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darkbluekies · 4 days

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A little game

Yandere!king oc x fem!reader

Summary: Edmund going insane when he finds you hurt and unconscious and swears to kill everyone in town.

Warnigns: behading, insanity, blood, guns, abuse, arson, everything like that

Word count: 2.3k

His eyes wander over your lifeless body. Numerous signs of brutal harm can be seen on your body. He can't even imagine what you've been put through, and when he tries he feels sick.

“Kill them all.”

His secretary widens his eyes.“But … your majesty-”

Edmund turns to him with eyes burning with rage. “Do I speak another language?!” he screams. “Kill them all! Every single one of them!”

Maids look at each other in fear, the secretary gulps. Edmund can feel his body tremble. He wants to grab the glass bottle on the bedside table, break it and plunge it deep into someone's, anyone's, heart. Wants to see blood, wants to kill.

His hammering heart thumps in his ears. A chanting “kill them all, make them pay” repeats in his head, sounding better and better each time.

It all had happened so quickly, and yet so slow. You were kidnapped on a town visit and hurt by someone, badly. A knight had found you after hours of search lifeless in the forest, body torn and beaten. Edmund had thought that you had died. The few moments of uncertainty had felt like hours. Millions of thoughts had passed through his head. What would he do if you were dead? Could he live without you? Why did it hurt so much? Why couldn't he breathe? Was he dead too? Why was he alone again?

But now he was only angry. Someone had hurt you … and the entire town hid the truth, protected the culprit. Edmund didn't care who had done what, everyone was guilty. They are no individuals, only a herd of characterless peasants. And he hates them all.

He wants to touch your face, but he doesn’t dare to. He’s scared that if he touches you, he’s going to kill you. His touch is deadly. You’re already so fragile, so vulnerable.

“Take families, one by one”, Edmund starts, still shaking, “and bring them here.”

“What are you going to do, your majesty?” the secretary asks, sounding worried.

“Give this castle a fucking paintjob.”

His hands are bloody — they’re never bloody. He never gets down and dirty, always watched. His heart is beating even quicker, but he can’t seem to get enough. He can’t get rid of the unimaginable anger he feels. It’s like a beast has taken control over his mind and soul and given him a new unclenched blood thirst. Every time he lets his fist make contact with a poor peasants body he sees your broken face in front of him. It makes him hit them more, with even more force. He enjoys it, he finds.

“Your majesty, please!” the man he’s holding begs. “Please spare me, I’m sorry!”

“What are you sorry for?” Edmund questions harshly. “What can your filthy little peasant heart be sorry for, huh? Was it you who abused my wife?!”

“No! No, your majesty, I didn’t-”

His voice echoes across the court yard. “Then who did?! Who was it?! Who are you covering up for?!”

Before he has the time to answer, Edmund has thrown the man against the castle’s wall with such force that he cracks his skull open on the harsh, sharp stones. Blood splatter. Edmund’s heavy breaths are enough to cause his head to spin. He runs a bloody hand through his black hair. Bodies are lined up against the castle’s walls, stacked on top of each other.

Edmund turns to the knights standing a few meters away from him.

“If no one fesses up I will kill the entire town!” he shouts. “Every single one!”

“Your majesty, if you kill everyone, who will you rule over?” a knight asks.

In a swift motion, Edmund grabs a gun from the nearest knight and shoots him.

“Does anyone else have idiotic questions?!” he screams, directing the gun around. “Huh?! Ask them now so we can get them over with!”

To show that he’s not kidding, he shoots a bullet straight up into the air. None of the knights answer. Edmund scoffs and throws the gun to the side. He catches a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the window and flinches. He didn’t need his mirror to let him know that he’s drenched in blood and sweat. The look inn his eyes is what is startled by. He looks … animalistic. There’s no humanity left in his ice blue eyes anymore. He can feel himself drift into insanity, but he can’t stop it — maybe he doesn't want to.

“Bring the next group”, he demands.

“They are fleeing into the woods, your majesty”, a knight says.

“Then stop them?!”

“How, your majesty?”

He thinks for a moment. Head spinning, heart thumping in his ears, tast of blood in his mouth.

“Burn it all down”, he decides. “Burn every possible way out. Burn them in, if necessary.”

The knights nod. Edmund turns back to the poor body on the bloody gravel and picks him up by the collar, carrying him to the others.

“Isn’t it pretty? The color?”

His secretary tilts his head as he studies the flames in the distance. “I suppose so, but the smell is God awful.”

“Smells like victory to me.”

Edmund turns away from the window, eyes darting to all the things scattered all over the floor. His office is near destroyed. Things lay broken everywhere after his tantrums. He used to value his materialistic obsessions highly, but now they’re not worth a dime to him. Nothing is. Only you. He has to avenge you rightfully.

“How is my darling doing?” he asks and gives the secretary a stern gaze. “You know to tell me the second she awakes, right? If you don’t, I will drag you out on the court yard and put you with the other bodies.”

“Of course, your majesty, I will come running right away”, the secretary answers. “You can rest assure. I won’t betray you. Besides, her skin is healing. You won’t have to see her grotesque marks.”

Edmund nods. “I want to see her now. To see if you are telling the truth.”

The secretary leads Edmund through the large, dark halls. The people passing him makes his blood boil. They haven’t done anything, but he’s ready to lash out in case anyone gives him a foul look. Anyone showing any signs of distrust need to be killed. Roughly. He will not be made a fool.

A maid opens the door to your shared chamber and Edmund walks over to the bed. For a few seconds, he doesn’t believe that it’s you sleeping under the white sheets. You look so awfully small in the big bed, so unbelievably broken. Your skin looks so weird compared to the white sheets … washed out, somehow. He hates it, absolutely despises it all.

Edmund sits down on the side of the bed and takes your hand in his, sighing heavily at the state of you. Seeing your frail figure makes him even madder. Why aren’t you waking up? What have that creature done to you to make you look like this? His secretary was right, however, you seem to be doing a bit better. Your body heals. So why aren’t you waking up?

“I will punish them”, he whispers and kisses your forehead. It must be one of the sweetest gestures he has done since you disappeared and came back in whatever state you are in now. “I promise. I love you so much, my darling, I will make them pay.”

The guillotine is working over time. The blade is covered in blood, heads everywhere. Edmund has realized that all people about to be beheaded has either of three possible reactions. Pleading and crying, begging for forgiveness, and emotionless and accepting. He likes to guess who will have what reaction, and when he guesses right he gives himself a clap on the shoulder. He’s standing on the balcony, leaning forward against the railing with his arms resting on it. Smiling. It’s all a big game for him. Like how hurting you and covering up the deed is a big joke to them. But now he’s the hunter, and they’re the pray. They are the punchline in his joke. Not the other way around. His blood boils when he thinks about what the ones hurting you must have been thinking while performing such a merciless act. Were they thinking about him, about how mad he would be? Thinking: “we will have caused a reaction to form in him but he will not know who have done it”, in that case they were wrong. Everyone is punished for their stupid game.

“Please, please!” a woman screams, about to be beheaded. “I know who it was!”

Edmund freezes.

“Wait!” he shouts to the man holding the rope controlling the blade.

Edmund hurries down to the court yard and walks over to the woman with her head in the locked hole. He grabs her chin roughly, trying to direct her head up without luck.

“Who was it?” Edmund spits. “Tell me their names.”

She seems to have lost all speaking ability when nearby Edmund. All color is drained off her face. She faints. Angrily, Edmund lets go of her chin, grabs the rope and lets the blade fall. Her head falls down on the gravel and rolls towards the others. No one says anything.

“Your majesty!” he hears his secretary shout. “The queen is awake!”

Edmund feels his entire body go numb. He spins around, looking at the secretary in the doorway with large, shocked eyes. He runs after.

You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake.

“Get out of my fucking way!” Edmund growls and shoved a maid into the wall when she tries opening the door for him.

You’re laying in the bed, but your eyes are open! Edmund runs over and throws himself at you, hugging you tightly. You start to cry the second he wraps his arms around you and brings your face into his shoulder. He can’t believe that he’s holding you again, to feel your body tremble under his fingertips. He wants to cry.

“It’s okay”, he whispers and caresses your hair as you sob against his neck. “Everything is okay, my dear. I’m here now, I will not let anything happen to you.”

He can feel his entire body relax. He has you back. Your shaking body feels so … alive.

“Does it hurt?” he asks.

You nod against his shoulder and try to pull back, out of his embrace. He doesn’t let you, he only moves you closer. What if you slip away when he lets you go?

“Not yet”, he whispers. “Stay with me a bit longer.”

His hands grab at you, trying to reassure himself that you are, indeed, alive.

When he does let you go, your eyes are red with tears. He puts his hand on your cheek, wiping your tears carefully with his thumb.

“I’m so sorry”, he mumbles and feels a stone in his throat. “I really am.”

“Your hand smells like blood …”, you whisper.

He becomes cold as your eyes start to widen in fear.

“No, no, no!” he says quickly and grabs your face in his hands. “I will stop. Is that what you want? Hm? I-I’ll stop, I’ll show mercy to the ones left if you just give me the name of who … who hurt you. Okay? Please?

The name you give is one he’s familiar with. It’s suddenly clear why everyone wanted to shield the guilty one. His father is one of the richest men in the town. Edmund has yet to kill him.

“I will take care of him”, he says. “Everything he did to you, I will do to him. I promise. Not more, not less.”

Your shaking hand takes his. Edmund gulps and lifts your intertwined to his lips and kisses.

“I love you”, he whispers.

“What is that?” you ask and point towards the forest.”Why is it so black?”

Edmund hesitates and hugs your other hand tighter. They have cleaned the entire court yard and scrubbed the walls so that you won’t have to see any of the horror that has occurred while you were unconscious, but he can’t replace the forest with a new one.

“A wildfire happened while you were unconscious”, he lies. “It was just fixed. Nothing to worry about.”

He continues to walk with you, hand in hand, through the large corridors. He’s on his way down to the dungeon where a certain someone is waiting for him. Edmund’s hands itch when he thinks about what he’s going to do to him. He can’t wait.

You suddenly hug him. He flinches, but is quick to wrap his arms around you, to secure you against his body. You fit so well against him

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing”, you say, sounding shy. “Thank you for saving me. I think that I would be dead without you.”

“I would kill everyone in this world for you. You know that.”

But hearing you say ‘thank you’ to him, after everything hes done for — and towards — you causes his stomach to to fill with butterflies. He really would kill everyone for you. Over and over again.

“I’ll have to leave you here”, he says as you reach the stairs down to the dungeon. “I have something to do. Will you wait for me here?”

“What are you going to do?” you ask hesitantly.

Edmund smiles, showing off his teeth. “Play.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere drabbles #yandere oc x you #yandere oc x reader #yandere fics #yandere stories #female reader #yandere king #yandere oneshot

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yok00k · 1 month

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¿can you kiss me more?

pairing: hellokittylover!oc x boxer!jk

genre: smut

“baby, hold me ‘cause I like the way you groove”

summary: jungkook’s lust and love for you becomes insatiable

warnings: MATURE— cockwarming, slight somnophilia [consented], jk jerks off in front of oc, jk is a pervert and hella possessive (& mentally obsessed w/ oc), unedited, lowercase intended

word count: 900

author’s yap: i’m kinda back bc I’m in my jobless era🥸. I wrote this a few months ago and just kinda abandoned it -_- it’s also far from the initial scenario that I was gonna write but meh.

“koo..so deep inside me” you softly cry as for the fact that his entire length is buried deep within your aching walls. you can feel how hard Jungkook is inside you.

“yeah? you’ll keep me warm, right?” he lowly said while smirking underneath you. he firmly shoves himself more, resulting you gently tug on his long hair as he further sucks one of your perky nipples, making it swollen.

—

this particular action is what 's been keeping him occupied for the past thirty minutes as soon as he came back from his 2-hour morning boxing session. jungkook spotted you in the same position you were in before he left. the only difference now is that his thick comforter graped your whole body is no longer covering every inch of you. which makes your baby pink see-through lingerie on display for him to see. only for his sight to enjoy.

what a drooling view

he goes up to your sleeping figure, taking a closer look of your exquisite physique. your cleavage almost flashing him because of how low cut the piece of cotton fabric you’re wearing. not forgetting to mention those curvy hips of yours and naturally thick and tender thighs that only he can touch. nobody else. not on his watch

jungkook feels like some perverted man lusting over your unconscious frame. you’re so sweet, too fragile. seems like in one touch, you’ll break.

however that’s all facade. you may seem too innocent but he knows every tiny detail of yours. including those dirty secrets that turn you on and wild kinks that nobody would’ve guessed you’re into. to him, you have the face of an angel with devilish preferences.

you initially woke up with a pleasurable sensation that jungkook had caused you: a storm of wet kisses from your neck to the valley of your breast accompanied by a pair of muscular arms roaming around your figure. it’s a habit for both you and jungkook to be touchy to one another in the morning. you love showing your love and affection to him, so as he does to you. therefore you allow him to express physical intimacy towards you.

as much as you’d love to show your love back to him, you’re still sleepy and lack energy to move. a few seconds later, you fall back to sleep.

on the other hand, jungkook is getting even more aroused by this situation. his fully tattooed arm moves its way down to your backside, giving your plumpy ass a tight squeeze before proceeding to knead your cheek.

your sleeping figure doesn’t help with his high sex drive. how would his sexual urges decrease when the person in his fantasies is laying on his bed. you.

before he could ever comprehend what he’s doing, he found himself kneeling in front of your ass cheeks. jungkook lowers his light gray sweatpants, just right down under his balls, setting his erected cock free.

he leans down towards you to plant a tiny peck in your temples. jungkook locks his attention to your angelic face as he begins pumping his member toward your ass that’s covered by transparent lace fabric. he smudges his oozing precum around his til using his thumb while thinking how pretty your swollen lips would be if he smeared his fluid around them.

he continues to ejaculate, tightening his rough palm around his cock trying to imitate the tightness of your pussy when he nests himself inside you. your tight walls are 100% way much better than his fucking hands. it’s no doubt that nothing and nobody can compare to you. not even a bit

jungkook fails to be soundless and slips out quiet groans, cursing by how good and light headed he feels right now. he hopes that he could stay in this scenery forever. having you comfortably and peacefully sleeping on his bed while he jerks off in front of you. plus you wouldn’t mind just laying there and looking effortlessly pretty for him, right?

he’s almost there, he’s starting to feel the anticipated satisfaction coming towards him. by the moment, he shuts down his eyes as he throws his head back, savoring the intense feeling of pleasure as he reaches his highest peak.

jungkook spills ropes of hot white cum, aiming his oozing tip over the thin baby pink fabric that barely covers your ass. he releases a few more moans as he fully emptied himself to the cloth of your lingerie.

he arrives his desired destination, his paradise

you rise from your sleep by a familiar faint noise, more like a series of whimpers. you lift your head and catch that those breathless sounds are coming from none other than your boyfriend, jungkook. you also notice that he’s weakly pumping his hand around his cock, slowly coming to a halt.

“kookie?” you softly call, which brings him back from heaven to reality.

once he opens his eyes, he locks eye contact with your beautiful eyes, an innocent smile is painted on your face. his appearance softened, as if he wasn’t lusting over you a second ago.

he lifts his upper body and leans closer to your face, giving your lips a smooch.

“good morning baby”

series_m.list

#jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook fluff #jungkook imagine #jungkookxreader #bts jk #jeon jk #jungkook ff #jungkooksmut #jungkook smut #jeongguk x reader #jeongguk smut #jeongguk fic #jeongguk x you

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luveline · 2 months

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I would dieeee for some more of Spencer and bombshell after her getting injured😭 him taking such good care of her, the BEST doctors, researching every single option😭 reassuring her rhats shes just as pretty😭

—Spencer looks after you while you recover from a brutal injury. fem!reader, 1.1k

Spencer thinks it’s one of the team's more gruesome injuries. Hotch has been stabbed to mince meat and Emily half-killed, Elle got shot, and he’s had his fair share of violence, too, but he can’t imagine the horror of being hit in the face with a hammer. The pain so close to your eyes, your teeth, your brain, the fear and the sudden crack. He feels sick whenever he remembers the sound, and he was sick the first time he dreamt about the way you cried as it happened. Your strange yelp, the immediate drop to the floor.

Spencer never hit somebody as hard as he did that UnSub. His gun whipped out possessed across the UnSub’s face, and then drove forward into their nose with a stomach turning crunch.

They’re in custody, and you’re in bed recovering with some of the best doctors in the world. Spencer thinks you both won this round, even if it doesn’t feel like a win right now.

“Shh,” he whispers, “shh, shh, it’s okay. It’s okay, don’t cry.”

You cling to his chest as though worried he’s going to move out of reach, sobbing. You’re careful not to touch your face or his chest, the soreness too much, but the rest of you is clinging to him. You don’t have to worry, he’s not going anywhere.

“Please, it’s okay,” he says, the tip of his nose to your forehead. “You can have another dose in twenty minutes. Just twenty minutes.”

He supposes the pain reminds you of the full extent of the injury, your jaw fractured in two places, your gum traumatised, your face more bruise than anything else. You hate your appearance being out of your control, it’s making you panic —he can feel you shaking.

He’d sat down with your drink to find you already crying, he couldn’t have been gone for ten minutes, but it was long enough for you to fall deep into the throes of hysteria. You’d grappled for him as he sat down to hug you, your face hidden ever since, and now the shakes have started. He’s hopeless.

But Spencer’s willing to do anything to make it better. “Can you tell me what’s upsetting you? Please?” he asks.

“It’s–” Harder sobbing, your tears dripping down from your chin to wet the thigh of his pants.

He has to calm you down.

Since you met Spencer, you’ve been the comforter. He can’t count how many times something has hurt him and you’ve rushed to save him. You’ve hugged and held and kissed him into smiling, you’ve never let him down, you’ve forgiven him after a hundred stupid mistakes, so Spencer doesn’t care that you’ve been inconsolable for days. He really doesn’t mind that he’s had to look after you this attentively. It’s his pleasure, and he’s getting better at it.

He presses a few soft shushes somewhere in your hairline, his hand rubbing a circuit into your back with a firm pressure that never tips into roughness. He does it until his palm is numb. He could paint the slant of your back from muscle memory, fingers tripping down the creased fabric of your pyjamas, pulling back up to your neck. He’s never felt such tender sympathy. He hates that you’re in pain, but he doesn’t hate getting to rub your back. This is surely boyfriend territory.

“You want something to drink now?” he asks quietly.

You open your mouth to answer, sighing in pain momentarily. “Uh, yeah.”

“Did you want the straw?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” He can’t force himself away. “You okay for me to move you?”

“Yeah.”

You can’t be blamed for short answers.

There are surgeries to hold your jaw together when it breaks, and while you were unconscious (shock, rather than head injury), Hotch consented as your next of kin for the doctors to make sure things wouldn’t get worse, but it was Spencer who had to advocate for you afterwards. They’d wanted a metal connector to prevent dislocation. Spencer knew this could mean another scar, so he said no, because you might’ve said no had you been awake, and they should’ve asked you anyways.

When you did wake up, you were vehemently against it. Which is fine, you can heal without it, but it’s scarier to do it unaided. Your jaw could dislocate if you do something wrong, which is not only horrifically painful, but a painfully horrific injury to have. You talk quietly. You take small mouthfuls of soft foods.

Spencer looks at you now, tearstained, back arched like a kicked dog, and doesn’t know what to do. He wishes he were the one who got injured instead.

He takes the hospital bed controls into his hand and presses the button to make the top of your mattress elevate. Tomorrow, they’ll send you home, and Spencer will have to construct a nest of pillows for you to sit in while you recover, but it’ll be worth it. Things won’t feel as intimidating when you’re in your own bed.

“Lean back, beautiful,” he says.

Your smile is a straight line with eyes lit up. “What for?” you ask.

“Comfier. Less stress on your head.” You lean back. “Oh,” he adds, “and so I can get a better view of you.”

Your eyes get impossibly brighter. “What do you think?” you murmur. Your voice sounds scratched to death from crying, tight from holding your mouth a certain way, but pleased anyways. It’s just as pretty as it always is to him.

“You’re the prettiest girl in the world,” he says, reaching out to cradle your waist, his hand moving up and down the side of you tenderly.

You have a bruise from under your left eye and bleeding down your neck, and you haven’t slept right for a few days, but you’re undeniably beautiful in Spencer’s eyes.

You’ve been the most beautiful girl in the world literally from the day you met onward, with as much to do with your heart as your lovely face. He should tell you that, but he doesn’t.

“Can I have water now?” you ask, covering his hand with yours.

His confidence wobbles. “Oh, yeah, sorry. Sorry.” He grabs your drink, water spilling down the side to wet his hand.

“Please don’t make me laugh.”

“I’m not trying to,” he says pathetically.

He holds the cup of water to your face and you guide the straw between your lips. Spencer’s sure he’s been in love with you forever, and it’s all but cemented now.

#spencer and bombshell reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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actual-changeling · 9 months

Text

a continuation of this post

Demons do not need to sleep, and yet he does, mostly because time spent unconscious is not time spent crying, which demons also do not do, and yet.

A deep, crushing pain resides in the middle of his chest—a heartbreak not entirely unfamiliar; he never forgot the smell of burning books and the lack of his angel's presence anywhere on earth. He never forgot what it felt like to lose Aziraphale, and the reminder he received was entirely unnecessary.

If anyone were to ask, he'd deny the crying, arguing that technically not a single tear has left his eyes in the last three months, sixteen days, and seven hours—not that he is keeping count—although there is no one left to care. Except Muriel, who adjusted surprisingly quickly to living on earth and having a demonic snake curled up by the window.

Crowley sleeps and endures a never-ending series of nightmares for about two months, and while he wakes and slithers out of his chair, he decides to remain in his serpent form.

The most surprising development is perhaps how easily he bonds with Muriel. They offer up a steady arm, having switched the uniform for a sunshine-yellow pastel jumper and a simple black skirt, and to hell with it all, the warmth, the touch, the soft breaths, and the regular heartbeat pulsating next to him do not heal the wound, but they stop the bleeding; for a while, anyway.

So they go about their days, Crowley coiled around their shoulders while they read or do inventory, reorganise books, and then organise them differently as soon as they're done, never selling a single copy. They sing, too, having apparently discovered a lot of earthly pleasures during his nap, low and quiet, soothing in a way he did not expect.

