#which he makes up for tenfold when he is older | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

princessbrunette · 11 months ago

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CRUSH ♡

… based loosely on the song crush by ethel cain ⊹˚. ♡

pairing: linecook!jj maybank + sweetheart!reader

synopsis: you’re head over heels for your bad-boy coworker, jj— the linecook for the outerbanks beachside restaurant you waitress at. a customer spilling coffee over your uniform catalysts a chain of events.

cw: a gun but no violence, shitty customers, jj being jj, smut.

You didn’t really know about restaurant employee culture until you started your job as a waitress. Stereotypes, things that fate would just simply decide to come true in every single restaurant no matter what. Waitresses were either the sweetest people you’d ever met or the bitchiest, managers had favourites and if you weren’t one of them they treat you like shit, the kid who gets stuck on dishwasher duty was always younger than everyone and fell in love with all the waitresses— uber specific and odd stuff. Oh, and that linecooks were troubled, or whores.

JJ Maybank was more troubled than the latter. Well, you’d hoped so anyways. You’d had a crush on the blonde linecook from your very first day, a quieter morning at the beginning of spring when the beachside restaurant was criminally understaffed. Your manager had appointed him to show you around before either of you had even made it inside, the tough older woman calling him out as he arrived to work, climbing off his bike, chewing on a toothpick with headphones over his ears. Your heart had fluttered when he bantered with the older woman, pointing to the music-playing-muffs over his ears, mouthing an ‘I can’t hear you, sorry’ when she’d approached him.

You’d felt embarrassed almost, like you were taking up his time. He was clearly comfortable here, had a good relationship with everybody— even the manager who seemed to hate the world tenfold. She’d yanked off his headphones and jut her thumb towards you as he stared her down with a mischievous grin.

“Maybank, I need you to show around the newbie— uh, what’s your name again sweetheart?” She spins to you, and for the first time JJ’s eyes flicker towards you, brows jumping up just a hair, a micro-expression that only you could hold onto for hope. Hope that he might be a little interested. You speak your name, and he’s swerving around the manager in his white tshirt, apron tied lazily around his waist, hung down, not even wearing it over his shirt like he’s meant to, black backwards cap over blonde messy hair.

“Well it is very nice to meet you ma’am.” He juts out a hand with a stupidly large grin that makes you feel even more shy.

You remember that day so clearly, the blonde showing you the ropes, practically training you whilst your manager chain smoked out the back. You remembered how you hadn’t had a proper school-girl style crush like this since forever, and one day into working at the restaurant you were already head over heels for the loud and hyperactive Pogue.

A few months down the line, and your bond had blossomed. Well, somewhat — it was a busy restaurant, lots of waitresses and cooks and customers. There wasn’t always time for chit-chat and flirting. Which sometimes you were grateful for, plates clanking awkwardly in your hands as you spot a more confident waitress trying her luck with him, hair twirled around a long finger. You were delusional enough to believe JJ seemed politely disinterested at the least, choosing to busy himself with ruffling the top of your head with his knuckles as you pass by him, hiding your smile at his acknowledgment.

You wouldn’t say the two of you were friends. You’d hoped not anyway, dreading being stuck in the friendzone with the guy you’d spent months pining after. You couldn’t be friends because you’d never hung out with him outside of work, not that you’d deny him but he’d never asked. You’d seen him around, don’t get it twisted — that group of friends of his; the brunette one who always seemed to be the talk of the town, the darker skinned boy who seemed too smart to be slumming it on a boat smoking weed, and a girl — who laughed at all of JJ’s jokes and threw glares to anyone she deemed too ‘Kook-y’. That was some serious intel, but you swear up and down you weren’t a stalker— just paying attention when you’d see him outside of the workplace.

JJ made it clear you were his favourite waitress. Well, he’d said it himself, holding a plate just out of your reach when you’d come to collect an order, playful smirk on his face as he stares down at you. “Can I have my order?” you pretend to hate it, hiding your smile as you huff, reaching out.

“I dunno, I could almost swear there’s a magic word that you’re missing there, girlie. Y’wanna help me out with that? Orrrr…” He tilts his head, playing dumb and you let the smile free— cheeks pushing up as you gaze at his stupid expression.

“Please, JJ.” You offer sweetly instead of sassing him, which makes his heart clench a little because you were just an absolute sweetheart by nature. He lowers the plate, hovering it above your palm and giving you a more serious look.

“Plates hot, alright? Better be careful with those delicate mittens.” You roll your eyes bashfully and he presses it into your palm. The plate was warm at best, it seeming that JJ would say anything just to keep the conversation going longer than it needed to.

“Thank you.” You smile once it was in your hand and he nods, faux solemnly as he backs off back to his work station, ignoring the knowing stare from his partner linecook.

“So polite, s’why you’re my favourite, princess.” He points with a wink and you turn away before he can see how flustered it made you. Princess, are you kidding me? It’s like he wanted to make you drop the plate. He watches the door swing as you head back out into the bustling restaurant, and jumps a little in surprise when he turns back to come face to face with another linecooks smirk.

“Playin’ favourites, huh Maybank?”

The blonde itches his cheek, bashful with a shrug— going back to chopping a carrot like he was before.

“Yeah well— doesn’t everyone do that here?” He tries to brush it off, head swivelling to glance back at the door, just incase you overheard.

“Yeah… yeah, chose a pretty one though, I’ll give you that. Lemme know when you’re done with it, I wanna play.” He speaks with a stomach-turning smile, and certainly doesn’t miss the way JJ’s jaw clenches, knife nearly going not only through the carrot but the chopping board too. Dont cause a scene now, Jayj.

JJ was troubled, like you’d said. You’d heard whispers from waitresses or friends of a friend outside of work — things about his father always being in jail, the blonde himself ending up in overnight cells a series of times. You’d heard about fights, his name always ringing close to the scene, even car chases and rumours about his run ins with big time criminals— but you wasn’t sure how verifiable any of these were.

It didn’t seem totally far fetched though, the Pogue occasionally showing up to his shift with his head down, a new bruise splattered on his cheek bone or a gnarly gash. He had one the day things changed, a cut through his lip, gone almost black from blood constantly drying after he’d assumably lick it open. From a glance, it almost looked like a lip-ring, and he sported it well with a large greenish yellow bruise beside his eye over his temple. You wish you felt close enough to ask where they came from, but knew that would be prying. You didn’t even wanna listen in when you’d see the manager nod him into her office to give him ‘the talk’ and ask about it presumably, which you’d also guessed she’d gained no information from as he’d leave her office looking casual whilst she still wore that slightly frustrated and worried look on her face.

Everyone seemed to be in a weird mood that day, even the customers. It wasn’t really his fault, the man somehow backing into you abruptly enough for you to spill an old container of coffee all down yourself. Well, to rephrase — it was an accident, which was actually the best case scenario considering you’d had drinks poured down you on purpose for making them wrong before.

You get that awful coil of embarrassment in your stomach when you walk into the kitchen, beige staining right through your usual pristine uniform and falling in droplets off the ends of your hair. JJ sees the pout before the stains, and it comes as no surprise to the other linecooks when he rushes over like prince charming.

“You good? Someone do that to you?” He’s already trying to bound past you to go and ‘handle the situation’ (AKA, kick them out) but you shake your head— not really upset just tired, and now cold thanks to the old coffee soaking through to your skin.

“It was an accident. I don’t have anything to change into so I don’t know if I should just… go home, or something.” You hold your hands out in frustration, looking down at yourself.

“Oh, nah— don’t sweat it. Got a spare shirt in my locker you can wear. S’just a white t-shirt, should do the trick.” He steps backwards.

“But it’s not uniform?” You furrow your brows and he huffs out a chuckle at you always being such a stickler for following the rules. “Our manager will have my head, surely.”

“Think she’d rather that than you walkin’ round smellin’ like cold brew.” He fishes through his pockets and tosses you a small key with a red triangle keychain on the end, the key to his locker in the staff cloakroom. “Help yourself.”

“Thanks Jayj.” You smile, excusing yourself shyly at the use of the nickname you’ve heard others use on him but always chickened out on. He noticed, because he shows all his teeth when he smiles and nods, turning back around.

The cloakroom always smells weird— like mulch and rubber, a cold and windowless room with a bench and a wall of seafoam lockers. You flip the key in your hand, spotting the number on the back and match it to the lockers. Wearing JJ’s shirt, huh — you smile to yourself, feeling giddy and stupid at the butterflies that brush their wings against the inside of your stomach. He was just doing you a favour, sure — but you got to prance around wearing him all day, and that was enough to fuel your delusion. You off your stained shirt, leaving you in just a small and flimsy tank top that you usually wear beneath it incase of accidents like this.

You open the locker, and something black immediately drops out onto the floor, echoing loudly and bouncing once a tiny bit by your feet. The weird clinical lighting of the cloakroom casts a dark shadow below where your head searches down for it, so you move slightly— brows furrowing when you see the shape of it.

Your brain clearly hasn’t processed or caught up with just quite what you’re looking at as you bend down, lips parted as you pick the item up in your hand, standing back to full height once more. In your hand, you stared directly at a gun. A pistol, to be precise. You seem to be in shock, the weapon glued to your hand despite anyone being able to walk in and get you fired and or reported to the police within a matter of seconds. You turn the weapon in your hand in fascination, whispering a “What the…” to yourself.

JJ leans against the doorway with a forearm, just now remembering what resided in that very locker other than the shirt he so generously offered. He’s distracted for a moment by your skin, the skin on the back of your arms and your back as you stand with your uniform shirt bunched in your hand, until of course he spots what’s held in your other hand and physically winces.

“Shit, uh—” JJ vocalises and your head snaps around, sighing in relief once you see that it’s just him. You’re back to marvelling in shock at the item in an instant, ogling between him and the weapon. “So, that’s — that’s not what it looks like—”

“A gun?” You whisper the second word, looking up at him with wide eyes and he points the pistol downwards with his finger when you hold it accidentally facing him.

“Well, okay I mean yes — it’s a gun, but I had no choice. Had to momentarily keep it here, alright? I took it in for a friend and —”

“What are you, some kind of hitman?” You shake your head, earrings jangling a little with your stressed little gesture which would usually warm his heart if he wasn’t focused on deescalating.

“Okay, first of all— why don’t I take this from you missy,” He eases the gun out of your hands and accidentally fumbles it inside his locker, the weapon clattering against the echoey walls making him let out a quiet ‘whoops’ before placing a black gym bag on top of it. He turns to you. “Secondly, no okay I’m not a hitman— I haven’t ever shot a person with this thing.”

“Then… why do you have it?” You furrow your brows, seeming to have calmed down a little, which was relieving despite your reaction being totally valid.

“W—you know, gotta stay strapped. Protect my people.” He shrugs, attempting nonchalance and your eye twitches, realising how different the two of you are. JJ, bad boy with a gun in his locker— and you, straight arrow waitress. “Look all m’saying is if you told me someone was messing with you… I wouldn’t hesitate.”

You stare at him dumbfounded, wondering what on Earth he was going through to lead him to owning a gun, but you daren’t ask— even now. You eye him, brows knitting cutely.

“And you’re sure you’re not some serial killer?” You ask, folding your arms. Mostly joking. Mostly.

“Yeah nah I couldn’t do the whole choppin’ up dead bodies thing, m’pretty squeamish n’I got this thing with my gag reflex where y’know, I — I just—” He gestures to his throat, head bobbing with a preemptive gag but sees the way you’re staring at him like he’d just stepped off a space ship from Mars and decides against the bit, clearing his throat and glancing into his locker. “Enough of that uh— why don’t I go ahead and grab you that shirt you were after…” He reaches inside his locker, pulling out balled up white shirt, quickly turning it back from being inside out.

“There y’go…” He murmurs as he does so to no one in particular before shoving his arms inside and pulling the head hole wider before stuffing you inside it, tugging it until your head pops out, still staring at him a little dumbfounded. “Peekaboo.” He smiles nervously before leaving you to shove your own arm holes through, pulling it down over your tank top. He awkwardly watches before you hand him back his key and he locks his locker once more, glancing around at you.

“So about the—”

“Your secrets safe with me JJ. Thanks for the shirt.”

You swan around in the white fabric like it’s a ball gown for the rest of the day. Delusional didn’t feel like the right word, no— he gave you the shirt, which in your head is flirting— handing you the opportunity to daydream about being his girlfriend and wearing his clothes all the time. Each time you moved you could smell him on you, that faint smell of cigarettes and just him — reminding you of the times you’ve caught him on a rough shift fumbling for a pack of Marlboro Red’s and heading out the back door to be angsty for a while before returning with a plastered on smile. You bite your lip, staring into space as you rub the material between your fingers, waiting for a table to flag you down, excited for the next time you could go into the kitchen and see him… have him see you, wearing his shirt only hoping it hot-wires his brain with some sort of romantic association. Oh, JJ Maybank. He just made you so… so…

“Ugh, mmph JJ!” You cry out, later that night. Guilty, you ended up in nothing but the t-shirt and two fingers stuffed into your weeping cunt. You felt kind of perverse, despite the million promises to yourself to wash the shirt immediately after to return to him— but also there was just something painfully arousing about touching yourself wearing it— every layer beneath it removed to have your hardened nipples peak beneath the thin white fabric, tousled and jostled up where your ribcage was as you grind your digits inside of you.

You were home alone, like usual — which gave you the perfect opportunity to moan his name. Too horny to care about the 0.05% chance he’s strolling in your area and walking past the window, hearing. Even the idea of that aroused you further in the moment, wondering just what he’d think if he knew the sweet and harmless waitress was defiling her cunt in his name, in his shirt. You think about best case scenario, the blonde with his rough hand around his cock— and you knew it was rough from the way it felt when he’d touch your arm or brush against your fingers when handing you a dish. Rough from working on his bike and handling hot food and other Maybank shenanigans that still lead him to fist at his dick in his room at night thinking of you, you and only you.

You cum in your palm and feel disgraced. Poor JJ. You’re a total pervert and you must wash that shirt.

Except you don’t, and you fall asleep— returning to work in your spare uniform the next day. Empty handed. JJ doesn’t notice, hell — he doesn’t care. He’s stacked up with so many orders you almost feel bad even though it’s not your fault. Maybe you’re still riding off the guilt of masturbating in his shirt. There’s a sick sense of pride that twists in your gut when you look at him though. Boyish, sometimes thoughtless blonde with no idea that you came so hard moaning his name just a matter of hours before facing him again. You catch him in a quieter moment, leaning over to his station with a stressed expression to tell him that you forgot to bring his shirt back, to which he just responds with a shrug and a careless wave that read as ‘It’s cool.’ That was the JJ you knew. Cool, calm, didn’t give a shit. You got butterflies at the minute gesture. God, get a grip.

The next time it comes up, it’s because he brings it up. Catching you on your break, a cheekful of pasta he’d made for you to quickly cram down before your manager gets onto you for slacking off— JJ approaches your little table outside, blonde hair feathery and light in the sun. “Howdy there, shirt thief.” He grins lightheartedly, pulling out the other chair on the small circle table you sat at and straddling it backwards, leaning his arms on the backrest.

You nearly choke on your pasta at the speed you go to explain yourself— way to not make yourself seem guilty. “It’s in the washing machine, I literally just kept forgetting I’m sorry JJ.” You look all sweet and worried in the way that makes him wanna pinch your cheeks, so he fiddles with his lighter instead, flicking it on and off in his grasp.

“Nah you’re good.” He chuckles, staring out at the water the restaurant overlooked. It was a windier day, and even from where you sat you could hear the loud roaring of distant waves. “Hey uh— you want a ride home on the old bike? I can come in and grab it if like— if that’s cool.” He suggests, almost seeming a bit hesitant, nervous even.

“Oh! Yeah, I mean I’d have to stick it in the dryer first but you’re free to hang out whilst it dries… unless you really gotta go then, you can have your shirt back damp, I guess.” You mirror the nervous energy tenfold, practically stumbling over yourself to not sound as eager as you were. JJ, in your house.

“Yeah, sweet. Cool cool cool cool.” He bops his head, drumming on the table before suddenly his name was called from inside.

“Maybank! These fish aren’t gonna fry themselves, you know that right?” The tough, unmistakable chain smoker voice of your manager rings through the air and JJ winces theatrically for your entertainment, making you giggle the same way a child might after a party clown does something stupid. It was kind of pathetic, but atleast JJ found it endearing.

You weren’t lying about the shirt, thankfully. Honest — the JJ smell was gone so you’d tossed it in the washing machine before you’d head out onto your shift, planning on finally (reluctantly) returning it the next day.

He pushes himself up to leave, before pausing and leaning over the table towards you. You freeze, and he brings his thumb to your cheek — swiping away a speck of sauce from the pasta that has splattered into your skin from how greedily you wolfed down his food. “Lemme just… get that for you.” He mutters as he does so, turning his thumb around to show you the sauce stain that had transferred to his skin and ease your confusion.

If that wasn’t bad enough, he holds your gaze as he leans back, bringing his thumb to his mouth, cleaning off the sauce. Oh, you sick bastard. He doesn’t even try and hide his smirk— and you stare dumbly at the space he stood even after he’s long gone.

The shift dragged on, tip tapping your feet whenever you stood still for too long, excited bubbles in your stomach fizzing up like shaken pop everytime you thought about the linecook. It felt like hours longer than usual, but finally — the end of your shift came. JJ’s had ended twenty minutes earlier, being replaced by another chef whose plates were always too hot and spoke too loud, making the last stretch of your working hour even tougher. You thought JJ might have forgotten about your little arrangement, just taking off to head home or to go and smoke on the rickety little boat you’d seen him on— but lo and behold, you step out the doors to that wretched place and there he is, leaning on his bike like something out of an 80s movie.

“No helmet?” You’re grinning by the time you reach him, barely containing your excitement. You don’t think you’ve even been on the back of one of these bikes before, let alone with the boy you’re crushing on. JJ scrunches his nose, wincing.

“Wasn’t countin’ on having anyone else on board today, that’s my bad.” He helps you climb on, ensuring you’re sat securely. ��I’m a good driver, you’ll be alright. Just uh— hold on tight and I’ll avoid any big potholes, yeah?” He reaches back, taking your arms and wrapping them around his middle, forcing you against his warm back. He’d probably done that for plenty of people, the way it came naturally to him— but in that moment you didn’t care, just nodding as you leant more against him. You tell him your address, and he recognises it, someone he knows living near by. With that, the two of you are off.

You’re truly in bliss, closing your eyes with your cheek pressed to his back, wind whipping past your face. He is a good driver, and you dare even let yourself believe he’s being extra careful with you on board, none of the harsh turns or skids you’ve seen him do on the streets alone. Your cheeks start to ache with how much you’re smiling.

“You all good back there my lil’ backpack?” He pats your leg in a friendly manner at a stop light and you giggle, embarrassed with how fast goosebumps break out.

“Yeah, this is fun!” You yell at an unnecessary volume to be heard over the running engine, making him chuckle and glance round at you.

“Good, that’s good.”

You’re almost sad when the ride is over, his wheels coming to a slow as he parks up haphazardly beside your front lawn. You’re quick to pat your head down, knowing that journey must have you looking dishevelled at best and hop off the bike, patting the pocket of your shorts for your keys.

“My humble abode awaits.” You chirp, cringing afterwards but he smirks and follows you regardless, pulling up his pants boyishly as he stalks behind you up to your front door. Inside your head is a chant, one that consists of hoping and praying your parents wouldn’t be home so you didn’t have to do the whole awkward explanation thing, not that you didn’t have a totally valid excuse — and you were grown, so interacting with boys shouldn’t be the awkward dilemma that it was — but to them you were still their sweet girl regardless of age, and you’d like to keep it that way, which wouldn’t be possible being spotted ushering Pogue King JJ Maybank into your bedroom.

You unlock the door, calling out a ‘hello’ to be met with miraculous silence. JJ shuffles in behind you, closing the door for you and whistling quietly. “This place is pretty fancy, yeah… bet you got like, an electric toothbrush n’shit.” He comments, neck craning to look around as he follows you slowly through the house.

You huff a laugh out your nose, cheeks pressing upwards as you stroll through toward the kitchen. “An electric toothbrush?” You question.

“Yeaaah man, kook shit.” He peers nosily at the calendar, eyeing the events your family have coming up.

You spot a note pinned to the fridge and head towards it, shaking your head. “If I was a kook I wouldn’t be working at a restaurant getting coffee poured down me. Are electric toothbrushes the pinnacle of wealth in your eyes?” You laugh quietly, pulling the note off the fridge.

“Dude in eighth grade I lost my toothbrush and for a year all I had was my finger, some toothpaste and a dream.” He chats, appearing directly behind you and plucking the note from your hand. “Out ‘til late, pizza in fridge.” He reads blankly out loud and you take it back from him, tossing it aside.

“How’d you lose a toothbrush?” You chuckle, leading him out the kitchen.

“I be in situations.” He shrugs, following you to the short flight of stairs. To his core, JJ was truly just a guy— and took very little pride in watching you climb a few steps before he joined you so that he could check out your ass.

“Bet your dentist loved you.” You comment, glancing behind you at him making his eyes snap upwards guilty. He scoffs, wiping his hands on his pants like he was worried about dirtying up your house before grasping onto the bannister, skipping a few steps to hop up.

“Yeah, like I could afford one of those.”

On the landing, you point him towards the hallway, stepping back once you realised you were practically standing on top of him. He didn’t seem to notice, or mind, staring down at you for direction. “My rooms the last door on the right. I’m gonna go toss your shirt in the dryer, ‘kay?”

He nods once, strolling in the direction you pointed him. “Yes ma’am.”

You head to the laundry room and take a moment to collect yourself, sniffing his shirt to make sure it was properly clean before stuffing it into the dryer to turn it on. You lean against its circular door as it starts up, taking a breath before realising you left JJ Maybank alone in your bedroom.

