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cherryredstars · 9 months

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Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x afab!reader (established relationship)

Warnings: 18+, smut without plot, handjob, blowjob/face fucking, facial, cum eating, praise, slight degrading if you squint, a dab of female masturbation

Summary: There is no better way for Miguel to distract himself from a horrible workday then with a little assistance from you.

A/N: First time ever writing smut, so I apologize if it's horrible and it's the least sexiest thing on earth!

Word Count: 2.8K (barely edited)

The multiverse is a place that needs constant attention. It never resets, never takes a break. And for Miguel, it means the same thing. He needs to work tirelessly on it. It’s a very real possibility that if he looks away for even a few seconds, it could come crashing down with no way to restore it. In mere seconds, a world could be erased as if it never existed. Millions of lives can be lost. The people he loves and dedicates his life to protecting can slip through his fingers. He knows from experience, and he never wants a fresh reminder. He doesn't want anyone else to know how that feels.

So, it isn't uncommon for him to stay in his office, studying fluorescent yellow screens while the world is asleep. He spends more time in his office than he does anywhere else. So much so that it's more of a home than his actual home is. It's a sad thought, but he doesn't particularly mind it. He has Lyla to keep him busy and he gets the occasional visits from Peter B. and Jessica, paired by random drop-ins from other Spiders for missions. But, today's events have his face in a deeper scowl than usual. His brows creasing his skin in leftover annoyance and his eyes glaring at the information before him.

An anomaly had caused more trouble than predicted, causing great casualties and a mess of reports to read through. Every little thing seemed to make his jaw grind too. Maybe it was the lack of sleep or the fact that he had been running for more than 12 hours without a proper meal, but he was snapping and growling at anyone who looked at him for too long or caused even the slightest inconvenience. Even Lyla stopped her usual teasing in favor of not being put on “Do Not Disturb” until further notice.

Of course, news of his erratic behavior had reached your ears almost instantly. You had been in your own dimension for the past few days, being unneeded for any missions and using the time to take care of any trouble in your world. This also meant you and Miguel had little to no contact for those few days. But even so, you knew exactly where to find the hunkering man at such a late hour.

You open a portal and step through, tilting your head up to stare at the floating platform. You keep your movements minimal to reduce the amount of noise as you sling yourself up, landing with a soft thud that doesn't catch Miguel’s attention. You walk gently up to him and keep your movements slow to not startle him when your hands softly land on his shoulders. Your palms make quick work to ease the knots in his shoulders as you lean down and kiss the side of his neck.

Before you even speak, hell before you even touched him, Miguel knew it was you. It was almost impossible to keep your presence hidden from him. He had perfectly memorized the way your steps sound. On any surface. He knows the way your feet drag slightly when you walk on carpet and the rhythmic pattern of your feet on hardwood flooring as you purposely walk from plank to plank. He especially knows that when you step with your right foot, the sound is lighter than the ones from your left as you walk along the metal platform of his office. And even if he didn't recognize you from your steps, your wonderfully sweet smell filled his nose the second you stepped through the portal.

"Hey, Migs. I've missed you," You whisper in his ear as you take in the smell of him. It’s one of your favorite smells in the whole world, and it drives you crazy that the only source of it you have while you’re away is one of his old college shirts that has started to smell more like you than of him.

You didn't wait for him to respond as you wrapped your arms around his upper chest from behind, earning a small nip from Miguel’s fangs to your wrist as a greeting. You giggled and moved around to sit on his lap, being sure to not obscure his view of the monitors. Miguel wraps his arms around you lazily before looking down at you with tired eyes, "What are you doing here? It's late. You should be in bed."

You tilt your head and raise a brow, "Oh, yeah? You're one to talk. After the day I heard you had, you should be the one at home sleeping right now. The multiverse knows you need it." Miguel can't fight the small smirk that forms on his face from your sass. God, he really did miss you while you were gone.

"The multiverse is inanimate. It can't form any independent or coherent thoughts and conclusions," Miguel teases back as he buries his head into the crook of your neck, it's his turn to consume your scent. It helps his sore and stiff muscles relax and he almost purrs at the comfort it provides his overused mind. You reach a hand up and massage the back of his head, earning a pleased sigh from the man. He pulls away slightly and looks back up at you, "But, seriously, why aren't you at home?"

You roll your eyes at his nerdy, know-it-all response before pecking his lips. You can't help it when he has that tired, pouty look on his face. It's adorable. "I'm here to convince you to take a break. Go to bed. We can go home and rest for a few hours."

The offer is incredibly appealing. He almost agrees immediately, the words on the tip of his tongue. But then he becomes aware of the yellow lights glowing on your skin and his eyes focus back on the screens before him. He had so much work left to do. Reports that still need to be read through, data that needs to be sorted, calculations that need to be made, earths that need to be scanned for irregular activity. The list is endless, infinite. He can't afford to rest. Even if it's what he so desperately needs and wants at that very moment.

Before he has the chance to tell you no, you press your lips to his. It's slow and it tries to make up for the time you've been away, but it quickly speeds up and turns into something more hungry as you reposition yourself so that you're straddling his lap. Miguel hums and grabs onto your hips, giving it a tight squeeze. Your hands get lost in his hair and you move from his mouth, to his jaw, and down to his neck. You kiss and suck and nibble at the skin, mumbling against him, "Take a break, Miguel. Let me give your brain a moment to relax."

A soft groan parts from his lips as your suggestive words float into his ears and down to his cock. It strains against the material of his suit, wanting to be freed from its confines. He gently grasps you by the back of your neck and pulls you face to face with him. He stares at you with red, lust filled eyes as he nips at your lower lip before smashing your lips back to his. Another heated kiss is his sign of agreement as his hands roam around your body. He grabs at what he can as he travels his hands up and into your hair, tugging slightly to earn that small moan that he knows you’ll give him.

In seconds, his suit is deactivated. It disappears entirely and you gasp as you feel his hardness press up against you. You pull away from him to catch your breath as your hand reaches out to stroke him. A sharp hiss leaves his lips as your soft hands play with his balls before your thumb comes up to rub at his tip in slow circles. His hands leave your hair to grip onto your waist, squeezing the skin through your suit as he looks down to watch you play with his dick. The sight makes him thrust his hips up into your hands and you squeeze him a little more tightly.

"Ay coño, your hand is so soft," Miguel murmurs as your hand pumps him a few times. You practically beam at his praise before you give him one last, sharp jerk.

He furrows his brows as you stop, about to open his mouth in protest before you stand up and remove your suit. It falls to the ground, forming soft padding on the hard floor before you sink to your knees before him. Quickly, Miguel spreads his legs apart so you can fit yourself between them as his hand reaches down to caress your cheek, "You look so pretty like this, on your knees for me."

You can't help the pleased sigh that leaves your lips before you press a gentle kiss to his tip. It's swollen and red, begging for attention as precum dribbles from his slit. Your mouth practically waters as you kitten lick him, earning a deep groan from Miguel. He watches attentively as you happily let his taste bloom across your tongue. It's a bit salty, but completely masculine. Completely Miguel. You run your tongue down his entire length a few times, each time stopping to suck his tip gently before continuing down and back up. You only stop when Miguel tugs sharply on your hair.

"Stop teasing, Y/N," He growls at you as he lifts your face away. You actually whimper as distance is put between your mouth and his cock. The sound only fuels Miguel’s ego, knowing how needy you are to taste him. To please him.

He guides your mouth back over him, watching as you open your mouth to take him. You hum when he lowers your face and he enters your mouth. He reaches the back of your throat, and you hold yourself there to get used to the feeling. After a few seconds, you bob your head back up, only to take him to the back of your throat again. Miguel moans and holds your hair tighter, and it encourages you to continue. He grits his teeth and lets you have control for a few minutes as you speed up.

But your control soon comes to an end as Miguel's other hand comes to cradle your head. You look up at him to find him staring at you with the same heated lust in his eyes. A low rumble vibrates from his throat when your eyes meet his. He can't help but think how pretty you are with your shiny eyes looking up at him through soft lashes and your skin all flushed from his attention. "Keep looking at me, don't look away."

He starts off slow, pushing your head down and guiding it back up. He takes his time with your mouth, jaw grinding at the warmth that surrounds his cock. He watches as he disappears into your mouth, only to be revealed again with your saliva coating him. The sight makes him feral, and he speeds up without warning. You gag as he rapidly moves your head and you bring your hands up to grip his thighs for support. Your eyes are hooded as you look up at him, moaning around his length at his roughness. You’re sure that you're forming a puddle of arousal underneath you. The scent of it is thick in the air, it smells so heavily of the both of you. It's almost dizzying.

For Miguel, it's worse with his enhanced senses. It's making it hard for him to control himself. Being able to smell your slick so heavily, knowing it's because it turns you on that he's using your mouth to get off. There isn't anything better than being completely consumed by you, by your touch, your mouth, your scent. It makes him snap. He holds your face in place, deciding it better to fuck himself into your face. He repositions his hands, getting a better grip on your hair as he thrusts into your mouth. You gag repeatedly and each time he thrusts out, saliva trails after him and runs down your chin. It's messy and primal. And you can't help yourself from trailing your hands down your body, nudging your panties over to play with your clit.

The movement instantly catches Miguel’s attention and he groans. He wishes he had a better view. His position on the chair, combined with his dick in your mouth, obscures the view of your pretty pussy. But he can still see the small movements of your body, the way your shoulder moves and the roll of your hips causes the fabric of your suit to shuffle. He almost pulls out to see more, but when your body jolts with a whine from the contact on your clit, he knows that this time he’d be satisfied with listening. You can give him a clearer view later.

“What a dirty girl. You like this so much, don’t you? You like me fucking your pretty little mouth? It makes you so desperate to touch yourself, right? Poor little Y/N,” he coos teasingly at you as he thrusts harder. Your throat contracts with more gags and it makes his eyes roll back and he leans his head back slightly. It feels amazing and he’s sure that he could spend the rest of his night thrusting into your mouth.

You feel wet and sticky, everywhere. Your chin and neck are covered in globs of spit and tears fall from your eyes. They run down your face, getting caught in your lashes and mixing with the saliva on your chin. Your body has built up a thin shine of sweat and it both cools you down and heats your skin. Your pussy is completely drenched and you can feel your arousal slide down your thighs, if it isn’t rolling down your thigh then it's on your fingers and being massaged into your throbbing bud. The constant stimulation and the pure pleasure you get from Miguel using your mouth meets in a warm ball in your lower stomach. Each thrust and circle threatens that ball to burst, and you moan to let Miguel know.

But he can already tell, even if he can't feel it physically. It's in the way your eyes are fighting to stay open and the slight twitch your body has. He knows you’re close. And he is too. His body is tightening and his thrusts are more sloppy and rushed as he lets out a series of curses and grunts. He’s trying to keep it together, but it's so hard when your desperate noises travel along his dick with such intensity. It only takes a few more thrusts until his cock twitches out of your mouth and he moans out a swear as his hot cum releases onto your face. His body shakes slightly and his breathing is irregular as he looks down at you, and the sight makes him harden again.

The thick, white fluid runs down your face slowly, some of it collecting in your mouth with your eyes closed. Your body is shaking too, and Miguel realizes you finished too. Your hand is still lazily rubbing circles on your clit, but it slows into a stop as you open your eyes again. You flutter your lashes up at him and Miguel gives you a slow smile. You return it as one of your hands reaches up and pushes some of his cum into your mouth. His eyes instantly darken as you swallow with a hum. Delicious. “Don’t want to be wasteful, right?” You giggle, resting your cheek against one of his thighs and his hand rises to stroke your hair.

He chuckles back and shakes his head, reaching over to grab napkins from his desk. He gently wipes his release off your face, letting you suck on his fingers when his cum clings to them. He throws the soiled napkins in a nearby trash can before pulling you up and onto his lap. He nuzzles his head into your shoulder, sprinkling it with slight kisses, “Thank you for the distraction, mi vida.”

Your smile widens as you kiss the top of his head, “Was it good enough to convince you to come home with me to take a bath and sleep?” The hope is clear in your voice, but so is the understanding if he decides to refuse. But Miguel nods against your shoulder and releases you when you move to get up.

You kiss his hand as you pull him up, stepping over your dirtied suit as Miguel’s reappears. He picks it up for you, holding it to his nose for a second and then letting his hand drop back down at his side when you hit his arm in embarrassment. He can only chuckle at you before activating a portal back to your place. Then, he turns back to you with a coy smile as he remembers an earlier thought, “I believe you owe me a show, anyways.”

Miguel did end up getting a clearer view that night, along with his much needed distraction.

So sorry for any mistakes with the spanish. I know next to nothing about the language so I’m limiting the amount I use it heavily. But I hope you enjoyed it!