Once upon a time, not too long ago, the Serpent of Eden wrapped around an angel's shoulders was a familiar sight. The serpent remains unchanged, although if you were to ask anyone regularly passing by the shop, they'd tell you it seems sadder now, somehow.

The angel has changed, however.

As time passes, Crowley waits not in a garden but in a bookshop, longing for a thunderstorm and a white wing above his head. He watches the sky, he watches the door, and he waits and waits and waits.

#alex talks good omens #good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #muriel #crowley and muriel #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable divorce #sorry if you expected fluff angst is all i can offer at the moment take it or leave it

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onlyswan · 10 months

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summary: in which you make jungkook’s world spin and you tend to… make him a little too dizzy.

> idol!jungkook x reader / est. relationship, fluff, angst / word count: 7k

> content/warnings: yea shirtless jungkook should be a warning… one (1) spank then he kisses it better, also gives a kiss to that lil bow on oc’s undies >:( + a flashback of oc crying and him getting stressed out bcs oc is a careless brat fr

> in which masterlist!

note: hehe i’m here <3 this drabble is basically just oc in a mood and jungkook being the sweetest bf ever 🤨 idk how it got this long either heh it didn’t feel that way at all while i wrote-edited? but i hope u enjoy and i’d love to hear ur thoughts 🥺 reblogs/feedback are appreciated !! <3

—

“oh my god- fuck!”

you cover your mouth in shock, squeezing your eyes shut and flinching at the ear-splitting sound that bounces off the walls of the apartment.

jungkook is rendered frozen, eyebrows furrowed and jaw slacked, staring down at his shirt largely stained by the chocolate milk you were walking around with after brunch.

“damn…”

his eyes are irritable when they communicate with yours.

“baby! really? did it have to be the white one?”

but seconds later, they become worried and calculating — wandering all over the tiled floor, and then your bare feet infront of his slides-clad ones, surrounded by shattered pieces of ceramic.

the collateral damage. an unforeseen tragedy.

suffice to say, jungkook woke up this morning blissfully unaware of the turbulent storm threatening to make a playground out of your mind. it’s craving to feed destruction, and here he is living with you under the same roof, an unfortunate casualty from your antics.

the hand-painted mug, wet from the condensation, slipped away from your hands when you accidentally collided with his tough build at the intersection of the living room and the kitchen. this… wasn’t part of the plan. the plan was a little spill and this is a landslide.

“that was expensive too.” you utter wistfully, chest deflating as you release an exasperated breath. “sorry. i’ll clean up everything. just stay there and i’ll- when did i last see the broom-”

his doe eyes grow two times its size when you start looking around the apartment in search of the broom, and perhaps something you can use to pat yourself and jungkook dry, causing your feet to unconsciously shift on the treacherous ground.

“ba-baby! don’t move! you’re going to hurt yourself. are you crazy?” he interrupts you with a hiss, voice stern as his hands curl around your arms to hold you steady. “it’s okay. this is nothing, i’m not mad… just stay still, understand?”

you nod slowly as he lets go, eyebrows knitting together to convey confusion when he starts pulling his shirt over his head, revealing miles of bare skin and planes of defined muscles on a perfect silhouette. perfect because it’s jungkook.

alright… to see him half-naked wasn’t one of your intentions, but you’re definitely not one to complain.

“tsk, i think i need to shower again.”

figuring that the internet has a solution to every problem one could think of, jungkook has decided to accept the horror that has happened to his shirt. what was it again? salt? vinegar? baking soda? powder? fuck it, he’ll search for it later.

he throws caution to the wind by using it to wipe his damp torso, brushing it over his tan skin glistening with a sheen of the liquid that you wittingly spilled. he winces at the uncomfortable stickiness that could be felt across his stomach, but he can’t help but to laugh when he sees how it further accentuated his abs.

and if only you were in a chipper mood today, you would be laughing along with him. would’ve taken over cleaning him up, apologized with a kiss on his waist. too bad you’re not.

eventually, he gives up on erasing on the feeling, proceeding to fold the shirt in halves.

“what are you doing?” you snap, putting on a guise of harsher irritation over your dreamy stares at your boyfriend’s glorious physique. “are we just supposed to stand here forever like idiots?”

“what is this? why are you so grumpy today?” he questions with a frown, patting your cheek with the soft cottony fabric because the splash managed to reach your face unbeknownst to you.

and then he bends down to place the folded shirt infront of your feet, looking up to you with his galaxy-filled eyes to say, “here- come on. stand here while i clean up.”

you stand isolated on the safe zone he created, childishly pouting with your arms crossed over chest as you wait for him to pick up your slippers in the bedroom.

the simple answer to jungkook’s question is you’re bored and in a bad mood. the more complex answer would be you came up with a one-man game you can only win if you successfully piss your boyfriend off, but you’re too scared to pull off anything that will legitimately make him upset with you.

because the last time you made him angry, it hasn’t been… that long ago. he’s been keeping a closer eye on you since then, and you’ve been trying to be good. keyword being trying. after all, you did lost his car key… at a beach three hours away from home. you searched the entire shore — retraced your steps, made your knees and palms bleed digging through the rocky sand, curled up by the waves to wallow in self-blame and the smell of salt-air defeat. you were nearly in tears as you listened to the call ring for what felt like an eternity, unsure if he already wrapped up the company meeting he mentioned to you the day before.

you still remember the desperate words you greeted him with instead of ‘hello’.

“babe, promise me you won’t be mad.”

—

“____, you didn’t even tell me you were coming here! care to explain that to me first? huh?”

your name, and not ‘baby’? heavens above have mercy; you’re fucked.

jungkook presses the heels of his palms over his eyes to alleviate the dull throbbing of his head, breathing heavily to compose himself, but he can’t disguise the frustration deeply embedded in his voice.

“you scared me!”

not yelling, but tone evidently very upset with you. somehow, that makes you feel worse.

“i had to make up an excuse infront of everyone and drive here fast. i was so worried of you being here all alone when it gets dark!”

“it’s your car so i thought i had to let you know right away. i’m sorry.” you chew at your bottom lip anxiously, eyes brimming with tears as you barely muster up the courage to observe how he’s handling this.

your heart pounds louder in your chest when he finally looks down at you, guilty and gloomy, sat on a wooden bench painted yellow. it drops to your stomach when you see the sullen expression painting his face a light shade of red.

“where did you lose it?”

you open your mouth, but no words come out. you can only manage to point at the shore with your disoriented eyes, and he traces the direction with his. the majestic orange sky where the sun descends below the horizon fails to be recognized by your foggy, distracted minds.

it’s silent for a few beats, then he huffs, breathing out a sarcastic chuckle before burying his face in hands.

“baby, please. please. are you sure you’re not pranking me right now?”

“no! do you think i’d joke like this? i really tried my best to find it!” you sniffle, roughly wiping away the lone tear that escapes your eye. you’re almost too humiliated to continue talking, volume falling a few notches above a whisper. “but the waves were getting stronger.”

he vehemently shakes his head, rendered speechless and stuttering, malfunctioning. he doesn’t think he has ever imagined this type of scenario before. “this is crazy. really… this is unbelievable… how did this even happen?”

he exhales loudly before removing his hands, revealing a calmer exterior. be that as it may, his skin is more flushed, all the way to his ears and down to his neck, where his veins have become noticeably prominent.

“i mean, what else can we do about it? i’ll request for a new one.”

“but are we just going to leave the car here?”

“did you leave anything in there?”

“i left my bag, but…” you pat the pockets of your skirt to check if your valuables didn’t meet the same fate as the car key. “i brought my phone and wallet with me.”

he nods. “then i’ll call a towing service.”

you pout.

“it’s such a bother.”

feeling exhausted after burning a concerning amount of energy in search of the missing item, you stand on wobbly feet to loop your arms around his waist.

maybe it’s to coax him into forgiving you. maybe it’s to make yourself feel better, nuzzle your face on his chest to drive away the anxiety weighing on your shoulders. but as it’s being lifted off, so is the barrier withholding your salty tears.

“i’m so careless. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i should’ve drove my car instead.”

“ye- no, that’s not…” he cuts himself off with a sigh.

he puts an arm around you, pushing his hair back and repeatedly carding his fingers through it out of habit.

“seriously, baby… you stress me out so much, do you know that? you’re always wandering around places you’re not familiar with… this is secluded. it’s dangerous. you could get hurt if you bump into the wrong people… really, i’m just relieved it’s not yourself that you lost this time!”

the recollection of old flashbacks playing in his mind like a movie reel elicits a throaty chuckle from him, low and rough, the vibrations of his chest rudely awakening the butterflies in your stomach.

“you couldn’t even send me a text. you didn’t turn on your location. i would’ve lost my fucking mind again… did you even thought of that? or is that what you wanted, huh? baby? you enjoy driving me crazy like this?”

and the confession tucked inside his scolding obliterates any coherent thoughts in your head, causing you to lose control of your whirlwind of emotions.

“this isn’t fair. you said you won’t be mad.” you wail out in response, tears fiercely leaking from your eyes akin to a rainstorm. “i didn’t know this would happen!”

he clicks his tongue, gingerly caressing your wet cheeks with his thumb, then with the rest of his fingers, and the paw of his jacket, because the streams just seem to have no plans of ceasing. his wide eyes worriedly scans your tear-stained face, heart squeezed painfully by the restrained sobs forcefully ripping themselves from your throat.

“shhh, shh. don’t cry- don’t cry. i’m not mad, i was just worried about you.”

“jungkook, you’re lying.” you whine. “don’t lie to me. i don’t like it.”

he slowly blinks at you, head hanging low as to compose his thoughts before he reconnects with your eyes. a faint smile tugs at the corners of his lips before his tongue unconsciously sweeps over them, its tip catching the silver ring piercing through his skin to play with it.

a moment of silence, thick with restlessness and anticipation, harder to breathe with the unique smell of the salt-air entering and leaving your lungs.

you feel small under his stoic gaze. you want to sit back down and cry harder.

your boyfriend is mad. your boyfriend is infuriatingly hot even when he’s disappointed in you. you need to dig a hole in the sand and live there forever. after everything, these are the only thoughts left running in your head.

“okay, fine. you lost the key of our car in the ocean, ____. but what if someone already found it by chance?” he cocks his head to the side, briefly peering at the road behind you.

he knows that it’s no use. even if he does see the white jeep wheeling by, is he supposed to assume that he can outrun it by some heaven-granted miracle?

“what then? hm…? what else can we do? i guess it could be getting stolen right now and we don’t even know. you parked so far away.”

god, please, not your favorite car.

“it’s not only the car. i still have important documents left in the compartment too.” this only dawns on him now, judging by the look of distress written on his face. he suddenly slaps his thigh, and you flinch a little. “fuck! i should’ve cleaned sooner!”

“then you are mad.” you arrive at a conclusion, chin wobbling as you sniffle. “about a lot of things.”

you resist the urge to stomp your feet. you want to throw a tantrum so bad. tell him that he shouldn’t be keeping such things in the car in the first place, that he owns a safe for fuck’s sake, but you know you can’t get away with shifting the blame because you messed up horribly in comparison.

“i get it. i’m sorry… i take full responsibility this time.”

“shit, baby.” he deeply sighs.

it becomes quiet again. he just looks at your face with knitted eyebrows, not saying anything more, and you try your best to cut off your crying, not to act conscious, but your eyes still fall on the sand. they stay there for a few beats to avoid the intensity of his gaze.

he almost sounds pained when he finally speaks. “how can i stay mad at you when you’re crying?”

he tilts up your chin, and your glassy eyes, sparkling with a new wave of tears, look at him beseechingly.

the setting sun. an eternal witness to a brand new day of humans being humans. it kisses your skin with its golden light, bathing your figure to radiate an angelic glow that drives him to consider once more that you could just be an enchanting character across dreams and the year is still 2017.

you sniffle again, brushing off his hand. sometimes you despise that jungkook brings out messiest, most unstable side of you. you know that he practically signed up for this, and he will always love you the same, love you even more. but that doesn’t take away the fact that you’re so embarrassed.

“but i’m not crying just to make you feel bad, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“yah, that wasn’t what i meant?” he frowns, eyes softening at your reply. “of course. i know that.”

the cracks in your voice, he seals with a soft kiss on your lips, tender and swollen caused by the onslaught of your sharp teeth.

“anyway, i can take care of replacing it. i mean, it’s not like it can get stolen just like that, right…?”

he sounds rather nervous convincing the both of you.

“but i’m most worried about you. i can lose everything but you.” his tattooed arm pulls you closer, casting aside the tension by leaving not even an inch of space between your bodies. he tenderly rubs your back to console you, and another kiss is granted to your temple, his soothing voice slightly muffled as his lips stay glued to you. “did i make you cry? i’m sorry, baby, i’m sorry… it’s okay. things like this can happen.”

“no, i’m sorry.” you aggressively shake your head and he carries on with wiping your cheeks, the back of his hand brushing off the tears that drip across your chin. he dries his hand on the hem of his jacket only to get it wet all over again.

“let’s just learn from this and move on. promise me that you’ll be more careful next time, okay? you can do that, right?”

jungkook does scold you every now and then, but although you stress him out, he would hate it if he’s not the first person you call when you’re in trouble. he would hate it if you act nonchalant and secretly cry when you’re hurt. but most of all, he can’t imagine a life in which you don’t make his world spin, much as he tends to get too dizzy at times.

your defiant hum makes his tense shoulders drop in disappointment.

“there should be a bus stop somewhere, i’ll just go home on my own. i don’t want to keep stressing you out.”

you will yourself to break free from his embrace, dragging yourself away to leave behind a trail of footprints in the sand, and he knows he’ll be running after you today, too.

“oh? you better stop right there!” he warns with a hand over his hip.

you become smaller and smaller in his eyes with every tick of the clock, much like how the sun is gradually getting swallowed by the ocean.

“i’ll get angry for real if you disappear from my sight. really, i’m not joking!”

angry? what a joke. you know that he’d cry blood searching for you if you get lost.

“oh? you’re really not going to stop?!”

jungkook’s voice fall on deaf ears, except that of the dog leashed to a tree that stands infront of a humble home. it seethingly barks at him from many meters away.

“fucking shit. i need alcohol.” he chuckles to himself, rubbing his tired eyes. “____, i swear, you’re getting too stubborn these days. what should i do with you?”

but you’re too far away to hear him, and so, he answers himself.

“eh, it is what it is.”

the wind blows with a quiet whistle, deadly as it fuels the roaring waves.

“AH! nuh-uh!” he exclaims, jaw dropping in alarm when he sees an urgent reason to chase after you, putting those leg days at the gym to good use.

you jump, a squeak leaving your mouth when out of nowhere, a solicitous palm smooths over your behind, sliding down to the back of your thighs to hold down your rippling skirt.

but you’re determined to be unyielding, eyes shooting daggers at jungkook. “leave me alone. i can do it myself.”

“baby, isn’t that a little rude? is that how you say ‘thank you’?”

“thank you. now let’s go our separate ways.”

and just like that, you’re walking away again.

“shit.” he curses quietly through gritted teeth, pulling at his hair. “babe, please come back… i’m sorry! i didn’t mean that!”

—

“jungkook! how many times do i need to tell you to turn off faucet properly?!”

you’re hot on jungkook’s tail as he makes his way to the laundry room beside the kitchen, carrying a laundry basket over his hip. he’s still shirtless, only clad in a different pair of shorts after a quick shower.

“the bathroom sink was close to overflowing! again!”

“i know what you’re doing.”

“what? what am i doing?”

the basket touches the ground, standing beside the dryer, and then he turns to face you, eyebrows shooting up. “picking a fight with me won’t work today.”

“why?” your tone borders on a whine.

“what do you mean ‘why’?” he laughs in jest. “why? why do you want to fight with me so bad?”

“i don’t know.” you exhale loudly, rolling your eyes and shrugging. “just because!”

“well, that’s not very convincing, is it?” he teases you with a grin, proceeding to open the dryer to dump the fresh laundry in the basket. the clothes you wore in the past week once again soaked up the sweet, floral scent the people around you distinctly recognizes to be your own and jungkook’s.

“i know, but i’m done playing now. you’re not hearing me.” you close your eyes in frustration, recounting the other times you had to say these exact words. “you’re going to flood our house.”

“okay, okay. i won’t forget to double-check it from now on. i promise.”

“sure, that’s what you also said last time.” you indignantly scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “i’m not turning it off for you anymore. if we get flooded, i’m leaving you. i’m moving out.”

your threat puts a halt to his movements for a split second before he’s adorably replying in a sing-song voice. “then i’m going with you.”

“no, you’re not.”

and it doesn’t come as a shock to you that jungkook doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.

“huh! good luck trying to stop me.” he slams the door of the dryer shut, standing up straight. “it’s not easy getting rid of me. you know that.”

he walks to the middle of the room to get a good view of you at the entrance. with the other resting on his hip, he lies his palm flat over the counter, outstretched arm cascading with varied colors of ink in sharp lines and swirling curves.

fuck, he has to know what he’s doing — flexing his muscles like that, not playing fair.

“aigoo, look at you glaring at me. you want to fight?”

and you’d feel intimidated by his challenging stare, the quirk of his eyebrow, his teeth sinking on his bottom lip… only if he didn’t blink to rake a stare over your body, lingering on your smooth legs that couldn’t be covered by your mere underwear. only if they didn’t flicker back to your face, and only if he didn’t smirk like a lovesick fool.

“so cute.” he chuckles. “you’re totally my type.”

“shut up.” you roll your eyes at the random compliment. “i know, i already get that a lot.”

his smile then fades, not so thrilled with the reminder that it’s so easy to fall in love with you, and therefore anyone would die to take his place. he knows that they hover around you like moths to a flame when he’s not there. well, he really can’t blame them, can he? you’re so fucking attractive.

“what does that mean…? who else is saying it, huh? tell me. i think i have a few guesses.”

“does it matter?” you stare at him blankly, which then turns into a piercing glare. “jungkook! i was just talking about you not paying enough attention. look at you proving me right!”

the stomp of your feet on the floor tells him that you’ve reached a level of frustration near to inducing a flood of tears.

oh, he truly got called out, huh?

“i’m sorry- i’m sorry. i admit that. i’m sorry, my love. i was just joking around. i’m listening well now.” he winces guiltily, beckoning you to be where he is. “come here then.”

“i don’t want to.” you stay rooted in your spot. “who do you think you are?”

“m-me…? i’m your boyfriend. boyfriend!” he points at himself, index finger repeatedly poking his bare chest to emphasize his point. his arm then drops to his side. his doe eyes widen as he breathes out a sigh of disbelief. “oh, i’m really getting upset now?”

you bite back a smile. the sweet taste of victory.

you can’t be the only one, can you?

“aish, i see you’re having your way again.” he chuckles, taking it upon himself to cross the distance between you. his hands find purchase on the curves of your waist, and every nerve in your body turns into a live wire. “let’s just go out today. do you want to practice boxing at the gym with me?”

didn’t he just watch you do arms day this morning? does he think you have the same stamina as him? you make a face of disapproval and shake your head.

“shall we go to a rage room again then? break more stuff?” he playfully sticks his tongue out, and you glare once more.

for the record, you loved that mug.

“boring.”

“and fighting with me is fun?”

you purse your lips into a thin line. “well, it’s not boring.”

“of course.” he laughs, softly squeezing your waist, pads of his thumbs mindlessly tracing shapes over the fabric of your top.

all of a sudden, he’s tugging you closer to envelope you in his embrace, voice slightly muffled as he sweetly talks. “are you mad at me for real? i’m sorry. sorry, sorry, sorry. sorry. i’ll really be more mindful of the things you remind me about, i swear… i don’t like fighting. it breaks my heart when you cry.”

what is this five foot ten man with bulging biceps, tattoo sleeve, and piercings doing here in the crook of your neck — affectionately nuzzling his face on your skin and telling you in a baby voice that he doesn’t like fighting?

you don’t know, but you feel good.

and his bare body is so comfortingly soft and warm.

he draws back for a kiss but his nose and lips only graze your cheek when you turn away, and you don’t see the sadness that flashes across his face.

“so what i’m hearing is… you don’t like fighting with me because i’m too sensitive? is that the truth?”

“no!” he perks up to interject without hesitation, shaking his head. “but i don’t think that’s a bad thing anyway… being sensitive.”

but you admit being a crybaby. you cry when you’re angry.

that’s when jungkook distinguishes the glint of mischief swimming in your irises. he feels dizzy after having his heart drop to his stomach.

“no. no, no.”

his mirthful grin returns, revealing his perfect set of teeth.

“ahh, i’m stressed!” he closes his eyes, throwing his head back, chest puffing up when he breathes in then out. “i knew it. no, i’m not falling for this trap!”

then he flees the room carrying the laundry basket, leaving you doubled over and covering your mouth to silence your giggles of amusement.

“i’m hanging the laundry now!”

“how dare you walk away from me?!”

“you can’t follow me!”

“i’m not.” you scoff, purposely bumping your hips against his. “i’ll vacuum the living room.”

—

“where are you going? gym?” you genuinely begin to sulk, watching your boyfriend slide into a baggy pair of bleached denim pants. “are you leaving me here?”

he avoids your inquiring eyes, ignoring you as he pulls up his zipper and does the button. you pout when he walks further away to pull out a black shirt from the clothing rack.

“is that it? are you tired of me already?”

he tosses its hanger in the basket where you discard the empty ones before wearing the final piece of clothing, covering himself fully for the first time today.

you sigh, feeling dejected. “you don’t love me anymore?”

and jungkook needs to physically restrain himself so he won’t grab your face and say ‘i love you’ over and over again until he runs out of breath.

you leave the closet to follow him to the bedroom, where he sits on the edge of the mattress to put on his socks.

you stand by him, patience quickly running thin. “hello?”

he brushes away the non-existent dirt on the left sock before switching his legs to put on the right one.

“did i turn invisible?”

your eyebrows furrow in disappointment. this isn’t how fighting works. you need a reaction at the very least.

you tug at the sleeve of his shirt, starting to get annoyed, already planning your exit if he continues this act. “you’re hurting my feelings. you’re not even going to look at me?”

he mumbles, and you almost fail to piece his phrase together. “can’t, you’re too pretty.”

his big brown eyes faintly glimmer with hope when he looks up at you, puckering his rose-tinted lips and making kissing sounds.

your sweet and clingy boyfriend, he’s making this too difficult.

a tsunami of affection washes over you, and it becomes impossible for you not to crack at his cheekiness then. “jungkook, you’re impossible!”

atleast he tried to shoot his shot.

