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luveline · 2 months ago

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𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 | 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

five | chapter list

Finding out you’re a princess isn’t half as intimidating as suddenly acquiring a full-time bodyguard. Especially when that bodyguard is disarmingly handsome, charming, and can’t seem to stop flirting with you.

bodyguard!james, fem!reader, implied chubby!reader, shy!reader, princess diaries au, all characters in their 20s or older, star-crossed lovers/ forbidden romance, slowburn, background wolfstar

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

James can tell you're nervous, though you hide it exceptionally well. Years of training and years before that of being the best friend to two natural born fibbers has given him a professional understanding of the ways people will pretend.

There's no need to pretend. It's your father's funeral.

James sits behind you on the pews. There are guards posted at all four entrances and exits to the church, but the level of security doesn't relax you, because it isn't why you're tensed.

He has to bite his tongue to stop from speaking. Has to cling to his own hands rather than lean forward and inquire if you're alright. He's lucky he'd been allowed to sit as close to the front of the room as he had been, and that was only after a convincing speech to the Queen herself on the dangers your first public outing may entail. He hadn't been exaggerating.

James hadn't been as succinct as he could've been, either, but no one else needs to know.

He looks around the front of the church rather than the back of your head and your tight shoulders. The room has all the furnishings one would expect of a royal funeral, garish white tapings and mammoth crystal chandeliers with their metal fixtures waxed to a burning shine. Light floods in multicolour from gargantuan stained glass windows, reds and greens and buttery orange-yellow kissing the floor, the walls, and the brown lacquered casket at the front of the room.

The proceedings had been in Genovian. James understood the majority, and he's sure Remus caught the rest. Your shoulder had started shaking somewhere between psalms, which means your arm had been shaking, and that's likely from a jigging anxious knee. You're unsettled.

James is unsurprised. There are huge cameras in several places across the room, and at times they'd been pointed at you, your cousin, your aunts and uncles, and, of course, the Queen.

Your identity has been officially broadcasted to the entire world —though thanks to now redundant members of the Royal staff, that had already been true to some extent. You are a princess in the gaze of billions, even if you do choose to give up the role as you're intending. This won’t be easy to leave behind.

Crown Princess or not, you're of royal blood, entitled to royal protection, and so. James can follow you anywhere you want to go for the foreseeable future as long as you allow him. You are just scared enough to say yes. (He hadn't exaggerated the state of things to you. No part of him wants to scare you. But he told you the truth, and he'd scared you anyhow.)

Sitting next to the Queen is the Queen mother (your great-grandmother), and beside her is your uncle, your aunt, the Princess Julianna, and then you. Julianna is clearly unhappy with your untrained decorum but won't risk talking lest she end up on the front page of the newspapers scolding her newly instated cousin.

"Might we all bow our heads for the final prayer."

You bow your head too quickly and too low. James winces and does the same. Hopefully they'll think you miseducated rather than stupid, though to many that's the same crime.

The prayer ends, and pallbearers step forward to carry the casket back out of the church to the hearse, a mixture of royals and paid actors strong enough to take the weight. The first row stands, James sticking out like a nettle among flowers, though his all black uniform isn't out of place for once.

He slots himself behind you in the procession as it begins to walk down the aisle. He can speak and get away with it due to both occupation and occasion, a melancholy orchestra plays as the King is carried home.

"Hello," he says, his face tilted near imperceptibly toward yours. "Everything okay?"

He wants to ask the same question, but better. How are you feeling? I'm sorry I can't give you an out yet.

"Okay," you say.

"You're doing so well," he says.

You relax slightly. You pass Sirius at the very back of the church, where he taps his chin, prompting you to lift your own. The photography outside of the church is respectful, but Sirius and James alike have already quizzed you on what expression to keep. You can't smile. You can't frown. You have to look heartbroken but not hysterical —being branded as an attention seeker so early would fry your reputation. The last thing you need is a smear campaign before the funeral is over. You have to look grateful to be here.

It is not an easy balance to strike.

James thinks you're doing wonderfully either way, and the point of the funeral is to respect your father now he's passed, but he'd also say it was a successful launch. You look sweet, and remarkably made up.

"Can we go home now?" you ask.

"We can. You don't have anything else on the docket."

"I don't have to go to, like, a wake?" you ask.

James shakes his head. "No. I think most of the family want to grieve in private after a spectacle like this."

"An event," Sirius corrects.

"Are you hungry?" James asks.

"Why, does Genovia have McDonald's?"

It's a credit to both James and Sirius that they manage to hide how funny they find you. "We do, but we can't take you to McDonald's. There'll be paparazzi following your car as soon as we leave the lot."

"I don't want McDonald's," you say.

"We know. I'm just asking so I can call ahead," James says.

"It's my job, really," Sirius says.

It's neither. You should've had a lady in waiting by now, a professional one to handle every aspect of your day by day, but the sudden nature of your arrival and now incoming date of your departure has left you without one. Sirius and James (and Remus, at times) have been happy to pick up the slack.

"Is it bad that I am hungry?" you ask.

James guides you away from the procession as the hearse pulls away, eager to get you in your own car sandwiched between a crowd of bodyguards. His men fall in without prompting, surrounding you on all sides. You visibly wither at the precaution.

"It's not bad. Grieving is hungry work," Sirius says.

James can't keep up with your conversation. There's suspicious movement at the barricade, the gathered supporters strangely rowdy for the occasion. He gestures with two fingers for the guards at his side to pull in tighter. Unsatisfied, he clears his throat and says, "Fall in, guys."

He doesn't need to say what he's worried about. The guards under his employ and under any branch of Palace security should have enough sense to feel the difference in the atmosphere.

"There's the Princess!" someone shouts. Hundreds of eyes find you.

"I don't wave, do I?" you ask, turning to look at James. You realise the guards have tightened ranks, a frown twisting your pretty smile down. "What's happening?"

He hates the sudden fear in your voice.

"Nothing," he says, hand hovering behind the small of your back, eyes at the crowd. There's a man standing too still to be natural. "Don't worry. What are you having for dinner?"

"That was an awful lie, you didn't even try," you complain, following his line of sight as best as you can to the crowd.

"Seriously, Princess, what are we having for dinner?" Sirius asks.

"Am I in danger?" you ask.

"No," James says firmly.

"They're protecting me," Sirius says, which would be more believable if he didn't have to shout it over someone's shoulder.

"You're not in any danger," James says, firmer still, a bite to his voice that makes Sirius wince. You stare. "You're still on camera, Princess." James is on camera. Your safety comes first, but his job is his job. Mary already berated him upon her return about his mishandling of the first airport disaster, and if James can't handle these situations, they'll find someone else to do it.

They manage to get you to your car without any incidents. James covers the roof and ushers you in, closing the door behind you. He takes the passenger seat, and your driver for the day, Munroe, starts the short journey back to Bellaverden House.

James stays sitting prim, the light of the police escorts fronting your procession gaussian blue on his hands.

"Are you okay?"

James is surprised that you're asking him, turning to meet your eyes from over his shoulder. "I'm perfectly fine. How are you, are you alright?"

You look a little seasick, hands either side of you in the empty seats. "I'm sorry if I made you mad."

It's an expression he's seen on Sirius a hundred times, uncertainty, the anxiety of not knowing if you're in trouble with someone. He does as he would with him. "I'm not mad, Princess. I have to… I have to be someone else when I'm working to make sure I perform the way I need to. I’m sorry if that feels personal, but I can assure you it's just work. Okay?" He starts professional, ends soft. "Now, are you alright?"

He keeps waiting for the reality of your situation to press upon you. Grief for a man you never knew, even anger at his inactive role in your life, but you stay quiet and cagey as a nervous cat.

"I'm fine, James."

"Are you?" James watches for it, finds the tremor in your hands that betrays you even if you don't think there's anything wrong.

"Fine," you say.

—

Two days later, you take a flight home. Private again, less than ten passengers, six of which are following you. You’d wanted to escape the royal duties and they’re practically tucked in your back pocket.

“Don’t look so scolded,” Sirius says, ineffectual as he gets comfortable beside you, a tray of biscuits in his lap.

“What?”

“James isn’t angry.”

You hide a small fluster with a swallow. “I know.”

“Well.” Sirius eats another biscuit. You honestly like him as much as you like James, though you’re starting to think he might end up being a pain in your side. He’s… opinionated. “You don’t look like you know. Can you eat something so everyone can stop worrying?”

“Sorry.”

You eat a chocolate biscuit, frown, eat a shortbread. Your stomach rumbles with a sickly lurch, but after a bit the sugar kicks in and you feel better. You peer around Sirius to spot James and Mickey pointing at different things on an iPad across the aisle. Just behind them, Remus sleeps, sitting next to Marlene. And, for reasons unbeknownst to you, Lily and Emmeline chatter in the seats just ahead.

You tried very hard to get out of being a princess, and yet you’ve been trailed back home anyways.

“You’re like Remus,” Sirius says, with surprising affection for both of you, “a bit of chocolate and the sulking stops.”