You arrive at the door to your girly haven, immediately yanking a pair of panties off the ground and throwing them into a corner as you spot the blonde by the window, curiously looking around.

“So this is where the magic happens, I assume.” He glances at you, swiping his hat off his head and placing it on your dresser. Something about his gaze and the way it continually flickered to you, waiting for an answer suggested it was a genuine question. He was asking if you were seeing anyone, perhaps. You giggle.

“And if by magic you mean napping after work and reading books, yeah. It gets so magical in here, you wouldn’t believe it.” You sit on your bed, watching him semi-awkwardly pace infront of you, running hands through his hair before stuffing them into his pockets.

“Ah yeah, ha— forgot you were a real good girl. Should stay that way, I like it— and I mean like, there’s hella weirdos round here. Y’know? Better to… steer clear.” He rambles as you watch him with a smile. At work, the blonde seemed more calm, in his element— but here, in your terrain— he seemed slightly more on edge. You tried not to read into it.

Your stomach warms at the ‘good girl’ comment, lashes fluttering only a little before he’s distracted once more. You see him gazing ahead at the shelf above your vanity, opposite the bed where all your baby photos were lined up. His smile grows, and you see the cogs turn in his head.

He strides towards it in an instant, taking the framed image off the shelf. You jump up, following him to try and save yourself the embarrassment of whatever he was looking at but it was too late. He grins, turning his head to look down at you. “Oh wow, now don’t tell me this is you?” He holds the photo up beside your head, glancing theatrically between the two to compare and you bat him away.

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re nosy?”

“Oh yeah, all the time. That, that is adorable though.” He’s immediately distracted by another photo, setting the one in his hand down to pick it up. “And who’s this?” He lifts the picture of your mother holding you as a baby.

“My mother.”

“Total fox. As expected.”

“Okay, no more for you.” You hide your amusement well, reaching out for the photo and grabbing it. He puts up little fight, letting you snatch the frame from his larger hand as he reaches for another, making a total mess of your embarrassing nostalgia display. This last picture is of you, around 5 years old— adorned in a pink princess dress and a plastic tiara, grinning at the camera.

“Aw.” He smirks, turning his body to face you. “Guess some things never change. Still a pretty princess.” You’re not sure if he’s mocking you now, because he’s tonguing at the cut on his lip which makes you gain a second heartbeat in your panties and you freeze up— which in itself is more embarrassing that this whole ordeal. He was a tease by nature he’ll admit, but this — this was fun. Seeing you get flustered was his new favourite thing.

You give him the exact reaction he’s after, failing to hide your smile as you lurch for the frame. He hides it behind his back and you stumble into him, stabilising yourself with both hands on his chest. He’s all… warm, and firm.

There’s a silence, but things are never quiet for too long with JJ. Thankfully.

“Damn, if you wanted to touch me up you could’a just asked. Pro’lly would’a said yes.” The smirk is yet to fade, infact you think it’s permanently stamped onto his mouth and your eyes widen just a smidge— scrambling for a witty comeback that didn’t make you look like a perverse idiot.

“I dunno, after you made fun of my baby pictures? Think I owe you two black eyes.” You tilt your head sweetly, proud of the response and his eyes flicker over your expression, eyes softening just a tad. Or maybe you imagined it.

“‘Think that’s a little extreme. How ‘bout a kiss instead?” You freeze, because it’s then you realise how close the two of you are still. Hes practically got you caged against your vanity, can probably hear how fast he’s got your heart beating— maybe smell the pathetic dribble of arousal seeping into your underwear just from being this close to him. You can’t tell if he’s kidding, and it seems he even caught himself a little off guard, blinking a few times during your stunned silence.

But then you look at his mouth, because asking a question like that is totally giving you permission to do so, and he takes that as an answer and leans in.

You’re so hypnotised when his mouth starts moving against yours that you nearly jump out of your skin when his large hands bracket your waist, pulling your body more flush against his. JJ was a good kisser, which lead you to indeed that he was infact— a whore. Well, maybe a former whore. Whatever, in that moment it didn’t matter— nothing mattered, just JJ and his tongue that was sliding against yours as the kiss heated up.

It feels like hours that your tongues are looping round eachother, snapped out the moment by the hungry blondes hands sliding down, your waist in his grip becomes suddenly your ass cheeks through your shorts, squeezing and pulling you against him practically lifting your entire body. It’s then you realise you having a working voice box, because you let out the most pathetic mewl you’ve ever heard yourself make. Even more pathetic than the noises you made only a few nights ago from your own hand.

He groans back almost as like a response, and with that — finally, he manoeuvres you to start walking backwards towards the very bed you fell apart on at the thought of what you were currently doing, or about to do. Your lips detach when the backs of your knees hit the bed, falling to sit down at the edge of it with a few bounces. He stares down at you for a couple of seconds, disorientated and sore-mouthed like even he can’t believe what’s happening— before he jumps into action. Jittery and clumsily like he always is.

“Should probably uh— if we’re gonna get on the bed I don’t wanna— poke you with somethin’” He stuffs his hands into his pockets, unloading them. His phone, his keys, earphones, cigarettes, wallet, other random knickknacks that would otherwise make you raise an eyebrow if you weren’t already so dazed by him. He’s about to return to you, before his mouth forms an ‘o’ shape, as if he just remembered something — and he reaches into the back of his pants, pulling up the shirt that hung over his waistband to there retrieve his gun. He holds it up with a smile that said ‘How silly of me!’

You gape. “JJ, why do you have that?”

He shuffles some things around on your vanity, scrambling to make space for the piece. “Uh, had to bring it home today… lemme just… set that down there.” He places it next to your jewellery stand, the contrast in the items almost making you laugh in disbelief. “The old problem solver.” He mutters, giving it a fond pat before turning back to you, happy to carry on.

“What if my parents were to come home and see that?” You challenge with a pout, not too keen about him bringing a weapon into your house. He huffs out a smirk, leaning back down to where you’re sat, hands on your shoulders as he slowly lays you down.

“Think they’d be a little more concerned about the dirty pogue on top of their little girl, but y’know…” His words get lower and lazier as he draws in before locking his lips onto yours again, this time wasting no time with introducing his tongue.

You’re back in the zone, gun long forgotten within seconds— running your hands through his hair, over his strong arms, touching everywhere you’ve wanted to touch since you started working at the restaurant. Well, not everywhere.

He’s not holding back on being handsy either, body slotted between your legs after he lifts you further up the bed, grappling at your thighs, hips, and eventually tits. You can’t blame him, there’s desperation behind both of your actions — the fact you’d both wanted this for a while now slowly becoming clear. Your heart thumps hard at this realisation, suddenly less able to breathe and you pull back panting, breath trembling.

His eyes flicker over your face, watching your wet mouth as you ramble. “Wanted— mmph— wanted this for a while.”

He drags his lips over your cheek, pressing his hips against yours and you can feel him hardening. It does little to help you calm down. “Yeah, same… Is it… uh, is it weird I kinda didn’t want you to wash the shirt before givin’ it back to me?” He smiles, dropping another toothy peck to your mouth as his hands continue feeling you up.

Your eyes flutter closed once more when he softly grinds his bulge against your cunt, your knees tightening against his hips as you let out a silent moan, lips parted.

“H-had to. I slept in it.” You admit before you think, brain focused on other things. He laughs quietly against your jaw, smoothing his tongue over the now bitten skin.

“Aw, you did?” He creates some space between the two of you, his hand very slowly starting to trail down your body, past your stomach. “You got it so bad for me, huh?” He teases and you whine, openly and pathetically— spoiled and childish even. JJ didn’t seem the type to talk about his feelings easily, but teasing you for yours was outright mean.

“Shutup.” Comes with the whine, your breath catching pathetically as you feel the rumble of him slowly unzipping your shorts zipper at your crotch, lips detaching from your jaw for a second to look at what he’s doing, still chuckling.

“Thats rude.” He grins, quiet and lighthearted, elated when you start helping him pull your shorts down and kicking them carelessly off. If he wasn’t so desperate to get his hands on you, he would have taken more time to appreciate your cute little cotton panties with the bow on top. They were so you, exactly the sort he pictured you wearing, moreso pictured you soaking through the way you were now.

His hand slides over the length of your covered cunt, all but cupping you and pushing his fingers over the embarrassing amount of wetness on the fabric. “What else did you do in the shirt, hm? Talk me through it babe.”

He’s teasing you, not truly expecting much of an answer as he genuinely believed a sweet girl like you wouldn’t have the gall to do anything but sleep in his shirt. His lips trail down the centre column of your neck, and it bobs with a harsh swallow. Now, his interest is piqued.

“Can’t say!” You whimper, eyes screwed up, legs spreading wider as he gently thumbs at your clit through the fabric, just enough to stimulate you. You feel him remove his mouth from you, lifting his head into your direct eyeline with an amused raise of the brow.

“Well now sweetheart, you’re just gonna have to tell me.” His fingers tuck into the leg hole of your panties, like he wants to pull it aside but won’t. You realise he’s still watching you, waiting for an answer and that he’s not gonna go further until you speak. “Don’t be shy, tell Papa J what you—”

“Touched myself. I touched myself.” You release all in one breath. Now it’s his turn to ogle you, completely off guard. If he wasn’t hard as a rock before, he certainly was now. Probably leaking in his boxers too from how things felt down there. This was poor performance from him, he thought at the back of his mind. This fucked so early on? Shit, he knew he liked you but c’mon.

He peels your panties to the side and you squeak, the boy making no effort to touch you still— just letting the cool air of your room grace your glossy folds.

“And why would you do something like that, baby?” He noses at your cheek, trying to get you to open your eyes. You squeeze them harder before fluttering them open, so hot in the face and embarrassed when you find his gaze you think you might just die.

“Because I like you.” You whisper. It’s sweet, just like he thought you’d be when the time comes. He smiles, dimple deepening as his free hand cups your cheek.

“Because you like me.” He repeats in affirmation. It’s a little smug, he’ll admit — but having his dream girl beneath him had his ego on ten, what can he say. He slides two fingers through your wetness, dragging what he collected up your clit and circling it making you arch your back. “Gotta say, the feelings definitely mutual.”

He kisses you again, and this time it feels like something else. Like a confession, a proposal of some sort. It’s passionate, overwhelming in the best way, intimate — as his fingers start to move, stroking your clit and making your legs tremble in adrenaline.

As you writhe and moan beneath him, his lips swallowing as many as he can, unable to stay away— his other hand starts to slide up your work shirt. You wished you’d been wearing something sexier the first time the two of you got it on, but clearly it sort of did something for him.

If the speed at which he located and stimulated your clit wasn’t enough to convince you that the boy definitely had experience, it would be the way his hand slides around to your back, unhooking your bra singlehandedly. You can’t help but giggle through your whimpers and you’re not sure why, but he smiles too— murmuring “Party trick.” against your mouth. The smile is wiped from your face when his digit glides around your hole, as if lapping up all the wetness and then pushing in— all the way to the knuckle.

You moan and tense up a little, it’s been a while and your own fingers were definitely smaller than his. At your reaction. he pulls back only slightly— a look of concern poorly masked on his face.

“Are you… have you uh, been with a guy before? Or is this…”

“One guy, a while back. Not good at all.” You sigh and he nods patiently, lips twitching up when he starts to move his finger and your eyes flutter involuntarily. “Think I can work with that.”

He twists his wrist a little, working you with just one finger as he paws at your free’d tit, sucking on your tongue. You moan, the sound of your own wetness having its own presence in the room and he hums, pulling back to look down at the way you’re sucking his middle finger in.

“So pretty, you’ve been holdin’ out on me baby. Should be a crime to hide this cute little pussy, damn.” He whispers and you whine in preemptive embarrassment to the way you clench around him, making him chuckle again. “Oh yeah? She liked that, huh?”

“More, please—” You nearly choke on your own swallow as you lift your head, looking down at the way he’s got you spread out. Reaching downwards you gently tug at his wrist, not quite sure of the aim. “N—‘nother one.” You pant. Jeez, already totally fucked dumb and he hasn’t even made you cum. You were going to give JJ Maybank an even bigger head.

He doesn’t say anything, just sinks two fingers into your cunt and you make a noise he’s only heard in amateur porn videos from Twitter, dick usually nestled in his fist. He presses his lips together in a quiet ‘Mhm’ and your hands are back on him, desperate once more to consume him wholly.

Your nails rake through his hair as he finds his rhythm, tonguing at the cut on his lip with wide observant eyes that flicker between your face and your cunt. “Look at you go.” He responds to a moan— but JJ being JJ knows he can do better, which is why he stops thumbing at your nipple and pushes his hand into the bed instead, using the weight on his arm to start sliding down your body.

The first kiss against your stomach catches you off guard, and if you weren’t so dizzy from pleasure you might wanna think about it more. He repositions his hand, stroking your inner thigh as he pushes them wider apart and shushes you, now face to face with your glistening pussy. His fingers slow their movements for a moment.

“She’s real pretty.” His fingers slide out so he can make messy doing of spreading your folds with his fingers, licking his already wet lips.

“Thank you.” You mewl happily, eyes watery as they gaze down at him like he hung the moon and stars for you.

“You’re so sweet.” He smiles genuinely and fairly innocently up at you as he strokes your thigh affectionately— before of course counteracting that by shooting out a thick bubbling glob of spit directly onto your clit, making your jaw drop. Lifting your thighs, he murmurs. “So sweet you get me hard. S’kinda unfair… at work.” Before he chases the spit with the flat of his tongue, bringing the muscle up to then wrap his lips around your clit and suck.

No noise can leave you for a few seconds, brows furrowed and jaw dropped in a silent moan until he forces the noise out of you by stuffing his fingers back inside your weeping hole.

“Oh— oh, JJ!” Your toes curl and in record time you feel your first orgasm approaching. It’s different from the ones you give yourself, it’s a ball of fire in your stomach and heat licking up your spine, eyes even watering at the exertion.

“Yeah say my name, c’mon.” He coaches you, moving his tongue faster like he’s competing with himself to make you cum.

“JJ, mmpph— feels— it feels—” You nearly sob.

“How’s it feel?”

“M’gonna—”

“Cum, babydoll. I got you.”

White noise. Like, almost the sounds of waves crashing. It doesn’t really feel like you’re a person anymore — but one thing is for certain. You have never cum like that in your life. You must of been on autopilot, moaning and whining pathetically, slurring out nonsense and maybe a twisted version of his name— but when you come back to Earth you’re near hyperventilating.

You slap at his shoulders with shaky hands because his lips are still latched onto your pulsing nub, fingers still squelching and working the release out of you. “Ok—okay, Jayj— please!” You let out a pathetic little cry and he eases up, pushing himself off you with a satisfied hum and grinning cheekily, letting you push out his fingers. You suck in shaky breaths, letting him soak in the moment by bringing his fingers to his mouth and cleaning them off.

“Better than anything I make, can tell you that.” He jokes. “Taste that shit, s’fuckin’ delicious.” He eases his fingers into your mouth, letting you suck off the remains with a humiliated mewl before removing them, leaning over you to kiss you. God, it’s embarrassing how much you soaked his face. Really, how it ended up on his forehead— you wasn’t sure. You were too focused on your own taste he was forcing into your mouth with his tongue, purposeful and cocky, making sure to roll his own wet muscle over your tastebuds so that you never forget who made you cum that hard.

It’s then, and only then he realises you’re freaking a little and lets you off for a break, cupping your cheek as he pulls back. “Are you good?” He chuckles and you inhale deeply, still trembling. You’re not sure what he does, because everything’s all hazy but he manhandles you a little until he’s cradling you in strong biceps, brow creased. “Did I go too hard? I may— may have gotten a lil’ carried away there. My apologies.” He holds up a hand that wasn’t cradling you.

“Was just— haven’t — it’s never felt like that before. Never felt that good.” You admit, which brings back his dimple and that sickeningly soft look in his eyes.

“What can I say, you deserve the best there is when it comes to receiving orgasms, and I,” He presses his mouth back on yours, kissing you between each word. “Am the best, there, is, at, giving them.” On the last kiss you lean into it, holding him there, as you’re ambushed by an unexpected feeling.

Some kind of surge in your stomach, like butterflies but bigger, your heart pounding. If you weren’t so dazed you’d be worried the L word was coming to doom you early. The feeling made you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him back ontop of you, jean clad bulge pressed back against your sensitive heat as you moan, high pitched and happy against him.

He pulls back to make some kind of joke, maybe a comment about your recovery time but you beat him to the chase, staring up into his dilated pupils with love hearts occupying your own. “Wanna make you feel good, Jayj.”

“You—how—”

You suckle on your bottom lip, hand bravely travelling down to cup the bulge that was calling to attention in his jeans. His breath catches in his throat, lips parting to let out a quiet and surprised groan.

“I’ve never—” Your face is hot again. “Never given a blow job before but—”

“Next time. Yeah? If you’ll let me I kinda just… wanna fuck you.” He smirks and hides it in your jawline, almost too shy in the moment to look you in the eye. Your brows furrow with a silent whimper at his words.

“Next time?” You mewl happily like you’re floating on air. At this he pulls back, a hopeful grin.

“If you’ll have me, that is. Figured I should take you out on a real date.”

You don’t have time to respond, he doesn’t let you— perhaps out of nerves. Instead, he’s working your panties that had been pushed to the side down your legs, followed by pulling your tshirt over your head. “Peekaboo, there she is.” He smiles quietly and you giggle, thinking back to the time at the locker where he pulled his shirt over your head. You toss your loose bra away from the bed, now laying bare beneath him.

He sits back on his knees, hands instinctually lifting to his head like he wanted to fix his hat, a habit you noticed of his that would occur when he’s overwhelmed or in awe. He settles on running his hands through the blonde tresses instead, big goofy smile on his face.

“Holy shit. I mean like — holy shit.” He breathes and you turn your head shyly, then reaching out to tug at his shirt.

“You too.” You gesture to his shirt and he offs it within a second, not wanting to look away from your naked body from a minute. Once his hands are free again, he’s sliding them up to your chest, greedily massaging your tits in both hands.

“Fuck, you are so fine. I mean like I think I nearly came in my pants.” He admits quietly and you tug at his belt, having to remind him of what you were actually doing.

“C’mon, Jayj— want you to fuck me!” You whine, all doe eyes and pouts, not even registering how pathetic and desperate the sentiment was — only making his cock throb harder. He buckles slightly, like it physically pains him and he nods quickly, fumbling with his belt until he could pull his jeans down just enough to release himself.

It’s long, pink and pretty like you expected — pearly precum gathering at his tip. He grasps it infront of you, eyes flickering between yours and his dick, suddenly looking hesitant. “So uh, this is what m’ working with.” He announces awkwardly, overthinking everything — but it doesn’t matter because you’re wrapping a delicate hand round it, guiding him to your entrance.

“Woah there missy, okay uh— hold your horses. This job don’t pay either of us enough for you to get knocked up.” He side rolls off the bed hobbling over to the dresser for his wallet, retrieving a condom and returning. You would have laughed, but you get all embarrassed and teary eyed about how overly eager you’d been.

“Sorry. I wasn’t thinkin’.” You pout and his eyes flutter up to yours, kneeling between your legs.

“Hey? You’re good.” He tears the packet open with his teeth and you clench around nothing. “You’re good.” He repeats, stroking your thigh as he eases the rubber onto his cock. “Still up for it, babe?”

You bite your lip with a sniffly giggle, nodding and he grins himself, laying on top of you to press a sloppy kiss to your mouth. He pulls away, and he lines himself up before slowly easing himself in.

Your legs around his waist hug him tighter and your toes curl at the stretch, wincing. “You got it.” He encourages, voice breathier like it teetered on a moan which only made you flutter around him.

“S’big, JJ.” You whimper and he huffs against your neck.

“I— thanks.”

Once he’s in, he’s in — and you can see how his fingers and tongue were only just the appetiser. He fucks like it’s the last time, like his life depends on it— rolling his hips, his hands somehow in ten places at once, his tongue — oh his tongue, it’s in your mouth, then down your neck, then looping around your nipple making you clench and whine and cry.

He starts to speed up, unable to control himself as his hands slide under your lower back to hold you, thumbing at your waist. “Shit, shit, shit.” He grits his teeth, having to contain himself there and then from cumming when he sees the way your tits bounce beneath him. “Takin’ that shit so good, huh? Jesus baby.” He wrinkles his nose in exertion, panting.

“S’just so good, JJ— mmph!”

“Yeah? Y’gonna think of this everytime I see you, shit, everytime I see you in the kitchen? Givin’ me those big sexy fuck me eyes everytime I hand you a plate? Shit baby, pretty little waitress, huh. N’ you’re all mine now. So freakin’ lucky.” Hes rambling, nonsensical— already pussy drunk.

You’re in ecstasy. Not only from how he felt, but from how you were making him feel. It occurred to you that no one seems to talk about the validation you receive from finally getting to fuck your crush, watching them come apart over you. You wanted more, wanted to impress him.

In a trance, you push at his stomach, shuffling upwards so he reluctantly pulls out, concern on his clammy face. You fumble, rolling onto your front, sticking your ass in the air, looking over your shoulder.

“Please.” You plead, and you’re not sure what for— but it works, the blonde puffing out his cheeks with a dramatic exhale, lining himself behind you and pushing in. “Gonna be the death of me, babydoll.”

You may have overestimated your abilities, crying pathetically when he bottoms out, his cock feeling ten times it’s size from this angle.

“Arch that back baby, there you go, just like that.” He whispers, pressing down on your lower back making you sob. You fuck back against him, pressing your cheek to your pillow, fingers curling into it for security. “Good girl, that’s right.” He drops a hand beneath you, finding your clit once more and as a surprise ambush, you cum— suddenly and embarrassingly, gushing around his cock leaving a ring of cream at his base.