“tsk, see? i thought so!” he grumbles, snapping the elastic band on his ankle. “just want one kiss.”

he disappears into the closet again.

he returns not a minute later, unceremoniously placing a white bucket hat on your head before tugging it down to obstruct your vision.

“hey!”

you hastily take it off, scowling at your laughing boyfriend who turns out to be already wearing a black bucket hat of his own.

“you’re bored, aren’t you? let’s go out, have some sun.”

“no.”

you reply exactly as your boyfriend predicted you would.

jungkook captures your wrist to slip his credit card on your palm, folding your fingers over it, but they aren’t enough to hide the black rectangular thing you can use to buy the world with if you wanted to. your amusement spills out as giggles, brighter as he pushes your hand to your chest so you have no other choice but to accept it.

he scrunches his nose, face only inches away from yours as he persuades you with his natural charm. “what if we go shopping, hmm?”

“thanks babe, but i can’t think of anything i want right now.” you sniffle with teary eyes, flipping the card and holding it between your longest fingers as muscle memory takes control.

“then just keep it incase you see something you want.”

he kneels on the floor out of the blue, and you eye him curiously, your fingers automatically tangling with his silky locks before making a loose fist.

“here, put some pants on. hurry-” he presents your pair of faded gray cargo pants.

you tug at his hair lightly, which prompts him to lift his head. you scrunch your nose cutely, giggling. “i’m spoiled.”

“ey, so what if you are?” he brushes off your observation with his satoori accent, blithe tone listing down reasons. “i love you. i worked hard so i can do these things for you. we moved in together so we can take care of each other.”

and you want to cry. you truly do. your face began to feel warm after he said that he loves you, but the tears never make it past your lash line when his big palm lands a loud smack on your ass, skin-to skin.

“but i do think that you are a brat. does that count for something?”

it catches you by surprise, and a scandalized gasp escapes your mouth as you feel the sting spreading across your skin.

“shut up! give that to me.” you roll your eyes, stealing the pants from his grasp.

“see, that’s what i’m talking about.” he chuckles lightheartedly. “get dressed then.”

his fingers dig in the soft flesh of your thighs when he pulls you closer to kiss the tiny little ribbon on your underwear, heart-shaped lips pressed to you so firmly you can trace their outline bleeding through the thin fabric and onto your skin. “mmm-mwah!”

and then you feel them there next, where it still hurts, a softer kiss in comparison to soothe the sting he left behind.

your heart is beating so loud you can feel it in your throat, feeble knees nearly giving away to crash and break.

who does that so casually? who the hell does that?

oh, right… jungkook. of course.

you raise the white flag today.

perhaps he will flood the apartment tomorrow, and you can stay angry longer then.

—

“what’s taking him so long?” you mutter absentmindedly to yourself, lost eyes scanning the park in hopes of getting a glimpse of your boyfriend and his classic jungkook outfit, but he’s still nowhere to be seen.

your sour mood makes a reappearance.

to your credit, taking you out and then asking you to wait here without telling you where he’s going is rude, and you’re lonely and jealous of the couples around you having a picnic. not to mention that the clouds have uncovered the sun and you’re burning.

this scene also leads your brain to wander to those cliche flashbacks in a film or a show where a parent lies to their child that they’ll come back, and then they doesn’t. it’s always, always at some sort of park.

oh, for fuck’s sake, why are you wasting your time giving this a lot of thought?

too bored and antsy to sit still, you finally decide to text jungkook.

to: my baby love

i'm gonna look for food. do you want anything?

orrr is that what you're away buying 😥

WHERE ARE YOU

why didn't you just take me with youuuu

please me lonely :(

[sent 1 photo]

a black cat !! is sleeping on my shoes!! 😭

i miss you :(

are you almost done

i hate u

whatever i'm going. call if you still remember that you're someone's bf i guess.

—

jungkook crosses the street like an excited puppy, long pretty hair bouncing as he practically skips his way to the area where he left you to wait.

only to be greeted by a complete stranger.

his radiant beam fades into a hue of confusion.

the bench is now occupied by a woman chugging an energy drink after running laps around the park.

they lock eyes for a split second. he averts his befuddled stare to pretend that nothing happened, walking past her with a bouquet of sunflowers until he settles down two benches away.

he wears his bucket hat again only for him to throw it aside with a sigh, messing with his hair to release his frustration. of course you left. he can only snort to himself while he reads the last message you sent. you’re so cute. he knows you’ve never been keen on having to wait, but he didn’t expect himself to take so long either.

not wanting you to be upset with him another second longer, he instantly decides to call you.

his forehead creases when his phone vibrates, informing him that he typed an incorrect password. he tries again, slow and deliberate, only for the same thing to happen, and he begins to feel nervous.

what the fuck?

okay, calm down, JK. one more time.

he freezes as the same words flash on the screen. his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek as he feels the irritation bubbling up inside of him.

“why is it like this…? what’s your problem? what am i touching wrong?”

—

you return to the park more carefree than before. since jungkook is god knows where, you decided to have a picnic on your own. you had to buy a new picnic blanket, though. you can’t get the one in the car because he has the key. but just to be petty, you hope that he figured it out from the text notifications he got when you used his card.

oh, there he is looking angrily at his phone.

you halt on your tracks, instantly pulling the brakes on your feet when you recognize your boyfriend from your peripheral vision. you slowly chew the remaining tteokbokki in your mouth.

he’s holding his phone… and he hasn’t called you yet?

“wow, did you seriously forgot about me?”

upon hearing your familiar voice, jungkook’s features soften, not having to squint at the sunlight either because you’ve kindly blocked it with your back.

“where did you even go? i didn’t see you!”

the password-protected device that’s been giving him a headache for the past ten minutes is abandoned in the depths of his pocket.

“baby,” he utters airily as he stands on his feet, reaching out to hold your forearm. “i’m sorry. i took so long, didn’t i…? i went to buy you flowers but they didn’t have tulips anywhere. anywhere. every shop said someone bought all of them!”

he scratches his head with a sheepish grin, revealing the bouquet he’s been concealing behind him.

“i got you sunflowers instead… they-” he points at them, eyes flickering on the bundle of yellow flowers he’s offering as a gift. “they’re not bad. i think they’re pretty too. you like them too, right?”

sunflowers are pretty. after all, it used to be your favorite in middle school, mostly because it’s the first flower you received from an admirer… it was for your birthday and you felt like you died when it withered, heavily on-brand for a young heart drawn to romance. excluding that, everything has changed. it’s a typical saturday and beads of sweat have formed on your lover’s forehead after running around under the sun. you think you can keep them alive longer this time around.

“i like you the most.”

and then he receives his gift in return, that particularly sweet smile of yours he only sees when you’re so giddy.

his heart flutters wildly at your following actions.

“kiss.” you adorably demand, copying his pout earlier when he was asking for a kiss.

but unlike you who left his wish ungranted, he crosses the distance to plant a kiss on your lips. he pulls away a mere three inches, muttering to confront you. “but i thought you hated me?”

“who said that? that wasn’t me.” you feign ignorance, eyes so wide as to mimic being confused. you carefully take the flowers into your embrace, subtly exchanging it with the paper bowl you’re holding. “thank you, baby… here, do you want tteokbokki?”

he goes for the fish cake first, poking it with the stick and popping it in his mouth. you find yourself too absorbed in admiring the sunflowers one by one to sense your boyfriend staring at you, thinking to himself, you’re always worth the effort and this overpriced tteokbokki is pretty damn good.

“i turned on my location like i promised i would. did you see?” you mention without looking at him, acting laidback, still too shy when anything related to the incident is brought up.

he awkwardly smiles. no, he didn’t, unfortunately. he’s still fucking locked out of his phone.

you whimper when he pinches your cheek. “good job, baby.”

—

jungkook removes his head on your stomach to lie down beside you on the red picnic blanket. his hair touches his face and he tucks them behind his ears for the millionth time today.

“will you type my password for me?”

you take his phone without question, putting yours over your chest for the meantime. you successfully unlock it within a second, experienced fingers nimble after years of typing on the daily.

“here.” you hold it out for him without looking, picking up your own phone to continue scrolling through trending topics. however, seconds pass and the heavy weight on your hand has yet to be eased, so you wiggle it to catch his attention. “hey, it’s done.”

he gasps, gaping at you in bewilderment. “how did you do that?”

“you changed it again last night, remember? because i told you our anniversary isn’t a good idea.”

shit, right. he added a new one to the list of passwords that he uses for everything. he totally forgot about that. you’ve taken over every working brain cell that he has in his body.

“baby, this is your fault!” he groans, finally snatching away his phone. “ah- i wanted to throw it away. i didn’t know what was wrong with it. i was seriously so close to crying!”

that bad? was he about to get all his data wiped out? your poor baby. you laugh out loud at his reaction, belly aching as you roll over to wrap your arm around his waist and bury your face on his side.

“anyone can guess it if they try hard enough.”

“but that was the trick, you know? they’d think it’s too easy. they wouldn’t even consider it!”

“that doesn’t mean they won’t try it!”

“ah, i don’t care. i’m changing it back.” he stubbornly pouts, falling back on the blanket.

you want to cuddle. he feels a tug on the sleeve of his shirt and he immediately understands. he allows you to use his tattooed arm as a pillow. it envelopes you entirely when he reaches for his phone to type with both hands, and you automatically snuggle with him closer by resting your head on his chest.

“fine. do what you want, you dummy. you better not leave your phone lying around.” you mutter, heavy eyelids fluttering shut as the wind blows to softly caress your face. “and don’t take more pictures of me sleeping.”

“you’re sleeping? i thought we’re going to the mall.”

“we are. i’m letting you rest before you carry shopping bags.”

“ah- wow. thanks, baby.”

you don’t how much time passes, a minute or ten or more, but falling into a deep sleep proves to be impossible with the cacophony of sounds you’re surrounded with. you’re resting somewhere away from the crowd, but there’s still the hiphop music from a bluetooth speaker, honking of vehicles… and the main culprit, jeon jungkook scrolling through tiktok on your phone and bookmarking videos for you to watch later on. you can hear his giggles louder than his heartbeat, feel them make his body vibrate throughout.

so, you give up. you open your blurry eyes with a tired sigh, blinking to readjust to the brightness. he feels your movements, your nose brushing against his neck, and he squeezes you to his side, dutifully stroking your head to remind you that you’re safe despite being in a public place because you’re with him. you kiss his cheek to show your appreciation.

you end up harmonizing with his giggles when you do decide to join him, nearly tearing up at the sight of a cat riding a motorcycle toy on the screen. a little while later, your fascination is then stolen by fiddling with his tattooed hand — tracing the veins, the lines, the tattoos; pressing the faded heart like it’s a button connected to the beating one in his ribcage; grazing the rough areas of his palm calloused by lifting heavy weights.

and as you do so, you mull over the house by the sea you’re saving up for. how much longer will it take? should you check out more locations? do you tell jungkook? that it’s your back-up plan, a place where no one knows your name, just like how this city once was. it’s where you would run to, where you would build a new life if the time comes that this one falls apart, too. if not, if not, if not, would it be so bad to wake up beside you with an ocean view when he’s sixty?

fuck, you don’t know anymore. it shouldn’t be this hard— not anticipating the worst, but still being prepared for it. you despise being an adult.

you do it absentmindedly, taking off one of your silver rings and slipping it into each of his fingers to see where it would fit best… he knows you’re only entertaining yourself, but feeling it in his ring finger still puts a lump in his throat.

“are you proposing to me?”

“this is your right hand, silly.” you tease your stunned boyfriend, sticking your tongue out. “if you want me, come and get me.”

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask/dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

#jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook drabble #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #jungkook one shot #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #bts fluff #bts reaction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut

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ceilidho · 4 months

Text

take me home, country road

[ao3]

prompt: 1800s price/reader…. reader flees to his town where Price is the sheriff after a murder in her previous town only to be mistaken for the mail order bride that Price just sent for ….and he’s not interested in hearing any of her excuses when she tells him that he’s got the wrong girl (part 5) part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

As it happens, the sun does rise the next day.

You wake up gummy-mouthed, brow furrowing before your eyes even open. Sunlight filters in through the curtains, diaphanous and left open from the night before. Warmer than usual. It draws you back into its arms for a brief moment, ensconced in its warmth, bathed in the fuzzy in-between of wake and sleep.

Memories trickle in slowly at first. It comes piecemeal; your first thoughts, a shallow pool that ripples when you dip your hands in, memories of the day previous scattering until you wait for them to come back together. You open your eyes to the window opposite you again. When you blink, it doesn’t fade like a dream. Your lips purse unconsciously because the truth is that you can’t recall ever sleeping in a room with a window. Or in a bed as comfortable as the one you’re in.

An arm around your waist pulls you in tight.

Your stomach swoops when you register the body behind you, a bracket of warmth at your back. Your immediate instinct is to kick away, go flailing off the edge of the bed and frantically search for the nearest object to brandish at the man in your bed. Then a hand runs up from your belly to cup your breast and your thoughts fizzle out again. His hand closes around the flesh and holds there, slotting your nipple between two thick fingers. Even with the fabric of your shift separating his hand from your skin, the feeling is electrifying.

He grumbles against the back of your head and the sound reverberates through you. A full body shudder. Mildly peeved that your neck breaks out in a sweat. The sound is familiar though, as is the way he chuffs in his sleep, a brief expelling of air that glides over the naked skin of your neck.

Something about his touch makes it click. You remember the glimmer of his badge and the rattle of the belt around his waist. The memory of his touch is bone deep; you’ve known John Price for less than two days, but you’ve felt almost every part of him by now.

His legs tangle with yours under the sheets, a big thigh slotted through yours, giving you a perch to sit on. The two of you completely intertwined. You don’t remember falling asleep wrapped around him; maybe the slightest cuddle before rolling away to the edge of the bed.

When the hand on your breast squeezes, you inhale sharply. Loud. It echoes in the small room, the only sound apart from Price’s slow, even breaths. Part of you aches to move his hand. Again, he touches you where no one’s touched you before. You count your blessings that the sound of your gasp hardly makes him stir, sure that if Price were to wake up now, he’d never let you live down the way your nipples bead at his touch.

As if your traitorous body answers to you these days. Your skin heats and sweats without your approval, heart always at a gallop when the man now known as your husband lingers close to you or sets a hand on your waist. Maybe in time it’ll become easier to withstand his touch, but the thought of lingering in his house even a week longer puts you on edge.

It feels more like a curse than a blessing when his hand slowly draws back down the length of your chest. Panic sets in the moment his hand twitches, worried that Price might have woken up, but he breathes the same. Even, deep. He’s touchy in his sleep, always looking for some part of you to hold. You relax for a moment when his hand lingers on your belly. The weight is almost comforting, in a sense. Tender.

Then, it dips farther down.

“John—John—” you whisper frantically, voice far too thin to pierce through the veil of sleep still shrouding him, trying to push his hand back up to no avail. He grunts in his sleep, curling around you.

The hand on your belly sinks between your legs. It bunches up your shift, dragging the fabric of your nightdress between your legs. Your heart thunders in your chest.

He cups your sex roughly, a firm hold that doesn’t budge when you try to squirm away. You’ve felt those fingers on your backside and curled around your wrist and threaded between your fingers, but between your thighs his palm feels wide. A man’s hand. The texture of his calloused fingers is dulled through the fabric of your shift, but you swear you can feel its heat.

He rocks the palm of his hand into your sex, the heel rubbing up into the apex of your thighs, making your whimpers go feathery and frail. You nearly bite clean through your bottom lip trying to stave off the moan crawling up your throat. His fingers rub at your hole through the gusset of your underwear and shift, the tip pushing just barely inside.

A fevered, aching hotness spreads in your belly when his fingers sink in just the slightest bit. You can feel how sopping wet the fabric is, where he uses your own slickness to push inside.

John practically growls when you finally cave and press your hand over his, tilting his hand just enough to grind the heel of his palm against your pearl. The shame is almost unbearable, so desperate for pleasure that you’d use a man in his sleep to reach your end. Hardly your heaviest sin, but it sinks into you anyway, another feather on the scale. Still, you choke back a suffering gasp and press down harder into his hand.

Pleasure suffuses through you when he grinds his palm just right. First, utter relief, the tension draining from between your shoulder blades and dripping onto the bed under you. Then, burning hotter than before, chewing your lip to keep quiet, terrified that you might wake John. Terrified that he might not, might keep you hovering over the edge with your feet kicking out.

You’ve played at touching yourself before, but never with a firm, steady hand. Never without the aftertaste of guilt. It whispers in the back of your mind even now, a thorny prick, but then it whispers something else. It’s not sinful if he’s your husband, mumbled deliciously into the whorl of your ear, in John’s voice somehow. A husband doesn’t ask forgiveness for spreading his wife’s thighs open. He takes what’s his.

John ruts against your bottom, huffing into your neck when you bite off a wail and breathe out heavier instead. The heavy shaft between his legs that you’d gotten a glimpse of the night before presses into the curve of your backside to nearly the small of your back. Thicker, hard as it is; you can only imagine how it’d feel to have that inside of you, to have him lay you flat on your back and bury his length into you.

His hand tightens over your mound, gripping harder than before. Two fingers nudging at your entrance break you. It sends you down the side of a waterfall, frantically trying to swim your way back before plummeting down into the frothy depths, directionless in the water until you surface.

John spills inside his trousers against your back. You feel it when he grunts and jerks against your backside one last time.

You lie there, basking in the aftermath while the sun warms up the room. It’ll be at least an hour before the heat truly sets in. For now, it’s a gentle warmth. John’s hand is a loose hold between your legs now, petting your sex softly in his sleep. You feel your guilt just on the periphery, waiting with bated breath for you to come back down to earth.

You feel John shift behind you and then a kiss is pressed into the crown of your head. Every inch of your body stills.

“Morning, darlin’,” your husband croons, the smile thick in his voice. “That was a nice way to start the day.”

You’ve felt embarrassment before. You’ve felt shame, humiliation, horror, terror, guilt, and a medley of other sentiments that are part and parcel of living at the behest of others. So it’s not embarrassment that leaves you lying frozen in bed while John climbs out of the other side of the bed, but perhaps its cousin.

It weighs on you so heavily that you can hardly even bring yourself to twist your head towards him.

“You were—” your voice is brittle-thin when you speak “—awake?”

He divests his nightwear with ease, pulling out a new day’s pants and shirt from the chest of drawers and then rounding the bed to take a knee by your side and cup your cheek. Not the same hand, you think wildly, staring at him wide eyed, still lying on your side. Frozen there. Tempted to say something else until he leans forward to press a firm kiss to your forehead.

“I’m an early riser,” he says, a warm smile spreading across his face. He’s got a lovely smile, you think in a daze.

He leaves you alone in the room, whistling on his way down the stairs. They creak one-by-one under his weight. When you finally sit up in the bed, you can vaguely hear him rummaging around in the kitchen. A pot clanging against a counter before the sound of the screen door shutting behind him. He must’ve gone to the well to fetch water.

It takes an age for you to find the strength to get up out of bed. There’s still a wet spot on the front of your shift that makes you blink when it brushes against your legs. Then heat up like a roast duck. You’re tempted to change into your daywear and maybe bury the shift somewhere out back where you never have to acknowledge it ever again, but when you look over at the chest of drawers, all you can think of is John dropping trou just a moment ago.

Your stomach aches all over again.

You limp hot-cheeked down the stairs to the kitchen for breakfast. The smell of fresh brewed coffee wafts from down the hall. You take a peek out the front window before joining him. Still hesitant, embarrassed like you’ve been caught. And you have been, you know. Caught and reeled in. Dragged to a courthouse and married to a man who hasn’t yet called you anything other than darling and honey. You wonder if he even remembers your name—or, your supposed name.

Beyond the dirt trampled horse pen, a thick blanket of wild grass sways gently in the morning breeze, dotted with white wildflowers. Hardly a cloud in the sky today. Bluer than the bluest sea. This early, the sun only glints in the eye, a spectral everywhereness about it. In the noontime, it’ll hover overhead and glare down balefully, a sweltering curse.

In the kitchen, John pours coffee into two cups. Rich stuff, not the bitter sludge served on the train or the watery cocoa that your aunt used to make to carry you through the brutal east coast winter months. You get a whiff of chicory.

It must amuse him to hear you hovering in the doorway before creeping tentatively into the kitchen because he looks up with a little smile. You keep shame as a periapt around your neck these days, it seems; it must jingle when you walk.

“Good morning,” John says.

“You know—I didn’t know you were awake,” you blurt out, fists clenched at your sides.

His eyes twinkle. “I caught on to that when you froze like a mouse.”

The comparison makes your lips twitch. “You should’ve told me that you were awake.” You don’t have any right to scold him. Even as the words come out of your mouth, you know how foolish they sound and what they say about you. Little harlot that chases her pleasure with her sleeping husband’s hand.

“Told you?”

“It’s only polite.”

“Polite.” There’s a teasing note in his voice that ruffles your feathers.

“It’s only right.”

“Well then. Want me to wake you up the right way next time?” he asks instead, leaning back against the countertop.

You frown. “The right way?”

He holds out a hand, beckoning you to him. You go, but with a stumbling step, nearly tripping into him when you take his hand. Without the barrier of your shift, you can feel the calluses on his hand when your fingers run over his palm. A shiver races down your spine. He reels you into his chest and holds you in place with a hand on your low back, pulling you so close to him that you’re practically leaning against him, as tangled as you were upstairs in the bed.

John lets go of your hand to tip your chin up. “Barely got my hand wet, darling. Next time, I’m gonna pull that little shift up around your waist…wake you up nice and easy with my mouth. Drown out that voice in your head giving you a million and one reasons to leave. Yes, I can—” he huffs a laugh when you squirm in his arms, held steadfast to his chest “—I can tell you’re not yet settled. Maybe itching to run even, take the next train out. Go back to your old ways. But I said I’d make it good, darling, and I will. You just wait for tomorrow and the next day and the day after that. I’ll make it good enough to give you a reason to stay.”

Your mouth is dry when you rasp, “Your mouth?”

“Every morning,” he promises, sun-sweet. “I’ll make it so you don’t have a care in the world apart from when you’ll come next.”

Flustered doesn’t even begin to cover it. His words make your stomach pull in taut, leave you a threadbare, panting mess. Like a new language, spoken in stuttered breaks when you repeat it back in your head; the words somehow sutured together into a phrase that you know you’ve dreamt and forgotten.

