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reiderwriter · 5 months ago

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💢 At Each Other's Throats 💢

Spencer Reid x female! Reader

For the CM Kink Bingo Challenge 2024

Summary: A previous encounter means that you're not the biggest fan of Spencer Reid, and you go to some extreme lengths to prove that to him.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, Dom! Spencer, but not exactly sub reader , degradation (use of whore, slut), semi-public foreplay, arguing as foreplay etc, oral sex (m receiving, f mentions, too), face fucking, rimming, nipple play, rough sex/ rough play, spanking, slapping, spitting, choking, messy sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, mentions of painful sex/ pain play etc. some possible CNC triggers/ phrasing.

A/N: I couldn't find a gift of Spencer being bitchy enough, so everyone, please enjoy Kyle Orfman from Life After Beth. This one was a labour of love, if love was actually hate. It's 2am. This is obviously not edited, and may never be.

Masterlist || Bingo Board

You knew from reputation alone that you would have a hard time working with Spencer Reid. Perhaps it was the slew of child prodigy articles that popped up alongside his name. Maybe it was even just your preconceived notion of what men with three PhDs, a badge, and a gun were like. Maybe it was the fact that he'd written to you after one of your first professional articles was published in The American Journal of Forensic Medicine and Pathology and told you a piece you'd worked on for 18 months was just plain wrong.

Either way, you laid eyes on him, and the hatred was cemented. But fuck was he hot.

He had no clue who you were as his boss introduced you to him, looking between the two of you as if expecting good things to happen. You should've warned him.

“Spencer, this is Y/N. She'll be assisting on a few cases from this month onwards.”

His eyes glazed over as he ran your name through whatever roller index of memories he had stored in there.

“Y/N is a lecturer at the University of Virginia. She's going to be lecturing at the FBI Academy from September onwards-”

“You! You wrote an article, I wrote to you about it, did you get my le-”

“Yes, I got your letter. I believe you called my writing ‘juvenile’ and my thinking ‘wishful,’ and that if I had any actual field experience, I'd slowly understand how many mistakes there were in my writing.”

Agent Hotchner took an almost imperceptible deep breath in, trying to hide the fact that this was all new information to him.

“Well, here I am, Doctor Reid.”

The man in front of you gaped for a moment, letting his mouth hang open, closing after a few seconds only to open again. Perhaps you'd disorganized that index of his. You hoped you'd set the goddamn thing alight.

“Shall we get started?”

To say that you'd gotten off to a bad start was an understatement. Your start had been reversed over by a dump truck with no tires. It had been cemented into the ground with no chance of going anywhere but down into the pits of hell.

Which is, coincidentally, where you found yourself every time you had to engage Spencer Reid in conversation.

Your first impression of his looks - his incredibly good looks - was that he was even better looking when he was pensive, and unhappy, and being bitchy. He was positively climbable when argumentative, and you liked nothing more than ruining his day, if just for the fact that he'd angrily loosen his tie and pop open his top buttons, exposing the pale white of his neck, and his sharp collar bones, perfectly ready for someone to suck and nip at.

He was still an ass, however, and you couldn't bring yourself to sink to those depths.

Four cases in, and you hadn't agreed on one thing. You'd caught a serial arsonist, who he had demanded was most likely an office worker, but you'd countered with college student, and you had prevailed there. 1-0.

Then, unfortunately, you'd lost back to back cases with unsubs in the trucking industry, unfamiliar with and uninterested in the life of the Jack Kerouac type.

You'd even the playing field at last with a child abduction. And although you knew you'd both been keeping score, you were so genuinely happy for this case to be over. A child was safe at home, and you'd worked so well under pressure (something he had assured you would change your view of your personal forensic psychology theories). 2-2.

Of course, those were just the big leagues. You'd fought many petty battles, too, as the war waged.

You'd accidentally stolen his place on the jet, enjoying the long bench seat for a good few naps. A few times, he'd settled in next to you, trying to nudge you out of the chair completely, but you'd held your ground.

“This is my seat. Usually. There are like 10 other places on this jet to sit. Why does it have to be here?” He'd grumbled into your ear as you gently elbowed him in the side, accidentally, of course.

“There aren't assigned seats. Maybe you have control issues, Doctor,” you cut back, trying to avoid speaking too loud to avoid the ire of the group.

While you'd enjoyed bickering with - and intellectually besting - Spencer greatly, it did seem that the sentiment wasn't shared by those around you.

“You can't be serious, right now,” Morgan complained from a seat opposite. “You're seriously fighting over a seat, right now?”

“It's my seat, Derek, come on, you know it's my seat.”

The look returned to Spencer almost had you ashamed of your petty actions.

“I swear they're just taking every advantage to get closer and closer together. Next thing you know, she'll be sitting in his lap,” Emily said from the corner of the plane, so obviously not talking to you that you were almost offended.

“Ah, young infatuation,” Rossi replied, still ignoring you.

Reid slinked just slightly away after that, and you weren't sure if you were more annoyed at the comments themselves or the loss of his annoying companionship.

You wanted him to bother you because it meant you'd succeeded in bothering him.

You'd had more than your fair share of rather explosive arguments as well.

“You can't seriously believe that Thomas Edison did more for the field of engineering than Nikola Tesla,” he'd shouted at you at a bar after a case had landed you in paperwork hell, filling out forms and working into the late hours.

A drink had been suggested, a celebration after solving four straight cases in a row, and you'd gladly taken the chance to unwind.

“Spencer, we're literally sat in a bar decorated with multiple light bulbs. Look, there's one. Another! Astounding. Thank you, Mr Edison.”

“And none of it would be possible without Alternating Current, so yes. Thank you, Mr Tesla.”

Your teammates had long since abandoned you to your petty bickering and fighting amongst yourselves. They'd stopped getting involved when Penelope had tried to mediate your discussion about Doctor Who, which had quickly devolved into New Who vs Old Who.

You didn't even care strongly either way, you just cared that he did. And however he felt, you were sure as hell ready to take up arms against him. Because it was so fuckimg hot watching him lose his shit.

You were a grown woman. You could admit that to yourself. You likely wouldn't admit it to anyone else, even if it was as clear as day that you found him unbearable attractive at times. You sure as hell knew that it wasn't a one-way street, from the way his eyes strolled across your body each morning.

You wondered if there was a section of his brain that was dedicated to memorising everything you'd said, done, and worn since he'd met you. You hoped there was.

On your fifth and final case with the BAU team, you felt unmatched in your annoyance.

You were still drawn with Spencer for case breakthroughs, and you felt the need to beat him once again just to nail the point home. He was just stubborn enough to see a 3-2 win as a landslide victory for himself, though you were absolutely going to frame it that way yourself if you managed to be the one to crack everything.

All sense of teamwork and camaraderie was off the table.

You had a murderer to catch.

Three women, beaten, assaulted, and tied up. He'd shorn their hair but bagged them up so they were unseen. Then he'd placed the bags on display. The unsub was caught between two extremes, hatred of his victims, and gentleness, protecting their dignity in death by covering them up.

Obviously, you and Spencer had to decide which side of the debate you were to land on.

“I think we're dealing with a killer without remorse here. It's easier to explain the covering, the dressing of the women as a ritual rather than guilt.”

He'd finally played his cards, and now it was your turn to passionately wipe them from the table.

“Remorse? He's cut all their hair off and beat half of them so badly we needed dental to identify them. And in case you've forgotten Spencer, half of them are prostitutes.”

“You're saying he can't feel remorse for killing prostitutes?”

“That is not what I'm saying. Don't twist my words."

“Well, of you'd said something that wasn't nonsensical, I'd have a better chance of understanding what the hell you're trying to say!’

With every line you'd stepped closer and closer to one another, like two boxers in a ring, sizing each other up before a fight.

You wanted to take his tie and strangle him with it. You wanted to pull him down for a kiss and force him to shut the hell up.

“Reid, Y/N, both of you take five,” Hotch called sternly from the other side of the room. Guiltily, you both broke away from one another, his hand brushing your side as you took a step back, almost as if he'd meant to grab you before Hotch stepped in.

Probably to remove you from the room.

“Take five?” You said, mustering all the disappointment you could as you silently pleaded to stick around.

“Go back to the motel and get some rest. If you're going to argue like this, I don't need you at the precinct, and I certainly don't need you on my team.”

You blanched at that, almost taken aback by the harsh words as you silently nodded and quietly walked towards the door, letting it shut behind you.

Spencer stayed behind, and though you couldn't hear his arguments, you knew he was attempting to reason with Hotch, as well. It evidently didn't work as he stormed out of the room behind you.

He looked half like a kicked puppy, half like an angry school kid who'd just been scolded by a teacher.

“Don't look at me like that, this is your fault,” you muttered as you walked away from the room.

“What? How is this my fault?”

“If you weren't so goddamn infuriating, we'd be able to get some actual work done.”

You marched off in the direction of the exit, but he caught your shoulder before you made it that far.

“You're blaming me? This is my job, Y/N, not yours. You get to go back to a cushy little office after this is done to teach the people that are going to end up doing the paperwork that consists of only 2% of our job.”

His finger jabbed at your shoulder as he said the words, and you had to resist the temptation to grab it.

“Doesn't feel too good to be criticized when you're just doing your job, huh, Spencer?”

His brows knitted together in a deepened scowl and he took a step forward.

But there were eyes on you, and whatever confrontation this was, you didn't want to act it out in front of an office full of cops.

You turned and walked away again, down a seemingly abandoned hall to what looked to be an empty storage cupboard, flinging the light on and waiting the three seconds it took him to catch up with you.

“What's your problem?” He said, joining you in the cramped closet.

“You! You're the problem! You're infuriating, and annoying, and most important, you're you!” You poked his chest back, harder than he had earlier, quietly reveling in the feel of his body under your fingertip.

“Oh, I'm sorry. Would you like me to be someone different? Someone who worships the ground you walk on?” He said, discovering sarcasm for the first time since you'd been introduced.

“Sure, Spencer, if you can take tour head out of your own ass long enough to worship someone else, then be my guest.”

With a single push he crowded you against the wall, a hand above your head locking you into position as his other hand held your hip, his own hips joining you at the wall as you sucked in a breath.

“You're begging to hear praise, right now, Y/N. Do you even hear yourself?” He asked, whispering the words directly into your ear.

“W-Well, you have me pressed up against the wall like some fucking caveman that needs to breed or die.” You spent half the time you were talking trying to compensate for the stutter, trying not to look weak, that you totally missed the words that came from your own mouth.

“You think I want to have sex with you?” He asked, chuckling awkwardly, even as his hand on your hip began rubbing circles, his head hanging lower, just inches away from your mouths meeting.

“I think you'd love nothing more,” you said, finally lifting your hands to his hair and tucking a lock behind his ears. “Such a shame I won't be crawling into your bed.”

“Is that a challenge?” He asked, and you were taken aback for a few seconds.

“You want me so fucking bad, you're trying to convince yoursel-”

With a swoop, he cut you off, his lips meeting yours. You gasped and allowed his tongue to enter your mouth, but you came to your senses quickly. You kissed back with all the anger of the last month and all the attraction that had built up since you'd joined the team. Your tongue fought his, your hands tangled in his hair as his pulled them out, pinning them against a wall. But you slipped free and grabbed him again, grabbing the tie you'd wanted to choke him with earlier and not letting go.

His lips were soft, and his body felt hot pressed against you, and you hated how good he was at all of this, how your body responded to his, how each time you pulled away it was with a small whimper as you begged for more.

“I knew you wanted me,” he said, between kisses, grabbing your face and tilting it up as he returned his tongue to yours.

“Oh, shut the fuck up, you kissed me first.” His hands trailed up your hips, untucking your shirt as he pushed his hand under, his cold fingers sending a trail of goosebumps along your skin as you shuddered.

“I kissed you because you begged me to,” he said, his fingers caressing the bottom of your chest as he tried to press your bra up further.

You were about to argue back when his lips met yours again, and you were lost in the haze of arousal, leg lifting to his hip to better allow him space to settle against you.

You grew wilder in your passion, neither of you giving in even for one second as you writhed against each other, begging for satisfaction while denying that you'd ever wanted each other in the first place. Just as it became unbearable, your hands slipping to his belt, ready to pull his cock free and take it, the door opened again.

“Reid, Y/N,” Morgan said from the doorway as you hastily jumped away from each other.

You pulled your shirt down quickly, and Spencer stepped behind you, covering up the tent in his pants as you stared guiltily up at Derek Morgan.

“Hotch sent me after you to give you the keys to the SUV,” he grumbled, making no comment on anything that happened.

“We were just, um, we were just-” your brain fought for an excuse, but you'd left your brain behind somewhere between joining the BAU and foreplay with Spencer in a closet, so words escaped you.

“You were just making out in a closet. It's okay, we all know,” Derek said, turning to leave.

You jumped up, indignant now he'd brushed you off, and followed him out of the closet, an equally shocked Spencer trailing behind you.

“What do you mean you all know? All know what?” You said, stomping back into the office.

“That you two are into each other. It's why Hotch sent you away earlier. He didn't want to see the two of you going at it,” he said, pressing the car keys into your hands.

“We are not into each other,” Spencer shouted back at Morgan as he stalked off, and you glared at him to shut his mouth. There was a crowd forming, and you still didn't need that attention. Not when your hair was matted from seven minutes in hell with Spencer or when his hand had, once again, settled on your hip, pulling you closer into him.

“Let's go,” you huffed, and finally left the building with Spencer right behind you.

You didn't talk for the rest of the drive home, even as your brain flooded itself with images of him taking you in the back of the car, your lips around his dick as he drove, him pulling over to bend you over the hood.

You went straight to your separate rooms when you got back to the motel, though you swore that the walls were thin enough that he surely heard you pleasure yourself, fingers sinking into yourself. You weren't sure if he, too, had his hand wrapped around his cock, or if your brain was just now imagining whatever it liked to spur you on.

Imagined or real, his moans were delicious, a maddening mix of frustration, exasperation and desperation, whimpers and groans, and small growls until you yourself were cumming, and letting yourself sleep.

You avoided talking, all talking, until the end of the case, even as your head replayed his infuriating words, his moans and the rustling sound of his fingers pressing your shirt up. You refused to talk to him to give his coworkers the validation of arguing with him once more. You weren't into each other.

You simply wanted to fuck him. You didn't like him as a person otherwise.

In avoiding him, though, the small taste of release you'd sampled in the closet had your softer parts deliriously wanting more. As much as you hated Spencer, you needed him so bad.

You'd given him the cold shoulder but he'd returned it just as quickly, and you were more annoyed not talking to him than you weren't.

Your last case wrapped up, and you decided it was time to give him what he so obviously wanted. A conversation.

You sat yourself right back down in his seat as you got on the jet and laid down, pulling his blanket over yourself as you took up the entire space.

The others shook their heads at you as they walked on, Spencer taking up the rear. His eyes met yours, and he scowled, and you couldn't help but wonder if he'd look like that fucking you, so stern and angry.

You sighed and pushed onto your side as he stood over you.

“That's my seat.”

You smiled in success as you looked over your shoulder.

“I'm tired, I'm going to sleep.”

“But that is my seat-”

“Spencer, you've sat on every seat on this damn plane before, that wasn't your seat until last month, now sit down, shut up and let me rest,” JJ exploded and you suddenly felt bad for drawing him into your argument. Or you did until you sat up a bit, and he sat himself right down where your head had been.

“Spencer!”

“I give up…” JJ groaned from the table seats, pulling headphones over her head and shutting her eyes, and the others made to ignore you similarly.

Not one to be beaten, you pushed the book in his hands off his lap and laid your head down again, now cushioned by his legs.

“What-” his voice squeaked as you shut your eyes, too, and made yourself comfortable. He didn't push you off, or, heaven forbid, start talking to you again. Shockingly, he adjusted to the position quickly and resigned himself to pillow duty for the six hour flight.

You, too, shocked yourself by how fast you fell asleep. You woke up with his hands in your hair, stroking your head as he read, book in one hand, you in the other. His hands felt wonderful, raking through your long locks, brushing each errant hair off your face.

“Spencer?” You said, voice still thick with sleep.

His hand shot away, and you almost regretted not pretending to sleep for longer, sure that he'd have gone on if you hadn't said anything.

You straightened and cleared your own throat as you stretched, sitting quietly as you listened to the flight landing announcement.

“Congrats, Y/N, you've successfully finished your time with the BAU,” Rossi said from his seat opposite you, strapping in for the landing.

“And you haven't been shot, kidnapped, or slapped. That's gotta be a first, right?” Emily joked from the corner.

You smiled quietly as you strapped yourself down, scooting even closer to Spencer now to get your belt fastened.

Still, you couldn't resist the urge to mumble a retort.

“I'm sure Spencer thought about it a few times,” you sighed, a breath of resignation releasing from your lips dramatically.

The others chuckled, but Spencer sat silently next to you until the jet landed.

He stayed quiet as he began to pack his things, but it became clear quickly that he was dragging everything out. As the plane emptied, you shot him a curious look, not daring to speak until you were the last two on the plane.

“You're being slow today.”

“I've never thought about shooting you or kidnapping you,” he said, voice low and quiet, even though you were alone.