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara smut #marvel smut #atsv miguel #across the spiderverse #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel ohara x you #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 smut #spiderman 2099 x you #spiderman 2099 spiderverse #miguel ohara x reader smut #across the spiderverse smut #atsv smut

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owlespresso · 27 days

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the golden ivy which clings

omega!luocha/beta!reader you are a beta courier. one of your clients is more interested in you than you'd like. tags: blackmail, coerced intimacy done as a part of @lorelune's a/b/o collab.

Your legs ache. Your muscles twitch with the extended exertion. The last five hours spent on your feet are catching up to you. It’s a trapping of the occupation. Being a courier on the Luofu means you regularly bounce up and down its many layers and areas, rushing from district to district, from the boughs to the canopy. After three years, you’ve long memorized the thin corridors and hardly beaten paths, mapped every vein and pipe and ligament in your seemingly endless pursuit of planning the optimal delivery routes.

Faces blend together in your line of work. You doubt your clients remember much anything about you. You’re a muddy sparrow flitting from branch to branch, a bee gliding from flower to flower, as nameless as any other customer service worker. You earn more than most of your peers, but that’s mostly because you’ve extended your services to stations and ships beyond the Luofu orbit.

…And also because of your status as a perfectly even beta, liberated from the debilitating symptoms of heats or ruts. You have no need for bimonthly off days, and needn’t fear the voracious gazes or grasping claws of wayward alphas. No one is likely to notice a lone, scentless courier, even in areas where the Cloud Knights frequently patrol.

Today’s business sees you on the far ends of Aurum Alley, where night has slipped over the artificial skies like silk over skin, streets steeped in deep shadow. You stick to the walls, underneath awnings and through narrow side paths. Silvery moonlight dapples through a canopy of sunset orange leaves, touching the aged stone path, the askew benches next to the food stalls.

On the furthest side, mist billows from the waters and onto the red wood docks. Quiet, still. Hardly a customer to be seen. It’s been the very same every other time you’ve visited. The only people you’ve seen have been members of the IPC. They’re surely thrilled at the minimal returns the businesses here are receiving. Filthy hawkers, intent on contaminating every locale unfortunate enough to make contact with them. You hope they never see another coin in their entire lives.

Not that it’s any of your business. You’re just a courier. It’s in your best interests to keep your head down and keep your eyes from wandering, lest you attract their attention… or the attention of any other governing body who would disprove of the wares you ferry from place to place.

Near the docks, where the wind churns the briny waves, stands the blond man. A repeat customer, a man you’ve come to know as ‘Luocha’.

“You didn’t have to wait out here,” is the first thing you say to him, adjusting the straps of your heavy bag. Your shoulders have started to ache from the strain of the day's long treks. “It’s cold, isn’t it?”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he assures you. He has a delicate kind of beauty, the kind you see in fairytale picture books or depictions of soft omegas in gravure magazines. His cheeks are thin, set of his nose regal. His lips are soft rose, petals curled into a winsome smile. His lashes, thick and blonde, fan against his cheeks every time he blinks. It’s all at odds with his imposing height and strange, cold aura. “Shall we head inside?”

“It’s whatever you want,” you reply drolly.

“Inside, then. You look... tired. Have you been on your feet all day long?” Luocha’s hair sways when he turns and bobs which each sway of his hips. Dim lantern light catches on the ornamental pin which holds his strands in place. Just as striking as the rest of him. You really don’t know how he’s come this far without finding a mate. He surely turns the head of any alpha who catches a whiff of him. Even with your muted sense of smell, you still detect undercurrents of that delicate sweetness. Frosted finger cakes and clean face powder. It’s buried under something bitter and medicinal—only able to be caught in the tender hours of the night. After his work is long done.

“That’s just the job. It doesn’t bother me,” you assure him. The apartment building is darkly lit and nondescript. He doesn’t look like he belongs here, in all his whites and golds, pristine and put together and perfectly pressed.

“Still,” he glances back at you. “You won’t be able to do your job at all if you don’t get enough rest. And I would hate to be deprived of my favorite courier’s company.”

You don’t know what kind of face you’re making, but he takes one look at you and laughs quietly.

“My apologies. Given my occupation, it’s practically second nature for me to be concerned about these sorts of things.” He says with a small shrug. You don’t reply, lips nettling into a frown. If you were kinder, perhaps more naive, perhaps you would have mistaken the sentiment to be genuine.

He doesn’t live in the hollow apartment he leads you to. It’s too ramshackle, mostly undecorated space with a couch, a table and a mismatched arm chair when you walk in. He’s dressed too nicely to tolerate moth-eaten curtains and layers of dust.

“Pardon the state of this place—I don’t actually live here. If it were up to me, we would hold our meetings in a nicer place.” he sighs. You don’t know why he feels the need for small talk. He hasn’t always been like this. During the first few months of serving him, the only words exchanged between you both were basic greetings and fleeting formalities.

“It’s fine. ‘S not like you live here,” you wave him off and deposit your bag onto the leather. It’s an earthy green, the color nearly the same as the worn upholstery. It squelches at the impact, and you tug it open by the zipper. The vacuum of created space is chilled around your arm, goosebumps rolling over your skin. A square package wrapped in plastic, off-worlder medicine banned aboard the Luofu, favored by certain members of Sanctus Medicus.

“Are you a member of Sanctus Medicus?” you’re not sure why you ask.

“Oh? I can’t recall you ever asking me such a personal question,” Luocha observes, a mote of mischief in his voice. “Why? Would you dislike it if I was?”

“No. It’s not my place to police anyone's beliefs—but the members I’ve met seem…” you trail off. It isn’t like you to give your opinion so freely, but you can’t imagine someone so discerning falling in line with those quacks.

“Sanctimonious? Self-righteous? Gullible?” Luocha lists for you, leaning against the back of that dowdy couch. He doesn’t move to accept the package, even when you pointedly zip the bag back up. His smile is unreadable.

“All of those things,” you agree, making the three steps it takes to reach him. “Though, I can’t really blame them.”

“And how could you? The long-lived of the Luofu will be roaming the galaxy and enjoying its many fruits hundreds of years after they’re dead and gone. It’s only natural to pursue that which they feel has been hoarded from them.” Luocha plucks the package from your waiting hands, eyeing it with mildly fond intrigue.

“I suppose,” you hum. You’ve already spoken too much. This isn’t a discourse you should be involved in. Sanctus Medicus, despite their incompetence, is still a faction of individuals with enough outreach to meddle in your business, should this conversation get back to them.

Long fingers wrap around your wrist. Your eyes blow wide as you stumble into his chest—sturdy, so different from what you’d expect from someone so beautiful, built well beneath his layers. There is no presage, no forewarning.

Underneath the chamomile slides forth the tender, ambrosial scent which betrays his status as an omega. Your pulse hums in your ears, body frozen stiff—but you remain unblemished by the adrenaline.

“Mister Luocha?” you say.

“So steady, even now,” he observes with infuriating tenderness, breath warm against the shell of your ear. “I suppose I should have expected that from an emanator of Harmony.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, unable but to be proud of how steady your voice remains. Every meeting you have ever had with him replays in your head, rolls by all at once like jittering strips of old-timey film as you pull them from the rusty bank of your memory. What could have given you away in the brief moments you’ve shared together? What in the way that you’ve handed him his contraband belied your true nature? Nothing, you’re sure. He’s discovered this piece of you on his own, and that worries you the most.

“Come now,” Luocha coaxes, the euphony of his voice slipping into something softer and sweeter. “You can be honest with me. We’ve already shared so much with each other, haven’t we?”

“The only thing I’ve ever shared with you are the poisons you order,” you inform him, hands braced against his chest. He tuts at you, and his scent grows all the sweeter. Even you can recognize the excited pheromones he pumps into the air. Your senses are replete with him, tongue made sticky by the devious croon of his voice.

“And you give so much of yourself with that alone,” he insists. “Your willingness to pass illicit drugs into the hands of your customers tells me far more about you than any small talk ever has. A shame, really. You have such interesting thoughts, whenever you deign to share them.”

“What do you want from me?” you ask flatly. Your eyes narrow with undisguised suspicion.

“A great many things, but to start...” His fingers tap a gentle drumbeat atop your shoulder. You shrug him off. A contemplative sound hums deep within his chest, quiet but loud in the dusty still of the room. “Share more of your thoughts with me, Courier.” he beseeches. “You’re always so quiet, when we’re together. I think we’ve known each other long enough to hold better conversations.” His hands slide off of you, smooth and quick as oil slick. It’s a concentrated effort to not bolt out of his reach like a startled fawn.

His gaze bores into your back as you take several measured, extremely normal and calm steps over to your abandoned bag, zipping it back up with renewed zeal.

“I think that was extremely inappropriate.” you share generously.

“I apologize. I only meant to tease, but it seems I’ve pushed too far,” he confesses, genuinely contrite. There is something else about his inflection. Something which sparks alive the long distant urge to soothe. “I don’t often forget myself like this. You must bring it out of me.”

You frown. The feeling dies. It’s not your responsibility to comfort this weirdo. He’s done nothing to earn your sympathy. Pesky biology, however, would dictate otherwise.

“You’ll be delivering to me again tomorrow, won’t you?” he asks, tilting his head. Your internal discourse snaps to a halt, instinct shafted to the side to make way for the sacred tradition known as “doing business”.

“Of course. Same ingredients, same amount?”

“Yes—and a Core Esse, if you’ve the means to procure one—”

You give him a look, but you nod regardless. “Understood. I’ll meet you at the docks, tomorrow—” It’s not professional to walk away while making arrangements with a client, but you very badly want to be out of this stuffy apartment and away from the new, bizarre scrutiny he looks at you with.

You typically avoid knowing anything about your customers beyond the bare basics. However, you can no longer afford Luocha that same distance. Just how much does he know? And where exactly has he pulled your precious secrets from?

The investigation begins tonight. You’re hesitant to call on her, but you may very well need to reach out to a particular contact.

—

Hours worth of feverish research inevitably lead to you just calling the Stellaron Hunter who owes you a favor. You have not the slightest clue where Luocha procured such private information, or how much of it he has. Penacony’s travel logs will be the first place to look. If your bothersome merchant has been there before, it’ll be no mystery where he figured you out. Does The Family still talk about you? And do they look back on your brief term of leadership with nostalgic fondness or embittered hatred?

You care not. Those mistakes are long behind you. The Luofu is a kinder place, somehow easier to navigate despite its Abundance soaked innards, where only the engineers dare wander. Without the protections they are outfitted with, you suppose you’re more vulnerable to mara exposure and all it entails, but you never dwell longer than half-an-hour at a time.

Roots and vines cling to the aged metal paneling and jutting pipes, green and gold particles sour the dim air. The pipes rattle and groan, portions of something neon yellow shooting through the complex web of them at irregular intervals. Flowers sprout from the ropey greenery, some bulbs shut and others agape. Pale petals of pink and white and periwinkle peeled wide open against slick silver and rusted brown. The closed bulbs look oddly wooden, but you’re not stupid enough to touch one.

Luocha could surely excuse you for being mara-struck. The Cloud Knights, on the other hand…

Well. It’s not worth thinking about. The overworld welcomes you back with a gust of fresh wind, washing away the acrid tang of the tunnels. The shallowest of them have several discreet exit and entry points. Crevices in the walls swallow you whole and deposit you in nondescript locations across the Luofu, random alleys and average apartment buildings where it’s easy to sink into the crowds.

Today, it’s a high end district, populated by the high-end homes of diplomats and ranking officials from the Luofu’s sister ships. They come to roost in these behemoth manors a few times a year at most, meaning the streets are emptier than you’re accustomed to. There’s not a soul to be seen or heard, not one resident there to share the wide open road with you. The houses leer at you with wide windows and lacquered doors, sat fat and happy behind their tall gates and gaping lawns.

Luocha calling you here, after all of those clandestine exchanges in that dowdy shell of an apartment, is a statement in itself. Is he threatening you with this obscene display of opulence? You can’t begin to fathom why he’d bother with bothering a simple courier. What does he possibly hope to gain?

The address he sent is among the smallest houses you’ve seen so far. One of the least extravagant, which is to say, still pretty fucking extravagant. The latticework fence is wreathed with delicate cotton roses and the yard is a veritable Eden in comparison to the other lots. The path forward is lined by patches of vibrant wildflowers.

The air is cleaner here, and for the first time since entering the district, you can hear birdsong echoing from the tops of the trees.

