#Woah that was a rollercoaster | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

crguang · 4 months ago

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wasted with longing, part 3

Knowing Kafka is a rollercoaster of emotions you can’t escape from no matter how much you beg to touch the ground.

friends with benefits, f!reader, some domestic bliss before the storm, 6.5k words

A/N: no smut warning woah…. actual development woahhh… cant believe i wrote this much without throwing in some sex i think i might like this criminal :/

part two part four

“So… Can I come in?”

Kafka’s self-assured tone sounds lazy, indifferent to the predicament she finds herself in, and her lips are fixed in that practiced smile like she’s genuinely happy to see you despite bleeding through her shirt on your doorstep. You stare at her disheveled state, a hundred questions dancing on your tongue and unable to voice any of them. Instead, you open the front door wider and urgently usher her into your apartment with a hand wrapped around her uninjured bicep. Kafka makes a sound of surprise, though it fails to convey any. She lets herself be moved and quietly walks further inside your place.

“What happened?” The door shuts behind you, but you’re already leading her down the hallway towards your small bathroom. “Where do you even come from?!”

Your words quaver more than you would like as you flip the switch and motion for her to sit on the toilet seat. You can feel her eyes on you while you messily rummage through the cupboards beneath the sink, pushing old medicine bottles aside and cleaning products out of the way. The weight in your stomach grows heavier the longer you search for your first-aid kit, shutting the wooden cupboards and throwing open the one behind the mirror desperately. Apart from prescribed and over the counter medication, you find nothing that would be of help at this moment.

“Where is it?… Fuck, where is it?!” You lay your palms flat on the counter, head dropping low to think.

“Calm down,” Kafka says calmly, a slightly amused lilt in her voice, “I’m not going to die.”

You ignore her horrible attempt at reassuring you and try to recall when was the last time you used the bandages in the kit. You cut yourself cooking some weeks ago but you remember going to the bathroom to fish them out… It has to be around here somewhere. You bite your bottom lip anxiously, your pulse in your ears like an oppressive presence, and force yourself to take in a breath so you don’t succumb to your panic. If it’s not in this room, it must be laying in your storage closet. You spare the other woman a glance to find her already looking at you, obediently silent. She doesn’t seem to be in any pain but you know it’s a facade, you’re only taken aback by how easy it is for her to pretend that nothing is amiss. You straighten up, run a hand over your face to clear your head and order her not to move before walking out to find the aforementioned closet.

You make an even bigger mess of your storage closet as you search for the med kit, lifting boxes you don’t recognize and throwing plastic bags full of random trinkets out in the hallway. Your heart is in your throat, you can feel your eyes sting with the familiar weight of unshed tears, but you can’t stop looking. The thought of Kafka bleeding out before anything is done appears in your distressed mind and worsens your anxiety despite the probability of it happening being low. If this wound turns out to be something you can’t stabilize on your own, you’ll call the emergency services. You push aside a basket filled with yarn, letting out a shuddering breath at the sight of a clear case with a red cross on it. You waste no time grabbing it and heading for the bathroom, not bothering to close the closet door. When you walk back in, Kafka has managed to take off her bloody shirt and is facing the mirror over the sink, a hand still applying firm pressure on her shoulder. She turns your way to acknowledge you and takes a peek at the box in your hands.

“What are you doing? Sit down,” you swallow the lump in your throat so you don’t sound as strained.

Putting the kit on the counter and lifting the lid, you take out a few non-stick bandages. From your peripheral vision, you see Kafka complying with your shaky command and suppressing a chuckle. She hasn’t said much so far, which is uncharacteristic of her quick witted nature. You pick up a clean face towel from one of the shelves in the corner and rinse it with warm water. You step in front of her and gesture to the wound.

“Let me clean it.”

Once again, Kafka doesn’t protest. Her guarded gaze is on you, following every twitch of your brows and inaudible intake of breath, almost sizing you up as you lean in close to treat her wound. Her small smile is frozen on her face, and you can’t tell what it’s meant to convey anymore. She carefully takes her hand off her shoulder. The small puncture wound leaves a bloody trail down her skin, but even you can tell that it’s no longer bleeding profusely; the worries filling your head shrink and finally allow you to think more rationally. You bring the wet towel to her skin. You’re more meticulous with your hands than you thought you could be, softly washing away the specks of dried blood on her shoulder and around the injury. At this distance you see faint bluish veins that you had no reason to notice before, they slither down her neck and fade away above her collarbone. You wipe the deep red from her usually flawless skin, brushing over it with a mindfulness opposite from the lustful touches you’re accustomed to; your sole intention is to soothe her pain instead of taking pleasure from her. You are suddenly aware of her proximity in this unfamiliar context. She sits close without the headiness of sex, quiet and alert, and you can feel the warmth of her body from where you stand, your head is bowed and one of her thighs rests between yours.

Kafka looks up at you through her lashes but you have no way of understanding the light behind her eyes. You think perhaps all of her strength goes to withstand the pain she’s in. You still feel your beating heart against your ribcage, its erratic pace gently growing steady, while her chest rises and falls easily. Your breaths fill the silence around you. As the cloth delicately clears away the blood, you sneak a glance at her and your eyes meet. Your hand falters on her skin. Her rosy-lilac irises speak of tenderness that does not fit her, like a deceiving front to conceal her emotional distance. You see them but there is nothing beyond them, nothing that she allows you to glimpse at. Even so, you’re privy to a side of her you don’t yet know. There’s still traces of blood on her cheek she meant to wipe off before seeing you, and without thinking, you lift the towel higher to clean it off with a few smooth strokes. Kafka blinks once and you do the same rapidly, sharply turning away from her piercing stare to finish dressing her wound. In the stillness of your home, new truths are unknowingly written.

To stop the bleeding and prevent infections, you take out square non-adhesive bandages and peel one of them off. She’ll have to see an actual doctor for treatment, but you realize that the situation is not as bad as you initially thought. The sight of her bloody shirt and glove terrified you at first glance; you slowly realize that all of it must not have been hers. Unease settles in your stomach a second time. What could she possibly be implicated in to show up at your door with an injury like this?

“Why’d you come here?” You ask softly now that the worst has passed, eyes focused on carefully applying the bandage to her skin. “Why didn’t you go to the hospital for this?”

“Wasn’t serious enough,” Kafka replies nonchalantly. She gazes at your furrowing brows and incredulous expression like she’s been doing since you opened the door. She doesn’t answer the first question.

“Serious enough? Your shirt is dyed red. How’d you even get this?”

“It’s just a gunshot wound. A little Band-Aid should fix me right up.”

“What the fuck?!”

In your loud disbelief your fingers press into the small hole in her shoulder and Kafka winces, clenching her jaw tightly. You quickly withdraw your hand. The bandage is halfway peeling off from her skin and she brings a gloved hand up to properly apply it herself.

You step back from her frame, lips parted in incredulity. “You got shot?”

Kafka uses her free hand to peel off the second bandage and apply it over the first one, not looking at you as she does so. “Relax, the bullet didn’t go all the way in and I already took it out. It’s a minor scrape now.”

“You got shot?”

“Ugh, not so loud… I’ve had a long day.”

“You need to see a doctor. Are you insane?”

She raises her head towards you. “I don’t need a doctor, just a place to stay until tomorrow.”

You swallow thickly, lifting a hand to your hairline and pacing back and forth in the enclosed space. You can’t believe what she’s saying. No normal person just gets shot on a random Thursday and acts so nonchalant about it— having seen the proof of it, your mind is reeling with questions you’re not sure you want the answers to. Kafka has always had an air of mystery around her and the kind of confidence that makes you think that she’s invincible. Looking at her now, sitting in your bathroom after you tended to her wound and seemingly unbothered by the favor she’s asking of you, your chest constricts with a foreboding feeling you can’t name. Your gaze drops to her discarded shirt on the floor. You want to ask her what she’s done, whose blood is on her clothes, but your throat tightens as if begging you to keep your mouth shut. Kafka watches the emotions play out on your face and speaks up again.

“You stayed home.”

It takes a few seconds to meet her eyes, your reply agitated, “What?”

“Last time we talked, I told you not to go to work today. Despite your lack of trust in me, you stayed home. Why?”

She seems to be genuinely wondering why, but you don’t have an answer to give her. You don’t know. There was something about the seriousness with which she suggested you call out of work that made you uneasy come this morning, all traces of her usual aloofness were gone, even if she meant for her delivery to be casual so as to not rouse any suspicions. It was a split decision, you picked up your phone and called in sick before fully understanding the implications of your actions. You trusted your gut, not her.

“Something came up,” you lie instead and confront her, “You knew something was going to happen today— or planned to come by, that’s why you wanted me here, right? You know I get off work at 7 and I wouldn't have been home.”

Kafka gives nothing away but you know she doesn’t believe your white lie. If she feels anything about this show of distrust, she keeps her cards close to her chest. She shrugs with her uninjured shoulder.

“Maybe I just missed you.”

There it is, that flirty, teasing expression you’re used to seeing on her face. She’s deflecting and is for once doing a terrible job at it. She won’t tell you the truth, you know that much. Irritation burns the walls of your throat. In a way, you’re both lying to each other so you shouldn’t expect something you yourself are not ready to give her; then again, she’s the one who showed up at your door with a swelling injury and she has the guts to ask you to stay overnight while blatantly ignoring your attempts at finding out the circumstances of her situation. You don’t react to her taunt, you only cross your arms and stare at her, unamused. Your heartbeat has picked up several paces and you’re uncomfortable with the awareness of it drumming inside you. Kafka sighs in faux-exasperation.

“It’s only for tonight. I’ll be gone in the morning.” When you don’t reply, she hesitantly adds, “Please.”

You’re torn, her stubbornness will keep her from seeking a medical expert and you have no idea what she did to get it in the first place. Either way, she’s putting herself in danger, and if you let her stay for a while at least you can make sure she doesn’t worsen her condition before her wound stops bleeding completely… You run a hand over your face. Might as well make dinner for two.

