked clear and sticky. You couldn’t help but notice it was a lot thicker than a finger, or even two. If his fingers had hurt…

He moves with that alarming quickness again, leaning down to hover over you, chests nearly pressed together. “Gonna take you now, princess. Gonna make you mine.” His eyes bore into yours, blue and shimmering with something wild. His hand presses into the mattress beside your head. “Stay still, now.”

It’s all the warning he gives you. You feel like you’re splitting– straight up the middle. You wail, hands flying out to claw at his back. It hurts. It hurts.

“Satoru, p-please! It’s–”

Lips catch yours– hungry, feral. The kiss is not gentle, not soothing. It shuts you up, it keeps you quiet, it keeps you still as you feel him sinking further, deeper into you. It’s too much, you try to say, but the poke of sharp teeth against your lips keeps you silent. Your hips jolt and wiggle trying desperately to escape the stretch but it’s no use. By the time he’s fully inside you, tears are streaking down your cheeks, fat and heavy. His lips break away and his eyes reappear. You shake when you see that none of the wildness has been tamed, that you’ve only just begun.

“Good girl,” he coos, and a cool finger traces a line across your jaw. “Took me so well.” You hold back a sob when his hips shift a little, testing, prodding. He must see the pinch of your eyes, the twist of your mouth, because he’s quick to comfort. “Just hold my hand, princess.” His hips rock in earnest this time and you whimper, squeezing down on his hand with all your might. You’re panting as he chuckles. “Breathe, love. Breathe. Soon you’ll be begging for more,” he laughs. It’s not long before he’s rocking into you sincerely, setting a pace that stretches you to the brink of breaking. At first it’s all you can do to grasp onto him, to bite your lips through the whimpers and hold his hand. And then it’s… more. It’s heat and warmth despite the coolness of his body on yours. It’s sensation and… pleasure. He laughs when the first moan slides past your lips, burying his face in your neck once again. You hear him at your ear, panting his hot breath across your skin.

“Feel good, princess?” You nod, letting your hips rock against his as he showed you before. It feels good– it feels right. He chuckles, but there’s nothing light about the sound. “Wanna feel even better?” Something sharp pokes at the skin of your neck, hard enough to make you squeak, to make you freeze at what you know he wants.

He pulls himself back, pressing his forehead to yours, searching your eyes with his. Something like a cruel smile dances on his mouth. “Just a taste, love. I promise it won’ hurt.” His tongue darts out and licks across your lips, his thrusts rocking just a bit faster. “You’ll feel s’ good an’ I’ll only take a little.” He laughs again and it sends a chill through your bones. “Promise.” He sounds breathless, like he’s struggling to restrain himself. The increase of his pace makes you whine and you squeeze his hand again. He buries himself back in your neck, panting. “Come on, love. Say yes. Say yes f’ me.” Your eyes glaze over. Your body justles with each new thrust. He’s desperate now, seeking a release that you don’t think is any kind you’re familiar with. “Yes, yes, yes,” he chants in your ear. You’re not sure when his words twist in your mind, when they settle on your tongue and push past your lips, but you know it feels so right when they do.

“Yes,” you whisper.

His fangs clamp around your pulse. You scream when the sting rips through you, violent and savage– but it only lasts a moment. Pain fades to… ecstasy. You feel his throat bobbing with each swallow, feel your blood seeping from your skin and onto his tongue. You’d thought it would feel slicing, draining, like the life was being sucked from you. It doesn’t. It feels wonderful. Heat spreads under your skin, emanating from your neck and down to your toes. It feels like breathing for the first time, like sugar being pumped into your veins. It feels like heaven. Your hand tangles in his hair, holding him close. You don’t want it to stop, not ever. You could die like this, have him suck every last drop of blood from your veins and thank him for it with your dying breath.

He’s moaning now, hands curling into your hips while he fucks into you relentlessly. The pace is grueling and brutal. You know it should hurt but only feels perfect. Anything less would not be enough. Anything else would leave you wanting. You feel it building, feel that familiar twinge at your core. The ecstasy flooding through your veins has it coming faster, has you teetering on the edge in moments.

“Satoru…” You hadn’t noticed how dizzy you felt until you tried to speak. You wonder why… “‘M gonna…”

He fucks you harder, something menacing and deep rumbling in his chest. The sound makes you shiver, makes you whine, makes you come.

Your body shakes and a cry rips from your throat, cunt clenching like a vice around him. Your eyes roll back, hands scraping trails down his back. Your thighs quake with the intensity, with the overwhelming senses of pleasure that erupt throughout your body. Every nerve is firing, every hair rising. It’s an unstoppable current, one that sweeps you away, helpless to its pull.

His thrusts grow sloppy and untimed. His grip on your hips tightens, holding you in place while he makes you his. His teeth break from your neck and when you look up through blurry eyes you see his head thrown back, your blood streaming down his chin in thick little globs. You feel it when he cums, feel the thick ropes of it seeping into your womb, feel the way he keeps fucking you, pushing it deeper and deeper inside. He’s moaning, chanting your name like a prayer at the heavens.

When the moment ends he slumps over you, eyes half lidded and tired. There’s a familiar grin on his lips, one that inspires both comfort and uneasiness in your gut. You can’t help but stare at him, at the blood that stains his chin and cheeks, that reddens his lips so beautifully. You want to reach out and touch him, touch his blood-soaked skin and see what it feels like, what it tastes like. What you taste like.

His eyes slide to the side, finding your pulse again. You groan. Yes, you think. Please, yes. More. You don’t think you’ll ever get enough of that. Of his teeth in your flesh, of the euphoria flooding your veins. More, more, more, your mind chants.

He chuckles lightly and shakes his head. “No, princess.” He raises a finger to trace the curve of your neck. “I took more than I should have…” His expression doesn’t tense with worry. His cheeks pull into a smile, those little dimples shining through. “But what can I say? You just taste so good.” Like he needs to emphasize his point, his tongue darts out to trace his lips, lapping up some of the remaining blood on his chin. “You taste like mine.”

You whine. More, more, more. It’s all you can think about. You lift an arm weakly. You want to pull him to your neck, to make him drink, to make him fill you with the heaven you had just moments ago.

He catches your wrist and brings it to his lips, inhaling deeply. His lips split into another grin and you see his eyes spark again with the wildness you crave.

“Not yet, princess.” he coos. “But soon.” His smile grows even wider, until those fangs are on full display, until you’re trembling again. “Forever,” he whispers.

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rafeandonlyrafe · 1 month

Text

your duke

words: 4.7k

warnings: 18+ only!, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, mentions of having children, duke!rafe, 1800S au, royalty au, probably a lot of incorrect era things but idk! bear with me yall, maid!reader, implication of noncon but it is not actually described, r*pe aftermath, poisioning/murder, assassination plot, kinda angsty but happy ending, slowburn ish? i fell in love the way you fell asleep, slowly and then all at once

you are humming to yourself as you wipe down the surfaces off the room, collecting the nonexistent dust on your rag before turning your attention towards the bath, filling it with hot water, anticipating the dukes return.

you move onto the bed next, filled with extravagant silks and embroidered blankets. you make it perfectly, erasing any evidence that it was slept in only for the duke to create a mess when he comes back to his chambers.

you know you should feel lucky, getting to work in the palace with one of the kings closest friend and advisor, but it's tedious maid work, barely worth the couple gold coins you get at the end of every day.

you don't realize that the duke has entered until the door slams shut behind him, making you jump up, eyes wide as you turn and give him a quick bow, keeping your head down.

“good evening, duke cameron.”

“evening.” he addresses you back after a moment, allowing you to rise. you have to hold in a gasp, you always forget how beautiful the duke is.

“i filled the bath for you, sir.” you gesture your arm towards the bathroom. “i will take your garments for cleaning once you ready.”

“thank you, y/n.” the duke says, making your eyebrows rise. you have only been working for a couple weeks, and only recently got reassigned to the dukes room. you introduced yourself only once, and certainly expected him to instantly forget your name.

you watch as he goes behind the thick curtain into the bath, entering only when you hear him sink into the warm water with a satisfied groan.

you keep your eyes on the floor as you step around the corner just long enough to grab the clothing off the floor before fleeing with a bow to clean them.

you head to the lower levels of the palace, smiling at the other help that you see as you head towards the laundry room, quickly cleaning his clothes before hanging them on a line meant specifically for the duke.

“on your way back up to duke camerons?” the voice makes your back snap straight, turning to look at mrs. peregrine, her name living up to her hawkish features, a stern old woman but one to be admired for running the entirety of the background of the palace, coordinating maids and assistants, even running the kitchen with an iron fist.

“yes ma’am.” you nod.

“the king has requested that he receives a personal assistant.” she says, looking you up and down with a disapproving look in her brown eyes, so dark they almost appear black.

you wait patiently before she sighs. “my goodness girl, im offering you a promotion.”

“oh!” you raise your eyebrows, not expecting to move through the ranks so quickly. “yes, ma’am… what does being a personal assistant include?”

“you will bring up his meals, take requests and fill whatever he needs and… keep him satisfied.” you immediately understand the implication there, letting out a quick nod. she almost looks sad for a brief second before her features harden again. “get his dinner tray from the kitchen and bring it up immediately.”

you rush to the kitchen, grabbing the tray indicated for the duke. you hurry up the stairs, but are careful not to spill the plates loaded on the silver platter.

“dinner, sir.” you call with a knock, glad when instead of telling you to come inside that duke cameron opens the door for you. you set the tray down at his dining table. you wonder what the palace chambers of the king are like when a dukes looks like this.

“are you my assistant then y/n?” rafe asks, sitting down as you stand at the other side of the table, hands clasped together, waiting, but you're not sure what.

“yes sir.” you nod quickly. “anything you wish i am… here to serve.”

“are you hungry?” he asks, making you scrunch your brows together.

“what?” you know you shouldn't question what the duke says, but you surely must have heard him wrong.

“are you hungry? the kitchen always gives me more than i could ever eat.”

“oh- i- i am fine, sir. thank you.” you say, but your traitorous eyes betray you as you look at the food, bread smothered with butter, steak dripping with juice.

“no more with the sir, please.” he waves his hand. “makes me feel like my father. just call me rafe.”

you let a light laugh slip. duke cameron-rafe is remarkably young to have risen to the ranks so quickly. some even believe he is who the king will appoint if he doesn't produce an heir.

“and come sit down.” rafe kicks out the chair next to you. you step closer, easing yourself down into the wooden chair.

rafe takes one of the plates and loads a few things on it before setting it in front of you with one simple word. “eat.”

you're not going to argue with duke, and the meal is no doubt the most extravagant that you're ever going to get to taste, so you begin to eat, eyes widening when you taste the warm bread, so unlike the old stale loaf you get for cheap from the market.

rafe looks satisfied when your finished, pushing his cup of wine towards you to finish off.

“thank you, s-rafe.” you both smile.

“it's my pleasure.” rafe says, standing up and moving to flop down on his bed, placing his hand on his stomach. “so much good food.”

you bite your tongue, resisting the urge to say that there are people right outside the palace walls starving.

you quickly collect all of the silverware before placing the serving tray outside of the door to take back down to the kitchen later. maybe you'd even be able to sneak some more food now that you have access.

“what else can i do for you, sir?” you ask, looking out the window as the sky darkens. you wonder when you'll be dismissed now that you're an assistant to a duke, not just a lowly maid.

“come here.” he calls, eyes now closed as he lays on the bed.

you move quickly, putting your shame to the side. you know what is being requested of you now as you step to the edge of the bed, looking down rafes body until you are staring at his crotch. your hands reach cautiously until you cant wait any longer, grabbing the hem of his pants.

the dukes eyes pop open, pushing your fingers away. “what are you doing?”

“i-i am so sorry, sir!” you take a step back before sinking to your knees, bending your head down. “i thought you wanted to receive your… your nightly pleasures.”

you keep your eyes trained on the plush rug, but you can hear that rafe has moved to stand directly in front of you.

“you are not a whore.” his words are harsh for a moment, but then he kneels down next to you, his fingers touching under your chin and forcing you to look up at him. “i do not expect you to do anything for me that you do not want to.”

“sir, it's included in being your assistant.” you explain.

“i will not ask you to do anything lewd, understood?” he asks, holding your eye until you nod.

“you… you are a good man.” you say, letting him take your hand to help you stand, your dress falling back around your ankles.

“if only.” he looks into the distance for a moment before shaking his head. “you're dismissed.”

“yes sir.” you lower your head, rushing out of the room.

-- two weeks later --

“would you ask the kitchen for chicken today?” the duke asks as you adjust his outfit, quickly learning his tastes as you fold his collar down.

“roasted?” you question, smiling when rafe shakes his head.

“and make sure you tell them i want lunch too.” you know exactly what the duke means. he will no doubt be eating with the king, but he wants you to get food from the kitchen for yourself. you would refuse, but it gives you something to do as you wait around in his chambers, waiting to be called on.

“yes, sir.” you nod before leading him to the door, opening up the door with a bow as he goes to yet another meeting. he seems to always be involved. you don't know his personal politics, but from the way he treats you, you're sure he must be a good man.

you spend some time cleaning as you wait for rafe to return, as well as getting lunch and wandering the hallways, seeing how far you can go without seeing anyone.

you are relieved when time rolls around for you to draw a bath for the duke, excited to see him.

the door opens as you turn with a smile. “good evening, rafe. how was your day?”

“busy.” he admits with a sigh. you can tell he looks tired. “is the bath ready?”

“yes, sir.” you say, not able to always resist the formalities.

rafe nods, walking past you but not before laying a hand on your shoulder, giving it a light squeeze as a thank you, like he is too tired to even say the words.

you wait to hear the water before stepping in to get his clothes.

“y/n.” rafe says.

“yes sir?” you ask, keeping your eyes cast downward.

“would you… would you massage my shoulders and head? please.”

“of course.” you drag a stool towards the edge of the bath, glad to see the water is still steaming, no doubt relaxing rafe. you keep your eyes firmly away from lower down his body as you rub over his scalp and shoulders, working out the kinks in his neck.

you're almost sure that rafe has fallen asleep as you continue to massage, unable to resist as you lean in and take a small inhale, smelling his unique scent that is near intoxicating. you wish his room smelled more of him and less like you, it seems like he never gets to relax unless it's to sleep.

“why are you always so busy, sir?” you ask seriously. “the other dukes spend half the nights on the town and the other half at their summer houses. you work yourself to death.”

“for good reason.” he simply says. you sigh, you're not going to get anymore than that.

-- three months later --

“would you go to albion with me?” the duke asks, your eyes widening as you almost choke on the perfectly buttered biscuit you have in your mouth.

“of course!” you nod. “ive never left the city before.” you long to see the countryside, and even if you are going as an assistant, you would never turn down the opportunity.

“never?” he raises an eyebrow. “not even as a child?”

“no.” you shake your head. “i had to work ever since i was a young girl.”

“it's a shame.” the duke says. “you aren't like the others…”

“what do you mean?” you question, taking a timid bite of the roast chicken.

“like the people i see sleeping on the streets. you have manners, you work hard… you're beautiful.”

you can feel your cheeks blush bright red. “why thank you.”

“this is when you pay me a compliment back.” he smirks, using the charm he is so well known for.

“you are… very handsome.” you say before taking a quick sip of wine.

“come on, anything specific?”

you know exactly what you are going to say. “your eyes.” you quickly attest. “they're… they're enchanting. i imagine they are what the sea looks like.”

the duke smiles, blue eyes sparkling like the sun reflecting off the waves, and you swear you could melt right there in your seat.

-- one week later --

“is this your first time in a carriage?” the duke asks as the coachman reaches his hand out to help you into the small enclosed area.

“yes.” you nod, taking in the plush seats before sitting down, rafe sitting across from you.

“im glad i get to show you this then.” rafe says with a light smile, opening up the windows to allow you to look out as the horse begins to clop through the city streets.

you watch with excitement as the cobblestone roads turn to dirt and stone paths, brick buildings being replaced by rolling hills, crops, and distant farmhouses.

you chat with the duke throughout your travels, his smile growing whenever you point out something out of the window, loving your excitement when you come across a heard of cows, or cross over a wooden bridge.

“i want to show you everything.” rafe mumbles unders his breath, realizing in that moment how deep he is in.

its only a few more hours before you arrive at albion. your duties are much the same when at the kings palace, retreating quickly to make the dukes room just as he pleases, even adjusting the pillows to how you always find them in the morning.

you explore the help areas of the albion manor, glancing into the various rooms as you learn the layout, since the duke does intend to stay for two nights.

“exploring, are we?” rafes voice makes you jump as you turn suddenly.

“please excuse me.” you bow down when you realize duke cameron is with the duke of albion.

“is this your wife, duke cameron?” he asks, looking over you and your curtsey.

“why, no.” you can tell from rafes voice that he is delighted by the question. “though you would never guess it, she is my maid.”

“such a gorgeous maid.” you can hear them step closer, but you keep your head turned down until the duke of albion clears his throat and you stand.

you can see that rafes face has changed from a smile to cautious displeasure as the duke looks you up and down, a jeer taking over his face.

“she is a wonderful maid. a great conversationalist, too. she rode the entire way in my carriage and i was not once bored.”

“can she dance?” the duke of albion asks.

“ask the lady yourself.” rafe turns to look at you, nodding encouragingly.

“i have not danced since i was a child.” you say, keeping your voice quiet and soft. you know that there are dukes out there sick on power, and you're not sure the duke of albion is one of the good ones like your duke cameron.

“well, we must change that, shouldn't we duke cameron?” he turns to look at rafe, who nods. “invite her to the ball tomorrow night.” it's all he has to say before walking away. you let out a breath of relief once he turns down a hallway.

“you don't have to go to the ball if you don't want to.” rafe says as you begin to walk towards his room. you stay a step behind him like a proper maid. “i will make up an excuse for you if you wish, but…” rafe pushes the door open, allowing you to enter the chambers first. “if you want to don a pretty dress and arrive on my arm, i will not deny you the chance.”

“i would love to. as long as i only have to dance with you.” you can't imagine being passed off to random men.

your duke smiles at you before nodding, setting down at the dining table, where food must have been recently delivered as he portions some out for you.

“where are you to sleep?” he asks as you begin to eat.

“i visited the helps chambers already, i will sleep in a cot there.”

rafe frowns. “a cot? that is unacceptable.”

“it's just as nice as the one i have at home.” you admit with a casual shrug.

“you do not own a bed in your house?” rafe questions. he's never thought too much about your living situation before.

“i rent a room.” you say simply. “i don't even have a house or a whole apartment to myself.”

rafe is quiet until you're both done eating, seemingly deep in thought.

“you are sleeping in the bed tonight and i shall sleep on the settee. and we shall find new living arrangements for you when we return to the palace.”

“sir-”

“there will be no arguments.” he says, with a tone of authority you've never heard before. your mouth zips shut.

“im afraid im going to be sick.” you press your hand to the front of your dress, a soft pink fabric that must be more than your entire yearly salary for just have the material of the gown.

the duke of albion sent a few different options. they're clearly old dresses from maybe his wife or other manor women. you even made an attempt to do your hair rather than just pull it back into a bun or braid like you often do.

“you look beautiful.” rafe squeezes your hand. “and you have nothing to be nervous about. i will not leave your side.”

rafe waits for you to nod before stepping through the doors. he would turn back and take you back to his chambers if you were truly too nervous, social consequences be damned. rafe couldn't care less about his place in society, not when he knows he's been written into the kings will to take over the crown if he doesn't produce an heir with his wife before his death.

you're glad people are paying more attention to rafe than the women on his arm as he leads you around the room, greeting people and introducing you simply as lady y/n, not mentioning that you are his maid and assistant.

you watch a few dances with fascination, the twirling skirts of the women far more appealing then the men.

“want to try the dance floor?” he asks, squeezing your hand gently.

“yes.” you say honestly. you weren't sure, but to look into rafes eyes while the band plays is too tempting.

rafe leads you towards the center of the room, thankful the dance has already been done once, as you mostly remember the moves as he leads you through it, a wide smile on your face.

-- one week later --

“is everything moved?” rafe asks as he enters the room, eyes widening when he realizes it's been completely stripped, even the curtain separating the living area and bathroom has been taken down.

“yes.” you nod. “mrs. peregrine said there is no one else moving into this room, so.” you shrug. you feel a little sad about leaving the chambers that you've grown so close to rafe in, but he himself requested a bigger chamber. he must not ask for much, because the king quickly accepted his request.

two beds. you walk up one more flight of stairs to the newer bedrooms, family chambers for those who live inside the palace with their children, or for those who will have their maid live with them like rafe.

“no more cots for you.” rafe says as you enter the room. you can't help yourself, tearing up when you see your bed. yours.

“good tears?” rafe confirms before pulling you in for a hug. the touching may be frowned on by society, but you find comfort and familiarity in his hold, having grown so close over the past months.

you are humming softly with a smile on your face as you bring down rafes laundry, the last task for the night before also retreating to your bedroom.

“y/n.” mrs peregrine says, her hawk eyes landing on you and the bundle of clothing in your arms.

“yes ma’am?”

“the king has requested a new maid for the night. he wants someone young. go.”

it takes a second for her words to process before you realize what she's asking for.

“i-”

“you can go back to duke cameron in the morning, he wants someone new for the night. go. now.”

you drop the laundry, considering running. either out of the palace or back to rafe, but mrs. peregrine follows behind you like she can read your thoughts until you're standing in front of the door to the kings chambers. you can hear lewd noises from behind the carved wood, the golden handle gleaming.

mrs. peregrine grabs and turns it before pushing you in.

“ah, a new one!” the king grunts, a mess of bare skin taking up the massive bed. “get over here!”

“where were you?” rafe asks, grasping your shoulders the second you enter the chambers, the morning sun not even rising yet, having fled the second the kings head hit the pillow.

you open your mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a loud sob as you lean forward, burying your face into his chest.

“shh, shh.” rafe wraps his arms around you, letting you cry into his chest as his hand strokes gently up and down your back. “i got you. you're okay.”

he leads you over towards the beds, bypassing your own and taking you to sit on his, arms still holding you comfortingly.

“i-i had to go to the kings chambers.” you swallow thickly, glad you don't have to explain any more as rafes face turns to one of anger.

“the king disrespected you. he disrespected me. and he disrespected his wife. something will be done about it.”

you're not sure what your duke has planned, but you trust him.

rafe watches with anticipation. he planned to wait another couple months, to build up the tolerance of the kings food taster to the poison he's been slipping in, but after what you were subjected to, he will wait no longer.

every meal the taster ate outside of testing the kings food has had slowly increasing amounts of poison in it. he hadn't quite reached lethal yet, but rafe hopes he will at least last long enough for the king to eat before showing any signs of sickness.

rafe watches with anticipation, barely touching his own food as the taster tries everything. a bite of mashed potatoes, of chicken, and so on before nodding and passing the plate to the king.

he's too cocky for his own good, not even waiting for a minute to see if the taster has a bad reaction before eating, sure that he was too untouchable.

rafe hides his smile when the kings face turns pale, sputtering before falling face forward into the mashed potatoes, knocked out dead.

the palace is in an uproar. you were waiting for rafe to return to the chambers from his dinner with the king and other dukes when someone bursts in.

“the king is dead. duke cameron is now the king. come now.”

you hesitate before they rush out of the room. your feet move before your mind does, rushing after what you must assume is an advisor.

you hear loud crying, desperately sad, heartbreaking screams as you're lead to the kings chambers. your eyes widen when you see the former queen being dragged out, mourning with loud sobs the loss of her husband and title.

“king cameron is waiting for you inside.”

you walk in, surprised when the door swing shuts behind you. you look around the grand space, not having truly taken it in the time the king had you brought in.

“rafe-” you run to him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. he's stood near where the bed used to be. it must have been his first order, to have the very bed you were disrespected in taken out of the chambers. you hope it gets burned.

“i did it for you. for us.” rafe holds you close as it sinks in. rafe killed the king.

“i want you to be my queen.” rafe pulls away to look you in the eye. “i want you to be my wife.”

