Putting in a formal request for a teasing service top HectorxReader or another ParkerxReader please 🥺🥺 👉👈
I’ve read your chance and parker fics and they were all SO PEAKK MAN!!! absolutely Top tier writing!
Would personally love to see what you could come up with for him
Finally, I have done a Hector fic. Thanks for the request!
An Incentive
synop: You've been working yourself ragged, and Hector has had enough of it. After gaining your attention, he decides you need to take care of yourself in more ways than one...
In order to have you comply, he provides an incentive.
When he's satisfied, he'll take care of you.
a/n: I really hope I wrote Hector as a service top well! This is smutty! No minors!
Hot…
Gosh it was hot. Bent over your desk you wiped at your forehead with a groan. The gross feeling of sweat on your palm had you grimacing.
Peering up, you looked at the vent in your office. An accusatory stare hit Hector through the grates of the vent. It made his heart rate speed up. Finally…
He finally got your attention.
For the last couple of days you hadn’t put on your Dateviators. Much to your household objects' chagrin. It wasn’t intentional, you had just found yourself majorly busy. First it was Sam asking you to help her move out of her apartment. Then your grandparents needed assistance with their new computer. Your elderly nextdoor neighbor had an emergency and asked you to water the plants while they were gone. Not to mention the things you had to do yourself. Bills to be paid, car registration updated, then you realized your driver’s license was about to expire. SO MANY THINGS.
Seeing your frazzled state, most of the objects understood why you were unable to meet with them. However, there were some that were quite miffed that you didn’t take at least some time out of your busy schedule to see them.
The personification of your HVAC system happened to be one of those objects.
Watching you with bated breath, Hector twiddled his fingers in anticipation.
Stepping out of your seat, you stretched and cracked your back with a satisfying pop. Leaving your office, you immediately rounded the corner to reach the thermostat.
78 degrees…
You looked back at the vent, hand on your hip as you raised a brow at it. Pulling your Dateviators from your pocket, you placed them on your face. Hector had to hold back a squeal of excitement as he watched you witness him through the vent.
“Hector, pray tell, why does the house feel like a sauna?” You gave him an accusatory glare.
“Ah, um, well, darling, you see…” He bit his lip, suddenly embarrassed about what he had done. “I just needed you to acknowledge me.” He admitted, through the grate you could see his eyes droop sorrowfully.
A pang of guilt hit your chest at his words. It had only been a couple of days, but you suppose you had neglected some of the objects. Especially considering you still returned home everyday.
“Hector, I’m sorry.” You walked over to the vent, lifting your hand to it. “I should’ve at least said ‘hello’. I just got so busy, it was hard to even think.”
A warm hand took hold of yours, thumb caressing the top lovingly. Looking at his hand, you smiled softly. Gosh, he had nice hands…
“I hate to see you run yourself so ragged.” He said, eyes filled with concern.
“A lot had to get done. I couldn’t just leave people hanging, you know?” You let out a sigh.
It was clear you had been busying yourself so much it appeared as if it was a detriment. Your frame slumped over with exhaustion, dark circles under your eyes, nails bitten down to the bed, all accompanied by random bruises you couldn’t remember getting.
“I hate to see you hurting yourself like this, my darling.” He said with a sadness in his voice.
“I’m not hurting myself. I’m… pushing myself is all.” You didn’t know why, but you felt as if he was pitying you.
“Pushing yourself too hard.” Concern was laced in his voice. He didn’t know why he would’ve made you irritable.
“Hector, I can handle my own shit.” Why were you spitting back at him? All he was doing was checking in on you, and you return his kindness with vitriol?
“D-dearest, I never said you couldn’t.” Oh no, barely a few sentences in and this was all falling apart.
“Well it feels like you don’t think I can manage on my own.” Misplaced anger was bubbling in you. Your tired mind looking for a scapegoat to blame, unlucky for your AC, it was Hector.
He knew you didn’t mean the malice in your tone, nonetheless, it was still unpleasant to receive.
“I know you can manage, but I also know you run yourself ragged quite frequently. You could give that Breaker Box boy a run for his money with how much you push yourself to work.”
“Ugh, what do you know? I have to work,...” You looked down, rubbing your arm. “To make sure everything is taken care of.”
After you lost your job to a bot, your workaholic personality had you buzzing to do something, anything. Thus, you found yourself accepting everything offered to you. Whether it was from a person or one of your objects, you would make sure the job got done to the best of your abilities.
Typically it would only be a few tasks you would have to do. Lately, it seemed that your reliability made you a favorable choice to ask when it came to providing aid. For some reason you couldn’t say “no”. Someone could ask you to go help them dumpster dive and you would accept the job with no questions.
“I know, my love.” He offered his hand to you.
You accepted it, enjoying the feel of his warmth in your hand.
“And you are exceptional at your work, truly, you are.” He pat your hand lightly. “However, it hurts to see you like this.”
Oof, that hurt. You felt that pang in your chest again.
“I’m sorry.” You mumbled, unable to look at him. “I didn’t realize how bad it had gotten.”
“I should be the one apologizing.” He let out a sad sigh, twiddling his thumbs. “I shouldn’t have let this go on for so long. I need to respect your autonomy, of course. But clearly, you didn’t even realize it yourself.”
“Hector, if you’re worried about me, you can tell me. I would prefer that you do.” You gave him a look of sincerity that had his heart swelling.
“Y-you do?”
“Of course I do!” You shook your head with a smile. “I know you care about me.”
“I do, deeply. More than I could ever articulate through words alone…”
“You demonstrate your care plenty.” You pulled away from him. Placing your hands on your hips, you puffed out your chest with confidence. “So, what can I do to show you the same care?”
Eyes widening, Hector tried to find his words. You, YOU, wanted to do something for him. Wait, weren’t you just arguing about you doing too much for others? Sneaky little thing, you were.
“You can take care of yourself.” He said bluntly, hands held together.
Quirking a brow, you gave him a confused look.
“What do you mean?” You asked.
“I mean, you rest, recuperate, not accept any more work until you are well-rested.”
Teeth worrying over your lip, you wondered how you could get out of this one. To be honest, you didn’t really know how to take care of yourself. Outside of the bare necessities of eating and keeping yourself clean, there wasn’t much you ever thought could be considered “taking care of yourself.”
“I don’t know, Hector…” You trailed.
“Ah ah, you asked me what I wanted.” His voice held more confidence. “And I told you, so you must.”
“You got me there…” You paused. You didn’t want to come off as naive, but you felt a bit embarrassed that you didn’t have a clue as to what to do. “Um, what should I start with?”
“Hmm…” Hector tapped his chin, then a loud rumbling came from your stomach. Through the vent you heard him chuckle. “Perhaps we can start with you eating a meal.”
“Will you join me?” You asked sweetly.
“Of course, I’ll be in the kitchen.” He began to shuffle around to head to the proper vent.
“I mean, like in person.” You said, making him pause.
“Apologies, my love, but I will not.” He said, making you frown. “Now, now, I’m not trying to upset you.”
“Then what is it that you are doing?”
“Giving you an incentive.” Even though you couldn’t see it, he was smirking.
“An incentive?”
“Yes, an incentive. You wish to see me in person, you must complete all of the tasks I ask of you. Which of course, will be about taking care of yourself.”
Grumbling to yourself, you tapped your foot in irritation. Eyeing him at the vent, you pouted. Oh what he would do to have that protruding bottom lip against his own. However, he could wait. He was a very patient man, after all.
“Fine.” You had to admit, it was a nice incentive.
When Hector had finally revealed himself to you, you were absolutely stoked. Immediately you flooded him with compliments that had him flustered and blushing. A reaction that you loved getting out of him.
“Good.” Cool air began blasting through the vent, caressing your face.
“Ooooh, yessss. That’s the good stuff.” You purred as the chill hit your overheated body.
“Now, go eat.” Hector softly commanded.
Nodding, you complied.
Walking into the kitchen you were greeted by the various objects housed in the room. Giving them all a wave, you headed to Freddy.
“Hey Freddy.” You gave him a soft smile.
“Hey! Been awhile since I’ve seen ya, was afraid you were starving yourself.”
“Oh no no no, not at all. I was just out of the house a lot.” Sucking your teeth, you awkwardly continued. “And I might have forgotten to eat.”
Freddy tisked you, then opened his doors.
“Well, I’m glad you remembered now.” He waved his arm over the options in the fridge and freezer. “Let’s see, we’ve got leftover pasta carbonara, pizza, and some cold cuts for a sandwich.”
“Sheesh, I really should’ve found the time to go grocery shopping.” You pondered on your options, settling on the pizza.
You preheated your oven, then put it on a baking stone to warm up. You could feel your microwave’s eyes on you.
“Sorry Luke, Stefan just makes pizza taste better warmed up. Keeps the crust crispy.” You shrugged your shoulders.
As you prepared your meal, you waved to your vent. Pointing at your plate, you grabbed a slice and took a bite. Soon enough, you had finished your meal. Yeah, you definitely should have eaten sooner. Oh well, at least you did it now.
You returned to the vent, ready for your next task.
“Alright, Hector. What else do you got for me?”
“I was thinking you could take a shower. I left the house a bit hot, and I’m sure that was uncomfortable. I apologize for that inconvenience.”
“You sure you don’t just want to see me naked?” You teased with a smirk.
“M-my love! I, well…” Hector pulled at his collar, feeling like his vent was very stuffy all the sudden. Taking in a breath, he composed himself. “While you know I certainly appreciate your bare form, this is not about me.”
“Am I not doing these tasks for you?”
“That’s only because you asked me what I wanted. I hope that you will do these on your own otherwise.” He huffed.
“Alright, alright. Shower it is.”
Walking into your bathroom, you pulled the Dateviators off. Yes, the objects have seen you naked plenty of times. However, having them stare at you when you could see them was awkward to say the least. Especially when Johnny Splash decided to make you his muse mid scrubbing at your armpits. You tried it once, then never again. Much to the object’s dismay, especially Amir’s.
After starting the shower, you stripped down. There was one pair of eyes that you were happy to show off to. Staring directly at your vent, you gave it a wink and blew it a kiss. A sudden burst of hot air hit you, making you chuckle.
In the vent Hector practically short-circuited at your flirtation. Oh, you truly were something else.
As you showered you sang out the song that had been stuck in your head all day. Though you couldn’t witness it, Johnny attempted to harmonize with you. He did so very poorly, making all of the other objects audibly groan.
When that was complete, you dried off and wrapped a towel around you. Slipping the Dateviators back on you were met with the sight of the bathroom objects.
“Have a good shower?” Tyrell asked, giving you a once over.
“Yeah! It was very refreshing. Much needed. Thanks Johnny!”
“Uhuh, you're very welcome!” He said in his Presley-esque accent.
“Well, I’m off to get some comfy clothes.”
Back in your bedroom you pulled out some comfy pjs. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you let out a satisfied huff. You were starting to feel much better than before.
Turning to your bedroom vent, you spoke.
“What else, Hector?”
“Do a leisurely activity to wind down.” He said.
Though you couldn’t fully see him, you could tell he was happier at the state you were in.
“Leisurely activity…” You tapped on your chin, thinking of what to choose.
Nodding, you decided reading was a good bet. Heading down to your office, you looked over your little library. One book caught your eye, so you grabbed it. Taking it to the living room, you sat on the couch with your blanket wrapped around you.
Over your shoulder, Mateo was reading along with you. An inanimal cat sat in his lap purring contently. On your other side sat Koa, who was chilling contently with his eyes closed. Over your other shoulder, Lyric joined in on the reading. Normally you would find something like this claustrophobic, but you felt you owed it to the objects after not speaking to them for a while. As you read, you made sure to turn the pages slowly so they could follow along. From behind you could hear Lyric gasping and murmuring to himself. Mateo sat quietly, only laying his head on your shoulder. Occasionally his eyebrows would raise as something he read on the page.
“No, no, no, no! You cannot stop there!” Lyric implored as you put a bookmark on the page.
“I think it’s a good place to stop.” You shrugged your shoulders.
“B-but it’s a cliffhanger! You can’t just stop!”
“Lyric, you literally are part of this book. Don’t you know how it ends?” You teased.
“I do, but I can’t believe you would just end it there! It gets so good!”
Chuckling, you lightly pat his shoulder.
“I’ll be okay, I’m excited to see what comes next.”
Standing up, you cracked your back. Again, you returned to the vent. Looking up expectantly, you spoke to Hector.
“So, what now? I feel like I’ve done a pretty good job of taking care of myself.” You gave him a sweet smile.
“My darling, you certainly have.” He crooned. The praise sent a chill down your spine.
“So… can I see you now?” You batted your lashes.
“Not just yet.” He chuckled at your pout. “I have one more task.”
“As long as it’s just one. I really want to see you.” You sighed.
“Trust me, I think you’ll enjoy this one.” You couldn’t see it, but he had a cheeky grin on his face.
See, officially being with you had brought out a good bout of confidence from the man. That confidence had now manifested a hunger within him. A hunger that he wished to explore tonight, if you would have him.
“Let’s go to the bedroom.” He said, before shuffling off.
“Okaaay…” You gave a suspicious look to the vent before heading upstairs.
Once in your room, you walked up to the vent.
“Alright, I’m here.” You waved around the room.
“Indeed you are.” Hector could barely contain his glee.
“So, what do you want me to do? Sleep?”
“Eventually, yes. However, I have a special task for you.”
“And that is…?” You let out a huff. “I’d prefer skipping the crypticness.”
“So impatient, my love.” His voice lowered, making you shiver. Oh, oh, that’s really hot.
“S-sorry.” You stuttered out the apology.
“Mmm. Good.” He let out an airy sigh. “Now, my next task for you is very special.”
“Special?”
“Oh, very much so.”
You bit back a snarky comment. It was surprising to feel such a domineering presence coming from your vent, yet, here you were. And it was certainly making you feel “special”.
“My final task is that you pleasure yourself. One of the finest ways of taking care of oneself.”
Immediately, red bloomed on your face. Shuffling your feet, you looked down. Pleasure yourself?
“I-in front of you?” You asked quietly.
“Why of course. Why else would I ask you to do this? I must see you taking care of yourself properly.”
“Uh, I guess that makes… sense.” The blush on your face grew darker.
Sure, you and Hector had already had sex. Who wouldn’t want to immediately jump that man’s bones? However, so far it had been fairly vanilla. Not that you minded. Hector was a very attentive lover. Seemingly needing to please you in order to feel pleasure himself.
Now, things had taken a turn. Though, you weren’t opposed to exploring more in the bedroom. Especially if it helps him gain even more confidence.
“I’m glad you think so. Now, if you will.” His hands motioned for you to begin.
“Do you want me to strip?” You asked, reaching for the hem of your shirt.
“If you wouldn’t mind, please.” His polite demeanor was extremely hot to you.
Slowly, you lifted off your shirt, leaving your torso bare. Through the grate you could hear him groan at the sight.
“Such a marvelous creature you are…” He purred.
Your sleep shorts followed, leaving you fully naked. Part of you wanted to cover up, but another part enjoyed feeling so vulnerable, so… exposed.
In the vent, Hector was practically panting at the sight. This show was all for him? Oh you treated him too well. Yet, he needed more. Needed to watch you truly “take care” of yourself.
Walking backwards, you landed on your bed. Scooching further back, you fully laid down. Your legs spread apart, giving Hector a full view of your sex. Already shiny with your slick. The sight had him moaning, his cock growing hard.