In the wispy daylight hours, it’s hard to see where the edges of you diverge from his. You’re still back in the bed upstairs with your legs tangled in his and his arms pulling you in close, the burr of his beard scratching the back of your neck. Touching the dark hair of his forearms, the groves of the muscles there, the softness of skin giving way to the hard musculature underneath.

And then he dips his head for a morning kiss, his rough whiskers against your lips breaking the spell.

“You haven’t brushed your teeth,” you complain, face puckered up at the stale taste of his mouth. When he smiles against your mouth, you can feel his beard drag up your skin the slightest bit. He draws back.

“Well, guess I oughta wash up. Think you can start breakfast ‘till I get back?”

Cooking you can handle. You coat the pan with a lump of butter that melts over the iron. Two eggs cracked and sizzling in the butter. When he comes back, John cuts thick slices of bread that you heat in the pan with the eggs, the butter making the bread golden crisp. And it’s quiet. It’s quiet and there are birds twittering outside in the trees, chickadees and red-winged blackbirds.

“Do you have any fruit?” you ask. More of a mumble.

He hums. “Canned peaches in the pantry. Jam too.”

The pantry’s well stocked. Jams and jellies, cured and salted meats stored away in jars. Cornmeal and other grains. Pickled and canned vegetables. It’s the fruit you’re after though—the preserved peaches with the gingham fabric nestled under the sealed lid. Thick, juicy slices that come out of the jar coated in their own syrup that spreads out on the plate and touches the edge of your toast, softening the hard crust.

You sit across from him to eat. Breakfast is a quiet affair interrupted only by your eyes flickering up to his face with each bite. Interrupted only by your skittering heartbeat. It’s hard not to be drawn to him, tempted to sneak a glance. Though dressed in his daywear, the edges of sleep still cling to him faintly, in the lines around his eyes and the folds of his forehead. You catch your eyes caressing those spots with a tenderness that makes your heart flare red for a moment, troubled. Like a red hot iron glowing at its hottest point.

There’s no denying that you’d like to stay the course. Perhaps just out of curiosity.

You’re ruled by your history though. Again, you look over at him, watching him silently and wondering what it must be like to live without that pressed upon you. To not be fixed like a violet between parchment paper. You’ll leave eventually, you know; when the moment presents itself. Even now, though he stares down at his plate, contemplating something that he doesn’t vocalize, you know that he’s aware of your every move. If you should so much as twitch, he’d know.

A day or two won’t matter, you hope at least; there’s always a chance that your name might come across his desk, but there’s little chance at this moment that he’ll link it back to you, not thinking of you as his wife of another name that he refuses to say. It sits in his mouth like chaw. What you can’t wait out are the men surely following your scent, dogs with their noses to the dirt, sniffing you out.

There will be a moment when his attention shifts. You just have to wait him out.

The next train out, you think, scrapping butter onto your toast, picking at the crust with nervous fingers. You set a peach slice on top to make the perfect bite, bashfulness sinking back when you have to brush the crumbs from the corners of your mouth. Good etiquette finds you wanting here, sitting at the breakfast table in your thin shift with nipples pebbling in the cool air, crumbs all over your face.

John reaches across to drag his thumb just under your bottom lip, wiping up a drop of syrup. “Messy girl.”

The hammer comes down on the iron again, liquid metal poured back into the crucible. Swallow with a dry mouth. You just have to wait him out.

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #captain price #price x reader #price x you #john price x reader #price/reader #captain john price

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johnpriceslamb · 5 months

Text

𝐌𝐀𝐘 𝐈 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐓 𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐀𝐏?

❛ you ask the Van Der Linde boys if you could sit on their lap. ❜

BEFORE YOU PROCEED! ┊female ! reader . afab ! reader . reader is physically shorter than chars mentioned below . suggestive themes implied . wrds . not edited . not proof-read . Javier ver touchy . google translated Spanish . John is very drunk . 1.4k wrd-count

𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐍

You want to what?

You tinker your lashes multiple times innocently at his flabbergasted expression, unconsciously tilting your head at his dramatic approach. From your tone alone meant nothing but the most purest intentions, he knew well you mean no harm. But hearing those words made his cheeks burn a tad bit brighter.

“May I please— “No, no, I heard ya the first time- I just..” He abruptly cuts you. He narrows his eyes at you, sizing you up head-to-toe just to see if you were in a playful manner. You weren’t.

He grumbles softly, contemplating. He scratches behind his neck for a bit before a deep sigh escapes his mouth and he leans back on the wooden chair he sat upon.

“C’mere.”

He beckons you to come closer with two fingers lazily waving in the air. Immediately do you obey his simple commands like a lost pup, hands clasped prettily in-front of your chest as you easily plop yourself on his lap. Your back almost hits his chest, akin to a literal brick wall from all of the labour work he’s done. Unconsciously does his large hands come to your hips, positioning them slightly just so you’d be a tad bit more comfortable.

It’s easy to tilt your head upwards to see his face, the prickles of hair sticking out on his chin is the most prominent thing from your view. He feels your stare almost immediately and looks down at your beady eyes. He has to stop himself from grinning at your unawareness.

The cowpoke could only narrow his eyes at the soft giggle you produced from your mouth, a hand resting on your hip, “What?”

You look away with a tiny smile, “Nuthin’.”

He lets out another deep sigh, before pinching your cheek.

𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍

The bottle of beer in his hand almost slips to the ground after hearing your simple question.

He raises a hand to scratch at the stubble on his jaw, mindful to be aware of the deep claw-marks embedded on his skin. The bottle was placed on the table with a clumsy clatter, back supported by the edge of the table.

“..Watchu say?” He squints his dark eyes at you. He must’ve drunk too much, perhaps he heard you wrong. His tone was always raspy yet so demeaning playful even. You took it as if he didn’t want you to, and you shrink meekly.

You stutter shyly, “I’ll just go ask someone else—

He felt his guts squeeze and churn at the sight of you sitting on someone else’s lap. All sense of proper etiquette is thrown away from jealousy and alcoholic behaviour, his hand is very quick to grabbing yours as he roughly pulls you back. A tiny squeal escapes your lap as you clumsily fall on his chest and onto his hard thighs.

Your hands are clinging onto his opened top to balance yourself, the smirk on his face visible as he sees how shy you suddenly became.

The strong scent of alcohol makes your nose scrunch up. He rests his chin on the crook of your neck, stubble lightly tickling your sensitive skin. After a few minutes of making yourself comfy on his lap and finally staying still, his hand comes to grab his bottle to take another chug.

“John,” You almost whine at the way he unconsciously starts to bounce his knee up and down. A habit he’s not prone to ever since he started drinking. It was almost like he forgot you were sitting on his lap after a few minutes. Immediately does he stop his movement, a low slurr of babbles and a soft hiccup escapes his lips, “Whoops— sorry ‘bout that, sweetheart.”

Suddenly, he cheekily stares down at you.

“Y’know,” He hics.

“Yer behind feels kinda good on my-

“John.”

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐇

He’s a bit clueless at first, bless his heart.

He’s busy carving a small piece of wood with his knife, hunched over as his long hair falls, covering the sides of his face almost elegantly. He wasn’t bothered to tie his hair back, nor raise a finger to place it behind his ear. He stops re-shaping the small piece of wood as he hears a soft patter of footsteps from in-front.

“Hm?” He hums, his guard lowers significantly once realising it was you. The knife is lowered too, and the items were placed afar so it does not distract you nor come in your way.

“May I please sit on your lap?” You ask with those big beady eyes of yours, hands behind your back as your tone is light and sweet.

Of course, silence is ensured for a few seconds. His brooding figure straightens up from his spot. He quirks a dark, angular brow at your much smaller figure.

“Why?” He asks with a straight face.

Your cheeks burn, and your expression was alike of a kicked pup. He catches on quickly, and he immediately feels bad for seeming so nonchalant and blunt.

“U-Um.. I just, I wanted to.. N-nevermind. Sorry.” You shyly stammer, akin to a doe whom tries to stand up for the first time.

He easily suppresses the smile which almost etched onto his face at your stuttering. Cute.

“I didn’t say no, y’know.” He gestures you to come over with a simple pat on his thigh. You beam, eagerly toddling to him like a tiny tot wanting to get her stuffies. You sit yourself on his thighs, shoes quite literally lifting off of the ground because of how big he was. Even if he sat down, he still always towered over you.

He allows you to wiggle a bit on his lap, but a hand comes down to rest on your knee to squeeze it a bit as a gentle warning to not go any higher. You do obey, of course. Your back is to his chest, your hands positioned on your lap as you almost melt at how warm he was.

“Comfortable?” At each word he uttered to you, it was more toned down in pitch, a low hum always started. You nod lazily, a smile of satisfaction of how comfy he felt underneath. You don’t mind the way he snakes his arms around your waist. “Good.”

𝐉𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐔𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀

You regret asking.

Simply put, he’s handsy.

The smirk on his face is very visible. The log he rests upon feels even more smaller as he slowly starts to manspread right in front of you. The guitar in his hand is placed gently just to the side before he beckons you to come forth. You reluctantly sit on his lap, almost squirming at how close he was.

A hand on your hip, another squish to your thigh, a soft roll from his hip teasingly upwards, a touch here, a touch there..

“Javier!” You whine, swatting his hand off your curves. He could only teasingly grin, before shrugging. “..Tu pediste esto.” His voice serenades.

You try to swat his hands off again, but merely give up, knowing he won’t stop any time soon. You lay your cheek on his chest, lithe arms wrapped around his waist as your back arches a tad bit from not supporting your structure. His hands are on the small of your back, rubbing small circles on the softness of your clothed skin.

The embers from the mini camp-fire is light and descends off in the dark night, crackles of the wood calms your nerves down just a bit. He does tone his touch down just a tad bit for your sake, despite wanting to desperately grab at.. literally anything. He’s had ladies before, but by far was he the neediest when it came to you.

You can’t help but take a small peak from above, wispy lashes coming to tinker a bit when he tilts his gaze to fixate on you. A small smile on his face, as he greedily eats up all of the touch you gave to him.

“..hi.” You quietly mumble, a bit muffled because of the fact that half of your face is mushed against the fabrics of his clothes. A fox-like grin etches on his tan face as he presses a tiny kiss on your forehead, entertaining you by replying with a simple “hola.”

“You’re really clingy- and touchy. I hope you know that.” You grumble when his hand comes to cup your curves again.

He smiles lazily. “I know.”

#fem! reader #rdr2 x you #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #afab! reader #arthur morgan x fem! reader #charles smith x reader #charles smith #javier escuella x reader #john marston x reader #javier escuella #john marston #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 john #red dead redemption fanfic #red dead redemption 2

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sparklingchim · 6 months

Note

lwh oc distracting jungkook while he’s working out or boxing 😋😗😉

word count: 1.1k

warnings: jelly n possessive koo 😋, spit !!, blowjob, titty fuck, dirty talk, boob-obsessed jk obv, cum play, cum eating, the initial necklace makes a comback !

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

"20 minutes ago, you said you'd be done in five minutes."

Your huffed complaint barely reaches Jungkook's ears as he continues to throw punches at the heavy bag in front of him.

You're sitting cross-legged next to him, pulling at his shorts to pull his attention towards you.

"Just five more minutes, baby." He casts a quick glance at you before focusing on his training again.

"I'm boored."

Your fingers trail to his drawstrings. You pull at them without Jungkook noticing. His black Calvin's peek out and your inital idea to just annoy him morphs into something more impish.

Your fingertips slowly brush over the front of his joggers.

Jungkook’s little grunts from above come to a halt when he peers down at you, brows pulled together in confusion. He tilts his head to the side when you meet his gaze with a mischievous smile.

“Baby.” Jungkook’s chest rises with every heavy breath, his skin shimmering with sweat. “What are you doing?”

“Relax for a bit, Koo,” you say softly. Hand cupping him through the fabric. “This is only making you angrier.” Batting your eyelashes you ask, “What’s got you so mad, hm?”

“Nothin’,” he mumbles, eyes closed as you squeeze him.

You can’t shake the feeling that Jungkook is still holding onto some tension from last night’s Christmas gathering. While having dinner with friends and hitting up a bar, you couldn’t ignore Jungkook’s upset pout on his face, the lingering glances with his doe eyes and his subtly possessive hands always reaching for you.

And all that just because he was jealous of Taehyung. It’s been ages since you last saw Taehyung, your former high school boyfriend, and there was a lot to catch up on. Jungkook pretended it didn’t bother him, but his façade crumbled easily – just like now, with his tense jaw and clenched hands in white wraps, still staunchly denying any reason for his anger.

“I’m a much better distraction than punching a stupid bag, don’t you think?” You pull his joggers and briefs down in one motion and crawl on your knees in front of him. Your mouth closes around his tip and Jungkook shudders.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “You sure no one will come here?” you ask, stroking his cock with your hand.

“It’s been closed for hours.” Jungkook gathers your hair in his fist. “I wouldn’t let anyone see you like this. But we can go to the office if you don’t feel comfortable here.”

“I’m fine,” you mutter around his cock. You take him deeper into your mouth, swirling your tongue around his hard dick. Your eyes sting with tears when his tip reaches the back of your throat. Jungkook curses, holding your head in that position.

“So cute,” he mutters. His thumb brushes over the little tear in the corner of your eye. He moves his hips back a little before he pushes his cock further down your throat again. “Damn, baby. Taking my cock so well.”

You heave for air once he’s all the way out, hands unconsciously squeezing his muscular thighs. Jungkook strokes his cock in leisurely movements. You dip your head and gently suck on his balls. His head falls back, plush mouth parted to utter soft moans.

You feel Jungkook tugging on your pullover. “Lemme see your tits,” he urges.

Your tongue sweeps from his balls across his cock till you give him a little kiss on the tip. A lovestruck smile settles on his face, growing even bigger when he sees your naked tits.

He bends forward to squeeze the supple flesh in his hands, rolling them around in his palms. His tongue pokes his cheek, a hungry look creeping into his eyes.

“Wanna fuck them,” he says.

“Yeah?” You bite your lip, raising a little on your knees.

Jungkook spits down on his cock, rubbing it all over himself. He teases your puckered nipples with his tip, pulling a couple whines from you. You let a droplet of spit trail down on the valley between your tits and he catches it with his cock, rubbing spreading the bit of lubrication on your skin.

You press your boobs against his cock. A shaky breath slips Jungkook’s mouth and moves his hips in needy motions.

“Fuck, I love fucking your tits,” he rasps. His eyes travel over the dainty necklace around your throat, a sparkly J moving along his thrusts. “All mine.” He cups your face, tracing your bottom lip with his thumb.

“You always want me, right? Always gonna be mine.”

“Uh-huh. Always.”

“Good girl.”

Your tummy tingles and you smile up at him.

Jungkook lubricates his cock with more saliva “Tits are so soft,” he whispers. “Gonna cum all over them.” His grunts turn louder as he gets closer to cumming.

He looks so pretty above you with his chiselled chest glistening, cheeks tinted in a rosy colour and his doe eyes looking down at you with lust and adoration.

“’m so close.” His hips stagger and you feel his cum shooting over your chest. Jungkook slows down, watching his cum paint over your boobs with drowsy eyes. “Fuck,” he moans, palming his cock and squeezing out the last bits.

“Feeling better now?” you ask, blinking up at him.

“So much better.” He runs the tip of his cock over his cum, smearing it across your tits. Gathering a bit of cum on his cock, he holds it in front of your mouth. You lick the cum off his tip and swallow it.

“Next time when we’re hanging out with Taehyung you don’t have to get jealous,” you tell Jungkook as you stand up.

His gaze is fixed on your cum-covered boobs before he casts his eyes up, an offended frown contorting his face.

“I wasn’t jealous!”

“No?” You raise your brows. “Your hands just naturally were all over me when I talked to Tae?”

He shrugs. “Maybe.”

You giggle. “Stop being silly.” You throw your arms around his neck, standing on your tip toes. “You’re the only one I want,” you whisper and give him a soft kiss.

“I know.” Jungkook’s fingers skim over your back. “Just need to hear it more often.” He plants another sweet kiss on your lips.

Jungkook’s phone starts ringing.

“Time to pick up Nabi!” you exclaim, eyes sparkling.

Jungkook grins, pulling up his sweatpants and briefs.

“Lemme get some tissues for you first.”

“You think Nabi was a bit mean to Namjoon again?” you ask.

“Oh, she loves annoying him.”

#darly asks #anon #fic: long way home #jungkook smut #jungkook drabble #jungkook dilf #jungkook fanfic #jungkook imagine #jungkook scenario

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astroboots · 1 year

Text

Rainy Night Patrol

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Summary: Miguel comes home after a night of patrolling with a lot of pent up tension to find you sound asleep.

Content: Somnophilia, panty-tearing practises (in this fucking economy?!??! I know gurl) jerking off with panties kind of? overprotective Miguel is our favourite Miguel. Rough sex. Multiple orgasms and overstimulation (cause do I evern write anything else anymore?). Implied violence against random street criminals.

A/N: Pre-established relationship with pre-established consent for somnophilia.

Word Count: 4,800

Astroboot’s Masterlist | Thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist

Rainy nights in New York are the fucking worst.

It brings out the worst in people. Stressed-out bankers who will push old ladies out of their way to get to a seat on the subway. Drunken assholes who piss everywhere, making everything reek, and alleyway mugging seems to increase by a disproportionate amount whenever it's pouring.

It surprises Miguel that street robbery even happens outside of comic books anymore. Do these people not have a computer? Cybercrime is a thing. A successful phishing scam targeting a bank employee can net millions overnight.

Yet here Miguel is, headbutting this public nuisance for trying to rob and assault a sorority girl on her way home, fists eating into the man's face. Even though it is evident by now that there is no way the man has a fighting chance, he refuses to stop. He's hissing and spitting at Miguel, lunging at him with the ferociousness of a rabid racoon.

The easiest solution would be to bite and paralyze and call it a night. But from the reek of stale sweat and copious body Axe spray coming off of this asshole, Miguel has no desire to put any part of this man's body into his mouth.

So here Miguel is, putting this bargain-bin Sylvester Stallone wannabe in a headlock and slamming his head into a street lamp in an attempt to knock the man unconscious, instead of where he wants to be: home, in your questionably sized apartment and lumpy feeling bed.

Christ, he hates this city.

By the time it's all said and done, and everything is wrapped up, it's already past midnight. As he slinks in through the window sill into your bedroom, you're fast asleep.

You're lying on top of the quilts, the bedside lamp still on, which means you've been up waiting for him, even though you're supposed to have an early morning tomorrow. Something, something about how it's year-end and you have to present... something or the other.

It's... endearing that you still do that, try to wait up for him every night, even though you should know by now that more often than not, he'll be home much too late for you to still be awake.

Climbing inside the bedroom, the post-fight adrenaline is still surging through his veins. He's riled up, irritated. There's heat brandishing under his skin that is pushing at the edges begging for an outlet.

He glances in your direction. You look so soft in the dim bedroom light, half of your face buried into the pillow.

No, tonight is not the night. You need your sleep.

With a shake of his head, he walks over to his side of the bed, letting the Unstable Molecule fabric of his suit recede until he's left standing naked in the half-darkness of your bedroom.

Dragging away the sheet, he tucks it over you, you hum and shift in your sleep. Leg swinging Akimbo over to his side before he's even had the chance to lay down. The oversized sleep shirt does nothing to disguise the curves of your body, falling completely off one shoulder and riding up to reveal the tantalizing curve of your bare thigh.

Shit.

His mouth waters at the sight, cock half hard just from watching you. It's not helped by the adrenaline still buzzing in his head. It wouldn't take much to get him the rest of the way there.

Miguel groans and rubs the bridge of his nose, trying to ease the tension growing between his temples. How exactly is he supposed to be getting any sleep with you lying next to him, all soft heat and sweet little hums that make him want to grind up against you like a cat in heat?

The weight in the bed shifts as you roll back away from him. A quiet snore issues from where you’re digging your face deeper into the pillow, clearly exhausted.

Fuck, guess he's just going to have to try. It'd be cruel to wake you now.

He slides into bed next to you, settling for the comforting warmth of you next to him, as he curls one arm around your waist and wraps himself around you. Burying his face into the warm nape of your neck and taking a deep inhale. The smell of your shampoo and soap that pleasantly lingers on his skin, washes away the memories of the stench of rain-soaked streets of this city, the disgusting smell of sulphur and piss.

New York throws a lot of stuff in his way. Muggers, arsonists, would-be murderers. It's nothing he can't handle. And he can handle what it throws at you too. Whether it is torrential rain or some freak force of nature threatening to put you in harm's way, it doesn't matter. He keeps you safe. And despite all the close calls, you're still here. Still alive. Still his.

His hand slides over the curve of your thigh at the thought, needing to feel your warmth underneath his fingertips. Goosebump prickles your skin at his caress, and he watches the way your back arches, pressing into his touch, even in your sleep.

A slow steady warmth blooms in his chest at your reaction. It's a heady blend of protectiveness but also pride. The universe itself can throw any tantrum it wants. He'll protect you from it all.

Your eyes stay shut, still clearly asleep, but your mouth parts with a needy hum, and Miguel gives you what you want, easing your body back into his arms. Like clockwork, you snuggle back against him, and the slight wiggle of your ass brushing against his front ensures there's no half about how hard is dick is anymore.

Needy heat rolls off his back in waves, and he slides one hand under the hem of your shirt and up along the softness of your stomach. If you were awake, you would be leaping away and smacking him for tickling you. But now the touch just makes you stretch and let out a contented little hum, your nipples already drawn up tight and hard for him by the time he reaches them.

Why are you so reactive when you're sound asleep? Part of him thinks you must be doing this on purpose; there's no way you can't be when he feels you shift again, the soft lace of your panties brushing up against his aching cock. He palms your hip, following the edge of the lace down over the curve of your ass, then hesitates.

You only pull out the lacey panties when you really want to rile him up. Saving them for special occasions because (as you never fail to mention while scolding him whenever he's ripped another pair in the heat of the moment) 'fancy underwear isn't cheap!' One of these lacey thrilly little things easily would set you back at $80 a pop. Miguel isn't exactly hard pressed for cash, but he sees your point.