“They’re nice biscuits.”

“They’re Genovian, obviously they’re nice biscuits. You’re used to that English shite–”

“Come on,” you reprimand lightly, “have you ever had a Welsh shortbread? Get a grip.”

“I’ve had many Welsh shortbread. My Remus is very Welsh.” Sirius sinks down in his seat a little, seemingly sated by even a mention of Remus. The more you know them, the more you realise ‘my Remus’ is accurate. Sirius doesn’t even really say it with fondness or anything so saccharine, but just the addition of the word packs a punch. He’s said ‘my James’ before too, and that had been the same.

A little nibble of jealousy blossoms in your chest.

“Have you and Remus always been friends?” you ask.

Sirius tilts his head back. His nice chin points at you, his eyes lazily opened but friendly all the same. “Yes. Despite his wishes, some of the time. I was friends with James first, the day we met, but Remus shared a room so he couldn’t escape us. He was friendlier with… we had another roommate. So for a while we were natural pairs, but eventually we became a right group of messers.”

“I find it a bit difficult to make friends.”

“Me too.” He closes his eyes for a second. “If I hadn’t been forced to see them every day, I wonder if I would’ve managed it.”

You’re late for boarding school, but seeing people each day might be manageable. After all, you’ve a trapped posse of advisors with you at this very moment, destined to trail after you for what could be months.

You hope that, when they inevitably return home, they might still want to be friends.

The plane begins descending half an hour from the airport. Sirius squeezes the arm but doesn’t fuss. Then, suddenly, the landing gear is out, the seatbelt lights are on, and Sirius is encouraging you to ram the last of the biscuits in with him so he can bin the plastic tray they came in. “Go on,” he whispers, forcing the last, huge slag of caramel and chocolate in your direction, “before Marlene can see we’ve ruined dinner.”

“She’s not actually going to cook for me, is she?” you ask, frowning.

“Of course she is.”

Of course she is. You cringe through the landing, but can’t stop yourself from smiling when James makes his way to your chairs to get your bag from the overhead. You know it’s lame, but it’s just like having a boyfriend.

“Remus, will you get mine too?” you hear Sirius ask as he slinks around James’ body.

“Get your own.”

“Nice flight?” you ask James.

He smiles. “Awesome. You look better off than the last time.”

Last time you’d been exhausted, with red-rimmed eyes and a shiner. This is decidedly better, but you’re thrice as tired emotionally.

“I can’t wait to go home.”

James puts a hand behind your shoulder like he’s known you for years. “I bet you can’t,” he says.

“Will you be, uh, sleeping on my sofa again?”

He laughs and encourages you down the plane’s aisle. “Not this time, Princess. The proper arrangements have been made. I’ll miss your floral pillowcases, rest assured.”

“I’ll miss getting decked by my door.”

James’ gaze snaps to yours in shock. He pauses with his mouth just slightly open, and then a laugh jumps from him, a sunny, warm, crackly chuckle that heats your cheeks. “Yes!” he praises, giving you a poke. “I knew we’d make a comedian of you. And a dark one.”

The sheer look of joy on his face buoys you as you journey home. It was out of character, sure, but worth it to have made him laugh. You find you like the feeling of it, the pleasure, even the satisfaction of making him laugh. You’ll have to do it again.

You seem to have avoided any leaks of gossip or press, ushered by a small, tight group of security through the airport and to a jet black freelander.

James opens the back door for you. “No SUV?” you ask, climbing in.

“They’re not exactly common here, are they? This is less eye-catching.”

“Less impressive,” Sirius says, nudging you across to climb in after you.

You find yourself shuttered to the opposite side of the car as Remus gets in behind him. “Idiots,” James mutters.

“I thought we should’ve had a G-wagon,” Sirius says.

“That’s ridiculous,” Remus says.

“Or something stylish, then. A Benz.”

“This is nicer than the bus,” you say.

Sirius wrinkles his nose. “Too right.”

“So, where are we going?” you ask. You can’t work out why they’ve gotten into the same car.

“I thought we’d stay with you for a bit,” Sirius says easily.

“Why?”

You flush as you realise what you’ve said, and how bluntly it came out.

Sirius doesn’t flinch. “I was thinking you might want company. No?”

“You don’t have to–”

“No, we don’t,” Remus says, resting his weight on Sirius’ arm, “but we want to if you’re alright with it.”

You settle in your seat for the drive home, a small smile playing on your lips. It would be nice to have friends right now.

—

It turns out that time spent with the boys can get out of hand. Even James, oh so serious, begins to play into their shenanigans. Being together relaxes them, evident in their huge dopey smiles and the tactile way they go about the evening.

James was supposed to leave sometime after eight when Mickey arrived to relieve him, but he’d hunkered down with Remus on the sofa, stealing sips of his tea and attempting to push his socked feet under Remus’ thighs. “No,” he says now, giving Remus a prod, “you knocked the Genovian pear juggler clear off of his feet! And you blamed Sirius!”

“And I took the blame like a proper man,” Sirius says, tipping his head back to lay on Remus’ knees. “You’re welcome.”

“You owed me.”

A vague tenseness lines James’ shoulders, but Sirius only says, “Yes, I did.”

“He had to wash dishes for a month,” Remus says.

“I accepted my punishment. Besides, it gave me plenty of opportunity to pilfer the kitchens. We ate enough chocolate to make ourselves sick of it in a week.”

You curl up tighter in the armchair. The TV is playing quietly, an old movie flickering in muted colours, dabs of it caught on James’ arm.

He pushes his glasses further up his nose. You like them, the glasses, though he says they aren’t practical. They look good on him, bringing an extra darkness to his eyes, already a nice honey brown. All these brown eyed boys in one place isn’t good for you.

Marlene had, to your horror, come around to make you and your guests a late supper. You’d asked her how the royal kitchens would run without her and she’d asked you not to insult her workers. She’s bullied you into three plates worth and promised to be back tomorrow morning.

You’d said oh, no, please don’t, and James had reminded you that you’re going to be a princess for the rest of your life. Get used to extravagance.

And company! Sirius called.

He hasn’t moved since he got here, not even for dinner, though it’s not like you all would’ve fit around your teeny kitchen table anyhow. He picks at a plate of buttered bread and Genovian grapes, which Marlene had apparently gotten for him on special request. He has a planner in front of him, a heavy looking silver pen between lithe fingers scribbling across the pages, scratching things out, drawing big arrows as he moves dates around.

“You’re busy,” you say sympathetically.

Sirius snorts. “This is your planner, babe.”

“My what?”

“I’m trying to fit driving lessons around your classes. They’re quite random, aren’t they?” He lifts his gaze to meet your confusion. “James wants you to learn.”

“Well, I haven’t asked her yet, mate,” James says.

Sirius shrugs. “If I’m going to work it out, I need to do it now before bed.”

“What about my shifts?” you ask.

Sirius tilts his head ever so slightly to one side. “You still want to work?”

You remember the shock of the inheritance all over again. Weird to think a lump sum will have cleared in your bank account before you got home, the accruement of years spent unaware of your heritage. It will be strange to quit The Morgan —you know so many of the regulars, and you’ve spent the last two years living off of that paycheck— but the idea is a sudden warm blanket.

“I can quit?” you ask.

“Sure,” Sirius says. “If you want. You don’t have to worry about it anymore. That’s not to say you can’t work, but I can’t imagine you’ll spend what you have soon…”

You smile to yourself, guilty and so, so relieved. “You wouldn’t believe how horrible my manager is. I don’t want to be spoiled–”

All three boys roll their eyes. It’s unnerving. “It’s not spoiled,” Remus says.

“It makes my life easier,” James says. “Besides, the Royal Family might demand it.”

“Mm, it’ll look bad if the heir keeps her pub job,” Sirius says. He scratches out a last corner of the page. “Alright, darling, listen up. You can fit in two hours of driving a day, three times a week, is that gonna be something you can do? In about two months you should have your forty five hours of practice. We can study theory twice a week. If it’s too intense we can slow down, there’s no rush, really, just James–”

“Doesn’t like the bus,” you say.

“Hates public transport,” Sirius agrees.

“It’s good for the environment,” James speaks up, leaning further and further toward the arm, sinking into your battered throw cushions, “bad for princesses.”

That awful p-word.

“Alright. That sounds perfect, Sirius. Thank you for working it all out.”

“You’re very welcome. You might not like me so much when you see how many hours I’ve given Remus.”

You put your hands between your legs. “Oh, do I still have to do all that? Even if I’m not going to...”

“Become the crown princess of Genovia and rule the country?” Remus asks. “Yes, you still have to do all that. If only the basics.”

“But why?”

“‘Cos I said so,” Remus quips, leaning forward as Sirius leans back, a scarred hand falling naturally against his sharp shoulder.

“Ooh, you’re in trouble now, Princess,” James says. “An angry Remus is formidable.”

“I’m not angry.” Remus reaches over Sirius for a grape, his nose brushing black hair.

