Seventh Time's The Charm

Seventh Time's The Charm

Rydal Keener x GN!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2024 Masterlist • Day 1: Overstimulation

Summary: Rydal keeps asking you out.

A/N: Thank you so, so, so much @thexsanctuaryx for beta reading and helping out with this one!

Warnings: bit of a brat Rydal, overstimulation, hand jobs, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 1066

Rydal had been a mess since you started. He’s asked you out a grand total of seven times in all.

The first had been a subtle, casual thing. Him leaning against the table running a hand through his hair in a manner that was causal personified but reeked of careful planning. He had suggested a date, as if he had been doing you a favour.

But had smiled when you politely declined, seeming as if he was expecting it, used to the casual ask getting a fifty percent success rate.

The second time however was more sincere, a slightly bigger thing. He put some effort into it. When you declined again he hadn’t smiled straight away. The flash of shock across his face was almost comical. He obviously wasn’t used to being turned down when he tried. 

The third had been jokey, the fourth a little mean, the fifth was showy and dramatic, and the sixth had been sweet. And you’d almost said yes.

The seventh had been whiney.

“What’s it gonna take for you to go on a date with me?” He’d pouted, trying to put a friendly jokey edge to his tone, but it didn’t work.

You had snorted, “Why are you so desperate for me to say yes?” You knew the answer already of course, he wasn’t used to being told no.

“Why do you keep saying no?” He’d retorted, crossing his arms. “I know you like me.”

“So?” You’d grinned.

“So?” He’d given you the most exasperated look you’d ever seen, his eyes narrowing slightly and, his jaw all but dropping. “So when people like each other they go out.” He’d blurted out incredulously. 

“Why?”

He’d glared at you and you’d laughed.

“Look, Rydal, you’ve got plenty of people just begging for your attention– to go on a date with you, why don’t you ask them?”

He’d sighed dramatically, “I want to go out with you, not them.”

“You’ll go out with me once and then you’ll be going out with them the next day,” you’d shrugged, there’s no anger in your voice, just matter of fact. “Just cut out the first step.”

His pout somehow became even more pronounced. “I’m not like that, that’s not what this is.”

“Rydal,” you’d given him a look, “come on, I’m not an idiot and I’m not trying to shame you or saying it’s a bad thing, I’m just saying that’s what you want.” You’d shrugged again. “I’m not so interested in it.”

“It’s not… I’m not…” He fumbled a little with his words, trying and failing to find the right one while a hint of pink brushed his cheeks. “I’m not some whore.”

You hadn’t been able to help but giggle at his turn of phrase. “I’m not saying you are.” You’d bantered lightly. 

“You implied it. Implied I was just after sex.”

“Aren’t you?”

“I–…”

“Come on– the only reason you’re so interested in me is because I’ve said no.” You’d said as you sat back in your chair, raising your eyebrows. 

“Really?” 

“That’s not true.”

“I’ll prove it.” 

You’d paused then. “Okay.”

.

He’d taken you out on a nice date, casual. Correctly guessing that you wouldn’t be overly impressed by anything unnecessarily showy.

And you’d seen the not so subtle smirk on his face when you’d agreed to come back to his, the cocky attitude when he’d opened his front door, the way he’d lent in for a kiss believing that he’d won you over completely.

But now that he was underneath you, his hands tied to the headboard with his own belt, his shirt open and his trousers and boxers shoved down to his ankles all while you were still fully dressed, his trademark self confidence was nowhere to be seen.

He squirmed, trying to buck his hips as you jacked him off quickly. “Ah, baby, fuck!” He screwed up his eyes, failing to keep his moans as quiet as possible.

You shifted your weight ever so slightly as you sat on his thighs so that you were pressing firmer on his legs, forcing him to stay still.

“Please, shit, please,” he begged, his plump bottom lip between his teeth.

Sweat beaded in his hairline, along his collarbone. Part of you was desperate to lean down, to suck and bite at his skin, but you’d contain that urge for now.

He whined your name, his eyes rolling back as he groaned and pressed his head into the pillow. His arms tense as he pulled at the belt around his wrists.

His cock throbbed in your hand, velvety soft and warm as you pushed him closer and closer towards the edge. 

You could see why he was so confident. Other than his pretty face, long lashes and low, soft voice, he had an impressive dick. Thick and weighty with a slight curve that you knew would feel just wonderful to have inside.

“Please, please, can I touch you? Please–” he swallows, gulping in air, “can, can, oh god, I’m gonna come, please, you need to-” He gasps, surprised by his sudden orgasm. His toes curl as he comes, his back arching off the mattress as he spurts all over his stomach and your hand.

His needy moans are music to your ears, high pitched and breathy as he just collapses into pleasure, lets it wash all over him like warm soothing water.

You slow your hand, but don’t stop. You pump him languidly, long strokes now well lubricated by his cum.

He hisses, squirming a little, trying to move away from your touch. He softens slightly, his cock twitching and still half hard.

“Fuck,” he breathes in a shaky breath, looking up at you with large, watery eyes. “I, oh god, you made me come so hard. You’re,” he hisses, but bucks up into your hand. “You’re not gonna stop are you?” There’s a hopeful gleam in his eyes.

You shake your head. “How many times did you ask me out?” You say softly, injecting a slight boredom into your tone. 

“I… erm… fuck…” He rolls his hips up to you, groaning as you pick up the pace.

“Seven, Rydal.”

“Seven?”