“It was a joke, Spencer,” you started, so sick of him taking g everything so seriously. You made to walk past him, but as you did, you felt his hand on your waist pulling you back as another hand came hard and fast at your ass.

“I wasn't finished speaking,” he said as his hand ran over your butt, soothing the pain he'd just delivered. “I have thought about slapping you, though.”

With that he grabbed his bag and stalked off the jet, not bothering to cast another look behind him.

Two could play at that game.

In about the most childish was you could muster, you ran ahead of him, staying three paces directly in front of him as he tried to overtake you. You moved when he moved. You sped up when he sped up. You even stopped a few times, so he'd run into you.

“Y/N, cut it out.”

“Make me,” you said, throwing a withering look over your shoulder.

He didn't wither.

Instead, he grabbed your arm and marched you all the way through the FBI building, down to the parking lot, and into your car. As soon as he had you safely in the driver's seat, he closed the door, pulling off your visitors' pass.

“I'll return this for you, no need for you to dally.”

“Fuck you,” you spat out the window as you started the ignition.

“It's been a pleasure,” he said with a grimace.

“No, it hasn't,” you said back, wondering how long you'd spend in jail of you just mowed him down then and there.

“You’re right. It hasn't,” he said, leaning down and into the window so you were now eye to eye.

“Really? It seems like you got a lot of pleasure out of spanking me earlier. You were certainly experiencing a lot of pleasure when you pushed me up against a wall last week. If it wasn't pleasure, there was definitely something long-”

“Long?” He smirked.

“And hard in your pants.”

He leaned in through the window, his breath fanning against your cheeks as he whispered into your ear.

“That was my gun.”

“And I certainly won't be helping you fire a load,” you said, starting the ignition and pushing him back from the window as you drove away from the FBI and away from Spencer Reid.

It infuriated him that you'd gotten the last word. You'd spent a month with him and hadn't even given him a chance to show off his good qualities, and then you'd left without giving him a chance to prove himself.

And, in doing so, you'd told a blatant lie.

There had been two people in that closet, two people with tongues desperate for contact, eager for battle. You'd been moaning just as much as he had when his hands found your nipples.

But you'd gotten to drive away without listening to his retort, and it was killing him.

He sat and seethed at his desk for a while, waiting for the sense of relief that you were gone to wash over him. This had been what he wanted for weeks. Why was he now so discontent? Why did everything feel wrong?

Abandoning paperwork he knew wouldn't be needed until at least next week, Spencer found your address in the team files, wrote it down, and left his desk.

When you got home, there was nothing waiting for you.

It was annoying. You'd spent the last month constantly on the go, always with more work, more cases, more paperwork. You'd killed any apparent gaps with Spencer.

You could still feel his hands on your ass. You hated to admit it, but in your short acquaintance with Doctor Asshat, you'd grown fond of having him around as eye candy. When he wasn't being annoying (talking, breathing, or generally just being), you could quite happily imagine his head buried between your legs, his tongue lapping up every drop of cum you had to offer.

There were definitely better things he could be doing with his mouth, in any case.

Your body felt hot, itchy, and neglected as you got home, running a shower immediately and stepping in.

The water was hot, and the room steamed up faster than you expected. You washed away the fatigue, and you washed away the dirt of a month of cheap motels..

Just as you were about to wash away the memories of Spencer Reid and his stupidly skilful tongue, the doorbell rang.

It wasn't unusual for you to get visitors at 10 pm, but usually they announced themselves.

You stayed put in the shower. It was probably a package you'd ordered, and it could honestly wait.

The ringing, though, didn't stop. Whoever was at your door was insistent. First, the door rang to the rhythm of jingle bells. Then, they moved on to Fur Elise. When they got to Flight of the Bumblebees Levels of bullshit, you couldn't stand it anymore.

You wrapped a towel around you and pulled the door open wide.

“Sp- mm?” You said, shocked to see him there, but completely floored by his appearance, and more importantly the two hands he'd planted on your cheeks as he pulled you in for a hot, hard, and fast kiss.

You pushed him off with a hard slap to his face, and stalked further into your apartment, knowing he'd follow closely behind.

You heard the door slam shut as he made to grab you again, but you stayed just out of reach.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I came because neither of us will move on without this.”

“Oh, you need me so much you won't be able to move on if you don't fuck me?” You scoffed, expecting a sarcastic answer to a sarcastic question.

“Yes,” he said, and your shock at his earnestness gave him the moment he needed to grab at you again.

This time, though, the tiny towel that had been holding your dignity in place dropped to the floor as Spencer Reid pinned you against the wall.

“Already fucking bare and wet for me, how well-behaved.”

“Go fuck yourself!” you said, even as his hands cupped your breasts, grabbing and pulling both of your nipples, making you moan.

“See, your mouth is being a bitch, but your body is being a whore.”

“Just fuck me won't you? No need to run your mouth.”

“I think we're finally in agreement on something,” he said, pushing you to your knees.

“What? Sp-”

In one quick swoop he released his cock from his pants and wrapped a hand around all of your hair as he slid it down your waiting throat.

As much as you protested, your mouth was wide open, and your hands wrapped around him just as eagerly.

Holding your head still, Spencer began to talk as he fucked your throat.

“There we go. That's exactly how I've needed you for the last month.”

You glared at him as you sank your nails into his thighs, gagging on his cock as he picked up his pace.

With two taps on his leg, you requested a moment, and he quickly pulled his dick out of your mouth.

You coughed quickly, then spat out all of your accumulated drool before looking up at him.

Part of you wanted to force him down next to you, to make him taste your cunt the way you'd thought about earlier. The other part, the larger part, was excited about him using you.

He grabbed his dick and slapped your face with it, returning your earlier hit. He was waiting for you to open up again so he could cum down your throat and leave.

“Open,” he demanded.

You didn't comply, but you stuck out your tongue, lapping at his tip slowly as you sat on your hands. He held his breath as you kissed the underside of his shaft, making his way to his balls. You reached them and finally sucked them into your mouth, making sure to look up and make eye contact with him as you toyed with his private place.

He didn't argue or complain. Instead he fisted a hand into your hair and dragged you to your bedroom.

Divesting himself of his pants and shirt, he sat down and, still on all fours, pushed your face back into his crotch. Perched on the edge of your bed, he held his cock up and served himself to you.

“Well? Get back to it, Y/N.”

Your tongue found his cock first as his hands massaged his balls, playing with them gently as you licked all the way to his tip then buried yourself between his asscheeks. You licked at the skin between his ass and balls, you tasted every inch of him, and you grew angry that he still hadn't done this for you.

Against his wished, you rose and spat on his cock, before squeezing it hard.

“Spencer, are you going to fuck me or are you just going to ruin my makeup?”

“You look prettier with spit coating your face than you've looked with any lipstick,” he said as you pushed him down onto the bed and grabbed his cock.

Straddling his waist, you were surprised he.let you sink down onto his cock without so much as another word. You felt him fill you up, one inch, then another until you sat fully sheathed on top of him.

And then he flipped you over so he was back in control.

“Son of a bitch,” you muttered as he pulled out and thrust back in.

“You wanted me to fuck you, I'm fucking you.”

You wanted to argue but all you could do was moan yes as he set a furious pace, thumb and forefinger pinching your clit as you bucked into him wildly.

You couldn't stand too much of this, knowing that you wanted to at least outlast him. You wanted to tell him how pathetic he was for cumming first, you wanted to gloat that he'd wanted you more, that he couldn't resist breeding your hot wet cunt. You knew any more of this, though, and you would instead be on the receiving end of those same taunts.

Pushing against his chest, you used the last of your strength to flip him over again. He struggled, though, stronger than you were expecting, and you rolled together like that for a few moments.

You almost went crashing to the floor as he fought for control, but he pushed a foot off the bed and held you up with his lower body strength. The new position though forced his cock deeper, to just the right angle, and when he thrust into you again, you did something you'd never done before during sex.

You screamed your pleasure.

Your orgasm ripped through you, as painful as it was pleasurable, and you grabbed Spencer Reid by the neck and forced his tongue to meet yours.

He couldn't complain, too busy moaning about your hot, wet, and now tighter cunt to worry about whether he should be kissing you.

He pulled back and picked his pace right back up, but this time, you resisted less. Hooking a hand under your legs, he pressed your legs up, pushing his stomach and chest down just above your own as he moved slower but harder.

You wondered if this was what other wen talked about when they said they wanted someone to beat their pussy up, to use them until they couldn't stand. You didn't think you could even think about walking again for the next month as he spread your knees apart and pinned them to the bed, unloading his cum as deep inside you as anything had ever been.

You didn't even know your body bent that way.

Panting, he collapsed on top of you and buried his head in your shoulder, mumbling and muttering to himself as he came down from his ecstasy.

He didn't pull out. He barely even softened as he kissed across the expanse of your throat, thrusting shallowly with each nip, until your body couldn't take anymore.

He picked a spot and sucked, and licked and bit and soothed as he ended one round, and began another.

“Spencer-” you said, gasping as he sat up, his cock once again standing at attention, filling you still.

“No. Stop. Don't talk, we're not good when we talk.”

You nodded and pulled him back for another kiss, wrapping a hand around his throat and pressing hard as he moaned and groaned into you.

Still wet and slippery and sensitive from your first attempt, neither of you lasted long, falling to the bed when it was all over with a grunt of overexertion.

“That was…” you said, stopping there, for once totally speechless.

“That was good?” He supplied, but just good wasn't enough.

“Yes,” you agreed, though, not willing to let your cunt rule your mind when around him.

Anymore, at least.

“We should… we should probably never speak again,” you said, even as your hand reached out for his, fingers tangling.

“Of course. I'll leave, and we won't ever speak again,” he said, stroking your hand with his thumb, bringing your clasped hands to his mouth and pressing a kiss to your hand.

“You haven't left yet.”

“I haven't.”

“I have nowhere to be tomorrow,” you said. “You don't…”

“I won't leave yet. We might as well enjoy this,” he said, propping himself up on his elbows as he looked over your naked body.

“We should definitely just get this out of our systems now. What's the harm in that?”

“I agree. If we're committing to a one time thing, we might as well go all in.”

“Exactly,” you said.

“Exactly,” he parrotted.

Exactly a year later, the members of the BAU received invitations in the post to your wedding. Because the both of you had convinced yourself that that one time had never ended and never had need to.

#cmkinkbingo2024 #spencer reid #criminal minds #reiderreplies #spencer reid x reader #reiderslibrary #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x self insert

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conradrasputin · 1 year ago

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via @abusivelittlebunny

HUGH JACKMAN as Wolverine in X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014).

#tags #loganxdonald #hugh jackman #xmen #x men #can't wait for Donald to ride every Logan in time and alt universes #anyway long haired (model era) boyd/donald meeting this Logan>>>>

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ozarkthedog · 8 months ago

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐃

summary: while doing a deal with Marc, Joel comes to collect your debt.

pairing: (mob enforcer!Joel Miller x afab!reader) x dealer!Marc Spector.

warnings: 18+ mdni. dub con -> read responsibly. alt universe. soft!dark. no physical descriptors of reader. power imbalance. threats. debt to the mob. weed. no m/m. oral sex (f&m). rough sex. dirty talk. spit roasting. shotgunning. aftercare. w.c. 4.2k

author's note: honestly, this started out as pure filth/pwp, then it turned into so much more. there is potential for multiple parts, mostly revolving around Joel x reader. don't hold me to it, but like i said, this took on a life of its own, and now i'm madly in love with mob enforcer!Joel.

huge thank you to @ghotifishreads for beta-ing and being such a wonderful, supportive friend.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ♁ 𝐎𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞'𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

The carpet in your tiny living room was slowly developing a hole from your pacing back and forth. You love this apartment. Sure, the faucets drip, and the dingy wallpaper started peeling the day you moved in, but it was all yours.

Since you moved to the big city after leaving home, you took any job you could find. You knew starting out on your own would be tough, but you could grin and bear it. Anything was better than small-town life. You wanted adventure, to see what the world had to offer.

What you didn’t plan on was getting involved with the wrong kind of people.

When you fell months behind on rent, a co-worker mentioned she knew someone who could help.

It was too good to be true, you thought, as you slowly walked into a smokey nightclub around midnight. Uptempo Spanish music played in the background as patrons drank at the bar, loudly singing and chattering. You tread deeper into the club, entering a VIP section where multiple gorgeous women sat on the laps of intimidating, finely dressed men in expensive suits.

Various sets of eyes spot you the moment you cross the threshold, but only one set feels like they’re burning into your soul.

An unnerving man with piercing brown eyes holds your wary gaze. He’s draped in a long, brown leather coat, and streaks of gray pepper his temples. He stands to the side, leaning against the wall, and watches with intrigue as you shift nervously on your feet.

His arms are crossed. A mustache tops his lips, which are etched in a permanent scowl as if he’s a dog that’s been kicked too many times. Still, he’s among the most handsome men you’ve seen since coming to the city.

He pushed off the wall with his broad shoulders, finally breaking his stare, and leaned down to whisper in the ear of a younger man seated at the head of the table, presumably his boss.

“You need a little help, Sugar?” the younger man asked.

His dark hair is a mess of curls, and his cheekbones look like they could cut glass. “I could use some help around the club. There’s always a gentleman in need of some company.” His fingers traced along a woman's nylon thigh as he looked you up and down. His coy lips tugged into a smirk as the group quietly laughed.

The brown-eyed man's face grimaced at the younger man's tone. You want to curl in on yourself. The smoke in the air makes it hard to breathe. “Uh, no,” you start, tonguing your dry lips. “I just need to borrow some money.”

The younger man purses his lips and nods. “That can be arranged. Joel here will take care of you.” He motioned to the older man on his right and looked you over with a curious gaze before waving you away.

Joel, the mob boss's right-hand man, meets you in the dingy alley behind the club. Water drips off the corner of the rooftop from the storm that blew through earlier in the day. A gust of cool fall air blows through, and you hug yourself to keep warm.

You learn that Joel was a no-nonsense man, straight to the point. Clear and precise.

He thrusts a heavy bag into your hands, and the leather handle creaks under the weight. “You sure you know what you’re getting yourself into?” he asks, lighting a cigarette. Orange hues lit his features sinisterly as if he were a demon or creature from hell's depths.

You stood your ground, but the tremble in your voice gave you away. “Yeah, I know what I’m doing.”

Joel’s eyes go soft. It’s the first time he looks human since you first saw him. “That’s what I thought,” he muttered, shaking his head. He blows a long gust of smoke from his nose. “He expects to be paid, with interest, by the end of the month.”

You teethe your bottom lip with a nod as nauseous worry swarms your belly.

“I’ll be keeping an eye on you,” he states, thumbing at his lips. “Just so we know you haven’t run off with our money.”

Your eyes widen, and your knees slightly buckle. “No! I don’t plan on taking off. You don’t have to worry about that.” You trip over your words, frantically making sure he knows you won’t rip them off.

He chuckles at the sight. It’s a deep, dark rumble from years of smoking and drinking, and it makes your cunt throb. “We don’t think you will, but it’s part of the job. Besides, having to keep track of such a pretty face ain’t so bad.” he muses, a light smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

An anxious, breathy laugh puffs from your chest. You hesitantly wring the leather handle as your eyes fall to the wet pavement.

A horn blares in the distance. Angry drivers yell into the night, breaking the perilous spell between you and the enforcer.

“If you ever need help with anythin', let me know, okay?” he offers before turning on his heel and returning to the club.

“How will I contact you? With a bat signal or something?” You asked quizzically.

He chuckled again, and it set your heart on fire. “Just call the club and ask for me, sweetheart.”

You were truly and utterly fucked.

It was the end of the month. Joel would arrive at 5pm to collect, and you had $50 measly dollars left in your bank account.

You’d squared up with your landlord and then some, paying for a few months in advance to show how grateful you were that he didn’t kick you out on the streets. What you didn’t plan on was getting fired from your job. You desperately tried to find another one, but you knew it was pointless as the end of the month slowly crept.

A knock on the door jars you from your thoughts. You scramble to open it, thankful your dealer was around today. You badly needed a smoke to curb your anxiety and impending doom.

Marc stands on your doorstep, beaming with his classic lopsided smile. “How’s it going?” He asks, making the short trip over to your couch, unbuttoning his long, black, and gray tweed coat before plopping down with a sigh.

“Uh, fine,” you reply quickly. “You know. Same old.”

“Same shit, different day, as I like to say.” He scratches his trimmed beard with a coy grin. He looks really good today. Dark gray hair gelled and tousled.

Nerves tug at your belly. You can taste the bitter doubt in the back of your throat.

Marc was a decent dealer. He let you start a tab when funds were low and gave you extra lighters and papers when needed. You knew to avoid crossing him, so what you had to do was extra tricky.

You sit on the floor across from him as he chucks a bag filled with joints onto the coffee table. Your body itches to feel the smoke burn your lungs.

“Wanna hang for a bit? Smoke with me?” you offer, already reaching for the joint with a timid smile.

Marc quirks a brow. He digs his phone out of his tweed jacket and checks the time. “Uh, yeah, sure. I can hang for a bit.”

You try to light the joint, but the lighter won’t spark.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Marc asks, taking the lighter from your shaky hands.

You silently nod and press the joint between your lips. Just as he lights the spliff, a knock sounds on your door.