He doesn’t stop this time, giving you a moment to catch your breath as you whine and mewl like a distressed kitten. No, if anything — he goes harder, his own release on the precipice. The bed is creaking now, wooden headboard smacking the wall as he leans his weight on the back of your arms, pelvis slapping against your ass. Little squeaks are punched out of you with each thrust, and when you think he’s reached a crescendo— he slows.

“Fuck, fuck turn around baby. Need to see that pretty face to cum, c’mon.” He pants in one breath, fighting you back onto your back and sliding back in with ease this time, pushing one knee up to your chest and rolling his hips, eyes squeezed shut.

He tries to keep them open, eyes everywhere— your tits, your big wet eyes, your lips. Like he can’t help himself, he sloppily cups your cheek, a thumb brushing your bottom lip. Wanting to help him along in your post orgasm brain-fog, your tongue peeks out, trying to catch the finger as he bounces you on his cock. Once you’ve got it, you wrap your lips around it, sucking with devotion and love hearts in your eyes.

“Oh my— god” He whimpers, finally dropping his cheek to your chest as he ruts into you, spilling his seed. You moan at the feeling, scratching at his back and fluttering around him. The butterflies return.

After ten minutes, you’re laying on his thick bicep— his blunt fingernails scratching your scalp at the bottom of your skull. The dryer beeps distantly, signifying that it’s completed its cycle.

Maybank is staring at you, like he’s trying to memorise your face, like it’s the last time he’ll ever see you. An amused smile breaks out onto your face, trying to hide it in his arm as you press a kiss there. At this, a grin spreads on his own face, questioning.

“You know… I do actually have an electric toothbrush.”

“I freaking knew it.”

#linecook!jj #jj maybank fic 🎀

2K notes · View notes

aemondsbabe · 1 year ago

Text

Claimant

summary: you've been betrothed to jace and aemond simply can't have that

pairing: aemond targaryen x sister!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, reader is described as looking like alicent (coppery hair, wide eyes) but no other descriptors are used, dark!aemond, targcest, incest, knife play (aemond has a thing for knives idk), knife fucking? she fucks the handle idk, no blood/injury, slight coercion, slight degradation, a very viserys (GoT) coded aemond, slight dubcon but the reader is here for it, fingering, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 2.3k

a/n: i genuinely don't know what to say about this. i got inspiration from this last night and became a woman possessed!

check out part 2 & part 3!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!

creds to @tomblythsgf for the gif!

Your skin prickles, the hair at the nape of your neck standing on end as you feel his gaze on you yet again, making your heart hammer in your chest as you nod along to whatever Lord Tyland is saying, your lips stretched into a polite grin while he drones on and on about something or other. The sweet, heady taste of Dornish wine fills your mouth as you sip from your cup and your eyes flick up as you chance a quick glance to the other end of the great hall.

A small gasp leaves your lips as your eyes meet his, one lilac and one veiled sapphire, both filled with barely contained rage as he sulks in a darkened corner by the doors.

“Are you feeling well, princess?” Tyland questions and it’s only then you realize how hard you’re breathing, chest heaving as you pant.

“Of course,” you manage a tight-lipped, courteous smile, “The excitement of the day must be getting to me, if you’ll excuse me.” Quickly, you make your way back to the main table in the center of the room, smiling gratefully as you lay your eyes on your husband-to-be.

“Prince Jacaerys,” you smile, setting your cup down on the long wooden table, “Would you do me the honor of joining me for another dance?”

His dark eyes light up as you approach and he quickly nods, “How am I meant to say no to my future bride?” He chuckles, standing and offering you a hand, which you gladly accept.

You try your best to focus on the music, the crowd, the loud hum of the conversations that fill the hall – anything but your older brother’s gaze that still bores into you. You can practically feel his rage multiply tenfold as the brunettes wraps an arm around your waist, your throat dry as you grasp his shoulder, fingers digging into the fine silk tunic he wears.

“Are you enjoying the feast, princess?” Jace asks as the two of you move gracefully across the floor, the steps of the dance thankfully long-since committed to memory.

“How could I not?” You smile as he twirls you, your long auburn locks swaying against the satin of the cloak that flows down your back before they settle across your shoulders once more, “This is a most joyous day for both of our families.”

“Of course,” the prince nods thoughtfully, though you can’t help but notice his tawny eyes are clouded with a certain sadness, “What I mean to say is, are you happy to be marrying me?”

Your lips part to answer, though you don’t manage to get a word out before a strong hand clasps your shoulder, your steps halting immediately. You don’t need to turn your head to see who it is, although the sour look on Jace’s face clears any lingering doubt you may have had in an instant.

“Nephew,” Aemond speaks lowly over your shoulder, standing so close to you that your back is nearly pressed against his chest, “Could I borrow my sister for a dance?”

The prince steps back with an annoyed sigh, shooting you an apologetic look before nodding at your brother, “Of course, uncle,” his voice is monotone as he speaks, though his eyes brighten once more as they land on you yet again, “Until later, princess.” He whispers, dipping his head down to press a soft kiss against the back of your hand; Aemond all but growls behind you.

Your older brother sweeps in as soon as Jace’s back is turned, tightly wrapping an arm around your waist as the two of you continue the dance from where you’d left off. “You know I hate seeing you with him,” Aemond rasps, threading the fingers of one of his hands together with yours, “You belong to me, sweet sister, no one else.”

Your heart twists in your chest and you know deep within yourself that his words are true, not that it matters. “There is nothing I can do, brother,” you whisper, your eyes flitting over to where your mother and grandsire sit, “I had no choice in the matter, you know this.”

Aemond hums lowly in his throat as the two of you sway to the soft orchestral music, his hand untangling itself from yours to grasp your chin, tilting your head up to face him. His lilac eye all but burns with fire as he gazes down at you, “You should be mine, you are mine,” he seethes, words hissed through clenched teeth, “Our fool of a mother should’ve known better than to shackle you to some bast–”

“Do not speak ill of mother,” you admonish, shaking your head free of his grasp, “You know she had as little say in the matter as I did.”

He huffs a quiet laugh out through his nose, teeth gleaming dangerously as he smiles ruefully, the hand at the small of your back tightening still. “You don’t actually want the Strong bastard,” he whispers, careful to hardly breathe the treacherous words in the crowded hall, “Do you, little one?”

Little one. You shiver at the name, one he had called you since childhood, blushing as he smiles knowingly. “Of course not–!”

“Do I need to remind you who you belong to?” He whispers hoarsely, eye flitting to your lips before he can stop himself, “Of where your true loyalty shall always lie?”

Before you can answer, he’s leading you from the hall and you willingly follow, his dutiful shadow as always, grasping tightly to his arm as he leads you through the familiar winding corridors of the keep until you come to his chambers at last.

You gasp as he all but pushes you through the entryway before slamming the heavy wooden door closed behind you. Your wide eyes follow him as he circles you like a shark circles its prey, smirking as he looks you up and down, his intense gaze igniting a fire within your belly.

“Tell me, sweet sister,” Aemond rasps as he comes to a stop before you, one hand grasping your jaw as his lips skirt over your neck, “Does the Strong bastard still believe you to be a maiden?”

You whimper softly, the feel of his soft lips against your skin sending you into a tailspin as they have so many times before, “Yes, brother.” You answer simply through a gasp, shivering as his teeth graze against you.

Aemond chuckles lowly in his throat as his hands make quick work of your gown, his deft fingers undoing various buttons and ties until the fine silks sink to a pool at your feet, leaving you bare before him.

He takes a second to appreciate you, his eye roaming over the soft curves of you he hasn’t seen in so long — ever since your mother had gotten wind of the maids quietly bringing moon tea to your chambers.

Without a word, he leaves you and saunters over to his bed. You watch him curiously as you stand on the soft rug spread over the floor in front of the fireplace, a cold shiver running down your spine as he pulls his dagger from his belt and traces the long, silver blade of it as he turns back to you.

“I cannot be so bold tonight as to claim you with my cock, little one,” he whispers, grinning at the blush blooming over your cheeks, “But I will have a piece of you even still.”

“Aemond,” you start, voice shaking even as you feel slick beginning to coat the insides of your thighs as puzzle pieces snap together in your mind; you haven’t played this game with him in a very long time, “Pl—“

Your words are cut off with a shriek when the sound of fabric ripping echoes throughout his chamber as Aemond pierces his plush mattress with the dagger, leaving the dark leather hilt protruding from the fabric.

“Come,” he beckons you over with an outstretched hand, “Prove your devotion to me, my Strong girl.”

Your lower lip wobbles slightly at the double meaning of his words, the fire within you burning bright as you move to him without a second thought, determined to show your brother where your loyalty still lies.

Aemond laughs softly as he helps you onto the bed, always stunned at how easily you give into him. He holds you steady, his warm hands on your bare hips as you kneel over the knife’s hilt. “You have always been mine,” he murmurs, one hand trailing up your body until it’s cupping one of your breasts, “After tonight I’ll make sure it remains that way.”

Before you have time to question him, he presses you lower and a whimper leaves your lips as your center brushes against the handle of his blade, the smooth leather gliding seamlessly against your slick folds as you move your hips over it.

“Oh, Aemond,” you squeak out, eyes fluttering shut as your pearl moves against the hilt, a whine leaving you as you move your hips, trying to position it at your entrance despite yourself, “Please, brother.” You whimper, growing desperate to be filled, even with this part of him.

Aemond shushes you softly and abandones your breast to grasp at your hip again, pressing soft kisses to your neck as takes heed of your pleas and helps you lower yourself down. His cock stirs within the leather of his trousers, already straining against the fabric as he watches your sweet cunt swallow the hilt of his precious dagger.

“That’s it,” he coaxes, guiding your hips with one hand as the other snakes up to your throat, smirking as he feels your moan vibrate against his palm, “There’s my strong girl.”

Your eyes flutter shut as you lower yourself down fully, sheathing the dagger within you. The smooth leather of the hilt presses against your walls deliciously, the various curves and bumps pressing into each sweet spot within you with dizzying precision.

You cannot help the whimper that tumbles from your lips at Aemond’s words, your walls clench at the leather shaft as you begin to move, impaling yourself on the stem again and again as your brother’s lilac she watches you with awe, his own chest heaving as he notices the way your slick shines against the leather, glowing in the soft candlelight of his chambers.

“Our sweet nephew will never have you,” he says, shaking his head as his eye once again meets yours, “I’m the only one who should see you this way, writhing and wanting.”

You nod your head as you lean against him, fingers bunched in the fabric of the black tunic he wears. “Only you, brother,” you whisper, capturing his lips in a frantic kiss as your movements grow quicker, “I don’t want anyone else.”

Aemond gasps against your lips as you grasp his length through his trousers, rubbing over the bulge before desperately pulling at the laces of his breeches. He helps you, taking pity on your shaking hands, and groans lowly into your mouth when your hand wraps around his length, quickly stroking him from root to tip.

One of the decorative curves of the handle brushes perfectly over the sensitive spot within you each time you buck against the dagger and you melt against his chest as you swirl your hips, grinding yourself on it.

Aemond is all but animalistic as he groans and growls and licks into your mouth desperately before pulling away from you with a sigh, only to press hot kisses to the column of your throat; one hand once again cups your breast, his thumb teasing over your pert nipple, as the other leaves your neck to tap over your aching pearl.

“Gods!” You gasp loudly, stroking over his thick, pulsing cock with one hand, keeping time with your hips as you sink over and over onto the handle of his dagger, your other hand weaves into hair at the nape of his neck, eager for something to anchor yourself with.

“I would sooner gouge my eye out than let him take you,” Aemond groans, his own hips rutting into your touch as the head of his cock leaks steadily between your bodies, “You are mine, I will not stop until it is so.”

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” you pant, the fire in your belly threatening to consume you as your brother’s fingers firmly circle your bud, “Aemond, I—“

“Let me have it,” he grunts, determined not to finish until he sees you breaking apart in his arms, “Give yourself to me, little one, let me have it.” He coaxes, doubling his efforts on your sensitive pearl.

All at once, your high washes over you and go limp against him, a high keening sound escaping from your lips as your walls pulse over the hilt of his blade, pleasure zapping you like lightning as you coat the leather with your release, your slick dripping onto the mattress below you.

You’re so lost in the fog of your own pleasure that you hardly hear Aemond grunt against your throat, muting his own sounds of pleasure as he bites into your soft skin. His cock twitches between you, his thick seed coating both of you as it drips down your hand.

The two of you remain still for a moment, your brother holding you protectively against him as he smoothes a hand up and down your back. His kisses you softly as he helps you pull yourself off of his dagger before he lays you on his bed, his fingers combing through your coppery hair as it splays around your head like a halo on his pillow.

“Stay,” he commands softly, rising from you and plucking his knife from his mattress, groaning appreciatively at the way your juices still shine on the handle, still warm against his palm from where it had been so deeply pressed within you, “I will be back shortly.”

“Where are you going?” You question, watching as he sheaths the dagger once more into the small scabbard hanging from his belt before he tucks his softening cock back into his trousers, agile fingers quickly re-tying the laces.

“To make you mine.”

tagged lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0, @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @demirunner @eponaartemisa, @trshgyn

(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)

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ode2rin · 11 months ago

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SAY YES TO ME ~ ❀ ·˚

𓆩♡𓆪 in which: your husband, reo, just knows exactly how to make you say yes.

For the first time in his life, Reo had never been happier to be the CEO of his company.

He couldn't recall feeling as alive even when he first inherited the position. While he appreciated the benefits and authority, nothing compared to the freedom of controlling his own time.

As soon as the clock struck 12 pm, Reo sprang to his feet, driven by a sense of purpose akin to a man on a mission. His determined strides echoed against the perfectly marbled tiles of his office floor as he made his way to the elevator. It was five hours earlier than his usual clock-out time, but today was an exception.

Because today was Valentine’s Day— and he had better plans than sitting around skimming through papers that hardly made any sense anymore because his mind was already consumed with thoughts of you, as if he didn’t spend most of his time doing exactly that anyway.

Before finally leaving his office floor, Reo made a beeline for his secretary’s desk to ensure the finishing touches were being made according to his instructions.

“Everything must be ready before we arrive,” he declared to his secretary, his tone more of a command than a request. This was serious business, after all. In fact, none of the investor deals he signed earlier this day would measure up to the importance of this one task at hand.

“Yes, sir,” his secretary replied cautiously.

Satisfied, he stepped into the elevator. His eagerness to see you was so evident— anyone can tell. He wasn’t hiding it, not even trying one bit to do so. From the way he pressed the lobby button twice, checked his watch incessantly for the past few hours, and tapped his wingtip against the elevator floor as if its speed could hasten his journey home— everyone can tell that his very own company building was the last place on earth he wanted to be.

Well, he supposed anyone with someone precious waiting for them at home would understand his seemingly pathetic behavior.

Pathetic, lovesick, whipped— you’ve reduced him to every synonym for such.

Not that it concerns him; what's more concerning is that he's not bothered by any perception tied to it. If he hadn't outgrown that teenage angst and was still chasing bits to fuel his ego, then it would have been a different story. He would have been hypersensitive to what bystanders thought of him. Now, older and wiser, he couldn’t care less about what they meant to prying eyes or big tabloids. None of their opinions were yours, so none of them mattered.

The journey back home was tenfold more insufferable than the time spent in the elevator. He kept his eye on his chauffeur in the rear-view mirror, and if he squinted enough, he could see the beads of nervous sweat forming at the poor man’s temple. He sighed to himself, seemingly reprimanding his own improper behavior. Hell, what was happening to him? He wasn't even an impatient man to begin with. All because of Valentine’s Day—all because he couldn’t wait to see you.

He got it real bad, as his longtime best friend would like to say. One he couldn't find it in himself to deny. It was true, anyway.

He didn't know when or where it started, but one random night four years ago, he woke up in a cold sweat, and the realization that he was hell deep in love with you gnawed on his center to his throat. So in love it set his heart on fire, all while being in love with the one person who lit the match.

Rumors were true— love never aligned with logic, intricate planning, none of what he excelled at as a businessman. And so, he abandoned logic and acted exactly as his heart had been urging him to.

The very moment the sun peeked over the horizon that fateful day, he was on his feet, his jet waiting to fly him to wherever the finest diamond engagement rings reside.

It was the best decision he had ever made in his life because if he hadn’t, then he wouldn’t be standing at the entrance of your shared home, his grin widening with each approaching step he hears. You’re bustling around the house just to welcome him home—so, no, he couldn’t have it any other way. The mere thought of doing things differently made his heart leap into his throat, while a hollow feeling settled in his chest.

“Love! Welcome home!” you greet him, your lively voice warming Reo’s heart as it makes its way to him.

Even before you could throw your arms around his shoulders and kiss him senselessly to welcome him home, you're met with a bundle of red roses he had taken from his back.

“You shouldn’t have bothered,” you blushed, resembling the vibrant flowers he bought on the way home.

“Nothing is ever a bother when it comes to you,” he mused, big amethyst eyes sparkling back at you.

Ever the sweet talker, you looked at your husband who was now peering over you and the roses you’re cradling.

“Okay, Mr. Charming. To what occasion do I owe this?” you play pretend, your voice tinged with playful curiosity.

Instead of an immediate response, you felt his hands traveling to the small of your back, pulling you close against his embrace. His lips grazed your cheek, before whispering in your ear, “Be my Valentine?”

Here he goes again, you thought. “I’ve been married to you for the last four years, if I remember correctly,” you pointed out to him, keeping your smile to yourself.

That’s not a yes. Huffing, Reo pulled back from your hug to look you in the eye, “Your point being? There are no rules in marriage that say I can no longer ask you on Valentine’s day– if I remember correctly,” and he even had the pettiness to mock your tone.

“Wow, my husband is a bit sassy today, isn’t he?”

My husband, he repeats in his mind, and just like that, all sassiness and pettiness came flying straight out of the window. “I love being your husband,” he blurted out, totally unrelated to your previous banter.

“Oh, really, now?” you teased, feigning the warmth it sent to your chest.

He does, truly and definitely. A man like him is widely known for what he has– for the possessions under his name and for the power it holds. Yet here he was, wrapped around your arms, and suddenly, being your husband has been the best he has been called and known for.

There was no weight, no expectations, and no pressure tied to it— just love dripping in every letter. There’s no one he would rather be.

“Yeah, am I doing a great job?” smiling at you, he asks, “I’m not losing the charms, am I?”

“Trust me, you’re very much good at it,” you fondly brushed the strands of hair covering his eyes, “and you’re not losing the charms,” you quoted.

“Really? So if I were to ask again, would you say yes?”

“With or without your ‘charms’, you know exactly how to make me say yes.”

Reo let out a hearty laugh at your remark. “You’re right,” his fingers reached out to your left ring finger, where his oath of forever lay glimmering.

God— he really did that. He put a ring on it. It was his name next to yours, his rings on your hand, his bed you share, and his forever you spend with. Four years and more to come, but Reo was certain he would never get over it.

Before his rationality left him and wrecked his own plans, Reo caressed your back, his hands moving dangerously low down your hip and giving it a squeeze, “Still wanna hear it from you though,” he mumbled softly against your lips, “So, what do you say in letting this poor man take you on a date as his valentine?”

You drew closer to his hold, your arms finding their place around his neck, hands occupied with the flowers now resting on his back, “I say,” you pressed your lips as if trying to think, “I’d like some kiss and maybe hear a please first—”

You couldn’t even finish teasing him because in a heartbeat, Reo closed the distance, seizing your lips in a fierce, hungry kiss drowning out the sound of words with an intensity that left no room for second guessing his invitation. Nothing about Mikage Reo was silent and subtle– not even when he kissed you. It had to be breathless, deep, urgent, and parting your lips in surrender.

His hands found their way, trailing with purpose along your spine, while his other traced the curve of your jaw with a feather-light touch. Teasing fingers then tangled in your hair, pulling you closer, desperate for more.

He pulled back first, leaving you light-headed. He flashed you one smirk, lips almost melting into yours.

“Please?”

Fuck. You didn’t need to be asked thrice. You nodded your head aimlessly, earning a chuckle from him. “Go then, pack some clothes. Our jet is waiting for us.”

“Jet? Did you mean car?” Where the hell was he taking you to use a jet for?

Seemingly reading the question on your face, he answered, “I know what I said, love. We’re going to Paris.”

“What?!” you exclaimed, squirming from his hold completely, “We could just dine somewhere close, Reo.”

Now, who told you he only had dinner in mind? Who did you take him for? You shouldn’t be surprised anymore— there’s nothing in this world that would come close to the satisfaction he got from spending lavishly on you. It was a reminder that he could and most certainly would give you everything you wanted. “You don’t like Paris?”

You tried to reason, heavy on the try so it seemed because you soon realized it was a mistake clarifying your point, “I mean, I do but—”

“I think I heard enough, love,” a sheepish smile formed on his lips, “I’ll wait for you here, alright?”

You rolled your eyes at him before retreating to your shared bedroom to prepare for freaking Paris. Of course, you're going. There’s really no winning against him, you’ve known that ever since. He longed to prove to you that he always had the irresistible charm of making you say yes.

Not that you'd ever thought of saying no. The ring weighing your finger down could attest to that.

note. been seeing people saying their partners no longer ask them valentines bec they're tgt alr... reo would never do that btw do better

another note (pls tolerate me). i'm pretty sure i'm fighting for my life when this gets posted (it's qd!!) so here's me wishing all of you a happy hearts day 🩷

#💌 valentine's special '24 #mikage reo #reo mikage #mikage reo x reader #reo mikage x reader #mikage reo fluff #mikage reo x y/n #blue lock imagines #blue lock x reader #bllk imagines #bllk x reader #blue lock fluff

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jarofstyles · 1 year ago

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Letting Loose

Another installment of best friend’s dadrry!!