Kafka’s in the shower and you’re chopping the vegetables you bought earlier this afternoon, your mind a few miles away as you move efficiently around the kitchen. You told her that if she was going to sleep over, she should change into more comfortable clothes. Weirdly, she didn’t make any lewd comments and simply accepted the oversized shirt and plaid pyjama pants you gave her before walking out of the bathroom.. She must have a lot on her mind too, you suppose. Maybe she’ll be more inclined to share a little later. The pasta is currently boiling so you get started on the sauce, letting it simmer on the stove while you take care of the veggies you’ll be steaming to eat as a side. The running water quickly becomes background noise while you busy yourself, a sound you’re not very used to hearing when you’re not the one showering, but the pitter-patter relaxes you a touch. You’re no longer on the edge of an anxiety attack, though worry still resides in the depths of your heart considering the situation you find yourself in. You try to focus on the dinner you’re cooking instead of the bloodstained memory of Kafka’s clothes. They’re in the washing machine now, but you remember how soaked they were vividly, crimson and haunting. You instantly thought the worst, and when suddenly confronted with the prospect of losing her, you panicked. Anyone would have reacted the same in the face of a bleeding person, you tell yourself, but you can’t deny that the thought deeply unnerves you.

You don’t register the sound of the water being turned off. You stir the rosé sauce and lower the heat under the vegetables, then incorporate the pasta into the creamy goodness. The smell of freshly cooked pasta fills your nose and reminds you of how little you ate today. You take out two plates from a cabinet and pour a generous serving in each one, adding a little more vegetables for yourself. You’re gently laying them on the kitchen island in the middle of the room when Kafka walks in with her hair still damp from the shower. Her face is bare, her long locks loose past her shoulders, and she’s wearing the clothes you lent her. The shirt hangs around her thighs over the cotton pants, big enough to be cozy on her. She looks… mundane, more refreshed than an hour ago. In such plain attire, she doesn’t seem as enigmatic or intimidating, but rather like your average citizen. It’s a harsh contrast to the way she presents herself and the cocky, in control woman you usually see. She strides into the kitchen and leans on the island to glimpse at the food you made. You don’t realize that you’re staring until she looks at you and raises an eyebrow, a small confident smile on her lips.

“See something you like?”

You avert your gaze and turn around to take out the parmesan from the fridge. Your skin warms up from the embarrassment of getting caught, but you manage to hide your flustered expression from her sight. Your stomach buzzes with a feeling you attribute to bashfulness. This is yet another side of Kafka you’re discovering, she’s never stayed until morning light before. You’ve long exceeded the limits of what you’re familiar with tonight, the feeling is the same as the night you undressed her for the time; excitement and nervousness swirled in your belly, each caress revealing inches of unexplored skin to your eager touch. You face her again and find that in this moment, you feel no disquiet.

“Is that for me?” Kafka sits on the stool across from you and points to one of the plates.

You grate some parmesan on top of the pasta before pushing the portion towards her. She stares at it for a few seconds then lifts her questioning eyes to yours. She seems to hesitate for the time it takes you to pull out a fork from a drawer and give it to her, but she eventually thanks you quietly. She means it for more than dinner. You nod once in acknowledgement.

You take a seat on the stool next to her and glance at the way she turns the fork over in her hand, looking at the food in search of answers instead of eating it. For a couple minutes there’s only the sound of metal on ceramic as you eat while Kafka is lost in thought, absentmindedly picking at her vegetables. After swallowing another bite, you decide that you’re sick of the awkward silence.

“You don’t eat pasta?”

Kafka blinks. In an instant, her cryptic smile stretches her lips and she stabs some pasta onto her fork, sticking it into her mouth. Her face lights up after the first chew. “Mmm. Never had a home cooked meal that actually tastes like food.”

“Really?”

“I’m not much of a cook.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She purses her lips, silverware hovering in the air, though she’s not offended.

“I just can’t picture you wearing an apron.”

“That’s because you usually picture me wearing nothing.”

You make a face but don’t refute her point, to which Kafka’s smile widens an inch. You stuff food into your mouth to give you time to think of a reply. She watches you with an amused look, leaning her chin in her hand.

“Not even a little protest…”

“Oh, shut up,” you shot back indignantly, “should’ve dropped the bottle of hot sauce on your plate…”

Kafka’s deep chuckle compels you to look at your dinner instead of her. “Makes no difference to me. My pain tolerance is pretty high, it might make the flavors pop out a bit more.”

You’re reminded of how easily she kept her composure earlier, as if getting shot at is a regular occurrence for her. Flashes of her bleeding shoulder come back to your mind and you quiet down a bit, poking a broccoli with the tip of your fork. Kafka immediately senses the shift in your mood. She pauses, watches you toy with the vegetable for a short moment, then twirls her own fork in her hand.

“Don’t worry,” she reads your mind effortlessly, “a scrape like that will heal in no time and will barely leave a scar. Besides, you won’t care much for it the next time I’m undressing in front of you.”

You roll your eyes at the innuendo but it successfully brings you out of your thoughts for the time being. You lightly shake your head.

“Is sex the only thing on your mind?”

“Not the only thing…” she drawls, but the way her gaze drops to your chest and leisurely trails up to stare into your eyes, the beginnings of a smirk on her lips, suggests otherwise. She rhythmically taps the island’s surface with a finger.

“...Just eat your food.”

Kafka laughs softly and complies. You’re thankful for her restraint to make a dirty joke. As you both eat, the atmosphere around you shifts into a comfortable space you don’t feel the need to fill with mundanities. Still, you end up telling her about yourself after some prompting, about your friends, how it felt to move away from your parents and get your own place— even the doubts about your career and how you don’t think it’s something you want to do anymore. Kafka watches you all the while, her cheek in her palm, and comments on certain things but mostly keeps quiet. You don’t realize how much you’ve confided because she’s surprisingly an excellent listener and you get a little high from her undivided attention. Your almost empty plates lie forgotten on the kitchen island. You turn on the stool to face her fully at some point, your knees brushing her thigh, and the casual, innocent contact makes your heart race. Her presence is just as exciting outside of the context of a hookup, your pulse creates a melody for this moment. Unbeknown to you, you've already made up your mind; she looks prettier under the kitchen lights at night.

“You should quit,” Kafka repeats the advice she told you days ago, following the movement of your head as it tips backwards in exasperation. “You can make money doing anything, you might as well enjoy what you do.”

“It’s not that simple,” you argue, “my life is stable as is. I don’t even know what I want— it would be so irresponsible to drop everything just because I’m not fully satisfied with how things are now.”

“Then find out what you want and execute it.”

You sigh loudly, leaning on the island to rest your forehead on your arm. She makes it sound easy but quitting your research job in an engineering department might damage the fragments of relationship you have with your parents. You only see them a couple times a year, sometimes for a week during the summer, but they make sure to let you know how proud they are that the money they invested in you is paying off. You know they can’t control you anymore and yet, the guilt of them struggling to put you through school is ingrained in your gray matter. Despite the heavy weight they constantly put on your shoulders, you truly do want to please them. You moved to another corner of the world and can still hear your mother’s disapproving voice in your ears.

“I wish I knew if whatever I end up doing is the right choice,” you mutter, laying your chin on your forearm and staring straight ahead. “It’d be nice to know how this all ends.”

Kafka doesn’t respond immediately. She ponders for a while, fingers drumming on the stainless steel.

“Mmm. There’s more joy to be found in the unknown, I think,” she says after a pause. “More excitement.”

“More anxiety too.”

“They often come together, don’t they? Both make you feel alive, having one without the other might breed a certain… emptiness.”

You furrow your brows. “You’ve clearly never felt anxious.”

Kafka only smiles softly. “In any case, you can’t live your life fulfilling other people’s wishes. I’ve never found selfishness to be ugly.”

Once the plates and pans are washed half an hour later, you stop by the bedroom to pick up a blanket and a pillow for Kafka to sleep with. You walk back into the living room, items under your arms, to see her sitting cross-legged on the couch, TV remote in hand. The screen is bright in the dim light and illuminates the room around it, painting moving shadows on the walls. You put the pillow down on the armrest with the folded blanket over it. Kafka is scrolling through your streaming applications and stops to acknowledge you.

“Want to watch something?” She asks. “I don’t remember the last time I sat down for a full movie.”

The invitation is so ordinary that you hesitate for a few seconds. Watching a movie after cooking her dinner…? A corner of your mind is screaming that this sounds like a casual date but you quickly shake that thought away for its absurdity. She needed a place to stay for the night, that’s all. Once again, she’s more using you than anything else, you’re a safe place to come to because you have trouble refusing her. You prove your own theory right by accepting her offer and closing the hallway and kitchen lights before taking a seat next to her, putting a reasonable distance between you. You fold your legs on the couch and lay a forearm on the armrest as Kafka continues to scroll through the different apps. She lets out comments like “sounds boring” and “ugh” after skipping certain movies. She’s mostly talking under her breath, eyes fixed on the TV screen. The blue light applies a similar hue to her skin tone and adds vitality to her irises, they appear more vivid and alert. The sharp shadows in her hair are even darker against such a vibrant source of light and the sight of her brings to mind a beautifully composed photograph. You take a mental picture of her like this, in sleepwear with her hair free of the ponytail she puts it in every day, staring intently at the screen like a kid who’s been allowed to stay up past her bedtime.

“What about a horror movie?” You propose, taking your eyes off her frame to look at the TV.

“No. They’re never scary. This one looks less mediocre than the others.”

You read the synopsis of a psychological thriller together. The movie doesn’t particularly speak to you but you tell her it seems nice anyway. You’re not surprised to learn that she enjoys mind games. Kafka adjusts her position on the couch so that she’s mimicking your own and presses play, leaning an elbow on the armrest to rest her cheek on top of her fist. You try to focus on the movie, the pacing is too slow to catch your tired mind’s attention for more than ten minutes at a time, and an hour passes with you sneaking glimpses at the woman next to you from your peripheral vision. She’s not close enough that you can feel her warmth like you could in the bathroom earlier, but the air around you feels the same; a sort of domestic intimacy that has no place between the two of you because you can’t imagine meaning that much to someone like her. You can’t snuff it out, no matter how many times you tell yourself to look at the scene in front of you. Since she’s waltzed into your kitchen hours ago, you can’t help noticing habits that give you the false impression that you know her. Her fingers twitch when she’s lost in thought, they typically drum on whatever surface she can get her hands on or subtly move in the air like she’s conducting a symphony. She eats her vegetables last. She doesn’t shy away from eye contact when you speak. These little things don’t make up a person, and yet, for someone who doesn’t reveal much of herself, they’re quirks that few get to see.