You curse under your breath and hand the unlit joint to Marc. “Sorry. I’ll give whoever that is the boot.” He nods and sparks the joint, taking a long drag as you cross the distance to the door.

You yank open the door without thinking. “I don’t want anything you’re selli-”

“Hey there, Sweetheart,” a familiar, deep voice drawls.

You stand like a deer in headlights before the intimidating mob enforcer.

He wasn’t supposed to be here so early. That’s the last time you open your door without checking the peephole.

“What’re you doing here, Joel?” you inquire, leaning in close so Marc doesn’t hear. "I have until tonight to give you the money."

The older man's leather jacket is pulled tight around his rugged shoulders as he leans in your doorway. His salt and pepper curls look damp as if you were his first stop after he got out of the shower.

“The boss has plans later and wants to ensure you're paid up.”

You wanted to scream.

“This isn’t fair.” Your fists clench at your sides.

“That’s life, Sweetheart’.” Joel shrugs. “So, where’s the money?"

It takes every ounce of courage you have to stand your ground.

“No. The boss said I had until 5pm, so I won’t give you anything until then. Now kindly, leave.”

You slam the door, but not quickly enough. A worn boot slides between the frame and the door, halting your escape.

“God dammit,” Joel fumes, shoving the door open, sending you flying back into your living room.

You catch yourself before you fall and watch as the enforcer makes his way into your sacred space. Now you know what it feels like to be on his wrong side. He kicks the door shut with his foot, ready to pounce, but freezes when he sees Marc.

“Miller.” Marc acknowledges from his laid-back position on the couch, joint pinched between his fingers.

Joel’s jaw twitches. “Spector.”

“So, what’s going on here?” Marc asks, gesturing with a curious wave. He then blows a lungful of smoke into the room and flicks bits of burning embers into an ashtray.

“None of your business,” Joel grits before focusing his attention back on you.

You do your best not to cower in front of the large man as he stalks closer. “You don’t want to make the boss angry.” He says, in an eerily calm voice, one that makes your hair stand on end. “Where’s the money?”

“I don’t have it.” You admit, barely louder than a whisper.

His jaw clenches hard. He shakes his head in disbelief, hands perched on his hips. His eyes grow scarily dark. "That’s not what I want to hear.”

“I don’t know what to say. I have a few dollars left in my account,” Your voice wavers.

Joel drags a heavy palm over his face and sighs. “What were you thinking? How were you going to pay him?” He hooks a thumb over his shoulder to your dealer.

“I, uh, I had a plan.” Your fingers wring at the seam of your shirt, and nausea swarms your belly.

Marc stands and finally joins the conversation. “Yeah, I’d like to know how you intended to pay me.”

You shift on your feet, eyes darting between the two more prominent and influential men.

“I was going to offer to blow you.” The words tumble out so quickly that you wonder if they even heard you.

You wish the floor would open up and suck you in. It was bad enough that you had to resort to blowing your dealer, but now Joel was here to witness everything and most likely drag you to a certain death.

“For fucks sake,” the older man groans.

Marc’s brow shoots into his hairline. He whistles as his eyes drag down your body. “You sure got yourself into a real jam here, huh?” He licks his bottom lip and steps closer. “I think something could be arranged, at least on my end. What about you?” He claps a hand on Joel's back, barely moving the powerhouse of a man. He was an enforcer, after all. This job wasn’t just for anyone.

Joel shakes his head in dismay. His leather jacket creaks as he moves, lightning fast, quickly pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Here’s what’s gonna happen, Sweetheart.” He informs, “Since I’ve taken a likin’ to you, I’d hate to see you get hurt. I’ll pay off your debt.”

The heavy weight you’d dragged around for the last week falls from your shoulders. You didn’t realize you’d stop breathing until the sweet air rushed into your lungs.

“But,” he continues, rubbing his thumb across your bottom lip, “you’re going to pay me back in kind.”

The heaviness returns, except now you’re afraid the extreme weight will crush you.

Joel notices your racing thoughts. “Shh. No need to think,” he murmurs, letting his hand fall to your hip and making himself comfortable. “Just be grateful you’ve got to deal with only me and Spector.”

His eyes are solemn and tender, lost in his thoughts; his gaze travels across your face. You raise a cautious hand to his chest, feeling his heartbeat under the smooth leather. That magnetic pull you felt the first time you met him pulsed through your veins again, and you think he felt it, too.

Then, his features twisted with remorse. "This wasn't what I had in mind, but you've left me no choice, Sweetheart."

In a flash, Joel drags you across the worn floorboards and carelessly tosses you over the back of your couch. The air knocks from your lungs. Your ribs flash bright with pain. He moves too fast for you to protest and tugs your leggings off, throwing them across the small room.

“Best get to work, Spector, if you plan on getting your end of the deal,” Joel threatens the dealer as he crouches down, giving himself a front-row view of your exposed cunt.

“Let’s get a look at the goods.” His large, warm hands roughly spread your cheeks apart. “Fuck me. That’s a sweet looking pussy.” He drags a thumb up the slice of you, making your spine bow as your hands press into the cushions. “Already wet, too. My kinda girl.”

Unconsciously, you strike an elbow back, but an imposing figure grabs your flailing limb, halting your retaliation.

You forgot about the other man in the room.

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t ever wonder how you’d look with my cock in your mouth,” Marc admits while fisting his length out.

He’s half-hard and already intimidating. You stare up at him incredulously while he grasps his veiny girth and traces your tightly closed mouth with the weeping, dusky pink tip. He smears his pre-cum on your skin, marking you before he begins his corruption.

Joel smacks your ass hard, making you yelp and shoving you onto the dealer’s awaiting cock. You instantly gag as Marc's hips pitch forward once he feels your warm, wet mouth. He curses under his breath, cages your head between his hands, and begins sawing his cock back and forth over your tongue.

His brute thrusts make you gag and spring tears to your eyes. “Come on now. Why the waterworks? This was your plan, after all,” Marc teases, patting your damp cheek.

Without warning, Joel’s tongue dives into your heat. A blazing heat erupts in your belly as he licks from end to end, wild and ferocious, not stopping until he tastes every inch of you.

You instinctively moan from the blissful arousal that begins to pulse from his treatment. He laves at your taint and tickles your untouched rosebud for a beat forcing your mind to somersault before traveling south to circle his tongue around your clit.

“Could eat this cunt all damn day,” he slurs against your throbbing core like he's drunk off you. “God damn, s’fuckin’ delicious.”

Joel sucks the tiny button into his mouth, earning a whole body shiver as you writhe against the couch. He rubs his nose against your soaked folds, making sure to take deep breaths while he eats you alive.

Marc leans to his left while he works his cock ruthlessly down your throat, making you sputter as the bulbous head prods your tonsils.

You hear a click. The sound of paper igniting and then a long, deep breath.

Marc leers down at you while holding the smoke in his lungs. He curls a hand around the back of your head and presses until the auburn wiry strands littering his girthy base tickle your nose. Then, he exhales, blowing a long, winding breath like a dragon down into your face.

Your vision blurs from the vapor. The trapped oxygen burns your lungs, and your body quivers from your helpless position while you gag sickly around his cock. Joel winds his arms under your belly, keeping you steady as you thrash anxiously.

When Marc finally lets you free, you sputter and suck down as much air as you can. A glossy strand of drool connects your lips to his throbbing cock. You sniff and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand as his fat length bounces in your view. “You look fuckin’ wasted, Kitten.” He quips with a languid laugh and takes another hit.

Joel stands behind you, knees cracking as he towers over your vulnerable body. You warily look over your shoulder when he grinds his against the soft skin of your ass.

You’re caught in his wretched stare like a deer in headlights. “Best hope this pussy fucks as good as it tastes,” he threatens, tapping his bulbous, weeping crown on your sticky folds.

Joel gives no warning before he steadily pushes his obscene length into your heat. Your jaw drops with a raspy wail, allowing Marc to fill your mouth again and mute your frantic moans. You feel every vein and girthy inch of Joel’s cock splitting you open, as well as Marc's, as he glides his thickness over your tongue.

It seems to go on forever until they bottom out harmoniously. Joel presses his hips against your ass, and his plush lips pull into a sneer as your core stretches to accommodate him. “Oh, Sweetheart. This cunt is practically chokin’ me.” He provokes with a ragged groan, rubbing his thumb along the glistening, excessively stretched skin that embraces his cock.

A high-pitched whine slithers from your throat before it’s quickly cut off by Marc snapping his pelvis. Joel licks his creamy thumb with a dark chuckle before caging your hips in his steely grasp. He sets a steady rhythm, entirely withdrawing before shoving his cock back in, giving you no reprieve as Marc continuously thrusts his dripping length between your spit-coated lips.

Your body burns. Your mind is warped. Joel's cock keeps brushing against that spongy spot behind your clit. It's all too much. You feel yourself losing strength, giving in. Either from lack of oxygen to your brain or your greedy cunt that's feeding off their wretched pleasure.

"You gonna come, Sweetheart? Can feel her milkin' me real good. Shit-" Joel hisses as your velvet walls squeeze him tight.

Both your holes lock around their cocks as you come. Your eyes roll back, your spine bending like a bow as the harsh wave of desire ripples through you.

Both men curse at the sight and feel of you.

It shouldn’t feel this good being used and tossed around like a toy, but a thick, syrupy heat steadily gathers in your belly. With your head in the drug-induced clouds, every illicit touch sends you higher into a euphoric atmosphere.

“Wanna hit?” Marc offers, holding the joint between his fingers to the enforcer.

Joel finally tears his eyes away from where he’s spearing you open. He nods, stilling his hips, and extends a hand before pressing the joint between his lips. He takes a long drag before splaying his broad body over yours.

You notice him in your peripheral as he watches you choke down Marc’s cock. “What a fuckin’ sight,” he drawls, joint bouncing between his lips. “Swallowin’ his cock like your life depends on it.” He roughly drives his hips forward, his leaky crown cruelly kissing your cervix, making you gag from the agonizing bliss. “Kinda ironic that it does.”

You feel their cocks pulse in unison when you start writhing at Joel’s threat. You knew they wouldn’t hurt you, but the thought was too much to bear in your current state. They quickly make work of your flailing limbs; Joel grabs the back of your neck with a heavy paw, and Marc traps both your hands in his own, caging them against his stout stomach.

They set a brutal pace. You no longer feel in control of your body as they use you to get off. The room echoes with the sounds of gluttony, like feral animals staking their rightful claim on lowly prey.

Marc comes with a growl, caging your head between his hands as you push against his abdomen, and fucks his salty release into your mouth. He collapses onto the couch with a ragged sigh, his engorged cock a shiny mess as he catches his breath.

“Gotta get used to this, sweetheart,” Joel gloats in your ear, working an arm around your collarbone to pull you back onto his cock, forcing you to meet every one of his brutal shoves. “Your pretty pussy is gonna be ruined by the time your debt is paid in full.”

Marc cups your jaw in one of his hands and takes a puff of his joint. He slides a thumb between your sticky, come coated lips and blows the smoke into your mouth. You gladly inhale, letting the drug work its magic. Joel grabs your hips and picks up his speed, greedy for his pleasure.

He comes with a gruff, dark groan, snapping his hips hard against your ass until he's buried to the hilt and pumping his sticky load into your fluttering core.

You collapsed onto the cushions once Joel let go of your hips, your body too weak and drugged to care to move despite your vulnerable state.

“We’re square, Kitten.” Marc grazes your cheek with his knuckles, and a sly grin tugs at the corner of his lips. “But anytime you want a hit and can’t pay, I’ll be more than happy to help you out,” Marc quips before silently nodding at Joel and leaves with a bounce in his step.

"Come're, Sweetheart." Large hands slide under your belly and help you stand on your feet. His eyes soften as he looks over your puffy eyes and swollen, slick coated lips. He cups your cheek and sighs through his nose. "Let's get you cleaned up, yeah?"

A rush of water hits your ears as Joel turns the shower faucet. You stand behind him like a child waiting for their next instruction before he turns back to you with a slight smile.

"Up and over. That's it," Joel says, ensuring you don't bump your elbows as he removes your shirt, folds it, and places it on your vanity. He helps you step into the shower before he sits on the toilet lid and watches you through the clear plastic curtain.

Silence falls over the tiny bathroom as he lets you take solace under the stream.

You melt in the warmth. It eases your aches and dulls your overwrought senses. You stay there until your skin prunes and icy cold water pours from the tap.

He helps you step out of the tub, ensuring you're on solid ground before grabbing a towel hanging on the wall and wrapping you in the soft cotton.

"You'll stay with me until your debt is paid," he said, resting his hands on your shoulders; the weight keeps you grounded as your world turns upside down.

"You won't have to worry about anythin'," he continues, carefully drying your body with a tenderness you didn't expect. "I'll pay your rent, so you still have this place when our transaction is complete."

You know you should be upset. A screaming, raging mess but seeing such a dangerous man on his knees drying water droplets from your body makes you lightheaded with alarming power.

He stands when you don't outwardly react. His lips are pressed into a worried, hard line, his hands are perched on his hips, and a sharp brow wrinkles his forehead. "Okay?"

The vexation that laces his tone snaps you out of the dumbstruck fog. You knew there was only one right answer.

“Yes,” you rasp, defeated.

He smirks, softly chuckling under his breath at your submission.

"I'll be back in a few hours," he says, cupping your jaw like he's drinking from a stream; God knows what brutality those hands have dealt out. "I trust you'll still be here when I get back."

You nod quickly under his grave stare.

He plants a searing kiss on your lips, making you gasp. It's dominating and possessive, like he's christening the start of your new life together by licking into your mouth and claiming you.

He breaks the kiss with a grunt and nudges your nose with his own. "Thatta girl."

He holds your gaze as he slowly walks backward out of the room. "Pack enough for the next week. I'll swing by later to get the rest," he instructs before turning and walking out your door.

You're left standing in your tiny bathroom, panting like a newborn fawn. Your legs wobble as you move to sit on the toilet lid and clutch the towel tighter to your chest; heart smashing against your ribs.

Joel was right. You had no idea what you were getting yourself into.

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

*if you'd like to read more about Joel and reader's new life together, please invade my inbox about them! it helps motivate me!*

->reblogs & comments are extremely appreciated!<-

follow @ozzieslibrary for new fic updates!

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #marc spector #marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #pedro pascal #oscar isaac

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cillianmesoftlyyy · 1 year ago

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Like A Good Neighbor... | Cillian Murphy x fem!Reader

Summary| She grew up next-door to Cillian Murphy and he was her first sexual awakening. When her dad hosts a promiscuous book club meeting, she decides she's waited long enough.

Warnings| Mentions of Lolita and plays heavily on Lolita-core and daddy-kinks. Large age-gap, dubious consent, p in v sex, stalking, smut. Please read with caution!

It Probably Matters- Interpol 🎶

Born Too Late- The Poni-Tails 🎵

The Perfect Girl- Mareux 🎶

word count: 3082k

Minors do not interact! Does not reflect Cillian Murphy as an actual person- this is pure imagination and projection. Don’t interact if you find mentions of “Lolita” upsetting.

She could see through the parted curtains in his kitchen window that he was home. He was at the sink washing dishes with a towel thrown over one shoulder. His tight black shirt showed the curve of muscles in his upper arms as he scrubbed the pan. She was the girl-next-door type, helplessly petite and needy. She was nineteen and finally getting the stereotypical sex-drive that teenagers were criticized for. She was always horny now, and it felt like an unwavering flaw or weakness that placed her at odds wherever she went.

Her daddy issues obviously didn’t help the matter… or maybe it was because she was a scorpio.

She lived alone with her delusional father, who was an Irish author and playwright. He taught literature at the local university and loved expensive liquor. She was going to university for free because her father worked there, but she also stayed at home, trapped in her sexually repressed childhood bedroom. She stayed out of her father’s way when he was home but whenever he hosted “book-club” at their house, she found herself sneaking down the stairs to chat (flirt) with her father’s friends. The “book-club” was for the men in the neighborhood, to give them a social circle of their own, keep them from joining scary alt-right reddit pages by establishing connections with the men around them, something like that she imagined.

Cillian Murphy was part of this “book-club” that met once a month in her father’s house. He was a middle-aged actor with an A-list repertoire, and yet, he still socialized with the regular neighborhood men, as if he wasn’t acting out some of the books they read each month.

He was also a bachelor and hideously attractive. She met him when she was much younger, still in highschool and convinced that she would be an actress but discovered quickly that she was more of an artist. He’d given her short acting lessons, reading recommendations, and advice whenever she asked. He was like a second father, a better father than her actual father ever could be. He was the first person she masturbated about. She learned at an early age that she could spy on him from her bedroom window. She watched him read at night on his sofa, she watched him take home other women and fuck them on the couch when he was too horny to take them to bed, and she’d watched him masturbate to porn he projected on his small flatscreen tv. His taste in porn was pretty vanilla and it bored her, but she liked watching him touch himself, indulge himself. It was a serious turn-on.

And the cherry on top was the book they’d read for that month: Lo-fucking-lita.

