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redeyerhaenyra · 7 months

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Bondage in the hearts of men

Summary: After a night of drinking, you accuse John of being unfaithful, and punish him.

Warnings: Smut, bondage (John is tied to the bed), dom/sub dynamics, fem reader, fem masturbation, reader leaves John with blue balls, a teeny tiny wee bit of cbt if you squint, ye olde language, no beta we die, let me know if I missed anything!

Notes: I know we all hate the blue contacts so I've specifically written this bratty Prince to have beautiful brown eyes✨️

Wc: 1.1k

His eyes blinked open, squinting in the morning sun, and he groaned. John's thoughts wandered back to previous night.

Oh... wine and women galore, what fun. If only you had been there... Oh well. He'd find you today and fuck you to make up for your absence last night, despite his oncoming bottle-ache. He moved to brush his curls out of face, only to find his arm did not move. He tried again, and again it did not move. John turned his head, to discover both his wrists had been tied to the bedposts. He tried to move his legs- they had been tied down too. A little panic rose within him, but sizzled out upon realising you, were sat at the opposite end of the bed.

He giggled, still half drunk. You admired the image before you, your Prince tied to his luxurious silken bed, naked apart from stray blankets that covered his groin.

"Good morning." "It's the afternoon." "Oh". John groaned again, "Well, I've never claimed to be an early riser."

You hummed. He licked his lips, and nodded to his restrained wrists; "You've tied me up?" "I have."

He laughed again. "Funny, come on now, release me."

Silence passed between you both, and you did not move, staring him down. He furrowed his brow, "Release me." He tugged on the restraints, now finding he could not break them with brute strength alone. His aura grew whiny, pathetic, his voice went up in pitch. "Release me-!"

You stood up, as if to walk away, he cried out- "-My love!!" "Your love???" You questioned harshly, John whimpered under your glare. "..Yes?"

"That is not what I heard last night." Like a tiger, you stalked your way around the bed. John shivered. "Last night?" "Last night yes. I heard the commotion, I heard you with your whores." You reached over to roughly dig your nails into his cheeks, squishing his mouth together into a pount. He groaned.

"Have you nothing to say?" "Mmf-" You relinquished your grip, he moaned at you. Simpering brat. "Mmmmm, dearest mine, I confess there were many a woman of the night in my company, but I touched not a one of them, "I don't believe you." "Ohhhh I did not! Mayhaps before I had known you I would have, but now?" John grinned up at you. "I can not lie, my sword will only rise for you."

He winked at you, and you scowled. "Come now, I know you like it." "What, that you can't get it up without me?" "Yes," he breathed hoarsely, grinning once again. You moved now to kneel next to where he lay, whispering in his ear;

"Mayhaps I do, even if you are so wanton as to rise even now-" You traveled you hand down his chest as you spoke, down, down, until it was hovering over the tent in the blankets, right where his cock would be. Taking your index finger and thumb, you carefully caressed the head, giving John the false sense of pleasure, before you snatched it away by squeezing your two fingers together tight around his cock.

He threw his head back and moaned. A pathetic display. You held that position for a few agonising minutes- if you squinted you might have been able to spy tears beginning to form in his eyes. Until finally, you let go. He huffed, cheeks flustered, leaning up to kiss at your neck, mumbling about how much he adored you.

You got up, away from his touches, and he whined impatiently.

"Daaarliiinnngg-!" "Cease." The bastard pouted at you, but seemed to forget his annoyance upon seeing you now straddle him, and pull your skirts up. John licked his lips. Your fingers danced at the hem of your bodice- John was pouting again.

"Please." "Hm?" "My love.." "If you do not speak, I will know not what is you crave." You locked eyes with him, gaze firey with lust;

"Your heavenly bosom, let me see, please," Laughing a little at his description, you opted to allow him one small victory, pulling your dress down just below your tits, making a show of it. Pushing your breasts together and rubbing your nipples just out of his reach. His hands clenched, desperate to touch you.