You hum an affirmative. “So I’m gonna make you come seven times, since you’re so desperate to have me.”

His eyes go wide, his cheeks flush. But there’s a smile on his lips and he nods rapidly. “Yes, god, yes please.”

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“all i see is smut” “why can’t i find fluff and angst and not smut” “how come fluff isn’t—”

yet when nonsmut fics come across your dash you don’t support it by circulating it with a reblog. smut is pushed because it’s the smut audience that tends to be more supportive when it comes to boosting the fics they read 💗

guys i love to listen to asmr and its so funny when usually there's like a gentle soothing voice but this one chick has the strongest boston drag i've ever heard in my life

asmr harley quinn

it was lowkey good tho so 10/10

marc spector- slow songs

Summary: Your friend, Marc, pretends to be your boyfriend at a wedding, but is it pretend? (~2.3k)

Contents: f!reader, fluff, fake dating/friends to lovers, language

part of @moonknight-events: MK spring ‘24 Bingo Event

This is the slow song:

-----

“Okay, just be calm. Stay cool, lay low.” You run your hands down your pale, blue dress.

Marc frowns at you. “That’s a terrible pep talk.”

“It’s not for you. It’s for me.” You give him a dirty look. “You’re used to lying to people’s faces, but I’m not.”

He rolls his eyes. “Okay, I deserved that one. But as a reminder, I don’t even want to be here. How’s the suit?”

You look him up and down. He has on a dark suit with a bow tie. His curly hair arranged in neat waves away from his face. He was on a mission somewhere sunny and came back tan.

He looks so gorgeous you want to scream.

“It’s not the worst you’ve ever looked.” You grab his hand and haul him into the reception hall.

“Well, I think you look amazing, cupcake,” Marc says with a grin. “My little candy heart-shaped nugget love, whatever.”

He stretches his neck in his shirt. “I’m gonna kill Steven.”

You sigh. Steven had volunteered to be your pretend boyfriend at a friend's wedding. The only way to avoid being put at the singles table, plus you’d have someone to joke with.

But when you’d told your friend you were bringing your new boyfriend, you’d lied and said you’d grown up together. So, not Steven because of his accent, and Jake was too charming to let loose on unsuspecting bridesmaids.

So, Marc had reluctantly agreed.

Not that you weren’t friends with all three of them, but you and Marc weren’t as close. You were never sure why. Probably because his walls were up so high you could see them from space.

“Can’t we just say we’re friends?” Marc says, loosening his bow tie.

You stop walking and re-tighten it. “No, or she’s going to try to set me up with her cousin. He’s had a crush on me for years. I want to tell him to fuck off, but he’d make a whole thing about it.” You give him another once over, smooth a stray curl off his forehead. “Maybe it worked out better this way. You’re intimidating. That’s good.”

Marc looks grim as you enter the ballroom, quiet classical music playing in the background.

“Anything I should know?” Marc says. “What even is your last name?”

You turn to him, mouth open. “We’ve been friends for months. You don’t know?”

He shrugs. 

“Okay, you know what,” you say, annoyed, “why don’t you pretend to be someone else? Someone who doesn’t walk around with an ancient God’s arm stuck up his butthole, working him like a puppet?”

“Guess I can’t argue with that,” Marc mutters.

Your friend’s parents walk up to you and hug you enthusiastically. You say what a beautiful ceremony it was and turn to introduce Marc.

You hold his hand. “These are my friend’s parents, Maureen and Sidney. And this is my boyfriend.”

Marc holds out his hand, a tight smile on his face. “Tony Wrinklebottom. Nice to meet you.”

You feel like you're having an out of body experience. WHAT IS HAPPENING?

Maureen’s eyes go wide. “It’s nice to meet you too. We haven’t heard a lot about you, but you’re very handsome. And such an unusual last name. Where did it come from?”

“I got it from my father,” Marc says unironically.

You squeeze his hand hard. “We’re going to go get a drink. I’m sure everyone is dying to talk to the parents of the bride. I’ll see you later.”

You plaster on a fake smile and push Marc toward the bar.

“I didn’t mean you had to make up a fake name,” you whisper scream at him.

“I panicked.” Marc leans on the bar. “Whiskey neat and a vodka soda with two limes.”

“You know my drink order, but not my last name?”

Marc takes his wallet out of his jacket to tip the bartender, generously you notice.

He looks at you from the corner of his eye. “What’s more important to our friendship? Your last name, or my knowing what you like to drink?”

You open your mouth. Shut it. Cross your arms. “This is a disaster.”

“Sure is.” Marc knocks back his first whisky and taps the glass for a second.

He holds his refill in one hand and holds his other arm out for you. You take it reluctantly.

“Let’s find our table,” you say, sipping your drink.

“Whatever you say, cookie-poo.” 

“Ugh,” you say, unable to stop the disgusted look on your face.

Marc smiles. “I take it back. This might be fun.”

And weirdly, it kind of is.

You and “Tony” are at a table with complete strangers. He’s not great at casual conversation, but with a face like his, people kind of go along with whatever he says.

He takes off his jacket and bow tie, and relaxes. Something you usually only see when you’re at his place watching a movie, or bringing him something you’d stress-baked.

Someone asks how you met.

Tony puts his arm around you. “My sweet pumpkin pie and I’ve known each other for years. She finally got the hint. All those times I stopped by with take out, or let her sleep with her head on my shoulder, we weren’t just hanging out.”