Still Miguel doesn't know what he is supposed to do when you keep pressing back against him the way you are at the moment. He grits his teeth, jaw muscles protesting as he grinds them together, knowing fully well he's fighting a losing battle. It’s really only a matter of time. Miguel isn't a fucking saint, and right now the need riding the length of his spine is burning hot enough to incinerate him.

Oh fuck it!

Hooking a finger around the hem of your panties, he eases them to the side, and his hips hitch forward, rubbing himself against you. Sharp pleasure skitters along his back, and he has to bite down the groan in his throat. He draws back, and does it again, letting his cock ride along the curve of your ass. Letting his aching, leaking cock settle between your cheeks, the delicate lace trapping him in place against you.

You’re definitely gonna bitch at him later for stretching out the elastic. But that's okay, you'll forgive him, the way you always do.

He holds there, gently rolling his hips, doesn't go too forceful or too eager with his thrusts, some half-formed intention to not wake you. Thighs shaking as he savors the contrast between your smooth skin and the textured lace. He tells himself that he should take it slow and not disrupt your sleep. But Miguel's never been a patient man.

His hands are already moving, reaching, before his brain has anything to say about it, fingers hitching your panties even further to the side, and fuck the elastic, he'll buy you a new pair. Shit, he'll buy you twenty new pairs. A whole fucking store of panties if that's what you want.

He pulls back, presses forwards again, cock sliding between those plush thighs, the head, slick with precome, gliding smoothly against you.

And fuuuuuck.

He drops his forehead against your shoulder, eyes squeezing shut to ground himself. He can feel how wet you are, drenching his cock as he skims the hard length over and through your slick folds. You're warm and inviting and oh so fucking tempting. You may still be fast asleep, but your body is telling him it’s oh so very ready for him.

God you feel so fucking good.

Angling his hips, he slides the sensitive head of his dick against your slick folds, notching himself against your entrance, gritting his teeth against the way your pretty pussy clenches at the threat of invasion. He holds himself there, breath hissing between his teeth as he teases you both, with tiny, incremental movements forward, in, and back.

Pleasure swirls through him, hot and heady, his ears buzzing with electricity. He's lost in it, but not so far gone that he misses the noises you're making, your reaction. Those little sounds of dissatisfaction, the way your back arches, pressing your hips back against him. All of it telling him the same thing.

He presses his mouth to the corner of your shoulder. Has to hide the feral grin threatening to break out, because for all his vague intentions of letting you rest, part of him has been waiting for this. Part of him has been aiming for this exact outcome.

You. Awake. Fully ready to take him.

He presses forward again, just far enough that the head of his cock slips inside you, and is rewarded by your body clenching warm and wet around him.

Fuck, you feel too good. You always fucking do. It punches the breath right out of his lungs, needy heat singing through his veins and along every nerve ending in his body until he goes dizzy with it. There are advantages and disadvantages to enhanced senses, and right now, he's fully feeling both. Needs to get on with it, because he intends to have you coming on his cock at least twice before he's done.

Hooking an arm around your waist, he cups your mound. He stays there, pressing with his fingers and the heel of his palm, until he's rewarded by your hips hitching forward into the pressure, then rocking back again, causing you to sink down further onto him. A gasp and a small soft moan falls from between your lips.

He does it again, encouraging you to rock forward and then back again, taking him deeper each time. Inch by brain wracking inch, you take him in. He can feel your tight little pussy stretch around him, adjusting to his cock, as he presses your hips back and back and back until you're taking him all down to the root. Until he’s buried as deep as he can go.

Somehow it's not enough. Not when he's waited this long.

He centers three fingers over your clit through the lace of your panties, resting the heel of his hand just above your pubic bone, and then he presses down.

Your pussy clenches tight, and you jolt hard against him, gasping awake with a breathy 'oh' that does funny things to his brain. Makes rational thought skitter away from him, and when he hears his name on a long gorgeous drawn out moan everything inside him roars to attention.

"Miguel."

Satisfaction thrums under his skin. You’re awake, and he wants you awake for this. Wants you to know exactly who is about to fuck your brains out.

"That's right, nena," he croons, easing his hips back, and skimming his lips up from your shoulder to nip at your exposed neck, careful not to break the skin, relishing the sound of the perfect little gasp of yours. "I'm right here. You ready for my big cock, baby?"

"It– mmmmmm– It feels…" you mumble, voice still stumbling and sleepy.

He slams back into you just as you're trying to find your words, taking a bit too much pleasure in interrupting them when he hears you whine out a breathy, "Fuck, fuck!"

"What's that?" Miguel raises a hand to your chin, cradling it in his palm, tilting you back until he can press his lips to the edge of your jaw. "What does it feel like, tell me."

"Fee-feels like– ngh– like I'm already– taking your big cock." Your words are staggered, stuttered out each time he fucks his cock into you, and Miguel smiles.

"You are," he tell you, "You're taking me so well, nena."

It's a struggle for him to get the words out smoothly. He’s rolling his hips at a steady pace, fucking you in earnest now that you're awake to appreciate it. Every slick slide into your needy little pussy has pleasure burning sharp and insistent through his nervous system, overwhelming and inescapable.

He pauses, moving his hand away from your clit for a second, and grins when you whine and clutch at his arm.

"Patience," he scolds you "I've got you. I'm just gonna..."

He tucks his hand under your panties, and you stiffen against him, making a sound like an outraged cat. He knows exactly what you're going to say even before the words leave your lips, so he ignores you, sliding his fingers along the boundary where you're stretched so wide around the base of him, getting them nice and slick.

"You didn't take off my panties!? Miguel, these are my good wuh– oh fuck."

The words cut off when he locates your hard little clit, settling two fingers over it this time, one on each side, the way he knows always drives you crazy.

"What was that, nena?" he bites back a smile, "Something you wanted to say, huh?"

You suck in a breath, but he doesn't give you a chance to answer, fucking into you hard, and wastes no time resuming his former rhythm. The only thing that comes out of your mouth is a broken moan.

"Sorry, baby," he teases, "I didn't quite catch that."

You don't answer. There's no way you're going to, not with the way your body is drawing up tight, gasping for breath as if he's driving every last ounce of oxygen from your lungs.

He knows your body as well as he knows his own, and he has you caught now, like spider with a fly in its web. He keeps holding you tight against him, hips angled to drive up against just the right spot inside you, the one that has you sobbing and clawing at him with every thrust, each one forcing you forward against the fingers he has bracketing your sensitive little clit.

No more words from that smart mouth of yours now, only gasps and whimpers and cut-off moans that might be the first syllable of his name.

You're clawing at his forearm, breath stuttering in and out of your lungs in staggered gulps. Your heart beating loud and fast and alive in your chest, and he can tell that you're close now. He can feel it in the way your tight little pussy clenches and quivers around him, clutching at his cock like it wants to hold him close, closer, closest.

"Mi– Mi– Mig–" The sound stutters out of you in time with his thrusts, high pitched and desperate—cut-off moans that might be the first syllable of his name, more whine than words. Pride swells in Miguel's chest at seeing you, hearing you like this, strung out and stuttering on his cock, begging him for your pleasure.

Pleasure that only he can give you.

"That's right, nena." He fucks into you hard. Can feel you clench around him relentlessly.

"I'm right here."

You're squeezing him so goddamned tight.

"Fucking you."

It takes everything in him to hold to the same angle, the same pace. To give you just what you need, the way only he can give it to you.

"Making you come," he bites out.

You writhe against him, whining louder now, sweet noises growing higher pitched.

"Come for me, nena," he demands, and you shudder against him, your voice rising into a wail.

Your hot little cunt clamps down tight, fluttering around him, and bright spots of pain bloom into pleasure as your fingernails dig into his arm, drawing blood. Your pretty eyes flutter shut as the whole of your body tenses under him.

Fuck, you're coming.

"That's– fuck– That's it," he grits out, slowing his thrusts, rocking against you gently to help draw out your orgasm. To buy himself a freaking second so you don’t take him over the edge with you. He keeps the soft rolling rhythm until the wracked shivers seizing your body settles. Counting down the seconds until the grip of your nails into his biceps is easing, and then…

"Again," he demands, snapping his hips forward, fucking into you hard, "Come for me again, nena."

Miguel locks his arm in place, holding you at the angle that will let him hit that perfect spot inside you every time, the one that makes your eyes roll back in your head, and he intends to have you seeing stars. He hears your breath leave you with a strangled noise, feels your pussy clench tight and perfect around his cock, and grins through gritted teeth.

If he times it juuuust right, he can send you over the edge a second time. He's done it before, forcing you into another orgasm before you've even come down from the first, and he’s not above using his enhanced reflexes to make you do it again.

And right now? The way you're writhing against him, hands and arms and pussy clutching at him, like you're trying to pull him closer—pull him in, despite the fact that he's already fucking you as deep as he can go. All of that tells him his timing was spot-fucking-on today.

It doesn't take long. It never does when he makes you come this way. And thank fuck for that, because the feel of you clenching around him is almost enough to take him over the edge with you. He has to grit his teeth as he slows to the gentle rocking rhythm you like best when you’re coming. His free hand fisting in the bed sheets, claws digging into them in a way he knows will earn him another scolding later. But R.I.P. your damn linens. Better them than him. You may have come twice, but Miguel's not ready to be done with you just yet.

This time, when you come down, he keeps things slow and gentle until you go loose and boneless. Forces himself to slows further until every muscle in your body melts under his grip. You sink down into the mattress with a little sigh, like you're ready to drift back off to sleep just like this, safe and snug in his arms, his hard cock still buried inside of you.

And if he wasn't so hard up, skin crawling with need and desperation, maybe he'd let you.

But that’s not happening tonight.

Unfortunately for you, Miguel's too hungry for you. Starving. Wants to lick and bite and swallow you down to the very marrow of your bones.

He's been good. He's been patient. Has held himself back while he made you come. Twice. Satisfaction burns bright in his chest, almost as bright as his need for you. Two fucking times he's gritted his teeth, holding back his own orgasm by the skin of his fucking fangs as that pretty little pussy came around his cock, squeezing him so tight that for a second he was sure he'd black out and see god behind his eyelids.

Miguel is out of patience.

Any intention to go easy on you because you need the rest is gone. Any consideration for your early morning tomorrow has flown the nest.

Hands on each side of your hips, he rolls the two of you, easily flipping you forward onto your stomach and drags you down along the bed. You stay limp and relaxed, as you let him move you like a ragdoll, positioning you the way he wants, head and chest resting against the matress, ass in the air.

Once he's got you where he wants you, he takes just a second to admire you, taking in the way those pretty lace panties highlight the curves of your ass but do nothing to conceal your slick center, pulled to the side as they are, leaving your pussy fully exposed, all pretty and puffy from how well he's fucked you and glistening in the low light.

You shiver under his heavy gaze, and he can see the way your pussy clenches, can see how wet you are, shining slick, halfway down your thighs.

Miguel must've taken too long with his one second. A soft inquisitive "hmmmmm?" emerges from where your head is buried in the pillow, and you rock your hips gently side to side.

His dick jerks at the obvious invitation. Precome oozes from the tip, and he takes himself in hand, lets himself stroke once to spread it along his length, as though he wasn't dripping with you already.

"What's that, nena?" he bites out. He's so fucking hard for you, cock aching from holding back, but even now, he can't help but tease and goad you. "You want more? You didn't get fucked good enough already? Does that pretty pussy want my cock?"

"Mmmmm.... yes," you say, one hand outstretched behind you, making a 'gimme' motion at him.

The gesture is ridiculous, but he can't help the way it makes his chest pull tight. You're always so ready to have him, no matter how much he tires you out. Suddenly, he can't wait another fucking second to be inside you again.

He starts to line himself up, the wet heat of you just kissing the head of his dick when you tense up and make a sound of alarm. Fear stings his spine, and he freezes.

"You okay, nena?" he asks, pulling away from you, suddenly terrified that he's hurt you somehow.

Miguel has always been big—even before the "accident" that changed him—and he's bigger now, exponentially stronger. He’d thought he was being careful, but fuck, it'd be all too easy for him to let his strength get away from him, to go harder than you can handle.

"Are you hurt? Was I- Was I too rough?"

Because he forgets sometimes. Forgets that others don't heal at an accelerated rate like he does. That your body isn't protected by enhanced endurance that lets him walk off falling from a building, barely feeling the six broken ribs and fractured arm that results.

It's why he needs to protect you.

Always.

Unlike him, you can be hurt. Can be broken, can be killed. And if he’s hurt you, then he–

You make a negative sound, shaking your head.

"No, you big doofus," you mumble out into the pillow, and Miguel's heart slowly starts to ease its way out of his throat. "The panties. Take them off first. Don't want them to tear."

He stops, blinking in confusion as his eyes narrow down at you.

Your. Fucking. Panties!?

Really? His mouth curls down into a peeved frown. That's your fucking priority right now? After he's fucked you silly, made you come twice the way only he can?

"You want me to take your panties off, nena?" he demands, tone low and harsh, edging forward on the bed until he’s looming over you.

"Yes," you confirm. "They’re my last good pair." You’re nodding your head energetically in a way that tells him he hasn't done nearly as good of a job of tiring you as he thought. He’ll have to fix that.

With a snarl, he lances the crotch of your panties with a single claw, ripping them off your body.

"Miguel!" you squeak, clearly not expecting that, your voice pitched with disbelief, "Did you just–?"

"They were in the way," he manages to rasp out, lining himself up and pressing forward, unceremoniously shoving inside.

The tight, hot clench of your pretty pussy is blindingly good. It always fucking is. And just like always, Miguel is lost to it. He holds there, buried as deep in you as he can get, shuddering against you. He's damn lucky that extraordinary stamina comes bundled along with super-senses, or he'd probably come every damn time he slips inside you. It'd be all over at the first thrust.

Fuck, he has to move. He pulls out, and you gasp and claw at the sheets, shuddering under him as he starts to fuck you again. Obscene wet, squelching sounds fill the room, along with the echoing slap of flesh on flesh as he fills you over and over and over. You’re so fucking wet, so fucking perfect. He grits his teeth, trying to get a handle on the feeling, but it’s overwhelming.

Your hot, perfect little pussy clenches and flexes around his dick, and a blissful burn sears against his spine, streaking white and hot with pleasure. A tell-tale sign, warning him of what's to come if he doesn't stop. He sucks in a breath, trying to stave it off, barely hanging on to his control by the tips of his claws because he wants to feel you come around him one more time.

Because twice isn’t enough. Three times won’t be either. Nor would four, five, ten. Miguel’s greedy for you. Selfish. No matter how much you give him, it will never be enough. He will always want more of you.

More of your soft body pressed up against every inch of his. More of your eyes looking back at him, glazed over as if you have no coherent thoughts left in that pretty head of yours. He wants all of that and more. Another orgasm. Another fuck. Another kiss. One more breath. Just more, more, more.

He curls his hand around your throat, feels the chaotic race of your pulse under his fingertips.

"Come for me, nena," he demands, "I need it. Need to feel you."

He tilts your face up, your back arched like a bow towards him. So fragile. So trusting, that you let him do this to you.

He dips down to claim your lips, snapping his hips into yours faster now. Ramping up the pace as he chases his inevitable climax, forcing you to yours.

You whimper and keen with each thrust, eyes rolling wildly. Your mouth hangs open, panting out sweet, stuttered moans that he swallows in a bruising kiss. Your whole body tenses under him, going rigid, then your pretty pussy starts clenching down around him as you come again.

This time, Miguel can't hold himself back. Doesn't even try. Lets himself succumb to the sight, the sounds, the smell, the feel of you surrounding him, coming for him. His stomach draws in tight, toes curling into the sheets, as he can feel his balls drawing up, cock swelling further as he manages a last few ragged thrusts. Then he’s tumbling over the edge with you, burying himself as deep as he can as the unforgiving bliss rises and spreads, blotting out everything else.

It's endless. Pulses after devastating pulse that won't stop. He comes and comes and comes, emptying himself inside of you until he's lightheaded, barely able to hold himself.

No amount of supernatural stamina can help him in this moment. Not when he can feel his spend filling you to capacity and more, so full that it starts leaking out of you, down the line of your thighs and onto his. His strength gives out, and he collapses into the bed, bringing you down with him.

The two of you lay there, trying to catch your breath. You’re trapped under his weight, your small back heaving under his larger chest, sweat slicking your skin to his. He has no desire to move. Shifts slightly to the side, a concession to your need to breathe, but refuses to go farther than that. He wants to keep you right here, covered and cocooned by his body.

You tilt your head until you can peek over your shoulder at him. There's a look in your eyes, one that he has only ever seen on you. One just for him, filled with exasperated fondness, heat and loving familiarity. One he wouldn’t give up for anything.

"You're getting me new panties."

A warm huff of laughter escapes him. The bright warm glow in his chest spreads outwards, filling him with contentment.

"Sure, nena."

"And coffee in the morning," you add.

He hums in agreement because that's fair. You're going to be in zombie mode otherwise.

"And cupcakes for breakfast," you finish triumphantly.

Miguel turns his head to observe you, the way you're trying to hide that satisfied grin into the pillow to not betray how fucking over the moon you are right now after he's fucked you silly.

Smartass. Always pushing your damn luck. But it's not like he's going to ever say no to you is it?

He puts on a show of sighing loudly with mock exasperation. "From Gladis, yeah?”.

You nod into your pillow.

"Mmhmm."

He leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, circling his arm around your waist, easily pulling you to his side.

The rain is still pouring down outside, but here in bed with your warm body pressed up against his side, the sound of it pitter-pattering against the window is almost soothing. He can feel his eyes slipping closed as it lulls him off to sleep.

The rain isn’t so bad when you’re warm and safe in his arms. Nothing is, as long as you’re here with him.

He’ll keep you safe.

Always.

Credits and Dedications: I have to give so so so so much credit to my clown-in-crime @thirstworldproblemss poor woman doesn't even go here, and spent the whole of her evening writing porn to me in my DMs. 90% of the porny parts have been written by her. So for all those who enjoyed this, please go to her inbox and send her much deserved love!!!

I don’t have a tag list but please follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

#miguel o'hara smut #miguel ohara smut #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel o'hara fanfiction #oscar isaac #across the spiderverse #spider man 2099 #spiderverse fanfiction #miguel ohara x you #marvel #spider man: across the spider verse #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara fic

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genshinluvr · 1 year

Text

The Fallen Star

Pairings: Various Honkai Star Rail Men x Isekai'd!Reader

Summary: You wake up in a void and see someone towering over you. He's breathtaking and covers the sun and sky. One minute you are talking to him, but then you gain consciousness. You wake up to a silver-haired man giving you (failed) CPR, only to find yourself on the Xianzhou Luofu with four other people who soon later become your (temporary?) traveling companions.

Note: Welcome to my first Honkai Star Rail fanfiction! This work is part of a brand new series called "Brightest Star in the Universe." Yes, it's Isekai like the Genshin fics. This is going to be cross-posted on AO3 as well (like all of my fics). To be honest, I didn't think I was going to be posting a Honkai Star Rail series so soon, but here I am. Since there are unreleased characters in this series (Luocha and Blade), their personalities are going to be a bit out of character. Then again, most HSR men's personalities are going to be out of character for a bit until I'm familiar with all of them. I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and on AO3 (Aaliah_exo).

Warnings: Mentions of blood, but it's not bad

Word Count: 8.6k

The last thing you remembered before you woke up was a tall man towering over you, blocking the sun and sky from your view. He had silver-white hair and tanned skin, and his arms were in pieces, gold bleeding through the cracks over his body. He was beautiful, but his beauty intimidated you. The way he gazed at you, his eyebrows furrowed.

You felt yourself tremble beneath his gaze. Who was this man, and why was he bigger than the sun and sky? “Where am I? Who are you?” You whispered, your voice trembling with fear and confusion.

The world around you rumbled, making you wince and look around in panic. It took you a moment to realize that the huge man before you was chuckling. The man gazed at you with amusement before squatting down before you without taking his eyes off of you. Wait, does he even have legs?

“My name is not important, little one,” he replies. “You and I will meet again soon, but for now, it’s time for you to wake up from your slumber.”

You looked at him quizzically before scanning your surroundings. There was no one else but you and him. You and this man were in a vortex of some sort. The light is blocked out by his figure. You pinched yourself and winced in pain. What does he mean by ‘wake up from your slumber?’ Were you not awake the entire time?

You look at the man, only to see that he is still staring at you with an unreadable expression on his face. “What do you mean by that?” You whispered.

The silence in the void is deafening. Even if you whispered, your voice echoed in the abyss. You shifted in your spot before getting up from the ground. You dust your clothes off and gaze at the ginormous man before you, waiting for him to answer. The world around you slowly turns black, and the man nods at you before your vision turns black.

Just as you’re gaining consciousness, you hear voices around you. The voices are muffled, almost as if you’re underwater, and the voices of the people are above you and all over the place. Your ears are ringing, and your limbs feel like lead. You want to open your eyes, but your eyelids feel heavy.

“Are you sure they’re alive?” You hear a girl ask.

You hear a slow sigh coming from your left. “Of course, they’re alive, March. Can’t you see the steady rise and fall of their chest?” the male to your left asks.

“If they’re alive, then why are they not waking up? Aside from being unconscious, of course,” says March.

You feel someone tap your cheeks repeatedly. You groan and try to swat the hands away from your face, only for your hands to fall back to the ground. The girl named March lets out a loud gasp.

The man beside you lets out a sigh. “March, can you go find Mr. Yang? In the meantime, Caelus and I will stand guard and make sure this person is okay,” he says.

‘March’ makes a disgruntled noise before stomping away. Something beneath you shifts, and you open your eyes to see a silver-haired man leaning down, his lips puckering. You open your mouth to say something, but the man covers your mouth with his. You let out a combination of a squeak and a gasp. The silver-haired man backs up and looks down at you with wide eyes, his fringe covering a part of his eyes.

The silver-haired man blushes and clears his throat. “It’s good to see that you’re awake! Ahem… how are you feeling?” He asks.

You swallow the lump in your throat and slowly prop yourself up on your arms, rubbing the back of your neck. “I-I’m fine! Um… that’s an interesting way to wake someone up,” you said, giving the silver-haired man a sheepish smile.

“I was trying to give you CPR, but that didn’t turn out how I thought it was going to,” replies the silver-haired man, his cheeks flushing red. He looks over at the black-haired man with a glare. The man with black hair looks away, his lips pressed into a thin line while his shoulders are shaking. The silver-haired man narrows his eyes at the black-haired man before punching him in the shoulders lightly, causing the man to grunt and let out a cough. Was he laughing? You sit up and look around, dazed and confused about how you ended up on a ship. Wait, is it a ship? Where are you?