"You are a cruel mistress." "Am I?" "Yes! Taunting me with such a godly vision-" The prince's complaints were cut short, as he spied your hand travel down from your chest to your core, diving under your skirts out of sight. He whined again, thrusting his hips up so that he might gain pleasure from friction- but you saw it coming, and lifted your hips up further than he could reach, earning you another brazen sob from him.

He looked up at you mournfully, as you fell silent, so as to make sure he heard loud and clear the wet squelching of your cunt, as you played with yourself right on top of him. Your head fell back, and you sighed, as you sunk ever deeper into the fells of pleasure.

Then, he smiled at you, almost hopefully; "Ride my face?" It was meant to sound like an offer, despite really being a plea. Your voice was a little stuttered, "No." "No???" "No." "Why not???" "I will not give you the satisfaction." John mewled in despair- you saw through him so well.

Now, it seemed, until you reached your peak, John would be left to sit and watch, sorrowful that he could not join in. You did your best to draw it out, though you could not keep yourself from climaxing for long. It came in waves, soft and warm, rolling like desert dunes inside of you. John watched the ruffling beneath your skirt with a fixed, steely gaze, his brown eyes strangely soft, and unsuccessfully resisting the urge to coo at you as you came down from the high of orgasm.

Phew. The torture was over. You would untie him and he would plunge his length deep inside you until the both of you passed out. Or... that's what John expected. After a few moments to gather yourself, you moved to dismount him.

His shit-eating grin fell when he realised you weren't moving to untie him, you were pulling your dress back together and walking away.

"My love???" "What?" You turned back to him, feigning confusion. A beat of silence, and John realised you planned to leave him there.

"Release me!!!" He yowled out, high pitched like a hungry cat. You turned forwards again, each step you took away from him earned you a threat from him;

"When I am free I am going to tear your clothes off and fuck you till you can no longer beg me to stop!! Till you peak so hard you piss yourself, do you hear me?!? I will ruin you!!!!"

You paid no mind to his threats- they all sounded quite fun anyway. Besides, it was hilarious to hear him still wailing after you even as you were halfway down the hall.

What must the servants think of him?

#prince john #prince john x reader #prince john smut #oscar isaac prince john #robin hood prince john #smut #oscar isaac smut

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melodygatesauthor · 6 months

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When your next drawing requires you to look at all these fucking rings and you just can’t get the drawing done cause you are thinking about how you want each one to get lost in your body somehow.

No? Just me?

#king john #robin hood prince john #prince john robin hood #prince john #king John Robin hood #Oscar Isaac prince John

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my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 2 months

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Blue Blood and Rain [1]

King John X F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info •ko-fi•

Summary: You meet a stranger in the stables.

Series Masterlist

A/N: I have totally made up servant/nobel dynamics because I wanted to and also let's forget about the plot of the film, yes?

Warnings: kissing, reader is in their early 20s, overuse of italics, typos, power dynamics because he's the king, please let me know if I've missed a warning.

Word Count: 2820

________________________________

It wasn’t that going to the royal castle was boring, as much as it was exhausting. And very, very boring, now that you thought about it.

You were the personal attendant to The Dowager Countess of Bowhale, who was visiting the court for the spring festival with her son, The Earl of Bowhale, a man who was only seven months your senior. They were both on average kind, well-meaning people, even if they were set in their own ways, who paid well and certainly granted you with a degree of personal freedom that you knew many servants didn’t even dream of.

Hugo, the Earl, was his mother’s, Edith, only surviving child. A fact that obviously made The Countess fiercely protective, however in the last few years that shielding behaviour had metamorphosed into a safeguarding of a different kind: the continuation of the family name.

Barely a day passed without her bringing up the need for her son to either marry (a complicated matter) or take a mistress.

Which was why she had been hell bent on attending the spring festival to peruse a suitable noble from the court, believing that ‘seeing a young woman face to face is the only way to tell if she would be a good mother to her son’s children.’

You helped The Countess into her dress for the evening, making sure you nodded and said, “yes, my lady”, at all the correct moments as she spoke.

“I think there will be some chance of seeing a suitable suitor tonight, if not tomorrow. I know most of the court is present, but many outer nobles are not arriving until the morning.”

“Yes, my lady.” You adjusted her skirts.