You smirk at him. “Pardon me for thinking we were friends.”

Marc’s eyes are almost black in the low light. His long lashes blink at you.

“You think friends plan their entire schedule, international travel, around Thursday movie nights? Friends go out of their way every night to walk you home?” His fingers tickle your neck lightly. 

You frown, your stomach feeling funny. “You said it was on your way from the gym.”

“I picked that gym because it’s close to your work,” he says with a raised eyebrow.

Marc’s face goes serious again. He pulls his arm away and takes a drink. “Look, just forget I said anything. I must be drunk.”

You watch uncertainty pass over his handsome face. You rub your hand over his forearm.

“You want to dance, Wrinklebottom?” You ask with a smile.

Marc huffs a half-laugh out of his nose. “Sure, pookie bear. Long as it’s a slow one.”

Marc’s broad shoulders are strong under your arms. His hands warm and wide as he holds your waist. He smells good. You get as close enough as you dare, breathing him in.

He hums along to the song. You're surprised he knows it.

“Jake says you’re the prettiest thing here,” he says quietly. “And Steven says he apologizes for not bringing flowers. Wait. No. He thinks I should apologize for not bringing you flowers.”

You and Steven had been in limbo for awhile now. You liked each other as more than friends. Jake had already told Steven to go for it. But you didn’t want to make Marc uncomfortable.

“Thank you, and thank you,” you say. You tilt your head away slightly so you can look at him. “And what does Marc Spector say?”

Marc’s eyes trace over your face. He licks his bottom lip. “The wedding cake was dry.”

You nod slowly. “Yeah. I’m going to return the gift I got them.”

Marc grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “One of those clocks where the cat’s tail swings back and forth?”

You smile. “Yeah, a big one.”

“Maybe it’s not the cat’s tail then.”

You snort out a laugh. “Stop. Weddings are romantic. No dick jokes.”

“Okay, honey lump, no dick jokes.” He pulls you a little closer. Close enough that your front sides are touching, swaying back and forth in unison. One of his hands rubs the small of your back.

“We can probably leave after this dance,” you say, even though you don’t want to. “We said hello to the bride and groom, ate, had drinks. I think that’s everything.”

“Leave? Tony Wrinklebottom doesn’t leave a party until he slow dances about four times with his girl.”

You rest your forehead on his shoulder. “Where the hell did you even get that stupid name?”

Marc’s hand rubs back and forth over your upper back now. “Jake’s watching one of the neighbor’s cats.”

“You named yourself after a cat?”

Marc shrugs. “My last name is Spector, which, given my profession, isn’t exactly subtle either. Besides, you should be so lucky. You could be Mrs. Wrinklebottom one day.”

You laugh, pressing your mouth into his shoulder to keep from drawing attention to yourself. “I always forget what a ridiculous sense of humor you have.”

“Makes you laugh, though,” Marc says.

You raise your head to argue with him, just for the fun of it. Your words die in your throat.

Marc’s looking at you with unusual softness. His head tilts slightly and you think, hope, that he’s going to kiss you. Instead, he cradles the back of your head with one of his hands, and slots it next to his, so your faces really are touching now.

“Your shampoo smells nice,” he says.

Your stomach flutters. “You look really hot.”

“I thought I looked like shit,” Marc says dryly.

You reposition your arms so they’re around his middle, your fingers brushing a little lower than they probably should.

“You’re hot and you know it. In this suit, or your other one when you’re all bloody and sweaty. As much as it pains me to compliment you,” you say.

“Yeah, we don’t really have that kind of friendship, do we? More likely give each other grief than go on and on about how you make the best lasagna. Or thank you for staying over that night last month. When you could tell I didn’t want to be alone. How good you feel in my arms. How much I-“ Marc stops. You feel his jaw tense.

“How much I love you?” You say.

“I didn’t say that.”

“But I did.”

You’ve stopped dancing. Both you standing in the middle of a crowd of people who are still moving back and forth slowly. You desperately hope that you haven’t made a mistake by saying something.

Marc’s gaze burns into yours. “Do you mean it?” He asks.

You smile. “Yes. And, not to sound full of myself, but I think you feel the same way.”

A grin cracks his serious facade. “I meant what I said earlier. About the things I do for you. Showing you how I feel.”

Love washes over you, covering your memories with Marc in warm light.

Part of you is grateful. He’d given both of you time to really know each other, set down a solid base together. But at the same time, he’d been so slow about it you want to shake his muscled shoulders.

“You’ve never even tried to hold my hand,” you say. “I thought we just had this awkward friendship, where you overdid it sometimes and retreated from me other times.”

“I was trying not to scare you away,” Marc says. “And you know how I am with feelings. I don’t like admitting that I have them.”

You roll your eyes. “I know. Talking about your feelings would really eat up your punching-people-in-their-faces time.”

“Punching people is easy.”

“I wouldn’t know,” you say.

Marc’s hands nudge your hips and you start dancing again. He doesn’t look tense, or anxious.

“If we do this,” Marc says, “I’m still your awkward friend.”

You pull him close, leaning in to kiss his cheek. His facial hair is already a little rough under your lips, even though he’d shaved just before you’d left.

“Maybe you’d get the upgrade to awkward boyfriend,” you say with a smile.

He kisses the side of your head. “I’d like that.”

“But just so you know, any time we go out, the reservations are going under your alias.”

Marc doesn’t even sigh. He just keeps dancing, his hands tracing over your body. “Mr. and Mrs. Tony Wrinklebottom.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Anthony G. Wrinklebottom.”