She imagined that he got off to reading about a girl and an older man, that he fisted himself after he read at night, and that he thought of her when he did it. She was his Lo-fucking-lita. She had purposefully avoided the meeting that night, staying upstairs in her bedroom while the men discussed “literature” (Lolita). She wanted them to worry that she would come downstairs any minute while they were discussing such a nasty, disturbing topic. She wanted them to speak haltingly and glance up at her bedroom, she wanted Cillian to think about her and how dirty it was that they had read such a book, all the while she was upstairs. She took a long shower and washed her hair with fragrant shampoo. She moisturized her legs and dabbed her neck with perfume. She changed into her pajamas (underwear, a big t-shirt she’d swiped from Cillian’s house during a neighborhood get-together and she’d ruined her dress with salsa). She let her hair air-dry and rolled on her socks. She heard the men begin to leave, somewhat intoxicated, and watched as Cillian cleaned up his dishes left in his sink.

When he went back into his bedroom, she flew into action. She put on her slippers and sneaked down the staircase to the first floor. Her father was in the recliner, asleep, so she crept past and closed the side door behind her as she left. She walked the few feet separating the two houses and knocked lightly on Cillian’s door. She knocked again. And eventually, Cillian emerged from his bedroom in boxers and the same tight black shirt. He raised his eyebrow as he opened the door and let her in.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, worried. He glanced over at her house.

“Nothing, I just need some advice and my dad’s asleep.” She rolled her eyes and he nodded.

“Yeah, yeah. Come in.” He waved her inside and locked the door behind them. She dragged a finger along the fabric of the couch, searching its surface for evidence of what she’d seen from her bedroom window.

“This place has changed so much since I was a kid.” She observed (lying of course).

“Yeh, I’ve tried to update everything, some remodeling.” He nodded. “So, what kind of advice do you need?” He sighed and leaned against the kitchen counter beside her.

“Mmhm. Fatherly advice.” She shrugged.

“Oh, so is this about a boy then?” He laughed and rubbed his eyes.

“I don’t know how much help I can be. Boy’s your age are so much different than how I was.” He shook his head and rested it against his palm.

“I know, that’s the problem.”

“Mhm?”

“I don’t know. It’s embarrassing.” She laughed and crossed her arms across her breasts. He looked down at her shirt and pointed.

“Hey, isn’t that my shirt?”

“Mmhm no, it's mine.” She lied and pulled down the front hem to inspect the words “Yoko Ono” on the front.

“I swear I have one just like that.” He walked off to his bedroom and she followed, a skip in her step. He opened his dresser and rummaged through the stack of neatly folded shirts. His clothes smelled like fabric softener and men’s deodorant. He didn’t find it and she gasped.

“Oh my god, you’re right. I just remembered that you lent this to me when I was here years ago and spilled salsa or something on my dress!” She slapped a hand across her forehead and he nodded slowly.

“Wow, that was so long ago. I’d completely forgotten.”

“Here, you can have it back.” She said slowly and watched his eyes widen as she slipped it over her head and handed it to him. Her bare breasts shook from the movement and she smiled. “What?” She asked innocently. He looked away but it was too late, he’d already taken her in, his eyes lingering on her full breasts, waist, and wide hips.

“What are you doing?” He hissed as if someone could hear and turned away from her.

“Returning your shirt.” She answered nonchalantly and fixed her wedgie, letting the material snap back against her butt.

“You can’t do that, Y/N. It isn’t appropriate.” His face reddened as he clutched the shirt in his fist.

“You don’t like this?” She pouted.

“Of course not. You’re young enough to be my daughter, I-” He spoke quickly.

“I think you like it, Cillian.” She interrupted him and trailed a finger down his clothed back.

“Why?” He sputtered innocently.

“Because… you’re still holding my shirt.” She pointed to the shirt still in his hands.

“Christ!” He covered his eyes and tossed the shirt onto the bed. She crawled onto the duvet, her knees sinking into the plush material.

“If I put on the shirt, will you still give me the advice I needed?” She sat down on her knees and licked her lips. He sighed and nodded into his hands.

“Yeh, yeh I guess so. Just put the shirt on.”

When she had the shirt back on, she leaned up against the headboard. “Ok, you’re good.”

He opened his eyes and exhaled loudly. “Alright, what is it?” His eyes were wildly dark and hungry but he used his acting talent to hide it. She saw right through his performance, namely because his erection grew inside his boxers.

“It's more of a question than advice, really,” she started.

“Ok.” He nodded, exhaling again.

“What did you think of Lolita?” She shifted back into a sitting pose in front of him. “I wasn’t able to stop by during the meeting, so, I want to know.”

“Fuck, Y/N. Why do I have the feeling that this isn’t what you’re really asking me?” He shook his head.

“No, you’re right. What I really want to know, I guess, is did you masturbate while you read it? Did it turn you on when you thought about her? Did you touch yourself and think of fucking a younger girl like her,.... Or like me?” She rose onto her knees and breathed against his wide lips. “Would you be Humbert Humbert mhm?” She reached down and played gently with his erection. He withheld his moan, closing his eyes to show how they rolled to the back of his head.

“Y/N, you can’t ask me things like that.” He protested, but didn’t push her away.

“I’m sorry. Let me rephrase: Have you ever thought about fucking me?” She traced her tongue around his lips, her hands prodding his erection.

“No.” He whispered unconfidently and she smiled.

“What’s this then?” She reached down into his boxers and took out his penis, running her hands along the length. He said nothing, fighting his internal desire to stay and come as she stroked him.

“We-we can’t.” He opened his eyes abruptly and stepped away, still very much hard.

“Yes, we can.” She reached for him and he reluctantly stepped forward again. “I’ve been thinking about you. I can’t stop thinking about you, Cillian. I get so wet when I think of you and my pussy throbs, I have to touch myself.” She whined softly.

He looked down at her lips and breathed shakily.

“I think that you think about me too, don’t you?” She rose slowly on her knees and kissed him softly, her lips barely resting on his. She reached down to the hem of his shirt and pulled it up and over his head.

“Touch me, please.” She whimpered and he looked down at her shirt, his hands shaking as they snaked up her chest.

“If your father found out…”

“I’m 19. I can make my own decisions.” She kissed him and sucked on his top lip. He moaned against her.

“Fuck…” He grunted and gave in, abandoning his pitiful battle to deny her. He tugged off her shirt and pushed her back on the bed.

“Do you want me to say that I’m a virgin? Does it turn you on to think that I’m a virgin?” She smiled and licked her lips seductively.

“No, don’t say that, Y/N.” He pushed her farther onto the bed and climbed on top of her.

“Well what do you want me to say, old man?” She laughed and wiggled beneath his weight.

“Tell me that you want me.” His voice came out as a growl, as he held her down on the bed, his hands stretched out against her’s over her head.

“Ooooo,” she purred against his lips, “I want you sooo bad, Cillian! Is that what you want?” She licked his lips childishly and rubbed the inside of her thigh up his leg.

“Fuck, don’t do this, love. I don’t like it when you tease me.” He exhaled against her cheek, his nose running over her soft, plump cheekbones. His erection pressed against the seam of his boxers and he rubbed his crotch against her panties. He could feel how wet she was through the two layers of fabric.

“I’m sorry, Cilian.” She pouted, her breasts bounced briefly against her open ribcage and he lowered his mouth to swirl his tongue around her nipple. She hummed in pleasure, squeezing her thighs around Cillian to keep him between her. He chuckled.

“See, I don’t need you to tell me that you want me, I can already tell, but what I want is for you to beg me, practically fuck me by yourself because you so desperately need to feel me inside you.” He kneeled above her and placed his hand on her navel, his thumb teasing the fabric of her waistband. She blushed and wiggled again, her clit throbbing. His thigh was positioned right up against her sex, he looked down and chuckled.

“I can feel your heartbeat through your cunt, darling.” His hand slid further down into her panties, brushing against the hair at her entrance. “It’s beating so fast, darling. Are you scared?” He pouted and cupped her cunt in his hand, gently. “Are you scared of me fucking you?” He rubbed her clit in small circles, his erection grew harder and she bit her lip.

“No, I want you to make me feel good.” She raised her chin defiantly and he smiled.

“Good girl.” He leaned over her and whispered in her ear, “call me daddy.”

“Mhmm, please daddy.” She started to shake with need as he rubbed her clit. She sat up and forced him down on the bed, straddling him on her knees. He ran his hands up her warm thighs as she moved her hips back and forth against his erection.

“Have you thought about me as much as I’ve thought about you?” She asked him between kisses.

“God, yes.” He groaned back and moved his hands up to the soft flesh of her stomach beneath her ribcage.

“I’ve been so fucking horny, daddy.” She moaned dramatically and smiled when he closed his eyes and groaned, thrusting up into her underwear. “I see you when you fuck those women on your couch. I know they aren’t pleasing you like I could, daddy. I touch myself when you fuck them, it gets me so wet thinking of you inside me. I want to make you cum, daddy.” She slithered down his chest and licked the outside of his boxer shorts. He watched her, his pupils shot.

“You have, eh?” He asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Uh huh.” She mewed and pulled down the waistband of his underwear, exposing his large dick. She spat on it, a long string of drool dripping from her mouth. “I think you’re gonna be too big for me, daddy.” She licked the tip of his cock and he threw his head back, his mouth agape.

“Fucking hell. Look at what you’re doing to me and I haven’t even felt your fucking pussy yet.” He groaned and grabbed a fistfull of her hair, twirling it around his knuckles. She smiled and took him in her mouth, swirling her tongue around his shaft before pushing him down her throat. He moaned breathlessly and panted. She cupped his balls and hummed against his cock, drooling all over him. He pulled on her hair and his panting got quicker as he closed his eyes.

“Fuck, baby. Fuck… ah FUCK!” He cried as she went faster and squeezed at the base of his cock. “You’re such a good fucking girl. Come here.” He ordered and opened his arms to take her. She released him from her mouth and sat on his lap, facing him.

“Sit on it.” He whispered and twirled a strand of her hair between his fingers. She gasped quietly as his other hand pulled her underwear to the side and directed her to sit on his erect cock. She raised herself up slightly before going back down on him. He slid roughly into her, his girth a little too large.

“Fuck, daddy!” She cried and her hands steadied herself on his navel.

“I know, I know, baby. You’re just so tight, yeh?” He pouted and moaned as she wiggled on him. “Take you time, darling. I love being inside you.” He whispered and kissed her roughly, surrounding her in his arms. He pulled her closer to his chest and pushed himself up further inside her and she squealed. She cried out as he started to move in and out of her.

“Ahh yeah! Oh, please fuck me!” She moaned against his shoulder.

“Fuck, I love it when you plead me like that. You’re so fucking desperate.” He groaned and sped up, hitting the base of her uterus each time. Her walls swallowed him and squeezed him. It felt so good she couldn’t speak, she could only cry out with each hard thrust. He held her on his lap and he flipped them over and hovered above her. He pulled out and pulled down her panties impatiently and tossed them to the foot of his bed. He took one of her legs and put it over his freckled shoulder.

“You’re going to take me like a good girl, understand?” He stayed inside her but didn’t move as he looked down at her red face. She nodded eagerly.

“Yes, daddy.”

“Good girl.” He smiled and started thrusting deeply and quickly but with experienced skill. He looked up as he chased his orgasm, his brows furrowed as he moaned. She gripped his throat gently, encouraging him to fuck her faster.

“Are you going to come, daddy?” She cried and he nodded.

“Yeah, fuck yeah. I’m gonna fill you up. You and your little pussy.” He panted and looked down as his cock went in and out harshly against her cunt. He removed the leg from his shoulder and took a pillow from the bed.

“Lift up your ass.” He ordered and she did as he asked, moaning against the pressure of his stiff cock. He put the pillow under her ass and pulled her hips right against his. He barely pulled out as he fucked her fast and hard. His balls slapped her loudly and she covered her mouth to keep from screaming.

“That’s it, that’s it. Fuck yes!” He yelled as his movements spasmed. She felt him cum inside her, his hot cum spilling between his cock and her walls. She cried out as she organsmed and shook with each wave of lingering pleasure. Cillian slowly took out his cock and looked down at the cum spilling out of her.

“That was so good, daddy.” She smiled breathlessly and he chucked.

“You were so good, love. You were such a good girl for me. So grown up.” He teased her and kissed her, his hands finding the handles of her hips. “You’re such a fucking pillow princess.” He laughed and went back to kissing her.

#cillian murphy x reader #cillian x fem!reader #cillian murphy #cillian x reader #cillian x y/n #smut #cillian fluff #cillian fanfic #afab reader #peaky blinders

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pochipop · 1 year ago

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＃HOMICIPHER !! ♡ — IN THIS SUNLESS MAZE, I'VE GIVEN MY TRUST TO YOU (MR CRAWLING X READER).

#. synopsis! — you hit him with a crowbar in a moment of fear, but he cares and cares and cares .

#. characters! — mr crawling .

#. warnings! — canon-typical mentions of violence, spoilers for the homicipher game prologue/chapter one . (if you haven't played at least the prologue, i fear this will make absolutely negative sense.)

#. word count! — 1.9k .

#. others! — navigation & masterlist .

#. alt accounts! — @ddollipop (nsfw), @hhoneypop (moodboards) .

#. a/n! — come join my discord server? // i know this is not the content anyone is asking for from me but unfortunately i am in my dark and scary lover era and university is eating me alive, so pls go easy on me i am sensitive!!!

The halls of this strange place are dark and dreary. The air is perpetually moist and it smells musty no matter where you go. Around every corner there’s something that makes your nose turn up in disgust, be it the cobwebs littering the ceilings from above, and subsequently the spiders resting all about them, or any of the other unsavory attributes this hell-hole has managed to acquire after being seemingly left to rot away for so long.

But you know you’re not alone here. Though you’re certain the residents you’ve come across aren’t truly human at all, —you know you’re not the only sentient creature here. For the sake of simplicity (and easing your weary mind of one thing, at the very least) you’ve taken to referring to them all as what they appear to resemble most: men. One walks the halls dressed in nothing but scarlet, carrying an umbrella to match his attire. You only caught a glimpse of him as he passed by, but a strange feeling overcame you when he sauntered through the dingy walkway, head facing straight forward like he was hyper-focused on something unseen just up ahead.

Though he was likely the most outwardly human-seeming of them all, you kept the farthest distance from him. If there was anything you had to rely on down here, it was your intuition, —and going near him was the exact opposite of smart decision making, according to your gut.

Another wore a grimy hood that smelled faintly of mildew and covered the entirety of his head, so much so that his face was completely shrouded by the shadow it cast down on him. . . If he even had a face at all, that is. It was an unsettling thought, but he was helpful in spite of your hesitancy, and he seemed to be guiding you in one direction or another. His voice was gravelly, sounding like he hadn’t used it in a long time. He made no move to accompany you past the small room you’d awoken in, but after encountering a plethora of oddities soon after leaving, you began to understand why.

Some were worse than others, like the man dressed in piercing red who made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Others spoke to you in spite of your inability to answer them in whatever native tongue they were using, appearing kind enough on the surface. You even half-heartedly followed the directions of a dismembered wrist and took the severed head of an auburn-haired male down a flight of janky stairs, almost tripping down the second flight when the lights flickered on and off overhead. It was a wonder the bulbs were still working, or that electricity still flowed through any of the wires of this place. Presumptuous as you may have been for it, none of those you encountered seemed like the type to work on circuitry. . .

Surprisingly expressive for being little more than a lowly head, you traded him off to a man with ghostly pale skin, silver-white hair, and bandages over his eyes that moved around just fine in spite of them. You sat with the two of them for a bit, receiving a lackluster language lesson that you didn’t retain much from, but thanked them for anyway on the off chance they might understand you somehow.

And then you high-tailed it out of the lowest level you’d been on thus far, narrowly avoiding an injection to the arm that you may or may not have accidentally agreed to. When you stopped to catch your breath, you found yourself concerned for the safety of a chopped head, —something you never thought you’d be worried about in your lifetime. Still though, the two of them had seemed cordial enough. . . Friendly, even, but a part of you feared you were anthropomorphizing entities much unlike yourself a bit too much.

Worse off, you barely circumvented the swipe of a strange hand with fingernails dirty enough to have colored themselves black that reached for your chest, —or, for the organ inside of it, rather. All that because you offered a weak smile to a creepy half-face peeking through the gap of a doorway.

Needless to say, you were done being naive by the time an oddly moving silhouette rounded the corner of the room you were hiding away in. After heaven knows how long of slipping between rooms and making generally poor choices, you’d come to the conclusion that enough was enough. The next thing that tried to test you, be it human, monster, or something else entirely, you were going to make them regret it. So you armed yourself with a rusty crowbar left behind in the rubble of the building and you tucked yourself away into a little cavern just barely wide enough for you to squeeze inside of. From the quick look you stole of it before slinking away inside, you could only assume it was the result of a half-finished wall demolition.

Steps came nearer, as if smelling you out like a bloodhound. Instinctively, you held your breath, hands shaking wildly, even as the hunched body rounded the corner and seemed to look at you through a mess of long, greasy, black hair. He only stumbled back slightly as you clipped his forehead with the crowbar. All things considered, it wasn’t much of a strike. It drew some blood, but had he been anything like you feared, he’d have clawed you to pieces there and then.

