#I just cannot get a ship that doesn’t have very in your face things to read | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wri0thesley · 7 months

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lion tamer - jing yuan x reader (12.4k)

it's taken for granted you'll take the job that nobody else wants, whilst the general is indisposed. you just didn't expect things to turn out like this.

cw: not sfw, minors dni. chubby reader. reader is afab but no gendered terms are used. descriptions of raw meat (animals eating), food, pining, fingering, cunnilingus, coming inside. pet names including little bird, darling, little thing. reader is implied to be shorter than jing yuan.

This was a commissioned work.

It’s a quiet whisper, at first - gossip among the lower-downs of the Luofu. You hear it on the fringes and the edges, but you dismiss it as really none of your business; you’re already working harder than most everyone else thanks to the small matter of your far shorter lifespan, and you don’t intend to set yourself back by listening to idle gossip. You have other things to concentrate on; the busywork that you’ve been assigned to as a junior (very junior) member of the Seat of Divine Foresight.

Really, though they call you a ‘non-administrative support specialist’, you know what you really are; a general dogsbody, somebody to pick up all of the pieces that others sweep by. Still; just getting a position here means you’ve outdone most people, and you hold in your heart the idea that you could get even further up this ladder of success if you simply tried hard enough. You’ve heard tell that even some of the long-life species haven’t managed to make it as far as actually working within the Seat itself, so really . . . you can��t help but feel a little proud of yourself.

Which is why you choose to ignore the swirling rumour about your esteemed Arbiter-General until you’re called into a meeting with Yong Hai himself.

(The General is sick, the rumours say. The General may not last another day. The General’s laziness has caught up with him, the General may not make it, and what will we all do then--)

“So,” Yong Hai says, all business. “You’ve probably heard about it already.”

There’s a flare of disquiet in your gut; that the gossip and the rumours you’ve been so steadfastly avoiding are true. You don’t know what the Luofu would do with General Jing Yuan; you cannot imagine the ship and the world without him, when he has been such a stolid presence - and the way that the general public will react doesn’t bear thinking about--

“Stop that,” Yong Hai says, with an amused look in his eye even as he fights to keep his mouth in a firm, commanding line. “It’s not as bad as people are saying. The General has simply . . . contracted something that he isn’t bouncing back as quickly from as we’d hoped. We’ve had to send him off to the Alchemy Commission for a few days, just to see if we can work out how to help . . .” The secretary catches himself, clearly remembering he’s talking to someone who amounts to little more than custodial staff. He coughs. “Anyway. It’s left us in a bit of a conundrum, and after some discussion, we think you’re qualified to handle it.”

You tilt your head to the side as you try and think what you could possibly do to assist in this matter.

You’re no healer; you’re no nurse. You can’t help them figure out how to cure the General, you’re not equipped to sit at his bedside and mop his feverish brow (your cheeks go hot and your face burns at the very thought of it). You certainly can’t take over any of Jing Yuan’s actual duties. The idea of you as any kind of military strategist is laughable--

“How can I help, Sir?” You ask, partly because that is what’s expected of you and partly because you really have no idea what use you’ll be in the situation.

“Ah,” he says, and then he coughs again - he looks into the corner of the room, as if he’s begging someone to help him, and you remember that he and his sister are most often found together. But here, it’s just the two of you, and he has nobody to help him to break whatever news he’s going to break to you. You hope it’s not going to involve cleaning up a sick-room; you’re really not good with that kind of thing--

“We need somebody to tend to his home affairs,” Yong Hai says, eventually. “He . . . Ah, look, I’m going to come out and say it. General Jing Yuan has a penchant for taking in stray animals and the like, and he only even agreed to let himself be looked at on the caveat we had to promise to find someone to look after them.”

You think of the statues of lions that decorate the place, and you feel a trickle of cold sweat down the back of your spine. You hope desperately that the secretary isn’t implying that you’re about to quite literally be fed to the lions--

“Stop looking like that!” He says, exasperated. “All of them are perfectly tame, and you’ll be in no danger. He has a . . . lion that he’s incredibly fond of. Several birds. And . . . ah,” he looks embarrassed again. “He’s informed us he usually leaves out a veritable feast for any other neighbourhood strays on his balcony, and he was very worried that they weren’t going to be properly nourished whilst he was away.”

Finches. You can do that. Neighbourhood strays - cats and dogs, you suppose - are all very well. But the lion . . .

That doesn’t matter. Yong Hai seems to have reached the end of his meeting with you, to his tangible relief. He’s already bustling about his desk and looking longingly towards the closed door.

“A new schedule’s been drawn up for you and sent to you already,” he says. “All of the relevant information should be in the attachments! Have fun, won’t you? The General is so very fond of his pets, you see--”

Your phone beeps as if it is punctuating his point; the secretary beams at you, and you get the distinct impression you are being told to put your best foot forward and roll with the punches. ‘Get on with it’, as someone without any manners might say.

“Understood,” you say, and you force yourself to smile and look on the bright side of things even if you’re sure you’re going to have nightmares about being eaten alive by a lion tonight. This is a post that the General wanted filled personally! This is almost as personal as someone can get to the General, actually; it appears you’ll be working in his actual home! It’s a . . . a step up! A stepping stone!

You force yourself to ignore that it is actually very much a case of sticking the lowest ranked person (and someone well-known for taking on as much as they can with cheerful aplomb, due to your fear of ever really saying ‘no’) onto the job that nobody else wants to do.

“I’ll do my best,” you say, and Yong Hai beams at you even as he gestures for you to go and get to grips with your new role.

Well.

You have no other choice then, really, but to Get On With It.

You are quite frankly terrified the next day, when you turn up to your newest duty. The documents sent to you had instructed you to pick up raw meat for the lion from the General’s most trusted supplier before you went up to his chambers; apparently, birdseed and cat-and-dog food was kept there, but the lion’s appetite could not so easily be sated. You have to give yourself a pep-talk before all of it; have to convince yourself that running away from this new responsibility would be both awful for your career prospects and terribly cruel.

“Ah,” says the supplier, when you turn up and tremulously hand over your phone so he can see the attachments displayed on the screen giving you this new Meat Power, “So you’re looking after the waifs and strays and Mimi, then?”

“Mimi?” You ask, your voice tremulous, and he laughs as he hands over two incredibly full buckets of raw meat. It’s a good job you’re not squeamish.

“That’s the lion,” he says. “The General tried to name her Snow Lion after he realised she wasn’t just going to be a pretty little white housecat, but . . . Mimi fits. You’ll see!”

The concept of Jing Yuan attempting to adopt a pretty little white house cat and being saddled instead with a huge lion, and having to continue to refer to the powerful beast as ‘Mimi’ despite his best efforts, keeps you entertained right up until you’re outside the door to the General’s chambers and you remember that a carnivorous predator awaits you on the other side of it.

“Well,” you say to yourself, hoisting the buckets up and taking a deep breath, “there’s no point delaying the inevitable. If I get eaten today . . .”

And you let the pass-key you’ve been given float against the sensor, until the ornate doors to Jing Yuan’s chambers slowly part and admit you into the Arbiter-General’s inner sanctum.

The first thing that you’re struck by is how it seems that the General left in a rush. The entire place, whilst not dirty, has an air of untidiness. You hear the cheeping of finches from the first room; excitement that their Master may have finally returned to play with them. You can’t help but feel sorry for them - from what Yong Hai has said, it may be quite a while before Jing Yuan is well enough to return to his home.

There are touches of the General everywhere, now that you’re looking. Delicate flowers (you’ve heard he likes small, delicate things, and you can’t help the nervous tug at your clothing as you consider just how indelicate you find yourself). Ceramics and porcelain that you fear are so fragile they may shatter even under your gaze. An unfinished game of star chess, a coffee cup left half-drunk . . . That last one could fetch a fine price in the black market. You’ve heard those traders hawking ‘tissues used by Helm Master Yukong’ or even ‘a book enjoyed by General Jing Yuan’s protege!’.

Before your mind can lead you too far down that dangerous path, though, the lady of the hour appears.

She’s beautiful.

You have to stop yourself gasping aloud. Any fears you might have had seem to fall to the wayside, unimportant, compared to the majesty of the lion before you; the pure white fur, the wise face, the mane that fluffs out from her. She’s pure white; lean, but perhaps with a little pouch at the tummy. Not a single snarl or tangle mars her fur, not a single speck of dirt upon her, like the false moon looking down upon the Luofu--

She sees that you’re holding two big buckets and seems to recognise them, because it’s barely a breath before her ears twitch and she pounces like a kitten, seemingly not realising that you are smaller than her owner and she is far larger than the average kitten is. All of the wind is knocked out of you as you cry out her name and are tackled to the ground.

You find yourself beneath the warmth of her body, a sweet scent emanating from her fur as if the esteemed General regularly bathes and shampoos her. Delighted, she sticks her snout right into one of the buckets. A low, pleased rumble emits from her throat as she works her teeth over the meat--

You reach up, hesitantly, with the one arm that isn’t pinned by the great weight of her. Your fingers hover for a moment, unsure of what to do - is she like a cat? Does she prefer chin scratches or ear scratches?

You settle for a very light pet at the side of her mane, just by her face. Her fur is just as soft as you had thought she would be - a lady who is clearly incredibly spoilt. Well-cared for. You have another flash of a vision of Jing Yuan - combing her mane, tying a shiny ribbon about her neck to match the ribbon he wears in his own hair.

Mimi pauses in her enjoyment of the food. Your breath catches in your throat, all of your senses on a sudden high alert - what if she didn’t like being touched like that? What if she’s about to mistake your hand for a part of the buffet you’ve brought her?

A moment that seems like an hour passes.

And then she leans into your hand with a pleased rumble-squeak-growl, her eyes closing in pleasure, and despite how your heart is beating and your legs are aching from the way she’s twisted them and trapped them beneath her . . . you smile.

For the first week, every time you let yourself into Jing Yuan’s space, you are alone aside from the animals he keeps there. Mimi launches herself at you, but you’ve learnt to sidestep and laugh and ruffle her mane, offering her choice little tidbits to curl up and gnaw on her food whilst you see to the strays that congregate on Jing Yuan’s balcony. They had taken a little longer to warm to you, but after the second day when it became clear if they wanted the same food Jing Yuan usually prepared they would have to come to you, they had thawed considerably. You leave them to their devices, and finish off with the finches.

They hop from place to place in their cage, cheeping brightly. Sometimes they hop onto your finger or your shoulder, looking at you like you’re the most wonderful being in the universe. Once one had hopped onto your head and you’d stayed stock-still for five minutes, afraid of disturbing it.

After all of the pets and animals are fed, you’ve gotten into the habit of sitting with them for a little while. Curling around Mimi and stroking her mane and her tail (you’ve braided it, actually, and told her how pretty she looks with little red ribbons in her fur as she blinked at you her slow, lazy blinks). Listening to birdsong. Letting the strays rub about your feet and imagining the Arbiter-General himself doing all of these mundane tasks.

It’s strange, to think of him as so . . . so much a real person. General Jing Yuan has always seemed a man of mystery and just a touch of romance to you; a long life species who has outlived almost everyone he’s ever worked with, who has steered the Luofu into glories and battled bravely and heroically against Abundance abominations for longer than you’ve been alive. The first time you’d met him, when you’d gotten your place at the Seat of Divine Foresight (before you’d quite found out how meagre your duties really were), you’d been utterly tongue-tied.

He’d been charming, naturally. Smiling and charismatic and low and pleasant-voiced, saying how glad he was to have you aboard and how he hoped you would enjoy your time here. There’d been, perhaps, a flash of sadness in his eye at the knowledge you were a short-life species-- but you’d quickly tried to dispel that notion, scolding yourself for your own romanticism. Jing Yuan is your colleague, your boss - better to not harbour such idealism, to make him into a storybook character instead of a man.

Still. It’s rather hard to imagine him out of breath, puffing and wheezing, after pulling the bucket Mimi had gotten her paw stuck in off of the silly lion’s foreleg before she sent herself into a panic.

You think that the menagerie that he keeps in his private quarters have grown fond of you in turn. The task that everyone had seemed to find so onerous quickly becomes one of your favourite parts of the day; there is something to be said about the healing properties to the soul of having a lion roll over to show you her tummy and wiggle enticingly until you give in to her and give her all of the rubs and tickles that she so clearly desires.

So for about a week and a half, everything chugs along; you fall into routine, and the animals recognise you in turn. They sometimes still crane their necks and heads hopefully around you to see if Jing Yuan is around (Mimi especially occasionally looks dejected at his absence, though her ears perk up once again as soon as she remembers the buckets you come bearing are filled with delicious morsels for her), but when it is just you they still seem somewhat satisfied.

Nobody gives you any warning that Jing Yuan has returned to his own rooms.

Which is why you walk into the main room with your buckets swinging on your arms, singing a silly little song you’ve composed for Mimi about how the meat is soon to be ‘delicious and yummy’ in her ‘full-up-tummy’, you’re so surprised to hear a velvet soft chuckle floating from the big circular sofa in the centre of it that you almost drop all of those delicious-and-yummy steaks and thighs all over Jing Yuan’s ornately tiled floor.

You stare at the sofa, your cheeks going all-over hot, as a mass of blankets moves and shifts and a slightly ruffled pale head emerges from them.

The General himself.

It’s obvious, looking at him, that he hasn’t been feeling his best. His normally tied up hair falls over his face in unstyled sweeps, there are dark circles beneath his eyes and a sharpness to his cheekbones that you have never noticed before. Instead of the armour you have grown so used to seeing him clad in, he wears civilian clothes; a loose shirt that shows off the lines of his throat, his collarbone.

Despite all of that, though, he is still the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. Your heart still skips a beat. He takes you in for a moment, his face scrunched up as if he is not quite awake; and then, a small smile spreads over his handsome face.

“Don’t stop on my account,” he says, in that low, musical voice. “I’d like to know where the song has to go, after her tummy has been filled.”

“I’m so sorry,” you blurt out, awkward, nervous, unsure of what to say. “I-- nobody told me you’d be back, I can leave, I didn’t mean to--”

He holds up a lazy hand, the smile still on his face. His eyes are half-lidded, his overall look almost indulgent.

“Please,” he says. “I’m . . . better, but not fully recovered. I’ve been given strict instructions that I'm not to lift heavy objects or do anything more than relax for at least another week. I’d be much obliged - if it’s not too much trouble on top of your own duties, of course - if you could carry on seeing to my . . . what did they call it?” Another small, secret smile. “Ah yes. My little zoo.”

“I-if you’re sure . . .” You say, surprised to find when you say it aloud that you’re relieved. You truly have gotten attached to all of the animals, even in this short time.

Mimi butts your leg, impatient for her food, her huge paw petulantly tapping upon the floor. Jing Yuan laughs again, and you feel your stomach clench at the warm sound as it fills the room.

“Oh, she likes you,” he says, in delight. “I’ve never seen her be so patient with anyone but myself, you know.”

“She’s been friendly since I met her,” you reply, reaching down to scratch her behind her ears and to place the buckets somewhere she won’t make such a mess (though she’s actually a fairly fastidious eater, for someone with no thumbs; you suppose she’s so proud of her lovely white coat that she doesn’t want to risk staining it).

Jing Yuan hums in consideration, his smile not leaving his face, as he watches you pet Mimi and her affectionate head bump before she dives back into her food. As you move into the other sitting room - the one that the finches reside in - you hear more rustling, and as you gather the birdseed you’re surprised to see that Jing Yuan is following you, sloping afterwards determinedly. There’s a definite tilt to his walk - the walk of a man who’s been in bed for a week - and you can’t help but say something.

“Sh-should you be out of bed, General?” You wince at the slight admonishment in your tone, fearing he will think you’re scolding him - but Jing Yuan simply smiles.

“I need to check on my sweet little charges,” he says. “Come now. I’ve been in bed for days. Let me wander about my own rooms without worrying your pretty head too much about it, alright?”

It takes all of your grace not to turn into a pathetic, embarrassed mess at the easy way he says ‘your pretty head’ - somehow, you manage to keep your composure, keep some measure of poise, even as inside you feel yourself turn to mush.

He sits down upon a chaise by the birdcages as you reach in to fill the small bowls and scatter the feed, his eyes not leaving you for a second. He smiles when he sees a finch or two hop upon your hand to peck at the seeds and bits left in the crevices of your palm.

“A true animal whisperer,” he says, watching one of the more inquisitive finches hop up to your wrist and your forearm to tug teasingly at your elbow-length sleeves. “They’re not too fond of strangers, either.”

“I have been feeding them for a week, Sir,” you say to him, with a smile at the finch as you urge it off of your arm and back to the rest of its friends. “They’ve gotten used to me.”

He shakes his head, his hair falling about his shoulders, and you’re struck with the thought that he and Mimi even look similar. You’ve heard the old adage about how pet owners and their pets grow to look the same, of course, but you’d never realised quite how true it was until that moment and the sight of Jing Yuan doing a motion you’ve grown used to Mimi doing.

He follows, too, as you take food and water onto the balcony. As cats wind around first your ankles, and then his - as dogs wag their tails and lick at your hands.

“If I were a jealous man . . .” He says, laughing. “They must see something truly special in you.”

“Me?” You ask, aiming for a tinkly laugh but landing on ‘incredulous’. “No, they’re just sweet creatures. All of them are.”

He’s unerringly patient with the animals; his big hands tender as they scratch ears and tickle chins. Seeing the great General being so delicate makes your heart turn over in your chest; his big, scarred hands in direct opposition to the delicate bones and the soft fluff of all of the creatures that mass here.

“Don’t be so modest,” Jing Yuan says quietly in reply. “I’ve known some of these animals for years. If they didn’t think you were something special . . .”

Your cheeks are hot again. Somehow, in the course of this conversation, Jing Yuan has gotten closer and closer to you. Out here on the balcony, under the warm false sun of the Luofu, there’s nowhere for Jing Yuan to sit and watch - so he’s stood close to you. Close enough that you can see the warm gold amber of his gaze, the fan of his lashes, the mole high up beneath his eye. You swallow, and the sound is almost indecently loud even with the background mewls and barks and purrs.

“I’m glad that they found someone so able to do this for me,” he says, his voice still quiet. That single word, those single two syllables, somehow manage to be imbued with more meaning than you’d ever imagined they could be. “I’ll be looking forward to seeing you.”

