Ufff. Okay, okay. Aquí les dejo la másterlist en orden. Va a estar sujeta a cambios constantes, ediciones, notas, etc. Espero lo disfruten mucho. Es altamente probable que cambie el título de todo el trabajo, pero por ahorita esta etiqueta me gusta para que no se me pierda.
Yo nomás les diré que el proceso de cortejo entre estos dos es innecesariamente largo y tortuoso porque son tercos y silenciosos. Ay, cómo l
¡PUF, YA LLEVABA UN RATOTE SIN ESCRIBIR, CARAJO! Al chile es altamente probable que edite después porque son las tres de la mañana pero no p
Hace unas semanas me encontré una historia en insta donde una pareja acababa de tener un bebé y dicho bebé no se movió por un par de minutos
──────ꫂ᭪݁ your husband 乙𝐔𝐊𝐎 sets the bed chamber on fire on your wedding night ♡ﾟ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆
after pining. and pining . and some more pining—
the first night of your marriage had finally arrived. zuko couldn't keep his hands off of you for even a second after the lengthy ceremony.
you both had been promised to eachother since a young age.
it had taken years of time and patience—understanding—to finally be ready to stand before the priest. to be united in matrimony.
years of learning the ways of ruling. the way of the people .
years of long afternoons cooped in the cavernous library studying the ancient scrolls.
years of learning the better half.
and somewhere in between, love had blossomed.
zuko didn't know if it was familiarity. or the way you tucked his long hair behind his ear. or the way you sometimes knew the correct answer even before him, and your eyes lit up when the royal tutor praised you . or perhaps in the way your dark eyelashes cast long shadows on the apples of your cheek.
but all he knew was that he was—had been in love with you. for a long time.
and as he slowly pushed into you , it was nothing like how he imagined. but it was everything he could have ever wished for. your little gasps were the sweetest melody to his ears. your fingers stayed tangled in his hair, slowly tightening as he started to thrust into you.
he was careful and slow. giving you the time and care that you—his wife—deserved.
he was a patient man.
all the while zuko kept his gaze fixed on your face. he watched mesmerized as your eyes started to become half lidded—pain transforming into pleasure. his fingers found your clit , tracing slow circles. learning the tells of your body. learning the soft sounds that you made when his fingers found the little nub.
it wasn't long before you were spasming around his girth, whimpering 'i love you ' over and over again that he finally started to chase the high.
he was a patient man really.
but the mere sight of you , so beautiful and pliant and warm under him—he was a man gone blind.
and like a blind man he chased the fire that glowed just behind his lids. all consuming and addictive.
gods the stinging of your nails scratching against his back—pain never felt more good.
and as he finally thrust into you one last time before he came undone—his teeth found the sweet sweet spot in the juncture of your neck and shoulder. you smelled divine. he lapped at your neck, inhaling your natural scent mixed with hints of the ceremonial incense which he knew clung to him too.
you were soft under him , tugging at his hair again. but he couldn't bring himself to move his face from the crook of your neck, his safe haven. he imagined he was possibly too heavy, half slumped over you the way he was as he came down from his peak.
your voice floated to his ears as if through smoke. "my lord..."
he grunted once. still nibbling on your skin.
"zuko." this time your voice was firmer. his fire lady. he looked up. "i love you, my fire lord" you had repeated.
and he realised the chamber was, infact, smoking. burning was the correct term really. the heavy curtains were on flames, blazing the walls and the woven carpets and mats.
it was an inferno around you both, in the literal sense.
later ,long after the flames were put out—the burning gossip did not die down for months. the fire lord and lady were prone to accidental bursts of fiery passion.
zuko quite liked the rumours . enjoyed the reminders of that night that the quiet whispers of his councilmen brought him.
he wanted to remember it.
your face—illuminated by the flames, smiling as you lay in his arms in the middle of the raging fire around you both—was something he would remember for a long long time. there was no panic. no hurry to leave the burning chamber.
he had realised he would probably set the world on fire for you. the bed chamber was just a small demonstration.
"i love you" he had whispered back.
and he hadn't been more sure of anything in his life.
𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒— i can never get enough of this trope :D *cough* violet sorrengail in that one scene in fourth wing *cough*
Warning: vaginismus, mutual masturbation (light), oral sex (male receiving), orgasm, cum swallowing -- if I'm forgetting something let me know.
Word count: 2644
a/n: my lovelies, here is the third part! I wanted to shift the focus to Armand for once, while still discussing the main topic that brought this little series to life. I hope you'll enjoy it -- as always if you want to let me know if you liked it, I'm all ears!
Summary: Since learning about your condition, you and Armand have been discussing it almost on a daily basis. Today, though, it's time for you to return the favour, and Armand won't stop you.
Desclaimer: English is not my first language
You and Armand had established a specific evening routine whenever both of you were at home. After both of you had your dinner — you in your living room, and Armand wherever he went to find some poor unfortunate — you settled on the sofa to watch a movie.
It was cozy, and probably boring from the outside, but you really enjoyed your quiet nights when they happened. At first, you had wondered if Armand truly found it interesting to just sit inside and watch silly romantic comedies with you as someone who had experienced Venice in full Renaissance, but he always assured you that there was no better place for him to be than next to you on the sofa at night.
That was before your relationship had shifted to a more intimate dynamic.
You still had your movies on, but most of the time you barely reached the half of them because Armand used those occasions to ask you questions. He wanted to know more about your condition, even going as far as reading plenty of books on his own explaining it thoroughly — he probably knew more than you by now, from a medical and theoretical point of you.
Still, it was your actual experiences that Armand wanted to know. Which therapies were working for you better, where you were still struggling, how he could support you during the whole process. He was very attentive with each step, not that you were surprised by this side of him.
However, you had to calm him down a few times when you talked about your previous partners. You made him promise he would not turn any of them into food. That would have been unfortunate, and a pain in the ass to deal with.
"Today I read this section that explained the benefit of dilators to train pelvic floors muscles. Do you use them?" Armand asked, one of his hands tracing small patterns on your thighs as you rested your legs on his lap. The movie of the night already forgotten.
"I do. I don't particularly like them, but they're really useful especially if penetration is a person's ultimate goal."
He blinked slowly at you at your words. "If they are beneficial, why do you not like them?"
"I don't know if you saw any pictures of dilators to have a general idea of their shape, but in a way they are very similar to dildos. Though, for me, it always feels like I'm doing physiotherapy, I can't take advantage of them as alternative sex toys. But—"
You stopped yourself before you could continue the sentence. You knew what you wanted to say, though it sounded ridiculous in your mind, so you could not imagine how stupid the concept was once said out loud. You could feel the blush rise on your cheeks as one of your fantasies played out like a reel inside your brain.
Armand was still staring at you in total calmness, but you saw him quirk his mouth imperceptibly.
"Yes?"
"It's just something I thought about but still haven't discussed with my therapist," you blurted out as you played with your hands to ease the nervousness. "Maybe if a partner — a trusted partner — used the dilators on me, as if they were using a sex toy, it would be easier for me to manage those exercises. It can be a useful usage of the instruments, but it's also a fantasy of mine I must admit."
You let your words settle in the air, watching carefully for Armand's reaction. He was looking at you the same way as before, his hand still moving on your leg and inching higher on your thigh. The only difference were his slightly dilated pupils, and you could only notice because after months together where you spent most of the time looking at him and learning his mannerisms, you knew how to read him. Not always, of course, but often enough.
"It will be my pleasure to help you like that, my love."
"Not now, though."
Armand nodded with a soft smile. "When you're ready."
"But I can show them to you, if you want." You were hesitant, but this was an important step forward you felt you were ready to do. "Especially because there's something I need to know."
"Show me."
You jumped off the sofa, quickly running to your room to get the box where you kept your dilators in. You had a drawer dedicated to all your most private belongings that Armand knew not to open without your permission, so you were fairly sure he had never stumbled upon them before.
When you returned, you sat back in your previous spot. You could already feel how Armand's attention had zeroed in on what you were holding in your hands.
"The brand I have has five dilators all with different sizes. Normally you have to reach level three, since it's considered the average size of a penis. You venture to lever four and five only if required."
"So you wanted to inquire about the size of my penis. Is that correct, my love?"
You felt a wave of warmth hit you at once, surely your cheeks were glowing red even in the low light of your living room. "Basically, yes. Not in a dirty way, just to be aware."
"Even if it were in a dirty way as you said, you should not justify yourself with me. I don't want you to shy away from your desires."
You nodded, before lowering your gaze down to your dilators all splayed out on the sofa. "Which one is it, then?"
Armand took his time to answer, his breathing light, while his eyes moved from one dilators to the next. He raised one of his hands from his lap, the movement slow and elegant as it came to rest on one of them. He didn't utter a single word, he simply stayed there, his eyes locked with yours again.
Level four.
"Shit," you whispered.
"Are you scared?"
"More anxious than scared. I can barely reach half of level three, and I've been using them for almost two years now."
Armand took your hand with his, gently running his thumb on your knuckles in comfort. "There's no rush, my love. We'll take one small step at a time, and we'll do it together."
"Yes, I know. It's just that I really want to have sex with you, and all I see in front of me is this insurmountable obstacle and nothing else." You were frustrated. You hated that an action so simple and natural was something so difficult for you just because your body was built different.
Armand leaned forward, his lips leaving a small kiss on your forehead. "I understand your frustration, but don't let it drive you."
Before you could come up with a reply, his mouth was on yours and whatever you might have wanted to say simply flew out of your head. You channeled all your exasperation in the kiss, starting a battle of tongues you wanted to win.
Armand released the hold on your hand to move his fingers under your shirt. It was actually his shirt, but you always stole his clothes to bed when you wanted to avoid wearing pants in your sleep, so now he had free access to your legs without the barrier of fabric in the way.
You opened your thighs a little, fully aware of what the final destination of his hand was. Still, you could not contain the gasp you let out once it reached your core.
"I love how easily you get wet whenever I touch you," Armand whispered against your lips. His left hand was lightly caressing your jaw, the rhythm matching the one of the fingers rubbing your clit.
"It's embarrassing, actually," you managed to say, your hips following the movement of his hand between your legs, the lace of your underwear providing additional fiction.
"It's arousing. It's the only acceptable truth."
Even with pleasure fogging your mind, your body wasn't fully lost in the feeling yet. One of your hands, that were holding onto Armand's shoulders, started its descent down his torso never stopping until it reached his cock, hard against the fabric of his pajamas.
It was Armand's turn to gasp this time. He leaned back to have a clear view of your face, but neither of you stopped the movement of your hands, keeping the mutual touch going while staring deep into each other's eyes.
"You don't have to do that," Armand said in a gentle breath, his lids lowering every time your fingers touched the tip of his length.
"I want to. It's my turn to pleasure you tonight, you promised."
Armand let out a breathy laugh. "I promised no such thing."
"It was an affirmative answer, its difference from a promise is quite slim." How you both managed to stay coherent in the aroused state you were in was beyond your comprehension.
You slid down the sofa in a quick movement, intent on settling between Armand's legs on the floor. He caught you around your waist before you could touch the ground, your eyes raising to his in confusion. In a blink, Armand grabbed one of the cushions, throwing it on the floor right in the spot you wanted to settle in.
"I won't let you hurt your knees just for the sake of giving me pleasure, my love."
You smiled softly at him. It was typical of Armand to be so attuned to your well-being even during an intimate moment such as this. You found the most comfortable position for you on the cushion, before directing your attention fully back to Armand.
You rested your hands on his legs, caressing his thighs in delicate strokes. "Can you tell me how you like it usually?"
"I like whatever you want to do. As long as it's you touching me, I will like everything."
Sweet, but that's not what you were asking and you knew why he was thinking like that. "Armand, sweetheart, that's not how it works. You are the focus now, it's not about what I want to do to you, but how you like to be touched."
Armand sat still for a moment, and you waited for him patiently like he always did with you. You could see his hands clench and unclench against the sofa.
"I normally adapt myself according to the other person's needs. I don't think I really developed a preference during the centuries."
Okay, this was bad.
"I don't want you to think back to your worst sexual encounters, but if you try to recall the most pleasant ones, can you find anything that worked right for you?"
Armand took a deep breath, closing his eyes in thought. They were moving behind his eyelids scanning scenes of his life, as if he was lost in a dream.
"I think," he started as he opened his eyes again, reconnecting with you and the present moment, "I think I like soft touches more, when it comes to oral sex, at least. I always felt sort of powerless when someone was being rough in their approach."
You sat up on your knees to reach his lips for a small kiss. "That's perfectly fine, sweetheart. Thank you for telling me."
You reached for the waistband of his pants to pull them down enough to free his cock that sprang out against his stomach. You swallowed faintly at the sight. Armand didn't lie, he really was the level four size of your dilators, but you set aside that worry for the time being.
You took the length in your hand, keeping your grip light as you gave a tentative stroke up and then down. Armand visibly shuddered with the movement, his mouth opening lightly but his eyes always locked with yours.
You kept the slow pace as you brought your hand back to the tip, your thumb coming down to circle around the slit, spreading around the precum gathered there in small circles.
"Is this okay?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
"Yes."
"Can I do more?"
"Yes."
You lowered your head trying not to break eye-contact as long as it was possible. You grazed the tip of Armand's cock with your lips, making him feel your breath on his skin, before letting your tongue come out to lick the slit. You felt Armand's muscle tense under your left hand still on his thigh, as he let out a weak moan.
You took that reaction as the encouragement you needed to keep going. You opened your mouth more so you could welcome the head of his cock inside, giving it a small suck.
"Fuck, love," Armand whimpered, your warm mouth a stark contrast to his colder skin.
You started bobbing your head up and down his length, each time taking more inside your mouth. Still you kept the same slow and steady pace you started with. It probably felt like sweet torture to Armand, but by the sounds of it he was fully enjoying the moment.
"Do not take more than you feel comfortable," Armand said once half of his length was in your mouth. You would have smiled if your current position wasn't preventing you from doing so.
You somehow managed to raise your eyes and meet Armand's gaze. His pupils were fully dilated now and his eyebrows were scrunched in pleasure. He was close, you could feel it if the amount of precum he was leaking wasn't a clear signal of his impending orgasm.
Taking a deep breath through your nose, you got yourself ready to give the final blow. You stood still for a second with only the head in your mouth, before descending down in a single smooth slide swallowing the entire length of Armand's cock down your throat.
Armand let out a long and low moan at the action, his upper body hunching forward from the feeling.
"Love, I'm cl—," Armand tried to say, his fingers getting entangled inside your hair to ground himself or pulling you off, you weren't sure.
You could feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, but you didn't move your mouth from its position. Carefully you willed the muscles in your throat to gulp around Armand's cock, and with the additional constriction he was coming.
You drank up everything Armand was offering, your eyes closed in concentration to avoid choking inadvertently on his cum. The taste wasn't unpleasant, though you could feel a hint of blood on your tongue mixing with the usual sperm. Once you were done you slowly raised your head, mindful of how sensitive Armand was now.
You barely got the chance to take a full breath before Armand's mouth was on you, kissing you deeply, his hands coming up to cradle your face.
"I didn't hurt you, did I?"
You smiled sweetly at Armand. "No, you didn't." You voice was a little hoarse, but it was worth it.
"Did you enjoy it?"
"I should be the one asking this question, Armand, not you," you laughed, as your hands came up to hold his that were still on your cheeks. "I believe the wet spot I left on the cushion is answer enough. Also, oral sex is probably the only way I have to rightfully satisfy a partner, so I got pretty good with it in time."
Armand's eyes darkened in irritation. "Never say something like that again about yourself."
"It's true."
"It isn't."
You wouldn't argue with him about this, you knew Armand could be unrelenting if he set his mind on something.
