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#i might write a proper one shot over this
james-sunshine-potter · 7 months
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you know that scene from the simpsons where bart breaks down to miss krabappel cause he failed a test but this time he tried?
for some reason that reminds a lot of what james would be like as student, especially in the middle years of hogwarts.
i imagine james in the earlier years as one of those kids who never paid attention in class properly, always did homework last minute and never revised but always managed to pass. passed every test, handed their homework in somewhat on time. but he never did amazing. in the first three years of hogwarts, he was never near the top of the class. if anything, he was close to the bottom.
all in all, he scrapped by and was fine with it. the grades never bothered him and he never tried to change it.
but then work got harder, and there was more pressure and expectations to do well and all his friends were getting better, getting praise and recognition. they were getting well above passing grades, never failing exams and had something to be proud of... and james was still scrapping by. a mark or two above failing, going as far as to being made to resit exams and essays and projects cause it's fifth year and exams are around the corner and he wasn't getting it.
so he gets put in private study sessions with mcgonagall, or otherwise he'd have to get pulled out of quidditch. that was mcgonagall's compromise. cause she believed him enough to help, something no other teacher did. he was basically failing all classes cause he wasn't trying.
and due to the threat on his place on the team, he actually started trying. he spent all his free time in the library, stopped putting all his focus on pranks, even convinced remus to help him study. he did everything he needed to do for it, spending every waking hour thinking about it. put extra effort into all his other subjects and homework. he participated in class, did the tasks done and went to every study sessions with mcgonagall.
and then when the next exam rolled around in mcginagall's class, he put his all into it. worked from the very first second and to the very last... and failed. full on failed. didn't even get a passing grade.
and i just imagine have this converstion being like...
m: 'i thought things would different this time,'
j: 'same...'
m: 'what went wrong?'
j: 'i don't know, i thought i was doing good'
m: ‘me too, this tell me otherwise’
j: ‘i tried’
m: ‘did you though james, have you been trying without me’
j: *crying* ‘yes! i have, i really tried this time mcgonagall, i really did! i read every book and spent all my time studying and did everything i needed to do! i really tried, you need to believe me, i need you to believe me, you can ask my friends will vouch for me, i did try! i want to do better, i tried so hard this time i swear!’
and this fail was the first fail which hurt because he really did try. this was the fail which got him to try harder in the later years of Hogwarts.
i just think about that scene a lot. cause i feel like James is a very smart person, but just isn’t an academic person. not at the beginning at least…
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travalerray · 3 months
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fanfic writing is always like:
questionable characterisation (not really familiar yet) => oh this is actually good => questionable characterisation (projecting)
#looking at my m/dzs fics and uh#uhhhhhh#J/C and L/WJ are the biggest victims of this#which is why I make a point to revisit the novel when I can esp for longfics#but sometimes I go back and see ''oh I really wrote this one shot well. Perhaps my writing at the beginning was actually good?'' and get#slapped in the face by four idiots and the City of ghosts#now that I think about it. Writing L/XC consistently as having an overprotective complex over his didi and writing W/WX having a weird#complex over his shidi is making me laugh so much#kk's rambles tag#having written and changed my opinions about the characters during the course of a singular fic only happened for tainted Ambitions#so you have the strange shift from the revenge fantasy drama to something that might actually be compelling if done well#(I want to do it well but I don't want to touch b/nha with a ten foot pole these days. Not because of the fandom but because I don't like#the source material anymore. Controversial opinion but anyways)#my opinions about dg/rp didn't change much during fic writing nor did the characterisation change that much#even if it has the second highest fic count after m/dzs. Hm.#probably because i mostly write for it as a writing exercise#and the one I did start as a proper fic is abandoned because I lost energy#(my personal opinion is that my j/c POV is the most suited to my writing due to my tendency to make similar protagonists in my original#works. It's a little funny because his manner of speech in his internal narrative is plenty similar to both Romila and Rajanya in the#''why in the ever living Fuck'' even if they all have different motives.#or maybe I am too used to writing cranky people with unresolved and unrequited love. Anyways)
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bumblebeesfromvenus · 2 months
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TF141 getting a boudoir photo album as a wedding gift ♡
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A/N: THIS WAS SO FUN!!! Great, absolutely phenomal idea, dear anon. Simon's part is very sappy (I cried) which might be ooc for him?? Idk, that's how I write him/interpret his character! :) let me know who's your favorite 👀
~Fi 🐝
《Warnings》: NSFW content. proceed with caution. PiV, creampie, cunnilingus, Johnny's oral fixation (yes, that is a warning.)
It's still very sweet and lovey dovey with all of them bc I'm a certified sap <3
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─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
John would be grinning and smirking like a proper idiot when he lays his eyes on those delectable photos of you.
I imagine you had a date night at home, sipping wine on the couch and talking about your wedding that's supposed to take place in only 3 days. He's telling you how he can't wait to see you in your wedding dress and slip that ring onto your finger.
Be prepared to he called Mrs. Price the days leading up to the big day. John excuses it with "Need to practice, love. Don't wanna mess it up in front of anyone, eh?"
Sneaky bastard.
He knows what he's doing, you know what he's doing, all is well because if he only knew what that did to you. You're just talking, trying to get the nerves out now so you can go into your wedding with a clear mind and have a good time. When you tell him you have a gift for him, his eyebrows almost overshoot his forehead. Yeah, he knew that was a thing some people did, but he never gave it another thought.
In all honesty, marrying you was the best gift he could ever get. Which is why he feels slightly guilty that he doesn't have one for you (at least that's what you see, internally he's crushed) but that all goes out the window when you sit back down with a sleek beige photo album that has a little romantic quote on the front.
"And what's this, doll, hm?" His heart feels warm and fuzzy, thinking these are some lovely pictures of you together on holidays you went on, casual trips to the local pub or just some domestic shots you managed to sneak during his leave.
What he doesn't expect, however, is the angelic image of your plush body on full display, draped over a velvet chaise lounge with layered pearl necklaces hanging from your neck. This man is shell-shocked. If he wasn't frozen in place, he would've snapped the book shut.
You can basically see the connections to his brain frying. His jaw slacks, and only after what feels like 10 minutes he regains his ability to think and close his mouth. John is sweating and his cock is rock hard as he flips through the remaining pages.
He shoots you the occasional glance while he's trying not to hyperventilate. You just sit back and savor your wine, trying to hide your laugh behind the rim of your glass. You'd expected a reaction, of course, but you didn't think you'd render the John Price speechless just from a few suggestive photographs of you.
But what absolutely breaks the camels back (or John's, in this case) is the last picture of you. You're kneeling, slightly leaned back and supported by your arms, with one of his Flannels covering your soft tits. That alone would've been enough to drive him crazy, but the sight of his old dogtags sitting against your sternum has him groaning out loud.
The only other thing covering you is a simple pair of lace panties, cupping the soft curve and rolls of your tummy so beautifully, John was ready to take a bit out of that damn page.
He nearly misses the inscription underneath the photo;
To my John; the love of my life, the man of my dreams,
I love you.
You hold my heart and you will forever.
May I be so lucky to find my place in the stars by your side when the time comes, so we'll never have to be apart.
With all my love,
Mrs. Price
And that does it. The album snaps shut and you barely have time to put down your wine glass before John is all over you, taking handfuls of you, whatever he can reach. With how fast he smashes his lips on yours, he nearly gives you whiplash.
He's tugging and pulling at your clothes as well as his own, not saying a thing, just hungrily swallowing every one of your sounds and giggled objections before he decides the couch is uncomfortable and he moves you to the bedroom. You're hoisted up without a warning and you cling to his neck. Immediately, worried words start spilling from your lips, remembering how he'd complained about a sore back just today;
"John, baby, your back-"
"I don't give a flying fuck about my back, love."
He's heaving and grunting like a fucking animal, he's downright feral. Despite all of that, you're still laid down gently on the bed, John would never, ever be reckless with you. But he needs to be inside you now, he'll actually lose his mind.
Usually, he'd spent hours between your thighs first, but he just can't wait. He's pounding you into another dimension but with such gentleness in his gestures, it makes your head spin.
He's holding your hand, breathing sweet praises into your ear despite him filling you to the brim. His urge to claim you goes haywire and he fills you with his cum multiple times before he's sane enough again.
He's covered in sweat and his beard is wet from your spit from all the sloppy kisses he gave you. John will definitely make it up to you and eat you out for as long as you want after.
He'll make a copy of one of the photos and take it with him when he's on deployment, just for the nights he's feeling lonely.
His wedding gift to you are the hickeys on your thighs and tummy and new sheets because you two tore the other ones to absolute shreds.
♥︎
Johnny would probably have a boudoir album for you, too. You get at least one shirtless pic a day, so a whole album of his body on display or in suggestive poses basically screams Johnny. He's already drooling the second he spots that book because he knows what it is and that he's in for a treat.
He's buzzing with excitment.
You never really send nudes for privacy reasons, and then for you to do something like this hit him like a truck in the best way possible. You're standing opposite from him behind the kitchen counter, and you look so nervous to him.
Cue his signature shit-eating grin. You tap your fingers on the dark blue album before having enough of your nerves and just sliding it over to him with a few mumbled words of what it is.
"Awe, for me, mo leannan?" He's a teasing bastard, and he chuckles when you huff and turn your head, obviously flustered. Johnny is legit licking his lips, but when he opens the book, his grin fades so fast.
He knew it would be good, but holy shit, this was so much better than he expected. His pupils dilate as he takes in each of the pictures of you, all of you, all your curves and bumps.
Everything he loves about you. God, you're such a woman, he thinks to himself. Some with lingerie, some without. He's full on drooling at this point, and the only reason why he roughly wipes it away with the back of his hand is to not get it on these sacred images.
He smirks at the picture of you in a tub, all soapy, with pebbled nipples. An obvious dig at his nickname, but, god, does your ass look amazing when it's covered in a thin layer of bubbles. He loves lathering you up in the shower and feeling you up while you're all wet and slippery.
"Good thing I can hold my breath, aye, hen? Might even try to set a new personal record." He's grinning and chuckling meanwhile you give him a sharp glare. You can't deny that the idea intrigues you, though.
But this, oh, this one was him swallowing thickly. It's you in very sheer panties (they're barely even underwear) and his name patch is sewn onto the front. Your hair looks so nice, so do your thighs, he doesn't know whether to look at your eyes or your tits. The button on his jeans is about to pop off from his throbbing boner.
He can't take his eyes off that 'MacTavish' patch that sits right on your lower belly, with the slight curve it has to it from your soft tummy.
Johnny has to hold himself back from gripping the book too hard. He wouldn't want to ruin it.
"Steamin' bloody Jesus, bonnie..."
The album is shut and tucked under his arm, and Johnny jumps over the counter to get his hands on you. Or his mouth, more like. He has a huge oral fixation, so he loves sucking and biting on every inch of your skin. You're pushed back into the bedroom, even though you end up on the floor, and the book is thrown onto the bed.
He rips your shirt up and sucks at your tits and nipples, groaning and moaning at the taste of your skin, all while he's rubbing his clothes cock against your leg. You end up on your hands and knees with one of Johnny's hands on your lowerback while his face is buried in your cunt.
He's eating you out like he's been starved for years, and his stubble is already starting to irritate the skin of your thighs and ass.
You'll have the worst case of beard burn in the morning, but how could you care about that when his tongue is so deep inside of you?
Remember when I said he'd have a boudoir album too? Yeah, now you're in between his legs, your back pressed to his chest with Johnny's album in your shaky hands. And the way your engagement ring catches the dim light of the room has your eyes rolling back.
And Jesus christ, Johnny looks fucking phenomal. You clench around his fingers hard, and he doesn't even have to pull his head from your neck to know what photo you're looking at.
He's smirking and grinning like the ceshire cat, knowing that the image of him in a kilt with no shirt one is gracing your field of vision right about now.
"Ah knew ye'd like tha' one, bonnie..."
Johnny's cooing in your ear, telling you to keep looking at the pictures while he's knuckle deep in your pussy. His bare dick is pressed against your ass and you can feel him rocking his hips to get off.
He's mumbling all kinds of gibberish into your ear, but one of the few things you can make out is "mo bhean"* which pushes you over the edge. You won't be leaving that bed anytime soon.
*(My wife)
♥︎
Kyle is such a sweetheart. I've said it before, and I will say it again, he's such a cutie pie!!! But that doesn't mean he can't or won't get nasty.
He'd offered to make lunch, which was delicious as always, and now you're chatting casually about your day at your dining table. Your fingers are laced together, and he's wearing the biggest smile because all he can think of is how he gets to marry you in just a few days.
He's over the moon. He can't wait to see you walk down the aisle, say your vows to each other, and overall have a great time with all your friends and family.
But the thing Kyle is looking forward the most is the honeymoon. He'll have you to himself for 2 whole weeks and he's stoked. He can't wait to treat you to nice things, love on you, but he's the most excited to fuck you as your husband.
He may look sweet and 'innocent' but this man can fuck, okay. And he fucks well. He knows every little spot that has you mewling and he's so good at using them for his gain.
Kyle will fuck you into the mattress in the Hotel you booked, he's already made up his mind about that, but he wants to absolutely melt your brain by being so loving whole doing it that you can't help but cry out for him.
He has heart eyes at this point, watching you talk about all that happened today and he only snaps out of his dream world when you present the deep red album to him with a sweet smile.
He's got a hunch of what it is so there's a hint of a smirk on his lips. Still, he almost gets whiplash when he opens it.
There's no easing into it, just straight up tits, ass and tummy. And let me tell you, Kyle is loving every second of it. It's no secret that he loves your chub, and that fact that it's extenuated so beautifully in every shot makes his heart and his cock happy. He's a very balanced man after all.
He comments on every single photo because he think it's endearing how you get all flustered and giggly from his compliments.
One picture that has him taking a second, though, is one where you have a lacy band tied around your thigh, with a little golden 'Kyle' charm hanging from it. He's all smiley and giddy, but he does try to discreet adjust his trousers because, holy shit, that's hot.
"Have you still got that, dove? Would love to see it tied around your pretty neck."
All you answer is that he'll have to be patient and wait till the wedding night to find out. He's laughing and teasing now, but just what till you get to the last page, Gazy.
And the way his smile just melts off his face is priceless. His gaze is flitting between you on the page and you sitting across from him with a shot eating grin. All the blood that drained from his face went straight to his dick.
Not only are you wearing a set of lingerie in his favorite color, but you've got his iconic pair of sunglasses hooked on the center of your bra. And that's not all either, his eyes travel upwards and his base cap is sat on your head and you've got that beautiful smile of yours on your face.
He makes an audible noise, one that indicates you took his breath away, when he takes in the whole picture.
"How in hell did you manage to snatch my hat and my glasses from right under my nose?!"
"Skilled hands, babe."
He's laughing at you breathlessly because he's still enarmoured by the sight of you.
And Kyle will absolutely whisk you away and fuck you stupid in front of your bedroom mirror while you're wearing his hat.
It makes him feral, seeing you like that. He's got both of his arms wrapped around your middle and he's panting into your shoulder. He does look up from time to time to see your blissed out face all while still wearing his cap.
He lets out a strained moan everytime he looks at you in the mirror and his hips stutter ever so slightly.
Kyle is just spewing jumbled words of love because he's genuinely so happy. You make him so happy.
He honestly can't wait to give you your wedding gift. It's a little booklet filled with poems or quotes that reminded him of you, or of how you make him feel. And it will make you cry when he reads them to you.
Definitely not because he'll be ballsdeep inside of you while doing so...
♥︎
Simon, Simon, Simon.... first of all, he's completely blindsided by this. And he hasn't got a fucking clue what's in that black book you hand him one night when you're cuddling in bed.
There's just a giant question mark above his head. When you tell him it's a wedding gift, he goes silent and just looks at that album in his hands.
He never really got gifts, which obviously changed since he's been with you, but he's still not used to it. You're so thoughtful. And sweet. And kind, and perfect and-
he turns his head to you when you softly call his name and if you notice the slight sheen of tears in his big brown eyes, you don't mention it. You just encourage him to open the book. And when he does, a small huff and gentle smile leave him because how are you so perfect?
Yes, all of the pictures are all filthy, but they're all radiating of love and softness, and he can't get over it. How are you so soft? Simon can't get enough of you. You mess up his emotions in ways he never thought possible, and he can't help that his heart starts beating twice as fast.
That you did this for him means more than you could ever fathom, and he'll treasure this album until his end. He absent mindedly reaches for your hand as he flips through the pages, trying to tell you thank you when his words fail him, like they did so many times before with you.
He comes across a shot of your neck, a black leather collared fasten around it with a little silver skull charm. It makes him smile just a bit. He knows just how much meaning is behind it.
That you love him. All of him, which includes the Ghost. In cursive, 'Riley' is written right above your heart, and he gives your hand a squeeze.
Although you love the Ghost because it's a part of him, you've shown him that it's not all he is. That Simon is enough. That he should give Simon a chance and that he's not incapable anymore, like he was as a little boy. Ghost is sort of a protector of Simon, something not many people know, that's why he wears the mask outside of duty too. To shield himself.
But as much as the Ghost's service is appreciated, Simon can handle himself now. The Ghost will forever be with him, but so will you, and you'll wipe his bloody hands with a smile. You've shown him that you accept Ghost just as much as you accept Simon, and that means the world to him.
He sniffles ever so quietly, and you lean your head against his shoulder, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He moves on, gently turning the pages, and as much as his heart is touched by your kind gesture of this album, that doesn't stop his cock from stirring. It's pictures of your naked form, after all.
He loves every single inch of you and he's told you and shown you so many times, kissed all your insecurities away and took your mind off any bad thoughts about yourself by fucking you so well and lovingly to the point of tears.
Never, in a million years, had he expected you to return these efforts. You kissed all his scars and held him softly when reassuring any doubts he had. That's when he truly and fully fell in love with you.
He can feel himself getting hotter with every passing image of your soft body bent in different positions and clad in delicate garments, if any.
The best for last, as always, and it's a picture of you kneeling in front of a mirror, completely nude. A picture of Simon in full military regalia is tapped to the mirror and it's surrounded by a bunch of hearts drawn on with lipstick.
His name is written under the picture in your handwriting, and he can see you holding a lipstick, in the middle of finishing another heart. His breath hitches just for a split second.
He swears he'll burn this photo into the back of his eyelids.
It shows him just how great and raw your love for him is, and it makes him all fuzzy on the inside. The text at the bottom finishes it all off, and he's actively holding back tears, overwhelmed by so many feelings for you.
Dear Husband,
We're flawed; but that's how I like us. You're you, and I'm me, and I wouldn't change it for the world. You've made me a better version of myself, and that makes me love you so much more. I'm so proud of you, Simmy.
Love,
Your wife
"Thank you, my love. Thank you for this, and for loving me and for everything you've done for me. I love you"
His words are soft and painfully honest as he gently sets the album aside. You've made him a better man. A better Simon. A happier Simon. A Simon that's slowly starting to heal.
It starts off with a soft kiss that slowly turns more desperate and needy to the point you're gently being pushed back onto the bed, your clothes are discarded, and Simon absolutely worships you. He kisses every inch he can reach and touching you in all the ways he knows you like.
And, yeah, Simon can be rough and fuck you stupid for hours, but tonight, he just wants to feel close to you, and make you feel as good as you make him feel by simply loving him. He's talking you through it, holding you while he makes sure you take every inch of his cock.
His strokes are slow and deep, just like his love for you, and he revels in the way your eyes roll back each time he slides into you to the hilt. The drag of his dick against your walls has you moaning and whining, and when he presses down on your pudgy lower belly to intensify the sensation, you're putty.
You two fuck the whole night like this, no matter how sensitive you are, you need to be close to each other.
And in the morning, he'll wake you up with his face buried in your pussy because he's out of his sappy mood and his only goal now is to absolutely ruin you.
Bonus: I can totally see Simon giving his dad the biggest middle finger known to man all the way in hell when he's standing by the altar on your wedding day. It just screams: 'fuck you, stupidly bastard. Despite all you've done to me and my family, despite all that's happened, I've persevered. I've overcome it all. Look at me now.'
Right after he's smiling up at the sky, knowing that his mum and brother are watching and that they would've loved you just as much as he does <3
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I hope you enjoyed!! I love all my boys <3
(If you find any typos, it's 2.am. give me a break pls)
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beepboopkek · 5 months
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— Strip Starchess with Jing Yuan (Female Reader)
Including: Jing Yuan cw: afab!reader, pwp but barely, slight mention of reader having a size kink, unprotected p in v, first time writing a proper fic, first time writing smut (please send help), reader is a little bashful, overall its kind of a self-projection I guess. Jing Yuan is a little bastard (affectionate), stripping (who would've guessed), grammatical errors(I tried), Jing Yuan calls you pet names (dear, love), no use of y/n, light bondage ( reader gets their hands tied with a t-shirt nothing too bad), safe sane and consensual w/c: 3941 (might be a little off since I made a few edits in this post) a/n: I am so sorry for this I am going to die of cringe later but I needed this out of my brain so I made my best attempt at writing. There is a lot of stuff that is bad but I do not have the energy or patience to do it so, you have been warned, this is a first-time smut from an inexperienced writer whose first language isn't english :3 hope someone out there likes this
You were bored.