Marc chuckles. For the first time, chest to chest with him, you feel the deep rumble under his rib cage. You press in closer.

“Deal,” Marc says. He rests his knuckles under your chin so you’ll look at him. “So you’ll go out with me?”

“On one condition,” you say with a sweet smile. “What’s my last name?”

Marc’s smile freezes on his face. He shuts his eyes tight, but if you know Jake and Steven, they’re more likely to laugh at him than to give him an easy out.

He does that frowny smile that means he gives up, spins you around the dance floor.

He pulls you back in close to him. “I know other things about you. Like, we’re going to that place with the burgers and the fancy french fries for our first date. You can’t make reservations, but Jake knows the manager and we could skip the line.”

You groan. “I love that place.”

“I know,” Marc says smugly. “And the shop with the raspberry gelato for dessert. Walk through the park with the fountain you like. On Fridays the buskers that play Fleetwood Mac and Springsteen are there. We'll sit on the bench under the broken light, more privacy. That's where I want to kiss you.”

“Wow, that’s a good date,” you say, breath knocked out of you by Marc's words and eyes and plans.

“It should be, I’ve been fine-tuning it for three weeks,” he says self-deprecatingly.

You rest your hand against his cheek, rubbing your thumb on his skin. “This Friday, then.”

Marc nods, one of his hands resting around your waist, the other so light on the back of your neck you can barely feel him. He rests his forehead against yours as the song comes to a close.

“You look beautiful. Did I tell you that?” He says. “My little sugar bunny, cherry pie dove bean-“

You clap your hand over his mouth. “You’re what my grandma would’ve called, ‘a real piece of work.’”

He smiles under your palm, picking up the rhythm of the second slow song and easing you into it. You remove your hand, slide it back over his shoulder.

If this is the last thing you ever do as just friends, then Tony’s right. You don’t want to leave. You want to stay for all the slow songs.

-----

Square B "Fake Dating"

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My Lord

Prince John x F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2023 Masterlist • Day 7: Slow and Soft

Summary: The ex-Prince is condemned to live out his days in exile.

A/N: Look, I know he’s got blue eyes in the film. But I have decided no. 

Warnings: one slap to the face, talks of marriage, oral (f receiving), dry humping, hand jobs, 'my love' as a term of endearment, typos, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 3178

Being exiled wasn’t as bad as he had thought. The weather was certainly better. 

No matter what he’d done, King Richard couldn’t bear to see his younger brother executed or locked up in some dank prison. So he’d stripped John of his titles and sent him overseas under the guardianship of the Marquess and Marquise.

Banished. 

Never allowed to return to England under punishment of death. 

It had taken weeks to get there, more than enough time for John to fester and drive himself to madness on the ship. Haunt himself with the imaginary horrors that were waiting for him. 

Instead, when they landed, he was treated well. Like a far-off, but still regal, cousin of the Marquess. Not that it stopped him from sulking for the first few months. 

However, the worst thing was, undoubtedly, you. 

At least at first. 

You were one of the head servants. Though you were treated more like one of the Marquess and Marquise's children, with the amount of freedom you were given. And the language you were allowed to use. The offhand and familiar way you spoke to them and him. 

It had driven him up the wall. Your snide comments. Your little eye rolls. The way you somehow managed to sidestep him, and challenge him, and completely get under his skin at every single opportunity. 

You had been the one to drag him out of his rooms in those first few months, not taking no for an answer. 

“It’ll do you no good moping around here all day, my lord.” The way you said the title always sounded like an insult. 

You took him on walks and rides, to markets and tailors, making him come with you to choose a horse. Demanding that he helped you prepare vegetables, making him carry his own bow and arrows when you both went hunting. Things that were beneath him. Things that he hated, dreaded. Until one morning, when you were accompanying the Marquise on a trip and had been away for a few days, he had woken up in such a foul mood. Realising only in the evening with a huff that he missed you. That he couldn’t remember a time when he had been happier than being in your presence. 

Not to say you still didn’t annoy the hell out of him. 

Originally, you didn’t even have much to do with the ex-prince. It was only when John’s spitefulness had upset some of the other servants, and in turn, the Marquess, that you had been sent to ‘deal’ with him. 

He had nearly been in exile for a year at the midsummer festival. Had become a little too intoxicated on barley wine and, as you helped him to his chambers, he had kissed you. Soft but demanding. Gentle but unyielding. 

You had pulled back like you had been struck by lightning. And smacked him across the face. Hard. Not some dainty brush of your fingers. Or a sharp sting of your palm, no, you had hit him with the heel of your hand. A bowl that would have nearly sent him sprawling even if he hadn’t been drunk. 

You had left without a word. Or look his way. 

The next morning John had risen late, memories of the previous night coming back in a rush, of him fisting his cock with tears of anger and self-pity on his skin. Quickly, he realised you had not come to wake him at the usual time. 

He had enquired after you, subtly of course. And the young servant boy, Lucas had told him that you had left instructions for the ex-prince to not be awoken, due to his previous intoxication and late night. That you had headed out into the woods early in the morning. 

He didn’t see you until late afternoon, having spent most of the day in his rooms, staring out of the window to the woods, waiting for your return. He bit at his nails until they bled, going back and forth with the idea of readying his horse and riding out into the forest after you. 

He had pretended to be in bed when you knocked and came into his room, bringing him white flower tea. 