He lifted you from the ground, pulling you in his lap in a straddle. "Thank you for existing, my love."
"Thank you for letting me love you, Armand," you whispered against his lips. "It's as easy as breathing."
---
I think it was both dirty and cute at the same time this part, but let me know if you were still satisfied with the result.
I don't know if anyone checked, but I've updated the Masterlist so a fourth part is in the works. Title: "opening".
“Because I asked nicely,” You say, hands gently positioned on his face as you apply eyeliner to his eyelid.
“Your lashes are so long, you’re so pretty…” you mutter softly to yourself. You pretend to not notice him swallowing in response. His hands shifted, slightly rubbing against the fabric of your shirt, he holds onto your waist to keep you steady. You were straddling him on the couch, his head leaned against the back of the sofa, slightly slumped against the cushions. His silky black curls gently fallen back from his position. His lips slightly parted as he looked up at the ceiling. You paused, still holding the eyeliner in one hand as you gently hold the sides of his face. His eyes meet yours.
“What?” He rasps, the usually smooth voice spilling a little rougher than usual. You say nothing, one of the pads of your thumbs smoothing over his cheek, feeling the soft skin beneath your fingerprint.
“Y’know for an evil bastard, you’re not too bad,” you whisper, your face so close to his that he can feel you breathe.
“Is that so?” His hands slide up your torso, his expression unchanging as his irises continue gazing into yours. Leaning in without even realizing, your lips centimeters away from his own.
“Awfully close, what will Daniel say when he comes back?”
“Shut up,” you whisper, a reply to his voice echoing in your head. Your nose brushing against his, lips grazing his mouth as he smiles slightly.
Warnings: vaginismus, talk of past experiences, light smut.
Word count: 1732
a/n: this came out of nowhere, but it's how I deal with my issues sometimes.
Summary: Your relationship with Armand was going well, maybe too well. He had told you all his secrets, the only problem was you never told yours.
Disclaimer: english is not my first language
One of the things that Armand most appreciated about you since the beginning of your relationship was your patience with him.
You knew what Marius did to him, or at least, you made him fully aware of what Marius did to him. The grooming. The abuse. Not to mention how he was used at the brothel when he was no older than a child.
He was carrying a lot of pain and trauma, and you knew Armand thought he could only be loved through his body not his heart. That his skills were the only bargaining chip he had to get anything close to a companionship.
That was how it had always been. He had only known that reality.
That's why Armand didn’t understand how to deal with the dynamic he had built with you, at first.
Your touches never went further than cuddles, your hands never straying below his waist, as if it was a kind of intimacy you didn't seek from him.
He was so focused on learning how to accept this soft approach, that he didn't think even for a moment that there might have been additional reasons behind your actions.
And as long as you could, you were going to keep it that way.
--
You managed your act for a few months, longer than you had expected considering how sharp and observant Armand's mind was -- but he was finally healing something inside his soul with you, and you couldn't really blame him for not noticing your own struggles.
The truth was you loved Armand, both your minds and hearts were connected in ways you never thought possible. But you also desired him, you craved a physical intimacy with him.
There was one single problem: your body didn't work properly. You had been diagnosed with a pelvic floor disorder long before you had met Armand, and you had hoped to keep it a secret as long as you could.
When your previous partners had found out you had vaginismus, they had disappeared without a second thought. The hurtful words they had said was the last memory that remained of them.
Broken.
Defective.
Damaged goods.
That's why you were scared to tell Armand the truth. What if your love was not strong enough to withstand this burden. What if he left too.
You knew that moment was close. You had noticed how your relationship was changing.
The longing looks you exchanged were getting darker and lustful. Your touches lingered longer and were getting closer to places you had not explored of each other. But you were always the one to pull away first.
Even without words, you knew Armand felt he was finally ready for a more physical connection with you, but you couldn't bring yourself to speak. Your truth kept getting stuck in your throat. You weren't brave enough.
It all came to a breaking point one winter night. Armand had just gotten back from a hunt earlier than usual and you were sitting on the sofa wearing your robe, with only your underwear underneath.
You had meant to get ready for bed before Armand got back, but you were so lost in the book you were reading to bother getting up from your spot and change into your flannel pajamas.
"To what I owe the pleasure of such a beautiful sight," Armand said as soon as he laid eyes on you.
You jumped at the sound of his voice, dropping the book on the floor.
"You are back early." You were doing your best to avoid his gaze, your hand moving slightly to fully close your robe around yourself.
Armand had seen you in your underwear before, that was not a problem, but you didn't know how to handle the heavy stare he was giving you in that moment.
You were so caught up in your thoughts that you didn't notice Armand moving until he was kneeling on the floor in front of you.
"Talk to me, my love." He was looking at you with the softest eyes, but the pupils dilated were betraying the lust simmering underneath his skin.
He wanted you, and when you raised your head to match his gaze you knew he was seeing the same feeling reflected in yours.
"I'm fine," you whispered softly, as you felt one of his hands caressing your calf in slow movements, his touch inching higher with every stroke.
You fluttered your eyes at the sensation, taking a deep breath as you felt a wave of desire raise in your lower belly. You tried to lift your leg with the intention to slip away from his fingers, but he was faster. He gripped your ankle, preventing you from getting away.
"Armand–"
You had no chance to say anything further, because in a blink you found yourself straddling his hips, with Armand sitting on the sofa in the spot you were in before.
Your eyes widened at the position. You couldn't pretend not to see his lust anymore now. You were lying on it. You could feel how hard he was even through his pants, and you knew he could feel your wetness too, even with your underwear still covering you.
"Talk to me," Armand said more firmly, "I promised not to look into your mind, but you're making it very difficult, my love. I know there's something you're not telling me."
Your hands tightened on his shoulders, as you felt the muscles in your back and neck tense with nervousness.
A few seconds passed as you gathered your thoughts, and Armand waited patiently without moving an inch.
"I want you," you admitted finally, Armand's hands crawling immediately under your robe at your words, and resting lightly on your hips. He pulled you closer, making you slide more firmly on his lap. A light moan slipping from your lips.
"Do you?" Armand whispered softly in your ear.
You nodded, resisting the urge to start moving your hips against his cock through both of your clothes.
You took a deep breath as you pulled you head away to look at him in eyes again. "But I can't have you."
"Of course you can, my love."
You shook you head, your hair following your movement. "My body doesn’t work in the right way. I can't have sex, Armand."
He went completely still at your words, you weren't sure he was even breathing. "I don't understand."
"I have vaginismus. My muscles are too tight, making difficult and painful any kind of penetration."
You said it. You didn't run away. You kept staring at him, bracing yourself for the inevitable reaction.
"You never had sex?"
"A couple of times, before the diagnosis. It felt like getting repeatedly stabbed." You shivered at the memory. "I tried other times afterwards, but with no success."
"Is there a therapy? A cure?"
"Therapies, yes. I've been doing them for a few years now, but I don't know if they're working."
Armand frowned in confusion. "Why?"
"My last partners never wanted to listen or to try. They found my condition demoralizing, making their experience disappointing."
That was what most of them said in multiple different versions.
Armand's gaze hardened, as you felt his hands squeeze your hips. "Did they hurt you?"
"Not physically," you replied. "When they realized they really couldn't get inside, they disappeared."
You were making it sound so simple, but you didn't feel like getting into the details of each encounter. Not now that you were trying to understand what Armand thought about the whole situation.
His questions were something new and you weren’t sure what to expect.
He stayed quiet for a while, his grip still strong on your body.
"Please, say something," you begged. "It's okay if you don't want to be with me anymore, but say it."
His gazed hardened even more. "You think I want to leave you?"
You nodded not trusting your voice.
You felt his anger radiating off of him, as he raised both his hands to your face. He held you in place, staring at you so intensely you thought he could reach your soul.
"I love you. This won't change anything between us." He placed a small kiss to your forehead before pulling back again. "When I told you about my past you never even thought of leaving, why would I?"
You felt your eyes sting as you tried to hold back the tears. The tension completely leaving your body at his words.
You leaned forward, kissing him deeply on the lips.
"I love you, Armand."
He kissed you back, his hands going back to their place on your hips under the robe. He pulled you closer again, your chest pressing fully against his.
Your lust came back at full force, as did his.
This time you didn't hold your hips still as they started moving, sliding slowly on his cock.
"I want to feel it," Armand said, interrupting the kiss.
"What?"
"The tension in your muscles. Let me touch you, I want to understand."
You looked at him for a moment, waiting for fear to creep inside your mind, but all you could feel was love and trust.
You nodded.
"I'll go slow. If anything hurts or feels uncomfortable, you stop me. Okay?"
"Okay."
You felt his right hand slowly move downward, his eyes never leaving your face as he studied your reactions.
He moved your underwear to the side, his fingers sliding softly between your folds. A low hum resonated in his chest as he felt your wetness.
"You feel amazing, my love," Armand whispered on your mouth. Two of his fingers were tracing outside your lips with delicate strokes. "Here."
Of course, he had found the spot immediately.
"There," you confirmed.
"Will you tell me how to help you?" He asked, never once stopping his soft massage on your muscles.
"Yes," you replied, "I really want to have sex with you, Armand."
He hummed again at your words. "I can't wait to fuck you, little one. I know you look beautiful when you come."
You whimpered at his words, pressing down strongly on his fingers.
Armand moved his index higher and started to circle around your clit.
"Fuck," you moaned, your own fingers sliding through Armand's curls as you tried to ground yourself.
He already knew how to touch your body better than you.
Maybe it was time for the two of you to finally heal together.
---
So I don't know what this is, it was meant to be just a little blurb but this came out.
I see very little works that touch the topic of vaginismus or any of the other pelvic floor disorders, so I wanted to fix it as a person who has the condition.
Do you think I should explore more and write other of these moments between reader and Armand? Let me know!
"Where is she, Tech?" Crosshair pleaded, head still buried in his arms and fingers curling into his scalp. Every slump and angle of his body screamed I fucked up.
"Safe." Tech sniffed, not bothering to look up from his datapad. "Her comms set to ping her location to me every 20 minutes, and she'll message every hour so I know she's alright."
"What?" Crosshair's confusion was enough to drag him from his misery for a moment, his brothers' eyebrows raised in similar sentiments. Amidst your dramatic storming out of the bar, when exactly did you have time to organise that?
Tech shrugged. "Girl code."
"What!?" Crosshair repeated.
"Girl. Code. Like the Jedi code. All females have an unspoken vow of alliance, and a preset standard of behaviours and protocols."
Tech straightened his goggles, tone smug and lofty.
“I, of course, am an honorary participant.”
~~~~~
The way I have five years worth of fanfiction that I never posted or showed to a single person bc I was shit scared for some reason. Like when I used to read wattpad back in the dark ages, I'm talking medieval times, old logo, no ads, I would literally delete and re-download the app whenever I used it for FEAR that someone would find out.
So I'm gonna post my little snippets and figure out how tf to make a blog look good, and see if I end up brave enough to end up posting -
Well, the lot of it I guess.
Heyy saw your requests were open again and all of a sudden a lightbulb went off in my brain… and maybe cause I’ve been suffering lately lol.Forgive me if you’ve ever done a similar request I didn’t see anything??I’ve also never requested anything so I’m sorry if this seems awkward! Or if you’re not cool with the request :)
I’m asking for head cannons, more with tbb but tbh any one is also fine! With reader who suffers from either pcos or endometriosis. I get ovarian cyst a lot and the constant ache is terrible…. But having one burst genuinely feels like you’ve been stabbed in the same place a thousand times, the pain, the bleeding after but it’s not your period and it hurts so much worse, the nausea, the way any touch has to be so so so careful cause you’re tender everywhere.
TBB x reader with PCOS or endometriosis headcanons
warnings: pretty nonspecific but obviously mentions chronic pain
notes: I actually got two different requests specifically for PCOS. I went with this one cause it was slightly more specific. lots of love to everyone who struggles with these issues, you deserve care, patience, and to be taken seriously. I hope this brings a little comfort <3
Hunter:
Feels such an intense responsibility to care for you in whatever way he can, especially when you're in pain. he's good at reading between the lines and picking up even on more subtle things, always knows when you're trying to push through something or when you're not feeling your best
Learns your cycle and pain patterns as much as he can, as well as what helps and what makes it worse. if you mention something even once, like a certain position helping or a specific food making things worse, he remembers it permanently
Careful about touching you when pain spikes, but stays close. gets you whatever you need that helps, meds, water, heating pad, anything. he doesn't always have the right words, but he stays, and that's his way of loving you through it
Struggles with not being able to fix it. his instinct is to solve problems, but this is one he can't just solve for you, and it frustrates him. he wishes more than anything he could take your pain away, but tries not to let you catch on to his frustration because he doesn't want to make this about him
Admires your strength more than he can really put into words, but when you're not feeling good emotionally he'll try to put it into words anyway. just really supportive and sweet and tries his best to be a source of comfort for you regardless of whether you're struggling physically or emotionally
Tech:
The most knowledgeable about stuff like this in general but does tons of extra research anyway to understand as much as possible about how to help you. like, he's determined to become an expert on it lol
Initially gives you a lot of advice that he really genuinely intends to be helpful, like suggesting different lifestyle changes and stuff that he reads could help. he really means it in a supportive way but he learns quickly that sometimes you just need him to listen/be there rather than jump into suggesting things. starts asking you directly if you'd prefer advice or comfort whenever he notices you're not doing well
Struggles a little with the unpredictability. He tracks your cycle and symptoms super thoroughly and learns how your energy levels fluctuate/mood changes with it, builds a whole system without being asked, tracks flare-ups, intensity, timing, triggers…but of course, there are still moments he can't anticipate, and that bothers him a little. he wants to be prepared when you're struggling, and while he's very good at adapting (and knows it), he still wishes there was more he could do
Force help anyone who bothers you when you're not doing well or in the middle of a flare up because he will not stand for it lol
Over time his care does become less about "fixing" and more about supporting. he still gathers data and learns everything he can but he also becomes a lot better at being emotionally present for you and very thoroughly learns the types of things that bring you comfort so he can provide that
Wrecker:
It absolutely breaks his heart to see you hurting and he would do literally anything to make you feel better. initially feels very out of his depth because he has no idea what PCOS or endometriosis are and he goes to Tech to ask him to help him research
When he learns how sensitive you are to touch with flare-ups and stuff he gets soooo careful. wants nothing more than to just hold you close and keep you there until you feel better, but he quickly learns what kinds of touch you can tolerate and what you can't, and still asks first. but like on the plus side he's basically a living heating pad
Hates that he can't take the pain/symptoms for you. wishes it worked like that so he could volunteer and will completely sincerely tell you "wish it was me instead" just because he hates that you have to deal with this
Learns what helps you through trial and error and once he figures something out he sticks to it religiously. if he does something once that helps, like bringing you something or holding you a certain way, it becomes the thing he goes for every time
Is so proud of you, genuinely in awe. he sees how much you push through and it sticks with him. tells you outright that "you're tougher than any of us, y'know that?" also so good at being there for you whenever you're feeling down or if you have any insecurities, thinks that you're so fucking strong and beautiful and inspiring and makes sure you know it
Crosshair:
Also feels a little out of his depth initially but he's so observant and listens to you closely whenever you talk to him about your pain/symptoms so he gets a good understanding of what you go through
His softer side comes out big time when you're in pain/not doing well. both his voice and touch go so much gentler. his sharp edges are gone, his entire focus put into comforting you with low murmurs, careful hands, gently brushing hair away from your face. physical affection becomes much more careful but also much more open because comforting you matters more than maintaining any pretense of detachment
Doesn't ask a lot of questions in the moment but he does listen. if you've told him before what helps, he remembers, and he just does it. doesn't want to make you have to explain yourself or ask for things when you're already overwhelmed or struggling
Notices even your smallest tells, so he always knows when you're not doing well or when your usual tolerance is wearing thin. he doesn't always comment on it but he's already adjusting before you ask
Struggles with putting his feelings into words and doesn't always know what to do/say if you're struggling emotionally, but he tries to show how much he cares through his actions and his steady presence. if you're struggling, he's there and he is not leaving until you're doing better
Echo:
Echo has an understanding of chronic pain, obviously very different to yours, but to the extent that he can recognize the exhaustion that comes with it and the way it can wear you down over time and so he's careful to never minimize it, not even for a second
Listens very carefully when you talk about your symptoms and asks questions so he can understand better what you're feeling, what you go through, things that help, things that he needs to avoid so he never accidentally makes things worse
Good at recognizing when you're overdoing it and will gently encourage you to rest. will take over whatever necessary to give you opportunities to try to relax when you need it. if you assure him you can handle something, though, he doesn't push. he knows that you know your body and your limits better than he does, and wants to make sure that you feel completely supported by him
Good at staying steady and grounded during flare-ups/on bad days. even if he's internally frustrated or upset that you have to deal with all this, he wants to be something solid for you to lean on when everything else feels overwhelming
Whenever you're frustrated or worn down emotionally, he gets it. he doesn't try to "fix" it, he just listens, lets you vent, reminds you softly that you're allowed to have bad days. he respects your strength but never uses it as an excuse for you to endure more, and he makes sure you understand that being strong doesn't mean you have to suffer silently
I just got this funny idea. You don’t have to do it.