“i-”

“the former queen is pregnant. hopefully with a boy. we will rule until he is 13 then vacate the throne. we can go to the countryside, i can give you the life you deserve-”

you cut rafe off by pressing your lips against his. he hesitates for a split second before kissing back, holding you even tighter to him.

“id be honored to be your wife.” you whisper against his lips. “i love you.”

“i love you so much.” rafes tongue slips into your mouth, distracting you from thinking too hard as he kisses you, your bodies turning warm as he leads you towards the couch, laying you down on your back as he hovers over you, not allowing your lips to seperate.

“we will…” rafe gasps out, pausing his words to kiss you again. “we will rule. we will amass wealth. we will retire with our money to the countryside.” rafe squeezes your waist. “we will have as many children as you want. none, if you want. anything for you, my soon to be queen.”

“i never thought id be able to have kids.” you sniffle. “you've given me so much.”

you reach up to take rafes face in your hands, rubbing your thumbs over his cheeks before pulling him down for a kiss.

“i love you.” you kiss him over and over. “i want you.”

“now?” rafe looks down at you. “are you sure?”

“yes, please.” you kiss him again. “replace my bad memories with a good one.”

rafe moves slowly, carefully undoing your dress until you're in just your underclothes. he continues to kiss you before turning the attention to himself, taking off his layers until he's in just underpants.

you run your hands up and down over his chest, lifting your hips as he tugs your final layer off.

rafe pulls away from the kiss to look down at your body. a smile spreads over his face before slinking down the couch he grasps your chest in his hands, cupping your breasts.

“i should have had them bring in a new bed first.” he chuckles, pressing his hips down into your thigh, allowing you to feel his length through his underpants.

“i need you now. please.” you whimper out. rafe smiles, unable to keep the grin off his face since his plan succeeded and he finally admitted his feelings to you.

“you never have to beg me for anything, my queen.” rafe says, pulling his final layer off. “you're never going to go without ever again.”

you feel tears well in your eyes as rafe lines himself up with your entrance, sinking deep into you as you both moan out.

“i love you.” you whisper again, needing to tell him as many times as you possibly can.

rafe presses his lips over each over your eyelids, kissing away your tears.

-- 14 years later --

“it's everything i imagined and more.” you smile to your husband, having just returned from the tour of the vast gardens.

“nothing but the best for you, my love.” rafe spent years looking for the perfect retirement property as the new king grew up until he was of age to take over the title.

you push the hair back out of rafes face, admiring his features. there's a few increased lines on his face from the age and the stress of the crown, but the twinkle in his eye is all the same.

“i was thinking once we settle down here i will take you on a vacation to see the ocean. then we can get started on making those babies i promised you.”

“why not start now?” you smile, turning towards your bedroom as rafe quickly follows behind, the halls filling with warm laughter, much to the staffs relief, glad to have a happy couple as the new duke and duchess.

rafe closes and locks the bedroom door behind you, the curtains and windows open, letting in the clean country air, so different from the city that you've finally escaped.

“how many babies do you want?” rafe asks, pushing up the bottom of your linen dress up to reveal that you aren't wearing anything underneath, much to rafes appreciation.

“hmm.” you hum out as rafe tugs his pants down. “two boys, two girls?”

“i like the way you think.” rafe smiles, pressing a kiss your lips. “my queen. you'll always-” another kiss. “be my queen.”

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tumbleweed-run · 8 months

Text

It's been brought to my attention that certified oral king, Gale Dekarios hasn't received in forever. And you know what, you're so right. There's exactly a zero percent chance that Mystra got on her knees, celestial or otherwise, for this man. Honestly I imagine there's a whole lot that she would do and yet demanded a whole lot of.

( shout out to @daiya-owoda )

(nsfw below)(holy cannoli this got long... apparently I just really want to do this)

Gale would be hesitant when you brought it up. This would definitely be a "conversation first" act, because any time you'd try to reciprocate he'd gently redirect you.

Not for lack of wanting (gods does he want) the idea of your lips wrapped around his cock genuinely breaks him for a few moments. But he's determined to make you feel good, maybe he's still trying to prove he's worth it for you to stick around - no matter how often you assure him that he's everything you want.

The first time he agrees, won over by your pleading to just let you focus on him, it's done in a very uneventful space. The tent late at night when your companions are either asleep or know enough to fake it.

He's anxious enough that you check in once, twice, three times to make sure he really does want this.

He nods, swallowing heavily, eyeing you knelt between his bare spread legs. "Yes, I just don't wish to make you feel as though you have to. I don't expect everything I do to be returned, in fact if you-"

You cut him off with a kiss, leaning back up over him. As much as you love his babbling if he keeps going right now you know you'll find yourself angrier at a goddess than you should while your partner is half naked in front of you.

Half because while you coaxed off his pants and shoes you realized he might feel more comfortable in this moment if the soft velvet tunic was left on.

Your kiss seems to relax him, or distract him. He relaxes back onto his elbows.

You let your kisses trail off down his beard and then tracing the lines of his tattoo until it disappears beneath the embroidered collar. The velvet still smells of old books and sea breezes. You've seen him wash this many times but the scent remains. Probably magic meant to soothe his homesickness.

His hands flutter as you lower yourself between his legs. But whatever nervousness the rest of his body is demonstrating his cock doesn't seem to have gotten the message. He's hard already swollen pink head crowned with a tiny bead.

You brace your hands on his inner thighs, a warning. Before you dart your tongue out to lap at the bead of moisture. It's not really a lap, really you've just pressed your tongue into the slit.

A taste.

Gale hisses hips bucking his cock up against your tongue. As much as you'd love you let him fuck your throat, badly enough that you freeze, eyes glossy as you bring that image to the front of your mind, you know he's not ready for that. He'd feel terrible afterwards if you even managed to convince him you wanted it.

Not yet.

So instead, you pin his hips to the ground using your forearms. And you set to work.

You kiss first. The tip and then down along the shaft, pressing as much of your lips and nose against him as you comfortably can.

He's relatively quiet above you, still propped up on his elbows to watch. You don't watch him though, focused on your self appointed task.

You contemplate his balls when you reach the base. The softest kiss to the skin and his thighs flex around you. A tempting exploration, but again one for another day.

You make your way back up to the tip of his cock.

Now you look up at him as you hover just over.

Gale opens his mouth, probably to reassure you that this isn't expected. But you ignore him and finally take him into your mouth. Not far, not even halfway in.

But it's enough for Gale, who's open lips let out a sound, not quiet a moan... more guttural and deep. He can't hold your gaze and lets his head fall back.

You set to work, gently sucking... taking him further into your mouth each time. By the time your nose is buried in the thick batch of hair at his base Gale is openly moaning. His fingers grasping and releasing the furs of his bedroll beneath you.

Your focus becomes discovering what draws the sounds from him. Your tongue pressed into the slit of his cock is what finally breaks his ability to stay proper up. When you take as much into your mouth as you can, swallowing to keep yourself breathing, he finally (finally) rests a hand on your head. Not in you hair, not pushing, just resting there - grounding himself in you.

"I... you must..." Gale gasps out after a few more minutes. He never makes a full sentence but you know what he's telling you. You could tell he was close just from how hard he'd gotten, how your jaw ached.

"Please" you half whisper pulling off him.

Whatever Gale sees when he lifts his head to regard your request leaves him speechless. He nods instead.

You nearly choke yourself in an effort to swallow him down once more. Hand at his base almost kneading as you suck.

His hand in your hair tightens and a choked moan is all the warning you get before his spilling down your throat. You swallow greedily, eyes squeezed shut, forearms still pinning his hips to the ground.

The hand in your hair tugs, finally pulling you off him. He's breathing heavily, eyes staring at the roof but clearly not seeing.

You sit quietly between his legs, catching a glimpse of yourself in a small mirror he has to one side. Lips puffy and red, corners of your eyes wet from tears, and your hair blessedly mussed from his hands.

"You are the most singularly gorgeous creature," Gale says in reverent awe as he finds you looking at yourself.

#gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #gale x tav #gale x reader #i am unwell for this man #gods damned puppy eyes wizards

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after-witch · 7 months

Text

Alone in the Dark [Gojo x Reader]

Title: Alone in the Dark [Gojo x Reader]

Synopsis: You’re training alone and Gojo has some… ideas for how to improve on your training.

Word Count: 6000ish

notes: noncon blowjob, noncon cunnilingus (done on reader), degradation/humiliation, some misogyny, mentions of reader childbearing, Gojo being a nasty creep

There was no place in the world of sorcerers for someone like you. You were too kind, too sweet--too soft.

That’s what everyone (or almost everyone) told you, almost for as long as you can remember. Yes, you can remember being a child and hearing adults tut-tut at the way you served others before yourself; at the way you made everyone stop so that a group of ducklings could cross the road; at the way you fretted over your brother when he came home black and blue and scratched-red from fighting curses.

It was bad, they said, for you to focus so much on caring for others and not enough on developing the strong skills to do what is necessary. Even when what is necessary might not be what is just or kind or thoughtful.

If you were to lament about these frustrations to the average non-sorcerer, you imagine they might widen their eyes, put their hand to their heart, or maybe even rest a hand on your shoulder. You poor thing! They might say. How cruel.

Was it cruel? You weren’t sure. You didn’t have anything else to compare it with--this was how most generations-long sorcerer families raised their children. You had to excel, you had to be strong, there was no room for weakness.

Kindness, it seems, was a weakness.

But… maybe your sweet personality wasn’t a complete weakness. Because your family didn’t throw you out, as some families did with the weaker leaks in their formidable chains. Instead, they pivoted.

If you weren’t going to be a stony-hearted sorcerer who could take down curses with their eyes closed (no pun intended, they would say, if they had a sense of humor) you would serve the family in another way.

You must still be strong, yes, but you could keep your tendency to dote and devote yourself to others if you were to take on another role: a wife. More than that--a mother. Marry a strong sorcerer, have lots of children, continue the line until your body could no longer stand having children.

And so you grew up learning duties of a different kind. How to manage a household--from the servants you would be expected to order around to keeping track of linens and pantries; how to sew, because while servants would no doubt do any heavy lifting, you could at least be expected to fix your husband’s garments or embroider a family crest on them; how to dote in the right way, acquiescing to your husband while doing your best to maintain the honor and reputation of your old and new families. How to raise children--the right way, so they hopefully don’t end up like you, needing to be delicately placed into a niche.

All this, while strengthening your jujutsu, while practicing harnessing your cursed energy, while knowing that you were not what your family wanted but you weren’t entirely useless, and you had to make the best of that.

Now that you’re an adult of marriageable age, it’s only a matter of time before they find a suitable husband for you. He must be from one of the great families, of course. You were too important to marry off to some low-level sorcerer without a stellar reputation. Not only that, but marrying someone from a prominent family (a strong family) would increase the chances that your children would be strong.

Strong children--strong sorcerers. More sorcerers--more soldiers in the ongoing battle against curses.

And if you wanted to do your duty, then you needed to be strong enough to perform it. No sorcerer wanted a weak little thing for a wife, did they? Of course not.

That’s what brought you here, alone, isolated and tired but so damn determined to improve yourself. It was your idea to come here, which seemed to please your parents. Your cursed energy has been running a little too wild lately, seeping out of you, escaping in little trickles.

It’s your own fault. Admitting this also seemed to please your parents, though it made a low pit form in your stomach, and you didn’t dare divulge into why it was your fault that cursed energy was streaking out of you like a stubborn dripping faucet.

You have too much self-doubt. You’re too worried about letting people down. You’re not confident enough, strong enough, and if you aren’t strong enough then you aren’t good enough regardless of how well you might perform on the wifely front in front of the increasingly judgemental matchmaker your parents brought in to monitor your progress.

But, no, you couldn’t say any of this to your parents. It’s not that they wouldn’t understand. It’s that they wouldn’t care. Self-doubt? No room for that here. Get rid of it. No confidence? How could you lack confidence, given your heritage? Change. No no, to be more precise, they would say: shut up, deal with it, then change.

The only person you did explain any of this to was Satoru Gojo, a friend (or colleague? Or friend-colleague? Or colleague-friend? You were never entirely sure where you stood with him) who would at least listen without completely dismissing you. Not that he did much more than cluck at you condescendingly and offer to marry you--in jest--to get your folks off your back.

You’d laughed and swatted him in the shoulder (which he didn’t mind you doing, leading you to think friend-first-then-colleague is the more appropriate moniker) and asked him for advice.

Which is what has led you here to train, alone and hard. But training was meant to be hard, so you couldn’t complain. And training alone would give you the focus you needed to actually improve.

And you would improve. You had to--not just for your family but for yourself, and your future. The wife of a sorcerer (you tried not to think too far beyond that, to what your parents had been grooming you for: to become a matriarch in the continuing line of your family’s clan) still had to be strong enough not to let cursed energy seep from her so easily.

With the right training, you were going to get better.

Right?

Right.

This is what you needed: time alone.

Because although you plan to be here for much longer, you can already tell that you’re sewing up those weaknesses within you, preventing cursed energy from sneaking out like it had been doing so readily for the past few months.

Confidence was key, after all. Your family had never been wrong on that front. You just needed to get away from the stresses of life to regain that confidence.

You sigh through your nose. The air down here is stale, but it’s not surprising. It’s not like there was anyone down here but you and the darkness and--

“Hey!”

You and the darkness and… Gojo Satoru.

“How are your leaks?!” His voice rings out cheerfully in the empty space, almost echoing.

For a moment, you fracture, and you can feel something trickle out of you. But you hold your breath and regain your senses, forcing yourself to regrip the focus you’d been maintaining for hours now.

Breathe in.

It’s just Gojo.

Breathe out.

Coming to check on you. Which means he cares, in his own way, which is more than you can say for a lot of people. But you wish he’d told you that he intended on coming. It’s a bit jarring, and a whisper of embarrassment begins to build in your chest. He was, as he didn’t mind saying (it could not rightfully be called bragging)-- “the best.”

You hear his footsteps before you see him in the dim lighting. His slow, aimless walk might have even seemed a bit creepy, if you weren’t already used to it. Or if he hadn’t called out beforehand.

He grins when he comes into view, hands in the pockets of his trousers. He’s wearing his sunglasses today, his hair down and loose. He gives a short wave, and you bite back a sigh. You don’t want to stand up--you’re still training--so you merely straighten your back a little and wave back.

“Ah, Gojo. Have I really been down here that long?” You wonder if anyone in your family has bothered to wonder where you were or took the time to track you down.

“Ah, Satoru,” he says, idly. “Oh, it’s only been a few hours.”

Just like that, there’s a sting in your chest. A few hours? Why would he check on you so early? Did he think you were that weak? Were you that weak? No--you shake the thought away, willing yourself to maintain focus, maintain the layer that keeps your cursed energy from releasing.

No, he was just… concerned about you. This would be the first time you’ve done something like this, after all. And he was always telling you that he’d be happy to give you advice, and he didn’t have the same sarcastic twang in his voice reserved for people he didn’t care for.

“So…” Gojo crouches down, getting close to your eye level. “You think you’re doing well?”

You let a smile show. A shy little smile, the kind you gave when you were feeling genuinely proud. Those smiles were few and far between when it came to your family, but you didn’t mind them in front of people like Gojo.

“Mm-hmm. I think coming here is helping me regain a sense of…” Your eyebrows furrow as he stands up and begins walking around you in slow, lazy circles. “Purpose?” Your head follows him, but he doesn’t stop or acknowledge what he’s doing. “Or um, confidence.”

He stops only when he’s right in front of you, but instead of crouching he merely leans down and gets right up in your face, a smile with a hint of teeth showing. The proximity brings heat to your face, and you lean back. He follows your motion, blue eyes behind his glasses peering at you in an almost uncharacteristically serious manner.

After a few moments, he speaks--

“I’d like to conduct a test.”

You fidget in your seated position.

“A test?”

Your heart beats a little faster--one, two, three. But you’re not worried. It’s more like you can feel the first creepy-crawlies of self doubt making their way back up your spine. Why does Gojo want to test you? He’s smarter and stronger and there’s a reason he’s consulted so much on teaching others, so… so…

You swallow that “so” while you wait for him to answer.

He taps his chin in a dramatic way, and it makes you feel better. At least, until he starts talking and seemingly confirms those creepy-crawlies. Not intentionally, though--he wouldn’t do that.

“Yes, a test! A truly great jujutsu sorcerer must be able to maintain control in all situations, no?” He waves his hands around at the surrounding space, the emptiness except for you and him. “Not in isolation. You won’t be fighting curses in isolation, will you? You won’t be fighting curse users in isolation, will you?” He asks these last two questions slowly, kindly. It makes you feel younger and more stupid, and you make a note to talk to him later about that, since he wouldn’t knowingly hurt your feelings.

“I…” You lick your lips. You brought a case of water, but you haven’t yet opened it, and your mouth is dry. Too dry. But that’s not important. What’s important is that Gojo has presented you with a very realistic, all-too-true conundrum.

You shake your head too slowly for your own liking. “No, I… I guess I won’t be.”

“You guess?” He asks, voice taking on an almost sing-song tone at the end that plucks at one of your fraying nerves.

Your heart pounds just a little harder, you feel a trickle of sweat on your forehead that you don’t wipe away. You force your breathing to even, your muscles to relax.

“I won’t be,” you reaffirm, removing all traces of doubt in your face. “I know I won’t be.”

He already started the test, you think, he just didn’t tell you. You might be mad but you’re not, not really. It’s just like Gojo to pluck out your weaknesses so he can help you better them, isn’t it? That’s what he’s here for, what he’s always been here for. To help you improve. To help you.

And you? You can do this. You were born and raised, literally, to do this. To be the best sorcerer you could be, and if you need someone like Gojo to help you, who were you to reject him? Nobody.

And so, when Gojo hums happily and plops himself down in front of you, crossing his legs to mimic your own position, you take a breath and remind yourself how lucky you are to have someone like him ready to help instead of quietly watching you fail, waiting for your downfall and wondering if it would help boost their own family’s status to knock you down a peg.

Gojo wouldn’t do that, not to you.

You take another breath, and Gojo stares at you, blinks--once, twice.

“Ready?”

You smile a little, sigh a little, and nod.

“Let’s do this.”

It takes your brain a few moments to process what happens, because it’s like there is a disconnect between your brain and your body and your soul and you don’t know how to tether them altogether again.

Gojo kisses you.

Not a chaste peck, either, but warm and wet, his tongue sliding over your lips; a slimy feeling you’ve never experienced before.

You jerk back before you know you do it, your eyes wide, knuckles pressed to your mouth.

“What--G-Gojo--”

Gojo doesn’t move from his spot on the floor. He doesn’t even seem bothered by your reaction or anything at all.

“What’s the matter?” He asks, eyeing you through his glasses. He looks above you, around you. “You’re leaking again.”

Your chest seizes. He’s right--when he kissed you, what control you’ve been confidently rebuilding was completely lost.

“I… I don’t understand how this is a test,” you get out. The words are slow and you feel stupid for saying them.

“Oh!” Gojo grins, then. “Sorry. Guess I should have explained, huh? I bet you never had training like this. Ah…” He leans forward, leaning his elbow on his knee and resting his chin lazily on his hand. “You have to be able to control your cursed energy in any situation, right?”

He waits for you to nod, so you do.

“And curses or curse users don’t always play fair. They may do something you don’t expect.”

“They won’t kiss me,” you say, but as soon as you say it, Gojo’s expression makes you question yourself. “Will… they?”

Gojo sighs, and moves to stand up.

“I guess I was wrong about you.”

Your chest hurts.

“You aren’t ready for this type of training.” He’s almost talking to himself now, getting ready to stand. “Maybe in a few years. Or, ah, maybe your family would rather you get married and your husband can decide if he wants you to reach your full potential. Maybe they won’t care, if you have enough kids…”

You try to clamp down on a stream of energy steadily making its way out of you. It’s like soured milk, bitterness, self-doubt, all clawing their way up your spine and out of you.

“Wait--” You reach for him and grip his sleeve. “I-I am ready, it’s just, I wasn’t expecting… that. I’m sorry. Please train me.” If Gojo won’t train you, won’t help you, then no one will.

Gojo tilts his head at you, considering. Then he slowly sits back down.

“Ooo-ookay. But you have to let me do my job, okay? I know what I’m doing.” He pokes you above your chest, on a clavicle showing above your shirt. The touch makes you jump. Almost makes you forget the lingering warmth on your lips… almost.

“Control your energy,” Gojo says casually. “No matter what, okay?”

You nod. And you wonder if he’ll kiss you again, but no, he’ll do something else. Try to attack you without warning or bring up something strange or maybe even try to dig under your skin with some sort of verbal spitfire.

He doesn’t do any of that.

Instead, he grips the bottom of your shirt and begins peeling it upwards with such quickness and strength that your arms go flying up with the fabric.

A noise escapes you, something like an undignified squawk, but you’re too unprepared and Gojo pulls the shirt up and over your head before you can protest or even try to stop him.

You do, however, regain your reaction time when your shirt is tossed to the side and quickly cross your arms over your bare chest. You didn’t even wear a bra, wanting to keep yourself to as few layers as possible, although it was more uncomfortable to go without because of your larger breasts.

Your cheeks burn terribly hot and you don’t know what you want to say. You just know

“S-Stop, this is, that is--this isn’t…”

This isn’t training, is it? A kiss, okay, okay, that’s something Gojo might do to tease you. Even if he went too far. But your clothes? No, no, no--

Gojo doesn’t stop smiling. You want him to stop smiling, to apologize, and to leave. But you don’t get what you want.

“This isn’t what?” He asks. There’s a stickiness to his voice that is like a filmy layer growing in your gut.

He doesn’t wait for you to respond. Instead, he reaches out and grabs your wrists, pulling them down so you can’t keep them crossed over your chest. You gasp but he keeps them held down while he leers down at your bared breasts.

He’s faster than you, and his hands are underneath your breasts, pushing them up and jiggling them before you can blink.

“These are pretty bouncy, huh?” He murmurs, to himself or maybe you, you’re not sure which would make you feel worse. Your face burns hot and your feeble attempts at batting his hands away get you nowhere. “But you’re always hiding them…” He continues to bounce your ample breasts up and down.

You can’t take it. Your skin feels like it’s on fire and you’re being touched in a way you’ve never been touched, and it’s Gojo, he shouldn’t be, he couldn’t be, doing this.

“St-stop,” you spit out, finally getting the presence of mind to jerk your body away. Amidst the embarrassment and shock is a thready bit of indignity. You aren’t some… some floozy, you’re part of a highly respected sorcerer family. He can’t just--

“This--this isn’t training! You’re just being perv--”

He presses a finger to your lips, and you hush stupidly with it. He takes it away and regards you with an expression you’ve seen him use with particularly stubborn would-be sorcerers.

“Aren’t I stronger than you?”

“Yes,” you say, helplessly. “But--”

Your hands go to cover your breast, and he bats them away.

“Don’t I know more than you?”

“Yes, but--”

“Then let me help you,” he says, taking and squeezing your hands with such earnestness that it throws your mind off balance.

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this,” you admit, voice mumbling and stumbling. Your eyes widen and you feel hot tears working their way to the corners of your eyes. He shouldn’t touch you… he shouldn’t!

Gojo merely uses his grip on your hands to clap them together.

“But it’s working, isn’t it? The more distracted you are, the more likely you are to leak energy. And that’s bad, right?”

While he speaks, his fingers release yours, only to slither down to the waistband of your skirt. Your breath hitches.

“Y-Yes,” you mutter.

“What is it?” he asks, fingers latching onto your waistband and tugging it down. You squirm, but he persists.

His question only dimly registers until he yanks down your skirt, pulling it down your seated legs.

“B-Bad?” You should tell him to stop. You should leave. But he’s… Gojo… and you’re just--

“And if you can control yourself, that’s…” He drawls out these words,, placing a finger on your clothed pussy and dragging it down the middle.

“Good,” you squeak, voice tight and tinny.

“Right.” He grins, all praises.

Your legs do kick then, and you try to scoot backwards, away, away, away. But he presses one hand down on your bare thigh, and you’re stuck.

“This isn’t training,” you plead, mouth opening and closing like a fish, shocked and stupid.

He peers down at you from behind his glasses.

“You trust me, don’t you?”

Your heart lurches. It aches.