“Hugo needs to seriously consider his future, the legacy of his father’s name.” She sighed. “I spoke to him again this morning.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“He is as insolent as ever. His father was never like this. I do not know where he gets it from.”

You smile, “Perhaps his lordship takes his strong-willed nature from his mother, my lady?”

She looks down at your grinning face and laughs at your tease. “You are terrible my dear,” but she beams and puffs out her chest, enjoying the praise. “And far too kind on him, there’s no way his will could match my own.”

You laugh, and are about to speak when the door to The Countess's rooms open and Hugo barges in.

“Mother, I- Oh,” he gives you a little smile and half bow as a greeting. You nod back.

“So I see she is deserving of a formal greeting and not I?” The Countess scows, but you know from experience that if someone had entered without acknowledging you they would have also faced reprimand.

Hugo pulls a face. “Mother-”

“And what about knocking Hugo? Since we are in his highness’s house, on his highness’s hospitality I do not think that forgoing manners should be our way forward.”

He sighs, but nods, before waiting for a moment to see if she will continue talking.

The Countess nods.

You stand up, watching them going back and forth in their regular verbal sparing matches.

“Mother, is it completely necessary for me to join-”

“You surely are not speaking of the possibility of not attending tonight? Are you?”

“Mother-”

“Because if you were, I would be-”

“It wouldn’t be anything, an Earl can retire to his-”

“An Earl would not insult the hospitality of his King.”

“Mother-”

She held up her hands. “I will hear nothing of it.”

Hugo sighed dramatically, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

“And what are you wearing? You are covered in mud.” She tutted.

“I was riding and-”

“Riding? At this hour?”

He nodded. “Some of the knights and other Earls went to the forest and-”

The Countess tutted dramatically.

“I was going to take Stefen to the stable and brush him down instead of attending.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You intended to brush your horse instead of attending? There are servants for that exact duty Hugo.”

He shrugged frowning, you knew how much he enjoyed taking care of his horse. “I do not trust the staff here, they do not know Stefen, they-”

The Countess shook her head, “you are attending. Go, get bathed and dress, Robert will assist you.”

“But Mother, Stefen-”

The Countess turned to you quickly, “Will you do me the favour of going to the stables and getting Stefen ready for the night?” She smiled kindly at you and you nodded.

“Of course my lady.”

“See?” She turned to her son. “Now we have a trusted member of staff to care for him.” She said triumphantly. “Or do you not trust her to look after him here?”

Hugo gave you an apologetic look, he hadn’t meant to lump you with the task. But you smile back, and he returns a weak nod.

“Of course that’s fine,” he said defeated.

You often groomed Stefen, he was a powerful and grumpy animal that tended to only obey four people, Hugo, the two main stable hands at Bowhale, and you. He tolerated others for the most part, but was quite difficult when something set him off.

“Good.” The Countess clapped her hands together.

You finished helping The Countess get ready before you stepped out of her rooms and headed for the stables. The evening light was just starting to dim into twilight.

Hugo caught up with you on the stairs, gently touching your arm to get your attention.

“I’m so sorry.”

You smile kindly, “what for, my lord?”

“Making you settle Stefen in, I,” he sighed, “I could have easily done it earlier, I just wanted an excuse to… not go…”

Your smile widened. “I know, Hugo, please don’t worry, besides, I like taking care of Stefen.”

He gives you a grin, his spirit lifting as they always did when you used his first name. “Thank you, I-”

“Hugo!” The far-off call of The Countess echoed around the castle and you chuckled while he groaned.

“Have fun!” You waved as you continued down the stairs.

He nodded disheartenedly.

You got a little lost on your way to the stables and had to ask a stern looking guard the way. When you arrived and introduced yourself to the head stable hand the poor man looked relieved.

Stefan greeted you happily, and had no qualms about letting you brush and clean the mud and grime from his coat. Much to the other stable hands's shock.

It wasn’t long before the sky was dark and you were left alone in the stables with the horses.

“You need to be nicer to others Stefan.” You scowled with a grin.

He whinnied, seeming to laugh playfully at you as you stroked his neck.

“That’s a beautiful horse.”