It’s this prank where the reader wants to get married and is dropping hints the boys don’t get it. So the reader goes out dress shopping like any other time and than comes back to boys (TBB or 501st, Cody and Wolffe). And is like what to see my dress I bought and it’s a whole wedding dress! How do think they would react to this?!
Thank you for reading. I love your work and always have notifications on!
Clones x reader: surprising them with a wedding dress
Includes TBB, Cody, Wolffe, and Fox
Part 2 with 501st is here
warnings: none
notes: this request actually really tickled me and gave me some really cute fluff vibes so I sat down and wrote it immediately lmao. if you guys like it I might do a part 2 with the 501st
Bad Batch
Hunter:
It wasn't that Hunter had totally missed all your hints, it was that he'd filed them all away under later. He wants to marry you, of course he does, but the desire just sort of gets pushed to the back of his mind as he focuses on other things. Still, he knows something is up the second you come walking through the door with that garment bag slung over your arm, your cheeks a little flushed. He glances up at you, raising his eyebrows.
"What'd you get?" he asks, casually.
You beam. "Hmm, nothing too exciting. You wanna see?"
He huffs a quiet chuckle. "Always."
You grin, and disappear into the other room. A few minutes later, you reemerge…and Hunter's throat goes dry. Because he knows what that dress is. He's seen enough holos, enough glimpses of civilian life to recognize it instantly, even if it feels surreal to have you suddenly standing in front of him looking like that.
"Mesh'la…" the word slips out before he can stop it, his voice lower than usual. His eyes drag over you again, drinking you in like he's trying to memorize every detail. "Is this…" he starts, then stops, jaw tightening. He steps closer, bringing his hand gently to your waist. "You look…" he trails off again. Words aren't enough. He huffs. "…You could've just said."
You just shrug, smiling, and loop your arms around his neck. "Do you like it?"
Hunter exhales, something soft and almost disbelieving leaving him as his forehead dips to rest against yours. "Like it?" he murmurs, a quiet huff of a laugh following. "I--" He cuts himself off, shaking his head, words failing him for the fourth time. "…If this is you asking," he finally murmurs, a smile tugging the corner of his mouth, "then the answer's yes. Been yes for a long time."
____________
Tech:
Tech barely looks up as you walk in, focused on whatever he's working on. "You were gone longer than I anticipated," he remarks absently. "Did you encounter--"
He stops mid-sentence when you step fully into view, and there is a long, long pause as he just…stares, his eyes flicking over you as you stand in front of him in a wedding dress. "…I believe," he finally starts slowly, brows knitting behind his goggles, "that…attire is associated with, ah, matrimonial ceremonies." His gaze lifts to your face, searching. "…I seem to have missed something."
You laugh, smoothing down the dress and then shrugging one shoulder. "Mhm. That's one way to put it."
Tech exhales through his nose, a faint frown pulling at his mouth as he sets his tools aside. "Yes, well," he mutters, almost to himself, "this implies a series of preceding conversational cues which evidently, I did not register." His gaze drops briefly, irritation flickering not at you, but his own oversight. But then he looks back at you, and his expression softens again, gaze travelling over your attire. "…However, the practical implications of my error are…not entirely negative."
You roll your eyes and step closer. "'Not entirely negative'?" you echo skeptically. "That doesn't sound like a ringing endorsement."
Tech's hands immediately find your hips as you step over to him, his eyes slowly travelling up to your face. "You look…exceptional," he finally says instead, a little quieter. "You are…strikingly well-suited to this particular garment."
There's another pause, his thumbs gently rubbing your hips where his hands are resting. "I would prefer," he adds after a moment, his gaze flicking over you again, "to observe you in it again under conditions that properly contextualize its intended purpose."
He swallows, and then, more plainly: "In other words, I'd very much like to marry you."
_______________
Wrecker:
Wrecker looks up the second you get back from your shopping, immediately grinning. "Hey, you're back! What'd you get?" His eyes drop curiously to the garment bag you're carrying as he insists that you let him see. You hesitate just enough to make it obvious you're being very intentional about this, and his grin just widens. "What, is it something secret?" he teases, already reaching for it.
When you show him the dress, he blinks…and then starts laughing, looking at you with bright, delighted disbelief. "Is…is that what I think it is?" he asks, a mixture of bewildered and amused. "You planning something I should know about?"
You just cross your arms, trying and failing to look unimpressed. "Maybe I am," you say playfully. "What about it?"
Wrecker just laughs again, shaking his head. "Well, I'm pretty sure that usually--" he starts, and then playfully drops down onto one knee in front of you. "--you're supposed to get me to do this before buying one of those."
You give an amused, fond huff. "Wrecker, I tried."
"Oh." He pauses, blinking up at you as all those hints you dropped that he missed start registering in his brain. "…Ohhhh." He scratches the back of his neck, a little sheepish, but still smiling. "Heh…guess I missed that."
He stays on his knee in front of you though, his hands skimming up your hips and sides. "But…you mean it?" he asks, a touch quieter. "You wanna marry me?"
You smile down at him, cupping his face in your hands. "Yeah, I wanna marry you," you say, like it's the most obvious thing in the galaxy.
Wrecker breaks into the biggest grin you've ever seen, shooting up to his feet and scooping you up in his arms in a crushing hug. Then, his gaze catches on the dress again, and he puts you down.
"…So, uh," he adds, nudging you toward the dress, "you gonna try it on for me or what? C'mon, I wanna see!"
____________________
Crosshair:
Crosshair barely glances up when you come in, rifle half-disassembled in his hands, attention fixed on the fine calibration of a component. "You're late," he mutters, tone absent, more observation than complaint.
You don't answer. You just hover in the doorway and shift your weight, fidgeting with the garment bag you're holding. Crosshair notices, his eyes flicking up to look at you, catching the way you're clearly waiting for him to ask something. "…You're being obvious," he drawls.
"Aren't you curious?" you ask innocently, rocking on your heels.
"No," Crosshair responds easily, looking back down. "Whatever you got, I'll see you in it eventually."
You huff at that, shifting the bag a little more pointedly. "Wow. Not even a little interested?"
Crosshair's lips twitch a little. He adjusts something on the rifle before giving a long-suffering sigh. "Spit it out, then. What is it?"
Your grin is immediate. "My wedding dress."
He freezes completely, his gaze snapping over to you a little suspiciously, like he's trying to figure out if you're messing with him. "…Your what?"
You lift your chin, unrepentent, unzipping the bag just enough for him to see you're serious. "My wedding dress."
Crosshair just…stares at you. Blinks a couple of times, gaze flicking between you and the dress, his hands gripping his rifle components a little tighter than before. Then, finally, he scoffs. "That's one way to do it," he says dryly. "Skips the part where I get to ask."
You tilt your head. "Oh? You were planning on it?"
His eyes narrow slightly. "Obviously," he mutters, setting his rifle aside and standing up. "But I suppose this saves me the trouble."
You soften a little as he steps close and places his hands on your shoulders, leaning down to kiss your forehead.
"Keep it," he murmurs. "You'll need it."
_____________________
Echo:
"Echo?" you call, like it's nothing, like you're not currently standing in a full wedding dress. "Can you come here a second?"
There's a brief pause, and then the sound of footsteps. "Yeah? What's--"
He stops in the doorway, frozen. His eyes sweep over you like his brain is trying to catch up with what he's seeing, and then his mouth twitches. "…What-- did you-- is this--?" he stammers, bewildered. "Where in the galaxy did you find that?"
You shrug, smoothing your hands down the skirt. "Oh, you know. Just picked this up when I went shopping earlier."
Echo huffs a short, disbelieving breath, still frozen in the doorway. "Is this…some kind of joke?" he manages, eyeing you suspiciously.
You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. "Not a joke," you say, a little more softly now. "This is what I'm wearing when we get married."
That stops him cold, all the skepticism draining right out of his expression, replaced with something even more disoriented. "When we--" he repeats, blinking. His brow furrows, a little crease forming. "You bought a wedding dress," he says slowly, like he's trying to process each word individually, "before actually…talking to me about it?"
You shrug. "I figured we'd get around to that part."
Echo drags a hand over his face, a faint groan slipping out. "That seems…that seems a little backwards, sweetheart."
But he can't help the way his eyes drop over you again, nor the way he softens all at once as he really takes you in. He sighs, stepping closer, bringing his hand up to rest at your waist. "…And here I thought I wasn't supposed to see you in that before the wedding."
You snort softly. "Too late now."
"Yeah," he agrees gently, leaning in to press a brief, soft kiss to your lips. "Guess I'll just have to see it again when it counts."
_______________
Commanders
Cody:
Cody greets you as soon as you step through the door like he always does, his hand finding your jaw and tilting your face up just enough to press a brief kiss to your lips. "You're back," he murmurs, pulling away just enough to look at you. His gaze drops to the garment bag over your arm, and one brow lifts. "Get something fancy?"
You smile, a little too pleased with yourself. "Yeah. You could say that."
That's enough to hook his curiosity. "Well, can I see?" he asks, giving you a look.
You hum noncomittally, as if you're considering not letting him, but you pull the zipper down anyway so he can see…and he goes still.
"I--" he starts, his eyes snapping back up to yours like he's been caught completely off guard. "Is that--? You--" he exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face. "You bought a wedding dress?"
You tilt your head, watching him spiral just a little. "Maybe."
Cody straightens, sucking in a breath like he's pulling himself back into command mode even if it's not quite sticking. "Right. Okay. No-- no, don't--" he gestures vaguely at the bag. "Don't show me. I shouldn't see it."
You blink. "You just did."
"We'll call that an accident," he insists quickly. "Doesn't count." He points at you, still a little flustered. "We're…we're pretending this didn't happen."
Your brow furrows a little, your turn to be confused. "We…are?"
"Yes," Cody says firmly. But then, softer, almost under his breath, "I had a plan."
You exhale slowly, catching on, as Cody's expression eases just a little as well. His hand returns to your jaw, tilting your face up towards his again. "…When I propose," he adds, quieter, a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth now, "it's gonna be a surprise. So…forget this conversation ever happened."
And then he kisses you again.
_____________________
Wolffe:
Wolffe barely spares the garment bag a glance when you walk in. His focus is on you as he steps in close, one hand coming up to cup your jaw while he presses a firm kiss to your lips. "You took longer than I thought," he mutters, almost a little accusatory, before pulling away just enough to look you over. His gaze flicks to the bag for a second. "What'd you get?" he asks, more out of habit than actual interest.
You shrug, just a little too casual. “Something nice.”
His eyes narrow slightly, tilting his head as he studies you, suspicion creeping into his expression. "…What did you do?"
You grin, shifting the bag just enough to make it obvious.
Wolffe exhales through his nose, reaching out and unzipping the bag just enough to reveal the dress. There's a moment where he just stares, and then his expression goes flat. "…You've got to be kidding me." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "A wedding dress," he mutters. "You went out and bought a wedding dress?"
"Yeah," you say lightly.
Wolffe frowns, his gaze flicking between you and the dress, as if agitated. "You couldn't wait?" he mutters, voice rougher than usual. "Couldn't have a conversation first? Let me do this properly?"
You blink at him. "Properly?"
"Yeah, properly," he repeats, like it should be obvious. There's a pause, and then his shoulders drop a little as he looks at you again. Something softer flickers for just a second. "You could've let me give you the ring first," he says, quieter but very pointedly.
Your eyes go wide with surprise. "…You have the ring? I thought that-- I thought you hadn't realized--"
He scoffs, cutting you off, his hands settling on your waist as he pulls you in. "Of course I have the ring. You really think I wasn't gonna ask?"
_____________________
Fox:
Fox steps into the bedroom with a tired exhale, helmet tucked under his arm, shoulders tense from his long day. "I'm back," he mutters automatically, running a hand through his hair as the door shuts behind him.
"Welcome home," you say lightly.
He hums, barely looking up as he starts unfastening his armor, walking past you. Then he stops. Freezes. Takes two steps back, blinking hard like his brain just lagged.
"…What are you wearing."
You turn to face him, smoothing your hands down the wedding dress you're trying on. "This old thing?"
Fox shoots you a glare, but it's softened by tired confusion. "…Why?" Is all he manages.
You hum, tilting your head. "What? You don't like it?"
"That's not the point," he snaps, setting the pieces of armor he was holding on the nearest surface. He drags a hand over his face. "Where did you get that? Why do you have that?"
You shrug, entirely too calm. "I bought it."
Fox stares at you, his jaw working. He almost looks pissed, but you know he isn't. "You bought a…you bought a wedding dress? Without…what, without telling me? Discussing it? Anything?"
You hesitate just long enough to annoy him more. He exhales sharply, stepping forward and tilting your chin up so you look at him. "What's going on?'
You finally crack, a smile tugging at your mouth. "It's for when we get married."
Fox exhales again, swallowing hard, his gaze traveling over you. His irritation doesn't disappear, but it turns into something more incredulous and maybe a little warmer. "You are unbelievable."
Then he cups your face in both hands and kisses you firmly, thoroughly, like he's trying to get you to make up for catching him off guard. It lingers just long enough to leave you both breathless when he finally pulls back. He presses his forehead briefly against yours. "You could've just said," he mutters.
His thumb brushes along your cheek as he leans back just enough to look at you again, his expression much softer. "…You look kriffing gorgeous."
I came up with this headcanon with my OC from the fanfiction/fan project "Star Wars: Daughters of Veyra" who happens to ship with Crosshair ❤. But here, it's from your perspective. You're Crosshair's girlfriend and Crosshair is little soft towards you.
─────────ೋღ ❤💀🖤 ღೋ─────────
You are the girlfriend of Crosshair, a sniper from Clone Force 99. You are a weapons specialist and deal with weapon repairs.
You met him when Crosshair came to you to fix his Firepuncher. Actually, Hunter kind of forced him to do it. While you were fixing his weapon, he watched you the whole time. When you finished, surprisingly, he thanked you in his own way. And ever since, he's been coming to you. You talked, hung out, and got to know each other. Until eventually, you became a couple.
You knew Crosshair's personality. How cold and aloof he was towards the regs. That before you met, he'd had one-night stands with various women that meant nothing. That he could be a cold ass. But strangely enough, Crosshair was... different towards you.
