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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Summary: Spoopy Vampire falls for Basil Stitt (~2.4k)

Contents: 18+, gn!vampire!reader, blood, over pants hj

-----

Basil Stitt was the perfect meal.

Healthy enough. No romantic attachments. Only talked to his family a few times a week. Most importantly, he never left his apartment.

You weren’t above taking advantage of a lonely soul. You’d been a vampire since the early 1900s, and couldn’t remember what guilt even felt like.

You’d been watching Basil for a week or so from the building across from his. Noticed he was home at all hours of the day and night.

It had been awhile since you’d had a long-term meal. It was nice, once every quarter century or so, to have more than a one night stand with a human.

Basil was cute. Part of his face was damaged and one of his eyes was a little milky. You could fix that, though, if he wanted. And if he agreed to be yours.

But honestly, you preferred him this way. His scars made him human. Most vampires looked down on that kind of thing, but there was something about Basil. Like a sad puppy you wanted to scratch behind the ears.

He ate cold pizza straight from the fridge. He head-banged alone for an hour at 3 a.m., then cried until sunrise. Fell asleep with a pile of jelly beans on his chest, right there on the floor of his living room, a knife stuck in the cushion of the couch next to him.

He was perfect.

You watch Basil wake up, disoriented, then head toward the bathroom for his morning shower.

You slip out of the apartment you’d been staying in, one you’d charmed the occupant into loaning you (along with their neck), and out into the cold, gray morning.

You smell Basil’s shower gel as soon as you get off the elevator. He uses so much you can smell it through the window on the nights you’d watched him sleep. You can’t wait to lick the scent off of his skin.

You pick up the bakery box from the mat in front of his door. He gets donuts delivered on Sundays. You have to knock for almost five minutes before he answers. You hear his heartbeat racing. Poor baby, you can smell his pang of fear.

He opens the door with a paper bag on his head. He’s adorable.

Even through the two eye holes he’s cut in the front, you can see his dark, beautiful eyes. When they make direct contact with yours, you let the warm, false, charm of your immortality wash over him.

“Take off the bag, Basil. You don’t need it ever again,” you coo.

He rips it of with one hand, eyes wide.

“Oh,” you say with a smile, “you’re just perfect.”

He half smiles, his eyes dazed. “Thanks. But I’m not. I’m a monster.”

You raise an eyebrow at his choice of words. You let the charm fade, interested to see how he reacts.

Basil blinks, looking unsure all of a sudden. “Um. Who are you?” He asks, his hands fidgeting with the open door.

You inhale deeply. His scent is amazing. Sweet and clean. You can almost smell his loneliness. Even though you haven’t been human in more than 100 years, it touches you.

More than mouth-watering. You feel a stirring where you heart used to be.

“I saw you got a bakery delivery from the place down the street,” you say. “I just moved in down the hallway and was hoping you’d take pity on me. Invite me in for breakfast.”

Basil swallows. His hand comes up briefly, almost touching his scars. He turns his face so you can’t see them.

You lift the box of donuts. “I think these are still warm,” you say with a small smile.

Basil chews his lip. You smell sweat start to form at the back of his neck. Precious man child.

He takes a breath, as if to make himself brave. “I always make a big pot of coffee in the morning. I have juice, though, if you don’t drink caffeine. Come on in.”

Bingo.

You lay your hand on his chest briefly as you pass him to enter his apartment. Your hands itch to tidy things. This mess won’t do at all. Basil deserves better.

You stand in the middle of his hallway, so he has to make contact to pass you.

He lays his hand on your bare arm. His eyes go wide.

“Wow, I guess it’s cold this morning,” he says. “Your skin’s like ice.”

He rushes to the kitchen to pour you a warm drink.

“A gentleman,” you say, following him. “I haven’t met one of those in a long time.”

He shakes his head, embarrassed. “I’m not really. I broke up with my girlfriend over the phone a few months ago. I’m…”

His words trail off as you stand close to him in the kitchen.

You’re trying hard not to charm him. His real reactions are so cute, so genuine. You wish... well, doesn’t matter. Despite what books say, vampires can’t charm people into falling in love with them.

The thought startles you. Love. 

Is that what you want?