How much of this did he plant himself? And how have his neighbors handled living next to a miniature forest? You reach out, palm sliding over the closest oak’s trunk, the bark coarse under your cold palms. Beyond the path, to your left, you hear the babbling of flowing water. The yard isn’t large enough to have a creek, you reason, and the time of your appointment looms close—but you figure you have enough legroom to at very least sneak a glance. Your curiosity for once gets the better of you, sending you through the thicket of green, beyond a copse of trees lined up like appointed sentinels, and over an emerging path of flat stones.

The forest opens into a small clearing. A massive, rock-lined pond nests at the center, surrounded by cattails and watergrasses and other waterfaring plants. The babbling, as you expected, comes from a filtration system stealthily hidden amongst the many reeds.

Sunlight shivers across the gentle waters, stirred up by the afternoon breeze.

A chair has been left unfolded beneath the low-hanging branches of a stout, red maple—a splash of crimson among earthy greens and cool browns.

Cautiously, you pick your way down the slope to the pool, squinting at the fish which flicker and dart between rocks and lotus stems. Mostly koi. Pretty, glimmering things which likely cost an arm and a leg. You’ve been to many aquatic markets, even ferried a few live specimens yourself. You settle by the edge, elbows resting on your bent knees. Cautiously, you extend outstretched fingers towards the water, dragging along the silken smooth surface.

A hand lands on your shoulder.

“My, my—”

You don’t hear the rest of what he says. One moment you’re above water and the next under, your startled flailing sending you straight over the lip.

Luocha is at very least apologetic about your unfortunate (humiliating) spill. He shows you to the washroom and closes the door with a contrite little smile. You run up the water bill for your trouble, the shiver chased from your drenched frame as you step under the hot spray. The shower has room enough for three people, easily. There are two heads and a bunch of silver knobs and dials you don’t feel like fucking with. Rich people and their needlessly complicated household appliances.

You don’t know exactly how long you spend in there, but the mirrors have fogged over by the time you get out. Only once you’ve properly scrubbed the pond water from your skin and tended to your hair do you turn the shower off. The mist sticks to your skin even after a decent toweling. You go through two until you give up and throw on the plush robe he so generously provided. It’s as fine quality as the porcelain tub you spy nestled against the western wall.

The brass glows near gold beneath the warm light. The entire bathroom is all golds and black. Utterly resplendent, but it doesn’t really seem his style.

Is this even his home? You can’t help but wonder as you stroll out the bathroom and into the rest of the house. Most of the interior chambers are linked by wide circular arches. The furniture is cream cushions paired with lacquered dark wood. A sweet smell hangs in the air, but you can’t tell if the potted white lilies on the table beside the sofa are the source.

Luocha stands by the window. Beams of sun hit his face and cast his hair in vibrant gold. He’s ethereal in those shades of sun. He looks delicate, somehow, curves of his body lean under the flowing press of his silken robe.

He looks at you. The dreamy green of his gaze clears your brain of the remaining fog, leaving you cold and alone with the fact that you are alone, together, in an empty house. In a mostly empty neighborhood.

“Your clothes are in the wash,” he smiles. “They’ll be clean in around an hour. Once again, I apologize for startling you—”

“Don’t. I shouldn’t have been skulking around in your front yard in the first place.” The sooner your humiliating slip is forgotten, the better. “Let’s just get down to it. You wanted something delivered, right?”

“All business with you, even now,” Luocha sighs, forlorn disappointment wrinkling his brow. “You don’t have to be so uneasy around me, you know. Why don’t you take a seat? I’ll brew us some tea.”

You do not sit. “You called me here for a reason. I deserve to know what it is.”

“Is your company not reason enough?” he asks, tilting his head to the side. He’s closer now, close enough for you to see how glassy his eyes are. The cloying, sweet smell grows stronger with each step taken, reckless pheromones enough to send a shudder down your spine. Is he… “What if I said I simply wanted to see you?” he breathes, gently cupping your chin. “Should I admit that you’ve haunted my near every thought for the past month, or would that be going too far? Would it frighten you?”

A ruddy flush paints his pale cheeks, cracks in his composure beginning to show. He’s always been the perfect picture of composure, to an irritating degree. The certain grace he moves with used to almost annoy you. So steady, in a world contaminated by constant disruption and imbalance. The very pinnacle of perceived harmony. Perhaps you envied the way in which he carried himself or the freedom he enjoyed as an interstellar merchant, but now—

Now you can say you hardly envy him at all.

“I would say that you should wait until your heat is over before making any confessions,” you observe, resisting the urge to swallow and make the problem worse. Omega or not, he still looms large over you.

“I’m in pre-heat, where I’ll most likely stay for the next few days,” one of his hands graces your right shoulder, thumb rolling delicate circles there. “I won’t ask you to… service me through the heat itself, but your company would help soothe the symptoms.” The touch wanders down your upper arm, a smooth, repetitive caress. It feels more like an unconscious gesture or a nervous tic than anything else. A self-soothing sort of motion.

“I’m a courier, not an on-call heat partner,” you inform him. How desperate must he be, to seek out the assistance of a courier of all people? “And I’m a beta. I can’t help you in the same way an alpha could. You know that.”

“And how do you know what will and won’t satisfy me?” he replies cooly, haughtily, as if he did not just sing your praises and plead for succor by your hand. “Betas are known to be particularly adept heat and rut partners due to their versatile nature—”

“I too have read the ‘Galaxy Hitchhiker’s Guide to Dynamics and All their Intricacies’. You don’t need to quote it verbatim to me.” you reply flatly, sounding as unconvinced as possible. Luocha is—dangerous. He is handsome, and he seems very sweet, and always seems well of manners, but you know he hides his daggers deep in his sleeves. The moment you realized you are considering his offer, you feel apart from yourself. Because it is ludicrous an idea.

Luocha’s eyes close. His bright lashes fan against flushed cheeks. “No sexual intimacy has to be involved. While skin-to-skin contact is the most effective method to ease the pain, simply being in the same room as you will suffice.”

The heat of him slips onto your skin, the layers between you thinner than you realized. An absentminded hand roams to the sash tied ‘round your waist, idly toying with the knot. His palm, after a moment of fidgeting, settles on the round of your hip. He gives you a gentle squeeze, but it reminds you more of a cat flexing its claws than a gesture of simple appreciation. He inundates you with scent and touch, pins you like a butterfly to a board, wings splayed open for his searching eyes.

Not that you’ve really tried to fly away at all. A flush of newfound heat encompasses you, unbidden as his scent washes over your palate. You draw him into your mouth and swallow, thighs pressing tight together. It’s ridiculous, really. Inane. Who is he to make you feel so unbalanced?

You find him so utterly vexing. No other man could do this to you, you think. You wouldn’t dare step foot into anyone else’s private home. You wouldn’t consider breaking the strict code of propriety you keep with your customers. But for Luocha, denizen of the Abundance and keeper of your most precious secret, you fear you may do anything.

“I’m a beta,” you repeat quietly.

Luocha remains undiscouraged by your disquiet. Baffling creature, bold beyond reason and reckoning behind his steady, at times coquettish mien. “You can still help me, if you would like. I’m not in the practice of taking unwilling partners.”

You let a poignant pause settle between you, as if you are legitimately considering his request. He leans in, ever so slightly, as if leering at you from three centimeters away is any better than leering at you from five.

Then, finally, after remaining silent for at least thirty long seconds. “Do you prefer blackmailed ones?”

He smiles. The corners of his eyes crinkle with it, entire face lighting up with genuine fondness. So utterly vexing, this man.

“Do you really want an answer to that question?” he asks. When you don’t answer, he presses a kiss to your temple.

—

It isn’t as awkward as you thought it would be. Perhaps it’s because Luocha seems to lack shame in almost everything he does. True to his word, he doesn’t touch you without permission. The rest of the day is spent sitting together in the lounge. He reads a book while you sit on the couch, half-paying attention to the news program you’ve put on. Dinner is takeout. The conversation is… bearable. It helps distract you from how close he is, pressed tight to the side of his body.

You stay in the living room until the sun sets, vivid orange light descending to dusky twilight. Eventually, Luocha stands to head to the washroom. A chill replaces the space he once occupied. You don’t allow yourself to mourn the loss. Instead, you haul yourself onto your feet. Black spots swim at the corners of your vision as your body lags a few seconds behind your brain.

It’s just more time wasted, as far as you're concerned, so you push yourself. You stagger until your eyesight clears, intending to make a break for the guest room that certainly must exist. Somewhere. A house this extravagant must have a guest room.

You manage to peek into two rooms, one a particularly extravagant closet and the other a sunroom.

You sullenly retreat back into the main hallway and head for the next door. Luocha slides out of the bathroom and fixes you with a questioning stare. “Where are you going?”

“Isn’t there a guest bedroom?”

“Ah,” he stands there and looks at you for a long moment, like you are a stranger in his home. Which is partially true, you suppose. You are little more than strangers. “There is, but I was hoping…” he looks off to the side with a pointed sigh. “you would spend the night in my bed.”

You stare at him like he’s grown a new head. He stares back, completely unrepentant.

“Because skin-to-skin contact helps?” you supply wryly.

“Right,” he smiles, as though glad you understand. “During pre-heat, an omega craves the constant companionship of a trusted person, preferably a mate, but that label doesn’t apply to our arrangement. Remaining isolated during this time could cause anxiety, depression, feelings of worthlessness, headaches, migraines—”

“You’ve gotten all the pity you’re gonna get out of me.” you inform him crisply. You relent anyway. The wooden floor is chilly as you pad towards him.

Your stoicism “Wonderful. Thank you for accommodating,” At very least, he seems to know that he’s putting this upon you. Luocha’s bed, you think, is far from the worst place you could spend your night. He’s far from unappealing. He smells good. He’s been weird to you, before, but he’s also unwaveringly polite and currently weaker than usual, hazier.

Not like you have much of a choice.

He could easily leak your location to your former allies. The Family’s connections span the universe wide. They could easily track you down and cause you all sorts of trouble, maybe even get you kicked off the Luofu. It’s best to cooperate with him, for the time being. And it’s not like he’s terrible company. He holds the door open for you even now, when you’re here for his sake.

His bedroom is as luxurious as the rest of the house. The floor is dark wood and the walls are black with golden accents. Tapestries hang over tall windows, blocking out the moonlight. A porcelain vase sits atop a combination dresser-vanity, its knobs and gnarled claws a warm bronze. The rest of the furniture is similarly colored, and of similar quality.

What draws your attention the most is the bed. It’s a wide mattress held aloft atop a platform. Gauzy black curtains hang from the top of the thin gold frame, parted to give you a good look at the mountain of pillows and blankets stacked atop of it. This, you recognize.

“Ah, that’s…” you begin, not quite sure how to phrase it. Aren’t some omegas super touchy about their nests? You haven’t the slightest clue as to which compliments to pay and to which part.

“A nest. I typically don’t indulge in the baser instincts that come with heat, but the urge was stronger than usual,” Luocha informs you, padding over to the mattress. He flops backwards on it, swimming through silks and satins like a minnow up a stream. Soon enough, you’ve lost him in the pile. “There isn’t much else for me to do besides twiddle my fingers, and I can only watch television for so long. So I thought: why not? It’ll be as good a way to keep busy as any other.”

There’s a small pause. Luocha hesitates by the vanity, drumming his slender fingers atop the hard wood. There’s something uncharacteristically fretful about the gesture. “What do you think?”

“It looks comfortable,” you nod sagely.

“What glowing praise,” he says, almost beaming. You’re kind of annoyed at how… no, you won’t call him cute. Not even within your own internal dialogue. “I’m glad to hear that. Why don’t you join me?”

He rests up against the headboard, lines of his body lean and lithe. He looks like something out of an old painting, long locks and pale limbs flowing over the dark sheets like

The green of his eyes is startling in the dim of the room. He looks you over, haughty like a monarch on a gilded throne, until his eyelids dip and his head tilts.

“Come here,” he beseeches again. “Please.”

And you do. You cross the threshold of the room, slipping past the open curtains and into the bower of his bed. The mattress dips plush under your hands and knees. Once you’re halfway across, you sit back on your knees—but this is not close enough for him. He needles and pleads with you until you’re close enough to grab. One of his hands wraps around your upper arm, the other at your hip as he tugs you to him, fitting your back snuggly against his front.

You still, but the tension remains wound tight in your shoulders. You’re more amazed at your own stupidity more than anything else. Wasn’t it you who insisted on keeping your clients at arm’s length? All of that haughty professionalism was tossed out the window the moment you succumbed to his pleading—if it could even be called that. He asked nicely.

Your eyes flutter shut. You lean backwards into his chest. His wide hands slide over your body, thumbs rolling circles onto your hips. A soft and sticky feeling settles underneath your skin as his thighs (bigger than you imagined) cradle your own, silken fabric of his robe pooled over the sheets. A low sound rumbles in his chest, suspiciously close to a contented purr.