Extremely bored.
Jing Yuan had promised you he’d come home on time so that the two of you could enjoy dinner together. You had something fun planned for the evening for the two of you. Something you were excited to try out.
One problem though, there were still no signs of your boyfriend’s arrival.
You sent him a few messages asking him where he was but to no avail, you knew for a fact he wouldn’t be able to respond anyway.
The sound of a door opening broke you out of your thoughts as you turned around and were met with an apologetic soft smile on Jing Yuan’s face.
“Yu.”
“My Love.”
You huffed at him in annoyance, realising what he was trying to do. He always knew how to soften you up.
“You’re late.” You said as you watched him unstrap his boots and place them near the shoe rack before he turned to look at you.
“I apologize, I overslept in the afternoon and had to compensate as a result.” Jing Yuan gave you a pitiful look.
“Regardless, I am here now,” He walked over to where you were seated and leaned down to place a chaste kiss on your head. “And I’d love to eat what my dear has cooked for me.”
You rolled your eyes at him a little and turned towards the table again as he took his seat opposite to you. You began eating in silence while Jing Yuan served himself some of the food you’d made.
“C’mon, don’t be like that.” He spoke suddenly as you focused on eating and ignoring him.
“Be like what? I didn’t do anything.” You huffed back to him again while continuing to look at your food when you suddenly heard the sound of a chair being dragged across the floor, you looked up, only to be met with your boyfriend’s amber eyes boring into yours.
“What can I do to make it up to you?”
You grumbled something with your mouth full.
“I didn’t catch that, love.”
You gulped down your food, 
“I said, play Starchess with me”
“Do we not play Starchess on a regular basis already?”
“We do, yes, but I found a new variation of the game that I thought would be fun to try out. Only if youre up for it, though.” You made eye contact with him again as his eyebrow shot up in surprise.
He leaned in on the table and rested his head on the palm of his hand as he tilted his head lazily.
“Go on.”
Your confidence and annoyance all but vanished this exact second, you really hadn’t expected him to be this interested and knowing him , he probably already has an idea simply based off of the tone of your voice.
“...Nevermind.” You looked away, blushing as Jing Yuan continued to watch in lazed amusement.
“Is it-”
“Yes it’s Strip Starchess, okay? I thought it would be fun to play.” You blurted out as your ears turned a light shade of red.
“I was going to say Blitz Starchess.”
Your eyes widened in horror as you turned back to look at Jing Yuan who was now miserably failing at holding back his laughter as his shoulders shook silently and he pressed his lips together.
“I hate you.”
Jing Yuan laughed and you pouted.
“I didn’t do anything, though?”
“You know exactly what you're doing, Yu.”
Jing Yuan smiled apologetically once again as you pouted while avoiding eye contact with him. He sighed fondly and picked up his chopsticks again.
“Strip Starchess, hm? Let’s finish dinner and begin.”
You huffed again and turned back to your food and soon enough, Jing Yuan started some casual conversation and the whole ordeal was pushed to the back of your mind.
. . .That was until after you both finished eating and cleaning up.
Shit.
You suddenly had very important things to do in your library so you quietly started walking towards it, hoping Jing Yuan had all but forgotten about your earlier conversation. Just as you were about to open the door, a familiar voice called out from behind you,
"Dear?" 
You slowly turned around, trying not to look like you were caught committing a crime.
"...Yes?"
"Where would you like to play? I think the living room would be best since it is rather spacious. We can close the curtains but,"
Jing Yuan paused as he looked towards the box in his hands and back to you,
"I'm saying that while assuming that we will be taking off our clothes sooner or later. Am I wrong?" 
He smiled innocently. This bastard knew exactly what he was doing.
"... Fine, let's go to the living room then, I'll explain the rules to you." 
Jing Yuan hummed pleasantly as he walked behind you, setting the board down onto the hard wooden flooring as the both of you sat down facing each other. 
He opened up the box and set up the game and looked at you expectantly.
There was no backing out now, so you might as well give it your best.
"It's in the name, you strip when you lose a pawn." 
"Strip entirely? Or just an article of clothing?"
"You know exactly what I mean."
You gave an exasperated sigh as you stared at him with the grumpiest expression you could muster.
"I'm afraid I don't, love."
He gave you a cat-like smile as he patiently waited for you to explain.
"...Only a piece of clothing. The one who has the most clothes off at the end of the game is the loser,"
You made yourself comfortable, you need your initial confidence back desperately.
"We'll play 3 games and see who wins. I won't be going easy on you."
You smiled at him mischievously as he chuckled and re-adjusted his seating position before looking right into your eyes.
"Very well then, let the games begin." 
You focused your eyes on the board and played your first move, positioning the soldier pawn in front of your king 2 steps ahead.
Jing Yuan’s eyes lit up as he countered it by moving the same piece on his side. He knew exactly how you were going to play and he was going to ensure he won.
The game progressed and you eventually lost your first pawn, you sighed in annoyance at the realization as you looked up to see your boyfriend with his cat-like smile and of course, he had the most innocent look on his face.
Damnit.
You sighed reluctantly as you cursed him under your breath and removed your jacket.
“Happy?” You deadpanned at him.
“Very much so. Don’t be upset, you still have a chance to win.” He smirked lazily as he waited for you to play your turn
You were more cautious now, not letting him take any of your pawns when you realized you had a safe opening to take his pawn!
You took the chance and took his soldier with your bishop. Looking up at him in triumph.
He smiled back at you casually as he raised his hands in surrender,
“You got me there,”
You watchedn him in anticipation as your mouth watered a little, sure you’d been living together for a few months now but, nothing beat seeing Jing Yuan’s body.
He place his hand on his shoulder guard and removed it before smiling at you pleasantly again.
You blinked once.
Twice.
Scanning him to see if he removed anything else while you were day-dreaming.
Nope, nothing.
"I said one piece of clothing, your shoulder brace doesn't count as one." 
"You never specified if accessories were also counted."
You huffed at him, "You never asked!" 
"I don't recall having to ask, I gave you the chance to explain everything to me." He smiled innocently again.
He was right. 
He knew he was and continued to play his next move.
Bastard.
Suddenly, it dawned on you that he was still in his armor and work uniform, meaning it would take at least 15 individual games of Starchess to get even the first layer off of him. Your eyes widened in realization as he looked at you and stifled his laughter.
Well, you certainly weren't in your work clothes and barely had anything on in the first place but you might have a few accessories on your person if you looked hard enough.
Two can play that game.
The game continued as you tried your best to defend your pieces from his attacks but he was too good… much to your displeasure.
By the end of the first game, Jing Yuan barely looked any different from how he was when he entered your shared home while you had to remove your own rings and piercings, putting them away in a corner neatly as to not lose them.
Jing Yuan won the first game by the rules of normal Starchess and the two of began your second round.
You were determined, but so was he.
Time passed rather quickly as you watched your boyfriend remove more accessories and you really wondered how he was able to walk or even fight with that much on his body.
You shook your head. Now's not the time for distractions.
The game progressed as you watched your pawns get taken one by one.
Rook, Bishop, a couple of soldiers and the list went on.
…You realized very late that you were going to lose.
You've never beat him in a game of starches, partially because he sneaks away your pieces but also because he's genuinely skilled at playing the game.
You were down to your last game, Jing Yuan in his shirt and pants along with some random trinkets of his uniform that you didn't even know the purpose of, you, however, were a different story.
You'd managed to get down just to your t-shirt and panties, shivering a little in both anticipation and the chill of the night.
“Do you need a blanket? You won't have anything to cover you soon enough, I'd hate to get you sick, dear.” Jing Yuan looked at you lazily.
Bastard.
He knew exactly what he was doing.
“I'm good. This is the last game and by the look of it, you've lost more pieces than I have.”
He made a content noise in the back of his throat as if agreeing with you before looking down at the board and smiling.
“I'm afraid you are correct, I admire your confidence in the face of calamity. However,”
He moved his bishop in line with your king.
“Checkmate.” 
You glanced around the board, trying to find an escape route but there were none. 
There was no denying it, you had lost the third game as well.
But the rules were about clothes, you looked up at him and back at yourself.
“. . . Fuck.”
You sighed, reluctantly admitting defeat.
“Alright , alright. You win the 3 games and the whole game considering you have more layers on you than I do.” 
Jing Yuan smiled in amusement as he crossed his arms and tilted his head slightly,
“So, what's my reward for winning?” 
You were already packing up the board as you looked at him with a huff and stood up.
“I'll let you nap in the afternoon more tomorrow, that's your reward.” 
But before you could move your half naked self away, Jing Yuan moved closer and swiftly knocked your knees back so you toppled down onto him.
“Jing Yuan! I almost knocked the board on your head!”
You had wrapped your arms around his neck, scared to lose balance and plop onto the floor if he were to drop you.
“I'm interested in another reward.”
“What?”
“I'm the winner so isn't it natural I get to pick my reward? Besides, no proper terms were set for it when you explained the rules to me.”
“You little shit, you knew this was going to happen.”
“Dear, I am the divine foresight for a reason.” 
He chuckled as his hands slowly moved down your torso and to the hem of your t-shirt. 
He grasped the hem as he leaned into your body and spoke lowly in your ear
“Of course, if you don't want this, we could just revert to my original reward.” 
His hold on you was firm but gentle, indicating that he'd let you go if you wanted him to.
“But, something about the way you're trembling in my hold tells me you don't want to stop, do you?” 
Your breath was coming out in shaky puffs now. You simply looked away in embarrassment before he pressed himself closer to you, you could feel the warmth of his body through the clothes he was wearing.
“Answer me.” 
“. . . I don't want you to stop” 
He smiled against your ears and you swear if he had a tail it would be swishing around in excitement by now.
“That wasn't so hard, was it?” 
Kissing the red shell of your ear he moved your face towards him and kissed you deeply before pressing his forehead to yours.
“Now, allow me to claim my reward.”
He peppered kisses along your jaw as his hands finally, finally took your t-shirt up to your neck as you raised your arms to help him get it off.
You were down to your panties and bra now, coincidentally, you were wearing one of his favourite sets’.
His kisses continued downward, unbuckling your bra with one hand while the other appreciatively squeezed around your body.
He leaned down on your chest, taking a nipple into his mouth as his other hand tweaked with the other and you gasped, sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine.
Your hands immediately found purchase in his soft hair as you closed your eyes and whispered his name.
Jing Yuan always , always made sure to lather extra attention to your chest, you never understood why but it had now become a sensitive spot for you.
He kissed and licked around your nipples, leaving little bites in between so that he can see them in the morning and fuck you all over again.
Deciding he'd done enough to your chest (for now) he moved his attention downwards, chuckling breathlessly at the small wet patch on your panties.
His large hand slid down as he started moving his finger up and down on your panties, making the wet patch grow bigger.
“You call me a bastard and yet have the nerve to be this wet for me, hm?” 
“S-Shut up.” 
You panted as your brain became fuzzy and warm, not being able to think of anything else except Jing Yuan touching you.
He smirked as he added pressure with his finger on exactly where your clit is and you gasped loudly. The fabric of your panties providing a weird but not unwelcome feeling.
“Do you think you can cum just from this alone?”
“I don't k-”
You cut yourself off with a loud moan as he pinched your clit and rubbed it.
“You don't know? Well, that's too bad. We'll just have to find out it seems, hm?”
You were gasping for air and moaning loudly at this point, thrashing and tugging at Jing Yuan’s hair like your life depended on it.
“I'm feeling nicer today, let's take this off, dear.” 
He tugged at your panties and your hazy mind cleared for a second 
“Jing Yuan! Don't I-”
A loud ripping sound echoed through the room as you stared in horror at the shredded remains of your panties but before you could utter a word, Jing Yuan kissed you and simultaneously continued to make circles around your clit.
You weakly slammed your fisted hands onto the hard planes of his chest but to no avail, he wasn't going to let up.
He continued flicking your clit at a faster pace before speaking into your ear.
“Be a good girl and cum for me”
You moaned as you clenched his (now crumpled) white shirt in your hands as your eyes rolled back and your orgasm flooded over your body in waves.
The general continued to make slow and gentle circles on your clit as you got down from your high, peppering your body with kisses and bites everywhere.
You were still breathing heavily when you regained your senses again.
“So, my hypothesis was correct.” 
“You're gonna pay for that, Yu.”.
You said, not sure if youre referring to the torn panties or the fact that him massaging your clit was enough to get you to cum.
“Of course I will, and any other matching set you like so I can rip them all off of your body.” 
His voice was so calm while speaking you'd almost think he was unaffected by the situation but that was far from the truth, sitting on his lap gave away that he was extremely hard underneath you.
He kissed you again, gently this time as he pulled back and bore his eye into yours.
“Do you want to continue?” 
You didn't respond, only leaning in to kiss him before bringing your hands to the collar of his shirt and unbuttoning it.
“I'm not the only one that's going to be naked here.” 
He helped you take off his whole shirt, watching you as you admired his sculpted and scarred torso. 
“Turn around for me, love.”
You did as you were told, sitting in his lap with your back against his chest.
His hands suddenly came up on you again, going downwards to your pussy as he outlined your lips. Pressing gently on the soft flesh.
Your hands immediately found purchase on top of his much bigger ones, your breathing picking up again.
He inserted two fingers in you, pushing them in and out and curling them in just the right spot, hitting your already frayed nerves and stretching you open for him. Keeping the rhythm of his fingers up, slowly getting you towards the edge again when suddenly,
You were left empty as Jing Yuan retracted his hand and wiped it onto his pants as he unzipped them, before hooking both his hands under your plush thighs and lifting your slit above his cock.
“Tell me if you need a break.”
Before you could respond, he was already impaling you on his cock, pushing you down slowly as you reached back with your hands and grabbed his neck while arching your back.
“F-Fuck- too much-”
“You can take it, I know you can.”
He whispered breathlessly as he continued pushing you down until you met the base of his cock.
“There we go.”
Jing Yuan waited for you to adjust while rubbing gentle circles on your clit, watching intently as you fought to gain back your breath.
You were struggling at this point, mind in a haze at the feeling of being so full. Not knowing where to place your hands you blurted our the first coherent thought that came to your mind.
“. . .Tie my hands, please.”
Now it was the general’s turn to be surprised, you were not one to beg usually. He smiled coyly as he grabbed your discarded t-shirt and rolled it up to form a makeshift knot.
“If i was aware we were going to this tonight, I wouldve prepared more.”
You pushed your hands out together in front of you impatiently, just wanting to move but not trusting your shaking legs to carry through.
Jing Yuan kissed around your ears again started working on binding your hands immediately. Securing it as tight as he could, he tugged on it before pecking you on the cheek.
“There. Is that better?”
“Yes.”
You were fully panting now, subtly grinding yourself on his cock.
Jing yuan took it as his cue to move and hooked his hands under your thighs again before lifting you off his cock.
The split second where you were left empty was enough for you to whine. He wasn’t a cruel lover, though, he thrusted back in, filling you instantly.
He kept the tempo of fast but deep strokes and before long you could feel your second orgasm approaching.
Suddenly, there was a change as he pushed you down onto the wooden floor face first and ass up, the angle making him reach in different areas.
Your tied hands were above your head as you got rubbed on the floor like a mop cloth from his powerful thrusts. Jing Yuan bent over and draped his larger frame over your back, holding down your shaking hands with one of his own and thrusting faster.
“Come on, come for me.”
He whispered into your ear, again, reaching his other hand down to play with your clit.
And that's all it took for you to orgasm, releasing over his cock as he kept his pace.
For a few seconds, you blanked out completely, caught up in the haze of your orgasm that you didn't even notice Jing Yuan continuing,
That was until you were brought back to reality by a hit of overstimulation, tears already collecting at your lashes as the pleasure soared through your entire body.
“Y-Yu-”
“Just a little more.”
He continued rubbing fast circles over your clit and you could feel the tendrils of your third orgasm creeping up on you as you clenched around him hard.
It pierced through you just as your boyfriend finally released inside you, hot liquid filling you up and you felt so full.
Jing Yuan panted as he rested some of his body weight on you, essentially pinning you in place and having no way to move. Just the way you like it.
He grabbed your hips with both his hands as he gently thrusted a few times to get the last few seconds of pleasure in, wrecking your already overstimulated pussy.
“. . . I think my reward is incomplete.” He said after a few beats of silence.
“Absolutely not.” 
Jing Yuan laughed breathlessly as he pulled you back onto his lap and rested himself against the sofa, wrapping his hands around your waist and putting his head on your shoulder.
The both of you relished in the afterglow for a bit with him still stuffed inside you, just enjoying and soaking each other’s presence, you were the first to speak.
“Horny bastard, you really piledrived me on the floor of our living room.” You laughed while pecking at his cheeks.
“Me? I’m the horny one now? You were the one that suggested this game in the first place!”
Jing Yuan feigned hurt as he tightened his hold on you, eyeing you cheekily as your ears turned red.
“I didn’t proposition sex! It was a game to-”
“To what? Play house with each other?” Jing Yuan asked in an amused tone before continuing,
“You wanted it to end like this, didn’t you?”
“Not on the goddamn floor! I’m gonna have bruises from this tomorrow, I hope you're happy.”
You pouted and held your (still bound) hands close to your chest, hearing Jing Yuan snicker and feeling his chest shake.
“I’ll give you a massage right now, on the bed this time, to make up for it”
“And then what? Escalate it into having sex again? I need to walk tomorrow, Yu.”
“You know me too well.”
You looked at him into his eyes and he simply gave you a crooked smile
“Untie my hands, we need to clean up and get to bed”
“Hmm… How about I let you go now and you let me enjoy my reward in the shower again?”
You sighed before nodding in acceptance, you weren’t going to feel your legs tomorrow.
This is the price you pay for provoking the sleeping lion.
“Horny bastard.”
438 notes · View notes
literaila · 9 months
Note
can you please write a Peter Parker x reader one shot where the reader gets injured and when Peter comes to visit her in the hospital her crush is exposed because her heart monitor keeps going insane 🙏🙏 she’ll get really embarrassed and he may tease her a bit but ultimately her feelings end up being reciprocated. There could be some angst when she gets hurt but I am the number one fan of teeth-rotting fluff that will make me giggle and kick my feet 😍🫶 could be a friends to lovers situation or an established relationship if you’d like!!! I love ur writing <3
he’s trying to kill me
tasm!peter x fem!reader
a/n: it’s only proper for this to be a hurt reader comfort peter fic (and i mean that literally)
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“what is wrong with you?”
you’re momentarily shocked when an accompanying voice bursts through the room. the words are loud and imposing, and completely distracting you away from the already rough rasp and egg smelling breath of the doctor trying to explain how reckless you were being.
but the new voice is angrier than the first; harder and louder.
there’s still uncertain goosebumps running up your skin when he walks through the doors with his chest heaving and eyes dark, pushing past the doctor like he doesn’t even realize that the woman is there, or just doesn’t care.
but his hands are gentle as they reach you, and his face is anything but shocking.
the doctor is glancing around his shoulder, a worried look in her eyes.
quickly, your muscles relax. you’re used to this imposition. your nerves settle, and you allow peter the chance to freak out for the both of you.
his hands run over your cheeks, his eyes darting over every possible inch of skin they can find. his frown is unburdened and furious. when he is satisfied with his scan of you—all limbs accounted for—peter’s shoulders lose a bit of their tension.
although you allow peter to pull you closer to him, his eyes are threatening, and not even your small greeting of a smile gets his face to settle.
he hugs you—crushing your head against his chest—and then quickly let’s you go, like he’s just realized that you’re made of lava.
but not too far, of course. peter is well within a foot distance.
“what is wrong with you?” he repeats, but a hiss this time. a punishment awaiting its victim. a demand of you. “are you crazy?”
your brows furrow back at him. “i’m fine, peter, now shush. let me listen to the doctor.” your voice is firm, but your chastising is ruined by the tip of a smile at your lips.
your hands wrap around peters arm, moving him away from blocking your view of the doctor.
you nod for her to continue.
“your x-rays came back fine, and there’s nothing unusual about your blood work. the only concern i have is about your head—“
“her head?” peter repeats, voice a bit high. you give him a look to shut up. pinching the skin of his arm, but he doesn’t flinch. just stares at you like you might disappear. or you gained four additional eyes.
she clears her throat. “it looks to be a minor concussion, but any more blunt force trauma might worsen your condition. so it’s important that you take extra precautions in the next couple of weeks, and avoid doing anything that might affect your head. no strenuous exercise, or harsh movement.”