You hadn’t looked directly at him, keeping your voice oddly cold as you explained that the tea would help with his hangover, and that the flowers were from the forest. 

His heart had nearly broken when he released you had spent most of your day collecting them for him. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered. Pain running through his heart like needles through fabric. 

You looked at him then, a small kind smile on your face. “For what, my lord?” Your normal tone back. 

John beamed, his eyes shining. 

You swallowed. “I am sorry, my lord.” 

“For what?” 

You tapped your cheek, mirroring the bruise on his face.

His smile widened and he shook his head. 

When during the evening meal the Marquess asked about the bruising, John had simply laughed and told him that he had had a small disagreement with someone at the festival who had a ‘mean right hook’. He made sure he caught your eye as he said it.

You both went back to your normal routines. Dancing around each other, while simultaneously spending most of your waking hours together. 

Nearly a month after the festival you had accidentally walked in on him after his bath, his hair still wet from the rose water as he sat on his bed and fisted his cock. 

Apologies had slipped from his tongue, despite the fact that you’d technically barged in on him. But you had simply walked around and sat down next to him on the bed. He watched you in a trance as you took hold of his length in your hand. 

“Let me help you, my lord.” 

He had tried to kiss you again, but you moved your face away. 

Wordlessly and without looking at him, you coaxed him further onto the bed and sat with him between your thighs, his back against your chest as you wrapped one arm around him and used the other to bring him to his release. 

You had left silently, leaving him to the dark night and slumber. But you spoke to him the following morning as if nothing had transpired between you. 

The next evening, just before bed, you came to his room again and stroked him until he found his release with a sob in your arms. 

You did the same the next night, and the next, and the next. Never allowing him to kiss you or touch you in a way that could cause your own pleasure. Always fully clothed while he was stripped bare. Over the next weeks, you slowly allowed him to hold your hand, arm or calf as you touched him. Let him grasp onto you as his orgasm overtook him. 

It hurt. Though he didn’t want to dwell on why. 

However, no matter how hard he tried, his thoughts kept rotating back to you. Your soft skin, gentle hands and the sound of your heart when he pressed himself close to your chest. 

John leaned against the wall, looking out to the dark night sky. 

You came into his room silently, only looking to him once you’d reached the bed. You’d expected him to be sitting on it ready, unclothed. Instead, he stood, still in his attire from the day. 

You barely manage to raise an eyebrow before he moves towards you, taking hold of your hands in his. His skin is cold, desperate for your heat. 

“My lord?” You frown. 

He takes a step forward, his heart racing, eyes shining in the candlelight. Slowly he raises his right hand and touches your cheek, brushing over your skin with his thumb. 

His touch is soft, gentle. As if you were some precious thing that would break under the smallest pressure. Some skittish animal in the woods. 

You gaze back at him, his slightly parted lips, his dark eyes, unable to focus on any feature for longer than a second.

He leans forward, moving to kiss you and you step back, pulling your hand from his as if he burnt you. 

“My lor-”

“My love,” he looks at you imploringly. The thudding pain in his chest sharpening, beseeching. Like he had been gutted and strung out, his ribs broken and split outwards so that you could view his beating heart. 

“I am not your love.” You whisper, there is no heat in your words.

“You are.” He takes a step forward and drops to his knees when you step back. “You are.” He says brokenly, his voice thick. “Please, please, I do not need to be yours. I do not... I wish I was. But you are mine. My love. You will always be my love.” 

You swallow and stare at him, almost frozen by his words. 

“I... I...” he screws up his eyes, all the words he wanted to say mixing up and fleeing in the moment. “You do not need to return my feelings, but please, know that I will always love you until my dying breath.” 

You shake your head, pain tight in your chest. “I’m not,” you breathe deeply, your voice softer than he has ever heard it. “My lord, I am just your servant, I serve-”

“I love you.” His voice breaks slightly at the end. The weight of the words too much. “I love you,” he slowly takes hold of your hand, pressing his lips to your knuckles and palm. “I love you.” He kissed your wrist, staring up at you imploringly and kissing up your arm when you did not move away. “I love you.” Cautiously he stands so that he can kiss your collarbone, your neck, your jaw, your cheek. “I love you.” He whispers. 

You hold your breath, searching his eyes for something he’s not sure you’ll be able to find. Carefully he inches forward, closing the small space between you. 

You don’t move, don’t lean to him, but you don’t back away. Softly he presses his lips against yours, almost sobbing when you finally touch. 

He pulls back a fraction after a second. “I love you,” he whispers against you. “Please, let me love you.” 

You shake your head, agony tight in your throat. You can’t look at him. Not when his voice is so soft, not when your body and heart are crying out for you to give in to him. “There are plenty of others who could warm your bed for you my lor-”

John rushes forward, kissing you again. This time his lips are demanding, pleading as he cups your cheek and slowly opens your mouth with his own. He groans when you part your lips and let him inside. “I do not want someone to warm my bed.” He kisses you desperately, stroking your tongue with his. “I want to give you my heart.” 

You moan softly into his mouth, grabbing hold of his arms and pulling him closer, pressing your body up against him. 

He groans against you, moving you back to press you against the wall and hitching your right leg up over his hip so that he can grind his aching cock against your heat. You gasp as he presses against your clit, focusing all his attention on caressing you where it makes you cry out the loudest, happily swallowing down your mewls and whines. 

He squeezes your breast with his right hand, pinching the pebbled nipple and moaning when you whimper and arch into his touch. 