“I’m so glad you decided to spend time with me, courier.” he coos. His hand glides up your arm to cup your own, long fingers interlacing with yours. A contemplative hum rumbles within his chest as he turns it over. His thumb traces the lines and creases of your palm. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“I suppose I don’t.”

“And that’s why it means all the more to me that you stayed,” Luocha murmurs. He reaches over to the nightstand, and the lamp flickers off. The room is plunged into matte darkness, hardly a glimmer of moonbeam slipping in. “I think that you’re more considerate than you pass yourself off to be. Does that frighten you?”

“I didn’t think you’d be able to talk this much,” your brow wrinkles. “Aren’t you supposed to be too horny to think?”

“I’ll remind you that I’m currently in pre-heat—a process my body uses to prepare for the actual heat.” he says with a light sigh. “Believe me. If I were in heat,” his breath brushed against the shell of your ear, a warm and heady caress. “You would know.” He delicately presses the shell between his teeth, nosing the space behind it with another pleased sigh.

You shudder, and close your eyes. “And what’s the difference between heat and preheat?”

“Ah, I suppose you wouldn’t be able to tell… The pheromones for one,” Luocha squeezes your hand. “Are different. They’re similar to the ones we give off when under threat, a signal that we’ll need help soon… Not all omegas go through it—only an estimated forty percent.”

“I see.”

Luocha smiles, the curve of it pressed against your throat. You don’t like not being able to see him. A predator looming in the dreary dark of his den. “The desire is still present. Less a raging storm, more the gentle lapping of the waves.”

“Poetic. But I still don’t get why you picked me. They have services for this kinda thing. People who know more about it than I do.” If you doubted his sanity before, you certainly do now. What kind of sane omega enlisted the help of a postwoman above paid professionals?

“I would rather you than an unfamiliar alpha some service decided would be an adequate match. Even if vetted, a stranger is still just that. A stranger.” Luocha idly toys with your fingers, thumb rubbing circles onto your palm. It’s a touch too familiar, too tender for what you are. But Luocha permits himself to it, and the rest of your body, with a natural ease. You can’t help but feel lulled by it.

“I see. And you feel safe sharing a bed with your dealer?” Tempting as the siren song of slumber may be, you retain enough wit to pry. The whole thing is too absurd to not badger him a bit more. The arm wrapped around your waist tightens in reply.

“I trust someone who has never been late, never sold my personal information or purchase history and has been nothing but courteous to me.” Luocha lists off your credentials with ease. They feel like they’re straight out of an EULA, or some sort of contract. Out of place in a situation as delicate as this. You could easily tell him as much, but he’s starting to sound sleepy. You would rather he get his rest. And be quiet.

“Of course,” he squeezes the space above your hip, making your pulse spike. “Having the endorsement of an Aeon helps. Especially if said Aeon rules over the Harmony. What a lovely and orderly path to tread, courier. She chose you so well.”

“You should have told me that this thing was gonna make you delusional,” you grumble, writhing in his hold to simply signify your displeasure. A part of you wants to come clean and ask where the hell he learned your secret. It’s obvious that he won’t change his mind, or be swayed by your protestations. But you’re still too stubborn to admit he’s right.

You’re almost annoyed by how comfortable this is. He laughs, breath brushing the crown of your head, but he says nothing else, perhaps sensing that he’s reached your tolerance threshold for silliness. His breathing evens out a few minutes later, chest rising and falling beneath you.

You adjust yourself, settling into his side. Over the next few minutes, he contorts around you, the weight of his arm settling around your waist. Time slips away from you, after that.

The rampant pounding of your heart at last begins to slow. You’re almost calm, wedged between the blankets and body. Your sleep shirt is still wrenched upwards, his bare arm pressed against your stomach. The contact is a boundary crossed, a spark to a hunger you didn’t know you had been harboring. You don’t like it. Some part of your hindbrain rejoices at seeing this man’s needs met, and that delight worries you more than literally anything else Luocha has done or said today.

You stare across the room at the covered window. Slowly and steadily, you untangle your legs, curling them to your stomach. Outside, a frog croaks. The pond babbles in the distance. The air above the blankets is cool on your face and legs as you gently kick the covers back. The chill caresses your skin, sneaks between your robes to give you bumbling gooseflesh. The walls of the nest vent out the worst of the cold. Maybe you’ll ask him about cracking a window open tomorrow. Just a little bit.

—

You wake up a few hours later, and blink into the dark. Luocha stirs next to you. He’s awake. You don’t know how you know, but you can tell. His finger curl ever so slightly against the soft core of you. A shiver ripples across you, robe parted just enough for his fingertips to touch your bare skin.

“...Did you plant the garden outside?” you don’t know why you ask, but you do.

Luocha hums into the crook of your neck. He strokes your stomach, petting you.

“I did,” he answers after a moment, a contented sigh ruffling your hair. “Now get some rest.”

—

You leave the next morning, without breakfast. Luocha is a surprisingly deep sleeper, though perhaps you owe that to his current affliction. You’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. You’re also not going to be lured into skipping work by your own foolish sympathy. He can take care of himself for a miserly ten hours.

The day goes as any other does, at first. You take the shortest route you can find through the Luofu’s abundance-ridden innards, starting at the lower decks first. Packages and envelopes pass hands with little delay.

One of your clients, a buxom woman who owns a silk shop, covers her giggling mouth with an oversized sleeve. You eye her with suspicion. She notices, and giggles harder.

“I don’t mean to offend you, dear courier—it’s just—I hadn’t taken you the type to so openly… wear that kind of perfume.” she says, as if elaborating. You don’t understand what she’s talking about, and you don’t particularly care. You leave her to her frivolities and spirit away, merging back into the crowd with casual ease.

The next few clients each make some degree of face at you. One goes wide-eyed, before schooling his features into his typical, customer-service smile. The next looks at you like you have just thrice cursed his family line, nose wrinkled and eyes narrowed into a beady glare. You resist the quite mean-spirited urge to remind of the legality of his purchases, shoring up your mental fortitude by recalling the sumptuous tips he usually gives.

Your seventh customer meets you beneath the crimson awning of a local cafe. You’re glad to be out of the beating sun.

“Congratulations, by the way,” she says with a smile, nursing a cup of iced tea and ah—you realize, something about you has really changed.

“Thank you, but may I ask what you are congratulating me for?”

“Oh!” she looks startled, and then sheepish. “On the relationship? I didn’t mean to presume….but your scent, today…” she trails off, looking awkwardly to the side.

Fortunately, you don’t need her to elaborate. The context clues snap together with sudden, startling clarity, the peevish behavior you’ve endured all day granted perfect context. Of course, evidence of your business with the merchant would be more apparent to those with keener noses. Your cheeks blood with abashed warmth. You resist the urge to shrivel like an old apple peel, overwhelmed all at once with humiliation, with indignation at yourself and the man who cast this misfortune upon you.

Heavens, how outrageous you must have seemed, walking into the esteemed establishments and parlors of your clients bathed in that ridiculous fellow’s scent! It’s but another consequence of yesterday’s poor decisions. You fume silently as you leave, making a beeline for your apartment. It’ll delay the rest of your deliveries, but that can’t be helped.

Your phone jitters in your pocket as soon as you step through the threshold of your dwelling.

You drop your bag onto the grey throw rug. It lands with a mighty thud, loud enough to make you silently hope the downstairs neighbors had not been enjoying an early afternoon nap. Your jacket gets tossed onto the sofa, keys thudding onto the upholstery. Then, you roundabout to the door. A row of locks catch stray rays of sun. You swiftly latch each one and give the door a rough, cursory shove.��

Then, and only then do you check your messages.

You left without saying goodbye.

Your brow furrows. You’d never taken him to be this needy. Every other message above this exchange is polite, but ultimately curt. Most of his recent prying has been done in person.

You were still asleep

It’s alright. When will you return?

After work. Around 8 hours

That long? Could I persuade you to return sooner?

I can’t just skip out

I’ll buy you out. How much do you earn in a day?

Honestly, the nerve of this man! You type a series of poignant expletives out before tactfully deleting them.

It’s more than the money. my clients are powerful. i cant lose those connections

A few poignant moments pass before his reply comes.

Alright. I’ll see you later.

The tension drops off your shoulders. You expected him, in truth, to let loose a most potent threat to ensure your immediate return. A part of you, small and illogical, fears he’ll do his worst regardless. The thought of The Family learning your whereabouts nauseates you, bile churning at the very base of your throat, but surely a man possessed of his many sins is too wise to open his mouth about yours.

Without even realizing it, you have completely trapped each other.

What did he ever do with that Core Esse?

It’s better not to think about it. You have hours more left to move, and your line of work demands utmost focus, lest you drop an organ into the wrong customer’s hands.

Fifteen minutes, you afford yourself. The water chases the sweat from your skin, soap and sponge raking your skin raw. The evidence of him washes down the drain with the suds, leaving you remarkably less agitated. Because, really, who gave him permission to linger on your skin and on your clothes and in your thoughts—who gave him leave to evoke your fear and sympathy and intrigue and misplaced affections? Not you, that much is for certain!

You determine yourself free of the vexing beast’s cloying scent and return to the Xianzhou’s busy streets.

—

Arrogance is one of humanity’s most populated wheelhouses. Next door, its foundations built by fools and geniuses both, stands proud senselessness. If you had to name a tenant they share, then with abrupt acuity, you would surely name the Stellaron Hunters, who, as far as you can ascertain, base their stratagems off the ravings of a lunatic. As you wander to the edge between land and space, you cannot help but wonder what his credentials are, and if anyone has ever laid eyes upon them.

You don’t care enough to ask, though, when you reach the jagged edge. The end of the cargo hold, where the Xianzhou’s artificial sky breaks. Fragments of pale blue and white float amongst the void, growing smaller and sparser until none remain. The ground ends in a series of jagged, shiny edges, as though the metal had been cut clean through. You duck underneath a smattering of ships and starskiffs and cranes and cargo containers. Cold, silvery chrome gives way to the cold, open empty. That is where the man in black waits.

“Blade” is his name. He is a vision against the star-scattered expanse of the empty. Stood beneath a bright, red star, unbothered hy the thin oxygen levels and freezing temperatures. Tall and looming and perhaps irredeemably beautiful. It could be the lack of air talking. You like him more than you like Silver Wolf. She wastes your time with always unnecessary and often personal questions.

“Here for Silver Wolf, I assume?” you ask, already rifling through your bag for the cables and strange, circuit-board devices which she has ordered from you.

“Yes,” he nods, and you appreciate how he says nothing else.

“Alright. Here you are, then. Make sure she knows that she owes me another favor. These things were hard to find. She’s getting the discount of a lifetime.” you hand him three small boxes and he leaves with a nod. A polite and concise interaction. As distant as mostly-strangers should be.

—

“Home” is after that. The skies have gone a bright gold, nighttime looming in the near distance.

Luocha’s home is not your home. You refuse to identify it as such, for doing so opens dangerous doors and implications which are most inappropriate for what you have. You make a brief pit stop to your apartment to gather a night bag, changes of clothes haphazardly crammed into the black canvas alongside a toothbrush and other necessary toiletries.

You nudge the door open with your hip. Pale orange light falls across the threshold and into the dimly lit living room. Luocha sits on the couch, or rather, he lounges. The silken collar of his robe drapes over his right shoulder, exposing a frankly indecent amount of his chest. You pay his naked skin no heed, plonking your bags onto the floor. It’s a welcome weight off your shoulders. You wish you could lay on the floor. A good sleep on that fine, polished wood would fix you.

“Welcome home,” he greets you, daintily depositing the book he’d been reading onto the side table. “I never realized just how long your hours are. You must be exhausted.”

“I’m used to it,” you reply, but you flop onto the opposite end of the sofa regardless. A heavy sigh punches out of you, weary eyes shutting.

“With how much you charge me, I would think you could afford to shorten your shifts,” he says, with sympathy you know is feigned. You crack an eye open to cast him a cursory look—but the room shifts around you in a blur as long fingers curl around your wrist and pull, tugging you onto his side of the couch.

You land with a disgruntled squawk. Your hands curl into silken fabric. and you realize belatedly that you’ve all but been dragged atop of him, left laid out between his legs. You twist, top half of your body turning to the side to level him with a nasty glare.

He’s flushed, is the first thing you noticed. More so than yesterday. His cheeks are dusted in pale pink, a delicate blush that runs all the way to his shoulders. He’s warmer, too. You can feel the heat of him pressed along your body.

“You didn’t have to do that. You could have just asked,” How does someone who looks so willowy have such a strong grip? It’s beyond you, truly.