Sirius softens from the brush of touch alone. It is an intense thing to see, not private but intimate nonetheless. They must be seeing, you decide, curling tighter again in the armchair and craving another box of biscuits. For the first time since the funeral, you aren’t feeling off centre. You just feel like you, home again, an itch to sketch in your hands battered down by fatigue. It’s been such a long day, yet you stay your leave.

“Scratch my hair?” Sirius asks.

Remus hums. “No, thank you.”

“Oh, please, Remus. Just scratch it, don’t be selfish.”

“He’s a sponge for it,” James tells you. “Couldn’t be touched when we met him, mind, but now he won’t leave you alone once you’ve said yes. If he asks you to draw shapes on his arm, save yourself and say no.”

You wouldn’t mind, you don’t think. Sirius sees it on your face and grins.

James decides to appease Sirius while Remus refuses and ushers him his way. He runs a big hand through Sirius' hair, fingers combing to the ends, and then he goes up the back of his neck, where he begins to scratch long circles. “That’s better,” Sirius says, falling back against James’ leg. “I always thought I should be a prince, you know. I like the royal treatment.”

“Didn’t get much royal treatment as a lord, did you?” Remus asks.

“You’re a lord?” you ask.

“I could’ve been. I was the heir,” Sirius says, tone taking on a dripping disdainfulness that seems tired of real emotion.

“Lord of the most Noble House of Black,” James says. “Only he ditched them. Quite dramatically.”

“Thank goodness,” Remus says.

Sirius looks at you again. Both exhausted and unaffected, like the deepest pain has passed. You can see the weariness of someone who’s spent days at a long dinner table, though now he sits slouched and cared for against your ratty sofa, and it suits him more. “My family is traditional, and I’m less so. I could never have lived the life I was supposed to. It probably would have killed me. So I left, and I was lucky enough to be taken care of by another oh so noble family.”

“The Potter’s aren’t noble,” James says quickly. “I’m not a lord or heir or anything.”

“Well, you are heir of the Potter name and riches and all,” Remus says, taking Sirius’ plate of snacks into his lap. He folds a thick piece of the bread and butter and offers it to Sirius before eating the last one.

“Yes…” James gives Remus a pointed look, which Remus ignores. “But it’s not like the Black family. You might actually meet them, one day.”

“Pray not,” Sirius says to himself.

“Hmm. The Potter’s are an older family too, but not like the Black’s. The Black’s have deep Genovian roots, my family are–” James’ cheeks take colour. “Rich, yes. Very rich.”

“But you work,” you say.

“I think I’d go mad if I couldn’t.” He must spot the look of guilt you fail to thwart. “But it’s different. To grow up completely looked after, I’ve never had to do anything I didn’t want to do.”

“That’s not what I’ve been led to believe,” Remus cuts in, laughing, meeting James’ eyes, “all that homework you needed my help with, you did that willingly?”

You laugh at James’ faked annoyance and their matching chuckles. Time that night seems to slip away, and it’s well past midnight when you fall asleep, still curled in your chair.

In the morning, you wake up in bed.

You pull a pillow over your face, cold underside to your boiling skin. How did I get here? you ask yourself, terrified of the answer.

—

Honestly, your flat isn’t the nicest. It’s clean as you can manage, but there’s damp in the bathroom and it’s rather squashed. James finds himself squinting in disgust at the door at the front of the building which still doesn’t open properly (and so can be jimmied) despite his annoyed email to the landlord where he’d cited a few chosen laws and threatened to withhold the rent, though he supposes it had no weight because James isn’t the one paying it. Still, he can’t deal with this. He has to convince you to move. A gated community might be a shout; he’d worry less if you lived among the rich and their security cameras.

But he doesn’t suppose the best course of action here is to displace you again. You like your flat, he thinks, hadn’t you told him before that you liked the quiet? Or was it the noise? It’s not like London has a reputation for peace. He’s still not sure how you ended up living in central London: he commits to ask.

James isn’t going to give up on you. He wants you to be princess, The Princess, he wants you to take your place as Queen of Genovia one day. Not because you’re the only one who can stop fucking Baron Riddle from ruling Genovia as a tyrant bastard, but because it’s your birthright. You run from something that could be so special to stay here, alone and lonely. He knows it’s harsh to think of it that way, and yet he does. And, selfishly, he wants to stay with his friends. He wants to be your friend. If the Riddle family control Genovia he can say goodbye to his job, and he can say goodbye to the life he’s made. He could make another one, of course, but he has a feeling about you.

He takes the stairs past the huge discarded mattress and a floor covered in mail to your flat. The door is propped open which he hates, but Mikkelson is inside, sitting at the kitchen table with you, drinking a polite cup of tea. Sirius leans up against a counter with his own.

“Good morning,” James says.

You’re wearing jogging bottoms, socks, and a t-shirt with a charcoal smudge on the neck. It has short, short sleeves, showcasing the lengths of your arms. James is only a boy, following the curve of one down to your hand.

You glance at your arm, then him. “Good morning?”

“Aren’t you cold?” he asks to save himself.

“It’s warm out?” you say, peering around Mickey to check the sunshine coming from the window. “It’s warm in here, at least.”

“Mickey, are you ready?” James asks.

Mickey thanks you for the tea and leaves, tired in the eyes. James slaps him on the shoulder as he goes.

Sirius stretches backwards. When he rises up, he fixes James with a cool look. “Jamie, I’ve just heard from our royal sweetness that you’ve been calling me her stylist.”

You flinch. “Uh–”

“Well,” James says, grinning as he settles against the doorframe, “it is how Lily introduced you.“

“Ah, yes, Lily Evans. Longtime frenemy. I expected it from her. I didn’t realise you were driving the narrative home in my absence.”

“Sirius, you do style her, you realise.”

“I’m a media coach!” Sirius sniffs. “And a gentleman in waiting, for the time being.”

“You’re more than a coach,” James says.

“Yes, well. I’m not a stylist. At least, that’s not my first priority. I’m miffed with you now, so steer clear of me.” Sirius says, ferrying back to the living room.

James hears the clunk of his modest briefcase being opened. You start to apologise, but he shakes his head with a grin. “Please ignore him, he’s kidding.” He traces the side of your face in the light. “Your bruise is almost gone.”

Your fingers flit to your cheek and the well of your eye. “Yeah. Yeah, it's only sore now.”

“Little yellow in the crease.” Hard to see if you’re not really looking.

“It feels like it was a really long time ago,” you say, standing from your chair with a wobble.

“You alright?” he asks.

You make for the kettle, flicking it on. “Fine. Tea, coffee?”

“Sure, I’ll have some tea. What’s Sirius doing up so early?”

“He didn’t say yet.”

You take a mug from the cupboard printed in autumn leaves. James hears a rough sound and turns to the living room on instinct, hard pressed to hold in a laugh as he watches Sirius right your knocked coffee table. James had taken Remus back to the accommodation last night while Sirius insisted he’d stay. It’s not nice to be alone, he’d said simply. When James turns back to the kitchen, you’ve placed a tea bag and a teaspoon in the mug, jug of milk waiting, jar of brown sugar cracked. “It’s gone solid,” you warn, “there’s nothing wrong with it though, I promise.”

“I only have a little. Here, I can do it. Have you eaten?”

“Yeah, we had toast. Did you?”

“Don’t worry about me,” he says.

James has said goodbye to professionalism. Not safety, not doing his job, but if what you need to be the crown princess is a friend, James will be your friend. He can do that easily. It feels a little odd after fighting it for the time you spent in Genovia, but he’s done with pretending you’re not cutesy.

“What are you going to do today?” he asks, coming up behind you, close enough to see the dark pupil of your eye and the white of the kitchen light against it.

“Um, well, Sirius is going to help me tender my resignation at the bar, and then I guess I have a driving lesson? I should probably try to catch up on my assignments, or. I don’t know, maybe I’ll drop out.” Your eyes widen slightly. “Not because I want to do nothing. I just– I can– can try again. A fresh start at a proper university.”

James holds the top of your arm. “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with that. You don’t have to decide anything today. I’m sure you can take a sabbatical for your current term, Sirius can help you sort that out, just until you decide. Or you could drop out tonight and think about it all later. You have time. I didn’t think for a second it was because you want to do nothing, and even if I did, that’s not bad either.” His thumb crests a small circle, pushing up the line of your sleeve.

Your lips part for a moment before you answer, as though practising. “Thank you, James.”

“I haven’t done anything.”

“I bet you don’t think so.”

James pats your shoulder gently, then reaches for the kettle as it flicks off, boiled. “Can I suggest an addendum to your calendar?”

“Sure.”

“I was thinking you could try another counselling session.”

You blink, stopped with a tea bag in hand. “Why?”

“The first one went well, didn’t it?”

“But I’m home now.”

“That doesn’t erase the last week.” Nearly two now, since you found out.

You push your mug toward his and he fills it with hot water. He follows suit and adds his own milk, stirring it together quickly. His spoon on the sides is a biting clink, clink, clink.

“Things have felt a bit staccato, haven’t they?” he asks.

You nod, toying with the handle of your mug.