The low voice behind you made you jump and you spun around quickly. Stefan sensed your discomfort, snorting and stepping forward to try to put himself between you and the stranger.

“It’s alright,” you hushed, patting his side and calming him. You turned to where the voice had come from, the stranger’s outline was just visible in the low candlelight. “Thank you, it is The Earl of Bowhale’s horse.”

“A fine beast for sure.” The stranger nodded, but did not step closer. “I have heard he has a temper.”

You smile and nod. “He is a little set in his ways, strong-willed,” you stroke Stefan affectionately, “but he is a loyal companion if you earn his trust.”

“And it seems that you have.”

You smile again at the stranger. “I would like to think so, The Earl and I used to train him when he was a colt. He is used to me.”

“You ride?”

“A little,” you turn back to Stefan briefly as he nudges your shoulder and stroke him again, “occasionally I accompany The Earl or Countess when they wish.”

“Hmm.”

“And what of you stranger? Do you ride, or are you just of this disposition to watch horses while they rest and harass servants with questions?” You tease playfully.

He chuckles lightly and waits a beat before he steps closer and leans against the wood of Stefan’s stall. The flame light flickers against his features and dread grips your inside in its icy hold.

You freeze for a second, eyes wide before you bow your head and curtsy as low as you can. “Your Highness, I apologise, I did not realise it was you in the dark.”

Your mind rushes with thoughts, you were going to get punished, put in the stocks, maybe even imprisoned, why wasn’t he at the event? Why was he here seemingly stalking about in the dark?

He wasn’t wearing his crown, his clothing obviously expensive but not the attire for entertaining the court.

King John laughed again, but the sound wasn’t unkind. “You were all for questioning me a second ago, am I so fierce that you can’t even raise your head to look at me?”

You keep your position, looking down, panicking on what to do, how to-

“Hmm?” He hooks his fingers under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him. “Has the servant lost her voice?”

You shake your head. “No, Your Highness.”

“Then answer my question.” His voice is low, nearly a growl. The pretence of softness hiding something much sharper underneath.

“You are fierce, Your Highness.” You whisper and he grins.

“And yet, you look at me?” He keeps his touch on your chin light.

“You are making me, Your Highness.” The words slip from your tongue before you truly have a chance to understand them and you screw your face up the second they are spoken.

But he laughs quietly and drops his hand to his side. “There, I wonder what you will do under your own will.”

You pause and swallow, taking a deep breath before opening your eyes and looking back up at him.

His grin widens. He observes you for a moment, the look in his eyes dark, predatory. And for a second you are sure that you made the wrong choice.

“Stand,” he says, his voice still soft and you obey slowly, “much better, I do not need you to stay in a curtsy, my pride is not so vast that I need to have everyone at my feet.”

You stay quiet, biting at your lip and pulling at the skin around your nails, but watch him carefully.

“You are Edith Bowhale’s personal attendant, are you not?”

“I am.” You nod, not wanting to fall short and lose whatever small grace has decided to put you in the King’s favour and not chagrin.

He hums a response, looking away from you for a second and you can feel relief flood your veins as you are out of his sharp glare. The consolation is short lived however, as he quickly stares back at you.

“She was speaking to me about many things, though I have to admit upon seeing you I wished I had been paying more attention.” He smiles, his voice like silk as he takes a step closer.

You pause for a second, your mind slow to catch up with the meaning of his words. “I, wait, I’m sorry, Your Highness, I-”

He chuckles and brushes his fingers against your cheek, a light touch that makes you jump and startle back.

“So skittish,” he teases, “over just a touch.”

“I-”

“A touch from your King no less,” he tuts, “I should be insulted.”

“No, that’s not, not my intention, I-”

Stefan whinnies, seemingly unhappy with how close the King is getting to you and King John uses your brief distraction to his advantage. He grabs hold of your bicep and pulls you out of the stall and swings the wooden door closed.

You can hear Stefan neighing in distress as he pushes you up against the door, his griping your arm tight.

“Calm the horse.” He says softly, his piercing eyes seeming to sink into your very soul.

You swallow, your mouth dry, but tap the door. “Stefan,” you say softly.

