Jafar x SultansBastard!Reader || Drabble
Plot: You knew, better then anyone else in the palace, that Jafar was a treacherous, two-faced, power hungry scoundrel. You saw it. But being the daughter of the Sultans runaway mistress, the one who used him for riches then left you both- you knew you wouldn't be believed.
But your mother left you, inadvertently maybe, with at least one piece of advice for surviving court; Your beauty can be a powerful tool.
Warnings: Age difference (Reader is in her early-mid 20's), an illicit affair or two, sexual themes, smut, etc.
It didn't matter how good you were growing up, how honest or how helpful or how good in your studies- there always would be a shame following you. A dark cloud not too far behind. The memory the city had of your mother; the woman who charmed the sultan, took everything the sweet, generous, albeit naive older man would give her, and then disappeared in the night. That scandal would always follow you. Your father loved you, your sister loved you, but the people would always be expecting you to do something terrible. They would be waiting to say 'I always knew the girl had a darkness in her. Just like her mother', until you died.
So when you clocked Jafar as the deceitful, ambitious man he is- you were afraid to tell your father. He always treated you well, just like he did his legitimate daughter Jasmine, so it would have killed you to see him doubt you. And you knew he would. You told your little sister, she always trusted you, but what good did that do? No one was going to listen to the child princess, either.
But you couldn't allow Jafar to hurt your father, or the city. You had to do something. Which is how you came to the plan you had. The worst part is it came directly out of your mother's play book. So you suppose, in the end, you did exactly what the people thought you would. In the end you are, like her. At least they'll never know.
At least it's for them. At least, thats what you tell yourself.
~
Amidst a comforting, orgasmic fog, you can admit there are a couple things about Jafar that you like. Genuinly. Even if he is a fowl, wicked, manipulative crook. Which he is, he so very much is, but...
Still. He has nice fingers. Very, very nice, indeed.
And, admittedly, you don't find him unnattractive. He's handsome, in a strict, dramatic kind of way. Very powerful eyes, and a sharp jaw he loved you to touch; graze your knuckles, or lips along gently in a way that coaxes him to relax.
And, conveniently, makes him putty in your hands.
... you wonder only a little bit, if your mother ever felt this way. Even a fleeting softness for your father, once. But quickly put away the thought. You're not like her- mostly.
In an attempt to push that thought even further away from you, you slip out from under the imported silks and climb into Jafar's lap. He was reading a scroll, using a quill to make sharp, inky corrections here and there, but you and your thighs on either side of his hips distract him immediately. Shame, he's handsome focused on actual work.
Oh well. These things must be done- that's why you're here, at all. And the terrible, lascivious smirk that brightens up his face is good too, anyway.
"My dear... "
You slide your arms over his shoulders and around the back of his neck, leaning your naked chest against his. "Jafar," You drawl, leaning close, tilting your head to the side, feeling his breath on your lips. "... pay attention."
Because he's a cruel man, he doesn't put the scroll away immediately. Merely smirks; a heady dose of mischief in the look now. "What ever can I do for you, kitten?"
At this, you have to fight against a genuine grin. "My wish is your command, is it?" He certainly is attentive.
"Of course, princess~ I live to serve the... royal family."
"Oh I do believe we've established that fact." With warm, half lidded eyes, your lips just a breath away from his and your fingertips drawing soft hearts on his back you lower your voice to him. "... actually, there is one thing I was hoping you would do for me."
He loves it when you ask him for things, as if you're a helpless girl and you need him. Its cute he thinks that, honestly. For gods sake you're a bastard- you've been in and out of the palace since you were 16. Still, if feeding his ego is what works then you'll happily play the part. "Hmmm? Oh? What could I possibly do for you, my dear?"
Your lips give a pretty pout. And you know this part will make him think, so you tactfully glide your fingers down his chest... over his belly, even further. "... new garnet encrusted shoes, from that village near the pyramids?"
He narrows his eyes at you. His brain works so fast. "Thats almost 2 months travel."
The moment of clarity does not last long, not with your hand slowly stroking his heated cock; throbbing now against your fingers. With just a little attention to the soft underside, his brain turns into lustful mush. "Please, darling?.. Father has forbid me from leaving the palace now, and I know I can trust you... So intelligent and well-travelled... I couldn't trust anyone else."
A throaty groan escapes him and you almost lose concentration. He's so ravishing. "-fine, fine, whatever." For a second, you're forlorn about him being gone for so long- but thats the point, you have to remind yourself. Get him away from court and from your sweet naive father as often and for as long as you can until Jasmine becomes Sultana. Then she'll... banish him... and if that thought makes your heart sink, you ignore it. Suddenly he captures your wrist in his tight grip, you give a gasp, and direct your attention back to his sharp gaze and his filthy smirk. "But my dear, if I'm going to be away from you for so long, you'll have to make it worth my effort. Hm?.. Little princess?"
You both know you aren't a princess. Not unless your father legitimises you which is unlikely- but that doesnt stop Jafar from calling you that.
A little smirk slips across your mouth directed back at him. "... of course. I think it's time for me to show my appreciation. Hmmm?"
If it's even possible, Jafar's smirk seems to grows larger. More intrigued. His eyes which are an apt wine red, bigger and even more heated on you. "... how so?"
With a final, boiling hot glance into those dark claret eyes, you wordlessly get to work. While one hand oh so gently grazes his jaw, smelling of the expensive pomegranate lotions and oils you fill your dresser with for no other reason then to make him travel for weeks and weeks on end, your other traces down over his shoulder... his chest... further again. Your lips and your tongue connect with his throat, too, kissing and sucking marks into his skin that no one will ever bare witness to and if they did, would never know it was you who had your hot mouth on him. Your tongue. Your teeth.
When his breathing becomes heavy from your ministrations; your lips and your tongue on his skin, your hand slowly pumping his throbbing cock, you slip your hand away and replace it with your dripping heat. You sink down carefully on him, pressing your lips to his so you don't whine or whimper at the feeling. You accept his greedy tongue without hesitation.
... you are more like your mother then you ever wanted to be.