“I d-d-do,” you spit out, jaw trembling as much as your body. “But…”

He gives your thigh a good squeeze.

“Th-th-then just let me do this for you, okay?”

The growing knot in your stomach twists and pulls terribly.

“How is this for me?”

He doesn’t answer at first. Instead he grips your inner thighs and pulls your legs apart. You’re aware, suddenly, of how physically strong he is--stronger than you, certainly, enough that what feeble attempts at struggling you’re still giving do nothing at all.

“I’m helping you,” he says, pulling out the word so that it’s almost a whine. “You help people all the time. I just want to return the favor. Now try to focus, okay?” As he speaks, he finally pulls at the waistband of your underwear, pulling it down your legs that have begun to feel like jelly.

“Wow.” He pulls his glasses down his nose and stares directly at your naked sex. “You have a really pretty pussy. I bet it tastes just as nice, huh?”

If your cheeks got any hotter, they might be on fire. Sweat beads at the back of your neck, your arms, your forehead.

“D-Don’t,” you say, wishing you had the guts to shut your legs and leave. But you can’t, or you won’t, you’re not sure which.

“Shhh,” he says, kneeling until he’s sprawled on the floor in between your legs. You couldn’t close them now if you had the strength. “Try to focus. That’s why I’m helping you train, right?”

The teasing glint in his tone only makes you feel worse, but it’s nothing compared to the first puff of his breath you feel against your sex.

You make a sound almost like a squeak and Gojo lets out another puff of air, on purpose this time, murmuring something happily when you keep making those noises.

“St--” You don’t get to finish the word before his mouth is on you, not bothering with any tentative licks but sloppily eating you out.

It’s an entirely foreign sensation, wet and warm, uncomfortable and strange. The fact that he keeps making positively lascivious noises only makes you feel more incapable of ignoring the reality. You shake your head and dig your nails into your palm, trying to process what’s happening as an uncomfortable heat builds between your legs.

Before long, he pulls away, and there’s a sick sensation in your stomach when you see that his lips are glossy with... with… you.

“You’re leaking down here,” he says, with the utmost of seriousness. “But I guess you can’t clamp down on that kind of leak, huh?”

You press your lips together and refuse to acknowledge him with a response.

He shrugs and goes back down between your legs, lapping at your clit with short licks of his tongue. The direct stimulation is different--tighter and more intense, and the sounds you can’t help but make are wholly undignified, short gasps and high-pitched grunts.

“Has anyone ever done this before?” He asks, pulling himself away by a fraction of an inch.

“Of course not!” Your cheeks burn at the audacity of the question. “I-I don’t, I’m not supposed to do… that before marriage.” Why you can’t seem to explicitly talk about sex to the man who is currently devouring your pussy, you don’t know.

“Ohhhh,” he says. The words are practically spoken into your twitching clit. “That makes sense… well.” He looks up at you, and flashes a smile. “Maybe we’ll get married. Can’t say I haven’t heard that rumor before.”

Before you can utter any sort of response, he leans forward and pushes you onto your back. With his body in between your legs, your legs fold over at the knee awkwardly, almost making it look like you’re displaying yourself for him.

“S-Satoru,” you say, voice hoarse, “I want to leave now.”

He shakes his head and holds up a finger.

“No way! We’re not done with training yet. Look at all that energy just seeping out of you. Tsk-tsk.” He puts the finger on his chin. “But don’t worry. I have another technique that should help… remember to focus!”

You don’t know exactly what he means until you watch warily as he lowers his finger and presses it against your wet entrance.

“No--”

But he doesn’t wait. He pushes his finger inside of you and your breath is taken away at the sudden intrusion. There’s pain and ache and the unusual foreign sensation of something inside you. You can’t help it, you clench around his finger and he coos appreciatively.

“I appreciate it,” he tells you, all honey, “but save that for my cock.”

“S-Satoru!” You whimper the words out, squirming, wiggling your legs in the air like it might actually stop him. You can feel cursed energy seeping out through you, like there’s a hole you can’t quite patch up. You fight between acknowledging what Satoru is doing--pushing his finger in and out now, sliding inside you, it hurts and feels weird but there’s a warmth, too--and keeping your cursed energy inside.

“Don’t worry,” he teases. “Not today. Don’t got the time…”

You squeeze your eyes shut, hating the hot tears that leak out, and stare up at the ceiling. Focus… focus… focus. You do focus, then, on keeping your energy from leaking out. Not because this is training--it’s not, you’re naive, not stupid--but because maybe it’s easier to bear all of this if you keep part of your mind elsewhere.

“That’s it,” he praises. “Keep concentrating… gee, you’re doing great.” The snicker in his voice makes your stomach lurch. You wish he would stop pretending this was training. It only makes it worse.

And then suddenly there’s another sensation of intrusion, and you look down to realize that he’s pushed another finger inside you.

“Hmm,” he muses. “You know, I wonder…”

Your jaw trembles as he pushes his fingers in further and wiggles them around, almost like he’s feeling for something. And then--

You shriek, your body jolts upward, and you sit fully up and instinctively grab his wrists.

“That’s the spot!” He grins, laughing, and pulls his fingers out only to bat your hands away. Then he gently pushes you back down onto the ground. Your thighs are trembling and you can feel wetness trickling out of you, slow and uncomfortable.

“I bet you’ve never been able to reach this far with your little fingers. Don’t worry, I’ll help you…”

You push yourself up on your elbows and shake your head.

“No… you, you don’t have to. You don’t need to, I’m--”

He interrupts your pitiful pleads by pushing his fingers back inside, and your breath hitches at the sensation.

“’Course I do! Gotta teach you everything. What kind of sorcerer would I be if I left you in the dust?” He watches you intently over his glasses, the blue in them agonizingly beautiful, and he finds that spot again.

But this time, he doesn't graze it in curiosity. Instead, he presses down and strokes it and it’s like an immediate shock to the system. A burst of almost painful pleasure, causing your legs to aimlessly kick and shudder without you controlling them and you let out a primal groan, not words exactly, just mumbled pleas. You feel something squirt out of you and hear Gojo’s surprised sound, a little pleased exclamation.

He doesn’t stop, though, but keeps going. The white-hot pleasure is like being touched in all the right places in all the wrong ways, and you can’t stop your thighs from quaking.

“Too much too much too much!” You get the words out, just barely, drool dribbling down your lips.

Mercifully, he pulls his finger out. You can see him look down at them through his tears, and he tsks lightly.

“You know, for such an innocent girl, you're soaking. Or is that why you’re so wet? Because I’m the first one to touch you?” He leans in and presses an almost chaste kiss to your lips. You can taste something on them, salty and almost earthy. Yourself.

“I hope I’m the last, too.”

When he pulls away, you eventually sit back up and, arms shaking, reach over for your underwear.

At this, Gojo tilts his head.

“What are you doing?”

It’s your turn to tilt your head, though you can’t tell if you’re mirroring him intentionally or not.

“My… clothes,” you say, slowly. “I’m putting them on.” Because this is over, right? He’s had his fun and you can leave and never talk to him again.

“We’re not done yet, silly.” He grabs your underwear and shoves them into his pocket, then stands up and stretches his arms casually.

You stare up at him, naked, warm wetness between your legs. Feeling dazed and spent and tired.

You’re about to ask what he means when he simply unbuttons his pants and pulls them down, boxers and all, without a word or a warning.

He grins, like he’s just shown you a present. What he’s shown you is his erect cock, glistening at the end with a wetness of its own. You’ve never actually seen a man naked before, a few photos in a pilfered naughty magazine that you snuck out of a friend’s house notwithstanding. It’s fleshy and slick, thick.

“Now,” Gojo says, looking down at you in more ways than one. “Here’s the real test!”

His name comes out of your mouth pitifully, but he just pushes a finger to your lips and smiles.

“C’mon. You’re sweet, aren’t you? Always helping everyone else. I helped you just now, so now you return the favor. Easy.”

Your face screws up in a grimace. You can feel hot tears still pricking at your eyes, threatening to fall again. Then you look up at his face and down at his cock and then back at his face.

You’re not entirely ignorant of what he wants you to do--you just know that seeing a picture or reading about it in a spicy novel is far different than experiencing it for real. Especially like this. Especially with him.

“I don’t… I’ve never…”

He pats the top of your head gently, but strangely, keeps his palm on the back of your head afterward.

“I know, I know. But I’ll teach you. Besides,” and there’s that awful grin in this tone again, “it’s not enough to control your energy while things are being done to you. You have to control it while you do things to others, right?”

He shifts forward and his cock is right in front of your face. You can’t really look away. You can smell him, even, a musky smell. Not wholly unpleasant but like the taste on your lips from his own, there’s an earthiness to it. A primal sense.

You want to run. You should. Others would in this situation, wouldn’t they? But he’ll just bring you back, if you do. Or worse, let you go and… who knows what he might say to others? At least if you do what he wants, he can’t do anything worse than this.

You hope.

“What do I do?” You whisper.

He releases his grip on your head only to clap his hands twice.

“There’s my girl! You’ve got the right spirit.” He beams down at you and you hate how the blue of his eye peeks through the top of his glasses and the way his smile should make you feel good, but only makes you squirm.

He shifts forward again until his cock brushes up against your cheek. You gasp and lean backward, only to find that his hand is back against your head, keeping you in please.

“Open your mouth,” he says, almost sweetly.

And you don’t want that thing on your face anymore so you do, opening just a little.

“Wider. Like you’re at the dentist. Watch your teeth.” He sounds more serious. Like he’s instructing you--and he is, isn’t he? you think, sickly.

You open wide, feeling stupid, feeling sick, as he guides his cock into your mouth. He lets out a sigh of appreciation as he pushes inside, and you instinctively make a muffled noise of protest--this isn’t right, this isn’t right. In front of you are his naked hips, the base of his cock, a smattering of pubic hair.

The taste of him is vaguely salty and warm, but it’s the sensation of having something--having him--filling your mouth that makes you back your head up, wanting him out. But the hand on the back of your head keeps you in place, pushing. His cock hits the back of your throat and you gag. Tears stream down your cheeks from reflex and the realization of what’s happening.

He snickers, but pulls back a little.

“Sorry, sorry, I’ll be more gentle.”

He begins to move, then. Slowly at first. You don’t do anything but keep your mouth open, keep your tongue pressed flat to avoid touching his cock, though you soon find this to be an impossible task. You can’t help but gag a little when he pushes, but at least he seems to be trying to avoid doing it on purpose.

It’s a small mercy, you think, though what counts for “mercy” right now is highly debatable.

Your cheeks are hot like fire as you begin to taste more of him, feel more of him. He’s inside you, all flesh and warmth, an extension of himself that he’s using to--to what? Tease you? Use you? Something else?

He begins to move faster, and you gag, trying to mumble his name in plea around his cock. He groans and the hand on your head grips harder.

“Oh, fuck, don’t do that. I won’t be able to control myself.”

You want to sob but you’re afraid of moving your mouth so much. The tears fall down your face, regardless.

“Good girl, you’re being so good… you were born for this, weren’t you?”

When you look up, Satoru is looking down at you the way you think someone might look at a nice collectible figurine. A precious item to be touched and dusted at whim.

“Born to be a good sorcerer’s wife,” he continues, and it’s almost as if he’s talking more to himself than to you. “That’s what we’re doing now, aren’t we? Practicing that? There’s all sorts of training for sorcerers, you know…” His thrusts begin to get less controlled, quicker. “Practicing controlling energy… controlling techniques… all those little nuances of life as a sorcerer. Like this.” The thrusts are so quick that you start making helpless noises around them, little grunts. “You’d be a good wife, m-maybe--” His breath hitches, the first time you’ve heard him lose control. “Even a good mother, after a while.”

You make a sound of protest--it’s the last thing you want to be thinking of right now--but he shushes you and starts thrusting sloppily, clearly lost in his thoughts. “You’ve even got nice big tits, don’t you? Perfect for breastfeeding or, fuck, holding onto while we fuck…” He sighs, languid. “I’ll try that next time, okay? Gotta be patient.”

His words seep into you like cursed energy, confusing (it is true, you were raised to be a wife, raised to have children,--but this?) and hurtful and twisting in your stomach.

Suddenly he pulls himself out of your mouth. Your lips make a wet plop and you open them to start to ask what he’s doing, but you don’t have the time to ask, because there’s suddenly something warm and thick all over your face. Something lands on your lashes and you blink, feeling a salty sting on your eye.

Your pussy clenches and you don’t know why.

As you sit there, shocked, dazed, you hear a click.

Oh.

He took a picture.

You wipe at your eye, cringing at the feeling of something wet and globby on your hands, and look at him with wide, teary eyes.

“Just for safekeeping,” he says, tucking the phone into his pocket. “Wouldn’t want this to get out, would you? Would definitely put a damper on your marriage prospects…”

There’s no reason you shouldn’t sob, now, without Gojo in your mouth. So you do. Your face crumples and everything that just happened hits you all at once, until you’re weeping pitifully in front of him.

You’re dimly aware of him leaning down before he pulls out a handkerchief and wipes his cum off your face like he’s wiping at a bit of stubborn dirt. He wipes at your tears with his fingers, at least.

“Don’t be so glum! You did great!”

He presses a kiss to your cheek and straightens up.

“I’ll be sure to tell your father about your improvements in cursed energy control. He’ll be happy, don’t you think?”

You don’t answer, because you don’t have words anymore.

He leaves, his footsteps receding loud. You don’t watch him go. Instead you sit there in the same position, naked, wet, feeling sticky and used.

And like that, you’re alone again.

You don’t try to dampen down the energy that leaks from you this time.

#gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x reader #afterwitch writes

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mooshywrites · 4 months

Text

Making It Our Own

Astarion x Reader, Astarion x Female!Tav

Masterlist

Art commissions

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

A/N - Kinda a continuation of my last fluff, slice of life kind of affair

Word Count - 3.1K

Warnings - NSFW, MDNI, smut, fingering, unprotected sex, fluff/soft dom Astarion, aftercare if you squint, multiple orgasms, biting because thats practically required with this man, overall straight degeneracy

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

“How else will we make this place our own, my darling?”

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

“Why in all the god’s names, would they have the staircase here?” Astarion wondered, exasperated.

You smiled softly, looking over the slightly rickety stairs before him. They were a little in the foreground of the room, awkwardly jutting out beside the selling desk.

“Beggars can’t be choosers, my love.” You responded, kissing his cheek sweetly.

”With the amount of hard-earned gold I spent on this place, you would think someone would have at least dusted before we moved in.” He complained, dragging a finger across the desk, holding up the collection of caked dirt.

You fought the urge to scoff at the thought of Astarion actually earning any amount of money, but you contained yourself knowing he did put a fair amount of effort into having this small shop be his own.

For the entire idea of Astarion running a shop starting as a halfhearted tease, you could hardly believe you were actually standing in the place now. It had taken a few months of odd jobs, even odder quests, and… well… yes, there was some thievery involved in getting enough coin to buy the little shop on the corner of the quietest part of Baldur’s Gate. It must have been a bakery, or perhaps a tiny bed and breakfast before the two of you, because it sported a surprisingly large kitchen in the back along with four midsize rooms upstairs. Of course, if it were any of those things, it must have long long not been occupied.

“I’m sure it won’t take long to make the place exactly what you want, Astarion.” You murmured, trying to be optimistic. You looked up at your pale elf, seeing his mouth in a tight line. His eyes peering accusingly at the grime and disrepair on the first floor. Luckily, from your investigating, the upstairs level seemed to fair a bit better.

”Darling, it will take half of a century to even make it look clean” Astarion chuckled, turning his attention back down onto you. “It may be a disaster, but I do suppose it is our disaster.”

”That’s the spirit.” You grinned up at him. “Where should we start then?”

Astarion shook her head decisively, “You can start upstairs. I won’t have your pretty little hands working yourself to the bone on this mess. Or dirtying your new dress.”

Your hands idly smoothed your skirt, fingers running over the delicate gold flowers expertly embroidered across the fabric. Astarion insisted he began practicing his sewing in preparation for the shop and your clothes, of course, were his first choice of material. The simple green gown you were wearing today was covered in dainty flowering vines.

“Perhaps you’re right,” you sighed. “I can think of much better ways to ruin one of your projects than covering it in dirt.” You added, gesturing to the dress.

Astarion leaned back on the desk casually, his eyebrows raising, “What possible ways could you be talking about, pet?” He asked, his voice too sickly sweet and innocent to be anything other than a thinly veiled tease.

Well… two could play that game. You gave him a small smile, stepping forward to place your hands on his chest. You didn’t miss the way his eyes darkened slightly at the movement.

“I just mean that if your hard work is to be dirtied, it better be worth it.” You shrugged.

Astarion couldn’t help but smirk, knowing your innocent attitude was as much of an act as his own. His face inched closer, voice only above a whisper now, “I can think of a few ways that would be more worth your time, love.”

“And those would be?” You almost didn’t recognize your own voice, practically breathless even with only the hint of his words.

”Oh, pet. I think you already know.” He practically purred. “How else will we make this place our own?”

You barely had time to respond before the words were swallowed by Astarion’s searing kiss. His lips molded against your own, coaxing a small muffled moan from your chest. His arms snaked around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. Your own arms wound around his neck, fingertips coming up to lace their way into his curly white locks.

”I’m afraid your beautiful dress may be sullied, yet,” Astarion murmured, pulling back for a moment, “There isn’t a surface here that is suitable enough for you to lay upon.”

”’Lay upon?’ Why would I need to do that?” You whispered, feigning ignorance.

Astarion’s hands fell to just below your butt before suddenly hooking your legs up and around him. You don’t even have time to chastise him before you’re spun around and placed on the dust covered desk.

”Astarion, my dress-!” You squeaked.

His eyes rolled in response, his hands sliding up the sides of your dress. “For god’s sake, darling, I’ll make you a new one.”

He leaned in once more, this time, pressing a chaste kiss to your jaw, effectively silencing your argument. You tilted your head back, giving him better access to the crook of your neck. You sucked in a shaky breath as you felt the points of his fangs grazing feather light across the sensitive skin, goosebumps erupting on your skin and heat settling in your lower stomach. You could practically feel him smile against you at your reaction, always proud to make you putty between his hands.

His lips and teeth continued to dance down your neck, pausing for a moment on the sweet spot just above your collarbone. The movement completely distracts you from how his hands continue to sneak their way up your legs.

That is, until, you felt his fingertips drag slowly against the clothed heat between your legs.

Your breath caught in your throat, eyes meeting Astarion’s as he lifted his gaze, smirking. ”Why darling,” he purred. “Whatever did I do to deserve this silence?”

You threw him a half-hearted glare, not trusting your voice to deliver a retort in case it proved the point he was already trying to make. Instead, you pulled his face towards your own, locking him into a passionate kiss. You earned a particularly delicious groan as you gently dragged your tongue along his lower lip, silently prodding for access.

He graciously allowed your tongue in, exploring with his own. His fingers worked in tandem with his tongue, tracing feather light figure eights, seeming to be avoiding where you needed him most purposefully.

You whined into the kiss, causing the vampire to chuckle darkly, “What’s the matter, pet? Pained are we?” He teased.

”Just… touch me.” You begged, not at all embarrassed at how quickly you became desperate for him.

Luckily, the plea’s seemed to have the desired effect, a content sigh escaping you as cold finger moved your panties aside and pressed against your cunt.

”My, my.” He whispered, lips moving to catch the shell of your ear in a gentle bite. “It didn’t take long at all for you to be practically weeping for me.”

All you could do was whine as his middle finger dipped shallowly into your heat. He was right, of course, it took practically no time for him to bring you to tears with his fingers, your core clenching at just the thought of what he could do with those sinful hands.

You leaned back just enough to get a better view of him, his hair a mess from your own hands, his lips plump from your bruising kiss, his pointed gaze a shade darker than usual as he eyed you hungrily. Your chest rose and fell shakily, taking in the sight before you.

“Gods, you’re beautiful.” You whispered, barely even aware the words had escaped your own thoughts.

His eyes blinked in surprise before a warm smile fell across his face, leaning in to press a surprisingly innocent kiss upon your nose. “Aren’t I just?”

You could have guessed that would have been his reaction, your elf hiding behind a veil of humor anytime he was uncomfortable with a compliment or praise. I mean, showing emotions is difficult, isn’t it? Someday, you would have to find a way to make him take the compliment. But how? Bondage? A maid outfit? Constant teasing?

Your slightly crazed wandering thoughts were harshly interrupted as you felt Astarion’s finger sank deeper within you, his thumb brushing across the sensitive nub right above. Your yelp quickly transformed into a moan as his thumb began dancing in simple short circles, igniting the flame in your stomach to burn even brighter.

”Darling, you know how it hurts me so when you aren’t paying attention to me,” He prodded, voice thick with need and his ever present pout. “What could you be thinking about other than how well your dripping cunt takes my fingers.”

”N-Nothing,” you started, a moan interrupting your sentence as his finger began to pull in and out teasingly slow. “I was thinking about how to keep you from letting compliments roll off of you. Maybe it will take this-“

You brought up your hand to trace a fingertip along the ever growing bulge in his pants. Though he tried to hide it, you were very aware of how his brows drew forward, the way his mouth parted in a heavy breath.

“I assure you, it will take much more than that to entertain any of your praise.” He retorted.

“And how much more would that be?” You replied confidentially, riding the high of the reaction you were able to pull from him.

”Hmm,” he pondered, even having the audacity to look to the side as if in thought, all while his fingers continued their magic below him. His act gave way to a devilish smile as his focus returned to you.

”One orgasm, one compliment.”

”W-what?“ You squeaked, feeling your cheeks begin to redden immediately.

His finger curled deliciously forward, pressing against a point that had your mind quickly fogging over with lust. “You heard me, darling. For every orgasm I drag out of you, I will graciously accept one compliment.”

You couldn’t even begin to come up with a retort, your cunt giving every thought away as it squeezed hungrily around the pale elf’s single finger.

”Ill take that as a resounding yes.” He murmured, clearly proud of himself.

He slipped another finger in, expertly pumping them into you. His other hand reached up, pulling the top of your dress down in a quick tug. The cold air and the desire in the air had them hardening almost painfully. The man before you didn’t miss this development at all, mouth coming forward to nip at your breast playfully. His lips then closed around the hardened nipple, tongue swirling around it slowly. You could’ve drawn blood from how hard you were biting your lip, trying not to let your moans fill the small room.

It didn't take long for the vampire to return the affection to the other, his hand kneading the soft skin his mouth had just left. With his hands, his mouth, the slick sounds your own body was making, the coil below your stomach already felt wound too tight.

You felt the white hot burn at your lower breast, the pain of Astarion’s teeth mixing deliciously with the way the rough pad of his thumb presses hard against your clit. “Gods, Astarion.” You managed to get out, your hips beginning to rock helplessly against his hand.

”Too much, pet?” He replied simply against your skin, licking at the pinpricks of blood left behind by his teeth.

You shook your head furiously, the burn in your stomach becoming more demanding, your breaths uneven and strained. “P-please… please more.”

Astarion growled darkly, his hand moving faster, his mouth returning to your skin. The coil winds tighter, your moans falling into incoherent begs and whines. Astarion, sensing your oncoming high, deftly slips another finger into your folds.

Your vision pales as you cry out, muscles tensing while your orgasm crashes into you. Heat courses through your veins, arousal riding its course as the pale elf’s sinful mouth eases you through it. By the time you’ve regained your perception of which way is up, Astarion is smirking at you, accomplished haughtiness written across his face.

”I believe you’ve earned one compliment, my dearest. Make it count.”

”That was… You are,” You responded breathlessly, thoughts not quite forming correctly in your orgasm ridden brain. “You are amazing, Astarion.”

The man left out a soft chuckle, landing a kiss on your forehead. “Not the most impressive compliment I’ve ever received, but a deal is is a deal. Thank you, my pet.”

Realization crashed onto you. Did I just use my compliment to say something as useless as… that?

”No! No, that wasn’t my compliment, I deserve another go.” You pouted.

”Aht aht ah, we said ‘one orgasm,one compliment’. You can’t expect me to bend the rules for such a clearly made deal.”