“so no alleyway fist fights?”
she doesn’t laugh, and neither does peter. the tension within the room remains, swirling over you like a cumulonimbus cloud.
but he does interrupt once again. “could it get worse on its own?” he asks, eyes darting between you and her. “do i need to be watching for anything? checking her pupils every once in a while, or making sure she’s not excessively napping for the next couple of days—“
“it shouldn’t be necessary.” she looks back to you, and you can see the sarcasm in her eyes. “if you develop any unusual symptoms, schedule an appointment with your physician. but otherwise, you’re free to leave whenever they bring in your paperwork.”
you feel peter sigh next to you, and you shake your head. “thanks, doc.”
“i’ll have a nurse bring in a list of information about any reoccurring symptoms, and the healing process for your brain over the next month.”
you nod.
the doctor clears her throat once again, giving you a tight lipped smile and nodding at peter, and then she runs out of the room as fast as humanly possible.
you watch her go but peter is staring at you. eventually, when you’ve been dwelling on the pattern of the tile for a moment too long, you look back.
and what you see is expected; harsh lines and worried dimples, stormy eyes and a gash of a frown ruining his otherwise perfect face.
you sigh.
peter swallows. “are you going to explain yourself?”
you lean forward, small teasing smile on your lips as you rest your chin on a hand. “explain what? my headache?”
“c’mon, i’m serious,” his frown doesn’t budge, but he nudges your leg so he can sit down next to you. “what were you thinking?”
he sighs again, shoulders falling, and leans his head next to yours. when he’s this close, you can see the lines wearing under his eyes. you can smell smoke coming off of his skin.
“i was thinking that my doctor needs to improve her bedside manner, and that my boyfriend needs to learn how to wait his turn to speak.”
“i’m not kidding. you could’ve hurt yourself—you’ve already got a concussion.”
“a minor concussion.”
“does it matter?” peter mumbles, rubbing his eyes.
“i’m fine, baby, all bandaged up and everything.”
peter pushes himself up, meeting your eyes with an unfound passion. “this time,” he urges, getting closer, he glances at the door. “but what about next time when you decide to jump off a building just to prove you can fly?”
“i’m not icarus,” you shake your head. “you needed help, peter. i’m not going to let someone get hurt just so i don’t.”
“that’s my job.”
“that’s every good samaritans job,” you roll your eyes, hand brushing through his hair, feeling the dirt build up under your fingertips. “just because you have an advantage over everyone else doesn’t mean that you’re the only one who gets to be a hero.”
“dying isn’t heroic.”
you scoff. “that’s actually the most heroic thing a person can do, but i’m going to let you have this one so you don’t go and get any ideas.”
he bites his lip, swallowing. “you could’ve gotten hurt.”
“well so could you, but you don’t see me bursting into your room and interrupting—“
“that’s not the same thing.”
“how, peter?” you ask, shaking your head and giving him a small smile. “how is this any different?”
“because i can handle it!”
he moves away from you, and throws his head back, sighing out of frustration and looking at you with gentler, more pained eyes. “i can handle it,” he repeats.
“are you saying that if you were standing where i was you wouldn’t have pushed that woman out of the way?”
“i—“
“you cant expect me to watch you save everyone and not help when i can.”
peters eyes catch yours, and you watch him struggle to speak. but eventually he whispers, “you got hurt.”
“i’m okay, though. really.”
“i don’t…” peter shakes his head. “i don’t want, i can’t—ugh.”
you reach for his hand, running a finger over bruised knuckles. “i appreciate your concern,” you tell him, softly. “i know you’re just worried, but you have to let me make my own decisions. you cant rescue everyone all the time.”
“you would be enough.”
you snort. “peter, you have the worlds biggest savior complex. if you let a single person get hurt—even if they live in antarctica—you brood for days. i don’t expect you to watch other people suffer, but i need you to respect the same for me.”
your words are almost biting.
there’s a moment where peter looks at you, and then glances towards the wall. “are you mad?”
you frown. “no, of course not. annoyed or frustrated, maybe. but not mad.”
he gestures beside you with his head. “your hearts beating really fast.”
you look over to the screen next to your head, watching the lines rise and fall rapidly. and then down to your finger, with the cursed device making it apparent to everyone in the room.
“that’s just my resting heart rate,” you say, curled lip and waved hand.”
peter licks his lip. “oh, really?”
“yes, peter. you put on the finger thingy and let’s see how fast your hearts going.”
“i’m not the patient here. are you feeling alright? light headed? dizzy?”
“i’m feeling interrogated.”
peter moves closer to you, eyes darting towards the screen by your head, then to your eyes. he moves away, and his eyes squint. “hmm.”
you look with him, furrowed brows. “what?“
he leans forward again. “there seems to be a common factor.”
“i already told you—“
“every time i move closer to you your heart rate spikes.”
you roll your eyes. “that’s because i’m mad at you.”
“i thought you said you weren’t mad?”
“things have changed.”
peter laughs and leans down to kiss your hairline. when he moves back his eyes aren’t on you. a small smirk falls on his lips, and he moves to kiss your cheek. and then the other.
you don’t need to watch your heart rate to feel the heat rising in your chest.
he leaves a peck on your nose, and moves to kiss the side of your jaw. his kisses are gentle and ticklish, and when his nose runs along your cheekbone, you have to refrain from shivering.
he’s incredibly annoying.
peter moves back as little as possible so he can watch the screen. “maybe i should leave the room.”
“maybe you should get over yourself.”
peter moves forward again, kissing your cupids bow. and then his lips are at your ear and his fingertips are grazing your jaw.
“you first,” he whispers.
you groan and tilt your head, trying to shake him off of you. “this isn’t fair. get your own monitor.”
“let’s just focus on you right now.”
your hand locks around his neck, the other moving to his hair. peters eyes are almost shocked at the feeling, but his momentary surprise gives you the perfect opportunity to pull him closer.
to actually kiss him and avoid dying of any more teasing.
peters smile is evident against your lips, but he doesn’t move away, and his breath meets your own in gentle strokes.
his hand is smooth as he tilts your chin up.
you can feel your own heartbeat, but peter takes his other hand so he can rest two fingers against your neck, feeling for your pulse.
you want to die at the feeling.
“interesting,” he says, his lips brushing yours.
you roll your eyes while they’re still closed, and hope that he can feel it. “shut up.”
peter laughs again, and guides you in short but tense kisses, like he’s trying to make sure that you’re still breathing.
he doesn’t budge when you try to force him closer.
and before you can get him to kiss you properly again, there’s a clearing of a throat, and a different kind of spike in your heartbeat.
a nurse stands behind peter, looking a bit uncomfortable.
peter moves away, swallowing, and greeting the nurse with a shake of his hand. she’s holding a clipboard and a juice box, giving the two of you a brief smile. “sorry to interrupt,” she says.
peter laughs and looks back at you with wide eyes.
you smile, then point at peter. “he’s trying to kill me.”
*
784 notes · View notes
clu-ven · 2 months
Text
Better than Meditation
soooo I haven't posted in a very long time but I'm trying to get back into writing!!! (so pls bear with me xoxoxoxoxo)
Summary: you come up with an alternative (smutty) way for Crosshair to gain some control over his hand - based off S3 E08
Tags: SMUT, vaginal fingering, semi public fingering?? (technically it’s done in an isolated but public place), lil bit of plot + smut, smut, smut
Word Count: 2.8k
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“He’s still down there, y’know” Omega’s voice brings you out of your thoughts as she slumps down beside you.
You keep your eyes closed, letting the rays of the afternoon sun wash over you. Pabu’s climate is one you could most definitely get used to. It’s inviting and comforting atmosphere makes you feel at ease, a sensation that has become rare since the rise of the Empire.
“Well, you know how stubborn he is,” you reply casually. 
While Hunter and Wrecker are gone to meet some bounty hunter they know, Crosshair has spent most of his time on a secluded part of the beach, focused on correcting his aim.  Everyone has tried to talk to him about it but unfortunately, that only made things worse.
Now Crosshair is more defensive than ever, determined to prove that he is perfectly capable of correcting his shaky hand by himself. 
“Yeah but AZI said it might be some kind of mental block,” Omega sighs, subtly copying you as she closes her eyes too “if he doesn’t open up and let us help him, then how is he supposed to get better?”.
Her concern for Crosshair makes you smile, impressed by how she’s able to delicately balance trying to help her brother without being too overbearing.
The question lingers for a few moments before you open your eyes and glance down at her “And he’s already shot down your meditation idea?”.
Omega briefly mentioned the idea to you that morning and although you were sceptical, you encouraged her determination to help anyway. 
“Of course he did,” she lets out a heavy sigh “saying he didn’t like it is an understatement”. 
A comfortable silence grows between you both as you consider the situation. But before you can speak, Omega quickly becomes restless and blurts out “Can’t you try speaking with him? He’ll listen to you, I just know it!”. 
It’s no secret that you and Crosshair were once close and you can only presume Omega has heard about this from the likes of Wrecker, who wouldn’t give a second thought about mentioning it.
"I can try but..." you trail off, hesitating to make a decision. Doubt clouds your judgement, stopping you from promising anything. After all, you know how stubborn and closed-minded Crosshair can be at times, especially when it comes to being vulnerable.
Omega's face lights up at your hesitant help. "Great! Sometimes trying is all it takes". She seems upbeat and enthusiastic as she stands “I was gonna go introduce Batcher to Mox, Stak and Deek anyways so it’s good to know Crosshair won’t be alone”.
Giving the girl a tight-lipped smile in response, Omega whistles for Batcher. With one last goodbye, she hurries off happily.
You wait until she’s gone before you sigh and slump down again. Although Crosshair has been back for a while now, the two of you have yet to have a proper reunion, leaving you both unsure of how to approach the situation. 
Knowing you can’t put this off for forever, you begrudgingly get up and start the long descent down to the secluded beach. 
The subtle change in weather appears to align with your mood, as the sun dips behind the clouds and a warm breeze begins to pick up. It causes the light fabric of your skirt to dance in the wind as if it has a mind of its own. But it’s only a momentary distraction as your thoughts swiftly return to Crosshair, focusing fully on him and the impending catch-up. 
You and Crosshair were always close during the Clone Wars, constantly laughing at each other’s snide remarks, bickering simply for the sake of it and always trying to get a rise out of the other. Even back then, you knew where the constant teasing would eventually lead to… but then it didn’t. 
Instead, the war came to an end and before you even got the opportunity to speak with Crosshair, the rest of the Batch had turned up at your door and told you that he had already picked his side.
Since then, you have been travelling with the batch. It took a long time to accept that whatever was between you and Crosshair was gone, whether that be a friendship or something more. That died the day the Republic did. 
But in a strange twist of faith, Crosshair is back and so are your lingering feelings. Although, if it was difficult to confront this emotion before everything happened, it’s become utterly impossible now. Neither of you have mentioned it and yet you still catch his longing gaze whenever he thinks you’re not paying attention.
When you reach the beach, it’s exactly how you pictured; Crosshair is alone, his sniper positioned steadily on a rock as he tries to shoot the far off target. A blaster bolt sprints across the water as he fires, missing his target by a few inches. You hear him mutter something under his breath as he tries again.
Flicking his chewed up toothpick to the ground, Crosshair notices you. “Yes?” He asks impatiently, lining up another shot.
“You’ve been out here all day,” you state the obvious “Omega’s worried about you”.
Crosshair doesn’t reply immediately, first firing (and missing) again before he turns around just to make sure you see his eye roll. “Oh, is she?” His tone is underlined with sarcasm. 
A huff falls from your lips and suddenly you know all too well why Omega was so irked after trying to help the man in front of you. Despite the scowl on your face, you refuse to fall into the usual bickering you once had with him. 
“You know she is,” you sigh “maybe you should take a break, come have some lunch and forget about target practice for a while”.
He watches you for a moment, studying you the same way you’ve seen from the corner of your eye “And when did you become mother hen?”.
Scoffing, you walk closer, hugging yourself with your arms “Don’t act like that, you know you’re overworking yourself… Crosshair, please, you need to take care of yourself”. 
The concern in your voice takes him by surprise but Crosshair quickly recovers as he mutters “Oh, so you’re worried about me now?”.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” You bat back at him.
“You’ve hardly looked at me, nevermind speak to me since I’ve gotten back” he practically spits the words out. 
You no longer hold back your glare “Like you’ve made any effort to talk to me!”.
“How can I when you don’t even look at me?” Crosshair challenges, his gaze unyielding as your annoyance fades as quick as it came. 
Coming up to the rock he’s based at, you slide down against it to shield yourself from the wind. Crosshair follows suit and kneels beside you, waiting cautiously for your response. 
Your tone holds a sense of sincerity as you speak, your words now free of any reservations. "I do look at you… of course I do," you confess with genuine intent, all annoyance and restraint vanishing within you. 
“Then you must see me staring,” he almost whispers the words, watching you carefully “I thought you would have gotten the hint by now that I’m still interested”.
A soft smile graces your lips and as if taming a wild animal, you slowly reach out for his hand. Crosshair makes no attempt to stop you and you gently slip your hand into his before you tug him closer. 
Settling his hand on to your lap, you begin to trace your finger up and down his palm until finally resting your hand delicately on his wrist. “Let me help,” you offer “seriously, Crosshair”.
“And how would you help?” Though the question almost seems backhanded, you know that’s just Crosshair being Crosshair.
The mischievous glint in your eye paired with the suggestive smirk plastered across your face doesn’t go unnoticed by him. 
“How do you think?” you question. 
He holds your gaze as if to challenge you to make the first move but you hold strong. This is your moment and you both know it.
A secluded beach? A chance for you both to finally reunite in a way you could only imagine? Both of your minds go to the same place.
You give his wrist a small yet reassuring squeeze and before you can make another comment, his lips are on yours. 
With an intensity fuelled by pure need, he slams his lips against yours in a heated display of passion. This isn’t just a build up of years worth of longing for Crosshair. No, it’s much more than that. It’s an act of rebellion against the time he lost with you because of the Empire, both in spite of his own misplaced loyalty to them as well as his time on Tantiss. 
The fiery kiss goes on for what feels like an eternity and yet the time seems far too brief when it finally comes to an end. The passion flaring between the two of you is intoxicating, causing you to crave more.
His fingers twitch on your lap, eager to do more for you. As if on cue, you both look down at his hand, your soft grasp still around his wrist.
“You have to be calm, be able to stay consistent with your shots if you want to hit the target, right?” you ask, trying not to smirk when you see his sudden confusion. 
In a moment like this, you seriously decide to give him some advice on shooting? Crosshair nods, silently waiting to see where this is going.
“Maybe you’re approaching this from the wrong perspective,” you suggest, noticing how his attention shifts to your lips “you’re focusing on your sniper abilities, looking to re-learn your techniques… but you need to re-learn how to use your fingers in order to effectively use your sniper”.
“And how do you propose I do that?” his voice is low, causing the skin on your arms to prickle with goosebumps. You can feel the effect of his voice in your panties.
With your free hand, you begin to bunch up your skirt, first revealing your thighs and then a glimpse of your underwear. Crosshair can’t help it as a groan escapes from his throat.
You guide his hand closer to your clothed core before Crosshair takes initiative and brushes his fingers teasingly against you. 
He can feel the warmth beneath your underwear, feeling more assured in his movements when he hears you take in a sharp breath. But even with the small boost in confidence, Crosshair can’t help it as a small tremor courses through his hand. 
“Take your time,” your voice is soft but firm in your reassurance “and if this is too much then we can stop”. Fearful that you’ve pushed him too far, you slowly begin to close your legs as you nervously fiddle with your skirt “I didn’t mean to push you so-”.
You stop your apologetic remark when his firm grip stops your legs from meeting. A brief look of disbelief flicks across your face as he spreads your legs to his liking.
“No,” there is no hesitancy in Crosshair’s voice as he takes control of the situation “you started this, don’t go shy on me now”. This time it’s your turn to nod silently.
His fingers glide down to caress you again, this time feeling the dampness from beneath your underwear. Each reaction you give, whether a sharp intake of breath or a slight quiver up your spine, only serves to fuel Crosshair’s determination. He savors these small responses, revelling in how you leave each reaction so bare for him to see.
Crosshair smirks “If this is how you react to such simple touches, do you think you could handle me touching you without anything between us?”. 
“You’d be surprised with how much I can handle” you taunt.
Oh how he has missed how you challenge him. Your snarky response is rewarded with a kiss but before you can melt into it, Crosshair brings both of his hands to your hips and swiftly pulls your panties down. 
The eager sight that greets him brings a smile to his face. Crosshair can feel his excitement growing but before he can get ahead of himself, he’s committed to take care of you first. 
Crosshair teasingly brings just one finger down to your core. A slight tremor causes his finger to waver but after a second, it stops as desire overtakes him. His finger teases you, feeling just how much you want him. Before he can make another teasing comment, you pull him in for another kiss, unable to help yourself.
Crosshair is quick to take control of the kiss, simultaneously pushing his tongue into your mouth as he sinks his long finger into you. You welcome all of him, moaning into his mouth. Taking your sounds as encouragement, Crosshair adds a second digit to your core. 
He pushes in until he’s knuckle deep, successfully finding that spot within you. Crosshair takes your advice to heart. He keeps a consistent rhythm, thrusting his fingers inside of you. He listens to each involuntary squeak and moan, adjusting his speed and pressure of each pump of his fingers to whichever makes you react the most. 
There’s not a slight tremble in his entire hand, his attention solely on you. There is no room for nerves or doubt to creep in and cause his hand to shake. That seems almost impossible now, especially with you like this in front of him.
There is nothing but you and him in this moment, the rhythmic movement of his fingers serving as proof that he has full control.
He buries his fingers into you, pressing the palm of his hand against your clit and delivering powerful jolts of pleasure into your body.
“That’s it,” he coos at your moans “you’re nearly there, aren’t you?”.
A flutter fills your chest as your breathing becomes more rapid. "Y-yes,” you manage with a strained voice, your mind becoming overwhelmed with arousal “keep doing that”. 
You squeeze around his fingers, feeling the tight coil in your lower stomach getting closer and closer to finally snapping.
Your body responds to his touch in the most natural of ways, your back arching and head bowing in a display of utter pleasure. Your hand instinctively searches for contact, grabbing hold of his knee as the overwhelming sensation begins to consume you.
Your legs twitch, eyes rolling back in your head and a rather loud moan escapes your lips as the satisfaction you feel begins to peak. 
Bliss floods your entire being and the mixture of your moans and whimpers blend together in a melodic harmony. Every movement of his hand guides you through the waves of ecstasy, sending shivers through your body. 
Crosshair hums approvingly as you come down from your sigh. Almost reluctantly, he takes his hand away from you and examines his sticky but steady fingers. “My hand hasn’t been able to do so much and remain so still since… well, ever since Tantiss” he comments.
Trying to give your shaky legs more time to recover, you fix your panties before you reposition your skirt. Stealing a glance at Crosshair, you’re glad to see you’re not the only one with flushed cheeks. You smile almost bashfully as you lean on the rock to stand. 
Crosshair is there to help, gently holding your upper arm as you steady yourself. Despite the sass you gave him earlier and the bliss he just brought you now, you find it hard to maintain eye contact. 
Clearing your throat, you try to regain some of that boldness from before “Well then… good luck with your target practice, I’ll go see if the others have made contact yet”.
“What?!” the sound is almost foreign to you; the sound of an utterly bamboozled Crosshair. 
Pushing yourself off the rock, you feel his grasp slip away from your arm. You continue to walk as you turn around to savor his shocked expression.
“What about me?” he asks, trying to be inconspicuous as he gestures to the tent in his pants “I thought this was about helping me?”.
“Yeah, I know,” you reply with a smirk “you’ll get your reward when you hit the target”. With a wink, you turn your back to him and begin the ascent back. 
Crosshair’s jaw hangs open as he watches you go, and he can’t help but laugh at your audacity.
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jaywonjuice · 8 months
Note
hiii! i saw your requests were open! i was wondering if you could write a jake drabble/scenario where the reader and him get into an argument and instead of making him sleep on the couch, the reader voluntarily does so instead and the aftermath (apologies) afterwards? hopefully that makes sense ☺️ thank you so much in advance and i’m looking forward to it!!