He ghosts his lips down your neck, sucking a love bite into your skin just below your ear. His beard scraps deliciously at your skin and sets your nerves alight. 

You bite down on your lip, trying to muffle your cries. 

“Let me love you,” he whispers, his voice low and heavy as he ruts desperately against you. “Let me show you, let me make you sing for me.” 

He kisses you roughly, needily, all tongue and teeth as he pulls at your skirts, snaking his hand under the fabric. 

You want to give in, want to let him pull sounds and sensations from you as his heart desires but panic grips you.

“Wait,” you pull back. 

He stops, stops his kisses and his roaming hands but still stays pressed close. 

“My lor-” you bite your lips together when you see the flash of pain on his face. “My...” you touch his cheek softly. You want him, you want him so badly. “I cannot, I haven’t...” You swallow. “I...”

“I wouldn’t cum inside.” He mutters, pressing his palm flat against your stomach. Even as he says the words a slight groan escapes him at the thought of you spread out under him, full of his cock and spend. “Not until we’re married, you have my word.” 

Your thoughts stop for a second. “Married?” 

He nods and smiles. “If you’ll have me.” 

“My lord-” 

He presses his lips to yours again, kissing you languidly before he drops down to one knee. 

Your eyes go wide. Words escaping you. 

“I have asked the Marquess and Marquise. They have given their blessing; I can marry you if you wish it.” 

Your heart hammers in your chest, the way he phrased it. As if he were the servant wishing to marry a lord. 

Slowly he takes off the jewelled ring on his little finger, one of the few things he had been allowed to keep from his time as prince. “Will you take me as your husband?” He looks up at you nervously. “Will you take me as yours?” 

You nod, not trusting your voice for a moment. “Yes.” 

His eyes light up as you speak, a wide smile breaking across his face as he softly takes your hand and slips the ring onto your finger. He kisses each knuckle, and then the back of your hand before standing and pressing his lips back to yours, slow and soft. 

Gently he guides you to the bed, freeing you of your clothes and pressing you back down against the mattress. 

Uncertainty bubbles in your veins as he moves his hands down your body, slowly feeling every inch of you. He pinches your nipples with vigour, dipping his head so that he can take one into his mouth. Lavishing your breast with attention before moving on to the other. 

He groans, deep within his chest, looking up at you through his lashes when you gasp and moan softly. So determined to pull every ounce of pleasure he can from your bones. 

Languidly he kisses down your stomach, pressing your thighs apart. 

You nervously go to cover your sex, heat breaking out on your skin. 

“My lo-”

“Let me make you feel good.” He murmurs, his voice laced and heavy with lust. His eyes hungry and wild. 

You barely manage a nod before he dives to your core, licking a long, flat stripe through your folds with his warm tongue. 

You gasp loudly, quickly covering your mouth with your hands as he does it again, flicking your clit with the tip of his tongue. 

He’s a demon, possessed and ravenous as he devours you. Slowly sinking his tongue into you and then inching up painstakingly slowly. Ending each movement with a swirl around your clit that has your thighs shaking and stars building at the corners of your eyes. 

You moan against your hands, the sensation all-consuming as he erases any other possible thought. You can’t stop squirming, simultaneously trying to get closer, nearer, desperate for more pleasure, and trying to back away from the heady onslaught of your senses. 

He doesn’t let you escape, pressing firmly against your thigh and keeping you spread wide for him, his hand on your stomach keeping your back flat to the bed. 

“You taste so sweet, my love.” He looks up at you, his eyes dark, blown wide and drunk. 

You open your mouth, moving your hands away to speak when he leans forward, sucking your clit into his mouth and revelling in your cry of pleasure. In how your muscles tense beneath him. 

He gently presses two fingers inside of you and curls them upwards to stroke your walls. 

You shake under him, your hips bucking up against him unthinkingly as you gasp and sink into pleasure. 

John watches you intently through hazy eyes, sucking constantly on your bundle of nerves, watching your every movement keenly. Desperate to lift you higher and higher before you come crashing down. 

He strokes against a spot that makes you sob and focuses all his attention on it, your slick coating his fingers and dripping down his hand. 

The pressure begins to build uncontrollably, pushing you right to the edge. You grope around for his hand on your stomach, grabbing it firmly. He squeezes back and groans against you as fresh wetness hits his tongue. 

You moan loudly against your fingers, trying your best to dampen the sound as lightning runs along your nerves, your orgasm rippling through every limb. You gasp, contorting in your pleasure as John doesn’t stop, keeps stroking, keeps sucking, prolonging your bliss for as long as he can. 

Finally, your legs stop shaking and he pulls his mouth away, slowly pulling his fingers from your dripping folds. 

You mewl as he licks them clean and pulls off his clothes. It’s not like it’s the first time you’ve seen him naked, but it feels different. Personal. A sight all for you. 

He leans down, kissing you hungrily and settling between your legs. 

The weight of his thick cock, hot against your core makes you gasp. You sink your hand into his hair, pulling lightly at his curls as he rubs his length against you, spreading your slick all over his aching cock and grinding perfectly on your clit. 

You sob against him, holding him close as he keeps moving, building up a deep and overpowering friction. That bottomless weight starts to settle in your belly again, the coil growing tighter and tighter as he rubs and ruts against you. 