Sliding your hand over your body, you teased over your chest. Your fingers tweaked at your nipples, making you whine. Hector let out a quiet whimper. You continued to play with your chest and nipples for a while till they stayed hardened.
Slowly, you trailed your hand down your body. Stopping just above your sex. Deciding to have some fun, you slid your hand away from your pussy. Instead teasing over your spread thighs. Not only were you teasing yourself, but Hector as well. The man was practically begging for you to actually touch yourself.
Finally, you granted his wish. Fingers slid between your folds, spreading them for Hector to see. Lightly, you stroked over your clit. A spark of pleasure had you moaning. Each stroke had you letting out soft moans and whines. In your mind you pictured Hector touching you with those lovely hands of his.
As you fantasized, you moved your fingers to the entrance of your cunt. Plunging two fingers in, you heard a loud groan from Hector. Oh he was loving this. Watching you please yourself was pure heaven in his eyes. Each sound spilling from your mouth a siren’s call, begging for him to just come and claim you. Tempting, yes, very tempting. But, Hector wanted to watch you fall apart on your fingers. Watch how you use your own body to please yourself.
Though you were separated by a grate, witnessing this intimate moment made him feel closer to you than ever before.
Wet sounds filled the room as you continued to pump your fingers in and out. Curling them just right to hit that perfect gummy spot inside. Then you would pull them out, swirling them around your clit. As you continued your moans grew louder. A heat growing in your belly, indicating your climax was on the horizon.
Hector was shaking with anticipation.
“Yes my darling, just like that.” He reached his hand over his pants, giving the hard bulge a squeeze.
Wait, no, he didn’t want this to end so soon. Not just yet.
“Slow down.” He commanded softly.
With a whimper, your fingers slowed their pace. Bringing you the barest amount of friction as you pressed in and out of your pussy. Your hips jolted up to meet with your hand. It was like your body was begging to go faster, forcing you to move.
“H-hector…”
“Yes, my love?” He asked, voice hoarse.
“Please…ah…”
“Please what?” Oh, he was going to lose his composure.
“Please, let me go faster!” You whined.
“Oh, my dearest love, please do. Fuck yourself on those lovely fingers.”
His words spurred you on, making you respond to him with a loud moan. Hips rising, you began to chase that high. The movement of your hand was becoming sloppy as you ground your clit against your palm. Fingers pumping at a fast pace.
“Oh, my love…” Hector moaned.
“Ah! Hector…” You groaned out his name, making him respond with his own moan.
“Yes! Yes! Cum for me, my darling. Let me see you shaking with pleasure. I must see!” He huffed grabbing at the grate.
Nodding, your eyes squeezed shut as you continued to play with your cunt. Just a few more pumps of your fingers had you shattering. A long loud moan escaping your lips as you gushed over your hand. The sight had Hector moaning loudly.
He couldn’t wait any longer, he needed to have you.
Quickly, he exited the vent system then headed to your bedroom. Catching your breath, you saw Hector enter the room. A soft smile was on your face as you took in his presence. His eyes were sparkling with awe as he looked over you.
“How was that?” You asked softly.
Crawling over you, Hector pressed a soft kiss to your lips. Grabbing your hand, he pulled it to his lips. Wrapping his lips around your fingers, he sucked off your essence. His eyes rolled back with a groan.
“You did so well, my love.” He kissed you again. “So amazing…” Again, his lips captured yours.
Opening your mouth, you let his tongue slide with yours. Both of you groaned at the other’s taste. Hector’s kiss grew sloppy, as if he was addicted to your lips. Well, he was, and he would gladly die in this kind of bliss.
Pulling back, Hector looked down at you. The look of adoration in his eyes had your heart swelling. His hand caressed your cheek before sliding over your lips. Lightly, he pressed two of his fingers into your mouth. Your mouth accepted the intrusion willingly. Feeling the soft pad of your tongue against his fingers had Hector groaning. Giving them two pumps in your mouth, he pulled them out. Making sure you were watching, he brought them to his own lips. With a dark gaze, he slowly slid them into his mouth. A low groan rumbled in his chest.
“Have I told you how delicious you are, my darling?” He crooned.
You gave a small nod.
“Well, I must tell you again. You taste utterly divine.” He leaned back over you.
Pressing his lips to your neck, he left a trail of kisses down. Moving further down your body, he ended with his head between your thighs. Kissing your thighs, you felt his stubble tickle your skin. You let out a soft giggle.
“Is something funny?” He asked, eyes hungry.
“N-no. You just tickled me.”
“I apologize if that brought you discomfort.” He briefly looked concerned.
“No, my love. It didn’t feel bad at all.” You reached for his dark curls.
“I’m glad that is the case.” He kissed your thigh again. “Now, may I taste you some more?”
“Y-yes please!” You nodded your head vigorously.
“You seem excited.” He teased, then dived in.
The man gave you no time to think. A warm tongue slipped into your folds with fervor. Obscene wet sounds came from between your legs as he lapped at your soaked cunt. As if he needed to memorize your taste. Slurping up every bit of your essence as he could, then he turned to focus on your clit. A light flick had you buzzing, your previous orgasm had you very sensitive.
Moaning loudly, your hips jolted as he continued to lavish your clit. Little flicks sent that flare of heat back in your belly. At this pace he would have you cumming on his face in no time. Just as you felt the precipice of your peak, he pulled away.
Shocked, you looked down at him. A dopey smile was on his face. The man was clearly pussy-drunk, but sober enough to want to tease you. Evil, sexy, but still evil.
Whining, you reached for his hair. He pulled back slightly.
“My darling…” He slowly slid his tongue through your folds before coming back up, “is something the matter?”
Letting out a huff of frustration, you lifted onto your elbows. Glaring at him, you whined again.
“Yes! Something is the matter!” Shuffling, you tried pushing closer to him, but his arms held your thighs down. “I was so close to cumming!” You felt your pussy ache at the thought.
“So impatient. I’m only trying to savor something as delicious as yourself.” A cheeky grin was on his face.
Another slow lick up your folds had you jolting.
“However, I am partial to begging. I just might be willing to forgo my principles on the matter.” He finished with another long stripe with his tongue.
Letting out a frustrated huff, you clenched at your bedsheets.
“Please…” You let out a pathetic whine.
“Please what?” He kissed your thigh.
“Please let me cum.” You said softly.
“My love, I didn’t catch that.” There was a teasing lilt to his voice.
“Hector, please! Please let me cum!” Fine, you’d let go of some of your dignity.
“Was that so difficult?”
“Yes…” You muttered under your breath.
“What was that?” He teased.
“N-nothing!”
“Hmm, good.” He licked up your cunt. “Now, I must return to my meal.”
His tongue began flicking at your clit again. The heat in your belly rising once more. Every stroke of his tongue against you made it grow hotter and hotter. A well placed suck on your clit was your undoing. Thighs clenching around Hector’s head, you screamed and gushed over his face. The man took the offering gratefully, lapping up every last drop he could.
As you came down, he licked at you slowly. Aftershocks of pleasure shot through you with each pass of his tongue.
When he was satisfied, he stood up. Taking his time, he removed his clothes. Doing his best to maintain a confident aura, he crawled over you. Looking between you you glanced at his hard cock. A decent length with a wonderful girth that had your mouth watering. Oh, you needed him in you. Now.
Shuffling your hips, you tried to tease him. A surprisingly strong hand pushed your hips down. Shaking his head, he leaned down to capture your lips.
“My dearest, we ask for things we want. Don’t we?” His voice was so sweet, yet so commanding. It had you buzzing.
“Y-yes.”
“So?” He pressed.
“I want you to fuck me.” You breathed out shakily.
He shook his head at you, the look of disappointment in his eyes had your face flushing.
“You know better than that. Try again, my love.”
“Please, fuck me.” You said it loud enough.
“I’m so glad you asked, my love.” He kissed your nose.
Gripping your thighs, he lined his cock up with your soaked pussy. Slowly, he pressed in. As soon as he pushed past that first ring of resistance he was whining. Fuck, you felt so good.
When he was fully inside, he sat there for a moment. Adoration shined in his eyes as he looked at you beneath him. Wow, you were perfection. There was no other way to explain it. How lovely you looked under him. Your cheeks painted red, chest heaving, body shaking with pleasure. His eyes trailed down to where you were connected. He let out a groan at the sight. His thick cock pressed deep in your drenched pussy. It felt like you were getting even wetter.
Hector decided to move. Slowly pulling out almost all the way, he paused. Suddenly, he snapped all the way into you, forcing a choked out moan. Your head was thrown back at the surprise shock of pleasure.
Hands gripping your hips, Hector began to thrust in and out of you at a fast pace. Each push had you crying out. Tears of overstimulation pricked at your eyes. Hector almost came at the sight of the tear sliding down your cheek.
“My darling, oh… How do you feel?” He said in a husky voice, not stopping his movements.
“S-so good, so, so, so, ooooohhh.” You clenched your eyes shut as the head of his cock hit that perfect spot.
“Mmm, does that feel good my love?” He continued to focus his movements on the spot, his only goal was to make you cum on his cock. He needed to feel you. If he could, he would make you do it multiple times.
At this point, you could barely speak. Only nodding at his words as his cock repeatedly hit your sweet spot.
Deciding to add to your pleasure, Hector trailed his fingers down your body. Stopping right at your clit, he pressed against the sensitive nub. The action had you crying out, your pussy slightly tightening around him.
“Mmph, my dearest…” He crooned. “Look at you.” He pressed a deep kiss to your lips, tongue tangling with yours.
When he pulled back, he couldn’t stop looking at you. Each shock of pleasure on your clit and sweet spot had you moaning and shivering.
“You deserve this, my love.” He circled your clit. “Deserve so much pleasure. Let me take care of you.”
Another well placed thrust had you shattering. Your pussy clenched around his length tightly. He moaned at the feeling, but wouldn’t allow himself to finish. Not yet.
Hector continued to pump in and out of you as you came down from your high. Groaning, he felt your pussy flutter around his cock. Feeling like this, he didn’t know how much longer he would last, but he must persist.
He lifted your legs over his shoulders, pressing himself deeper inside. More tears flowed down your cheeks. Fuck, it was too much, yet oh so good. You didn’t want it to stop.
“Darling, do you think you could give me one more. Just one, that’s all I ask.” He begged against your lips before kissing you sloppily.
Again, all you could do was nod. Accepting everything the man was willing to give you.
Hector focused on grinding into your sweet spot. Every thrust had you crying out, pleasure built up in your core. His fingers remained steady on your clit, circling it over and over again. Your plush walls were tightening around him, signaling you were close once more.
“That’s it, my love. Let go, let me take care of you.” He purred.
It was becoming difficult for him to hold back. With you tightening around him, the sounds you were making, the fucked out look on your face, he could cum at any moment.
Sliding against your sweet spot, with a press to your clit had you cumming on his cock. The feeling of you clenching around him had Hector reaching his own peak. As he thrusted into you, he released warm ropes of cum. The feeling of him filling you was so satisfying, you hummed in content.
As both of you came down, Hector kissed all over your body. Leaving featherlight traces of his lips on your skin. It made you shiver at the intensity. Reaching for Hector’s hair, you carded your hand through his dark locks. Lightly, you pulled his head up to your face. Pressing a deep kiss to his lips, you moaned. Hector groaned as you tangled tongues.
Pulling away, Hector looked down at you. It was a sight he was going to remember for forever. Eyes glazed over, you looked like you were in pure bliss. Cunt stuffed full of himself and his spend. Fuck, you are so sexy.
When Hector pulled out, you both whined at the loss. As you were boneless, he took over. Wiping you off softly with a washcloth, then helping you to the bathroom. When you returned to the bedroom you slid under the covers of your bed. Hector pulled you tightly against him, as if he was afraid you were going to move away from him. To dissuade any worry, you nuzzled into him. Planting soft kisses up his chest and neck.
“Thank you.” You breathed out when you felt you could speak again.
“There is no need to thank me, my love.” He lifted your hand, planting a soft kiss on the top. “The pleasure is all mine.”
“I do need to thank you.” You looked at him with adoration. “You took care of me.”
“My darling,” he gave you a soft smile, “you did that all on your own.”
“I wouldn’t have done it if you didn’t ask for it.”
“The only thing I did was give you a push.”
“An incentive.” You nudged him teasingly.
“Yes, an incentive.” He pressed a soft kiss to your lips.
It was wonderful having him physically with you. You wouldn’t give it up for the world.
i havent written jean loo in days you all better kill me now LOL nsfw warning
He had hand fisted in your hair, the other resting over his stomach as he purred down at you, smug and sweet and so sure of himself.
“Oui, just like that… Jean Loo is very, very proud of you, chérie.”
But you didn’t stop.
You didn’t pause to collect praise, didn’t slow when his thighs began to squirm beneath your palms. You just kept going—your mouth soft, your tongue eager, your rhythm relentless. He was already overstimulated by the time he came the first time, moaning something filthy in French as his hips bucked up into your throat.
And then you just… didn’t stop.
“Ahh—chérie, Jean Loo—Jean Loo has already…” His voice faltered, cracking around your name. “Mon Dieu, tu veux me tuer…”
He could pull you off. You both know he could. But he doesn’t.
Not even when his hips began to writhe helplessly, not when his breath caught in his throat, not when his fingers tangled and tugged on your hair. He was far too proud to beg for mercy.
You looked up and saw it: the flutter in his lashes, the panic in his half-lidded eyes. He was trembling now, fighting to hold on, whispering your name like a confession.
Still, he didn’t dare stop you.
Because the feeling of your lips still wrapped around him, your tongue still worshiping him, your throat still open for him—it was too good. Too much. He was sweating, panting, shivering like you’d kissed something vulnerable out of him.
“Please…” he gasped, somewhere between a whine and a sob. “You—you must slow down, s’il te plaît, Jean Loo cannot—he will—mon amour—”
Another orgasm hit him like a wave. He choked on it, thighs clenching, mouth open in a desperate, silent cry. You swallowed around him and kept going, and that was what shattered him.
Jean Loo, naked and trembling, cock twitching in your throat, pupils blown wide, gasping merci like he’d never been touched in his life.
He gasps when your mouth doesn’t stop.
Now you’re still going. And Jean Loo is unraveling.
He’s panting when you finally let him go—soft, flushed, trembling.
He lacks firsthand experience in the bedroom, but you would have never known if you hadn't discussed this moment before it happened.
Xavier tucks your hair behind your ear and looks into your eyes, fully attentive and memorizing every answer as he asks about your preferences in bed, what you like best and if there's anything you're not comfortable with.
You smile when you ask him the same, wanting to know what he's interested in, what he'd like to explore. When your sweet boyfriend, flushed and honest, quietly admits to liking the idea of being dominant—of taking care of you.
I figured, you hum, and kiss him softly before whispering against his lips that you'd like that. You choose a safe word together, just in case you need to stop at any point, for any reason.
On a starry night after a nice dinner date, with the lamp in the corner of your bedroom dimmed by his shirt haphazardly thrown over the shade, a glass of water and lube on the bedside table and a pillow propped under your back, Xavier takes time to learn you completely, to map every inch of your skin.
Kissing every freckle, scar and stretch mark. Learning which flicks of his tongue make you tremble, how to suck just enough so your soft, strong Hunter's thighs tighten around his head.
And when he's as deep inside of you as he can get—hips flush together, forehead against yours, fingers entangled—that's when you see the specks of gold begin to dance around you.