“It would be nice for you to have something constant. Some stability. And we can arrange for you to have private care here, you know.”

“I have stability,” you argue unsurely. “You and Remus and Sirius, and Frank, too. Is he coming back?”

“Frank’s having some time off with his partner, but he’ll be here soon.” He laughs, pushing the body of his teabag against the side of his mug, the brown of the tea seeping into the milk in a wave. “I don’t think you can get rid of me, however hard you wanna try.”

“I wasn’t trying to get rid of you.”

James looks up. He catches your eye. Again, the dark of your pupil shines and shakes, not sure where to look, but your lip stays in a firm line like you’ve been chastened. He remembers flicking you under the chin the last time you’d looked at him like that. He could do it again, but he fears Sirius’ judgement. “I know,” he says, voice soft with his low volume. “I’m teasing.”

“Would you not?” you ask.

“So spritely today! Alright, is your tea done? Let’s go sit in the living room and make a list.”

“A list?”

“Of things you want to do,” he says, scooping the tea bag from his mug.

“I don’t know what I want to do.” You take his spoon to remove your tea bag.

You chuck it in the sink, pulling your mug to your chest. You don’t sound happy about making the list, but you follow him obligingly to the living room where Sirius is brushing his hair from his face, a list of his own coming to life on his knee.

“Not more duties for me?” you ask tentatively.

Sirius makes grabbing hands for James’ mug. James, with a sigh, lets him have it. Sirius takes a glutinous sip and doesn’t offer it back.

“I’m sorry I didn’t clear up your job status when talking to the Princess, Pads. Can we ever be friends again?” James says in defeat.

“I’ll think about it,” Sirius says, not bothering to meet James’ eyes. “And to answer your question, your sweetness, it’s not for you, don’t worry. I’m trying to make sure Remus’ medical information is being properly swapped over. It’s…” Sirius takes another sip of tea and then thankfully passes it back. “A headache. Doctors.”

“Does Remus know you’re doing that?” James asks, sitting on the empty sofa. You take the seat beside him.

“Not yet. It’s not– not like it’s not part of my job. He works for the princess, I work for the princess, I might as well make sure he’s tip top shape to do that.” Sirius gets that look James recognises for not wanting to talk about the thing he’s talking about anymore, his eyes lighting up predictably. “What’s on your agenda today?”

“I suppose we’ll be taking the Princess to the shops at some point. You needed some bits?” he asks.

You noticeably fluster but don’t answer.

“And then after that I’ll be taking her for her first driving lesson.”

Your jaw drops. “Wait, you're teaching me?”

“Well, just to begin with,” James says. He squints at you. “I’m a good driver, I’ll have you know.”

Sirius rolls his eyes.

“I am! And besides, who do I trust more than me? And you trust me, don’t you?” he asks you.

You cross your arm over your chest. “Yeah, ‘course.”

James’ grin is evident in his tone. “Good. Because after that we’ll be endeavouring into the land of self-defence.”

“What?”

“With a safety mat, don’t worry.”

You nibble your bottom lip. “Well, I wasn’t until you said that.”

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter fic #james potter fluff #james potter blurb #james potter drabble #james potter imagine #james potter fanfic #james potter fanfiction #james potter scenario #james potter oneshot #the marauders #marauders era #marauders

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rhettabbotts · 1 year ago

Text

baby, if you only knew - dilf!rhett abbott x babysitter!reader

pairing: dilf!rhett abbott x babysitter!reader

summary: tensions boil over and everything changes for you and rhett one night at a rancher’s event you attend.

w/c: 5.4k (she’s a mammoth)

warnings: 18+ only. smut. age gap (babysitter 20s, rhett 40s). dirty talk. making out in an elevator. daddy kink. possessive rhett. slightly rough sex. cunnilingus. hair pulling. overstimulation. size kink. aftercare. rhett’s grey hair. some fluff.

a/n: i can see you by taylor swift is to blame for this. enjoy the filth! also couldn’t stop myself from adding some babysitter lore. also see green, green dress from tick, tick…boom! for the dress reference!

Six months. Six long, tortuous months of working under Rhett Abbott’s roof.

Okay, it wasn’t as bad as you were making it out to be in your head. His daughters were angels, and you appreciated that he worked with your school schedule as you attended your graduate program. And he let you live in his guest room rent free.

But it was sweet torture. You had fallen hard for the single father of two and it made every day even harder than the last. Rhett was a wonderful man, an attentive father, and a hell of a cook. A hard worker and he was so handsome, you could hardly breathe around him. Who wouldn’t fall in love with the cowboy?

You tried everything in the world to rid your thoughts of him, but you were highly unsuccessful. And he only did things that made it worse. Every time you brushed by him in the halls it felt like electricity coursed through your entire body. He had to feel it too, right?

Delusional. That’s what you were. You were the babysitter. Nothing more. Eventually, the girls would grow up and you wouldn’t be needed anymore. And that thought caused your chest to tighten painfully.

What a thought to have while washing the dishes. You heard your name but it sounded far off, like your ears were full of cotton.

“Tilly, come quick!” Grace shouted once more to get your attention. It made you turn abruptly, soap suds went flying as you dropped the ceramic pot you were washing. “Sorry,” she mumbled when you glared slightly at her.

“What’s wrong, Gracie?” you questioned as you wiped your hands off with the flower embroidered kitchen towel. Something you bought and put out to leave your own touch on this place.

“Oh. Nothing. Ellie just wanted to show you that we won our game.” The girls had been obsessed with Super Mario Brothers and had been playing it for days.

“That’s great guys! How about we take a break and you help me get dinner started?”

“Can we have ice cream for dessert?” Ellie, Rhett’s younger daughter pouted, bright blue eyes pleading. She and Grace were the carbon copies of Rhett. Same eyes, same nose, same crooked smile. You could never say no to them.

“Of course. But don’t tell your dad,” you whispered, placing your finger to your lips like it was a top secret.

The girls helped you finish the food just as Rhett came in from another long day of herding and branding cattle. He was dusty, covered in dirt and sweat and tendrils of his hair stuck to his forehead, the ends curling up. You wanted to run your fingers through it, sweat be damned.

“Daddy!” “Daddy, look at what we made!”

The girls ran towards Rhett, pausing when they got close enough to smell him.

“You stink,” Grace commented flatly.

“Thanks. Love you too. Listen, I’m gonna go shower and I’ll be down in a bit. You all can start without me,” Rhett said as he kicked his boots off by the door and took the stairs two at a time. “Oh, and Tilly?” He called from the upstairs landing.

“Yeah?”

“I gotta ask you something later. Don’t let me forget.”

You just nodded, stomach turning at the thought of what it could be.

Grace and Ellie helped you set the table, always eager to follow your every move. It makes you smile. Sometimes you felt like an actual family. And then you had to bring yourself back to reality. Just the nanny. Nothing more. Dinner was quiet, everyone was hungry and occupied with getting their bellies full.

You were resting on the couch as Rhett finished bath and bed time with the girls, trying to read your latest book but your mind was going a thousand miles a minute. Your heart started to beat faster as you heard Rhett descend down the stairs.

Rhett took himself to the kitchen, busying himself by pouring a glass of whiskey. A bottle you bought for him for Christmas the year prior. You peeked at him over the top of your book, watching his back muscles flex in the tight black tee he wore. Your mouth watered at the sight of his strong arms and his soft stomach as he turned to face you.

You quickly raised the book above your eyes, fearing that you had been caught staring. You missed Rhett’s knowing smirk.

“Move over,” Rhett poked at the bottom of your foot, the motion tickling you ever so slightly and causing you to jerk your leg towards you. “What are you reading? New dirty novel?” He teased.

“No…” you said quietly, a little shamefully.

“Liar. Is this one better than the last at least?”

“So far. Hey, what did you want to ask me earlier?” You stretched your legs back out and they landed in Rhett’s lap. He didn’t seem to mind. His unoccupied hand landed on your shin, calloused thumb lightly brushing the bone there. Your mind went blank and you could hear nothing but static in your ears.

“I got invited to this rancher’s event. They want me to give a speech. Stupid, but I agreed. And I… I need a plus one. And I figured maybe if you wanted to-“

“Yes!” You said eagerly, spine straightening. “I mean- sorry- go ahead…” Your cheeks felt hot at your abruptness. He was probably going to ask you to set him up with someone. Probably Lisa, Ellie’s dance teacher. She always had her eye on him.

“I wanted to ask if you wanted to come with me. Give you a break. It’s the weekend my parents wanted to take the girls camping. That is.. if you didn’t have any plans…”

Rhett sounded nervous. He was looking down at where his hand rested on your leg, avoiding all eye contact.

“Oh. Yeah. I don’t have anything going on. I’ll go with you. As-“

“Friends, of course.”

“Right. Friends. What’s the dress code?” You asked, heart sinking slightly.

“Black tie,” Rhett grumbled. He hated dressing up. If he can’t wear flannel, he doesn’t want to be there.

“Perfect. I’ll find a dress to wear.”