Basil hands you a mug, interrupting your thoughts.

“We can sit down in the living room,” he says.

He scoots by you and quickly clears the couch free of pillows and an empty bottle of wine. He flips the cushion that has a huge slit cut into it, filling spilling out. You’d watched him take a kitchen knife to it.

His outbursts are less these days, but still happen once in awhile.

You sit, setting the bakery box on his coffee table. He’s careful to hide the left side of his face from you. Always positioning himself just so, looking at you sideways. He’s so nervous his heart sounds like a bird’s.

You have no idea what scarred him.

Although, if the yellow post-its are any indicator, it was probably lightning.

You hadn’t seen it from your vantage point, but one of his walls is almost covered in lightning-bolt drawings and words.

“Are you an artist?” You ask, looking at the wall.

Basil half-laughs, sips his coffee. “No. Just another office drone. I work from home. I can’t leave my apartment. Obviously.”

Your gaze turns back to him. “Why do you say, ‘obviously’?”

Basil’s mouth turns down at the corners. “My face.”

His shoulders slump. You set aside the mug. It’s cold already from your hands sapping out the heat.

You move closer to him on the couch.

“I think you’re perfect,” you say.

“You’re perfect,” Basil says. “Confident. Gorgeous. I wouldn’t have had a chance with someone like you, even if I were normal. And now…”

You touch his hair with your hand, letting your fingers play with his dark curls, brush through. His eyes flutter closed. You feel him melt into the affection.

“Can I smell you? I know it’s weird, but I’d like to get to know you. Scent bonds beings in a way that nothing else can,” you say.

The question comes out of you without thought. It’s not a calculated move. You feel like you’re on a first date.

Basil’s eyes open. He nods.

You lean toward him, your face gently in the crook of his neck. The tip of your nose caresses his skin as you inhale. Basil’s so sweet your body is singing for him already.

You lean away before you lose control.

Basil turns his head, looking at you face-forward. He’s still nervous, but you’re unbelievably proud that he’s already showing himself to you. He probably sees the tinge of bloodlust in your eyes, but he doesn’t back away.

Maybe he feels it too. Something between you two that’s more than prey being drawn into a predator’s den to be torn apart.

You lick your lips. Basil’s gaze drops to watch, then flitters away.

“You want a donut?” He asks.

“Honestly, I don’t really eat.”

Basil’s brows furrow. “But I thought, I mean, you said you wanted breakfast. Not that I’m calling you a liar. Shit. Sorry. The only people I talk to are on conference calls at work.”

He looks down at his lap.

“It was a pretense. I wanted to meet you,” you say.

The tops of Basil’s cheekbones color pink from the compliment. You can’t help yourself. You reach out and touch his beautiful, warm skin with your fingers.

“I don’t mean to say I’m a stalker,” you smile reassuringly. “You’re interesting. Attractive.”

“Me?” Basil says. His voice gets high-pitched with disbelief.

You nod. “I have a sixth sense about humans. Compatibility and whatnot. I think you and I could be tremendously good together.”

You drop your hand when Basil doesn’t reply. It’s been many, many years since you’ve bothered to ask a human what they might like. Since you’ve tried to woo one without any special powers.

“I’ve lost my touch,” you say with an awkward smile. “I won’t force you. I’m sure your instincts are telling you to run by now. I’ll save you the trouble. Tell me to leave and I won’t bother you again.”

“My instincts are telling me to ask you to stay,” Basil says. He looks out the window. “Then again, they also told me I could fly and I should jump off my balcony right after my accident.”

You gasp quietly.

“It was okay. I fell into a dumpster.” He clears his throat. “It was gross, but I lived. Haven’t left my apartment since. But I think, sometimes, I knew you were watching me.”

“Your survival instinct. Like a gazelle on the savanna, your body knew I was there.”

Basil blinks. His big, brown eyes are clear when he looks at you again. He seems more sure of himself.

“I’m not perfect either. So, whoever you are, or whatever,” he corrects himself, “I think you’re interesting too.”

He smiles, the scars on his face making one side slightly tighter. As if he feels it, his smile fades slightly. He’s beautiful, nonetheless. You hope you can show him how beautiful.