Now.... Listen. It's filth. Straight up, but their dynamic is building so you can see some stuff starting... hehe. PLEASEEEE let us know if you want more of them. xoxo

Check out our Patreon for 100+ exclusive writings and early access!

Part 3

Reminder that Y/N is an adult and met him as one too <3

warnings- smut, choking, spit play (sorta), daddy kink, age gap, degradation, name calling, mention of ex, jealousrry, forbidden/taboo relationship, breeding kink xoxo

----

Y/N knew what she was doing.

She was taunting him. Teasing him. Making him mad. Harry was a possessive man, and both of them knew it. He had declared her body as his multiple times, now becoming every time they had sex. And ever since Lia had gotten a girlfriend, she had been out of the house a lot more- which meant that Y/N had been in the house without the risk of her friend catching her on her knees for her father.

Harry was a generous man in all capacities. He had let her stay when her apartment flooded, had always provided food and paid for her when they all went out, left money out for them to order pizza, even paying for their trip to Cancun after graduation. But it seemed his generosity knew no bounds when it came to Y/N, unfiltered.

His hands snuck underneath his shirt, mouth connecting to her bruised neck as she finished applying her nightly skincare. Lia had gone on a ‘mountain retreat’ with her girlfriend last night and wasn’t due home for another 4 days, which Harry was taking full and complete advantage of.

With an empty house, having Y/N there felt a bit like a different universe. Harry had been indulging in his touches, grabbing at her and pulling her into his lap, swimming with her in the pool, holding her to his chest while she made breakfast. He was borderline clingy, but he knew that’s how he was when he liked someone. Attached at the hip.

When he got his divorce, he had strayed far away from this sort of thing. He had his one night stands but ultimately had decided to lay off if anything romantic since his marriage had ended up being a disaster. Lia had been the one good thing to come out of it- and he knew he was playing a dangerous game, sleeping with her best friend, but it was more than that.

That was something else that scared him. This girl, this sweet woman who had come into his life in such a way that should make him take 10 steps back, had him closer to her than ever. Closer than he had allowed himself to be with anyone else. She was just… refreshing. Invigorating. Their conversations had been enjoyable pre-sex, her mind always impressing him with the things that came out of her mouth- but now that he got to see her with almost no boundaries? His admiration for the woman had increased tenfold.

Just laying in bed talking, bringing up moral questions and things that she believed, their fingers lazily linked together as she talked with her hands and moved them about- it was one of the things he loved the most. Then there were moments like the current one, where he hadn’t given her a moment alone in the bathroom.

“H, please.” She hummed, taking the peach face toner and placing it down. “You’re making me spill.” His mouth on her neck had distracted her from the task at hand, shakily applying the toner to a cotton round as she tried to finish her routine before moisturizer. It was a very strict and thorough one.

“M’sorry.” He sighed, pulling away from her neck but making no motion fo take his hands out under her shirt. Her skin was warm and silky, stomach clenching as his hands sprawled out over it. “Just… gets to me when I see my marks on you.” He rested his cheek against hers, looking at their reflection in the mirror.

While it was apparent that he was older than her, they looked.. good. He had been surprised the first time he saw it, how she had melted into his grip and blinked into the reflection with a nod. It didn’t look like a father and daughter- thank fucking god- but it looked like they were a good looking couple. One that people would perhaps understand the gap considering they were both good looking and Harry wasn’t an old bag quite yet. He did have some graying at the temples, but Y/N had let him know how much she liked the idea of him being a ‘silver Fox’.

“I know.” She peeped, looking at them in the mirror. A dark mark resided on the curve of her jaw, the other hidden under the skirt and on her thighs. “Can’t be so careless when Lia gets back, though. Unless you want me to make up a whole story about some guy I’m seeing again. We both know how much Daddy doesn’t like that.” Her tone was teasing, a faux pout taunting him about the subject.

So, maybe, possibly, he had fucked her within an inch of her life the last time she had used that excuse. That she had blamed it on one of those stupid boys she met at the bars and said they’d gone out and done the deed in the car when in reality, the origin of the marks had been from a few days prior when she had been at Harry’s office riding him on his couch. Risky, all things considered.

His jaw set as he pulled his hands out from her top, turning her around so he could look into her eyes. “None of that. You don’t have to get so… detailed in those stories either.” He huffed. “We both know that none of those boys could give you half of what Daddy gives you. None of the orgasms, none of the pretty gifts, none of the sweetness. So I don’t want t’hear about these fake hookups.”

Y/N liked this. When he got huffy and possessive, when he got the fiery glare and clenched jaw. She loved to taunt him and make him show her just how much he hated it. “No? Those boys can’t give me what Daddy can?” Her fingers trailed over his chest, tapping over his necklace. “That’s what your appeal is, isn’t it? Being a real man. Giving me all the things they haven’t gotten the experience to do. Even if it makes you a dirty old man to show me, you will.” Her eyes sparkled with mirth, fully expecting the next move.

Harry grabbed her hips and hauled her up to sit on the sink top before tangling his hand in her hair. “Watch it.” His warning made her shiver slightly, head tilted back by the firm grip he had in her hair. “Just hours ago you were on your knees begging for this ‘dirty old man’s cock down your throat.”

Y/N keened, a giggle leaving her throat as she grabbed at his shirt and pulled him closer, legs spreading so he could stand in between them. She loved to rile him up, to watch the flame burn inside of him. Getting his possessive reaction, this jealousy fueled her. She wouldn’t go off and do anything with anyone else- there was no desire or reason to. Harry had fully satisfied her every need. It was just nice to feel desired. To see him bristle at the thought of anyone else touching her because he wanted her all to himself. “I did. And I enjoyed every second of it.” Her voice was still slightly hoarse from the act. “Don’t need to get so jealous. You know I will end up with you. M’just covering for all the marks you’re giving me.”

“Don’t like thinking about it. Y’go out and reject all of them, I know you do. But the idea of it irritates me.” He exhaled, feeling her slightly damp fingers brush under his own shirt. Her head tilted back, her face bare from any makeup and glowing from the rigorous skincare routine she had just performed and pouted slightly up at him. “Don’t give me that lip, Petal.” His thumb caught it, tugging it down slightly before it snapped back into place. “Just like it when you remember that you’re Daddy’s girl, is all.”

The softened tone made her stomach dance, leaning into his hand with a content sigh. He took such good care of her. Y/N knew that she was playing a risky game but this sort of shit was worth it. “I am. M’your girl.” She peeked up at him with her own hazy eyes, letting her fingers catch on the waistband of his shorts. “Are you going to show me that I’m yours?” Dipping them in, she felt the prickle of his hair. Neatly cropped, trimmed to perfection, he kept just enough that made her mouth water. Enough to tickle her nose when she was able to get him down all the way.

“I’m going to make sure you remember for days, sweet girl.”

—-----

The sound of skin slapping filled the warmly lit bedroom. His bedroom was a sanctuary, somewhere off limits for anyone besides him- and much to anyone else’s surprise if they knew, Y/N. Soft, warm light emanated from a vintage lamp on the bedside table, casting a gentle glow on the room while Harry looked down at the girl sprawled out underneath him, clutching the white sheets he had spent a stupid amount of money on. He only wanted the best for her and her body. Knowing she would be staying the whole week, sleeping with him the whole week, he had made arrangements to have the best of the best. To show her what was possible.

“There you go, baby. Just like that.” The depth of his voice made her shiver under him. Her cheek was pressed to his pillow, knees up and back arched as Harry took her from behind. It was the second round, her body deliciously sensitive but aching for more. Aching to please him and make him let loose on her body. A large, warm hand held her waist as he guided her back on to his cock, watching as she fucked herself on him. Pressing back into him and filling herself up, letting her ass hit his hips and ripple and move just the way he liked it.

“S’good?” She mewled, eyes hazy as she stared vacantly across the bedroom. “You like when I do this? Just want t’be a good girl for you, Daddy. Want you to feel good.” Her voice was wrecked, slurred as she had her cheek smushed against the softness of the icy white pillowcase. Her mouth watered, sure to drip in a little bit, but all the girl could do was take it. Sex had never been this good with anyone else in her life. The older man knew exactly what he was doing and how to do it.

Harry had always been such a patient, calm, controlled man since she had met him. Never raised a voice, never did a single thing inappropriately. He had played all the right cards, but since she had seen him again and everything had changed between them, she could see another part of him. A part she was desperate to help let loose.

The older man had a wildness, a depth to him that was unexplored. A taboo part of his desires that he had never allowed himself to look at. Y/N could see it, could feel it unraveling with each day she spent with him. She made him feel safe but invigorated, which was exactly what she wanted to do. This was something so wrong in theory, but it felt so right. There was no way his hand fit that perfectly on her waist for no reason. She had taunted and tugged at the seams keeping his deepest, darkest desires hidden, trying to unravel them for him. To fulfill the pieces he didn’t know had been missing.

“I do, baby. You are a good girl, my good little girl. Make me feel so fucking good. Never get enough of you, always want you with me. Want to be inside of you every single fucking day.” The man knew that if he had his own way, she would be the one he woke up to every morning and the one he went to sleep with at night. This entire week of playing house had woken up a bigger urge, a primal urge for the girl. An ownership. He was greedy and selfish, but he was loving every fucking second of it.

“You can. You can fuck me however you want, do whatever you want to me. Anything in the world. I just want to make Daddy happy.” Her voice was whiny, face rubbing against the pillow he slept with as he watched her ass recoil with each throw back of her cunt. His cock was glistening with her arousal, wet and slick from her past orgasm. She was going to have bruises on her hips, on her thighs, on her breasts from his handling of her. There would be no denying the fact that she had been fucked deep and thorough, that he had spent time and effort into making her writhe underneath him. “I’m your girl. You said it, I’m all yours to do whatever you want. Be dirty with me, Daddy. Let go. Fuck me how you want.”

Harry didn’t know how else he could want her. This much was a fantasy come alive. The sweet, tight cunt clenching over his cock was heavenly enough. Her encouragement didn’t stop, though.

“Know you're holding back from me. Tell me how much you love it. You love fucking tight, young pussy? You like the change from soulless sex with your ex wife who could barely get you half hard?” Her giggle was cut short by a harsh slap to her ass, the sting making to fall into a moan. “Mm, fuck. I love that. You do, don’t you? Know that it’s risky but you like being inside of me. M’the best pussy you’ve ever had. Admit it.” Y/N’s panting words had him clenching his jaw- mostly because she was right.

He had gone from subpar, emotionless sex to this. To an exciting, adventurous, dirty woman who he most definitely shouldn’t be sleeping with but was too addicting to the heart and to his cock. A woman he liked too much to call a friend with benefits, but was too risky to publicly announce as his girlfriend- even if he desperately wanted to.

The words had a thread snapping, his body crowding hers as he pressed his chest against her back as his cock continued the deeper thrusts, knocking her thighs together a bit more as he covered her body with his own. His hand fell flat against her pillow, a deep chuckle leaving his lips- one that sent a dangerous zing up her spine.

She had done it.

“You are. You’ve got the best cunt I’ve ever fucked, the best mouth I’ve ever fucked, and as soon as you let me in that pretty little ass? That will be mine, too. Most useful set of holes that’s ever walked through my door.” His rough tone had her moaning, success spreading through her body as his opposite hand that wasn’t keeping him up slipped under the pillow to grab her throat. “Been so nice to you when you just antagonize me. You want me to be really dirty, baby? My sweetheart wants to hear what really goes on in my mind every time I see her?”

“Yes, yes, yes. Please, Sir. Please. I want to know everything.” She was showing her hand, showing exactly how badly she wanted to know what went on in his head. “Tell me. Tell me, I wanna do it all for you.” Y/N would love it if he was a little mean, if he was a little more rough. She knew he treated her delicately because of who she was but that was exactly why she wanted him to lose it. “Treat me like your holes, Daddy.”

Harry had been slightly shocked at the words, though he shouldn't have been. Y/N had always shown that she was a dirty girl, but the depth of it was still to be discovered. It obviously went past a bit of exhibitionism.

“My sweet girl wants to be treated like a set of holes?” He laughed breathily. “Fuck. What am I going to do with you. Silly, silly girl.” He tightened the grip on the sides of her throat, feeling her squeeze around him. His thrusts increased in speed, weight bearing down on her to make her feel him everywhere. He wanted her to be engulfed in him.

“Every time you walk in that fucking door, I want to drag you away. Want you hanging off my cock every time I get the urge, because I know you’d love it. Been dirty since day fucking one, dragging me into that poolhouse and making me be a bad father. S’that what gets you off? Fucking your friend’s dad?” He snarled, breathing against her ear as his balls slapped against her cunt, getting them just as wet as he wanted.

“Y-yes, Just you, Daddy. Only ever you.” Her weak reply came out, hand covering his that held her throat. Her eyes rolled back into her head as he gave it to her good, a new level to their activities unlocked. She had peeled back another layer of the man.

“Better have fucking been. But I know you’re a slut. Just for me. S’only ever been just for me. Just like you said, hm? Needed an older man to give it to you and then you got addicted. Poor little girl. Addicted to the one cock you shouldn’t crave.” His faux sadness made her whine, slickness dripping out of her cunt. The sharp thrusts and his tight grip, how she could barely move was one of the best things she had ever experienced.

“It’s mine.” Was what escaped her. The little thing had enough energy to say that, the stimulation to her body and the slap of his balls against her clit driving her dangerously close to her second orgasm of the night.

“Is it? Oh, silly little girl. What a desperate, selfish slut. You want my cock to be all yours?” He grinned against her skin, biting against her neck as he groaned. “It can be. You can have it. Drain me so fucking good, take all my cum so well, hm? S’what you deserve. Be a little set of holes for Daddy to stuff his cum into. You’re so good at it a-already. Fuck.” He hissed as he felt her cunt contracting, close to her orgasm. He could feel it, feel how close he had gotten her.

“You’re going to cum from that? God, look at you. Thought you were such a nice girl when my daughter first brought you home. Now you’re just a pretty cunt for me to cum inside. Think m’gonna keep you, though.” His prick was so wet it almost slipped out as his hips slammed into her, her quivering cunt urging him on. “Think I should make you stay. Should get my cum nice and deep and knock you up. What d’you think?” His grunted words sent her into a squirm, nodding reverently against his hand.

“Yeah- yeah, I’d want it. Can do it, keep me.” She babbled, eyes watering as she felt completely and utterly pathetic. The larger man was giving it to her just how she needed, the lightheadedness of his fingers rhythmically squeezing her neck and his dick fucking her better than any other thing she had felt having her right on the edge.

“Yeah? Gonna take my cum and give me a baby?” He laughed, drunk on pleasure. “That’s it. M’gonna do it. Drain my cum into your pussy and mark you as mine. Let it catch, let you get full of my baby and let everyone fuckin’ know who’s girl you are. F-Fuck, baby.. Please.” He grit out, mouth opening as he felt it. He could feel her falling over the edge, a broken moan escaping her swollen lips as he body squirmed underneath his own.

She gushed around his cock, whimpering out his name as the words and his actions had her falling over the crest. The slick, filthy sound of her drippy cunt being pounded by his cock and the grunts coming from the man above her filled the room as she could feel him finally starting to crack. His arm quivered, cock twitching in her pulsating pussy as he finally unloaded inside of her.

“Oh- oh my god, fuck.” He slurred out against her shoulder, biting down and getting a squeal from her as he growled against her skin. The most feral he’d ever been. His thrusts slowed but didn’t completely stop, Harry hellbent on fucking his cum as well into her as he could. He wanted her filled. Releasing the skin with his teeth, his tongue ran over the bite mark in apology, a grove of whispers growing from his lips.

“There we go. That’s my fucking girl.”

“Took me so good.”

“Wrecking me, m’so obsessed with you.”

“So proud of you.”

“Take such good care of me, sweet girl.”

They were followed with kisses, Harry lazily turning her head and connecting their mouths despite the odd angle as he finally stopped, letting himself stay buried inside of her. He could feel she had drooled a little bit, fueling his ego as he let them both cal down from the aftershocks of their orgasms.

“Mmm.. That’s what I’m talking about.” Y/N giggled tiredly, resting her cheek back against the pillow as he stroked the sweaty hair away from her face. “Told you I wanted you to let loose, that’s what I wanted. My god.” It was so good, she felt drunk. Drunk on good dick, apparnetly.

“Yeah.. well now you’re in trouble.” He mumbled, though the smile on his face indicated it wasn’t seriousl. “Didn’t know I had that in me… But now that I do, you’re the one who’s going to have t’deal with it.” He kissed her cheek, smirking to himself about how it had been so good she had let tears fall. This was a new high for him.

“I better be. We established that I’m yours and you’re mine. If I find out otherwise, m’gonna chop your dick off.”

Harry winced, shaking his head quickly. “No, baby. No. Don’t think I could get hard for anyone else at this point.” It was too true.

This girl had him completely and utterly fucked.

“Let me sit here for a minute and then I’ll take us to clean up. I’ll help you redo all your skin stuff.” He nuzzled against her cheek, placing a few little pecks on the hot skin. “Sorry I ruined it.”

“Trust me- I am never going to be mad at you for that when you fuck me that good.” Y/N snickered. Her heart did swell at the offer though. This man was unreal. “I’d be a fool to complain.”

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butteronabun · 6 months ago

Text

cw: drunk reader

Diluc’s strength is no joke.

You barely remember in your late teenage years when, for some reason, Kaeya mischievously put Diluc and a man in one room together to do an arm wrestling challenge.

At the time, you were worried, because his opponent was twice Diluc’s size. The man looked like he could crush a watermelon with only his fists.

As the crowd gathered around to spectate the competition between the former cavalry captain and the giant, you watched with bated breath as the countdown went down. You mulled over interrupting their business, there were a lot of grown men cheering and yelling making bets on who would be the victor, you decided not to, because there was also a part of you that was curious on what would happen.

When someone hollered for them to begin, everyone expected some kind of struggle. But there was only a curt and loud thud.

Diluc, in one swift motion, easily overpowered the bigger man’s arm by pining it firmly on the surface.

You underestimated him. Diluc really took his training seriously, and it would be more evident ( in his physical growth ) as he got older.

So now, in the present, your sober self will probably regret this proposition you just made with him once you wake up tomorrow.

“We don’t really have to do this, my love,” Diluc says, a worried frown plastered on his handsome face. “You’re not in the right state of mind – you ought to go to bed.”

Archons only know where you gained your confidence. After two pints of beer in his tavern ( in which he vehemently disapproved of but allowed you to indulged only this once ), you were immediately red and intoxicated.

( Thankfully, it was closing time when you started sputtering out unintelligible comments and murmurs. Diluc wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he enjoyed the way home to the manor because you kept on spoiling him with small kisses on the cheeks, and how he was so “strong” and “so great.” It was going to be a secret between the two of you.

Now that you both were finally inside your shared bedroom, Diluc’s plan was simple: to give your affections back tenfold by relishing on your adorable self’s clinginess and cuddling you before succumbing to slumber. But apparently, after changing into comfortable sleepwear, you had other plans. )

“Am not drunk!” you exclaim, before clumsily pulling him closer. Diluc assists you by easing himself right into your embrace. “How dare you say that, you—“

“I did not even say that you were inebriated,” Diluc retorts, and you catch the small smirk on his kissable lips. Wow. You really want to wipe the smugness in his face by kissing him. Or you want him to kiss you. Eh, both is good. “You are staring. Do you need anything? Maybe we should rest now and—“

“Nuh–uh.” You shake your head stubbornly. You tighten your hold around your beefy husband who looks down at you with obvious softness in his scarlet eyes. “Arm wrestle with me. Please?”

Diluc caresses your cheek with his thumb. “I do not think that is a good idea.”

You grin, “But that’s what you think. I, however think that it is a good idea!” Unaware, you start to roam your hands under his silky shirt. Diluc visibly stiffens, when you reach certain spots in his defined muscles. “Pleaaaasee?”

You wonder if Diluc has caught on, with the way he begins to blush from your insinuations. For a moment, he sighs in defeat, and then presses his lips on your forehead. He whispers, “Alright.”

You celebrate when he takes you to the dresser. He gently lets you sit on the plush stool, while he takes another chair to be beside you. You excitedly swing your arm, waiting for his own, and you cackle in delight when his warm fingers intertwines with yours.

“Don’ flirt with me. ‘s not a good a strategy,” you claim, and Diluc surprises you by kissing you promptly on the cheek. “Diluuuuc. . .”

“I cannot help it,” He confesses, looking a little timid and apologetic. But you know that he may do it again. “But if that is what you wish, then—“

“Later,” you pout. It’s not like you don’t like his kisses. There’s a more important thing to do here! “e’re gonna compete first.”

As you explain the rules of arm wrestling to him despite the basics already ingrained in your brains, you fail to notice how Diluc keeps on gazing at you with such fondness.

“Also, just because you do lifts and I don’t doesn’t mean you’ll go easy on me,” you boldly say. Diluc has as advantage, sure, but you believe that you can find a way in breaking his victory streak. You just can feel it in your bones. Trust.

But as always, Diluc keeps on defeating you. But the good thing about it is that your husband continues to dote on you even more, even if you grumble at him.

With the loving ( and supportive ) glances he sends you while you attempt to beat him and random kisses he gives you every time he wins “my reward” he says—you repeatedly tell him not to flirt with you, and he, in turn, answers again with “I just couldn’t help it.”

#diluc x reader #i am not having a great day so i wrote this #i am so sleepy i’ll edit this later #also big strong diluc so true #hehe diluc arms #aaaaa #hi guys #i love him so much #butter.spread

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floofyroro · 12 days ago

Text

A Soft Spot

Pairing: Crosshair/f!Reader

Words: 8127 (oneshot)

Tags/warnings: post-s3 on Pabu, gardener!reader, carpenter!Crosshair, these two idiots have been beating around the bush for ages and reader said finally, "hold my beer," first date, anxious!Crosshair, therapist OC mentioned, carpenter OC mentioned, fluff, making out, grinding, sensuality, no smut but they were close! maybe in part 2

Summary: Crosshair likes you, yes. But due to his rough past and his penchant for self-deprecation, it all lands on you to make the first move.