“Well. I’ll leave you to the reading. Goodnight, Tilly.” Rhett tapped your leg a couple of times before moving you so he could stand.

You sighed deeply as he left the room, trying to ignore the gut wrenching feeling you had at his response. You couldn’t focus on your book and you eventually went upstairs to attempt to sleep.

“I want you so bad,” Rhett growled against your neck, teeth sinking into your skin causing you to whimper and arch against him. His leg was in between yours, keeping your thighs separated and your barely covered cunt brush against his suit pants. “You’re fucking soaked, sweet girl. You’ve wanted this for so long, haven’t you?”

“Rhett, please!” You whined pathetically, grinding down on his thigh, searching for any sort of relief.

“Beg for it, baby. Beg for daddy. Tell me what you want.” Rhett said, voice low and gravelly. He pressed you into the wall harder, flexing his thigh as you keened. “I know you want me to fu-“

“Tillyyyyyy, wake uppppp,” a tiny voice called from the other side of the door. Your eyes shot open so fast it made your head spin. Your entire body was hot even though you just had the sheet covering you and the ceiling fan was on. You were having a dream about Rhett. A fucking wet dream. And now Ellie was yelling at you in the hallway. You felt like you were being punished.

You checked your phone. 5:37am. Jesus, why was she awake?

“I’m up, El. Hold your horses.” You went to the en-suite bathroom to splash cold water on your face. “Get yourself together. Now,” you said through gritted teeth, pointing a finger at yourself in the mirror.

The four-year-old stood outside your door with her stuffed horse tucked under her arms. Her eyes were a little red and she was sniffling.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“I feel sick,” she whispered weakly, clutching the horse to her chest tighter.

“Come on, bug. I’ll get you some medicine.”

You picked her up and perched her on your hip as you carried her down the stairs. Her forehead felt a little warm. She sat patiently on the counter while you poured the medicine in the little cup and you rubbed her back as she swallowed it.

“Good job, El! I’m proud of you. Here, drink some water and let’s get you back to bed, okay?”

She nodded as she took a big gulp of water from her sippy cup. You trotted back up the stairs, bouncing her slightly to make her giggle.

“Alright, you got your water here and Honey is right here with you. Try to get some sleep, bug. I’ll fix pancakes when you wake up.” You tucked Ellie in, kissing her forehead before you stood up.

Her eyes were already heavy and she mumbled something you couldn’t hear.

“What was that?”

“Luh you, mama.” She repeated sleepily, snuggling her horse and then started snoring softly immediately.

“Oh… I- I love you too, bug.”

You didn’t know how to react. She had never called you that before and it made your eyes misty with tears. You couldn’t go back to sleep. Not after the dream and not after Ellie calling you mama.

The next few hours went by in a blur. You had planned to go shopping with your friend Tabitha to find your dress for the dinner. After dropping the girls off at school, you met Tabitha at the mall. You were in a daze, barely listening to her rant about her latest failed Tinder date.

“Hellooooo,” she snapped her fingers in front of your face. “Are you even listening?”

“Yeah, sorry. No, I’m just- I don’t know what I’m doing,” you sighed as you placed your face in your hands.

“What do you mean?”

“With Rhett! It’s like- why am I going to this dinner? Why do I keep torturing myself? And Ellie! She called me her mom this morning! I want a family and I feel like I have it but it’s not really mine, you know?”

“You need to get laid. That’s what you need,” Tabitha said nonchalantly. She looked through the dresses on the rack in the store you were in. “Oh. My. God. This. This dress. Go try it on. NOW!”

She shoved a velvet dress into your arms and pushed you towards the fitting rooms. It was a deep green color, the fabric felt soft against your skin. It wasn’t a dress you would pick out for yourself but once you slid it over your head your jaw dropped at the sight in the mirror.

The bodice was a corset type, something you didn’t typically reach for but was pleasantly surprised at how it looked on you. The dress was form fitting but not uncomfortably so. The strap tied around your neck, lifting your chest and displaying the tops of your breasts tastefully.

The dress hugged your every curve, accentuating parts of your body you weren’t necessarily happy with, but now you felt sexy. Powerful. You opened the door and called for Tabitha. She came running with a few other options in her hands but her reaction matched your own as she laid eyes on you.

“Holy fuck. Yeah, no, forget these. You have to get that one. If he doesn’t fuck you, I will.”

You rolled her eyes at her antics and looked into the mirror once more. You felt so beautiful in the dress. It made you a little giddy at the thought of Rhett’s reaction. If he even had one. You tried to shake the negative thought away. If he didn’t appreciate it, someone else would. Maybe a nice cowboy who’d be down for a one night stand at a fancy hotel.

The week passed by in the blink of an eye and before you knew it, Rhett was packing the girls’ bags for their camping trip and was shouting up at you that he was going to pick up his suit in town from the tailor’s.

You took your time styling your hair the way you liked and you did your makeup, keeping it light but putting on a red lip. Just to be a little bold.

You hid in your room until you heard Rhett finish getting ready and head down the stairs.

“Tilly, you ready? We should leave so-“ Rhett stopped as he turned at the sound of your heels clicking against the wood. “Wow…” he breathed. “You look, ehem, you look nice. That’s a pretty dress.” He fiddled with his cuff links, avoiding eye contact.

“Thank you,” you responded shyly. He held his arm out to escort you to the black pickup truck. The ride was silent except for the radio and the hum of the engine. You couldn’t stop from looking to Rhett. His hair was slicked back, the gray hair looked more prominent. His temples were nearly white. He had a shadow of stubble on his jaw and his suit fit him in all the right places.

You pulled up to a beautiful hotel. It was a grand building, accents of gold sparkled in the setting sun and gorgeous flowers lined the walkways. Rows of trucks indicated that you were at the right place. And the men in bolo ties and cowboy hats gave it away.

Rhett forwent his Stetson and chose a sleek black tie, looking a little out of place but you thought he looked beautiful.

He parked and inhaled deeply, gripping the steering wheel with both hands and closing his eyes.

“Everything okay?” You questioned, placing a perfectly manicured hand on his forearm.

“Huh? Yeah. M’good. Just nervous. I can’t stand half the people in that room,” he mumbled, smiling softly at you. It made butterflies erupt in your stomach.

“You’ll do great. I can fake an emergency if needed.”

“Fall down the stairs if I give you a look,” Rhett joked.

“You got it, boss,” you winked at him. You reached for the door handle, preparing to get out of the truck but his hand on your arm now stopped you.

“Wait… I have something for you. A token of appreciation for coming with me. Also, an early birthday present.”

Rhett pulled a long, rectangular box from the side of the door. He opened it to show a diamond bracelet.

“Rhett- that’s- I can’t-“ You couldn’t stop from reaching out and running your fingers along the jewels.

“You deserve it. You work so hard and I don’t say it enough but you mean a lot to me. To the girls. Just wanted to give you something nice,” he said, voice a little shaky.

Something shifted as he clasped the bracelet around your wrist. His touch lingered on your skin and it was hard for you to breathe. You tried so hard to keep things professional, but it’s changed. Everything has changed in the cab of Rhett’s truck.

You headed inside, arm linked with Rhett’s as he greeted the people inside. He was so charismatic, putting on a face you’d never seen before. It was sexy. He was controlling the room. Everyone loved him.

You could feel eyes following you as you walked towards the front of the ballroom. You heard a few whispers from the older women, surely gossiping about the obvious age gap between you and your employer.

“I’m gonna grab some drinks. You gonna be okay here?” Rhett whispered in your ear, his warm breath washing over your skin and sending a chill down your spine.

“I’ll be good. Can you get me a Long Island?”

“Of course. Be right back.” He hurried off towards the bar, getting stopped several times along the way. You felt like a fish out of water here. You chewed on your thumb nail, anxiously waiting for Rhett to come back.

“I think you’re the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen,” a voice said from behind you. You turned to see the chair to your right being pulled away and a young man, around your age, sat down beside you. His black cowboy hat hid his eyes but he had a wide smirk on his face.

“I bet you’ve said that at least ten times tonight,” you responded, trying to ignore him.

��Name’s Wes. And you are-“

“Not interested. Beat it, buddy,” Rhett growled as he sat your drinks down and sat on the other side of you, wrapping his arm around the back of your chair possessively.

“I see how it is. Rhett… good to see you.”

Rhett hummed as he glared at Wes over the rim of his glass, silently willing him to scram. It was hot.

“That wasn’t very nice.”

“He’s trouble,” Rhett mumbled.

The evening went on without a hitch. Dinner was decent and you joined in on a few conversations. Rhett’s speech was wonderful and informative about the cattle business. He looked good on stage but you knew he was nervous. He made his way back to you, smiling slightly.

“Come dance with me, honey,” he spoke lowly.

“Let me go freshen up a bit,” you squeaked, rushing to the bathroom. Your nerves were getting the best of you. It was just a dance. A quick dance and you’d be heading home. Nothing more.

You made your way back to the ballroom, catching Rhett’s eyes and you trembled slightly at the heat that formed there. A slow song started just as you made your way to the dance floor.