The gentle light he subconsciously casts reverberates with each of his slow, deep thrusts, flickering with each groan he muffles against your neck. Soft, near silent whimpers breathe from his mouth into yours with each desperate, devoted kiss.
"Xavier," you whisper, nails digging gently into the nape of his neck, curling through his fluffy hair, and he moans. Quiet, intimate, a sound saved so long for your ears alone, and you watch as the entire expanse of his large body (perfect posture, gentle strength, curled around you to claim and protect) begins to glow.
He only gets brighter and brighter each time you clench around his throbbing cock, and you drip with your release every time he coaxes you through it. Lovingly, tugging you over the edge until you're falling, just so he can catch you, carry you down, and pull you back through it again.
You're reminded that Xavier is a talented musician by the way he plays you—beautifully, intricately, finding each spot to stroke and press against until you're singing for him, until you can't stop making that sweet music.
Each time your eyes roll back, you see that golden light pressing against your lids. You feel that solid, comforting weight of him against you as he whispers praise into your ear, your hips held steady in elegant fingers (leader, angel) and callused hands (killer, guardian).
So much of your love is still unknown, but when he's in your arms like this, when you've finally joined together in the most intimate of ways, he is golden and he is yours.
His face buries into your chest, planting sloppy kisses against your sweat-slicked skin. He looks up, face flushed and eyes dark with need that balances with sacrificial instinct, devotion that borders obsession, and consuming lust overshadowed only by the purest love.
And when he sees your lips parted with every sweet moan, lashes fluttering open to meet his gaze, the dim light of the room brightens with the golden glow of his skin when he cums deep inside you.
Xavier collapses on top of you after, chest heaving against yours, hips still lazily rolling to keep you stuffed with him. Each wave of overstimulation makes him glow a little brighter, and you're murmuring softly, your hands roaming over his shoulders and across his back.
When each wave of pleasure begins to ebb away, he hears every reverent word that falls, awestruck and breathless and utterly in love, from your pretty lips:
You're glowing, baby.
Look at you, so beautiful.
My sweet star, all mine.
He moans at that last one, mind going blank with pleasure and you (his love, his purpose, his guiding starlight), hips bucking forward and pulling a gasp from your throat.
You have to squint against the light he emits when he fucks up into you again, and again, his cum spilling out and soaking your sheets, making room to fill you up even more, until the morning light comes to replace his own.
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summary: To take the throne, you must also take a husband. When you meet the knight to have your hand, he is faceless, nameless. He hardly ever speaks, and never removes his armor. Every attempt to get to know him is to no avail. Frustration continues to take hold of you at your marriage to this stranger, until the tension reaches a breaking point on your wedding night.
★pairing: knight!xavier x queen!reader
★wc: 9.5k
★content: arranged marriage au. knight in armor xavier who doesn't take his helmet off. tension that comes with marrying a stranger. fluff & mild angst. smut, faceless sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, piv, loss of virginity. he guides you through it and frequently checks in. brief misunderstanding that's quickly cleared up. talk of marital duties and if you want an heir. slow romance. xavier has scars.
★a/n: I disappeared for a bit because writing this consumed me. also shoutout to @asiatic-apple for encouraging me to do this idea hehe ty ivy!!
★masterlist
You were barely past twenty two summers when your elder sister died, thus declaring you the next queen of your kingdom.
As the only other descendant of your family line, you had been prepared for the possibility of taking the throne since childhood. But while other prospective heirs across kingdoms longed for the day their own flesh and blood may meet an early end, you mourned for the loss of your kin.
Though you were not left to mourn for long. You wore the colors of it, but soon enough you were rushed through preemptive royal proceedings, readying you for a future that you had never quite believed could truly be yours.
Now that you were to be queen, there were things you must have. An overhaul of your entire wardrobe, for one. Gowns, jewels and perfumes must be custom tailored for your image alone, befitting your grace and power, and all the hope you embodied for a kingdom.
You must have ladies in court to accompany you and offer counsel, carefully interviewed and hand-selected to support you. You must have protection at all times, ready to die for you at any given moment.
And a queen must have a spouse, a stalwart partner to support her and all her decisions in a long, blessed life.
You had expected a prince, beloved by his people and low enough in the inheritance line of his own kingdom to allow him to wed you. Or perhaps a duke, well-liked with his handsome features and intellect. You would've even taken a general, an irreplaceable asset in talks of strategy.
What you had never anticipated was for your intended spouse to be a silent knight.
"He is to be my husband? Truly?" you ask your lead lady-in-waiting as she assists you in undressing your extravagant engagement gown. "Him?"
"The court has deemed him as such," Tara says as the velvety fabric the color of rich wine pools at your feet, moving to unlace the ties of your corset at your back. "Why? Is he truly so terrible?"
"I would not know," you say, laughing humorlessly as you think back to how still and stoic he had been. "He spoke naught for the entire engagement talks. He hardly moved, nor did he even remove his helmet."
Tara's fingers pause. "Truly? Even in the presence of his queen?"
"Not a soul made a comment on it," you huff, taking in a lungful of air when relief rushes into the release of your bosom from the corset's restraints. "And I am not queen until the ceremony which makes me his."
"It will make him yours, milady," Tara corrects gently, removing the undergarments from your weary form. "You will rule this kingdom. He is just a formality."
"He's a suit of armor," you scoff, irritation blooming into anger as you lower yourself into the steaming bath basin brought in after the long day. "I could not pick him out from any of the ones that line our halls."
"Then he is a decoration," Tara corrects as she rests her head on her elbows on the edge of the basin. "Hopefully a pretty one!"
She knows how you prefer to bathe yourself, and stays for conversation, even as you scrub at your own skin in jerky, annoyed movements.
"Only the gods know," you mutter, head tilting back as you sink further into the heated water. Your brows furrow as you stare up at the ceiling, tracing the intricate, swirling patterns there with your gaze. "Is he to always keep the armor on? Am I to marry him like that? What of our wedding night?!"
Tara coughs, cheeks an adorable pink at your blunt words, and you stifle an affectionate snort.
"Maybe he will draw the curtains?" she suggests, giggling at the thought, and you can't hold in your own laughter now at the ridiculous mental image. "And tell you not to look?"
You groan, holding your breath as you submerge yourself in the bath in favor of facing your daunting future of being married to a man hidden away from you in metal.
There is a very brief engagement period, more for show than anything else.
You suspect it also gives ample time for the court as they rush through preparations for the wedding itself. They were eager to put you on the throne as soon as possible, unwilling to leave the kingdom wanting of a ruler for much longer.
And being courted by your chosen fiancé is…well.
Courting is hardly a suitable term.
Sitting across from each other as you sipped at your tea, and he refused to lift his visor to partake in his own? Making idle comments on the weather, the color of your wedding dress, what flowers were being arranged, only to be met with stone cold silence from your husband to be?
Lovely.
You are all too well aware of the attention of your court chaperones in the parlor with you. As you are also aware of any tantrum you may want to throw not being tolerated.
You were no longer just a princess to be spoiled and entertained. You were to be queen, and to be married to a taciturn knight, who seemed to hold no possible interest or regard for you.
At one point, you swear you hear snoring coming from inside that helmet, but then his head is lifting the next.
"Am I to at least have your name?" you finally ask at one point, unable to keep all the bite out of your tone when you do.
There is an echoing hum of disapproval behind you, and your eyes slide away from the silvery helmet, gazing at the wavyleaf sea lavender dancing in the breeze through the window.
"It has been decided that it would not be for the best," one of your advisors says from behind you, and you lift your fingers to your lips, hardly muffling the bitter laugh that slips through.
"It has been decided," you repeat slowly, balling the fabric of your gown in your lap, frustration hidden underneath the tablecloth, "that it would not be best for me to know my own husband's name?"
Silence.
"That…is correct, Your Highness."
You turn your sharp gaze onto your fiancé, a smirk tilting up behind your hand when you hear the creak of his armor when he straightens a fraction under your attention.
"And does he agree to such conditions in our marriage?"
"He does," your advisor replies.
"So he will never speak?" you intone the statement, exasperated beyond measure.
"Ah…that is up to him, Your Highness," they say, and you glance off to the side again.
"And his face?"
"Again, it is not in your best interest—"
"Then I have heard enough."
You rise from your chair, delicately smoothing out the wrinkles you'd caused in your dress.
With tight-lipped smile, you nod towards the future companion of your life as he sits motionless, faceless, nameless. A complete stranger for all your days.
To hell with no tantrums. The least you could do before bearing the weight of the crown was show a little bit of how furious you were.
"Well then," you say, grinning with thinly contained malice. "I look forward to our matrimony and life together. I am sure we will be so very happy."
You ignore the sharp cries of your advisors behind you when you leave, and force yourself to keep going even when you hear the armor creak again, the chair pushed back.
You keep walking, and refuse to take any visitors for the rest of the day.
You have not looked back towards your ever present, stoic statue for your walk through the gardens.
You do not remember at what point he had slipped in behind you. It had been a lovely day, the scent of the lavender on the breeze calming enough to lure you out of your royal chambers. And with the wedding day fast approaching, you'd take any moment of solitude you could get.
It may have not even come to your attention that he had joined you if it wasn't for that telltale creak in the armor on your third bout around the garden.
You paused, and so did he.
For a long moment, you stood there, your dress the color of a slow approaching dawn fluttering in the floral breeze. The rose and lilac shades of the skirt tighten in your grip.
"Were you sent to follow me?" you ask finally.
Another moment passes, steeped in silence.
You sigh, ready to march back within the castle walls, desperate for as much time away from him as you could manage before you were bound to him forever.
Then, you hear a gentle voice carried to you on the wind.
"No, Your Highness," the knight says, and you freeze. "I was not."
His voice is…oh.
It is much softer than you had imagined. It carries with it a calm that almost washes over you, if you weren't so irritated by his existence in the first place.
You wait for him to say something, anything else.
He doesn't.
Slowly, you begin to walk through the gardens again.
You are acutely aware of his presence now as he follows behind you.
"May I have your name?" you ask finally, unable to curb the curiosity, the uncertainty of the unknown that gnaws at your insides when it comes to him.
"You may not."
You school your expression, head held high as ever, well-practiced at hiding your frustration when you truly wanted to.
You just liked to make it be known when you could afford it.
"Will you answer any of the questions I ask?"
He does not reply.
"Why do you hide your face?"
He is quiet. When you glance back, the knight is gazing off to the side.
You're certain he will not answer you now either, and you begin to move away.
"I was instructed not to offend Your Highness."
Your brow twitches, attention snapping back to him. "Offend me?"
He nods, finally turning back to you. The helmet still renders him unreadable as he states plainly, "I am well aware of the customs of court. Typically, a member of it with a face such as mine would quickly be expelled and hidden from your sight."
"I—"
You gulped, your anger at the situation ebbing in favor of a strange sensation by the tone he uses to speak. His voice is ever soft, nonconfrontational despite what he claims, and it gives you pause in confusion.
His face?
You glance over his armor, noting he did not don a ceremonial set that day. This one did not appear ostentatious, but practical, well-crafted for durability and protection. It appeared as if it had seen battle, bearing the dents and scratches that showed of a life paved with violence, steeped in blood and victory.
It greatly contrasted the gentle way in which he spoke, and the grace with which he carried himself, even as he was six feet in armor.
Your head tilts, wondering what battle-hardened visage may be hidden underneath that helmet.
"You are scarred, then," you say aloud with the realization.
He merely nods again.
You frown.
"So I am never to see you, my intended husband, due to scars."
"It was believed the best course of action would be to hide my face from you," the knight informs calmly, not showing a hint of discomfort or annoyance in his tone as you peer so closely at him. "So as not to offend your sensibilities."
You almost laugh, the bitter sound sticking in your throat.
"Ah, yes. My delicate sensibilities."
As if you were not the one would ensure the well being of an entire kingdom, overseeing all the good and ugly it had to offer.
"And when the queen orders you to show your face?" you counter, arching an eyebrow in challenge.
"You are not yet queen," he replies bluntly, his voice still soft, ever calm as he meets your challenge readily.
You laugh, loud and sharp, sending the birds nesting in a nearby tree fluttering away.
"What a unified front we will be, my beloved," you hiss through gritted teeth before marching past him.
He catches your wrist.
You whirl around, eyes blazing at the action.
"You dare to—"
But he's letting go in an instant, and you look to your hand that he had grabbed in confusion.
In your fingers is a single, small bunch of blue-petaled flowers.
"I am aware this is not your choice," the knight says softly, and the breeze picks up, brushing between you with the gentle scent of lavender once more. "And I am sorry. If I could…"
He trails off, and after a moment of holding your breath, he bows to you.
"Your Highness," he murmurs, and you watch as he departs, disappearing back within the castle walls.
If he could what? you think all day and into the night.
You wonder it in the days to come before the ceremony, gazing at the forget-me-nots you had pressed into a favorite book of poetry.
If he could not wed me? If he could show his face? Tell me his name?
Time before the crown would be yours passes by with your unanswered questions. The nights are restless, any moment alone spent pacing.
And each morning, you wake to a small, freshly picked bouquet of baby blue flowers sitting outside your doors.
The night before your wedding, it feels hard to breathe.
You toss and turn in your bed, sleep eluding you. The knowledge of sharing it at this same time tomorrow leaves you restless, and you sit up with a sharp groan, kicking the thick blankets off.
"I just need some air," you whisper to no one, pulling your dressing gown over your shoulders and tying it tight.
You evade the guards stationed through the corridors with practiced ease, feeling a familiar rush to when you would sneak through the halls as a child with your sister, out way past your bedtimes.
The thought of her makes your chest ache, like a corset pulled impossibly tight, cutting off your ability to breathe.
Your bare feet pad across the cold floors and into the grass when you exit the castle into the gardens. You suck in a lungful of the fresh night air, breathing out a sigh of relief when the scent of lavender surrounds you.
Pacing through the flowers, you let your fingers dance along the petals, reciting the names of each species and color in your mind to calm your nerves. Your heart begins to calm in its relentless pacing.
And then pain surges through your foot.
"Argh!" you yelp, hopping back on one foot as a dull thud rings in the air from whatever you had ran into.
"Mm?"
You jump, covering your mouth to smother a surprised screech at the unexpected, distinctly human sound.
Staring down at what your poor toes had collided with, you witness the sabatons of a polished set of armor shifting.
You follow the leg into the shrubbery, pulling aside leaves and baby blue flowers to see a familiar helmet facing up towards you.
"Oh," your fiancé's soft voice emits from inside of it, and you nearly throw your hands up into the air in exasperation. "It's you."
"What are you doing?" you hiss.
You glance around you, suddenly paranoid that you would be found with him like this, just one night before when you were actually supposed to be alone.
He's quiet, and you stare down at his large frame while he awkwardly perches himself up onto his elbows in the flowers.
"Napping."
You stare at him.
And stare.
"Do you not have a bed for that?" you whisper scream.
Gods, you were going to lose your mind married to this man.
"The lavender smells nice," he replies in the most tranquil, sleepy voice you have ever heard from a man of his size and caliber, helmet turning to gaze around at the gardens. "And the sky is clear."
Your mouth opens and closes, searching desperately for a witty, scathing response.
But they all fail you when he turns back to you and asks calmly, bluntly, "Are you eloping?"
You scoff. "With who?"