But he slumped back a little awkwardly, almost seeming dejected by your violence. When his forearm raised to his injured head, he mumbled something you couldn’t understand in a quiet, somber tone. A small amount of blood trickled down his forehead and he shuffled away just out of sight to sulk in the same corner you’d snagged the crowbar from. Now you just felt bad. So much had happened within your short time here, and you’d gone and taken it out on the only creature who didn’t seem to have any ill intentions toward you. And perhaps worst of all, you didn’t even have the vocabulary to properly apologize.

“Um. . .” you utter nervously, crouching down to his height, “I’m sorry. I thought. . .”

And then you trail off, realizing that it doesn’t really matter what you say anyway. It’s not like he understands you, and it’s not as if you’re in any position to be asking for forgiveness from someone you just bludgeoned with a rusty crowbar.

The way he turns at the sound of your voice nearly causes you to jump out of your skin. It’s not that he’s ugly, —his appearance is just. . . Alarming. Pair it with the location you’ve found yourself at, the inability to navigate this god forsaken building to any degree of efficiency, and recent previous encounters with those much like him, and you have yourself a recipe for disaster.

He’s responsive to the softness of your tone in a way you hadn’t expected, shuffling around until he’s facing your direction. His features are hidden behind the mess of his hair, and he moves toward you again, almost like he’s trying to figure out if he can trust you or not.

When you shift a bit, he shrinks back, but you utter another apology and do your best to remain still thereafter so as not to frighten him away. He wipes some blood from his forehead and slathers it onto the dirty floor, then comes close enough to touch you, leaving some smears of crimson in his wake. His placement is firm against your thigh, but it doesn’t feel salacious in the slightest. His hands are cold, but there’s a warmth he exudes that you can’t quite explain nor put your finger on.

Maybe it isn’t the smartest move you’ve ever made, —but you’re going with your gut again, and it’s telling you that this time it’s okay to test the waters.

There’s no malice in the way he kneels before you, head tilting up so he can see your eyes through his stringy hair. He smells faintly of metal from the blood on his forehead and hand, but it’s nothing that won’t go away after he cleans himself up. That lingering scent of mildew that the hooded man also had might stick around, though. . .

In a place like this, you’re sure it can’t really be helped.

“I’m sorry,” you say again, even if he can’t make sense of it. “You scared me, is all. I shouldn’t have hit you.”

There’s nothing in particular he does to indicate that he understands what you’re blabbering about, but he moves a bit closer again, invading your space to touch your shoulders. Thankfully, that wound you gave him seems to be superficial at most.

He says something, but you can’t make sense of it, so you stare at him blankly. He repeats it, a bit louder this time, and you shake your head.

“I don’t understand,” you reply.

He likely doesn’t either, and you’re playing a game of cat and mouse, but he doesn’t seem to mind much. His lingering touch is more curious than anything else, traveling from your shoulders down the length of your arms, then fiddling with each of your fingers on either hand.

You find yourself wondering what he is, —how he got here, what he’s thinking, what any of his unfamiliar words might mean. All things considered, he’s being exponentially gentle with you. Somehow, you come a little undone as a result. All the adrenaline has faded and you find yourself tearing up, the realization of your situation sinking you under all at once in a way it somehow hadn’t before. When you were moving through the halls and the stairways, there’d always been something to focus on, but now that you’ve come to this standstill with him, it’s impossible to keep yourself from unraveling a bit.

A soft sniffle makes his head snap upward, and he cups your cheeks in either of his cool hands. His nails are long and they sit against your skin so gently, though you know he could use them to rip at your flesh at any moment if he really wanted to. But he doesn’t.

His head tilts to the side like a small, confused animal, and he mumbles something that you obviously can’t comprehend.

He’s a bit rough as he wipes the tears from your eyes, but you’re almost certain it’s unintentional. Though he’s strange and you don’t understand a lick of what he says to you, —you find yourself feeling grateful for his presence. It’s the first time since you found yourself stranded here that you don’t feel so alone.

One of his hands moves away from your face, instead planting itself on the crown of your head. He stills for a moment, then drags his hand along your hair, as if petting a kitten or a puppy dog. You don’t complain, instead offering him a sad smile, which he returns (although his is much more unsettling.)

“Thank you,” you say, even though he can’t decipher it.

After a moment longer, he shuffles back toward the room’s opening and gestures toward the hall. You can only assume he’s trying to lead you somewhere, and you make the decision to trust him for the time being. Though he’s odd-looking and moves only by crawling on all fours, there’s something comforting about the idea of being less lost at sea with no one to help guide you through the maze that surrounds you.

Thus, you pull yourself to your feet and move toward the doorway, readying yourself for whatever comes next.

#homicipher #mr crawling #homicipher x reader #homicipher chapter one #homicipher chapter 1 #mr crawling x reader #mr scarletella #mr hood #mr silver hair #mr silver-hair #mr gap #mr chopped head #homicipher game #mr crawling reader insert #homicipher reader insert #mr crawling homicpher

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wibben · 28 days ago

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The Fine Print

Nanami Kento doesn't get jealous... he just doesn't like parties where people get handsy with his boyfriend.

↳ pairing: hiromi higuruma x kento nanami

↳ warnings: no real warnings, established relationship, love bites, marking, PDA, jealous!nanami, lawyer!higuruma, alt universe - no curses,

↳ wc: 4,205

↳ notes: this one was just a silly little brain worm. jealous nanami is so very dear to me. Higuruma art by @/amico173 on twitter, Nanami art by @/nekonii.

Nanami Kento is not a jealous man.

He was not jealous when he and Hiromi readied themselves for the evening, both stomping around their shared apartment with the energy of men preparing for a funeral procession rather than a social event at Hiromi’s firm.

As he tied his tie, he shot Hiromi a glum look, which was met with a gaze equally mournful. Each movement weighted with reluctance, like two prisoners of war dressing in finery for their death march.

Nanami shrugged on his blazer with a silent plea to the universe, watching as Hiromi stepped into his shoes with the same resigned sigh. They exchanged a glance that did nothing but stall for time, silently begging for a miracle—permission from each other to skip the evening, divine intervention to cancel the event, or even a stray bolt of lightning to strike them both down and free them from this obligation.

“--can’t believe we have to waste a perfectly good evening on this,” Kento muttered, fiddling with his cufflinks.

“I’d rather sit through an eight-hour deposition. Which is what my Monday looks like, by the way.” Hiromi grumbled, smoothing down his jacket.

Kento huffed, straightening his collar that he knows is already seamlessly ironed. “I’d rather reorganize the entire office.”

“I’d rather read the entire tax code. Twice.” Hiromi shot back, a self-defeating smile quirking his lips lopsided. If that were an option, he would take it. Gladly.

“At least that wouldn’t require pretending to enjoy pointless small talk.”

Hiromi stopped in front of a mirror in the hall, wrinkling his nose as he combed a hand through his hair, turning his head this way then the other, making sure it was properly slicked back with gel. A sin, he thought. He should not be gelling his hair on a Friday evening. He sighed, shoulders slumping dramatically as the jingle of keys echoed through the room—he asks not for whom that particular bell tolls, it tolls for fucking him. Kento plucked them from the hook beside the door, his movements deliberate and resigned, both wearing twin expressions of grouchy sufferance.

Hiromi trudged over with a storm cloud hung heavy over his head, feeling both the executioner and the condemned. He stopped in front of Kento, fiddling with the yellow spotted tie on his chest as if it needed any further adjustment.

It was a subtle way to delay their departure and an excuse to touch him… something that feels so much more valuable now that he won’t be able to for the rest of the evening.

Hiromi sighed again, tugging on the lapels of his jacket as if to straighten those too, and pulled him down by them, a press of lips that carried more weight than words. Kento’s mouth was warm and steady, grounding, and for all of Hiromi’s melodrama it felt every bit a goodbye as they massacred their relaxing weekend routine with a visit to the gallows… otherwise known as work. It hardly mattered that Kento was coming with him.

“Just a few hours. We can manage that, surely?” Hiromi murmured against Kento’s lips, unconvinced.

Kento’s hand came up to gently rest on Hiromi’s cheek, his thumb brushing softly across his skin. “Barely,” he replied, a small, affectionate smile reluctantly forming on his lips. He’s skeptical it’ll be anything less than miserable, but they’re in it together, even if neither of them want to be there at all.

Nanami Kento is not a jealous man.

He sips his drink, the third of its kind, at the bar station across the room, a monolith of beige amongst a sea of black and whites. He’d never thought his proclivity for his dull outerwear would ever make him stand out, but here he is, the sorest of thumbs.

And the rest of him is just generally sore as he observes Hiromi across the room whilst waiting for the man's drink to be made, remaining on standby to swoop in and deliver it.

Across the room, Hiromi is engaged in conversation with one of the firm’s clients, a woman whose face is familiar in the way many famous peoples faces are, but whose name escapes Kento into the realm of obscurity. At first, it seems like any other interaction, filled with polite laughter and nods. This is, after all, a networking event, and Hiromi is in his element no matter how he may grumble and protest the notion. Kento takes another sip of his drink, appreciating the way Hiromi’s eyes crinkle slightly at the edges when he smiles even out of polite platitude.

Hiromi doesn’t command the room with the presence of a greater man, and Kento knows this is by design. He doesn’t relish the attention, much less at events like these. He doesn’t relish the attention, because with attention comes scrutiny and for all of the power Hiromi commands in a courtroom he is still just a man, not a giant. A woeful introvert, just like him, and he doesn’t need to control the room to control Kento’s shamelessly fond appreciation.

But from Kento’s birdseye view of the room, standing ever sentinel even at a distance and even for one who doesn’t need watching, he still notices. He notices how the woman's laughter grows louder, even at this distance—or maybe he’s just sensitive to it from how he stares. More frequent too, every time Hiromi speaks it seems like. And for as much as Kento loves Hiromi, he isn’t that funny. At least, not to anybody who hasn’t soaked in the brand of dry wit and humor Hiromi wields like a blade. Not to anybody who isn’t him. Her hand casually rests on Hiromi’s arm as she speaks, and Kento’s grip on his glass tightens imperceptibly, chasing down the strange burn in his chest with the much preferred burn of alcohol in his throat. The flicker of irritation is immediate, unwelcome but undeniable. He tells himself this is normal—this is what people do at such events. They laugh, they touch, they connect. This is networking, and Kento is familiar enough with this game of social tightrope-walking that he shouldn’t be bothered.

Still, he watches the exchange with riveted interest and—god,how long does it take to make a damn gin and tonic? The woman leans in just a little too close, the brush of her hands turning a little more insistent. Hiromi, ever the professional, maintains his composure with the steadfastness of a man much too tired to care about such advances even if he were in a position of interest. But Kento knows him, he sees the subtle signs—the slight tension in Hiromi’s shoulders, the fleeting frown that pulls at the corners of his mouth that neutralizes the smile lines that decorate his eyes.

Nanami Kento is not a jealous man, but seeing this stranger encroach on Hiromi’s space, his space, quickens something uncomfortable and unfamiliar deep in his marrow. The serenity with which Kento seems to coat himself starts to crack, and it’s all rather ridiculous, isn’t it? Because he isn’t jealous. Finally though, finally, the bartender returns with Hiromi’s drink, the cool glass feeling almost hypothermic against his heated and sweat-slick palm. He gives the man a curt nod, and with a slow breath his decision crystallizes further into his mind, fractals rooting into his brain and spurring him into motion before he can think about it a moment longer.

This isn’t about distrust, nor is it about something so petty as jealousy. It’s about maintaining boundaries. Respect. And Kento does not demand much but he does demand respect paid to both him and his boyfriend in equal measure. It’s about Hiromi’s visibly fraying comfort, and his own peace of mind.

So Kento leaves the comforting shallows around the bar with long purposeful steps away from the school of loitering plus ones, a minnow journeying against the current and into the sea of suited sharks. His presence is a calm but obvious force, broad shoulders and long legs carrying him with a surprising amount of grace as he slides around bodies and suits and dresses with a drink in each hand. As he approaches, Hiromi glances up as if drawn to the aura that intrinsically surrounds him, their eyes meeting.

There’s a moment of understanding, a flicker of weariness in Hiromi’s eyes that makes something bitter curdle in Kento’s chest. He hands him the drink, their fingers brushing in a fleeting touch, almost accidental in its brevity and yet not at all.

“Thank you,” Hiromi says, steady and warm.

Kento gives a small nod, his lips pulled taut in an unamused line but his eyes reflecting a warmth typically reserved for home. “Of course, Hiromi.” The use of his name is with territorial intent, his gaze remaining on his partner rather than the woman who stands at the apex of their freshly formed triangle.

For as polite as Hiromi is and has to be, Kento is under no such obligation. And his capacity for respect is matched only by his capability for seldom seen pettiness. He stands at an angle, his chest to Hiromi’s shoulder, his focus solely on the other man. If he pretends it’s just the two of them, then surely she’ll go away. “I’m sorry for the delay, everyone and their mother is at the bar at the moment.”

“Mmm—” Hiromi hums around a mouthful of his drink, brow furrowing as he forces the swallow to respond properly. “Well it’s an open bar, I’d be there too under regular circumstances,” the smile Hiromi fixes upon Kento is something much more genuine than the obligatory kindness afforded to his client, and that sets Kento at ease somewhat. But that smile turns brittle as glass as a shrill peal of laughter cackles much too close to them both for comfort.

Kento was right—she’s laughing at everything. That wasn’t even a joke. “Oh, Hiromi, don’t be rude! Introduce me to your friend!” She coos, leaning forward to drape herself over his arm — she drapes herself over his arm — and fuck did he just crack a molar from how hard his teeth snapped and ground? The nerve of her to touch him so casually, to say his name. “Partner, actually.”

Hiromi corrects while Kento fights to reel his self-righteous rage back in, spooling it neatly before it can spill out onto the floor in a way that would be shamefully embarrassing for them both. The correction sends a smug thrill through his veins, and though he doesn’t smile for it, his eyes soften with satisfaction that he hides behind a sip of his own drink. There, now stop touching him— “Ah, of course! You must be new though, I don’t remember a partner of the firm like you during my case.”

Oh, that almost does Kento in.

And he can see that Hiromi wouldn’t be far behind from the way his polite-but-strained smile crumbles into something utterly deadpan, completely aborting his attempt at a friendly air. Everybody here is a fucking partner, dimwit, Hiromi chastises himself. With the alcohol flowing and the somewhat vague phrasing, Hiromi’s assertion flies completely over her head.

“No, what I meant was—”

“Nanami Kento,” Kento interrupts suddenly, extending a polite hand. This is Hiromi’s job, it’s okay, he’s a professional, it’s okay. His free hand gently brushes over Hiromi’s back, smoothing over the black fabric in a gesture of reassurance.

She grasps his hand daintily in hers, manicured fingers curling around his own and the rather weak quality of her shake makes him think she expects him to bend the knee and kiss her knuckles instead—he would rather die.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Kento—”

“Nanami.” He corrects immediately.

The woman seems a bit taken aback from his rebuff, blinking owlishly up at him. She’s clearly not used to being admonished, much less by an apparent nobody like himself.

“Right… Nanami,” she laughs, and it’s obvious it isn’t the same laugh she’d been using to butter up to Hiromi—more placating. “You must know Hiromi pretty well working so closely together then, right?”

He can feel the frustration drifting off Hiromi in waves, the lowering of his brows over tired eyes and he knows he’d rather be anywhere else but here, stuck in a situation where he’s so tightly chained to propriety that he can’t even properly slap the wrist of this woman who bankrolls his employer.

“Yes.” Kento says, “I know him decently well, I should think.”

If he wasn’t so annoyed, he might find the whole ordeal more entertaining. Yes, I know my boyfriend, he thinks bitterly, I know how he takes his coffee in the morning, and when our laundry needs to be done so he can wear his favorite loungewear, and how he smells first thing in the morning and last thing at night, I know him much better than you.

But as it stands, this woman is not entertaining; she is a nuisance. One who still hasn’t taken her presumptuous hand off Hiromi’s arm, prompting Kento to act. He lowers his own hand from Hiromi’s back, his fingers feather-light as they drift over his waist. His thumb grazes Hiromi’s hip before ending its gentle assertion on his sacrum. Kento’s gaze remains sharp and unchanged, maintaining an outwardly unflappable composure while gently asserting his presence. He won't be going anywhere. She smiles, seemingly pleased, cherry-painted lips peeling back over blindingly white teeth. Her smile is dazzling, practically made for the camera, but to Kento, it appears as the bared teeth of some wild animal. "Well then, you must know that he's too professional for his own good!" She tips her head back and laughs again, and he isn’t sure he’s ever heard a more grating sound. She leans forward, as if expecting Kento to laugh along and join in her teasing at Hiromi’s expense.

He does not think Hiromi is too professional, he thinks he is professional. It’s admirable, one of the many traits of Hiromi’s he’s come to respect and adore. A trait that they share, at that.

At this range, he can smell the drink on her breath, and he briefly considers doing everyone, primarily and selfishly for himself and Hiromi, a favor and calling her a cab.

“Before you joined us, I was insisting he tell me more about his personal life—but he kept circling straight back to the firm! Isn’t that right, Hiromi?” Her voice is tinny and sharp, each word a needle prick into the ever-inflating balloon in Kento’s chest and god it's going to pop sooner or later.