“You can’t be serious! You know you can’t hold me to anything I say after coming down from something like that!.” You argued, not feeling ready to give up the fight quite yet.

”Honestly, darling, I don’t know why you’re making such a fuss! There’s a simple way to remedy this.” He said, a knowing smile adorning him.

”And what is that?” You replied, blankly.

Before you could guess his movements. His hands deftly ripped the thin fabric of your panties and reached to pull you flush against his bulge. ”You have another orgasm, of course. What was it you wanted? ‘another go’?”

The desire you had just released from your body hit you again, tenfold. Your own fingers began to work at the ties of his breeches.

”Slowly, darling.” Astarion chastises half heartedly. “We have all the time in the world.”

You knew his words were empty, you could tell by the way his jaw was clenched, pupils blown out with lust that he was as desperate for this as you were. You finally loosen the tie enough to pull the fabric down, releasing his erection to hit his stomach with a small slap.

Astarion let out a strained groan as you wrapped your hand around the length, your thumb swiping across the bead of precome leaking from the delicate slit. You looked up at him, taking in his reactions, greedily. His breaths came in labored heaves, hands gripping your sides as if it were his only anchor to reality.

”Now, now, no teasing, pet.” He tried to retain the cool and confident tone in his voice, but his words were rasped, an octave lower than usual.

You gave him an innocent smile, placing a quick kiss before whispering against his lips, “Then take me, love.”

It’s as if you have broken some sort of invisible chain holding him back. He kisses you harshly, teeth catching at your bottom lip. He adjusts your sitting position, hands pushing your thighs apart to give you access.

He pulls away, looking down at you bared before him, though he could never put the thoughts into words in this moment, you look absolutely ethereal. The ripped clothes, messy hair, big doe eyes looking up at him; he was absolutely undone.

His hips pushed forward, his member dragging through the wetness in between your legs. A strained groan erupts from his parted lips, eyebrows drawing close together, “Gods, darling… you’re perfect.”

You let out your own whine, hips greedily pushing forward, desperate for the friction or Astarion’s cock against your clit. He leans forehead to rest against your own, finally, finally, pushing into your awaiting cunt.

It finds no resistance as it thrusts to the hilt, the dew from your previous orgasm aiding its path. The room is almost completely silent, the both of you reveling in the feeling of the delightful stretch his body imposes upon you.

After a few moments, his darkened voice cuts through, “Please, darling. I must move.”

You nod wordlessly, craving the movement as much as he did. A low grunt was all the warning that you got.

Astarion’s hips snapped forward, setting a brutal pace of thrusts. Your moans fall over your lips with short breaths, hips trying to hold themselves up against the man.

Astarion’s hand reaches down further, holding some of your weight by gripping your ass, his other holding up his weight as he leans forward. His hot breath fans against your neck, head resting against you as if all of his energy is spent on roughly taking you.

Every drag of his heavy cock drives you higher and higher, sickly sinful slaps echoing amongst your embarrassingly loud moans.

“Gods above, pet.” Astarion manages, every word sounding like it took immense effort on his part. You felt his hips start to stutter, your own core beginning to clench hopelessly.

”Astarion, please! I- I…” You start, the pleasure rendering you mute.

”Come undone,” Astarion growls lowly, “Come undone with me.”

Your mouth opens to a silent scream, your cunt clenching hard around the thick member. Your hips jerk desperately, your nails digging into the pale elf’s arms. Astarion follows quickly behind you, pained grunts whispering out of his lips as he pushes deeply into your heat. You feel him twitch, warmth blooming through your lower stomach.

It’s a moment or two before the two of you touch back down to earth, both panting and clinging tightly to one another. When his head finally tilts up to meet your gaze, his eyes are full of affection, smiling softly.

You return him an affectionate smile, hands coming up to trace circles into his hair. ”So did I earn another compliment then?” You teased.

Astarion rolled his eyes, gently lowering you back down, “I suppose you do. Please make this one better than the last.”

You thought for a moment, wondering what would encapsulate your feelings the best. What would mean the most? After another beat or two, you realized there was no hope at a long and drawn out proclamation of love. It would have to start with something simple.

”I am so very lucky to be beginning a life like this with you.” You say sweetly, gesturing to the messy shop around you.

Astarion’s cheeks redden, still slightly unsure on how to go about accepting such loving words. “Well, ahem…” He cleared his throat looking around the room. “As am I.” He narrowed his eyes again at the layer of dust you sat upon. “After it’s clean of course. A task we should be getting back to.”

”Couldn’t agree more.” You sighed, pausing. “But there is one thing you have to do first.”

Astarion looked back at you, his voice lacking any usual tease, simply full of affection, “Anything you desire, darling.”

You giggle, giving him the sweetest smile you can manage.

”You have to pull out first.”

1K notes · View notes

bouncybongfairy · 2 months

Note

Could you do a live action Zuko x reader, they were betrothed to eachother before his banishment. They frequently had visits and got along really well. First time they met he saw her creating a blue butterfly from her fire bending. The reader can produce blue flames but is a gentle, kind person. Zuko is reading the latest letter she has sent him, praying for his safety and health. How does he feel about them after all this time? Maybe this fuel his fire to complete his quest and get home.

See You Soon

Prince Zuko x Fem Reader

Summary: Both Zuko and can't stop thinking about each other, after reading the most recent letters you sent to each other.

Word Count: 2.0k

<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

It’s been some time since the last time you’d seen Zuko face to face. Ever since his banishment, so about three years. You’d think those wounds would have healed, a betrothal that was nothing more than a concept faded in time. Anyone who’d know you would say you were well past it, those people obviously weren’t paying close enough attention. Sending each other letters, drawings and pressed flowers. Detailing everything unfolding in his quest to find the Avatar. Her day to day life with school and helping your mom with all the tailoring for the Fire Lord’s family. A very important part in your life considering your family had been tailoring in the palace for generations. Every once in a while you’d send him an embroidered Lion to represent power and leadership, hiding his name tiny within the mane. Although you found comfort in the words of reassurance he gave through ink and paper, it only made you long for something more. Reminiscing on all the precious memories that now feel like they were taken for granted.

The two of you met by chance, your mother worked in the palace. She made all the clothes for the royal family. Often having you assist, holding her pin cushion or any other request she may have. At first not paying each other much attention, one day Azula came in, berating both your mother and self like she did to all other staff. Hearing horror stories from others in the palace made you terrified of her. The last thing you wanted was to get your family banished for looking at her wrong. Zuko noticed this, and nudged your arm; looking over at her and then rolling his eyes. Giving you a reassuring smile, Azula then nudged your shoulder with hers as she walked out.

“That girl may be a princess by blood line but not respect from her people. She rules with fear when it should be grace,” you mother grumbled as you walked into the house.

“That may be true but it must be hard, growing up competing for the throne. Having your entire life mapped out for you even before you’re born. That must be so hard on someone so young, I think I'd break,” pulling your hair out of the tight bun. Your mother smiled, setting the bags on the table. Cupping your face in her hands,

“I love that in a nation so pitiless and jaded that you have kept your soft spirit. You know that, but that girl spoiled down to the soul,” your mother laughs before turning back to her bags.

You laugh and walk into your bedroom to change before heading back outside. The weather was perfect to practice your fire bending. One of the perks of having a mother who worked in the palace was better education for you. Now that you had been learning to bend from a master, you were able to do more than you could ever imagine. At school all you learned was combat or defensive bending. At home, you liked practicing making different shapes. At the beginning it was simple stuff like circles or hearts, with time they were getting more intricate. Being able to make things like flowers, birds and even butterflies. You were in the empty field behind your family's home, working on your bending. You’d finally learned to make the butterfly flap its wings and fly around for a couple moments at a time before dissipating. Taking a deep breath and creating the flames, putting all your focus into manipulating its form. Holding your breath nervously as you watch it fly around you. The blue light glowing off the flame lit Zuko's face up, where he was watching from a couple feet away. You gasped out of surprise and backed away.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to- when Azula nudged you, this fell off your top. I just wanted to return it,” he said, holding out the embroidered patch of a crabapple tree that was pinned to your top.

“Oh, thank you. Wow I'm really surprised you took the time to return it, as someone with so much responsibility; it’s an honor,” you say, giving him a quick bow out of respect.

“I’ve only seen masters create such detailed shapes with blue flame, can I help?” he asks, you nod in agreement as he comes closer. He stands behind you, pressing his chest against your back. Nudging your arms up with his hands telling you to create the flame before continuing,

“Holding your breath limits the amount of time your fire can stay in the air. Like suffocating a candle with its lid. Fire can’t be without oxygen, can you feel my breathing against your back? Match it to yours then try to make the butterfly,” he said.

You were so nervous but took a deep breath in before matching the rise and fall of his chest. Immediately you could feel the difference, like you had more control over the flames. Being able to make the wing movements sharp and clean. Making the flame circle around the two of you, forcing your bodies closer together.

“See, isn't that so much better?” he asked.

“Yeah, I never thought I could have so much control over my bending,” you said, moving to face him.

“I have to get back but i’ll see you around?” he asked, as he took off in a rush which made you chuckle.

After that night, it was like fate just couldn’t keep the two of you apart. He was getting fitted more often for leather armor and things like that. Noticing each other in lessons and sneaking glances. This progressed until eventually Zuko became unbothered with who saw the two of you interacting. One day he slipped a note into your bag, wanting to meet later that night. Your heart skipped a beat of course, and for the rest of the day it was all you could think about. The day seemed so much longer now that you had something to look forward to. Practically skipping home from lessons, even though you still had a couple hours before dark. You were happy to be home daydreaming. Your mom was home, cooking komodo chicken. Giving her a kiss on the cheek before heading off to your bedroom. Originally you were going to wear what you always did but part of you felt like the night was too special for your everyday attire. Normally keeping your hair up in a tight bun, you decide to let it down. It took you a while to convince yourself to leave it down but eventually you did.

Everyone was finally asleep, the house dark and quiet. You sneak out the window of your bedroom. Zuko was waiting for you right outside which made you gasp, not seeing it was him at first. He had a big smile on his face, which was refreshing considering he’s been going through alot lately. On a night with such amazing weather, the main city and markets were busy with life. Zuko and you however prefer the peacefulness of looking over the city from the peak of a hill not too far. Zuko was pointing out different constellations in the sky to you. Or showing him new little tricks you were learning with your bending. He always acted really impressed but you knew he was doing it for your benefit. You loved that about him, that he cared so much about your confidence.

“You know, my father says it’s time to start looking for a girl to betroth,” he says.

“Oh? Any girls you had in mind?” you ask playfully.

“No,” he says back in the same playful tone, which makes you elbow him in his ribs.

“In all seriousness though, how do you feel about that?” he asks, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his side.

“I think I'm waiting for you to ask me properly,” you said chuckling.

Zuko also felt like he took all these moments for granted. He was currently in his room on the ship. Looking around at all the notes and drawings he’d pinned to the walls. They’d just left where he and his crew were docked, following a lead on the Avatar. Reading the most recent letter you’d sent him, it pained him to know you were feeling the same grief he was about feeling apart. He never really talked about it to his uncle or anyone but it was one of the main reasons he was so motivated to complete his quest. He felt like he was missing out on the most important years of his life. Uncle Iroh always talks about how memorable his late youth was, before he had real responsibilities as general. He missed everything about you. Especially how sweet you were, always finding the good in people. Even finding beauty and grace in Azula; his own mother couldn’t find that in her.

Often when Zuko was anxious he would think about you comforting him. He knew he could be hot headed both emotionally and physically. This never phased you, even when he was in full blown flames. Always finding a way to calm you down. Somehow reassuring him without making him feel small or stupid. You always used to tell him that anger is a form of passion. That you loved the passion and resilience he had, and that one day he’d be able to channel it without anger. He found so much comfort in you so being ripped away was hard but reading your letters helped. Made him feel like everything wasn’t as impossible as it may seem. Like once he returns home he’ll know you’ll be there to support him.

He laid back on his bed, your letter on his chest. Worried that you’d grow tired feeling his love through paper and ink. That you’d yearn for love that’s more present in your everyday life. This fear was doubled by the fact that he assumed telling you about this fear would make him come across as insecure. Maybe he was but he didn’t want you to know that. He hated being seen as weak, you were too kind to admit but he knows that exactly what you’d think. Currently thinking about one of the last nights you had together. In Zuko’s old room, laying on the bed together. You were playing with his hair and he had his arms wrapped around your waist. Both of you were pretty tired from training and school. Just melting into each other, enjoying the comfort you gave him. There wasn’t any talking but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. You’d kiss him on his forehead every once in a while, finger combing his hair. Taking in your smell and leaning into your touch. He never felt so vulnerable in a comforting way with someone.

Iroh came into the room, making Zuko jump up. Clutching onto his letter, immediately his uncle sensed something was off. His eyes were dark and puffy, not to mention quite red. The bruise on his face appeared to be swelling and it was obvious that he was beyond his limit. Iroh set down the wooden tray he carried in, handing him a cup.

“I know you don’t want to hear this but mentally you are being strained. Bending and combat is easy for you because you’ve done it your whole life. Emotionally, some of your muscles are weak but I can see your slowly strengthening them. It’s important that you get lots of rest while you-” he went to look over at Zuko and stopped talking once he realized the boy was asleep. Iroh held back a laugh before taking the cup and letter out of his hands. Zuko gripped the paper and woke up but settled down once he realized it was him.

“Rest now, and please truly let yourself rest,” he said, pulling the blanket over him and he laid down. Folding the letter gently and leaving it on the nightstand.

#prince zuko fanfic #netflix avatar #avatar fanfiction #avatar live action #avatar last airbender #prince zuko x reader #prince zuko x y/n #prince zuko imagine #prince zuko x you

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rhettabbotts · 4 months

Text

baby, if you only knew - dilf!rhett abbott x babysitter!reader

pairing: dilf!rhett abbott x babysitter!reader

summary: tensions boil over and everything changes for you and rhett one night at a rancher’s event you attend.

w/c: 5.4k (she’s a mammoth)

warnings: 18+ only. smut. age gap (babysitter 20s, rhett 40s). dirty talk. making out in an elevator. daddy kink. possessive rhett. slightly rough sex. cunnilingus. hair pulling. overstimulation. size kink. aftercare. rhett’s grey hair. some fluff.

a/n: i can see you by taylor swift is to blame for this. enjoy the filth! also couldn’t stop myself from adding some babysitter lore. also see green, green dress from tick, tick…boom! for the dress reference!

Six months. Six long, tortuous months of working under Rhett Abbott’s roof.

Okay, it wasn’t as bad as you were making it out to be in your head. His daughters were angels, and you appreciated that he worked with your school schedule as you attended your graduate program. And he let you live in his guest room rent free.

But it was sweet torture. You had fallen hard for the single father of two and it made every day even harder than the last. Rhett was a wonderful man, an attentive father, and a hell of a cook. A hard worker and he was so handsome, you could hardly breathe around him. Who wouldn’t fall in love with the cowboy?

You tried everything in the world to rid your thoughts of him, but you were highly unsuccessful. And he only did things that made it worse. Every time you brushed by him in the halls it felt like electricity coursed through your entire body. He had to feel it too, right?

Delusional. That’s what you were. You were the babysitter. Nothing more. Eventually, the girls would grow up and you wouldn’t be needed anymore. And that thought caused your chest to tighten painfully.

What a thought to have while washing the dishes. You heard your name but it sounded far off, like your ears were full of cotton.

“Tilly, come quick!” Grace shouted once more to get your attention. It made you turn abruptly, soap suds went flying as you dropped the ceramic pot you were washing. “Sorry,” she mumbled when you glared slightly at her.

“What’s wrong, Gracie?” you questioned as you wiped your hands off with the flower embroidered kitchen towel. Something you bought and put out to leave your own touch on this place.

“Oh. Nothing. Ellie just wanted to show you that we won our game.” The girls had been obsessed with Super Mario Brothers and had been playing it for days.

“That’s great guys! How about we take a break and you help me get dinner started?”

“Can we have ice cream for dessert?” Ellie, Rhett’s younger daughter pouted, bright blue eyes pleading. She and Grace were the carbon copies of Rhett. Same eyes, same nose, same crooked smile. You could never say no to them.

“Of course. But don’t tell your dad,” you whispered, placing your finger to your lips like it was a top secret.

The girls helped you finish the food just as Rhett came in from another long day of herding and branding cattle. He was dusty, covered in dirt and sweat and tendrils of his hair stuck to his forehead, the ends curling up. You wanted to run your fingers through it, sweat be damned.

“Daddy!” “Daddy, look at what we made!”

The girls ran towards Rhett, pausing when they got close enough to smell him.

“You stink,” Grace commented flatly.

“Thanks. Love you too. Listen, I’m gonna go shower and I’ll be down in a bit. You all can start without me,” Rhett said as he kicked his boots off by the door and took the stairs two at a time. “Oh, and Tilly?” He called from the upstairs landing.

“Yeah?”

“I gotta ask you something later. Don’t let me forget.”

You just nodded, stomach turning at the thought of what it could be.

Grace and Ellie helped you set the table, always eager to follow your every move. It makes you smile. Sometimes you felt like an actual family. And then you had to bring yourself back to reality. Just the nanny. Nothing more. Dinner was quiet, everyone was hungry and occupied with getting their bellies full.

You were resting on the couch as Rhett finished bath and bed time with the girls, trying to read your latest book but your mind was going a thousand miles a minute. Your heart started to beat faster as you heard Rhett descend down the stairs.

Rhett took himself to the kitchen, busying himself by pouring a glass of whiskey. A bottle you bought for him for Christmas the year prior. You peeked at him over the top of your book, watching his back muscles flex in the tight black tee he wore. Your mouth watered at the sight of his strong arms and his soft stomach as he turned to face you.

You quickly raised the book above your eyes, fearing that you had been caught staring. You missed Rhett’s knowing smirk.

“Move over,” Rhett poked at the bottom of your foot, the motion tickling you ever so slightly and causing you to jerk your leg towards you. “What are you reading? New dirty novel?” He teased.

“No…” you said quietly, a little shamefully.

“Liar. Is this one better than the last at least?”

“So far. Hey, what did you want to ask me earlier?” You stretched your legs back out and they landed in Rhett’s lap. He didn’t seem to mind. His unoccupied hand landed on your shin, calloused thumb lightly brushing the bone there. Your mind went blank and you could hear nothing but static in your ears.

“I got invited to this rancher’s event. They want me to give a speech. Stupid, but I agreed. And I… I need a plus one. And I figured maybe if you wanted to-“

“Yes!” You said eagerly, spine straightening. “I mean- sorry- go ahead…” Your cheeks felt hot at your abruptness. He was probably going to ask you to set him up with someone. Probably Lisa, Ellie’s dance teacher. She always had her eye on him.

“I wanted to ask if you wanted to come with me. Give you a break. It’s the weekend my parents wanted to take the girls camping. That is.. if you didn’t have any plans…”

Rhett sounded nervous. He was looking down at where his hand rested on your leg, avoiding all eye contact.

“Oh. Yeah. I don’t have anything going on. I’ll go with you. As-“

“Friends, of course.”

“Right. Friends. What’s the dress code?” You asked, heart sinking slightly.

“Black tie,” Rhett grumbled. He hated dressing up. If he can’t wear flannel, he doesn’t want to be there.

“Perfect. I’ll find a dress to wear.”

“Well. I’ll leave you to the reading. Goodnight, Tilly.” Rhett tapped your leg a couple of times before moving you so he could stand.

You sighed deeply as he left the room, trying to ignore the gut wrenching feeling you had at his response. You couldn’t focus on your book and you eventually went upstairs to attempt to sleep.

“I want you so bad,” Rhett growled against your neck, teeth sinking into your skin causing you to whimper and arch against him. His leg was in between yours, keeping your thighs separated and your barely covered cunt brush against his suit pants. “You’re fucking soaked, sweet girl. You’ve wanted this for so long, haven’t you?”

“Rhett, please!” You whined pathetically, grinding down on his thigh, searching for any sort of relief.

“Beg for it, baby. Beg for daddy. Tell me what you want.” Rhett said, voice low and gravelly. He pressed you into the wall harder, flexing his thigh as you keened. “I know you want me to fu-“

“Tillyyyyyy, wake uppppp,” a tiny voice called from the other side of the door. Your eyes shot open so fast it made your head spin. Your entire body was hot even though you just had the sheet covering you and the ceiling fan was on. You were having a dream about Rhett. A fucking wet dream. And now Ellie was yelling at you in the hallway. You felt like you were being punished.

You checked your phone. 5:37am. Jesus, why was she awake?

“I’m up, El. Hold your horses.” You went to the en-suite bathroom to splash cold water on your face. “Get yourself together. Now,” you said through gritted teeth, pointing a finger at yourself in the mirror.

The four-year-old stood outside your door with her stuffed horse tucked under her arms. Her eyes were a little red and she was sniffling.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“I feel sick,” she whispered weakly, clutching the horse to her chest tighter.

“Come on, bug. I’ll get you some medicine.”

You picked her up and perched her on your hip as you carried her down the stairs. Her forehead felt a little warm. She sat patiently on the counter while you poured the medicine in the little cup and you rubbed her back as she swallowed it.

“Good job, El! I’m proud of you. Here, drink some water and let’s get you back to bed, okay?”

She nodded as she took a big gulp of water from her sippy cup. You trotted back up the stairs, bouncing her slightly to make her giggle.

“Alright, you got your water here and Honey is right here with you. Try to get some sleep, bug. I’ll fix pancakes when you wake up.” You tucked Ellie in, kissing her forehead before you stood up.

Her eyes were already heavy and she mumbled something you couldn’t hear.

“What was that?”

“Luh you, mama.” She repeated sleepily, snuggling her horse and then started snoring softly immediately.

“Oh… I- I love you too, bug.”

You didn’t know how to react. She had never called you that before and it made your eyes misty with tears. You couldn’t go back to sleep. Not after the dream and not after Ellie calling you mama.

The next few hours went by in a blur. You had planned to go shopping with your friend Tabitha to find your dress for the dinner. After dropping the girls off at school, you met Tabitha at the mall. You were in a daze, barely listening to her rant about her latest failed Tinder date.

“Hellooooo,” she snapped her fingers in front of your face. “Are you even listening?”

“Yeah, sorry. No, I’m just- I don’t know what I’m doing,” you sighed as you placed your face in your hands.

“What do you mean?”

“With Rhett! It’s like- why am I going to this dinner? Why do I keep torturing myself? And Ellie! She called me her mom this morning! I want a family and I feel like I have it but it’s not really mine, you know?”

“You need to get laid. That’s what you need,” Tabitha said nonchalantly. She looked through the dresses on the rack in the store you were in. “Oh. My. God. This. This dress. Go try it on. NOW!”

She shoved a velvet dress into your arms and pushed you towards the fitting rooms. It was a deep green color, the fabric felt soft against your skin. It wasn’t a dress you would pick out for yourself but once you slid it over your head your jaw dropped at the sight in the mirror.

The bodice was a corset type, something you didn’t typically reach for but was pleasantly surprised at how it looked on you. The dress was form fitting but not uncomfortably so. The strap tied around your neck, lifting your chest and displaying the tops of your breasts tastefully.

The dress hugged your every curve, accentuating parts of your body you weren’t necessarily happy with, but now you felt sexy. Powerful. You opened the door and called for Tabitha. She came running with a few other options in her hands but her reaction matched your own as she laid eyes on you.

“Holy fuck. Yeah, no, forget these. You have to get that one. If he doesn’t fuck you, I will.”

You rolled her eyes at her antics and looked into the mirror once more. You felt so beautiful in the dress. It made you a little giddy at the thought of Rhett’s reaction. If he even had one. You tried to shake the negative thought away. If he didn’t appreciate it, someone else would. Maybe a nice cowboy who’d be down for a one night stand at a fancy hotel.

The week passed by in the blink of an eye and before you knew it, Rhett was packing the girls’ bags for their camping trip and was shouting up at you that he was going to pick up his suit in town from the tailor’s.

You took your time styling your hair the way you liked and you did your makeup, keeping it light but putting on a red lip. Just to be a little bold.

You hid in your room until you heard Rhett finish getting ready and head down the stairs.