“Forgive me,” Predictably, he looks completely, and utterly, unrepentant. “You were just so unsuspecting, I couldn’t help but want to surprise you…” You make a point of looking as surly as possible, and the fiend laughs. Quietly, and behind his oversized, crimson sleeve. Unbidden comes to you the shape of his lips around that euphonic sound, what they might look like when parted by soft breaths and dulcet moans— “Ah, please don’t make that face. It only makes me want to tease you more.”

“Enough of your insanity. ” you bite out, pointedly pressing your elbow into his side. You wriggle in his arms. His grip curls tighter around your waist and he sighs, pressing his face into the crook of your neck to take a long inhale. “Let me up!”

“Just a few more moments?” he asks, words mouthed into your skin. You feel hot all the way down to your shoulders. You muster all your resilience with a swallow, but it isn’t enough. A hush falls over the living room.

Against your better judgment, you find yourself lulled by the gentle sound of his breathing, by his warmth at your back. Nearly ever part of you aches. Your legs throb, the tight muscles of your thighs worn and throbbing from a long day’s labor. The scorching pains dig deep into your shoulders and your back—you’re due a nice, long shower, you think.

The dappled sun against the adjacent wall writhes and shifts with the artificial breeze. You can hear the winds shifting through the canopy outside. A songbird sings a trilling little tune. It’s easier to focus on these things while you indulge him and wait to be let up, even if he is being unusually quiet. You’re wise enough to not necessarily be glad for the silence.

His hand cups your hip, shifting you even closer. It’s only a centimeter or two, but it lets you feel the pointed hard thing jutting into your back in greater clarity. Unbidden, your cunt throbs between your thighs. The arousal and exhaustion makes your mind sticky, concrete thoughts difficult to come by among the haze.

“Luocha,” you murmur, and he moans softly, breath brushing against your tender skin. Goosebumps flare across your shoulders and arms despite the heat—the sound the shock you needed to get moving. “This is—” you cut yourself off with a swallow as his lips press to the column of your neck. Your already flagging resistance whimpers out into nothing. Each heavy inhale draws him further in, the scent so sweet and cloying in spite of your muffled senses.

“You must have had such a hard day. Doesn’t it hurt? Always going home to that empty apartment?” he purrs, voice indulging, dripping with a delirious sort of fondness. And isn’t that always the trouble with these sorts of situations? Does he want you, or are you the closest warm body available for him to rut into? How strong is his grip on reality? You writhe in his lap and he gasps. His grip tightens in response, holding you fast with surprising strength. “You must be so lonely…”

“I’m not, really,” you nearly snarl, finally losing patience with your clinger’s affections. Your voice, alongside the elbow you jab into his side, jars him from his twisted reverie. He chokes, and muffles a groan into the collar of your jacket, at last lifting his lips away from your skin. The breath whooshes out of him at the force of the blow, but his grip barely loosens. “Behave. Or I’ll leave.”

He inhales quietly, and shudders.

Over your brief stay in his lavish home, you have perhaps twice (or thrice) wondered if keeping to your principles was worth it. Why not sink into his touch? Why not drink deep of the physical affection he saturates you in? The fact that you’re contemplating the subject at all is deeply ruffling. Little less than two weeks ago, you would have scoffed at the idea.

Alas, the creature at your back is more siren than man. It wounds your pride. You aren’t just any beta. You’re a prime beta, a beta noticed and beloved by Xipe herself. The gift of Harmony should allow you to smother the scents around you completely. It should grant you immunity to the bothersome urges which so often get in the way of business. He weakens your shored-up defenses, somehow.

“Of course… My apologies.” he sounds contrite, and despite yourself, you soften. Just a tad. “It’s just—well, a little difficult to hold back when you smell like that.”

“Like what?”

Luocha evades the question, without even pretending to humor it.

“Your last customer was an alpha, wasn’t he?” He lifts his head from the hollow of your throat, looking down at your intertwined fingers over your shoulder. His thumb brushes along the back of your hand before he flips it over. His fingertips brush over yours, before curling into a fist around your pointer and middle, giving a gentle tug. He idly toys with your hand while he speaks. Voice a light, low murmur. “A tall man. Black hair, pretty red eyes… They look like candle wicks, don’t they?” He says it fondly, and your heart sinks into your stomach.

Of course he knows Blade. Why wouldn’t he?

You’ve never bought anything from Luocha, but you can tell from what he orders that he’s a merchant who idles in the same, seedy markets as yourself. A man who had asked you to trade him an organ brushing shoulders with a Stellaron Hunter somewhere in the darkest corners of the Luofu sounds completely and utterly plausible. A group of little coincidences which occurred just to be a thorn in your side. How did they meet? You can’t help but wonder. How well do they know each other? What kind of relationship do they have?

You don’t ask any questions. It’s not your place. Getting involved anymore than you already are is just asking for more trouble.

“And if I did meet him?”

He pauses, and laughs a little.

“Well. I am almost in heat. Perhaps I just became… a bit defensive when you came back, smelling just like him. Omegas in heat can be just as territorial of their dens as alphas in rut, though that's often overlooked in the social narrative. We’re supposed to be weak, dainty little things, you know?” If he feels self-conscious about this, he doesn’t show it. He has a tighter leash on himself, now. He sounds more contemplative than resentful.

“You, weak and dainty? I have to laugh,” you don’t.

“I appreciate how open-minded you are,” he says sweetly.

A brief silence falls over the room. You take in the soft sound of the breeze outside. The steady shifting of the trees’ canopies. The steady breathing of that small ecosystem he has birthed and nurtured.

He’s hesitating. A question hangs in the air, tangles on the tip of his tongue. You can’t see his face, but you have a sixth sense for these sorts of things. That, and it’s typical of him to demand more than you’re willing to give. No more ground will you cede to him. If he begs again for you to remain during the duration of his heat, he’ll find himself succinctly refused.

Still, you’d rather not have to go through the uncomfortable hassle of rejecting him. But he clearly thinks better of it, because he stays quiet—only breaking the contemplative quiet to ask you what you would like for dinner, his thumb rolling circles onto your palm.

#hungering for hsr #luocha/reader #luocha #imagine hsr

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nychta-luxury · 1 year

Text

An Imposter or a God's Helper? Part 2

----------------------------------

You have been playing in Darling's account while they focus on their studies, you notice many strange things happening that you never seen nor heard of, despite the fact you have been playing before Darling. You have thought about contacting Hoyo, however Darling stopped you. Your not sure why, but it's not your account to control so you let it be.

————————————————————

Part 1 Part 2 (your here)

Warnings: Cult like behavior, Worship, Religious themes, Not proofread.

Darling AU

————————————————————

It's been a few days since you started playing in Darling's account, you have to admit playing on their account is like playing an unreleased hard mode in genshin.

You continued to roam around the world opening chests and trying out characters you have always wanted but never able to get. Surprisingly, Although you played before Darling, in fact you were the one who introduced genshin to them, Darling has all the characters already.

Your not sure why but Darling has always been very lucky on genshin, whether it's artifacts, wepons or characters. They would never reach hard pity. But they do still expirance the tragic lose of 50/50 something no one can escape.

You sigh as you get yet another def% artifact with amazing substats. This is worse then getting no five star. You left the domain and looked for the next one to farm, but then

Ding Dong

DINGDONGDINGDONGDINGDONG

...

There goes Darling spamming your door bell. They were always the playful type.

"Hold on! I'm coming." You yell, leaving your game open.

You opened the door and saw Darling,

"About time you visited bruh." you say

"I almost believed you abandoned me with your children, and ran away with some other person" You say dramatically, acting like one of those dramas where the father left the mother alone with their kids.

"Oh no, how could I ever leave you, what can I do to make it up for yo-" Darling was playing along before you cut them off

"Child support welkin."

"Shut yo goofy ass-"

"YOU OFFERED"

"whatever, anyways how has my account been doing? Hope they weren't too much of a hassle." Darling says, as if they are in some parent teacher conference. You roll your eyes

"A brat. I swear I lost my sanity playing on there" You say

"Ah, they tend to do that. If you want you don't need to look after it for me," Darling says with slight worry

"Nah, I can handle it. I can babysit your characters, they can be a bit tough, Darling however, they also are pretty fun to use"

"Good good, otherwise--" You hear Darling mutter about something but you couldn't hear it, it probably isn't important.

————————————————————

The characters have gotten use to your presence, this doesn't mean they gotten fond of you. More like gotten use to your controlling them and your ways of control (playing style)

They still very much despise you, after all in their eyes you stole their grace from them and that is unforgivable.

As much as they want to minimize their damage, they still have amazing artifacts due to darling already building them. So sometimes they crite even if they don't want to, and yet you praised them for it, you would yell in joy after only hitting above 30k even if they did way better with their grace.

They are not sure why but whenever you praise them they feel a slight flutter in their chest.

But their number one objective is the creator, no matter what.

Suddenly they hear a loud bell ringing repeatedly, they are quite curious who this person is and what do they have to do with this imposter.

"Hold on! I'm coming." They hear you yell, they heard a door opening. However they can't see anything all they can rely on is their hearing.

Sadly they couldn't make out your conversation however.

"-----Darling however, they also---"

What.

Did you just call The Mighty One by their name?

Teyvat instantly fell silent, everyone froze. Not only did you take their grace's world you also dare to mention them informally?

Everyone had different thoughts.

'Who are you?'

'How dare an imposter call their grace informally. '

'What is your relationship with their grace maybe enemies?'

'When is their grace coming back.'

————————————————————

After you logged off genshin a meeting was called in Teyvat

The Archons and nation leaders were called. Everyone was stiff, the room was very suffocating.

Ningguang was the first to speak up,

"As I'm sure everyone has heard, Teyvat is now being watched by an unknown individual."

Zhongli nodded and continued for her

"It also seems like this imposter has similar powers to their grace. They somehow mange to obtain one of the most known power of the creator."

Everyone was dreadfully aware of this, and many questions have yet to be answered or showed any signs of it.

Raiden decided to speak up

"I suggest we start a rebellion, it's clear that this individual believes that they can just steal the all mighty's place. As their grace's acolytes shouldn't we discard this imposter?"

"Now now, we shouldn't act so irrational now. After all we have very little information about this imposter, there are many things we have yet to consider. From what I can see all we know is that that person knows the creator so much they can even mention them informally."

Yae Miko says, the room knows she is right, there is too little information about this person. There are countless possibilities on what happened.

"Who knows maybe they might even be lovers." Yae Miko mentions, playing a very dangerous game.

"Or they might just be enemies, after all we don't know their identity. Whos to say they are lovers when we couldn't even discover? Heh."

Venti says still singing rhymes even with how serious the situation is. Although he did sound a little passive aggressive.

"Hm yes yes my apologies. " Yae Miko says half heartedly.

"I have to agree with Barbatos with this one. The chance of them even being friends are low. After all there were no mentions of it in any ancient scriptures or in any book." Jean says

"Yes, I believe that we should lable this person as an enemy, we have no clue what this person has done to their grace, they might of even stole their powers. It could explain why they manage to use the powers of the might one. Perhaps they even sealed them away."

Once the Tsaritsa said those words everyone fell silent. She might be right about this, after all it does explain a lot of things and why they haven't even seen their grace.

Everyone decided to bring their grace back to Teyvat, they will aid the might one on getting their powers back.

————————————————————

Welp thank you for reading part 2! Don't worry there will still be a small revenge but I need to get some lore in first

Tag list: @dreamlessnight @mushroomsfordays @ciaratomioka1432 @almighty-raiden-shogunate @thesnakefromafar

#genshin sagau #sagau #genshin impact #Darling au #genshin cult au #Reader is not Darling

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ratwithhands · 3 months

Text

Fun fact I used to consume a lot of Land of the Lustrous stuff.

Anyways this is one of my many Land of the Lustrous OCs, Vivianite. Mohs hardness of 1.5, dark green/blue in colour, and very old. Due to the nature of his weak composition, Vivianite can't actually do much of anything, and has had to live under very specific conditions.

Vivianite wears a tight full body uniform to hold any chipped pieces in place, and is kept in a box stuffed with loose cloth to ensure minimal damage. If he comes into contact with light, he begins to oxidize and darken, so he's kept in a windowless room with curtains over the entrance.

That's all to say he's isolated and bored. He spends much of his time inactive, but he'll jump at the opportunity for conversation if there's someone around. Certain gems visit him to chat, get guidance, or give him the recent news. A task given to some gems is to clear his room of dust, and maybe bring him some books if he's up for it.

Vivian sees himself as an older sibling/friend to many of the other gems, and as such he's very keen on providing a listening ear and giving advice where possible to those who need it. He's essentially emotional support in a can.