“Just until you’re feeling a bit better,” you reply, cheeks still hot, throat still sore, heart still beating far too fast in your chest. You wonder what Jing Yuan is thinking as he looks down at you - if he has noticed your anxiety, the way that he seems to set you all aflutter. You hope he thinks it is merely because he is your superior, and not because it’s so very hard not to dwell on his looks and his warm voice and the surprisingly different persona that he shows when he’s doing this--

Jing Yuan is still smiling at you, from back on the sofa covered in his blankets with Mimi spread out protectively over his feet, as you foolishly wave goodbye and leave his chambers.

You get to witness Jing Yuan’s recovery firsthand. The first few days, he is still unsure of his own limbs; he still slowly lopes around the rooms. Once or twice, you come in to feed the animals and he stays wrapped within his blankets, Mimi only leaving his side to demand some cuddles and some meat from you.

Despite his illness, though, he always has time to talk to you. He always asks you how you are feeling, what you have been doing; he teases you for how the animals seem to recognise you just as well as him now. When one of the finches pecks at your cheek, he chuckles and says;

“Ah, wouldn’t we all like to give our little bird a kiss like that?”

You don’t know how to respond to that, ducking your head, muttering something unintelligible that wins another of his laughs. His words err on the edge of being flirtatious. Once or twice he compliments your outfit, your hair - how lovely you look today. You never know how to react to such things; you force yourself not to dwell on them, reminding yourself of Jing Yuan’s own looks and his position and trying to tell yourself not to get attached and that the General is merely trying to be polite.

One afternoon, he asks you to sit with him and have tea.

It would be rude of you to say no; not when he has placed two teacups before him, anticipating your acceptance, a plate of sweet treats in an amount that would be gluttonous even for him arranged with the tea service. So you try and gracefully position yourself across from him. You try and remember your manners as you take the cup by the handle, as you choose the least ornamented and sugary of the delicacies on offer--

(It’s hard not to remember being told not to indulge at all. You feel conscious of eating in front of him--)

“Have this one,” Jing Yuan says, as if he can read your mind, and he pushes towards you an intricately decorated little cake resplendent with sugar roses and ruffles. “It’s one of my favourites.”

Your mouth waters. You give him an embarrassed smile as he encourages you further, reaching over to pick it up himself and place it upon your plate instead of merely pushing it.

“Really?” You ask, trying to pick it up neatly. “It’s a bit more delicate than I thought you’d like. I suppose I imagined you liking things a little rougher--”

Your face goes hot as you realise what you just said, but Jing Yuan ignores the innuendo and simply smiles at you.

“Ah,” he says. “I like things that are . . . delicate. Smaller than me. So lovely to observe and enjoy, don’t you think?” His gaze doesn’t leave your face. You have never considered yourself delicate - the curves that you display have put an end to that - but under his eyes, you can’t help but think of the breadth of his shoulders and his height and think how a man like him could make even you feel small and breakable. “What do you think?”

The little cake is sweet on the tongue, flavoured with a hint of something you can’t quite name. Your eyes widen in surprise.

“It’s wonderful,” you tell him, swallowing the bite and enjoying how the taste lingers. “Truly.”

“I’m so glad you enjoyed it,” he says - and then, he reaches over the table. “You have something--”

You go stock-still, embarrassed and shocked at the intimacy of the gesture, as he uses his thumb to wipe a smudge of icing from the corner of your mouth. He keeps your gaze the whole time. It is something a lover does - it is not something you’d ever expected General Jing Yuan to do for you--

“There,” he says, returning to his cake as if nothing has happened. “It would be a terrible shame if I couldn’t see all of your lovely face, after all.”

He is always saying things like this; off-the-cuff remarks that, if he were not the General of the Xianzhou Luofu, you would interpret as being flirty. He mentions them when you have tea together, when he ropes you into playing a game of star chess (“Don’t think I will go easy on you because you are nice to look at,” he says, as he places the counters into their starting positions), when he watches you and Mimi and you and the finches and tells you that he cannot decide which is cuter.

You see him get gradually stronger and stronger. No more limping. He is almost always dressed, now. His hair no longer falls in shaggy waves about his face. His dark circles dissipate, his voice getting somehow even deeper and more velvety.

The unspoken reality that soon, Jing Yuan will be well and you will no longer have to take on this extra duty hangs over your head.

You find that the idea makes you feel sick. You are not only enjoying caring for the animals, now, but you’ve also started to look forward to seeing the General.

Well.

That’s not quite it.

You have to be honest with yourself, don’t you?

You’ve developed a crush on him.

You can’t imagine not seeing him. Not being greeted with Mimi’s butts and her batting paws; not hearing the pleased chirps of his finches whenever they see you. Not enjoying tea with him any more, simply existing in this lazy golden time when you do not have to think about work or his position above you or anything other than the four walls that surround you and the multiple hearts beating within it.

Jing Yuan brings it up first.

“I’ve been thinking,” he says, coughing one day after the two of you have played a game of star chess that you were thoroughly destroyed during. “Well. I’m sure you’ve noticed that I’m getting better.”

“I’m glad to see it, Sir,” you say, forcing a smile to your face even as your heart falls into the region of your feet. “We were all very worried about you. Everyone is always asking me how you are and when you’ll be returning to work--”

His face clouds, a flinch so quick you almost miss it.

“Yes,” he says, a mournful tone to his voice. “I’ll soon be returning to work.”

You tell yourself sternly not to cry. This was never supposed to be permanent.

“Then I suppose you won’t need me any longer,” you say, forcing a smile on your face. You are going to be gracious if it kills you.

“Ah,” Jing Yuan replies. “That’s what I’d like to talk to you about. I . . . we are all very fond of you, you see.” He motions to Mimi, who has come to curl beside you, her head laid against your knee. “I fear Mimi will riot if you were to stop bringing her all of those steaks, you understand. And who knows what she’d do, deprived of your song about her tummy?”

You squeak in embarrassment. Mimi lifts her head and gives you a slow, displeased look, much to Jing Yuan’s amusement.

“Well. I’m very aware that it’s not part of your duties, and I’d be willing of course to pay you more for all of the trouble, but--”

You see Jing Yuan falter for one of the first times; as if he is afraid that you are about to reject him outright. He coughs, trying to hide his anxiety, but it is an emotion you’re intimately familiar with and as such you recognise it for what it is.

“We’re all so very fond of you,” he repeats. “Won’t you keep coming?”

You barely leave a breath before you’re happily agreeing.

It’s not quite the same.

You knew it wouldn’t be; you knew that you wouldn’t see Jing Yuan anywhere near as often, as he resumed all of the many duties that the Arbiter-General has to take on. Despite how unenthused he had seemed to be returning to his work, you knew that Jing Yuan took his responsibilities terribly seriously).

Still.

You had thought you might see him more. Might still be able to drink a cup of tea with him, even if it could not be the same kind of slow, languid time the two of you had taken over it before. You’d thought that there’d still be time for a conversation or two.

The reality is that you almost never see the General now.

At work, your paths had crossed only rarely; now, hyper-aware of his presence, you realise that you see him almost never. Not at work, and not at his own home.

You’re still excited to see the animals - for the finches to happily chirp at you as if they’re telling you about their day. One of them rides about on your shoulder, now, even when you go out to feed the strays. You’re still excited to tell Mimi what a good girl she is and rub her tummy and play with her (she’s inordinately fond of ribbons and the chasing thereof, like an overgrown housecat).

But without Jing Yuan there . . .

There’s something missing.

You still do your duties as well as you can - Jing Yuan has negotiated a hefty raise for you, all things considered - but you can’t help sometimes leaving his home feeling a little empty at the lack of seeing the General. You can’t help being disconsolate as you think about him - as you remember his flirty little asides, the way he’d looked at you across the room, the smile that played across his mouth whenever he did. You know he couldn’t really be interested in you, that he was probably like that with most people - but a secret little flame cannot help but burn in your heart even so.

Days pass, quiet, lonely. You work, and feed the animals, and go home to your own empty quarters. You work, feed, go home, work, feed, go home--

Until one evening, when you’re just about to leave Jing Yuan’s chambers, when the door opens and the General appears. He looks a little red in the face; his breath comes in short little pants. You’ve never seen him so obviously flustered; usually, Jing Yuan fits perfectly up to his reputation as the Drowsy General.

“Are you alright?” You ask him, rushing over. You’re touching him before you’ve thought through consequences; finger hovering over his pulse point, reaching up to feel his forehead to make sure he’s not running a temperature. Through the panting, he looks at you and smiles.

“I’m afraid,” he says, still breathing heavily, his voice rasping. “I made up a little lie to be able to get back here on an errand that doesn’t really exist.”

“General,” you scold him. It’s not like him to shirk responsibilities. He laughs.

“Yes, yes, I know, little thing-- but I had to see you. I wanted to see you again.”

You think he’s misspoken.

“I have to get back,” he says, and he reaches down - his hands upon your cheek again. You don’t know how to reply, what to say, what is going on. All you know is that you are there, and Jing Yuan is there, and something is happening. Fizzing on the air is a promise that something is going to change. “But . . . I couldn’t-- I needed to finally--”

Jing Yuan kisses you.

It’s a kiss as messy and rushed as he is right now. A kiss that says that he has to hurry back, despite how much he doesn’t want to. You, unused to being kissed and even more unused to being kissed by handsome military leaders who feel a hundred times out of your league, do not kiss him back. He’s messy and wet, and his teeth clash against your lips as you stand there, feeling foolish and wrong-footed.

He realises you’re not kissing him back, and he stops - he draws back, his eyebrows furrowed. He opens his mouth to speak.

He’s going to say it was a mistake, you realise. He’s going to say he thought you were someone else, that he was carried away in the heat of the moment. You and Jing Yuan? No. It couldn’t be. It’s absurd, it’s silly, nobody could ever believe it - and yet.

And yet.

Your heart couldn’t take his rejection.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out - and you push past him and out of the door and back towards the comforting ordinary normality of your own empty rooms.

Despite your embarrassment, fear and all of those other emotions keeping you up all night, when you wake up the next morning you know that things will be worse the more you put them off. So you get dressed for work and you thank Lan that, when you walk into the Seat of Divine Foresight, Jing Yuan is nowhere to be seen.

You hope he is hard at work, far away from you. You cannot quite face him yet. You haven’t properly said goodbye to your foolish dreams.

You can’t shirk your other duties either, so at the ordinary time you stand up from your desk (you’ve somehow been saddled with the job of reviewing paperwork for grammar inconsistencies. You feel certain there ought to be software of some sort that does this job for you, but it had been laid here on your desk when you’d gotten to it and you were not in the habit of arguing about your duties), and you head to the designated supplier of raw meats for Mimi’s consumption.

“Oh,” says the supplier, the evening after Jing Yuan had finagled a way to see you. “He told me to let you know to go straight up today.”

You frown, not quite sure why; you hope Mimi is alright. It feels strange to be going towards Jing Yuan’s home without your arms weighed down with buckets of meat, but you push forward even so. You hope last night - the awkward kiss, the way he had looked at you - does not sour things between the two of you. You hope that he isn’t about to tell you to never come back. Your heart makes a new home, somewhere in the vicinity of your throat, as you hesitantly knock upon his door.

A beat passes. Your mind helpfully provides you with all of the ways in which Jing Yuan could be about to fire you - or worse, let you down gently and admit that he had a moment of weakness. In that moment, you suddenly seem so much more aware than before of yourself - of the unfashionable curves, of the amount of space you take up, of how a man like Jing Yuan could surely not have really wanted to kiss someone like you - and then, he has opened the door and he is smiling at you and he doesn’t look angry.

Instead, upon seeing you there, a smile passes across his face; tugs at the corners of his lips, crinkles the corners of his eyes.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t come,” he says to you - and he reaches across the threshold and his hand brushes your cheek, as soft and tender with you as he is with his finches. “I’m sorry if I frightened you last night.”

“I’m sorry I ran,” tumbles out of your mouth. “I just . . . I didn’t think you-- and somebody like me-- and I was afraid--”

He lays a finger over your lips, still smiling.

“It’s alright,” he says, in that low, smooth voice. “I’m sorry if I caused you undue trouble, little bird.” The pet name falls from his lips as easily as any other trifle, though it makes you feel hot and aware of yourself and flattered all at once. “Please come in.”

He takes your hand to gently urge you across the threshold, his touch still feather light. You think, as he does it, of all of the other things those hands have done; all of the battles they have waged, all of the strength that must be contained within them despite how gentle his touch is now.

“I’ve asked someone else to take care of the animals,” he says to you, not letting go of your hand as he leads you through the front room. You realise with a start exactly where he is taking you as he approaches a door you have never had reason to open before. He looks at you, eyes keen and golden. “I wanted us to be alone. I would hope, little bird, if you do not want this . . .”

“I do,” tumbles from your mouth. It is nothing but the honest truth. You let the crush that you’ve been trying to deny, the fear of Jing Yuan not liking you or finding you attractive, the anxieties of not being good enough, all wash over you, in favour of the beating of your heart and the feel of his hand on your face and the sight of his hand upon the doorknob of his bedroom.

He turns fully so he stands before you. Hands come up, cradling your face; thumbs brushing the plump apples of your cheek, fingertips upon the soft flesh. He is smiling still, even as he dips his head lower, so low you can see the multitudes of swirling shades of gold in his eyes.

“Promise me,” he murmurs, low and soft. “Tell me you want me the way I want you. No expectations, little one. Your career, your position, your everything - nothing will change if you do not want me as badly as I desire you. Honesty.” You realise a tear has escaped from the corner of your eye. You have never felt so . . . seen. So very much wanted. So sure of anything in your life. He wipes that tear with his thumb, tilting your face closer to him so that if you just angled your head differently you could kiss him. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” you whisper, and Jing Yuan’s lips meet yours.

This kiss is entirely unlike the one from yesterday; this kiss is slow, luxurious. Jing Yuan starts off gentle with you, his hand still cupping your jaw - his lips moving against yours in slow, indolent waves. He nips at your bottom lip with his teeth and wins a gasp from you, a hitch of your breath, as your own hands come up to rest lightly upon his chest. You feel his mouth curve into a smile against your own.

“You’re adorable,” he rumbles, pulling back just enough that you can still feel his breath on your face. “Truly - you don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this to you.”

“I--” You helplessly stare up at him. You can barely believe this is happening, as he pushes open the door to his most private of domains. “Really?”

He laughs again, gently taking your arm and urging you into the room. You are helpless to do anything but follow him - to let him slowly, slowly, slowly pull you beside him and onto his bed.

“You really have no idea how . . . desirable you are?” He asks, voice low and husky, humming with want. His hand skims over your cheek, the nape of your neck, following the line of your jaw and your throat to linger over your collarbone. His eyes follow the path his fingers take, not moving from your form for an instant. “You really didn’t notice me staring at you, little bird?” He leans in, close enough for his breath to tickle your ear. His lips brush over the pulse point in your neck, making you squeak in surprise again even as it sends a bolt of heat to the space between your legs. “Imagining what you would feel like under my hands? Imagining what you would look like, divested of that maddeningly conservative uniform they make you wear?” Another kiss, this one with a hint of teeth. You realise with a hot flush of embarrassment mixed with want you have cried out at the sensation of the almost-bite. “Imagining how you would react to every touch I gave you?”

“Sir,” you pant, dazed and amazed and hot and needy. “I-- I thought about you, too--”

“Oh,” he murmurs, as his big fingers slide over your body, feeling the ample shape of you through that same conservative uniform. His big palms brush the soft chub of your upper arms, the meat of your chest, the shape of your waist and over the curve of your hips, basely appreciating your body even beneath the fabric. “I’m sure they were no match for the utterly filthy things I imagined doing to you.”

His thumb digs into the indent of your waist, tugging you closer to him so that you’re pressed tighter against his body. He smiles down at you, every inch the conquering general, and your heart beats in time with the pounding between your legs. He looks at you like he wants to devour you. Wanting and hungry and lustful, like you’re the most delicious thing he’s ever seen. It’s not a look you’re overly familiar with receiving - but oh, does it feel amazing to be on the receiving end of it from Jing Yuan.

“Such a fragile thing,” he murmurs down to you, and you almost laugh, for you do not feel fragile - but Jing Yuan continues speaking, and you get lost in the dulcet tone of his voice. “So very mortal. So very ephemeral . . .” He sighs, dips his head and kisses you again, a flurry of pecks upon your lips as his thumb draws circles where it rests. “Will you let me make the most of having you, little bird? Let me show you how beautiful you are?” He smiles. “I have always had a weakness for delicate things.”

He means it.

Any time you have ever felt too big; ungainly, or ill-shaped - all of it falls to the wayside under the warm haze of being looked at and admired and wanted by Jing Yuan. You find yourself smiling up at him, aware you probably look as though there is not a thought in your head, but the General doesn’t seem to mind as he looks at you with hunger colouring his gaze.

“May I undress you?” He asks, voice low and cajoling. His fingers tease beneath the neckline of your uniform, and it feels as though they leave a trail of fire everywhere they linger. You do not trust yourself to speak; you nod at him, your breath coming out in short little pants. He makes a soft noise of approval, before his fingers are working at buttons and fabric. Cool air hits your bare skin; your uniform is gently cajoled off of your body, tossed aside to be worried about later as Jing Yuan’s hungry eyes drink in every new inch of your exposed skin.

He does not stop praising you as he does it.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, as your top half is bared, as his eyes roam over your chest and his hands come up and squeeze the generous curve of them, palms rough against delicate skin. You shiver as his thumbs find your nipples, as they rub over them again and again until the buds stiffen beneath his touch and a soft whine escapes the back of your throat. “You’re beautiful.”

His tone is nothing if not worshipful. By slow, luxurious degrees, Jing Yuan helps divest you of your garments. As your underwear and bottoms are rolled down, as fabric bunches at thighs and knees, he does not stop murmuring sweet nothings about how soft you are, how beautiful, how lucky he is to be able to see you like this.

About how he has been thinking about having you like this since the moment he saw you.

“You looked so beautiful then too,” he murmurs, as your underwear is pulled from your ankles. He briefly gazes at it, the gusset saturated with your slick, and he smiles. “Ah . . . that little song, the nervous, shy reaction to realising I was there - the sight of you all soft-eyed and adoring with Mimi . . . I’ve never wanted to have my wicked way with somebody quite so much.”