His large hand engulfed yours as his other splayed on the low of your back. You could smell his cologne as he pulled you close to him. You felt a piece of paper in your right palm as Rhett swayed the two of you around.

“What’s that?”

“You can read it when we’re done dancin’,” Rhett drawled, looking down at you. Even with you in heels, his frame still towered over you.

The song ended too quickly for your liking and Rhett was called over to a table filled with older gentlemen, leaving you standing in the middle of the floor. The crumpled napkin had been left in your hand and you spread it out to read the note.

Meet me at the staircase by the piano - R

You gasped slightly and looked around, meeting Rhett’s eyes as he chatted with the group he was with. He was expressionless but there was a fire in his eyes again. One that made your body react and you tried not to squeeze your thighs together in front of everyone there. You made your way back to your table to drink the rest of your drink, a little liquid courage, before you made your way to the staircase.

You stood there for what felt like ages but in reality was only a few minutes. You bounced on your feet, nerves building every second that passed.

“Hey, you,” Rhett’s voice called from behind you, approaching you with his hands in his pockets.

“Hey,” you responded, feeling awkward.

Rhett pulled a key from his pocket. A hotel room key. Room 475 engraved in the key tag.

“You can say no. You can tell me to fuck off. You can quit-“

“Yes,” the answer came without a beat.

“Yeah?” His eyebrows raised slightly, a small smirk forming on his thin lips.

“You have no idea how bad I want you, Rhett,” you confessed, breathless.

Rhett let out a desperate noise as he reached for you and crashed his lips against yours in a bruising kiss, one hand cupping the back of your head. You moaned wantonly as his tongue expertly licked into your mouth. You should go upstairs, should stop before anyone sees you.

“Rhett, we should- we need to-“

“Yeah… Yeah.”

His hand linked with yours as he pulled you to the elevator, not wasting time pushing you inside and against the wall, the railing digging into your lower spine a bit uncomfortably. His lips reconnected with yours, a low grunt escaping his throat.

“So fucking beautiful,” he muttered, lips barely leaving yours. Hands explored your body, gripping at your soft hips and thighs, circling around to grab handfuls of your ass. The touch caused you to arch your body towards his, back bowing as he traveled higher and started palming your breast.

“I’ve thought about this - thought about you - for longer than I’d like to admit,” Rhett spoke, deep voice rattling in his chest. “Makes me feel like a dirty old man.”

You just whined pathetically, gripping at his lapels to anchor yourself. You were about to grind against the thigh that had pushed its way between your thighs but the high pitched ding of the elevator caused you to jump apart. Moving so fast, you would have thought you had been electrocuted.

A little old lady walked into the elevator, not missing the way you and Rhett looked disheveled. It was blatantly obvious what you were just doing. Rhett cracked a smile at her, nodding his head in her direction. Your chest was still heaving and your knees felt shaky.

She only went up two floors, a quick ride that felt like an eternity. Rhett’s pinky brushed against your hand where it rested on the rail, the small touch sending shocks through you.

“Have a nice evenin, ma’am,” Rhett said sickeningly sweet and you had to slap a hand over your mouth to stifle a laugh at the look she threw his way as she exited the lift.

Your stop was next and nerves bubbled in your stomach at what was about to happen.

Silence surrounded you and Rhett now as you walked to the room. Not a word was spoken as he unlocked the door and made his way inside. You stood in the middle of the room awkwardly, wringing your hands together as you looked toward the wooden floor.

Rhett tossed his jacket haphazardly onto the floor, approaching you slowly. Giving you the chance to run. It reminded you of a lion stalking a gazelle before it pounced. His calloused hands rubbed the length of your arms before his touch brushed the side of your neck, eventually cupping your face. A rough thumb caressed your cheekbone.

“Darlin’, look at me. Please,” Rhett spoke quietly, as if not to scare you. You continued to look down, which caused him to pinch your chin and lift your gaze to him. “Are you sure about this? We can- we don’t have to-“

“No. No, I want to. I have for a while. A long, long while.”

“Good,” he said, coming out an octave lower and his eyes landed on your red covered lips. His thumb ran across the pout of your bottom lip, tugging it down slightly. “I want to devour you.”

A shaky breath escaped you before you wrapped your lips around his thumb, sucking softly on the digit.

“Fuck,” he moaned.

You stood there for a moment, his thumb in your mouth and your eyes locked on each other. It made tensions rise tenfold. You pulled away with a ‘pop’, a trail of saliva following in its wake.

Impatience got the best of you as you started clawing at his tie and shirt buttons, nearly sending them flying through the room. Rhett chuckled at your huffy breaths of frustration as you yanked on his clothing. You threw the tie behind you, his shirt was shoved off his shoulder and into the chair next to the door. His belt made a loud clink as it hit the window.

“Easy, girl. Don’t destroy the room. Or my clothes,” Rhett teased, stopping your hasty movements. You finally took the chance to pause and look at the man standing before you. Hairy chest on full display. The dark hair traveled down in a continuous line all the way down to the waist of his pants. His soft stomach and love handles made your mouth water.

“You’re so- fuck, Rhett. You’re so sexy,” you said.

“My turn.” He untied the neck of your dress slowly, taking his time pulling the bow loose. He turned you so your back was to him, unzipping you unhurriedly. You let the dress fall to your feet as you turned to face him again, leaving you in your lingerie and high heels.

“My god. Look at you.” Rhett took in the sight of you. Black lace left little to the imagination.

Things moved in a blur after that. You nearly tripped over your own feet as you tried to remove the heels and he almost ripped your bra as he unclasped it with one hand. He tossed it aside and you tried not to giggle as it landed on the lampshade of the lamp that sat on the bedside table.

The edge of the bed knocked against the back of your knees as he pushed you softly so you landed on your back, bouncing on the mattress slightly. He stood between your spread thighs, undoing the button of his slack and pushing them down, revealing the tight black boxers he wore underneath.

You let out a quiet whine as your eyes traveled down his torso and stopping at the large bulge that was confined by the cotton. Even in the low lighting, you could see a small wet spot from the precum.

Large hands massaged your inner thighs as he spread them apart even farther, causing a slight burn in your muscles. He groaned at the sight of your barely clothed cunt. Rhett fell to his knees swiftly and delved into you without warning. Expert licks moved against your wetness through the thin lace, which had been quickly ripped away. His nose bumped against your bundle of nerves as his tongue explored your folds.

His long fingers soon joined his ministrations, finding that spongy spot inside of you in a matter of seconds. You’d question how he did that later. As of now, you tried to control your shaking limbs as he pushed you higher and higher towards your peak. Scratchy stubble rubbed against you, causing a delicious burn.

He stuck true to his word and devoured you, not leaving one part of you undiscovered.

Rhett’s lips wrapped around your clit and started sucking softly, tongue flicking against the bud. You trembled beneath him and your back bowed off the mattress, bucking against his mouth. A strong arm slung itself over your middle, keeping you pinned to the bed.

Your hands gripped his locks tightly, tugging hard when his tongue sped up.

“Rhett. Oh, Rhett. Fuck. Daddy!” It didn’t take much for your moans to become near screams and for galaxies to explode behind your eyelids as you came against Rhett’s face. Your body was jerking involuntarily as you traveled down from your high. Rhett placed feather light kisses against you before pulling away, hair sticking up in places and his face covered in your release.

He traveled up your body and kissed you soundly, the tangy taste of your desire mixing with something so Rhett made you both moan into each other’s mouths.

“Lay back, sweetheart. Gonna take care of you,” Rhett said quietly. You made yourself comfortable against the soft pillows as Rhett stretched you in preparation for his cock. “Damn pillow princess,” he joked. It made you smile.

He had three thick fingers inside of you before you stopped him.

“Stop! Please! I- I wanna come with you inside me,” you pleaded, gripping his wrist. He nodded and pulled his fingers out fleetingly.

You blindly shoved at his boxers and he clumsily kicked them off the end of the bed, his hard cock slapping against his lower stomach. Fuck, he was big.

Rhett pulled back and sat on his knees, gripping the base of his dick and placing it on your stomach.

“Look, baby. You think you can take me? Think you can handle daddy’s cock?”

“Please! Please, fuck me. Need it. Need you. Please!” You begged, lifting your hips and causing the leaking head to brush against your already sensitive clit. You simultaneously let out a loud moan. He rubbed himself through your folds, teasing you and him both.

“Wait, hold on.” Rhett pulled away and searched for his trousers, pulling his wallet out and rummaging through it. He pulled out a foil wrapper and ripped it with his teeth. You had never seen anything sexier.

“Can I do it?” You asked shyly, propping yourself up on your elbows. He handed the condom to you and kept eye contact as you rolled the latex down his length carefully. He was heavy in your hand.

You laid back once more, a trembling breath escaping your mouth as he lined up with your entrance. Even with his prepping, it was still a stretch. The slight burn caused you to hiss and dig your nails into his biceps. He took a break between each inch, time passing slowly as he made small thrusts. He eventually bottomed out, a broken moan coming from his chest as you squeezed around his length.