You clear your throat and rub your throbbing temples. How did you end up on a ship? Or wherever you are. Gosh, you’re so out of it that you’re having a hard time figuring out where you’re at. You close your eyes, feeling a wave of nausea hit you like a train. One minute you were in a void with an extremely tall man that bleeds gold, and now you’re somewhere with two men at your side. One man is trying to stifle his laughter, while the other is almost as red as tomatoes.

The red-faced silver-haired man clears his throat. “My name is Caelus, and the one that’s laughing beside us is Dan Heng,” Caelus says, nudging Dan Heng beside him with a small glare as if he’s telling Dan Heng to be quiet.

Dan Heng clears his throat before fixing his composure, crossing his arms over his chest. “How are you feeling? You were out cold when we found you on the Xianzhou Luofu,” says Dan Heng, staring at you emotionlessly.

“Other than a slight headache, I’m feeling okay. Confused, but okay nonetheless,” you reply.

The two men stand up while you remain on the floor. You continue to take in your surroundings, eyes focusing on the stars hanging above you and the two men on this…. ship. You’re on a flagship… in space… traveling to who knows where. You look at the men behind you, pointing at your surroundings.

You clear your throat. “So, I was unconscious on the Xianzhou Luofu? That’s how you two found me?” You ask, rubbing your eyes while remaining on the ground. “Huh. How did I end up here?”

Rapid footsteps approach you, Dan Heng, and Caelus. You look up to see a pink-haired girl running toward the three of you, with a brown-haired man following close behind. The pink-haired girl’s eyes light up when the two of you make eye contact. You get up from the ground, dusting off your clothes.

The girl and brown-haired man stop before you. “Oh, goodie! You’re awake this time! I was starting to get worried!” She says, propping her hands on her hips. “Mr. Yang, this is the unconscious person I was telling you about! Well, they’re not unconscious anymore, but we stumbled across them when we split up while trying to look for Kafka.”

The brown-haired man— or Mr. Yang— strokes his chin while analyzing you from head to toe. You’re definitely not from the Xianzhou Luofu, and you’re certainly not from Jarlio-VI.

The man hums before crossing his arms over his chest. “Do you know how you ended up here?” asks Mr. Yang.

You shake your head. “I don’t know how I ended up here. One minute, I was in a void with a man that towered over me, and now I somehow ended up on a ship.” You reply.

Now that you said it out loud, you wouldn’t believe yourself if you were someone else. Would these people believe you? The pink girl hums thoughtfully, tilting her head to the side while gazing at you curiously.

“I’m March 7th, by the way! But you can call me March! This man here is Welt Yang!” She gestures to the brown-haired man beside her. “I’m assuming those two have introduced themselves to you already?”

You nod. “They have! Apologies for not introducing myself earlier, but my name’s [Y/N].” You say, rubbing the back of your neck with a sheepish smile.

You look at your surroundings. While you’re on the Xianzhou Luofu, you’re not entirely sure where you, Dan Heng, Caelus, Mr. Yang (should you call him by his first name or by his last name?), and March are precisely on the ship. Looking at your surroundings, all you see are boxes— you’re assuming they’re cargo of some sort. The air is nice and chilly, causing goosebumps to appear on your arms.

“We have to meet with General Jing Yuan. There are some things we still need to discuss with him,” Mr. Yang says, pulling his phone out to look at the time.

March points at you. “What do we do with [Y/N]? Do we bring them along with us as well?” asks March, looking at Mr. Yang for answers.

Your eyes widen, and you shake your head, waving your hands in front of you. “Oh, no! You don’t have to bring me along with you guys! Plus, you mentioned meeting with a general…. That sounds important, and I don’t want to intrude. After all, I am an outsider and, uh, don’t fit in this situation,” you said.

The five of them were heading to meet with the General of the Xianzhou Luofu. Dan Heng, Caelus, and March ended up stumbling across your unconscious body on the Xianzhou Luofu in an area where there aren’t many people roaming around. You sort of threw them off while they were headed toward their destination. Surely you can’t just tag along with them now, can you?

March huffs and frowns at you. “Hey! You’re not the only one who’s an outsider! The four of us aren’t from the Xianzhou Luofu either!” March interjects, stepping toward you and linking her arm around yours. “Besides! I think you should tag along with us either way! We don’t want to leave you behind, especially when you’re not from the Xianzhou Luofu! You are now a Trailblazer like us!”

Mr. Yang sighs and pushes his glasses up. “Let’s go. We have no time to lose. [Y/N], we’ll talk about this after meeting with General Jing Yuan,” says Mr. Yang, looking in your direction.

You nod and follow after the group, setting off to the location where General Jing Yuan told them to meet.

Upon arriving at the destination, you have concluded that you like the Xianzhou Luofu! Not only is it beautiful and vast, with a nice view of the universe, but you find the citizens of the Xianzhou Luofu interesting, and you’re curious about everything, really.

Now that you think about it, the ship and the people you’re tagging along with feel familiar. You know what this place is; you know it! It’s on the tip of your tongue, but dealing with sudden scenery changes and the brain fog is throwing you off.

The grand doors open, and the five of you step into the room. You look around, eyes wide with wonder and curiosity. Many people are walking in and out of the room, people gathering around in one spot while others are tending to their duties on the ship. Mr. Yang, March, Dan Heng, Caelus, and you approach the white-haired man sitting on a chair. He seems to be occupied with the game of chess. You can’t tell if his blond opponent looks frustrated or focused. His eyebrows furrowed, and his eyes focused on the chessboard before the two of them. Hearing footsteps approaching their direction, the blond boy and white-haired man look at your group.

The white-haired man stands up, looking at the blond boy and nodding. The blond boy gets up from his seat and walks off, looking at your group from the corner of his eyes as he passes the five of you.

“I hope the journey wasn’t too complicated. It’s good to see you all again,” says the white-haired man.

Mr. Yang nods. “General Jing Yuan, it’s nice to see you again. We’re here to discuss the matters you wanted to speak to us about regarding the situation….” Mr. Yang’s voice slowly becomes muffled as you continue to look at your surroundings.

There are holograms of the people, you assume, that work on the Xianzhou Luofu! Holograms! You have never seen a hologram before, and it looks so cool! What was this place called again? You recalled that they were supposed to meet up at the general’s office, but the location was changed. Was the office called the Seat of the Divine Foresight? Although, with the number of people going in and out of the room, it’s certainly not the general’s office. Where in the world are you exactly? Gosh, it’s like you have the name on the tip of your tongue, but it’s not coming out.

“Care to introduce me to your new friend?” General Jing Yuan’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts.

You blink and look up to see General Jing Yuan looking right at you. You freeze in your spot like a deer in headlights, blinking at the white-haired man owlishly. A soft smile appears on his face, a low rumbling coming from his chest. You couldn’t help but feel intimidated by his presence. Such power and authority exude from the man standing before the five of you.

Your face heats up when more people look in your direction. You clear your throat and stand there awkwardly, not sure what to do. Sure, you could introduce yourself to General Jing Yuan, but you were hoping he didn’t notice a new face around the Xianzhou Luofu. You point at yourself dumbly, blinking cluelessly at the man approaching you. Oh gosh, he’s walking toward you.

General Jing Yuan nods. “Yes, I was talking to you. I’ve never seen you around the Xianzhou Luofu, nor have I seen you with Welt Yang and his traveling companions,” says General Jing Yuan, now standing in front of you.

Dear gosh, this man is standing right in front of you. He’s not a hologram. He’s flesh and blood. If you reach out right now, you would be touching him with your hands. You give General Jing Yuan a shy smile, face hotter than ever.

You raise your hand in an awkward wave before introducing yourself. “Hi! I, uh, my name’s [Y/N]! It’s a pleasure to meet you, General Jing Yuan!” You squeak.

General Jing Yuan lets out a hearty laugh. “It’s nice to meet you, [Y/N]. Please, just call me Jing Yuan. No need to call me General— General is merely a temporary title,” says Jing Yuan, giving you a cat-like smile.

Jing Yuan grabs your hand gently and raises your hand to his face before pressing a kiss on your knuckles without breaking eye contact. Dear gosh, it’s like this man wants your face to feel hotter than it already is.

“Since when is he a flirt?” You hear March mutter to Caelus, Dan Heng, and Mr. Yang.

Jing Yuan releases your hand while you stand there awkwardly while tucking your hair behind your ear. You give Jing Yuan a flustered smile before looking away after clearing your throat. Dan Heng sighs while Mr. Yang steps up, grabbing Jing Yuan’s attention. You take a step back and stand between Dan Heng and Caelus, refusing to look at them after feeling intense stares at your head.

“That was something,” Caelus comments, crossing his arms over his chest.

Dan Heng hums in agreement. “It really is, isn’t it? Who knew that the General of the Xianzhou Luofu has such a charm,” Dan Heng comments.

You clear your throat again. “Maybe it’s how people greet on the Xianzhou Luofu!” You say.

March scrunches her nose and shakes her head. “They don’t do that on the Xianzhou Luofu. We’ve visited a couple of times, but not once were we greeted like how the General greeted you, [Y/N],” March teases, giving you a cheeky smile.

While Mr. Yang and Jing Yuan are conversing with each other about the situation, Dang Heng, Caelus, and March would interject here and there while the two are speaking. As usual, since you’re not part of the conversation, you would space out and look at your surroundings. It’s tempting to wander off, but you stay where you’re standing and listen to their conversation.

The doors to the room fly open, and enter a man with long, blond hair and a brown-haired girl with pigtails. The girl looks mildly miffed, while the blond man looks pleased with himself as he follows the girl into the room with a giant casket behind him. You look at the casket in horror and look at Caelus, Dan Heng, and March. The trio did not seem to be phased by the fact that the blond man was carrying around a casket like it was a backpack.

The blond man notices you’re staring at him, and he smiles at you, keeping a firm grip on the casket behind him. “I see you notice the coffin behind me,” he comments.

You nod in response. “Yeah! It’s, uh, hard to overlook it,” you reply.

The brown-haired girl huffs and crosses her arms over her chest with a deep frown on her face. “It’s strange, isn’t it?” asks the girl, looking in your direction.

You blink at her with surprise. “Ah, strange?” You squeak.

What was she talking about? The man carrying a large casket with him, or was there something else you’re missing? After all, she did enter the room with the blond man, looking visibly peeved.

The brown-haired girl drags out a sigh, propping her right hand on her hip. “For a foreign trader like himself to be carrying a casket around so casually,” she replies. “I didn’t think it was a casket until I asked him about it.”

The blond man clears his throat. “This coffin isn't mine, Sushang. I was merely entrusted to take the body back to the Xianzhou Luofu,” the man says casually. “My name’s Luocha. As Sushang said, I am a foreign trader. Currently, I was tasked to return this casket to the Xianzhou Luofu.” He gestures to the casket behind him.

You stare at the casket and then look at the blond man, who raises his eyebrows at you with an amused look. It seems like Luocha knows what you want to ask him. What is in the casket? More importantly, who is in the coffin, and why does he need to deliver it back to the Xianzhou Luofu?

Luocha crosses his arms over his chest. “It’s alright if you want to ask who’s in the coffin. I’ve had a few people ask me the same question while on my journey to the Xianzhou Luofu,” says Luocha, looking at Sushang from the corner of his eyes.

You give Luocha a sheepish smile and shake your head. “No, no! I wasn’t going to ask you that question! I was wondering how you can carry a coffin around for so long without getting tired of it. You would think there would be an easier way to transport a casket,” you say.

You did wonder who was in the coffin. I mean, like Luocha said, he has had a few people ask him who (or what) was in the large casket behind him. As much as you’re curious, you don’t think it would be appropriate to ask since it’s none of your business, and it would be rude to ask.

Sushang looks at you curiously, examining you from head to toe. “You don’t look like you’re from the Xianzhou Luofu. Are you Dan Heng’s newly added traveling companion?” asks Sushang.

You make an uncertain noise, giving Sushang and Luocha a ‘so-so’ gesture. “Kind of! I… I’m not sure if now is the right time to explain the situation,” you murmur, turning to look at your new traveling companions.

March, Dan Heng, and Caelus shrug their shoulders simultaneously. You sigh and turn to look at Luocha and Sushang with a fake smile. Now would be a good time to leave the Xianzhou Luofu, but even if you were to leave the ship, would they (your temporary traveling companions) be okay with you tagging along?

Sushang looks at you curiously. “Oh? Why do you seem uncertain about being their new traveling companions?” Sushang asks.

You press your lips into a thin line and rock back and forth on the balls of your feet. Would this be a good time to tell them (Sushang, Luocha, and Jing Yuan) about your situation? Maybe they’ll know the answer to it! Hopefully, they know the answer! You go on to tell Sushang and Luocha your situation: how you wake up to Caelus giving you CPR, and you find yourself on the Xianzhou Luofu despite not being from the Xianzhou Luofu.

Sushang hums and strokes her chin, squinting her eyes at you while chewing on the inside of her cheek. “Do you have memory loss by any chance?” Sushang asks.

Your gaze falls to the ground after hearing her question. Now that you think about it, the last thing you remembered before waking up was being in the void with a man towering over you. He’s so huge that he covered the sun and sky! Should you mention that to them too? You don’t know the man’s name. He told you his name isn’t important, but you know that’s not the case.

“I guess? I don’t really know how I ended up here, really. The last thing I remembered before waking up was being in a void with this tall person, but then I gained consciousness, and here I am!” You say, shrugging your shoulders.

They all probably think you’re crazy after explaining to them the last thing you saw before waking up to Caelus giving you CPR. You weren’t lying about being in a void with an extremely tall person. Technically, he wasn’t tall— he was a giant. They all look at you like you have just grown a second head.

Mr. Yang walks over to the group and nods at you, Dan Heng, March, and Caelus. “Alright, General Jing Yuan has given me some information on what we need to do. So far, there aren’t many things to check on the Xianzhou Luofu, but we do have to stop by Jarlio-VI per Caelus’ request,” says Mr. Yang.

March looks at Mr. Yang quizzically. “Why stop by Jarlio-VI? We have already completed what we needed to do on Jarlio-VI,” says March, crossing her arms over her chest.

Caelus hands his phone over to March. March grabs Caelus’ phone and skims through the messages on Caelus’ phone. March sighs and nods, handing Caelus back his phone before propping her hands on her hips.

“Well, it looks like we’ll be seeing some familiar faces again!” March announces.

You look at the group cluelessly, rubbing your arm. Does that mean you’ll have to go to Jarlio-VI with the group as well? I mean, there’s nowhere else for you to go, really. The best option is to tag along with the people that found you unconscious.

March nudges you and gestures to follow her and the three men. “Let’s go! I’ll introduce you to Pom-Pom and Himeko! You’ll love them and the Astral Express!” March grins, grabbing your wrist and pulling you along.

The five of you wave to Sushang, Jing Yuan, and Luocha goodbye before walking out of the room. You didn’t know where they were leading you, but you assumed it was to an area where the four of them were dropped off before they found you unconscious on the ground of the Xianzhou Luofu.

Right when the five of you are about to reach your destination (or, that’s what you’re assuming because you’re not familiar with the Xianzhou Luofu, nor are you sure where they’re taking you), a figure swoops in out of nowhere and snatches you from March’s grasp.

Everyone stops in their tracks and turns to look at the person holding you hostage. Your back is pressing against the man’s chest, and you feel the man press his sword up against your neck. March, Caelus, and Mr. Yang glare at the man behind you while Dan Heng looks like he just witnessed someone massacre everyone in his village. You swallow your fear and slowly turn your head to see a man with long, dark hair and red eyes. His eyes are focusing on the people standing in front of the two of you.

“So this is the fallen star Kafka mentioned,” the man mutters, looking down at you.

You blink at the man behind you and look at the others cluelessly. “Who is this man, and what does he mean by that?” You ask.

The man behind you tightens his grip around you, his arm wrapping across your chest while continuing to press the sword against your neck. March glares at the man behind you and seethes with anger.

“Let them go, Blade! Don’t involve them in anything!” March shouts.

Dan Heng takes a step closer toward you and Blade, only for Blade to take a step back, bringing you with him. Blade glares at Dan Heng and the others, pressing the edge of the sword against your neck. You close your eyes and visibly wince when the blade nicked your neck, causing a trail of blood to slowly trickle down. Dan Heng and Caelus glare at Blade, getting ready to step forward, when Mr. Yang grabs onto both of the men’s shoulders, shaking his head.

Blade smirks and chuckles. “I wouldn’t step any closer if I were you. If you want them to come out unscathed, then you will comply with my and Kafka’s orders,” said Blade.

You nudge the man behind you. “What do you mean when you mentioned fallen star? I’m not a fallen star,” you grumble, glaring at Blade from the corner of your eyes. “And for your information, I didn’t come out unscathed.” You gesture to your neck.

One minute you were in a void with an enormous man before you, then you woke up to Caelus giving you CPR on the Xianzhou Luofu, and now you’re being held hostage by a man named Blade on the Xianzhou Luofu. Can this get any worse?

Blade huffs and tightens his grip around you, not taking his eyes off the people standing before you and him. “Two hours before your arrival to the Xianzhou Luofu, Kafka reported a strange light flying across the galaxy. That light was presumed to be a fallen star, and the light led to the Xianzhou Luofu. In case none of you realized it, the fallen star is this one right here,” says Blade, gesturing to you.

You furrow your eyebrows after hearing Blade’s explanation. You have to be honest here; whatever Blade just said to you, Mr. Yang, Dan Heng, Caelus, and March, it sounds ridiculous. You? A fallen star? What does that even mean? You fell out from the sky and somehow ended up on the Xianzhou Luofu? Not only does it sound ridiculous, but it doesn’t seem probable because you didn’t have any markings on you aside from the cut on your neck from Blade’s sword.

You close your eyes and rest your head on Blade’s shoulders, catching him off guard. You turn your head slightly and peek at him. “And what do you and this Kafka person want from me exactly? You make it seem like I’m some rare gem from space, finally crashing and landing somewhere,” you comment.

Blade remains silent, staring down at you while you stare at him in return. It almost seems like he doesn’t have a plan for what to do with you. Other than holding you hostage in front of your (possibly) temporary traveling companions. You frown at Blade after a few minutes of him not responding to your question. You elbow Blade in the gut before pushing his arms off you with a huff, walking away from the man.

You and the others were surprised to see that Blade didn’t retaliate. He seems to be the type that gets set off easily. But since he didn’t slash at you or lash out at you for elbowing him in the stomach and pushing his arms off your person, it genuinely shocked the others. You rub and graze your fingers over the cut on your neck.

You narrow your eyes at Blade and walk over to where the others are standing. March runs up to you to assess the open wound on your neck. March sighs in relief, looking over at Blade with a glare before pulling you to the side while Caelus, Dan Heng, and Mr. Yang deal with Blade to the side.

You watch Blade, Dan Heng, Caelus, and Mr. Yang stand before each other, not saying a word. Their weapons are drawn out, but no one has started anything. They all stand there, staring at each other in silence, while March struggles to pull a bandaid out from her pocket. March hands you the bandaid after successfully grabbing the bandaid.

March turns to look at the four men with one hand on her hip while the other is on your shoulder. “Hey, are you guys just going to stand there and stare at each other all day, or are you guys going to fight it out?” demands March, glaring at the men.

Blade smirks and tightens his grip on his sword. “If that’s what you want, then a fight is what you shall receive,” says Blade.

Blade was about to lunge at the three men before him, but a woman with red wine-colored hair appeared out of nowhere, placing her hand on Blade’s shoulders. Blade stops in his tracks and looks over his shoulders at the woman.

She gives him a smile and chuckles, looking in your direction. “It’s good to see you, little shooting star. I apologize that you had to meet us this way, but our destinies are intertwined no matter where you go and how far we are from each other,” says the woman.

Everyone stares at the woman in silence. Everyone but you seem tensed at her mere presence. She takes her hand off Blade’s shoulders before walking toward your and March’s direction. Caelus and Dan Heng block her way, holding their weapons out in front of them while glaring at the woman.

The woman frowns and looks at Caelus with a pout. Almost like she was mocking him. “Oh, Caelus. Do you not trust me after all we’ve been through?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

March lets out a loud scoff. “Can you blame us for not trusting you after all that stuff you put us through, Kafka?!” March asks, glaring at the red wine-colored-haired woman.

‘Kafka?’ you mouthed to yourself, furrowing your eyebrows. The gorgeous woman is Kafka? Not only was she stunning, but the way she was looking at you was sending chills down your spine. There’s something about her you couldn’t put your fingers on. She seems powerful and the leader of this whole situation. Maybe the word ring-leader would suit her since Blade does follow her orders around like a dog.

Kafka turns around and starts walking away. “Come on, Bladie. It seems like we’ll have to find another time to meet [Y/N] again. For now, let’s part our ways,” says Kafka.

You freeze in your spot and look at Kafka with wide eyes. How in the world does she know your name when you haven’t introduced yourself to Blade and Kafka? Kafka looks over her shoulders and smiles at you before disappearing from everyone’s sight. Blade huffs and puts his sword away, turning around and following after Kafka.

March huffs. “Kafka and her dog are going to search for [Y/N] again. I don’t think it’s safe for them to be alone,” March states, looking at Mr. Yang, Dan Heng, and Caelus. “It’s best they remain on the Astral Express with us until further notice.”

You furrow your eyebrows and give March a questioning look. What does she mean by you remaining on the Astral Express until further notice? Until you find a home somewhere and can finally leave them alone? Where are you going to go? You’re on a ship that’s traversing through space, and now you’re going to be on a train that also travels through space.

“Let’s return to the Astral Express, and then we can talk about it after stopping by Jarlio-VI,” says Mr. Yang.

The five of you continued your way to the area where Dan Heng, Caelus, March, and Mr. Yang were dropped off. You’re kind of excited to step foot on the Astral Express and Jarlio-VI. Mainly Jarlio-VI because of how March described it, along with the stories she told you when she, Caelus, and Dan Heng visited the frozen planet due to the eternal freeze.

A frozen planet sounds interesting because not many things can survive and thrive in such conditions. It makes you wonder if there were any wild animals that roam Jarlio-VI aside from humans and creatures March, Dan Heng, and Caelus passively mentioned. Speaking of creatures the trio mentioned, you’re hoping you won’t have to deal with it or get caught in the crossfire.