His pauldrons lift and drop, metal creaking in the silliest looking shrug you have ever seen.
"A lover."
You shake your head, turning away when you mutter, "Lucky for you, I have none."
The silence that falls between you feels like an ocean separating you from one another. Once again, you are reminded that you are no better than strangers, and tomorrow…
"There is nowhere I could run," you murmur, clutching across your chest to hold your shoulders, bracing against the night's cool breeze. "I wouldn't even know where to start." You laugh humorlessly. "As if they wouldn't find me within hours anyway."
"There's a nice seaside town at the northern edge of the kingdom," he says quietly, almost sounding wistful, and you turn back to him. His armor gleams in the moonlight, his helmet tilted up towards the stars. "The people are kind, and welcoming to strangers. I think it would take them about a week to find you there."
You blink, at a loss for words once again. It's a talent that your strange fiancé seemed to have just for you, on the rare occasions he did speak.
"I can lend you my horse," he keeps speaking, the tranquility in his soft tone slowly relaxing the tension in your shoulders. "She is a kind beast. It will give you a head start."
"Do you wish to be rid of me that much?" you whisper, choosing to believe anything other than the cruel hope that you may actually have a choice for yourself.
He shakes his head, moonlight catching off the steel of his helmet.
"I made no such claims," he says, his voice steady, resolute.
This, you actually do dare to believe, and to your own bewilderment, it softens you.
"Sit with me?" your future husband asks, offering an armored hand up to you. "The stars are beautiful tonight."
You hesitate, then slip your hand into the leather. His glove beneath the gauntlet is warm with his body heat, and he helps you sit, looking away for your decency as you adjust your dressing gown to cover yourself completely before lying back.
You hate to admit it, but the strange, stoic knight is right. There is hardly a cloud in the sky, and you can see the constellations clearly, shining brightly for you in this quiet, stolen moment.
When he says nothing for a while, you assume he has fallen asleep again.
"Why do you leave me flowers?" you whisper the question that has haunted you, relying on the certainty of him not hearing.
He shifts beside you, and you nearly jump out of your skin.
"Do I need a reason?" he asks, clear and awake.
"Well—" Words fail you, and you find yourself hating that he can manage to rob you of your gift of talk and charm, the one thing you had always relied on in your life of court politics. "I suppose not."
"Do you not like them?"
You turn your face away so he cannot see how he's flustering you.
"I made no such claims," you mutter his own words from earlier.
"So you do like them."
"Be silent," you snap, more bashful than as seriously annoyed as you have been, restlessly pulling your dressing gown tighter around yourself.
Your ears perk up when you hear the most quiet, melodic giggle.
Head snapping around, you stare at the knight, who quickly shuts his mouth.
"I said silence!" you repeat.
"My apologies, Your Highness," he replies smoothly, distinctly not following your order, and you swear you hear a smile in his voice.
You huff, throwing your head back into the flowers.
"You look ridiculous," you mutter, shifting restlessly, "by the way. Wearing your armor, lying in the garden. Napping."
"Thank you," he says serenely.
You snort, a genuine sound of amusement that slips past your lips, and you cover them with surprise.
His armor creaks when he turns to look at you.
You turn back, staring wide-eyed into the reflection of yourself in his shining helmet.
And for just a moment, you think you see a glimpse of wide eyes staring back through the visor.
You think they might look just like the starry sky above you.
Then he shifts again, and the image is gone.
You both lay your heads back once more. The atmosphere of the moment shifts, a tension different from the one haunting you for weeks making your heart flutter, your stomach lighter.
"Were you truly asleep just now?" you mumble, adjusting your dressing gown as a breeze slips past, the aroma of lavender washing over you and your faceless fiancé as you lay together in the bed of flowers.
"Mhm."
"And were you asleep when we had tea?"
"…Yes," he answers quietly, and you bite your lip to stifle a laugh at how bashful he sounds. "Just for a bit. I am sorry, truly."
A giggle escapes you, and you cover your mouth with both your hands. Still, it doesn't hide the way that you fall into a fit of laughter, all the nerves from the weeks of stress leading up to the wedding lifting from your muscles.
There's a soft, nervous chuckle echoing from inside the helmet beside you, and you turn back to your fiancé.
Who would become your husband come tomorrow.
You suck in an unsteady breath, pressing a hand to your face to hide it from him.
"Are you alright?" he whispers, shifting beside you, and you can feel the intensity of his gaze upon you even with his face completely hidden. "Are you feeling sick?"
"I am fine," you say quickly, smoothing out your dressing gown again. "Just…nervous."
Your voice gets quieter when you admit it, and you keep your face turned away. You couldn't help but feel helplessly vulnerable around him, when he could see you, and you could never read his face, could hardly ever hear emotion in his voice when he rarely spoke.
"I am too."
The whispered confession makes your heart clench, and you turn back to him.
"Truly?"
He nods, and you feel the anxiety in your chest ease, just a fraction.
"I am sorry that it's me," he murmurs, and it makes your eyes sting, something aching deep within you at how honestly apologetic he sounded.
This wasn't as fair to him as it was to you, you realize with sudden clarity. You are both the same.
You sniff, wiping at your burning eyes, and find yourself shaking your head.
"Well, you are better than some spoiled prince," you say in a choked voice, and he huffs a laughs under his breath. "I may not see your face, or even know your name, but…you have been kind to me tonight."
The warm leather of his gloves grazes across your fingers in the grass, and you hold your breath when his own fingers gently intertwine with yours.
"I only ever want to be kind to you," he whispers to you, sounding so brutally honest, the waver of his gentle words as vulnerable as you feel, and it nearly pulls a sob from your throat.
"Well," you sniff, years of training to gain control of your emotions triggering in a split second to suppress them. "If I never see you, I can pretend you look as handsome as I please."
He laughs, a gentle chuckle that has warmth rolling through your chest, and you smile.
"You should return to your rooms," he says kindly, and you see his shining armor in a new light when you let him help you sit back up, and then stand. "It will be a long day tomorrow, you need rest."
"Yes, of course," you mumble, brushing grass and stray flower petals off your dressing gown.
You gaze back up at the visor in his helmet, at the darkness within, wondering what color eyes were peering back at you.
The knight takes your hand in his once more, and you watch as he lifts it to his helmet, resting the back of it against the cool steel, where his lips would be beneath.
Your heart skips a beat, and you hold your hand close to your chest when he gently relinquishes it.
"Good night," he bids you, and you drop into a curtsy by habit.
"Good night," you whisper, "my knight."
Your wedding feels a solemn affair.
And, yes. Your groom dons armor for the event.
It is a ceremonial set, unmarred by battle. Unlike the one in the garden, when you had felt for the first time there was a human inside the armor.
His wedding armor is decorative, floral and star motifs engraved in the shining silver. There is a lovingly crafted depiction of the moon and its phases across the cuirass, and the helmet has golden wings coming out from the sides.
You must admit that it is beautiful, shimmering in the light of the chandeliers above you.
Even with the understanding you had felt the night before, you still would have preferred seeing the face of the man you were about to be bound to for the rest of your life and rule over your kingdom.
You commit to your vows, as he does his. To be wife and husband, queen and prince consort, until one of you may meet the end of your days.
The celebrations that follow are stifling. There is no parading through the streets, no addressing the masses just yet. Though the weight of the crown is now on your head, there will come another official ceremony for the people to witness. Tonight is purely for the union of the queen and her new beloved.
There are guests from other kingdoms as you wine and dine, though your husband eats nothing. He is still silent, and now present, unwavering from your side through the evening and into the night.
You only part when darkness falls, your ladies-in-waiting ushering you to your bedchambers to ready you for your wedding night. They bustle around you, speaking in hushed, excited tones, and only Tara runs over things with you directly.
"I know, my dear," you sigh, smiling at her as she tells you again where it goes, how it feels, how it may pinch or hurt but to not be afraid, it would be over quick. "I'll be fine."
You're undressed and freshened up in the tittering of excitement. The only request you dare to make is for your lavender bath oil, which you take time to rub into your skin as it thrums with a tingling, heated energy.
"I will be here first thing in the morning," Tara says as she hugs you tight, taking one last moment to fix the white lace of your delicate shift. "And remember, the candles—"
"Must be blown out, yes, I know."
You sit on the edge of your bed in the silence that follows, the first time you've caught your breath since the night before.
You think of the knight, how the glove of his hand had been warm in yours. How sweet he had sounded when he admitted to being nervous too.
Gazing at the last candlestick alight next to your bed, you lean forward to blow it out before you lose all your confidence.
Time seems to stretch on endlessly before you hear the tentative knock on your doors.
"Is it my husband?" you call out, willing your voice not to shake as much as your hands trembled where they gripped your blankets.
There is silence for a beat.
"It is," his soft voice replies, and you grip the sheets tighter.
"You may enter."
When he does, it is with no clanking of metal, no armor. Only the whispers of fabric and soft footsteps, and your heart races in your chest. You force yourself not to look towards where you feel him lingering at the door once he closes it.
It's not like it would matter. The room was dark, the curtains drawn, as you and Tara had once joked about.
Nothing seemed funny now, with the nerves nearly eating you alive.
"We don't have to do this," he whispers, and you shiver from hearing his voice so clearly without the helmet, in the intimate silence of your private rooms this late at night, knowing what was to come. "If you do not want to."
"It is my marital duty, as it is yours."
"But if you do not desire—"
"Do you not desire it?" you counter, finally pushing yourself up to sit.
The question left unspoken hangs in the still, tense air between you.
Do you not desire me?
He was kind the night before, but had always been detached before. Even if he was polite, it did not mean that he wanted this. That he wanted you.
Why do you so badly wish for his desire?
You gaze aimlessly towards your doors, where the shadow of him hovers on the precipice of confirming the last step of your marital bond, and you swear you can feel him hesitate.
"I do not want you to be uncomfortable."
"Then do not make me uncomfortable," you reply easily.
Tara's advice echoes through your mind, and you shift forward onto your hands and knees, emboldened as you crawl to the end of your large, plush bed.
"Men are supposed to enjoy it," you murmur, gripping onto one of the posts at the corner of your bed. "I see no reason why a woman cannot as well."
The knight lets out a heavy breath.
"A woman can enjoy it," he assures you, his gentle voice suddenly low. "A gentleman will ensure his wife enjoys it."
Something burns inside you with the sound of his voice, ringing so clear in the privacy of night, so dark with intent. The tension that has lingered between you goes to your head, and turns into a heat simmering low in your stomach, your thighs squeezing together.
You know now why you crave his desire.
"Then show me," you whisper.
You desire him.
And he finally moves with the sound of that desire in your voice when you call for him.
Your knightly husband approaches the bed slowly.
"Lay back," he commands you, gentle but firm, and you should be irritated by it. You were to be ruler, not him.
But something in the way this gentle knight waits patiently at the edge of your bed, stripped of the armor that protects him, has you heated with anticipation, shifting slowly to lay yourself out for him.
"You know what happens?" he breathes the question out, still hovering on the edge of something more. "In the marital act?"
"Yes."
One of your hands fists into the sheets by your head, the other in the soft fabric of your wedding shift.
"Do you know you should be readied first?" he breathes, the bed finally dipping beneath his weight.
You find it hard to breathe when you feel him climbing up the bed towards you. Your husband, faceless and nameless but yours, and gods that shouldn't excite you so much. But it has your core throbbing, thighs clenching together in search of some relief.
"Answer me, Your Majesty," he murmurs your new title, low voice dripping with sinful promise, and you jump with a gasp when his fingers graze lightly along your knee.
"No," you rush out, shaking your head even if he cannot see it in the darkness of the room. "I was not aware of that."
His hand curls around your knee, lifting your leg up slowly, easing your thighs open until they fall apart.
"Before I give you my cock," he whispers, pressing a kiss to the inner part of your knee, and you whimper quietly at the filthy words. "I use my fingers."
The knight brushes his lips a bit higher, then stops.
"Do you permit this, my queen?"
You blink rapidly, surprise melting way to a warm feeling of awe that he's asking for permission, and how he uses your title with reverence. It gives you a moment to think as he waits patiently for your honest answer, and the tension through your muscles begins to ease.
"Yes," you admit in a hushed whisper, the truth a breath from your lips. Then you confirm, louder, "Yes, I do. I…want it."
His hand is bare on you, large and warm, and you feel the slick on your thighs when you rub them together subconsciously.
You suck in a breath, and correct yourself quieter, a confession, "I want you."
He lets out a shaky exhale, grip tightening on you. Your knight nods against your thigh, and slowly kisses up it.
"Have you done any of this before, my queen?"
"No," you breathe out, gripping your shift for purchase when he slips the fabric up over your stomach so you are bare to him. "I—well, I have touched myself, out of curiosity."
Your voice trails off with the admission, and you cover your face with your arm.
"Have you felt a climax?" he asks, unashamed.
You bite your lip, flustered. "Once or twice, yes," you whisper, and he hums in approval against your inner thigh.
He kisses it softly, rubbing circles into your other thigh with his fingertips. You can feel the callouses on each one, and you wonder how he looks when he wields a sword.
Does he fight with a shield, or in a dueling stance? A longsword or a greatsword? Is he graceful and elegant, or aggressive and relentless?
When he kisses your skin again, he whispers against it, "Would you give me the honor of touching you now?"
You nod, then remember he can't see you either, and say, "Yes." In a quieter voice, you add in a whimper, "Please."
Seconds pass while you hold your breath, watching for his touch where you need it most.
Then, your breath escapes you in a long whine when his rough fingertips barely graze against your slit.
"Oh!" you gasp in surprise at the sensitivity from him touching you intimately in the darkness, even if just barely.
Your hips twitch and jerk up, and his palm finds your thigh, pressing it down by instinct.
The way he wields control is graceful, heady and addicting to be under, and you decide his fighting style must be elegant. Precise, measured.
Is he just an esteemed knight, or a general? Or perhaps of royal blood, a bastard of some far kingdom thrown into military service? How long has he trained? Where has he lived? Who has he fought?
"Do you want me to keep going, Your Majesty?"
Your lashes flutter, and you nod rapidly. "Yes, please."
His fingers press against you again, confident and gentle. They trace along your slit again, collecting your slick, all the way up to where you have found you are most sensitive.
"You are already wet," the knight murmurs, sounding surprised and…pleased?
It makes your sex clench, and you whine, wiggling your hips impatiently.
He presses down on your thigh more firmly, keeping you parted for him to collect more of the slick dripping from your entrance.
Then his touch trails up, pressing firm, slow, tight circles into that bundle of nerves and oh.
"There you are," he whispers, pressing kisses into your inner thigh as you moan quietly, hips rolling up into his touch. "How does it feel?"
"It feels like—" you break off with a choked gasp when his thumb flicks across it, then rubs it faster, making your mind go blank for a moment. "Hot. Tight. Good. Like pleasure."
He kisses your thigh again, and you swear you feel his lips tilting up against your skin.
Is he…smiling?
"I can use my mouth as well," he informs you, his voice calm, almost innocent, and your eyes widen at the thought. "Would you like me to try?"
You bite your lip as you try and imagine what he would look like with his face pressed to your sex, if only you could see it. What colors eyes would be peering up at you as he tasted you?
But somehow, the thought of him still being invisible to you as he kisses the most intimate part of you has excitement coursing through your veins.
"Do it," you murmur, the nature to command coming as easily to you as it does to him.
He needs no further instruction.
His hot tongue licks a long, flat stripe up your core, and you gasp, hips bucking up.