“Tilly, you ready? We should leave so-“ Rhett stopped as he turned at the sound of your heels clicking against the wood. “Wow…” he breathed. “You look, ehem, you look nice. That’s a pretty dress.” He fiddled with his cuff links, avoiding eye contact.

“Thank you,” you responded shyly. He held his arm out to escort you to the black pickup truck. The ride was silent except for the radio and the hum of the engine. You couldn’t stop from looking to Rhett. His hair was slicked back, the gray hair looked more prominent. His temples were nearly white. He had a shadow of stubble on his jaw and his suit fit him in all the right places.

You pulled up to a beautiful hotel. It was a grand building, accents of gold sparkled in the setting sun and gorgeous flowers lined the walkways. Rows of trucks indicated that you were at the right place. And the men in bolo ties and cowboy hats gave it away.

Rhett forwent his Stetson and chose a sleek black tie, looking a little out of place but you thought he looked beautiful.

He parked and inhaled deeply, gripping the steering wheel with both hands and closing his eyes.

“Everything okay?” You questioned, placing a perfectly manicured hand on his forearm.

“Huh? Yeah. M’good. Just nervous. I can’t stand half the people in that room,” he mumbled, smiling softly at you. It made butterflies erupt in your stomach.

“You’ll do great. I can fake an emergency if needed.”

“Fall down the stairs if I give you a look,” Rhett joked.

“You got it, boss,” you winked at him. You reached for the door handle, preparing to get out of the truck but his hand on your arm now stopped you.

“Wait… I have something for you. A token of appreciation for coming with me. Also, an early birthday present.”

Rhett pulled a long, rectangular box from the side of the door. He opened it to show a diamond bracelet.

“Rhett- that’s- I can’t-“ You couldn’t stop from reaching out and running your fingers along the jewels.

“You deserve it. You work so hard and I don’t say it enough but you mean a lot to me. To the girls. Just wanted to give you something nice,” he said, voice a little shaky.

Something shifted as he clasped the bracelet around your wrist. His touch lingered on your skin and it was hard for you to breathe. You tried so hard to keep things professional, but it’s changed. Everything has changed in the cab of Rhett’s truck.

You headed inside, arm linked with Rhett’s as he greeted the people inside. He was so charismatic, putting on a face you’d never seen before. It was sexy. He was controlling the room. Everyone loved him.

You could feel eyes following you as you walked towards the front of the ballroom. You heard a few whispers from the older women, surely gossiping about the obvious age gap between you and your employer.

“I’m gonna grab some drinks. You gonna be okay here?” Rhett whispered in your ear, his warm breath washing over your skin and sending a chill down your spine.

“I’ll be good. Can you get me a Long Island?”

“Of course. Be right back.” He hurried off towards the bar, getting stopped several times along the way. You felt like a fish out of water here. You chewed on your thumb nail, anxiously waiting for Rhett to come back.

“I think you’re the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen,” a voice said from behind you. You turned to see the chair to your right being pulled away and a young man, around your age, sat down beside you. His black cowboy hat hid his eyes but he had a wide smirk on his face.

“I bet you’ve said that at least ten times tonight,” you responded, trying to ignore him.

“Name’s Wes. And you are-“

“Not interested. Beat it, buddy,” Rhett growled as he sat your drinks down and sat on the other side of you, wrapping his arm around the back of your chair possessively.

“I see how it is. Rhett… good to see you.”

Rhett hummed as he glared at Wes over the rim of his glass, silently willing him to scram. It was hot.

“That wasn’t very nice.”

“He’s trouble,” Rhett mumbled.

The evening went on without a hitch. Dinner was decent and you joined in on a few conversations. Rhett’s speech was wonderful and informative about the cattle business. He looked good on stage but you knew he was nervous. He made his way back to you, smiling slightly.

“Come dance with me, honey,” he spoke lowly.

“Let me go freshen up a bit,” you squeaked, rushing to the bathroom. Your nerves were getting the best of you. It was just a dance. A quick dance and you’d be heading home. Nothing more.

You made your way back to the ballroom, catching Rhett’s eyes and you trembled slightly at the heat that formed there. A slow song started just as you made your way to the dance floor.

His large hand engulfed yours as his other splayed on the low of your back. You could smell his cologne as he pulled you close to him. You felt a piece of paper in your right palm as Rhett swayed the two of you around.

“What’s that?”

“You can read it when we’re done dancin’,” Rhett drawled, looking down at you. Even with you in heels, his frame still towered over you.

The song ended too quickly for your liking and Rhett was called over to a table filled with older gentlemen, leaving you standing in the middle of the floor. The crumpled napkin had been left in your hand and you spread it out to read the note.

Meet me at the staircase by the piano - R

You gasped slightly and looked around, meeting Rhett’s eyes as he chatted with the group he was with. He was expressionless but there was a fire in his eyes again. One that made your body react and you tried not to squeeze your thighs together in front of everyone there. You made your way back to your table to drink the rest of your drink, a little liquid courage, before you made your way to the staircase.

You stood there for what felt like ages but in reality was only a few minutes. You bounced on your feet, nerves building every second that passed.

“Hey, you,” Rhett’s voice called from behind you, approaching you with his hands in his pockets.

“Hey,” you responded, feeling awkward.

Rhett pulled a key from his pocket. A hotel room key. Room 475 engraved in the key tag.

“You can say no. You can tell me to fuck off. You can quit-“

“Yes,” the answer came without a beat.

“Yeah?” His eyebrows raised slightly, a small smirk forming on his thin lips.

“You have no idea how bad I want you, Rhett,” you confessed, breathless.

Rhett let out a desperate noise as he reached for you and crashed his lips against yours in a bruising kiss, one hand cupping the back of your head. You moaned wantonly as his tongue expertly licked into your mouth. You should go upstairs, should stop before anyone sees you.

“Rhett, we should- we need to-“

“Yeah… Yeah.”

His hand linked with yours as he pulled you to the elevator, not wasting time pushing you inside and against the wall, the railing digging into your lower spine a bit uncomfortably. His lips reconnected with yours, a low grunt escaping his throat.

“So fucking beautiful,” he muttered, lips barely leaving yours. Hands explored your body, gripping at your soft hips and thighs, circling around to grab handfuls of your ass. The touch caused you to arch your body towards his, back bowing as he traveled higher and started palming your breast.

“I’ve thought about this - thought about you - for longer than I’d like to admit,” Rhett spoke, deep voice rattling in his chest. “Makes me feel like a dirty old man.”

You just whined pathetically, gripping at his lapels to anchor yourself. You were about to grind against the thigh that had pushed its way between your thighs but the high pitched ding of the elevator caused you to jump apart. Moving so fast, you would have thought you had been electrocuted.

A little old lady walked into the elevator, not missing the way you and Rhett looked disheveled. It was blatantly obvious what you were just doing. Rhett cracked a smile at her, nodding his head in her direction. Your chest was still heaving and your knees felt shaky.

She only went up two floors, a quick ride that felt like an eternity. Rhett’s pinky brushed against your hand where it rested on the rail, the small touch sending shocks through you.

“Have a nice evenin, ma’am,” Rhett said sickeningly sweet and you had to slap a hand over your mouth to stifle a laugh at the look she threw his way as she exited the lift.

Your stop was next and nerves bubbled in your stomach at what was about to happen.

Silence surrounded you and Rhett now as you walked to the room. Not a word was spoken as he unlocked the door and made his way inside. You stood in the middle of the room awkwardly, wringing your hands together as you looked toward the wooden floor.

Rhett tossed his jacket haphazardly onto the floor, approaching you slowly. Giving you the chance to run. It reminded you of a lion stalking a gazelle before it pounced. His calloused hands rubbed the length of your arms before his touch brushed the side of your neck, eventually cupping your face. A rough thumb caressed your cheekbone.

“Darlin’, look at me. Please,” Rhett spoke quietly, as if not to scare you. You continued to look down, which caused him to pinch your chin and lift your gaze to him. “Are you sure about this? We can- we don’t have to-“

“No. No, I want to. I have for a while. A long, long while.”

“Good,” he said, coming out an octave lower and his eyes landed on your red covered lips. His thumb ran across the pout of your bottom lip, tugging it down slightly. “I want to devour you.”

A shaky breath escaped you before you wrapped your lips around his thumb, sucking softly on the digit.

“Fuck,” he moaned.

You stood there for a moment, his thumb in your mouth and your eyes locked on each other. It made tensions rise tenfold. You pulled away with a ‘pop’, a trail of saliva following in its wake.

Impatience got the best of you as you started clawing at his tie and shirt buttons, nearly sending them flying through the room. Rhett chuckled at your huffy breaths of frustration as you yanked on his clothing. You threw the tie behind you, his shirt was shoved off his shoulder and into the chair next to the door. His belt made a loud clink as it hit the window.

“Easy, girl. Don’t destroy the room. Or my clothes,” Rhett teased, stopping your hasty movements. You finally took the chance to pause and look at the man standing before you. Hairy chest on full display. The dark hair traveled down in a continuous line all the way down to the waist of his pants. His soft stomach and love handles made your mouth water.

“You’re so- fuck, Rhett. You’re so sexy,” you said.

“My turn.” He untied the neck of your dress slowly, taking his time pulling the bow loose. He turned you so your back was to him, unzipping you unhurriedly. You let the dress fall to your feet as you turned to face him again, leaving you in your lingerie and high heels.

“My god. Look at you.” Rhett took in the sight of you. Black lace left little to the imagination.

Things moved in a blur after that. You nearly tripped over your own feet as you tried to remove the heels and he almost ripped your bra as he unclasped it with one hand. He tossed it aside and you tried not to giggle as it landed on the lampshade of the lamp that sat on the bedside table.

The edge of the bed knocked against the back of your knees as he pushed you softly so you landed on your back, bouncing on the mattress slightly. He stood between your spread thighs, undoing the button of his slack and pushing them down, revealing the tight black boxers he wore underneath.

You let out a quiet whine as your eyes traveled down his torso and stopping at the large bulge that was confined by the cotton. Even in the low lighting, you could see a small wet spot from the precum.

Large hands massaged your inner thighs as he spread them apart even farther, causing a slight burn in your muscles. He groaned at the sight of your barely clothed cunt. Rhett fell to his knees swiftly and delved into you without warning. Expert licks moved against your wetness through the thin lace, which had been quickly ripped away. His nose bumped against your bundle of nerves as his tongue explored your folds.

His long fingers soon joined his ministrations, finding that spongy spot inside of you in a matter of seconds. You’d question how he did that later. As of now, you tried to control your shaking limbs as he pushed you higher and higher towards your peak. Scratchy stubble rubbed against you, causing a delicious burn.

He stuck true to his word and devoured you, not leaving one part of you undiscovered.

Rhett’s lips wrapped around your clit and started sucking softly, tongue flicking against the bud. You trembled beneath him and your back bowed off the mattress, bucking against his mouth. A strong arm slung itself over your middle, keeping you pinned to the bed.

Your hands gripped his locks tightly, tugging hard when his tongue sped up.

“Rhett. Oh, Rhett. Fuck. Daddy!” It didn’t take much for your moans to become near screams and for galaxies to explode behind your eyelids as you came against Rhett’s face. Your body was jerking involuntarily as you traveled down from your high. Rhett placed feather light kisses against you before pulling away, hair sticking up in places and his face covered in your release.

He traveled up your body and kissed you soundly, the tangy taste of your desire mixing with something so Rhett made you both moan into each other’s mouths.

“Lay back, sweetheart. Gonna take care of you,” Rhett said quietly. You made yourself comfortable against the soft pillows as Rhett stretched you in preparation for his cock. “Damn pillow princess,” he joked. It made you smile.

He had three thick fingers inside of you before you stopped him.

“Stop! Please! I- I wanna come with you inside me,” you pleaded, gripping his wrist. He nodded and pulled his fingers out fleetingly.

You blindly shoved at his boxers and he clumsily kicked them off the end of the bed, his hard cock slapping against his lower stomach. Fuck, he was big.

Rhett pulled back and sat on his knees, gripping the base of his dick and placing it on your stomach.

“Look, baby. You think you can take me? Think you can handle daddy’s cock?”

“Please! Please, fuck me. Need it. Need you. Please!” You begged, lifting your hips and causing the leaking head to brush against your already sensitive clit. You simultaneously let out a loud moan. He rubbed himself through your folds, teasing you and him both.

“Wait, hold on.” Rhett pulled away and searched for his trousers, pulling his wallet out and rummaging through it. He pulled out a foil wrapper and ripped it with his teeth. You had never seen anything sexier.

“Can I do it?” You asked shyly, propping yourself up on your elbows. He handed the condom to you and kept eye contact as you rolled the latex down his length carefully. He was heavy in your hand.

You laid back once more, a trembling breath escaping your mouth as he lined up with your entrance. Even with his prepping, it was still a stretch. The slight burn caused you to hiss and dig your nails into his biceps. He took a break between each inch, time passing slowly as he made small thrusts. He eventually bottomed out, a broken moan coming from his chest as you squeezed around his length.

You stayed like that for a moment, both breathing heavily as his forearms caged you in.

“Daddy. Move. Please,” you whined, fingers moving tangle in the curls at the base of his neck. He slowly pulled out, nearly all the way, before thrusting back into you, the girth and length of him touching places you’d never been able to reach before. It started slow, he was allowing you to get accustomed to him.

However, it didn’t take long before his thrusts became a little rougher. His hands now were placed a the top of your head as he put his body weight into his movements, grunts escaping him with each pass, your high pitched breaths matching him.

“So tight. Taking me so well. Like you were fucking made for it. Made for me. All mine, all mine,” Rhett rambled. The headboard started to smack against the wall slightly as he pounded into you. You couldn’t breathe. You were approaching a feeling you had never felt before. Your brain was becoming fuzzy and your ears were beginning to ring.

“Da-daddy. M’gonna- I’m almost there,” you squealed as a particularly harsh thrust hit your g-spot.

“C’mon, sweet baby. Come for daddy,” his deft fingers started rubbing your swollen clit in tight circles and you let out a scream as your release washed over you. Rhett continued fucking into you until he pushed deep inside you and threw his head back towards the ceiling, filling the condom with his own release.

He collapsed on top of you, full body weight covering you like a blanket. You felt like were floating. Your hand absentmindedly rubbed against Rhett’s back, his skin covered in a light sheen of sweat. You stayed silent for a while, both trying to catch your breaths as you came down. He eventually pulled out of you slowly, causing you to wince. He discarded the condom and went to the bathroom to grab a warm washcloth and a glass of water.

You were quiet as he took care of you, smiling softly as he pulled you to sit up and take a few sips of water. You had never been cared for like this after sex. It made your chest constrict. You moved under the covers and waited for Rhett to follow suit. He immediately pressed his warm body against your own, pulling you tight to his chest.

“I can’t believe we just did that,” you said with a slight giggle.

“I can’t believe it took us this long,” Rhett retorted, fingers dancing along your spine.

You both laughed a little before it fell silent once again.

“Rhett?”

“Yeah, honey?”

“What does this make us?” You asked as you ran your fingers through the thick chest hair.

“Well… I think this means you’ll be sleeping in my bed when we get home. But don’t call HR on me.”

“You are HR, Rhett. Seriously, though. Are we like-“

“I want you to be my girl. I have spent the past several months falling in love with you. And I know it’s soon, but damn it, darlin’. You’ve stolen my heart,” Rhett confessed, his words causing your eyes to well with tears.

“Rhett… I- I love you, too.”

“The girls are going to be excited. They’ve been begging me to ask you to be my girlfriend since you moved in.”

“They’re trouble, I swear,” you laughed, snuggling closer to your man.

“They’re the reason I have all of this gray hair.”

“Yeah, but it’s hot. Very… very… very hot,” you responded, emphasizing the T. You giggled as he rolled over on top of you and started kissing against your neck playfully.

You kissed each other softly in the dark until you fell asleep holding each other tight. And when the sun rose in the morning, a new beginning would be awaiting you.

tagging those who may be interested:

@ryebecca @whisperofsong @floydsmuse @laracrofted @lewmagoo @withahappyrefrain @hangmanapologist @sebsxphia @bobfloydsbabe @callsign-magnolia @attapullman

#rhett abbott #rhett abbott smut #rhett abbott fanfiction #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott x you #rhett abbott au #dilf rhett 4 ever <3 #rhett x babysitter #rhett abbott fanfic

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gucciwins · 3 months

Text

The Lucky One

Word count: 11510

A/N: My sweet friends! I hope you're still excited for this story, even after all the time I had you wait. Life was hectic and finding time to write has been difficult. It's fitting that I posted this a year ago, and now posting the update a year later. Happy reading!!!

Warning: smut, female pleasure, phone sex, (brief use of Daddy)

Gala After Gala

please come tell me your favorite part

Harry was banned from the bathroom because he was a distraction. Y/N had been stuck doing her mascara for over ten minutes because he made a silly face at her every time she looked in the mirror. Y/N banished him to wait in her bedroom. He decided to look in her closet, wanting to pick her outfit for the night, and noticed how empty it was beside her winter coats hanging in the back, taking up most of the space.

“Beauty?” He called for her.

Y/N answered with a soft “Yes, love?”

Harry asked her what was going on in his head. “Where’s your emerald dress?”

“It was Sapra’s. She let me borrow it.”

“And the black one with the long slit,” Harry asks while continuing to look between every piece of clothing she has.

Y/N comes out of the restroom, hair perfectly curled and lips glossed. He can’t wait to kiss it away. Harry already knows she’s wearing her new favorite gloss, with hints of strawberry. Harry knows because he tested it out for her, ensuring it was a long-lasting taste and not only a smell sold by companies to trick her.

“Dawn’s sister.”

Harry frowns. Y/N attends endless galas, and each dress she wears looks like they were made for her and her alone. Yet, he’s only discovering that most of them were never hers. “The yellow one?”

“Dry cleaners!”

He breathes out a sigh of relief. While Harry knows Y/N might not have much space here, they act as if they don’t spend most of their time at Harry’s, where many of her items have started accumulating. Harry has begun to buy her favorite milk (Oat) and her favorite shampoo (Coconut scent) to have stocked. It has become her place as much as it is his. He knew he could make a closet hers. He hates that he hadn’t thought of it sooner.

“Beauty, I thought they were all yours,” Harry stares at Y/N while she puts in her earrings for the night. “Are you telling me I’ll never see that baby pink dress?”

Y/N rolls her eyes at his dramatics, kissing his cheek as she exits the bedroom. “That’s only for special occasions.” Y/N wore it for her graduation. A midi pink dress with flowers embroidered up the sides and sleeves. Harry could not keep his hands to himself that night, not that she minded. It’d been tucked away for a few weeks until Harry whisked her away to Italy and Greece as a Graduation present, where they spent weeks exploring new cities and kissing on every cobblestone street.

He trails behind her like a lost puppy. “Personally, think every moment with you is special.”

Y/N steps into her heels by the door, but before she can reach down, Harry is kneeling on one knee, placing her foot on his thigh to tighten the strap for her. Harry makes her fall more in love with him each day. Those three words seem to hover around them, but neither of them ever says them because it is told with each action, each kiss. “Thank you, honey.”

He kisses her calf before placing it back on the floor. “All ready, Beauty?”

“Let’s go eat!”

It’s not every day that they get dressed up for dinner, but Harry is leaving on a three-week trip and wants to take her out on a date before they move to Facetime calls and late-night texts. Harry had tried to convince her to come, but work would not let her. Not when she was planning for two different galas to take place in three months.

Dinner was delicious. Y/N was so hungry she cleaned off her plate. She always saved a bit to have leftovers the day after for her lunch, but Harry was gracious and ordered a meal for tomorrow. It didn’t surprise her how well Harry was able to read her.

She was strolling behind Harry, eating the ice cream they stopped to get after she told him she was craving something sweet. Harry kissed her and promised they’d stop by the shop two streets from her apartment. He was leading the way into her flat, telling her to get ready for bed, and he’d turn on an episode of Derry Girls for them. It was one of her most-watched series, and Harry enjoyed the humor.

“Nooo, I want to watch an episode of Ghost Files,” she yells from her bathroom.

Harry sighs because he knows this means she’s not tired. She wouldn’t dare to sleep through it because she loves Shane’s dumb commentary. While Y/N promises she doesn’t believe in ghosts, she is also the type to never put herself in any scary or off-setting situation.

Y/N comes in, rubbing moisturizer down her neck, and smiles when she sees a familiar episode playing. “Perfect.” She steps close to Harry, kisses him, and makes him promise to be quick in the restroom because she is ready for cuddles. Harry tried his best to be fast but enjoyed his night routine. He also had to double-check that he had everything packed for his flight tomorrow, not wanting to make a stop at home tomorrow that would have him leave Y/N sooner than he needed to.

By the time he entered the bedroom, Derry Girls was playing, and Y/N was fighting off sleep.

“You took forever,” she mumbled against her silk pillow.

He gave her a dimpled grin and cuddled close to her side. “You love to remind me how important my nightly routine is. That I can’t skip around. Something about my wrinkles,” Harry teases.

Y/N rolls her eyes, laying her head on his chest. “No wrinkles. Maybe some white hairs are coming in, but I think you’d be a sexy silver fox.”

Harry breathes out a laugh, “think I’m that old?”

“You’re perfect,” she pecks his lips.

“Think you’re perfect, too. So perfect for me,” Harry tells her.

Y/N had never felt peace like this, to feel so at home with a partner. Harry showed her how much he cared for her every single day. The ease she felt around him allowed her to be herself the entire time, with no facade, no excuses on why she wasn’t getting ready. Harry had seen her at her best and worst and still chooses her every day.

There are three words on the tip of her tongue dying to come out, but instead, she slips off to sleep in her lover’s arms.

Morning came far too soon for Y/N’s liking; usually, she wakes up feeling rested, but this morning, she felt like she tossed and turned all night. Harry, at one point, had to hold her tight against his chest because she was squirming around too much. She apologized, and thankfully, his heartbeat lulled her back to sleep. Now she’s up at six am watching Harry get ready to drive himself to the airport. She had requested to drive him, but Harry didn’t want her to deal with all the traffic madness that went on there. He also knew walking away from her at the airport would be harder. He’d be too tempted to stay in the car and ask her to drive home. Harry loved spending time with Y/N, and since officially being together, they have only gone a few hours apart. Saying goodbye was hard, and he wasn’t looking forward to doing that today.

She got up with him, with sleep still in her eyes, and while Harry went to do a quick rundown of his skincare, Y/N made him a cup of coffee; he bought her some of his specially imported beans from Columbia once he learned she enjoyed it. Harry told her she made the best cups of coffee; while she didn’t know if that was true, she was happy to do something for him.

Y/N sat on her counter, watching him collect his belongings and line them up nicely at the door. He had an order for everything. She knew he kept a packing list because he always feared forgetting something. He knew he had overpacked for this trip because he would be stopping to visit Mum and sister. Y/N thought it was sweet. Y/N had spoken with them over Facetime, but there’s nothing like meeting in person, and if all things went well, she knew she’d be meeting them over the holidays.

She wasn’t used to the quiet of her apartment because Harry always had music playing. He saw she had a record player and bought a bunch of his favorites for her to listen to. She told him she hardly used it because it was a housewarming gift from her brother, Matias, who got it for cheap at an estate sale. When Harry was staying over, there was always a record from Joni Mitchell to Prince.

“You got to call me when you land,” she says, breaking the silence.

“It’ll only be two here, just in time for your break.”

Y/N doesn’t hide her grin, knowing he had already checked their time difference. “Five days in London, and then off to Scotland.”

Harry nods because they both know she has his schedule memorized. He left her a list of contacts she could reach in case of an emergency, and he wasn’t available (he always would be). “Correct, Beauty. Do you want me to bring you back something? Cookies, a bag, or pearls.”

“Only want you.”

“I’ll surprise you,” Harry promises, knowing he’ll stop at his favorite shops to get her something nice to make up for his time away.

Harry steps towards her, sitting on the counter. He places one hand on her waist and the other on her cheek and pulls her in for a kiss. His lips are soft and taste sweet, like his coffee. She sighs against him, not ready to separate, but he gives her one last kiss, telling her he has to put his bags away in the car.