You grab hold of his arms tightly and rock with him, trying to gasp out and warn him of your impending orgasm. “I... my lor-my love!” You gasp as he hits perfectly, his thick length massaging wonderfully over your bundle of nerves and through your folds and you gasp as you cum again. Pleasure blossoms along your spine, kissing every nerve as you cry out and are overtaken by ecstasy. 

John groans, moaning loudly as you call him ‘your love’. The look of bliss on your face, the fact that you are falling apart for him drives him to the edge and pushes him over. He kisses you sloppy, whining into your mouth as he spills against both of your stomachs. 

He doesn’t stop kissing you as you come back to yourself, breathing hard. Your skin is sweaty, hot, but you keep him in your arms as he presses close and whispers sweet words in your ear. 

____________________________________

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found it

flufftober prompt 1 - lost pet meet cute

a/n: yes I know BB8 is not a pet, but he's pretty damn close and it's my fic anyway.

cw: fluff, strangers to lovers, poe being Sassy, reader is afab and racially ambiguous. she works as a comms officer.

The fields were quiet this early in the morning. You took the long way to your station, through the winding trails of the Yavin base. The foliage was glowing softly in the early morning sun. Even the birds were still rousing, lazy cooing peppering the silence. A warm cup of caf hugged to your chest completed the picturesque morning.

You stood on a hill, looking at the shining metal hangar from afar. So many pilots and techs rousing to go save the galaxy.

But your favorite had yet to arrive. In the recent weeks, you'd met a friend that made this morning walk even better.

"Hey, bud," you grinned at the fast-approaching metal ball. A BB unit, scuffed orange and white, whirred a happy greeting and bumped against your ankles. Giving his antennae a little shake, you extended your hand.

"Walk with me?"

A small metal arm protruded from his side, which you gently took in your palm. Slower, so that the little droid didn't get caught on a root, you two made your way towards the Comms tower.

He belonged to somebody; his condition was too nice to be a rogue. But nobody had filed a missing report, and he always went back to his pilot by the time your shift started. Besides, you had a soft spot for BBs. Their big black eyes made your heart melt.

That sweet morning moment warmed your chest throughout the whole day, even as a stressful mission tore at your nerves. He'd be at the same place in the evening to walk you back.

What a little gentleman.

Today was an event. Even arriving early, you'd scrambled to get in place before the first squadron took off. There was a mixup on the schedule, so half the shift showed up late and the other half had to cover three different missions at once. No caf had been shipped on time, so the cup you had that morning sustained you - barely - for the rest of the day.

All in all, you were fucking exhausted.

The suns were setting quickly. You stared out the window, a yawn cracking your jaw. Somebody tapped your arm.

"You look wiped, babe, wanna ride with me? Taryn will drive," your friend Anya said, concern knitting her brow. For a moment, your heart ached to leave your little buddy, but he'd understand. A walk would not help your exhaustion.

Nodding, you loaded into her land cruiser and promptly knocked out. It felt like a blink before your stumbled into your tiny hut, tearing off your boots and falling into bed. You'd wash the sheets later.

Somewhere around midnight, an incessant whirring pulled you from your den of sleep. Groaning, you squinted at your watch.

"Whassat?" you croaked, wrapping a blanket around your shoulders. Something was outside, cracking sticks and scuffling in the mud Probably a rat.

Beeep. Beep beep beep-

Not a rat.

Frowning, you peeked out the window. A familiar white dome was darting in and out of the bushes, rolling faster than you'd ever seen him.

"Bud?"

You poked your head out the door, shivering at the cool air. The movement stopped. You puffed out a cloud, trying to find your friend. A familiar whir, then an eighty-pound metal droid collided with your knees. Howling, you stumbled back inside.

"Dude -fuck- buddy, chillout, your metal is like a frozen rock," you hissed, any remnants of sleep shocked from your mind. He chirped apologies, rolling around you in fast circles.

"Sorry I left, I was tired." You patted his side. BB-8 let out an indignant crackle and you snorted.

"Damn, didn't know this was such a big deal."

Standing, you yawned. "Thanks for the check in, dude, but I gotta go back to-"

"GET AWAY FROM MY DROID!"

fucking what the-

You dropped the blanket and screamed, falling backwards into a pile of leaves. BB-8 whined shrilly, a short electric pop shocking you from his surprise. An enormous crashing sound, and a shadowed man burst through the underbrush, blaster raised. A squad of birds took off at the massive arrival and swarmed your hut.

BB-8 immediately approached the man, whirring so fast his hubcap started emitting steam. The man dropped to his knee and started whispering back and forth, too quiet for you to hear. Not that you cared, you were trying to become as small as possible underneath your ratty blanket.

this is why we don't take random animals home, your mother's voice echoed, they always belong to somebody.

Well, she shoulda mentioned something about droids.

"Um, excuse me?"

You froze. The man cleared his throat and you heard him step closer. Carefully, you craned your neck to peek from under the quilt.

"Uh, hi," he waved, still shrouded in darkness. You blinked back, dumbfounded. BB-8 stayed close to this guy's ankles, clearly encouraging.

"H-hello?" you croaked, sitting up when you realized he had pocketed the blaster.

"Sorry about that," he laughed sheepishly, his silhouette rocking on his heels. "I uh, I thought something else was going on."

"I gathered that," you sighed, brushing the dirt and crud off of your pants. The blanket was trashed; you'd wash it later. Laundry day suddenly just got bumped up. Any remnants of sleep were gone.

BB-8 chirped softly and you smiled. "Yeah, I figured I had to meet your pilot one of these days."