Crosshair was softer around you. He let you touch him and cuddle him. He kissed you and didn't pressure you into sex. Surprisingly, he didn't fuck you right at the beginning of your relationship.
Crosshair was a man of few words. But you could understand his facial expressions or signals. When he wanted to hold your hand, when he wanted a cuddle, or just to sit with you. Crosshair would often sit with you and work on his weapons while you worked on various guns.
But the biggest mindfuck you ever had was when Crosshair started sharing his toothpicks. You knew from his brothers that Crosshair never shared his toothpicks. And his weapon? His Firepuncher was sacred to him, something even his brothers couldn't touch. But you? He let you touch his weapon, fix it. And he even taught you how to shoot his sniper rifle.
"Crosshair? Can I ask you about something?" You sat next to him while he cleaned his gun. He just nodded and looked at you. "Why are you so different towards me? I mean... you're not an asshole, you share your toothpicks and let me touch your gun." Crosshair stopped what he was doing.
"Because you're my girlfriend. And my favorite person. I trust you."
"Wait, really?" You looked at him surprised, but you felt happy.
"Don't make me repeat that." He looked away, but you could see he was little embarrassed. You smiled slightly and hugged him. Crosshair was surprised at first and stiffened for a second. But after a moment, he put the gun aside and hugged you back.
After all, you're his girlfriend and favorite person.
Can i Please get Crosshair x reader headcannons? Like how Crosshair would act towards reader in a talking stage?
Crosshair x gn reader: talking stage headcanons
warnings: none
notes: I'm gonna be so honest with you anon I'm not sure if my grasp of what talking stages are is concrete enough to be totally accurate on this but I did my best. I'm choosing to define it like feelings/interest have been acknowledged but you haven't committed to anything yet. Soooo
This is a little bit of a weird stage for Crosshair because it's essentially him testing the risk of attachment to you. He already knows he has feelings for you, which is nerve-wracking enough for him, and now he's faced with the prospect of actually maybe starting something with you and he's…very cautious. He doesn't really do casual, he doesn't want to waste his time, and he needs to figure out if you're someone he can really trust, be vulnerable around, and give his loyalty to
Sometimes it kinda seems like he forgets that he's supposed to be helping you get to know him because he would much rather listen to you talk than talk about himself
He remembers everything about you, though. He pays so much attention to you, wants to learn everything he can about you. Learns all your tells SO fast too, can tell when you're upset, tired, overstimulated, lying, etc before anyone else notices, sometimes even before you notice
He's really particular about a lot of things and on edge a lot so it takes him a lot to feel comfortable at like pretty much any given time. If you remember certain things that help him or little preferences of his it honestly means a lot to him. Tbh I have a lot of hcs about little habits he has that are directly influenced by all his trauma (THIS POOR BABY IM TELLING YOU and yes I'm writing about them for another req) and if you remember them and are understanding about them he's like...oh. huh. so you are paying attention to him
But even remembering little mundane things like how he takes his caf or getting him more toothpicks when he's out makes him feel kinda flattered
Whenever you send him messages or anything his heart rate picks up and he hates that he gets so excited lol. Also the type to reread messages you send him over and over. But he'd never tell you and tbh leaves you on read a lot. Just how he is
He stares at you a lot lol. He did this a lot even before this but it becomes even more frequent. Almost every time you happen to glance over at him at any time his eyes are already on you. Sometimes he just raises an eyebrow and other times he looks away with a scowl. He just keeps getting caught off guard by how much softer he feels around you
Shows his growing trust more through proximity than words. Choosing to sit near you, standing beside you instead of off on his own. Kinda hovers a lot
Starts testing physical affection in little tiny increments. He's very controlled about it because he's still a little guarded. Tbh he's super touch-starved but doesn't want you to know that lol
Gets flustered when you compliment/praise him and brushes it off with a scoff or gets snarky but he's secretly SO pleased lol
Starts slowly easing into being a little more vulnerable with you. It's always very intentional because he is still guarded and is paying really close attention to your reactions but he is also trying to be genuine. He'll go right back to sarcasm after but there'll be a softness in his expression or maybe the littlest smile if you responded in like a really understanding/comforting way
🫧 Pairings: Crosshair X Female!Reader
🫧 word count: 12.5k (it might be worth it)
plot summary: Tasked to gather intel on a spice shipment, yourself and crosshair find yourself in a luxurious hotel but with only one bed and have to pretend to be married. But after a tense couples meal, you wonder what it would be like to truly be in his arms.
warnings: NSFW, 18+ ONLY. Fake dating trope, only one bed trope, sub/dom sexual content, explicit language, cunnilingus, blowjob, kissing, neck sucking/biting, spanking, dirty thoughts, dirty talk, praising and teasing, marriage kink, slight possessive sex, soft and rough sex, all consensual, creampie, aftercare, jealous crosshair, brief alcohol mention, reader wears a dress and minimal makeup, implied medium to long hair, minor sexist comment made to reader (not by crosshair), flirting, not proofread, pre order 66 so crosshair is not crossbald x
Anon, this is for you.
You pushed your way through the crowded bar, weaving between patrons with a small smile tugging at your lips. The parcel you’d just dropped off for some locals hadn’t paid much, but credits were credits. However, the smile didn’t last.
At the far end of the bar, the boys were clustered together in an unusually tight knot — heads tilted in, voices low. The closer you got, the more you caught the hiss of “shh, shh”.
You stopped in front of them and let your gaze sweep the circle. Hunter avoided eye contact by pretending to adjust the strap on his breast plate. Echo suddenly found his drink fascinating. And Wrecker’s big frame actually shifted behind Tech like he could use him as cover.
“Alright,” you said, planting your hands on your hips. “What’s going on?”
They exchanged a silent conversation with just their eyes. Eventually, Hunter straightened, cleared his throat, and said, “We’ve just got word on a potential new job. Good money.”
“Great.” You nodded slowly, scanning their faces. “…Is there a catch?”
Tech pushed his goggles higher on his nose, as if the gesture would somehow make his delivery smoother. “You will be the one doing the mission.”
You blinked at him. That wasn’t exactly unusual. “Okay… and what is it?”
Wrecker’s grimace was the first giveaway. Echo’s wince was the second. You knew those expressions — the last time they’d looked at you like that, they were trying to talk you into playing “happy wife” for some sleaze.
Your hands went up immediately. “Nope. Not a chance. I am not pretending to be married to some sleemo again.”
A vivid memory surfaced where it was one of Cid’s old jobs, where the fake husband in question had taken the role far too seriously. You’d told them you wouldn’t ever do something like that again after that, and a few months ago when they tried to pitch you something similar, you laughed in their faces.
“Maybe you’ll change your mind with this one?” Hunter offered, a faint smirk at the corner of his mouth.
“Doubt it.” You turned on your heel, but curiosity got the better of you two steps later. “…Go on.”
“You’ll be with Crosshair,” Hunter said.
Your gaze slid sideways to where Crosshair was leaning against the bar like the galaxy’s most bored sharpshooter, a toothpick balanced between his teeth. His eyes met yours for half a heartbeat before drifting away again.
You turned back to Hunter. “As in, he’ll be with me while I fake-date some idiot?”
“Not exactly,” Tech corrected, eyes still on his datapad. “You will be dating Crosshair.”
Your jaw actually dropped. “Huh?”
Hunter took over, laying it out in his steady, matter-of-fact way: a heavily guarded resort on Corellia, a contact who only worked with “registered guests,” the cover being a couple in a hotel suite.
“So, will you do it?” Echo asked, leaning on the bar.
“No,” you said instantly with a scoff. “Just because I know him doesn’t mean I want to spend an entire mission holding hands and pretending we’re madly in love. And did you even ask him if he’s okay with this?”
“Oh, he already agreed,” Wrecker said with a big grin.
Your head whipped toward Crosshair. “You what?”
He shrugged one shoulder, unbothered. “And hey,” Wrecker then added, “he cleans up real good.”
“Not the point,” you muttered, dragging a hand down your face.
“It’s good money,” Hunter reminded you, knowing exactly how to push.
You groaned, glaring at each of them in turn. “Fine. But if this blows up in our faces, I’m blaming all of you.”
“Atta girl,” Wrecker said, giving you a pat on the back that nearly sent you into the bar.
The others drifted off to start planning, leaving you and Crosshair alone. He finally pushed off the bar, sauntering past you as he pulled the toothpick from his mouth.
“Don’t worry,” he drawled, his voice low and mocking, “I’ll be a good husband for you.”
You opened your mouth to shoot back, but he’d already walked away.
This was going to be interesting.
When the Marauder settled down in the landing bay at the location, you and Crosshair stood side by side at the open hatch, bags in hand, both wearing expressions that could curdle milk.
“Maker,” Wrecker said from behind you, grinning in amusement, “You two’ve got faces like a slapped arse.”
You didn’t dignify him with a response as Crosshair just gave him a long, flat look that said Wrecker was lucky they were on a timetable.
The hatch closed behind them and the ship began to lift away, the sound of its engines fading as the Marauder disappeared into the hazy Corellian skyline.
You let out a quiet huff, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. “Well,” you muttered, “guess we’re doing this.”
Without waiting for him, you started up the paved path toward the resort. At least the place was nice. More than nice, actually.
The white stone gleamed in the sun, balconies lined with planters spilling over with flowers in deep reds and golds. There was even an elaborate fountain glittered in the courtyard. It was the kind of place you could almost enjoy if you weren’t here to play pretend.
You were halfway up the front steps when Crosshair’s voice stopped you.
“Wait.”
You turned just enough to give him a questioning look. “What?”
His brown eyes scanned the building like he was sighting a target. “You remember the plan?”
You rolled your eyes and resumed walking. “Yes. Do you?”
“Just making sure.” He replied, his mouth twitching in slight annoyance.
The two of you were… sort of friends. He was quiet, moody, and impossible to read, but you’d learned to tolerate him. In his own prickly way, he seemed to tolerate you too.
Crosshair fell into step beside you, lowering his voice as you reached the ornate glass doors. “We’re here to meet Sabaz Trill. Dinner with him tonight, part of some couples’ mixer the resort is hosting. You smile, you nod, you make it look like we belong here.”
“And tomorrow?” you prompted as he maps out the plan again just for reassurance.
“That’s when we get the intel on the spice shipment,” he finished. “Clean, simple.”
You gave him a side glance. “With us? There’s always drama.”
He snorted faintly but didn’t argue. You reached for the buzzer beside the grand glass doors when Crosshair’s hand landed lightly on your upper arm.
“Wait.”
You froze mid-reach and turned your head toward him, irritation slipping into your voice. “What now? The sooner we do this, the sooner it’s over.”
His eyes flicked past you toward the courtyard. “We need to act like a couple,” he murmured, his tone low enough not to carry.
You frowned but then followed his gaze. Right. All around you, other guests strolled hand-in-hand or with arms linked, smiling like they were in a holonet romance. Every one of them screamed we’re in love and on vacation. You and Crosshair on the other hand…
You bit your lip and nodded. “Right. Okay. Uh…”
The pause dragged, the two of you standing stiff as statues. You could probably fake coupledom with someone like Wrecker which would probably be more easy and natural. But Crosshair? Tall, quiet, and perpetually unimpressed? It felt like trying to warm up to a wall.
“Should we hold hands?” he asked finally, rubbing the back of his neck and looking very uncomfortable.
You hesitated. “Uh… no.”
His gaze dropped, not offended exactly, but definitely unreadable.
Guilt gnaws you, so you quickly held out your travel bag instead. “You could carry my bag for me, though?” Your smile was a little sheepish, a silent peace offering.
One dark brow arched at you, but then his mouth curved into the faintest smirk. “Fine.”
He took the strap from your shoulder in one smooth motion, slinging it over his own like it weighed nothing. Somehow, that small shift of just him holding your belongings made the whole act feel just a little more real.
“Better?” he asked, the corner of his mouth still twitching upward.
“Better,” you admitted, trying not to overthink why his smirk made your stomach swirl.
You both walked up to the reception desk, where a young, overly-joyous man practically beamed at you like the sun itself had possessed his face.
You tried to match his enthusiasm with a polite smile. Crosshair, of course, did not. His expression screamed I hate every second of this before the poor man had even spoken.
“Hello, and welcome to Under the Hearts Hotel! How can I help you?” the receptionist chimed.
“Hi,” you begin, doing your best impression of a cheerful tourist. “We have a room and meal booked for tonight?”
“Perfect! What name is it under?”
You froze. Right. The names. No one had told you what cover identities you were supposed to use.
For a heartbeat too long, your brain went completely blank. Then, mercifully, Crosshair leaned in ever so slightly: “Eres.”
You let out the tiniest breath of relief, glancing at him with a quick, grateful nod. He didn’t acknowledge it, eyes fixed on the desk clerk like he was ready to shoot the man for smiling too much.
The receptionist’s fingers tapped away at the monitor, his grin never faltering. Honestly, you were starting to wonder if it was painted on. Then he looked back up, eyes positively sparkling.
“Ah yes, here we are! The honeymoon suite — booked and ready for you! Rose petals on the bed and champagne on ice.”
Your mouth opened. Nothing came out.
You turned slowly to Crosshair, who looked equally frozen. Neither of you had been prepared for that particular detail.
The receptionist chuckled lightly at your strained expressions. “Oh dear, trouble in paradise already?”
Crosshair’s brow furrowed instantly. “Is that any of your business?”
“Cross!” you hissed under your breath, snapping out of your horror long enough to act. Quickly, you slid your arm through his and plastered on a sweet smile, tightening your grip on him — not a reassurance, but a don’t you dare warning.
“Sorry about him,” you said brightly, practically grinding your teeth through the smile. “We’ve… well, we’ve been traveling a long way to get here. Just need to put our feet up for a bit. Don’t we, my love?”
Your grip on his arm tightened enough to make the point.
Crosshair closed his eyes, jaw tight, then forced the stiffest excuse for a smile you’d ever seen. “Yes. Sorry. Long day.”
“Of course, of course,” the receptionist chirped, undeterred. He slid the room fob across the counter, still smiling that terrifyingly wide grin. “No worries at all. Our jacuzzi baths will wash that stress away in no time!”
You snatched up the fob like it was a lifeline. “Wonderful, thank you,” you utter quickly, already tugging Crosshair by the arm toward the lifts before he could open his mouth again.
Once you were safely out of earshot, you released him with an annoyed huff, spinning to face him. “So much for acting like a couple, Cross.”
He arched an eyebrow at you, unimpressed. “What? He asked, I answered.”
You threw your hands up at his lack of care. “Fantastic. Just fantastic. At this rate, they’ll kick us out before we even make it to dinner. Great job, husband.”
He smirked then, sharp and smug, clearly enjoying himself now that you were wound up. “Relax, sweetheart. Nobody’s buying the ‘happy couple’ act if you keep hissing at me like that.”
“Oh, don’t you start—” you groaned, stomping into the lift as soon as the doors slid open.
It’s not long until you get to the suite and as the key fob beeped and the door slid open with a smooth hiss, you both stepped inside and instantly froze.
The room looked like something straight out of a holovid romance: soft golden lighting, a massive circular bed in the center draped with pristine white sheets, rose petals scattered across the duvet, and a bucket of champagne on ice by the bedside table.
You blinked once. Twice. “...kriff,” you muttered under your breath.
Crosshair didn’t say anything, but you felt the shift beside you. His usual scowl faltered into something halfway between disbelief and annoyance. He let out the faintest exhale, almost like a laugh, before muttering dryly: “Subtle.”
Your eyes landed on the bed again, and your brain screeched to a halt. One bed. Of course it was one bed. It was the honeymoon suite. But at least there was a loveseat just at the end of it.
You didn’t point it out. Neither did he. The both of you just stood there, staring at the sheer lavishness of it all, like maybe if you ignored the obvious, it’d disappear.