Other notes/details:

not all gems know Vivian exists! He's hidden away so most gems wouldn't see him unless they were actively looking for him. A lot of the older ones know about him, but the younger ones don't

Rutile is endlessly tired of having to glue him back together so often due to his softness, which is part of why he has a tighter uniform to keep all his broken pieces in place

Vivian struggles with walking, he tends to be slow and stumbly

the tanks in Vivian's room are for jellyfish. Gems who are sent to clean his room have to switch out the jellyfish too. They're there to provide a faint light source so he doesn't go completely inactive

Vivian, despite living in a box in the dark, has a lot of technical knowledge about things as a result of millennia of going through the library collection. He' a living encyclopedia and can usually offer some answers if a gem has questions on a particular subject

his internal structure is basically a lot of shards stuck together like fibers, so he does minor repairs on himself by affixing strands of his hair into empty spots. He's had his fingers repaired and replaced this way often

In the few instances where Vivian has gone outside, he has an abnormally high amount of energy as a result of his inclusions being able to work at full capacity in the light

If I remember anything else I'll add it, anyways have a good day!

#houseki no kuni #hnk #land of the lustrous #hnk fanart #hnk oc #hnk bort #not mentioned in the main post but shit man Vivianite wants to perish 😭#he's always felt like a burden as a result of his weak body‚ if it weren't for the fact he can't walk outside #he would've thrown himself into the sea to never rise again #he'd always asked Sensei if there was a way he could get stronger‚ and that's partly why he read so much in hopes to find a cure #when he heard about Phos' body getting replaced‚ he was both distraught and excited‚ because he felt so bad for Phos #but this was a way for him to become greater‚ if only he could just figure out how to guarantee it'd work (because otherwise he'd be #a burden again as they are forced to repair him and look after him through recovery)#that's also why he likes to talk with people; he can serve and assist others that way‚ he's trying to compensate for his lacking strength #tl;dr Vivianite is horrifically weak and makes up for it with his heart and mind in order to feel less bad about not being able to do more #also (unrelated) he tends to be touchy and holds people's hands/faces/hair a lot. He does this knowing the risk and he couldn't care less #also also‚ he has weird inclusions. What makes them odd is the fact that he can move them around and concentrate them in different areas #he's stiff cause he keep most of his inclusions packed in his torso‚ not his limbs. This also ensures he doesn't lose anything #by touching something and having his fingers (inevitably) flake apart #There's more but I'll save that for later. Good day ^^

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undercoverpena · 1 year

Text

i and love and you

simon 'ghost' riley x f!reader (helen!reader) wc: 2.7k || warnings: ghost in his feels, fluff, ghost!fluff. summary: her eyes meet his, and he doesn’t drop his gaze. his brain goes silent, just like the night around them. from here, he’s reacting. he’s listening, even if words aren’t being spoken—wishing he could remove his mask instead. an: for helen lovers, this a cute, fluff flashback. and is before the proposal. dedication: for @guyfieriii, the one i'd sit on a rooftop with and take out a sharpie to write words on.

simon ghost riley masterlist

Normally, Ghost seeks her.

A need that throbs until he does so. Usually, he finds her near a patient or bent over paperwork, sometimes even decompressing in a small space—most often her office.

It’s been that way since the very beginning, a calling he struggles to ignore.

There have been times when he’s been able to shove it down, but as of late—fuck, since she came back into his life—it’s something that grows in intensity until he sees her. A pull he cannot ignore, if he's able to answer it.

Here, in the makeshift base, one that’s housed in some crumbling family home, it's harder.

She has no spaces to hide. No small cupboards to escape to, no patients to fret over and even less paperwork to busy herself. And so, he has no reason, no real excuse to find her, to hide with her and let her lift his mask until he only breathes her.

Ghost has considered visiting her room. Sliding into the cot, lifting her until she's over the top of him, sliding his fingers past her cheeks into her hairline. But, the walls are thin. Too risky for either of them. She's too loud for such secrecy, meaning they’re only allowed minimal hand brushes and heart-stopping gazes.

It could be worse, she could be miles away. Too far away to check in on, too perilous to try and radio or contact.

For those reasons, Ghost should be glad she’s here.

He isn’t.

It’s one thing that she mops up their missions, eyes bouncing, assessing the damage they’ve come back with as she triages them quicker than anyone can explain the ailments. But, this is different. Her being here, properly, fully. It means she’s at risk, in the eye of the storm—one he can't protect her from.

She doesn’t have a strong track record of walking away unharmed. Each time in the past, one of them has walked away with a scar that tells a story. Sometimes, they have an array of memories to haunt their nightmares.

He’s thankful Price makes her do recon at this base.

You’re too valuable. Can’t have the only soul who can stitch us back together riddled with holes, can we, hmm?

Ghost had clenched his fist at that thought, though. The image alone prodded and twisted its pointy edge inside of him.

But, it falls down the list of things to concern himself with, especially when he learns that she enjoys night watches, requesting them—practically demanding them each morning when they re-brief.

It’s something he hadn’t known before but finds himself intrigued by.

He wonders if it’s the solitude. The fact that it’s quiet and calm. The night tends to blanket worries, providing the chance to think—something he suspects she has little time for when people are always rudely bleeding out.

Each night, he watches her slip upstairs—the sounds of her footsteps often easing his bones until she stops, likely sitting, taking the weight off. He fights following her, forcing himself to retire for the night out of fear he would.

On the first night, he doesn’t sleep at all. Just listens.

The second he finds he’s able to steal an hour, able to nod off to the sound of her pacing.

By the third, he’s able to sleep more—waking to silence, dread filling him, chest tightening, only relieved when he hears her footsteps sound.

By the fourth, he’s tired of battling with himself. Even if he knows there’s little need for two of them on the roof, he goes all the same.

It takes him a moment—a moment too fucking long—before his eyes land on her sitting, back against the wall of the roof, her head dipped, hand drawing in some book with one of her sharpies.

So, he sneaks a moment.

One which he won’t have to shift his face, ensure his eyes haven’t softened and his body isn’t fully turned towards her. He allows himself this moment, moonlight on her skin, jaw tight in concentration, hair down as the breeze teases its ends.

He knows he gets to see her like this often, but it has been sparse as of late. The mere thought of which almost disarms him—trying to recall the last time he was able to see her without a cause etched into her features, without an axe to grind.

“Y’know, being on watch means watchin’, Helen?”

She doesn’t look up, not that he expects her to. But she does smile. One of those Achilles heel kind of smiles—fuckin’ Helen.

“Oh. And there was me thinking it was to sit here and look pretty?”

He snorts, leaning against the wall as he slides down to sit beside her. “Y’do that well. Look pretty.”

“Charmer.”

“Sh. They’ll hear you.”

She chuckles, light and airy—he wishes he could bottle it. Slide the vial into a vest pocket, and listen to it when the edges darken, unable to find the light.

“Do I dare fuckin’ ask what y’doing?”

“I’m drawing the roofs,” she says, pausing her drawing to show him the other pages before it. “Done it every night I’ve been up here…”

He sees that.

Observing it as she shows him a similar drawing, each page going and going, the lines sometimes thicker, sometimes thinner. Her hand stops eventually, offering a half-smile he knows is painted on purposefully: don’t worry, I’m fine.

But, he will worry.

And she isn’t fine.

Ghost knows she’s capable. Hasn’t had one single doubt about her being here. He knows when given the chance, she doesn’t miss—when shit hits the fan, her brain thinks quickly, feet acting.

But, in her beautiful, self-hating mind, she writes a different story. It irritates him, and makes his piss boil that she can’t see it—can’t see how fucking good she is.

But, then, they both have their struggles—their own demons they have to face in the mirror and live alongside. He wishes he could rid hers, though. Wish he could banish them, drive them away with each brush of his fingers and each whisper of her name—her real name. The one which feels momentous when he’s able to speak it.

“I do it because it’s easier.”

But he knows it means, ‘so I can show myself I didn’t fuck up’.

He’s slept beside her, he’s held her close when she’s lost in some dreamscape that tries to burn her for a mistake she thinks she could’ve prevented. He’s watched her eyes dull when she’s lost, he’s watched her fist clench when things go wrong. He’s heard her fucking mind go into overdrive the moment their breaths are caught before he’s even wiped a wet cloth between her thighs.

His hand twitches unknowingly, knocking into her knee. And it forces her eyes to meet his, holding them for a moment—spilling all of her secrets into the space between them.

Some he can understand with ease. Some require more of an explanation he knows she doesn’t have the words quite for.

The air brushes past them, proving the moment isn’t frozen—that time hasn’t stopped and stilled. It smells of spices and salt, it kisses the pages of the book as the pages rattle in the soft breeze; it blows through the house they’ve commandeered. It’s all he can hear, that and the beat of his heart—one which thumps in his neck and ear.

It’s why he runs a gloved hand up the back of his mask, scratching at his scalp, staring at her as he wonders what the fuck to do with her. But, all he can think is his hair is long, he feels it as he tugs it between his fingers.

“Hair too long?”

“How’d you know?”

She shrugs, light and innocent—as if she can ever be the latter. “Call it a hunch.”

“Shoulda got you to cut it when I got back last time.”

And fuck, the stern look she shoots him almost makes him snatch the book from her and kiss it from her face. Mask still on, and all.

“No.”

“No?”

She laughs, shaking her head. “Ask Soap.”

“m’not asking Johnny. The man has a fuckin’ hawk by choice, Helen.”

It paints the air, the rest of her laugh. It having grown, becoming something bigger—shifting the dread in his chest and making her eyes twinkle like the stars above them.

“I’m not cutting your hair.”

“You cut Johnny’s!”

Brows arching, lip curled. “Because he doesn’t bitch and moan that I do it wrong, Simon.”

“Y’almost scalped me!”

Rolling her eyes, she leans her head against the brick, lips rubbing together as she tuts. “You moved! Fuck, I hate you sometimes.”

But she doesn’t.

He knows she doesn’t. She’s told him as much, each one of them stored in his mind, hidden away, kept just for him when he feels himself shrinking away.

“No, you don’t.”

“No,” she sighs, closing her eyes. “I don’t.”

Silence greets the air, and it’s welcomed. It sits comfortably, blanketing them both, even as he wrestles with it—debates it. Permits the thought and the words to scald the tip of his tongue.

It’s not that he doesn’t think it, feel it. He does. It fills him, head to fucking toe. But, the words themselves leaving his tongue? It’s… They're hard. Laborious. Knackering.

He puffs out a breath, all dramatic and over the top. Just like her.

Smirking to himself as he slides his glove from his hand with his teeth. Her eyes meet his, and he doesn’t drop his gaze. His brain goes silent, just like the night around them.

From here, he’s reacting. He’s listening, even if words aren’t being spoken—wishing he could remove his mask instead. But he can’t, not with the possible risk of watchful eyes, and the danger of needing to move into action at any moment.

Ghost hears her swallow as he slides up her sleeve, exposing her skin to the moonlight and the stars. And then he takes the pen from her hand as she holds the cap, dropping the book between her bent knees.

He holds it, her special pen, the one she never lets anyone ever use—holds it, rolls it between his gloved fingers.

But, it’s the feeling of warmth in his bare hand that makes him almost smile. The way her hand is dwarfed by his, that it fits so perfectly—all long fingers and softness aside from the plasters and dry calluses. Hands as soft as hers are hard to find in this line of work, and he holds her hand like it’s the prize it is—stretching out her forearm.

Neither of them speak, both their eyes dropping to her forearm as he slowly glides the nib of it over her skin.

It leaves its mark with ease. One letter, then four, then three. Her head remains down, even when he places the pen back in the cap, still in her hand.

“So, y’know I don’t either.”

Her lips twitch, and he watches them.

“Know y’can be forgetful, Helen.”

She lifts her eyes, staring at him as she scrunches her nose. “It’s nice that you can write it, but not say it.”

“Leave it.”

She does.

Her eyes observe him as her thumb circles the space under his words—his writing. His own personal branding, the only one he can currently get away with.

“We should make that our new sign,” she whispers, and his eyes narrow in confusion.

She touches her forearm, before holding one finger up, then four, then three—smirking at him, in that wicked way she always does.

“Can add it to our secret code—our two-tap ‘miss you’ and our flat palm ‘be safe’.”

“Your secret code.”

“He says as if he doesn’t freaking love putting me off in the middle of a briefing” she teases.

And fuck, if she isn’t right.

He loves catching her eyes, brushing past her, letting her know—in a room full of their colleagues—that he’s thinking of her. That she’s his. “I’m not doin’ it against my chest, or anythin’.”

“The very fact you suggested that Simon, tells me that is very much what you’re going to do.”

“Helen.”