She watches him take two trips while double-checking his carry-on, not wanting to forget his passport, something he’s expressed he’s done more than once. On his final trip, Harry is in the car packing it in. Y/N has moved to lean against the doorframe, watching him fit his luggage in a car too small for two suitcases. There’s a heaviness in her chest, knowing she won’t see him for 21 days. There will be no kisses, no hugs, and no lunch together. Not even a sweet morning wake-up call.

It’s going to be a lonely few days.

Y/N can admit she’s become a bit dependent on spending time with Harry, but she doesn’t think it’s terrible. She still goes to work, hangs out with her friends, and gets her nails done, where she catches up on her favorite podcast, The Happiness Lab, but ends her days in Harry’s arms. He truly has become one of her best friends. While no one could ever replace Sapra, Harry and Y/N shared another level of intimacy. She was thankful to have him in her life.

“What is it, beauty?” Harry asks, stepping toward her, looking beautiful. It’s unfair he wakes up looking this pretty with his messy hair and growing stubble. She knows it’s only three weeks, but she will miss him and wants him to know. Harry caresses her cheek, and she can’t help but lean into his warm touch.

“I’m going to miss you,” Y/N breathes out.

“Miss me or my king-sized bed,” he teases. He told her to stay at his house if she wanted but that she’d miss him less at her apartment. She knew that was a lie; she saw him in everything in her home. Harry had left a touch on everything she had ever owned. From having his favorite blanket thrown on the back of her couch to his extra pair of shoes waiting by

She shakes her head. “Seriously, H. Does Mitch really need you? Sarah’s going.”

“They’ve got a bub to look after,” Harry reminds her.

“But I’m your baby,” she pouts.

Harry laughs because he remembers her telling him “Baby” was too cheesy. Then, one night in bed, when she was close to reaching her peak, he called her “baby,” and it was over for her. She loved it, craved to hear it when he was pleasuring her.

“Well, my baby has to work, or she’d be coming with me.”

Y/N sighs because he’s right.

It’s true, he told her a few months back, but there was too much to be done that she couldn’t take a vacation, not when Harry had told her he had planned a summer vacation for them. It was the only thing keeping her going.

“Well, at least I can go to the farmer’s market.” It was popular, but the earlier she went, the less crowded. “Will need to go get some cash,” she talks aloud, already making a mental list of what to do once Harry takes off to distract herself.

Harry grabs his wallet and a few bills, slipping it into her coat’s pocket.

She reaches in after him, pulling out around what she assumed to be bills that added up to $200. “What’s this for?”

“For your fresh goods.”

“Honey,” she breathed out. “It’s too much.”

“I need to care for you, even while I’m gone.” Y/N goes to respond, but he cuts her off with a quick kiss. “Let me do this. I’m already sad I won’t be there to give you flowers.”

Y/N backs down. He bought her flowers every week. They went from daisies to daffodils. “Thank you,” is her only response.

“I’ll call you every night,” he promises, and Y/N takes him in, knowing she’s got minutes left with him. “Now, be a good girl and give me a kiss.”

She doesn’t need to be told twice.

Harry connects his lips to her in a sweet kiss. He has the power to make her forget everything. Y/N is wrapped up in his sweet taste. She’s aware that his hands trail her body before settling on his favorite spot (her ass). He slips his tongue in, giving him entrance to explore. Y/N knows she could kiss him all day, but they’ve run out of time.

Y/N pulls back breathlessly; she knows her lips are swollen. Y/N ran a finger over her lips as if she could still feel his mouth against hers.

“I’ll text you when I board,” he turns around, walking away from her, ready to drive away.

A strong feeling overwhelmed her, and she could no longer keep in those three words. “Harry!”

He turns around, sunglasses on and a pretty smile on his lips.

“I love you,” she breathes out.

Harry’s eyes widened. “Beauty, beauty!”

He hurries over with shaking hands. “What did you say?”

“I love you, Harry,” she repeats louder.

“Oh darling,” his eyes are glistening. “I want to take you back inside and show you how much I love you.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “I love you. I love you so much.”

“You’ve got a long drive ahead,” she reminds him, knowing the airport is always chaotic. She couldn’t believe she had let these words drop now that he was leaving.

“Don’t make me go,” he pleads. “Why now, baby?”

Y/N shrugs, running a hand through his curls. “It was too much to hold in with you leaving me.”

“I’m coming back, Beauty,” he promises. “Always coming back to you. Wish you’d come with me,” he pleads one more time.

Her smile gives away the same answer she’s been giving him for weeks. He knows she can’t. “Drive safe. I love you.”

Harry feels a flutter flow through him. He can’t wait to spend the rest of their lives sharing these three beautiful words. “I love you, Beauty.”

He pulls away, shaking his head. Harry hugs her tight to his chest, and she can hear the pounding in her chest. He kisses her a few more times for good measure.

“I love you,” Harry tells her one last time as he drives away. She waves him goodbye from the porch and keeps smiling until he turns the corner, and that’s when she lets her tears slip.

Y/N’s really going to miss him.

When she’s back inside, Y/N hears her phone ring. She sees it’s Harry and answers quickly, worried something has happened. “You okay, honey?”

He’s silent for a few seconds.

“Honey?”

“Say it again.”

She giggles, “I love you. Call me when you’re there.”

“One last time,” he asks.

“I love you, Harry Styles.”

“Hello, you’ve reached Harry Styles. I’m unable to get on the phone right now. Leave your name and number, and I’ll return your call when I’m available. Thank you.” His voicemail filled the quiet of her room. Y/N huffed; it was the third time she had tried calling him, and there was no answer. He promised her a date and even sent her a photo of how he added it to his schedule.

Harry had been gone now for two weeks on business. He had begged her to come, and she almost caved, but there was too much going on at work for her to take a trip. Harry understood; of course, he did. He knew how much Y/N loved her job and would never try to take her from there unless he really needed her.

Y/N throws her phone to the end of her bed, deciding to give up for now. She had prepared a small meal to share with him. She knew it was cold now and couldn’t be bothered to eat it when her appetite was gone. Since her plans are gone, she phones Sapra, who quickly answers on the first ring.

“Babes!” Sapra greets her cheerfully. “I was just thinking about you.”

“Yeah, I got bad news at work. I had a cater cancel on me, and it’s like starting all over again with the hunt for the perfect person. “So,” Y/N dragged out. “I was thinking we can go drink my sorrows.”

Sapra laughs, “Oh my sweet, Y/N.” She takes a moment to respond, but Y/N knows she’s in. “Of course, I’m in. Let me call in the boys and Dawn.”

They settle on going to a bar they know that sells delicious nachos. Dawn’s place is the middle ground, so they agree to meet there.

Time with her favorite people is precisely what she needs. Her friends get along well with Harry, and she likes including him on their outings. It’s nice to go out, have a good laugh, and go home to cuddle with her boyfriend. Her boyfriend is still out of town, so she will return to an empty apartment and a cold bed.

Y/N sent Harry a text to check-in. She hoped nothing terrible had happened but knew in her gut that if something was wrong, she would have a call from Sarah. The only update from Sarah was of her bub swaddled in a blanket Y/N made for him.

While Y/N loves dressing up tonight, she settled on jeans, a white top, and her favorite yellow cardigan, Dawn knitted. It keeps her warm and cozy while elevating her outfit. Y/N finishes slipping on her rings as she walks out the door. Y/N takes the ringer off her phone, slipping it into her bag, promising herself to have a fun night.

Bars are not Y/N’s favorite place because it’s too loud, there is always a weird smell, and mostly because it’s hard to avoid creeps. She stands by the never-going-to-the-bathroom-alone code, and as she waits for Sapra to finish washing her hands, she has to politely move away from men stumbling down the hall. Once they’re settled back in their seats, Y/N relaxes. She has a drink in her hand, vodka cranberry (her favorite), and enjoys the evening. Her brother brought a new friend today, Brandon. He’s tall, a bit pale, and has a buzzcut. Y/N recognizes he’s attractive, but his brown eyes do nothing to her. Her MO when she was in Uni was chocolate brown eyes she could drown herself in, but now she knows the truth. It’s that emerald will always be captivating to her.

Matias shares a funny story about Y/N when she was a child, making the group awe while Brandon shoots her a smirk. Y/N knows he’s flirting, but before she can tell him, she’s not interested. Isaac reminds Brandon that Y/N is a taken woman.

“Y/N’s here alone,” Brandon tries.

“Man is on a business trip.” Matias slaps a hand on Brandon’s shoulder. “Promise you, he will hear about this and be on the first flight back.”

Brandon backs up with his hands up.

Crisis Averted.

Y/N can easily defend herself, but she’s glad her brother had her back in this case. Brandon sets his eyes on Dawn, who is all too happy to give in to her flirting ways. She remembers when Dawn would barely speak a word unless spoken to, but after two vodka sodas, it’s like Dawn becomes a new person who suddenly loves to talk. It makes Y/N laugh, but always makes a point to look after her.

After two drinks, Y/N decides that’s all she wants. Everyone seems to agree. The bar gets more crowded, pushing them all together when Sapra gets a bright idea.

“You know I’ve been wanting a new tattoo,” Sapra throws out her bait.

Matias rolls his eyes, “like you weren’t posting about your last one two weeks ago.”

Sapra gasps, “So you do watch my story.”

“More like skip,” Isaac chirps in.

Y/N knows she has to intervene, or Sapra will bite their heads off. “Right, a tattoo sounds nice.”

Sapra clinks her drink with Y/N’s. “Anyways, Roxanne has become a good friend. I can call her to see if she can squeeze us all in for a tattoo.”

“I’m out,” Dawn calls out, who is four drinks in.

Brandon shrugs, “I’m game.”

Y/N looks at her brother and his husband. Isaac and Matias share a look. Y/N knows it’s going to be a no. They are never impulsive.

“We’ll supervise, you idiots,” Isaac shares.

Sapra cheers while Y/N thinks about the placement of her tattoo.

The shop was only a five-minute walk from the bar they were at. After Sapra phoned her friend who, yes, was available to tattoo three people at ten pm.

The shop is one Y/N has driven by many times. It’s small and intimate and entirely female-owned. The space is clean, and the receptionist counter has mints for customers to grab. The wall has beautiful paintings from a local artist, and Y/N knows she’d be happy to have one in her apartment (or Harry’s house).

Brandon goes first. He’s quick to explain his tattoo idea. He wants a teddy bear for his nephew, born two months ago. Theodore was his name, and he wanted to do something special as the godfather. Y/N found it sweet. She wouldn’t mind keeping Brandon in the friend group. Mainly because it seemed Dawn was smitten. Brandon had her go back with him, feigning he was feeling nervous and needed Dawn to hold his hand to make him brave; it worked like a charm.

As Brandon gets wrapped up, Sapra expresses her idea. Roxanne tells her it’s great but would prefer Sapra’s recent tattoo to heal a bit longer before going in for a new one. Sapra wants to fight it but knows when to back down.

“You got it, Roxie. But you will do it?”

Roxanne nods her head, making her lilac hair move around her. “Of course.” Roxanne looks back at the group. “That leaves one more.”

All eyes turn to Y/N. She feels like shrinking into herself but instead stands up straight and follows Roxanne to her office. Y/N hands her phone off to Dawn, who promises to keep it safe. Y/N knows there will be a lot of drunk selfies to filter through tomorrow.

Y/N has been thinking of getting a tattoo for some time now. She discussed it with Harry one time, but he always told her it was her body and would ultimately always be her choice. It wasn’t much help. That had been about two months ago, and now she knew she would be happy with it.

“I thought about this for a long time,” Y/N explains to Roxanne as she places the stencil on her ribcage.

Roxanne laughs, “midnight screams impulsive.” Y/N laughs. She’s not wrong. She’s glad to have the company with her alone; she might have walked out of the shop by now. “Ribcage is pretty brave.”

“So I’ve heard,” Y/N responds.

“Hurts a lot.”

“I can take it.” Y/N knows it will be worth it.

Sapra pops in, promising to hold Y/N’s hand if needed. Y/N wiggles her fingers, and Sapra hurries to her side. “This will be very sexy in the summer with a bikini.”

“Harry is going to die,” Dawn giggles. Y/N notices Dawn holding her phone up and knows she’s recording. Well, at least they’ll all be able to look back on this.

Y/N can admit the tattoo process wasn’t painless. It felt like constantly being strung by a bee in the same spot. The only good thing was that no bees died while she got inked. Sapra teared up as she released what Y/N got tattooed. It was a bouquet of Sapra and Y/N’s birth flower (Sapra shared the same month with Harry, but Y/N wasn’t reading into that right now). Roxanne brought Y/N’s vision to life, and it would forever be inked on her skin.

The entire thing took 45 minutes to an hour. Y/N was being told about the aftercare when Dawn felt Y/N’s phone ring. It showed a picture of Y/N and Harry sharing a kiss at sunset. She thought it was no problem picking it up and was soon greeted with Harry’s face, suddenly realizing it was a Facetime call.

“Mr. Styles!” Dawn greeted cheerfully.

“Just Harry,” he corrected with a slight laugh.

“Okay, Mr. Harry,” Dawn fell into a fit of giggles.

He didn’t bother correcting her; instead, he looked for Y/N. “Where’s Y/N?”

Dawn held up a finger, needing to pass the phone as she was still laughing. “Hold on a sec.”

The phone was then passed to Sapra. “Hi,” he waves.

Sapra gives him the cold shoulder. He has a small idea of why but knows she doesn’t need an answer. Y/N does.

“I can explain. But you don’t need to hear it,” Harry tells her.

“For once, I agree. I’ll find out either way,” she reminds him.

Harry spots Y/N in the back of the frame, slipping on her shirt. He catches a glimpse of something around her waist. He frowned but called out for her. “Beauty?”

“Hi, Harry,” Y/N answers confused. “Everything alright?”

“Mhm…do you have a moment to talk?”

Y/N is the only one in the frame, but by all the chatter Harry hears, it’s clear she’s not home. “I will be home in 30. The night was ending. Y/N scratches her neck; she sees the bags under his eyes and knows he hasn’t slept well. “Do you want to talk tomorrow? It can’t be a good time for you.”

Harry feels his heart soften because she’s always looking out for him. He knows he should sleep, but he had a shitty day(s), and he knows even a few minutes with Y/N will make him feel better. Selfishly, he wishes Y/N was home accepting his call, but he can wait for her. He’d wait a lifetime if he had to.

“I’ll call you when I’m home,” she promises.

“I love you,” Harry tells her. He never hangs up without saying it.

“I love you, Harry.”

“Is everything alright?” Sapra asks concerned.

Y/N kisses her cheek. “It will be. I got to get home.”

Matias shows her he’s ordered her an Uber. They’ll share because he would feel awful sending her home alone. Y/N knows she’s lucky to have so many people who love her.

Y/N is thankful her brother knows her well because he put Harry’s address as her drop-off location. She hadn’t stayed there a lot because it made her feel lonely. He asked her to house-sit, but he had no plants or pets to look after. Y/N’s hoping she can convince him he needs one in his life.

She waves goodnight to her brother and makes her way inside. Slipping off her shoes, she wants to call Harry once she’s ready for bed, but it’s been thirty-five minutes, and she hates making him wait. Y/N calls him, and on the second ring, he’s answering.

“Hi, beauty.”

Y/N can hear the relief in his voice. As if he was holding it together until he got her alone.

“Hi honey, I’ve got to get my makeup off, but I didn’t want to make you wait anymore.”

“Put me on video call.” He requests.

Y/N does as he asks. She sets him on the bathroom counter. He stares at her with his pretty eyes, and Y/N knows she’s grateful to have him. She knows she’s in love. The moony look in his eyes tells her everything.

Harry grins, being able to see her blushed cheeks and shimmering eyes. He knows Y/N always uses her Cosmos palette because she’s learned that the glitter makes her eyes shine in any kind of light.

“Fun night?”

Y/N rubs her cleansing balm over her face as she tells Harry about the night’s event. She told him she could hurry if he was tired, but he shook his head no. “Keep talking, Beauty. I’m with you.”

She continues to tell him about how well done her drink was, the perfect mix of alcohol and cranberry. Y/N promised to take him back another time. She spoke about Matias's friend and saw when Harry perked up at the mention of trying to chat her up.

“Will that new friend be a problem?”

She giggles, rubbing her moisturizer into her skin gently. “No. Matias gave him a talk. He got along wonderfully with Dawn, but she mentioned he’s fresh out of a breakup, so she won’t pursue anything.”

“For now.”

“We’ll see, honey.”

Y/N throws the phone on the bed as she begins to get changed. “Beauty, baby? Where’d you go?”

She crawls under the covers, picking up her phone after getting comfortable. “Had to get changed. All tucked in now.”

“No show?” Harry teases.

“Not unless you’re here to take it off me.”

Harry groans. He is aware of how little Y/N wears to bed. “I will get on a flight right now.”

“It’s only a few more days.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes. Y/N knows Harry has much to share, but she wonders what he will start with.

“Was that a tattoo?” Y/N feigned innocence. “When I first called you. Thought I saw something.”

Y/N explains the tattoo Sapra has been in her life for as long as she can remember. Tattooing something is permanent and something he reminded her of endlessly, but in that moment, she couldn’t think of a reason not to get it.

“Do you regret it now?” Harry is still looking at the photo she sent him, and he’s thinking about the pain she went through. He wished he was the one holding her hand.

“No, the pain was manageable. I love it.”

Harry grins, “I love it too.”

She knew he would.

“I love you, Harry.”

“Beauty, oh, Beauty. I’m so fucking lucky to love you. I’m sorry for today.”

“Do you want to share with me?

Harry runs a hand through his hair. Y/N notices she’s propped up against something, maybe a lamp on the nightstand, as she can see both his hands picking at the ends of a t-shirt in his hand. It’s a faded blue, and Y/N recognizes it as a shirt of hers from Uni. She had no idea he snuck that in.

He needed a piece of her with him as well.

“It was a shitty day,” he breathes out. “I was ready to pull out of this deal because they weren’t respecting our requests. They wanted to go for the cheaper cost, but how we run our business is important, and while I was ready to jump ship, Mitch talked me down. We were there all day until we came to a compromise. I felt drained when I got back to the hotel. I laid on the bed to sleep a bit, having set an alarm, but I slept through it. Called you as soon as I woke up.”

Y/N’s heart deflates, “you could have called me later. I would have understood.”

“I already disappointed you. It couldn’t wait,” Harry tells her.

“Thank you for apologizing.” Y/N watches Harry; he looks tired, but knowing him, he won’t hang up first. Y/N isn’t quite ready to let him go. He looks so good, his hair a mess, his swallow peeking under his shirt. Y/N misses the feel of his hands on her body. Misses the way he smells. Misses his hand in her hair. Y/N was lovesick. “It happens. Sure, I was disappointed, but I figured something happened. Long distance, I don’t know how people do it.”

“For love.”

“Then you’re lucky I love you.”

“The luckiest,” he agrees.

Harry tells her a story about Sarah, how she’s checked in on him, reminding him to finish all his work quickly because he’s got someone waiting at home now. He tells her a story about his sister and how she recently got a new dog. It was so small, and little Pixie fell asleep in his arms. It seemed convincing him he needed a pet would be easier than she had imagined.

As Harry tells her story after story, she feels overwhelmed with emotion. She misses him so much, but she also misses his touch. They’ve taken their relationship slowly. Y/N is not one to jump in right away because of past experiences, and Harry has taken that in stride. Y/N is waiting for him to come home so that he can love on her how they both deserve, but right now, Y/N knows just the thing to take the edge off for both of them.

“I’ve missed you. Missed how you’ve taken care of me,” Y/N breathes out.

Harry picks up on her change of tone. “Yeah, Beauty. Need me in between your legs to relax. Work keeps you busy. All you want is to be taken care of. Daddy can help with that.”

Y/N whimpers. Daddy is not something they ever discussed, but at this moment, it’s everything she needs. “I want Daddy to take care of me. Need it. Crave it.”

Harry sighs, his cock swelling when hearing his beautiful girlfriend call him Daddy. He makes a mental note to talk about it tomorrow after they both have a good night’s rest.

“Only a few more days, Baby.” Harry reminded her. “I promise to take care of you until you push me away until you can’t take it anymore.”

“What would you do to me?”

He had no idea this was where their phone call would lead, but fuck he’s ready.

Y/N bites her bottom lip as she waits to hear what he says.

“I’d lay you back on the bed, prop a pillow under your hips just how my Baby likes it. Spread your legs open, and I’ll see how wet you are waiting for me to touch you except, you know me, Beauty. I love to take my time,” he smirked when he saw her close her eyes, a deep sigh leaving her pouty lips. “I know you’re lying in my bed. Surrounded by my smell, I know you are soaked. I imagine you wearing pretty panties, maybe the yellow ones with bows on your hips.”

“What if I told you I don’t have any on?”

Harry bites back a groan. “I’d ask you to show me your pretty pussy.”

Y/N shakes her head, not one to easily give in.

“I’d kiss your pretty thighs. I love it when you smother me between them as I lick you clean. Fuck,” he looks away for a second, and Y/N can only imagine what he’s doing. “I’m fucking hard thinking about you. Thinking about tasting you. How sweet you taste, I swear I’ve never had anything sweeter, Baby.”

“D-d-daddy!” She pleads.

“I’d kiss right over your clit before licking you clean. You’re a messy girl. You can’t help it, baby, but that is why Daddy is here to help.”

“Need more.”

Harry smirked; he knew Y/N was touching herself. He swears he can see how she moves her fingers in and out of herself. She’s so slick, and he knows he’d slip right in if he was home. “Baby, I would lick you until I felt satisfied, then I’d slowly trace two fingers around you. Start by pumping one in and out until you’d beg me for another. I know you can take it. You’re always such a good girl.”

“It’s not enough,” she cries. Harry sees her hand moving, and fuck, he wants her to move the screen down, but he can’t seem to take his eyes away from her face. The desire coursing through her, and sees her trembling, uneasy breaths and knows she’s close to coming for him.

“Daddy would give you everything you asked for, anything and everything.” Harry pumps his hand over his cock. “I’d keep going, curl my fingers in deep, letting your legs trap me in between your thighs. I’d suck your clit over and over again until you scream my name.”

“Fuck!” Y/N shouts. “Harry,” she repeats as she takes herself over the edge.

“My sweet angel, you look so perfect coming for me. The sweetest sight. Wish I was there to lick your fingers clean. No need to waste something so yummy.” Y/N deflates a shy smile now on her face as what happened begins to set in.

Y/N laughs. “Did that just happen?”

“The come on my stomach is answer enough.” He teases.

Y/N groans, “fuck me, Harry.”

“Just say when.” He’s tempted to jump on a flight home, but a few more days is all he needs to wait.

The sweet look on Y/N’s face keeps him calm until he is back in her arms. Y/N is close to falling asleep; he can see how relaxed she is, and he hates having to hang up.

“I love you, honey,” she reminds him. “Hurry back, please.”

“Hold on tight, Beauty. I’ll be home soon.” He blows her a kiss. “I love you.”

Those three words lull her to sleep.

Harry was finally home. He had been gone for three weeks, but it had felt like months. He ensured all his bags were packed and drove to Y/N’s apartment.

He finds a parking space right in front. Harry excitedly makes his way upstairs. He knocks, knowing she has to be home, but after a few minutes of no answer, he realizes she’s not home. Heading outside, he checks if her car is parked but finds nothing. Instead, he calls her. She answers on the second ring.

“Hiya, honey,” she greets him cheerfully.

“Beauty, I love hearing your voice.”

“You sap.” He knows she’s flustered.

“Are you home?”

Y/N sighs on the line. “Hannah called out sick, and everyone needed me. Got a few more hours left. Are you all set to arrive tomorrow?”

Harry frowns; he had told her when he was coming in. She must have been too busy to even look at the date. Instead of correcting her, he promises to see her tomorrow. Harry tells her he loves her, waits for her to say it back, hangs up, and decides to prepare a special evening for her.