Kafka is watching the movie with an unimpressed expression, which has you suppressing a smile. Occasionally, she comments on whatever is happening—mostly complaints about the direction the movie is going or how much better it would be if the human responses were more realistic. You simply nod along, already somewhat dozing off near the climax of the story. The aftermath of your anxious evening is catching up with you and you’re in a comfortable enough position at the moment, it doesn’t take long for fatigue to descend on your body. Your eyelids can’t bear their own weight and you rest your eyes for a couple of minutes, leaning your head on the armrest. You don’t witness how the movie ends. You’re falling asleep on the couch, the TV acting like background noise, and you forget that this is where Kafka is supposed to sleep. You don’t register soft fabric being laid over you, only catch sweet notes of vanilla belonging to the soap you use in the shower.

A sore ache in your neck pulls you out of a dream whose contents now elude you. Your brows twist indignantly, a muted groan vibrates along your throat, and you drowsily turn over on the couch to face the back cushions. You hear the bathroom door open and close, which eventually reminds you that you’re not alone in the house. Your eyes slowly blink open at the thought, momentarily blinded by the living room’s semi-darkness. It takes a minute to regain your bearings, you turn over a second time and notice soft threads of morning light seeping through the cracks of the closed blinds. It must be a new day already, though not very early based on how gloomy it still is outside. You have the reflex to check your phone for the time and realize that you don’t remember its last location. The cozy blanket falls to your lap when you sit up to look around the room. You’re rubbing the sleep out of your eyes as you recall the events of last night; Himeko calling, opening the door to a disheveled Kafka, rushing her to the bathroom for basic treatment… In between two of those, you must have discarded your phone somewhere here out of panic and didn’t touch it once afterwards, too preoccupied by the dizzying sensation of finally seeing past Kafka’s usual demeanor. Pulling the blanket off of you, you quickly scan the coffee table and check the couch cushions in case you threw the device on it yesterday and it fell through the cracks. Your fingertips touch the silicone of your phone case deep between the cracks of back pillows. You only struggle to pull it out for a few seconds, sighing in relief when you have it back in your hands, Tapping open the screen, you learn that it is currently a little past 5 in the morning and curse under your breath at the reminder of work in a couple of hours after spending the night on your couch. You scroll down the notification screen to see if you got any last night.

You’re confused at the amount of text messages you didn’t receive due to your phone being on silent. You blink rapidly at the dozens of concerned texts wondering how you are coming from your friends and some coworkers you get along with. You got a message from Himeko right after you hung up on her, but it’s just three question marks in succession so you make a mental note to call her back this evening. Opening the multiple texts a coworker sent you, you don’t comprehend them immediately. Your thumb hovers over the screen as you read the words “Stellaron Hunters” and “infiltrated”, and in a moment of denial, you exit the conversation to open another from a friend repeatedly asking if you’re safe. They sent an article attached to the first message; it’s a publication dating from around 6 PM last night posted by an IPC affiliated news company popular in the city. You don’t feel the instant your chest stutters at its contents. Unblinking, you stare at the urgent sentences reporting an incursion in the building you’ve worked in for years by a group of people you’ve only vaguely heard of from gossip around the office. The Stellaron Hunters, interstellar criminals notorious for their worth in credits, had the means to break into the mechanical engineering research lab of the Intelligentsia Guild with the goal of stealing hardware for a machine you remember personally working on about 8 months ago. You were part of the team of researchers assigned to this project to make sure it was a viable one before it could be produced. Once the green light is given, it gets sent to the lab and is out of your hands. You recall doing extensive research for it in a small time frame because it was a priority for your supervisors to start working on it as soon as possible. Now, the key component was the target of a larceny.

As you read, the world outside of the screen and the muffling in your ears disappears. Your digit quivers over the words “multiple casualties”. Most of them are security guards who attempted to stop the thieves in action, but some of the engineers you once met in person have also been stated as losses. Your eyes sting from being kept open for longer than a minute, you can’t hear the trembling breaths clumsily tripping past your lips either. The death toll is 19 human lives— all for a piece of hardware. Your collar seemingly constricts your throat, choking you silent. You are trapped by sudden guilt, it teasingly snakes around your guts and squeezes them tight like tentacles around an easy prey. What-ifs rush at you as if mocking your cowardice; what if you hadn't worked on this project and hadn’t allowed it to see the day, what if you switched careers like you’ve been wanting to for a long time… You don’t look at your hands but your mind supplies the image of them dipped in blood regardless. The white page of the article burns your retinas, yet you scroll further down to read the end of it. The IPC has taken matters into their own hands and sent out forces to apprehend the culprits while they still hide in the city, which does nothing to alleviate your distress because the Stellaron Hunters wouldn’t have earned a reputation if they were so easily caught. You dread the idea of facing your coworkers again after such a tragic event, even more so the simple thought of walking back into that building knowing what transpired there. You finally squeeze your eyes shut with a shaky exhale, trying not to picture red stained floors and mechanical equipment. When you open them again, the attached pictures at the end of the publication freezes the blood in your veins.

This is your first time associating faces to the group of criminals who are only ever mentioned by their faction name. The phone screen turns dark from inactivity but the wanted poster is seared into the walls of your occipital lobe, creating a reality-perfect image of the woman’s enigmatic smile and unmistakable rosy irises. Your reflection stares back at you, expressing consternation, and in the same instant, the bathroom door opens again. Heeled footsteps make their way down the hallway like a foreboding rhythm, clacking across the wooden tiles on a mission to reach the front door. The weight on your chest grows heavier once they’re close, and they eventually come to a stop behind the couch you’re sitting on. Your fingers tremble at the sound of her voice near your ears.

“You’re awake.”

It hits you, then. What happened last night, how Kafka received that gunshot wound, her advice from earlier this week—- it was a warning rolled in a layer of passivity, a peculiar request she couldn’t tell you the extent of without revealing her hand. If you had gone to work yesterday, one of the casualties could have been you. Her and the Stellaron Hunters must have been planning this for a while, perhaps weeks or months. You feel as though you’ve fallen in the ocean from a great height in the middle of the night, an icy wave of hurt clogs your ears and has you succumbing under the tumultuous waters.

Kafka tilts her head to the side and makes a teasing remark about you not being fully up and about, rounding the couch to wave a gloved hand in front of your face. Your head mechanically turns to look up at her. She’s dressed in the clothes she wore yesterday that she put in the dryer as you were washing the dishes. Her hair is in its everyday loose ponytail, aside from the sunglasses over her head and down to her asymmetrical boots, she’s ready to go. Her coat is on, leading you to believe that she planned to slip away while you were still asleep. Kafka observes the brewing emotions on your face and the heavy rise of your chest, then takes a quick glance at the phone still in your hands. Her relaxed smile drops an inch. You stare at each other for a moment and she doesn’t say another word during that time, reading you through the purse of your lips and the contempt in your eyes. After a minute of quiet, she lazily crosses her arms under her breasts.

“You don’t seem scared,” she says without breaking eye contact, like she’s close to figuring you out but is missing an important variable.

You don’t dwell on the fact that you are indeed not afraid of her or what she’s capable of, mainly wounded by the amount of stuff she’s kept from you. If you knew who she was back in that store, you would have never let her approach you no matter how intriguing she looked. It’s as you think this that you realize something else; her efforts in pursuing you coincide with the time you had just finished working on that major project and you can’t help thinking that all of it might have been premeditated. Your stomach churns.

You manage to find your voice, swallowing once to wet your dry throat. “Were you never going to tell me?” Your sentence comes out weaker than it should have, bordering on pathetic affront.

“No.”

Her honesty gives you whiplash. For all she’s lied about and omitted, she chooses to be honest when it hurts the most.

“It was always going to play out like this,” she continues, “some things are inevitable and all possibilities are already written. This way is less gruesome than the others, don’t you think?”

“What does that mean?”

Kafka smiles with her eyes closed but instead of a comfortable familiarity, it raises the hair on your arms.

“Well, I’m happy to know that you heeded my advice. I even looked for you and got hurt in the process. Quite chivalrous of me, isn’t it?”

Her lighthearted comment sounds like it’s meant to assuage the maelstrom of feelings mounting inside of you. It is so ridiculous, so devoid of genuine meaning, that it only stokes the burning embers under your skin. You struggle to contain your outrage, the sight of her pleased smile and indifferent posture has your fingers curl into a fist.

“Aw, don’t make that face,” Kafka uncrosses her arms and pulls at the ends of one glove so it fits snuggly on her hand, “this is the best possible outcome. I made sure of it.”

“Out.” You’re surprised the word made it out of your clenched jaw, and by its frigidity. She looks you over and even after everything, you notice the slight dip of her lips. You repeat yourself. “Get out.”

“Still upset?”

“Leave, or I will tell the authorities where you are.”

In a flash, a light glimmers in Kafka’s eyes and her features twist with amusement. “Really? You’d be accused of complicity.”

You know that. Your anger is impulsive and a darker part of you wishes to cause her turmoil like the one she’s putting you through. Kafka watches you closely. Her attention doesn’t fluster you anymore. She finds whatever answer she’s seeking in the determined stare you’re giving her.

“Gutsy…” Her muttered reply is more directed at herself but betrays her attraction. Her eyelids drop as she glances at your lips, then she meets your gaze with a fake sigh. “Oh, fine. I’ll see you later, then.”

“No—”

Kafka lifts a hand up to wave at you cheekily and is outside the door before you can tell her that you don’t want to see her again.

#honkai star rail #hsr kafka #kafka x reader #hsr x reader #kafka x you #hsr x you

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mr-yuugo · 4 months ago

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Date With A Cat Lover

[Idia Shroud X Gen!Reader] -FLUFF-

Words: 1,231

Summary: Idia goes on a date with his online friend. The freshmen find him and decide to tease him. As the reader converses with Idia's schoolmates, the reader is quick to take fondly of Grim.