You tugged at the collar of your shirt, suddenly aware of how warm the room felt. Or maybe that was just you. The whole setup—the petals, the champagne, the bed that looked entirely too inviting—was making your skin tinge in the worst possible way. Heat crawled up your neck, and you quickly turned toward the bathroom.
“Maybe I’ll, uh… check out the shower,” you said quickly, voice a little higher than intended. “Y’know. Before the dinner.”
Crosshair quirked an eyebrow at you, as if he could hear the nerves bleeding through your tone. He glanced toward the large jacuzzi tub visible just through the bathroom’s frosted glass door and gave a faint snort.
“Not good enough for the roses and bubbles?”
You shot him a look over your shoulder. “I’m thinking cold shower.”
The shower hissed to life, steam curling around the refresher stall as you stepped in. The hot water poured down your shoulders, washing away the travel grime and some of your stress. Eyes closed, you let out a soft sigh and tilted your head back.
But as the room filled with steam, another thought nudged its way in, uninvited. You hadn’t locked the door. Crosshair could come in at any moment. And for some reason… the idea didn’t repulse you.
It intrigued you.
Your pulse spiked at the thought of him stepping through the fog, his sharp eyes narrowing as they trailed over you, water dripping down your skin, steam sticking hair to your face. Would he hesitate? Or would he… join you?
You caught yourself sucking in a breath and immediately bow your head under the spray. “Get a grip,” you hissed at yourself, flicking water from your lashes. Maker above, what was wrong with you? Crosshair wasn’t someone you ever saw in that light. He was moody, sarcastic, aloof. Hardly your first thought for a lover. And yet… now, in this ridiculous hotel room, with only one bed and all the pretending you’d have to do…
No. Stop.
With a sharp twist, you turned the dial colder. The shock of icy water stung your skin, snapping you out of the fantasy as you scrubbed your face. By the time you shut the refresher off, the steamy images were shoved firmly to the back of your mind.
You dried quickly, wrapping yourself in one of the plush white robes—ridiculously soft, of course, because this was that kind of place—and wrung a towel through your damp hair.
When you stepped back into the room, Crosshair was leaning against the balcony railing. His posture was casual, but his eyes were distant, scanning the horizon like he always did. Always watching. Always wary.
“Like the view?” you asked, attempting something lighthearted as you rubbed at your hair.
For a moment, he didn’t move. Then he turned his head toward you and stilled.
Not long. Barely a heartbeat. But you caught it: the way his gaze flicked over you in that robe, the way his jaw tensed. It was gone almost immediately, his expression flattening back into its usual disinterest.
“It’s alright,” he muttered, eyes snapping back to the balcony. His voice was just a touch lower, rougher. “We’ll be safe here tonight.”
“I should hope so, if the client booked us,” you chuckled, padding over to the bed and perching on the edge. The mattress dipped under you, petals shifting with a faint rustle. It was ridiculously comfortable.
You tilted your head at him. “But I bet you brought your sniper anyway. Didn’t you?”
Crosshair’s lips twitched at the corner smugly as he moved back inside. Without a word, he crouched by his pack and unzipped it, pulling out the long, gleaming rifle like it was an extension of himself.
You let out a short laugh. “Figures. Romantic suite, rose petals, champagne… and you’re cuddling your blaster.”
He glanced up at you with that smirk which again made your stomach swirl. “At least it doesn’t snore.”
You scoffed, tossing the towel at him. He caught it one-handed, but instead of throwing it back, he just set it aside, unbothered. Somehow, that smug little win of his only made your chest feel hotter.
Crosshair disappeared into the refresher with a muttered, “Don’t touch my rifle,” which gave you just enough time to get yourself sorted.
The dress slipped smoothly over your skin, the fabric hugging in all the right places without being too much. Knee-length, off the shoulder—simple, elegant, and just enough to look like you belonged in a place like this. You dried your hair, styled it with a little extra care (because Maker forbid you look out of place next to a table of polished couples), and added a touch of makeup for good measure.
You’d barely finished adjusting the hem of your dress when Crosshair reappeared. His damp silver hair had been combed back neatly, and he’d traded his blacks for a crisp white shirt and fitted black slacks. And for a second, you forgot yourself.
He stood at the mirror, tugging at his collar and you just couldn’t stop your gaze from dragging over him. Simple, understated, but undeniably… handsome. You swallowed the thought down and busied yourself with your earrings, pretending you weren’t staring.
Neither of you said much as you left the suite. The quiet stretched between you as you moved through the elegant halls; both of you so out of place with the expensive décor. Crosshair walked with his hands tucked behind his back, eyes flicking here and there, ever alert.
Then, almost without thinking, your arm slipped through his. The movement was instinctive and you found yourself leaning closer, your shoulder brushing against his as if it had always been that way. He stiffened for a moment, but he didn’t pull away.
By the time you reached the dining hall, it was already in motion. A long, polished table stretched across the room, covered in glittering glassware and plates that looked far too pristine to ever eat from. Couples mingled and chatted with easy smiles. You had expected Sabaz Trill. You hadn’t expected all of this.
Crosshair leaned down, his voice low in your ear. “Didn’t realise we’d be dining with the whole kriffing hotel tonight.”
You gave his arm the faintest squeeze. “Smile and nod. Let me do the talking.”
He shot you a look, dry as bone. “Wasn’t planning on anything else.”
Together, you approached the table, sliding into your seats that were the only ones available. The schmoozing began almost instantly. Other couples introduce themselves, complimenting your dress and asking about “your story.” You smiled, laughed, told little fabrications as if you’d been rehearsing them for years. Crosshair played his part the only way he knew how: quiet nods, forced polite smiles. If you're lucky, he will push out the occasional one-word reply.
Then Sabaz Trill himself turned his gaze on you.
“Ah, there she is,” he said smoothly, his voice carrying over the chatter. “My dear, you look radiant tonight.”
Before you could reply, he lifted a bottle and poured wine into your glass—only yours.
The crimson liquid swirled in the crystal, catching the candlelight as you blinked at him, a polite smile plastered onto your face. Crosshair’s hand tightened almost imperceptibly on his napkin, but his expression didn’t change.
You raised the glass lightly in thanks, meeting Sabaz’s eyes with the same warmth you’d given everyone else. “You’re too kind. I should be careful though,” you added with a playful lilt. “A few more of these, and I might embarrass myself in front of the table.”
The other couples chuckled politely. Sabaz didn’t. He only smirked, his gaze lingering on you just a beat too long before shifting back to his plate.
Crosshair’s jaw ticked. You felt it more than saw it.
You smiled at Crosshair, soft and sweet and the way a woman in love ought to. But his eyes were elsewhere, distant. It made your chest pinch a little.
Slipping your hand beneath the table, you let your fingers brush his knee before resting there with the lightest pressure. It startled him just slightly, meeting your gaze.
“Are you okay, my stars?” you murmured.
The words left your lips in the same careful tone you’d used all night but this time, it didn’t sound like part of the act. Not to him, anyway. For the briefest moment, his chest tightened.
“Fine,” he answered steadily. “Just taking it in.”
You didn’t believe him, not entirely, but you didn’t press. Before you could, the couple seated across from you smiled warmly, drawing you into conversation.
“So,” the woman leaned forward, “How did you two meet?”
You let out a little laugh, your hand still ghosting Crosshair’s knee as you launched into the story you’d rehearsed.
“Oh, it’s hardly romantic,” you said, feigning modesty. “We met when I was visiting Coruscant for work. I was lost and asked him for directions. He was polite, but very blunt. I thought he was the rudest man I’d ever met.”
The table chuckled, and you reached for Crosshair’s hand on the table, lacing your fingers through his.
“But,” you continued, glancing at him with that same staged fondness, “I ran into him again two days later at a café. He bought me a caf to make up for being so… well, him. And we’ve been together ever since.”
The woman sighed, clearly enamoured. “That’s wonderful. Fate has a way of working, doesn’t it?”
Her husband, however, leaned back in his chair with a smirk. “And have you given him any children yet?”
The question caught you so off guard you awkwardly laughed aloud, shaking your head quickly. “No… not yet. We only recently got married.”
“Well,” the man chuckled, lifting his glass, “give it time, eh? And I assume you don’t have to work, not with a husband like that. He looks like the type who brings home the credits while you get to lounge about. Lucky thing.”
Your jaw ticked, but you forced your expression into one of pleasant neutrality. Beside you, Crosshair set down his knife with deliberate care.
“I don’t know about luck,” he begins, his voice calm but carrying an edge sharp enough to slice the air. “She does more than her share. I’d be nowhere without her.”
The man faltered, clearly not expecting such a clean rebuttal. Crosshair didn’t flinch or waver, just leaned back with the ghost of a smirk tugging his lips.
“I’d suggest you don’t underestimate her,” he added smoothly, raising his fork to his mouth. “Wouldn’t want to embarrass yourself.”
The table chuckled again, but this time the sound was thinner, laced with unease. You, meanwhile, found yourself fighting a different reaction entirely. The sudden, overwhelming urge to drag him back upstairs and–
Okay, stop.
Leaning in, close enough that your lips just barely brushed the shell of his ear, you whispered, “Thank you for that.”
Crosshair didn’t so much as twitch, though you felt the faintest tilt of his head toward you, like he was subtly indulging the warmth of your breath. “No need. I’m just saying the truth.”
Your chest gave an odd little pull at that, but you covered it with another soft smile as you sat back, reaching for your knife and fork to focus on the meal placed before you. You ate in silence for a few minutes, letting the rich flavours distract you, until Sabaz’s voice broke through the murmur of the table.
He leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice. “Tomorrow,” he said, “we can speak of… private matters. No need for heavy words tonight. But I trust you understand what I mean.”
His words were subtle enough not to draw suspicion, but clear enough for you to understand. You inclined your head smoothly, lifting the delicate glass of wine to your lips.
“Of course,” you replied. “Tomorrow.”
Sabaz’s eyes glinted as he watched you drink. “And? How does it taste?”
You couldn’t hide the small hum of approval as the flavour lingered on your tongue. “It’s… honestly the nicest wine I’ve ever had.”
His mouth curved, amused. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Turning, you nudged your glass toward Crosshair. “Want some?”
He shook his head without hesitation. “Not my thing.”
Sabaz’s chuckle was low, a little too warm. “A shame. It suits her, don’t you think? Expensive tastes…”
You thought nothing of it, brushing off the remark as idle banter, but Crosshair’s jaw twitched almost imperceptibly. Sabaz was clearly referring to himself and as the meal stretched on,
Sabaz’s comments came in trickles. Harmless, on the surface. But Crosshair’s eyes tracked every word and every look.
Finally, after one particularly lingering comment about how “gorgeous” you looked in the candlelight, Crosshair snapped.
“Tell me,” he drawled, tone calm but carrying steel. “Do you flirt with all the women who are married, or just mine?”
The words silenced the table around you. You turned wide-eyed at him, stunned, your knife clinking faintly against your plate.
Sabaz chuckled, leaning back with the relaxed confidence of a man who already knew more than he should. “Married, are you? Mmm. Perhaps you’d give her more attention.”
Your eyes drop to your half-eaten grub, finding it hard to breathe all of a sudden. You can’t have tonight screw up over some… some… jealousy? Was he?
Crosshair, however, didn’t flinch at his words. He leaned back as well, long fingers drumming idly against the table, his gaze cutting through the man opposite him.
“She has all the attention she needs,” he responds coolly, voice like a blade sliding free of its sheath. “From me.”
The way he said it was utterly possessive and you can’t help but feel the heat curling low in your stomach.
Sabaz only chuckled again, raising his glass in mock salute before turning the conversation back to lighter topics. But you could feel it—the tension buzzing under your skin.
You left the dining hall together a little later on, the heavy atmosphere of the meal clinging like smoke. Another couple joined you in the lift, chatty and smiling, and you forced yourself to match their tone, your hand looped neatly through Crosshair’s arm. But the second the lift doors slid shut after the couple exited on their floor, your hand dropped from his arm like it burned.
The silence stretched for a beat before you sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose. “Want to tell me what that was about?”
Crosshair didn’t look at you, his gaze fixed straight ahead on the lift’s closed doors. His voice was calm, as if nothing had happened. “What’s the issue? We’re still meeting him tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” you huffed, sharp and low. “Thanks to me. Because I had to apologise to him after the meal for the way you acted.”
Crosshair’s eyes flicked to you then, narrow and unimpressed. “The way I acted? You didn’t notice him? The way he kept looking at you? Talking to you?” His lip curled faintly. “I didn’t like it.”
Your jaw tightened, heat pricking the back of your neck. “You didn’t like it? We’re not actually married, Crosshair.”
The silence that followed was thick, humming with all the unsaid things between you. Crosshair’s expression barely shifted, but his shoulders set, rigid under the crisp fabric of his shirt.
The lift pinged. Doors opened. Neither of you moved at first, locked in that silence. Then you both stepped out, footsteps echoing too loud against the plush carpet of the corridor.
When you got back to the suite, you didn’t even glance his way as you made a beeline for your travel bag, pulling out the little bundle of satin nightwear you’d tucked away earlier. Without a word, you slipped into the bathroom and shut the door behind you with a soft click.
You perched on the edge of the jacuzzi bath, hands braced on your knees, and just breathed. Maker, tonight has been… a mess.
Crosshair had been jealous, there was no other word for it.
And yet… stars above, you’d never found him more attractive than when he’d calmly cut down that other man’s sleazy sexist little jabs at dinner.
It made your thoughts twist in knots. Jealous Crosshair was frustrating. Protective Crosshair was devastatingly sexy.
You rolled your eyes at yourself, muttering something under your breath that this whole place felt like a huge aphrodisiac. Soon you stripped out of the dress, letting it pool on the tiled floor. The satin nightwear slipped over your skin with a soft sigh, the fabric clinging in all the right places. The colour brought out the warmth in your skin, and though you weren’t dressing for anyone’s eyes but your own, you couldn’t help but imagine what Crosshair might think if he saw—
You stopped that train of thought before it could wind you up further.
A splash of cold water on your face dulled the day’s makeup, you tied your hair up, loosening the strands around your face, and studied your reflection for only a heartbeat before flicking the light off and stepping back into the suite.
Crosshair was sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, still fully dressed and deep in thought.
“Do you want some caf?” you asked quietly after a moment, nodding toward the sleek caf machine gleaming on the dressing table.
He shook his head, then looked at you. The sight of your satin nightwear hit him like a blow, pupils dilating before he could stop it. His throat bobbed with the faintest swallow as he cursed himself silently and dragged his gaze away.
“You should get some sleep,” he muttered, voice low.
You tilted your head. “I could say the same thing about you.”
Your bare feet padded across the carpet, rose petals soft beneath your toes and you stood directly in front of him. He looked up, sharp eyes catching yours for a charged moment before closing them.
Crosshair pushed himself to his feet. “I’ll take watch.”
You frowned, confusion flickering. “Crosshair, the door is locked. We’re safe here.”
He didn’t meet your eyes, just reached for his rifle and moved toward the small loveseat at the foot of the bed. “You can never be too sure.” He gestured at the bed with a tilt of his chin. “Get some rest.”
There was so much more you wanted to say, but you swallowed it down. No good would come of pressing him tonight. Not when everything already felt odd.
So you slid into the left side of the bed instead, sinking into the impossibly soft mattress. The sheets smelled faintly of lavender and something warm and expensive. You didn’t even bother to remove the rose petals.
The lamp across the room threw a faint amber glow over Crosshair where he sat, long legs stretched out, rifle propped against his thigh. A sentinel in the half-dark, sharp eyes fixed on some distant threat only he could see.
Your body melted into the mattress, the exhaustion of the evening tugging at you like a tide. You watched him for as long as your heavy eyelids would allow, the image of him—silent, watchful, stubborn—burning behind your eyes until sleep finally dragged you under.