You’re bare beneath him, Jing Yuan slowly urging you to lay down upon the coverlets of his large bed. You suppose that it’s so large so that if Mimi desires to sleep with him, she can, but it alongside Jing Yuan’s own size simply helps you feel small and delicate and breakable in a way you never have before.

“I wanted to know,” Jing Yuan murmurs, leaning down and brushing his lips over yours, teasing and feather-light. “If you would be quite so adorable, squirming and nervous and vulnerable, if I were to have you like this.”

Your cheeks are hot. Jing Yuan has not lost a single garment of his own, but you are entirely unguarded to whatever he wants to do to you now - bare of every scrap of fabric. His gaze lingering on your body almost makes you want to draw in; to curl around the exposed flesh of your stomach, to cover the pudge.

Jing Yuan notices something in the way you hold yourself. He smiles down at you and cups your cheek.

“Don’t hide,” he breathes. “I want to see all of you, little thing. I want you to know how beautiful I find you.”

“I--”

He takes your hand in his, shifting so he is on his knees between your legs. Gently, he guides your unsure hand to the space over his own crotch. Even through the layers of fabric, you can sense the heat of him; the stiffness pushing against his trousers.

“If I did not want you,” he says, “why would you make me so needy, hmm? Feel what you do to me.” He presses your hand a little harder against it, a soft hiss of breath escaping him, encouraging you to not simply take his word for it. Your face hot as ever, you do so; give a gentle squeeze that makes him groan. “Ah-- be careful, sweet thing. I want to take my time over you.”

He lets go of your hand, gently urging you to place it back beside you. Your fingers find purchase in his sheets. You still cannot quite believe where you are; that it’s the great Arbiter-General leaning over you, looking down at you like you’re the most beautiful thing that he’s ever seen.

“I-it’s not fair,” you say to him, your voice dry. “I’ve lost all of my clothes, and you’re still fully dressed--”

He chuckles. This time, when he bends down, there’s a slow, deliberate quality about him. He kisses your neck again; trails wet butterfly kisses over your collarbones, lower and lower to the swell of your chest. His hands come to cup the generous weight of them, even as his mouth floats closer and closer to your nipples, tightening and stiffening in anticipation.

“I told you,” he says, murmuring in between flicks of his tongue against the buds. “I want to take my time over you.” He looks at you, eyes half-lidded. “Ah, you short-life species . . . You never learn patience. I have all of the time in the world to give you ecstasy over and over--”

People call Jing Yuan the Dozing General. As he applies his tongue to your nipples, though - as he suckles and nips and bites, as he kisses and squeezes until you feel dizzy with the attention he’s lavishing upon you, you realise that they are misinformed. Jing Yuan is not lazy or dozing - Jing Yuan merely likes to take his time over things.

And oh, is he enjoying taking his time over you.

You whine under his touch. You whimper and squirm, your cheeks flooding hot, your entire body prickling with tension and pleasure as his attentions upon your nipples send shockwaves of pleasure down to your sex. You feel wetness fair seeping out of you; slick rolling down your thighs, making a mess of Jing Yuan’s bed sheets.

“Please,” you manage to get out, dry-voiced and wanting, after what seems like an eternity. “Please, Sir--”

“Jing Yuan,” He corrects you, a smile on his face as he continues to trail wet kisses over your bare skin. “What kind of man would I be if I allowed you to call me ‘Sir’ buried knuckle-deep in you, sweet thing? We are on even ground here.”

It’s hard not to think of him as the General. You are currently barely able to string a thought together, and he hasn’t even touched the place between your thighs yet. Still - you need him to touch you somewhere else. You need his attentions to give your chest a break (your nipples are sore, stiffened points - your skin slick with the wetness of his licks and kisses) and move to somewhere else. You force out, through your desire to genuflect to his status, his given name.

“Jing Yuan--”

“Hmm?” He asks, raising his head. His lips are swollen and pink, his eyes amused. “Do you need something, little bird?”

“Please . . .” A soft exhale, trying to work through the mass of sensations and needs that your body seems to have become. Jing Yuan does not stop touching even as you try and get out your words; still gently squeezing and toying with the weight of your chests. He’s smiling, enjoying watching you desperately work through the haze of your desire.

“Your words,” he says, a maddening smile pulling at his lips. “Tell me what you want, and I promise I’ll do all in my power to give you it.”

“Please,” you say again, your brain fuzzy. His hands move from your chest now; big palms travelling over the curve of your stomach, your hips, resting there in a way that makes you almost lose all of your senses. “I want you to touch me . . . there--”

“Where, little thing?” He’s still smiling. “Here?” A gentle squeeze to your hips. “Here?” His palm roves over your stomach, the soft pouch just above your mound. You whimper again. “Ah. Come now--”

“Between my legs,” you whisper, voice tight and breaking with desire. “Jing Yuan, please--”

“Ah,” he laughs, dips down and kisses you once on the mouth. “You need only to ask. Spread your thighs for me, lovely thing.”

You do, utterly helplessly. Jing Yuan sighs reverently, moving further down so that he can bend his head to look at you. Your face burns under his scrutiny, fearful that he will find something lacking in your body even as his eyes greedily drink you in like you are the finest wine. He breathes deeply, and you hope that your scent is not off-putting - and then, his fingers are sliding slowly and surely up the soft plush of your legs and closer and closer to the space between your thighs and your heart is beating too fast and your breath is coming in short pants.

“Calm down,” he murmurs, and you keen as his hands reach your sex; as he uses his thumbs to spread the plump lips of your labia apart and the cool air hits your slick, heated core. “Ah, darling . . .”

There is so much in those two syllables. Hunger and desire and adoration, all mixed together as one. In another world, with another person, it might have made you feel self-conscious; but Jing Yuan looks down at you as if you are the most beautiful treasure he has ever had the good fortune to witness.

He leans down, down - and you squeak as you realise what he’s about to do, surprised, but it does not deter him at all as he lets his tongue take a slow, luxurious lick down your sex. The base of his tongue presses against your clit, the pressure on the swollen hitherto ignored nub almost enough to make you come right there and then - but then he pulls back again, chuckling.

“Mm,” he says. “If I allow myself to sample too much of something so sweet, I’m afraid I’ll lose my composure.” He moves his hand instead; lets his fingers explore the length of you, fingertips brushing against your clenching entrance and dancing about your swollen clit. There is little pressure exerted on your sex; merely Jing Yuan’s slow, considering explorations. You clench your own fingers into the bedsheets in order to stop yourself writhing.

“Lovely,” Jing Yuan says to himself. “Ah, you feel like velvet. Such a pretty thing; so perfectly made . . .” He sighs, even as the tip of his longest finger nudges against your entrance. Your hips move of their own accord, trying to suck him in and get him to put his finger inside of you, but he clicks his tongue with an amused chide; “Impatient,” he says. “Ah. You’re lucky you’re so irresistible--”

He slides his finger inside of you, slowly but certainly. You sigh, your lashes fluttering closed - his touch stokes all of those fires inside of you, of course, burning to fever pitch . . . but the sensation of finally having something inside of you has also made you realise how empty you felt before. It feels good, to have something to fill that pulsing space. Jing Yuan watches with rapt attention as he slides his finger half out, and then half inside of you again.

You have had some experience, but you have never felt the way Jing Yuan makes you feel.

“You take it so well,” he murmurs. “Look how pretty you look with something inside of you. Ah. I could spend hours doing this to you . . .”

You make a soft whine of discontent at the idea and he laughs, clicking his tongue even as he’s letting his second finger dance at your entrance ready to join the first.

“No, even I do not have the patience for that right now,” he agrees. “Not when you feel so wonderful, little bird. Not when I cannot wait to see you come apart.”

The second finger; a slight scissoring motion as it enters you, getting you used to the size and stretch of two of his digits instead of one. The heel of his palm presses against your clit with every wet pump, sending frissons of pleasure to the tips of your toes; but he still does not rush himself. He still lets himself enjoy the feel of you clinging tightly to his fingers, the sight of them disappearing inside of your slick, drooling hole.

“Does that feel good?” He asks you, deciding you haven’t spoken recently enough. “Tell me if you want me to go faster, sweet thing--”

“Please,” you say, ragged, breathing heavy. You can feel a tight hot ball of tension between your legs, rolling in your gut, threatening to overwhelm you. “Please, Jing Yuan, faster--”

“Very well,” he smiles, and he crooks his fingers inside of you to find your g-spot - causing your back to arch involuntarily, a whine of pure enjoyment to loose itself from your throat. At the same time, his thumb moves to play with your clit - to toy with the bud, to roll and to circle and to press against the swollen bundle of nerves. What already felt like electric shocks of pleasure move on; instead, they are lightning bolts, ricocheting up your spine and stopping just short of striking earth.

“You’re close,” Jing Yuan says, and you are staring at his mouth. How a strand of your own gossamer-thin arousal is still glimmering at the corner. How his eyes are so focused on you that his gaze feels almost scorching. “That’s right. Let go for me, sweet thing--”

His soft entreaty pushes you over the edge, and the lightning strikes home as your peak hits you with all of the force of a storm.

His fingers work you over the crest of your orgasm, the two inside of you constantly rubbing against that spongy spot that makes you see stars, the big pad of his thumb roughly sliding over your twitching clit in circles and lines. As the waves come to a head and then slowly begin to dissipate, he slows his attentions too - until the slow strokes of his fingers fade out into nothing. He does not seem to care that you’ve soaked his fingers and his palm and the fabric he wears and his bed too - merely keeps looking at you, smiling, like you’re giving him the most precious gift imaginable.

“Good,” he praises you. “But . . . I’m afraid that just that taste from earlier wasn’t quite enough, little bird. May I use my mouth on you?”

Who would ever believe this? Who would ever imagine little old you, on the Arbiter-General’s bed, as he looks at you and waits for your permission to fuck you with his tongue? You feel rather tongue-tied yourself - but you recall what Jing Yuan said earlier, about using your words.

“Please do,” you say, aloud, and Jing Yuan gives you that same smile that makes you feel like the only being in the whole universe.

“Thank you,” he says, sounding entirely like he means it - like it’s truly an honour for him to be able to serve you on his hands and knees. And then he has moved his body further down the bed, elegant and graceful and leonine, and his mouth is heading towards the slick-soaked place between your legs and his tongue is glinting wet in the bedroom and then he is on you, licking at you, hungrily devouring your sex like it is his last meal before an execution.

You’re still oversensitive from his earlier attentions, and the sensation of the wet muscle of his tongue working over you almost pushed you into another early orgasm. Your fingers move from where they’re still clenched into the bedsheets to cling to his hair instead, pulling on the silvery pale strands as your back arches and you blindly cant your hips forward towards his mouth.

He groans aloud at having his hair pulled, and the groan sends vibrations all through your body that make you feel weak at the knees, your toes curling. His tongue continues its assault; back and forth, back and forth. Wetness drools from your sex and onto his face; you can feel the heat in his cheeks, the fan of his lashes against your bare skin.

He twirls his tongue about your entrance, teasingly dips into it, as the channel of your sex constricts and pulses in an attempt to pull him even further in. He groans as your hands knit further into his hair, fucking you for a moment with his tongue before he seems to try and work his face further into your sex.

It’s like he wants to engulf you; soft noises of pleasure keep falling from his mouth, interspersed with rumbling groans. He’s almost gyrating against the bed, you realise, your cheeks hot - grinding his crotch into the mattress as if he’s desperate to have some attention of his own.

That sight makes your mouth go dry; all of the moisture in your body instead congregating between your legs to make a new home in Jing Yuan’s mouth and smeared across his cheeks.

His tongue flicks across your clit and the noise that escapes you is almost animal; Jing Yuan says something, perhaps, or at least makes some kind of muffled noise from his position happily buried in your sex before he shifts his tongue just so and his mouth fastens around your clit fully.

Sucking and licking, suckling upon the pearl like his life depends upon it; tongue occasionally just brushing under the hood, where you’re most engorged, and you can do nothing but cling onto his hair and pull at it as the most intense orgasm you’ve ever felt rips through your body.

You cannot put into words the way that you feel as Jing Yuan devours you. Your entire body feels, suddenly, as if it weighs nothing; as if sparkling lights suffuse your fingers and toes and you float into the stratosphere, white lights dancing behind your eyes in time with your whine (a whine so loud you’re sure everybody on the Luofu must have heard of it).

You come down, eventually, to the sound of Jing Yuan panting. The wet noise as his mouth separates from you, the pleased grin on his face as he uses his thumb to wipe his mouth of some of your slick. It’s a pointless endeavour, really; his face is so saturated with it you’re not sure if he’ll ever be dry again.

“Darling,” Jing Yuan repeats, looking you in the eye, smiling like the cat who has gotten the cream. “You have no idea how much I enjoyed doing that.”

The words almost make you go over shy - but you push that to the side. There is no point, you decide, being nervous of a man who has now known you so intimately.

“In which case,” you say, breathlessly - your voice is still a little scratchy from the moaning and whimpering you’ve been doing - “Will you let me make you feel just as good?”

He looks at you for a moment, before he throws his head back and laughs.

“Why,” he says. “Of course I will.”

“Come,” Jing Yuan is murmuring, and he is finally removing his own clothes. Armour drops to the side of him, shirts unbuttoned and fastenings unhooked. His body is muscular and dotted with scars, befitting his status as a military hero; a light dusting of pale hair upon his proud chest, down into a trail to the vee of his hips. You swallow, your throat dry, trying to blink back the waves of pleasure that are still lapping gently at your shores in order to concentrate on what’s going on. His face is still wet with your slick, his hair damp with sweat and falling in messy strands over his flushed face. He looks well-fucked even without you touching him back, as if merely getting you to feel good was enough for him.

His cock. It’s stiff against the hard planes of his abdomen, a thick, pretty specimen bubbling with precome at the flushed tip. He sighs, running his hand over it once, and your mouth practically waters at the way it twitches. It looks stiff and hard enough that you wonder if it hurts, to want so badly - but Jing Yuan looks at you and smiles, as he rearranges himself on the bed. Pillows are moved, and before you know it he has sat against them, propping himself up like an emperor upon his throne. His cock stands proud and wanting, and he gently pats his thigh as if he is calling an obedient animal to him.

“I don’t wish to hurt you, little bird,” he says - and again, you think of how it feels to be smaller than him. How he does not care about the flesh that spills from straps or curves over fabric. How he looks at you like the most beautiful thing in the world and calls you ‘delicate’ and ‘little’ and ‘precious’ and means them. “Come. Take a seat. As slowly as you need.”

Despite how he has seen you so intimately, you cannot help but feel a little flare of fear as you approach him. He smiles, entirely at peace and at comfort with you going at your own pace, and you could kiss him for it.

“Touch,” he murmurs. “Don’t be afraid.”

With trembling fingers, you reach out; let your hand encircle his cock, get used to the width and the feel of him and imagine it inside of you. He pulses beneath your palm, a soft hum of pleasure falling from the back of his throat as you give it a cursory pump. He curses softly as your thumb rubs across the slit of his cockhead, the bubble of precome wetting the pad.

“Touch,” he says, with a smile. “But don’t get me too excited, little bird. I don’t want to come anywhere but inside of you.”

Your cheeks go hot at his easy profession; your tongue darts out to trace your lower lip. You’re used to the feel of him now; the heat that seems to stir beneath the surface of his cock, the veins that marble the side of his shaft, the ruddy pink of the head. Taking a deep breath, you spread your legs and let yourself readjust, straddling him. His own hands come up to cling to your thighs, sinking into the soft flesh there.

“You’re so soft,” he murmurs, as if in devotion, as if praying to an Aeon. “You’re beautiful.”

His cockhead brushes your clit as you fit it snugly between the lips of your sex; you shift your hips, until it catches against your entrance and your eyes flutter closed.

Your eyes are still closed as you begin to lower yourself down, so you feel every inch of him as he makes his home within your body. Your eyes being closed, of course, you miss the softness and the warmth that fills Jing Yuan’s gaze as he looks at you. The brief moment of sadness that passes behind his eyes as he remembers that you are a short-life species; that he cannot have all of the time in the world with you, to teach you pleasures the likes of which you do not yet know. The sadness he cannot spend his lifetime learning you by heart--

But you hear the soft murmur of your name, as he bottoms out inside of you and you take a moment to simply rest there with him buried as deep inside of you as he can go. You feel the way one of his hands slides up your spine to grip the back of your head and to pull you into a kiss as deep and adoring as anything else he’s done so far.

Teeth and tongue and lips, whimpering and gasping into one another’s mouths until you do not know where he ends and where you begin, Jing Yuan somehow manages to murmur;

“Move whenever you want, sweet thing. Set the pace.”

It does not, in the end, feel like either of those things happen. Instead, it feels as though the universe sets the pace for you; as if you simply know when to begin to move your hips, how to bend and angle yourself just so in order for Jing Yuan to hit all of the most sensitive spots inside of you.

One hand remains on your hip, helping you with the pace - the other remains on the back of your head, to allow him to kiss, as if he doesn’t want to let his mouth separate from yours for any longer than necessary. It’s a romance that you didn’t expect of the General, but it’s hardly one you’re going to complain about when his mouth feels so good and the constant nibbling of your lip and curl of his tongue against yours is distracting you from the mounting pleasure already starting to coalesce inside of you.

There is nothing in the world for a while except Jing Yuan’s body underneath yours. His hands, his mouth, the feel of his shoulders beneath your own palms where you cling to him for leverage. You sweat and breathe and kiss and fuck as one, until the call inside of you becomes too much to ignore.

“I’m--” You pull back from the kiss to whisper, voice hoarse. “I’m going to--”

“Shh,” Jing Yuan says, kissing again. His own voice climbs in pitch, and you hear a shiver and a shudder in his syllables that makes you aware that he, too, is not far from his own release. His teeth nip at your lower lip as he half-begs into your mouth. “Please. Come again for me, sweet thing, little bird, pretty-- let me feel you--”

Your third orgasm crashes over you, your sex spasming around his cock, tight and hot and pulsing - and Jing Yuan groans into your mouth as you push him over the edge too, and you feel his cock spasm in turn. Ropes of hot release shoot inside of you; you had thought, earlier, that having his cock buried all the way inside of you was the extent of how full you could feel.

You were wrong.

You bite at his lips, whining and half-sobbing, as the please encompasses you like a cloak of warmth. Jing Yuan groans in return, his hips making needy fast circles to chase the dregs of his own release. It feels right, for the two of you to peak together like this. For the two of you to chase every last drop of pleasure, entwined together and sweating and kissing and as close to one being as it’s possible to be.