He drives to the store and picks up the essentials. Orange wine (Y/N’s favorite) decides on ingredients for a pesto pasta that Y/N and he made a few days before he left, and both loved it. Harry rushes home and is pleased to find Y/N’s slippers by the door, meaning she will return here later. It’s a sign she had told him early on that if they’re by the door, it’s the first thing she wants to slip on. If they’re in the entrance closet, then it means she’s tidied up her items for him.

Home.

He was home, and soon, Y/N would be too. While away, it was nice to reunite with his family. His mum and sister told him to visit more, which he would do in the summer with Y/N. Work was work, and while he loved it, this trip kept him away from his Beauty for too long. Harry spent the next few hours doing his laundry, quickly showering, and preparing everything for a bath. Y/N loved lying there soaking up the heat and the smell of her bath bombs.

As Harry stirred the pasta, the smell of pesto filled the room. He hums in delight as he hears the ring of the dryer where he had put Y/N’s blanket to warm to keep her nice and toasty after dinner.

The front door opens. Harry quickly turns off the stove and lets the pasta sit while he waits for Y/N to greet him. He leans the kitchen entrance, staring at Y/N as she slips off her Mary Jane’s and throws her coat on the couch.

Y/N walks by Harry, standing by the kitchen door. “Hi, honey,” she greets and walks by him. It seems she’s running on autopilot, not seeming to process he is back home. Y/N freezes in her tracks, turns around, and stares at Harry. He flashes her his dimpled smile, she had confessed it made her weak in the knees. “You’re home,” she whispers.

He nods. “I’m home.”

“You’re home,” she repeats.

Y/N runs into his waiting arms. He holds her tight, spinning her around as she presses kisses to the column of his neck. He sets her down, his heart close to beating out of his chest.

Harry squeezes her hips. Y/N is smiling up at him, and he feels like the luckiest man alive. Harry leans in, connecting their lips together. Her sweet lips welcomed him, and it was a feeling he never wanted to go without. The kiss has filled him up with so much love and longing. Harry promises to never go this long without Y/N by his side. He wasn’t made to miss her. He was made to stay by her side and love her. Y/N presses against him, making Harry stumble into the wall, but neither seems to mind being too lost in the kiss. Y/N knows she needs to breathe but finds it incredibly difficult to tear herself away. Harry does it for her but doesn’t go far. His lips brush against hers as they take in a deep breath. “I love you.”

He kisses her again.

“I love you too. So much. I love you. I’ll say it forever.”

Y/N wraps her hands around his neck, and Harry knows she wants another kiss. He happily obliges. “Missed you. Missed you so much,” he mutters against her lips.

“Don’t leave again.”

“Never again,” he promises. “Taking you wherever I go.”

They spent a few more minutes holding each other, whispering “I love you” every few seconds. Y/N’s heart is back home, and she couldn’t be happier. Harry gives her butt a few taps promising they could continue later, but he was going to set her up for a bath. Y/N pouts, “I’m supposed to take care of you. You just got home.”

He frowns in response, pinching her butt and making her jump into him. “You’re my baby. My sweet angel. I will always look after you.” Harry sees Y/N begin to melt, and he knows she’s giving in. “We’re starting with a bath, then having some pasta for dinner. Then we’ll go watch some telly in bed.”

“I love you” is her only response.

With a final kiss, Harry sends her off to get clothes in the bedroom while he prepares the bath. Y/N is happy to have Harry at home.

Y/N and Harry spent the night enjoying each other’s company. After dinner, they crawl into bed and hold each other tight. Y/N was independent, and she had been from a young age. She’d go to the movies alone, watching a new film. She’d go into the market alone for a quick snack while her brother always requested company. Y/N was comfortable with her own company. She liked who she was when she was with others but also when she was alone.

Her partnership with Harry is something that surprised her. Her family always joked that she was high maintenance and that no one could lock her down because she was a free bird. Yet, she knew he was different from the moment she met Harry. Y/N was ready to walk away from him, but there was something special in Harry that she knew giving him a second chance would not be something she regretted.

Y/N liked who she was when she was with Harry because he made her shine more than she did on her own. Harry always liked to tell her that all eyes turned to look at her when she walked into any room. Y/N didn’t believe it was accurate, but she was glad she captured his attention.

In the morning, Y/N wakes up against Harry. Not a single space between them. Y/N laughed to herself because they drifted away most of the time. Harry always ran hot and slowly pushed away the covers while Y/N hugged them closer. Although they would always be touching each other. A hand on his stomach, one wrapped in her hair, or their legs intertwined. Yet, they managed to hold each other through the entire night; clearly, they both needed it.

Y/N looked at the time and sighed. She had to prepare for work. She was tempted to call out but knew Hannah would still be out. She was careful to move away from Harry, wanting him to sleep in as much as he could when he gripped the end of her (his) shirt. “Stay,” he mumbled.

Y/N sighed and ran her hand through his messy hair. “I’ve got to go in. If I skip lunch today, I can be out by one. Hmmm, I’ll do a half day,” Y/N compromised. “How does that sound?”

“Like I’ll miss you.”

She shakes her head. “I’ll see you at one.”

“Love you, come give me a kiss goodbye.”

Y/N leans down, pressing a kiss to his hair. “I will.”

After a long kiss in bed, Y/N was on her way to work. Y/N thought of the man waiting for her at home, and she knew tonight would be special.

Y/N’s promise to be out early was a bust as they had a new contract, and Y/N knew it was the priority. With a quick call apologizing to Harry, she quickly returned to running around the office. She had to talk to planners and directions. Thankfully, her assistant Kacey, who was becoming a quick learner the more time she spent by Y/N’s side. It made Y/N’s job go a lot smoother.

“You can go home now, Kacey.” Y/N knew they should have left an hour ago, but she was swarmed with papers. She hoped Hannah was feeling better. Y/N could run this all on her own but did not want to.

“Ms. Y/N, we’ve got paperwork to send in,” the young girl responded.

Y/N waved her in. She looked over, and it was a few signatures and two emails to send off about what they could provide for the upcoming Gala at the start of Summer. “It’s a Friday night. Please go out and enjoy it.”

Kacey stares at Y/N with a pensive look, and Y/N knows the girl will not be leaving without her.

“Fine. You email Mr. Cameron, letting him know he’ll be contacted on Monday with all they have planned for him. Then, from there, they’ll decide on a meeting time. I’ll manage Mrs. Cash’s change of theme. Twenty minutes?”

“More than enough.”

In record time, Y/N signs away one contract and makes a note to have their lawyer team revise the second. The email quickly gets done, and Y/N shuts down her computer. She won’t be back in until Tuesday, having requested a long weekend, weeks back when Harry told her the date he would be returning home.

Kacey is slipping her coat on when Y/N turns to face her. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

Y/N and Kacey walk out of the office together, making small talk as they walk to their cars.

Kacey is telling Y/N about her weekend plans. “My girlfriend is taking me to see Hamilton.”

“How lovely,” Y/N loves the soundtrack. “I fear I know all the words yet have never seen the actual play,” Y/N confesses.

“I’ll let you know if it’s any good.”

They both know it will be.

Stopping in front of Y/N’s car, Kacey asks Y/N what she will do.

“Harry came back last night, simply spending time together. Opening up whatever gift he got me,” Y/N jokes but knows he has to have accumulated more than a few while away from her.

“Lovely, I’m surprised you came in,” Kacey shares honestly.

“Hannah being out was bad. We couldn’t make it two.”

“That’s true. I’ve heard stories about Mr. Styles and you,” Kacey shares timidly. “All good things,” she’s quick to add. “Everyone thinks you’re a lovely pair.”

Y/N feels her cheeks heat up. “Thank you. I’m fortunate.”

Kacey bids her goodbye. “Ms. Y/N,” Kacey calls out, making Y/N turn back to look at her assistant. “Think he’s the lucky one.”

For that alone, Y/N will make sure Kacey takes Monday off, too. No need for an assistant if the boss is out.

The drive to Harry’s house is calm for a late Friday night. The sun has set, and Y/N is ready to be in his arms again. She parks outside the garage and hurries inside. It’s a surprisingly lovely night for the end of Winter. She hangs her bag and slips on her brown teddy bear slippers, walking through the house trying to spot Harry. He knew she was coming home, the oven light on with what she assumed was their dinner. She can worry about food later. She wants a hug from her boyfriend.

Y/N spots the porch light on and approaches the French doors. She spots Harry lying on a large blanket, a few pillows thrown around him. He has a book on his chest and a mug by his head. She pictured doing this with him in the summer, but it's perfect on a nice night like tonight.

“Honey, I’m home.”

He sits up in a rush, the book falls to the grass, forgotten, and he reaches his hands out for her. “Beauty, hi.”

Y/N giggles as he pulls her to sit in his lap. His lips quick to meet hers, he kisses her as if she had been the one to be gone for three weeks and not a few hours. She moans against him as he slips his tongue in. Y/N, eager for more, pushes him back to lie on his back. Y/N breaks away to press kisses against his neck. Harry hisses as Y/N bites into his neck, but Y/N is quick to soothe it with a quick lick.

“Welcome home,” he pants.

Y/N shakes her head, giving him a final kiss before getting comfortable next to him. They look up at the sky together, and Y/N wonders if other lovers are looking up at the same sky at this very moment.

“Do you think aliens exist?” Y/N asks while she traces the constellations she sees on his chest.

“Probably. This world is too large to be just us.”

Y/N nods, “Do you think Gods exist?”

“Like Poseidon?”

“He’s one of them.”

Harry ponders this for a second, he kisses the top of her head. “I-I hmmm… I’m not sure how to answer. I don’t think I’ve ever thought much of it.”

“Eros is the son of Aphrodite, and his job is to help make love happen. Do you think he was a part of our story? Or was it simply fate?” Y/N isn’t sure what made her bring up this topic now, but she wants to know what Harry thinks. “We have all these ancient stories. We look up at constellations, and we know their stories. Many people will think of them simply as stories, but what if they were real people with real feelings, just like us.”

Y/N moves around until she’s sitting on his thighs, and he moves into a sitting position with his hands resting on her ass. “I think we all have the choice to believe. Believe that there is something beyond us looking out for us, but some believe they make their own future. I like to think all my roads led to you.”

“Cheesy,” Y/N rolls her eyes, but he can see she’s flustered.

“Whether Cupid struck me with an arrow or fate had set me on a course to you from the moment I was born, it led us here, loving each other wholeheartedly.”

“I love you, Harry Styles.” Y/N fists his shirt. “I hope to love you in every single lifetime.”

“Our love is beyond us. It’s bigger than us.”

Y/N is feeling overwhelmed. All her love was pouring out of her chest, and she could no longer express it. She did the next best thing and kissed him. Y/N feels time stop; her heart rate speeds up, but she only feels Harry. It’s as if they’re the only two people to exist. His hands tug her closer, Y/N sighs into his mouth, loving the closeness. She missed someone holding her while he was away, and now that he’s here, she no longer wants anything between them.

Y/N rocks on top of him. She moves in a steady rhythm, enjoying the feeling of having him so close.

“Beauty,” Harry moans.

“Mhm…”

“What are–”

She interrupts him. “Make love to me.” Y/N places a soft kiss on his lips.

Harry and Y/N had taken their relationship slow. They had to after the bad start because of Harry. He promised to be patient and understanding and had gone above and beyond. While they’ve given each other their fair share of orgasms, Harry is giving her much more. They never went beyond that. She could no longer wait, not when she loved and needed all of him. She felt like a part of her had gone missing with him gone for so long, but now she feels whole again.

“Make love to me,” she repeats, staring into his eyes.

“Anything you want, Beauty. I’ll give you.” Harry brushes her hair out of her face, pressing a soft kiss to her lips.

“Only want you.”

“You have me,” he promises.

Harry and Y/N walk into the house, kissing against every wall. Y/N laughs as he bumps her against the railing of the stairs. Harry gives her ass a nice smack. “Head on up, sweet girl.”

Y/N hurries to his bedroom while Harry gets water for both of them. When he gets to the bedroom, he finds Y/N sitting in the middle of the bed in her panties and bra. There is no mistaking what is happening tonight.

Harry stands at the edge of the bed and beckons Y/N to come closer. She does so quickly, sitting back on the heel of her feet.

“You sure about this, Y/N?” Harry checks in, needing to know where her head is at.

“Yes, Harry. I think I’ve made you wait long enough.”

Harry shakes his head. “Y/N, Beauty. Do not worry about me. I will wait forever for you. You have to know that,” he expresses. “You’re worth the wait. I would never dare push you, Beauty. Not for my own pleasure.”

Y/N wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him in tight for a hug. “I love you so much. Thank you.”

Harry kisses her cheek. “I love you, baby.”

She leaned back to look at him, needing him to understand that she did want this. She wants everything with him. “Make love to me, Harry. Show me how good you can take care of me.”

Harry runs his hands up and down her arms. He sees goosebumps all over her body as he places light kisses up her neck. His hand caressed her shoulders while the kisses spread to her jaw, the anticipation eating her alive.

He kissed all the way up to her lips. As their lips met, she felt electricity shoot through her; his soft tongue parted her mouth and met hers. His hands now found home on her lower back, and he pulled her tight against his chest. The kiss deepened, and Harry began to lay her back. Y/N quickly accommodated, landing on the pillows and pulling Harry to land on top of her.

Harry’s hand reached her hip, caressing down her thigh. Y/N trembled, feeling his touch. She placed her hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. It’s beating fast, a nice reminder that she’s not the only one nervous. Their lips separated, and he looked into her eyes. Staring back at him, she nodded for him to continue.

Y/N had helped by removing most of her clothes, but she left her bra and panties for Harry. He traced a finger lightly over the top of her breast. Y/N pushed her chest out, begging for more, but he continued to take his time. Y/N pushed him to sit up, and she followed shortly after. She grabbed the bottom of his T-shirt, and he lifted it over his arms and head. She peeled it from his body and threw it onto the bedroom floor. Harry reached behind her and unclasped her bra. Y/N let the straps fall from her shoulders, the bra falling onto the bed, long forgotten. Y/N felt her face flush as she bared herself to him. She grinned as he took her in.

“You’re beautiful, Y/N.”

“Stop it.”

Harry laughs, beckoning her over with a finger. “Come here.”

They’re both kneeling on the bed, his hands on her hips. She puts her arms around his neck, and their chests pressed against one another. Her hands found their way to his shorts, but she made no move to take them off; instead, she stared down at his bulge. She wanted a taste, as always, but he laid her down before she could move down. Her nipples were hard, calling for his attention. He took one in his mouth and sucked gently, then took a slight nibble. Y/N gasped, her hand falling on his shoulder, her nails putting pressure as he moved to do the same to the other one. Y/N’s moans filled the room as Harry focused on her breast; his hand moved down to rub her through her panties.

“Harry, please,” she begged.

He smirked, grabbing the elastic running around her waist. Y/N lifted her hips as he slid the panties off. He threw them on the floor and took in Y/N’s beautiful body. He wanted to kiss her everywhere, but one place was calling his name.

Harry gives Y/N a deep kiss on her lips and moves down her body. A kiss between her breasts, a trail of kisses down her stomach, a gentle kiss on her tattoo, down to her hips. He took a nip off her thighs before slowly beginning to lick Y/N’s pussy. He started slowly, letting Y/N get used to his tongue as he cleaned her up. Y/N’s moan got louder the more he kissed and sucked her juices.

“Fuck, Harry. Please,” she pleaded. “I need more.”

He knew exactly what she needed. Harry slipped a finger inside, moving it in and out as she got accustomed quickly, asking for a second. He was quick to comply, feeling her tense around him. To help her reach her orgasm, he sucked on her clit and curled his fingers, moving them in and out.

Y/N moaned, her thighs tensing around Harry as she came around his fingers. He places gentle kisses on her hips as Y/N comes down from her high. Y/N laughs, running a hand through his curls. “You’re amazing.”

He grins, slowly pulling his fingers out of her. He licks them clean while Y/N watches. Once he’s done, Y/N pulls him in for a kiss, not caring about the taste, simply needing him.

She reaches out for him, “your turn.”

Harry sighs, “Not tonight, baby.”

Y/N pouts. “Please?”

“Promise I’m more than ready. I need to feel you. I want to be close to you.”

Y/N couldn’t say no to that.

Harry discards his shorts and pumps himself spreading his precum over his cock. Y/N moans at the sight in front of her. Harry has always been beautiful, but he looked eternal right now. She can see how thick he is and can’t wait to make love to him. Y/N knows she’s ready for him. He rolled toward the nightstand and reached into the drawer. He pulled out a condom, but Y/N went to stop him before he could open it.

“I’m clean,” she breathed out.

“Y/N,” he starts, but she interrupts him.

“I want it. I’m on birth control. If you want the condom, we can, but this is what I want.” Y/N expressed. “What you want matters too.”

Harry was clean, he had his check-ups, and he was good. There was something so comforting about having the choice together, but his answer was clear: he wanted to feel all of her with nothing in between.

He tossed the condom away. “I’m clean, Beauty. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Y/N laid back down, and Harry positioned himself between her legs. After a silent conversation to check she was okay, he slowly slid inside. He pushed through, and Y/N let out a deep moan. He lowered his body onto hers and held her. He slowly pushed in until the rest of his cock was inside. He stilled, letting Y/N get used to the fullness. Y/N was wet, making it easy for him to pull out and slide back in, but he went in small steps to not overwhelm Y/N.

“I’m ready. Give me more.”

With the okay, he began to thrust in and out, her moans getting louder and longer. It felt so good being this close. Y/N was overwhelmed, but this was everything she wanted. She began to lift her hips into his thrusts, ramming her clit into the hilt of his cock. They rocked together, on and, for what felt like hours.

“Fuck, baby. You were made for me,” he groaned. “My perfect angel.”

Rocking against his every thrust, she ran her nails down his back as he moved faster. She was close to coming. Y/N told him she needed more, just a bit more; he knew exactly what to do as he rubbed his thumb over her clit. She could not contain the shouts and moans as her orgasm rushed through her.

Y/N screamed his name over and over as the feeling of pleasure rushed through her. As Y/N was coming down from the high, she could feel how hard Harry was still and knew they weren’t done. Not that she wanted to be.

She sat up with his help, grabbed his shoulders, and guided him down onto his back. Y/N climbed onto him and straddled his cock. She reached down and guided his cock into her pussy. He slipped in slowly as Y/N took him all in again. She rocked her hips back and forth once she settled on top of him. His hands reached up to rest on her hips. Y/N’s moans urged him to keep going.

“So pretty, rocking on my fucking cock.”

“Harry,” she cried.

Her moans were perfect. Everything he wished for and more.

“Fucking perfect. This cock is all yours. Yours to fuck.”

Harry was filthy in bed, everything she fucking wanted. Yes, it started sweet and romantic, his touches were still gentle and filled with love, but he was fucking her and loving her. Y/N let Harry rock her up and down, allowing him to use her body for his release. Y/N knew no matter what he did, she was going to come with him. Harry helped Y/N lift herself up and down on his cock. Y/N’s eyes were closed, and she moaned softly each time she rocked all the way back.

“So close, baby. So fucking close to coming in you.”

“Fill me up,” she breathed.

Harry felt himself tightening. He couldn’t hold on much longer. He was going to come in Y/N; he was going to fill her up. Y/N kissed him. It was hot, their tongues fighting for dominance, he easily let her win as his hands tangled in her hair, and he fucked into her pushing her to her final orgasm of the night. Harry groaned against her mouth as he let himself go against her walls. Y/N sighed against him as her orgasm ran through her like a wave. She felt light and in love. Y/N had made him wait to be ready, but she knew it was worth it.

He valued her as a person. Her opinions meant something to him. Y/N knew he loved her for who she was as a person, not only her looks.

Y/N parted their lips but didn’t move away. “I love you, Harry. You’re fucking beautiful.”

Harry laughed against her, his cheeks flushed at her gentle words. He squeezed her tight to his chest, kissing her wherever he could: her cheek, neck, shoulder, and lips. “I love love you.”

They held each other, letting warmth wash over them, whispering “I love you” and sweet promises of the future together. It’s everything they wanted and more.

After Harry helped her clean up and took a steaming hot shower together, they settled under the covers, ready to call it a night. Harry had put the TV on, knowing Y/N liked having background noise to fall asleep to, but she wasn’t sleeping. She was content to watch time go by. Harry traced shapes on her bare stomach while she tried to bite back a giggle, though one escaped every few minutes. Her nipples were hard, and if Harry kept going, he would be getting her ready for another round.

“Are you ready for the Gala season?” Y/N asked. “We’ve got the last weeks of winter before you have to share my time.”

“Not going to happen,” he kissed her bare shoulder. “Speaking off, you’ve got dresses arriving from Paris in a few weeks. Called in a few favors, your favorite designers only. A special piece from Daniel Roseberry. I know Schiaparelli is your favorite.”

“What am I going to do with you?” Y/N teased, knowing it was no use fighting against him. It was one of the ways he showed he loved her. There was no stopping him. Plus, this would be something she treasured. She’d look after these dresses, hoping one day to pass them down to the generations in her family.

“Love me?” Harry smiled.

Loving him is the easiest thing she will ever do in life.

+ + +

thank you for reading, sweet angel 🫶

#harry styles #harry x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles writing #harry styles angst #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot #harry styles x reader #harry styles fic rec #harry imagine #angst #styles #harry styles fluff #harry fluff #harry smut #fic rec #ENJOY!

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catcze · 5 months

Note

i love reading your works, they make excited to read again

but i was wondering, how do you think wriothesley would be in a royal au where we’re the noble and he’s our bodygaurd?? 👀

!!! THE WAY I LOVE THIS TROPE SO MUCHAKJSNDKJNASJDNAKSJ

Bodyguard! Wriothesley is quite possibly the best thing that's ever happened to you. He's relaxed— much less uptight and by-the-books as some of the bodyguard that have been with you in the past.

Bodyguard! Wriothesley doesn't try to limit your movements or the activities you do, only under the condition that he either comes with you or that you don't do anything outright life-endangering. You wanna dress up as a regular person and wander around the city? Sure. Just let him know, and he'll even procure the disguises the two of you will use. You want to go for a walk in the woods? As long as you both stick to the safer paths and don't stay out past dark, he doesn't see why not.

Bodyguard! Wriothesley cares for your sake. He lets you indulge in whatever hobbies you like— gardening, embroidering, horseback riding, sword-fighting. Whatever it may be, he accompanies you and just lets you have your fun. He even helps you out sometimes, such as sparring with you, or being the one to hold your books for you as you wander around the library.

Bodyguard! Wriothesley even helps you when it comes to your official duties as a noble. He can't help directly, of course, but he helps you organize your files, sort through the numerous documents on your desk, and even provides some useful input in the fields where he's got some experience. Not to mention, when he's your only company in that lonely lonely office for hours to come, he converses with you during the slower periods of time. He talks about anything under the sun— anything that he thinks you'll find interesting, or that might elicit a smile from you. Be it anecdotes from his own life, stories from his time before being a bodyguard, or even just interesting facts he's learned from a book he's found in the library. If he sees you needing a mental break, he's more than happy to provide.

Bodyguard! Wriothesley who accompanies you in your office in the late evenings, long after you've already dismissed him for the night. The moon could be high overhead, the owls hooting and the fireplace in your office crackling away, and this man will absolutely refuse to leave your side until you're finished. To your face, he tells you that it's out of duty. That a risk to your life could come even this late at night, and that so long as you are vigilant with your duties, so shall he. But a teeny tiny little part of his heart is doing it because he wants to make sure that you're alright, too. That while you burn the midnight oil, there is water in the pitcher by your desk, and fresh slices of fruit in the plate. He wants to make sure that your office is neither too cold nor too hot, and that if you choose to stay up late in the winters where the fireplace cannot keep up with the chill, he is there to offer his own coat is he sees you shivering.

Bodyguard! Wriothesley who has, as a result of you being so committed to your duties and your people, been faced with the dilemma of you falling asleep at your desk more than once. Each time, he's hesitant to wake you from your slumber. If anyone knows how hard you work and how badly you need each second of rest, it is the man who hardly ever leaves your side. So instead, he approaches your dozing form hesitantly, shaking your shoulder just slightly with a gentle touch until you rouse a little.

"Your grace," Wriothesley murmurs, keeping his voice low. "I believe it's time to call it a night."