“I’m a vampire,” you say quietly, trying to say it gently, hoping he doesn’t run screaming.

His body tenses. Apparently, his fight or flight is broken because Basil is still for a full ten seconds. Your thirst tugs at its leash, sensing an easy meal. But after so long, you’ve learned to control it.

“It’s daytime,” he says after awhile.

“It’s cloudy,” you answer. “Not comfortable outside for me, but I don’t burst into flames.”

“I invited you in,” he says to himself.

“You did.”

“But you don’t want to kill me?” He asks. He looks more confused than concerned.

“No,” you say emphatically, “I won’t to harm a hair on your precious head, Basil.”

He bites his lip uncertainly.

You reach out and tug him gently until his head lays in your lap. He looks up at your face, seemingly hypnotized by you, even though you’re not using any kind of charm on him.

You smile down at him serenely, twirling his hair around your fingers with one hand, the other brushing over the pulse beating in his neck.

“It would make me so happy if you would be mine,” you say.

His eyes flicker away, then back to yours. “Yours?”

“You have no idea how perfect you are, especially to someone like me,” you say, running your nails under the collar of his shirt. “Like you were made for me.”

You feel the blood rush up his neck, warming his face.

“Sweet Basil,” you say, leaning down.

You kiss him, leading with your tongue, before you let your fangs out. You want him to get used to the feeling. Basil barely notices, kissing you with wild abandon.

“You, you can,” he whispers, out of breath from the making out. He swallows. “… you know.”

You feel tenderness bloom inside of you. “Oh, Basil, my darling boy. I would be honored.”

He smiles, shifting to sit up slightly. “It won’t, like, turn me into a vampire or anything, right?”

“No, that’s a very different process,” you reassure him. “I won’t take too much, especially this first time. It’s very intense.”

He’s nervous, bless him, but determined. “I don’t think anything’ll hurt more than when I got hit by lightning.”

“It won’t hurt. Not after a few seconds. It’s intense in other ways. Sexually.”

Basil’s dark eyes pop wide. “I can handle it,” he says, mostly bravado.

“If you’re sure,” you say, bending your head.

You scrap your fangs along his neck. They’re sharp enough to leave a pink trail behind them, just a scrape along his skin.

He shivers.

You cradle him in your lap, your hand going higher on his leg.

“Is this okay?” You ask.

“Yeah, definitely.” He nods so hard his curly hair bobs down over his forehead.

You brush it back before getting back to it. You lay a hand over his already hard cock. Just enough pressure to draw a tempting whine from him.

His hips raise to meet your touch. You bite him. Fangs so sharp they slide into his neck like a hot needle through butter.

Basil tenses, flinches, but moans when your hand finds the head of his cock, teasing him over his pants.

You suck at the puncture wounds, a mouthful of heaven. He comes immediately, shuddering, a wet mess in his pants that you feel soak through right away. You moan at his neck, drinking and drowning yourself in the scent of him. The taste of his blood, warm and welcoming.

You shudder as you pull away. You kiss the wounds, suck gently again because you can’t help it. He tastes like candy. Sweet and addictive.

He looks dazed, but happy, looking up at you from your lap. Good boy that he is, he’s already half hard again.

“Will you stay?” He asks you. “I- I’ll be yours.”

You smile, a bloody tear at the corner of one eye. “Basil, dear, I believe I’m becoming very attached to you. Please know, you’re more than a pet to me.” You stroke his scarred face. “I will protect you with my life. And you will give me your life blood in return. Promise me.”

His face is soft and vulnerable. His milky eye closes slightly as he stares up at you with wonder. “I promise.”

You gently tilt his head. “Let me drink from you again, my Basil. And let us never be without each other again.”

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clever boy - MK x GN!reader

reader gender is not described could be literally anything. inspired by this post that made me giggle for ten minutes

sfw, no risky content, just silly cuteness. jake isn't mentioned sorry lockley stans but maybe I'll do another version w him <3

Steven and Marc, Marc and Steven. The two of them, peas in a pod. Keeping each other company in Steven's tiny flat.

Until, you.

You'd caught both their eyes, really, but Steven called dibs because he was fronting when you'd met. Though, Marc argued, he was feeding the poor guy lines because he was blushing so hard he couldn't think straight.