"Oh gods—"
His lips close around where his fingers were just driving you mad, and he sucks the bundle of nerves into his mouth, tongue circling it as he plays you like a beloved instrument, like he was a talented musician as well as a soldier.
It has you whining, thighs closing around his head as the pleasure grows hotter, sharper. It builds up quickly in the pit of your stomach, and you try and get impossibly closer.
When he pulls back, you whine in disappointment, and his answering chuckle has you trembling.
"I need to prepare you," he whispers, the tips of his fingers prodding at your entrance, and you stiffen by reflex. His other hand strokes gently at your thigh, easing your legs back open. "Relax for me. I want you to feel that climax you've felt before. Do you want that too?"
You suck in a deep breath.
"Yes, I do."
The knight slowly dips the tip of one of his fingers inside you, and you bite your lip.
But he pulls back out, testing just his fingertip a few times, before sinking it in further.
You hiss in a breath at the unfamiliar sensation, and he pauses.
"Do you not like it?"
"It's—" you steady your breath, adjusting to the feeling of his thick finger a few inches deep in you. "It's different."
"Do you want me to continue?"
You roll your hips in a test, and you both gasp when your cunt sucks him in further, clenching around him by reflex.
The knight groans quietly into your thigh, and you answer, "Yes. Keep going."
He carefully thrusts his finger in until he's completely inside you and, gods, it's long. The calloused tip strokes at your tight walls, and you moan, parting your legs further for him.
"You're so warm," he breathes against your skin, brushing his lips down to your sex again to attach them back to that pleasure spot.
It has you gasping, thrashing gently when he circles his tongue around it, his finger slowly pumping into you.
"Oh gods that—"
He hums against your core, and your lips fall open in a soundless cry from the added pleasure of the vibration of his soft voice there.
"Pleasurable?"
"Very," you moan, bucking your hips into his face when he slowly prods another finger into your tight hole.
The longer he thrusts his fingers into you, the less tense you feel. Your body relaxes, accepting him, sucking him back in whenever he began to draw back for another thrust of his fingers.
And when he begins to curl them, and brushes those calluses against somewhere that makes pleasure spark hot down your spine, you cry out softly.
"There," he mumbles to himself, and strokes that spot again.
"Y-you—"
Words escape you for the first time in your life, and you reach down by reflex, your restless fingers tangling into his hair.
You gasp softly at the same time he moans, his fingers thrusting into you with fervor. Your eyes roll back as you stroke our own fingers through his hair, impossibly soft, longer than you had imagined.
Was it brown? Blond? Perhaps a more fantastical color that hid under his helmet?
The wet sounds of his hand smacking against your skin with each thrust of his fingers into your soaked cunt is obscene, and has your toes curling, grabbing onto his hair tighter. Hot pleasure keeps growing in your gut until you feel yourself about to burst with it.
He moans again when you subconsciously yank at his hair. He's still stroking that spot each time you suck him back in, his tongue rubbing against you, and you climax against your knight's face with a nameless moan for him.
It's a high pitched cry, loud, restless, and mellows out with quieter groans as he works you gently through each wave of pleasure.
His soft kiss against your overstimulated nerves makes you twitch, and he smiles against your stomach.
"You should be ready now," he murmurs, and your mind spins at the thought of more. "If you still…?"
"I still want to," you confirm breathlessly, tugging at his hair, and the answering grunt is delicious, sparking more desire in your soaked cunt, a longing to be filled by him completely.
He pulls himself up over you, and you hear the rustle of fabric, then him grunting quietly, wet slaps echoing, before you feel it.
You jump as the head of him slips through your slick. It's curved, bigger than his fingers, and you clench in anticipation of taking it all.
It catches on your entrance, and you whimper when he begins to slip in.
"Tell me if it's too much," he whispers, his voice suddenly shaky as he lowers himself onto his arms over you. "My queen?"
"Yes," you breathe, trembling as he begins to sink into you.
He does it in short thrusts, rolling his hips to almost slip out of you before slowly easing himself back in, giving you time to adjust.
And gods, he is big. Impossibly long and thick, throbbing deliciously as your body welcomes him in.
A part of you can't help but be glad that you can't see it, knowing you'd be overwhelmed by both seeing the size of him, and being under his sharp gaze as you squirm beneath him.
When he bottoms out, his hips flush against yours, you both sigh in unison.
Your knight gives you another moment to adjust. His hand finds your thigh, stroking gentle circles into it with his thumb, and you wonder if he even realizes he's doing it.
Then he thrusts into you once, filling you completely, and your eyes flutter shut.
When he does it again, a whimper escapes from your throat, and he promptly stops.
"Does it hurt?" he asks, hushed in the darkness.
You fingers flex and clench into the sheets above your head multiple times, trying to find the words he'd stolen from you along with the breath from your lungs.
"…No," you answer honestly after a tense moment. Even if you cannot see his eyes in the night, you still find yourself gazing off towards the side in shyness. "It…feels good."
Your knight—no, your husband—pauses above you.
Then, ever so slowly, he rolls his hips, grinding his pelvis into that spot above your folds that makes your toes curl.
"And this?" he whispers, dark and intense, and you bite your lip.
"G-good," you stutter out, breath hitching loudly when he bucks into you once with an obscene sucking sound, and then does it again.
"This?"
"Good," you gasp, grabbing at your pillows, head thrashing to the side when he keeps bucking into you.
Your skin slaps together with each deep thrust, loud and wet, the sound filling up your large chambers along with the scent of sweat and musk. He's impossibly deep, picking up speed, making it hard to think clearly.
"Very good," you breathe, voice shaky with mounting pleasure.
"Truly?" he breathes right next to your ear, his lips grazing it.
You whine loudly, your hand flying up to try and find purchase on his back.
But his skin is bare, no hinges of metal to hang onto. It's soft, smooth, only for your fingers to run across the occasional raised skin across his shoulders, down the span of his broad back.
Scars, you think, and wonder what each one looks like as you blindly trace them.
Your mind spins with the knowledge of him, this strong and silent man, being exposed to you at last, only for you not to see one bit of him.
But he's all around you, deep inside of you, utterly consuming you with every thrust and grind of his hips against yours. Your fingers curl against his back a few times, desperate to ground yourself.
When your nails scrape against him, and he lets out a quiet grunt, your scattered thoughts fizzle out.
Do it again, is all you can think when your mind comes back to you, even as you can't find the words to tell him. Make that sound again.
You eagerly dig your nails into his back, and he spasms above you, pulling out almost entirely only to thrust back into sopping cunt, bottoming out and bucking up into you rapidly.
"O-oh," you moan breathlessly, both hands coming up to grab at him.
You dig your grip into him at every spot you grab, leaving marks you'd never see. Your back arches off the bed each time he grunts and moans quietly into your ear from the sensation.
He feels good, you think distantly, more drunk off the knowledge than the finest of wines you'd consumed on your wedding night. All the opulence and celebration pales in comparison to this moment, when you and your husband were one—faceless and nameless as he is, he is yours. You're making him feel good.
His chest presses to yours as he leans his weight into you, his arms wrapping around your torso to hold you tight to him. He breathes against your ear, quick and shallow, as he makes soft, broken sounds.
Too distracted by the deep grind of his hips into yours, stimulating you right where you need it, you don't realize for a few moments that the broken sounds he makes are the syllables of your name.
You come apart for him with a sharp cry that breaks halfway, mouth open in soundless pleasure while your cunt spasms around his cock, drenching him in your sweet release.
"You—" he gasps, dull nails digging into your hips as they lazily thrust up to meet his own, riding out the waves of your climax. "Did you—"
He breaks off with a strangled moan, and gives a few last, deep thrusts before he's suddenly gone.
You whine at the loss of him when he slips out and away so easily. Your eyelashes flutter as you force your eyes open, transfixed by the dark shape of him over you as his hips jerk, hand moving quickly while grunting quietly, and your thighs are coated in something warm and wet.
"What…?" you breathe, your mind slowly playing catch-up, blinking rapidly. "Why did you…?"
Your thighs twitch when he runs his fingers across them, collecting his release with yours, and smearing them onto the sheets below you.
"Your maids will deliver it to your court advisors in the morning." How he still manages to sound so calm while catching his breath, you have no idea, and it makes something dark and ugly twist where pleasure just bloomed in your gut. "For proof of the marital duty being fulfilled."
"But you didn't—" you breathe heavily, pushing yourself up onto your arms as he shifts off the bed. "You were supposed to finish inside of me. There is no fulfillment unless you do so."
"It is close enough. They cannot tell the difference."
You watch his shadowy figure move, hearing the rustle of fabric.
"And now you are leaving?" you snap. "Just like that?"
"Not yet," he answers, his hushed, unbothered tone only infuriating you further.
He moves through the dark, towards the direction of your vanity, and you turn to stare at the wall. Anger stews in you, your body tense despite the lingering pleasure, knuckles tight in the sheets as you hear the pitcher of water being poured.
You don't want to look towards him.
You don't.
But you give into that inexplicable temptation anyway, that curiosity that lingers for any impossible glimpse of him, only for your breath to catch in your throat.
While you had been expecting the same tall figure drenched in shadows, you were graced with a sliver of moonlight peeking through your curtains to fall across his back, still turned to you.
His skin is pale and smooth, with a dusting of a pink flush across his broad shoulders. There is a long, faded scar across the back of the right one, nearly covered up by the hair that falls past them. The soft strands appear white, perhaps silver. Or maybe it's just the pale moonlight that makes it appear so.
When your husband begins to turn back towards you, you quickly look away, eyes readjusting to the darkness once more while he approaches.
I should have kept looking, you think when you feel the edge of the bed dip under his weight. What color are his eyes, I wonder? How sharp or soft is his brow? Are his lips full? Thin? Is his nose—
You jump at the cool cloth that presses between your thighs, a sharp hiss escaping through your teeth.
"Sorry," he whispers as he gently wipes away the evidence of your coupling from your sensitive flesh. "I tried to warm it between my hands."
You soften slowly, the tension held tightly throughout your body melting away as he cares for you. The act has something warm curling up inside your chest, your eyes suddenly hot and heavy.
"Why didn't you do it?" you whisper, still gazing off to the side, even when you feel his gaze upon you in the dark. "Why did you not fill me?"
His hand slows in wiping down your thigh. Instead, his thumb swipes across it, and you shiver at the light, calloused touch.
"Do you want children?"
"I am expected to have an heir," you answer quickly, automatically, the duty of it instilled in you.
"But do you want one?" he presses. His insistence is gentle, yet unwavering. "And do you want it now? Right as you have become queen of a kingdom that needs your guidance?"
You turn fully onto your back, gazing at where he hides from you in the shadows.
But even though his face is unknown, his name still a mystery, his voice is a comfort. It is a warm balm to your soul, when you didn't even know it was aching under the pressure of your new position.
"I was never given the choice," you whisper, unsure.
"I am giving you the choice now," he answers, strong and gentle at once.
You swallow thickly, allowing yourself the precious moment he had given to you. A wedding gift greater than any other, to be able to think and dream only for yourself.
"Not yet," you admit, quiet and intimate, for his ears alone.
"Then I will not fill you," he confirms, rubbing his thumb in gentle circles into the sore muscles of your thigh, and your eyes flutter shut with a sigh. "Not yet. Not until you ask me for it, if you ever do."
You push yourself up onto your arms.
"Then you will do what I ask of you?" you breathe, a hope inside of you suddenly blooming.
"You are my queen." It is a repetition of his oath, only for you to hear now. His soft voice is a caress to your senses, as much as his hands that find your waist, stroking lightly up your sides.
It's quieter still, intimate with devotion you hadn't dreamed of receiving from him when he adds, "And you are my wife. I will do as you command me."
You shake your head.
"What I ask of you," you insist in correction, feeling the need to give to him what he had given to you. The same grace, equal footing to stand on. "As your wife, I merely ask it of you."
He moves closer, leaning over you, the bed dipping further under your combined weight when you lay back again.
"Then what do you ask of me?" he whispers, blindly feeling for your hand in the sheets.
When he brings it to his mouth, he presses a lingering kiss to the heel of your palm, and your heart skips a beat.
His voice is unbelievably tender, the moment reminiscent of a stolen secret, just like the night before, when he adds softly, "My wife?"
You let out a shuddering breath, reaching for him. Your hands palm up his chest and down his stomach, feeling it's soft but toned, the muscles jumping under your touch.
"Let me see you?"
You feel him stiffen above you at your hushed request, and you reach blindly for his face.
"Please?" you ask, your fingers meeting his skin, gingerly tracing a few inches of his jaw before you pull them back.
You lose your breath when he catches your hand in his.
Slowly, he brings it back up to his face. His long fingers direct your palm open, and you let him guide it to his cheek. A soft, keening noise leaves your throat when you feel him sink into your touch.
"Do you truly wish to see me?" he asks, breathless and unsure. "You may not be pleased."
"Yes," you answer instantly. Swallowing thickly, you add, "I wish to see my husband on my wedding night."
He drops your hand, and you almost feel disappointment before he's leaning over and past you.
Then, a moment and a match flaring to life later, your room is suddenly awash in the warm, gentle glow of candlelight.
You blink rapidly, gazing across his chest once your vision adjusts.
Scars litter across otherwise unblemished skin, and your fingertips dance across each one, down to the soft roundness of his stomach that was hidden underneath that heavy armor.
Your heart is lodged somewhere in your throat when he slowly leans back, letting you see all of him.
And, gods above, he is beautiful.
You suck in an unsteady breath, glancing over his face. You're overwhelmed by all of him all at once, more so than when he had been inside of you in the dark, in awe of how ethereal he was in the lone flickering candlelight.
Your husband's eyes are blue, bright like a spring's sky, calm as the surface of a lazily running river. His brow is both soft and sharp, his nose handsome. His cheeks are soft and flushed when his gaze shies way from your scrutiny, and his lips so full, so pink.
And his hair was long, a color of which you'd never seen the likes of before. You had thought it was white, perhaps silver-toned in the moonlight, until the candlelight cast it golden, creating a glowing halo effect around his head.
"I know," he murmurs, and you blink out of your daze. "The scars are unsightly. I am sorry, I shouldn't have—"
"No," you say quickly, cupping his face eagerly, and his eyes widen, shooting back towards your own.
Glancing over them now, you can't imagine why anybody would call his scars such. The faded red of the raised skin did nothing to eradicate the ethereal beauty of his face. To keep such a handsome, angelic visage hidden away forever seemed more than a shame, it felt like a crime.
You trace the pattern of the first scar, how it splits into two through his eye. First, you graze your touch up into his light brow, where the light hair won't grow back from the healed skin. Then you follow the line down across his elegant cheekbone, to the edge of his jaw.
Moving gently, your thumb brushes up along the raised edge of the next scar jutting from his bottom lip, and you feel his breath stutter on a shaky exhale right against your skin.
"You are beautiful," you whisper, breathless with honesty, caressing the corner of his lips with your thumb.
You watch with held breath when you graze it along his bottom lip, dizzy with how he willingly parts it for you.
Your hands come up to cup his face, and you peer up into his eyes.
The blue is impossible to see now, swallowed up by his dilated pupils. Even so, there is an emotion that wavers in them, in how his eyes flicker across your face, the thinnest shred of restraint held in the tension of his arms resting on the bed around you.
"And you are my husband," you breathe against his lips.