Your stay on the Astral Express was short, and you met Pom-Pom and Himeko! They’re very welcoming, and Himeko is like an older sister, and perhaps a mother, figure to you despite you knowing her for less than a few hours. Despite your visitation of the Astral Express being short, you somehow managed to fall asleep while the train was headed to Jarlio-VI.

When you open your eyes, you find yourself in the void again. The very same void you were in before you woke up to Caelus giving you (failed) CPR. You look around, and there is the man towering over you.

You frown at the (gorgeous) man and rub your eyes. “It seems like the only time I’ll see you again is through my dreams, huh? I’m starting to think you’re not real and that you’re a figment of my imagination,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest.

The man chuckles and gazes at you with an amused look on his face. Damn, his smile is breathtaking, but it’s too bad he’s not real. Or at least that’s what you’re assuming. The man beckons you to come closer. You push yourself off the ground and walk toward him while scanning your surroundings.

You weren’t just in a void, but there were tiny stars sparkling around you and the massive man before you. The man holds his hand out, placing them before you. You stare at his hands questionably before stepping on his hand, letting him lift you to his eye level.

“We will meet very soon, little one. Now is not a good time to meet,” he says.

You frown at the man, letting out a huff before crossing your arms over your chest like a petulant child. “No matter what you tell me, I’ll always assume you’re a figment of my imagination. At least tell me your name,” you murmur, looking at him from the corner of your eyes.

The man smiles at you and nods. “My name’s Nanook and I promise we will meet in person soon. For now, this is the only way I will be able to communicate with you--- through your dreams.” He caresses your hair with his index finger.

You stare at Nanook without saying a word, still not convinced that he’s real. Nanook sighs and gives you a small smile. From a distance, you hear someone call your name. You look away from Nanook and begin searching for the voice. Nanook sighs, putting you back on the ground and smiling at you almost sadly. You’re about to ask him what was wrong when the world around you slowly fades away.

“Wake up!”

Your eyelids snap open, and you sit up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. March sighs and collapses across from you while Caelus and Dan Heng stand to the side with unreadable expressions on their faces.

March huffs and narrows her eyes at you. “Finally! I’ve been trying to wake you up for the past ten minutes!” March says.

You blink at March and look at Dan Heng and Caelus, who nods in response. How long have you been asleep? March was trying to wake you up for ten minutes, but it didn’t feel that long. You were with Nanook in your dreams for what felt like three minutes or less. Were you asleep for that long?

“We’re arriving at Jarlio-VI very soon. Gepard and Sampo will be meeting us at the Administrative District,” says Dan Heng.

Caelus and Dan Heng walk off, leaving you and March alone on the couch. Caelus nudges Dan Heng, looking at you from over his shoulders and then at the black-haired man worriedly. Dan Heng chews on the inside of his cheek, leaning against the wall while waiting for the Astral Express to reach its destination.

“You heard that, right? [Y/N] mumbling Nanook’s name in their sleep,” says Caelus.

Dan Heng nods. Before Dan Heng can reply, the Astral Express comes to a complete stop, and Pom-Pom announces the Astral Express’s arrival to Jarlio-VI from where they were standing. You and March get up from the couch and stretch your arms and legs.

You rub the base of your neck and wince when you feel it strain. Great, now you have a crick in your neck from sleeping on the couch in the Astral Express for who knows how long. March loops her arms around yours, dragging you out of the Astral Express with Dan Heng and Caelus following behind.

March looks over her shoulders, shouting, “Come on, Mr. Yang! We don’t have all day!” March continues to pull you along to the Administrative District with a wide smile on her face while you’re trying your best to keep up with the hyperactive girl.

Himeko crosses her arms over her chest and taps on her chin. “You feel it too, right?” Himeko asks, looking over at the brown-haired man.

Mr. Yang raises his eyebrows at Himeko, waiting for her to clarify. Himeko chuckles, shaking her head, looking at the entrance of the Astral Express, where you, March, Dan Heng, and Caelus ran out. Technically, you were dragged out of the Astral Express by March.

“The sense of familiarity with [Y/N]. Almost like we know them despite never meeting them. This connection….” Himeko trails off, humming softly. Himeko chuckles and looks at Mr. Yang, gesturing for him to follow after you, March, Dan Heng, and Caelus.

Back to you and the trio, the three of you walk around the Administrative District searching for these Gepard and Sampo people. From what you have been told, Gepard is the little brother of Serval, and Sampo is some con artist the trio met in the underworld. You’re looking forward to meeting Gepard and Sampo! They sound like interesting people, especially Sampo.

“Fams! There you guys are!” You hear someone call from a distance.

The four of you turn in the direction of the voice to see an indigo-haired man and a blond man approaching your group. The indigo-haired man smiles widely and waves at the four of you. When you and the indigo-haired man make eye contact, his eyes seem to light up, and the smile on his face becomes wider before he sprints in your and the trio’s direction.

The green-eyed indigo-haired man and the blond man with blue eyes stop before your group, looking at you curiously. You can’t help but feel self-conscious under their gaze. Their clothes are interesting, but it looks nice on them. Wait, are you staring at them? You snap out of your thoughts and look away, trying to act like you weren’t staring at them.

“Caelus, March, Dan Heng, care to introduce us to your new traveling companion?” asks the blond man, staring you down with those blue eyes of his.

March smiles widely and nods before happily introducing you to the two men before you. You smile at them politely and wave at them. The two men introduce themselves to you not long after, and you are glad their names are easy to remember because you’re not the best at remembering the names of the people you have just met.

“Not to come off as rude or anything, but you don’t seem to be from here,” Sampo says, looking at you curiously.

Gepard looks at Sampo from the corner of his eyes before shaking his head. “Sorry if what he said came off as rude. Sampo has no manners,” Gepard mutters, crossing his arms over his chest.

You laugh and wave your hand in front of you. “No, no, it’s fine! Sampo asked a genuine question, and I’m sure there are other people that are curious as well,” you say, giving Sampo and Gepard a small smile.

You and the others walk around the Administrative District while you tell Gepard and Sampo the situation. You woke up on the Xianzhou Luofu, unsure of how you ended up on the ship. Prior to gaining consciousness, you were in a void with Nanook. Of course, you didn’t tell Sampo and Gepard about you knowing Nanook’s name, only how he’s a tall figure that covered the sun and sky.

While you tell the two men your situation, Mr. Yang ends up catching up to your group, and the seven of you stop near the theater. Sampo and Gepard didn’t make a comment on your sudden appearance on the Xianzhou Luofu, but they have tried asking you a few questions.

“Everything is starting to feel familiar, but I can’t put my finger on it.” You murmur, scanning your surroundings.

Belobog is beautiful and cold, but there’s something unnerving about it. On the other hand, the Xianzhou Luofu doesn’t feel eerie or ominous. The others look at you curiously, wondering what you mean when you say everything is starting to feel familiar.

Sampo, being the man that he is, slides in front of you and gives you a charming smile before flicking his bangs away from his eyes. “Pardon me saying this so suddenly, but I’m sensing you feel a connection between us?” asks Sampo, gesturing between you and him.

You blink at Sampo. “Yes,” you reply slowly. “I guess that’s a better way of putting it.”

Sampo looks at you with wide eyes, his cheeks tinting pink. Sampo clears his throat and tucks an invisible strand of hair behind his ears. “Oh? So you do feel that connection between us!” Sampo grins.

Your head is beginning to hurt, and there’s a low ringing in your ears that’s gradually getting louder and louder. You tried to act normal and playfully scoffed at Sampo’s comment before walking to the nearest bench near the theater. When you walk off with March at your side, Gepard looks at Sampo while Dan Heng, Mr. Yang, and Caelus trade glances at each other.

Gepard hums, furrowing his eyebrows. “So, you feel that too?” Gepard mutters.

Sampo does a double take and looks at Gepard with wide eyes. “What do you mean by ‘too’? I was talking to [Y/N], not you!” says Sampo, huffing.

Dan Heng, Caelus, Mr. Yang, and Gepard stare at Sampo with blank expressions. Sampo blinks at them and laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. Gepard sighs, trying to ignore the strange pull in his chest.

“You’re not the only one that feels that connection, you know?” Gepard hisses, glaring at Sampo.

Sampo’s eyes widen, and he holds his hands up in front of him, laughing. “Whoa, there, buddy. Listen, I don’t know what you’re trying to imply, but I don’t feel a connection with you! I feel a connection with [Y/N], but certainly not you! Plus, why would I, Sampo Koski, be with someone that constantly tries to put me in jail?” Sampo asks.

Caelus snorts and rolls his eyes. “That’s not what Gepard is implying, Sampo,” Caelus comments, pressing his lips into a thin line to prevent himself from laughing in Sampo’s face.

Sampo looks at Caelus quizzically, then at Dan Heng. Dan Heng raises an eyebrow at Sampo, crossing his arms over his chest.

Dan Heng sighs before answering, “Gepard is implying that you’re not the only one that feels the connection with [Y/N]. Gepard feels the same connection with [Y/N] as well.”

Mr. Yang looks at Sampo and Gepard, surprised. He clears his throat to grab the four men’s attention before pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Himeko mentioned the same thing before I caught up with the rest of you. Himeko says she feels a sense of familiarity when she saw [Y/N], although I don’t think she feels the same as the rest of us,” Mr. Yang explains.

Gepard’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline. “What do you mean by the rest of us? Do all of you feel the same way toward [Y/N]?” Gepard demands, chewing on his bottom lip.

Despite not getting a response from the four men in front of him, Gepard already knows the answer to his question. Every one of these men feels some kind of connection with you. Heck, even Himeko says she feels a sense of familiarity with you, according to Mr. Yang. A sense of familiarity is different from the tugging in their chests when they’re around you. The best way to describe it is a gravitational pull. It makes them want to be closer to you and be near you.

“Does anyone know they feel the same way?” Gepard asks, looking at you from the corner of his eyes. “I know they told Sampo they feel it as well, but what if they’re saying it to get Sampo off their back?” Gepard asks, propping one hand on his hip while stroking his chin.

The rest of the day went by in a blur to you. The last thing you remembered before losing consciousness was Himeko showing you where your temporary room is located on the Astral Express. Nanook communicated with you through your dreams twice, but this time, he didn’t make an appearance. You slept for a few hours, only to be woken up by someone knocking at the door.

You roll out of bed and stumble to the door, grabbing the doorknob and opening the door without a second thought. At first, you thought it was going to be March that was standing at the door, ready to show a photo book of her, Dan Heng, Mr. Yang, and Caelus trailblazing, but instead, it was Jing Yuan, Blade, and Luocha that’s standing at the door.

Just when you were feeling groggy, you’re now alert and surprised. You stare at the trio with wide eyes and peek over their shoulders. Why are they at the Astral Express? Shouldn’t they be at the Xianzhou Luofu? And as for Blade, you’re not entirely sure why he’s with Jing Yuan and Luocha at the Astral Express.

You give the three men a fake smile. “Jing Yuan, Luocha, and Blade! What a surprise! If you don’t mind me asking, what are you three doing here?” You ask, running your hands through your bedhead.

Jing Yuan chuckles. “It’s good to see you too, [Y/N]. We came to check up on you to see if you were okay. Caelus informed us that you weren’t feeling well when you were on Jarlio-VI,” says Jing Yuan.

You stare at Jing Yuan like a fish out of water. “Oh! I’m fine, really! I didn’t think you would stop by to check up on me after hearing what happened,” you say, clearing your throat.

Luocha smiles and pats your head. “We were worried about your well-being! Of course, we would stop by to see if you’re okay! Are we not allowed to do that?” Luocha asks, batting his eyelashes at you.

You feel yourself becoming flustered under their gaze, and you look away, rubbing the back of your neck. Then you realize that Blade is also standing there, behind Luocha and Jing Yuan, staring at you menacingly. Well, he was just staring at you like a normal person, but the look was menacing to you.

You point an accusing finger at Blade. “Why are you here? Didn’t you go somewhere with Kafka after our encounter at the Xianzhou Loufu?!” You demand, taking a step back.

Blade blinks at you. “What do you mean? Am I not allowed to check up on you?” Blade asks, raising an eyebrow at you.

You snort and lean against the door, glaring at the long, dark-haired man behind Luocha and Jing Yuan. “That’s rich coming from someone that cut my neck the other day!” You say, pointing at the bandaid on your neck.

Jing Yuan and Luocha slowly turn to look at Blade. Their demeanors shift suddenly, and the temperature in the area seems to drop. Blade frowns and ignores the glares Luocha, and Jing Yuan are giving him.

Blade sighs. “I didn’t mean to cut your neck, alright? I didn’t think the edge of the sword would be that sharp,” Blade mutters.

You grumble and shift on one foot, looking at the ground. “Yeah, well, I’m doing fine now. I appreciate you three checking up on me, really. Even though you all didn’t need to do that.” you say.

Jing Yuan chuckles. “Well, when it comes to you, we’re willing to drop everything we’re doing to make sure you’re safe,” says Jing Yuan, giving you a closed-eye smile.

“Now that we have checked up on you, I think we should leave you alone to rest now,” Luocha says, smiling at you.

You give Luocha a smile in return and bid the three men goodbye before closing the door. You walk to your bed and collapse on it, closing your eyes. When you open your eyes, you’re back in the void, standing before Nanook. Nanook lets you stand on his hand and lifts you to his eyes, caressing your cheek with his index finger.

“My beautiful, shining star. We will meet soon,” Nanook murmurs.

You place your hands over Nanook’s finger, leaning into his touch. “What do you mean by shining star? Blade and Kafka called me a fallen star. Is there a correlation between the two?” you ask.

“That, I cannot tell you, my shining star. You will know soon enough,” replies Nanook.

The void around you fades away, and you wake up to see people surrounding you. You blink at them and sit up, but Dan Heng pushes you back down on the bed. You look at Dan Heng and the others with a questioning look. Your moment with Nanook was cut so suddenly. Did something happen?

You rub your eyes. “What happened? Why is everyone in my room?” You ask.

Himeko sighs in relief, smiling at you. “We’re just glad you’re okay, that’s all,” says Himeko

You stare at Himeko and the others quizzically. “Then, does that mean I can continue my sleep?” You ask.

March’s eyes widen, and she looks at the others with panic. “Uh, yes! But you’ve been sleeping so much today! Do you want to walk around the Astral Express with us? You know, for fresh air and maybe get something to eat after?” March asks.

You shrug, rolling off the bed and stretching your arms in the air. “Yeah, sure, why not? I don’t think I had anything to eat today, so I might as well walk around the Astral Express and get something to eat after.”

March grins and grabs you by your wrist before pulling you out of your room with the others following behind. You’re not sure if you want to know what happened before you woke up, but everyone in the room looks… shaken up, if that’s the right way to describe it.

Note: Not gonna lie, I kind of like how this fic turned out. The starting "chapter" of the new series is completely different from how I started the Genshin Impact Isekai fic. I have way too many ideas for Honkai Star Rail, and I'm excited to post more for Honkai Star Rail along with the Genshin fics. I might make a more organized masterlist for all of my fics, but I'm not sure when I'll do that 🤔 To my new and/or returning readers, please keep in mind that I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!

Read more of my works on my Masterlist | Maybe support me by tipping me on Ko-Fi or by reblogging my fanfics! ^^ I will also be posting exclusive fanfics on Ko-Fi as well very soon! I might post all of my stories on there too, but who knows. You can also tip me on Tumblr if you'd like as a way to show support! ^^

#Honkai Star Rail x reader #Honkai Star Rail imagine #Honkai Star rail fanfiction #Honkai Star Rail fanfic #HSR x reader #HSR imagine #HSR fanfiction #HSR fanfic #Dan Heng x reader #Gepard Landau x reader #Sampo Koski x reader #Welt Yang x reader #Blade x reader #Jing Yuan x reader #Luocha x reader #Caelus x reader #Nanook x reader #genshinluvr

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euthymiya · 28 days

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loving is easy (it didn’t used to be) ft. wriothesley

in which a familiar face brings wriothesley to a dark place, a place from where only you can pull him out. you always find a way to staunch the flow of blood from his broken knuckles, one delicate kiss at a time

contains: 2.7k word count ; female reader ; spoilers for wrio’s backstory and quest—briefly touches briefly on murder and child exploitation and trafficking ; mentions of blood and injuries (pankration rank) ; reverse comfort ; established relationship ; angst with a lot of fluff too ; this is slightly a character study of wrio i suppose

“—thesley, stop—wriothesley! you need to stop!”

“your grace, that’s enough!”

one voice calls out to him after the other. slowly. one by one. they register in his ears after being muffled for so long, after only the sound of his own voice rang in his head for so long.

more. he can take more. again. give him another. one more. don’t stop. another punch. punch. don’t stop punching. just keep punching.

he can hear the words repeating in his head as he lands a fist one after the other to the swollen, bloodied face under him.

finally, he stops—he doesn’t have a choice. his shoulders are grabbed, strong sets of multiple hands holding his arms back before his knuckles can make another precise landing to their target.

typically, wriothesley doesn’t participate in pankration rank matches very often. the place is entirely reserved for him to use after hours, when his boxing gloves can come out and a punching bag can take the brunt of his hits.

it’s better that way. it’s less likely to cause injury of inmates, it’s an effective method to get rid of his pent up frustrations through the day, and it’s a wonderful way to exercise and get in a work out.

today, however, he can’t wait that long. the thought of waiting until everyone’s off to their quarters to sleep, until the rank is his alone in the dead of night, until hours have passed and he’s had to suffer simmering in his thoughts is not something he thinks he handle today.

today, on a rare whim, wriothesley decides to join a match himself. he’s done so before—and in all fairness, it’s never exactly turned out poorly. sure, he wins a bit too easily, and, of course, the inmates are typically too nervous to really give him a proper fight. but it’s not the first time, he joined.

but right now, as his senses return to him, as the guards pry his body off the opponent he’s pinned to the ground, as your concerned gasp rings in echoes through his ears and sigewinne’s shocked face quickly approaches the unconscious and bloody figure crumpled on the floor, he thinks this might just be his last match.

“wriothesley,” you whisper, voice shaky and disbelieving, “what in teyvat has gotten into you?”

he stares down at his fists.

blood.

so, so much blood. just like that day—just like that cursed day. his hands shake as they ball into tight fists, nails digging into the meat of his palms. the pain feels good, he faintly registers. it feels like something, anything against the numbness he’s starting feel spread across his entire body.

he’s fairly certain the only reason he’s standing upright anymore is because the guards are there to stabilize his body.

“someone should take him to the infirmary,” you set your shoulders back, a firm tone taking over your voice as you decide to handle the clear poorly tamed situation. you gesture at the limp form on the floor, making guards nod as they rush over and lift the body. “sigewinne, will you be able to take care of him?”

“of course,” she nods, quickly following after the guards as they leave.

wriothesley’s not fit to do anything but stare off in a trance for the moment. you’ll tackle that issue in a bit—first, you turn to the surrounding crowd, voice strict as you say, “everyone is to leave the rank. now.”

inmates at the fortress know better than to question you. at times, they even wonder if you have more authority over wriothesley than he does himself over the entire fortress. they quickly file out of the room, hushed murmurs between them all that you pay no mind to.

what do you reckon has gotten into his grace?

you think that guy’ll be alright?

it’s a good thing i didn’t participate today.

me too.

you catch the faint words every now and then as all the bodies quickly empty out of the rank, leaving you, your boyfriend, and the few guards still holding him upright.

“my lady,” a guard quickly walks up to you, urgently handing you a first aid kit as she adds, “the head nurse has requested for this to be delivered to you.”

“thank you,” you murmur softly, taking the kit in your hands before smiling at the guards that slowly but surely let go of wriothesley’s arms, letting him stumble over until he stops just before your figure.

his eyes are still so distant, so hollow.

“we’ll be off,” one of the guards nods, “we’ll leave his grace to you.”

“of course,” you return the gesture, watching as they slowly exit too, leaving you and the duke to yourselves.

you look at him in concern. he doesn’t meet your eyes, focusing on the blood stains on the floor not too far away.

“baby,” you say gently. delicately. like approaching a small, caged animal as you carefully reach a hand over. he doesn’t pull away, but he stiffens as your hand cups his cheek, “you should sit down. i’ll just clean your hands, okay?”

“i…”

“c’mon,” you guide him by the wrist, slow steps that he follows, completely silent, completely resigned to letting you pull him along as he blindly follows.

you softly push him to sit on a bench at the side, grabbing a hand and slowly setting to work. he doesn’t even let out his usual exaggerated hiss when the sting meets his broken skin as you disinfect it with a cloth.

“i didn’t mean to,” he says quietly after some time, overwhelming guilt coating his words. “i don’t…i can’t figure out what came over me.”

“i know you didn’t,” you reassure, pausing when his eyes stare up at you unsure. “you’d never mean to hurt anyone.”

his face tells you he doesn’t believe you—don’t you know what got him sent here in the first place? how could you say that so confidently when you know his past?

he scoffs bitterly, looking away as he mutters, “yeah, sure.”

“so you meant to hurt that guy?” you raise a brow, making his lips curl into a frown as he pauses, contemplating your words before slumping in defeat and glumly shaking his head.

“no,” he mumbles lowly, voice hardly audible if you weren’t so close, so intent on hearing him.

“okay, what’s on your mind, baby?” you press a sweet kiss to his forehead. his hand is still in yours, cleaned and bandaged now as your thumbs trace over the tough, dried calluses of his palms. “talk to me.”

“nothing,” he says gruffly, not meeting your eyes as you look at him and sigh.

“i’d believe you sooner if you told me you were trying to kill that guy,” you reply—you think you might immediately regret the choice of words as soon as he flinches.

kill.

was he trying to kill the man? it certainly feels like he might’ve been. he didn’t mean to lose control like that, he’d never purposely hurt an inmate in such a manner. but one taunt turned to two, and it’s easy for the cocky opponent of his to get under his skin—something that’s so unusual, so unlike wriothesley.

he can’t remember the last time someone’s, let alone an inmate’s words mattered to him. someone apart from you, perhaps sigewinne.

“you haven’t been yourself since the newest prisoner,” you note, voice taking on a careful lilt as you brush back sweaty strands of hair from his forehead, pressing a lingering kiss to the skin.

he closes his eyes, letting out a stuttering breath.