From the first day, Steven wanted to jump the gun and tell you how pretty you were and invite you over forever and gush and gush but no. Marc was patient, reminding him to breathe, to take his time. They were in this together, and he didn't want his hope for your affection to be crushed by his headmate's eagerness.

So Steven sat back, hands wringing his sleeves and a stupid smile smarting his cheeks. You thought he was the sweetest thing you'd ever seen. His sass made you keel over laughing, listening to his funny recounts of ignorant customers or mishaps on the bus.

He was sweet and pretty and so, so clever.

Which is what first planted the seed of doubt that he didn't like you the way you liked him. Steven, as much as he stuttered, was sharp as a tack. He loved puzzles and trivia and escape room games (though the real thing made his hair stand on end). You thought for sure he'd sniff you out in an instant; your growing crush wasn't discreet.

But he never mentioned it, never made a move, nothing. Marc, whom you'd met a few weeks later, was also very smart. He liked deeper conversations, and his warm gaze would be intensely focused on whatever subject you'd picked. Surely, if Steven missed your hints, Marc would give him a wink and a nudge and bam, game on.

Still, nothing but platonic smiles.

Little did you know, a tug of war was raging in your friend's mind the second you left his flat.

The three of you shared a wall, so Marc ensured his whisper-fights with Steven stayed quiet.

"Too soon," Marc hissed into the kitchen mirror. It was small and round, and you had left a little sticky note with a smiley face on it for them to see in the morning.

Steven was tearing his hair out in the small frame, eyes round and watery. Mate, I've never had this much courage to do anything in my life, you know that, please, it can't be that bad!

Marc gritted his teeth. Naive little Steven.

"What if you scare them off, huh? We've known them for a month and you think they'll jump in just like that?"

Steven paused his worrying, realizing for the first time the kind of fallout that might occur. His cow eyes saddened, imagining the empty space that would replace you, if you didn't reciprocate. He couldn't live with that.

"Just a bit longer," Marc sighed, rubbing his face. He needed to sleep. Steven continued to fume, for once at odds with his best friend.

You'd noticed his distance. Steven, always happy to see you, had withdrawn. He waved quietly in the morning, and mumbled a good night when you passed his door. It stung. Marc was stoic as ever, but his jaw was tighter and he didn't look you in the eye.

Something was wrong.

So, like any good friend would, you picked up takeout and a few movies and knocked on Steven's door.

It took a few moments, but your favorite mop of curls soon peeked out from behind the frame.

"Oh, erm, uh, heya, sorry, did we plan something? I, um," Steven still didn't look you in the eye, fumbling with the latch as he stuttered through an apology. You stepped forward and touched his shoulder.

Smiling what you hoped was gently, you eased his worry. "I just wanted to say hi. I brought snacks," you said, holding up the warm bag of food.

Still nervous, Steven nodded and beckoned you inside.

Bollocks, he griped. Marc was having a conniption, trying to come up with a reason to push you back out. It's raining, Steven pleaded, and we haven't hung out for ages and Thai smells really good and they've got that cute sweater on-

That's the problem, Marc tossed back, you'll trip all over yourself like a fool. Lemme front-

Steven had to bite his lip to stop from yelling his dissent. He'd been pestering Marc to invite you over for days, now was his chance.

You were dividing the curry and rice into equal portions while he poked through the movies and games you'd brought. There were a couple of his favorites, Clue, James Bond (The originals, of course) and some he didn't recognize.

"Hey, what's this?" He grabbed a small box and peered at it. You paused your chopsticks and leaned over.

"Oh," you said around a mouthful of rice, "I dunno, Rachel from work recommended it." You picked at your food as he flipped it over to read the back.

20 Questions, it was titled. Forty different cards, each with a subject. One person had the subject and the other had to guess what it was in twenty questions or less. Only three hints allowed and nothing made-up.

"Let's do it," Steven decided. He enjoyed a challenge and if it meant he could hear your lovely voice, he wasn't complaining. Marc had fallen silent, taking to brooding in the background. Probably for the best - he wasn't very good at puzzles.

You wiped your hands on a napkin and took the first card.