Eventually, your breathing slows. Eventually, the kiss turns tender instead of frenzied. Eventually, you pull back from Jing Yuan with a foolish smile on your face and your cheeks hot and tears of pleasure (that you hadn’t even realised you had cried) rolling down your face like sparkling diamonds.

You stare at each other, the enormity of what has happened washing over you. Jing Yuan’s face is calm and serene, but his eyes are bright still, his cheeks still high in colour.

You fear for a moment that he is about to dismiss you; that what the two of you just shared will mean nothing now that it is over. You fear that you’re about to go back to what you were before; a colleague and an employer, a General and a subordinate. But then, Jing Yuan lets out a deep rumbling sigh, pleased, as he collapses back upon the pillows. He opens his arms for you to dismount, his cock sliding slippery and wet outside of you, his come trickling down your thighs.

“Come here,” he murmurs, sounding tired but terribly pleased; the cat who has gotten the cream. He’s like a lion once more. You are helpless to resist his indication that he wants to cuddle, and so you let him pull you into his arms, let him manoeuvre you to lay against his chest until you can hear his heart beating. His fingers stroke your head, like you’re a sweet-tempered animal yourself. “Mmm. Rest with me, little bird.”

You let yourself. Your body is aching and sore from the orgasms and the sex, and you let your eyes drift closed, lulled by the comforting rhythm of his breathing.

A sleepy kiss is dropped onto the crown of your head.

“Enjoy it whilst you can,” Jing Yuan hums. “Before we start having to make room for Mimi every night.”

#writing #not sfw text #jing yuan smut #jing yuan x reader #chubby reader posting #commissioned work #hsr x reader #hsr smut #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail smut #hsr posting

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fleursbending · 1 year

Text

𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐓𝐨 𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭. | Sully Family

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : instead of lo’ak being the one diving into the sinking ship, it was you - neteyam’s twin sister. pushed by the sheer amount of adrenaline in your system, you desperately search for your family. knowing you cannot handle losing anymore of them as well.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : sully!family x sully!daughter (neteyam's twin sister)

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : heavy on the dad!jake x reader & brotherly lo'ak in this. is this me trying to stake my claim as becoming one of your fave sully!daughter writers? yes, it is!! seriously uhmmm prep your tissues for your daddy issues! yes, that was a purposeful rhyme. & sorry didn't rlly proofread this!

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : atwow spoilers, mentions of grief, loss, death, protective and emotionally exhausted reader :(, ure gonna cry because i love pain. hurt/comfort, angst.

𝐠𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐫𝐲 : Tsmuke - sister, Tsmukan - brother, Iarsä - Y/n's Ilus name, Yawntutsyìp - darling or little loved one.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 3k words !

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 : @eywas-heir @spicycloudsalad @missdreamofendless @prty-poisxn @scarlettwitch-4 @23victoria @avidreader3107 @purplehyacinthss @itssiaaax @neteyamoa @tsireyasgf @nijirozzz @useryourbut @yua-himari @sweetheartlizzie07 @grierpilots @reneehillary69 @fruitsalad1 @forasgaard

𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭 : hi my beloveds! thank you for all the support on this <3 part 2 can be read: here!

𝐘/𝐍'𝐒 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐆𝐋𝐀𝐙𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑, the cries of her mother muffled to her ears that lay flat on her head. Her other half, her twin brother. The eldest, born only 7 minutes apart, was no longer there. There had come a time when his presence was so natural, no questions asked - no alarming feeling. He was always her shadow, and if not. Neteyam was there in an instant at her beck and call.

They were both spitting images of their mother, they even shared her same deep spiritual connection with Eywa. Even their songcords aligned with each other. Y/n remembers then, how her mother had said such occurrences only really happen with twins. That in itself was a rarity for their clan.

Now he was gone, yet she remained. The shadow that loomed over her, escaped as the Eclipse crept up on them.

You blink once, twice. Wiping the tears that you didn’t even realize were streaming down your face. From the corner of her eyes, she can see Lo’ak blankly gazing down at his hands which were coated in Neteyam’s blood. She scoots closer to him then, ripping the fringes of her loin-cloth off and dipping it into the water.

If Lo’ak notices the shakiness of her hands, he doesn’t comment on it. It feels like his tongue had been stapled to the roof of his mouth at that very moment. Alas, his tender heart squeezes a fraction as you use the fabric to try to wipe away the remnants of blood.

A rough voice coming from your father cuts through the sentimental moment.

“Where are your sisters?” He’s not intentionally glaring, but his eyes alone felt like he was picking through your soul.

“Your sisters, where are they?” He repeats, more urgency detected in his tone now.

“I don’t know.” Lo’ak mumbles, every part of him looking lost.

Your mother's cries of terror grow in volume then.

“Where are they!” Jake bellowed, time was of the essence. Now more than ever.

“Dad,” Y/n whines out, wishing for him to just take a moment.

His eyes meet yours for a moment, before breaking away. He couldn’t look at you right now, doing so would make him lose all of his resolves. Jake had to stay locked, just for a few more moments. Then he’ll have the chance to mourn, to bring you into his arms. To apologize for how now you must live the same faith he had to endure and suffer through.

“On the ship, they are tied up on the ship.” Tsireya wavers, her grip on Neteyam’s leg not letting up.

Spider's mouth moves, but you don’t hear a thing. Turning back to your brother, you hover over him. Neytiri leans into you as she cradles him to her chest.

Jake gets your mom’s attention, and by doing so she passes Neteyam to you. Y/n freezes up, feeling how cold he is. Seeing how pale he is. This isn’t her mighty brother, it was a shell of him.

As Neytiri flies away on her Ikran, the sound of its wings breaks you out of your reverie. Gently, you lay him back down on the rock before pushing yourself up. Staggering over to Lo’aks side, he pulls you into him.

Usually, he’d nag about your height difference, but this time he used it to his advantage to briefly tuck his head into your shoulder.

Jake looks to Lo’ak. “Both of you, stay with your brother.”

Lo’ak takes a step forward, bringing you with him.

“But dad, I want to go with you,” Lo’ak whispers.

“Please, dad,” Y/n begs, unable to fathom sitting by her deceased twin while her sisters were still in harm's way.

Jake shakes his head, “You’ve done enough.”

“No, dad,” Lo’ak breaks. A part of him cracks, the guilt and shame consuming him.

Y/n places a hand on his shoulder, trying to give him some support.

“I’m sure he didn’t mean it like that, brother,” Y/n spoke, catching on to where his mind was heading.

There you watch as your dad and Spider become one with the water. Y/n moves back to kneel down beside Tsireya, as she cradles Neteyam’s face and gives him a light kiss on his forehead.

Lo’ak takes one last glance at his brother before reluctantly tugging on your arm.

Y/n regards him with uncertainty. Before you can question him though, he caresses the side of Tsireya’s face for a second. “Stay with him.”

Tsireya flounders, “No!”

He rushes to the edge of the rock, and you can only wince as you apologize to Tsireya for your and Lo’aks actions.

“I’m sorry, Tsireya.”

She tries to shout for you guys to come back, but it’s too late. You’re already both calling for your Ilu’s as you jump into the ocean.

Iarsä swam right beneath you, and in an instant, you are gripping her tightly and making tsaheylu. Deep in your brain, you wondered if Neteyam’s Ilu felt the loss you do. What about his Ikran? Oh, Eywa.

“Tsmuke!” Lo’ak called for you as you started to lag behind a little.

Quickening your pace, you moved by him. His worried eyes flittered over to yours.

“Tsukan, I am fine.” You tried to reassure him, but you know he saw through it all.

His lips pulled down into a frown, but he knew now wasn’t the time to comment back to you.

Either way, he is interrupted by the shocked gasp that leaves your mouth. The ship isn’t too far from you guys now, but it’s beginning to flip over and sink down.

Lo’ak guided you closer to the ship, haphazardly avoiding miscellaneous floating objects.

“That’s Spider and Kiri!” Lo’ak blurted out, his finger pointing at two figures bobbing up and down in the water.

Y/n nods, as Lo’ak yips to alert them that they are here.

“Bro!” A light flashes in your eyes, and it’s coming from Spider.

A sigh of relief escapes you seeing Kiri alright, but you can still see how distraught she looks. It physically hurts you not to tell her what had just happened, but time was escaping you all even more quickly.

Kiri watches the Ship fully engulfed by the ocean. She trembled, “Mom and dad are down there, in the ship!”

An alarm rings like an insistent bell in your mind. Of course, no wonder they were alone.

But where is Tuk? Y/n’s conscience is on overdrive, the exhaustion is gnawing at her heavily. She’d get nowhere like this, tackle one thing at a time. That’s what she needs to do.

“Grab on- Y/n!” Lo’ak protested as you descended further into the murky waters. Except it was too late, she was already gone.

Y/n’s eyes squinted as the water pulled at her skin due to the high speeds she was going at. In spite of that, it did not matter. Nothing mattered more than saving whatever was left of her family.

Darting into the first opening of the ship you are able to squeeze through, not without realising the spaces were far too cramped to navigate your Ilu through. With that, you reluctantly release her.

The further you descended, the more effort it took to be able to examine your surroundings. You can feel your chest starting to tighten just a little. However, Y/n notices a faint outline of an avatar body ahead of her.

It takes every willpower within her to not weep at the sight of your dad twitching against a part of the collapsing ship. Jumping into action, wrapping both of your arms around one of his. Then you tug as hard as you can, back from where you had just come from.

You recalled the air pocket you encountered not too long ago. Yes, that will work for now.

The closer you grew to your destination, the more your dad fidgeted in your tight grasp. Then, his arms reached up.

Y/n and Jake exhale as they break through the surface.

“Dad?” She whimpers her heart, sinking as Jake struggles to catch his breath.

He clutches onto the side of the wall, his chest rising up and down far too rapidly.

“Dad, please. Take a few deep breaths!” She falters when trying to approach him, scared to jolt him even more.

He groans, eyes bleary, “Neteyam?”

It felt like an axe had been wedged in your heart. You’ve dealt with far too much in a span of few hours.

“No, dad. It’s Y/n”

“Oh, Y/n…you just look so much like him.” He struggles to say.

Y/n clenches her eyes closed in despair. She knew that voice, it was the one he’d use to try to weave out of something. Sugarcoating, he had told you when you were younger.

She couldn’t help but weigh on the thought that he probably thought he was dead and with Eywa.

Sighing, her hand presses into her face. “Sorry, I know. You and ma always say that.”

In a blink of an eye, profound guilt encapsulates her very being. Once again, Y/n has been reminded of Neteyam. What she has lost, what she must now grieve.

Gulping, her voice stammered “I’m sorry, sir. His death was all my fault. I should have done better.”

Jake’s heart lurches at your words, being reminded of Tommy.

“Focus, just focus on getting out.” He coughs as the lights behind you flicker. The ship's loud groans rattle in both of your ears.

“Okay, okay,” Y/m mumbles to herself. Analyzing her surroundings, she realizes the water is rising at a quicker pace. Dammit.

“We’re losing air pockets, dad. Come on, let’s go,” She insisted.

Jake lets out sounds of pain as he moves into the corner.

“You know your way out?” He inquires. Before you look at him with a scrutinizing gaze he takes you in with all his pride. His daughter, his first-ever daughter.

Ah, there it is. Furrowed brows and all.

“I think so. But dad, you’re gonna have to hold your breath for a while. Okay?” She responded, ignoring the ache in her limbs.

You lean into him then, thumbing the blood seeping out from one of the cuts on his face.

Just like he’d do to you when you were little, an action so simple whenever you’d hurt yourself. Something you inhabited from him.

That’s exactly why he can’t keep you here. You still had so much more to live for.

“I can’t make it, but you can. You can, you can.”

You speak over the top of him, anguish spreading across your facial features. “No, no-no, dad!”

The tone in your voice pitches, conveying the desperation you felt right at that moment.

“I refuse, I can’t lose you too. Not you, dad.” She says vehemently. So much finality had been wrapped into that sentence, and he knew that you weren’t going to move.

If he can’t make it, then you weren’t leaving his side. You’re going to stay right here.

He rapidly blinks his eyes, finally clearing his vision properly.

Ignoring the pounding from his head, he looks at you. Truly examining you.

The face you hold at that moment is the deepest wound to strike him yet from today.

Just now, he can see how mature you’ve become in a span of less than a day. It left him with such scorching indignation. No kid should have to grow up this quickly, but the unique circumstances brought upon your family had forced you to do so.

There are tears running down your face, and the seawater should mask it well. But he’s your father, he knows. He can see you clutching something tightly in your hands then. It feels like cinder blocks had been pushed against his gut when he recognizes it to be one of Neteyam’s armbands.

Y/n follows his eyes, unclenching her first. He was right.

She swallows, lips trembling. “It was floating in the ship close to where you were before, maybe it was a sign from him. He was letting me know you were close. I didn’t even realize when it floated into my hand. It must have slipped off before he…”

A deep frown settles on Jake’s face whilst hearing you get choked up. He kicks his legs, ignoring the throbbing feeling spreading through his body.

He leans his head on top of yours.

“I’m so sorry, baby girl. I’m so sorry.” He coos.

You shook your head, forcing yourself to calm down.

After he pressed his lips to your forehead, you lean back from him.

“We’re running out of time. Okay, you need to be really calm. Breathe down from here.” You press your hand to his lower chest. Mimicking the breathing you learned not too long ago from your dear friend Tsireya.

He follows you, pursing his lips. Inhaling, exhaling.

You close your eyes.

“The way of water has no beginning and no end.

The sea is around you and in you.

The sea is your home before your birth, and after your death.”

Your eyes open, watching Jake take your words in. He tries his absolute hardest to ease his mind, just like you had done moments ago.

Good, he’s doing good.

Y/n continues.

“The sea gives, and the sea takes.

Water connects all things.

Life to death, darkness to light.”

The water is now up to your chin, even as you tilt your head up.

“Dad, you can do this. Please.”

He nods his head, “I’m with you, Y/n.”

The words bring you great comfort, your heart now being able to lessen some of its burdens.

Y/n finally smiles.

“Okay, last breath. I love you, dad.”

He winces at the prickling pain but manages to give you a smile in return.

“I love you too, my daughter.”

With that, both of you breathe in before going underwater.

You start the treacherous journey out of here, doing your best to retrace the directions you had mapped out in your mind. Making sure to occasionally check back on your dad as you hurdle through random objects that stuck out.

Y/n looks behind her shoulder once again, easing up when she sees Jake not too far behind.

With a motion of your hand, you wordlessly say “follow me”. A reminder that maybe wasn’t needed, but you had to feed your dad some courage.

Your chest begins to constrict a little, but you try to keep your mind elsewhere.

You thank Eywa as you see the exit, holding on to the bar as you reach your hand out.

Jake latches on to it as you swim through the opening. There you both try to seamlessly get out from the remainder of the ship. The gap between you and the surface lessening.

But Jake begins to slow down significantly. Immediately worried, you wrap your arms around him. Chugging over your limit as you pull him up with you.

Y/n starts to hear the muffled noises of her dad starting to choke.

No, no, no. We’re almost there.

A gush of movement is felt from behind you both.

Lo’ak is holding onto Payakan’s fin, using his free arm he darts out to grab your elbow. He tugs you to him.

There, you and Jake are able to hold on to the Tulkun for further momentum.

The cool air nips at your cheeks as you finally break through the water.

“Hang on, both of you! Breathe, breathe.” Lo’ak urges as he quickly holds your face to see if you’re alright.

Y/n bows her head and then goes to personally thank Payakan for saving their lives.

“I see you, son.” She hears, there you gaze as Lo’ak and Jake share a bittersweet moment.

However, right behind them, you see familiar figures moving closer to you all.

“Ma Jake!” Neytiri called.

“Dad, dad!” Tuk cried.

“Mom!” You and Lo’ak gushed.

“Come here, I have you. It’s Okay.”

“Tuk, Kiri.” She whispers to herself, finally allowing relief to invade her senses.

Your mother leans over, squeezing both your and Lo’aks hands.

But you needed more.

Pushing off of Paykan's fin, you swim over to where Neytiri and Tuk was.

Neytiri grabs you swiftly, letting you fall into the makeshift circle.

“Oh, my yawntutsyìp. My sweet, sweet child.” She mumbles, repeatedly kissing your cheek.

She could not even begin to fathom the loss you have yet to fully process and grieve for.

Another person in the Sully family tree had lost a sibling today.

“Tsmukan, Tsmuke.” Kiri too leans forward in concern.

You just give her a solemn smile, grateful that almost all of you were safe and alive.

She watches her parents embrace before her eyes loom over the empty gap in their family huddle.

It felt like only yesterday how Neteyam would always pinch her and Lo’aks ears, “Why are you guys always forgetting our family meetings?”

Huddling closer to one another, while unspoken you each know this event was something that would drastically change all of your lives forever.

“Sully’s stick together. That was their greatest weakness, and their greatest strength.”

“Thank you, great mother,” Kiri speaks up into the sky.

“Yes.” Neytiri echoes.

Lo’ak gazed at you, then to the sky above.

Y/n followed his actions. She was hoping to each mighty being above, that Neteyam was safe and sound. No longer in pain or danger. That was the least her dear brother deserves.

As everyone loosened their holds, your parents did the opposite. Instead, they brought you into their arms.

There, they cried with you. Finally having a chance to mourn the loss of your twin, their son.

From above and with Eywa, Neteyam looked down at you all with questioning eyes.

“Why are they all crying, great mother?” He asked, not being able to understand the entirety of the situation that occurred before him.

Eywa can only give him a saddened smile.

“Because my child, they are grateful to have known you.”

𝒇𝒍𝒆𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒃𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 ━━━ 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑

⤷ feedback and reblogs are always much appreciated ! feel free to ask through my inbox if you would like to join my taglist. ♡

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marc-spectorr · 3 months

Text

come alive

pairing: poe dameron x reader

kiss prompt: #22 …in a rush of adrenaline

warnings: 2.0k wc. mentions of violence, shooting, weapons. curse words.

notes: thank you to the lovely anon for submitting this prompt! i decided to make this its own post bc i wrote quite a lot. also i haven't watched star wars/written for poe in a hot minute so pls be nice to me lol. hope you like it!

—

“What’s the escape plan?”

At the question, Poe shoots you an odd look that is quite concerning. “Escape plan?”