The horse calms slightly at your voice.

“It’s alright, don’t worry,” you repeat your words a few times until you hear him start to settle and wish they could have the same effect on you. Your heart races, your breath catching in your throat.

He delights for a moment in your obvious discomfort. “My, my, I have never seen a servant to a Countess so shy.”

You stay quiet, heat rising to your skin. You try to focus on his mouth, but no matter how hard you try you are drawn back to his striking eyes, as if he holds some bewitching magic to keep you under his control.

Slowly he raises his left hand up, giving you plenty of time to see it before he gently touches his fingertips to your cheek, lightly stroking your skin. You still jump a little, naturally trying to flinch away.

It makes him smile even more, taking a deep pleasure in your flustered reaction. He breathed in deeply, as if he were savouring a flower, “aw, what’s wrong? Does the little servant not know how to address her King? How to behave in his presence?”

“I… I’m sorry, Your Highness.” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

He grins wickedly at how timid you have seemingly become. “Now, now,” he teases, his voice thick and heavy, “there’s no need to apologise with those words… how about you tell me something sweet instead?”

You frown in confusion, “something sweet?”

He leans a little closer, caging you in. “Something nice.” He languidly runs his fingers down lower, along your jaw and to your neck. Your racing heartbeat drums against his fingers and a giddy thrill runs down his spine.

“I…”

“Something nice,” he repeats, “something that you could never normally say to someone like me, something that will make me smile.”

Once again your words slip out of your mouth as if you had no control over them, his hypnotic gaze seemingly completely destroying your survival instinct, “you’re beautiful,” you whisper.

He freezes the moment you utter the words, your eyes going wide as you realise what you said. The syllables of your sentence seemingly echo around the stable, ringing and repeating clearly in your mind as if you had screamed them from the rooftops.

A faint dusting of pink highlights his cheeks, but thankfully you cannot see it in the candlelight, he smiles slowly, moving his hand up and tracing your bottom lip with his thumb.

“Repeat that.” He breaths.

Your heart beats so forcefully you’re sure you're going to faint. “You’re so very beautiful.”

He chuckles, leaning closer until his nose bumps against yours and preening a little at the compliment. “You know such words from such an unexpected source only mean more… thank you.”

He dissolves the last centimetres separating you and presses his lips to yours, swallowing down your little gasp of surprise and licking into your mouth without hesitation. His hand is warm on your neck, his body pressing up against yours as if he expects you to push him away, to run. Instead, your fingers sink into his shirt, pulling him closer as you kiss him back with equal further, a lamb happily going to the slaughter.

He growls, low in the chest when you reciprocate, heat blooming in his lower stomach as he pushes even closer and rubs his quickly hardening cock against your hip.

You gasp a little in surprise, but quickly regain yourself, wrapping your arm around his neck and urging him closer, needing to feel every part of him.

This couldn’t be real, this was impossible, you had to be dreaming. Maybe Stefan had reared up as you brushed him and you’d stumbled and hit your head, it was seemingly the only logical conclusion. You might as well enjoy this delusion as long as it lasted.

His kisses grow more demanding, more urgent and he nips at your bottom lip, groaning at your high-pitched sigh. And then whining himself when you repeat the action on him, forcing your tongue into his mouth and pulling sweet sounds from his lips.

There was-

The stable door slams open, “Your Highness, I have come to-”

King John turns furiously, “What?” He yells at the poor servant sent to fetch him.

It’s like a dam has been broken, your mind snaps back to your senses. What were you doing? What the hell were you doing? Kissing The King in a barely lit stable.

The servant stammers a little, saying something that you can’t for the life of you hear. He is silhouetted in the darkness, unseeable and the King steps closer, giving him a verbal dressing down.

You slip out the side door, and rush back to your room. Thankful for the clouded night sky that keeps your face in shadow and identity hidden from possible prying eyes.

____________________________________

Thank you for reading!