You can also find this posted on AO3 and Wattpad!

Saying Idia was nervous was an understatement. He felt like he would melt onto the ground as each second passed. It was embarrassing enough just sitting awkwardly on a bench at a public park.

"So many people..." He thought as his foot anxiously tapped repeatedly on the ground. He was waiting for you in fact, so he decided to bear the nervousness and wait for you to get there.

This would be the first time you two would be meeting in person. Having met in an online game and becoming friends. You were so cute in the photos you would send him, he only hoped you were the cute person in the photos and not some catfisher.

"Now that would just be horrible..." He let out a shaky sigh as he pulled out his phone. Checking his messages to see that you texted him. "I just got here!" The message read.

Idia shrieked as he got up from the bench. Dusting off his clothes and telling himself not to act too weird. "Idia!" He heard someone call out to him. He stared at your figure coming closer to him as he looked at you in awe.

"Score! They're a total babe! Ez 10/10." Idia flashed his sharp teeth as he smiled at you. A sudden wave of confidence overcame him as he waved at you. "Y/N, I'm glad you could come."

"Mhm! Sorry for keeping you waiting." You told him as you linked your arm to his. Okay, that sudden confidence was gone. "Woah Idia! I didn't know your hair could do that!" You laughed as you smiled at his now pink hair.

...

You and Idia arrived at your desired location. When Idia found out you lived around the area he couldn't contain his excitement. Better yet the yearly fair was visiting so he immediately decided to invite you to go with him.

As you went up to the ticket booth Idia had bought your tickets. You thanked him as you promised to treat him to whatever foods he wanted to try. "Woah! Look Idia!" You told him as you pointed at one of the rollercoasters. "We should try that one!"

Idia looked at the ride you wanted to go on and gulped. "That one has a lot of swirls..."

"I know! Hahaha! Come on let's go line up!" As you lined up you both soon arrived at the front. After giving the necessary tickets to the person supervising the ride you both went to sit down.

Buckling up and lowering the bar you secure yourself in place. You laughed once more at Idia's scared expression. "Oh come on Idia it won't be that bad." The ride soon started as your cart began going up on the rails before dropping abruptly.

Idia screamed as he held onto the bar for dear life. Idia's eyes landed on your form. His screams of terror stopped as he sweat-dropped. You yourself were holding onto the bar with a serious grip. Your eyes closed as you shrieked.

After the ride, you and Idia agreed to not go on any more roller coasters. For your next ride, you decided to keep it simple and go on the teacup ride. When it began Idia was delighted when he found out you could spin the cup.

He had begun spinning the plate to make the cup rotate as you screamed at him to slow down. "W-Wait Idia-!" You gasped as you clutched onto your seat so you would not fall off.

As it ended Idia stumbled around. "I shouldn't have done that..." He said as he put a hand over his mouth.

You on the other hand laughed it off and began dragging him to a food stall. "So many options...what about the churros? That sounds delicious." Idia perked up at this. "Ah yes! I've seen videos of people getting them here they look yummy."

You nodded your head. As you looked around the park you saw a lonely bench and made Idia sit down. "You wait here alright? I'll go buy them."

"Are you sure you want to go alone?"

"Yeah I'll be fine, you just try to stop your head from spinning." Chuckling you made your way to the line. As Idia sat patiently his heart dropped when he heard a familiar voice. "Ah, Idia! How are you."

Idia had a terrified expression as he saw the main four. "Eek! What are you guys doing here!?"

Ace rolled his eyes. "Having fun, and you? I saw Ortho hanging out with some of his buddies but I didn't see you."

"This is horrible! I feel like a criminal that's just been caught." Idia scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "Well, I'm just hanging out ya know?"

Yuu laughed at him. "Well, I hope you are not here alone." Duece nodded his head. "Well be more than happy to have you join us if you would like."

"Who said I was here alone?!" Idia thought as he scowled.

"Myah! I actually saw him with someone. I wasn't sure it was him but now I'm sure!" Grim said as he grinned. "Woah there! Maybe Idia is on a date!" Ace gasped as he began to laugh.

Idia's hair turned pink at the tips as he began shaking his head in disagreement. "I-im not! Who said that!?"

"It's nothing to be ashamed of Idia." Duece smiled at him. "I'm not ashamed-!" Idia's voice trailed into a whisper as he saw you walk up to him.

"Hey, Idia I'm back." You smiled at him and then at the others. "Oh hello! Are you some of Idia's friends? I'm Y/N!" The others stared in shock as Ace quickly leaned down to whisper in Idia's ear. "Okay, what did you do to bag a complete hottie."

You began making conversation with Yuu and Duece as you noticed the furry animal below you. "O..m..g! How cute!" You smiled as you bent down to pat Grim on the head.

"Hey! I'm not a pet!" In your hand, you had the paper bag filled with the churros. "Aww, you are just the sweetest thing aren't you!" Taking a churro out of the bag you gave it to him. "I guess I am..." His ears fell as he took the treat out of your hand and ate it. "So cute!" You said as you began to stand up.

You blushed as you realized the others were all staring at you. "O-oh I'm sorry..." You mumbled as you giggled. Idia simply bawled his hand as he smiled in contentment. "They are a cat lover..."

"So Y/N you here on a date with Idia?" Grim asked as he motioned to the bag to have more. You gave him another one as you nodded your head. "Well...it was never officially a date but I guess so!" You laughed as you continued to feed Grim more treats.

Soon they bid fer well as you waved at them. A pout on Idia's face as you sat down next to him. "Hm? What's wrong?" You asked him. "That was embarrassing..." He muttered.

You intertwined your hand with his. "Well, I'm glad your friends were nice about it though. Well..." Standing up you pulled Idia along too. "We should probably get back in line."

"Huh? For what?"

"The Churros, I gave them all to the cute cat."

#anime #fanfic #manga #twisted wonderland #twst fanfic #disney twst #twisted wonderland fanfiction #twst grim #idia shroud #twst idia #twisted wonderland idia #idia x reader #idia shroud x reader #idia shroud x yuu #idia shroud fluff #deuce spade #ace trappola #twst yuu #ortho shroud

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listofwhyyouloveher · 3 months ago

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hey! please could you do a dallas imagine where you have been dating him for a while, you guys get in an argument and the reader gives him silent treatment. i’m curious how dallas would react! 🩷🩷🩷

Summary: Silent treatment after fighting with Dal, Warnings: Toxic relationship Author's note: 3 posts in one day!?!?! am i finally getting my life together??????? (no i'm just procrastinating) God, fights with Dally would just drive you up the wall. There was little to no rhyme or reason to his methods, if you pissed him off, he would hold a grudge for a whole day to a week. With him, it wasn't a matter of will, but when. Despite this you two kept finding your way back together. You found some sort of genuine solace when you were with Dallas, something you couldn't pinpoint or wrap your head around. Lately, Dallas had been getting more and more stressed, the incoming rumble looming in on him and some other issues with the gang. He'd been going off on you whenever you slightly displeased him and in order to stop rising tensions, you never spoke about any of it. However, there is only so much a person can take. After a particularly heated argument you found yourself behind your locked bedroom door, seething with anger. "That's the last he'll ever hear from me," You whispered, to your angry reflection in the mirror that was across from you. Tear stains and mascara smudged your cheeks and you angrily wiped them off. You spent a good amount of time fixing yourself up. By the time you were done, your eyes were less puffy and red and you looked generally normal. Slowly, you creaked open your door, Dallas was sitting on your living room, playing with his switch, completely oblivious to the rollercoaster he just put you through. Your lip tightened and your jaw clenched. You walked past him with your head held high. "Woah, where do you think you're going all dolled up?" He asked, a hint of venom in his voice. You rolled your eyes to yourself and kept walking to the door. "Hey, I'm talking to you," He got up now, walking towards you with his hands in his pockets, his switch long forgotten on your coffee table. You eyed him as he walked over, but reminded yourself of your plan and turned away, reaching for the door handle. Dallas's hand stopped you, however it was gentle which wasn't what you expected. "I asked you a question, Y/n." He spoke again, voice low. You just stared blankly and then furrowed your brows in anger, tossing off his hand with a single flick of your wrist. "Fine, you wanna be like that?" He asked, opening the door for you. You walked out without even sparing him a glance. "Be back by 9:30," He hollered. You rolled your eyes. "You're not my dad!" You hollered back, turning to him with a frown. "Yeah, but at least you're talkin' to me now," He said, a light smirk playing on his lips before he shut the door.

#clara'sroom #shroomsroom #the outsiders x reader #dallas winston x reader #dally winston x reader

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minty-vxnilla · 1 month ago

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i have a habit of screenshotting while watching smth, maybe i do it so i could scroll thro gallery then reminisce what i felt that time

shocked, wtf, what is this, what happened, damn ekkoverse, omg another au???, fcking cute, i love them, smth is up tho..

???, i-, its them omfg, imissthem, AHHHHH, what on earth, CLAGGOR'S HOT , mylo:(

(more below)

vander😭❤️🤩🥳🥰, I LUV JINX'S HAIRSTYLE (reminds me of someone but i forgot who it is),

😭😭😭😭😭, silco love of my life 💋, this au is like the happy ending version (can't say the same thing for vi omg), damn, this au is amazing amazing amazing,

hold on, woah, holy shit, its fcking canon! I KNEW SMTH WAS BETWEEN THEM, OH GODD 😭❤️, (recently me and my friend we're debating whether jinx is gay or what) 😭

the way they stare at each other😭, i can't- AHHHH MY MINDS IS GOING THRU A ROLLERCOASTER

#arcane #arcane spoilers #league of legends #jinx #ekkojinx #ekko #arcane claggor #arcane mylo #arcane benzo #arcane vander #arcane jinx #arcane ekko #arcane season 2

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mariclerc · 9 months ago

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Dad and daughter moment | pg10

Summary: You decide to leave your boyfriend at home with your little girl and they had a little adventure.