A/N: This has been a long time coming. The lore I have for these two is substantial enough that you might become sick of me in the near future lol. Also, it’s just so fun to build the lore for Pabu as well, which is why there’s two OCs mentioned that are intertwined with Crosshair’s life. Sor’ren and Lorik are goofs.

Comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

Read on ao3.

Had there been a way to quell the simmering nerves in his stomach, Crosshair would have done so by now.

It’s not that he’s unaccustomed to the flutter of anxiety. No, he has long accepted that it’ll remain a permanent companion until he sorts out his… issues, according to Omega.

His first appointment with Sor’ren Valu, the island therapist, is in two rotations. The stranger was cordial over the comm call. Enthusiastic, even. Crosshair felt so uncomfortable that he was certain his curt words would deter the man from taking him as a client altogether. As it is, Sor’ren was seemingly unperturbed because the appointment still exists. Omega was the one who sought the older man out in the first place after a particularly nasty argument between Crosshair and Hunter.

She didn’t have to expend herself like that. She shouldn’t have had to do that in the first place. The fact that she did leaves a guilty, sour taste in his mouth. Until he starts this journey of self-discovery or self-awareness or whatever it is he so desperately needs, Crosshair figures he can withstand the discomfort of anxiety in the meantime when it makes its presence known.

But whenever he’s around you, the sensation amplifies tenfold.

It starts with a stirring in his belly, building gradually. That’s when he’s either thinking of you or catches sight of you for the first time each day. Your paths always seem to cross, one way or another. But it’s when you notice him, and your features transform into what he deems as unadulterated radiance, the uncomfortable stirring is accompanied by a ribbon of affection drawing up his spine.

When you approach him, and kind words spill from your lips, the nerves fight for dominance. He grapples with unwanted thoughts such as; am I enough? Am I worth your attention? If you knew of my dazzling track record, would you still gravitate towards me like you do now?

And yet, your smile doesn’t falter despite his hesitance; you still reach for him. Your touch is what brings a flooding of warmth into his being, banishing the dark shadows that are so desperate to sink their claws into him, drawing him away from the light. It’s harder to explain this feeling, he realizes, when your fingers intertwine perfectly with his.

“Have you eaten yet?”

Your question, even, elicits such uncertainty from Crosshair because you care.

“I haven’t,” he manages to say.

You lift up his palm and wrap your other hand around it, cradling his hand for a moment before pressing the pads of your fingers into the muscle of his wrist, as if rhythmically following a pattern. He watches, enamored.

Seemingly unaware of how much emotional turmoil you cause him, your gaze settles across the street as you hum thoughtfully. How can you stay so calm and so collected? Surely you can feel how warm his palm is, how his hand threatens to tremble underneath your touch. Everyone sweats during the hot season, but even so, he hopes with frantic desperation, that you don’t mind just how clammy his skin is.

“We could grab a bite to eat at Rosie’s?”

You do this often. He’s cornered into these situations, these gentle, kind instances where he has no choice but to follow your orbit. He simply can’t say no.

Not that he wants to.

The café, Rosie’s, is a local favorite on Pabu. Omega has dragged him here numerous times over the course of their time on Pabu already, usually after a long day of work or for breakfast on the weekends. He doesn’t mind the atmosphere. The open patio is lined with bistro chairs that overlook the bay, with a spectacular view of every sunset. But most importantly, it doesn’t feel stifling compared to other cramped communal areas on Pabu.

“I’ll take the usual,” you tell the waitress, someone who you’d greeted with familiarity only moments ago.

The stranger eyes Crosshair, which prompts him to mutter his order, something you deem fitting for his tastes because you say as much. She pauses, looking between you both before asking, “Will this be on one tab or separate?”

“One tab,” Crosshair says without a second thought, staring off over the balcony. You start to protest but he shoots you a furtive glare. You pause, shooting him an amused glare back. When he fails to relent, you roll your eyes, mumbling about being able to pay for your own food. For once, he believes he’s won.

Not that it matters. But you tend to take the lead on most things and, well…

The waitress spares you a knowing look before grabbing the menus and disappearing back into the café. With no menu to act as a barrier between you both, he elaborates.

“You…look out for me in other ways.”

When your expression turns serious, he takes that as his sign to explain further. “You’ve only known me for a couple months and yet… You’ve given me produce from the gardens and… You won’t let me pay for it. So let me do this for you. Please.”

The last word he adds as an afterthought, trying to ignore how entirely foreign on it feels on his tongue.

Anxieties regarding his past fail to abate when he focuses on you, growing louder and more prominent. It’s as if his world narrows and suddenly he’s only seeing tunnel vision. His traitorous mind wonders about drawing nearer to you, not just physically, but emotionally as well. He wishes he could just focus on the physical responses. That would be easy enough. But everything related to the mind and human emotion leaves him feeling stunted. He asks himself often; could you learn to accept him, his flaws, despite the thick layers of regret that weigh him down?

An ideal world starts to unfold in front of him, one where your presence is constant, and it’s almost… terrifying.

You interrupt his musings by regaling him about the latest mishap at the garden center. At some point, he feels relaxed enough to lean back against his seat, with his arms crossed. When you explain how poorly the sprinkler system was fixed, to no fault of your own but to the abilities of your lacking mechanic, he lifts a hand to cover his mouth as you speak, masking the way his lips twitch up higher and higher with every word.

“I was soaked,” you end, your eyebrows pinched as you recall that afternoon.

“I’m sure that was a sight,” he responds, no longer hiding his mirth.

He laughs, surprising himself and you, when you reach across the table to give him a good-natured swat on the arm.

“Tell me about the workshop,” you say. “Working for Lorik must be interesting.”

It’s comical then, the way you read him so well. That, or his face must betray his thoughts because you huff, the sound not a laugh, but a near distant cousin.

“Lorik is… something else,” Crosshair says, and then the food arrives. He doesn’t notice the hunger nipping at his stomach until a waft of the soup hits his nose.

“Tell me more,” you prompt before taking a big slurp of your broth.

He does because it’s easy to tell you the truth. He explains that while his mentor is patient, Lorik tends to become distracted and starts a different project before finishing his current one. It grates on Crosshair endlessly and proves to be his biggest obstacle with working so closely alongside a natborn; the difference in work ethic is irksome, to say the least.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Crosshair grumbles, “and it’s not efficient. We have a client who signed a flimsi contract earlier this month and I’ve had to remind Lorik about it twice already.” You nod encouragingly and he wills himself to continue, “We still haven’t started that house yet. Just yesterday, he began organizing supplies for a hypothetical project for the mayor instead.”

Your gaze is thoughtful when you say, “Maybe Lorik’s brain works differently than yours.”

This earns a huff from Crosshair. He shakes his head and wonders why you’re probably right. He continues to explain how carpentry requires more precision than anticipated. It’s good practice for his prosthetic, and he holds his right hand gingerly as he explains the process of using a team of droids and his own hands when preparing the necessary materials for a new construction.

“Pabuan cocowood is a hot commodity among the islanders, which makes it expensive. We’re careful to only harvest a small amount each month, all while coordinating with the island council about replanting new trees in the process.”

“I’m familiar,” you say, winking. He sits silently, noting the way sunset reflects off of the mischievous glint in your eyes. Heat blooms across his cheeks.

You’re probably well aware of island conservation efforts because you’re the lead gardener and oversee the greenhouse yourself. Sometimes he forgets that you’ve been living on the island longer than him.

Before he knows it, an hour has passed and the food is gone. He’s laid enough credits down on the table to pay for the meals and then some for a tip. Omega scolded him the first time he forgot to tip. It was an honest mistake, he had explained. I’ve been a soldier all my life, not a civvie.

You both rise from your chairs to leave the patio, and in one swift moment, you round the table to lean up and press a kiss onto his cheek before he even registers the movement. The softness of your lips is fleeting, like a kiss from the ocean breeze and it takes him far too long to react. He looks down at you with surprise, his spine rigid at the outward affection and you merely spare him a crooked smile before you stride away towards the cobblestone path.

Crosshair doesn’t like to be outmatched, he decides. It takes only a few strides to catch up before he fishes for your touch, making sure to stand on your left so that his good hand clasps with yours. You’re wordless when he looks down to gauge your reaction but a coy smile tugs at your mouth as you stare down at your feet as you both walk.

If you notice how he draws nearer to you during the trek to the upper levels of Pabu, you fail to give him any indication. The silence is oddly comfortable, making Crosshair begin to understand the importance of good company. It allows him to feel relaxed enough to notice his surroundings, like admiring how the sunset casts the island in a glorious golden hue. The temperature has dropped significantly compared to the usual afternoon heat and the streets are clearing, as not many residents are mulling about during this hour. It’s Crosshair’s favorite period of time on the island.

“Cross?”

His stomach flips at the nickname.

“Yeah?”

You squeeze his hand once and he returns the gesture.

“Do you… Would you want to come over tonight? We could watch a holomovie. Or I’ve some tea I could brew for us.”

“A holomovie,” he echoes, feeling light-headed.

“And tea,” you add, as if it’s an incentive of sorts.

The prospect of spending more time with you, and privately at that, is more appealing that Crosshair would care to admit. He has yet to do so, often wondering how well the two of you would fit in an intimate setting. Would his predisposition as a clone, on top of his history with the Empire, be too jagged of a shape for you to accommodate? While he’s rough and sewn together by the hardship of war, you meet him with a kindness that soothes his woes, and with a softness that shakes him to his core.

And on top of it all, he isn’t sure what to call this… thing.

To call it a ‘relationship’ seems lacking, but also simultaneously daunting. It’s a word that he never thought he’d use in a romantic sense anyway. But the juxtaposition of you both somehow works, despite all the odds. He’s the oil and you’re the water, and when combined together, it shouldn’t work. You shouldn’t mix. And yet, here is he, handfasted and walking you home.

A former sniper and the island gardener. Together.

No, he still can’t find the right word for who you are to him. He’ll have to think about that later.

He takes a deep breath to steady himself before answering.

“I…Yeah, sure. I’d… like that,” he says because eloquence has always been his strength.

“Great,” you beam, your expression instantly knocking the wind out of him.

He decides then that he’ll never tire of your smile.

It feels like lightyears later when Crosshair finally crosses over the threshold of your home for the first time.

A dry, abrupt chuckle releases from him because of course the entryway smells like you, like fresh herbs and baked bread, and of course there’s not a shoe or jacket out of place and he’s met instead with a living room that’s clean, but not sterile because pillows upon pillows are on every seated surface, and there’s blankets, old books, and the windows are already open, linen curtains billowing as the breeze trickles in.

He’s not sure he’s ever stepped into a room that’s the visual representation of comfort before. Sure, his own home with his brothers comes close, but it’s normally a mess, and it’s never quiet, and Omega tries her hardest to keep them all busy instead of the alternative she deems as most unfavorable; isolation. Maker forbid that they stay in their personal quarters for too long.

But in Crosshair’s defense, he’d rather find solace by himself than attend another neighborhood barbecue. His one gripe about Pabu is how nosy every resident is. Omega claims they mean well, but he has yet to be convinced otherwise. If meaning well translates to digging their noses into other people’s business, he wants no part in it.

While he had openly surveyed the space, you’d made your way to the kitchen, turning on the valve to the gas stovetop and placing a kettle on the flickering flame. Not sure what to do with himself, Crosshair shoves his hands into his pockets and meanders around the living room.

The floors creak with each step and his eyes do a clean sweep of the structure of the house, the material composition of the walls, the trimming, and realizes this is the oldest model of homes on the island. Lorik’s handiwork is absent in the way the rooms are laid out. A staircase right in front of the entryway should’ve been a dead giveaway. This must’ve been an original house on the island before the Clone Wars had begun.

You would own one of the most charming houses on Pabu. How fitting.

But as his eyes trail along the bannister, a flicker of movement at the top of the stairs makes him pause. A tail, thick and dark, twitches before a small head peers through a set of columns.

It’s… a tooka cat.

The realization strikes him as sensical. You have yet to meet Batcher but he would bet all of his credits that you’d adore her at first glance, seeing as you now obviously have a penchant for domestic animals.

The creature stares at him with narrowed eyes and Crosshair stares back, slightly amused. The pads of your feet against the wooden floors alert him of your approach and he turns just in time to catch you grinning up at the tooka.

“I wondered if she’d come out to greet you. She’s not overly fond of people. Except me, of course but this is probably as far as she’ll go until you leave.”

Crosshair quirks an eyebrow at that. “We’re not so dissimilar then,” he says, suppressing a grin.

You’re biting your lower lip when you shake your head. “I suppose you are quite feline in quality,” you respond in turn.

That muscles a huff of laughter from him, the reaction involuntary. You laugh along with him, and he’s suddenly glad for the crack in his cool composure because it means witnessing the pink hue blooming across your cheeks.

You’re adorable and the thought alone makes his palms sweat again.

“Yeah, I suppose,” he says, words evading him.

“Rowena is slow to trust. Maybe if you… come over often enough, she’ll warm up to your presence.”

The insinuation of visiting more frequently isn’t lost on him and it makes his pulse quicken. Before he can conjure up a response, there’s a low whistling from the kitchen and you’re padding back to the stovetop to whisk the kettle off of the heat.

Crosshair spares Rowena one more glance, committing her name to memory as her ears draw back at his unwanted attention. Feline in quality, he muses. Slow to trust, not fond of strangers, among many other things. Is Rowena just as prickly as him too?

“Come sit with me,” you say. He breaks the staring contest with Rowena first by turning his gaze to see you walking slowly with a mug in both hands. Crosshair doesn’t waste a moment to meet you halfway, intent on lessening your load.

“I made two different kinds of herbal tea,” you say, when he outreaches his hand. “So which do you prefer; sweet or mild?”

He doesn’t think he has a preference. He’s never had a choice in the past, but that’s changed over the last year. He supposes that if he had to choose…

“Sweet.”

You hand him a mug, murmuring be careful, and he nestles the cup close to him, wisps of steam curling upwards, hitting his nose with a pleasant aroma as the two of you make for the sofa.

You settle into the cushion, a hopeful look in your eye that causes him to hesitate, looking at the vast space next to you. One of his traitorous thoughts from earlier resurfaces again; how close is too close?

You must sense his trepidation because you save him the worry by patting the spot right next to you. Your expression brooks no sign of doubt, a lazy, close-lipped smile gracing your features when he finally slinks down next to you.

He tries to ignore the rigidity in his neck when he realizes how little distance there is between you both. Suddenly the other side of the couch seems expansive.

You surprise him then, by leaning close, cradling your mug in your lap. It takes some willpower but he forces himself to tilt his head and meet your gaze.

“Do you even like tea?”

He gently swirls the contents of the drink with a practiced tilt as he considers your question.

“Not sure,” he says with a shrug, hoping you don’t notice how unreliable his voice feels at the moment.

“Here,” you say, reaching forward to set your mug on the low table in front of you.

“It’s too hot to sip for now. Let’s let them cool while we find a holomovie.”

He nods, robotically leaning forward to do the same, placing his cup next to yours. When he leans back, you’re already grabbing a remote control and pointing it at the large screen against the wall.

He clears his throat before asking, “What are we watching?”

“Well… What do you like to watch?”

He’s noticed you often answer his questions with a question of your own. It feels like a test sometimes. It’s as if you’re more curious about his preferences than sharing your own.

“I don’t,” he begins to say, feeling dull, “watch anything, I mean. I think Wrecker forced us all to watch a comedy once. That’s about it.”

You hum at that. “I think something low stakes would be good. Something easy to watch.”

He’s agreeable right now, given how you’ve inched closer. His neck grows hot and he silently berates his body for betraying him. It’s not necessarily discomfort he’s fighting against, but a type of restlessness that’s beckoning him to close the gap between you both.

What was that phrase Omega’s been using lately?

It’s now or never.

With as much grace as he’s able to muster, Crosshair pulls his arm back and rests it along the back of the sofa, mere centimeters from your shoulders. He remains still until you bring your legs up and slide them next to you as you shimmy into his side.

His mortification achieves new depths because the contact sends an involuntary shiver up his spine. He hides it by placing the arm behind you directly on your shoulders. Fate must be on his side when you let out a contented sigh.

“You smell good,” you whisper. It takes him a moment to register your words. He tries to fight off another smile.

“What do I smell like?”

In retrospect, he should’ve seen it coming.

You turn your head, your cheek and temple coming into contact with his chest and he swears he’s never seen a cuter sight. You inhale deeply against him, your eyes fluttering closed as you think.

“Fresh laundry. Pine, I think? It's some sort of wood. There’s… Leather. And something else,” you’re saying but he’s not really paying attention, not when he can feel the way your mouth brushes against his shirt.

“Hmm,” he hums, his mouth dry.

You turn your attention back to the screen. You’re setting the remote down and then handing him his mug of tea. He can feel the anticipation growing from you as he brings the mug to his lips. It’s definitely fresh, the aroma overpowering and herbaceous. With a bit of reluctance, he tilts the mug against his mouth and takes a generous sip.

It’s… not bad.

But it’s missing something.

He stares back down at it skeptically, swirling the mug once.

“This isn’t sweet,” he says.

You snort.

“Sorry,” you say, the word muffled against the palm of your hand as you try to stifle your laughter. “Sorry, it’s just that… Well, what were you expecting?”

He pins you down with an amused glare. “Not this. This tastes like hot grass water.”

You lose it then, openly giggling. “I’ve never heard that one before.”

His smile is lob-sided. “I’ve never had hot grass water before either.” He waits a beat. And then says, “What’s the point anyway? Especially when caf exists.”

“Oh, come on, it’s not that bad,” you say, leaning back to playfully pushing his arm.

The contact is welcomed despite the advance, your touch never failing to surprise him. Kriff, it’s not like he’s unused to physical contact; Wrecker tries to wrestle with him on the daily and he’s not immune to Omega’s hugs, but Maker. You’re downright dizzying.

“It’s not horrible but…” He eyes the contents of his mug again and takes one more slurp.

The taste truly isn’t bad. It’s just not as sweet as he was hoping. He wishes he had a name for the spices he’s tasting but he comes up short because again, he’s never had the chance before.

“This is a tea used for relaxation and digestion. We just ate dinner, and now the evening is winding down so there’s chamomile, cinnamon, cloves, and orange peel in this blend, and it’s finished off with a dash of honey from the island pollinators.”

You’re proud as you list off the herbs, that much is clear in the eager expression he openly stares at.

Cute.

You are so cute.

“I’ll keep drinking it,” he says, which makes you clasp your hands together in approval.

He shakes his head, hiding his smile behind the mug as he takes another swig.

Crosshair helps you decide on a movie that doesn’t sound too boring but also not too exciting. He finds you have an affinity towards the romantic ones so he humors you and agrees after the fourth suggestion. One click later and a scene unfolds, the telltale start of whatever holomovie you’d selected.

It’s gradual but you both resume your position from earlier, your form curling in towards his chest and his arm wrapped around your shoulders. He works up enough courage to trail his fingers lightly against the exposed skin of your shoulder. When no protestation rises from you, you both fall into a comfortable silence.

Eventually, he can’t help it. Some of the storybeats merit his criticisms.

“That was a bad move. He shouldn’t have lied.”

“Sheesh. Just tell her how you feel, buddy.”

“Okay, now that’s a bit over the top.”

You don’t mind his comments. In fact, you giggle at most of them and make several similar ones of your own.

You’re in the midst of discussing whether or not the movie could’ve been cut in half if only the protagonist would’ve confessed his feelings sooner when a high-pitched beep cuts through the conversation.

Crosshair stomach drops, the arm he has wrapped around you tightening.

Something beeps again.

When he finally recognizes the culprit behind the noise, his lips part as he exhales.

“It’s not my commlink,” you whisper, confirming his suspicions.

He sighs again, this time with resignation settling in. It’s definitely one of his brothers. They’re probably worried about him and in retrospect, he should’ve given them a warning about his whereabouts before it got too late. He begrudgingly peels his arm away from you and stands, blood rushing to his head by how quickly he moves. The absence of your warmth is keenly felt as he trudges to the entryway and bends down to fish for the communication device in his satchel.

In hand, the tiny screen flickers to life to show an incoming voice call from Hunter.

He’s gruff when he answers, “What?”

“Crosshair,” comes his brother’s voice through the static, “you, uh, okay? We haven’t heard from you and it’s nearly 2400.”

He can vaguely hear you mulling about in the living room, mugs clinking in your hands as you enter the kitchen. He scratches his chin before replying, “I’m… fine. Just… visiting someone right now.”

The other end goes silent. Crosshair waits with bated breath.

“Visiting someone?” The suggestion is clear in his voice. “Not just anyone. It’s the gardener, isn’t it.”

“...Yeah,” Crosshair says, rubbing the back of his neck.

“...Good for you. I’ll, uh, leave you to it then. Sorry for interrupting.”

A pause.

“Kriff. I owe Wrecker fifty credits.”

The line cuts off with a click and Crosshair stares at the device with annoyance.

A giggle resounds from behind and when he turns around, you’ve propped the side of your hip against the kitchen counter. “I’m guilty of eavesdropping, sorry. That must’ve been Hunter, right?”

“What gave it away?” He drawls. “The bet with Wrecker?”

“Yeah,” you say, amusement shining in your eyes. “That’s sweet. It’s clear that they care about you.”

He sighs, tucking his commlink away and slotting his hands into his pockets. “Something like that.”

You approach with a slow, confident gait. “C’mon,” you say, looping a hand around his forearm. “Let’s go cuddle.”