The man looked at the droid. "How'd you know I was a pilot?"

"...BB units ae specifically assigned to pilots."

"Oh." He cleared his throat again and shifted his stance. The silence was beginning to be uncomfortable, and you really wanted to go back to bed.

"I-"

"Well-"

Both of you laughed this time, and you opened the door a little wider, initial hesitation gone. "Would you like to come in?" You offered.

The man shook his head. "No, I've taken up enough time. And besides, Beebs needs a cleaning." The little droid sputtered and smoked.

"Don't fuss, little man, or I'll use the yellow sponge."

Terrified, the droid zipped into the underbrush. You waved goodbye and shook your head. Never a dull day. Or night.

"Captain's got something for ya," one of your coworkers mumbled in your ear, clapping your shoulder. Frowning, you set aside your headset and peeked into the control room. Your amused commander was watching BB-8 carefully balance a tray on his little round head.

"Buddy?"

He beeped and slowly rolled over, spinning wildly to avoid dropping his precious cargo. Precious indeed - a steaming cup of caf, fresh from the shipment. You mentally pumped your fists and grinned, snatching the hot cup from your little friend.

A sticky note was attached to the side.

thanks for babysitting - Poe

You weren't sure who the fuck Poe was, but he was a gem for sending coffee, so you weren't complaining. Taking a long, grateful drag of your liquid gold, you gave Beebs an appreciative pet and saluted your captain. She smirked and gestured to the hall.

"The delivery man wanted to speak with you," she said airily, winking. Affronted by her weird attitude, you apprehensively followed BB into the hall.

Leaning against a set of control panels was one of the most attractive men you'd ever seen. Is that the guy??

Upon seeing you, he jolted to a straighter position and stuck out his hand.

"Hi," he breathed, "Poe Dameron. Sorry about--last night, that was, um, yeah, sorry," he said, scratching his neck. You were too absorbed in his deep brown eyes to register his nervousness.

"Yeah, sure thing," you mumbled, blinking back into focus. Damn, you didn't know pilots could be that pretty. Even sweaty helmet hair suited him.

BB looked between you, unsure of who to nudge first. He picked his pilot, bumping gently into his boots and sending up hopeful coos. You rocked on your heels.

"Uh, I have to get back, but thanks for the caf," you said, smiling. Poe looked up from petting his droid to send a dazzling grin up at you.

Feeling like a ball of joy, you floated back to your position and spent the rest of the day spacing out in amazement.

In an instant, you were trudging back up the hill, BB at your ankles. It was a cooler day; the Yavin summer was turning quickly into monsoon season. You needed to hurry home to put up the rain shields.

Stopping to catch your breath, you shrieked when a large hand closed over your shoulder.

"Shit-sorry," Poe hissed, backing off and nearly tripping over BB. "Sorry, sorry, I only wanted to walk with you. Shit, are you okay?"

You were doubled over, desperately trying to calm your rocketing heartbeat. Could you ever have a normal conversation with this man?

"Fine," you gasped, righting yourself. Poe's gaze softened and he smiled. Clearly he'd showered and a divine glow was shimmering around his hair. Again with the lethal face card, this guy. As if breathing wasn't hard enough already.

Naturally as blinking, Poe took your bag from your shoulder and helped you over the hill, walking arm in arm. Were you dreaming? He smelled wonderful, and he chatted amicably as you walked. There was a certain charm radiating off of him - one that drew you in like a magnet.

BB whirred contentedly between you, occasionally throwing in his two cents as you teased each other over rank.

"For a Commander you're awfully uncoordinated," you poked, to which he responded with a dramatic eye roll and a "careful, you don't wanna get demoted."

You felt a twinge of disappointment as your hut came into view. Poe's grip tightened then released.

"Thanks for the walk," you said, admiring the way the sun fell on his eyes. He smiled and they twinkled brighter.

"Sure. 7 tomorrow?"

You blinked. "Sorry?"

"Your shift," he elaborated, "you leave for work at 7. I'll meet you here. Beebs told me," he added at your suspicious look. A shamefully loud giggle threatened to break out of your mouth, but you coughed to cover it.

"Yeah, that sounds good."

"See you then, sweetheart," he called over his shoulder. You waved, keeping your composure until the door closed, after which you screamed into a pillow and never stopped smiling.

"You left out the best part," Poe whined, nudging your shoulder. You cocked your head, sipping the tall flute of champagne.

'Whaddya mean? That's literally the-"

"What about the part where you fell shamelessly in love with me the second our eyes met in the darkness and you couldn't resist my rugged charm?" He pouted, fluttering his dark lashes.

"Poe," you chastised, tapping his nose, "it was dark, I couldn't see you at all. It coulda been Finn for all I knew. Or General Ackbar."

He gagged animatedly at the thought as your audience guffawed. The warmth of the night blossomed in your chest, and you adjusted the straps of your dress.

"Can we go home soon?" Poe asked, leaning against your shoulder. His day-old stubble scratched pleasantly on your skin.

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at the clock. "Really, dear?"

"I'm tired, and you look real pretty, and I think I read somewhere it's inappropriate to undress in public, so...please?" If it wasn't your wedding that you were hosting and that you needed to attend, the doe-eyed look he was giving you might have tipped the scales. But you hadn't even cut the cake yet.

"No way, Commander, you still need to prove yourself on the dancefloor."

"After?"

"Only if you walk me back," you murmured, kissing him warmly on the lips.

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