Hiromi manages a strained chuckle, avoiding her goading by taking a healthy sip of his drink. As he tilts his head back, he looks to Kento with eyes that silently plead: if you ever loved me, please kill me. Kento meets his gaze with a look of profound sympathy. When they got home, he would make it up to Hiromi in spades. He would listen to him complain about the evening for as many hours as he needs, make his favorite tea with a shot of brandy, and he was already planning the massage he’d no doubt need to give—

Undeterred by Hiromi’s evasiveness and Kento’s stoney stoicism, she shifts her focus back to him, eyes twinkling with playful curiosity. Her tone is light and conspiratorial, as if they were all in on a delightful joke.

“Is he hiding a secret girlfriend from us, Nanami?”

The carefully constructed poise with which Kento operates shatters under the weight of an adversary he wasn’t prepared to confront: weaponized idiocy. His irritation ignites like a kerosene-fed wildfire, an almost instant and intense anger flaring through every capillary in his body. His teeth clench so tightly that a sharp pain shoots through his temple, and he feels a vein throb violently with an instant migraine. A girlfriend? Does Hiromi have a girlfriend?

His forehead creases deeply, brows knitting together in a tight scowl that rolls over his face like an impending storm. He feels as though his very skin is vibrating with frustration at the injustice of it all as he inflates, seething with broiling rage. It’s only then that he notices Hiromi’s shoulders shaking, his breath escaping him in a sudden, loud burst of laughter. The sound is so unexpected, so out of place, that it momentarily disarms Kento, leaving him stunned and disoriented like he’d been socked in the jaw.

For a moment, the client looks at Kento and he looks back at her—a brittle alliance formed in the face of complete and utter bafflement. His hand on Hiromi’s back tightens into the fabric ever so slightly, the furrow of his brow deepening but now with concern. ”Hiromi…”

The client looks confused, her brow furrowing as she glances between them. “What’s so funny?” she asks, clearly perplexed.

Hiromi takes a moment to regain his composure, his fingers tightening around his glass while the other quickly snicks away a tear with his knuckle. “Sorry for the confusion,” Hiromi says, his tone steady but warbled with stricken amusement.

He smiles, really smiles for the first time since they arrived as he presses a reassuring touch to Kento’s wrist. “When I said Kento’s my partner, I meant it in the personal sense, not the business one. He’s my boyfriend.”

For a moment between the three, you could hear a pin drop.

The woman’s eyes widen in realization, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson. She stammers, her polished exterior cracking like eggshells, and it’s a thing of beauty to have her on the other foot. “Oh! I- I see… I’m so sorry,” she mutters, taking an awkward step back, releasing her grip on Hiromi’s arm as if the contact she seemed to relish only moments ago suddenly burns her. “I didn’t realize… sorry for misunderstanding.”

Kento’s intense scowl softens slightly as he watches her flounder, tempered only by the real-time display of karmic justice; he's positively gleeful. Good, he thinks. Now go away. He keeps his hand on Hiromi’s lower back, his thumb gently stroking in a soothing manner, more for his own benefit than Hiromi’s who seems delighted with this opportunity of weaponized truth-telling. “No harm done,” Hiromi says, waving the whole ordeal off with much more ease than the bitter blonde beside him.

The client promptly excuses herself, mumbling another apology and something about “monopolizing their time” before disappearing into the crowd, her heels clicking on the polished floor.

All is silent. Hiromi turns to face Kento with a slow, sardonic raise of his brow.

Kento meets his eyes and raises his own brows, deadpan, and simply brings his own drink to his lips before looking off into the crowd—the picture of angelic innocence as if he hadn’t been moments away from a catastrophic total composure collapse.

He doesn’t need to look at Hiromi to know the expression on his face; he can practically feel the amusement and exasperation rolling off him in waves, lapping at his shoes with a silent tension that inevitably draws his gaze back. Hiromi grins around the rim of his glass when Kento finally looks him in the eye, but he has the decency to hide it behind an agonizingly long sip of his drink.

Hiromi begins, his voice low and tinged with amusement, “I think we could both use a breath of fresh air.” When Kento doesn’t speak or make a move to follow, Hiromi rolls his eyes and claps him on the back, using the force to nudge him into motion. “Outside.”

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

It’s almost a religious experience stepping out into the cool night air. Out from the oven-like smog of too many bodies packed like sardines and fueled by burning alcohol through quickened veins, and most importantly away from the impression of their joint discomfort burned into the venue's floor. City lights flicker around them as both men take a greedy breath of air that's never tasted quite so fresh.

And Kento can almost, almost pretend it never happened at all.

In fact, that’s exactly what he tries to do as Hiromi glances at him sidelong, and his expression ever-impassive is the only shield that guards the knowing drop of his stomach against the mischievous quirk of Hiromi’s lip. “I never thought I would see you jealous.”

“Don’t be absurd,” Kento scoffs immediately, too immediate really, and if he were in the right state of mind he may have felt the sweaty inkling of being utterly busted tickling up his spine. But he’s still wired, feeling the oddest concoction of mild intoxication and adrenaline pulsing through his veins over what was absolutely nothing. “I wasn’t jealous.”

Hiromi chuckles, the sound gravely and warm, fixing Kento with a stare that peels back the layers of him like wet paper. “No?”

“No.”

“God, it’s almost funny how bad you are at lying to me.” Kento’s glare could wither flowers as he pointedly knocks back the remnants of his own drink which only presses Hiromi to needle him harder. “It was kind of adorable actually.”

Kento grumbles but there’s not a lick of real heat in the sound. Instead he reaches out, his hands steady as he adjusts Hiromi’s tie, straightening it with deliberate care. Outside, where they stand in the shadow of the building and the only eyes to see them would have to be truly prying, Kento is far more liberal with his touches. “Imp,” he accuses with his voice undeniably fond.

“And yet, despite your better judgment, you love me anyway,” Hiromi snickers, “—enough to come to this shitty party, at that.”

Kento doesn’t respond with words; instead, his fingers slip to the back of his neck and he leans in to press a lingering kiss to Hiromi’s forehead. His lips are warm and firm against his skin, eyes narrowed to slits over his head as if daring anyone to interrupt.

“So you were jealous,” Hiromi reasserts plainly.

Kento’s response is a low, rumbling hum; the closest thing to acquiescence he’ll afford the man. Yes, he supposes he was jealous. Needlessly, baselessly, frustratingly jealous. He would have to examine that particular thread of himself later… because for now, he would rather indulge it. He shifts his focus to Hiromi’s neck with burning eyes.

His mouth dips to Hiromi’s temple, then to the soft spot just beneath his ear, to his jaw and lower still just beneath the harsh curve of it. Each press of his lips is deliberate, an apology for his unruly behavior back then and now; a show of his devotion he would rather call it, but even he knows it was juvenile envy.

Nanami Kento may not be a jealous man, but for Higuruma Hiromi he would make an exception.

Hiromi’s breath hitches, a sandy sigh escaping his lips as Kento’s teeth graze his skin. A prelude of heated touch before his teeth catch and snag lower down towards the crease of his suit.

“Maybe I should give you a collar, hm?” Kento mumbles between kisses, his words an indiscernible concoction of teasing and genuine thought, muttered in that flat way he does that keeps Hiromi from knowing if he’s actually serious.

Kento continues, his lips tracing a path over Hiromi’s neck. “So nobody else can make the same mistake—and so maybe…” he murmurs, punctuating each word with another kiss, another mark sucked into the warm skin of his neck, spiced with sweat and his cologne of patchouli and bergamot, “... I won’t have to be so jealous.” Or maybe a ring would be more appropriate, Kento considers, not for the first time. Fiancé does have a nicer feel to it than boyfriend.

Hiromi groans beneath the onslaught of Kento’s affections. The nipping snags of his lips and teeth, the raspy growl of his words and the slightly exhibitionist thrill of doing this just outside with mere feet of wall space between them and his colleagues. “You… are a mess,” Hiromi hisses through gritted teeth and sky-cast eyes. This is entirely uncharacteristic of Kento—but he finds that he doesn’t mind it at all. “Am I?” Kento rumbles, delivering a final nip to the veiny junction of throat and jaw before withdrawing. He sighs, low and brassy like the billow of a furnace, yet wholly tender as his calloused fingers brush over the garden of blooming flowers he’d sucked into sensitive skin.

He pulls back slightly to admire his handiwork, the trail of love bites a visible declaration of his. His collar, crafted by his own hand to be fastened around Hiromi’s neck.

“What do you think, Higuruma?” Kento hums with his familiar flavor of dry playful delivery. “A secret girlfriend, perhaps?”

Hiromi’s fingers lift to rub at his neck, eyes narrowed and appearing utterly scandalized, but the pretty pink that stains his cheeks and nose betray his look of disapproval. “Well I can hardly go back in there now,” he laments.

Kento tilts his head in disappointment. “Oh no.” The thrill in his eyes does not match the tone of his voice. “I suppose we’ll just have to go home, then.”

That’s all Hiromi needed to hear to practically collapse with relief. “Fuck yes, we go home, Kento. Right now.”

#jjk #nanami kento #jujutsu kaisen #higuruma hiromi #jjk nanami #higunana #jjk higuruma #hiromi higuruma #jujutsu kaisen higuruma #higuruma x nanami #hiromi x kento #higuruma hiromi x nanami kento #higuruma #nanami jjk #jujutsu nanami

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arcadia-of-pluto · 1 month ago

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Divisa; Two

Pairings; LADS OT4 x reader

Word count; 1, 771

Themes; reality hopping, alt universe (same universe but something is a little...different), doppelganger, multiple endings, slowburn

Warnings; Excessive swearing

Notes; Words with a " * " by them will be explained at the end of the chapter <3

Hey guys! Finally onto chapter 2 of Divisa! I could've made this longer, but I wasn't sure I'd have a stopping point if I continued so if the ending seems abrupt– that's why. Also, there will be a ton of posts today, none are too important. Just the Divisa Masterlist, the page to navigate to each character moodboard, annnd the five moodboards!

Now, please do bear in mind that the Love Interests moodboard will have spoilers pertaining to their backstories, so if you don't want to seem them, then look past the bio and look at the pictures I included! 🩷 I know I probably shouldn't post any spoilers for this since I'm only on chapter two and no character is fully fleshed out just yet but...I wanted to! If anything in their bio changes in the future, I just thought of something better. That's all.

prev || next

☆ Masterlist ☆

“What're you talking about?” Your brows knit toward and you try to grab the photo from him, but Sylus holds it above his head.

“Ezekiel L/n. Forty-five years old. His pregnant girlfriend went missing over twenty-three years ago when a rift opened in their downtown apartment complex.” The man finally decides to quit teasing you and sets the photo in your hand.

“He's been a Hunter for over twenty-six years, so it's hard to not know him.”

That's…odd. From your knowledge of the games, the first Deepspace Tunnel opened in 2034 with the Chronorift Catastrophe…so how come the dates are off?

You clear your throat, snatching your wallet back to tuck the photo back safe inside. “Well, I don't know him.” You look away from Sylus.

Something about this felt…

This whole ordeal felt off.

How the hell was your father from here?? If your mom clearly has pictures with this man, could it just be a coincidence? That, perhaps, your father just so happens to resemble this man?

“You don't know your own father?” Sylus hums, tapping his index finger against his temple.

“Never met him before.” You sigh, setting your coin purse onto the table. “Look, are you going to buy anything or not? I'm done talking about my family issues.” You cross your arms over your chest and you can tell Sylus is thinking about his response before there's a knock on the door.

One of the men walks over to Sylus, whispering something to him, and you hear Sylus click his tongue. “That damn fish…” He sounds annoyed, but he nods his head.

“Sure, let him in.”

“It appears you have another buyer.” Sylus waves his hand and the coin purse gets wrapped in a reddish black mist, before it floats into his hand.

As he opens the purse to look through the coins, a second person enters the room.

What in the main character luck…

A purple haired man dressed in a sleek suit waltzes over to Sylus, crossing his arms over his chest as he stands over the other man. “Were you trying to monopolize all of these rare artifacts?” The man clicks his tongue. “Seriously, Carrion*, you know I need antique coins for my showcase next month.”

“If I were the seller, Betta*, I wouldn't sell you a damn thing. Considering you ignored them.” Sylus glances up from your coin purse and jerks his head in your direction.

You were silent as the familiar purple-haired man turned to look at you. You knew your face was covered so he wouldn't immediately recognize you, but your body broke out in a cold sweat in fear that he might realize who you could be, just by looking at your eyes.

“Wait…” The man's eyes narrow as he takes the seat closest to you. “Can you..” He motions toward his face, miming the action of pulling down a mask. “You seem familiar.”

Your breath hitches in your throat and your eyes dart over to Sylus, coincidentally meeting his eyes and he chuckles. He shakes his head and pats Betta on the shoulder. “Tone it down a bit, yeah? She's in a bit of shock. Introduce yourself first before you scare off a big catch.”

“I'll use my real name then, if she's so worried. Rafayel.” He holds his hand out toward you and you grab his fingers, shaking his hand that way instead. “We use code names at the Nest, not that it matters since we have easily recognizable faces. Carrion is Sylus. But you can use a code name, if you want. It seems like you're a little worried about revealing your identity.”

“Ah…” you ponder for a moment before you finally make a decision on your codename. You definitely couldn't use your own name, so you settled on the nickname your mom gave you in the womb.

“You can call me Comet.”

“Alright then, Comet…So what had her so shocked?” Rafayel turns to look at Sylus and the white haired man pauses his search once more with an annoyed sigh.

“She was shocked to learn that her father is Ezekiel L/n.” Is all he says and Rafayel's head snaps in your direction.

“Wait, seriously?” He looks you up and down before you sigh and pull the photo back out. “So it is true…Wait. I know him. He commissioned a painting a while back and..” he taps his finger against the half with your mom on it.

“He wanted a painting of her. I finished it, but I could never find him again to hand it over.”

“Can I have it?” You can't stop yourself from asking and your hand quickly flies up to cover your masked mouth.

Rafayel chuckles, running a hand through his hair. “If I can find a 2000 Sacagawea, a 1947 Silver Walking Liberty half dollar, and a 2023 Silver Peace Dollar then I'll gladly give you it– as long as I don't have to pay for my coins.” He flashes you a smile. “Deal?”

“I have no idea what my grandma had, but if you can find what you're looking for…” You shrug, clasping your hands together. “Then, sure. It's a done deal.”

“Perfect. You're a lifesaver. My up-coming showcase is called ‘A glimpse into the Past’ and it's going to be filled with unique artworks based on antiques like those.” Then, Rafayel turns to grab the coin purse from Sylus, who promptly smacks his hand.

“Wait your turn, Betta.”

Seems like Sylus refuses to call Rafayel by his name…Either way, it's very odd to see the two of them interacting, however it makes sense. They're the only two that would ever step foot into the Nest, besides Xavier, of course.

“Has Velveteen* stopped by recently? I'm sure he'd love to find some air and space commemorative coins.” Rafayel speaks after he finally got his hands on your coin purse, dumping it out on the table in front of him to sift through the change.

“He just got done with a little hunter's mission, so I'm sure he's gone home for a nap.” Sylus taps his index finger against his temple before he looks through the bills in his hand.

Since all you could do was sit in silence, you could…theorize on who Velveteen is?

It's definitely a type of rabbit…and he's a hunter…and he takes a lot of naps…

There's no way they know Xavier, right?

Nah, that would be…Well, that would be crazy, but everything that's happened today could be considered crazy so it wouldn't be a long shot for Xavier and Velveteen to be the same person…

After a few hours of looking, you finally got your big paycheck. It was a surprisingly large amount of money, and you were left with no leftover coins or bills.

You tuck your cash filled wallet back into your back and stand up. As you do, Rafayel slips a business card into your hand.

“You have a phone, right?” As he asks, he takes his own out and looks at you expectantly. “You can come over to my studio and pick up the painting.”

“Ah…” You'd rather not risk running into yourself– Gemini – so after you type his number in and call him so he can save your number, you clear your throat. “I’d prefer to meet up at Meow’s cafe or in Azure Square, if that's alright.”

“Hmm? Oh, that's fine with me. See you later, Comet.” Rafayel pockets his phone and his three coins before he leaves.

You let out a sigh of relief and put on your backpack, getting ready to leave as well, but then a hand grabs your wrist. Your eyebrows furrow and you turn around with an annoyed look in your eyes before you realize Sylus is who grabbed you.

“You need something else?” You relax your face and glance down at his hand around your wrist.

“I saw you were looking for a place to stay. Try finding the Moonflower apartments. You might find what you're searching for there.” Sylus lets go of your hand with a small smile and you're left wondering what exactly he meant by that.

Once outside of the Nest, you first head to a convenience store to grab some essentials like food, a few drinks, a notepad, and a pen before you try to find a place to crash for the night.

As you walk down the sidewalk, a voice catches your attention.

“Excuse me, Miss?”

You turn in the direction and spot a woman. She looks about ten years older than your mom.

“Me?” You look around, pointing at your chest and she nods, beckoning you over.

While you felt this was a stupid idea, you decided to shove down your instincts and approach the woman. Once you were close enough, her hands darted out to grab your own.

“You seem familiar.” She questions. “You…don't appear to be from here.”