Warning: none. Dedicated to @martaaairwin1994-blog

a/n: this is like a part 2 of "family cuddles" I hope u like it <3

It was a sunny afternoon and you decide to go buy some things for the house and some things that both you and little Lucille need.

“I can go with you bebé?” Pierre asks behind you.

You deny. “Obviously not, silly... Also, who is going to stay with Lulu?”

When you go out alone to shop or do anything you always take Lucille with you, the times you leave her with Pierre have not been so... encouraging, let's put it that way.

One time they almost burned down the kitchen making cookies, or one time he fell asleep and left Lulu on her own. In the same way, you had to give even a vote of confidence to your boyfriend, maybe he is a little bit clueless, but that doesn't mean he does it on purpose.

“It's okay honey, I'll take care of her, I promise!” He says and you give him a kiss on the cheek.

“Good boy!” you giggle and you head out of the room.

“Mama!” Lucille says hugging you.

“My little flower! You're going to stay with papa today, is that right?” you said while giving her a little kiss on her cheek. “He's going to take good care of you today!”

She nods happily and smiled. “Okay mama!”

***

“Well little princess, what do you want to do today with papa?” Pierre asks Lulu. “We can do what you like.”

“Paints papa!” She says between giggles.

“Oh, so you want to paint with papa? Let's get to it then!” He says as he carries her in his arms and goes to look for the materials for their colorful adventure in one of the closets.

After a while they had paints, brushes and canvases for their painting.

“Bright! Bright!” says Lucille jumping while pointing at the bright pink color.

Pierre chuckles. “Do you like bright pink? What do you plan to paint today mon petit artiste?” He says while smiling. (my little artist.)

She starts making strokes on the canvas. “Draw!” smiled.

After a while, what started with simple strokes on the canvas continued with clothes and hands stained with paint. But they didn't care because they were both laughing out loud and having lots of fun, it was a nice moment between father and daughter that they will both always remember.

They are not aware of your arrival at the house, you enter the hallway, laden with shopping bags. You kick the door shut with your foot and head towards the living room, a wry smile on your face.

In the living room, chaos reigns... Paint splatters adorn the coffee table, the floor, and most alarmingly, the pristine white wall, in the center of it all, sits Pierre his face a canvas of vibrant colors, a look of pure joy on it. Lucille sits next to him, similarly decorated and equally delighted.

You take a moment to take in the scene, a rollercoaster of emotions flitting across your face - exasperation, amusement, and a touch of awe.

Feigning exasperation. “Oh my god Pierre, what have you done?”

Pierre looks up, a sheepish grin spreading across his paint-streaked face. Lucille lets out a gleeful squeal.

“Surprise amour! We were... expressing ourselves artistically.” He says with his voice thick with paint.

You walk towards them, placing the bags down. “Looks more like a warzone to me.”

Lucille reaches out for you, her tiny hand covered in a rainbow of colors.

“Papa! Paint!” Lucille giggles.

“Woah there, little Picasso. Let's get you cleaned up before mommy has a meltdown, alright?” you scoop her up.

Pierre chuckles, wiping a hand (mostly clean) across his forehead.

“Meltdown? That's a bit dramatic, don't you think love?”

”But look around you, Mr. artsy pants. This is gonna take some scrubbing!” You say raising an eyebrow.

“Hey, it was her idea! I was just, uh, facilitating her artistic vision, you know, that helps with kids creativity.” He stands up.

“Ah yes, the renowned Gasly School of Modern Toddler Art. I should've known.” You say sarcastically.

Despite your teasing words, there's a warmth in your voice. You glance at Lucille, who's now giggling uncontrollably.

“Alright, alright. I admit, it does look like you two had a lot of fun.” You say with a soft voice.

“We always do when you're not around to boss us around.” He says as he puts his arm around you.

“Hey! I'm not a boss, I just keep things from descending into complete chaos you know?” you playfully swat his arm.

“Seems like you failed today, love.” he smiles.

“Oh, shut up you colourful boy.” you laugh a little.

You lean in and kiss Pierre, a hint of paint transferring to your lips. He pulls away, grinning.

“So, how about we clean up this little art project and order some takeout? Celebrate our success in the realm of abstract expressionism?” He says in a soft voice.

”Sounds like a plan. Just promise me finger paints are off-limits next time, alright?” You smile at his proposal.

“No promises, but I'll try my best chérie.” He hold his hands up in mock surrender.

Lucille lets out another gurgle, her eyes sparkling with mischief. You can't help but laugh, knowing that with these two around, a little chaos is always guaranteed in your life.

#formula one x reader #f1 x you #pierre gasly #pierre gasly fluff #pierre gasly imagine #pierre gasly x reader #dad!pierregasly #pierre x reader

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keyotos · 1 year ago

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the only exception

summary ⎯ where blade thinks there is no more hope for love, but you may be the only exception.

tags ⎯ soft blade. mentions of blade's past. reader uses his real name (yingxing) like once on accident. emotional rollercoaster. blade goes through the 5 stages of grief except its not grief it's love. blade is bad at feelings.

tana's thoughts ⎯ gave into the voices and i starting writing this.

the xianzhou is not like it used to be, yet it has not changed that much either. at least, that's what blade noticed as he stood by one of the railings at starskiff haven. he watched the starskiffs come and go as he stood there, motionless.

he had a cup of tea from the tea parlor nearby. some customers wanted him to engage in tea discourse with them because he was an "outworlder," but with one glare from him, they knew better than to press on. so now, he was alone in the dark with sunglasses on.

starskiffs seemed to improve throughout the years. his favorite snack stand was gone, one he used to visit with you. blade tried to ignore the burning sensation in the middle of his chest at the thought. but the stupid mungbean soda vending machines were still there. damn them, he thought.

blade took off his sunglasses momentarily as he rubbed his eyes. sunglasses were obviously meant to be worn in the sun, not in the dark: they were causing him eye strain. he tried to be as subtle as possible, not trying to attract any cloud knights or realm-keeping employees. his face was still on a wanted poster, after all.

"ahem."

blade turned back to find a cloud knight with a mung bean soda in their hand. his mind instantly turned to you, given that you were also a cloud knight who loved mung bean soda (unless that changed as well), but he snapped back to the current situation. he was about to be arrested. the cloud knight cornered him, spear in hand as they slightly lifted up their helmet to take a sip out of their drink.

have cloud knights gotten sloppier? why are they drinking soda when they were about to arrest someone? blade furrowed his eyebrows, but still got into a defensive position.

he was about to swing at the cloud knight until they held their hands up in surrender, "woah, dude," they slowly said, raising their hands up, "i'm not gonna arrest you," they placed their mung bean soda on the railing, and removed their hat.

and it was you. he was just thinking about you, and you appeared. the sight felt surreal. you, who he had been so close with all those years ago. you, who became his first friend on the luofu. you, who still lingered in his mind after all these years, who he thought about even when the mara was affecting him.

you've changed. though you haven't exactly aged, you look older. you look exhausted; your face didn't glow as it used to. blade thinks he is partial to blame for that. your posture is profoundly straight and no longer slouched⎯something you used to struggle with.

the wind blows through your hair, scattering some leaves around with it. your expression is neutral as you throw all your armor on the ground and dust yourself off. there is no smile adorning your face. everything feels so identical, but so different.

his stance softened, but he didn't let up. when you saw that, you only sighed in response. after kicking some stray pieces of armor to the side, you lean your back on the rail as you sipped your soda. the sound of the armor colliding together on the floor made blade cringe.

"i don't actually wear armor, by the way," you swung the drink in his vicinity, offering him a sip using a hand gesture. when he didn't respond, you took another swig. "i have my own uniform. pretty cool, isn't it?" you tilt your head down towards your outfit.

blade doesn't understand. why were you speaking to him as if you two were still friends? could you recognize him under the glasses? it has been so long, he'd be surprised if you recognized him at all.

blade tries to maintain his cover. he is silent while you raise an eyebrow inquisitively, wondering why this stranger wasn't responding to you. you're waiting for him to speak, blade notices. he doesn't say anything. you tilt your head to the side, and blade tilts his head the other way.

you sigh, "you know, not many people are out here so late," you sip out of your soda can, looking at blade while he looks at the starskiffs. you continue, "an old friend of mine used to do this. we'd go out every night and create elaborate stories about strangers, and then stare at starskiffs."

you're telling blade about himself. or, his past self anyway. there's a present ache in his heart, hearing how you speak about him. blade feels like an imposter, standing here with sunglasses on while you talk about him. you sound melancholic, like you miss him. a stupid thing for you, blade thought.

"he's gone now," you turned and leaned forward, now watching the starskiffs with blade. he gets a sense of deja vu, and the feeling sends chills all over his body. you rest your head on your arms on the rail, "i miss him though. he was a little awkward, but he was kind."

"and sometimes," you turn your head towards blade, "he was a little annoying. like he would keep hating on my soda," you hold your soda up to blade, but all he could think about was how you just called him annoying, "or he'd force me to go to bed early. coddle me. nag at me to do my laundry⎯that was very annoying. like, hello? i'm an adult, i could totally do my own laundry," you ranted as you watched the starskiffs.

"maybe you should've done your laundry earlier," he mumbled to himself. he made sure it was low enough that only he would be able to hear it. if you noticed, you didn't say anything; you were still focused on the starskiffs passing by.

blade takes the time to look at you. to study you. it felt like everything about you was so different, but you were still the same. you still chatted about anything to strangers (something he always chided you about). you still drank mung bean soda. you didn't have that growth spurt you dreamed about.

but you were quieter. ironic, because you just jabbered about the annoyances blade had caused you years ago. but you didn't give out too many details. you didn't mouth off about what tea parlor was best, or recent gossip from earlier. you kept things to yourself. blade doesn't know if he should be happy or not.

something was off. there was a wall between you now. and it felt so wrong. blade knows he isn't entitled to anything⎯not anymore, at least. but the feeling of disconnect between two people who were once rooted together physically pained him. even with everything that has happened, he did not want to see you like this.

"i hope he visits soon," you look at him with eyes that glitter among the stars. you're still hopeful; that has not changed. you speak like the sun is shining in your body, and your words are laced with warmth that eases enough for blade to let his guard down. that's when he realized that you're still glowing, and you never stopped.

but your words also bring a stabbing pain into his heart. why are you still longing for him? you should have moved on. you should have found someone better for you. someone who will not harm you at any given moment. but here you are, missing him. hoping he comes back.