"A classic movie," you read. Steven rocked on his heels for a moment, fiddling with his plate.

"Got it," he said.

You knew what to start with. Steven loved classic movies, but none of the scary ones. Probably something historical.

"Does it take place in the last fifty years?"

He nodded, chewing. One.

"Does it have a female protagonist?" Two.

He shook his head gleefully. That familiar Steven sparkle was back, and it eased the worry in your head. He wasn't so off, then. Maybe just a bad week.

"Does the man have a whip?" You were grinning, sure you'd got it. Steven's lips twitched - he knew he'd been found out.

It took only two more questions for you to guess Indiana Jones, to his shock. You blamed it on luck rather than the adorable predictability of your friend.

Steven's turn next, and it took him halfway to guess "Fondue" at Favorite food. You went back and forth, giggling at each other on the floor of his rainy flat. Steven protested when you argued that he couldn't use himself for Favorite Superhero.

"I am a hero," he wheedled, gesturing to the Moon Knight stuffie you'd got him as a joke.

"Yeah, but you can't guess yourself," you argued. Nowhere in the rules did it say that, but it felt good to have your bickering sessions. You'd missed this - bantering over stupid issues with tummies full of food and a fun game to play.

Steven blushed when you mentioned it. "Sorry," he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. "I got busy, 'n Marc was being pissy 'cause - yeah you were, don't be a knob," he muttered to himself. Your grin twitched at the mention of your other friend.

"How is Marc?"

He swallowed thickly. "Uhm...he's, uh, he's swell. Hang on, sorry-" There was a pause as he flickered between scowling and mumbling.

You ignored his stuttering and resumed eating. He needed space at the moment; Marc was probably arguing over something. You didn't want to make them uncomfortable.

"Sorry," Steven said sheepishly. "My turn, yeah?"

Setting down your empty plate, you nodded. Flipping a card, you saw alarm flash across his face. You laughed nervously.

"What?"

He swallowed and smiled nervously. "Nothing, nothing. Ah, I guess, we can skip it if you want...?"

You snatched the card and froze. Longtime Crush.

Fuck. Stay calm, this will be fine. A door of opportunity glowed in your mind, and you smiled.

"No. Let's do it."

Steven, still wary, nodded and tried to push away the intense shame inside. This was going to crush him. He could feel Marc's annoyance through the barrier. Told you so. Not wanting to ruin your game, he soldiered on.

"Is...are they...a man?" You nodded, eyes glittering. God this was worse than torture.

"Have you known him very long?"

You thought about it. "Yeah, I guess. Feels like forever." Great, you'd had a childhood crush all along. He never stood a chance. Marc was burying his head in his hands. Steven wanted to push him to the front so he could have a good cry, but he needed to face it. His fault you were here anyway.

"Do you see him at work?"

"N....Sometimes," you added. He scrunched his nose.

"Whaddya mean sometimes? Either you do or you-"

"Next question," you laughed. Steven wracked his brain.

"Oh, bugger, uh...." he didn't want to pry, but he couldn't think of anything.

"Need a hint?" You were on the verge of cackling. Grumpily, he shook his head.

"Does he live nearby?"

"Definitely."

He pursed his lips, thinking of your small social circle. Your work was a tiny office, there had to be a few guys that he knew.

"Does...Is he friends with our friends?"

You nodded. "He's very close."

He had to be missing something. "Fine, gimme a hint."

"Well," you began, smile stretching to the moon, "he's very clever. He'd like this game, I think. He likes to laugh, but he can be quite serious too." Ignoring the fact that you'd given him two hints, Steven's heart wilted as he noticed the starry look in your eyes. Whoever this guy was, he was a lucky chap.

Marc was miserable, gloominess radiating. Steven felt awful, he hadn't meant for this to go so poorly. Just get through the questions, Marc grumbled.

"Where does he work?"

You tapped your chin. "Well...he's got two jobs."

His eyebrows raised. "Busy fella, huh?"

"Yeah." Your lips quirked. "Almost seems like he's two people."

"What's his jobs, then?"

"Let's see...it's very unconventional," you said slowly, a cute smile on your face, "Sorta self-employed."

Steven cocked his head at the confusing answer. Self employed? That's not really a second job. Marc shrugged. We're kinda self employed, so it could be.