Your eyes widen and you try to pull away from her grip, but she's a lot stronger than she looks.

“What the hell is wrong with you!?”

Bop

“Ouch!” You cover your head with your hands as you pout. “Geez lady, what's your deal?” You rub the back of your head, your skull lightly throbbing from where she smacked you.

“You've got less manners than your mother.” She clicks her tongue, rubbing her palm with a thumb. She must've hurt her hand when she hit you– serves her right.

Wait–

“How did you know my mom?” You ask with a hand on your hip.

“I first met her twenty-four years ago on this very street.” The older woman muses. “She appeared just as confused as you are now…She reminded me of my late daughter, so I took her in for a few days. A few days turned to months…then a year. She told me everything. I was even by her side when she was pregnant with her–” she lightly hits your shoulder, “–ungrateful child.”

“I'm sorry, lady!” You hold your hands up in defeat. “I seriously didn't know who you were.”

“That's alright, dearie. I didn't expect you to…It was just an old crone's wishful thinking.” She laughs before it turns into a hacking cough. “Sorry, the name's Josephine. Enough with all of that, it seems you need a place to stay. Why don't you stay at your mom's old place? I haven't touched it since she left.”

“My mom's…place?” You echo her words. Your nails biting into your palm as your hand clenched into a fist and you quickly nodded your head. “Sure, where is it?”

“I'll take you there…It's room 013 at the Moonflower apartments.”

I know this is really short, but I'm hoping my moodboards and other posts will make up for it! <3 The next chapter will probably be around 2k or 3k, I'm not too sure yet. I've only barely started it.

I hope I didn't lose you on the old coins portion. I was looking up antique coins and I found a bunch of ones that would look pretty as artwork! You don't need to know what they look like to enjoy the story, though.

*Carrion— a species of crow, they're known to harass predators and competitors that come in their territory

*Betta— a type of fish, known for their aggressive personalities. These types of fish are also intelligent; able to make calculated decisions based on specific details

*Velveteen— a breed of rabbit, but also a children's story. This breed of rabbit is most active during dawn or dusk, and prefers to sleep during the day and evening; in the children's story, this rabbit is said to long for love and friendship.

Taglist; @ladyparamount , @the-love-of-my-life96 , @rui-drawsbox , @deputy-videogamer , @yoongi-tunes , @fallenfromgrxce , @msturi2u , @myheartfollower, @schwnapps

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insextras · 6 months ago

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So I'm sure this is just a cameo/where's waldo page but is jean actually pulling people from across space-time? Because we see characters wearing random costumes and some that aren't even from 616

Classic namor, X-Men forever rogue (in the middle), 80s Callisto (bottom right, could also be early krakoa with the white coat), sins of sinister jon ironfire (behind namor)

Uncanny x-men storm, classic firestar, what looks to be Nate grey next to her, alpha flight Northstar (at the bottom), possibly 90s gambit (to the right, above nate)

Maystorm (top left), nightcrawler-wolverine chimera (middle), what looks like academy x hellion (above chimera) classic havok (bottom left), fantomex (right of chimera, weird he hasn't shown up at all in this era)

What looks like phoenix five emma frost

Ultimate universe cyclops, what looks like robo-moira next to him, og new mutants dani and that one alt timeline illyana from dead x-men (bottom left)

Excalibur Rachel, x-force cannonball, cardinal chimera, house of m toad (under cardinal), raze darkholme (right of cardinal), 70s dazzler (under raze), age of apocalypse banshee (under Jean's arm), new x-men xorn (bottom right), 90s siryn (also bottom right) and 90s bishop (left of dazzler)

and a smattering of arrakoan mutants and other recognizable characters throughout the whole thing

#idk how to tag this #phoenix #jean grey #storm #ororo munroe #nightcrawler #kurt wagner #cyclops #scott summers #magik #illyana rasputin #illyana rasputina #xmen #x men #comics #marvel comics #file under: analysis #rise of the powers of x

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roguegambitweek · 7 months ago

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Legacy

A few of our prompts this year make specific reference to the comics. We know that not everyone has read the comics (there are a lot of X-Men comics out there) and we don’t want anyone to feel left out.

So, without further ado… Legacy.

First, as the prompt is written, you can create your fanworks around the concept of legacy—of what a person leaves behind, their long lasting impact on the world. This could be children, inspiration, etc. Or, it could even be a meta exploration about Rogue and Gambit’s impact on comics, the X-Men, or any other medium they’re in. Feel free to play with this concept of legacy.

Now, if you’re interested in the character of Legacy, read on.

In 2011, there was a X-Men Legacy/New Mutants crossover event called ‘Age of X.’ In this bubble, alt-universe, dystopian world, Rogue goes by Legacy.

As Legacy, she’s present whenever another Mutant dies. She absorbs them, preserving their memories and, in a way, memorializing their lives. Because she mostly appears when Mutants die (and there are quite a few deaths since they are being hunted to extinction), other Mutants begin associating her with death. They call her Reaper, a name which she despises and continually asks them to not to call her that. Due to various reasons, Legacy spends most of her time alone, or sequestered in the Fortress.

This is a lonely existence for Legacy. And here enters our hero.

Gambit does go by Gambit, although he uses a long rifle instead of cards. One of the first times Legacy and Gambit meet, he calls her Legacy (her preferred name). When she asks him why he is helping her, he proclaims, “I don’t even know, chère. I saw you fighting, is all. And I knew what side of the fight I wanted to be on.”

Anyways, they go on a quest together to discover the truth behind the contradictions of their dying world, share a few romantic moments, and are willing to lay down their lives for each other. Even though they just met, they work together like they’ve been partners their entire lives. Truly, Romy are the OTP across the Multiverse.

In the end, they save the day and everyone is returns to the regular 616 universe. Most participants in this bubble world choose to forget about it, but Rogue retains Legacy’s memories.

The entirety of Legacy’s appearances occur in the AoX arc and for once, it is relatively achievable to read the entire crossover. Below is the reading with the essential Romy moments bolded.

Reading list in Order:

Age of X Alpha

Chapter 1 - X-Men: Legacy (2011) - issue 245

Chapter 2 - New Mutant, issue 22

Chapter 3 - X-Men: Legacy issue 246

Chapter 4 - New Mutants (2011), issue 23

Age of X Universe #1

Chapter 5 - X-Men: Legacy, issue 247

Chapter 6 - New Mutants, issue 24

Age of X Universe #2

X-Men Legacy, 248, Age of X Aftermath (Just stop reading after the ‘home and harbor’ speech)

#rogue/gambitweek2024 #rogue/remyweek2024 #legacy #age of x #rogue #gambit #Romy #otp: home and harbor #otp: mon coeur #otp across the multiverse #anna marie lebeau #remy lebeau

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genshinluvr · 2 years ago

Text

The Men Who Worry a Lot

Pairings: Various Genshin Men x Isekai'd!Reader

Summary: Ever since you got pregnant, the men have been worrying about you and the baby. Your hunger skyrocketed, your hormones are all over the place, and your immune system is weaker and cannot fight off infections as much as it could before you were pregnant. You sometimes wander off alone when you’re out of the abode with the men. Can you really blame the men for worrying so much about you while you’re heavily pregnant?

Note: This is a spin-off to Mixed Signals and Eating for Two! I will be linking the two fics mentioned down below if you want to read Mixed Signals and Eating for Two first before reading this spin-off! ^^ If you're all interested in the whole parent life with the Genshin men, I can make mini-fics for it or answer asks that relate to the overall pregnancy universe of my isekai'd!reader fics. As previously stated in "Mixed Signals" and "Eating for Two | Mixed Signals Alt. Ending," this story does lean towards female!reader/AFAB!reader because pregnancy does happen in this story. Anyway! Please keep in mind that I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and on AO3 (Aaliah_exo).

Warnings: Pregnancy, and sickness.

Word Count: 8.4k

Read the original and alternate ending here: Mixed Signals, Eating for Two | Mixed Signals Alt. Ending.

You’re eight months pregnant. Your pregnant belly is huge, and you look like you could pop at any moment, and that worries the twenty-five men. When you walk, you waddle, and you look so freaking cute! Your hand is on your baby bump every time you walk, sit, stand, and when you’re lying in bed. Most of the time, you ditch your usual clothes for the men’s button-up shirts, keeping the top half buttoned and the bottom half unbuttoned, letting your pregnant belly peek from the fabrics.

Being pregnant is uncomfortable, and you (and the twenty-five men) have to do everything to make sure you have a safe, comfortable, and stress-free pregnancy. Other than your and the twenty-five men’s baby being spoiled, you’re also being spoiled. It’s not like you don’t know who’s the father of your baby—well, technically, you don’t because all of you haven’t taken the paternity test yet.

It was in the middle of the night, and Diluc was rudely awoken by a bad feeling in his gut. Diluc rushes to get out of bed and open the door. Diluc steps into the dark hallway, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, and flicks the upstairs lights on. Lights flood the second floor, and he walks to your bedroom. Diluc cracks the door open and peeks his head into your dark room, only to see that your bed is empty and there’s no sign of you in the room.

Panic starts to kick in, and Diluc turns around to begin searching for you immediately.

“Honey?” Diluc calls out, walking around the upper part of the estate, searching for you— his heavily pregnant partner.

Sure, Diluc can wake the others to help him search for you, but Diluc cannot think rationally when he’s busy panicking and still groggy from his sleep. Doors on the second floor start to open, footsteps getting close to where he’s wandering around.

Thoma rubs his eyes, yawning. “Why are you awake at this time?” Thoma mutters, stretching his arms in the air with a groan.

Gorou peeks into your dark bedroom, his ears twitching. “I hear rustling downstairs. Maybe [Y/N] is downstairs snacking,” Gorou comments.

Tighnari sighs and runs his fingers through his messy hair. “I hope that’s not the case. They’re messing up their sleep and eating schedule,” Tighnari sighs.

One by one, the men walk down the stairs to the pitch-black living room. A source of light peeks from the kitchen, light spilling from the gap at the bottom of the door. You are indeed in the kitchen. Dainsleif walks toward the door and pushes it open, revealing you rummaging through the pantry. Your hair is sticking all over the place, your eyes are puffy from sleep, and your clothes are wrinkled.

Dainsleif sighs and leans against the door frame of the kitchen. “Why are you awake at this time?” Dainsleif asks.

You jump and look at the men like a deer caught in headlights. You drop a bread roll on the ground and mouth “fuck” to yourself. You attempt to lean down to grab the bread roll, but your eight-month-pregnant belly is in the way. You kick the bread roll back into the pantry and cross your arms over your chest.

“I, uh, was checking to make sure the bread rolls are still good to eat!” You lie, giving the men a fake smile.

Ayato takes a step toward you, looking at you with amusement. The corners of Ayato’s lips quirk up, taking in the sight of your adorable figure. You look so cute! Ayato just wants to pinch your cheeks and suffocate you in his arms by hugging you tightly until you pop.

“You had the sudden urge to make sure the bread rolls weren’t expired and molding in the middle of the night?” Ayato asks, tilting his head while gazing at you with the softest look you have ever seen.

You blush and look away with a huff. “Of course! Have you guys never had that moment where you’re sleeping or minding your business, and all of a sudden, you start to wonder if certain things are expired or if you still have the shirt you wore a few years ago?” You ask, tapping your sock-clad feet on the ground.

Itto eyes widen, and he nods eagerly. “Oh my gosh, yes! All the time! I thought it was just me, but it’s good to know that I’m not the only one this happens to!” Itto exclaims.

Xiao rolls his eyes and thwacks Itto upside of his head. Itto winces before rubbing the back of his head and glaring down at Xiao with a pout. You press your lips into a thin line to prevent yourself from laughing.

Baizhu smiles at you. “We need to talk about you waking up in the middle of the night to snack on something,” Baizhu says.

You look at Baizhu in disbelief. “Again?” You squeak.

Scaramouche sighs. “We wouldn’t have to talk to you about your late-night snacking if you stopped doing it,” Scaramouche says, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Ayato holds his arm out for you to take. You pucker your lips, turn the pantry light off and close the door behind you. You loop your arms around Ayato’s arm and let him escort you to the living room. Ayato flickers the living room light on. You squeeze your eyes shut when the light fills the living area.

“I think turning on a lamp would’ve been better,” you mutter, sitting on the couch after Ayato leads you to the sofa in the center of the living room.

Everyone sits around you and gazes at you intently. You feel yourself becoming flustered under their gazes and reach for a throw blanket blindly. You wrap the blanket around your shoulders before placing your hands on your swollen tummy. You’re still craving a snack and can feel your stomach rumbling.

Al Haitham sits beside you and places a hand over yours, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “You know it's not good to get less than eight hours of sleep, correct? You’re pregnant, and you need plenty of rest,” Al Haitham says, combing his fingers through your bedhead.

You sigh and lean forward, resting your head on Al Haitham’s chest, and close your eyes. “All I’ve been doing throughout my pregnancy is rest, Al Haitham. Plus, you guys know my cravings have increased ever since I got pregnant! I can’t help it,” you reply.

Kaveh sits on your left, rubbing your back. “We’re not upset that you’re having cravings. We’re worried about your and the baby’s safety. You wandered downstairs for a snack in pitch darkness. You could’ve tripped and fallen down the stairs, hurting yourself and the baby,” Kaveh murmurs, pulling you from Al Haitham’s chest and to his chest.

You sigh and press your head against Kaveh’s chest, listening to his heart beating against his chest. Kaveh runs his fingers through your hair, untangling the knots and organizing your hair. They’re not wrong about that. You did wake up in the middle of the night and wandered down the stairs in the darkness, searching for something to snack on for you and the baby.

“You’re right, and it’s my bad for not waking anyone up before going down the stairs for a snack. Sometimes I forget that I’m pregnant, even though this thing,” you point at your swollen tummy, “gets in the way all the time.”

Kaeya pokes your belly button, causing you to jolt and lightly slap his hands away with a tiny glare. Kaeya chuckles and kneels before you, resting his head on your lap, and reaches for your hand. Kaeya gazes up at you and closes his eyes when he feels you brush his hair away from his face. Archons, he’s so beautiful.

“What do you want to do now, angel? Do you want to go back to bed, or are you still craving something to eat?” Kaeya asks, slowly opening his eyes and staring at you intently.

You drag out a sigh and close your eyes. “I really want to go back to bed, but if I do, this little one will be kicking me all night until I eat something,” you reply.

“Stay here and take a nap. One of us will make you something to eat,” you hear Aether say.

Aether did not have to tell you twice because you were already dozing off on Kaveh’s shoulders, your hand remaining on Kaeya’s head. While you were napping against Kaveh’s chest and one of the men was making a snack for you to eat, you felt the baby kick. You open your eyes and press your hands against your stomach, grumbling about how the baby wasn’t letting you get a few minutes of shut-eye without kicking you.

A few minutes later, Heizou walks into the living room with what looks like mini French toast. Your eyes light up, and you reach forward, making grabby motions. Heizou hands you the plate, and you mouth a “thank you” to Heizou before taking a bite out of the delicious toast.

“That has a lot of sugar and syrup on it. It’s going to keep [Y/N] and the baby up all night,” Xiao commented, eyeing the sugary snack you’re biting into.

Heizou shrugs his shoulders. “Listen, I’m here to please the pregnant person and the baby in the womb. Whatever they want, they get,” Heizou replies, propping his hands on his hips.

The snack satiates your hunger, and after finishing the entire plate, you struggle to get off the couch. Venti giggles and reaches for your hand, helping you get off the couch. You sigh in relief and thank Venti, rubbing your swollen belly with one hand while grasping the plate with the other.

Venti looked at you curiously when you waddled off to the kitchen. “Where are you going, Windblume? The stairs are the other way, silly!” Venti calls after you.

You reply over your shoulder, “I’m going to wash the plate, then I’ll go back to bed!”

Childe runs to where you are and takes the plate from your hands while shaking his head. You blink at Childe owlishly before realizing you’re not allowed to do any household chores until way after you pop the baby out. Ah, right, how could you forget something like that?

Childe wraps an arm around your shoulders and kisses your forehead. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about chores. We’ll take care of everything for you, like how we have been since the beginning of your pregnancy. Get some sleep, alright, snookums?” Childe coos, resting his cheek on your head.

“Alright, alright. I’ll go to bed now that I have something to snack on for the baby and me,” you said, rubbing your swollen stomach.

Childe smiles wide and pats your head. Childe looks over your head and gestures for one of the men to take you up the stairs. Zhongli walks toward you and Childe, wrapping an arm around your waist and holding your hand. Zhongli guides you up the stairs with the men following behind. Ever since your pregnancy was announced, the men made sure to put a rug over the staircase to prevent you from slipping down the stairs.

Upon arriving in your bedroom, Zhongli turns the lights on. Zhongli walks you to your bed and helps you sit on your bed before tucking you in bed. You would brush your teeth again, but you’re too tired to do it, and it’s already late. Zhongli caresses your face and presses a kiss on your forehead. You reach for Zhongli’s hand and squeeze them, pulling him down and planting a good night’s kiss on his cheek. Knowing the other men are going to complain, Zhongli moves out of the way for the others to kiss you goodnight so you can kiss them goodnight in return. After what felt like fifteen minutes, you were able to bid everyone goodnight.