"seriously? i just told you that i missed you and hoped you came back, and you say nothing??" you grimaced, looking exasperated. there's a slight crack in the wall now, but blade doesn't notice.

he had other things to concentrate on. like what you just said.

blade did not find this very amusing. his eyes widened underneath his sunglasses and he took a few steps back. after all these years, you could still find him in a crowd full of people. it was love he did not deserve, yet still begrudgingly craved.

"how did you know it was me?" was all blade could utter. he was too alarmed to ask any other questions, or press on your story. or to ask more about you.

you glower and huff, "so he does speak," you cross your arms over the railing as you turn to make eye contact with your past ally.

"how did you know?" blade snarled. he didn't intend for his words to come out as harsh as they did, and the moment they left his mouth, he wanted to shove the words back in and eat them. he had forgotten how you made him feel like an idiot sometimes just by doing absolutely nothing.

your eyes widen and your eyebrows slightly jump up; blade wishes he could erase that expression from his head permanently. however, instead of reacting to it, your composure remains calm. it unsettles blade; he has never seen you so calm before. when you two were young, you got into arguments with those who barely picked a fight with you. you were straightforward and aggressive: blade shouldn't have admired that about you, but nevertheless, he did.

you're less temperamental, and blade doesn't know if he likes it or not. he was worried. after a lifetime of emptiness and recklessness, blade worries. he worries about you: your life, your job, your wellbeing. he worries if you got promoted or not, or if you're living happily.

do you have a partner? blade tries to ignore the flames surrounding his heart as he thinks about your love life.

"oh please. after all the years we've spent together, you'd think i wouldn't be able to spot you in a crowd?" you let out a dry and curt laugh, "just because your hair got darker and you changed your outfit, does not mean you are unrecognizable."

"not to me, anyway," you quietly add, turning your gaze away from him and back to the starskiffs. there's an overwhelming feeling that was welling up in blade's body. it wasn't mara, because it felt more peaceful. but the urge was still strong. he wanted to grab your chin and turn you back towards him; he wanted you to look at him again and explain. to tell him about everything. he doesn't care about the topic, but he will listen no matter what.

blade feels foolish. how could one conversation (if you could even call this a conversation) make him feel so lovestruck? every single feeling for you⎯that he thought he had discarded a long time ago⎯reappeared out of thin air. it all came rushing back at him: your personality, your terrible jokes, and every single thing he grew to love about you. blade tried so hard to dismiss those feelings in the past century, and in the midst of a few minutes, all his past work crumbled.

when blade doesn't say anything, you take a sip out of your drink. the silence is tense; it is opposed to the once comfortable silences you two shared while watching starskiffs. blade thinks that, in another life, nothing would have changed: he would not have become mara-struck, and you two would watch starskiffs fly for hours on end.

but everything has changed now. and there's no going back to fix it. blade will shove down every morsel of affection he feels for you again. and this time, they won't come back up. starting tonight.

you give him a small smile, "so, wanna tell me what you've been up to?"

he will shove down every morsel of affection. starting tomorrow night. another crack in the wall between the both of you.

the feeling of wanting to capture someone's smile is maddening. you drive him crazy, and you make him more insane than mara ever could. all of this because of one smile? blade pictures your small smile once again. it's incomparable to your true smile, though. one where you're showing all your teeth and your eyes crinkle with such bemusement it drives him amuck.

once he pictures your toothy smile, he sinks deeper into the talons of endearment.

"aren't you supposed to arrest me?" he deflects, trying to stem away from his previous lovesick thoughts. maybe, if you arrest him now, he could flee from the luofu forever. maybe then, he'd have a reason to avoid you for life.

you make a 'pfft' noise with your mouth, and the sound is familiar and stupid. it has no reason to make his heart flutter the way it just did.

"if i wanted to arrest you, then you'd be in the hall of karma ages ago," you boast, "luckily for you though, i'm on a break."

"didn't know cloud knights slacked off now," blade rolls his eyes under his sunglasses. he thinks that if he's rude enough towards you, then you'd get the message that he's changed, and you would leave. he's not the same person he was before. if he didn't deserve you back then, he most definitely did not deserve you now.

"well, i'm not a cloud knight anymore," you step closer to him, "i'm a lieutenant."

so you got promoted. blade deeply tries to ignore how his breaths get more shallow after the mention of your promotion.

instead of congratulating you, blade instead replies with, "so you're the same rank as that kid that follows the general around?"

your face falls, and dread swarms throughout his body, spreading through every vein and artery and organ. every regret blade has does not compare with whatever he just said. blade finds that, whenever he thinks about regret, your face has always remained through his sea of remorse. you are the one thing he regrets in many different ways.

blade regrets meeting you. he regrets indulging in your offers for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. he regrets spending his nights with you. he regrets every time his heart leapt multiple beats whenever you were near. he regrets letting his guard down around you, because even now⎯whenever he is with you⎯he feels incredibly relaxed, despite not having to see you in centuries.

he regrets you. he regrets not being able to say goodbye to you. he regrets leaving you with so many qualms. he regrets not being able to see you change. he regrets the fact that he never got to confess to you. he regrets the fact that he still loves you, because why else would he be feeling this way?

the idiot keeps his mouth shut, even though he wants to apologize. "i didn't mean it," he wanted to say, "i'm sure you are very capable now. you stand up more straighter and you look more put together. not that you didn't look put together before. well, actually you didn't, but that's not the point."

it occured to blade that he was rambling about you in his mind. he was describing you in his mind. he was going crazy. nobody else notices these things about you. but blade physically could not tear his eyes away from you. the more he stared, the more he noticed more: such as the way your shoulders were more upright, your breathing was slow and even, and you surprisingly didn't look like you wanted to kill him. the you from centuries ago would have thrown him off the ledge.

you sigh, pressing your fingers to the bridge of your nose, "i see you've met yanqing."

blade says nothing, which simply prompts you to keep talking. a tiny slither of comfort enter's blade's body: it was refreshing to see that after years, some things will never change.

"he's jing yuan's retainer," blade internally (and bitterly) revels in the fact that you don't use any formalities with jing yuan anymore, "he can be a bit... much. but it makes sense. he's only a kid, you know? i like him," you move your soda can to the side to make room for your arms. you're leaning on the railing again, and you were not looking at blade anymore. it should not scatter uneasiness around his nerves.

he wants to share an anecdote of his own. blade yearns for connection with you for just once more. when he is around you, there's an ache in his heart. it was always there; past and present. he thought it would be subtle, like a symptom of a short-term illness. but soon he realized, the symptom he shrugged off was a manifestation of something bigger. and blade never truly recognized how long his sickness would last. because here he is right now, sick as a dog in your presence.

if wanting to fuel your everlasting fire was a sickness, blade decided that he would be diagnosed as terminal.

blade tsks at your statement. you are not impressed; your face looking slack and skeptical. there have been many times where he has been on the receiving end of that look, yet he feels the air swirl all around in his stomach every time you look at him that way. he also tries to slow his heart rate down: there should be no reason why he should be elated at the fact that you're looking at him.

"don't give me that," you cross your arms, "he reminds me of you," you pause, letting the silence overtake the both of you. there are so many unsaid things that the silence feels full, yet still too quiet. you know that the past is a sensitive topic for blade (and you as well, but you choose to dwell on that another night).

"back when we were kids, anyway," you quickly add on.

blade scoffs. scoffs. he does not see himself in yanqing, and he also does not know how you came up to that conclusion. it was ridiculous and strange. blade had to fight a scowl off his face: yanqing and him were nothing alike. if anything, the child was the spitting image of the general.

at least time hasn't changed your terrible analogies.

"terrible?" you point a finger at him, nearing his sunglasses. oh. he said that out loud. "i'll have you know, my analogies are great!"

"you compared me to yanqing, who resembles jing yuan the most," blade shifts his head to the side as he crosses his arms. your finger made his glasses shift down slightly. he could see you a lot better now without the dark obstructing his view, and he internally curses at the wanted posters for being the (indirect) reason he has to wear the glasses.

you let out a sound of disbelief, which resembled blade's scoff and your huff from earlier, "first of all, i was describing temperament. second, terrible?!?"

"if you were describing temperament, then that child would be your twin," he says, trying to fight off the feeling of his lips turning up. this feels familiar. it feels homely, almost. the world melts away when he is around you. every person, place, worry: disintegrated away by your warmth. did you know that? how do you do that? how do you make all the problems in the world disappear so easily?

you let out a breathy laugh, turning away from blade one more time. except, this time, you turn back, a grin evident on your face. it's dark in starskiff haven at the moment, but blade is sure that he just saw the sun in your smile. out of his peripheral vision, he looks to see if anyone else has noticed. have they noticed the light coming from you? how do they notice notice it?

the world continues to move, but with you, it seems that everything is perfectly still.

"i'll have you know, i worked on that whole temperament thing," you held up a hand to his face, "i'm chill now."

"oh really?" blade skeptically raises an eyebrow. you can see it through the crack in his facade left by the sunglasses. you can see his eyes a little bit more clearer.

"oh yeah," you drag out, taking a long sip of your soda. you turn on your back and spread your arms across the railings, mimicking a tired soldier, "i'm chill."

and this feels so normal, like if it was a typical night on the luofu. you and him spending time together once again. everything fell back into place so easily, as if the events of all those years ago never happened. why was it so easy?

various emotions coarse through his body, each feeling worse than the last. he can't stay. he can't live. he knows that the longer he stays here with you, the harder leaving you gets. but things have changed, even if you have not. you probably couldn't even love him the same either, logistically speaking. there were too many obstacles standing between the both of you: loving him was impossible.

he still does not understand why you still speak to him.

greeted by his silence, you choose to continue the conversation further, "this soda really helped," you slide the drink over to him again, "it's been a few years. you should try it again."

"a few years, huh?" blade eyes the drink. biggest understatement of the year.