You say nothing for a few seconds, processing what he's said, but you eventiually nod, letting the smallest of yawns escape you. Wriothesley tries to hide his smile.

Then a thought crosses his mind, and though he hesitates to even offer, he sees you starting to doze off again where you sit, and he can't imagine that to be any good for your back or your neck come morning.

"Would you like me to carry you back to your room, your grace?" He asks softly— so quietly, that if he wasn't this close, you don't think you would have heard it. But you do, in fact, hear him. And while you would normally be rather embarrassed to have your bodyguard carry you anywhere, your sleepiness overrules most thoughts of embarrassment and hesitation. In this state, the most important thing is getting back to your room and getting a proper rest, so you nod.

Wriothesley puts out the fireplace in record time, returning to your barely-awake form swiftly. He easily grabs the keys to your office off your desk and hooks the keyring onto his finger.

"Alright, I'm going to lift you up now, your grace," He murmurs, one hand hooked under your legs, the other circling around your back and cradling you against him securely. You barely stir when he lifts you up, doing little more than humming .

Expertly and making sure not to jostle you, Wriothesley maneuvers you out of the office, making sure to lock it securely behind him. As he begins walking in the direction of your chambers, he can feel you leaning more and more into his hold, your head resting right above his chest. No doubt you're already half-way to dreamland, which he finds incredibly endearing.

"You can sleep for now, your grace. I'll get you back safely." His voice is so soft, like the finest silk. Softer than any of the robes you have in your closet, than the sheets that lay on your bed. You wish you could fall into that softness and slumber for hours and hours.

You lean further into Wriothesley's firm chest, thinking nothing of the way his heart seems to hasten, or how he grows warm under your touch. Sleep creeps forward more and more with each passing second, wrapping you in it's warm tendrils.

Before you completely lose yourself to it though, you manage to whisper a quiet, "Thank you, Wriothesley."

And oh, if his heart doesn't melt right then and there. You asleep in his arms, looking more relaxed than he's ever seen you. Wriothesley adjusts his grip on you slightly, making sure that you're comfortable in his grasp. And if he slows his pace a bit, unwilling to have the walk to your chambers end so quickly, that's just for him to know.

[ #Taglist registration here !! ]

#astronetwrk #「 🐈‍⬛ 」 catcze.desserts #wriothesley x reader #genshin impact x reader #cw gn reader #genshin impact #wriothesley #ASK ME MORE ABNOUT THIS AU I LOVE IT SO MUCH I COULD GO ON FOREVERHJAKJDSNKAJSNDLANJKS

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tadfool · 7 months

Text

thinkin about Astarion mending Wyll's clothes for him but also embroidering something on them when he does. I imagine with all the fighting and traveling Wyll ends up with rips and holes in his clothes pretty often and eventually Astarion gets sick of watching him walk around in tattered clothes (most people likely wouldn't even notice but of course Astarion isn't most people). the first couple times he does it he just mends the damages and gives it back, but maybe one time Wyll ends up with a particularly large rip in his shirt and Astarion decides to take the opportunity to cover the damage with a small bit of embroidery to tidy up the repair. Wyll thanks him for repairing his shirt (again) but then he notices the embroidery and pauses for a moment in both surprise and marvel. "did you do this?" he says, carefully running his thumb over the delicate stitches, he knew it was a bit of a stupid question but he couldn't seem to think of anything else to say. (cont. under the cut bc this got kinda long)

"it was a pretty nasty rip, even with my skillful hands," Astarion flashes Wyll a suggestive grin to emphasize his innuendo but Wyll is still to busy admiring the embroidery in his hands, "I wasn't able to make the repair look presentable on its own, but a bit of embroidery does well enough to cover it up"

"it's beautiful." Wyll breathes.

"yes, well, you're welcome." Astarion retorts, his voice thick with snark to hide how much Wyll's earnest praise flustered him.

Wyll chuckles and thanks him again before they part ways.

the next time Astarion repairs some of Wyll's clothes when he returns the item Wyll once again notices a small patch of embroidery but this time it's somewhere totally unrelated to the damaged area. it's lovely, and he spends a moment admiring it before giving Astarion a questioning look. "there was a stain, I couldn't wash it out so I just covered it up. you're welcome, by the way." Astarion defends, and it's almost believable. it might have been more believable if it didn't keep happening.

every time Wyll hands over a damaged piece of clothing to be repaired, it's returned to him with some new embroidery adorning it. it starts off subtle but after some time he has a collage of embroidery along his left pant leg, starting at his hip and extending further down towards his knee with every repair. the collar and both shoulders of his shirt are adorned with delicate designs in colourful thread. he also, notably, becomes a bit more careful in battle, not wanting to damage Astarion's embroidery.

once, an opponent manages to graze his shoulder with their blade, the cut isn't deep but it slices through his shirt. and through the embroidery. as soon as he glaces over and catches sight of the torn thread, he's furious. he dispatches the enemy quickly and rather ungracefully. when he hands the shirt over to Astarion to be repaired he's positively dejected. "swiped at my shoulder, I didn't manage to deflect it in time, cut straight through the embroidery..."

Astarion clicks his tongue, assessing the damage, "no respect for craftsmanship these days..."

when he returns the shirt most of the old design has been picked out and replaced with a new one. a simpler design, Wyll notes, likely easier to repair if it were to get damaged again. he admires it with the same appreciation as the first. "is your shoulder alright, by the way?" Astarion asks rather suddenly.

"hm? oh, yes, barely grazed it. nothing a bandage and a night or two's rest won't fix."

"good." the silence that follows is almost palpable. so many unspoken words, concern, affection, hanging in the space between them. "well. do try to be more careful." Astarion finally says, then hastily adds "at this rate I'm going to run out of thread before I get a chance to get more."

Wyll smiles softly at him. (so softly it makes Astarion's chest ache) "of course." (the idea that Astarion cares about his safety makes Wyll's chest ache as well)

#holy shit this ended up. way longer than I originally intended #concept had a mind of its own #sorry my bloodpact brain worms took over #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #wyll ravengard #astarion #astarion ancunin #wyllstarion #bloodpact #bloodfrontier

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luminoustarlight · 6 months

Text

As Fate Would Have It | DILF!Anakin Skywalker

Anakin Skywalker gets a new assistant, who also happens to be his favorite OnlyFans performer.

◂ previous ▸ chapter two

rating: explicit | pairing: anakin skywalker x afab!reader | wc: 3.7k | read on ao3

warnings: modern!au, undisclosed age gap, SMUT [use of toys (dildo and fleshlight), mutual masturbation, squirting, watching of pornography]

After midnight is Anakin’s favorite time of the day. His kids have been asleep since 8:30 pm— their weekday curfew— and he’s finally stopped working on the project he brought home from work. It kept him from watching 101 Dalmatians with Luke and Leia but “it needed to be done.”

He completed it well after the twins went to sleep, his neck was aching, and he needed to unwind. Now, he’s settled on the left side of his king bed, back propped against the headboard and his tablet waiting for him on the nightstand. He’s been thinking about this all day. Ever since he got the notification at 1:48 p.m. that HoneySuckle uploaded a new video.

While he was at work. On a very busy day, he might add. As much as he wanted to get away to watch it immediately, he couldn’t. But now he has uninterrupted time to enjoy himself and the woman he’s about to watch.

Anakin watches HoneySuckle exclusively. For over three years now, he has been subscribed to her page for $7.99 a month, which is an absolute disgrace to the quality of content she puts out. That’s why he tips her at least $200 for each video. It’s a number that hardly means a thing to Anakin. But to HoneySuckle, it is everything. It’s a cushion for incidentals. For the flat tire on her Mini Cooper. The vet bill for her orange tabby, Panini. She has expressed her thanks to him in their private messages, but it never seems to be enough.

Their casual conversations are never enough.

It comes as a great surprise to Anakin to see that her newest video is dedicated to him. Him— Anakin Skywalker AKA skyguy81. AKA HoneySuckle’s biggest fan and number one supporter.

Squirting for Sky 🖤

He’s never clicked on anything faster in his life. The edges of his brain are beginning to fog. The mere thought of Honey getting off to the thought of him makes goosebumps prickle along his skin and his cock begin to swell. But then he sees what she’s wearing. Or, not wearing for that matter. Usually, she’ll begin videos with a full set on. Whether it’s a lacy bra and panties, a teddy, or a babydoll, teasingly taking off her lingerie is part of her brand.

Not in this video, though. In this new 23 minute video, she is wearing a black garter and thong with roses embroidered in the mesh along her hip bones. Sheer black stockings are pulled up to her thighs and as she spreads her legs— dear God— Anakin sees that her panties are crotchless.

Every video is expertly angled so only the bottom half of her face is on camera. She’s mentioned to Anakin in the past that this is not her full time job and therefore some anonymity is important. He doesn’t need to see her whole face to know she is beautiful.

“I bought this just for you,” Honey says directly to Anakin. “You said you liked black. I hope you like this.” She goes to grab the vibrator next to the pink dildo on her bed.

“I love it,” Anakin mumbles. Running her hand over one of her bare breasts, she turns on the vibrator. The familiar hum of the toy reminds Anakin to put on his headphones. Just in case.

Now with that taken care of, Anakin can begin taking care of himself. It doesn’t take long for the guy to get hard when he’s watching Honey. Hell, he can just think about her and he’ll be horny. The melodic cadence to her voice, the angelic sounds she makes when she cums, the lustful desire to bury himself in her cunt. She is the only woman he has desired since his wife and he doesn’t even know her name. But he knows the curves of her body as if he’s felt them with his own two hands. God, how he wishes he could touch her, kiss her, pleasure her.

It’s pathetic. He is pathetic for wanting the impossible. Anakin Skywalker is a smart man. A genius in many regards. Yet he’s delusional enough to think her messages might mean something. That this video dedicated to him means something.

Of course, it doesn’t. Everything about his conversations with Honey is transactional. It’s part of her job. That’s it. Nothing more. You’re not special.

But fuck, does it make his cock hard thinking this is all for him. Well, this is for him. The title of the video says so. With her legs spread nice and wide, Anakin can see how wet she has become from the vibrator on her clit.

Stiff and dribbling precum on his belly, Anakin wraps his long fingers around his equally long shaft. He swipes his palm over the tip to lubricate the rest of his dick. Honey has now turned off the vibrator and grabs the dildo. Despite its playful color, it’s a formidable size. A similar 7 inches to Anakin’s cock, she opens her mouth and the tip disappears. Then a little bit more… and a little more… until she’s gagging. She pulls it out of her mouth with a loud gasp. Messy strings of saliva fall on her chin and chest.

“Fuck,” she breathes. “I love choking on your cock. Feeling it so deep in my throat until I can’t breathe.”

This sends a jolt through Anakin’s whole body. His cock lurches in his hand and he knows all too well that his hand will simply not suffice tonight. He pauses Honey’s video and reluctantly gets off of bed to retrieve his Fleshlight from his hidden stash in the closet. Usually, his hand does just fine. He’s used to it by now. Being a single dad in his early forties and the CEO of his own company, he doesn’t have time to go on dates. He has one woman on his rolodex of hookup numbers and even then, he doesn’t contact her often. Usually it’s her who needs him. He prefers it that way, anyway.

Anakin returns to his bed with the barely used Fleshlight in hand and immediately resumes the video. Honey continues to give the dildo a blowjob, making Anakin ache for it to be his cock in her mouth. He can only imagine how warm it is. How he’d make her relax so he can shove his entire length down her throat. How she’d sound choking on his dick and not some pink toy.

Again, she holds it in her mouth until her lungs are screaming for air. Anakin ruts his hips up into his fist. He’s waiting to use the Fleshlight until she puts the toy in her cunt.

Which is right now. She lines the tip of it to her opening, pushing the head in teasingly before removing it and dragging it along her folds.

“Have you been good today? Do you deserve to fuck me?” The seductive nature of Honey’s voice is so familiar to Anakin, yet every time dirty talk drips from her lips, his spine tingles.

“Please, Honey,” Anakin whispers, hovering the opening of the Fleshlight over his cock. “Put it in, baby.”

As if obeying his command, Honey pushes the toy into her hole. At the same time, Anakin lowers his own toy onto himself. The tight Fleshlight sucks in his dick and it damn near has Anakin’s eyes rolling to the back of his head. He’d forgotten what it feels like… how similar yet different it is to real pussy. Fuck, what he would do to have his cock in Honey’s actual cunt. The best he can do is use his overactive imagination.

Honey is thrusting the dildo in and out of her and soft moans fill Anakin’s ears. He yanks the Fleshlight up and down—a lazy way of using it, he knows— but it does the job. “That’s it…” he breathes. His heartbeat is racing impossibly fast, chasing down an orgasm that is going to arrive far too soon. “I fuck you so well, don’t I, Honey?”

“Mm…” she whimpers, pushing the toy deeper and further into her. “Your cock’s so big… fills me up so well. Feels so good!”

“You have no idea how good I could make you feel,” Anakin growls. In his mind she’s on her back, just as she is now. Her knees are pushed up to her ears and Anakin is thrusting into her tight hole to no end. He’s so deep, he can see himself in her stomach. He kisses her, finally tasting her on his own lips. Their tongues are doing a dance, his fingers are on her clit for maximum pleasure. And she’s screaming his name. She can’t believe how good he fucks. How he, at 42 years old, can last as long as he has. “I’m not fucking geriatric,” he’d say. He’d make her cum at least twice before he does, just to prove a point.

Honey then takes the dildo out of her cunt and brings it back up to her mouth. Anakin removes the Fleshlight. She hollows her cheeks around it whilst reaching for the vibrator. She turns it back on and returns it to her clit. Her toes curl at the sensation and a moan is muffled by the cock in her mouth.

“Let me hear you,” Anakin encourages, no matter how silly and pointless it is to do so. “Please, Honey. I love hearing you moan.”

She takes the dildo out of her mouth to announce that she’s going to cum. “Oh, fuck. Fuck!”

She’s squirming on the bed, mouth shaped in that glorious ‘O’. As her orgasm rattles through her body, she keeps the vibrator on her swollen nub and returns the dildo to her pussy. Anakin follows suit and sheathes his cock once again, thrusting his hips up to the speed Honey is fucking herself.

“I hope you…fuck, that feels good,” she is interrupted by her own pleasure. It’s her authenticity that Anakin adores and enjoys the most. It never feels like she’s performing. “I hope you’re making yourself feel as good as I feel. Are you fucking your hand? Your mattress? A pillow? I bet you wish you were in my tight cunt. Don’t you?”

“Yes,” Anakin breathes. He is on fire now. He’s not sure the coil in his belly could get any tighter. He’s going to cum soon and Honey hasn’t even squirted yet. There’s five minutes left of the video. “You wouldn’t believe—ah, fucking hell— wouldn’t believe how badly I want to fuck you.”

“I’m gonna squirt! Oh my God…please cum for me. Cum while I squirt for you!” Honey removes the dildo as the clear liquid sprays from her cunt. Anakin abandons the Fleshlight and takes over with his tried and true hand. He’s pumping quickly, he’s mesmerized by Honey and how she squirts a little more each time she puts the dildo back inside of her and pulls it back out. Her back is arching off of the bed as she drops both toys and cums one last time.

Anakin is cumming now, too. His sack twitches up toward him while he releases his load on his belly. He stuffs a fist into his mouth to silence his moan. He bites down on his own hand with fervor, and it hurts. He isn’t completely finished when he hears her utter the words ‘last video.’

Wait, what?

He needs to go back. Surely, he didn’t hear her correctly.

“I hope you all enjoyed yourselves while watching. I know I did. This is a bit of a last hurrah for me. I’m starting a new job next week and I just don’t think I’ll have the time to upload, so this might be my last video. Thank you for all of the support over the last three years. I had a great time. Kisses, HoneySuckle.”

And that’s the end of it. Anakin is stunned. He watches her video again. And then once more. There's a lilt to her voice that makes Anakin think she is happy to be done with this. He should be happy for her. But he hangs onto the word ‘might’.

Honey said this might be her last video. Anakin shouldn’t feel so fucking relieved that his favorite OnlyFans performer might still upload videos. What is wrong with him? He has no real connection to her whatsoever yet he feels disappointed by the idea of not having her videos in his life anymore.

Fuck it. He sends her a $500 tip, a little message and goes to wash up.

Panini is pressed against your side, purring contentedly while you stroke his back absently. You’re wrapped in a sherpa cozy in bed while watching The Great British Bake Off. It’s your bedtime show. You’ve probably seen every series at least 3 times, simply because it’s the show you put on to go to sleep. But most of the time, you end up staying up to watch it as if you’ve never seen it before.

Your phone lights up with a notification. You glance at it but immediately do a double take. You grab your phone off of your nightstand and stare at the screen with your jaw dropped.

Skyguy81 sent you a tip!

$500

You pause in the middle of Prue Leith giving her thoughts on someone’s Showstopper. You swipe right to open the message.

That was spectacular, Honey. From the lingerie to the beautiful way you cum. You certainly know how to put on a show. I must admit, I was a bit disappointed to hear that it might be your last video. You are the only performer I watch. I will miss you. I wish you the best of luck with your new endeavor.

And I know what you are going to say. “It’s too much.” It is not. Please accept the tip as a token of my appreciation. You helped me feel less lonely on the days I needed someone the most. - Sky

Why do you feel like you’re about to cry? Sky has been your top supporter since you began uploading videos during COVID. It was just supposed to be a way to make ends meet. To pay off the student loans and any other financials that came up. The tips started off relatively small. $50 here, $75 there. He was the first to give you a $100 tip.

Then, after about a year, he upped it to $200 after each video. Your thank you messages to him turned into conversations. Short ones, never deep or personal, yet you feel like you know him. You feel like…no, it’s silly. You feel like he could be a friend. If you both weren’t hiding behind a screen and fake names, maybe you actually could be.

You begin typing a response.

Sky- I am going to say it anyway. THAT IS WAY TOO MUCH!!! You have been far too generous to me over the years. I don’t deserve it.

He replies in a matter of seconds.

I have to disagree, Honey. I wish I could do more for you.

Like what?

I would take you out to a nice dinner. Perhaps share a bottle of wine while we get to know each other.

Would you take me home after?

Whose home?

Whichever you’d like.

I’d take you back to your house and leave you with a goodnight kiss.

That’s all?

You would like more?

What the hell are you doing? Are you actually flirting with this man? He could be 60 years old and bald! Not that there’s anything wrong with being 60 or bald, but come on. You’re in your 20s. You have to have some limit. You stare at his username. Skyguy81. Maybe 81 is his birth year? So, that would put him at 42. 42 isn’t too bad…

Oh, what the hell. It’s not like you’re actually gonna meet this guy, right?

Well, I might wear something special underneath my dress. Something that I paid for with the money you’ve given me. Wouldn’t you want to see it?

Yes. I would.

What would you do if you took me home?

When you don’t hear back from Sky after thirty minutes, you assume he fell asleep. It is nearly 1 a.m. on a Thursday night. Or is it early Friday morning? Regardless, he probably has work in the morning.

With a rather loud yawn, you decide it’s time for you to go to sleep, too.

Luke and Leia barge into Anakin’s room at 7:30, dressed and ready to go to school while their dad is still fast asleep. He must have slept through his alarm. Luke is poking him in the side and urging him to wake up.

“Alright, I’m up,” he grumbles, scrubbing his hands down his face. “Have you two eaten?”

Leia nods. “Eggos and orange juice.”

“I wanted a Toaster Strudel,” Luke says.

“And I told him we don’t have any Toaster Strudels,” replies his twin sister.

“Yes we do! You just didn’t look hard enough.”

Anakin pinches the bridge of his nose. He feels a headache coming on. He didn’t drink last night, so why does he feel hungover? “Ahsoka ate the last one when she was here on Tuesday, remember?”

“Oh yeah,” Luke recalls.

“Dad, we’re gonna be late for school if you don’t get out of bed,” Leia says.

Anakin checks the time on his phone. Your message from last night is at the bottom of his notifications. He already has five work emails to answer. His calendar pings with reminders about meetings and his assistant’s retirement party. “Bring your things to the front door. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

In the rush of getting himself dressed, not only does he put on two different pairs of socks but two different pairs of shoes, too. He doesn’t realize this until after he enters the office and Dorothy, attentive as ever, points it out as he’s walking past her desk and into his office.

Dorothy is 74 years old, a widow, and owl fanatic. She has been Anakin’s assistant since he started the company 20 years ago. “Did you get dressed in the dark, Mr. Skywalker?”

Even after two decades of Anakin’s insistence on calling him by his first name, Dorothy continues to defy him. “I overslept,” Anakin answers. “I was rushing to get ready because you know how Leia gets when she’s late to anything.”

Dorothy nods. “Yes, she is the most punctual 9 year old I know. I presume you did not eat breakfast.”

“No, I didn’t.” Anakin opens his emails.

“Why don’t I get you an egg sandwich from Dexter’s after I retrieve a matching pair to one of your shoes.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Anakin cracks a smile. Dorothy has always been two steps ahead of Anakin. She’s been somewhat of a mother figure to him over the years. She believed in him when no one else did. How many people are going to put their faith in a cocky 22 year old with wild engineering innovations? Dorothy was there when his wife passed away and nannied the twins off and on for a few years while Anakin regained his bearings. His heart contracts. He is truly going to miss her. “Do you have to retire, Dorothy?”

“I’m afraid so,” Dorothy replies with a bittersweet smile. “You will be just fine. And I trust my successor will attend to your needs just as well as I have. I picked her myself. I know exactly what you need in an assistant, Mr. Skywalker.”

Did Dorothy just wink at Anakin before leaving his office? What the hell does she have up her sleeve?

Gold and brown leaves dance across the concrete in the courtyard of Skywalker Enterprises. The autumn air bites at your cheeks and you’re thankful you decided to wear a beanie along with your plaid pea coat.

You notice Dorothy’s silver hair before the rest of her as she walks toward you with two cups of something hot in her hands. “Good morning, Y/N.” she hands you the cup.

“Good morning, Dorothy,” you reply with a smile. You lift off the lid to smell the contents. The steam tickles your nose before recognizing the warm spices of Chai. “You remembered my drink order?”

“Of course.” Dorothy sits across from you. “I trust you went over the files I sent you regarding Mr. Skywalker? How are you feeling about the job?”

You take a meager sip of your Chai latte. It’s still too hot to drink. “I read all of them at least three times. He doesn’t seem too high maintenance.”

“Far from it,” Dorothy replies.

“But…” you begin, wondering if you should even mention it.

“What is it, dear?”

“I just find it a little strange that I haven’t met him. I would’ve assumed he’d be part of the hiring process. Isn’t it important we get along?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. Anakin gets along with everyone! He’s a charmer,” Dorothy sips on her drink. “He entrusted me with finding a replacement for myself because I know him better than anyone. I know his needs better than he knows them. And you, my dear, have shown you are more than capable to take over. Your references spoke very highly of you.”

Right. Your references— one of which was your best friend who pretended to be a famous influencer who you “assisted” for 2 years after college. The other was a family you nannied for for only 2 weeks while the wife was out of town and the dad thought he could pull off some fantasy of fucking the nanny. The only good thing that came out of it was him telling you he’d give you a stellar reference for your next job. Turns out he wasn’t lying.

“So, I’ll start on Monday? By myself? No shadowing or anything?”

Dorothy nods. “I will officially be retired by 5 p.m. today. After which, Mr. Skywalker is yours.”

Don’t you wish. You’ve seen photos of him in Forbes. It’s an understatement to say he’s handsome. And it would be a lie to say you didn’t apply for the job because of his looks. By some miracle you were chosen out of hundreds of applicants and hired. You’ve signed the papers already. You’re officially on the Skywalker Enterprises payroll. Of course, you’ll be on probation for 90 days but Dorothy seems confident you’ll be a good fit.

Hopefully you will live up to Anakin Skywalker’s expectations.

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◂ series masterlist ▸ chapter two

#anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker x female reader #anakin skywalker x f!reader #anakin skywalker fan fiction #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker imagine #dilf!anakin skywalker #dilf!anakin #dilf anakin skywalker #modern!anakin skywalker #modern anakin skywalker #as fate would have it

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