You stayed like that for a moment, both breathing heavily as his forearms caged you in.

“Daddy. Move. Please,” you whined, fingers moving tangle in the curls at the base of his neck. He slowly pulled out, nearly all the way, before thrusting back into you, the girth and length of him touching places you’d never been able to reach before. It started slow, he was allowing you to get accustomed to him.

However, it didn’t take long before his thrusts became a little rougher. His hands now were placed a the top of your head as he put his body weight into his movements, grunts escaping him with each pass, your high pitched breaths matching him.

“So tight. Taking me so well. Like you were fucking made for it. Made for me. All mine, all mine,” Rhett rambled. The headboard started to smack against the wall slightly as he pounded into you. You couldn’t breathe. You were approaching a feeling you had never felt before. Your brain was becoming fuzzy and your ears were beginning to ring.

“Da-daddy. M’gonna- I’m almost there,” you squealed as a particularly harsh thrust hit your g-spot.

“C’mon, sweet baby. Come for daddy,” his deft fingers started rubbing your swollen clit in tight circles and you let out a scream as your release washed over you. Rhett continued fucking into you until he pushed deep inside you and threw his head back towards the ceiling, filling the condom with his own release.

He collapsed on top of you, full body weight covering you like a blanket. You felt like were floating. Your hand absentmindedly rubbed against Rhett’s back, his skin covered in a light sheen of sweat. You stayed silent for a while, both trying to catch your breaths as you came down. He eventually pulled out of you slowly, causing you to wince. He discarded the condom and went to the bathroom to grab a warm washcloth and a glass of water.

You were quiet as he took care of you, smiling softly as he pulled you to sit up and take a few sips of water. You had never been cared for like this after sex. It made your chest constrict. You moved under the covers and waited for Rhett to follow suit. He immediately pressed his warm body against your own, pulling you tight to his chest.

“I can’t believe we just did that,” you said with a slight giggle.

“I can’t believe it took us this long,” Rhett retorted, fingers dancing along your spine.

You both laughed a little before it fell silent once again.

“Rhett?”

“Yeah, honey?”

“What does this make us?” You asked as you ran your fingers through the thick chest hair.

“Well… I think this means you’ll be sleeping in my bed when we get home. But don’t call HR on me.”

“You are HR, Rhett. Seriously, though. Are we like-“

“I want you to be my girl. I have spent the past several months falling in love with you. And I know it’s soon, but damn it, darlin’. You’ve stolen my heart,” Rhett confessed, his words causing your eyes to well with tears.

“Rhett… I- I love you, too.”

“The girls are going to be excited. They’ve been begging me to ask you to be my girlfriend since you moved in.”

“They’re trouble, I swear,” you laughed, snuggling closer to your man.

“They’re the reason I have all of this gray hair.”

“Yeah, but it’s hot. Very… very… very hot,” you responded, emphasizing the T. You giggled as he rolled over on top of you and started kissing against your neck playfully.

You kissed each other softly in the dark until you fell asleep holding each other tight. And when the sun rose in the morning, a new beginning would be awaiting you.

tagging those who may be interested:

@ryebecca @whisperofsong @floydsmuse @laracrofted @lewmagoo @withahappyrefrain @hangmanapologist @sebsxphia @bobfloydsbabe @callsign-magnolia @attapullman

#rhett abbott #rhett abbott smut #rhett abbott fanfiction #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott x you #rhett abbott au #dilf rhett 4 ever <3 #rhett x babysitter #rhett abbott fanfic

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portals-and-spirits · 2 months ago

Note

(Felicity: so this is really just the starter and I’ll reply from the Arson Murder Jaywalking Trio blog after)

Colin (and Argyros if she’s here) exit the portal through a dark wooden door with a simple brass knob into an odd-looking room. It’s square with each wall being about 15 feet long, but the most noticeable thing is that brass lines inlaid into the floor, corners, and ceiling split the room into four triangle-based quarters, with the one they’re currently standing in having a simple wooden floor, clean white wall, abstract wall art, fuzzy pastel green welcome mat, and wire coatrack, making it reminiscent of a cozy modern home. The quarter to their left has a much more antique vibe to it, the floor being wood in a different shade, and more worn looking, the patterned wallpaper being a faded magenta that blurred into the varied yet never too bright colors of the many, many photos pinned onto the wall around the door. There are pictures of beautiful scenes, snow fields, sunsets, forests, but there are no notable beings in them, no hints to the inhabitants of this strange little corner of the multiverse or the individual who must’ve taken them. Carved into the door on this wall are the words “If you’re seeing this, it means I’m home, feel free to come in if you can.” in a rough, simplistic writing, with a rolled-up scroll and pen pinned on top- if the scroll was unrolled, it would cover the writing. A creative way for visitors to leave messages to whoever lived here. The quarter directly across had a stone brick construction, with an archway full of blue light acting as the portal and a hanging tapestry of a clear sky and bright sun for a door. On the walls to its sides were beadwork hangings, depicting a starry night sky with a crescent moon and snowy owl flying about, and what appeared to be a mammoth made of ice playing about in the snow. Upon closer inspection, the snowy owl seemed to be made of snow as well. Next to the door is a tall flowerpot overflowing with crawling pink-flowered vines that have spread onto the floor and walls, and a small dresser with a pair of snow boots on top. The boots don’t look quite big enough for an adult, instead made for maybe an older child in their early teens. The wooden rafters holding up the upper walls and ceiling were decorated with preserved flowers of every kind, giving the room a pleasant herbal aroma. The final quarter, the one to their right, had a traditional Japanese theme, with woven floor mats and paper wall panels painted with cranes in a marsh and a few scattered lines of calligraphy. In a cylindrical frame in the corner are rolls of painted paper that could likely be used to swap out the designs on the walls. In the other corner is a discreetly hidden set of light switches disguised as a candle holder- the candle it held was only a fraction of the height of the stand and the lower portion could open to reveal the controls. The portal door is a sliding door that could’ve easily been mistaken for a wall panel if it weren’t ever-so-slightly open, a crack of white mist pouring through. In the middle of the room, over the intersecting divider lines, is a small table resembling a tall stool, being 3 feet tall with a circular top a bit more than 1 foot in diameter. On it is a singular file folder, the papers inside peeking out. Do they go through any of the doors? Do they check the file folder? Do they mess with the light switches or any of the other stuff in here?

"How fascinating..." Colin tilts his head, looking around the room. This was definitely a new and unfamiliar place. He decides to check the file folder; it's best to know what he can about this place and who's here before he investigates them directly.

"Seems familiar!" Argyros grins, looking around. She thinks for a moment, before skipping over and knocking on the door with the carved message.

"Is it a good idea to immediately start bothering people?" Colin asks lightheartedly, an eyebrow raised as he glances at Argyros.

"It'll be fiiine!" Argyros looks at Colin over her shoulder, eyes closing for a few moments as she grins.

#Colin Thanata #Argyros Thanata

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kamesama · 8 months ago

Text

— scapegoat: ryōmen sukuna.

— notes + warnings: this is a heavy one ( i mean it ); n/sfw, minors do not interact; virgin! fem! reader given away as a sacrifice; true-form! sukuna; non-con; violence; gore; blood; nudity; foul language; humiliation; degradation; implied character / reader death. — word count: 2166

you have never looked lovelier.

lips red with thick layer of paint; hair held up flawlessly by an ornate pin; body burdened by fine silks. chagrin and shame danced upon your cheeks, leaving blush trails in their wake. their waltz served to ridicule you, its snicker reminding that there was not a single silver lining you could find for yourself to cling to.

and how could you?

you were a morsel sold for a mock-promise of peace. a sacrifice made for a fleeting moment of stillness. your torment would provide a single eve’s worth of undisturbed slumber, at best.

how many restful nights did you indulge in as a result of someone else’s defiled maidenhood?

the legends echoed off the rugged walls of your skulls; bed-time stories of carnage and cruelty and corpses. of a beast’s menacing frame, caked in red. of his four-eyed, garnet gaze that rolled and glided without a shred of subtlety. of his tongues; starved and shameless. of his hands; mammoth and malevolent.

will someone frighten their children with laments for you? when your bare body is devoured by ivy and when spiders nest in your empty sockets and when field flowers erupt from within your rotten ribcage out of sole pity for your snaffled chastity, will you be mourned and honoured? no one else ever was.

had you raised your chin, you would have found him seated, one of his hands supporting his jaw in a manner that was nearly overwhelmed with boredom. but you didn’t look up — your chin nearly settled into the subtle hollow between your clavicles, as if refusal to bear witness to his horrific majesty would, somehow, render you invisible.

if only humility could save you.

“come closer, woman,” he called out, his voice firm and profound. it made you shudder; the elaborate imagery on your gown grew blurry.

drip.

hot droplets left dark stains upon your lap. they expanded gingerly before coming to a halt. your muscles begged you not to let them contract. the tension grew denser than honey.