"yeah," you eye him. your eyes are telling him to say something. blade, in all of his fearlessness, is scared. he has not been scared in a long time. the feelings of fear rushing back into him leave him stranded to his own devices, and he has no clue how to react. he used to turn to you for these things, but now, you are the reason for his fear.

you step closer to him. you are close enough that your shoulders are now touching. when you speak, blade tries to control the agitation growing in the pit of his stomach. destructive thoughts impede and pervase through his mind.

"they hate you."

"things will never be the same."

"whatever you had once, it has all gone down the drain now."

"please try the mung bean soda."

what?

blade snapped out of his head to see you holding up your drink right next to his face. he leaned his head backwards as he was met with your pleading eyes.

you took him out of his trance like it was nothing. you didn't have abilities like kafka did, yet you were able to take him out of his spiral using only six words. how was it that everything surrounding you became so easy?

"i'm not drinking that," blade says with a stern voice. he hopes that his glasses hide the panic that was once apparent in his eyes.

"c'mon," you begged, "just one sip⎯"

"why are you even doing this?" blade irritatedly snapped.

you raise an eyebrow and pretend to not know what he was talking about, "because i want you to try new things...?"

"you know what i mean."

you set down the soda can again and let out a long sigh. you run your hands through your hair, and blade thinks this is it. this is the moment where you snap back like you usually would. this is the part where you tell him that he should leave. he's too difficult, too hard to love.

"did you think i was lying back when i said i missed you?" your entire face softened. there was no light-heartened smirk or grin. you look sad. there are no other words to describe how else you look except sad. blade could not think of any other words. all he could focus on was you.

"i wasn't lying," you say, sounding more desperate than before, "i miss you so much, yin⎯blade." your tone turns sharp when you say his name now. this is it, blade tells himself, this is the part where you leave.

"you matter to me," you eunicate, "i still believe in you. i don't care about the past; i'm not letting it hold me back. which, i know is probably wrong on some level, but i don't care. because i miss you a lot."

"it's not even the fact that i miss us from before," you're rambling now. blade does not have the heart to stop you, "but i just miss you. blade or yingxing, i couldn't care less. i miss our late night talks, so when i saw you here tonight, i jumped at the opportunity to talk to you," you threw your hands up in the air, and then ran another hand through your hair, "and when we spoke⎯even with everything that happened⎯everything felt so easy while talking to you. and everything was okay. and i just wanted that so badly," your voice trailed off. blade swore he could hear it crack a little.

you had felt the same way he did. blade does not know if he was just consumed by an overwhelming sense of air flowing through his chest, or feeling something drop in his chest after you said what you said.

"sorry," you had nothing to apologize for, "i just word-dumped on you," you were using another one of your weird terms again, "i just wanted to let you know that i've always missed you. i've missed everything about you. and i don't want to let you go."

i still love you.

you don't say that. you finish your tangent with a long sigh and another swig of your soda can. it's almost empty. mentally, you feel like that soda can right now. you just dumped years worth of feelings on blade, and he responds with silence.

this is it, you think, this is where he leaves.

but he doesn't. he brings you closer. blade grabs your wrist before you can put the drink back down, and he brings the can to his lips. he faces the fact that he just put his lips where yours were. for a brief second, he imagines that he was pressing his lips onto yours⎯not the soda can.

blade takes back everything he said earlier. he does not regret you whatsoever. he yearns for you. he needs you to function. he wants you: all the time.

he does not regret meeting you. he is not a believer of gods, but he wants to praise whichever higher power that allowed your fate to intertwine with his. he does not regret spending every moment of his time with you; those have been some of the happiest memories in his life.

most of all, he does not regret loving you, because who would regret the warmth of an everlasting flame?

love has been something blade has lived without for many years. but it all comes back so effortlessly with you. and now he realizes why: he loves you like air fans flames. he will keep on giving into your love, so long as you are still there. it doesn't matter when or where: it just matters if you are there.

"i thought you didn't like mung bean soda," you look at his ear rather than his face, not ready for rejection.

"you wanted me to try something new, didn't you?" blade only looked at you, wrist still in hand. he ponders how he was ever scared of your love.

“i didn’t think you would try it so soon,” you pathetically laughed.

“sooner than you’d think,” he quietly mumbled, only so the two of you could hear it. his fingers were grasping the top of your hands as he still held onto your wrist.

“look,” you place the drink down, slinking your hand out of blade’s hold, “i know you’re probably going to be gone soon. that’s fine. couldn’t really expect you to stay because of your… you know. job,” you awkwardly explain, tucking your hands behind your back.

“but,” you sounded more optimistic, and it seemed as though the street lights all lit up, “you know that friend i was telling you about? the annoying one?” blade rolls his eyes, you only laugh at his reaction, “i hope that he visits more often.”

hope. you hope for him to come back. you hope for more. blade hopes for more too. he wants more, actually. craves it.

but he plays hard to get, “well, if you keep calling your friend ‘annoying’ i doubt he’ll visit as often as you’d like,” and he smirks. you have to bite your lip, hard, to restrain your giddy smile.

“well, i was just telling it as it is,” and it’s easy again. and you want this as much as blade does. and this is hope. this is hope that, even after everything, you’re still here and love is still alive. the wall is broken so easily.

“mhm, okay.”

“yup!”

“i’ll see if i can sort something out,” blade tells you, taking another drink of your soda. he’s emptied at this point. he’s only taking the “drink” so he could try to hide his (growing) blush from you.

“i thought you ‘weren’t going to visit’ as often,” you pouted, rolling your eyes.

“well, i never said that. i said your friend was going to do that. just giving you some advice, that’s all,” he teased. you felt your heart swell up: everything was going to be fine.

“your advice is shit.”

“you’re shit.”

yeah. everything will be okay.

if this looks familiar it’s bc this is an expanded ver of the xianzhou men hcs i did like a week ago. this was from blades part and i liked it sm i wrote more. wish i could have done the end a little bit more justice but i am TIREDDDD it was 4:30 in the morning.

but if u made it all the way down here i hope u enjoyed!! i put my tanussy in this and i wrote for like 5 hrs so pls enjoy LMAO

#tana writes (∗´ ᨔ `∗)#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr #hsr x reader #blade x reader #blade x you #blade x y/n #this was supposed to be longer but it’s 4:30 in the morning and i’m done #like my brain is fried and i cant do this anymore 😭#the ending was rushed asl but yk other than that i didn’t hate this

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wabatle · 5 months ago

Text

𓆩⚝𓆪 — Happy Birthday Reo!

𓆩⚝𓆪 — Synopsis: spending Reo's birthday with him!

𓆩⚝𓆪 — Warnings: None!

𓆩⚝𓆪 — Contains: Might be implied fem!reader but mostly gn!reader, fluff, some fluff, and more fluff.

𓆩⚝𓆪 — A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY SCRUNKLY SPLOINKLE BABYGIRL BEAUTIFUL AMAZING REO!!!! I LOVE HIM SO MUCH QOAIRKAIUS

Today is your boyfriend’s birthday.

You've been trying to come up with what to do for weeks now, simply because he's so rich, you couldn't think of what to get him.

Slowly waking up, Reo immediately noticed the lack of your warmth beside him, as you had already gotten up. Sleepily, he got out of bed to find you, just as you were walking back into the bedroom.

“Ah. Good morning, gorgeous.” He wrapped his arms around you.

“Good morning, love.” You replied, hugging him back.

“What's the plan for today?” He asked.

“That's for you to find out,” you smiled, “now go get ready. I have a lot of things I want to do today.”

“‘Kay.” He kissed your cheek, heading to the bathroom.

A few minutes later, he finished quickly.

“You ready?” You asked, walking over to him.

“Yeah.” He said, wrapping an arm around your waist.

You took his hand and led him out the door.

“Now will you tell me what the plan is?” He asked.

“Nope! You just have to wait and see.”

He sighed, and then smiled. “Oh, I see how it is.” He smirked.

“Well, here's one of the first places I thought we could go.” You pointed to an amusement park.

“Woah.”

“Come on!” You pulled his hand. “Let's go!”

After a little while of running around, you decided to play some of the games there.

“Hey, you think I can win a fish?” You asked, pointing to a fish bowl toss game.

“I bet you could,” he said, admiration deep in his tone, “my (name) can do anything.”

Your face reddened, but you shrugged it off with a scoff and an eye roll. “You bet I can.”

After multiple tries, you still couldn’t make it. “Ugh…”

Reo laughed. “Let me try.”

His first fucking try, he won a fish.

“Oh my god.”

“Did you want this?” He asked sarcastically, offering you the fish.

“Shut up.” You grumbled.

Somehow, along the way, Reo had lost the fish by giving it away to a kid that was struggling more than you were.

“Why are you so good at everything, Reo?”

He laughed. “I don’t know. Natural talent, I guess.”

You rolled your eyes. “Uh-huh.” “Are you really getting salty over that?”

“Nope. Nuh-uh. Not at all. No way. Couldn’t be me.” You said sarcastically.

“Okay, well, I know how to cheer you up!” He said, grabbing your hand. “Let’s go check out some of the rides!”

You somehow managed to go on every single ride the park had to offer, within four hours. You had to admit, it was mostly the way Reo paid your way to the front of the line, with fast passes and other things. Finally, it was time for the final rollercoaster, the one that was said to be the most extreme.

“Ah…” You looked up at the tracks.

“What, you getting cold feet now? When we're right here?”

“N–no! Okay, yeah. So what?”

Reo laughed. “Okay, come on, let's get in line.”

He took your hand, his grip gentle as he felt your hand shaking. “Are you really that scared?”

“A little.”

“Don't worry, it'll be fine!” He smiled. “Besides, maybe you'll be like those people in the viral videos who faint on rides!” He said, pointing a finger.

“Not helping.”

He laughed again. “Sorry.”

Moments later, you were strapped into your cart.

“I'm so scared!” You finally confessed.

“Want me to hold your hand?” He asked, offering you his hand.

You nodded and put your hand into his.

The coaster slowly started making its incline.

“Oh, come on! Can't we just get this over with so I can stop shaking?!” You cried.

Just as it reached the top, you breathed in, preparing for the fall.