You stirred, rolling onto your other side with a groggy sigh, only to find the chair opposite the bed still occupied. Crosshair sat there like a shadow carved into the half-light, rifle propped against the armrest, a toothpick twiddling absently between long fingers.
Your eyes flicked to the chrono on the wall. Only two hours had passed.
Chewing the inside of your cheek, you tilted your head as you sat up and whispered, just loud enough for him to hear, “Cross… come get some sleep.”
His eyes lifted, shadows and conflict tangled in his gaze. He shook his head once. “No… I can’t.”
You frowned softly, leaning forward. “Why not?”
The sound he made was halfway between a scoff and a tut, quiet but sharp. His jaw flexed. “I can’t sleep in the same bed as you. It’s…”
Your brows arched. “It’s what?” You pulled the duvet back and shifted onto your knees. The simple movement snagged his attention; his sharp gaze lingered, “It’s just me.”
Crosshair drew in a long breath through his nose, pressing the heel of his hand over his eyes as if that might ground him. “I don’t want to bother you,” he muttered, voice rough. “I’ve already done that enough tonight.”
For a moment, you said nothing. Then slowly, you crawled toward the foot of the bed, knees sinking into the mattress until you sat back on your heels, steadying yourself.
Your hand extended, palm open, reaching across the small distance between you. “Come to bed.”
His amber eyes locked onto you. He watched you as though weighing a hard decision, gaze running over your face, your hand and the space you’d made for him.
“We need to act like a couple, right?” You prompt and that’s when he finally, with the faintest exhale he flicked the toothpick into the bin and rose to his feet.
He crossed the few steps to the bed in silence. He stopped just before you, the mattress dipping faintly under your shift forward.
Your lips parted, breath caught, as you tipped your chin up to look at him. He loomed above, gaze tilted down, unreadable except for the faint storm flickering beneath.
You straightened, sitting taller on your knees, and without hesitation placed both hands flat against his chest. The warmth beneath the fabric hit you instantly, as did the hammer of his heart pounding against his ribcage. It made a small smile tug at your lips, your eyes softening as you whispered, “You can’t sleep in this shirt…”
His breath caught with an imperceptible hitch.
Your fingers curled into the fabric at his chest, tugging gently. He hesitated, but only for a moment, before his arms moved, allowing you to peel the white shirt away from him. Inch by inch, the fabric slid over his shoulders, revealing lean muscle and skin mapped with faint scars.
Your eyes went wide, breath catching as you pushed the shirt down his arms and let it fall to the floor. A sound, no, an almost moan, threatened to escape you, but you swallowed it back. Still, your hands had a will of their own and began trailing slowly up and down his torso.
You felt the hard ridges of his stomach, the steady rhythm of his breathing. His reaction was immediate, his eyes fluttering shut as his jaw tightened. The bottom lip caught between his teeth betrayed what he was trying to suppress.
The sight made a heat coil low in your stomach, your own breath turning shallow.
Your gaze drifted lower, tracing the line of his abdomen until it landed on the waistband of his black slacks. He seemed to sense the shift in your attention, because his voice came low, rough, like gravel dragged over velvet.
“Do you want them off, too?”
The rasp sent a shiver racing down your spine.
You blinked, meeting his eyes again, a laugh slipping from your throat, “If it will make you comfortable… yes.”
The corner of his mouth twitched into a faint smirk, but his gaze burned steady on you as he reached for the latch of his trousers.
You swallowed hard, watching as his long fingers hooked into the waistband of his trousers and pushed them down. The sound of the fabric sliding over his legs seemed louder than it should’ve been. When they hit the floor, he straightened, standing there in nothing but his briefs with hs hand not-so-subtly shielding the hard outline straining beneath the thin fabric.
A hot pulse bloomed deep inside you, your arousal pooling between your thighs as your breath caught. You broke your gaze away, feigning innocence, though the ache in your chest gave you away. “See? Is that better?”
Crosshair’s eyes dragged over you with open hunger, the sharp angles of his face softened by the shadow of want. “Much…” he breathed, like it was the only word he could find.
Your pulse stumbled, your eyes drawn back down before you could stop yourself. His hand shifted just slightly, enough that you caught the movement of the deliberate, slow palm against himself. Your heart stalled, then thundered.
You licked your lips, your voice almost breaking into a whisper as you shifted back. “Like what you see?”
“Do you?”
Your head tilted, eyes half-lidded as your fingers danced at the band of your satin shorts, teasing without quite committing. “I do,” you murmured, letting your body arch ever so slightly, the pose dripping with invitation as you leaned back on your hands. “Now tell me, do you… husband?”
His eyes narrowed, studying every subtle shift of your body. His jaw worked, and then he gave the smallest of nods, voice rough and quiet. “A lot.”
The words sent your skin prickling with awareness. Your hand slid from the band of your shorts to your thigh, fingertips tracing upward, grazing your skin softly as though demonstrating exactly what his stare made you crave.
His eyes followed your movements, darkening as though he were fighting to keep control.
You raised a single finger, crooking it toward him. A wordless summon.
Crosshair’s gaze burned hotter, but he obeyed without hesitation. His long, lean frame shifted forward as he planted both hands on the mattress for the first time, the springs dipping beneath his weight as he prowled closer. When he reached you, he hovered over your body, his face so close you could feel the warm graze of his breath against your lips.
“What do you want?” he asked, low and rough, his voice scraping like gravel, like he already knew but needed to hear it from you. He dipped his head nearer, inhaling deeply, his nose brushing your temple as though memorising the scent of your skin.
Your lips parted, your tongue darting out to wet them, every nerve in your body trembling as you leaned in, close enough your mouth brushed his. Your voice broke into a heated whisper, “I want you to fuck me.”
The words detonated between you.
A sharp hiss of need left him and before you could second-guess yourself, his mouth was on yours, scorching and demanding.
His lips moved with bruising force, teeth catching your bottom lip as though he’d been starving for the taste of you. One hand slid from the bed to your waist, gripping and dragging your body flush against his until there wasn’t an inch of space left. You could feel every inch of his arousal pressed against your belly, hot and unyielding.
You gasped into his mouth, fingers tangling in his short hair that soon became unkempt as his tongue swept past your lips, claiming you with a hunger that made your head spin.
When he broke from your mouth, it was only to trail searing kisses along your jaw, down your throat. His breath was hot, uneven, his teeth scraping sensitive skin before his tongue soothed the sting. “You have no idea…” he rasped between kisses, “…how long I’ve wanted this.”
You blush intensely, arching your back into him, craving more of that heat, that weight. His hand dipped lower, spanning your hip, fingers digging into the satin of your shorts as though he could crush the fabric away.
Your lips brushed his again in a soft, fleeting kiss. You pulled back with a mischievous glint in your eyes that made Crosshair chase the contact immediately but you giggled and tilted away, planting a kiss instead against his cheek.
“Tch,” he mutters, but you only laughed again, moving lower. You kissed along the sharp cut of his jaw, slow and deliberate, feeling the subtle twitch of the muscle beneath your lips. He exhaled through his nose, trying to keep control, but you knew you had him wound tight.
Your mouth hovered at his ear, your words a sinful whisper. “You like fake dating me, then?” you teased, lips brushing the sensitive skin just beneath. “Is this how you’d treat me if I was yours?”
He groaned under his breath, his hands clenching against your hips as though debating whether to hold you still or let you drive him mad. His chest heaved against yours, hot and solid, and when you kissed lower down his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.
And then, almost in the same breath, you were pulling at each other’s clothes, the tension too much to keep contained. His hands fumbled your satin vest before he pulled it over your head meanwhile you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his briefs, tugging impatiently. He then stripped you of your shorts as you shoved his last layer down.
When his lips crashed back onto yours, your words slipped out between ragged breaths, needy but daring: “It was sexy… watching you defend me at dinner.”
Crosshair froze for only a moment, pulling back just enough to smirk down at you. “Sexy, huh?” His voice was a rasp of sin. “Did it turn you on?”
You didn’t give him the satisfaction of a verbal answer. Instead, your hand slid boldly between your bodies, fingers wrapping around his rigid heat. The sound that left him was a low, primal and guttural groan that vibrated in his chest and into your palm. His head dropped against yours, lips parting as his eyes squeezed shut, every muscle in his body shuddering under your touch.
Your smirk was wicked as he whispered, “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Confidence blooming inside you, you gave him a little push that made Crosshair fall back into the mattress. His long body stretched out beneath you, skin lit faintly by the bedside glow.
You straddled him, your bare skin sliding against his as you pressed down into the lines of his chest and abdomen. Lower still, the thick weight of him rested against your thigh, hot and heavy. His eyes tracked you like a predator and yet… there was awe in them too, something reverent, almost disbelieving.
It made you ache.
“Cross…” you purred, dragging your palms down his chest, tracing the scars and sharp dips of muscle, before raking your nails ever so lightly across his stomach. He hissed, the muscles flexing beneath your touch, his fists knotting in the sheets.
“You’re beautiful,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his chest before sliding lower.
Your hand wrapped boldly around him then—thick, hard and burning against your palm. His whole body jerked at the contact, a sound low in his throat. You gave him a slow, deliberate pump, feeling him twitch against your hand, and his breath hitched.
He bit his lip, sharp eyes flicking away as he tried to choke back the groan threatening to break free.
Now that wouldn’t do.
You leaned down, lips brushing against the swollen head of his cock as you looked up at him. “No,” you whispered, sultry and commanding. Your tongue flicked out, teasing a slow lick across his length, tasting the salt of him. His hips bucked despite himself. “Don’t hold back from me. I want to hear you, husband.”
That broke him. His marriage kink unable to be tamed any longer.
A guttural moan spilled free, raw and gravelly, vibrating through his chest as his head tipped back into the pillow. His long fingers shot into your hair, not forcing, but clutching like he needed to anchor himself.
“Fuck…” he rasped, eyes squeezing shut as you stroked him firmly, your tongue teasing at his tip. His voice dropped lower, almost desperate now. “You’re gonna kill me, sweetheart.”
You let your lips ghost over the head of his cock, just enough to make him twitch. His sharp inhale was music, the kind of sound that made your pussy ache. You opened your mouth slowly, letting him slide past your lips inch by inch, your tongue flattening against the underside to savour.
Crosshair’s body went rigid, another deep groan breaking from his chest before he managed to stifle it behind his teeth. His hand clenched tighter in your hair, the other curling into the sheets so hard the fabric threatened to tear.
“Stars…” he hissed, voice gravel rough. His eyes cracked open to watch you, his pupils blown wide, jaw tight as he fought for control. “You’re—.”
“Mhmm? A good cock-sucking wife?” You hummed around him, the vibration making his hips twitch up involuntarily before you slap his cock against your tongue.
He cursed again, raw and breathless, as you then sank lower, taking more of him into your throat with a languid patience. When you finally pulled back, strings of saliva connected your lips to him. You stroked him with your hand, pumping lazily as you licked your lips, gaze never leaving his.
“Sloppy enough for you, sniper?” you teased, your voice husky.
He swallowed hard, chest heaving. His eyes darted to your mouth, wet and swollen, then back to your gaze. “Fuck—don’t tease.”
You smirked and slid him back between your lips, this time messy, unrestrained. Your spit coated him as you bobbed your head, tongue working every sensitive ridge. The wet sounds filled the room were obscene and echoing.
And Crosshair lost the last of his composure.
His hips thrust up, shallow at first, testing your tolerance. When you moaned around him in approval, he swore viciously and gave in, driving himself into your mouth with snapping thrusts. His groans grew louder, unfiltered now of pure need.
“Fuck—sweetheart—you feel so—” His head tipped back, tendons straining in his neck as he lost himself in the wet heat of your throat. His grip on your hair was tight but not cruel, guiding the momentum. “Don’t stop… don’t you dare stop.”
Your eyes watered, spit dripping from your lips and chin as you let him use your mouth, the sight of his unraveling making you slick between your thighs.
The more he thrust into your mouth, the less control he had, his rhythm breaking into jagged, needy snaps of his hips. His jaw slackened, head tipped back and his voice dropped into a low, desperate growl.
“Stars—” his hand fisted your hair tighter, his thighs tensing under you, “I’m—fuck, I’m gonna—”
You hollowed your cheeks and moaned, and that did it. Crosshair groaned in pleasure as he spilled hot and thick into your mouth, the taste of him flooding your tongue. You swallowed around him greedily, gulping down every drop, your eyes fixed on him while his face contorted with the kind of pleasure he’d never let anyone else see.
When his hips finally stilled, his chest heaving, you pulled back slowly, breathless, lips shining. A stray strand of saliva clung to your chin as you licked him clean and swallowed the last of him with a shaky exhale.
Crosshair stared at you like you were a miracle. In a blur, he sat up and pulled you into him, his mouth crashing onto yours. The kiss was searing, teeth and tongue, his taste mingling with the faint salt still lingering on your tongue. His hands framed your face like he couldn’t get enough, like he was starved for you.
Then he was easing you down onto the bed, his body covering yours as he grabbed a pillow, slipping it beneath your head with an odd, almost tender care. His lips broke from yours only long enough to mutter against them, voice rough and hungry:
“My turn.”
His breath fanned hot over your lips before he started kissing lower—your throat, your collarbone, the swell of your breasts. His hands roamed as though he had to touch every inch of you, his mouth trailing fire down your body.
When he finally reached the edge of the bed, Crosshair settled between your thighs, his sharp gaze fixed on your glistening pussy like it was the only thing in the galaxy worth worshiping. His lips parted, his breath hitching audibly, and he muttered low—more to himself than you—
“Fuck… you’re perfect.”
Crosshair didn’t dive in straight away. He hovered, eyes locked on your pussy as though the sight alone could undo him. His lips curved into a lazy smirk, and he dragged two long fingers down your inner thigh, stopping just short of where you needed him most.
“Maker…” he murmured, “You don’t even know what you do to me, do you?”
Your breath hitched as he finally let his fingers ghost over your folds, feather-light, so teasing you nearly whimpered. He let them trail lower, then flicked—just the faintest tap against your clit. The jolt of sensation had your hips twitching and a broken whine slipping from your lips before you could swallow it back.
His smirk deepened. “There it is. Thought you were gonna keep all those sweet little sounds from me, hm?” Another tap, deliberate this time, making your thighs clench around him.
“Cross…” you gasped, tangling your hands into your hair in frustration as he refused to give you what you wanted.
“Patience, sweetheart,” he drawled, his breath ghosting hot over you as he leaned closer. “Gonna take my time with you.”
And then, instead of another flick, he pressed his lips to your pussy. Not a lick. Not a graze. A kiss—slow, tender, as if he were kissing your mouth. His nose brushed your clit as his lips molded against your folds, and your back arched helplessly.
“Oh, stars—” you whimpered, every nerve alight.
“Mmm,” he hummed against you, his lips moving in lazy, wet kisses over every inch of your cunt, the sound obscene and intimate all at once. Between each press of his mouth, he whispered filth in that low gravel of his:
“So soft…” kiss.
“So sweet…” kiss.
“Mine…” another kiss, deeper, his tongue teasing past his lips just enough to taste you.
Your thighs trembled around his shoulders as his hands held you steady, his kisses reverent and filthy all at once. The sensation was maddening, tender enough to make you shiver but edged with hunger that had your body straining for more.
When he finally let his tongue part your folds and give one long, deliberate lick, he groaned into you like he was the one unraveling. “Fuck, you taste better than I imagined.”
And then he was back to kissing, savouring and making you whimper and writhe with every press of his lips.
Your breath hitched when Crosshair finally gave in to what you’d been silently begging for. His lips parted and his tongue slid between your folds, slow at first and deliberate. He pushed deeper, tongue-fucking you with unhurried precision, dragging every needy whimper out of your chest.