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buckypascal · 2 years

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Oscar Isaac + facial hair

↳ happy birthday @phyllisclichesforarainyday

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fruitageoforanges · 5 months

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my favourite heads of the dragon from dunk & egg —

baelor breakspear - honestly one of the most level-headed targs, though i suspect that’s just because he takes wholly after myriah. the moment with the war vs. tourney lances was epic for a jousting nerd like me, and his death is iconic, if disgusting and maybe not even medically possible.

prince valarr - idk, i just think he’s neat. he gets barely any page time, but what he does have is interesting, and i loved what he said to duncan after baelor’s death, because it shows how things that are good for protagonists aren’t, and shouldn’t be, always good for everyone else.

john the fiddler/daemon ii blackfyre - i have a precedent for liking dragon dreamers, so it’s unsurprising that daemon is my boy. he just wanted to be gay, fiddle (with duncan) and serve cunt, but somehow got caught up in his own rebellion. i really hope the rest of his life was spent as shiera seastar’s gay little purse-dog.

#asoiaf #dunk and egg #f&b #asoiaf art #asoiaf fanart #valyrianscrolls #baelor breakspear #valarr targaryen #john the fiddler #daemon ii blackfyre #baelor b + prince valarr references are oscar isaac and timmy c in dune #i know valarr is supposed to be the spitting image of his father but. artistic license.#scribbles

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ilovelosermen69 · 8 months

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I would never be feral for a man nev-

#oscar isaac #prince john #oscar issac characters #robin hood #robin hood 2010 #Prince John x reader

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blue-sadie · 6 months

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Fall From Grace

Imagine:

Being the head servant for prince john and also his mistress who he loves with his whole heart but it's always been a secret between the two of you because of his arranged marriage but one day his mother finds out and he has to choose the crown or you.

"Her I choose her I will always choose her, I love her more then the kingdom, more then I love myself, she owns my heart and soul without her I am no more then the dirt underneath our shoes"

#robin hood #robin hood 2010 #robin hood x reader #robin hood fluff #robin hood x reader fluff #robin hood imagine #robin hood 2010 imagine #oscar isaac #oscar isaac characters #oscar isaac imagine #oscar isaac x reader #prince john #prince john fluff #prince john x reader #prince john x reader fluff #prince john imagine #oscar isaac fluff #oscar isaac x reader fluff #movie characters x reader

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my-secret-shame · 1 month

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#king john #king john edit #robin hood #robin hood edit #robin hood 2010 #prince john #prince john edit #oscar isaac #oscar isaac edit #q #has this been done before? i don't know if i have new thoughts anymore of it they are just recycled #my stupid edit #(affectionate)

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pimosworld · 7 months

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I’m watching Robin Hood for the first time and I’m definitely having some thoughts

I CANT AFFORD ANOTHER BLORBO

#thismanexiststotortureme #prince john #robin hood #oscar isaac characters #oscar isaac

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bossymarmalade · 1 year

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#chromatic pretty #oscar isaac #john boyega #carrie fisher #daisy ridley #3 disney princes #and 1 princess

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redeyerhaenyra · 6 months

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🚨UNPOPULAR OPINION🚨

Prince/King John's blue contacts aren't that bad y'all are overreacting

#im right #yall just sensitive #“oh it looks so weird” it doesnt its literally not that bad #oscar isaac prince john #prince john x reader #king john #prince john #redrambles #and yes i did edit that photo to make his eyes more pronounced 🖕🏻

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melodygatesauthor · 6 months

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There's a new blorbo in town I didn't tell you guys about

Hehe

#melody talks #thinking out loud #i love him your honor #prince john robin hood #oscar isaac #robin hood 2010

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my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 7 months

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My Lord

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

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

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

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

Word Count: 3178

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

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

Banished.

Never allowed to return to England under punishment of death.

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

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

However, the worst thing was, undoubtedly, you.

At least at first.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

John beamed, his eyes shining.

You swallowed. “I am sorry, my lord.”

“For what?”

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

His smile widened and he shook his head.

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

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

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

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

“Let me help you, my lord.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My lord?” You frown.

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

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

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

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

“My lor-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait,” you pull back.

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

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

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

Your thoughts stop for a second. “Married?”

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

“My lord-”

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

Your eyes go wide. Words escaping you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My lo-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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