It was strange how many similarities he found between himself and this mystery man.

"I'll give you a hint," you said after the moment dragged. Steven vehemently shook his head.

"No, I've got it, swear."

You giggled. "it won't count, promise. He's got a pet fish."

Steven threw up his hands in exasperation. "How've I never met this man?! We sound almost identical, I'm sure I'd remember him!"

You were bent over laughing now. He sat there, bewildered, while Marc watched with growing understanding.

Steven, he hissed. Steven, hang on.

Stop being a spoilsport, I know you're mad, Steven retorted, too invested in the game.

"Marc's met him," you said between fits, tears streaking your cheeks. Marc opened his mouth again but Steven waved him away.

"Nuh uh, I can do this," he said determinedly. STEVEN! Marc was shouting now, thumping his hands in vain.

You'd stopped laughing, grinning like a loon while you waited. He'd get it now, surely, you hoped, the fading laughter revealing your anxiety.

Steven had short-circuited, eyes flicking around like a pinball machine.

"You're clever," you murmured, "you'll get it."

He snapped out of it and raked a hand through his messy curls. "Hang on, hang on, what? This doesn't- how can he be friends with our friends when the only man friend you've got is me?" He was genuinely perplexed, triggering a sympathetic smile from you.

Marc was in fits now, and Steven was getting a headache. Oi, Marc, chill out a bit, yeah? I'm trying to-

Steven for once in your life listen this is important oh my God-

"What?" he relented, mouthing sorry at you. Marc heaved a breath and closed his eyes.

You. Us. Steven, it's so obvious.

Steven rolled his eyes. "Me? You've lost it, mate, really, you've gone mad."

He froze, clapping a hand over his mouth. "Oh my days, sorry, I didn't mean to guess so soon, sorry-"

You did nothing but grin, leaning closer. "Clever boy," you whispered, then pressed your lips to his.

Marc fainted.

Steven, sweet man, had frozen, too preoccupied with his internal screaming do understand what was happening.

Oh.

oh.

His hands found their way to your cheeks and he giggled, the sweet sound muffled against your lips. It was clunky and off-centered, but it was real and he was laughing and every insecurity he'd ever had vanished in a puff of smoke.

You pulled back for a breath, but Steven hadn't finished, chasing after you with a huff. Marc, finally back online, was sitting in a lovesick stupor. Your lips were soft and your hands were rubbing soothingly down his back. A quiet solitude had blanketed the flat, now dark. Steven leaned his head on your shoulder and you hugged him tight, smiling into his neck. The two of you breathed together, winding down from the excitement of your game.

Once you'd sufficiently relaxed, you pulled away and were met with Marc's twinkling gaze.

"Y'know, I was the one that gave Steven the head's up, so I think I-"

"C'mere you," You huffed, peppering his cheeks in light pecks. He preened, taking a heavy sigh of relief. Marc leaned in and captured your lips, licking gently into your mouth. He'd definitely had more practice, and your heart sang with joy.

Game over, plates empty and hearts full, you curled up and watched the rain pitter-patter in the warm comfort of your home.

yes i think steven loves james bond. he is the type to try and figure out the mystery along with the movie. also 100% knows all cinema trivia Ever To Exist. Marc hates it.

xox thank uuuu

part 2

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. 

____________________________________

Thank you for reading! (Using a different tag list for kinktober so I don't overwhelm anyone.)

@flightlessangelwings @steven-grants-world @lonelyisamyw-0love @eyelessfaces @angel-of-the-moons @campingwiththecharmings @minigirl87 @whatthefishh

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

it's october tomorrow....

*vibrates excitedly*

current fan creation landscape is kinda like if you went to a party with a homemade cake and everyone takes a slice and silently thumbs up at you with no attempt to start a conversation except for occasionally some guy sits in the corner with a tape recorder critiquing the cake as though he was a restaurant critic and another guy is handing the cake to an uber driver like "yeah i need you to find a restaurant that makes cake like this so i can have more of it" and the only person that's talked to you in 30 minutes is a very sweet little guy who was like "hey i liked your cake" and then ran away apologizing for bothering you the moment you said thank you.