“Yeah, the escape pla—oh my god,” you say in a hushed whisper, blinking at him. “You don’t have one.”

“I don’t have one yet. Don’t worry, I’ll come up with something quick and then—”

“—and then we get captured, locked up behind bars to rot or until they decide to—”

Your ramblings are cut short when Poe puts a hand over your mouth, gently shushing you. Three stormtroopers approach the stack of oversized crates, shrouded in darkness due to the absence of sun at this late hour.

You freeze and hold your breath, waiting for them to pass. Fortunately, they march right by without problem, oblivious to the fact that you two are hiding behind them.

As happy and relieved as you were when Poe first showed up to free you, you’re now back to thinking that you will die at the hands of the First Order. It’ll only be a matter of time until someone realizes their imprisoned Resistance spy has escaped. You’ll never get out of here, especially without a plan. You’re doomed.

You swallow thickly and try to distract yourself from the dread and panic clawing inside of you. You’re on the verge of hyperventilating. Glancing around wildly, you need to focus on something else. Anything.

Eventually, you have no choice but to settle on having your attention on the pilot’s stupidly handsome face. You keep your eyes on him, inhaling and exhaling deeply to gather your composure. All the while, you wonder— has he always been this good-looking up close? You have never realized how pretty of a shade his dark eyes are or how much they sparkle in the low light. You’ve never seen such thick and curly hair like his, and you have the biggest urge to card your fingers through it.

“Sweetheart, hey—relax,” Poe murmurs when you grow quiet on him, his watchful gaze flickering every now and then to check your surroundings. “Breathe. We got this.”

Poe has long dropped his hand from your mouth, but it remains on your face, cupping your cheek as he assesses you for any injuries. You feel your pulse pick up a beat. You’re sure it’s mainly from the threat of danger you’ve found yourself in. Certainly not because of Poe, your good friend, and crush ever since the day you joined the Resistance.

No, it definitely cannot be that.

“Okay,” you sigh out, nodding. You take a quick glance at the perimeter yourself this time, mostly to hide away from his gaze. “Now what? We can’t stay and hide here forever.”

“You’re right,” Poe agrees. He steps closer to you, his chest brushing against your back as he scans the area with you. “My ship’s past the tree line. Best course of action is to sneak out without alerting anyone. But if things don’t go our way, we use these.”

Slipped into your hand is a blaster. You take a deep breath and tighten your fingers around the grip. You hope it doesn’t come down to a shootout between you, Poe, and the dozens of armed guards patrolling the place. Violence isn’t really your strong suit. That’s why you preferred missions that involved laying low and gathering intel. Too bad your cover got blown on this assignment.

(And yes, you are still sore about that).

“I’m a shit shot, just a heads up,” you warn Poe. You turn around and bump into him, forgetting that there’s barely any space between you. He doesn’t make an effort to step away, and surprisingly, you don’t either.

Poe’s lips curl into a smug grin. He holds up his own weapon in his hand. “And I’m very much not. See, we’re a perfect match. On a scale of 1 to 10, how’d you rate my spur-of-the-moment escape plan?”

You bite back a chuckle and shake your head. Leave it to Poe to distract you from your worries, even if it only lasts a minute. In all seriousness, you have faith in him. He can be overly cocky sometimes, but he’s smart and skillful. You’ve seen and heard what he’s capable of. There’s a reason why you and plenty of others admire the hell out of him.

“I’d give it a 7.5, mainly ’cause I trust in your confidence too much. Plus, it’s not like we have other options.”

“That’s the spirit,” Poe beams. “Sorry if I worried you about not really thinking this through earlier. Once I found out you were being held out here, I kinda just... went for it, y’know? I didn’t have time to waste. I couldn’t let anything happen to you.”

You smile at him, ignoring how your cheeks are warming up against the crisp nighttime air. You’re touched by Poe’s statement. Grateful that you’ve crossed paths with someone like him. Who else would be this reckless and determined to dive into an impromptu rescue—or insane enough to risk their life to save yours?

The thought has your heart feeling tender, but you can’t get caught up in it at this moment. You and Poe need to make it out alive first. Fuck, now the nerves are starting to creep back in.

“Thank you. If we come back to the base both in one piece, dinner’s on me.”

“You mean when we get back,” he corrects. He holds his hand out for yours. “Deal. It’s a date. Alright, you ready?”

Poe’s question almost doesn’t register in your head after he refers to your dinner offer as a date. He doesn’t seem to be joking around. He sounds serious, and you don’t question it. You find yourself more than okay with calling it that.

Clearing your throat, you give Poe a slight nod, ready as you’ll ever be. Both of you have to get out of here alive. Your date depends on it.

Staying undetected as you move through the shadows was easy in the beginning. Few are out on patrol this evening, and when you do encounter someone, Poe manages to evade them. Surely this isn’t his first go-around at something like this.

You do your best not to allow your anxiety of getting caught to cause you to lose focus. The warmth of Poe’s hand in yours helps soothe you, an assurance that if anything goes wrong, you’re not alone.

When you spot your way out, relief floods over you. You tell yourself you’ll be home soon. That you’ll be back in your bed in no time, tucked under the covers, safe and sound. No longer would you be fearing for your life in the way you are right now.

You’re nearly there— the clearing is just within sight. Less than a hundred yards away more and…

Sirens suddenly blare. So loud that they ring in your ears and leave you disoriented for several seconds. The quiet of the night quickly descends into chaos as guards pour out from every which way. The radioed orders your ears pick up are clear and bone-chilling: they are searching for you, and if found, they want you gone permanently.

“There you are, scum,” a trooper snarls from behind, weapon pointed at you. They’re about to pull down on the trigger, but Poe reacts much quicker. The blaster in his hand fires, and the man instantly drops to the ground.

You barely have time to process what happened when Poe grasps your hand tightly, holding onto it uncomfortably tight, but his touch is grounding. The two of you share a knowing look as the sound of distant voices and heavy footsteps grow closer.

“We gotta keep moving. Shoot anyone who’s chasing after us, got it?” He says, his voice a blur over the erratic pounding of your heart.

Poe doesn’t wait for your acknowledgment. He makes a mad dash towards the gate leading out of the compound. He wasn’t lying when he said he was not a shit shot, taking down a few men with such ease— they were no match for him.

Luck seems to be on your side tonight. The moment Poe tugs you past the gate, you run across the field and into the woodlands as fast as possible, the fastest you’ve ever moved. Your muscles are sore, and your head is dizzy. It feels like you can’t get enough air in your lungs.

Still, you run. You run and run, even if you’re starting to think that your legs will give out at any moment. You have to get as far away as you can from the place that has kept you captive. It’s your best bet if you want to survive.

Finally, Poe’s ship comes into view. He glances behind you, and you mirror his action, seeing that the guards have lost track of you in the dark. The relieved smile on your face remains for only a split-second, however. As soon as you turn your head back, you see the stormtrooper emerge from the thick bushes, aiming to shoot at an unsuspecting Poe.

It’s like everything is in slow motion. From you realizing that Poe is in imminent danger to the way you forcefully push him out of the line of fire and draw your blaster.

Adrenaline buzzes through your veins. Your chest rapidly rises and falls. You steady your hand even as it fights to tremble. Without thinking twice, you fire your weapon. The first shot narrowly misses the enemy, but the following two blasts hit them fatally, and they slump to the ground, unmoving.

Luck truly is on your side tonight.

You gasp a breath in surprise when a pair of solid arms suddenly wrap around you, your nerve endings still on high alert after all that has transpired.

Poe’s gentle voice saying your name cuts through your foggy mind, and you meet his gaze. Your heartbeat continues to drum sharply against your ribcage as you stare at him for several moments, tracing the deep, worried lines etched on his face.

You don’t know what comes over you after. You’re unaware of what you’re doing until you’re right in the middle of it.

One second, you’re holding onto Poe—feeling some of the tension in your body seep out upon seeing that he’s okay, he’s unharmed— and the next, your lips are on his, soft and warm. Exactly the way you had imagined they would feel.

Poe doesn’t kiss you back right away; it is the only thing that snaps you out of this haze. Have you misread him all this time? He’s a major flirt, but you thought he was genuine with you. A knot of confusion and embarrassment forms in your stomach. How could you be so wrong? How could you have fucked things up?

You immediately pull away, taking a few stumbling steps back. Poe looks at you wide-eyed, mouth slightly open, but he doesn’t say a word. You glance down at your feet, not wanting to see his expression as you fumble out an apology.

“I-I’m sorry, Poe. I don’t know… I was just—”

You are interrupted when Poe lets out a breathless chuckle. He closes the short distance you had put between the two of you, his hands cupping your face, fingers stroking your cheeks ever so gently.

“Don’t be sorry,” he whispers. “I wasn’t expecting you to do that. It did feel very nice, though.”

Poe’s breath fanning warm over your skin causes yours to hitch. Before you can respond, he slowly leans in and recaptures your lips in a sweet kiss. Your heart stutters and skips for a whole new reason now. Something more electrifying replaces the fight or flight sensation surging within you, making you light-headed in the best possible way.

The kiss abruptly ends at the sound of dried leaves rustling and branches snapping from different directions. You notice faraway lights becoming brighter, no doubt more stormtroopers closing in on you and Poe.

“I’d like to keep kissing you, but we gotta go,” he laughs, nodding towards the ship. “The sooner we get back, the sooner we can go on our date.”

You grin in agreement and place your hand into Poe’s hand. Being with him makes you feel alive, like you can handle almost anything the universe throws at you. You could get used to this.

“Take me home, flyboy.”

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #poe dameron fanfic #poe dameron #oscar isaac x reader

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neteyamslovrr · 10 months

Text

RETURN - PT 4

summary: five years ago he left you. left you alone with nothing but memories of your love. so how dare he come back now?

contents: 1k words (very short), fem!reader,

authors note: i am so so so sorry it has taken me so long, and this chapter is so short but i need to figure out more BUT i needed to give you smthn @cinetrix made the header pic, he looks so delicious yumyum

previous / next

The Omatikaya said that the river washes away your worries much like the calming embrace of a mother. A comforting stroke just like the rushing water running across your body.

So that is exactly where you went to escape. To let yourself float in the water. Letting it run across your face momentarily so you could indulge in the beautiful feeling.

It is a place you have found yourself go to more often. Your shared tent with Va’tep growing with more and more tension each day.

It wasn’t as if there had been a fight between the two of you. But Va’tep had grown bitter. Mean looks and hushed hisses. For a man of great status he had the emotional maturity of a toddler.

He knew about the mending connection between you and Neteyam. Anyone could see the rekindling flames burning between the two of you. It was angering for him.

To think that you could embarrass him like this. As is you were not his. Not Neteyam’s. No that ship had sailed.

And those growing furies within Va’tep shoved you far away. Far into this river, and further into Neteyam’s heart.

“What are you doing?” His voice was soft, so sweet yet deep. It erupted fire within you, one that not even the water surrounding you could put out.

Sitting up in a slight shock, your legs resting on the harsh ground below the water. “I was relaxing.”

“You can continue” He chuckled, submerging himself in the water beside you. “What have you been doing today? I didn’t seen you in camp this morning.”

You shrugged in response, sitting up beside him. “I’ve been here all day.”

“Hm? Any reason?” Neteyam knew you were feeling down. He could see it in your sunken shoulders and slight frown.

“Just…didn’t want to be there.” A vague response only probing Neteyam to ask more questions.

“Be honest with me…” He whispered, his slender hand touching yours with a comforting gaze.

With a long hesitant silence you looked into Neteyam’s eyes, your own glazed with tears. “It is Va’tep… it’s unbearable living with him.”

“What do you mean…?” Neteyam asked, his hands pulling you closer to him. “What is he doing?”

You caressed his hand. “He’s just…he’s so hostile. Being with you like this…It is hurting him.”

Neteyam scoffed. “The only thing it hurts is his pride. Which I will hurt more if he doesn’t grow up.” You shook your head as Neteyam tilted your chin to gaze up at him. “Whenever you are ready…We can approach him. I’m not letting you suffer with him for this long.”

“You let me suffer long enough.” Whenever you brought up Neteyam’s five year long absence it leaves a sting in both of your hearts. But Eywa was Neteyam doing everything in his power, with all his might to get back to how you were before. It was his one goal to recover the heart he tore apart.

“I will never let you suffer again. Please my sevin (pretty), let me help you.” He was so close to you, hands grazing your thighs, begging to bring you chest to chest.

You froze. You want nothing more than to let yourself let him into your heart. But there was moral turmoil running through you every time his soft fingers grazed your skin. “I want you to.. I really do. But-” You stopped yourself letting out a loud sigh.

“But?” Neteyam looked at you, stare full of love. “I will fight anyone who gets in our way. It is my fault Va’tep is promised to you. I will get you out of this.”

“Neteyam…” It was hushed, struggling and scratching to escape your throat. He nodded eagerly. “I cannot face my parents…I cannot be their only daughter who defies their wishes.”

“They wouldn’t wish for you to be unhappy.” You simply shook your head.

“I can’t- Neteyam…I don’t know what to do” You started to tear up, lips quivering as Neteyam gasped.

“Hey…hey. It’s okay…I’ll sort this out.” Neteyam hushed you, bringing you into his embrace, the lake sloshing around your bodies as his hands soothed your back. “I’ll make everything okay.”

And he vowed to do so.

It was a couple days after, you cried in his arms. He hadn’t talked to you since, you were avoiding him due to embarrassment.

He understood, it was taking you a lot to open up to him like this after all these years. And he would do everything in his power to make sure he can make you feel comfortable and safe with him forever.

Neteyam had only had restless nights. He couldn’t shake away the thoughts of you being with Va’tep and how miserable you were with him. He wanted you to be happy whether that was single or with Neteyam. Preferably, with him.

But while he lay still, his hammock rocking him gently to the rhythm of the breeze, an idea finally hit him. He understood the only reason Va’tep was to mate with you was because it was your parents. And the only reason Va’tep stayed with you was because of his pride and his ego.

What if Neteyam were to take it away from him? To make it so that Va’tep is no longer the most honourable mate for you? And to strip away his pride so it cannot shackle you down into a loveless mating.

Maybe he was crazy to think if this. What could he possibly do to make Va’tep truly lose his mightiness in the eyes of your parents. And what could Neteyam do that wouldn’t make his family need to run away from the clan again…This is the chief’s brother we’re talking about.

But you were the most important thing to ever talk about. You were his top priority, his one and only purpose on this planet. Your voice was a symphony and it mellowed out every poor note around him. He swore on the Great Mother he would fix this huge mess he had caused.

Full of fiery passion he erupted out of his hammock, drawing up plans and splaying thoughts onto the dirt below him. You asked him to show you how to let go of the past. And he was determined to help you grab onto the future. Your future. Each other's future.

once again thankyou my beautiful doves <33 youre interactions are my motivation thankyou sm for reading

tags: @notsaelty @mommyneytiri @hannabanana-09 @gloryavila @peachinsominac @jaidalise @neqeyam @hello222sthings @tsuteysyawntu @neyetams @yhern05 @emjeez @adaiasafira @kiri-tuk @yaya6765 @biscuitbeater15 @iwannahaveaprettyaesthetic @plooloo @savvysscandles @dilucslilmeowmeow @69cocktimusprime @newjeansbonnie @chatoicboy @pinkpantheris @plzfeedmebread @afro-hispwriter @lollife1617 @goddesslilithmoriarty @cinetrix @grierpilots @melsunshine @valentineheartzz @tsveria @mikeyswifie @junnniiieee07 @wifeyofeveryone @baebinana @thatonegirlwiththebeanie367 @neteyamssbaby @taleiak @cheyehc @shoyos-sugarbaby @be3flow3r

everything taglist: @8resa @ilovejakesullysdick @neteyamsblog @live-laugh-neteyam @reyalvr @trashfox @darkacademictrash @scntfrhs @dreamyescapesfromreality @fanboyluvr @neteyamzmate @neteyamyawne @neteyamssbaby @hana-yuri @solanare @s-surreality @aerangi @papichulo120627 @bellstwd @sussybaka10 @oceanstar19 @sharkybabe9 @arminsgfloll @bakugouswaif

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taintedtort · 1 year

Text

prompt ✧ their first impression of you

characters ✧ xiao, kazuha, wanderer

warnings ✧ gn!reader, kazu and scara both pining for you

a/n ✧ i have a few requests in my inbox rn, and i promise i’ll get to them.. but this popped in my head

XIAO

✧ to be completely honest, he ignored you. he doesn’t communicate well with humans and he automatically assumed you wouldn’t be any different. he had no opinion on your physical appearance because he instantly forgot what you looked like after you left. however, once you had made it very clear you were going to befriend him— wether he liked it or not— he started to notice things about you. he pushed you away over and over, claiming he had zero interest in you and your friendship, and yet you still continued to visit him. your persistence intrigued him, once he makes it clear to someone that he wants nothing to do with them they get offended and leave. but you didn’t, you stayed. this realization hit him hard and he quickly grew to crave your company (all part of the plan) eventually that craving for your friendship turned into a craving for more. he would get jealous whenever he’d see you talking to someone else, or he’d feel a sting in his chest when you called him your friend. he had a hard time placing these feelings and it only got worse when you were around, so he started avoiding you. it made sense in his head, but he didn’t think about how it would effect you. after weeks without seeing you, the feeling of needing your company got too strong and he gave in. when you were walking in town and caught site of him on the balcony, you ran up the stairs yelling his name. he finally realized the ache in his stomach as love and confessed to you then and there.

"i think i have feelings for you, what do i do?"

KAZUHA

✧ he noticed your looks first and thought you were stunning, but when he spoke to you he found you even more enticing. he noticed you at the harbor and quickly was drawn to your character. he was sort of disappointed in himself, crushing on a stranger just because they were cute. he told himself over and over that he would talk to you, just to see if your personality was as attractive as you. he was sort of shy at first though. multiple times came around when he had the opportunity to approach you, but he kept chickening out. part of him was scared you wouldn’t have an agreeable personality, and he wanted to keep admiring you for just a bit longer if that were the case. eventually the perfect opportunity arose and he knew he’d be an idiot not to take his chances. you were helping load up the ship for the crews next trip, you saw them struggling and decided to help out. (yes you’re that nice) he approached you casually and introduced himself, asking if you were boarding the ship. he knew you weren’t, obviously, but he didn’t want to seem like a total creep. when he saw your kind smile and heard your name fall from your lips, he felt his heart race. after he witnessed your kindness first hand, he fell totally head over heels.