Your fingers fisted the duvet, crushing a rose petal or two between them as your back arched off the bed. “Baby—” your voice broke, strangled, your thighs trembling against his shoulders.
He groaned low, the vibration making you gasp, before his tongue left you only to wrap his lips around your clit. He sucked once, hard enough to make you cry out, then let it go with a wet pop, smirking up at you with his mouth glistening.
“That’s it,” he cooed, voice soaked in lust. His grip shifted, long arms sliding under your thighs so he could pin your hips down, your body useless against his strength. “Such a good wife, taking it just like that.”
The filthy words made your pussy clench, heat flooding you in a new wave, and you let out something between a whimper and a moan. “Fuck…Crosshair…”
He chuckled against you, the bastard, and dragged his tongue back through your slit before sucking your clit again, longer this time. Your body jolted against his hold, toes curling, fingers grabbing fistfuls of bedding and petals alike.
“I’m so glad it’s you who volunteered,” you gasped, words spilling out broken, your thighs tightening around him. “So glad it’s—ah—fuck!”
His chuckle was muffled against your folds, his tongue relentless, before he pulled back just enough to mutter against your swollen pussy:
“The others wouldn’t treat you like this.” His teeth grazed your clit, playful, making you shudder. “They wouldn’t know how to worship you.”
Then his mouth sealed over you again, sucking hard, tongue teasing, his hands keeping you caged and helpless as he devoured you.
Crosshair pulled back again with that maddening pop of his lips leaving your clit, strings of spit shining between you. He didn’t go far though—just hovered, breath hot against your swollen flesh, and you swore the sound of him inhaling your scent was almost louder than your whimpers.
“Maker, look at you,” he murmured, thumb coming up to flick your clit once, twice—sharp little sparks that made your hips buck against his unrelenting grip. “All puffy and dripping for me. For your husband.”
“Cross—” you tried, but it came out as a broken moan, your thighs twitching around his shoulders.
“You like this, don’t you?” His tongue darted out, giving a light, taunting lap over your slit before moving away again. “Being spread out like this, my mouth on your sweet cunt, making a mess of my face.” He chuckled, low and dark, and flicked his thumb over your clit harder, making you cry out. “Bet you’d let me keep you here all night if I wanted.”
Your hands tangled in your own hair, pulling at the strands, desperate. “Please—” you gasped, voice shaking as your body jerked when he suddenly tapped your clit with his fingers, light but fast, like he was testing how far he could push you. “Fuck, please!”
He groaned, sounding almost feral, like your begging was better than any victory he’d ever had in battle. His teeth grazed you again, soft nips that made you jolt. “Not yet,” he rasped, giving your clit another sharp flick that made your whole body seize. “I want you begging properly first.”
You sobbed his name, hips fighting his hold as he alternated between sucking you into his mouth and pulling away with those obscene, wet pops that echoed in the quiet room. Each time he left you empty you wanted to scream, and each time he came back it was too much, your orgasm building like a storm he refused to let break.
“Tell me,” he drawled, lips brushing your clit, not giving you the pressure you craved. “Tell me you want to come for me. Tell me no one else could get you this way.”
Your head thrashed side to side against the pillows, sweat beading at your temple. “I—fuck—I want to come for you, Cross. Please. No one else—no one could—just please let me—”
He hummed in satisfaction, mouth closing over you again, sucking slow and deep while his fingers tapped in time with your racing pulse. “Good wife,” he muttered against your soaked heat, “that’s my girl…”
Your whole body tightened, teetering right on the edge, held hostage by his mouth.
Crosshair must have the way every muscle in your body went taut beneath his grasp. How your breath came in sharp little gasps like your lungs couldn’t keep up. He groaned into your cunt, and then mercifully gave you what you’d been begging for.
His mouth sealed over your clit, sucking hard and steady, tongue flicking in relentless little strokes that pushed you right past the edge. His grip on your thighs tightened, locking you down as your body jolted violently against him.
The orgasm ripped through you like fire, so sharp it almost hurt, and you cried out his name in an almost a sob as you broke apart as your vision blurred.
Crosshair didn’t stop. He groaned against you, drinking every drop of you down, his lips and chin slick as he worked you through it. “That’s it,” he rasped between licks, voice ruined but steady. “Good girl. Come on, give it to me. Give it all to me.”
You were shaking, trembling uncontrollably under his hold, pleasure crashing in waves so strong it left you breathless. He eased the pressure only when you began to whimper from overstimulation, his kisses softer now, soothing little laps that felt almost adoring against your swollen clit.
When he finally pulled back, his lips and chin glistened and he tenderly kissed the inside of your thigh before crawling up the bed. His body caged yours in, the hard weight of his cock pressing heavy against your hip as he gathered you into his arms.
You were still gasping, chest heaving, tears pricking your eyes from the intensity of it all. He brushed damp hair away from your face with surprising gentleness, thumb swiping at the sweat along your temple.
“Good girl,” he whispered again, voice gravelly, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips. “You did so well cyare.”
You hummed weakly against his mouth, lazy and sated but achingly aware of the thick length pressed against you. He groaned as your thigh shifted, brushing it on purpose, and his hips twitched forward helplessly.
“Fuck,” he muttered, forehead pressed to yours, his cock throbbing now and resting against your stomach.
He kissed you slowly as though you hadn’t just come undone screaming his name minutes before. His tongue brushed yours, unhurried, while his hand slid down your hip, anchoring you. “More,” you moan beautifully into his mouth, “I want more.”
When he shifted, rolling halfway onto his side beside you, you felt the slick head of him glide down against your folds. You gasped, shuddering at the sudden jolt of sensation as your pussy was still swollen and tender from his mouth. He didn’t push in, though. Just stroked his length along your soaked slit, letting the tip bump your clit in maddening, teasing drags.
Your hips did a desperate little roll that had his lips curve into that infuriating smirk. “Still sensitive, huh?” he rasped, the gravel in his voice betraying just how tightly he was holding back. You tried to answer, but all that left you was a breathy whimper as he dragged himself down and back up again, coating his cock in your wetness.
“Look at you,” he murmured, gaze locked to your face as his hand tilted your thigh open wider. His tip nudged right at your entrance, circling but not pushing in yet. “So fucking ready for me.”
He then lowered his head, lips kissing your shoulder so tenderly that your heart melts. You caught his eyes when he finally lifted his head. Neither of you spoke, but the air between you thrummed with silent consent, the kind that left no room for doubt.
His forehead brushed yours, lips hovering as he rasped low, “I’ll go slow.”
And then, slow but steady as he promised, he started to press forward. His breath stuttered the second his tip pushed inside, the blunt head parting you inch by inch.
Heat—wet and velvet-tight—closed around him, and Crosshair almost crumbled then and there, his body trembling faintly as he held himself back. “Ffff—” He bit off a curse, jaw tightening.
You whimpered softly, the initial stretch making your walls flutter around him. It wasn’t painful. Just thick and slow. A fullness that made you gasp. Your fingers clutched at his arm, nails grazing the skin as you whispered, “Cross…”—your voice shaky, needy, urging.
His cock twitched deep inside at the sound, his hips rolling forward another careful inch. “You alright?” he rasped, voice breaking low.
You gave a quick nod, looking down as his cock disappeared inside you with every slow movement.
He didn’t slam, didn’t shove. He inched forward, then drew halfway back, then pressed in again with a rhythm of patience. The drag of him pulled a breathless moan from your throat.
“Breathe,” he muttered, his lips brushing your temple as if grounding you as much as himself. He let you cling, let you adjust, every tiny movement deliberate. “I’ve got you, mesh’la.”
The way he said it made your heart lurch, like it wasn’t just about sex…like he meant all of it.
And when you finally tilted your hips, just slightly, letting him know you were ready for more, his control frayed. He sank in deeper, a low moan slipping out of his throat at the way your body welcomed him.
Crosshair bent close, lips brushing over the shell of your ear as he murmured, voice roughened with memory, “When you called me ‘your stars’ back at that meal…” His hips pressed deeper, making your body jolt against the mattress. “…Maker, I wanted you then and there. Didn’t care who was watching.”
Your mouth fell open, breath catching, a whimper spilling out with the way his words wrapped around you as intimately as his body did. You tilted your head back, enough to find his lips. The kiss was soft, slow, your tongues brushing as his cock slid out and then back in with a steady glide.
Each thrust melted into the next, your body clenching around him instinctively as you clung into his chest. His groan rumbled against your mouth, and when he broke away, his forehead pressed to yours. “Feels so good like this. You, wrapped around me, taking me slow.”
The pace wasn’t frantic. It wasn’t about release. It was about every inch of him inside you, every shiver of your body responding, every sigh and moan you gave him like it was for him alone.
He kissed you again, even more gentler this time, lips brushing yours in little whispers of touch before pulling back to watch your face twist in pleasure as he filled you over and over.
His rhythm stuttered for a moment, pulling all the way out of you with a slick, obscene sound that made your body twitch in protest. The sudden emptiness tore a desperate whine from your throat, your hands clutching at the sheets.
“Shh,” he rasped, voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “Already needy, aren’t you?”
Before you could form a reply, he shifted up, long fingers curling under your thighs. In one smooth move he lifted your legs and hooked them over his shoulders, folding you open for him as he sat on his knees. You gasped at the change and at how vulnerable it made you feel… owned.
And you fucking loved it.
Crosshair smirked, eyes gleaming as he angled himself, the fat head of his cock nudging back against your soaked entrance. “Yeah,” he murmured, dragging it through your folds, coating himself in you. “That’s it. This is where you want me, isn’t it?”
You nodded helplessly, breathless. “Yes—fuck, yes, Cross—”
He slid back inside with a single, deliberate thrust that made your vision spark, filling you to the hilt. A strangled moan tore from your throat, your back arching against the bed. He groaned deep in his chest, bending forward so your calves squeezed tighter against his neck. “Shit, you feel so good. So fucking tight. Like you were made to take me.”
The pace changed—no longer slow and sweet, but harder, sharper, his hips snapping against yours with wet, slapping sounds that echoed in the suite. Every thrust pushed you further up the bed, rose petals clinging to your damp skin.
Crosshair turned his head to the side, his lips brushing your calf before biting lightly, sending another shiver racing through you. “Look at you,” he muttered against your skin, voice dark and possessive. “Spread out for me. Letting me fuck you like you’re mine.”
Your nails clawed at the duvet, head tipping back as the words spilled out of you before you could stop them. “I am yours, Cross. No one else—just you.”
The admission made his hips slam harder, a ragged growl leaving him. His hands wrap around your legs, holding them tight to his body, keeping you pinned. “Say it again,” he demanded, amber eyes burning into you as he drove deeper, harder.
“I’m yours!” you cried out, voice shaking, tears stinging your lashes with the force of it. “All yours, Crosshair!”
He smirked, satisfaction dripping from every thrust as he fucked you rougher, his possessiveness unraveling in every movement. “Good wife,” he groaned, bending lower so your thighs framed his face, “my perfect fucking wife.”
He didn’t even pause to catch his breath, just gripped your hips and dragged you to the edge of the bed. With a swift, fluid motion, he flipped you onto your stomach, and you gasped at the sudden change of angle, the cool sheets against your bare skin.
“You like it when I take control, don’t you?” he rasped, one hand landing hard on your arse, sending a delicious shock through your body. You grinned, breath hitching, letting out a low laugh that was part pleasure, part defiance.
“You’re mine,” he whispered, sliding himself back inside you from behind.
Your legs instinctively spread wider as he pulled you closer, his hand tangling in your hair. He tugged sharply, bringing your head back so you bounced against his cock with each controlled thrust. “That’s it, bounce for me. Show me how good it feels, wife,” he growled, every word thick with control.
You cried out, loud and unrestrained, the bed creaking under the force of him driving into you. “Oh, Cross—yes! Harder! Please—don’t stop!”
He chuckled darkly, leaning over you so your cheek pressed into the sheets, his lips brushing the back of your neck. “Good girl,” he praised, hand slapping your arse again, rough and loving at the same time. “So fucking good for me. Look at you, taking me so well.”
Your chest heaved, legs trembling but you kept bouncing back, your body obedient and desperate, lips parted in a moan that didn’t care who could hear.
He angled himself just right, hitting deep and slow at first, then snapping his hips faster, letting you feel every inch. “Maker, you’re perfect,” he groaned, voice low and commanding. “So wet, so tight… all mine.”
You pressed your face further into the sheets, moaning around the muffled sounds, your body arching up instinctively. “Crosshair! Oh—yes! I’m yours! Always yours!”
He responded by tugging your hair harder, his cock driving into you with relentless force, hand roaming over your hips and arse, marking you with every movement, praising and claiming you at once.
You turned your head just enough to catch his burning eyes over your shoulder. Your lips curved into a wicked grin even as your body shuddered with every rough slam of his cock.
“Look at you,” you moaned, voice sharp and sultry, “losing yourself inside me. You can’t help it, can you? I’ve got you wrapped around my finger just as tight as I’ve got you wrapped inside me.”
His thrust faltered—just for a second—as if the words themselves had tripped him. His eyes narrowed, mouth falling open, but the sound that came out was a raw and pathetic whimper betraying how undone he really was.
“You love it,” you taunted, rolling your hips back against him with a delicious grind that had him growling through clenched teeth. “My good husband, falling apart because of me. Cockdrunk.”
“F-fuck—” he hissed, the word tearing out of him. His pace grew erratic, desperate, like he was chasing something he couldn’t hold back any longer.
Then suddenly he hauled you, panting and trembling, onto your back again. Your legs spread wide as he pressed himself flush against you, cock sliding right back into your soaked heat without hesitation.
The air punched from your lungs as he buried his face in your neck, breath hot and ragged, his weight pinning you down deliciously. Your nails raked down his back, dragging red marks into his skin while he drove into you with merciless force. The headboard slammed rhythmically into the wall with every thrust, each clap of wood-on-wall punctuated by your screams and sobs of pleasure.
“Yes—yes, Crosshair, please—” your voice broke, cracking under the relentless pace. Your body arched under him, sweat slick between you, every nerve ending aflame as his hips pounded into yours.
“Where—” he groaned into your throat, biting your skin like he needed to anchor himself, “where do you want it, baby? Tell me—fuck—where should I come?”
Your head snapped back, eyes wild, desperate tears clinging to your lashes. You clutched at his back, pulling him tighter, legs wrapping around his waist to lock him in place.
“Inside!” you cried, voice shaking, pleading. “Please, Cross, come inside me. I want it, I need it—fill me with your hot cum. P-please!”
He groans like a man possessed, hips snapping even harder, his control shredding as he buried himself deeper and deeper.
Crosshair’s movements became almost frantic, hips stuttering as he drove into you with a desperate rhythm. His hand slid down between your bodies, fingers landing squarely on your clit, rubbing with perfect pressure and speed, coaxing you closer and closer to your edge.
“Come for me, right now, right now,” he growled, his teeth grazing your neck as he slammed his cock into you. “I’m going to fill you up, good girl—come on my cock.”
Your body convulsed at his words, every nerve screaming as your climax hit with a white-hot force. You grabbed his face, forcing your lips to his, biting his lower lip as you panted hotly into his mouth, gasping, moaning and utterly undon. .
“Baby…” you whispered between ragged breaths, your fingers tangling in his hair as your body shuddered uncontrollably around him.
Crosshair’s groan deep as he tensed, shuddered, and finally spilled inside you. Warm and overwhelming. You felt him pulse inside you, his hips stuttering with each breathless thrust, as your own climax trembled out against his hand, still pressing your clit with maddening rhythm.
Even after he came, he stayed buried deep, hips rocking slightly, his chest pressing to yours, letting you feel every lingering pulse of him. He nuzzled against your neck.