“Yeah, yeah, ‘enough’,” she smiles, almost resting her head on his shoulder. “Your warning tone has little effect on me, Ghosty-one.”

“Don’t I know it.”

She smirks, shaking her head, twisting her pen, “My turn—“

“No need,” he says, quickly. Watching her confusion weave into her brows and forehead.

Releasing her hand, he slides up his own sleeve, fingers sliding over his inked arm until his finger stops, pointing, gesturing.

There, in all of its inky goodness, a stethoscope hanging from one of his skulls—one she has so often traced with her nail when she has been lying on his chest, breath dancing over his skin.

“I wish I could hug you.”

“I know.”

She sighs, rolling her head as she twirls the pen in her fingers, his own pulling the glove back over his hand.

“I also really want a shower. And, a Chinese…”

Tugging his sleeve back down, he watches her as she stares off to the side of them. Nothing, not even a sound albeit the wind in between the branches of the tree.

“Yeah? What y’ordering?”

“Some noodles, rice, maybe a curry? Duck, probably. That place near yours does a nice duck—“

“No. Not again.”

His hand nudges her, pulling her gaze back to him, watching her fighting a smile. “What do you mean?”

“You hate mushrooms.”

“And?”

“Y’fuckin’ made me pick them all out last time.”

She laughs, and he’s sure it paints another part of his world in colour. Watching in awe as her giggle touches each corner of her face, leaving evidence of it on her cheeks and lips.

“I think you did that all on your own, Simon. I am a big girl, I can scoop out my own shrooms.”

He grunts. “No. Can’t have tha’. Wouldn’t be gentleman-like.”

“Well, my hero.”

“Oi. That’ll do.”

“Y’know what else?”

He sighs.

Not because he hates listening to her, or all the things she wants. But, rather because he hates that he can’t give her a single fucking one. Especially when she asks for nothing.

Not a single thing.

Just stay alive. Come back.

Two things he can’t even fully promise her.

And that turns in his mind sometimes, shifts between the thoughts of plans and briefings. Makes his insides knot, because how can her eyes catch his across the room, make his lips jerk behind the mask in a sea of so many—and yet she never truly asks for anything from him.

Just need you, Simon. All of you. Nothing else.

No one else could get that from him.

Not all his past, present and future. But, she makes him do a lot of things with ease, without thought. He suspects it’s why he knows she’s the one.

“Go on.”

Her head leans against the stone wall beside him, eyes trained ahead, likely focusing on some roof as she releases the words, “I also really wish we could fuck, y’know. I’d even take a quickie, one where you don’t even fully undress…”

It slides into the air and drips into his ear. And, if he wasn’t already thinking the same, her head turns on the stone, eyes landing on him with an intensity that makes him hard. She doesn’t smile, doesn’t smirk. But her arm comes across her chest, clutching her elbow as she bites her index finger—knowing exactly what she’s fucking doing.

“... Just wish you could fill me up right here, right now—chafe my bloody thighs with your ridiculously wide hips and horrid scratchy belt. Fuck, I’ll even take you scratching the shit out of my cheek with that sharp bit of your mask again. Just so, even when I’m lying in my empty, cold cot, I can feel you.”

He says nothing.

Does nothing.

Using every fibre of restraint not to shove her to the ground and rip her fucking clothes off. From the way her eyes are aflame, he assumes she’s praying for him too.

“Y’really miss me that much, Helen?”

“Simon, I miss just being next to you more than I miss your ridiculous bed in Manchester.”

He snorts. “You do love my bed.”

“It’s the only reason I’m with you, personally.”

He nudges her and she rolls her head closer, barely a space between the two of them. He can almost see the moon reflecting in her eyes, and can even smell the vanilla body wash mixing with the air.

All he can think is, if he’s quick enough, he might be able to kiss her.

May be able to run his tongue across her bottom lip, pull her close, right over his lap, and her knees apart, spread all for him—

“Shame Price’ll be up in a second,” she says, dismay warped around each syllable. “I want you quick, but not that quick.”

“Have to settle for a joke, then.”

She uncaps her pen, and the pop sound is so loud compared to everything else. “Go on then, Simon. Gimme your best line—make me laugh so hard it pulls a muscle and I have that to keep me company tonight.”

an: couldn't bow out 2022 without some roof top sweetness with the main man. right? happy new year, team ghost. i can't put into words what you all mean to me, or how happy you've made me feel. j'adore.

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost riley x reader #cod ghost x reader #simon 'ghost' riley x reader #simon 'ghost' riley #ghost cod #ghost riley #ghost x helen #cod ghost #ghost cod mwii #ghost cod x reader #ghost cod mw2 #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley #cod mw22 fanfiction #modern warfare fanfiction

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callmeklair · 5 months

Text

unrequited. [part 11]

«he can't stop himself. he is totally intoxicated

and mesmerized by her now»

It felt like a long bad dream to Yui wishing, when she opens her eyes everything will go back to as it was. As how she and Shu were enjoying their family time in Mukamis' mansion. But this world was totally against her, the moment she opened her eyes she could feel her whole body ache, especially the place where Shu forcefully bit her and harmed her.

She tried to get up but something was binding her down on the bed, and that's when she took in the view of the unfamiliar yet familiar room. this is the room she has been visiting lately to keep herself sane and to not lose her mind. His soothing tea fragrance calming her mind and his voice keeping her sanity in check even though most moments they spend together while sharing tea time are silent as they enjoy each other's presence and of course his perfectly saturated tea.

Yui noticed that the large figure beside hers is none other than Reiji's who has vined his legs and arms around her in a tight embrace and surprisingly she felt… safe and calm despite blushing and shrieking internally because of such close physical intimate contact. is it because how close they have gotten lately? she feels peaceful under his touch.

No matter how much she was oddly loving and enjoying these seconds with him right now, her body was sweaty and very exhausted, she needed a bath. so she slowly removed his hand, trying not to wake him up as she staggers around the room silently. she realised she doesn't have it in her to go to her room for the bath, it's better to do it in Reiji's instead of risking herself to be targeted by one of the other brothers' at the sight of her such weak state. but she didn't had anything to wear after the bath, what should she do?

squeezing her remaining brain cells despite being totally exhausted, Yui looked around the room hoping to find something and that's when her eyes land on one of the Reiji's freshly ironed shirt. ah… she looked at Reiji and apologized to him in her mind for what she is about to do and she picks it and up goes for a relaxing bath.

Yui doesn't know how long she has been in the bath as it soothed her down and relaxed her a lot, but now she was starting to feel dizzy because of the steam and decided it's time to wrap up. Reiji's shirt was really big, well he is the most tallest brother in this household but infront of her such small figure, it's really really loose though at the same time comfy as luckily the shirt reaches her knees and the sleeves are very long, hiding her palms successfully. the only issue was the hair dryer. it wasn't working!

if she keeps her hair wet for too long, she might end up catching cold very easily especially now that she is not in a good state of immunity. and her hands still feel pretty weak so drying off with towel will consume a lot of energy and strength that she lacks right now. as Yui was pondering on rubbing her hair with the towel, Reiji rushes in the bathroom with a scared look but soon it turns into one of that relief as he saw her unharmed and in one piece.

Though for Yui, she turned red as a tomato cause of Reiji's sudden outburst as she calls out his name in shy alarm. on top of that she was wearing his shirt, more reasons to shy away.

Even Reiji was perplexed at the sight, composing himself on the outside while malfunctioning on the inside. he needs to calm down.

“what are you doing at this hour in a man's bathroom?”

“sorry Reiji-san I just wanted to take a quick bath to relax myself but as I was feeling weak, your room was the best option.” Yui tried to explain herself but kept it minimal, just like Reiji preferred. weird, why was she caring about how he prefers thing. maybe she doesn't want to get any punishment when she is under the weather?

Reji finally noticed Yui's hair. damp. he does remember that his hair dryer isn't working well and figured out what to do for her. He gently took the towel hanging on Yui's arm and started rubbing her hair.

Perplexed, Yui becomes stiff not knowing how to react and pondered why Reiji is suddenly being nice to hear from the past few weeks. She really really doesn't want to light another spark of hope. but… he was really being very gentle and drying off her hair using his hands as lightly as possible because of his vampire strength. he was scared to break her even from the slightest force.

he knows he needs to stop himself, he knows this is not going to end well, he knows he'll suffer and face the consequences for eternity from this but he can't stop himself. he is totally intoxicated and mesmerized by her now.

but he is not afraid. if it's her who'll make his destiny to be doomed then he'll gladly accept it. if it's her, he is ready to face his father's wrath for not becoming Adam. because… her happiness matters to him more than anything. if she is happy with Shu, he'll always remain in the shadows, isolated from the whole world to hide his painful unrequited love to not make her feel bad, like she always does for each and everyone. even for those founders’.

“Reiji-san?” he has been rubbing her hair for a long time now and her hair has dried more than needed.

“ack! my apologies, I lost track. we're done for today. now, you can go back to your room”

after that, it's been two days yet Yui wasn't able to have a proper conversation with Reiji. he is oddly being very nice towards her, and she has no clue why. at first she thought maybe he remembers? but she didn't want herself to get filled with unnecessary delusional hope.

at the same time she has started maintaining a safe distance with Shu.

they say there are five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.

and it's time for her to accept the truth. it's time she starts over. crying, getting frustrated, pestering and falling into depression using that single thread of past memories in her head is only making her fall into the abyss more. The worst thing she can think of has already happened to her and she can't change it anymore, because it's the truth. she cannot keep herself hiding from this pain using the same old facade. sitting around, waiting and hoping for Shu's memories to return is hopeless, he is not even showing any signs of his memory being a blunder or getting a sense of deja vu!

Taking a deep breath, she knocked at Reiji's door again. no response. she has been knocking on his door twice a day after that day but like always he is not responding, he is not even attending school. so like always, Yui gently puts down the tray of hot tea and his favorite carbonara she prepared for him.

And as customarily, when she comes back to pick up the tray after few hours, she sees the usual note “not bad, not good but much more better and improved than the previous one and much more edible”

fufu, Yui laughed internally, relieved that he is still Reiji. but at the same time, she wants to see him. odd, but she wants to see him again.

“oi, what are you doing, smiling like that in the middle of the corridor?”

She froze. the person she was trying her best to avoid from the past two days really appeared at bad time.

“S-shu-san…”

“*sigh* ha, don't give me that look. I asked something, didn't I? such a drag”

“oh, um that…” what was she supposed to say? she can't say Reiji called her right in front of Reiji's room!

“Hmmm, did you come and seek my little brother now that you are bored with me? after that day I haven't seen you a bit, was that really the peak of your enjoyment? heh, and here I thought I could plan more 'further' things.” he laughed but her eyes darkened.

to her, that laugh and way of teasing made all the resolve she had come crashing down. if it were the old Yui, she would have definitely blushed and denied his accusations. but now, this guy who is oblivious to what Yui remembers is just … keeps agonizing her furthermore.

“... t-that's not true! I just came here because I had some problems in my studies”

“study that tray?” he says pointing at her feet, totally seeing through her lies.

at this rate Yui was starting to tremble slightly as her heart rapidly beat in a painful way, like a painful knot is getting tied from her heart veins making it hard to breathe for her.

“Yui you are here.”

“Reiji…”

#reiyui supermacy #used slight wandavision reference #yui my strong girl #diabolik lovers #yui komori #dialovers #komori yui #diabolik lovers fandom #diabolik lovers yui #reiji sakamaki #yui x reiji #diabolik lovers reiji #reiyui #sakamaki reiji #reiji x yui #yui x shu #shu sakamaki #shuyui #unrequited reiyui

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sonnburn · 4 months

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HEY, you know how at the start of the episode when Day's father said Night told him Day was going to be at the wedding? Personally, I was like, "Why would Night do that? That seems like something that would obviously upset Day." I saw a few others reacting this way too, so I wasn't alone in wondering why Night did that.

But then I remembered the original plan for this trip. Night was supposed to go with them. Their mom only signed off on letting Day travel so far if Night was the one to take him. Letting Day and Mork go by themselves was a spur of the moment decision.

If the original plan had happened, Night would have been in Songkhla with Mork and Day but he likely wouldn't have stayed with them once they were there. His job was just transportation, their mother never stipulated that Night had to watch over them while in Songkhla. The plan was probably to get Mork and Day there, then go off by himself and meet back up with them later to drive home. Why would Night have attended the wedding of his brother's friend? Night didn't know them and he's very aware that Day wouldn't have wanted him there. As he always does, Night would have tried to minimize his presence as much as possible during the trip so Day could enjoy the event.