"it’s extremely nice to meet you, will you be joining us in our travels?"

WANDERER

✧ hated you. or at least he thought he did, he wasn’t sure. it had to be his brain frying from all the sleepless nights he’s had lately. yep… he was finally loosing it. he had thought that you were in his head so much because he absolutely despised you, but it was entirely the opposite. he’d never felt attraction towards someone before you, so he didn’t know what the feeling was. the feeling in his stomach felt similar to how he felt when he was looking at someone he hated though, so it had to be that. he sees you shopping it town a lot, conveniently at the same time he’s out. cannot go anywhere without seeing you and it pisses him off to no end. he knew you weren’t following him, you’ve never even looked at him, but that pissed him off even more. you don’t even know what he looks like, yet he’s memorized every curve and feature of your face. after weeks upon weeks of seeing you everywhere he turned he finally decided to talk to you. didn’t even think about what to say or have an excuse ready, he just walked up to you. he knew he probably looked mad, your look of confusion and worry before he even said a word tipped him off. took a breath a tried to relax his face a little before speaking. he actually told you he sees you all the time and questioned why you do so much shopping, which made you laugh. once he heard the noise, it kept replaying in his head over and over again. and when you finally spoke with a teasing tone he knew it was over for him.

"no i haven’t been watching you! i just happened to notice how much money you spend on such useless items, why do you even need that anyway?"

(hes lying)

#reader insert #genshin fanfic #genshin x reader #x reader #fanfic #gender netural #gn reader #scaramouche x reader #xiao x reader #kazuha x reader #taintedtort

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darsynia · 1 year

Note

I'm gonna let you pick the Marvel man (just not anyone you've done xReader for, lol - you gotta pick someone out of your comfort zone) and do xReader for: 80. crashing your lips together during an argument

I definitely wrote out of my comfort zone here! Peter Quill/f!Reader

Summary: Ever since Peter Quill and his crew rescued you from your dying ship, the man has been an absolute menace. You wish you could get the upper hand, but somehow he's always one step ahead of you, and ogling you the whole time.

Warnings | Length: Swearing/GotG typical banter | 1,574

Bet Your Ass

“What is your problem, Quill? By the Gods!”

The guy’s been chapping your ass since you were rescued, and you’re completely over it. Sure, he’s got arms, and that face, and those thighs, but by Lumesta, you’re going to need him to shut his mouth pretty soon or you don’t know what you’ll do! It’s been three days, and every time he’s laid eyes on you, he’s made a comment about how he would have rather rescued one of your crewmates.

Your ship had sustained the most unlucky micrometeorite damage ever, and you know you’re lucky to be alive. Two ships showed up to your captain’s distress call, and your three-man crew split up, as the medical ship the other two ended up on was almost at capacity as it was.

To hear Quill bitch about it, he’s brought on a completely useless slave girl, not a mechanic who’s already upped the efficiency of his weird little ship by 4%. It’s all ‘what use does a medical ship have with two renowned fighters’ and ‘we always get stuck with the girls.’ The blue-skinned cyborg woman whose name you struggle with had actually punched him after that one.

Drax has been leaning up against the wall, and after you turn away from snapping at Peter, he nods at you. “He likes your boobs.”

“Oh, here we go!” Quill groans, throwing a food wrapper toward the garbage can. It comes nowhere close.

“I am Groot.”

“I’m getting it, I’m getting it!”

“I am Groot.”

You don’t understand what Groot says, but everyone else does. It’s a disadvantage, but an amusing one, usually. This time, it’s clear the two statements are about very different things-- Quill has straightened in the process of picking up the garbage (which is a shame, because those pants of his hug that ass), so he can look askance at the teenaged tree.

“I am not dignifying that with a response,” he snaps back. “I mean, if we’re going to nitpick, the neckline of her shirt is a little low, but just because it’s eye-catching doesn’t mean--”

You cannot believe this. “Wait, so we went from Drax saying you like my boobs to you objecting to them?”

“Hey! I do not objectify. I’m very respectful!”

“You’re looking at her boobs right now,” Rocket says sardonically from the doorway.

“Weren’t you checking Cleavage Girl’s work? Scram, I’m trying to have an argument here,” Peter says loudly. He actually makes a ‘shoo’ gesture.

“Okay, that’s it. I’m calling you Tight-ass from now on,” you say, crossing your arms over your breasts. You know from experience (as in, pretty much every time you do it) that Quill won’t be able to pull his eyes away.

You’ve made a calculated error, though. Up until now, you’ve left your appreciation of his physique to yourself, and now the man is laser focused on this discrepancy.

“I knew you were staring at me!” Quill crows, strutting over. “That’s why you’re all sulky sexy, you secretly want me, and it’s killing you!”

“I am GROOT.”

Drax points at Peter with the piece of fried food he’s eating. “He’s right. You’re accusing her of what you are doing.”

“Cleavage Girl is new, why are you all on her side??”

Groot shrugs. “I am groot.”

“Woah, speak for yourself!” Rocket yells, making a grossed-out face.

“He’s not wrong. I would enjoy watching them,” Drax smiles.

“Well, now I’m just horrified,” you say, shoving away images in your mind of what the others might be picturing between the two of you. You spin on your heel and start toward the door, but your forward progress is halted suddenly, like you’ve caught your jacket on something. You yank angrily, but though you get free of whatever it was, you only have a few seconds before you’re pinned boobs-first against the wall of the room, with the familiar bulk of Peter fucking Quill pressed up against you.

“Okay, I take it back. You definitely have muscles,” he says, lips close to your ear.

“Get off,” you say, but your heart rate is up, your skin tingling with the pheromone your people give off when you’re attracted to a potential mate.

“Oh, I’d love to. I didn’t think you were into me,” he says infuriatingly. You hadn’t realized the double meaning of what you’d just said, and you rest your forehead on the bulkhead in frustration.

“I’m not,” you lie, shoving back with your hips. You’ve got enough leverage on the wall that he flies back a ways, so you spin around, dropping to a fighting stance.

“Hey, hey, I’m just responding to the signals you’re giving off,” Peter says, but you can see something in his eye; respect, perhaps? Something has shifted since your display of physical dominance. He’s looking you in the eyes, not the boobs.

“You couldn’t handle me anyway,” you snap back without thinking. Instantly, Quill’s face suffuses with an interested grin, and his eyebrows go up lasciviously.

There’s a loud crinkling noise only feet away, as Drax dumps out the rest of his snack into his open mouth. “Go on, I’m not even here,” he says.

“I am Groot!”

“I do not need tips from you on how to get her to want to kiss me!” Peter shouts, clearly affronted.

“Oh, I’ll kiss you,” you say impulsively. “But you have to promise to always look at my face, not any other part of my body.” You cock your hip and arch your back in an overt challenge.

“What if I’m behind you?” he asks, crossing his own arms. The muscles on his exposed arms look so good you wouldn’t mind trying your teeth on them, for multiple reasons.

“If that happens, you have to turn around,” Rocket says. You’d thought he’d left the room, and so did Peter, because both of you look around until you see that he’s sitting faced away in the captain’s chair, which hides his whole body from behind.

“I am Groot.”

Everyone just looks at Groot, and Peter’s eyes go wide.

Their reactions freak you out. “What?”

He shakes his head.

“What?” you press, walking forward. Quill isn’t answering so you decide to remind him that you do, indeed, have strength he respects, even if it’s not your strength of character. You grab the front of his shirt, but his response is to fist pump.

“He said you want me and you’d prove it by coming over to drag me to my quarters… and--” Quill looks down at his own chest and smirks.

You let go right away and groan. “This ship is infuriating! I give up, I wish I went on the med ship, okay? You win!”

To your complete confusion, everyone, even the cyborg lady who was apparently eavesdropping from the hallway, walks in and shoves handfuls of credits at Quill, who looks incredibly smug.

“What the hell--” you start.

Groot walks over and pats your arm. “I am Groot.” Everyone else in the room starts leaving, and you’re still furious and confused.

“Quill--”

“I bet them I could get you to say you wished you were somewhere else,” he shrugged. “Easiest bet ever. All I had to do was stare at your body and be myself.”

All things considered, the man could have chosen far more miserable ways to win his bet, but you’re still het up and irritated. “Technically I won that bet for you. You should split it with me.”

“No can do, Cleavage Girl.” He folds his hands behind his back, bulging his arm muscles at you.

You step forward to shove him onto his ass, but his arms come down lightning fast, one leg planted behind him to brace himself: he’d known you would do that, and now his lips are on yours, one hand cupping your cheek like you are lovers instead of two people who can barely stand to be in the same room together.

The thrill of contact takes you by surprise. It’s like adrenaline has chemically altered into pleasure with the addition of your anger, and suddenly you can’t get enough. The two of you wrestle across the room to the nearest wall, hands grasping at clothing, lips sucking, teeth biting, tongues swiping as if unable to trust the evidence of your attraction for longer than a few seconds.

Minutes later, he’s tracing the line of your shirt along the edge of your breasts when you finally catch your breath, and you realize what you have to do to best him.

“Oh, I’m sorry, your kiss privileges are hereby revoked.”

“What? No!” Peter groans, lifting his head. His lips are red, pupils blown, out of breath, a complete gorgeous wreck of a man.

“What did I say the conditions were?” you say implacably.

He thinks. Peter’s lips twitch to one side, then the other, and then his eyes pop open and he looks horrified. “You don’t mean that. I was kissing you there, that doesn’t--”

“It counts!” you say sadly. “You weren’t looking at my face.”

You have no idea how he’ll react to your bluff (it’s totally a bluff. That kiss was amazing. You have no idea what boring shit you’d have been subjected to on that medical ship, but you definitely won Best Rescue), but what you don’t expect is for him to narrow his eyes and smile.

“This calls for a new wager.”

“You bet your ass it does.”

#peter quill x reader #peter quill imagine #starlord x reader #starlord fanfiction #peter quill fanfiction #peter quill x f!reader #starlord x f!reader #starlord imagine #mcu fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #guardians of the galaxy fanfiction #argument fic #banter #kiss fic #ask response

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five-rivers · 2 months

Text

Just One Day (Chapter 1)

During times like this, Iroh glimpses what Zuko could have been if Lu Ten lived.

It’s easy, almost painfully so, for Iroh to see what he himself would have been. He wouldn’t have had any reason to change, after all, and he had already been old by the time he’d breached the walls of Ba Sing Se. But for Zuko? That’s harder.

Zuko had been a child, still forming, still being formed, when Lu Ten died. Zuko’s training would have taken a very different path, if he had been allowed to remain a mere cousin to the crown prince.

Looking at what could have been for Zuko is like looking into a kaleidoscope. Even within the confines of the royal house, there are a thousand paths Zuko could have walked. A diplomat, a priest, a soldier, a scholar, an artist, an advisor. A spy. An assassin.

It’s the way Zuko pours himself out of the ventilation shaft, utilizing a economy of motion that could be called graceful that does it. The utter silence of his movements, the color of his clothes, the brightness in his eyes… Yes. Iroh sees what Zuko might have been. What he might have been used for, in another world. What even Iroh himself might have been encouraged.

But if Iroh would imagine that world, he might as well imagine any of the dozen others that have crossed his mind over the years. That countless myriad of what-ifs set on him like a spirit plague. If he imagines that world, he could instead picture kinder ones. Ones where the war was over, where Zuko was happy.

It was immaterial. What mattered was the here and now. Here and now, Zuko is none of those things. Zuko is an exile, a desperate one, chasing after a rapidly narrowing beam of hope that had more in common with the lure of an angler-shark than anything good.

“Uncle?” asks Zuko, voice quiet and rough. Burnt.

“My apologies, Nephew,” says Iroh. “You must forgive an old man his woolgathering.”

Zuko’s pinched expression says that no, he doesn’t have to do that and probably won’t. “You have to focus if-- if we’re doing this. You can’t be distracted when Zhao is looking over your shoulder.” His tone is angry. At least, that is how most people would interpret it.

“It’s alright, it’s alright, I’ve made sure we’re alone. We’re as safe as we can be. In the meantime, food! And more importantly, tea.”

Zuko scrunches his face into an expression that is both delightfully teenage and undoubtedly painful. His face is covered in bruises and small cuts. “Uncle…”

“You may wrinkle your nose, Prince Zuko, but every person in the world has at least one virtue, and Admiral Zhao’s is excellent taste in tea.” He smiles as he sits down and reaches for the pot. “Although, I am sorry to say that his virtue is a very lonely one.”

Sadly, this does not get the laugh Iroh was hoping for. Zuko’s scowl may, however, become slightly less pronounced. He also, once Iroh sits down, falls on the food like a starving man. He might very well be. Iroh’s position on the ship and in Admiral Zhao’s retinue has the unfortunate requirement of being in Zhao’s presence, or that of his trusted subordinates, most of the day. This means that he cannot help his nephew nearly as much as he would like.

So. It is, in fact, very likely that this is Zuko’s first meal today.

Although, Zuko is quite capable of theft, when it serves his purposes and sense of honor. Maybe he is just being a teenager. Teenagers are hungry.

Iroh would ask, but he doubts he would receive an honest answer, either way.

Then, Zuko stops, mid-bite. “Uncle,” he says around a dumpling, “have you eaten?”

Then again, Iroh is, perhaps, not a bastion of honesty himself. “Of course!” He pats his stomach. “Have you ever known me to miss a free meal?”

Zuko squints at this, then looks back down at his food. He doesn’t start eating again.

“Do you ever…” he starts, before pursing his lips together.

“Yes?” prompts Iroh, hopefully.

“Do you ever wish,” says Zuko, quickly, the words tumbling over each other, crowding to get out of his mouth, “that you were someone else?” He freezes, then, jaw clenched tightly, as if he fears that he has spoken out of turn.

“No,” says Iroh, glad that, at least, this is a familiar fear. “No. Prince Zuko, I do not regret my decision to be with you.”

“That’s not what I mean,” says Zuko, clearly frustrated but keeping his voice at a near whisper. “I mean… Do you ever wish that you weren’t-- That you didn’t-- That you were a, I don’t know, a poet, or a priest, or a-- a normal person. Somewhere. Someone who didn’t… didn’t have to…” He shrugged.

Iroh blinks. Not a fear, then, perhaps. Well, if Zuko wants to stop his hunt, to disappear from the eye of the Fire Nation and more importantly the Fire Lord, Iroh will do his best to make that happen, and with a glad heart. Although, it would have been far more convenient if Zuko had his change of heart before he snuck onto this ship…

“I suppose all men do so at times, especially men of power. Otherwise, why would there be so many stories of kings and lords in disguise? Why would there be actors, or the masks of the Fire Festival? I confess, even I have, hm, occasionally pretended to be someone who is not Prince Iroh of the Fire Nation, General and Dragon of the West.” He paused. “Do you wish for such a thing, Nephew?” best to not use his title and remind him of the responsibilities attached to it.

“I… I have, uncle.” He looks up, alarm clear on his face. “Not permanently! Not forever! Not-- Not even for very long! But sometimes…” He looks down again, a blush spreading across skin that is alternately pale, scarred, burned, bruised, and scraped. “I wish,” he says, very quietly indeed, “I could be someone else, anyone else, just for a day.”

In that moment, Iroh can see all the things that Zuko wishes not to be, not to have. He wishes not to hurt, not to be hurt, not to have this weight upon him, not to have this duty, not to be banished, not to be so far from home, not to be part of this war, not to have these memories, this history, not to be betrayed over and over again.

Although, that is probably not the way Zuko is thinking about it.

“But just for a day,” says Zuko. He swallows. “Just for a day. I know my duty, Uncle. I love our people. It’s my honor to serve them.”

Ah. Perhaps Zuko is not, quite, ready to run away with him to become nameless, faceless Earth Kingdom peasants, then. Well, Iroh always knew this was going to be, how should he put it, a work in progress. Or, no, that probably wasn’t the best way to put that. He’d have to think on it.

Metaphors took a lot of work that the youth of today just didn’t appreciate.

Iroh put his hand on Zuko’s shoulder and squeezed it as tightly as he dared. “I understand, Prince Zuko,” he said. “But I hope that someday, the spirits will grant your wish.”

Zuko blinked hard, then went back to inhaling his meal. A few minutes later, he was climbing - practically levitating - his way back up into the vents.

Iroh leaned back, sighing. They really shouldn’t make those things as big as they did.

Zuko crawled to the bend in the ventilation shaft that he’d been sleeping in while Zhao sailed north. It was near the showers, so while it was unpleasantly damp, it was warm and he could sometimes overhear the officers talking.

He curled up, tucking in his knees and pillowing his head on the small bag of necessities he’d been able to put together. He should sleep. He needed to sleep.

But to sleep, he’d have to forget all the stupid things he had said to his uncle. What had he been thinking? Ugh. He’d hit something, if that wouldn’t give away his position and therefore his presence.

Well. It might not, at that. Ships were noisy. Still.

Still.

Still, he hadn’t been lying. But he knew better than to just say things like that. That’s what got him exiled in the first place.

He forcefully closed his eyes. He would sleep. He had to be rested, to break into the north pole and capture the Avatar.

The sun slowly rose over the arctic horizon, waking all of the fleet’s firebenders, even if for only a moment, depending on their shift. In his stateroom, Admiral Zhao woke slowly, and called for his aides to brief him. Decks below, General Iroh, already awake, ran through a set of katas he had not yet taught his nephew. In a ventilation duct near the officer’s showers, a teenage firebender gasped, coming awake all at once. But this teenager wasn’t Prince Zuko. Prince Zuko wasn’t on the ship. Prince Zuko wasn’t anywhere.

In the ventilation duct, Kuzon of Hing Wa sat up.

(The moral of the story is ‘don’t make wishes when you’re in a spirit tale.’)

#atla #avatar the last airbender #fic

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sunshine-for-serotonin · 1 year

Note

NSFW alphabet eyeless jackk. Plsss im begging

But of course darlin’ ;)

NSFW Alphabet: Eyeless Jack

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex):

VERY ATTENTIVE! Jack is waiting on you hand and foot. He has water and your favorite snacks, and yes, you will be eating and drinking something! Jacks a former med student (Y/N), he knows what is needed for you to replenish yourself.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Jacks favorite body part of himself is his mouth. He has pretty lips and he knows it, in-fact, it’s one of the few things he’s not self conscious about. Besides, what’s better than making you scream his name while he tastes every intimate inch of you?