~ 🩵
aaa my first ever request !! :3 tysm for this, i thought it was a rly sweet idea and i rly rly hope you like how the piece turned out !<3
timeless. ~ s.jy
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pairing bf!jake x gn reader
genre angst, fluff, oneshot
warnings verbal fight, physical contact, kissing, mention of drowning
wc 1.27k
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[00:00] you watched as the alarm clock on your nightstand ticked over midnight and beeped into the darkness. you hugged your knees to your chest, feeling as if you were glued to this spot, huddled up in the middle of the bed. a lump began to form in your throat.
he forgot.
you and jake had been dating for a year now, and to be truthful, it was the happiest you had been in a long time. through all the low points he’d been there, from staying up to cuddle with you on the sofa after the long hard days at your stressful job, to wiping away your tears with his gentle touch, refusing to leave your side until he saw you smile again. you honestly had to pinch yourself sometimes to check you weren’t dreaming, that he was really yours - your gorgeous, sweet, golden retriever boyfriend.
but he forgot. he’d forgotten your one-year anniversary. and you knew that it shouldn’t matter to you so much but it did. you’d waited hopefully all day for him to text or call, and when your phone finally buzzed you’d rushed to read the message excitedly.
jake🩶
should still make tn but schedule’s running late, prob won’t get there til like half 12 xxxxxxx
your heart had sunk. you’d really thought he might have something special planned in secret, a surprise date at a fancy restaurant maybe, so you hadn’t brought it up just in case. but now you felt like a fool, hopes crushed. he clearly wasn’t thinking about you. maybe he just didn’t love you anymore.
your spiralling thoughts were cut off abruptly by the sound of the apartment door opening and then latching shut softly. shortly afterwards a shadowy shape appeared standing in the doorway of the bedroom.
‘hey baby,’ said jake with a broad smile. entering the room he flicked the lights on, casually running his fingers through his hair and letting out a contented sigh, as if he hadn’t just crushed your heart. ‘i thought you might’ve been asleep. why are you just sitting here in the dark?’
his smile faltered as he took in your expression. you were staring at him dully with tired eyes. he thought you looked smaller than usual, sat hunched there, blanket wrapped around your shoulders in the middle of the bed. concern flickered across his features. ‘baby, has something happened?’
you scoffed, turning away from him. ‘“has something happened?” no, actually, as a matter of fact absolutely nothing happened all day.’
he regarded you, puzzled. ‘baby i don’t understand,’
‘today was our anniversary, jake,’ you answered him cooly. ‘we’ve been together for an entire year and you didn’t even remember.’
you watched as the realisation crept over his face.
‘oh gosh, yeah, it totally slipped my mind!’ he furrowed his brow, thinking. ‘let’s go to the movies tomorrow, hmm? a proper date, to celebrate,’ he offered with a smile.
‘no,’ you shot back without a moment’s pause. ‘it’s not the same. we can’t just do it tomorrow. it won’t be special, we’ve missed our chance.’
‘what do you mean it won’t be special?’ he scratched his head, clearly growing frustrated with the conversation. ‘we’d be doing the exact same thing just on a different day, it doesn’t make any difference.’
‘jake, this was important to me!’ you were shouting now, unable to remain calm with how easily he seemed to dismiss your feelings.
‘hey don’t yell at me!’ he put his hands up. ‘we can just go tomorrow can’t we?! seriously what is the issue here, all i want is to just be with you-’
‘well i don’t want to be with you!’ you spat.
his jaw worked. something about his gaze shifted, and his eyes hardened. you knew then that you’d hurt him.
‘just forget it,’ you huffed, pushing yourself up off the bed and making to storm out of room. jake stuck his arm out to block the door. ‘look, if you’d just listen-’
‘forget it, i said,’ you repeated yourself, pushing his arm out of the way before adding, ‘you’re good at that.’ with that you left the room, your blanket trailing behind you.
.❦.
[11:44] when you awoke on the sofa the following morning, it was to a sore back and a throbbing head. it had taken you hours to fall asleep and you felt anything but rested. your cheeks felt tight with the stains of dried tears, and as you sat up straight the events of the previous evening flooded your mind.
jake. as you remembered the wounded look on his face at your hurtful words, your heart ached, adding to your long list of pains. ‘such an idiot,’ you groaned, head in your hands.
berating yourself did little to relieve your discomfort however, so you dragged yourself up off the sofa and made your way blearily to the kitchen.
as you reached for the medicine cabinet, something stuck to the fridge caught your eye. a little envelope was tucked under one of your little puppy fridge magnets. removing it carefully, you turned it over in your hands to find your name scrawled on the back.
you opened it up and read:
morning angel,
you know i’m not good with words, but i need you to know how much i love you, and how sorry i am that i hurt you.
i should never have said the things i said. i know now how important this was for you and i should’ve been more understanding from the start.
it’s not that i don’t care, honestly it’s quite the opposite. i just want to celebrate every day that i get to spend loving you. you see, i think we’re timeless baby, no matter how long i’m with you i’m always going to be crazily in love with you, until we’re old and grey. no matter when someone asks me, now or fifty years from now, i’m gonna be telling them that you’re my baby, forever and always.
yours,
jake
p.s. i’m really sorry this is all in writing and not in person, but i had things scheduled all morning that i couldn’t get out of :( i promise i’m gonna make it up to you
p.p.s. i’m also sorry for my atrocious handwriting (you’re right, it does kinda look like a drunk spider slipped in ink and danced across the page)
the sheet of paper trembled in your hands.
‘y/n?’
you looked up with a jolt to see jake stood watching you by the door, his face fraught with concern. your eyes filled with tears as they met his, and he dropped his bags to the floor and rushed over to you. he pulled you into his arms, wrapping them tightly around you.
‘jake,’ you were sobbing into his chest now. ‘jake i’m so sorry. i’m so so sorry.’
‘shhh, i know baby, i know,’ he stroked the back of your head gently. ‘i’m sorry too.’
still a sniffling mess, you continued ‘i do want to be with you, i want to be with you forever and.. i want to be timeless with you.’
you tilted your head up to face him, eyes shining. ‘please,’
he held your face in his hands as he leant in to kiss you, his thumb brushing against your cheek gently. the way he kissed you made you feel like you were both alive and burning all at once, like he was a breath of fresh air, like you were drowning. when he finally pulled away, he smiled, running his thumb along your puffy bottom lip, before replying softly ‘yeah, timeless sounds good to me.’
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pls don’t hesitate to send me requests ! i love writing these sm ⸜(。˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡
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©jaywonjuice | do not copy or re-upload my work on any platform
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sammylvsfairys · 2 months
Note
GIRL we need some comfort shots with spencer reid I haven´t seen many of those, but that guy has SOME SERIOUS SHI GOING ON maybe comforting him to sleep (sfw)
(or not)
(or both oH mY)
pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader genre: fluff, established relationship. warnings: english is not my first language!! a/n: THE WAYY I NEEDED TO WRITE SOMETHING AB SPENCER.
requests are currently open !
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y/n noticed spencer acting strange all day; maybe it was just their mind playing tricks, but they were sure something weird was going on. when night fell, that uneasy feeling intensified as spencer moved around the room, avoiding bedtime.
"spencer," y/n called. "it's late, don't you wanna go to sleep, darling?"
spencer's eyes narrowed with almost paralyzing fear.
"i'm not sleepy," he mumbled a little later. y/n smiled, trying to find a logical explanation for spencer's irrational behavior.
"come on, aren't you the one always telling me how important it is to get eight hours of sleep?" y/n moved closer, fingers through spencer's hair, seeking to calm something they didn't even know existed.
spencer melted under the touch but still insisted, "i slept on the jet."
y/n laughed. "you can't compare crashing on a couch a thousand feet in the air to snuggling in bed with your partner, can you?"
spencer tensed even more at that, as if the memory of his nap on the jet haunted him.
y/n moved their hands to spencer's chin. "don't you want to tell me what's going on, baby?" their sweet tone made spencer nearly melt into their arms.
"i'm tired of having so many nightmares..." he began.
y/n continued caressing his skin for support.
"and i'm so afraid that one day i'll open my eyes and realize it wasn't just dreams, and you're not really with me."
y/n hummed as they listened, thinking about what to say next. "you can't go without sleep..." they started.
spencer interrupted, "i know, but i'm scared-"
now it was y/n's turn to interrupt. "i know, sweetheart. that's why i thought maybe i could keep an eye on you while you try to sleep."
spencer's eyes lit up at the idea, but guilt quickly settled in his mind.
"it's too much; you can't go without sleep just because you were watching over me."
y/n chuckled softly. "spencer reid, you're an idiot if you think a few hours of missed sleep mean it's not worth you getting a good night's rest too. we both deserve some proper rest, but right now, it's you struggling to sleep, remember?"
spencer felt like he might cry; it was the first time someone treated him with such delicacy and understanding.
"let's go to sleep, spence. i promise i'll be there in case anything happens."
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lunarw0rks · 9 months
Note
I politely crave moreee awkward placed injures with reader and task force 141. Also why is it so hard to spell awkward like I spend 10 minutes trying to spell it :D
No Filter | Part Two
A/N: I wrote this in an hour, I apologize if it's lackluster. I was picturing the sparring scene from Miss Congeniality while writing this - if you know what I'm talking about I love u. Not proofread.
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Summary: From a simple training session to a brawl.
Warning(s): platonic!141, mild language, crackfic, canon-typical "violence", very mild injury/blood, fem!reader, no use of y/n
Word Count: 1.3k
꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ 141 MASTERLIST PART ONE | AO3 VER. // have a request? // ˗ˏˋ ASK BOX ˎˊ˗
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What you were trying to do was train. The right way.
But did that ever go as planned in this God-forsaken place?
In this God-forsaken task force? Not ever.
It was a simple sparring session, a rare one where everyone was participating. Each member picked a buddy, yours being Gaz—one of the more tolerable, humble men you worked with. Though, he had his sore moments every now and then.
Gaz raised his fists, the both of you dancing around in a circle as you braced for impact. “C’mon, hit me!” He exclaimed, curling his lips into a smug smirk. You squinted at him, returning the playful glare as you debated on your next move.
“What? Get shot in the bits but you can’t punch me?” He chuckled, reminding you of the bullet welt still healing—an awkward reminder of the enemy’s odd aim.
At the mention of it, you swung at him, rendering him on his ass. Kyle groaned and held his throbbing forehead, a tender mark where your gloved fist knocked the cockiness right out of him. “Bloody Christ, I said hit me not give me a brain injury!”
You stifle your belly laugh as best as you could, feeling a sting where you were still healing. Instead, you outstretched a hand, pulling the spiteful Sergeant to his feet. And here you were thinking Garrick would be a less irritating sparring partner. Surely, less obnoxious than Soap, and miles less intimidating than Ghost.
You heard a thud behind the two of you, causing you to turn on your heels and inspect the hilarious scene in front of you. Soap was on his ass, holding a small cut on his brow—one that would leave him with a nasty bruise for weeks. The skull-faced Lieutenant stood over him, arms crossed over his chest as he watched him writhe.
“You got distracted, Johnny. Ended up on your arse.” he taunted, taking a few steps back as Soap regained his footing.
With Ghost’s strength, it could’ve been any limp thrust into Soap’s temple. Your guess? Probably an elbow or knee. Soap pointed a finger at Kyle’s reddened mark where you sucker punched him, as if sitting him in the same boat of embarrassment.
“Look at him! Knocked down by her; a nasty mark that is.” His Scottish accent grew stronger the more heated he got, though Ghost remained untouched by both the activity and the humor.
Soap approached, giving your touchy chest a knock with his fist, “I’m proud of you, lass, sticking up for yourself, especially with this one.” He pointed to Gaz’s disgruntled scowl, an often recurring expression on his youthful face. Though, you were more focused on Johnny’s patronizing—he hadn’t let you live the boob incident down.
That vigor resurfaced, making you sweep Soap’s feet out from under him with just a kick. “I told you not to bring that up, you bastard!” You lunged for him, but he had rolled out of your path, finding his footing again. It was game on now—to hell with proper, tactical training.
Soap gripped your shoulders, sending you both to the foam mat with a grunt. The struggle was entertaining for the rest of them, to say the least. Even Simon; the man nonchalantly stanced to the side, pretending he’s not associated with the clown show playing in front of him.
You ended up on top of him, knees on each side of his head. It took every bit of your might, your training to keep his arms from swatting you in the face. It was like two siblings wrestling over their turn with the remote.
“They’re just—” Johnny grunts, resisting the neck pin, “—too damn distracting!” Oh, he was in for it now. That idiotic smolder on his face, like you weren’t seconds from adding to the nasty bruise on his brow bone.
“My bets on her. She’s got a lot of rage.” Gaz whispered to Simon, holding a cold compress to the throbbing mark on his head.
Ghost turns his attention to Gaz’s laughable appearance, then back to the immature brawl. “Johnny’s like a hungry hound, he won’t go easy. Just like I taught him.”
Simon was right. You got too caught up in your need for vindication, disembarking you into the submissive position, a smirking Soap above you.
Your feet pressed against his toned stomach, your only lifeline because your arms were pinned above your head. “Next time we do a honeypot operation, you’re wearing the thong, MacTavish!” A harsh kick delivered by you, right on his kneecap sent him keeling to the side of you, allowing for your brisk getaway.
You slithered around Gaz, using his frame as a distraction so you could gather yourself. Cheating? Perhaps; but Soap started this, not you. Your eyes peeked around him, now circling around the middleman until an inevitable mistake was made.
“Bet you’d love to see that.” Soap answers your remark from seconds ago, sweat pooling on his bruised brow. Kyle eventually got fed up being used as a wall, yanking your arm and thrusting you towards your mow-hawked opponent.
It wasn’t the quick move he thought it was, however. His foot snagged on yours, sending him tumbling to the ground. And you? You slipped on the ice pack that came flying from Garrick’s grip as he fell. It was like a trio of klutzes all in one room. Surely, no one would be able to picture you three as serious members of the Task Force after all was said and done—but you needed revenge, craved it.
Kyle let out a groan of contempt, barrel rolling out of the way as you and Johnny scuffled again, stumbling along the training room as you attempted head-locks on each other.
Simon retreated into the corner of the room, observing his moronic co-workers as he played with the blade of his knife. Sooner or later, the Captain was either going to find out about this incident second-hand, or walk into this unprofessional brawl. Either way; the skull man was not going to be involved. His fortuitous knee to Soap’s temple was enough to fuel his ego for the day.
You received a few elbows to the rips, some knocks on the side of the head, all while petty insults were thrown at the Scot. It was ridiculous, but in the moment—you were on top of the world, beating Johnny’s arrogance.
You latched onto Johnny’s back, attempting to finally give him a well-deserved choke hold. What did you get instead? A forearm to the nose, a small smear of blood on your wrist when you instinctively raised a hand to your throbbing nose.
Soap was chuckling… until he witnessed you compose yourself within a matter of seconds. The saying he heard once; hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. He believed it to be true the moment he saw you charge him, a disabling kick to his balls. Not strong enough to leave him impotent—enough to make him see stars.
You got ahead of yourself too, delivering the kick too soon after a blow to the face. You lost your balance, finding yourself crumpled on the floor beside MacTavish. Unless it was literal life or death, neither of you were continuing this tussle.
“What the hell is going on in here?”
Everyone’s heads perked up at the sound of the Captain’s irritation. Imagining the scene from his perspective made sense; Kyle pouting with an ice pack on his head, you holding a bloodied nose while stunned, Soap clutching his wounded manhood, and Simon in the corner sharpening a blade.
It was in his nature to keep professional, though he had to fight the urge to cackle.
“You were supposed to be training with each other, not partaking in catfights.” He cleared his throat. “Will someone explain to me why everyone but Simon is injured?” John crept closer, hands behind his back as he hovered over the two of you, inspecting the evidence on your faces.
Soap raised his head, mouth open to speak, but the Captain cut him off. “Not you.”
You gritted your teeth, still in the midst of catching your breath, “he talked about the boobs again.” It was a humiliated mumble, like a child caught in a lie. As if there weren't enough staff meetings caused by this unit specifically…
“My office. Now, all three of you.”
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ieatangstforbreakfast · 5 months
Text
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Pairing ೃ⁀➷ 1610! Miles Morales x Fem! Reader
Summary ೃ⁀➷ Based off of Conan Gray’s song, Heather.
Genre ೃ⁀➷ Unrequited love, one shot
Tags ೃ⁀➷ Unrequited Love, Really rushed, It’s like twelve here damn, short one shot, Reader is a hopeless romantic idk anymore, not proofread, it’s mostly just poetic shit idk
Author's Note ೃ⁀➷ ill design it tomorrow goddamn it i just wanted to write, might wake up and rewrite idfk
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“𝐈 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫,”
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Suddenly, all of what was left of November passed, with the dead, scarlet leaves the only homage remaining of the autumn that’s escaped your grasps. Autumn left as quick as it came, you couldn’t even bid a proper adieu.
When you think of December, you think of this icy wonderland— a winter that’d leave you huddling in the comfort of thick coats and hot chocolate, while patiently waiting on the nearing holiday that was prancing around the corner. Instead, what poured was not the icy flare of snow, but rain heavy enough to send you and Miles bolting off for cover.
In the thick downpour, your giggles emanated throughout the dim alleyways as the two of you sought sanctuary beneath a bus stop, somehow able to shield yourselves from the pitter-patters that raged on in a sideway fall.
“Oh my God, your hair.” You pointed at his drenched curls, a low laugh following along. Miles shook his head, running his fingers through the fluff of his waves when it poofs up again after a few turns. “It’s got magic, don’t worry.”
You brush your hands over the drenched skirt of your uniform, cursing to yourself. “Kinda need that magic for my clothes too.”
“That’s ‘cause you ain’t a magical being like me,” He huffs while wiping his hoodie. “You’s a mere mortal.”
“Okay, extraterrestrial being, control the damn weather then.”
“Hell yeah I will,” He snaps his fingers up to the skies. “Rain harder f’me, clouds!”
And the rain oh-so-gracious heeds his command. After a short while of cursing him out, you and Miles sat by the bench with your laughs easing down— replacing the excitement with a shared sort of exhaustion. With your heads pressed against the graffiti-covered glass wall behind you, you take a moment to subtly angle your head and look at Miles. He doesn’t notice it at first, but when he catches on, he turns and exchanges the stare with his own, a subtle “What?” escaping his lips.
From the chill of your spine, you mumbled.
“Nothing.”
You sheepishly looked away. “I’m just.. So exhausted, God. I need to work on my cardio.” A small fit of coughs exit your lips, covered up by the block of your wet sleeve. “I don’t understand how you get to run so quick— I couldn’t even see anything.”
“You still caught up pretty quick,” He beams. “Gotta admit, you’re a quick runner.”
“Thanks, I practice by running away from my problems.” A heft chuckle followed. “M’just kidding.”
Miles takes notice of your quivering hand— a frail shiver emanating ‘til the tips of your fingers. For a moment, the short idea of wrapping his hand over yours crosses his mind, but he shoots it down as soon as it came. It inches only a tad bit closer, but the image of someone else flashes in his mind when he looks at you like this.
“What a mood.”
“Running away from problems?”
“Yeah.”
You raised a brow. “You? You run away from your problems?”
He lazily shrugged with a hum. “Everybody runs away from their problems every now and then. It’s aight.”
“In a way, I guess,” You lean a little closer, but your shoulders never touching. “But in the end, no matter how much we run away, it’s all gonna end up catching up to us.”
Miles shoots you an amused look. “You been paying attention to philosophy class lately?”
“Prof Martha and I are besties, y’know.” A tint of sarcasm colored your words, redefining your connection to the strict teacher. “She likes me so much, she calls my name first during every fucking recitation.”
“It’s cause you’s always on that damn phone.”
“With or without my damn phone, nothing can make me sit still throughout her lecture.” A gruff huff escaped your mouth.
“Damn, not even me?”
You looked at him, wondering if he was flirting with you or if it was just your delusional brain whispering sweet theories into your ear. But even then, you admit.
“Ionno, maybe.”
You couldn’t even look him in the hazel of his pretty eyes.
“Maybe?”
He sounded half-disappointed, but you didn’t want to plant a presumptive seed inside your overly creative brain. That word alone’s enough to craft you a million what-ifs later on when you’re fading into the world of your dreams.
A chill runs down your spine.
“… I think I’m definitely gonna get sick tomorrow.”
“Oh, shit,” He sits up. “We definitely can’t have that happening.” Immediately after, he starts taking off his sweater. You flush, rambling on with the same question; “What the fuck are you doing!?”
“Our presentation’s tomorrow, and if anybody’s gonna be presenting the damn thing, it ain’t me— so you,” He tosses it over to you. “You wear this for now.”
You hesitate for a moment, dragging your hands towards the red polyester with a raised brow.
“How about you?”
Miles shrugged. “I can make do. My system’s made out of steel.”
“Made out of steel but you can’t perform for shit?” You pull the sweater over your head, the fluffy thing engulfing you into warmth. It was still somewhat damp from the rain, but it was better than earlier.
“Huh,” Miles sat back as you looked up to meet his gaze. “.. Would you look at that. It looks better on you than it does on me.”
Your eyes glanced down at the crimson, your hands smoothing out the creases of the cloth. “Really? I don’t usually wear this shade.”
“You don’t?”
“I’m more of a.. Less saturated kinda gal.”
“.. I mean, you can have it if you want.”
You shot him a look of disbelief. “.. Does this sweater have a hole because if you’re giving this away I—“
“It doesn’t have a hole, [Y/n].”
And your name rolled off his tongue so gently, it caught you off guard.
“I just think it looks better on you.”