You recognize the emotion when he looks down at your own lips, his calloused thumb brushing up under your chin, grazing along your jaw.
Longing.
"Will you give me your name?" you breathe, fingers trailing down his nose, tracing the shape of his lips, addicted to mapping out the sight of him, in case you never got the chance again. "My husband?"
He exhales, the sound shaky as you feel the warmth of it against your fingers. His eyes are so deep and blue just in the candlelight, and you find you cannot wait to see them in the light of day.
"Xavier," your knight without his armor whispers, and you feel warm with an indescribable hope when he leans in. "My name is Xavier."
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HEEELPPP a six year old just came into the nature center and she had SO many questions. it's pouring rain and nobody else is here but her family so non-stop for an hour she had my full attention. by the end of it i had half my field guides open to various insects and mammals and birds and she just kept going.
she became extremely fixated on bigfoot and asked about the ways people try to prove its existence until I was explaining DNA to her, and she asked such thoughtful questions! she said, "what if someone found a skull they thought might be bigfoot, and there was hair left over. could we use DNA from hair to prove it's bigfoot?" but before i could answer, she said, "but if you don't have a living bigfoot that you KNOW is bigfoot, to take hair from, how could you know this hair from this dead bigfoot is really bigfoot hair?" !!!! what an awesome question!!
so this 6 year old and i started discussing control groups in scientific studies and she was so engaged!!
then the bigfoot talk led to discussions of extinction which led to dinosaurs, and she said, "what I don't understand is why people say dinosaurs are extinct, but they also say that dinosaurs became birds. how could they all be extinct if they became something else?"
she asked questions that really challenged me in that figuring out how to answer them on the fly in a way that's digestible wasn't totally straightforward.
a few minutes ago, the adult with her said it was time to go and get ice cream and she said, "can't you see I have 1,000 more questions to ask? i have to just bloooowwww them all out now so you don't have to answer them later."
I saw my younger self in her so much LOL. They said they're coming back tomorrow and I said, "I won't be here, but my colleague knows even more than I do!" And she said, "Well, I hope so. He's gonna need to."
I'm glad everyone is as charmed by this kid as I was hahaha! At one point I was just sitting on the floor with her going through a guide to North American mammals, discussing every single cat.
image description: a photo captioned "it is Earthquake's birthday today!" of an orange cat that looks like it's smiling really big with wide eyes and mouth (probably actually meowing). it's standing behind a cake in a glass dish with a number 7 candle and letters spelling out "happy birthquake"
It’s something you didn’t realize until Yvonne pointed it out shortly after Zayne had rushed off for an emergency operation. “You two are very reminiscent of cats.”
“Huh?” You only turned to look at her after Zayne had disappeared from your sight. Cheeks a little warm as she smiled at you. “You two said goodbye, but when Dr. Zayne kissed your cheek, he nuzzled you with his nose… you nuzzled him right back. It was pretty cute.”
You can't even say anything in response, your mind slightly malfunctioning as you think back on all the times you and Zayne have subconsciously nuzzled into each other.
You mean to tell Zayne about it when he gets home, just to see his ears grow red and his cheeks pink as he realizes his own habit.
Except, you forget about it when he gets hime. It's not until he's on top of you, his face buried in your neck, that it dawns on you. "You're like a kitten, Z." His body weight is settled snuggly on top of you, a slight hum sounding from his mouth as he processes your words.
"So are you." It vibrates your skin, makes you giggle a little harder and your nails scratch his scalp a little harder. "Yvonne pointed it out today, y'know. I couldn't even come up with a response."
Now, Zayne is chuckling too. The warmth of his face against your neck growing a little hotter. "You've softened me, my love. Ruined me, even. Now I can't help myself when my colleagues are present." The kiss that lands on the top of his head only ruins him further.
⭑ when sylus saves you from a vampire attack, you ask him to distract you from the pain. the way he decides to distract you is—interesting, but definitely distracting. ౨ৎ
⭑ content warnings: 18+! lowercase intended. contemporary sylus. vampire sylus. glasses + mullet sylus. soft sylus. sylus with high blood tolerance. squeamish human reader. established friendship. pet name (sweetie). descriptions of blood + gore from vampire bites. making out. wc: 2.5k. song mention: is it really you? loathe.
⭑ a note from 乇m! ⭑ i don’t know why sylus has glasses even though he’s a vampire with enhanced eyesight either. he’s hot, that’s it. that’s the reason. thank you for reading! ౨ৎ
the teeth marks scarring your inner thigh wouldn’t stop burning. there was only so much you could do. there was only so much sylus could do, too.
the vampire found you on an evening jog through the park nearest to your place. dimly lit by candle wax moonlight and gold fireflies, it was easy for you to trip on a dark branch jutting up from the soil. the blood-stained scrape on your knee must’ve enticed her immediately—but luckily, it lured sylus’s attention, too.
any vampire could distinguish human blood from animal blood, he once told you. it was a scent that traveled further, that seeped and brewed in the pit of any vampire’s appetite instead of simmering on the surface. he had always said that your blood, in particular, smelled dizzy and sweet and impossibly warm, like honey and wine and cherry-flavored star dye. it’s no wonder he knew it was you who needed his help.
he showed up mere moments after she had her first taste of you—when she had already pinned you to the dirt trail, slithering her tongue up the sticky burst of blood trickling down your knee before sneaking past your tennis skirt to sink her fangs into your inner thigh. in a flicker of a moment, that flashed past you like lightning, he had already severed the vampire from your flesh, stunned her with a jagged tree limb through the chest, and whisked you away, slipping into your bedroom through your balcony window—all before you knew it was him.
“sylus,” you said his name through a strangled breath. “god, it hurts.”
“i know, sweetie,” he whispered back to you.
he set you down on the bed, then flicked on your bedside lamp, so cozy golden lighting could pour into the room. but the sight of the blood gutting your knee cut your already-short, flimsy breaths into frenzied pants. not only did it stain your strawberry pink bedsheets in dark red brushstrokes, but when your eyes trickled up your leg, you also caught sight of the corrosive red fang pricks puncturing the flush of your inner thigh. it pulsed, polluting your veins dark, poison black, like it was feeding off your heartbeat. you were going to pass out.
“hey,” he redirected your attention, “hey. i’m here. i know it hurts, but i’m here. i’ll make it all go away.”
he kneeled into the mattress, approaching you slowly. but it was hard for you to lie still. how could you when black, molten heat melted around your bones, with blood stains on your pretty bed, when you knew exactly what he had to do to stop the venom from stealing your last breath?
you were restless—gripping hard into the covers, rutting your heels against the bedsheets. he reached for your leg with a gentle press of his fingertips into the pit of your ankle, in an effort to relax you.
this was so distressing for him. you knew it by the way he roughed his fingers through his hair, and pinched and pulled at the silver chain gleaming from his neck, and wouldn't stop fidgeting with his glasses.
“c’mon.” he pulled you a bit closer. “please, c’mon,” he coaxed again.
he scraped his fangs into his wrist, nicking the skin until it leaked black blood, dark as liquid nightfall. your eyes glazed over, syrupy and bright with tears when he slipped his hand behind your head to draw you closer.
you gasped into your next hollow breath. “fuck, i don’t wanna do it."
“i wish you didn’t have to either. but it’ll all be okay once you do. you know that."
you sniffled, briefly glancing down at the blood stains on his wrist.
“hold onto me,” he said, guiding your fingers around his tense forearm, “close your eyes, too, sweetie. you can do it."
you attemped a steady breath, then shut your fluttering eyes. he pulled you in, slow but sure, until his dark blood pricked the tip of your tongue. if it weren’t for his firm grip on the back of your head, you would’ve flinched back—but instead, his blood hissed down the back of your throat, hot and piercing like a sharp sting, and slithered all the way down to the pit of your stomach.
when he finally released you, you could barely find your next breath.
“lie back down, it’s okay,” he was already whispering, hooking his arm around your waist to help you lean back into your bedsheets.
you clamped your hand over your mouth, stifiling the immediate urge to gag. it was impossible for you to stop thinking about how his black blood coursed through you, searching for the nearest vein in order to chase after the venom in your bloodstream. the mere idea of it, and the itchy patch of blood still splattered on your knee, left you with a blubbering mess of a heartbeat.
he kneeled over you until you settled onto your back. but as soon as he tried to pull away, you grasped for his shirt, reeling him closer again.
“distract me,” you said to him, “take my mind off it, please. it’s driving me crazy."
he stared down at you, silently, for a torturous moment. his eyes trickled down to your knee, then back up to the fang scars in your thigh, breathing slightly heavier than before.
then, “knock knock,” he said.
“who’s there?"
he paused, distracted by the flush of your throat where your pulse fluttered quick and pretty like butterfly wings.
you pushed him softly, and asked again, “who’s there?"
“i’m still thinking, i-i don’t know."
you shoved him again, saying his name like a threat. “sylus, you have to think of something. anything."
a nip of electric tension dripped down your leg, then gnawed into your inner thigh until it fell numb. his blood had found the source of the venom, and would sip away at you until it flushed out of your system, even if it meant draining you in the process. you winced when the pain tunneled deeper, clutching your hands over his broad shoulders to brace it.
“please,” you whispered, “please, it’s starting."
he rested his hands over yours, kneading his thumbs over your knuckles. the pain you felt couldn’t have been any easier to bare in comparison to the ache lurking deep within his chest at the sight of you like this. his eyes kept retreating to the site of the bite, painfully aware of the condition you were in. worry sharpened his brows as he watched you toss and turn beneath him, rendered frightened and helpless.
then, he released your wrists. and, just as suddenly, he bowed over you, nearing so close that his bottom lip grazed the shell of your ear.
his sudden proximity paralyzed you, so acutely that your heart may have skipped its next few beats. he was close enough for you to feel his silver chain ice the very surface of your skin, for you to breathe in his crisp scent of dusk and tart cherries with each passing second.
his shallow breaths fanned your throat, fast but delicate, too. the tip of his nose traced your jawline, then inched down to the slope of your neck, thrilling your skin with goosebumps. trickling heat seeped through your chest—fuck, you knew he was just your friend, and he wouldn’t be doing this under any other circumstances, but your body was already far too responsive, despite your awareness of the fact that he would notice every shudder down your spine and each eager twitch of your heartrate.
before you could expect it, he pressed the first kiss into your neck. then another, softer than the one that came before it. he released a fragile sigh, on the brink of shattering. it fluttered down to your collarbones, tickling you with a shiver.
when he kissed you again, you rutted your fingers into his shirt, pulling him tight and close.
“what are you doing?” you whispered.
“i . . .” he took his next breath carefully, smudging his lips into the pit of your throat as he did it. “i’m . . . improvising."
he landed one more kiss on your throat's most sensitive patch of skin, deeper, lasting longer than he may have intended it to.
“should i stop?” he asked.
“no, no,” you breathed out, so quickly that you almost felt lightheaded, “no, i . . . i think it’s working."
he didn’t hesitate after that. the very next time his mouth claimed your skin, he paired his velvet lips with the gentle caress of his tongue. a frail sigh parted your lips as your fingers twitched against his shoulders. you weren’t sure why you were enjoying this so much—maybe because you hadn’t been kissed like this in so long, or his blood infecting your veins was making you woozy—but either way, you were certainly distracted.
he tilted his head, drifting his lips along the coastline of your collarbones before pressing firm against the other side of your neck with a kiss led by his tongue. his mouth practically melted into your warm flesh, and he took his time, kissing soft and slow and again and again. his breaths thinned over time, disoriented, and always slightly out of rhythm. a moan that winded you slipped from your lips when he sucked gently at the nape of your neck. his hips shifted in response, quick like a reflex, followed closely by a starved breath.
“i just want you to feel good,” he confessed between a set of wet, lingering kisses, “do you feel good?"
you nodded, as your fluttering eyes slipped to the back of your head for an accidental moment.
“yeah,” you sighed sweetly. then again, “yeah, you’re making me feel good."
he flushed his mouth over your skin again, sighing into the next kiss. but then, within that same moment, a volt of pain singed the underbelly of your thigh, digging hard and deep until it boiled. you gripped his shoulders harder and arched against him with a rough groan.
he looked up at you then, but as soon as your eyes encountered his—fuck, the sight of him.
his eyes looked as heavy as a blood moon, traced over in deep, dark shades of lust. and you never knew his mouth could look this red, pretty and full like they had been pricked by rose thorns. you had seen this man readjust his glasses over a hundred times, but this time, when he pushed them up his nose by knuckling in between the frames, he looked the hottest you had ever seen him, so hot that it felt like a furnace burned bright within the depths of your stomach.
you forgot that he had something to say, pressing your mouth against his before he could.
he couldn’t deny the taste of you, accepting your kiss with a short gasp at first, that then lulled into a breathless grunt when you didn’t pull away. he cupped your chin, holding you like you were precious to him, but he still insisted his mouth against yours, convincing your honey-sweet lips to stay with the weight of his own.
“need more,” you sighed against his lips, “keep distracting me. please . . . need it."
those words earned you another one of his breathier moans, followed soon after by the nip of his teeth—one of his fangs, specifically—savoring the plush corner of your bottom lip. your hips stuttered against him immediately, seeking friction.
he reached for your leg and pushed slightly to press it into the soft sheets, holding it still and out of range so you wouldn’t scuff your thigh against him and unsettle the bite.
“careful, sweetie,” he whispered.
he kissed you again, with the delicate skim of his lips over yours. then, he pulled back briefly to slide his glasses off, passing them to your nearby nighstand. that, alone, nearly burst your heart at the seams.
when he returned to you, he smoothed his hand over the side of your neck, delving his fingers into the depths of your hair as he pressed his thumb against your jaw, leveraging your lips apart for him. you received his kiss with a disoriented sigh and the needy buck of your hips. his fingers would grip into your knee, like he was nearing the edge of his restraint, before he soothed your dainty flesh by kneading his thumb into you with affectionate circles. it dizzied you, how well he doted on you.
one of his deeper groans rumbled through you when his tongue seeped through the seam of your lips. you shivered, with another accidental rock of your hips—fuck, you couldn’t even control yourself.
“s-sorry,” you whispered.
he soothed your bottom lip with his tongue, then kissed you again, tender and slow.
“don’t be,” he said, before sampling you again like fresh pink fruit, “i’m having a hard time holding back, too."
your heart refused to calm down, feverish with jittery pulses and shivers. the only way you could think to satiate it was by kissing him harder. you drew him in closer, cuffing your hands over the back of his neck until his lips flustered yours again.
he tilted his head to anchor his mouth to yours, leaving you rapt with kiss after kiss after kiss, each one lingering longer, hungrier and fuller than the last. you parted his lips with your tongue, deepening the kiss with restless tosses and turns of your lips.
“so soft,” he whined through a wet, sugary rasp, “so warm."
you whimpered his name, just before his ripe, lush mouth had you all over again. his kisses adored you, cherished you, from candy-coated pecks between your top and bottom lip, to gentle sucks of your tongue, to the occasional clash of his fangs against your dull pearly teeth.
when his mouth returned to your neck, this time sneaking his fingers beneath your tank top to smooth his hand over your stomach, your eyes fluttered to the back of your head again—from pleasure, at first, but then a prickling sensation dizzied you.
for the first time in a while, you paid attention to the pain in your leg, that had since eroded into a numb ache. the toll the venom was taking on your body was finally catching up to you, luring you closer and closer to exhaustion.
you gasped within the exact moment one of his fangs scuffed the crux of your throat. your grip on his shirt weakened, and it was getting harder and harder for you to fight against your heavy eyelids.