“come closer,” the echo of his command was guttural, “or i’ll rip your legs off.”

a pitiable sob escaped you, leaving you uncertain whether your grieving was due to you betraying your own thews, or to the sheer expanse of your misfortune. with trembling limbs, you stood up, cautious as not to stumble over the hems of your extravagant wrapping. every tiny step forward made your heartbeat slam louder at the bottom of your ear canal; misplaced.

it was the mocking curvature of his belly-mouth that you first laid your gaze on. the inhuman sight pulled your eyelids wide open, exposing the glossy white of your sclera rapidly turning bloodshot.

perhaps you would have turned on your heel and succumbed to the overwhelming amounts of epinephrine coursing through your veins. perhaps you would have fled, even if it cost you anything between your heel and your hip. perhaps you would have, if his calloused fingers hadn’t gripped your jaw, coal nails disturbing the integrity of your smooth cheeks.

the abuse was barely bloodier than a pinprick.

the force of his touch stretched your neck muscles enough to make it strenuous to swallow. he angled your head so that his eyes — four restless rubies glistening underneath the flickering candlelight — could skim across your entire face. they appeared to lick over every convexity, concavity and crevice. your vision deadened momentarily underneath a thickening layer of moisture that soon after dripped over the rims of your lids.

“you’re pretty for a whore,” he hummed, his lips arching upwards into a vicious grin, but his amusement withered just as swiftly, “or is it that pesky paint?” he tutted, “they always tuck you in those bothersome shrouds. what for?” his thumb rubbed across your bottom lip, smearing the bold red hue onto the surrounding skin. he cocked his head to the side, his eyes sparkling with a heterogenous mixture of exasperation and entertainment.

“have you got no tongue?” his grip parted your lips as he slid two digits into your wet, warm mouth to caress your teeth, gums and tongue with a callous touch, “there it is,” you could feel your flesh gripped in-between his fingers, “do you need it?”

a perturbed hum sounded from the midst of your throat. the smallest nod — as tremendous as your confinement would allow — served to add weight to the desperation of your agreement.

“then use it. does your kind take their women all wrapped up?”

“no…” your voice was timid. pathetic.

“so why should i?”

you wouldn’t know how to respond, had he given you a chance to. he pushed you away suddenly, planting a profound, dull ache into your mandible. a fog-like haze forbade you from knowing how you maintained a sloppy balance upon your two feet.

“strip, woman. let me see my gift the way it should have been presented.” there was leisure caressing his voice, absorbing into his marked skin. yet, he appeared menacing nonetheless. you clutched the front of your gown with trembling fingers, out of fear that his starved gaze alone would rid you of your decency. your spine bent slightly in an attempt to guard whatever curve wasn’t already veiled by your silken clothes.

but that annoyed him; his patience seemed to simmer and it evaporated quickly enough to thicken the tension all the more. once again, you found it hard to swallow.

“i said, strip,” the frigid tone of his voice seemed to momentarily freeze the blood in your veins and drag your skin up into goosebumps. your breath paused in your throat, your fingernails clawing at the vivid shrouds enough to overwhelm your knuckles.

you sniffled, “please don’t.”

the voice you pleaded with was a meek thing; pitiful and demure. it would have stirred some sympathy in anyone who possessed at least a single chamber of a heart; sukuna barely had an excuse for the whole thing.

“please don’t?” he parroted, his voice heavy with cruel amusement. you could hear the wickedness in his words; as carnivorous and as famished as his eyes. the wood cried out from underneath the soles of his bare feet as he stood up, an enormous shadow devouring your frame. his fingers dove into the strands of your hair, disarraying the style it was carefully arranged into; the stunning hairpin fell without a complaint. he yanked your locks, pulling your head back to the point your slender neck curved into a strained arch. his misplaced mouth grinned viciously at the scene, wet tongue coating the thick lips with shameless lust.

your eyes glistened in the flames’ glow, burdened by the bite of your tears. your lips quivered along with your fingers; it made your efforts hilariously puny as you attempted to tug on his wrist lest he easened the grip or withdrew completely, “s-stop-” you cried out, “stop!”

the sound echoed, bouncing off the walls before dripping onto the timber floor. he tore the intricate design on your robe with a merciless jerk and ripped the girdle. the gown opened up akin to curtains to reveal every virginal secret you so obediently maintained all these years. it would have pooled in a smoothly wrinkled pile around your feet if it wasn’t for your arms stretched upwards, holding onto sukuna’s wrist in vain attempts to weaken his unyielding grip.

your skin was bared to bathe in the warm light. yet, the air was cold; icy enough to send shivers down your spine and cause your nipples to stiffen. sukuna’s carnal gaze ingurgitated you from the subtle line of the collarbone, down the valley between the breasts and all the way to the smooth curvature at the low of the belly.

his hand let not a single second go to waste; he grabbed your round flesh with all but a tender caress and pulled you closer with another tug to your hair. the accursed tongue finally indulged in the taste of your flushed skin, trailing a dripping wet line up from your navel and to the tip of your sternum.

“i won’t stop,” he spoke, “not unless you beg better than that. beg for mercy, woman,” nothing across his features promised compassion — not his eyes, not his lips, not the ink lines ever-so-faithfully parallel to the angle of his jaw, “i may just humour you.”

how could you possibly let a thread-thin chance slip through your fingers?

“please,” you cried out in a hoarse voice. your poor hands had no idea what to do; with one you pulled at the wrist of the hand that cupped the mound on your chest, and with the other you continued your fruitless endeavour of attempting to lighten the force with which he held your locks, “please stop, i beg you, please,” you sobbed, tears pouring down your reddened cheeks whilst you sniffled so as not to let your nostrils leak.

the tension dispersed and his hold grew limp.

it was enough for you to slip out of it — just slip out of it.

sukuna caught your wrist, pulling you into his lap swiftly as he sat down onto the mat. you were caged in a way that ensured stillness, and a hush made your limbs halt, “move another muscle and i’ll taint the floor with your bowels,” his palm laid against your forehead, horrifically larger than your skull. he grinned, eating up the sight of your troubled face; reddened cheeks, wet eyelashes, whimpering mouth. your bare chest heaved as you tried your best to make your starved gasps as quiet as possible, your heart slamming against your ribs so strongly that you felt it might give out.

you wished to hug your body; to cover yourself up. shame devoured you as much as his gaze.

“good girl,” he cooed, “that’s how a bitch like you should act,” his hand pushed your head back to expose the smooth expanse of your neck. he leaned down, trailing his lips across your pulse, “obedient.”

he pulled onto the remains of your torn gown to bare you further as his mouth abused the sweet spot where your neck merged with your shoulder — licking, nibbling, sucking. you writhed against him, your heart pounding; the fervent pulse was palpable against his scorching tongue as he lapped up the cold beads of your sweat.

“that’s more like it…” he whispered, “you should be grateful. the last one was,” his hot breath brushed against your windpipe, provoking a tickling sensation, “be honoured that i’ll take you, fill you with my seed, you insolent whore.”

his crooked smile widened as his teeth sunk into your flesh; bone-deep.

a sharp intake of breath.

silence.

a scream.

chains with which his threats held you down corroded, allowing you to writhe and kick as he chuckled through his blood-stained lips. he gripped your flesh, your thighs a canvas that he painted cherry crimson and plum purple with his fingers, ensuring that your very marrow wore his mark. he didn’t hush you again, instead letting you whine and wail. even as one of your hands broke free to slam his shoulder and slap his skull, he continued to lap up the essence with his tongue and to gnaw the flesh with his teeth.

“what did i say?” his voice slithered into your torn veins, his palm pressing across the small curvature of your stomach, right where your womb laid. it crept just a little higher, fingernails leaving thin red trails that begged to bleed. your guts twisted at the reminder; you imagined your intestines unravelled across the wood.

but it didn’t matter.

you wanted to leave.

you had to leave.

so he let you.

you stumbled off his thighs and onto your bare knees, attempting to crawl away. the futile endeavour bestowed upon him the lovely sight of your bruised skin and round buttocks; the appetising arch of your spine and just a glimpse of what remained untouched between your legs.

you were howling for air. crying. wailing. sobbing.

he watched, and he listened.

closer.

your cheekbone pressed against the hard floor, succumbing to the tremendous force. he handled your breast in his palm, fingers enclosing around the firm nipple, pulling and massaging enough to make you mewl at the bittersweetness of his lecherous touch. another hand gripped your thigh to enlarge the gap between your lush flesh. the last searched for that chaste orifice with its fingers.

against the floor, a strand of your disheveled hair soaked in a shallow mixture of your sweat, tears and saliva. your tendons pulled at your bones, fire in you yet to be extinguished.

his touch made you shudder. your core clenched.

“don’t worry,” he comforted, “i’ll have you screaming,” he pressed against you, “clawing, rutting,” he caged your arms against the timber, “be honoured,” he reminded, his words dripping right into the shell of your ear as he besmirched you, “someone gets to sleep soundly because of you.”

ivy.

spiders.

field flowers.

you will never look lovelier.

thank you for reading!

— kamesama.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk sukuna #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #kamesama

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