His favorite body part of yours is your stomach. It doesn’t matter if you’re skinny, chubby, buff, or even midsize, Jack has a hand on your stomach at almost all times. It’s one of the best places for leaving hickeys in his opinion, with the addition he often daydreams about you becoming pregnant, if you’re able too. In fact, when he’s feeling clingy he often presses his head to your stomach as soft and content demonic purring emanates from him.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

Jack likes cuming inside you more than anything, but if he has to elsewhere, his second favorite place is on your stomach.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Clothing stealer, no, you cannot change my mind. Jack takes dirty clothes from your laundry basket and will scatter them on his bed whenever he can’t be with you (Rarely, but still). Probably someone who will cut up your clothes to make them fit if he’s really desperate. Jack also scent marks your clothes, and sometimes seeing you wear his clothes is enough for his more demonic instincts to take over. Translation: wearing his clothes is going to get you fucked within an inch of your life, and him wearing your clothes is an invitation to do the same to him.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Little to no experience. Jack was always too busy with his studies to really pursue a relation ship, and look what happened to him when he finally found the time. However, that doesn’t mean he’s completely clueless. Let’s just say he knows how to put those anatomy classes to work~

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Any position where he can see your face, though Jack often defaults to missionary, or cowgirl when he wants you to lead.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Jack is definitely serious about everything, the closest to humor you will get out of him is gentle teasing, or lightly taunting you when he’s subbing.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

He has an average amount of hair down there, but he shaves or trims regularly. Jack has a surprisingly light happy trail though.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

A hopeless romantic through and through, Jack wants to make your experience like something out of a movie. The only exception to this rule is when his demonic side takes over, but even then there’s a surplus of heartfelt kisses and closeness.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Surprisingly mild sex drive, unless he’s in rut, so he’s usually able to hold off touching himself until you’re ready to actually have sex with him. But if he can’t, he’s in your room and buried in your blankets and scent, craving your presence while he fucks his hand.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Breeding kink all the way, it’s his way of marking you up and making sure any other creature can smell him on you so they know your his.

On that note, marking kink. Jack loves to give as well as receive hickeys.

He loves it when you bite him!!!! Jack has a high pain tolerance, so don’t be afraid of being rough with him.

Finally, and maybe most shocking, hair pulling kink. Not for you though, for him. It doesn’t matter if he’s dominating or subbing, pulling his hair is a one way ticket to getting him riled up for you.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

His bedroom, Jacks possessive by nature, so to have you in his room, in his bed, completely surrounded by him, is all he could ever want and more.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

WEARING HIS CLOTHES

showing your stomach

thigh highs (especially on bigger girls)

you just in general tbh

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Will not degrade you, does

not want degradation,

do not tie him up, it triggers flashbacks!!!!

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Prefers to give, he has three tongues for a reason, darling. Jack’s not that good at it at first, but he’s very observant towards your body language and verbal reactions, so he learns quick.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

If he’s in rut? You’re not walking for days.

Anytime outside of that? So soft and romantic it almost hurts.

If you’re in charge he likes it rough though-

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Jack likes true sex much more than quickies, once again, the only exception is when he’s in rut, and even then he still always takes the proper time to prep you.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

No risks, he doesn’t want to even think about accidentally hurting you, and the thought of another being seeing you like this makes him bloodthirsty.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Jack can go for about twelve rounds at a normal time, and he can go for an entire day when in rut. He lasts about as long as an average adult male, but his stamina makes up for it.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Jack owns toys for you, but not for him. He likes to watch you use them to tease him and test his self restraint.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Surprisingly very little, and it usually only happens when you get him worked up.

He does have quite the mouth when he’s subbing though, but you can shut him up with kisses so it’s okay.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Kind of quiet in volume, but he makes an ungodly amount of noises. Moaning, grunting, purring? He’s got all the bases covered and he’s not afraid to let you hear them.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Definitely has watched you sleep several times, but the knowledge that you trust him and feel so relaxed around him makes him horny, so a lot of the time he masturbates while your asleep next to him.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

BIG. At least ten inches and he’s girthy. Jacks testicles are a slightly darker grey than the rest of his body, and his shaft is the same color. His head is lighter than his body tone though, and has a more pronounced mushroom shape than most. He has prominent veins too.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Pretty mild usually, but when he’s aroused he’s aroused.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Jack usually stays up watching you actually, if he sleeps he’ll probably drift off in about an hour.

#yandere creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #eyeless jack #ej #creepypasta smut #eyeless jack smut

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lovelyladyabsinthewrites · 10 months

Text

Erastis

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Demigod!Reader

Warnings: siblingxsibling, do not read if you don’t like it

Words:1057

Summary:Kidnapped and bound in the captain's room aboard the Princess Andromeda, Luke tells you of all he has been planning. Whether you agreed to his plan or not, Luke was going to make sure you would stay with him for it all.

“Don’t look at me like that, (y/n).” Luke’s voice was quiet, slightly hurt at the glare you were piercing him with. “You wouldn’t have come if I had asked.”

Anger was starting to slither out of you. “So you decided to kidnap me for this insane idea you have?! Raising Kronos. . . destroying not only our father but the rest of Olympus? That’s insanity Luke.” Again you tried to break free of your restraints but the results were the same. The Olympian blood in you screamed for freedom. Being a child of Hermes though, one normally didn’t have any cool powers like Percy the son of Poseidon. All you had was a sword to rely on. A sword that was sitting in the corner of the room.

Luke followed your eyes. The celestial bronze was kissed by the glow of the moon outside of the Princess Andromeda. Who knows how far away the massive ship had gone from the shores of Camp Half-Blood. Even if you did manage to get out, how would you make it back? Your father only gave Luke the winged shoes.

Rising up to his full height, you watch as your half-brother makes his way over to the lonely sword. “A gift, from both myself and father. The one thing that was ever good between us was you.” Loving fingers caress the handle made from a dragon’s claw. The very same dragon that had given Luke his permanent scar. While Hermes provided the celestial bronze for your blade. Luke had sent your father a message of your upcoming birthday and how a sword would be a good present. To show that Hermes actually gave a damn about you. A warrior’s weapon. You hadn’t gone on any quests yet, but you had defeated your share of monsters earning you numerous scars over the years. Hermes saw and admired your tenacity, his fierce daughter. There's always little that the gods could do for their children as they cannot intervene or choose favorites, but Hermes did what he could do to assist you while you were on the streets by yourself. It leads you to making a lot of godly friends and certain monster friends as well.

Fingers around the handle, he lifts it up and exams it. “Your eyes were brighter than this celestial bronze the day I presented you with this sword. Erastis.” Your sword’s name beautifully rolled off of his tongue. It was the first time you had heard it in a while.

Lover’s Kiss.

Luke had chosen the name.

The thought of it’s meaning had you blushing all over again. No one else knew the name. Just you and Luke.

Grimacing, you clench down on your teeth. No. You could never agree to this plan of his regardless of the secret affection you had for him. “Don’t change the subject Luke.”

The grand suite of the captain’s lodgings was dark besides the soft lumination of the light on his desk. For how long had he been hiding this behind your back? You thought you had known everything about your half-brother. The two of you had a special bond within the Hermes Cabin. Never would you have imagined that Luke had been harboring this secret the entire time.

Furrowing his brows, the scar on his face contorted. “You would forsake me for. . . for the gods? For a father that let you get hurt time and time again. They don’t deserve your loyalty. Olympus doesn’t give two shits about-”

“It’s not about that Luke!” You yell at him, momentarily rendering Luke speechless. “Don’t you think I know that already?!”

“Then why. . .”

“Olympians won’t be the only ones hurt by Kronos’ return. Billions of mortals will surely die. They’re completely helpless. Not all mortals deserve that fate.”

Putting your sword back where it once sat, Luke stared at the ground. “Their lives are fleeting to begin with. They aren’t part of the bigger picture (y/n).”

You think back on your mortal mother. It had been years since you last saw her, but that didn’t dampen the amount of love you still held for her. “What happened to you Luke?” Luke didn’t tell you much about his past, but what you did gather was that it was a difficult one. Especially the case of his own mom.

The quiver in your voice made him soften and cup your cheeks. His thumb caressed your cheeks, lips mere inches from your own. They hovered, warm breath teasing against your lips and for a split second you forgot about everything he had told you. Forgot that he had kidnapped you from your sleeping bag. Instead you were consumed by sweet memories of summers spent together. The kisses you stole from one another when you were certain no one was looking. Sneaking out of the Hermes cabin at night to train in the arena and laughing. You always laughed when you were with Luke. It was odd how your crush was ultimately your half-brother, but considering Greek mythology you knew incest wasn’t a concern to the gods. Hera and Zeus were brother and sister after all. Despite that fact, you and Luke couldn’t go around camp showing off your true feelings. The other campers would think it weird. The gods were excused, not half-bloods.

“I’m doing this for our future. For a future we can have, together.” Quietly he explains, nuzzling his nose against you. There’s a slight tremble in his body as he leans forward. His kisses were always so warm. “I’m going to destroy Olympus for us.”

That was enough to snap you out of your lovesick haze. Sadly you turn your face away from him. “Not like this Luke.”

To your surprise he nods, as if having already expected this reply. “I know. I’m sorry, but that’s why I have to leave you chained up. Whether you agree or not, I’m doing this.”

“Luke. . .”

“I’ll bring you something to eat later.” He turns on the tv and places the remote on your lap before going to the door.

“LUKE!! Don’t you dare leave me here like this!” Shouting with all your might, you renew your struggle to free yourself.

He stops, door cracked open but didn’t face you. “I love you (y/n).” With that he leaves you alone with the blue light of the tv.

#percy jackson fandom #percy jackson fic #percy jackson fanfiction #luke castellan x reader #reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #percy jackson and the olympians

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iamafictionfreak · 6 months

Text

TIS THE SEASON TO BE MERTHUR!

Just... Look at them!

I miss everything about this show. Even the very bad CGI and the weak-ass plot points/armour/conveniences/contrivances.

One Christmas Eve, almost 11 years ago, the entire Merlin fandom was butchered into tiny little distraught pieces. It didn’t matter if your favourite character was Merlin or Morgana, Gaius or Gwen. The showrunners held no qualms in destroying your dreams for Gwaine or Perce. The writers did not hold back in their aim to crucify the smile on your face, to forever turn it upside down. No ship was spared. All hopes for the show to finally commit to their original intent, to bring peace between peoples, to save Albion, to allow Merlin his freedom and Arthur the truth, was brought to a bitter, fatalistic end.

Not that I need to repeat this to you, you know what happened, but it’s worth reiterating that this travesty occurred… on Christmas Eve.

CHRISTMAS. EVE.

Christmas Eve.

The night before Christmas, the night before the day where all rules are broken and we can frolic like children around a decorated tree filled with twinkling lights, our collective hearts were shredded.

This event (once we recovered a tiny bit from the shock) gave birth to a plethora of astonishingly well written, poignant, devastating, hilarious fanfictions that had helped nurse our wounds, for nothing could TRULY heal (except a follow-up season with the original characters, come ON BBC) us.

After nearly 11 years of watching these brilliant entries grow, I never thought I’d jump on this bandwagon and write my own fic.

But I've had a few very shit years, as have many people around the world, and I started to wonder as we do when we want to prove magic can still happen.

My brain decided that it wanted my hands to write the most indulgent, likely over done fic in existence for the fandom. This thought stuck with me throughout the year – I was being STALKED by myself – and wouldn’t leave me the hell alone. This hasn’t happened in a long while.

Still… you’ll eyeroll at the idea. It's so OBVIOUS, I'm embarrassed by myself.

What if Arthur discovered Merlin’s magic from the get-go, from episode 1?

WAIT. Hear me out…

So, Merlin saves Arthur for the first time and Arthur SEES. He sees his eyes glow.

He knows he should tell his father, but his instincts are screaming at him. Honour is at stake. This stranger saved his life. How could he reward it with an execution? So, a chance needs to be given, doesn’t it? A chance for Merlin to give up magic forever and live a life of goodness, to turn away from evil and serve Arthur…

Except Arthur can’t help but wonder. About Magic, about Merlin and magic, about the law and all the whys attached and his place within this chain.

But he also can’t trust this peasant who cavorts with the devil, practices wickedness but smiles like a child and offers compassion to everyone. Someone so duplicitous must be dangerous… except Merlin’s an actual idiot! And it’s getting really difficult to keep his guard up.

But isn’t that how sorcerers work? They twist the mind with pleasing ideas, they tempt and coerce, they manipulate.

And slowly, Arthur finds himself being manipulated too. For how could he ever want to trust this man- but he does. He does.

And we’ve never been allowed to see Merlin deal with a S1 Arthur who’s in the ‘know’. Who’s forcing him to keep it secret, who’s threatening him with trial by fire, a young Arthur who’s ignorant, arrogant and so desperate to understand what he cannot trust.

Then there's the layers, royalty versus peasantry, friendship versus alliances, goals versus ideals.

I want to write a fic where this trust is built from the ground up. One of the things about the show that made it impossible for me to let it go is that the ‘relationship’ between Arthur and Merlin fits exactly zero categories, yet all of them.

Master and servant.

Friends

Family

Allies

Enemies

Romantic ideals

Platonic soulmates

Absolute Soulmates

I could go on. And it's one of those rare shows where the writing would be given more oomph if the males leads had dared cross a line or two.

Realistically, they weren't even friends. They were master and servant who'd become a little co-dependant. Arthur could never admit to anything more because of his station, but would he have been able to being completely himself around Merlin if he'd known the truth? We never see Arthur truly be himself. He wasn't allowed to be, not even with his wife. There was always a wall - it was how he was raised and any attempt to develop was killed by plot.

We never saw Merlin completely free, not with a single person. He started happy and healthy and innocent. A liar. He ended up bitter and terrified and angry and alone. Still a liar.

What would he have become if there'd been one person he could truly trust- not Gaius. Not a man already broken and brainwashed by his own self. A victim of the system just as much as he perpetuated the hate and completely unaware of the trap he lived in.

Many of the characters in the show have the versatility and potential to be written a trillion different ways, is it any wonder that fics continue to be written?

Well, I wanted to explore a slow burn development of trust, with Arthur learning how wrong he was, how much he’s trampled on, and all about the seemingly normal peasant boy who meant more to the world than Arthur could possibly understand. What would they have become if they’d been given the time, hm?

When they were young - yes, I'm going there - wild and free.

What of Morgana, what if she could have trusted? What if she could have understood? Would it have turned out differently? Would she have still become the other side of Uther's coin?

Would Merlin still have ended up alone?

There’s lots more I wanted to touch upon, it’s a big what if, but that’ll have to wait for another post.

I’m writing a 5 part prologue that occurs between episode 1 and 2. I’m hoping to release it for Christmas and then take the time to write the rest of the season.

Unless… you guys think it’s a waste of time? Let me know.

In the meantime, I’m STILL SUFFERING (fucking show) and it's making me write, write, write!

(gifs not mine)

#merlin #arthur pendragon #merlin bbc #merlin emrys #guinevere #morgana #Gaius #uther pendragon #fuck uther #potential #merthur #merlin fanfic #merlin fandom

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gendrie · 1 year

Note

five reasons why you ship gendrya?

1. they complement each other.

arya and gendry have a lot of qualities in common, but many of their most prominent traits are complementary. arya is sociable and friendly. gendry is more reserved and standoffish. arya is audacious and focused on the big picture. gendry is cautious and detailed orientated. arya is becoming skilled at concealment, but gendry is transparent. the combination of traits is what makes them such a good team. its not just personality, though. i’ve always felt that arya/gendry are a great example of an ice and fire pairing in asoiaf. arya is water/the north/the old gods/quick/lady/trueborn/sword and gendry is fire/the south/r’hllor/strong/lowborn/bastard/shield. honestly, they’re just a good match. gendry is strong and brave and loyal he’s the perfect partner for arya. he’s every bit as stubborn as her too so arya cant just railroad him into doing what she wants.

2. similar experiences

before they even meet they have scenes with ned who notes their resemblance to lyanna and robert respectively, but more importantly he tries to take their treasured items and a/g are totally defiant. later, they both flee kings landing together as they’re pursued by the same enemy which set them apart from the very beginning. “only gendry was different” arya recognizes this and trusts him bc of it. nearly every experience after the fact? they share: the battles, the starvation, the imprisonment, the trauma of the war. they went through all of that together. they played mom and dad to their little band of war orphans. which i think creates a level of understanding that few others could truly relate to. this theme continues even after they’re separated too. they're seeking justice, but their trauma and grief lead them both to religious cults that are dark, teaching them to kill regardless of guilt as per their boss who is the embodiment of death. gendry’s is a vengeful zombie (who also happens to be arya’s mother) and arya's the many faced god. they are BOTH serving death. this is genuinely one of my fave things about them as a ship.

3. “but gendry came back” + “i don’t care what you say, i’m going back for him”

when everyone left arya and that baby behind gendry went back for them. he tries to get arya to go thru the tunnel before he does. when they run from harrenhal gendry is the one who convinces arya to stop and sleep. he lets her eat before him at the inn of the kneeling man too. he protects her and her identity. “she’s not alone. do like she says and leave us be” arya does the same for him. she shares her rabbit leg with gendry. she went after him when he was captured by the mountain’s men. she wanted him to go home with her to meet her mother and “stay” she frequently reflects on gendry’s counsel and how it was wise even if she couldnt see it in the moment. “and Arya knew he was right.” theres mutual respect and care.

4. the playful vibe

as a pair they really do bring a youthful, fresh, energy to the story. acorn hall does 98% of the heavy lifting to lighten up what is otherwise a very dark book. theres also not a lot of friendship based ships in asoiaf. i actually cannot think of even one other example in the main series. which makes them a unique dynamic in this universe. and their scenes are just fun! like even when they’re fighting. everything from “then pull your cock out and take a piss” to “would m’lady permit????” and “you stupid stupid stupid STUPID” and “not the fucking moss again” (paraphrased) plus they hit a lot of tropes i personally enjoy. uptown girl, lady and knight, unresolved romantic tension, battle couple, like an old married couple, eating the eye candy, childhood friend to lovers, ect.