Upon that murmur, he crossed his arms over his chest and sunk deep into the comfort of his seat. You’re stuck contemplating with an open palm, straightening the creases of his sweater. “Are you really giving this to me? ‘Cause I can give it back to you after laundry day.”
He shook his head. “Just.. Think of it as an early Christmas gift.”
“.. Thank you, then.” A smile crossed your lips. “I’ll keep it forever.”
When you see the way he looks at you— like a sort of guilt laced in hesitation, but a certain sort of awe. At that moment, a sense of hope lingered inside you like a dream. You think, maybe, just maybe, that helpless look in his eyes— that sort of gut wrenching longing— was crafted entirely and solely, exclusively for you.
But you knew that gaze of his wasn’t for you.
And you knew exactly who he was pretending you to be.
Oh, if only I was her.
Feelings, your feelings— erratic, volatile, and erupting out of you like a bird unwilling to be caged. You wanted to speak, say it— just say it.
But your hair wasn’t as golden as hers, your cheeks weren’t as rosy as hers. You wanted her effortless pixie hair cut, her ballerina grace. She reminded you of those flowers fleeting in the wind, like the purple heaths they called ‘Heathers’. You wanted to smell like her sweet perfume, do everything the way she does, just so Miles could look at you the way you imagined he’d look at her.
His doe-eyed sweetness. You wished you could own it, you wished he’d spare at least a part of it for you.
Rather, you wanted all of him for yourself.
You wanted a glimpse of this girl beyond the confines of Miles’ dabbles in watercolor and markers. You’d much rather prefer the object of your jealousy walk across your sights, smile with the bunny teeth he likes so much, and make your stomach churn rather than have you dwell over a 2D image you couldn’t help but gauntly skim past.
What is it about you that I can’t make Miles look at me?
Maybe if you’d meet her beyond his sketchpad and recollections, then maybe you’d understand why he can’t get her out of his mind.
At that moment, she was just someone you wished to be.
The bright red of this polyester which you deemed unfitting of your skin. You wondered if Miles truly meant it when he said it suits you— or if what he truly meant was that the shade would’ve looked great on her.
As the sweater was yours, but Miles was hers.
Your arms meet with a tiny press, and you feel his shiver. It was only so subtle, but at the ease of his shoulders, you couldn’t help but think as he looked onto the empty space with a blank stare.
Wish I were Heather.
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yorshie · 9 months
Note
I just read almost all your turtle relates work and i loved It! I was wondering how the brothers worked out having a poly relationship with the reader, the dynamics, what they think/feel about It, etc.
It can be headcanons or one shot, don't really mind, I just adore your work with them 👀
Thank you so much for your amazing storys💫
Thank you for the ask Nonnie!
I want to precede this by saying I don’t really have serious thoughts about how a poly relationship with all four brothers would work. I just started writing without worrying about the logistics of it, but I do keep some things in mind so it doesn’t turn into a Marty Robbin’s song.
So I went with head canon style observations and then added a little blurb that just hasn’t really fit in any one-shots I’ve written so far, but seemed appropriate in this context. I hope you enjoy!
Bayverse turtles x GNreader
Jealousy goes out the window. Who she? Oh, we don't know her. Brotherly squabbles still exist, but you are never the direct reason for the issues.
This relationship was definitely a slow burn, friends to lovers, where the lines blurred as love grew.
Mikey was probably the first one to start testing the friendship/boyfriend lines. His brand of flirting and physical affection makes him a prime suspect to see how far he could push and what exactly you would be comfortable with.
Donnie seems like the next likely culprit, certainly if he saw how openly you gave affection to his brother he might realize "hey, I'd like some of that", and proceed to tell you what he wanted next time the two of you were alone.
With the older brothers, it would definitely be Leo that has the next epiphany. With his love of listening, he'd probably get you talking and then slowly start scooting closer and closer, on the look out for any signals that you were happy with just two turtles' attentions. Finding none, you'd end up with a cuddle buddy anytime the two of you have a talk.
And Raph? he'd be the last, and he'd just show up with the others on one of the planned hangouts, hesitant and unsure but following their lead. Better not mention the red elephant in the room, or else he's likely to just turn into a roly-poly and scuttle away in fear of overstepping and ruining whatever friendship the two of you have and the luck his brothers stumbled onto. Just keep acting like everything is normal, and he'll bloom.
there's no hierarchy, other than brotherly ones that existed long before you. If someone wants/needs more time/affection, they simply ask for it. If you need time alone, you might have to lock a door or hang up a sign so everyone gets the message it doesn't turn into a revolving door of turtles checking in on you.
Date nights can be with one, two, or all four turtles. Only once was there a date planned while Donnie was shell deep in a project, and it was the one date that everyone agrees was a failure. After that debacle, Donnie gets dragged out of his proverbial dungeon anytime a 'four turtle date' is planned. While the brothers do plan one-on-one time with you, if you guys are hanging out in the lair chances are everyone will gravitate towards the commotion.
Sleep overs are probably the only time things can get complicated. You of course have the option to hole up in the guest room, and there's always sleep piles in the living area that happen often enough that Donnie went ahead and ordered extra mattresses to avoid the fuss of everyone having to drag half their bedrooms out into the Lair proper over and over, but sometimes you just want one snuggle buddy and you end up in one brother's room. It's the one time they'll get territorial over you, and it's an unspoken rule that if someone follows their nose to find you and ends up outside a personal space, they turn around and seek you out another time. It's the one rule not even Michelangelo tries to bend.
Turtle Pile
You woke up in the odd hours of the morning, the need to pee cutting into the bone deep contentment that had settled under your skin. You shifted, slowly, taking stock of where you were and how much wiggle room your turtles had allowed.
The lip of Raph's shell was a solid barrier over the edge of your hip and the line of one leg. He liked to have you up against him while he slept, the better to shield you in case something went wrong. He was laying the opposite direction of you, shoulder to shoulder with Leo, who had half draped himself over your lap and legs.
Leo's head was still tilted into the soft meat of your thigh where he'd been lulled to sleep mid conversation, breath slow and even, muscles twitching even in sleep.
Mikey had taken up your other side, arm snaked over your waist and leg hitched over what you were sure was suppose to be your closest hip, except Leo's shell was in the way. His face was propped close to yours, soft snores adorable, not quite as elevated as you were, and with no pillow to really protect his neck from Donnie's shell.
You were using the tallest brother as a pillow, as he laid out on his plastron, pining his legs and using the slope of his carapace as a make shift recliner. The reason you'd given him was to keep you safe in case someone shifted too much in their sleep, but the true intent was to keep him from sneaking back into his lab and half finished projects.
It was comfortable, safe, and warm, but the pressure in your bladder pinged again. With a soft sigh, you removed Mikey's arm and stretched, slinking up Donnie's shell to slide your legs out from under Leo.
His grip tightened, one sleepy blue eye opening to check on you. "What's wrong?"
It as more a rumble than words, but you understood , and whispered back, "nothing's wrong, just have to go pee."
He hummed, the sound low and familiar, and released you. "Climb back this way, you'll wake Dee."
"I've been awake, "came Donnie's clear, quiet voice.
You rolled your eyes, bracing a hand on one of the massive scutes on Raph's carapace and stepping over Leo's shoulder. "Make sure my pillow doesn't run off, Blue."
Leo gave a bare huff of sound, and you heard Donnie give an exasperated click in the back of his throat as Leo grabbed his brother's legs. "Yes, ma'am."
"Could be doing so much work right now." You heard Donnie grumble as you finished breaking free.
Your bare feet padded across the cool floor to the bathroom, soft steps not loud enough to mask Raph's equally irritated grouse:
"You'll have all weekend to work, nerd, now shuttup and sleep."
The door was just sliding shut when you heard Mikey's voice, the loud whisper practically a yell in the otherwise quiet space:
"Hey, where'd angel go?"
Followed by three sighs of various annoyance at the loud noise.
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barleyo · 11 months
Text
Pollen.
Recom! Miles Quaritch X Fem! Reader
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A/N: I finished this is 3 hours, so this might seem a little rushed, but I am obsessed with this man in a life-consuming, unhealthy, scary way. I just feel the need to share the goings on of my mind with you all via my writing, so prepare for a LOT of Miles Quaritch posts. When I say a lot... I mean it.
(PART TWO IS OUT)
Wordcount: 1.4k
TAGS: Age difference, phone sex, public masturbation, solo fem and male masturbation, mutual masturbation, voice fetish, sex pollen, phone sex with a stranger, interspecies relationship
Solo missions were not uncommon for Miles. Any one-man job immediately went to him, as a colonel he could hold his own, however, the forests of Pandora were not kind to lone wolves. Everything and anything out in the wild posed a threat, animals and natives. Plants.
He was confident in his physical abilities, and even though he didn’t like to admit it, he was ignorant to the flora and fauna of this world, so in his mind, everything was blended together into a pool of danger and death. Any sound in the still forest was a red flag to him, any leaf crunching or branch shifting caught his attention. That’s why he was so quick to turn around when a loud rustling of leaves sounded behind him.
“Ha!” Quaritch turned around, gun held up in defense, ready to shoot. He held the gun steadily as the sound continued. He slowly brought his gun back into its proper place, strapped over his bare, azure shoulder.
Just as his guard fell, a small wisp of color lunged past him, knocking him onto the forest floor. He looked up, not seeing the creature, whatever it had been. Pushing himself up, he noticed that he had touched a mushroom-like plant. It was bioluminescent, and left a powdery dust on his palm.
“This fuckin’ place,” he sighed, wiping the white dust off onto his cargos. His face scrunched up in discomfort  as an itching sensation ticked at his hand. He scratched at it to no avail. The feeling built quickly from a small itch to a flaming burn. 
The heat spread from his hands to his arms, then to his chest, and soon coated his entire body. It felt as if he were submerged into a body of boiling water like he was being cooked, simmered and stewed in a pot.
“What was that shit?” He groaned, feeling the slick of his sweat drench through his shirt. Quaritch dug through his pant’s pockets and grabbed his walkie talkie, speaking into the front of it. “Colonel to Blue Team, over.” The line was dangerously quiet, the only sound being the fizzing of the radio. “Blue Team? Lyle?” He cursed, not receiving a response. “Forgot how bad the connection was on these things.”
He smacked the device, hoping it would offer him a clear connection. With his slicked palms, he dropped the walkie talkie, muttering profanities to himself. He snatched it and held it to his ear as a final pathetic attempt to connect to his team. “Hello? Anyone there, for God’s sake?” 
To his surprise, there was an answer. Not just any answer, but a soft, clear one.
“Hello? Hello, are you there? This is (Y/N).” 
He shuddered. From relief, maybe, but the warmth spreading to his crotch pointed towards arousal. It confused him, this wasn’t the first time he’d heard a voice as beautiful as this one, but instead of dwelling on it, he frantically spoke back. 
“Yeah, ‘m here, Colonel Miles Quaritch, over.” His mouth was dry and his tongue felt far too large,
“Colonel? Uhm, well, what has you tuned into the lab department’s line? Can I help you?”
Such a beautiful voice, even for a science puke, he thought. “Damn radio won't connect to my team line, but I’m out in the middle of nowhere in this God forsaken forest. I fell on some weird mushroom lookin’ thing and now I’m so itchy and sweaty that I can’t even fuckin’ think straight,” he said into the device, “Hell, I can barely walk. It’s starting to hurt too.” He stretched the fingers on his aching palm, trying to soothe it. It did not work and the pain only shot through the rest of his body, just as the itching and burning had as well.
“Oh, Mr. Quaritch, I’m sorry to hear that,” the woman replied, urgency in her voice, “can you tell me what this ‘mushroom’ looked like more specifically?” There was a twinge of excitement in her voice that pissed him off.
“What’s that gonna do? Damn it, can you just put me on with my team?”
“Please, calm down. If I can figure out what you have interacted with, I can tell you how to fix it.”
He sighed. “I already told you, it was like a mushroom. It left this weird powdery shit on my hand.”
“Powder? Oh my,” she sucked in a breath, “Colonel, I’m going to ask you something, and I need you to answer me. Are you, uh, are you–”
“Miss, can you spit it out already? I don’t have time for this, if you’ve forgotten, I’m in the middle of fucking nowhere and sweating buckets right now.”
“Are you hard right now? Your– your dick, is it hard?”
Quaritch swallowed thickly, feeling the bulge in his pants twitch again.
“Yes, really hard. What does that have to do with anything?”
“The plant that you had touched, it is known to release pollen that arouses one to an extreme, if you do not satisfy yourself soon, the pain will be unbearable.” Miles could hear panic in the woman’s voice and the click of a door as if it were being locked. “You understand, don’t you, Colonel?”
“It’s already awful.” A groan reverberated in his chest as he spoke, “So I’m supposed to jerk myself off in the middle of the forest, right in the open?”
“I’m afraid so, please you must start now, the pain will be much worse without stimulation.” 
He nodded, even though he knew she would not know and unbuttoned his pants, pulled his boxers down, and freed his dick. It was striped, just like the rest of his Na’vi body that he was slowly getting used to. 
Miles nervously grabbed his own length. This wasn’t the first time he had touched himself in his Na’vi form, it was second nature to him now, but this was the first time he had done it out in the open, and the first time he had done it with a woman talking him through it. 
He pumped slowly, fucking his fist. He couldn’t help but imagine his hand being the warm, tight cunt of the woman on the other line. A trembling moan strained from his mouth as he picked up the pace, seeking more friction in his palm. “(Y/N)--”
“I’m still here, sir, don’t worry,” she said, comfortingly.
His face flushed with a purple tint, not realizing she was still there. Obviously she was still on the line, it’s not like she could just leave, he rationalized it in his head. “It still hurts so bad, darlin’, fucking my hand ain’t helping,” he groaned.
“Just try, you must do it. You must cum, Colonel, please. Do it for me,” she whispered into the walkie talkie, embarrassed yet aroused by her own words.
“Fuck,” he hissed, sharp teeth barring down. “Need ya’ to touch yourself too, not fair if it’s only me.” Pre-cum oozed from his fat, leaky tip, beading at his hole.
“O-oh, I’m not sure..” her hands rested on the band of her panties, undecidedly fiddling with the elastic. 
“Can’t cum unless you do it with me, missy, c’mon, need it bad.” His hips bucked into his hand again, moans catching in his throat.
(Y/N) hummed and slipped her hand into her pants. She slid the tips of her fingers through her wet folds, rubbing past her clit with gentle strokes. Focusing on the peaked bud, she drew tight, neat circles over it and felt her thighs try to close over her hand. “Oh, Christ, Mr. Quaritch, it feels good, mm.”
“I know, sweet girl, I know. Tell me when you’re ready, wanna cum with you.”
Lazily slowing down, Miles gave (Y/N) a chance to catch up with him. When he could hear breathy, needy moans from the line, he continued at his earlier pace, slamming his hips into his hand. Her whines were sweet to his ears, he could practically smell her, taste her. He threw his head back and huffed. 
“Close, ‘m really close.”
“Gonna cum, baby girl? C’mon, cum like you’d cum all over my cock,” he rutted into his fist, feeling his balls tighten and stomach coil.
“Yes, fuck, yes,” she drawled out a messy, noisy moan, “Cummin’ now, sir, ah–”
“Good job, baby,” he said through gritted teeth as he spilled his seed on the ground, fucking himself through his fading orgasm.
There was a long, comfortable silence on each line as they each caught their breath. Miles was the one to break the silence. 
“Thank you for helping out, bunny, but it just wasn’t enough. Still hurting. Gonna help me when I get back to base?”
“Yes, sir. Let me find some proper directions so you can come home.”
“Be ready for me when I get there, I wanna see you as soon as I get there, girl.”
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beepboopkek · 5 months
Text
— Strip Starchess with Jing Yuan (Male Reader)
Including: Jing Yuan cw: !! NSFW !!, amab!reader, pwp but barely, n1pple play, slight mention of reader having a size kink, unprotected p in a??, first time writing a proper fic, first time writing smut (please send help), reader is a little bashful, overall its kind of a self-projection I guess. Jing Yuan is a little bastard (affectionate), stripping (who would've guessed), grammatical errors(I tried), Jing Yuan calls you pet names (dear, love), no use of y/n / m/n , light bondage ( reader gets their hands tied with a t-shirt nothing too bad), safe sane and consensual w/c: 3914 (might be a little off since I made a few edits in this post) a/n: the same as the fem reader one, it's just poor writing to let my demons out, this was originally planned as an m!reader fic but I changed it to f!reader but now I'm back here again haha.. anywyas I hope someone out there likes this !!
You were bored. Extremely bored.
Jing Yuan had promised you he’d come home on time so that the two of you could enjoy dinner together. You had something fun planned for the evening for the two of you. Something you were excited to try out. One problem though, there were still no signs of your boyfriend’s arrival.
You sent him a few messages asking him where he was but to no avail, you knew for a fact he wouldn’t be able to respond anyway.
The sound of a door opening broke you out of your thoughts as you turned around and were met with an apologetic soft smile on Jing Yuan’s face. “Yu.” “My Love.” You huffed at him in annoyance, realising what he was trying to do. He always knew how to soften you up. “You’re late.” You said as you watched him unstrap his boots and place them near the shoe rack before he turned to look at you. “I apologize, I overslept in the afternoon and had to compensate as a result.” Jing Yuan gave you a pitiful look. “Regardless, I am here now,” He walked over to where you were seated and leaned down to place a chaste kiss on your head. “And I’d love to eat what my dear has cooked for me.”
You rolled your eyes at him a little and turned towards the table again as he took his seat opposite to you. You began eating in silence while Jing Yuan served himself some of the food you’d made.
“C’mon, don’t be like that.” He spoke suddenly as you focused on eating and ignoring him. “Be like what? I didn’t do anything.” You huffed back to him again while continuing to look at your food when you suddenly heard the sound of a chair being dragged across the floor, you looked up, only to be met with your boyfriend’s amber eyes boring into yours. “What can I do to make it up to you?”
You grumbled something with your mouth full. “I didn’t catch that, love.”
You gulped down your food, 
“I said, play Starchess with me” “Do we not play Starchess on a regular basis already?”
“We do, yes, but I found a new variation of the game that I thought would be fun to try out. Only if youre up for it, though.” You made eye contact with him again as his eyebrow shot up in surprise.
He leaned in on the table and rested his head on the palm of his hand as he tilted his head lazily. “Go on.” Your confidence and annoyance all but vanished this exact second, you really hadn’t expected him to be this interested and knowing him , he probably already has an idea simply based off of the tone of your voice.
“...Nevermind.” You looked away, blushing as Jing Yuan continued to watch in lazed amusement. “Is it-” “Yes it’s Strip Starchess, okay? I thought it would be fun to play.” You blurted out as your ears turned a light shade of red. “I was going to say Blitz Starchess.” Your eyes widened in horror as you turned back to look at Jing Yuan who was now miserably failing at holding back his laughter as his shoulders shook silently and he pressed his lips together. “I hate you.” Jing Yuan laughed and you pouted. “I didn’t do anything, though?” “You know exactly what you're doing, Yu.” Jing Yuan smiled apologetically once again as you pouted while avoiding eye contact with him. He sighed fondly and picked up his chopsticks again. “Strip Starchess, hm? Let’s finish dinner and begin.” You huffed again and turned back to your food and soon enough, Jing Yuan started some casual conversation and the whole ordeal was pushed to the back of your mind.
. . .That was until after you both finished eating and cleaning up.
Shit.
You suddenly had very important things to do in your library so you quietly started walking towards it, hoping Jing Yuan had all but forgotten about your earlier conversation. Just as you were about to open the door, a familiar voice called out from behind you,
"Dear?" 
You slowly turned around, trying not to look like you were caught committing a crime.
"...Yes?"
"Where would you like to play? I think the living room would be best since it is rather spacious. We can close the curtains but,"
Jing Yuan paused as he looked towards the box in his hands and back to you,
"I'm saying that while assuming that we will be taking off our clothes sooner or later. Am I wrong?" 
He smiled innocently. This bastard knew exactly what he was doing.
"... Fine, let's go to the living room then, I'll explain the rules to you." 
Jing Yuan hummed pleasantly as he walked behind you, setting the board down onto the hard wooden flooring as the both of you sat down facing each other. 
He opened up the box and set up the game and looked at you expectantly.
There was no backing out now, so you might as well give it your best.
"It's in the name, you strip when you lose a pawn." 
"Strip entirely? Or just an article of clothing?"
"You know exactly what I mean."
You gave an exasperated sigh as you stared at him with the grumpiest expression you could muster.
"I'm afraid I don't, love."
He gave you a cat-like smile as he patiently waited for you to explain.
"...Only a piece of clothing. The one who has the most clothes off at the end of the game is the loser,"
You made yourself comfortable, you need your initial confidence back desperately.
"We'll play 3 games and see who wins. I won't be going easy on you."
You smiled at him mischievously as he chuckled and re-adjusted his seating position before looking right into your eyes.