“what makes you say that?”

it’s a deflection—wriothesley is certain you’ll see through him, but it doesn’t stop him from avoiding the heart of the matter nonetheless. he doesn’t look at you, opting to stare down at the bandaged knuckles of his hands, imagining the blood that was just there moments ago.

he’s familiar with blood on his hands. this wouldn’t be the first time, and he’s certain it won’t be the last. he wonders why he was destined at such a young age to always feel the thick, crimson liquid coat his skin. why he of all people is cursed to feel the warmth of life spill across his knuckles and turn cold.

wriothesley doesn’t even blink, doesn’t even register your hands covering his own, squeezing as gently as possible so you don’t disrupt the sore skin under the cotton.

“wriothesley,” you call, hands moving to cup his cheeks, “it’s okay, i promise.”

i’m here now. you can trust me. i won’t betray you. i won’t let anyone betray you.

that’s what you mean—he can hear the words hidden under the ones you speak, whispering to him like echoes that speak over the calls of his childhood.

they’re enough to make him bury his face into your shirt, inhaling the scent of you to try and forget the wretched scent of blood. he’s so tired of blood.

“that new inmate,” he starts, voice hoarse, croaking so weakly, your hand cups the back of his head to bring him closer, “he was my older brother. when i was a kid.”

wriothesley’s childhood is not foreign to you. you’d read the files before you came down to the fortress for work, and even after your relationship shifts from colleagues to lovers, he tells you. the version that’s seen from the haunted eyes of a little boy forced into the reality of a man. the version that doesn’t speak through the codes of law, but the horrors of a child with no way out. the version that makes wriothesley human, not a criminal.

he doesn’t speak of his siblings, not often anyway. too many of them left before him, before he could have known they needed to be free. he doesn’t know what happened to them, and you think he might never want to know. the ones he set free have lives of their own, he tells you. he took it upon himself to find out, just to be certain.

just to know they’re safe.

you’re sure this recent prisoner must be the first of his older siblings that he’s ever come across past his youth.

“he doesn’t recognize me,” he whispers, fingers hooking into your shirt as he grips you, “i can tell.”

“do you want him to?”

“no,” he admits, “i don’t…he doesn’t know me as wriothesley. maybe that’s for the best—i don’t think knowing it’s me would be very good for him.”

“i’m sure he misses you,” you soothe your fingers through his hair, raking your nails across his scalp as he shivers at the tenderness of your touch. “just like you missed him.”

tenderness has never come to him without a price. his mother’s gentle hands and his father’s kind words all came at the expectation of mora. mora through his mind and body as though it were theirs to sell away like he was nothing. a mere commodity to come by and own rather than a child to love and nurture.

your tenderness comes without a price. without so much as an expectation for the affection in return. your love comes because it wants to, because loving him is the price you earn, not the price you pay.

“i’m too different now,” he says quietly, “i can’t be what he needs. not as a brother—i was too late.”

“too late for what?” you scoff, pulling his face from your shirt much to his disapproval. the soft flesh of his cheeks spill over your palms as you squeeze them together, forcing his head to tilt up and meet your gaze. “too late to what? to setting him free? you were a child.”

“i know,” he sighs, fluttering his eyes closed once more as your thumb strokes the scar under his eye. “we all were.”

wriothesley hates this scar in particular. it’s right under his eye, the first place he glances to when he looks at his own reflection. he can’t even assure his hair isn’t unruly without being reminded of the unfairness life has handed to him—but you love it. he thinks you must, with the way you kiss it so often. feel it under your delicate thumb. look at it so fondly. trace it with your index finger when you think he’s sleeping.

you love such ugly parts of him, he wonders if he’s ugly at all. if maybe he’s just bent, waiting for your hands to come gently mold him to be smooth, undamaged.

but you never try to fix him. instead, you try to love him for all the dents and scratches that he is, unwilling to change him despite all the flaws that stick out like a sore thumb.

that must be what love his, he realizes one day. not spilling blood on your hands for the sake of the ones you love, not leaving them behind so they won’t be tainted by your sins, not pretending they don’t exist so they can be free from being of reminded the horrors that cling to you.

love is you, when you look straight into his terrible, shriveled heart, stomped on and shattered over and over, collecting the shards in awe. loving each piece no matter how tiny, no matter how difficult to hold onto. love is choosing not to put them back together in a cracked, messy version of what it once was, choosing to file away and soften the sharp edges slowly, even as it makes your fingers bleed. love is keeping him close, even when he stands so far, walking extra steps even when your heels and calves ache from closing the distance he puts between you.

love is so easy to you, he wonders why it’s been so difficult the rest of his life. how can something seem so effortless now, after it took blood and tears from his for so long before?

he doesn’t know. but he doesn’t want to return to those dark, wretched days. his mothers hands weren’t kind, they didn’t hold him, didn’t protect him like they should have. his father’s eyes didn’t hold light, they never glowed at the sight of him, never shed a tear for his sake. and his siblings—oh how he once loved his siblings, how he considered himself so lucky, so gifted to run among them with his tiny, innocent feet.

but that’s gone now. those days are over. he no longer uses that cursed name he once answered so gleefully. he’s wriothesley now—duke. administrator. warden. your lover.

he’s fine with just that.

“what’s he here for?” you ask after some time, breaking the comfortable silence as he stays buried into your embrace.

“murder. just like me—the family he was sold to.”

“he’ll be okay,” you hum, trailing your hand to find his back, rubbing up and down the planes of his muscles through his shirt. “i’m sure of it.”

“how can you be so sure?” he asks disbelievingly, “i was at my lowest after my sentence.”

“you didn’t have an administrator as capable as you,” you point out. “he’ll be okay. he has you—whether it’s as his brother or as wriothesley. it’s up to you. either is more than enough.”

“you think so?” he looks up, pressing a kiss to the pad of your thumb as you trace his curled lips.

you nod, grinning gently as you say, “of course. when have i ever been wrong?”

“i suppose never,” he chuckles—his knuckles feel lighter now, as they mold to fit over your hips, holding your waist securely as if he holds his whole world.

he does. he doesn’t tell you, but he does.

“you have an injured inmate you owe an apology to, by the way,” you remind him, laughing as he pouts into your hand, laying his cheek further against your palm.

“i’m injured too,” he protests, “it’ll have to wait until i’m healed.”

you raise a brow, giving him an amused look. “and where exactly are you injured, your grace?”

he holds his hands out to you, the evidence of your tender love and care evident through the careful bandaging. but he’s selfish. because you let him be.

so he asks for more, in a simple plead of, “i need to be kissed better. please?”

you shake your head and laugh as he bats his lashes, but you don’t dare deny him. never saying no to more love, never running out of the affection he doesn’t know if he quite deserves.

“will it allow you a speedy recovery?”

“most definitely,” he confirms, nodding in all seriousness.

“fine then,” you snort. you kiss his knuckles, one press of your feather-light lips at a time.

the haunting feeling of blood goes away—all that’s left is the easy, simple feeling of being loved.

i headcanon that wrio recognizes an inmate when they’re new a bit after he becomes warden as one of the older children he was adopted with and spirals for a few days because their crimes are so similar to his but as an adult. and he mourns that he was too little back then to set the children before him free. and i wish i could tell you why all of my hcs about wrio are so depressing but he’s more fun to write that way bc then he’s that much more in love with reader when she comes into the picture ;)

#writing tag #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x you #wriothesley fluff #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin fluff #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact fluff

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onsomenewsht · 4 days

Text

I like it in the city when two worlds collide

About when she’s her hometown hero and you wish to fill your own home

》 Alexia Putellas x Reader

》 words count: +1.5k

》 be like a kid in a candy store [phrase]: to be very happy and excited about the things around you, and often react to them in a way that is silly and not controlled

Admiring Alexia as she builds her foundation, little piece after little piece, it’s honestly one of the best things you had the privilege to witness her achieve. Sparks of excitement radiate every time she talks about it, every time new ideas are brought out or new steps forward are made.

You’ve been next to her since the very beginning, since it was all just a desire to make an actual difference for the next generation of girls in football.

And you’re next to her today, as it comes alive in her hometown.

It’s so beautiful and meaningful, your heart beats with pride.

“Nice speech, have you ever thought about a future in politics?”

“I can’t think of anything worse”

Alexia welcomes your hug eagerly, taking a moment between your arms to ground herself after all the talking and the smiling.

She’s happy, she truly is. But she also needs to stop for a second and just feel that happiness.

“I think your mama is one step away from building you a statue with her own bare hands”

The Catalan bursts out laughing, looking at her mother. Eli is beaming with joy and pride as she speaks with one of her old teachers, who somehow finds himself here to support her project the same way he supported her football dream back in the day.

“We’re all really proud of you, Alexia”, you say, holding her hand between yours to make her understand how much she has done. The beautiful impact she has on the one close to her and the one who shines from a distance because of her light.

“You say it all the time”, she dismisses as her cheeks turn a little more red under the praises and the Mollet sun.

“Yeah, I need to keep feeding your ego or you’ll die without attention”

“Idiot!”

The jab is light and mocking, you know how she feels about the running joke.

It goes back years, you weren’t even dating yet, but the teasing way you compared her to a fairy who can’t live without people believing in them sticks. The Barcelona’s captain keeps denying the comparison, you know she secretly loves your way to show admiration and support.

“Come on, I think they’re teaming up the kids and I want to make sure Eloise is with you”

“I don’t play favouritism”

She does, but you’re not wanna call her out for having a soft spot for your best friend’s daughter.

The walk toward the makeshift sports ground set up for the occasion is short, filled with stops to talk with people, hug excited children of all ages and shake hands with even more excited parents.

It doesn’t take much to put in place a little tournament, Alexia plays in the second round and you somehow find yourself involved too. You’re just glad the unfortunate kids who have you on their team do most of the work, allowing you to move around and look busy.

The odds are even in your favour when you find yourself alone in front of the goal and all you have to do is kick the ball into the back of the net.

You make sure a certain blonde athlete is looking when you mock a little bow.

From that is a blur of laughs and jokes between you and all the people who came here to support Alexia and her foundation, never stepping out of your role of a proud girlfriend.

When it’s her moment to get involved in the game, you are in the front row with the best view, always happy to see the footballer in her element - doesn’t matter if it is a stadium filled with a screaming crowd or an improvised kickaround with a soft ball and energetic kids.

And the kids are, indeed, full of energy and burning with excitement to play with an actual two time Ballon d’Or winner. They remind you of her.

“You’re drooling”

“I’m not”, you talk back, annoyed, yet unconsciously swiping your lips.

You’re not gonna dignify your best friend with a better answer, keeping your gaze fixed on the Catalan. You love him dearly, Teo has been your rock for years now, but he can be such an asshole.

“You know your own goddaughter is playing too, right?”

“Elo’s really good”

“She’s just doing whatever Alexia is doing”

It’s cute how much the young girl looks up at the footballer. Not just for the incredible and dedicated athlete she is, but also for the amount of care and attention she always reserves for the kid whenever the two are together.

It warms your heart every time.

“Do you think she is gonna let them win?”, Teo asks, genuinely wondering.

You only grin at his question. Alexia is not gonna let those kids win just because, doesn’t matter how adorable they are.

“She’s way too competitive”

“Those are children!”

As an answer, your girlfriend fakes a pass on her left, letting a boy, not older than ten, slide in the wrong direction and completely miss the ball. You notice as she tries to hide a smile behind her hair, finding another kid with a precise long shot.

Little shit she is.

“She’s way too competitive”, Teo confirms, giggling with you when your girls celebrate the winning goal.

“You can practise parenthood tonight if you want”

“I’m not babysitting so you can go out with that brunette you’re seeing”

He almost looks offended by your assumption, but you know him well enough.

The opportunity to spend time with your goddaughter is always appreciated and cherished, she’s a wonderful kid and no one managed to drag Alexia into their shenanigans as effortlessly.

But you have other ideas for tonight.

“I’m planning on letting her give me–”

“Shut up! Innocent ears are around!”

Alexia’s eyebrow rises as she approaches, with an open smile on her face and one hand firmly holding Eloise as she basically wraps herself around the footballer’s leg.

“What are the two of you plotting?”

“Do you want to babysit Eloise tonight?”, he asks with a smirk.

The cheers from both your girlfriend and the kid came faster and louder than any protest you could find in yourself.

The only reasons you don’t smack your hand on the back of Teo’s neck are the comforting arm around your waist and the well placed kiss on your cheek.

He owns you big.

But not even your best friend’s annoying self is strong enough to spoil your mood today and looking at Alexia going around for another hour or so with games and small talks, her smile never fading, is the best view you’d ask for.

She’s glowing.

You see her play and interact with kids all the time, it’s always a pretty sight and it always warms your heart how caring she is. Today, for some reason, it’s beautiful and a bit overwhelming.

Maybe it’s just your hormones, you should check your cycle’s app.

“Amor, are you good?”

Alexia’s voice brings you back, thinking too much sometimes traps you in your own mind. The nod you give her is not really convincing, but a light kiss on your intertwined hands is enough to calm her for now.

“Eloise’s team won the tournament”, she says eventually, pride filling her words.

You look at the kids, still playing around as the day slowly comes to an end. The two of you wait on the sidelines, letting the young girl have another couple of shots at the inflatable goal before taking her for an ice cream and home for the night.

“I thought there wasn’t really a winner”

“Technically no, but–”, the blonde’s lips curve in a well known smirk, “between me and you, she totally won”

“Difficult not to when a Ballon d’Or winner is on your team”

“I don’t play favouritism!”

“Oh, no, I know, you didn’t even let them see the ball”

At least she looks a bit embarrassed about being called out for her competitiveness and her attitude, having unmistakably played with a bunch of children without actually going easy on them.

“I couldn’t expect anything less from la reina”, you kiss the blush on her cheek and she doesn’t hold back a smile at your attention, “But don’t worry, I know you will go easy on our kids”

Her face, now bright red, can’t hide the surprise at your words.

“Our kids?”

“Yeah, we both know they will have you wrapped around their little tiny fingers as soon as you–”

The Catalan silences you with a firm kiss, shaking hands holding your face. She takes a moment, appeasing her fast breath and your running mind.

“Our kids?”

“Alexia, I thought this was all a twisted plan to ask me to have your children”, you joke, moving a hand around to remind her of the event still in place.

“Thank God you finally noticed”

fine.

#woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #woso #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #here we go again #my english is shit #ignore any mistakes #we are here for a fun time not a long time #alexia messing around with kids is my new sexuality #happy pride #my wo(rd)so

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icarryitin · 1 month

Text

Effortless

spencer reid/gn!reader

coming into this from a fandom where my last fic got literally 11 notes (half of which were my own self-rbs) the reception for workplace hot was heartwarming, pls accept more pre-relationship work crush goodness as thanks🧡🧡

masterlist

word count: 1.6k// warnings: absolutely hopeless pining, this man is so so clever but so so oblivious

“Chicken.”

“Did you know, the origin of ‘chicken’ in reference to someone who’s afraid can be traced back to the use of ‘hen-heart’ as a synonym for ‘fainthearted’? Its first documented use was in the York Mystery Plays - which are considered to have been written prior to 1450.”

“Chicken.” Morgan repeats.

“Shut up.”

While his second response is decidedly less eloquent, Spencer’s pretty sure he can’t fact-dump his way out of this particular conversation.

It’s not exactly a secret - his giant, all consuming, world ending crush on you - at least, it’s not a secret from anyone except you. He’s past being embarrassed about it when one of the others brings it up, as long as it’s not around you. That’s happened exactly once, and Spencer’s automatic response was to chatter about the migration patterns of a specific type of bird he’d read an article about the day before. Ceaselessly. No matter how much everyone else had begged him to stop, until the previous subject was well and truly forgotten. So when you’d asked a leading question about another kind of bird? He was more than happy to oblige. You’ve always done that, listened to him. It’s nice.

It’s probably what got him in this mess in the first place.

Somewhere along the way, a routine developed itself. He remembers the first day you asked him to elaborate on something he’d started on earlier in the day, trivia about the fluctuations in the popularity of a specific make of car. It had ended up being useful in the context of the case anyway but, more importantly to Spencer, the tidbit had you cornering him in the kitchen to ask him about it. And now it’s just what happens. You potter around to make your lunch, he chatters about the most recent paper he’s read like your own personal podcast.

It’s a comfortable friendship, solidified by little things like that. Though they’re not all that little to him, if anything they’ve only deepened his feelings for you - he doesn’t let on, for your sake, he tries not to.

But his affection sneaks out in other ways.

He gravitates towards you without realising it, just to exist in your space. At the round table, on the jet, at crime scenes, in whichever office the local PD have cleared out for the team. He’s never hovering, but he’s not not hovering. Just working parallel to you. It’s why he likes the bullpen, for all its hustle and bustle, because he can look at you out of the corner of his eye whenever he wants to. He can spin his chair to face you, stretch his legs out across the aisle, and let a wave of sheer steadiness wash over him. Sometimes it’s you, reaching over to hand him something or abandoning your post completely to perch on the corner of his desk. Spencer thinks that’s what it might be, the peace you seem to exude that quiets his busy mind - the kindness you extend to victims and their families that flows through your very veins. It follows you like an aura, there’s very little he won’t do to be bathed in it whenever he can. It’s all led to a unique dynamic that means you’re paired up together more often than not.

You move around each other unconsciously now, leaning over maps and files and evidence. Swapping pens and ducking under one another’s arms as you both scribble away at the board. It’s almost choreographed, natural. Everything is with you, and that’s what gets him. There’s a part of Spencer Reid’s brain that is dedicated to considering his actions in relation to the people around him, running in the background like a computer programme, but he doesn’t have to run it around you. He doesn’t think, for once. He just does.

It’s effortless, second nature, to make space for you. The same as it is to leave a seat open for you, even if it’s the only one. To nudge you gently when you’re too far in your own head to realise you’re picking at your skin. You’ve started nudging him back in recent weeks when he does the same, chewing on the inside of his lips and paying absolutely no mind to the damage he’s doing. You notice, you care enough to stop him. Just like you’ll leave an empty space on the nearest desk for him to hop up on. He’s not sure if you realise you’re even doing it. Clearing perfect Spencer-sized spots at every precinct and office you’re set up in, because you know he prefers it to the chairs. Which makes his own actions feel a little less overt and, in turn, lets him breathe a sigh of relief. Maybe this is just what good friends do for each other. He can call you that, at least, if his own fears won’t afford him the chance to call you anything else.

Though, he’s not sure he could stop himself from taking care of you in his own way if he tried. Mostly because he’s not trying in the first place.

He didn’t even realise what he was doing, the first time he turned to you to double check your protective vest was secure. Narrow fingers tugging on straps, barely even processing the inviting warmth of you underneath them, he’d been too focused on making sure you were as protected as you could be. And then he’d walked into the Unsub’s home ahead of you anyway.

Spencer never walks ahead of you, anywhere. He’s always ushering you in first, something drilled into him by some unknown force, his basest of instincts - you’re ahead of him into the office, into precincts, into crime scenes, even into the elevator. But in a hostile situation? He’s first through the door every time.

So much so that it’s routine now, wherever the case, whoever is around. He grasps the shoulders of the thick vest and wiggles it, he rips the velcro straps off at your waist only to secure them again. A little tighter, and he’s quietly grateful that you let him. The heat of you at his back is reassuring when scenes aren’t secure. To know that, based on his experience anyway, the Unsub will more than likely jump out ahead of him - and he’ll be the one between you and the bullet. Which is maybe a little dramatic, but it’s the truth.

“Ready, boys?”

Doctor Spencer Reid has never claimed to believe in any god, but he makes sure to thank something for the interruption. Anything to get himself and his giant crush out from under Derek Morgan’s microscope.

It’s Emily who speaks, Emily who tosses protective vests at him and Derek, but Spencer’s eyes are focused on you entering the office behind her. You’re concentrating on your own vest, securing straps that’ll only be repositioned in a minute or two. But you still do it yourself each time, as if you’re not expecting him to come over and double check your work. There’s no way you haven’t noticed by now. That he’ll do it every time, that he doesn’t do it for anybody else, that he spends twice as long checking on your vest than he does securing his own. FBI emblem emblazoned on his chest, Spencer crosses the room dutifully to conduct his little ritual.

Velcro isn’t quiet. It pierces through the background noise when he undoes the buckle at your side and tears it free, but his eyes don’t move from the task at hand. Yours are heavy on his face, the way they always are when he gets this close. He pretends not to notice.

“Thank you.” You whisper softly. So softly that between the chatter and gun checking behind him, only the two of you can hear.

It’s only now, now he’s certain your vest is snug as possible, that he allows his careful gaze flicker to meet yours. He struggles not to take a step back with the force of it.

“Of course.” He replies, reluctantly pulling his cold fingers out from the warmth beneath the shoulders of your vest. His smile, small, self-conscious, is returned tenfold and beaming. The same way it always is. He doesn’t know how you do it - see the things you see every day and still manage a grin wider than the Río de la Plata. Maybe he can’t explain everything.

He catches a movement over your shoulder, it’s Morgan. Arms folded at the elbow, fists tucked close to his chest, as he makes the exaggerated movements of a chicken. Head bobbing and all. The teasing support, because that’s all it is, is nice to have - but there’s not one member of the team who understands exactly why he’s so afraid to say anything to you. In an ideal world, he wouldn’t be. He’d be able to pull you aside and tell you exactly how many days it’s been since he’d met you, started crushing on you, fallen absolutely hopelessly in love. It kind of all started at once, if he’s being completely honest. And in that ideal world, you would smile that billion kilowatt smile and tell him you love him too, and even the paperwork from the bureau wouldn’t matter. This isn’t an ideal world, however. He knows that better than most.

Spencer’s been rejected before, more than even he would care to admit, by friends and lovers and parents and colleagues and strangers. But he’s not sure he could take it from you, not while you hold his heart so tenderly in your hands. Even unaware of the responsibility, you’re gentle with him.

He’ll keep you close, regardless, as much as he can without arousing your suspicion. He’ll keep making space for you and double checking your vest until every ugly confession claws its way out of him.

That’s enough, for now.

if you’ve made it this far, pls know i am kissing u gently on the forehead🧡🧡

i’m also thinking about opening requests for all things pre-relationship spencer bc mutual pining and obliviousness is my fav fav fav thing, in case anyone was interested👀

#i’m also choosing at this stage to make him only experience good things #bc i’ve just got to the maeve arc in my first full watch of cm and i know what happens and i’m sad already i love her #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #lou writes #the canyouniverse

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