Then, the cart plunged, and all you could hear was the sounds of people screaming and the wind hitting your ears. Quickly, you realized, this wasn't as scary as you thought it was gonna be.

“Reo!” You called over the wind. “This is fun!” You smiled. And god, somehow you were able to look even more gorgeous, even when he could barely see your face through your hair. Reo felt a blush creeping at his cheeks.

“I'm glad!” He called back.

Later, you started making your way towards the exit, the evening air crisp. “Well, we've been here for long enough. Ready to go?” You asked.

“Sure.” Reo replied.

“You can pick where we go for dinner.” You said.

“‘Kay. Thanks.”

Obviously, you ended up going to an expensive restaurant.

“Get whatever you like,” Reo began, “I'm paying, after all.”

“Uh-huh.” You shrugged, checking out the menu. “Let me guess. Steak?”

“You guessed it.” He winked at you. “What're you getting?”

“Uh, I'm thinking either this, this, or this.” You pointed to things on the menu.

“Get that one. That one's really good.” He told you.

“If you say so.”

Once your food arrived, you started eating (obviously).

“Y’know, babe, I love spending time with you like this. We should do it more.” He smiled.

“Yeah. But if you want to, then you have to cut down on the time you spend with Nagi.”

“Ah, fine.” He said, feigning distress.

“Anything for my love.”

You felt your cheeks heat up, so you took another bite. Reo took notice of this, and smiled to himself.

After paying the bill, you walked outside.

“So, anything else you want to do tonight?” Reo asked.

“Yeah, one more thing.” You replied. You removed a small box from your pocket. “Okay, so. I know that you're rich and are fully capable of getting whatever you want for yourself, no matter what it is. So, I figured I would make something for you. Something that you couldn't buy because it's special from me.”

Reo smiled sincerely.

“Uh, here.” You handed him the box, smiling nervously.

He opened it, revealing a handmade, heart shaped pin with your eye color on it.

“I made one for myself, too.” You pulled out your own heart shaped pin, with Reo's purple eye color on it.

“(Name)…” Reo hugged you. “I love it. I love it so much. And I love you.”

“I love you too, Reo. Happy birthday.” You kissed him, but as soon as you stepped back Reo just pulled you back in.

Reo proudly wears his pin on his chest every day.

𓆩⚝𓆪 — thank you for reading!

𓆩⚝𓆪 — Taglist (ask 2 be added): @mariaace

𓆩⚝𓆪 — Blue Lock masterlist || masterlist

#mikage reo x reader #reo mikage x reader #reo mikage x you #mikage reo x you #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock x you #bllk x you #‹𝟹 — Emi's writings

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mncxbe · 1 year ago

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I'm in my party dress. He says "You're such a mess"♡

𝑭𝒖𝒌𝒖𝒄𝒉𝒊 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: smut♡/ unethical

Your head spun as you downed another shot. It was if you were stuck in a never-ending rollercoaster, looping somewhere on cloud nine. The bittersweet drink burned its way into your core, blooming heat in every cell of your body.

Sliding off the slick black bar stool you stumbled to the plush couch where Fukuchi was seated, a glass filled with golden liquid hanging idly between the tips of his fingers; staring mindlessly at the crowd of blaring people.

"Hey captain, you having fun?" you asked, disrupting his train of thought. His head snapped in your direction and he raised his brows.

"What'd you say?"

Placing a hand on the back of the couch for support you leaned closer to him and spoke loud enough to cover the roaring music of the club "I asked if you're having fun"

He simply shrugged in response, holding your gaze "It could be worse"

Fukuchi had to admit he didn't really like clubs with their loud music, overly expensive drinks and technicolor; but it was Teruko's turn to pick that month's mandatory teambuilding activity so he had no say in it.

As you plopped yourself next to him, his gaze followed the line of your collarbone down to your chest, skimming over the edges of your dress. How you could go out of the house wearing that thing was beyond comprehension; in the flashing lights of the club the satin seemed to stick to you by some sort of electricity, shfting colours like the surface of a lake in moonglow.

For a brief moment, Fukuchi found himself reaching a hand to touch you but he soon regained his composure. Setting his glass down on the arm of the couch he sighed, leaning his head back.

"Aren't you gonna finish that?" you slurred, voice laced with mischief and he shook his head in reponse.

"Nah. You can have it if you want to"

The alcohol was already starting to cloud his mind, a familiar pressure building in his skull. He knew it wasn't smart to drink around you, you were too tempting.

Fukuchi wasn't a stupid man. He noticed the subtle glances during meetings, how you always offered to bring in the reports for the whole team on Friday evenings, when there was no one but him left at the headquarters. He was fully aware of your intentions, yet laying amidst the blaring crowd in this god forsaken club, he didn't seem to care about your closeness.

Your chest was pressed against his side as you leaned over him and reached for the glass. His arm instinctively slid around your waist, keeping you from stumbling over as you drank the last sips of alcohol from his glass before setting it back down.

"Woah that's strong" you whined and he couldn't help but smile.

You shifted slightly; pretty dress hiking up as you crossed your legs. "Say, sir..." you began, tracing your fingertips along his clothed thigh. "How about we have another drink? My treat"

"I think you've had enough for tonight, Y/N" he smile, trying to ignore the bulge in his pants. Fuck, you were such a tease. Your hand trailed higher up, teasingly hooking a finger under his belt and he seized your wrist.

"Careful now, Y/N" he hissed, cold gaze meeting your own. "This ain't the best place"

A small chuckled rolled past your lips. Fukuchi felt his heart sink when you looked up at him with those big doe eyes, so vivid despite the alcohol you've consumed- pleading him. "Then take me somewhere else"

And how could he say no to you?

Half an hour later, your head was pressed against the cold pillows on his bed, muffled groans and mewls rolling past your lips as he rammed himself inside you from behind.

"You're doing well, sweet thing" he cooed, nails digging into the plush of your hips.

The whole thing felt surreal, like a hazy dream; it was all so wrong it felt right. Your mind spun from the alcohol, unable to fully comprehend the situation you were in. But it's not like you cared about anything except how good he felt inside you right now. He reached all your sweet spots with each thrust, way better than anyone did before and you swore you could see starts; pearly tears pooling at your lashline.

"God fuck it's so good" you mewled, fingers digging into the pillow underneath in a futile attempt to keep yourself grounded. He only hummed in response and tightened the grip on your hair.

"Told ya I'd treat you well princess"

With a swift movement he flipped you on your back, sharp eyes tracing the outline of your body; hair a tangled mess, makeup smeared on your cheeks and pillowcase, one strap of your white lacey bra off your shoulder. Your chest rose and fell with each ragged breath you took, lashes fluttering shut as you tried to keep your gaze focused on him.

"God, you're such a mess" he chuckled, thumb coming to circle your puffy clit, making you shudder.

"Now, now. Be nice pretty. I'm not done with you yet"

With that he slid inside you again, earning a low moan from you as he bottomed out and resumed his brutal pace. He fucked you nice and deep, just how you liked it- a familiar tingle pooling in your core.

Your nails dug desperately into his back, reaching for something to hold on to- you stomach twisting with guilt as you came, staining the bedsheets with your slick. Your walls clamped around him, coaxing his orgasm and he came with a loud groan.

"Sweet thing you're gonna milk me dry if you keep squeezing me like that" he uttered in a shaky voice, breathing heavily; but you felt too drained to say anything in reponse.

Instead, your eyes closed shut; but you could still make out the sound of his voice calling out your name, the cool air that seeped into the room through the open window against your heated skin, his gentle- surprisingly tender touch as he moved a strand of hair from your face.

And then you were out cold, forced into a deep slumber by your exhaustion.

The next morning you woke up to the faint sound of the rush hour traffic. You could taste the alcohol on your tongue- bittersweet, and you took in a deep breath. That moment your eyes snapped open; this wasn't your bed.

Memories from the previous night came flooding back in bits and pieces, like an old picture show, crackling with static and you sighed, rubbing your eyes.

"Thought you'd never wake up" echoed a voice from the other side of the room and you tilted your head to the side to see Fukuchi leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest.

"How'd you sleep?"

A small groan rolled past your lips as you pulled the covers over your head in attempt to hide the blush that rose to your face.

Fukuchi couldn't help but chuckle upon seeing you. Frankly, the shift of attitude amused him. He walked to the edge of the bed and sat down next to you. You felt the mattress slowly sink under his weight and you tightened the grip on the covers.

"Come on now Y/N. No need to be shy." he chuckled, pulling the duvet off of your head only to meet your defeated gaze.

"Captain I apologise for the way I acted last night it was totally inappropriate and-" you began, but he quickly cut you off, raising a hand.

"Do you think I'm mad about it?" he asked and you shook your head in response, earning a smile from him.

"Exactly. So don't apologise"

A deep silence fell between the two of you and you simply looked down at the covers. You were painfully aware of the bare skin beneath them, of how much of a mess you were right now; head pounding like you hadn't slept in days. Shame flooded your every thought and, carried through your bloodstream, reached every cell of your body.

A faint aroma of coffee reached your nose; as if on cue he rose from the bed, threading a hand through his silvery hair.

"Look, how about I let you get cleaned up and dressed and then you join me for a cup of coffee?"

You nodded in response and gave him a faint smile.

"Alright. The bathroom's there" He pointed at one of the adjoining rooms before making his way towards the door. Just as he was about to step out he turned around, flashing you his signature smile.

"I gotta say Y/N dear, this was one hell of a teambuilding" he said with a wink and you sighed, finding shelter beneath the cold covers once again.

You closed your eyes again and took a deep breath in, relishing the comfort of his bed. Yes, the situation wasn't ideal. You needed to get out of this room, face your boss and talk the whole thing out; and what's worse you knew that neither of you was willing to put an end to this ordeal.

You wanted to push these thoughts in the back of your hazy mind, drown them in whatever liquour was left in your system, but you knew you couldn't. You shouldn't. So five more minutes under the blankets and a cold shower will have to do.

#i promise i don t have daddy issues #i know it's hc he has erectile dysfunction and i FULLY AGREE but for the sake of the story we'll let it slide #the voices won #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd x reader #bsd smut #fukuchi bsd #fukuchi smut

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