“sylus . . ." you sighed.
“i know,” he mumbled against your skin, “i know, sweetie, just fall asleep. you’ll feel better when you wake up."
“just . . . just don’t leave. please. stay,” you managed.
“i‘m here. i’ll always be here."
“thank you,” you whispered. and again, “thank you, sylus."
he pressed one last kiss over the corner of your mouth, soft and impossibly sweet, just before you surrendered to the pull of exhaustion begging you to rest.
that kiss was your last memory of the night.
ꪆৎ⭑ 乇m’s masterlist! in case you’re interested in my other works!
⋆˚ ✿ ˖ ࣪ the lads men and their favourite sex position
xavier 𝜗𝜚 despite the soft demeanour he has, xavier loves to fuck you where he’s the one in control, and he has it perfectly in doggy, your submissive moans like music to his ears as he pounds into your pussy from behind. he’ll occasionally pull you up so your back connects with his chest while his hands run down your neck to your stomach, pulling your face up to look at him as your glossy eyes of pleasure meet with his. he can’t help but bite the bottom of his lip when he sees the desperate expression on your face, his face flushing baby pink and his hips pounding harder with his hand gently wrapping around your throat as he chases your desperate highs with need.
zayne 𝜗𝜚 i think he’d love fucking you in a lotus position, your bodies close together where zayne can still look at your pretty face, flustered with your lips parted. he loves having your bare chest against his when he’s gently thrusting up, kissing your spongy spot with his tip as your walls flutter around his length and he can’t help the grunts and groans that fall from his lips. and when he’s close with that familiar build up of pleasure, he’ll pull you in even closer to kiss your lips and rest his forehead against yours as his thrusts grow sloppy, drawing out both of your desperate highs, muttering deeply beneath his heavy breaths, “fuck.. i just can’t get enough of you.”
rafayel 𝜗𝜚 rafayel loves when you ride him, getting a perfect look at your flustered face while you fuck yourself dumb on his cock. he loves feeling your chest against his, with his lips attaching onto your sensitive buds, looking up at you with heavy lids and a cheeky smirk when he hears the neediness in your voice from the moans and whines that fall from your lips. when he can sense you’re getting tired or that the pleasure is too much, he’s thrusting up and kissing your sweet spot with his throbbing tip, eliciting a gasp from you as he whispers against your ear while kneading at the plush of your thighs and hips, “don’t stop now, baby. i’m not done with you yet.”
sylus 𝜗𝜚 this man loves missionary, his hands entwined with yours as he fucks you with deep thrust that have you moaning out his name with your head thrown back. sylus loves the way your face contorts in pleasure, your lips parted and your brows furrowed, and fucking you like this gives him the perfect view. he just wants to make you feel good, and he’s making sure to prioritise your pleasure as he pays attention to what touches and motions make your back arch, or make you moan out in a high pitched tone. he’ll always ask mixed with praise, “does that feel good? right there, huh? you’re doing so well for me, sweetheart.”, and he loves how he can make you come undone beneath him, clawing down his back in a way sylus loves.
caleb 𝜗𝜚 he’s possessive, and loves nothing more than watching his cock stretch you out in a mating press where you can’t escape his grasp. he’ll press down on your stomach with a subtle smirk, asking, “can you feel me there? feel how deep i am inside of you..”, and when you whimper out with the way he fucks you, abusing your gummy walls and causing that build up of hot white pleasure in your core from his constant thrusts against your sweet spot, he can’t help but groan out alongside you, his eyes closed as he bites the bottom of his lip. in this position, his dog tag is dangling over your face, and you can’t help but think he looks so perfect with those flushed cheeks and heavy breaths he makes when he’s about to cum inside.
nsfw (18+). i really did not mean for this to be a whole fic but i just kept typing. and typing. and typing... anyway, here are the usual cws: blowjob, cunnilingulus, corruption kink, praise kink, unprotected sex, marathon sex (sylus is starved), more yearning than you'd expect from a sugar daddy fic, and side note that sylus is older than you here (you decide how much lol). likes and reblogs will be very appreciated!
pov: you're a barista at the cafe sylus usually orders at and he overhears you saying you want to try being a sugar baby to make more money.
sylus generally avoids interacting with ordinary citizens. for one, they live in a separate world from him, and two, he'd rather not drag other people into unnecessary trouble.
you are no exception to this rule he placed upon himself. or at least, you should be.
but he can't help being drawn to your sunny smile, undeterred despite his intimidating appearance. he can't help but relax his shoulders when you greet him “welcome!” in a warm, gentle voice. he can't help but ask you how your day went, listen to your complaints, and chuckle fondly when you say something particularly funny.
and he can't help but notice how your sunny smile has diminished the past few weeks, weighed down by late nights and endless work juggling several part-time jobs to get by and pay the debt your father left behind.
so when he overhears you saying you want to try having a sugar daddy, he moves against his better judgment.
it's not hard to track you down in a shady site. even easier to lure you with an enticing price, better than any old, rich fool can offer.
and really, sylus doesn't plan on doing anything to you. this is somewhat like a donation, he convinces himself. that's all there is to it. he's not being possessive.
he pays you for your time. feels amused seeing you sit beside him with an almost visible question mark on your face, not knowing what to do. sure, you have a general idea what sugar babies do, but it was probably not simply watching an old romance movie while snacking on finger foods.
you think it must be some sort of foreplay, but he drives you home. the next time he calls you over, you eat together in a who-knows-how-many-stars restaurant in a tall skyscraper overlooking the city, which ends in a similar fashion. in the next, he takes you shopping and fills your closet with luxury brands, yet again ending the day with a drive to your shabby apartment.
and it's nice. it's really nice. to the point it's too good to be true. from the very beginning when you learned your client wasn't going to be an old geezer, you already thought you lucked out. but with sylus practically treating you as his girlfriend, leaving nothing to be desired, things couldn't be better. you can't even consider the possibility of being sylus's side chick that he's cheating with because there's nothing for him to gain from this arrangement. if you really think about it, sylus is basically throwing you all his money.
you think you can leave things like this. after all, you have nothing to complain about.
but on one of your gigs taking up a friend's waitress shift at a fancy restaurant, you see sylus with a woman.
they're both well-dressed. sylus always is, but now even more so with his styled hair and clean, crisp suit. the woman looks gorgeous in her champagne dress, all smooth silk and beautiful curves. the men around her can't help but stare.
he leads her to a table. pulls out her chair for her. smirks at her as they exchange friendly banter, looking like the picture-perfect couple.
a cold settles deep in your chest, even if you have no right to feel bad. you don't have the right to feel upset because it isn't like you're bound by any serious relationship.
but for the rest of the night, you try to avoid their table. you hope he hasn't taken notice of you, but that's probably wishful thinking considering you've felt an intense gaze on your back all this while.
eventually, they leave, and so do you. as you walk home, you try to dissect why you felt so awful. is it because he might cut you off now that he's interested in another woman? it must be. once he breaks off whatever you have, you're going to have a hard time finding someone else to mooch off of. you'll be back to the same old dreary lifestyle; the magic has worn off, and cinderella has to be miserable again.
but it isn't just that, even if it should be. you shouldn't feel so shitty seeing him with another girl if you only saw him as a client. somewhere along the line, you've started appreciating his quiet smiles, his teasing smirk, his kind gaze. there's something soft about his innocent touches, tucking your hair behind your ear or his thumb wiping away cake frosting on your cheek.
and you hate the idea of him doing all of that to that woman he was with.
“you should pay more attention to your surroundings, sweetheart.”
sylus interrupts your thoughts. you turn to look at the street beside you where you find sylus leaning against his car. waiting.
you hesitate only for a moment. you get in, and he drives you home. the silence is unsettlingly tense, so different from the comfortable quiet you've grown used to in your past drives.
eventually, you bring yourself to speak. “let's go to your house.”
sylus says, “i haven't asked for your services tonight.” it's soft, teasing, and most importantly, it's not a no.
the familiar manor comes into view, grand and imposing as always. he opens the car door for you. asks to carry your bag. unlocks the front door.
he drops it when you push him down the plush sofa, catching him by surprise. you've never quite seen him as stunned as he is now, stock still as you press your mouth against his. clumsy. unsure. yet eager. his fingers tangle in your hair, unmoving for just a moment, but soon he manages to tear himself away.
“i didn't ask for you to do this.”
he hasn't. he probably never intended to do this sort of thing in the first place.
but it isn't like he doesn't want to. his voice is strained. he's still holding you, as if afraid you'll pull away once you realize this is a bad idea. he's staring at you like you're the only thing that matters.
and you realize that you enjoy this attention. you like having his hands around you. you like him doting on you. you like him looking at you.
you don't want him to look at anyone else.
and, you come to realize, you want this just as much as he does.
---
there's a sense of clumsiness when you wrap your hands around his cock, hesitant and unpracticed. you seem as if you've never done this before. sylus should not be as thrilled as he feels at this discovery.
perhaps he should be a little turned off. but his dick feels the hardest it's ever been when you start giving kitten licks to his tip, innocently looking up at him through your lashes like you're asking for praise.
he murmurs filth under his breath when your lips close around his head, sucking at a spot that makes him shudder. he forces his hips to stay absolutely still even if he wants to destroy your throat. he can't afford to scare you away now. not when you're finally within his reach.
yet sylus can't help but run his hand through your hair, pulling you closer. making you take him in deeper. guiding your head as you bob up and down. you're gurgling around his cock, spit dripping from your mouth, tears in the corner of your eyes. so obviously struggling but still sucking more of him in, eager to please. you choke when his cock hits the back of your throat, and still, you hollow your cheeks, licking everywhere you could.
and that does it for him, making him finish much, much quicker than he means to. his cum fills your mouth, warm thick streams that overflow from your lips. he doesn't expect you to swallow, ready to catch with his palm, but you gulp it all down like a good girl.
sylus's chest fills with deep satisfaction. he tells you well-deserved praise as he showers your face with pecks, capturing your lips in a kiss that tastes bitter but oh so nauseatingly sweet.
he wants to reward you for being a good girl, you he pulls you to the edge of the mattress, pressing down on your thighs as he digs in. the first lick on your pretty pussy makes you yelp, legs kicking out in surprise. he gives your thighs a warning squeeze, and by the second, you're obediently staying as still as you can, whimpering to your palm.
you taste as sweet as you look, and sylus hums contently as he licks up all your slick and it never runs out. you moan so nicely for him when he laps at your clit, continuously flicking his tongue at the small bud, and you all but scream when he sucks it hard, tangling your fingers in his hair and jerking up your hips.
he doesn't complain when you ride his face, staring intently at your expression twisted in pleasure. your mouth is shaped around an ‘o’, eyes rolling back as he dares to slip his tongue inside your hole. he rubs your engorged clit with a rough thumb, fucking in and out your pussy with his tongue, groaning amidst the lewd symphony of squelches.
he hasn't planned on touching you, no. but he's thought of it countless times on nights he felt especially lonely after you left. imagined you on his lap, fondling your soft chest, playing with your cute pussy. he wondered what spots made you feel good, where you'd be sensitive. what faces you'd make when he touched them.
sylus doesn't have to wonder anymore, committing the sinful sight to memory. you've always been cute, but he thinks you're even more adorable now, squirming as he gently eases a finger inside you. you're wet enough to fit two, but it's still quite tight; it might take a while before you can take him in. he presses a reassuring kiss on your inner thigh when he finds your g-spot, telling you to stay still and be good.
so sylus spends a bit of time between your legs, adding more fingers as he laps away at your clit. at your first orgasm, he fucks you through it, not stopping his hand until the spray of cum has ceased. by the second, you've drenched his sheets and his arm, but by the way you're moaning his name almost incoherently, you don't want him to stop.
on the verge of a third, a fourth finger teasing at your entrance, you're begging him to fuck you. sylus has felt close to bursting for a while, so he doesn't complain. he rubs his cock between your wet folds, tapping at your clit with the head. slicking his cock with your juices as he marvels at how tiny you seem under him, the length of him intimidatingly massive laying on your stomach.
when he pops the tip of his cock inside, you clench around him immediately, warm and so goddamn tight. he can't slide it in one, smooth thrust; he fucks it inside bit by bit, observing your face for any signs of pain, but all he sees is a dazed, drooling slut, crying out his name and for him to put it all inside her. he shushes you, reasoning he has to be slow, but he's very well on the edge of his patience.
when his cock is halfway in, you turn into a shuddering, sobbing mess. his tip has poked somewhere sensitive, and when he grinds against it, you squirt hard, spraying cum on his abs. he laughs in disbelief, meanly rubbing tight circles on your clit to make your orgasm last longer.
once sylus has finally bottomed out, he whispers endless compliments to your ear, hands roaming around your skin. he can't stop his hips from thrusting, tirelessly fucking in and out of your soaked cunt with vigor he hasn't had in years. sylus doesn't consider himself the vocal type, but now he can't shut up about how pretty you are, how good and sweet you are for him. how nice and tight your cute pussy feels, how you're made to take in his huge cock.
he uses you the way he imagines in his dirty fantasies, like a whore he pays to bed. yet at the same time, you're his precious little princess, the one person he shouldn't hurt. the one person he should treat with utmost care. the one person that should stay untainted by the filthy world.
but you're moaning so loud, enjoying being his little slut. you want to be fucked hard and fast, fingerprints on your hips and waist. you want to be bred full of his cum and do it all over again. you want to be his.
so sylus takes you in all the ways he knows how. on your back. on your knees. on his lap. he lets you ride him, fucking up into your cunt when you get tired. he takes you against the wide, clear window panes, uncaring if someone might have seen. he fucks you while standing, holding up all of your weight, making you watch yourself on the mirror as he thrusts inside. he never once pulls out when he cums, your pussy crammed with his hot, milky loads.
you make a mess everywhere, but you don't have time to worry about it. you don't even worry about the chances of getting pregnant, being pumped full of sylus's cum. even if you did end up pregnant, sylus keeps going on and on about wanting you to be his pretty wife, that he won't let you want for nothing, that he'll provide for your every need if you'll just stay with him.
and in the face of his love, bordering on desperate obsession, you don't even know why you were ever worried about him falling for anyone else.
from the moment he laid eyes on you, he couldn't look away.
for all that sylus looks the part of a cold, ruthless mafia boyfriend from a terribly written dark romance novel, he couldn't be any different.
sure, he runs a shady organization, an empire built on crimes that you're probably better off not privy to. he's confident and arrogant and smug and the other twenty synonyms of the same thing. he also happens to have the one redeeming quality the typical shitty mafia boss male leads have: he spoils his pretty princess. there's no shortage of gifts for every occasion, probably too many trinkets he bought because “i thought of you when i saw it,” and he still hides the expenses he pays for every time you visit a fancy hotel (half the time, he owns the whole damn building anyway). he doesn't bother looking at the price tags when you're out shopping, pulls out his card to pay before you can blink, and when he teasingly says “you can pay me back with your body,” he doesn't mean sex, he means he's expecting you'll be the one spooning him tonight.
but as far as “i can fix him” goes, there's not much you can do. sylus already has so much love to give; he smothers you with kisses any chance he gets, showering you with gentle pecks that start from your hair, then to your temples, to your closed eyes, to your cheeks, before finally landing on your mouth, the one kiss that lingers longer than the others. then there's the professions of love, honey-sweet and honest and true, uttered as he holds you close to his chest, fingers running through your hair.
he always makes his presence felt — a hand on your back, his fingers on your waist, an arm wrapped around your shoulders. yet even with no physical contact, you feel his presence by your side. steady. grounding. safe. a reassuring constant that tells you “i'm here, right beside you. always.”
sylus is cheeky sometimes. shameless, even. he demands a kiss on the cheek every time you part ways after a date, nevermind the onlookers staring curiously at this two meter tall man pouting at his lover to get his way. he all but plops you into his lap when he gets bored in a meeting with his trusted subordinates, playing with the tips of your hair as he gives out his orders. when you jokingly tell him to wear matching cute headbands with you at the amusement park, he bends down with no resistance, allowing you to put on the mascot ears on his head.
sylus loves loudly. he makes his love for you known. he is not ashamed to show it to the world in every way possible. most importantly, he reminds you how much he loves you everyday.
it's okay even if you don't truly understand the extent of it, or if you don't know how long his devotion has lasted.
he loved you then, and he'll continue to love you until his soul withers away. (the love will only be gone when he goes, too.)
nsfw (18+). includes first time, virginity loss, unprotected sex, porn with feelings, caleb is a virgin loser who pretends he's a sex god but is actually ready to cum the moment he slides it in, cunnilingulus, lots of nicknames, belly bulge because caleb is huge, creampie (because i firmly believe he's into breeding). likes and reblogs will be very helpful !!