This episode established that Night reached out and reconnected with their father on his own, and it seems he's been in contact with him for a while. Given that, Night's plan after leaving Mork and Day was likely to go visit their dad. If so, its reasonable to assume Night would have told their dad that he was coming to see him and the reason he would be in town was Day attending his friends wedding, but Night probably wasn't planning on having Day and their dad meet. Night likely wouldn't have told Day where he'd been during the trip at all (and Day likely wouldn't have cared anyway). When plans changed and if his dad was expecting him, Night would have let him know that he wouldn't be going after all. But since Night wouldn't be there and their dad knew Day would be, he saw the opportunity to see his youngest son again and took it. If Night had gone, I doubt their dad would have gone to find Day, he would have concentrated on being there for Night. But in reconnecting with Night, it probably made him want to reconnect with Day too if given the chance. I think showing up to the wedding uninvited and causing a scene was the wrong way to go about it, but it all worked out in the end so WHAT DO I KNOW!?

Night didn't orchestrate some ambush. He'd likely just made a plan to stay out of the way, but in doing so gave his dad information on what was going on, and when plans changed their dad acted on his own. In what happens to this character pretty frequently, Night's best intentions resulted in the worst outcome.

Night wasn't even there, and he still takes all the blame.

#last twilight #last twilight the series #last twilight ep 9 #last twilight meta #night and day #Night Kopnopphakhun

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gabessquishytum · 5 months

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Hob wasn't President when the aliens made "1st Contact". Honestly, thankfully; it was a fraught time.

There had even been rumors when the Endless alien race first made public contact that there had been a group of them living on the planet in secret and their welcome reception was why they decided to reveal themselves. Hob thought that was so cool; and he told his best friend Dream all about how cool he thought it was! And as Hob was a teenager at the time, he's pretty sure he never saw an alien up close, but at the time he was way more concerned that his friend Dream was moving away (he was distraught).

In any event, Hob is President now and is hosting the Royal delegation for the Endless in the Americas. His team isn't sure which of the Endless Princes will be visiting Hob's White Horse House, but they think it will probably be Prince Morpheus. He handles most of the diplomacy for the ruling family.

Hob has been practicing all the complicated welcome rituals and greetings for a few weeks and since most Endless don't consent to having pictures taken Hob isn't sure what Prince Morpheus actually looks like. But Hob will keep minimal eye contact and not touch unless invited like a pro.

Imagine his surprise when his old best (dearest) friend steps out of the [car] and is introduced to President Gadling as Prince Morpheus of the Endless. (Hob might break protocol a little at that point.)

Is it breaking protocol to jump right into the arms of the visiting alien royal Prince and cling onto him like a koala? Maybe. Does it make every single headline on earth and several other planets too? Absolutely.

Dream hugs Hob with equal enthusiasm and when they pose for pictures, they're still holding hands. No one can tell if it's all a PR stunt, but relations between humans and the Endless seem... pretty fucking secure, you know? People who were still freaked out about the aliens start to admit that maybe everything will be okay.

It's all going very okay for Hob, thanks very much. He and Dream have been having "private one on one talks" for about 6 hours. First they did talk - about why Dream was disguised as a human all that time, about their lives. Then there were more hugs, a little more touching. Dream finally gave Hob a glimpse of his true form. Magnificent, towering over Hob, yards of exquisite pale skin. Tentacles.

Fortunately the conference room table could be hastily wiped clean once they were finished making use of it. Hob will never forget laying against the cool wood with Dream on top of him, Dream pinning his wrists with tendrils of velveteen blackness and fucking into him with something huge and cool that Hob tragically didn't get a glimpse of. He's just. A little bit obsessed with his alien best friend.

...maybe a marriage between a human and an Endless could be just what intergalactic diplomatic relations need. Right?

#the sandman #dreamling #nsft #cw tentacles

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blingblong55 · 1 year

Text

Your little imperfections- 141 +König

This is based on a request:

How reader reacts to getting cheated and COD men comforting them to this

fluff, angst?, gn!reader, cheating

Backstory:

Before joining the military, you had started a romantic relationship with someone back home. They he/she stayed with you through thick and thin. You were sure they were the one for you. But after joining the task force, you had very minimal contact with them. It was painful to say the least, they started to grow distant on you. Your texts with them were starting to get dry.

You: hey! made it back from the mission! how's everything over there

Them: thats good, all is well here, have to go now bye.

You: call me later yeah?

Them: will try.

You weren't sure what you had done wrong after all these years. The men you worked with tried to help you out of this situation, giving you ideas on how to work this problem out. You had grown fond of one of your teammates. He was so kind to you, always chatty, funny and witty with his moves. You saw him as a a friend, comrade, your favorite battle buddy. But he saw you differently. It tore him knowing why your partner was acting like this. He knew the reason, and all he wished is that you noticed him, for more than just friends, but as he saw you cry, all he could do was stay by your side.

After months of work, your CO allowed you to take a week off to visit family. You went to them. You were nervous, excited, anxious..all emotions really. You'd be able to see them once more, until it wasn't all sunshine. You went to their family home. As you approached the door, you heard them, laughing with their mum. "I tell you, this new boy/girl of yours is amazing, better than r/n. I always knew you two wouldn't last." she says. The small teddy you had for them, a tradition you two created, was now on the floor. You got back in your car. The drive back and the flight back to your base was painful. You didn't stop crying, it wasn't like you could just stop them. You passed your mates, moving fast as you tried to approach your room. No one noticed, but him.

-----------------------

Ghost:

this man was more than upset when he saw your frown and tears. He had memorized all your expressions, from the best to the worst of them.

He sat on the outside of your room, listening to you cry. It wasn't like he didn't want to stop you, he just didnt know how.

Once he finally had the courage, he knocked on your door.

You, teary eyed opened it, looking at him. Gosh you were a mess. "Ghost?" your voice shaky, holding back tears.

"sixx?" (your callsign) he wanted to hug you, wanted to comfort you, but he froze.

"I..I don't know what I did wrong." you were now staring into the abyss.

His arms wrapped around you, it was quick, but his touch was warm. He moved you two inside your room, closing the door behind you.

"let it all out r/n...I'm right here for you." his hand brushing your hair.

Your head on his chest. Tears muffled.

He was the one who loved you. Everyone loved sixx, but he loves R/n, he sees you for you.

"I did so many things to push them away!" you said, your chest aching.

"Hey now," his hands cupping your face, making you look at him, "you did nothing wrong, you were there sixx, you did all you could to keep them there. It was on them to walk away, you did all good."

His soft voice, his tender touch, making you more emotional.

"but...but why are they with him/her! was I not good enough?" your eyes blurred out by the tears.

He shook his head. All he wanted to do was take the pain from you and put it all in him. His thumb caressed over your cheek, wiping the tears as they fell down.

"You are more than good enough, any man/woman, would be damn lucky to have you. I know I would be lucky." he whispered the last part and kissed your forehead.

All night, he laid there with you, his hand rubbing your back as your cries continued on. He knew it couldn't be stopped, a heartbreak could never be paused.

But he was there, all through and through.

Price:

The minute he saw you, he followed you to your room. Dropping what he was doing and urgently rushing to your side.

It was cruel to think of himself with you at the moment, but he still let the thought pass through.

"Sixx? are you okay?" he was so close to the door. Remaining there until you opened it.

"they cheated on me Price!" you cried out, your arms holding onto him.

It took him by surprise, but he still welcomed it. Your tears ricochet on him. His hand on the back of your head.

Moving you two in, so no one could hear you. So he could focus on you and just you.

"I wish he/she loved me for just a little longer. Why couldn't they just stay a little longer?"

"love, that isn't how real love works. It wasn't in them to stay, but dont you ever wish for them again."

"why?" you looked up at him, your eyes puffy. It nearly broke him. "because you deserve greater things in life, not someone who gave nothing to the one who put in the work for it to last."

He was the one who loved all your defects, if you even had any, because he was sure you didnt have any. He loved your little problems. All of them.

All he, wanted was for you to notice him. To realize he would be the one to stay and also put in the work.

If only you could hold onto me and my sweet nothings, he thought.

It was selfish, he knows this all too well, but can't he for once be selfish? work his way into your stubborn little heart and keep you as his?

"I love him/her. But why does it hurt? why do I have to pay for this?"

Fuck, even he started crying. You don't deserve this. No one does, but especially you.

You deserve all good things, riches, happiness, all the love, the praise.

You deserve me, he thought.

Gaz:

It wasn't in him to be jealous of whoever he/she was.

But he was the one who you ate with, he was the one who saw you all dirty, sweaty, and all moody. Not them. Him

He grew to love all your little imperfections, all of them.

But when he saw you rush past him, he grew worried and chased behind you, he forgot about your partner.

"R/n?" he gently knocked on your door. "its me, gaz, open up yeah?"

It took you a few minutes to open to door, but once you did he stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

He knew it was cheating that your partner was up to. Knew the signs, remembered them all clearly.

His arms were on you the second he closed the door. Your neck nuzzled between his neck and shoulder.

Cries filling the room. He didnt mind the tears on his shirt or how you gripped on the back of his shirt as you let all pain out.

He always wondered, how it was to grow out to be as beautiful as you. To be the one to have all your kisses.

"They even met his/her family. It took me two years! to do that!" you cried out.

"how can they do this to me?! I love the Gaz, with my body and soul!"

He hated to hear you say this, all he wanted to do was beat the person who did this to you. But right now, all he could do was be here, be the person that deserves all your love.

"R/n, it'll be hard, but you have to let them go. For better or worse."

"I can't Gaz, I tried on the way here, but I have so many memories with them, so much love for them. I cant just let them go."

"they let you go before hand." he wished to say.

His carried you to bed, as he felt your body weak on him.

All night he was there, caressing you as you unfortunately cried to sleep.

It was rude to not say much to you, he knows, but after all shit you've been through on the field, one person can not break you like this. Thats why he wanted you to seek for your own happiness.

A future with or without him.

His own demonstration of his unconditional love.

Soap:

He was always the pun of the joke. The one you never took seriously

When his eyes landed on your poor, broken figure, he followed you along. Wishing to catch up before you closed the door, which he did.

He closed the door behind him, you turned to meet him.

Arms falling onto him. "oh soap, it's over. He/She is with someone else, he/she cheated on me!"

He hated this view. It was the one time he wished he had a joke to tell. To make himself your personal fool. Which he already was.

"I'm such an idiot! I should've known!"

"You aren't an idiot. Look what you have accomplished. They tricked you, it wasn't a trap that could be spotted."

His arms snacked around you. "I'm sorry you have to feel this." one of his hands on your chest.

As tears fell down your eyes, he kissed them, all of them.

Over the years he grew love for your flaws. All the little things that had become so..you. He loved them all.

How could someone not love you? That he didn't comprehend.

"Was I not worth anything?" you asked, your voice so fragile.

His eyes pouring sorrow. He cupped your face in his warm hand. "You are worth everything. All the battles, the sleepless nights. The journey from hell to heaven. All of them, thats what you are with and more."

You were the one he was waiting for. His one excuse to stop his reckless career, his excuse to make it home before midnight.

"soap?" you said as he carried you to bed, tucking you in and kissing your forehead. "I'll be here, through day and night, just please let your wee heart rest for the night."

König:

He was a love bug, that was no joke. He loved too strong, and he loved you.

You ran passed him, no little "König!" followed by your butchered Austrian.

He waited an hour, a god damn hour where he didn't know what was goin on with you. But that was the promise you two made.

After the wait, he barges into your room, a big shirt of his, the teddy bear you two made and his own blanket in hand.

"r/n?, its me König, i..uh..I have a feeling about what happened and I am sorry."

he was faced with a teary eyed, puffy face you. You kept crying as you saw all of his stuff

He dropped them, hugging you immediately.

Lots of forehead kisses!

"I think its all my fault, if only I would've been more present-"

"nein, none of that r/n, you were there, they knew that this relationship could become hard. You tried, you did, I know you did."

"but Kö-"

"nein, nonsense to whatever you'll say."

He reaches for his teddy, "you always told me that when needed, he would be here. Its your turn to hold him."

That night, he was selfish. Kept you all to himself. Loved how it was him keeping you warm as you slept.

Although you were heartbroken, his own kind heart, leaned in, embracing your pain and making it his own.

It was an advantage and a curse to have a good heart. A loving heart. He was always the one putting your own problems before his own.

Always the one to hold you, the one that knew all your scars by memory. Loving them for who they made you.

Although you weren't his, he was already yours.

For him, this was enough, to hold you like this as you slept, finally coming at piece with your own heartbreak. Him getting lost in your little snores.

-----------------------------------

A/n: okay but like heart me out, König is our king of pure kindness, like how dare they not make him a portable size!

also anon, I hope this is what you had in mind!

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!

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