‘Cuddle’ isn’t a word he’s overly familiar with but if it involves you, he’s game. You pull at him until he sidles up next to you, plopping carelessly onto the cushions. This time, you bring your knees to the side of his thigh and snake an arm around his torso. The last time he was clinged to so fiercely was surely during his cadet days when the Batch would take turns sleeping in each other’s bunks to fend off nightmares about decommissioning and the war. His brothers would rotate, ending up in a different bunk every night, so there were few mornings when he’d wake up alone and cold.

Still, holding you close is vastly different. He’s thinking about those peaceful, nostalgic mornings when his fingers brush gently into the strands of your hair. You release a low hum. He can’t help but pull you closer.

A moment of denial surfaces. How did this happen? How did he manage to end up here, with you? With someone so kind and beautiful, laying in his arms like the starbound heroine on the screen from earlier.

It’s this train of thought that prompts him to place a kiss onto the crown of your head. You sink into him further.

He murmurs your name. Curious eyes peer up at him, a tired smile pulling across your lips. He tucks a stray lock behind your ear, trying to parse together the feelings that are taking flight in his chest.

“Thank you for… tonight. For suggesting dinner and then inviting me over,” he says, the words unfamiliar to his ears. Crosshair isn’t one to share gratitude often but he thinks that might change, because your expression softens and he swears your eyes start to shine, a swirl of galaxies twinkling in your irises.

“Of course, Crosshair. I really like spending time with you,” you murmur. “I’ve been wanting to see you more. But you’re a busy man from what I hear, so… I took matters into my own hands since I’ve recently realized that patience isn’t exactly one of my virtues.”

Despite the humor coating your words, sheepishness seeps through him at the mention of initiation, or the lack thereof on his part.

“Yeah,” he says, his brows knitting together as he averts his gaze. The words he wishes to share are unnerving, to say the least. They require a kind of bravery from him that’s yet to see the light of day, preferring to remain tucked away in the depths of his core. So when you remain quiet with an open expression, he’s emboldened to swallow his pride and get over himself.

He thinks you’re worth the risk of burning anyway.

“I struggle sometimes. Mentally, I mean,” he says, running a hand over his head. Oof. Okay, starting off strong, Crosshair. The warning bells in his ears are taunting but he plows on, “The boys and Omega remind me of that often and… Omega found someone recently. A therapist to help me through… all of that.”

He’s still not meeting your eyes, but he can hear the sincerity that laces your words when you say, “That’s great, Crosshair.”

Now that it’s out in the open, he feels his shoulders slink down. “Yeah.” He exhales, “Yeah, it should be helpful so… I just wanted to apologize for not initiating things sooner. I’m… sorry.”

A hand reaches up to cup his cheek, the touch tentative. You gently guide his head down to gaze at you.

“Hey. It’s okay. I’m aware of this. Your past probably isn’t perfect. Well, based on what Omega told me, I know it isn’t perfect because of the Empire and all that,” the words make his cheek twitch in discomfort because that’s an understatement if he ever heard one, “and that’s okay. I’ll be real honest; I debated this whole thing. A lot. After we met at the market square, I made sure to think carefully about what this could turn into because I knew from the get-go that I liked you.”

You pause, looking down but unseeing. It’s difficult for him to process what you're saying but then he feels your palm tremble once against his cheek before stilling. “I have my own issues too. I worry about things like abandonment because of…”

For a split second, your expression crumbles, making his heart twist. He tells himself that he never wants to be the culprit behind your sorrow, that he’ll be damned if he ever makes you unhappy. A flare of protectiveness washes over him at the prospect of you struggling.

“What happened to my family during the war is still hard for me to talk about. But I think I owe it to myself to pursue happiness. That’s why I’ve made a point to seek you out most days, even if it’s just for a moment. And that’s also why I invited you over. I didn’t really want to watch a holomovie; I just wanted an excuse to be in your company.”

He feels his chest tightening at this admission. The nerves he experienced at the beginning of the day are threatening to reemerge, but this time with vengeance. Previous versions of Crosshair didn’t talk at length about emotions. He’s a soldier, for Kriff’s sake, and while clones were trained to deal with the turmoils of war, it’s suddenly blatantly apparent just how little he understands about the full scope of a healthy, emotional well-being. He had tried often to avoid hard conversations after missions because his snark would reign supreme even when deep down, he knew he was being unreasonable.

And now, for the first time in his life, Crosshair doesn’t want to fuck this up.

It’s a lot to process. That’s probably why his body acts on its own accord and brings you flush against him, arms wrapping around your frame. You adjust seamlessly and without complaint.

Because of the proximity, he has an excuse to lose himself in the intimate details of your face. There’s a brightness in your eyes, the color of your irises so unique and so stunning that it makes his heart stutter. The shape of your nose is delicate, rounding perfectly with an array of freckles, the discolorations mesmerizing. Perhaps it’s the nature of his defective self, but Crosshair has always been drawn to variation, to subtle movement and change. Even still, it takes little effort to follow the curve of your flushed cheek, his eyes trailing downwards until they land on your lips.

He stares, entranced by their hue, wondering how they would feel against his own if he were to lean in. When you break into a smile, he realizes that you’re studying him, too. With a tenderness that he’ll grow to miss when you’re gone, your fingertips reach to trail lightly across the skin of his forehead, down his temple, his cheekbone, until they halt at his jaw.

It’s challenging, willing his body to withhold from any reaction. He feels your touch wander to his chin, your movements pausing as you stare at his lips. Perhaps it’s presumptuous of him, but he brings his flesh hand to the back of your neck, providing hesitant support as the gap narrows between you both.

He’s unsure who leans in first. But his lips meet a softness he thinks he could drown in, his breath slipping, and your proximity, your warmth spreads like wildfire down his spine, prompting his eyelids to fall shut as the sensation engulfs him.

Following your movement with raptness, he relishes in how eager you are in this exchange, in this contact, locking his lips with your own in short, soft movements. Like a flower opening up to access the nectar, your mouth easily grants him entrance after his tongue darts once against your lips. The throaty moan you release serves to embolden him, the slight tilt of your head allowing him a better angle to plumage your mouth further.

With heated realization, Crosshair finds that you taste sweeter than honey, a unique blend of something distinctly you and highly addictive. It makes him downright dizzy, coupled with the hungry nip of teeth tugging against his lips. He groans as you follow the subtle pain with a hot-mouthed kiss, lathing against him diligently, provoking his other hand to settle on the curve of your waist. Grasping at the fabric of your shirt, he melts into every collision of touch all which fans the flames building in his navel.

Time becomes a distant concept until you break away with a heaving chest. He leans forward to chase your lips, but finds your jaw instead. You let out a pleased hum as he follows the shape of your jawbone with a trail of open-mouthed kisses.

“Crosshair,” you murmur, breaking his trace.

He jerks his head back, eyes snapping open to find your brows furrowed.

“Yeah? You okay?” His words feel slurred and awkward, his mouth slow to work with how swollen his lips feel.

You quiet him with a ghost of a kiss against the shell of his ear before breathing, “Tell me if this makes you uncomfortable.”

With no other warning, you’re rising onto your knees and swinging a leg over the other side of his thigh, lowering yourself onto his lap.

Kriff.

It should be studied, the way his mind suddenly draws a blank. Crosshair reminds himself to breathe when you bring your palms up to his cheeks.

“Okay?”

He’s certain you can feel how flushed he’s becoming, his tongue feeling glued to the roof of his mouth. Swallowing feels like a chore, but he hones in on how pink and puffy your lips are before nodding.

It’s dizzying, how quickly the two of you fall into a searing rhythm. Crosshair thinks your taste could be his new addiction, a satisfying taste that can only be coaxed by him and him alone. He kisses you fervently, relishing in the way your body gives against his, like remnants of clay molding together to create a unique display of beauty. When you start to press your center down into him, he thinks he’s met his match.

You moan into his mouth, sending a ribbon of desire down his stomach. The sweet noises he’s eliciting from you provoke his manhood to throb, which you are undoubtedly aware of as he pulls you flush against his erection. The whimper you release is downright lewd and he’s unthinking when you start to grind down on him.

“Fuck,” he groans.

His hands make their acquaintance with newly exposed skin as he trails underneath the fabric of your blouse, feeling gooseflesh pebbling in his wake. It’s tantalizing, knowing how he affects you so, and not for the first time does wonder strike him at the selfish prospect of getting to know you more intimately.

When you rock against him again and curse, Crosshair forgoes the exploration of your midsection, his hands sliding down your back to grab reverent handfuls of your ass, eliciting another breathless moan, something he’ll never tire of hearing. Your palms leave his shoulders to trail down his chest, slowing at the concave of his stomach and halting at the waistband of his pants.

“Crosshair,” you murmur against his lips, your shoulders heaving. He hums in response, eyes fluttering open as he loosens his hold on you, his palms sliding back to your hips.

“I really, really like you,” you say in between pants.

He lets out a short, breathy laugh, the sincerity of your tone breaking through the haze of his lust. A smirk pulls at the corners of his mouth with little effort.

“Really? I couldn’t tell,” he teases, bringing a thumb up to brush against your cheekbone.

The sound of your giggle, paired with a generous eye roll is what causes Crosshair’s heart to pang with desire. He thinks he’d like to make your eyes roll in other ways—

“Seriously,” you chide him, tugging on the hem of his shirt. “I don’t normally… This isn’t something I normally do.”

When you gesture between yourself and him, he quirks an eyebrow.

“You don’t do… Clones?” he offers, half-teasing, half-serious.

He shouldn’t enjoy how quickly horror overtakes you, your mouth going slack at the insinuation. “No! Nooo, no, no, I have no problem with you being a clone,” you say, the words spilling out, “The respect I have for clones and what they’ve done for the galaxy is astronomical—”

“Relax,” he interrupts, both hands coming to rest on your hips before squeezing in reassurance. Although he could get used to the way you speak in defense of him and his brothers, he wasn’t anticipating your quick shift in demeanor. Your words, while sincere and probably borne out of embarrassment, light that simmering fire inside him, something that, before tonight, he hasn’t felt in a long time. “I know. It’s okay. I’m just being an ass.”

Shoulders slumping, you exhale audibly, but not before shooting him an amused glare. “Okay. Yeah, good one.”

“Couldn’t help myself,” he says before leaning in to plant a kiss on your forehead.

You go limp against him, your front pressing against his as he breaks the kiss and cradles you in his arms, your cheek pressing into the side of his neck. You feel as though you fit perfectly in his embrace, as if the universe had planned for this very moment, making the stars align. But Crosshair doesn’t believe in higher beings. He’s doubtful that some sort of divine intervention is involved and secretly, selfishly hopes that you just… chose him. On your own accord.

“What I’m getting at,” you try again, your breath tickling against him, “is that I haven’t been with anyone in years.”

Oh. The insinuation lands clearly this time.

Crosshair can’t remember the last intimate encounter he had with a woman. It was most likely a one-night stand at 79s, but he never felt truly at peace after those instances. This newfound information is reassuring, putting to rest any fear that his own inadequacies might not be so terrible for you after all.

“Me neither,” he mutters.

You’re motionless in his arms. “Really?”

He swallows once before nodding. “Really. With the war and then… my time with Empire,” he grimaces, “I haven’t exactly been the most eligible bachelor.”

Silence permeates the living room. The wind must’ve settled down because despite the open windows, the curtains are still, allowing moonlight to trickle in, its rays the only means of illumination. It’s suddenly far too quiet for his liking. He’s hyper-aware of each breath he takes, your weight against his chest a stark reminder of how precious this moment is.

“So… This will be new for the both of us then,” you say. “I mean, ‘new’ in the sense that… it’s been awhile.”

It should feel embarrassing, admitting how little experience he has in this department, but now knowing that you’re in the same boat, he finds that he doesn’t care.

“Yeah,” he concurs. “Yeah, it’s definitely been awhile.” He almost holds back the following words but recalls how free he felt earlier opening up to you: “To be honest, I have no idea what I’m doing.”

You laugh lightly, the sound songlike to his ears. “For what it’s worth… Same here. I almost didn’t stop earlier,” you admit. “I wanted to keep going. To keep feeling you.”

His curiosity burns but he forces himself to wait a beat before asking,“So why… didn’t you?”

Still on his lap, you adjust yourself so that you can meet his gaze. He has to hold back a hiss from the lack of contact on his cock, which is mildly embarrassing, given how sensitive he feels. Pride fills him at the visible swelling of your lips but something shines in your expression, something he isn’t able to discern. This sense of not knowing, being unable to interpret your every action or name every emotion that flits across your face is something, he’s coming to realize, that is as simultaneously alluring as it is frightening.

Perhaps that’s why he feels like he’s moments away from plunging headfirst into the waters with you.

“I want to go slow. And savor this newness,” you offer, almost apolegetically. “Until we find our rhythm, or until we know each other better, at least.”

Despite how desperately he wishes to continue exploring this newfound physicality with you, Crosshair not only understands but agrees. He meant it when he said he’s not sure what he’s doing; he’s not a stranger to dire, life-or-death situations, his keen disposition and sharp wits bolstering spur of the moment decision making. But this feels entirely different, the gravity of what’s to befall you both feeling far more surreal than anything else he’s ever experienced.

This isn’t a hookup at 79’s. You’re not just some civilian he met at a bar offworld. You’re an authentic, tangible being who’s already demonstrated a budding trust despite his obvious shortcomings.

“Me too,” he finally says, and when you grace him with a gentle smile, it’s easy to reciprocate it. “We should go slow. I’ll follow your pace.”

You lean forward to kiss the tip of his nose. “Good. Buuut, I have some stipulations.”

He doesn’t expect anything less. Considering how fiercely independent you are and with the entirety of the garden center under your jurisdiction, Crosshair is well-aware that he’ll need to pick up the slack on his part in order to make this work.

Nevertheless, he tilts his head. “Oh?”

“I want you to come visit the gardens soon.”

An image flashes in his mind, one where he’s standing in front of a plot of island peppers, the smell of tilled earth fragrant in the air. Omega wouldn't be far, of course, since she enjoys helping often, unafraid of dirtying her hands. He can already imagine the sly grin that would manifest on his younger sister’s face once she realizes what’s transpiring between you both. The only consequence is that the island gardens and Lorik’s workshop are, ironically, on two different sides of the island.

While Pabu isn’t terribly large, it’s still a bit of a trek crossing from Western Upper Pabu to Eastern Lower Pabu. He will very well dread the opportunities that will force him to socialize while in public, but he supposes the outcome will surely outweigh that temporary discomfort.

Despite himself, Crosshair nods, tucking the daydream away for later. “I can do that.”

“And then, I would like to have lunch with you again.”

If Crosshair asked on any given day, Lorik would probably slap him on the back and tell him to take the rest of the afternoon off.

“Easy enough,” he says.

“I also want to officially meet your brothers.”

Well…

It’s not like he can fend them off for much longer. They’re bound to cross paths with you eventually and while he’s fond of them, Crosshair doesn’t know how his brothers would act around you quite yet.

He can see it now: Wrecker welcoming you with a bone-crushing embrace; Hunter’s eyes analyzing you, never leaving you; Tech introducing himself by asking if he can look at the greenhouse hydroponics system in the near future; Mox, Deke, and Stak convincing you to play a couple rounds of dejarik after dinner.

He hangs his head in resignation. It wouldn’t be the end of the world. A smaller, distant part of him thinks it might actually be healing, being able to finally introduce them to the woman behind his distracted thoughts as of late. It’s… oddly vulnerable, he thinks. But in the end, he thinks he’s probably just being selfish for wanting you all to himself.

“Fine,” he concedes before peering down at you quizzically, waiting for the last blow. “Anything else?”

“That’s it,” you say cheekily, your eyes twinkling. “And I’ll introduce you to my family as well. My grandparents live a couple houses down the road.”

Your hand finds his prosthetic one and when you’re palm-to-palm, your fingers slowly slot together with his own metal ones. The realization settles in belatedly; you have a family. Grandparents, it seems, who live nearby and no doubt have fond aspirations for your future. Settling down on Pabu, away from the clutches of the Empire, is proof enough of that sentiment. He berates himself for forgetting that detail. You had mentioned them before briefly in passing, but that was before he’d grown closer to you, before realizing that you returned his attraction.

“What about you?” You lean forward and fiddle with the neckline of his shirt. “Any… special requests?”

With how fuzzy his brain still feels, Crosshair doesn’t think he can come up with anything in particular. Especially not when you angle your body just so, granting him a direct line of vision down the collar of your blouse.

He’s swift in carrying out his request, wordlessly leaning forward to capture your lips in a slow, languid kiss. There’s a peace that settles over him as his mind shuts off, all rationale dissipating against the breathless sighs you release into him. Warm hands cradle the back of his neck as Crosshair explores you, tastes you, the urge to both savor and devour alighting his blood once more. One of his hands reaches to cup your ass, grasping reverently before testing the waters by pinching gently. You let out an abrupt squeak, breaking the kiss before bursting into a fit of giggles.

“Crosshair,” you scold, trying to shoot him a playful glare but failing miserably. Crosshair thinks he’ll dream of your flushed cheeks for many nights to come.

“So, no request from me?”

His grin is wide when he answers, “More kisses.”

You lean in, happily obliging him with a smile.

Masterlist

Heavily inspired by soft spot - keshi (please listen to this, it's so crosshair-coded)

#jillianwrites #tbb crosshair #tbb crosshair/reader #crosshair/reader #the bad batch #the bad batch crosshair #star wars #tbb #crosshair #crosshair/you #tbb crosshair/you #crosshair x reader #crosshair x you #tbb crosshair x you #tbb crosshair x reader

66 notes · View notes

heehoonies · 4 months ago

Text

anytime

request: heejakehoon but Jake cannot wrap his head around the fact he’s bi until he’s confronted by his two best friends who happen to be bfs (they fuck to help him realize 🤭)

wc: 3.6k

soft dom!heehoon x sub!jake.

now playing: middle of somewhere by the neighbourhood

jake’s entire life, he’s been secure in everything he’s done. sure, a few mistakes came through here and there, leading to regret mixed with equal amounts of shame, a potentially dangerous cocktail for his mental health. but every single time, he’s been able to handle it, telling himself he’s not a bad person, and that those instances don’t define him as a person. that he’s good, inside and out, and jake is well aware of his character. a kind man who cares about others, often times more than himself. high energy and big smiles, clingy touches with his friends to show his affection because words somehow never feel like enough. coffee dates and shopping to spend time together, checking in with his members constantly to make sure everyone is okay, knowing he appreciates when they reciprocate in kind for him.

it’s in the quality time and clingy behavior that jake finds his… dilemma, per say.

jake is the type of person to speak his mind, usually seeking out the guidance of jungwon as his leader to word vomit his emotions and thoughts to. won is usually able to help him work through the issues, and jake shows his appreciation through a tight hug and treating the younger man to a nice dinner, or buying him something he notes jungwon has been eyeing up for a while, knowing he sometimes hesitates when it comes to pampering himself.

but today, jake finds himself tucking himself under his comforter on his day off, a day where he usually would find one of his members, anxious to do something that exhilarates him, or at the least gets him out of their stuffy dorm. instead, jake scrolls endlessly on his phone to try and block the swimming thoughts from curling their way around his heart and breaking his entire world view with one little squeeze.

jake doesn’t think it’s a bad realization, but it’s certainly… different than how he’s lived his life up until this point.

jake has always liked women, and only women, and that’s where his current confusion lies. he has started noticing his members in different ways than he’s ever realized before.

take heeseung, for example. jake is a very clingy man, and he clings to heeseung tenfold. perhaps because he’s the only real hyung he has, jay never really acting like a hyung but more of a same age friend, only pulling out the older brother card when he wants to be a little shit to jake. which is more often than he’d like…

but jake has found himself longing to simply hold heeseung more recently, a thought that makes shame burn in his belly knowing that heeseung is a taken man and is totally off limits. and that’s when it hits jake… why is heeseung being a taken man making him feel ashamed? he’s not doing anything to him, but the thoughts he’s having…

the more they swirl in jake’s tired little brain, the more frustrated and confused he feels with his current predicament.

so now he sits, eyes zoned out on the screen before him as a tv show plays lowly in the background, thankful that they’ve finally moved into their new dorm, where he has his own room. his own room that he can hide from his members, and the whole world, in, wallowing in his self pity and bewilderment on his lonesome.

jake smiles lightly at his leader’s insistence on taking care of him, even when they’re not working.

jungwon: sure you don’t want to come?

jungwon: if you need anything, jay hyung’s in the living room about to take a nap and heeseung hyung and sunghoon hyung are upstairs

jake: i’m good, thanks won

jake frowns at the thought, knowing how absolutely exhausted jay must be to refuse an outing with the members. hearing sunoo call out a faint ‘bye, hyung!’ to him (and maybe jay) before the pair shuts the door behind him makes his smile return for a moment, before jake’s neutral face takes over as he resumes doom-scrolling on his phone.

jake sighs as he presses his face deep into the pillows, willing his brain to finally just be quiet, at least for a little while. jake knows what all of this means, but knowing doesn’t make the process of acceptance any easier. straying from the norm of how he’s always lived is the part that is bothering him the most, and wondering what it means for him as well his professional life.

would his members think he’s weird?

no, there’s no way they would. not with heeseung and sunghoon around, all members already expressing their heartfelt blessings towards the pair that they all somehow predicted would end up together.

jake doesn’t notice the way his hands are slowly balling themselves into fists as they lay at his sides while thinking about how happy he knows his two best friends are. he doesn’t want them to break up, obviously not, as their happiness is paramount to his own. knowing his friends are happy makes it easier for jake to be happy. on the contrary, actually, the thought makes him… jealous.

jealous that they’ve both already figured everything out, already experienced this internal turmoil of your entire self perception being tilted on its head instantaneously. jealous that they’ve each found someone to spend their life with, jealous, most of all, that he doesn’t even know how it feels.

jake is jealous, a fact that he would never admit willingly out loud. and he’s wrestling with his own mind, trying to figure out why, above all else, that he is figuring this out about himself, and no one seems to notice. sure, he’s trapped himself in his room at every waking moment since he started to question it, but heeseung and sunghoon had each other to help work through their emotions, remembering vividly how the pair were glued at the hip for weeks before finally revealing to everyone that they’re a couple.

jake longs for someone to hold him the way he sees heeseung hold sunghoon, petting his hair and stroking his back as sunghoon plays on his phone, or watches tv, or argues with jay about something pointless, an argument jake usually jumps into himself. and its during these arguments, or moments of peace, where jake finds himself staring, almost longingly, at sunghoon’s gorgeous profile, the satisfying, delicate slope of his strong nose, the cut of his sharp jaw, the constellation of beauty marks that adorn his face.

the thought of staring at sunghoon’s face paints his own in a light blush, skin running impossibly hot at the thought of sunghoon catching his longing gaze.

the core of his problem is, jake doesn’t know if he feels this way because he’s slowly discovering he’s bisexual, or if it’s because he has a crush on the pair.

because of course jake can’t just pick one man in a relationship, he has to long for both.

how selfish.

jake finds himself flicking through his phone to the youtube app, fingers working mindlessly until he finds a video. a fancam of heeseung from their most recent comeback xo, in a black sleeveless top and thin wire frame silver glasses. the first move already has jake nearly salivating, heeseung jerking his head back slowly and showing off the prominent bulge of his adam’s apple. jake groans, feeling so gross, wondering if he’s really about to jerk it to his best friend’s fancam, but jake can’t look away. he has no idea how he got here, his fingers tapping on their own accord to take him here.

he tries to push the thought away, along with all the conflicting ideas rushing in in their absence. jake decides to simply watch, gripping the phone tightly with both hands. he marvels at heeseung’s peachy pink hair as it falls down his face gracefully with every move, hair that he’s allowed to wash out into a faded orange that suits his skin color beautifully.

jake catches a view of sunghoon in the background, dancing in time with heeseung, neck and collarbone exposed beautifully under his black long sleeve. the sight of his milky skin stirs something deep inside jake’s belly, his current reaction mirroring every single time he’s looked at sunghoon since jake started feeling so confused.

after the video finishes, jake clicks on the matching sunghoon video that appears in the recommended section below, entranced by sunghoon’s slender body, concealed by baggier clothes, hitting every move with confidence a bit of his own style thrown in the mix. seeing his best friend in his element, moving his body in such a skillful way, fills jake with simultaneous attraction and pride. jake’s proud of how far they’ve come together from all those years ago as trainees, proud that he’s been able to watch sunghoon grow, and most of all, proud that sunghoon is proud of him, too.

the video ends with a black screen, jake seeing his own reflection staring back at him. the sight of his blushing cheeks makes jake groan, rising suddenly, his feet unknowingly taking him upstairs after seeing that jay is, in fact, fast asleep on the couch. he enters the upstairs dorm room, searching for heeseung and sunghoon.