”Hng... is it all in yet?”
The question almost sounds silly, reminiscent of the times you went on trips with Caleb and you'd ask him if you were there yet every five minutes. But you can't laugh now because you feel like your body's about to split apart, filled to the brim as Caleb breaches your cunt as slowly as he can manage.
He's gripping each side of your waist, his restraint felt through the faint trembling of his fingers. Be patient, he chants in his mind, sweat dripping down his temples. If you're not careful, you're going to hurt her.
But all that leaves his mouth is, “Just half. You're too tight, pipsqueak. Feels like you're about to cut my dick off.”
“Half?!” you exclaim in disbelief. You do know for a fact that Caleb is quite... big. Not that you have a frame of reference — this is the first time you've seen one, most definitely the first time you've ever taken one, but knowing you only have half inside you when you feel full is. Kind of making you crazy. Just a bit.
You hit him in the chest with a loose fist. “This is your fault. You're too big.”
Caleb laughs weakly, sounding like the wind is knocked out of him. “You're blaming me for something I can't control now?”
“Yes, I am. How do you even— walk around with that thing? I don't think that's a normal size.” You're blabbering. All you've said thus far is probably the most unsexy thing Caleb's ever heard, nothing like the dirty talk in the porn DVDs under Caleb's childhood bed that he insists were from his high school friends and he didn't watch any of it.
Even so, the desire in Caleb's eyes doesn't dwindle. He leans down to caress your cheek, the softness in his expression making your heart race. “Well, too bad. This is the only one you're getting.” He traces the line of your jaw, peppering kisses over the column of your neck. “You can't do this with anyone but me, right?”
It isn't a question, and Caleb certainly won't take no for an answer.
“...Caleb, you say the craziest things someti— ?!” You squeak as Caleb starts rubbing your clit in tight circles, sucking new marks onto your collarbone. You loosely grasp his flicking wrist, conflicted between pushing his hand away or pulling it closer. “Don't— do that so suddenly— ah!”
“I know you can take me in. You just have to try harder,” he murmurs to your skin, feeling your walls spasm around his cock with every flick of his fingers. Watery noises soon follow his motions, embarrassingly audible along with the whimpers you try and fail to hide. His heart squeezes in his chest when you hold onto his back tighter, letting out small ‘ah-ah-ah’s that send heat directly to his cock.
“Caleb...” you mutter weakly, dazed eyes staring at the ceiling. “Caleb...!” you gasp with more urgency when he changes the rhythm, rubbing faster as he slowly slides another inch inside your pussy.
“Just a bit more, baby...” Caleb hisses as you engulf him in your warmth, walls clenching around him wetly. “Yeah, that's it... just like that... mn, good girl...”
Finally, you feel his pelvis press against your skin, the entirety of his thick cock inside you. You let out a shuddering breath, fingers running through Caleb's sweat-matted hair, attempting to adjust to the new sensation of fullness.
The feeling of being full is indescribable; it feels new, perhaps a bit uncomfortable, and yet it's also fulfilling, knowing you're connected with the person you've always longed for in the most intimate way possible.
Caleb's panting with the exertion of holding back, his hand cupping your cheek, tenderly swiping over the soft skin with his thumb. “Do you feel any pain?”
You shake your head, leaning to his warm palm. “No, I just feel... a lot right now.”
Caleb smiles in relief, pecks a kiss on your forehead, and sucks in a breath when his gaze trails lower on your body. His hand on your waist moves to splay on your stomach, the direct pressure evoking a sharp “ah!” out of your lips.
“N... no way...” you stare at the faint bulge in both mortification and arousal. “Is that— your—”
Your stomach is... not supposed to look like that. It isn't, right? But Caleb is looking at you with such awe and wonder, tracing the highest point of the bulge on your stomach, the tendrils of desire swirling in his gaze darkening further.
Slowly, Caleb pulls out until only the tip remains inside, and you watch as your stomach flattens with his movement. “Fuck,” he says with feeling. “Please tell me I can move.”
No, you can't, you want to say. Just the sight of him filling you up — in the literal sense of the word — is overwhelming. But you know Caleb is holding back for your sake. Always has been.
Has held back probably before you could even remember, playing the role of an older brother figure looking out for his reckless sister to suppress the feelings he's long learned to ignore. Has held back every time a boy looked at you with lovestruck eyes in high school, staring at the love letter on your desk but never commenting on it. Has held back whenever you told him you were going to a mixer your friends cajoled you into joining, zipping up your dress for the night and reminding you to call him when you were done so he could come pick you up.
He has been holding back even just a while ago, patiently stretching you open with his fingers as he kissed away the apprehension in your eyes, often asking you if it hurt and if you wanted to stop. And if you said yes, he really would; he'd wash you up, carry you to the dining table, and cook up a midnight snack for you before cuddling to sleep. You know that because Caleb would do anything for you.
So now, with the veins on his arms pronounced from the strain of gripping the sheets, his eyes attentively looking at your expression for any signs of pain, you can only say one thing. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down to give him a chaste kiss on the lips.
“Fuck me, Caleb.”
There's a hitch of a breath. And then he slides home.
Each thrust of his hips is pronounced with wet plaps, obscenely loud while slick dribbles out of your cunt, pooling into the sheets beneath you. His cock is covered in your arousal, glistening in your wetness, and he pounds into you again and again, watching your cunt cling to him every time he pulls out.
“You seriously...” Caleb groans, his loving gaze tinted with hungry desire. A delighted thrill runs through him each time you call his name sweetly, nails raking down lines on his back, the cutest noises leaving your mouth. “I wanted to treat you gently, but I can't hold back if you say it like that.”
He's dreamed of this for a long time, as far back as a teenager hitting puberty. The prettiest girl on his bed, disheveled by his doing, clinging around him as he pounds her to the mattress, able to take her however he wants and allowed to whisper the overflowing affection he feels without needing to hide it anymore.
It was once a fleeting dream. Just something he knows will never come true, so long as your relationship doesn't change. At one point, your relationship even almost seemed irreparable.
But you stubbornly pulled him back to you. Even when it hurt you. Even when he was content to look after you from a distance. Even when he accepted that no matter how much he wanted you, his love would never mean anything if you didn't love him back.
But you allowed him this much. You allowed him to be in such close proximity, to shower you with affectionate kisses, to lick up your tears. You gave yourself to him, your firsts, your heart, your love.
It's more than he ever hoped for.
“Mine...” he mumbles to himself, kissing at every expanse of skin he can reach. “You're really mine...”
Caleb's hands roam over your curves, caressing your body with care, plucking away at all your sensitive spots. A smattering of red marks appear with every press of his lips, and he never gets enough of seeing them bloom.
“C-Caleb, don't suck there... Everyone's going to see them,” you whine, trembling with the pleasure. His hips never stop driving forward, aimed at the spot that makes your toes curl, your walls squeezing down on him. It's hot, wet, and so damn good to feel you gushing around him, soaked in your warmth.
“Let them see.” He sucks another mark beneath your jaw. Satisfaction curls deep in his chest when he thinks how it'll peek through the collar of your hunter's uniform. “It'll drive away the pests.”
It's not something he'd say on an ordinary day. But restraint slips from his fingers each time you indulge him, and this time is no different.
“Ah, mmh, haa...!”
“Does it feel good when I thrust shallowly like this?” He presses insistently against a spot that has you writhing, clawing at his back. “Or you like being fucked deep?”
He sheathes himself in one go, the sound of his balls smacking against your ass absolutely filthy. Squealing, you cream around him, fresh spurts of slick soaking his cock. “Fuck,” you gasp, grasping at his broad shoulders for purchase.
Caleb grins. “Yeah,” he breathes out, feeling your wetness drip down his thighs, “that's what I thought.” And he does it again.
Plap, plap, plap. The slap of skin on skin continues to ring out, each time wetter than the last. You're trying to bury yourself under the covers, but Caleb certainly doesn't mind the mess. Revels in it, even, watching the glistening slick coat him further.
“Come on, now, don't hide your face,” he coos, picking up the blanket you've taken to hiding your face with. “I want to see you.”
“Mmgh... no way...” your voice is trembling, teary eyes looking up at him in a show of upset. “I'm— ah— making a weird face right now...!”
“No, you're not.” He presses a kiss on your forehead. Your closed eyes. The tip of your nose. “You're so cute. The most gorgeous woman I've ever laid eyes on. So don't try to hide, yeah? Let me see you.”
“Ah, hn, Caleb, that's— !”
“Feels good here?”
“Yes, yes, right there! Ohh...”
Caleb groans, “You just squeezed me so tight.” He licks a stripe up the valley of your breasts, tongue swirling around a nipple, all the while never leaving his eyes on your pleasured expression. When he grinds against a spongy spot, you jolt underneath him, a loud cry of his name spilling from your lips.
So cute so cute so cute, the desperate chant in his mind continues to say, his hips tirelessly driving forward to plunge into your warmth. You sound so sweet, gasping and moaning uncontrollably, crying out for his cock.
“Caleb,” you sob, trying to string together a coherent thought. “Is it just me or, mmph, you became even bigger?”
Caleb laughs, almost apologetic. A peck lands on your jaw. “Sorry, sweetheart. I can't help it.”
You hit your fist on his back. “Help it! I think I'll split into two if there's even just an extra centimeter in me...!”
“Even if you tell me that much...” he hisses through gritted teeth, trying to keep his head clear in spite of your walls spasming against him, hot and wet and so slick he hears every move he makes. “Mm, fuck... You feel too good inside, baby... I've been trying not to cum since we started...”
He buries his face to your neck, breathing in your scent. You shiver, his warm breath tickling your skin, thrusts slowing but hitting deep all the same. “A-are you close, Caleb?”
“I'm doing all I can so I won't be, pips.”
“Well, I...” you swallow, weaving your fingers through his hair. “I don't mind if you... cum first.”
“No.” His hands find your thighs, gripping at the soft flesh to spread your legs wider. Your folds are an enticing color, sucking around his cock, and he has to bite his lip to avoid letting out a pathetic moan. “This night is about you. I want to make you feel good.”
He sits up, and you almost protest when he pulls out, the gaping emptiness nearly leaving you cold. “Wait—”
“Shh,” Caleb leans down, hooking your legs over his broad shoulders. “Leave everything to me.”
He pools saliva at the tip of his tongue, letting it drip down your cunt. He smears it messily around your clit with his thumb, rubbing and prodding, watching your face twist in pleasure with a hooded gaze.
“Caleb, you— haa!”
Whatever you're about to say is interrupted by a scream when Caleb begins to lick, his tongue lapping at your pussy almost hungrily. He swirls it around your little bud, encloses it around with his lips to suck. You begin pulling his hair when he dips his tongue inside your hole, drinking up the juices that overflow and drip down his chin.
Caleb has never looked so disheveled before, sweat dotting his skin and almost looking feverish. He looks drunk between your legs, utterly intoxicated by your taste, lapping up everything he can collect on his tongue. He doesn't mind suffocating like this, his nose buried in your scent, sucking your essence. He certainly doesn't mind it when you start grinding on his face, pulling him even closer, nearly leaving him with no room to breathe. His cock feels close to bursting at the sounds you make alone.
“Ohh, that feels so good, Caleb! Mm...!”
“Shit, you really like this, huh...”
Caleb doubles his efforts, plunging his fingers into your cunt alongside his tongue. He spreads your hole, digs his digits deep, thoroughly pleased when your wetness never stops leaking. It just keeps coming out, soaking his fingers and the bottom half of his face.
“Caleb, I'm close,” you whine as you shake, hips grinding back to his skilled mouth, “I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum, cumming—”
You moan high and reedy, back arching as you lose yourself to the pleasure. Yet at the first spurt of cum that lands on his tongue, Caleb quickly sits up and pulls out his fingers.
He pins your legs to the mattress and thrusts back inside in one go, your pussy still spasming from cumming.
“Fuck!” you scream, nails scratching down his back. “Wait, I'm still cumming! I just came!”
Caleb doesn't stop, fucking his cock deeper with each splash of your cum soaking his skin. “You're so fucking tight when you cum, fuuuck...” he hisses, hastening his thrusts, hips having a mind of their own. Everything feels so good that his mind is getting dumbed down from your delicious warmth. “Baby, give me one more, I have to feel you cumming around me.”
He pounds you to the mattress relentlessly, every trace of restraint gone in his body. The only thing in his brain is the single-minded focus of making you cum again, pulling out more sweet noises from your mouth. He delights in each spurt of arousal that comes out when he presses against a good spot, and he knows it's good because you squeeze around him so nicely.
“It feels so good,” you sob to his shoulder. “Caleb, ohh, ahn!”
“Feels good for me too, princess. You're perfect, fuck!” Caleb snaps his hips, almost reaching completion. “I'm gonna cum soon. Where do you want it, princess? Where do you want me to cum?”
You wrap your legs around his waist, causing him to slide even deeper inside you. “Inside! Cum inside!”
He swears under his breath, cock pulsing. His hand travels south to toy with your clit again, rubbing incessantly to make you cum faster. Clear liquid squirts out of your cunt and he fucks you through it sloppy, holding your legs steady while you writhe from the overstimulation.
“I'm going to cum inside you, baby.” With one last thrust, he stills inside your cunt, releasing his cum deep inside. “Ohh, princess, I'm cumming— take every last drop, fuck, shit—”
He crushes you to the mattress, squeezing you in his arms as his cock shoots out strings of cum. “You did so well,” he murmurs, kissing everywhere he can reach. You lean more to his touch, tired yet fulfilled. “Sorry, that was too much, wasn't it? Does your body hurt?”
“I'm fine...” you wince when you feel cum drip out of your cunt at the slightest shift of position. “...Caleb.”
He's still kissing you all over your face, hands cupping your cheeks. “Hm?”
“You're still hard.”
Another kiss on your brow. “Don't mind it, princess. I'll handle it myself.”
“Oh...” you fiddle with the tag on his necklace, gnawing on your lip. “I was going to say I could help out.”
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