"Very well then, let the games begin." 
You focused your eyes on the board and played your first move, positioning the soldier pawn in front of your king 2 steps ahead. Jing Yuan’s eyes lit up as he countered it by moving the same piece on his side. He knew exactly how you were going to play and he was going to ensure he won. The game progressed and you eventually lost your first pawn, you sighed in annoyance at the realization as you looked up to see your boyfriend with his cat-like smile and of course, he had the most innocent look on his face. Damnit. You sighed reluctantly as you cursed him under your breath and removed your jacket. “Happy?” You deadpanned at him.
“Very much so. Don’t be upset, you still have a chance to win.” He smirked lazily as he waited for you to play your turn You were more cautious now, not letting him take any of your pawns when you realized you had a safe opening to take his pawn! You took the chance and took his soldier with your bishop. Looking up at him in triumph. He smiled back at you casually as he raised his hands in surrender, “You got me there,” You watched him in anticipation as your mouth watered a little, sure you’d been living together for a few months now but, nothing beat seeing Jing Yuan’s body. He place his hand on his shoulder guard and removed it before smiling at you pleasantly again. You blinked once.
Twice.
Scanning him to see if he removed anything else while you were day-dreaming. Nope, nothing.
"I said one piece of clothing, your shoulder brace doesn't count as one." 
"You never specified if accessories were also counted."
You huffed at him, "You never asked!" 
"I don't recall having to ask, I gave you the chance to explain everything to me." He smiled innocently again.
He was right. 
He knew he was and continued to play his next move.
Bastard.
Suddenly, it dawned on you that he was still in his armor and work uniform, meaning it would take at least 15 individual games of Starchess to get even the first layer off of him. Your eyes widened in realization as he looked at you and stifled his laughter.
Well, you certainly weren't in your work clothes and barely had anything on in the first place but you might have a few accessories on your person if you looked hard enough.
Two can play that game.
The game continued as you tried your best to defend your pieces from his attacks but he was too good… much to your displeasure.
By the end of the first game, Jing Yuan barely looked any different from how he was when he entered your shared home while you had to remove your own rings and piercings, putting them away in a corner neatly as to not lose them.
Jing Yuan won the first game by the rules of normal Starchess and the two of began your second round.
You were determined, but so was he.
Time passed rather quickly as you watched your boyfriend remove more accessories and you really wondered how he was able to walk or even fight with that much on his body.
You shook your head. Now's not the time for distractions.
The game progressed as you watched your pawns get taken one by one.
Rook, Bishop, a couple of soldiers and the list went on.
…You realized very late that you were going to lose.
You've never beat him in a game of starches, partially because he sneaks away your pieces but also because he's genuinely skilled at playing the game.
You were down to your last game, Jing Yuan in his shirt and pants along with some random trinkets of his uniform that you didn't even know the purpose of, you, however, were a different story.
You'd managed to get down just to your t-shirt and boxers, shivering a little in both anticipation and the chill of the night.
“Do you need a blanket? You won't have anything to cover you soon enough, I'd hate to get you sick, dear.” Jing Yuan looked at you lazily.
Bastard.
He knew exactly what he was doing.
“I'm good. This is the last game and by the look of it, you've lost more pieces than I have.”
He made a content noise in the back of his throat as if agreeing with you before looking down at the board and smiling.
“I'm afraid you are correct, I admire your confidence in the face of calamity. However,”
He moved his bishop in line with your king.
“Checkmate.” 
You glanced around the board, trying to find an escape route but there were none. 
There was no denying it, you had lost the third game as well.
But the rules were about clothes, you looked up at him and back at yourself.
“. . . Fuck.”
You sighed, reluctantly admitting defeat.
“Alright , alright. You win the three games and the whole game considering you have more layers on you than I do.” 
Jing Yuan smiled in amusement as he crossed his arms and tilted his head slightly,
“So, what's my reward for winning?” 
You were already packing up the board as you looked at him with a huff and stood up.
“I'll let you nap in the afternoon more tomorrow, that's your reward.” 
But before you could move your half naked self away, Jing Yuan moved closer and swiftly knocked your knees back so you toppled down onto him.
“Jing Yuan! I almost knocked the board on your head!”
You had wrapped your arms around his neck, scared to lose balance and plop onto the floor if he were to drop you.
“I'm interested in another reward.”
“What?”
“I'm the winner so isn't it natural I get to pick my reward? Besides, no proper terms were set for it when you explained the rules to me.”
“You little shit, you knew this was going to happen.”
“Dear, I am the divine foresight for a reason.” 
He chuckled as his hands slowly moved down your torso and to the hem of your t-shirt. 
He grasped the hem as he leaned into your body and spoke lowly in your ear
“Of course, if you don't want this, we could just revert to my original reward.” 
His hold on you was firm but gentle, indicating that he'd let you go if you wanted him to.
“But, something about the way you're trembling in my hold tells me you don't want to stop, do you?” 
Your breath was coming out in shaky puffs now. You simply looked away in embarrassment before he pressed himself closer to you, you could feel the warmth of his body through the clothes he was wearing.
“Answer me.” 
“. . . I don't want you to stop” 
He smiled against your ears and you swear if he had a tail it would be swishing around in excitement by now.
“That wasn't so hard, was it?” 
Kissing the red shell of your ear he moved your face towards him and kissed you deeply before pressing his forehead to yours.
“Now, allow me to claim my reward.”
He peppered kisses along your jaw as his hands finally, finally took your t-shirt up to your neck as you raised your arms to help him get it off.
You were down to just your boxers now while Jing Yuan remained fully clothed. Bastard. Your naked chest heaved as Jing Yuan continued to feel around your body, his kisses continuing downward and his large palms squeezing around your body.
He leaned down on your chest, taking a nipple into his mouth as his other hand tweaked with the other and you gasped, sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine.
Your hands immediately found purchase in his soft hair as you closed your eyes and whispered his name.
Jing Yuan always , always made sure to lather extra attention to your chest, you never understood why but it had now become a sensitive spot for you.
He kissed and licked around your nipples, leaving little bites in between so that he can see them in the morning and fuck you all over again.
Deciding he'd done enough to your chest (for now) he moved his attention downwards, chuckling breathlessly at the small wet patch on your boxers.
His large hand slid down as he started moving his finger up and down on your boxers, making the wet patch grow bigger.
“You call me a bastard and yet have the nerve to be this turned on for me, hm?” 
“S-Shut up.” 
You panted as your brain became fuzzy and warm, not being able to think of anything else except Jing Yuan touching you.
He smirked as he added pressure with his finger on exactly where the head of your cock is and you gasped loudly. The fabric of your boxers providing a weird but not unwelcome feeling.
“Do you think you can cum just from this alone? My hands rubbing your nipples?”
“I don't k-”
You cut yourself off with a loud moan as he gently squeezed your pecs.
“You don't know? Well, that's too bad. We'll just have to find out it seems, hm?”
You were gasping for air and moaning loudly at this point, thrashing and tugging at Jing Yuan’s hair like your life depended on it.
Jing Yuan kissed you and simultaneously continued to rub circles around your perked up nipples.
You weakly slammed your fisted hands onto the hard planes of his chest but to no avail, he wasn't going to let up.
He continued flicking your nipples before speaking into your ear.
“Be a good boy and cum for me”
You moaned as you clenched his (now crumpled) white shirt in your hands as your eyes rolled back and your orgasm flooded over your body in waves.
The general continued to bite and mark your chest as you got down from your high, peppering your body with kisses.
You were still breathing heavily when you regained your senses again.
“So, my hypothesis was correct. You can come untouched, hm?” 
“You're gonna pay for that, Yu.”.
“Do your worst, dear.” He smiled coyly at you,
His voice was so calm while speaking you'd almost think he was unaffected by the situation but that was far from the truth, sitting on his lap gave away that he was extremely hard underneath you.
He kissed you again, gently this time as he pulled back and bore his eye into yours.
“Do you want to continue?” 
You didn't respond, only leaning in to kiss him before bringing your hands to the collar of his shirt and unbuttoning it.
“I'm not the only one that's going to be naked here.” 
He helped you take off his whole shirt, watching you as you admired his sculpted and scarred torso. While he helped you step out of your boxers.
“Turn around for me, love.”
You did as you were told, sitting in his lap with your back against his chest.
His hands suddenly came up on you again, going downwards to your cock as he gently wrapped a single hand around it while his other hand moved down to finger your asshole. “Wait! We need lube, let me go get it-” “Always two steps ahead of you, love.” Jing Yuan smiled at you pleasantly like he didnt have stark naked splayed out on his lap. “When did you-? Nevermind, I’m not going to ask.”
Your hands immediately found purchase on top of his much bigger ones, your breathing picking up again.
He inserted two fingers in you, pushing them in and out and curling them in just the right spot, hitting your already frayed nerves and stretching you open for him. Keeping the rhythm of his fingers up, slowly getting you towards the edge again when suddenly,
You were left empty as Jing Yuan retracted his hand and wiped it onto his pants as he unzipped them, before hooking both his hands under your plush thighs and lifting your asshole above his cock. “Tell me if you need a break.” Before you could respond, he was already impaling you on his cock, pushing you down slowly as you reached back with your hands and grabbed his neck while arching your back. “F-Fuck- too much-” “You can take it, I know you can.” He whispered breathlessly as he continued pushing you down until you met the base of his cock. “There we go.” Jing Yuan waited for you to adjust, his head directly hitting your prostate, watching intently as you fought to gain back your breath. You were struggling at this point, mind in a haze at the feeling of being so full. Not knowing where to place your hands you blurted our the first coherent thought that came to your mind.
“. . .Tie my hands, please.” Now it was the general’s turn to be surprised, you were not one to beg usually. He smiled coyly as he grabbed your discarded t-shirt and rolled it up to form a makeshift knot. “If i was aware we were going to do this tonight, I wouldve prepared more.” You pushed your hands out together in front of you impatiently, just wanting to move but not trusting your shaking legs to carry through. Jing Yuan kissed around your ears again started working on binding your hands immediately. Securing it as tight as he could, he tugged on it before pecking you on the cheek. “There. Is that better?” “Yes.” You were fully panting now, subtly grinding yourself on his cock. Jing yuan took it as his cue to move and hooked his hands under your thighs again before lifting you off his cock. The split second where you were left empty was enough for you to whine. He wasn’t a cruel lover, though, he thrusted back in, filling you instantly. He kept the tempo of fast but deep strokes and before long you could feel your second orgasm approaching. Suddenly, there was a change as he pushed you down onto the wooden floor face first and ass up, the angle making him reach in different areas. Your tied hands were above your head as you got rubbed on the floor like a mop cloth from his powerful thrusts. Jing Yuan bent over and draped his larger frame over your back, holding down your shaking hands with one of his own and thrusting faster. “Come on, come for me.” He whispered into your ear, again, reaching his other hand down to stroke your hard cock. And that's all it took for you to orgasm, releasing over your abdomen as he continued his thrusts. For a few seconds, you blanked out completely, caught up in the haze of your orgasm that you didn't even notice Jing Yuan continuing, That was until you were brought back to reality by a hit of overstimulation, tears already collecting at your lashes as the pleasure soared through your entire body. “Y-Yu-” “Just a little more.” He continued rubbing your dick and you could feel the tendrils of your third orgasm creeping up on you as you clenched around him hard. It pierced through you just as your boyfriend finally released inside you, hot liquid filling you up and you felt so full. Jing Yuan panted as he rested some of his body weight on you, essentially pinning you in place and having no way to move. Just the way you like it.
He grabbed your hips with both his hands as he gently thrusted a few times to get the last few seconds of pleasure in, wrecking your already overstimulated body..
“. . . I think my reward is incomplete.” He said after a few beats of silence.
“Absolutely not.”  Jing Yuan laughed breathlessly as he pulled you back onto his lap and rested himself against the sofa, wrapping his hands around your waist and putting his head on your shoulder.
The both of you relished in the afterglow for a bit with him still stuffed inside you, just enjoying and soaking each other’s presence, you were the first to speak.
“Horny bastard, you really piledrived me on the floor of our living room.” You laughed while pecking at his cheeks.
“Me? I’m the horny one now? You were the one that suggested this game in the first place!”
Jing Yuan feigned hurt as he tightend his hold on you, eyeing you cheekily as your ears turned red.
“I didn’t proposition sex! It was a game to-”
“To what? Play house with each other?” Jing Yuan asked in an amused tone before continuing,
“You wanted it to end like this, didn’t you?”
“Not on the goddamn floor! I’m gonna have bruises from this tomorrow, I hope youre happy.”
You pouted and held your (still bound) hands close to your chest, hearing Jing Yuan snicker and feeling his chest shake.
“I’ll give you a massage right now, on the bed this time, to make up for it”
“And then what? Escalate it into having sex again? I need to walk tomorrow, Yu.”
“You know me too well.”
You looked at him into his eyes at this and he gave you a crooked smile
“Untie my hands, we need to clean up and get to bed”
“Hmm… How about I let you go now and you let me enjoy my reward in the shower again?”
You sighed before nodding in acceptance, you weren’t going to feel your legs tomorrow.
This is the price you pay for provoking the sleeping lion.
“Horny bastard.”
179 notes · View notes
moni-logues · 11 months
Text
Different Spaces
Pairing: Bangchan x reader
Genre: friends to lovers, smut
Summary: Chan has just returned home from tour and you hope you aren't wrong that something has changed between you. Only one way to find out...
Word count: 3.1k
Warnings: one (1) handjob, little bit of cum-eating, that's pretty much ya lot!
AN: YES, she's a MULTI BLOG NOW. And obviously it's Chan. It was always going to be Chan lmaooooo. Anyway, this idea crept into my head last night and then I wrote it today to put off writing something else 😅😅😅 I HOPE YOU ENJOY! It's unbeta'd (except for @minttangerines reading it to make sure it didn't suck lol) so forgive the typos please!!!
ETA: you can now find part two HERE!
*~*~*
It wasn’t weird and it wasn’t uncomfortable. But it was different. It was definitely different this time. 
Chan sat in front of you, between your legs, his back against your chest and his head in the soft space between your shoulder and collarbone. You leant against the arm of the sofa with your hands on his stomach- 
That was different. You had the hem of his T-shirt between your fingers, toying mindlessly, while your other hand rested on his warm, soft skin beneath it. He had one hand resting over yours, his fingers not exactly entwined with yours, but not exactly not.  
You’d held hands before. On occasion. Entirely casually, platonically. Except for the part where you wished it wasn’t casual, wished it wasn’t platonic.  
You’d had feelings for Chan for as long as you could remember, since you first set eyes on him. Honestly, you were used to it. Comfortable with it even. You knew you weren’t going to do anything about it and that meant it didn’t worry you. It would be your little secret and you would soak up all the time with him you could, you would enjoy all the friendship privileges he offered you and you would clutch them close to your heart in the absence of any actual body to hold.  
It was only before he went away this last time, a couple of months ago, that you felt something change. Something about how clingy he had been the night before he left, a little more tactile than he usually was. He was ants-in-his-pants fidgety and wouldn’t sit still. He was wrestling you into a hug one minute and then pushing you to the other end of the sofa the next. He held you so tightly and for so long when you hugged him goodbye that you had joked it was like he was going off to war. He had laughed only half-heartedly, which, for Chan, might as well have not been laughing at all. He had pulled back and looked at you intensely with his hands still on your waist and you had waited and waited for him to say or do something else but he just kept looking. 
“Are you going to like, actually leave?” you had asked. 
He snapped out of his trance and ruffled your hair.  
“Course I’m going! Why? Trying to get me to stay?” 
You weren’t, because you knew he was going to leave, anyway, that he had to go, but he sounded hopeful (or were you imagining it?). 
“Yeah. I did consider locking you up for a second, but taking care of one animal is enough; I’m not sure I could cope with having to feed and care for you, too!” 
He had done a proper laugh then and you were reassured that whatever had just happened, it was a blip, a glitch, nothing more. He had hugged you one last time, shorter, looser, and then turned to leave with a salute. 
Then he was back, hugging you just as hard, fresh off the plane (rather unfresh, actually, and he had the cheek to ask to use your shower!).  
And it was the same as it had ever been. 
But it was also different. Because he had told you so many times while he was away that he missed you; he had said ‘wish you were here!’ so often that you actually believed it; your gallery was full of ‘found you!’ photos of ugly statues and ‘thought you’d like this’ shots of architecture and souvenirs—souvenirs he’d actually bought and brought home for you. He didn’t usually do that.  
And now, there you were, with your hands on his skin and your cheek resting lightly on the top of his head and he was laughing at the film you were watching and taking your hand from the hem of his top, crossing it over his torso and holding it there. He closed his fingers over yours. Holding hands. You flattened your palm over his stomach and stroked sideways, the circle of your arms tighter around him, and you wanted to ask what this meant. Did it mean anything? Had he just been lonely on the road? Did he just want some physical contact? Were you just... there?  
You weren’t one to be stuck in indecision. You didn’t have the patience for it. You decided, when you first met, that you weren’t going to act on your feelings because trying to date an idol was an insane thing to do. And you didn’t need the stress.  
But you also didn’t need the long, drawn-out stress of a ‘will they? Won't they?’ scenario with one of your closest friends.  
And, if you were going to be really honest, you kind of did need a good fuck. And you’d thought about fucking him a lot, one might say too much. And if he was interested, if something had changed and he saw you differently now, well, then the bedroom was calling for you.  
“Chan?” you said quietly. 
He twisted his head a little. 
“Yeah?” 
“Can I... touch you?” 
You drew your fingers back, softly grazing your nails against his abs. He giggled. 
“What do you mean? We already are touching!” 
You slipped just the tips of your fingers beneath the waistband of his jogging bottoms and the waistband of his boxers. 
“No, I mean... touch you.” 
“Oh, sh-… Uh.”  
You didn’t move your hand; you felt his heartrate quicken, thumping back against your chest.  
“You don’t have to say yes. It’s ok if the answer’s no.” 
“Yeah, no,” he said. “I mean, the answer’s yes. It’s ok.” 
“Are you sure?” you asked. 
He swallowed and nodded and put his hand over yours, carefully encouraging it lower. 
“Yes, I’m sure.”  
His hand left yours as it disappeared beneath the fabric of his clothes and you couldn't breathe as your fingers ran over the velvet skin of his soft cock, which twitched on contact. As you pushed his trousers and his boxers down, you almost couldn’t look, couldn’t bear the thought of disappointment, after all this waiting, after every fantasy, but you needn’t have worried. Of course, it was fucking perfect. Just like the rest of him. You wrapped your fingers around his semi-hard length and he shifted. 
“You don’-” Then he hesitated. 
“Don’t what?” 
“Uh, you don’t have to be gentle...” 
Then he wrapped his fingers around yours, squeezed a little tighter, and your thighs squeezed, too. You chuckled, a little embarrassed, a little shy actually, a little over-awed. 
“Channie likes it rough, huh?”  
You didn’t need to see his face to know he was blushing; you could feel the heat radiate from his cheeks. 
“Um, well, uh-”  
He was stammering now and you were amazed that he could be bashful with his cock in your hand, shy even though he was directing you. 
“I like it,” you whispered and you felt a shiver go through him.  
He kept his hand over yours and you smiled to yourself because you should have expected this. Control freak Chan, perfectionist Chan, Mr ‘I’ll just do it myself’ Bang. It was cute. But you weren’t going to let him get away with it. You let him control you, let him show you how he liked it, let him get himself to the point where his breathing was heavy and his bottom lip was bitten between his teeth and his brows were furrowed.  
“Hey,” said, nudging his head with yours. “Who exactly is giving this handjob? You want me to just leave you to it or...?” 
He spluttered and stopped and immediately let your hand go. 
“Sorry, I-” 
“You don’t have to apologise; I know you. But I want to do this for you, y’know?” You turned your head and gently bit the top of his ear before pressing a kiss to it.  
“Yeah, got it. All yours.”   
“Thank you.” 
You had him panting again in seconds, because he had already given you his secrets, and when he tipped his head backwards and whined, it made your cunt pulse. 
“Ok, you’re right, you’re right,” he gasped. “This is better. Fuck... Oh shit.” 
He was moving like he couldn’t help himself, his hips snapping up, fucking himself in your fist and you could feel his thighs twitching, feel the tension coiling in his body.  
It was building in you, too, as you soaked through your underwear. He wasn’t quiet and every moan, every grunt, every gasp of your name made your head spin. You hoped it wouldn’t stop here. After all this time, something was finally happening and you needed it to keep happening, you needed him to feel you, too. A moan fell from your own mouth as you imagined him fucking you, imagined that it wasn’t your hand around his cock but your cunt. That he liked it even rougher when he was inside you. That the deep black intensity he had inside him came out. That he fucked you like he danced, with every inch of his body and every ounce of strength.  
“I’m-.. I’m-…"  
You didn’t need him to tell you. 