“sunghoon?” jake calls out, peering around corners looking for him.

“jake?” sunghoon yells from his bedroom, “we’re in here!”

jake trudges over, finding sunghoon digging through his closet as heeseung lies on the bed, scrolling on his phone. the pair both look at him with kind eyes, happy that their best friend is here.

“are you feeling any better?” heeseung locks his phone and slides it onto the side table to give all his attention to jake.

jake shakes his head, thoughts running a mile a minute as he stands here, not entirely sure what his plan was. “no, not really.” heeseung pats the bed lightly and jake sits there, eyes watching his older friend.

“want to finally talk about it?”

jake shrugs, not knowing where to begin, or if he even wants to reveal his insecurities and bare his soul to the pair. jake knows the internal turmoil thrumming through him will cause the two to look at him strangely, “i– i don’t know, really, what’s going on with me…”

heeseung offers him a small, sad smile, “well, whatever you tell us might help us figure out what’s wrong.” sunghoon turns around now, done putting away his laundry, and walks towards them on the bed, leaning against the wall.

jake’s silent for a beat before he mumbles, “i’m having… new feelings.” heeseung and sunghoon stay quiet, urging him to continue through their silence. “my whole life, i’ve always liked g– something, but now all of a sudden, i think i like something else, too…” he speaks vaguely, hoping neither of them catch on to what he’s saying.

sunghoon feels something stir deep in his chest, having an inkling of what jake might be getting at, something he’s all too familiar with.

“and it’s really… making me wonder if i’ve been living my life as a lie this entire time.”

heeseung’s lips curve into a frown at jake’s words, feeling like he’s grasping at straws trying to figure out what jake is truly talking about, “you’re not living a lie, jake. you’re still you, no matter whether you’ve liked this… thing the whole time or not.”

sunghoon rises from the wall, coming to approach the side of the bed. he grasps jake’s chin between his fingers gently, tilting his head up. “be honest when i ask you this, okay?” jake nods, watching sunghoon with puppy eyes that make sunghoon’s chest nearly curl in on itself.

“what would you say if i asked to kiss you, jake?”

the lightbulb flicks on in heeseung’s head, a small, knowing smile enveloping his lips as he glances up at his boyfriend. his hunch was right.

jake’s face goes pale, “w-what?”

“you heard me. what would you say?”

“i-i–” jake’s mouth opens and shuts a few times, words refusing to spill. sunghoon grips ever so slightly on jake’s chin, urging his attention to return to sunghoon’s trained gaze.

“yes.”

sunghoon smiles at that, gaze traveling to heeseung, the pair sharing a secret conversation with only their eyes. content, sunghoon turns back to jake, “can i kiss you, jakey?”

jake nods quickly, his resolve now broken, wondering if this moment will help him figure out… whatever the hell is going on with him.

sunghoon leans down, meeting jake’s pillowy lips in a gentle embrace, lips slotting together perfectly. jake is timid at first and sunghoon returns in tandem by pressing further against his lips, urging him to go harder, feel deeper. the hand gripping his chin travels to cup his cheek, rubbing his cheekbone gently to soothe his nerves.

jake’s mind is completely blank, the only thing running through it being sunghoon, sunghoon, sunghoon. his hand grips sunghoon’s waist, pulling him closer and onto the bed, their kiss breaking for a moment at sunghoon falling on the bed. jake chases his lips instantly, sunghoon kissing back chastely before pulling back.

“slow down there, jakey.” sunghoon smiles, pressing a small peck against his lips before watching the boy in front of him, his best friend, the one with the kind eyes and bright smile. “we’ve got all day and nobody’s going anywhere, don’t worry.”

jake’s gaze turns to heeseung, shame burning in his belly, “heeseung, i’m sorry, i–”

heeseung cuts the boy off by kissing him, jake’s lips already red and puffy from just a few kisses with sunghoon. heeseung smiles into the kiss, biting lightly on jake’s lower lip. sunghoon’s hand snakes to jake’s growing hard on, one that he was blissfully unaware of due to the two names running laps in his mind.

“don’t apologize,” heeseung shakes his head lightly as he pulls away just enough to where he can feel jake’s breath on his skin. jake already feels so far gone already just from a little bit of kissing. “do you want sunghoon and i to help you figure out if you really do like that other thing?”

jake nods with a small smile, thankful that his friends understand his stupid and vague answer, or at least seem to understand.

heeseung smiles, capturing jake’s lips in another kiss, this one a bit rougher than before, but still gentle enough to keep jake on this side of the planet. heeseung and sunghoon know that jake is too vulnerable right now to be anything but absolutely gentle with him. heeseung pokes at the seal of jake’s lips with his tongue and jake grants him entrance, moaning against heeseung’s mouth as his wet muscle explores jake’s hot mouth. heeseung wonders for a fleeting moment how his mouth would feel wrapped around his cock, curious if he’d be eager to gag and deepthroat, or if he’d have to be taught by the pair. but he pushes the thought aside, the full intent of right now being to help jake.

sunghoon squeezes jake’s now fully hard erection through his black sweatpants, sliding up and down slowly before dipping his hand beneath the waistband, the only barrier between his hand and jake’s cock being a pair of thin boxer briefs.

heeseung pulls away when jake’s mouth begins to twitch, eager to hear his sounds without the suppression of his own mouth, “s-sunghoon–” jake whimpers, the sound shooting straight down to both men’s cocks. heeseung swallows his own moan, eyes growing hungrier as he watches jake squirm in sunghoon’s grip. “please–” he whines, though he doesn’t know what he’s even whining for.

sunghoon chuckles, “please, what?” he asks, actually wanting to know what jake has to say. he gets no response, though, so he decides to tug the sweatpants off jake’s legs. heeseung helps remove his shirt, and jake feels awfully exposed in just his underwear, sitting with legs spread open for his two best friends. sunghoon can feel him shaking under his hold, “hey, you’re okay,” sunghoon reassures him, “we’re gonna make you feel good, okay? and if you don’t like something, just tell us to stop or tap one of us three times, okay?”

jake nods in understanding, his mind still racing with the thoughts of them, them, them, “can you… can you take your shirts off, too?”

sunghoon nearly cums on the spot, seeing jake already so pliant sitting in front of him, allowing his best friends to help him with his identity problem. the pair complies, and the sight of two pairs of toned abs makes jake nearly drool.

“you look like a puppy.”

well, jake guesses he did drool.

the sound that comes out of jake is nearly inaudible, but heeseung catches it, his ears attuned to quiet sounds from the way sunghoon likes to mumble sometimes. “oh, he liked that. you liked being called puppy, jakey?”

jake would usually try to fight such an accusation, denying vehemently due to how much embarrassment a name like that brings, but in this situation? it makes jake grow needier, his quiet whines slowly growing in volume.

sunghoon rises to his feet, tugging jake’s legs to hang off the side of his bed before sinking to his knees between them. heeseung shuffles so he’s sitting flush with jake, the man’s back pressed against heeseung’s stomach.

“w-wha–”

“lemme suck you off, jakey. please?” sunghoon peers up at him with wide eyes, his need to have a dick in his mouth peaking as he stares at the bulge before him.

jake nods lightly, and heeseung helps him lift his hips as sunghoon tugs his boxer briefs down to pool at his ankles. the sight of jake’s length makes sunghoon’s mouth water. a decent length and girth, nothing bigger than heeseung, but decent and mouthwatering nonetheless. paired with a blushing mushroom tip and a veiny shaft, sunghoon uses all his willpower to not shove it so far down that he gags instantly, trying to focus this experience on jake.

sunghoon starts with a few kitten licks at the tip, jake already bucking his hips up in the air with each sensation. heeseung busies his hands by holding one of jake’s, the other playing with his nipple gently. sunghoon takes the tip in his mouth now, sucking a bit harshly, before puffing his cheeks out and slowly working his way down the shaft. drool has already begun to drip from the corners of his mouth. “our hoonie has a bit of an oral fixation,” heeseung explains, pressing a kiss to a new spot on jake’s shoulders every few moments. he rests his head to watch his boyfriend showcase his skills below, now reaching the base of jake’s cock.

jake’s eyes roll into the back of his head. sunghoon’s mouth wraps him in warmth, the texture of his cheeks sliding all the way down before rushing forward, his tip pushing down into his throat is enough to make him groan loudly.

“love your pretty sounds, puppy,” heeseung smiles at him, pinching his nipple harshly before turning to play with the other one. jake’s hand grips heeseung’s harsher for a moment as sunghoon sucks especially harshly while sitting with his nose pressed to jake’s pelvis.

“shit, hoon–” he gasps, a mix of a whimper and a whine coming out when he licks directly in jake’s slit before deepthroating him again. sunghoon grasps jake’s balls, toying with them lightly. jake’s body begins to buzz, his orgasm quickly approaching.

“you gonna cum down hoonie’s throat, baby boy?”

jake nods quickly, turning to face heeseung and kiss him sloppily, too fucked out to be anything other than absolutely messy, a fact that makes heeseung ever hornier for the man before him.

“look at hoonie when you cum.” he commands in a tone jake has never heard before, the sound pushing him further to the edge. seeing sunghoon’s staring up at him with an innocent gaze in deep contrast to seeing jake’s own cock shoved deep in his throat, slight gagging and gurgling noises ruminating from the man between his knees, makes jake’s rubber band snap harshly. jake cums, his abs clenching for the force of it, sunghoon sucking down every bit of it that rushes out, swallowing around his dick. jake nearly pushes him away at the feeling, but heeseung holds him still until he’s fully spent. heeseung waits until jake has stopped shaking to loosen his grip on the man.

“did so good for us, puppy.” heeseung kisses him lightly. sunghoon swallows the rest down before popping off of his length, rising to his feet to press a sweet kiss to jake’s lips. jake tastes his own release on sunghoon’s tongue, the saltiness and sunghoon’s lack of resistance to swallowing the liquid almost making him start to grow hard again.

jake feels utterly spent, sure that he’s the most he’s ever cum in his entire life. sunghoon redresses him in his underwear, heeseung helping him up to the headboard after. jake lays against the pillows, watching the couple before him and their matching hard ons, guilt spreading across his collarbones and seeping into his flesh. “what about you guys?”

they shake their heads in unison, coming to lay on either side of jake. “don’t worry about us, jake.” sunghoon reassures him, pressing a kiss to his forehead, “that was for you, not us. you’re still figuring things out, and we thought that might help.”

jake nods in understanding, knowing the pair have him all figured out. a million thoughts begin to bang on his brain, begging to enter, to dance around his head and mock him with their contradictory, confusing words and questions. jake wills them away the best he can as he tries to stay in this moment here with them, to etch it into his mind forever, knowing it will soon be just a fleeting memory. “it… it did, thank you.”

“anytime, puppy.”

#heejakehoon #heeseung #jake #sunghoon #smut #enha #enhypen #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #mlm #**mine #**anytime

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hyperfixationsporfavor · 10 months ago

Text

Empty Diamonds (Sukuna x Reader)

Author's Note: Hey pretties! This is just adding on to a request I received involving an older mean husband Sukuna. I have more ideas for this concept so if anyone is interested let me know. :)

Warnings: toxic relationship, age gap, choking, nsft, bruising,

MINORS DNI

Original post

Sukuna turned 40 this year.

And that came with a lot of complications ranging from his joints becoming more stiff to having to get up to piss in the middle of the night more often.

The biggest complication he currently had to deal with was you. He glanced over to see you leaning back in your seat, looking at the buildings the car whizzed past. Your manicured nails tapped agitatedly against your designer handbag.

Spoiled brat.

You were just trying to keep your head above water.

Being the wife of Ryomen Sukuna came with a plethora of troubles.

Poor little rich girl.

Your husband would embarrass and demean you both in public and private and you’d swear you’d leave him.

But then he’d pull you back in.

Drowning you in designer clothes, decorating you with fine jewels. Whisking you away to a private villa in the south of France or buying a gourmet restaurant you had mentioned liking so you could eat there whenever your heart desired. You couldn’t part with the lifestyle Ryomen provided for you.

He was a businessman with a gruff exterior and while you secretly hoped he would shed it for you, you knew it was wishful thinking.

When the chauffeur pulled up in front of your house you told him thank you, giving him a sweet smile. A smile that your husband immediately noticed. He followed you out of the car and inside. The maid stood by the door.

“Welcome home-”

“Get out,” he barked.

The old woman did as she was told, knowing the man of the house was best left alone when he was in a mood.

You shot him a glare which he only returned tenfold.

“Do you have to be such a brute?” you hissed.

“I pay her salary,” he griped, storming past you and up the stairs.

You sighed and trailed behind him.

You were only 28, but you felt so much older.

Another reason you found it difficult to leave Sukuna?

It came to you when he ripped off your designer dress and tossed you on the bed. Your diamond necklace rattled against your skin as your husband crawled over you and wrapped his hand around your neck.

“Do you want the chauffeur to fuck you?”

You refused to break eye contact with him, matching the scowl on his face. “Why darling? Would that bother you?”

His grip on your neck tightened, accompanied by the growing ache in your legs.

So he fucked you, long and hard, the way he knew you loved.

It was laughable really.

His wife, an esteemed member of high society, moaning and clutching onto him like a cheap whore. He’d make you forget about the chauffeur, about any man you had ever fantasized about.

When it was over Ryomen left, telling you he’d be back in a few hours.

Once the haze of your orgasm wore off you were left feeling empty and a little foolish.

You unclasped your diamond necklace and dumped it in your nightstand drawer. Then you lifted yourself out of the bed and made your way to the bathroom to shower. Once the water was hot enough you stepped in and scrubbed yourself clean. You caught a glimpse of yourself through the glass shower door in the bathroom mirror.

Placing a hand on your stomach you examined your side profile.

Of course the pressure of having an heir weighed heavily on your mind. It was an unspoken requirement of this marriage. Sometimes you wonder if a baby would make you feel more fulfilled, give your life purpose.

But the pragmatic side of you pushed such thoughts away.

You didn’t want to bring a child into this world to be parented by Ryomen Sukuna, loveless and cruel. You’d never forgive yourself for putting a child through that. No, this was a burden you’d shoulder alone.

When you finished you shut off the water and dried yourself off. As you did your skincare you thought of the bruising on your neck that would show up soon. You almost scared yourself thinking of what a lovely decoration they’d make, more beautiful than the most expensive diamonds.

Maybe you were just as twisted as your husband.

The End.

#sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #hyperfixationsporfavor #jjk sukuna

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c0la-queen · 4 months ago

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Hellooo! I just found your page and saw that you write eddsworld stuff! (It’s hard to find fics like yours) and I was reading some of it and I just had a request I wanted to ask (if you don’t mind :D) okay so imagine tords father being actually affectionate with his wife (in private of course) but not just like kisses and stuff he’s LITERALLY all over his wife and is literally not afraid to drag her into the bedroom and tries to tell tord to be like that with his future wife! Btw I love all your fics I’m still reading them now lol

Okay this is a little funny to me because I'm just imagining my version of Tord except he has zero to minimal amounts of daddy issues compared to what he has in my usual timeline. So for this ask, we're delving into Tord: Healthy Family Edition. (Also I am so sorry for being dead. I'm a freshman going to college for the first time and have been adapting to everything!! You guys' support and patience means everything to me!)

So we're running off the scenario I gave in my Red Leader dating headcanons. If you haven't read that, see my General Dating Headcanons post.

If you're not interesting in reading that, which I totally understand, here's a brief summary of how Red Leader and Reader met:

Reader starts out as Red Leader's personal secretary. He's notorious for having such a horrible temper that he runs through secretaries like Sarah Boone ran through lawyers (true crime joke, sorry). However, Reader handled his temper and returned it to him tenfold, earning his respect and eventually his love.

Now, in this world, Tord actually had a healthy family life. As the ask said, his father was very openly affectionate and in love with Tord's mother when in private. With Tord and his younger sister, it was what you'd see from parents in media that were happy and in love. Open PDA, frequent dates, and compliments galore. Tord's father, as the Red Leader, would shower Tord's mother in gifts - the finest jewelry in whichever metal she preferred, luxury chocolates, trips to different countries, etc. But it wasn't always money. He spoiled her in other ways, too. Filling the house with vases of her favorite flowers. Giving her massages in the privacy of their bedroom if she was sore. Doing everything in the house on days when she's especially tired. When his mother was pregnant with Tord's younger sister, his father's already heavy spoiling was increased tenfold. Tord was old enough to perceive the world at that point, so his father made sure to hammer into his brain that when his future wife is pregnant, he needs to treat her like a goddess incarnate. Tord took that to heart.

When Tord got older - about his teenage years, maybe around when his father had "the talk" with him (he had no idea Tord didn't need "the talk" and that he had been exposed to copious amounts of hentai when he was 15) - his father started to teach Tord how he expected him to treat his future wife all the time. Of course, Tord had grown up seeing how his father lavished on his mother. But there were some parts that he didn't quite understand as a child that his father clarified. Like his mother's periods! His father taught Tord that while all periods were experienced differently, there were a few different things that generally all period-havers enjoyed. I recently saw a TikTok where a woman said "however much you're spoiling your girlfriend during her period, I want you to triple it." This is something that Tord's father would say to him.

As for bedroom happenings, Tord's parents would do what good parents should do and make sure that the kids are never exposed to that part of their lives. When they're old enough to know what sex even is, Tord wants NOTHING to do with even thinking about his parents having sex. It sends shivers down his spine. For your pleasure as the dear readers on the other side of the screen, I will just say - Tord definitely got his father's genetics <3. Tord's mother was a very content woman.

Back to present day Red Leader (Tord, not his father), there are two stages to his relationship with Reader. The first stage is when they're still dating. Well,, dating in Reader's eyes. As I said in the general headcanons, Red Leader sees dating Reader as an unneeded formality. But Reader, being sensible, still wanted to take it slow instead of jumping straight into marriage. She would continue to work as his personal secretary - its his fucking army, whose going to stop him? The HR department isn't going to say anything since they're both consenting adults and any soldier who is stupid enough to try to accuse Reader of being a gold-digger is going to be cleaning every bathroom on base for a month.

Where it differs in this timeline is that Red Leader wouldn't try to keep a professional air around you in public. He'll come up behind you and wrap his arms around your torso, resting his chin on your shoulder. It doesn't matter if you're talking to another soldier about some paperwork or some other red tape nonsense. If the soldier you're talking to has any objections, they're quickly silenced by Red Leader's piercing stare. They're not risking putting their ass on the line. If you berate him for it afterwards, Red Leader will just pout and whine like a petulant child. He was getting bored doing paperwork and just wanted to hold you, how is that a problem :( He's so protective of you and is even more open about it now. He'll give you at least one body guard if you're going somewhere without him. Makes sure that you're exempt from normal soldier duties because HIS darling should only be tending to him and that's it. He openly shows so much favoritism toward you that even if you two were trying to keep your relationship a secret, every soldier was able to see it within like a week.