Crosshair let out a low, almost inaudible sigh of relief, his forehead resting against yours as you melted into his side. His hand lingered soflty on your waist, fingers tracing lazy circles over your hip.
There was a small tension as you saw him look down where his hands had been on you. You use your finger to angle his face back to you and say reassuringly, “you didn’t hurt me.”
“I can’t believe we just did that,” you rasp, voice trembling slightly from exertion and lingering arousal.
He hesitated for a moment, the usually unshakable Crosshair sounding almost vulnerable. “Do… do you regret it?”
You cupped his jaw with one hand and silenced any doubt with a slow, deliberate kiss. And when you pulled back, your eyes softened.
“Definitely not, my stars,” you said fondly, voice carrying sincerity. His lips twitched, almost a smile, though he’d never admit it outright. Relief settled into his posture, the tension leaving his shoulders, and for the first time since the two of you had been tangled together, he seemed… at peace.
Your fingers brushed over his chest, tracing the rapid rise and fall of his breath. “You feel… amazing,” you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his neck, feeling the steady thrum of his pulse beneath your lips.
He let out a low hum, nudging you closer with his shoulder. “So do you,” he murmured, still holding you like he was afraid to let go.
The two of you lay there, sweaty, sticky, and utterly spent, yet somehow more connected than ever.
You do eventually shift, muscles sore but tingling from the aftermath of everything, and groan quietly as you attempt to tug your nightwear back over your body. Crosshair watches you with a glint in his eyes, “You look ridiculous like that,” he teases.
You shoot him a mock glare, though your cheeks betray the flush of heat and lingering pleasure. “Oh, and you don’t?” you retort, finally wriggling into your nightwear.
He hums, the sound rumbling in his chest. “Maybe not,” he admits, voice edged with amusement, “but I think we’ve earned a bit more… relaxation.”
Your brow quirks, intrigued. “Relaxation?”
Crosshair tilts his head, smirk growing. “The jacuzzi,” he says simply, climbing off the bed. “Warm water, bubbles… think you can handle that after an hour like this?”
You let out a breathy laugh, the soreness in your thighs reminding you just how much fun you’d had. “I think I could manage. Maybe,” you tease, still rolling your shoulders to loosen the tension.
He steps closer, eyes tracking your movements, and reaches for your hand. “Then come on,” he says, dragging you toward the bathroom. “Let’s make the next hour… just as enjoyable.”
You let him lead you to the jacuzzi once it’s filled, the scent of soap and warm water filling the room. And as you both sink into the bubbling warmth, the world outside ceases to exist.
Crosshair leans back, one arm draped across your shoulders, and you curl against him, feeling both soothed and mischievous as you ponder just how long you two could stay here.
Silence stretched comfortably between you. He shifted after a moment, reaching for a bar of soap resting at the edge. Without a word, he lathered it between his hands, then pressed his palms gently against your back, his fingers smoothing over sore muscles. He was careful as he washed down your arms, sliding his touch from your shoulders to your wrists. Every stroke was accompanied by a quiet kiss to the back of your head, your temple, the damp strands of your hair sticking to his lips.
“You’re spoiling me,” you teased softly.
“Good,” he muttered against your crown, fingertips tracing over your skin like he was memorising it.
A sly smile pulled at your lips. “You know, you enjoyed calling me your wife a little too much back there.”
You felt him stiffen almost imperceptibly, his hands faltering just for a second before resuming. “…You noticed.”
You turned your head, grinning up at him. “Hard not to. You sounded like you meant it.”
For a long moment, he said nothing, eyes fixed on the water, jaw tight. But then his shoulders relaxed, and he exhaled, lips brushing your temple once more. “…That’s because I did.” His voice was low, almost grudging, but the truth in it made your heart soar.
“Crosshair—”
“You’re… marriage material,” he cut in, avoiding your gaze as you tilt your head back, as though the words embarrassed him more than any of the filthy things he’d whispered between the sheets. His thumb traced circles absently on your shoulder. “Don’t ask me to say it twice.”
You blinked, stunned into silence for a moment before a soft laugh slipped free. The sound made him glance down, eyes narrowing like he regretted saying anything at all—until you leaned up and pressed your lips against his.
Reader x Crosshair. Reader is very sensitive and doesn't take Crosshair's jabs well, even though she tries to hide it bc she rationally knows Crosshair is like that with everyone and it's not that deep. Meanwhile Crosshair is unaware until he finds her crying at night. Then some soft!Crosshair and hurt/comfort with a confession
wounds
crosshair x fem reader
summary: secret softie crosshair regrets being mean to you
warnings: some hurtcomfort
a/n: so like let's ignore the fact that hunter probably heard this whole interaction and chose to keep his peace. sensitive girlies, professional criers please RISE.
crosshair doesn't mean to be so cruel. the others have a much easier time brushing off his quiet, sarcastic hostility as he snickers under his breath at the clear disconnect between what he thinks is comical and what you think is normal. your heart twists in encroaching agony every time you feel like you've done something wrong—like you've fucked up and he's always there to catch you in a mockery. his words, his looks, his wounds all tear through your skin, constantly bubbling up until one night, you can't swallow it down anymore. you feel like you'll choke otherwise.
you wipe your tears furiously as the knocking against the door gets more impatient. your reflection is red and tear-streaked, yet another embarrassment you accept that crosshair will have a field day out of. he stands outside the tiny refresher shared amongst the six of you with his arms folded across his chest, clearly unimpressed at how long you holed yourself up in there. you cast your head down, hoping to escape this moment just like you wish to disappear from his scrutiny.
"sorry, it's all yours," you whisper hoarsely. you wince, deciding it's better not to speak.
crosshair scoffs through a yawn. "go to bed."
you nod, avoiding his gaze that seems to pierce right through you. you hurry back to your bunk, not knowing that crosshair lingers outside the refresher, still looking in your direction. an uncomfortable knot settles in his gut, intuitively indicative of something he can't quite put his finger on. he can tell you're acting off, though. he knows you well enough—perhaps more than he likes to admit.
the marauder is dark and silent, other than wrecker's snoring from a few bunks over. you hear crosshair come back, his footsteps light and nimble like a cat. but instead of sinking back down into his warm blankets, he sits at the foot of your mattress and glances down at the cocoon you've wrapped yourself up in to hide your face.
you hold your breath. he sighs, the sound thin and exasperated. "i know you're awake," he says tersely.
"am not," you reply, your voice muffled under the covers.
he raises an eyebrow while the corner of his mouth twitches in amusement. his long, careful fingers find your ankle and wrap around it, tugging slightly. your breath hitches in surprise, and you try to wiggle out of his grip. it's a childish attempt, but it leaves both of you trying not to laugh as the others try to sleep peacefully for once.
"crosshair, let go." you pause. "i'll kick you. i'm serious."
he squeezes your ankle playfully. "i'd like to see you try."
you groan under your breath. "crosshair, please..."
he's quiet. not unlikely for him, but you feel the silence suddenly weigh on this conversation. his voice is oddly gentle when he says, "look at me."
his fingers loosen around your ankle like a truce. you swallow hard, wondering if he's caught onto you. your blankets fall away from your figure as you sit up, letting your eyes adjust to the darkness. he's nothing but a tall shadow at the end of your bunk at first.
"it's too dark to see anything," you mumble, lying back down on your side, "you can call me ugly in the morning."
crosshair stills. his enhanced vision allows him to see you better than you can see him, but he's not sure what stops his heart more—the sight of your swollen, puffy eyes, or your words.
"and why would i do that?"
you close your eyes. "forget it. i'm sorry."
you feel the bunk dip under his weight as he shifts closer, slow like he's almost...scared. you nearly jump out of your skin when his fingertips brush the skin under your eyes, where some tears still slip through, cascading down your cheeks—the ones he's thought about kissing more times than he can count.
"i fucked up," he mutters, "didn't i."
you take a shaky breath and try to shake your head. "mm-mm. it's not you—it's just me—i'm..." your tears drown out your words in a surge, and you press your face into your pillow to stop yourself from making a sound. crosshair's hand smoothes over the top of your head, gently threading through your hair as guilt tangles with the knot inside of his stomach.
"bullshit," he says quietly. "it's never you."
you rub your eyes and look at him. "huh?" you whimper. this time, it's his turn to avoid your gaze. he sucks his teeth and shakes his head, hanging it low. his hand slides down from your hair to to your face, where he cups your cheek and slowly swipes away some stray tears. your eyes widen at how soft his touch feels, how his skin warms yours despite having the coldest heart you know.
"my brothers are gonna skin me alive if they find out i made you cry," crosshair murmurs.
you can't help but smile at this remark. "yeah, well, your brothers actually like me."
"who says i don't like you?"
you scoff incredulously as he draws his hand away to adjust the blankets over your shoulders. "oh, come on, you hate my guts."
crosshair tilts his head to the side a bit. "and this upsets you."
"i'm not upset."
he stares at you before nodding. "right," he says slowly, his familiar sarcasm dripping from his tongue.
you pull your blankets up to your chin with a hurt frown. "i just...i feel like you're always mad. at me."
"i'm an ass. it has nothing to do with you."
you can't help but laugh at how bluntly he says this. "so you admit it."
"hm?"
"that you're an ass."
crosshair squeezes your shoulder. "don't tell the others."
you laugh again, realizing he has a more playful side than you gave him credit for. he brings a finger to your lips as if he's shushing you, and you remember to keep quiet. your eyes lock, and both of your gazes seem to crinkle into knowing smiles, but his still feels heavy with regret.
"i won't," you whisper, reaching up to wrap your pinky finger around his. "it's our little secret."
he exhales a quiet chuckle. "good." his eyes soften, and he just looks at you for a moment before he speaks again. "i never meant to hurt you."
you bring your locked pinkies close to your chest. "i know," you tell him.
his lips part like he wants to say something else, but his words get stuck in his throat. quiet is usually his comfort, his natural state of being when conversations fail to interest him. only now, he wishes he could come up with something more—something better. perhaps the sweet things wrecker might've said, or the honest truths tech could've suggested. the right words hunter would've known to use, or the apology echo would've given despite his pride. crosshair finds it all to be so foreign, like a language he doesn't yet speak. but that doesn't mean he can't try, in his own way.
he leans down and brushes his lips against your forehead. the kiss lingers before he pulls back, silently stretching out of your bunk to disappear into the refresher. your eyes flutter closed, thinking that's the end of this moment, as you hear some water running. he proves you wrong when you feel a cold, wet towel drape over your eyes to help with the swelling. his thin fingers gingerly press down, touching you so delicately it's like he's worried he'll break you all over again.
"i'm okay," you whisper, "just go to sleep..."
"you first," he whispers back.
you sigh and reach for him, lacing your fingers around his free hand. he startles a bit, but tries not to show it. "thanks, crosshair."
he shakes his head even though you can't see. you slowly slide further back into sleep as he applies this cold compress to your eyes, hoping to calm the irritation that's to come from your tears. he stays wide awake, paying close attention to your soft breathing slipping through your slightly parted lips. he thinks you can't hear him when he speaks quietly, under his breath.
"i know that i'll never deserve you," he chuckles drily and shakes his head.
"but i'd be fucking crazy not to want you."
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Reminder that “processing trauma” doesn’t just mean “talk about the traumatic shit that happened to you” (especially if you aren’t ready to do that yet). It also means:
Giving yourself time, safety, and rest. Letting your brain learn how to feel safe again by giving it a safe place to rest and recover. Rediscovering the feeling of peace is a fundamental part of recovery.
Examining your day-to-day feelings. (Not just your feelings about what happened in the past, but the way you feel just in general, day-to-day.) Observing and understanding your present emotions, the things you are struggling with, the things that are getting easier, recognizing the good, the bad, and the gray.
Identifying triggers, brainstorming ways to avoid them, and having a gameplan & coping skills for when they can’t be avoided.
Identifying goals, concrete or otherwise. (E.g. my goal is to have more good days this month than last month, to have fewer days spent in bed, to have fewer moments of panic, to be a little happier and feel a little more safe.)
Mapping progress
Talking about your fears & negative feelings is important. But you can start by talking about your desires & hopes for the future. In therapy, you get to choose what to talk about, and how far the conversation goes.
Reminding yourself that you are working to overcome obstacles specifically because there are good things waiting ahead.
Recovery is a journey, and everyone carves a slightly different path. You don’t have to follow step-by-step instructions, as long as you learn how to keep moving forward.
These are good points, and I’d like to add that it can also actively worsen your trauma to do nothing but talk about it! Re-trauma is a thing, it happens frequently to people who are forced to recount things that happened to them for court proceedings, but you can very much do it to yourself!
When I was younger I often couldn’t stop myself from venting in ways that Did Not Help Me— part of the reason having a therapist is useful is that a therapist can guide you away from the heightened emotional re-living it state and through it, but you can do it on your own too! There are DBT workbooks and mental health information about coping skills available online, you don’t need to be able to afford a therapist to approach your trauma deliberately and with care.
“Zuko—fuck—” you gasp, grabbing the headboard for balance as his tongue immediately drags a thick, wet stripe through your folds. He’s so fucking pussy drunk, eyes fluttering shut as his nose presses right against your clit while his tongue pushes inside you, fucking in and out in messy strokes.
You look down between your legs and the sight nearly ruins you—Zuko’s face shiny with your slick, cheeks flushed dark, hair a complete wreck from how hard you’re gripping it. His golden eyes crack open just enough to lock onto yours and he moans louder when he catches you staring.
“Ride my face,” he rasps, pulling back just enough to speak before diving right back in, tongue flattening to lap broad strokes through your folds. “C’mon, princess—use me. Ride me.”
Your hips start rolling on their own, grinding down against his tongue as he sucks and licks. “Zuko—right there—fuck—” You whine as you start riding him harder, smothering him with your soaked pussy.
His hands slide up to grip your ass, squeezing hard as he pulls you down even tighter against his mouth. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” he mumbles right against your clit, the words vibrating through you. He sucks the swollen bud between his lips, flicking his tongue fast and sloppy while you rock against his face. “Taste so fucking good… keep going, just like that.”
You’re practically bouncing on his tongue now, hips rolling in sloppy circles while he laps at you. You’re riding his face with zero shame now, “Zuko—I’m—fuck, I’m close—” you whimper, one hand fisting tighter in his hair while the other braces against the headboard.
Your juices are everywhere, coating his cheeks, his tongue, while his hands spread your ass wider, one thick finger teasing your tight little hole. Your thighs clamp around his head as you grind down one last time, gushing all over his tongue and chin.
“Fuck, princess,” he rasps when you finally slump forward, giving your slit one last soft kiss. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand but it doesn’t do much. “C’mere I wanna watch you ride my cock.”
You stare down at him, chest heaving, trying to catch your breath. Your fingers are still tangled in his messy hair before lowering yourself onto his hard thick girth and begin to bounce.
There was one thing you did want to know though…and that was, “So Zuko, where’d you learn how to eat pussy like that?”
Yeah, there was no way he was gonna be able to talk himself outta this one.
DO NOT PIRATE ANYTHING. NOT SHOWS/MOVIES. NOT GAMES OR SAFER GAMES. AND CERTAINLY NOT BOOKS. AND DO NOT DOWNLOAD YOUTUBE VIDEOS. AND NEVER EVER EVER WATCH MUSICALS WITHOUT GOING TO THEM AND DONT USE ADBLOCKERS/OTHER ADBLOCKER TO AVOID ADS AND VIRUSES PIRATING IS VERY HARMFUL TO THE CORPORATIONS WHO WORKS VERY HARD TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF PEOPLE AND THEIR MONEY. ANYONE WHO PIRATES IS BAD. BAD PIRATING. EVIL. OH AND THIS