“I know, babe. Go on, make a mess. Make a mess for me.” 
With a shudder and a cry trapped low in his throat, he came, over your hand, over your fingers, over his stomach and his T-shirt. He was gulping in air with his eyes closed and a hand clenching and unclenching at his side.  
“Oh, shit,” you whispered as you swiped a finger through the mess on his skin. “Who’s going to clean all this up?”  
You raised your hand and brought it almost to your own mouth, then pretended to think twice before pressing down on his bottom lip. It was a bold move, you knew, but you were feeling emboldened.  
Then he opened his mouth and took your cum-sticky fingers in without a second’s hesitation. Would the night’s surprises never end? He licked your fingers clean and ran his tongue over your palm before he swiped his finger through the mess on his stomach and lifted it to your lips. You laughed. 
“I can do you one better.”  
You shuffled and climbed out from behind him, pushing him down and straddling him. It was the first time you had been face to face; you both blushed when your eyes met and you couldn’t stop the giggle that rose in your throat. He giggled back and you recognised that you were on the verge of hysteria; if you let that giggle become a laugh, it wouldn’t stop until you were both crying. You tried to rein it in, this strange, self-conscious shyness that was gripping you, this wild giddiness that made you want to scream with laughter and cry ‘I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW!’. You were looking at Chan and you knew he felt it, too; his eyes glittered and then all but disappeared as his smile widened. He bit his lip to try to keep it in, but it was no use.  
He snorted and covered his face with his hands as a loud laugh bellowed forth. You never could resist his mirth. You were helpless to it at the best of times. He was curling over, his whole body shaking, and you were climbing off him, flopping to the floor, weak with it, the laughter sapping your strength and overriding any capacity for being serious. It was too absurd. That this had just happened. That one day—one moment—you were friends and the next you were making him come over himself, that he was licking his own cum from your fingers. That you had wanted this for such a long time and sworn off it. That you had no idea it might be something he wanted. That you never even thought to ask! That it could have been this easy? All this time?  
Your brain was elsewhere as your breath shuddered and tears streaked your cheeks. You thought you had got yourself under control: your breathing was shaky and your stomach hurt but your eyes were dry and you sat yourself up. Then you looked at Chan, face also tear-streaked, flushed with glee, and you both collapsed again. 
“Don’t look at me,” Chan said, his voice thick and wobbly with laugher some minutes later. “Don’t look at me, please, I can’t laugh anymore, but can you get me a fucking tissue or something?”  
You shut your eyes, scrunched your face, and pressed your fist to the bridge of your nose; you couldn’t laugh anymore, it would kill you. But you knew that if you turned to look at him, helpless and messy on his back, that another fit would catch you. You crawled to the end table and threw the box of tissues in his direction. 
“Thanks.” 
You leant back against the edge of the sofa and let your breath resume its normal rhythm, let your heart slow down, let Chan wipe himself up and tuck himself away. You felt him sit up as his knee knocked your shoulder and you turned so you could just see him out of the corner of your eye. He looked down at his cum-stained T-shirt and gingerly pulled it over his head. Then he looked at it, displeased. 
“This was clean on like, an hour ago.”  
“Oh, shit, sorry, dude. You want me to take the handy back or something?” 
He looked alarmed for a second. 
“Do you want to take it back?” 
“No.” 
“Good, neither do I.” 
“I would kind of like to know where the fuck it came from though.” 
“What are you talking about? You started it! You offered!” 
“Chan, you were holding my hand. We don’t hold hands! Look at all this shit you bought me!” You gestured broadly to giftbags and boxes, trinkets and jewellery on the coffee table. “Besides, I’ve always wanted it; you haven’t.” 
He stared at you, mute, looking like you’d just asked him a long division question.  
“You always wanted it?” 
“Yep.” 
“Why didn’t you say anything?!” 
“Because you didn’t want it!” 
“How would you know?! You never asked!” 
“Ok, well, did you?” 
He looked up; he looked down. He looked thoughtful. He looked a little apologetic. 
“I don’t really know,” was his eventual answer. 
“Well, there you go. That’s why I didn’t say.” 
Silence reigned and you didn’t want this to collapse, to fizzle into awkwardness.  
“Do you want it? Now?” you asked. 
“Yeah.” At least he sounded sure about that. 
“What changed?” 
When he looked at you and caught your eyes, there was a look there you hadn’t seen in them before. It was almost painfully soft, tender in a way that pierced your heart. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked at you like he was looking at something precious, something sweet. Then he shrugged. 
“I’ve never been away from you that long before.”  
“And?” 
“I didn’t want to be. It made me not want to go at all. And I couldn’t work out why it mattered so much. I’ve been away before. I’ve been here, even, and just been busy and not seen you for a while. But it felt different this time, somehow. I really didn’t want to go. And I talked about it and everyone told me I was like, the world’s biggest idiot. They all apparently thought—or knew?—I had feelings for you already and they all just said ‘tell her! You’ve got to tell her! Go for it!’ and I wanted to. I was going to, the night before I left, but then I realised I’d be confessing all that stuff and then just... fucking off. I didn’t want to do that. So, I... did nothing, I guess.”  
“Fair enough.”  
“You wanted it all this time? Me, you wanted me?” 
That he even had to ask was adorable, broke your heart a little. Who wouldn’t want him? He was everything you could have asked for and more; he ticked every box; he made your sad little heart sing like a songbird. And he still had to ask.  
“Since the moment we met.” 
“Shit.” 
“Shit.” 
“I had no idea.” 
He looked like he meant it, too: a little dazed, a little confused, just a hint of wonder on his face.  
“So, what now?” he asked.  
You shrugged. 
“You mean right now, or general future ‘now’?” 
“I guess both?” 
“Can I be honest?” 
“Yeah.” 
“Right now, I would really like to do something about how badly I want to fuck you.” 
And he was bashful Chan, again, his eyes wide and the tips of his ears pink, his mouth slightly open with surprise. You watched his Adam’s apple bounce as he swallowed.  
“I... am amenable to that.” 
“Want to try that again with something even slightly sexy?” 
And he blushed bright, covering his face with his hands.  
“Fuck, ok, give me a second.” 
You laughed and moved from the floor to sit opposite him on the sofa, your knees touching. You waited patiently for a second or two, then tapped his leg. 
“I’m flustered, ok!” he cried. “You’ve got me all... flustered. I don’t know... I-.. Agh. I swear I’m not this bad usually. I promise. I just--… this has really taken me off-guard! Fuck, I didn’t know. I-” 
You interrupted him to climb into his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. He lifted his face to yours and you kissed him, just a light peck on his petal pink lips. 
“How about you let me lead, then?” you asked, your voice soft and low. “Can you do that? Can you let me take control?” 
He looked at you pleadingly, his eyes round and wide, and you were worried that it meant no, that he was going to say he didn’t want that. 
“Yes, please.”  
Fuck.  
With your hands on either side of his face, you pulled him closer and kissed him again, deep this time, deep and slow and breathless. He tasted of honey butter chips, which you had never liked before that moment. His tongue rolled with yours, soft and sweet and every bit as good as you had imagined. He whined quietly, just barely, when you pulled back, when you sank your teeth into the plush pink of his lower lip. When you looked at each other, nose-to-nose, his eyes were wide again, sparkling and bright and looking at you like you were the whole world. 
It wasn’t weird and it wasn’t uncomfortable and it wasn’t awkward; it didn’t feel like crossing a line or pushing a boundary; it felt like you should have been doing this all along. It was different for the two of you, sure, it was different. But you’d been ready for this change since you learnt his name, since he held his hand out to you and smiled politely. This different was good. This different was everything you’d ever wanted.  
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Letters Perished in Dried Ink (18+)
Pairing: Aemond x Reader;
Warnings: vivid descriptions of male masurbation, slight angst, a lot of lousy grandpas who have and will continue to butt into your situationship with Aemond;
Word Count: 6.5k;
Author's Note: I struggled with major writer's block this month. I suppose it happens to the best of us :") While I'm still working on the three fics I promised you guys, have this tiny one-shot to make up for the lack of updates ♡
I tried to be poetic. Alas, I miserably failed. See you in the next update (which is going to hopefully present much better)!
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How could a misunderstanding ruin everything seven years of love has built?
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Her steady hand reached for the quill, and the girl settled her feather over the small and modest piece of paper. For two, mayhaps three seconds she paused, thinking well on what she would like most adherently to convey.
Her eyes glossed over with the swirl of mischief, and the Lady smiled to herself, while expelling a tantalising and brisk breath.
To my dearest, Aemond
While I was afraid that my time in King’s Landing would change the perception I had of my homeland, I must admit that I was wrong. I might push as far as to say that everything remains the same; not a change since I last saw it. My chamber, with the dolls I left on the goose-stuffed pillows, the training grounds – none the grander as the ones in the Red Keep, mind you –, and the large halls of Riverrun… all seemingly frozen in place.
Albeit the doors feel smaller now, and I can reach without the help of a stool where I once could not, I find that I am underwhelmed, and dangerously melancholic over the time I spent in your company, which accounted for so much of my early girlhood.
Grandfather has taken to my return quite well. He is still bedridden, but somehow more vivacious that his blood is nearer yet.
I look at the portraits that adorn the walls of our darkened castle, and sometimes think back to my elder brothers. I think grandfather does so, as well.
But such terrible quarrels have no place in my dull writings! This new life isn’t as tedious as I make it out to be. I was acquainted with my Septa, though much of my education will be taken care of by grandsire now. Yesterday I walked the grounds for hours on end, and managed to spot some old and familiar faces. I had forgotten how kind the riverlords can be.
One thing that must be noted – and recognised as drastically peculiar – is how quiet it is here. Naturally, there is no active Court to gossip and flaunt back their wealth and actions.
You would like it here.
And I’ll say this much: I’d like it better if you were here, too.
I end my musings with burning questions, that you simply must answer in your next correspondence:
First and foremost, how have you been? Secondly, how are our good Queen and King? Word reached the Trident that your father’s fallen sick, and so I pray piously without stray that he recovers well and quickly. Thirdly, how is sweet Helaena fairing? Last I heard of her, the babe was close to being born.
I readily await for your reply, and urge you to make haste with it!
Until then I remain, as always,
Your inquisitive and loyal friend
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His eye trails over the slight curve of her writing. And the Prince catches himself smiling, humming in admission at her carefully picked-out words.
He notices, with great perplexion, that despite his hardest efforts of stifling such impropriety, the ache inside his chest arouses. His heartbeat hammers out of him, granting a slight tremor in his lax and calloused hand.
And he stands this way, hovering over the pristine parchment, whilst bringing his hand out to pinch the bridge of his nose – rub his throbbing blinder with the back end of his hand. His broad chest heaves with every laboured exhale, and Aemond sighs with proper longing.
To my good friend,
I hope this letter finds you in good health, and in higher spirits than the day you wrote to me. It is very unlike you to barely fill a page. I expect your next communication to hold greater details of your life in the Riverlands.
King’s Landing is the same as you remember. Smells like shit and feels like shit, especially now, as I'm denied from the raptures of your company.
My routine too, remains identical. I am seated next to Aegon when we break fast as of late, and I must stress how greatly I preferred my view beforehand.
I report with great sorrow that hardly any intelligent conversation has been had since your swift departure. I'm left longing at the dinner table, for your calculated thoughts, for your sweet melodic voice, and for our elbows to be lightly touching.
Mother is overwhelmed with higher duties of the Court. I try to help her as best I can, with whatever tasks she may yet entrust me with. I lack the patience to sit idly, and so I’ve taken to Aegon’s share of duties. I fulfil them better than he ever could, and the exercise proves itself useful: for I scarcely find the time to think of you throughout the day.
The nights and morrows are harder yet, as my thoughts reach out to you, wondering helplessly how you spend your better days, so painfully far from me.
A dozen maesters tend to Viserys, each saying he will get better as time has its murky say. Yet ‘til that “eventual better” makes itself known to us all, he nurses his body with milk of the poppy, and lets mother do all his work.
Helaena is well. She dreamt the babe would be a boy, and already settled on a name for him. She wishes to call him Maelor, something that hasn’t been rebuked by Aegon.
She misses you greatly. As do I.
As does Vhagar.
The Red Keep feels empty without your fits of laughter.
Beckon your reply quickly.
Your most dutiful servant,
Aemond
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A little over a week had passed since his Lady’s last reply. One week and four full days, to be exact... though Aemond would never own up to counting.
His sour mood grew to exceed all expectations, and the Prince bit his tongue through most of dinner, barely uttering a single word. His quiet nature wasn’t something to be troubled of, but even his drunk-out-of-his-mind brother noticed something had been irking him.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so brooding, brother.” Aegon voiced out his concern, after another hefty gulp of alcohol. An impish grin spread across his puffy face, and Viserys’ first-born son leaned over in his chair to soothe him. “Am I right to assume that this has something to do with the lack of reply from a certain lady of the Riverlands?”
A low growl etched from deep within the youth’s throat. Aemond regarded Aegon with a cutting look, and extended his arm forward to grip the base of the wine pouch. He took a moment to ponder on the gaucherie of getting drunk, but settled on thrusting himself to the momentary relief that a hazy mind could offer.
Briskly, he took a swing of the burning liquor, and disregarded the way in which his mother absent-mindedly glared at him.
A loud snicker echoed through the quiet room, and Aegon clasped his hands together, pouting acutely at his brother's actions. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.”
A knot of heartfelt disregard tightened in Aemond’s throat, and his fist clenched painfully right above the wooden table. His free hand gripped the handle of the knife with a knowledge untoward, and the Prince shared a look with his elder brother, while rotating the blade about.
“Careful, Aegon. There are plenty of sharp objects around this table. And you haven’t been spotted in the training yard for quite some time."
His purple eyes widened to rounded specs of unreliant fear. Still he put on a lazy smile, and merely shrugged his shoulders. Aegon’s mouth opened again, threatening to spew out words that would grant no happy ending to their cosy dinnertime.
Eventually, it was Alicent’s glacial tone that interrupted their clash of wits.
“Boys,” She warned them both, not even bothering to look at them, “That is enough.”
Aegon’s mouth slouched childishly, and the man scoffed in rebuttal, while pointing at his rowdy sibling. “I was merely expressing my concern for Aemond, mother. He’s been very affected, now that his lady love abandoned him.”
Immediately Aemond rebuked his cutlery, and in the span of a single second, the Prince latched onto his berating brother. A dangerous look drew across his Targaryen features, making them all the sharper and unforgiving. Woefully he gripped his collar, hoisting him off the ground with an unnatural and vexing ease, and settled on squeezing Aegon’s gorget as he muttered to him darkly. “Either keep quiet on your own accord, or I’ll gladly silence you.”
Four white cloaks swarmed around them, and Otto Hightower nearly screamed, but the brawl reached an early end as the elder nodded rapidly at Aemond, and the latter loosened the hold he had over his bouchered vest.
“Seven Hells…” Aegon had cursed, mumbling lowly whilst feeling his neck for any sores, “Didn’t know it was such a delicate subject.”
Throwing a jaded look around the table, the One-Eyed Prince clenched his jaw.
He frowned deeply, and let out a tired hum at the notion of his sister’s face, so shocked and confused by his sudden outburst. As he felt his own grow numb, no doubt reddened by the scene he’d single-handedly played out, Aemond’s lips pursed to a tight, embarrassed line.
Whilst his hands itched him in shame, and his eye desperately avoided his mother’s, the young man instead focused on the erotic tapestries that adorned the stone-hedged walls.
His lone orb remained fixated on their arched positions, but, as his brother laughed again, Aemond begrudgingly returned his stare.
“Pardon me.” He muttered coldly, whilst giving a slight bow to the silent gathering, and, with one elegant but hurried movement, grabbed the full cask of wine, as he turned tautly to retreat to his chambers.
He swallowed thickly at his swift undoing, and chastised himself for losing touch with what was proper and allowed. His long fingers clasped painfully behind his back, digging at the flesh of his calloused palms, making him click his tongue in disarray; he notices, mayhaps too late, that all his blood had run elsewhere – thus the man takes wider steps to reach the confinements of his room, and lets out a choked-out breath, as the clogged air of his chamber finally hits his nose.
Methodical, aware and present, he sets the wine aside from him, pouring himself a generous cup, and fiddles with the expensive sheets that lay across his wooden table. His hand stumbles over the ink bottle, and the Prince levels out his rapid breathing, preparing himself to write again.
To My Lady,
A gulp of the liquid courage is all he needs to decidedly settle his red feather over the wilted paper.
Your lack of response to my latest confession irks me to no bitter end. I am a patient man, but I will not be denied entrance to your life. I will not have you refuse me the candour of communication.
Not when I spent my entire life waiting submissively by your side.
If your perpetual silence is owed to something I said, or something you’ve heard about me, I demand that you scorn me for it. Write a lengthy paragraph of all my near and far shortcomings, as you so often did when we were children. I promise to make a praying altar of that letter, grovel over it and at your feet, until my indiscretion should be forgiven.
Do not attempt to drive me away with petty ignoring. Such a feat is beneath you.
Another gulp of bitter wine is what allows his hand to flow more freely.
I confess that days and nights I have spent laying restlessly in bed, praying to the Seven to grant me passage to a single thought of yours. I ached to hear your words and feel your voice touch me so deeply. I am afraid I became brazen and unkind in the tortures of your absence.
I lest conclude that this should be a leisure letter to write – words should come easily, and in short, it should be simple for me to tell you how desperately happy I was to open your communication, and see your sweet and narrow writing.
Aemond halts his hurried musings, and encouraged by the hotness of the room, thinks back on the sinful indulgence he’d committed with her letter.
How he kissed over the parchment a million times thereafter, and how he licked at its bent corners, shuddering at the thought that her hand had ghosted over – perhaps even rested on – the marginal and flimsy paper.
He abjures his thoughts to the back of his mind, and lets out a low curse at the throb that forms over his missing eye.
A Prince should never bow, nor beg, nor relent. Yet here I stand, forever obediently at your beck and call, begging you to write again.
His patch fell heavily upon his skin. The nerves of his face stung the stimulated bit of skin, and Aemond huffed out an exacerbated breath, as he decidedly yanked the blinder away from his handsome face.
My duties at Court make it such that it is impossible for me to leave the proximities of King’s Landing. But should you make the mistake of not replying to me again, I’ll have no choice but to mount Vhagar and fly over to you myself.
… So reign your anger on me, should you need to. And just grant me with a quick reply.
Aemond.
Not even bothering to read it over, the man reached for the stamp she gifted him, inspecting its sapphire hilt with a scorned look over his face, and an angry furrow to his brow. His tongue poked the inside of his cheek, as he passively set the hilt aside.
His next movements were slow, methodical – Aemond folded the paper in half, and poured the hot wax over it; grabbing the stamp, and lowering it on the paper, allowing the Targaryen seal to leave its mundane mark behind.
Harsh thoughts swirled inside his head, and the Prince lowered the parchment, promising to send word out on the morrow, and personally deliver his Lady the much-improved, insistent letter.
‘The best of friends for seven years,’ he scoffed bitterly to himself, recalling the oath they’d made each other.
He wouldn’t allow her to walk away. He wouldn’t allow her to forget about him. And he would force her to look at him, and explain the means of her reaping silence.
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The gentle rays of morning wash themselves over his handsome features. The heatwaves of summer lick over his translucent skin, and the golden rays of daybreak thread themselves into his silver hair.
Aemond groaned in roaring anguish, as he ran a calloused hand up and over his throbbing cheek.
The discarded eyepatch, now resting on the floor. The littered parchments, still laying on his table. The lone letter, which had been written so angrily, just to be resentfully abandoned as his ire simmered down the night before.
Each object served as a dull and pained reminder of his lack of princely conduct, of the effects of the wine… of her brazen and determined silence.
The Prince bit over his lower lip, and fluttered his eyelid tightly shut. Enwrapped in his fine silks, and under the comforts of his chambers, he allowed his mind to lead to her again. To the image of her sprawled-out form, waiting for him inside his bed.
He sighs deeply, and questions his sanity – or lack thereof –, his patience, his virtue. What he wrote in his confessions was the fair and honest truth – In the few moments of solitude that he grantedly took for himself, the riverlander scarcely ever left his thoughts.
Aemond writhed into the mattress, and peeled the cover away from his heated body. He needn’t have looked down upon him to see the quaint trailing effect that his friend had had on him; but he did, and in the process, hastily pulled his throbbing cock out of his breeches, to begin to pump himself – mayhaps relieve the stress and anger that ruled over his very being.
A tender hiss escaped his lips, as his movements sped up in pace. The Crown Prince bit over his lower lip, and a shaky hand came to rest over his parted mouth, to dull the shameful and alluding sounds that escaped his burning throat.
He ran his thumb over the leaking tip, gathering up his seed in singular and striking swipes, guiding the clear droplets of liquid to trail towards his aching stones, and coat over his impressive length.