Once you two are married, you don't have the option of still getting to be a soldier. Red Leader will let you have whatever hobby you want - no matter how strange, niche, or complex it is, he'll fund it just to make you happy - but you're not going to be doing ANY kind of work if he has anything to say about it. Even if you just end up sleeping through most of the day, he's perfectly content to let you nap the day away all safe and cuddled up in his luxury satin bedsheets. Shows so much PDA all the time. Doesn't matter where you are or who is there. If you're in the base and some soldiers come into Red's office for something, he'll talk to them with a straight face while you lounge on his lap doing something or other. Discussion over drinks with an ally world leader of his? He'll still have you pulled flush to his side with his arm around your waist. Out in public with cameras on you? You bet your ass he'll still pull you in for a sweet, chaste kiss or press his lips to your temple as a silent reminder that he loves you.

Took all his father's advice to heart. You are the most spoiled person on the entire planet, you think. Cleopatra would be so envious with the way that you had Red Leader falling to his knees at your feet just to make you happy. Anything you want, anything at all, he'll get it for you. There has been multiple times where you were craving something specific from a certain country and Red Leader made it his mission to fly out to that country just to get you your craving. All the same kinds of presents that he watched his father shower on his mother - he would get for you, too. Jewelry in your favorite gemstones or ones that matched your eyes. Diamonds in every form, shape, and size. Clothing made of the finest imported materials. Desserts from around the world that were made for queens. Hundreds of dollars of perfumes in your favorite scents. Anything and everything just for you.

Takes your periods very seriously. He somehow knows your cycle better than you do. Tracks it like his life depends on it. He knows that your period is coming days before you're even aware that its time. The morning it starts, he's already got everything on hand. Whatever things work best for your period. A heating pad or ice packs, a bottle of Midol, and every snack and drink that you crave. He'll have the base kitchens make bulk desserts just to have on hand for you. Ice cream is already in the freezer. You're aching or bloated? The bath is already full and has your favorite bath oils added. That metal arm does wonders to massage your aching muscles. If you need something weighted for your cramps, what better than a buff soldier to lie on top of you! (If you need any kind of release, Red Leader isn't afraid of a little blood ;3)

If you ever get pregnant? Forget ever getting up for any reason other than daily exercise that's healthy for you and the baby. Even then, you're only allowed to walk around you and Red Leader's living quarters or out in the grassy training grounds with Red Leader by your side the entire time. Other than that, you are confined to bed or couch rest at all times. You are literally growing his child every hour of the day for the next nine months. Red Leader doesn't want you even thinking of doing anything other than resting and being the amazing person that you are. He'll do everything that the base doctors said would be good for you and the baby. He makes vitamin and herbal drinks for you, gets you every craving, and makes sure you're at top health. He deals with your shifting hormones without ever making a fuss. The affection is cranked to maximum - with the gift-giving having the added bonus of baby oriented items. He was never happier than when he sat on the floor of the nursery, putting together your new IKEA crib while you researched nursery themes on Pinterest in the plush chair against the wall. Not to mention, he increased base security more than ever during those nine months. He didn't want any of his enemies even sneezing within 1,000 miles of the base without him knowing about it. Not when the love of his life was more vulnerable and fragile than ever.

Tord's father in this timeline would be proud of the man he raised. Women are a gift to this world and deserve to be treated as such. Reader is Tord's entire world and he wants her to feel like it.

#eddsworld #eddsworld x reader #eddsworld tord #eddsworld tord x reader #eddsworld red leader #eddsworld red leader x reader #requested

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hoshigray · 2 years ago

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hi! i’m not quite sure if you’re comfortable with this but could you do toji taking care of his bratty gf that’s on their period? no pressure especially if you’re not comfortable! thank you so much! <33

Oh, dw anon, I'm totally comfortable writing this kind of stuff, but thanks for checking with me tho c: Didn't know what approach to go with this, but felt like fluff would be the best fit (since ik not everyone's into period sex; perhaps an idea I can go back on later *shrugs*). Please enjoy, and I hope you like this! ♡ Also, this is 3 for 3 on the request streak, holy shit haha! Cw: Toji x fem!reader - fluff - Toji trying to be a good bf and lowkey domestic - the reader is a lil whiny, but Toji still loves you - tummy massages!! - some light-hearted comedy; reader trying to annoy Toji lol - pet names (baby, sweetie, princess) - just you and Toji being a couple :3 Wc: 1.1k

"Toji?"

The man hums but doesn't turn to you, watching the television from the floor while you lay on the couch.

You try again. "Tojiiiiii~"

He rolls his eyes at your sing-song attitude, finally turning to your face. "Yeah, baby?"

"Would you please add more water to the kettle for me? My water bottle's getting cold, and my feet hurt."

With a huff, he gets up and walks to the kitchen. "Sure thing, sweetie." You hum into your couch pillow while wiggling on the water bag you're lying on, taking in whatever's left of the lukewarm storage bottle.

Today has been quite a busy day on your end. Amid two midterms, a group project, and a paper due at 11:45 p.m. tomorrow, you still have work to do today. And to top it all off, your period started two days ago, meaning you're suffering as of now. Not only is stress from college drowning you, but your body makes the pressure tenfold more painful to the point of wanting to shut down.

This is why you've spent your Friday afternoon cooped in your apartment and avoided talking with or seeing anyone, trying to focus on your work while dealing with your personal predicament. Especially texting your boyfriend, Toji, that you won't be able to see him for dinner at his favorite ramen place.

Nevertheless, the older man comes knocking on your door with a bag full of your favorites from the restaurant, saying he'll just spend the night with you at your place and help with whatever you need. Though you tried to decline his offer, his company has been very comforting.

However, since he came here with sincere intentions, you want to test his patience. With a cheeky smile pulling your lips, you start your act.

You hear Toji press the button to heat the water up, his heavy steps prominent of his return to you in the living space. He plops back down on his place on the floor, leaning against the couch you're lying on and putting his attention back on the TV.

Well, he tries to.

"Tojiiii~," You see the rise and fall of his shoulder sync with the heavy exhale escaping through his nose. Giggles are stifled, but your smile is wide when he looks back at you with one brow scrunched down.

A stern "What?" is thrown in your direction.

A tiny giggle slips out. "Can you please massage my tummy?"

He looks dead at your face before he scoffs. "Do I look like your personal maid or somethin'?"

"No, you're my wonderful, handsome, and caring boyfriend," You bring a foot up to tap his shoulder, to which Toji grumbles. To his dismay, you continue to tease him with your poking. "As a caring boyfriend, you should attend to your lady when she is in insufferable pain."

"Poke me with your toes again, and I'll chew 'em off." Okay, that's when you stop pestering the older man, holding in your laughter as he scowls with a devilish smirk. Another huff of air exits his lungs before he gets up from his spot once again, and you reposition yourself for him to sit on the couch facing you. He places the water bottle on the floor. "You got your own hands, doncha?"

"Of course, but I asked for your hands." He glares at you though you pay it no mind, lifting your shirt to pat your stomach. "Now, massage me!"

Toji shakes his head yet lifts his hands and places them on your exposed abdomen, calloused and scarred fingers squeezing your plush skin. "So annoyin', ya fuckin' brat." You blow a raspberry. "I shoulda stayed at the ramen joint."

"Pfft, please, you know you don't go there alone anymore. Might've gotten bored and brought yourself here regardless." You close your eyes and sink into the feeling of the man's fingers rubbing your stomach.

He only replies with a small 'hmph' and continues with the task thrown onto him.

This continues for a few moments, and you enjoy the man's hands roaming your belly. His palms and fingers' rough yet gentle manner makes you feel like the cramps are no longer a problem. It feels so pleasant. Curious, you open an eye to stare at the man before you.

The look on Toji's face displays nothing but pure focus, looking at his work as he massages you. Raven bangs cast shade from the ceiling lights. The man had soft emerald eyes, yet keen as they zero in on your physique as he skilfully kneads your abdomen with his digits. His lips are kept in a neutral line, and you can't help but look at his scar when he licks his teeth.

The more you examine him, the more you realize just how lucky you are to see this side of him. And maybe how lucky you are to have such a man deal with you even during times like this.

"Whatcha lookin' at me for, princess?"

Toji's gruff voice snaps you back, realizing he caught you surveying him. A grin dashed on his face. You decide to toy with him one more time. "Oh, Tojiiiii."

The smirk immediately disappears, replaced with a look that screams mild annoyance. You let out a burst of laughter, rocking your head back and forth and laughing harder every time you peer back at his face. "Fucking what now, ya damn brat?" He doesn't try to hide the irritation in his voice, and you can feel him glare holes into you while you laugh into your hands.

You calm yourself down, speaking in chuckles. "You know I love you, right?

"Shut the hell up." Not a single change to his face.

"No, I—pfffthaha," giggles escape your lips as you try to center yourself to speak appropriately, placing your hands on his big ones that rest atop your tummy. "I mean it, I really do! I appreciate you coming here and dealing with me and my whiny ass. If you hadn't been here, I'd probably be rotting in my bed right about now. I love you, so thank you for watching out for me."

Toji's face slowly molds away from his peeved expression, now relaxed and exhibitng a look of slight astonishment. You can make out a tiny shade of pink under his eyes and earlobes, yet you choose not to point it out to showcase your seriousness with a loving smile. He scoffs, shakes his head, and leans close to your face.

"You're somethin' else, ya know that, kid?" He flicks your forehead, resulting in you groaning from the diminutive mistreatment. But he quickly places a kiss when you're done squirming from the pain. "I love ya too, baby. Always."

You beam at him. "Even when I'm whiny?"

Finally, he laughs. "Yeah, even when yr' whiny. My whiny, annoyin', cute-ass princess."

"I said whiny, not annoying."

"Whatever." The two of you exchange laughs and kisses on the couch, completely disregarding your assignments and the kettle ready with hot water. It doesn't matter nor compare with the adoration you experience from him right now, so you indulge yourself for as long as you can.

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pollenallergie · 11 months ago

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cassie my love, i need more of this in my life. getting high post-sex w older!tom just seems soooooo <3

So…. it took me an embarrassing amount of months to get back to you on this but um…. here you go… this took a turn??? and then a swift turn back in the other direction???? so um…. horny whiplash warning??? ig????

Tagging @ali-r3n bc she asked me to and also @ghosttownwherenoonegoes because Eri helped me out with a lot of the british specifics (the britifics??) so thank youuuu

Okay, okay, without further ado:

Your First Introduction to Older!Tom’s Post-Sex Ritual

(except I can’t stick to a prompt)

Word Count: 2.1 k

Warnings: Nudity, allusions to sex and also some *ehm* inappropriate touching, reader has boobies and a bajina.

18+ only!! MDNI!! Minors do not read this!!! This is not for you!!!! This is for adults only!!!

“Fuuuuuck,” Tom exhales as he lays on his back, staring up at your bedroom ceiling.

“Fuck,” you agree weakly, still slowly drifting down from cloud nine. Tom chuckles at your response as he sits up and eases out of bed. You smile at the sweet sound of his laughter, though you don’t immediately register the movement; still just a bit too far gone.

When Tom struts past your line of sight, still naked as the day he was born, on his way out of the room, that movement manages to catch your attention finally. You frown, at first, because you were already missing him, and then because you were disappointed in yourself for already missing him. Casual, this is just casual, keep it casual, you remind yourself. Tom doesn’t do the whole dating thing, you know that, so keep things platonic and casual. Don’t scare him off.

Suddenly, you’re pulled out of your internal self-lecture by the sound of a distant, but not distant enough, crash and Tom exclaiming, “shit!”

You sit up as quickly as you’re able to, your whole body still feeling pretty limp and boneless after Tom spent the better half of the evening pulling as many orgasms from you as he could. Once you’re upright, you call out, “Tom? Are you alright?”

“Yeah! Yeah. Shit! Er, yeah, just, erm- hang on,” Tom calls back. You hear more shuffling and clattering from the other room, and then you hear the undeniable creak in the floorboards from Tom’s heavy-footed steps as he approaches the bedroom. Soon enough, he appears in the doorway, still shamelessly nude but now with a joint in hand and a sheepish expression on his face.

“Have you got a lighter or, er, matches or anything like that? I tried looking ‘round for either of ‘em, but erm… Yeah, I couldn’t find anything,” he asks, his cheeks blushing as he carries on.

“Is that what all that crashing was?” You ask amusedly, failing to stifle the grin that curls on your lips.

“Yeah… I erm, I might’ve knocked some of yer shit over,” Tom admits sheepishly.

“Tommy,” you say, your tone a perfect mix of amused, exasperated, disappointed, and scolding.

“But, but!! But I put it all back, and none of it’s broken. Swear on me granda’s grave,” he promises.

You can’t help but roll your eyes fondly at that before chastising him a bit, good-naturedly, of course, “Don’t swear on that poor man’s grave. Knowing you, you probably already put him through enough when he was alive.”

Tom chuckles, “Fair enough,” he concedes before raising up the joint to draw your attention back to it, and then simply asking, “Lighters? Matches?”

“Er, right. Lighters. Kitchen, the counter to the left of the fridge, top drawer, it’s my catch-all drawer, there should be a few lighters in there, take your pick,” you inform him.

Tom grins at your response as he makes his way over to the bed. His grin widens tenfold and becomes much more smug when he notices your gaze flit down toward his cock, which gracelessly flops around with his strides, still limp and spent from your previous activities. When he reaches your side of the bed, he places his hand down on the mattress near your thigh, using it to support his weight as he leans over and plants a kiss on the crown of your head. He holds his lips there for a few moments, softly inhaling the residual scent of your shampoo as he does so, deciding to allow you both to enjoy this moment of peace without even being truly aware that that’s what he’s doing.

When Tom finally breaks away, he leans down to whisper into your ear, “Don’t get any ideas, love,” he warns cheekily, “You and that heavenly little place between your thighs milked my cock dry; don’t think I’ll be able to get it up again anytime soon,” he finishes teasingly before kissing you again, this time pressing his lips against your cheek to punctuate his teasing.

You scoff and stifle a smile as you push him away. Cocky little bastard, you think.

Tom holds his hands up in surrender as he backs away from the bed, joint still clutched between his index and middle finger and a smug grin still on his face.

“Don’t shoot the messenger, baby. It’s yer fault for bein’ greedy,” he teases as he walks off into the other room, still refusing to put on clothes.

God, how are you supposed to keep your feelings in check when he treats you like that? He’s just one of your mates, and yet he treats you better than many of the dickheads you’ve dated in the past ever had, better than some of your mates’ current partners treat them, even.

As if he can sense that you’ve begun to spiral from the other room, Tom calls out to you, effectively pulling you out of your fretting, “Ay, me lover, think I’m gonna light up and make meesen a bacon butty. You want anything while I’m out ‘ere? Water? Bacon butty? Some wine? This Crunchie you’ve got hidden in your cupboard? Actually, wait, nevermind, I call dibs on the Crunchie.”

“Maybe some wa- Hey, wait, Tom, no! Leave that Crunchie alone! I’ve been saving that!”

Of course, you frantically try to get up to rescue your precious candy bar from Tom’s thieving grasp. However, your legs are still a little unsteady, which forces you to walk to the kitchen looking like a newborn giraffe, all while Tom’s grating (read: annoyingly sexy) chuckle fills the space of your flat.

You find him cock out, lit joint pursed between his lips, standing in front of your stove, hands on his hips, heating up a frying pan for his bacon, and, annoyingly, nowhere near your candy stash.

“I haven’t got any bacon, so, it’ll just be a butty, I’m afraid. No use heating up a pan for that,” you grumble as you walk over to the cupboard where you stash your candy. Might as well snag that Crunchie before he can.

At the sound of your voice, Tom turns around and looks at you, bemused, albeit amused as well, and says, “the fuck are you doing out ‘ere on those wobbly li’l legs, Bambi?”

His words come out a bit muffled, thanks to the joint perched between his lips.

“Thought you were gonna steal my Crunchie,” you shrug and admit sheepishly through a mouthful of chocolate and honeycomb. At that, Tom barks out a laugh, which quickly morphs into a cough from accidentally inhaling during said laugh. He promptly removes the joint from between his lips, ashes it in the makeshift ashtray he’s made out of foil, clears his throat, and goes back to smoking.

“Jesus, you’re a strange one, aren’t you,” he remarks fondly, his voice slightly hoarse from coughing, as he begins to gather the ingredients for his sandwich.

“I’m very serious about my Crunchies,” you reply, half-jokingly.

Tom chuckles as he rifles through your fridge.

“Yeah, I’m well aware of that now,” he replies, pausing to inhale before continuing to speak on his exhale, “Sit down at the table then, yeah? I’ll get you some water and make us some toasties if that sounds alright?”

“Y-yeah, yeah, okay,” you agree awkwardly as you sit down nearby at your kitchen table, watching him as he works on preparing the food.

Soon enough, he comes over to you with a glass of water and that same cheeky smile.

God, that smile will get you in so much trouble someday, won’t it?

“What’s that grin for?” You ask as he sets down the water, though you can’t help but reciprocate it with a smile of your own.

He shrugs before leaning over to press his lips against yours, moaning into the kiss when you needily take the initiative to deepen it, parting your lips eagerly for him. Far too soon for your liking, though, he’s breaking the kiss, pulling away just slightly to look into your eyes with his lovely brown ones.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have really, really great tits?” Tom asks, his voice low, sultry, and serious, but you can see the mischief swimming in his gaze.

You roll your eyes and scoff at his question, leaning back in your seat, though anyone could see the amused smile you fail to keep from tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“Yeah, you have like a million times since we started hooking up,” you reply with a chuckle.

“What can I say? I’m a man of honesty,” Tom teases, making you huff out a laugh; he smiles at the sound of it before holding up the joint in your line of sight and asking, “Do you want to take a few tokes ‘a this while I finish up our sandwiches?”

You nod and purse your lips, and, as if it were already second nature to him, Tom slots the joint between your lips.

Instead of immediately going off to work on the food, he sticks around to watch you take your first few puffs, still leaning down so he’s just about at eye level with you, his hands boxing you in on either side, one palm pressed onto the tabletop and the other holding onto the back of your chair. Meanwhile, you sit diagonally in your seat, facing him and maintaining eye contact as you smoke. The haze of your high slowly but surely begins to set in, lowering your eyelids to a relaxed level and easing your posture. Between your new relaxed state, the sex hair you’re sporting, the fact that you smell like you’ve just got done having sex, the fact that you’re completely naked right now, and the fact that you’re, well, you, Tom thinks you might be one of the prettiest things he’s ever fucking seen in his whole life.

But he mustn’t forget about the toasties!

So, he plants one last kiss on your cheek because, hey, he fucking feels like it. Then, he surprises you by kneeling in front of you to say goodbye to ‘his girls’ (your tits).

“I’ll see you ladies in a minute, yeah? Be good while I’m gone, try not to miss me too much,” he whispers to them, making you giggle.

“Tom, you’re so fucking wei-” That (affectionate) jab immediately dies on your tongue the moment he leans forward and wraps his lips around one of your nipples, engulfing it in the warm, wet heat of his mouth and applying just enough pressure to make a heated, buzzing sensation spread beneath your skin as he sucks on it. Then, just as you feel that pleasant sensation spread down through your core, Tom’s pulling away, but only so he can give your other, neglected nipple the same attention.

Small mewls and moans spill out from between your parted lips as the long forgotten joint, still clutched between your fingers, hovers over your table, where the ashes fall from it carelessly, sure to leave a mark. Once Tom’s had his fill, he places a final kiss to the center of your chest before pulling away completely and leaving to go finish preparing your sandwiches, waltzing back over to the stove as if he hadn’t just done, well, that.

“Tom… what the fuck was that?” You ask breathlessly. Still too bewildered to notice the damage the neglected joint is doing to the surface of your table.

Tom has to stifle a cheeky, mischievous grin as he feigns nonchalance, shrugs, and simply replies, “Just giving the ladies a proper goodbye, love. They get nervy when I leave ‘em just out of the blue. You know, separation anxiety, and all that?” Tom tuts, “Poor girls. Think maybe you should start keeping a couple pictures of me in your bra, one in each cup, so they can still see me when I’m not around.”

“Tommy, you’re ridiculous,” you laugh as he dishes up the toasties onto plates and turns off the stovetop.

“Ridiculous…ly fit? I know, baby, but why don’t you finish that glass of water and eat some of that sandwich before you go jumpin’ me bones again, yeah? Gotta stay fed and hydrated,” He teases you as he brings the plates over to the table.

“Oh, and, you’re ashing on yer table, love,” Tom informs you with a kiss on the head as he sets the plates down and goes to grab a wet rag to wipe the table off with, along with the makeshift ashtray.

“Shit!” you exclaim as you lift the joint away from the table. You hand it to him when he gets back, trading it off for the rag so you can wipe up the mess you’ve made whilst he gets everything else sorted.

Tom tuts and shakes his head, feigning disapproval, “that’s the devil’s lettuce, it’ll do that to you.”

“Shut up, Tommifer,” you reply, feigning annoyance all while sporting an amused smile. He chuckles at that, though he also appreciates the fact that you neglected to call him ‘Thomas,’ his full first name, when you very easily could’ve.

“Eat yer toastie, me birdie,” He says as he nudges you teasingly, “sooner you finish it, sooner I can get back between those thighs, yeah?”

#is this anything???#this does not mean i’m taking requests again!! just that i’m going back to answer old ones!!!#ask and i shall reply #RJ <3 #older!tom grant #tom grant #tom grant smut #tom grant x reader #older!tom grant smut #older!tom grant x reader #older au #tom grant make up #make up (2019)#joseph quinn characters #joseph quinn x reader #tom grant x you #older!tom grant x you #joseph quinn x you #moots my beloved <3

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