5: “she was much the same at winterfell”

harwin says this to arya when gendry is being scolded and i love it so much. its about how a/g in relation to arya's identity. because with gendry arya can embrace her true self. she doesn’t have to be on guard. she doesn’t have to put on an act for survival. when everyone else sees arry or weasel or nan gendry knows the truth. she’s just “arya” when he asks her to go to the smithy to have a look. arya finally gets a chance to just play again. gendry is one of the few people she can truly be herself with and in an arc thats defined by identity that in itself is so significant. and then theres: “those soft little things?” gendry has seen arya’s hands covered in the blood of her enemies, LITERALLY, and he still thinks they’re soft and little. one of arya’s greatest fears is that she won’t be wanted because she doesnt meet an arbitrary femininity standard and on account of the things she’s done to survive. but gendry has seen arya in rags, shaved head, eating worms, slitting throats, and thought “she’s the one” lol

bonus: the potential

arya/gendry already has a great foundation going into the last two books. they're hardly an eleventh hour ship. but theres still so much to explore at the same time. they’ve grown up a lot. i wanna see what their dynamic looks like with the romantic subtext turned up a bit. theres a lot of foreshadowing suggesting their relationship will continue to be important. ive made this comparison before and i know its corny but they really are just this little acorn of potential that could grow into a tree so strong it can weather any storm.

#asoiaf nonsense #gendrya #lest anyone think im not still insane about them #im forcing myself to hit post now so i dont try and add more

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demonsplendor · 5 months

Text

18+ reader x alien - “Collector” (NSFT) Pt 2.3 (Pt 2 finale)

Pt 2.3/3

The final part to “part 2”; the end of watching Orion Mar and learning pertinent exobiology

Word count: 2.6k

pt 1 pt 2.1 pt 2.2

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Orion Mar gestures for you to give him your hand, and uses his to shape yours into a cupped shape against the bottom right below the head. You can see the tip’s opening only expand now, no longer pulsing closed and you can hear his breath quicken.

Previously using long, controlled push and pulling that was even in cadence, was now only jerking himself at the very base, frantically teasing with shallow, desperate strokes.

“I’m—“ he cuts himself off with a whine that must have escaped, to his own surprise. The remaining snap of clarity is short lived, he shudders back into himself before looking back up.

You are preoccupied, a captive audience; he need not tell you with words that he was close, for you can see the pearlescent blue green membrane of his globular deposit of sperm begin to push through.

Now that you see it from this angle, it does look a little challenging if not outright uncomfortable to pass. It stretches him until you think it can go no further, but is only just partially through.

“It doesn’t hurt?”

“No,” he sounds tense and shaky, “I’m just trying to get just the one to come out right now.”

You had shared a lot of things out loud to this public stranger today, but you would not be sharing how you wouldn’t mind him spilling entirely into your hand.

He tries to raggedly gasp out, "You may need both hands. S-slippery." This is what breaks you of your seriousness, this sentence causing you to laugh out loud. It found the outer edges of all the tenseness and emotional valleys you've felt during this experience and weaves together into giggles. The absurdity of all of this hits you, but you are not cracked and mean, you can just momentarily embrace it with abandon.

He had not once stopped looking at you even though your eyes were fixed entirely somewhere else on him. He warmly muses, "Ahh, not too bad." You don't know what he means and glance up only to flinch again when your eyes match his, he laughs with another delightful chitter, "Reveling in the unknown. Do not feel ashamed by that."

It is oddly sobering at a moment like this, yet you can feel in your hand how the glob crests completely, careening into your welcoming palm accompanied by a thick coating of the remaining components of semen.

He was not kidding, this thing was slick.

You felt for a moment like you might drop it, like you were trying to hold a bar of wet soap on a rocking ship but you quickly followed his advice to use both hands.

You marvel at it, "Woah it's quite firm, I thought it would be more gelatinous?"

You turn it in your hands, but similar to letting a cracked egg slide around in your fingertips to separate the egg whites, the thick milky coating that came out with it slipped off and onto his leg. You can see it slipping along the chitinous plate until it streams onto the stretchy flesh in between to adhere to.

You instantaneously graven, walking a couple steps back, "Oh my god, I am so sorry."

He is not angry with you, his eyes tell you that much. Instead it makes him laugh boisterously. When he chitters his mandibles spread wide, he playfully growls, "How dare you."

He stands up, it makes your entire body waver as he once again towers over you. Orion is not like this for long, he inexplicably kneels onto the blanket, fussing a bit with how he and it are arranged before looking up to you.

This, this was a strange feeling.

He now had to crane his head to look up at you, you were the one towering over him. You still have the mass still protectively cupped in both of your hands but he sees your face turn red and inquisitive.

"Collection requires a surface, they have to remain clustered together. You cannot collect them individually and you cannot let them drop in succession into a container, they have to be scooped up afterwards. You technically could, but they will not be viable."

You had actually never encountered any information about this. There were no videos, they were not in any textbooks that you had available to you, and you'd think that even the collection clinics would have pamphlets to explain but they didn't.

You forget that he's still not done, forgetting why he was in this arrangement and why he provided you that information to begin with until he begins to run his hand up along himself again. This brief break had softened him a bit but he quickly perked back up, this time also using the blanket to rut against.

This was shocking enough, but when he looked up at you and again glued his eyes to yours was almost entirely too unbearable. You could not handle being the one standing above, him needing to crane his head to match yours. But he is unflinching, kneeling on the ground, pleasuring himself, all while he watched you as though he were the captivated audience.

He can tell that this change in scene was overwhelming to you, he tries to break the ice but you question his choice of inquiry, "What kinds of things do you like? Do you and your partner still... still do anything?"

"Yes we still do things that I like too." You blurt out, "I peg him," but grimace the moment that you say it.

"Oh?"

It makes you feel knotted with shame, but he does not let you descend entirely. He continues, "I like that too."

"What?"

"Mm, to be pegged."

Your expression is blank and reaching, you had never ever seen this reflected in a video. Not that you've seen all of them, but you had seen... the majority. He reads your face all too well, laughs but this time you can feel he does laugh at you, your secret was not well kept earlier but now it was entirely dissolved: you were all too familiar with his tapes.

"It's never been recorded before. It's not what people want to see, at least, that's what those who make the commercial decisions say. They only want me to be filmed taking another, or to exercise power on the audience, doing things while I stare into the camera."

You're kind of sad hearing this, and to be honest you would have maybe had the exact same assumptions about him before you met him. He was obviously charismatic and charming, you hadn't met another film star before but you imagine that's a prerequisite, but he was very considerate and engaging in a way that you wouldn't have expected.

You throw it back at him, "What kinds of things do you like?"

"Hmm.. To be watched, first of all," he chitters in a knowing way when you keep your eye contact but go flush again. "I like to be taken. I like to be towered above, made small."

It is entirely too much for you to take in, you end up beside yourself and gasping out loud. You can't do much to conceal it, like hiding your face or mouth, you still keep protective hold over the originally passed glob.

It seems like it may have been too much for him too, he tries to say, "I'm sorry," but it comes out huskily and ragged. He intermittently rubs himself but mostly begins grabbing the blanket to pull it closer against him, his thrusts now are short and hard as he fucks the fabric.

"You need to--he needs to--hhn ugh hahaha--," he hitches and breaks his face away, looking down to gather himself, "at least one of you, you need to make sure he is worked into an absolute froth. The outer coating, it's needed too."

He cautiously looks back up but the ball is in your court, you could either maintain the eye contact or you could break it away. Another slip of your best judgment, you give in and stare back trying your best to not blink or let your eyes wander. He is humored by this, and immensely please, it doesn't take long until the final wave crashes into him and with a shudder and chitter, he begins to spill onto the blanket.

He severs eye contact first so that you felt free to look and watch, he rolled his hips desperately onto the blanket, curling edges over to keep the increasingly growing mass all together. There was suddenly two, four, eight, glistening, handful-sized globs that drained out of him with a surprisingly pleasant sound of suction at the end.

Beads of gel continue to drip as he grows flaccid, the slime you accidentally let ooze onto his leg has remained as a sticky sheen, but his first action was to carefully bundle the fabric around the clumped deposit as though it were a bindle. Seeing the amount of gentleness and care endears you once more, and you note to yourself that you should do the same if your own method succeeds.

“Could you help me? In the kitchen, there’s a cupboard under the counter right next to the fridge that has containers. Can you bring one here?”

“Yeah, of course.” But you look down at your hands.

“Here, I can hold that for you.”

Your face squirms into an uncomfortable expression, you just try to nod and slowly crouch down while extending your hands. He keeps one of his hands clutching the fabric while he offers you his other. What took two of your hands sat nearly paltry-looking in his, you carefully dropped the ball into the center of his hand; it rolled off of yours with a schlorp and into his with a plap. It makes you laugh something sharp and hyena-like, somehow this hand off felt like the most bizarre part of the day and you unsuccessfully try to cover your face with the back of your hand.

He seems a little bit sedated, and why shouldn’t he, but his throat rumbles in agreed spirits, “We are a bit beyond formalities. It’s good to find humor in these moments.”

You straighten up and seeing him crouched over this wet satchel, holding his own singular sperm that was handed to him no less, you just about break into a sob when you laugh.

“I’m really, really sorry… Orion,” you still feel weird calling him by his name, but think better than to call him “Mr. Mar” in this moment, “I am taking this seriously. I just…”

“I know that you are. This must have been an overwhelming experience, I hope not a bad one, but now tension is breaking one way or another. It’s okay to laugh.”

You nod pathetically, another laugh surges through you that causes you to squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head.

“I’ll go… I’ll go get a container now.”

You feel so amused and overwhelmed that you almost feel sick. Now that it was… over… you cannot believe that it happened. It wasn’t a bad experience, at least you don’t think so. But you can’t confidently tell him right now that it was a good one. It was challenging territory and something completely new. You’d have to sit on it for awhile to process it all.

Even though the kitchen is a straight shot away you still feel awkward walking through this gorgeous and expensive home unaccompanied. You walk unnaturally in an effort to knock over things that were not even there, there was nothing lining you path, and certainly not anything breakable. You wash and dry your hands before opening the cabinet and could just about cry again, laughter bubbles out of you horribly and without stop.

On the shelf in the cupboard under the counter next to the fridge were empty gallon ice cream containers. The kind that were a sturdy clear plastic with a lid and a handle.

You had to sit on the floor, doubling over and nearly winded. You knew that he could hear you, you weren’t that far away. In fact, he calls out to you, “We need another one for this standalone. There’s one in the cabinet next to it.”

You are too frightened to look but hesitantly commit to opening the neighboring cabinet, only to see empty and cleaned yogurt containers.

You shake your head frantically, this is total madness.

You don’t want to leave him waiting but your hands are comically shaking as you grab a lidded ice cream bucket from the one shelf and unstack a yogurt container and fitting a lid from the other. Your legs feel like jello and the journey back to the room felt your own personal walk of shame.

Your face is tear stained, your eyes puffy and red, and your mouth crinkled into something between a smile and abject terror.

He does not react coldly to you, asking only softly, “What do you do at home? I know they’re pierced but surely that makes more… mess?”

“We use… a bucket…”

“So this isn’t entirely unfamiliar.”

You carefully place the ice cream bucket under your arm while you take off the lid from the yogurt container. He might not be making fun of you, but you feel like the printed on label is.

“Yes but… it doesn’t say ‘vanilla Greek yogurt’. Or ‘family favorites neapolitan swirl’.”

Your hands are absolutely trembling when you lean the container in his direction, you still think this is all terribly funny but it begins to swing in another direction, you start to feel sweaty and panicked.

He cannot let go of the blanket, it seems, so you must navigate the lid after he carefully but still sort of unceremoniously let’s the singular sperm slide into the cup. You carefully set it down onto the ground next to to you and hand him the un-lidded bucket.

“You look exhausted,” you can’t believe that after watching what he’s done that he says you’re the one that looks tired, but there is no disagreement. You nod, feeling dizzy. You manage to feel soothed when he urges you, “sit down.”

You nod again and sit down, feeling relieved by doing so.

He begins working at unwrapping the bag, angling the container so that he can slosh the contents into it.

“You just need to be careful that they don’t get jostled from too high up. Try to keep them cushioned as best you can. Once they’re in the container though, they can mostly insulate themselves.”

“Have you— are there— do…?”

“Just ask.”

“Do you… have… children?”

“Yes,” but he quickly corrects himself, “there are children that I have sired, by means such as this. The collection. I do not know them though and I have no idea who carried them.”

“Is that why you know so many best practices?”

“Yes. As you know, the birth rate is critically low. There are these clinics and programs for collecting, but the first few times I submitted there was low success. It’s low success for most. Over time though, I got confirmation that I had high success and I would be asked by request to collect.”

“If there’s such a low success rate, why isn’t there more information available on how to best prepare them?”

He tumbled the last of his mess into the container and put on the lid before handing it to you. While doing so he conceded, “I think it’s just a numbers thing. We can produce many of these at once, multiple times. Even successful couplings, not indirect means, take many deposits before one takes. Whatever pharmaceutical that takes interest also doesn't care about their viability.”

You carefully take the container from him. It definitely had weight to it but you were surprised when you gently raised and lowered it in the air, “It’s lighter than I expected!” You lift it up to eye level and see an layer of air on top, so that there was just enough room to prevent the contents from sloshing out through the lid.

You gingerly set it down next to you near the yogurt container that housed the singular one. “You’ve put so much consideration into this, maximizing the rate of success on your own.”

He is still nude and sticky, his thick fingers nearly shellacked to his thighs but he remained alert and present. Often the things that he said had a confident tone, but this sounded almost pleading, “I’m motivated by the scientific method too.” You realize that yes, you can see as much, but you still tilt your head. “I hope that the process that you develop, it could increase it even more.”

“I’ll be diligent to follow exactly what you showed me and be mindful of where things can go wrong. I may only have once chance, and now that I know it’s way more sensitive than I previously thought… I will get to lead with our foot forward.”

His eyes flashed and mandibles relaxed in a way that you knew was a smile.

“Could you hand me a towel? They’re behind you on the left.”

You twist around and can see a woven basket with rolled up towels. “Oh yeah, sure.” You reach over to grab one and hand it to him.

“Thank you,” he wipes his hands off on a small patch of blanket that had remained unsoiled, before beginning to drape the towel around his waist. When he stood up, his would be otherwise eye-level cock was completely concealed and he wrapped it the rest of the way around his waist while taking a step back. “I’m going to clean up and change real quick. I’ll also get a bag that you could put the containers in.”

Something had been eating away at you, he stays in place to invite you to ask. “These… are viable.” You glance over at the container, putting your hand on top. “And you want to… let me just take them with me?”

He laughs throaty and deep, you see the plates on his chest rise while he does so. “Another calculated risk. I thought that you just wanted to see the process of them passing through, but when you brought up collection, I wondered if maybe you could figure something out that I can’t. It all still has room for improvement and you seem really dedicated, I think you could glean something unique.”

You're still kneeled on the ground, this time he’s the one towering over you but there is no strange feelings or tension. You find him admirable. This was all innately sexual in nature, but you did find it fascinating. You just had a hard time grappling with the fact you felt like you were perverted for wanting to try, for wanting to go the distance and learn everything that you could. Yet, here in front of you was someone who was so much more charismatic, confident, and proud than you. He had a sexual prowess and curiosity that you could never hope to achieve yourself, but he made you feel more than valid; he made this all feel like impactful, collaborative efforts.

You feel small when you tell him, “Thank you for saying that, and for trusting me,” but you do mean it.

He makes another playful noise, his eyes darkening, “After all, you’re not going to do anything weird with them right? Try to hawk a celebrity’s semen on the internet?”

You utterly balk, “No! I won’t do that!”

He chuckles, “I know, I know. I’m teasing.” He backs away more before turning around, “I’ll be right back.”

He comes back 10 minutes later completely cleaned off and in fresh clothes. He walks in with a reusable grocery bag and sits on the other side of the containers. He turns the back upside down and crumpled newspaper spills out.

“We want to keep the bottom one as stable as possible. Obviously, I’m giving these to you, so it’s not as though they’ll be used. I just want to try to give you a good specimen, in the most conducive conditions.”

His efforts were not lost on you, they were well appreciated. He finished stuffing newspaper around the sides of the ice cream container at the bottom of the bag before setting the yogurt on top and also padding with newsprint. He stands up and gestures at the bag, you twist your body and lift it by both handles and confirm that it feels level. You stand up entirely, understanding that this is when you should take your leave.

“Thank you for… everything. For meeting with me, for… um…” You must look away in order to get out, “for showing me…” You wince but can bottle up the awkwardness, at least for now, “for explaining everything. You’ve really given me so much. I hope that this wasn’t too… weird.”

“It was absolutely weird.”

Hearing this makes you shatter, your face crumpling.

“But that’s not bad. That’s not a bad thing at all.” He says it firmly. “This was the most interesting thing I’ve gotten to be a part of in a really long time. Thank you for contacting me and for rolling with it. I had a very pleasant afternoon with you.”

You are both relieved and tickled to hear him say that. You hadn’t completely wasted his time.

You bend over to pick up the bag for good, angling your body towards the unobstructed door way. “How do I…?”

“I’ll walk with you down.”

He led the way back to the elevators and down you went. The ride remained silent but not necessarily stuffy. This whole day you felt anxious by his eye contact but now that you would be parting you felt anxious to meet eyes again, but he would not look back at you. The walk towards the doors back across the lobby was similarly distant, you imagined that you would just walk through the doors with an unmet wave but he stops short.

He fishes his wallet from his pocket, and thumbs through it for a card. He hands it to you between two of his fingers, “Here, this is my number. Emails can slip by but I can be reached directly by this.”

You’re astounded, taking the card and looking at it dumbfounded. You glance back up and this time are met with his unwavering eye contact. “It doesn’t have to be about everything but… could you please keep me updated? I’m curious about this upcoming workaround of yours, or if that’s too personal then even if you find anything interesting to the cluster.”

You’re slack jawed, not knowing how to reply other than nodding. After pocketing the card you sheepishly offer your hand for a handshake. His mandibles move in a silent laugh, clasping yours in a warm and familiar way.

“It was nice meeting you, Orion Mar.”

You said it as confidently you could muster up, even though you winced a bit at yourself. It was impossible though not to melt into a small smile, when he sends you off with ample wind into your sails.

“The pleasure was all mine. Please do not be a stranger.”

#exophilia #terato #alien x reader #Monster imagine #Monster nsft #human x alien #alien boyfriend #speculative biology #voyerurism

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