A low grunt slipped past his hand, and Aemond sank his teeth into the tender flesh, stifling down any further moan or laboured breath.
"F-Fuck… my Lady…"
His back shuddered from the blinding pleasure, and his free hand came to rummage under his pillows in the most desperate of searches.
His eye opened but for a moment, as his digits grazed the bent edges of the first letter she'd addressed him – the one he'd cherished with ample reverence, and secretly carried with him to every place he went.
His lilac orb trailed over the contents of the wilting parchment, which by then he knew by heart, but stopped at the very beginning of her scattered and bereft writing.
'To my dearest, Aemond' – either by crude mistake or heinous design, she'd flicked her wrist right after dearest, drawing out a bold and elongated pause, that hence consumed his wakened days.
It must have taken her no more than seconds to descend her quill upon the page, yet for Aemond, the mundane piece of calligraphy became his most burdensome slither of hope.
Before he could catch himself in his lustful daze, the Prince brought the letter to his lips, and kissed over the dried ink with devotion untoward, accelerating his ministrations as he pressed into it harder.
He pictured her alone and writing, enraptured by the dead of night, dressed up in her modest nightdress, and her hair loose from her bun. She must have made some able pauses, to glance up at the moon, perhaps, or sigh in puckered concentration.
Had she shared with him everything that was on her mind back then? Or did she hold her secrets in, choosing instead to only hint at all that they had left unspoken?
Did she also think of him, as he nightly thought of her, and in her attempts to clear her head, brought her hand out to her ruddy pearl? And did she dare to rub it gently as sinful fantasies of him emerged?
Did he plague her every thought – visited them, at the very least, nestling inside her mind, as she so oftenly did to him?
His unanswered plethora of questions only fed into his fire. His hips began to move languidly against his hand, and the familiar licks of release beckoned in his tired loins. But fucking his hand would never come close to how he envisioned fucking her would be like. How tight and welcoming her cunt must be, how she herself was so untouched, so pure, unaware of the pleasures he alone could make her go through.
How breathlessly she’d gasp against him, and leave her lascivious mark over his skin, in the form of clawed-out patterns, adorning his pale and muscled back. He would return her favour in kind, pressing himself deeper inside her, molding her warmth to the shape of his cock, leaving bruising kisses over her breasts and neck and claiming her – over and over, again and again.
His. His, his, his and his alone.
Propriety be damned, he’d have her. Ensure she’d never leave his bed thereafter.
She’d make for a fantastic mother, he caught himself thinking with abhorrence, and a new heat wave of pleasure enveloped his arched, unyielding back.
His despair reached new peaks of torture, as his mind led him to the memory of her crouching form, playing with Helaena’s twins, with such a pliant and kind smile upon her agonizing lips. How she’d chase them through the royal gardens, how the sun would catch her hair aflame…
Often during the long nights of winter, he’d shut himself inside his chambers, and touch himself repeatedly with the oils gifted from Aegon – with only that specific recollection playing tricks inside his mind.
Whilst elating her as his wife inside his head, the man slumped further into the bed, focusing on working his shaft up and down in blinding delight.
Her voice, her laughter, her handwriting and eyes – so wide and curious and always ready to look upon him, to really see him for who he was. She’d been the only one who never glanced directly at his scar. She’d focus in on his remaining eye, and listen to what he had to say. Intently. Remarkably so. She would remember his favourite book, the passages he’d read her last, and would partake in conversation – urging him to share his thoughts.
His climax neared him closer still, and Viserys’s second son focused on fucking his fist at a wilder pace than done before. Droplets of precum rolled down his cock, as forming sweat coated his brow. A final swipe of his rough thumb over the tip of his manhood, and a tender caress of his tightened stones was all it took for the man to drive himself over the edge, and feel the warmth inside his chest spread across his lower body.
He hissed painfully into the open letter, spending all over his chest and stomach and spilling her name from his parted lips.
He heaved out one breath after the other, and gingerly ran his hand over the written testament of her thoughts. He wanted to curse the Gods for making him so, for giving him the thirst for knowledge of a man fitting his station, but the crass bashfulness of a ruddy stable boy.
For the first time in his life, Aemond wished he were born different. A softer and more patient man, who’d find himself worthy of her; one more handsome, courageous and outspoken – a man who could express his feelings, without so much as a second thought, who didn't allow hesitation and carelessness to break his strengthened up resolve.
He ached to tell her all the things he’d left unsaid, when he saw her leave his sight. That she was lovely and brave and better than anything he deserved. That he was twisted, crooked, wrong – but not so wrong that he couldn’t pull himself together into some semblance of a man for her. That without exactly meaning to, he’d begun to lean on her, to look for her, to need her near.
That love within him laced with doubt. Longing with predestined pain. That he prayed night after night, obsessively, tentatively, that she’d grant him passage into her life again – that whatever held her from speaking to him would absolve itself with time, and he’d finally be free again.
Free to love her from afar, to revel in the bottled hope she’d grant him with the lightest touch, the faintest smile, and the most mundane of glances.
To delve further into the sweet delusion that mayhaps she'd learn to love him. That somehow he’d be deemed to be enough.
As he stood there, unmoving in his very bed, his warm seed rolled off his stomach, staining onto the silken sheets. A long sigh escaped his lips, and Aemond propped himself onto his elbow, cleaning the mess he’d left behind.
His want for her ran hard and deep, and the Crown Prince tensed once more, feeling his stomach tighten in such familiar hot knots of pleasure, that his cock went stiff again. He hummed in admission of his solitary fate and reached for the sinful oils with a shaky and extended hand. Through the musings of a quiet moan, he aligned his hips to his waiting hand, preparing to grant himself the second peak of his cursed and debauchered morning.
Alas, a lacklustre knock put an end to his self-indulgence, and Aemond stifled back a groan. He swallowed up his lust with haste, pushing himself back into his linen breeches and off the ruined satin bed – running a hand through the forming mats of his silver hair, to make himself seem more presentable.
Frustration and madness welled up within him, but he merely sucked in an irritated breath, whilst grabbing forth a shirt to adequately front himself.
“Yes, what is it?” His shaky voice barks out for him. He listens intently for any noise outside his door, and a great displeasure settles in his gut, as the voice of a servant boy echoes through the quiet walls.
“A letter for you, Your Grace. I beg your pardon for disrupting you –”
Readily he jumps out of his bed. And as if burned, as if possessed, Aemond opens the door with a readiness unperturbed, descending his anger onto the poor, expecting boy. The letter rests upon a silver platter, shaken with the messenger’s panicked voice. The Tully emblem that seals over a vast calligraphy drives the Prince to the brink of hysteria, and the Targaryen grabs a hold of the boy’s bouched shirt, pushing him further down into the hall.
“When.” He questions breathlessly, “When did the letter arrive.”
“L-Last night, Your Grace – near the hour of the wolf –”
A feral scowl settles over his sharp features. Aemond takes a step forward, tightening his fist over the cheap material, and calmly professes to the whimpering boy.
“For waiting so long to bring it to me, I should have you flogged and executed.”
The child's blabbering reaches deafened ears, as Aemond reaches for the letter crassly presented to him, and offers the youth a pressing look.
“Get out of my sight, before I should make the call of feeding you to my dragon.”
A clumsy courtesy is followed by a tantalised “Your Grace”. The echo of footsteps gets lost through the depths of the narrow hallway, and the man hums absentmindedly, before shutting himself inside his room again.
He wants to rip the envelope in a violent and perusing fashion, but his first instinct is to trail over the paper gently, to run his digits where her hands had been, to touch the edges of her writings with such a desire to be close to her that it scared him.
In a slow and gentle act, he peeled her seal away from the pesky parchment, and sucked in a hectic breath, as he scanned the contents he’d so longly dreamt about.
His hope shattered as rapidly as it came. And Aemond nearly ripped the letter, as his heart clenched painfully inside his chest.
To Aemond,
I thought about what I might say, and word it out in such a way that won’t leave you perplexed or angered.
I think it’s best for us to move along, and stop with these childish musings, that have hence occupied our time since I moved from the Red Keep.
I will forever cherish our acquaintanceship and hold your friendship in the highest regard. But I am a woman grown now – you, a man in all his right –, and we must both start to think about the survival of our families.
Please do not send me any more letters, as I won’t reply to them, and focus instead on your best interests.
The Lady Tully of Riverrun
His feet carried him close to his bed, as he grabbed a hold of her first note. Desperately, he began searching for differences – in the means that it was written, in the handwriting he’s known since his early adolescence, in the marginal and flimsy paper.
The sting of rejection fell heavily over his shoulders, but rationale trumped his crushed spirits – for there must have been something, anything inside the new communication, that would explain its fabrication.
It was impossible those were her words. She’d never been a jousting woman – never regarded her tens of suitors as less than wanting, for the simple fact she didn’t desire them. She would have let him down more softly. She wouldn’t throw away his company.
Contentment can emerge in the quietness of separation, but their friendship endured years of scorn from the gossips of the Court. Her good opinion of him just couldn’t have changed so suddenly.
A final reach entered his mind, as he folded the paper roughly, and settled it atop his table.
If those were truly her words within that letter, and she wanted him to keep his distance, she’d have to tell him to his face.
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More than a week had passed since she’d sent him her first letter. A week since she’d awaited his reply, inquiring every messenger within the castle on the arrival of a straying raven, all the way from the Red Keep.
In spite of her avid efforts, each day repeated the same encounter without so much of a hitch – the scrawny boys shaking their heads, as they ceaselessly informed her that nothing addressed to her has reached the tower of the West Wing.
Since then she’d sent out two more hurried manuscripts, despite never once being graced with a reply. All hope seemed lost when she’d woken up that very day and was still met with livid silence.
Through all their years of rapid friendship, Aemond had never ignored her so. As she cut into her plate, the Lady gnawed at her bottom lip, thinking hard on what possibly could have happened to make him turn so cold towards her.
If her status quo were any different, she’d have taken the Red Fork road on horseback, to reach King’s Landing, and confront her oldest friend on the reasons for his dreaded silence.
But her grandsire had fallen ill, and little to no progress was made on his state of brittle health. Her duty thus assigned her to the Riverlands, despite her need of seeing him.
“You have been very quiet, sweet girl.” The husky voice of Grover Tully echoed through the silent chamber. The girl’s cutlery stilled upon the half-full plate, and her eyes raised from her lap, clashing with the stilling blueness, the knowing assessment of his own.
“Apologies, grandfather,” She uttered rapidly with a forced smile upon her face, “My mind was otherwise engaged.”
“As it has been for the past week.” He concluded with a quirked-up brow. The softness in his gaze enveloped her, giving her a rapid sense of security, and her grandfather coughed in the back of his hand, drawing a pattern over the motifs of their tablecloth.
“I suppose I miss some aspects of King’s Landing. I have spent most of my youth there… – though the Riverlands are just as beautiful.” She was quick to intervene.
“Is King’s Landing all that you miss, or is it a certain boy from there?”
Her bright orbs widened with her grandfather’s suggestive tone, and her cheeks reddened in place, as her voice denied it brashly, “Certainly not, I – Aemond and I are friends.”
“It might seem like a long while has passed since then, but I’ve also been young once.”
When her reply was met with sarcasm, she swallowed thickly and drove on, “We are… really good friends, but that is all.” Once again, her stare dissolved, “Though… I’m not sure we’re exactly friends anymore.”
A knowing look adorned his face, and Grover turned his attention to the family crest above their heads. He took a while to pounder, thinking longly on a vast reply, but he eventually nodded to her, and graced the child with an unperturbed, brilliant smile. “I’m sure the Prince is very busy – as are you, my sweet child. Men, and young men especially…” He muttered the latter of his teachings, “Aren’t exactly prone to sentimentality. Not in the way that women are.”
Her lips pursed into a tight line, as his words rang in her ears.
But not Aemond, she wanted to say. He was hardly like the other men she knew – he could be kind and good and comforting. He cared for her, and for their friendship. He wouldn’t just ignore her, just for the sake of not being overly attached to writing.
Although she couldn’t possibly say such a thing – for then her grandsire’s teasing would have been a certain. The girl made herself busy cutting up a piece of meat in carefully drawn-out halves, until she beckoned a reply.
“Indeed. … You’re right, I should stop being so concerned.” She strained herself to answer him. The older man hummed disconcerted, and returned upon his plating. They continued eating in silence, till he mauled himself to tell her.
“... I know how hard this is for you. But our family depends on you. I had to bring you back to Riverrun, to get the other Lords used to the image of a woman in our ancestral seat.”
“Gods, of course, grandfather – and for that, I’m more than thankful.”
Grover raised a shaky hand, and cut her off with a gentle smile, “You do understand… as much as we both hate the idea, I’ll have to soon match you with someone.”
She gripped the goblet of wine before her, and wet her lips with the bitter liquor. “... Of course I do. It is my duty.”
“Your claim will be stronger with an able man around. And if the Gods are good and you also bear a son…”
“I know.” She sighed into the ample cup, “My claim would be thus undisputed.”
“Aemond was not the right match for you.”
The girl bit over her lower lip, wanting to both negate her feelings, and contest upon his honoured values. But she simply nodded to the greying Lord before her and offered a lacklustre smile.
“Perhaps a change of scenery will do you good. I was thinking that you might like the Reach better than the Riverlands... Lyonel Tyrell is an especially kind and thoughtful host.”
A relocation was the last thing on her mind, no doubt, but the Bliss of Riverrun turned her attention to the latter of his eversion.
“Visit the Reach? You think of marrying me off to the boy of Highgarden? … He’s not yet fourteen.”
Silence washed over their council.
“Boys grow swiftly into men. I'm assured he'll be a good one for you."
“He’s a child.”
“You’re seventeen.”
“It still makes for quite the difference.”
“You won’t have to mother children until he’ll also come of age. It gives you three more years of freedom – other ladies would kill for a faction of what you have.”
“I don’t like the finality of your words."
A long and pressing breath beleft his pale and tired lips.
“I couldn’t send you to the North. Jason Lannister has no sons. The Greyjoys are ghastly savages.” As he presented her his trail of thought, Grover Tully shook his head, “And the Targaryens…”
“You’re childhood friends with King Viserys. A match would not fall outside our rank." She slipped and added restlessly, much like a frail and foolish child. Even before he could answer her, his granddaughter raised her hand, as she brushed off her latter thought. “A succession crisis will ensue.” The young woman muttered in his stead.
“I’m old – I’ve seen disputes start for much less. But here we’re talking of the Iron Throne.”
“You think a war is in its midst.”
A cutting silence washed over them. Grover lifted first from the dinner table and breathed in an anxious breath.
“I pray for the sake of the Realm that such a thing will not take root.”
The languid fires of their threshold illuminated her conflicted face.
“Then it’s a good thing Aemond didn't bother to reply to my letters.”
For but a second, Grover’s face was etched with guilt.
“We all have to protect our own.” Sometimes the means to do it are less honourable than we'd wish to.
For all that was worth on that rousy and portentous night, her fate had been agreed upon. And ever the loyal and oppressed servant, the young lady of the Riverlands left with the first callings of dawn, for the impetuous and striking gardens, which were smugly kept inside the Reach.
She would then leave, with her soul and heart all torn to pieces – yet still completely unaware that she’d never see Aemond again.
Never, at the very least, to how she’d known him to always be.
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His wide and calculated steps led him to the stronghold’s gates. So easily it came for him to pass the cluttered training grounds, and disregard Ser Criston Cole with a mere shake of his head.
Above all else, he thought it then, he needed to feel his love again. He needed to hold her near once more, and ask all the outlandish questions he endured inside his head, counting for so much of his weakened days. He needed to reach a resolution, after being disregarded for so long. He needed the closure that her voice could offer him, that her mouth would utter out – that this had all been a grave mistake on her behalf, that the note never belonged to her, that she loved him as he loved her, and had merely been scared of it.
His morning session could very well await him, as he so viciously awaited the perfect chance to get away.
Two days away from the arrival of the pesky letter, Aemond had finally managed to slither unperturbed from his neat and tidy prison. Neither his mother nor grandsire had caught him in the act of it, Aegon had been too drunk to notice him dress up for a morning ride, and Helaena had solely clicked her tongue and scowled at him.
As he anxiously secured the belts of his dragon’s saddle, the man hummed in disarray – Riverrun was but a short flight away, but the despair he felt to hold her inside his arms again trumped over his better senses.
With any luck, he figured, she should still be found in bed. His love had never been an early riser, and she loathed getting out of bed in the damning morning light.
He didn’t waste time figuring out pleasantries to share with Grover – much less the words needed to explain his unprompted visit.
His sole purpose was to get to her, ask for her hand, make her his wife and forever be done with it.
He had the biggest claim to her – a Prince bonded with the largest dragon in the world, the one who’d seen and grown with her so many years inside the Keep.
The command of flying was given to his formidable dragon, and the Prince took off for the Trident's three heads.
Hopefulness emerged with unforsaked determination – but as his actions would dictate him from then on out, his efforts would be all for nought, torn apart in stinging vain.
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Perma Tag-List: @welcometothelioncage
Specific Tag-List for the Fic: @howyouloveyourdragon @diamantesprincess @carriellie
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tsukimefuku · 2 months
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Driving lesson
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You asked Ijichi for some driving lessons.
Tags: platonic Ijichi & OC/Reader. Friendship. Fluff. Comedy. Crack taken seriously. Ijichi deserves more appreciation, he’s so precious.
WC: 600
This is part of my "Jujutsu Partners Canon Divergence AU". A sequence of short stories and random drabbles for a Nanami x Reader x Higuruma long fic I might write. To see the ever-growing list of one-shots and short stories, please visit my masterlist :) 
Disclaimer: these stories are NOT written and posted in chronological order of events. To see where this one fits in the timeline, please refer to the masterlist above.
Also, this is barely proof-read. I apologize for any blunders 😅
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The car jumped, jolted and stopped. Then, it jolted, sped up for a few meters, and halted violently again. You and Ijichi were getting savagely shaken inside the car at your less than ideal abilities in driving it. He had his seatbelt on, and held his glasses on his face, afraid they might take flight the next time you moved your feet.
“Ms., what are you doing?” Ijichi asked, concerned, as you gripped the steering wheel like you were holding onto it for dear life.
“I don’t know!” You exclaimed, in a mix of frustration and desperation. “I have no clue.”
You had asked on a day off for ijichi to help you learn some driving skills, if it ever were something you needed. He agreed, a little suspicious and anxious as to why you would ask that, especially from him, given you seemed to be close to other people like Nanami or even Gojo, who could actually aid you in finding somewhere to get a proper driver’s license.
In reality, you just wanted to learn the basics, so here you were, in an empty parking lot, nearly heart arresting the poor man every time the car moved.
He sighed softly, thinking that going over the instructions one more time would be helpful. “Let’s go back to the beginning. You need to press the brake pedal. Then, you push the button on the gear shift, and slide it from Park to Drive, still pressing on the brake pedal.”
“Right, that’s where I’m at right now. I’m holding the brakes.”
“Then, you let go of the brake pedal slowly, and begin pressing the gas pedal softly.” Ijichi was emphatic when he uttered the words slowly and softly.
“At the same time or do I let go of one pedal and then press the other?” You asked, earnestly.
Ijichi was very confused, and you noticed it.
“What? What’s wrong?”
He silently tilted himself to take a look at your feet, and that was when he realized that you had your left foot on the brake pedal, and the right foot on the gas pedal.
“Ms., you need to operate both pedals with your right foot. Just rest your left foot on the opposite corner.” Ijichi said, pushing his glasses back into position once more, incredulous you’d be doing that and thought it was just fine.
“What?! I have to use only one foot?!” You grunted, tilting your head back on the rest. “Who the hell conceived this death contraption?!”
“An American entrepreneur named Henry Ford.”
You sighed. “Ijichi, I know that. It was rhetorical.”
“Oh.” He answered, slightly embarrassed.
“I mean, I think I should actually go get some lessons and get my driver's license?” You thought out loud, scratching your head with one hand as you put the car in Park with the other.
“Heaven’s, no.” Ijichi let out instantly, by accident.
You looked at him surprised, and he tensed up, ready for the scowling he was already very used to receiving from sorcerers.
You were actually amused at his unrestrained sincerity, and began cackling, much to his confusion. Your laughter was wholehearted.
“I’m a jujutsu sorcerer, my expertise needs to be fighting and exorcizing curses,” you began, “and with no false modesty, I feel like I’m pretty good at it.” Your eyes then met Ijichi’s. “I think I should leave navigating this grim machine for people who are good at it. People like you.”
He looked at you a little taken aback, and feeling somewhat proud at the compliment.
“Yeah, ‘heaven’s, no’. That sounds about right,” you said, chuckling again at it. He began laughing with you, feeling his concern subside.
“So, let’s go get something to eat? All these near death experiences made me hungry.” You chirped, light-spirited.
Ijichi nodded. “I’ll drive.”
You started removing your seatbelt so that you could exchange seats. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, buddy.”
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