Zhongli is the last person to leave your room. “Get some rest, alright? Wake us up if you need anything at all or anything happened,” Zhongli instructs.

You nod and give him a thumbs up, too tired to respond. Once Zhongli turns the lights off in your room and closes the door behind him, you snuggle against your pregnancy pillow and close your eyes, drifting off to sleep.

The men worry about you a lot, and they have many valid reasons to worry! While your late-night snacking has become routine to the point where the men will automatically wake up if they hear your bedroom door open (they trained their ears to listen for it). The previous night when Diluc searched for you in the middle of the night, was the only time the men didn’t hear you leave your room until they heard Diluc calling out for you.

They keep an eye out for you almost 24/7, and you love them for it. Sometimes they can get distracted, and that’s okay! Only this time, they may or may not have lost their pregnant significant other while the twenty-six of you were in Inazuma City. The men are crowding around a food stall, trying to decide what to order to bring back to the estate to eat. While you and the twenty-five men can dine out in the city, they worry the number of people would overwhelm you. Especially if those people are constantly staring at your pregnant form while you’re eating, and they treat you like fine porcelain.

Now here you are, standing behind the group of men, rubbing your swollen belly and breathing in the aroma of delicious food lingering in the air. Your stomach is growling, and the baby is lively today, kicking and moving around in the womb.

“Are you sure a pregnant person like [Y/N] should be eating something like that?” Kazuha asks, eyeing the menu warily.

Albedo looks at the menu and nods. “The food is fully cooked. As long as it’s not seafood or raw meat. There are many things pregnant people are not allowed to eat, and I brought a list with me,” Albedo says, pulling out the long list of foods you’re allowed and not allowed to eat.

“It feels restricting, does it not?” Cyno asks, raising his eyebrows at Albedo.

Dottore nods his head, flipping through the menu. “Sadly, it’s the reality of being pregnant. Even if [Y/N] can eat these things just fine, the baby will not be able to handle foods like the ones listed,” replies Dottore.

Your mouth started watering. Not wanting to wait any longer, you turn around and search around for a food stall to order food from. You lock gazes with the vendor of the nearest food stand. Well, it looks more like a snack stand than a food stand. You waddle off to the snack vendor, and the man gives you a sweet smile after seeing your pregnant belly bulging through your shirt.

You smile at Tomoki and point at the Dango milk. “May I have a Dango milk, Tomoki?” You ask politely.

Tomoki nods. “Of course! Do you want one or two Dango milk?” asks Tomoki, reaching for the black bottle.

You hum and tap on your chin, debating whether you should get one or two Dango milk. Dango milk is delicious, and you can never get enough of it! Although your beloved boyfriends are currently ordering food to bring to the estate, it’s best you buy only one Dango milk, or else you’d lose your appetite. Plus, not only did you want to save your appetite for food, one Dango milk costs one thousand five hundred Mora, and if you were to buy two Dango milk, it would’ve been three thousand Mora.

“I’ll take one Dango milk! I haven’t eaten anything yet, and I don’t want the Dango milk to make me lose my appetite,” you said.

Tomoki smiles and nods. “Alright! One Dango milk it is!” He says, handing the bottle over to you after you pulled out exactly one thousand five hundred Mora from the Mora bag in your pocket.

You give Tomoki a thankful smile before walking off with your Dango milk, occupied with getting the bottle uncapped so you can start drinking it. While you’re struggling to get the cap off, Pantalone takes the menu from one of the men’s hands and turns to ask you what you want to eat, but realizes that you aren’t with the group. Pantalone stared at the spot where you were standing and turned to the other men, scratching the back of his neck.

Pantalone clears his throat. “Um, we have a problem,” Pantalone says nervously.

“They wandered off, didn’t they?” Capitano deadpans.

Pantalone nodded hesitantly, and the twenty-four men slowly turned to where you were supposed to be standing, only to see an empty spot. Pierro sighs, pinching the space between his eyebrows, and closes his eyes. There’s no way they lost you in the city this fast. You, a heavily pregnant person, somehow wandered off without either of them noticing you waddling away.

“I’m sure they didn’t wander off too far,” Pierro says, looking up and scanning his surroundings.

While the men are searching for you, you stand in the middle of the walkway, uncapping the Dango milk. After a few minutes of struggling to open the cap, you finally got it off and took a sip from it happily. The Dango milk is sweet, delicious, and chewy. It’s like boba, only it’s Dango. You’re tempted to return to Tomoki’s snack stand to ask for ingredients. Still, you’re not entirely sure if Tomoki would be willing to share the ingredients or tell you how to make it at home.

You shrug your shoulders and walk back to where the men are currently standing. You tap Kaeya on the shoulders.

“Have you guys figured out what you’re going to order yet?” You ask, taking another sip of the Dango milk.

Damn. Ever since you got the first taste of the Dango milk, you’ve been obsessed with it. Well, you are even more obsessed with it than you previously were. Maybe the baby likes Dango milk too and couldn’t get enough of it, thus making your craving for Dango milk stronger than ever.

Kaeya sighs in relief and pulls you into his arms, disregarding the Dango milk in your hands and running his hands gloved through your hair. “Please don’t wander off like that anymore, kitten. You made us all worried!” Kaeya chides, stroking your chin.

“Sorry, I wanted to get something to drink while all of you are ordering something to bring back to the abode for us to eat,” you said, holding up the Dango milk bottle.

Scaramouche sighs and shakes his head. “Idiot. Dango milk is going to make you lose your appetite if you continue to drink it,” Scaramouche tsk’s and flicks your forehead.

You scrunch your face and rub the area on your forehead where Scaramouche had flicked you. Al Haitham grabs Scaramouche’s finger and glares at the shorter male, who glares at him in return. Scaramouche snatches his finger from Al Haitham’s grasp and crosses his arms over his chest, and rolls his eyes.

“Baby, please don’t wander off like that again. At least inform us before wandering off, or have one of us go with you somewhere,” Al Haitham says, combing his fingers through your hair.

You point at Tomoki’s stall. “But the stall wasn’t far from where you’re all ordering the food! It’s about ten feet,” you protest, taking another sip of your Dango milk. You close the bottle and wipe your lips with your thumb and index finger. “Sorry for not informing you all about it. I kept forgetting that I can’t wander off on my own anymore, especially since my stomach makes me look like a sunset cloud angler,” you said, rubbing your swollen belly with one hand.

Ayato holds up an index finger and sighs. “You can wander off on your own as long as you tell us where you’re going and as long as it’s not too far from where we are,” Ayato comments.

You rest your head on Kaeya’s chest and look at the menu hanging above. You’re not entirely sure what you’re going to get since you have a restricting diet due to your pregnancy. Most of the time, Thoma cooks certain food for you to eat. Albedo, Dottore, Baizhu, and Tighnari would write a long list of foods you can and cannot eat, including ingredients for the food. But since you’re all ordering something at a restaurant to bring it back to the estate to eat, you’re not sure if you can eat the food on the menu.

“I’ll try not to forget to tell you all where I’m going before wandering off,” you reply, holding your pinky out in Ayato’s direction.

Ayato sighs, giving you a small smile before linking his pinky with yours. Ayato brings your hand close to his lips and presses a kiss on your knuckles before letting go of your hand. You snuggle up against Kaeya, continuing to look at the menu. Of all the food that is being sold on the menu, you’re not sure what you want to order. Plus, your pregnancy has made you not want to eat certain things like tofu.

Before you got pregnant, you could eat anything (except for the foods you’re allergic to). But now, your pregnancy has made it hard for you to eat the food you used to love. You used to love eating anything that had onions in it. Unfortunately, now the smell of onions (specifically pickled onions) makes you feel nauseous, and you hate it. Your parents would make you pickled onions back in your world, and you love fermented foods.

“I kind of want kimchi,” you mumble, squishing your cheek against Kaeya’s boob window.

Dainsleif looks at you quizzically. “What’s that?” Dainsleif asks.

You reach out and grab Dainsleif’s hand, lightly squeezing them. “I’ll explain what kimchi is when we’re back at the abode. It’s great to eat when pregnant, apparently,” you reply.

Ever since you have gotten pregnant, you have been attending classes here and there at the Akademiya. That was before you were starting to show. Since you are currently pregnant, you took a break from your academics and focused on your pregnancy. You didn’t want to put your studies on hold, but since you get stressed out easily, you had to take a break because of doctor’s orders and Al Haitham requested for you to take a break from your academics until further notice.

Now here you are, baking cookies when you’re not supposed to be in the kitchen. Tiny little hands grab at your shirt, tugging on them while peeking at the cookies laid out on the countertop.

“Hey, be careful! We wouldn’t want you to burn your hands on the hot baking tray now, do we?” You ask.

Klee pouts and steps on the stepping stool, breathing in the scent of freshly baked cookies. “It smells so delicious, [Y/N]! When can we start eating the cookies?” asks Klee, licking her lips while eyeing the chocolate chip cookies in front of her.

“Once the cookies are warm and not ten seconds fresh out of the oven. It’s still hot,” you said, patting Klee’s head.

You’re now babysitting the kids your beloved boyfriends know. Technically, you volunteered to watch over them while the men were out doing their duties in Teyvat. Since you don’t have Akademiya responsibilities, you might as well keep yourself occupied by babysitting Klee, Diona, YaoYao, Nahida (would she count as a kid despite her being an archon?), Dori, Qiqi, and Sayu.

“Are these the soft chocolate chip cookies?” Dori asks, peeking at the counter to get a good look at the cookies.

Nahida props her hands on her hips. “From my knowledge, with the ingredients [Y/N] used and how long the cookies have been in the oven, it should be soft instead of crunchy,” Nahida replies.

You grab the cups from the cupboard and hand them cups. “Go sit at the table. I’ll get some milk, and we’ll wait a few minutes for the cookies to cool down before eating them,” you said.

The girls rush out of the kitchen and sit at the table, kicking their feet with excitement while giggling and chatting with each other. While you’re setting the timer and putting the next batch of cookies in the oven, the front door to the estate opens, and the men start piling into the estate.

Klee’s eyes light up when she sees Albedo. Klee hops off the chair and runs to the chief alchemist, tackling him into a hug. Albedo stumbles back and looks at Klee with surprise.

“Big brother! You’re finally back!” Klee cheers, smiling wide.

“What are you girls doing here? I mean, not that I didn’t want to see you, I’m surprised to see you girls here at the estate,” Albedo says, turning to look at the men with a questioning look.

Dori’s eyes widen before she giggles. “Oh? Did your pregnant lover not tell you that they’re babysitting us from now on? Well, until the baby arrives, of course,” Dori says, leaning in the chair.

Zhongli crosses his arms over his chest. “They have not. Speaking of pregnant lover, where is [Y/N]?”

The seven girls point at the kitchen simultaneously, gazing at the men curiously. One by one, each man pats the girls’ heads as they walk toward the kitchen where you’re at. After putting the second batch of cookies in the oven, you close the oven and set the timer. The kitchen door creaks open, and you look up to see your beloved boyfriends standing there with their hands on their hips while giving you questioning looks.

“Since when did you start your babysitting gig?” Cyno asks, raising an eyebrow at you.

You walk to the cookies on the cooling tray and hover your hand above it. “I started today, actually! Since I currently don’t have responsibilities, I decided to babysit the seven girls until further notice!” You reply.

“Are you going to babysit them every day? Some of them have jobs, which concerns me because it’s child labor….” Kaveh trails off, stroking his chin.

You shake your head and lean against the kitchen island, caressing your baby bump. “Not every day, only when I have the energy to. The baby’s been keeping me up at night sometimes by moving around and kicking my stomach,” you sigh.

Childe drops to his knees and places his hands on your baby bump, and presses his face against your swollen stomach. “Baby, please let your mommy sleep. If mommy doesn’t sleep, they won’t have the energy. Don’t kick mommy either!” Childe scolds your unborn child.

“As if the baby is going to understand you,” Diluc scoffs, rolling his eyes.

The baby kicks, startling you and Childe. Childe slowly backs away and rubs his nose, narrowing his eyes at your stomach and poking your swollen belly back. The baby kicks in return. You groan and press your hand on the area where the baby had kicked. You flick Childe’s forehead before Childe can provoke the baby again.

“Don’t try to provoke them, Childe!” You chide, poking the cookie on the cooling rack with your index finger.

You grab a plate from the side and start putting the cookies on the plate. The cookies are still warm, but it’s not hot, nor is it cooled down completely. Childe stands behind you, wraps his arms around your waist, and buries his face into your neck. You snort, watching Childe peek from your shoulders, reach for a cookie from the plate, and take it from the plate.

“Girls! The cookies are ready!” You announce, walking to the dining room where the girls are waiting, with Childe latching onto you.

You put the plate on the table, and the seven girls begin taking a cookie from the plate to snack on. Thoma walks over to the table with milk in his hands, pouring the milk into each girl’s glass cup. The girls simultaneously thanked you and Thoma with their mouths full of cookies. You snort and wipe the crumbs from the side of their lips.

“Slow down! Don’t eat too fast, or else you’ll choke,” you sigh, shaking your head.

Heizou nudges Aether. “If this is what married life looks like with [Y/N], then sign me up!” Heizou whispers, feeling his cheeks warm up when he watches Sayu hug your side, her cheek pressing up against your pregnant belly while munching on her cookie. You comb your fingers through Sayu and Qiqi’s hair while the girls eat the chocolate chip cookies.

“You’re going to have to get in line there, Heizou. All of us want to get married to [Y/N] and have a family with them,” Aether whispers, taking a chocolate chip cookie from the plate and taking a big bite out of the cookie.

Qiqi lightly taps your pregnant belly. You look to see Qiqi holding up her empty glass cup with a blank look on her face. Realization hits you after a minute, and you take the cup from Qiqi’s hand to fill the cup with milk. Before you can walk to the kitchen to fill her cup with milk, Venti takes the cup from your hands.

“I’ll do that for you! You go sit and relax! Remember not to strain yourself,” Venti says, lightly tapping on your nose before walking to the kitchen.

The minute you sit on the chair between the seven girls, they immediately start trying to get your attention to talk about the most random things (to the men). Sayu and Qiqi continue to latch to you while eating their cookies while Nahida, Dori, Diona, Klee, and YaoYao are talking your ears off.

“[Y/N]! Are you having a boy or a girl? I hope you’re having a girl!” YaoYao says, bouncing on the balls of her feet with a wide smile.

“I think the baby is going to be a boy,” Sayu drones, staring off into space while mindlessly chewing on the chocolate chip cookie.

Nahida looks at Sayu curiously and walks over to the sleepy girl, poking her to grab her attention. Sayu wipes the sleepiness from her eyes and turns to look at Nahida with a questioning look. Nahida props her hands on her hips and tilts her head to the side, her green eyes trailing over to your pregnant belly. Nahida presses her hand on your stomach, and her eyes light up when she feels the baby kick the area where Nahida is pressing her hand.

Nahida clears her throat. “I’m curious what lead you to think [Y/N] is pregnant with a boy,” Nahida says, blinking at Sayu.

“Their stomach is round from the front and slim from the side. I don’t know how to explain it, but that’s what my mom told me,” Sayu replies.

“I think [Y/N] is going to have a boy, too,” Qiqi says softly, rubbing your swollen stomach.

Diona looks at you curiously. “Do you know the gender of the baby?” Diona asks.

You shake your head and run your fingers through Qiqi’s hair. “I don’t know the gender of the baby. I debated whether I wanted to keep it a surprise until I go into labor, but there are some people that wanted to know already,” you say, looking over at the men.

Kazuha smiles and crosses his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow at you. “Is it bad the father(s) of the baby wanted to know the gender of their child?” Kazuha asks.

You clear your throat and scratch the back of your head. “No! But the twenty-five of you are giving me conflicting answers! Some of you want to know the gender of the baby, and some of you want to be surprised!” You huff, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I have an idea! For those who want to know the gender of the baby, tell them! As for the others, they can wait until you give birth!” Itto proposes, clapping his hands.

Dori reaches for the cookie and hands it to you. You silently thanked the girl and took a bite out of the cookie, and contemplated Itto’s suggestion. You know, that doesn’t sound like a bad idea. But the issue is that some of the men have loose lips. Meaning they cannot keep a secret, or they will find a way to accidentally reveal the gender of the baby. You pucker your lips and shake your head in response to Itto’s suggestion. Itto pouts and crosses his arms over his chest with a huff like a petulant child.

“I would tell you not to reproduce, but the unfortunate thing is that we don’t know who’s the father of the baby,” Dottore says, smacking his lips.

Diluc rolls his eyes. “I could say the same thing for you, Harbinger,” Diluc mutters.

You assumed your pregnancy was going to be smooth sailing. No complications, no morning sickness, etc. But unfortunately for you, you have a cold. It’s not the flu, thankfully! But you did catch a cold, and now you’re under twenty-four-hour surveillance. Usually, you would think it’s a bit much to be under constant supervision, but since you’re pregnant, the men’s concerns are valid.

“How are you feeling?” Xiao asks, pressing his gloveless hand against your forehead.

You turn your head away and cough into your elbow— even though you’re wearing a face mask. “I feel awful. This sickness is making my morning sickness even worse, too,” you sniffled. You look at Baizhu and rub your swollen belly worriedly. “How’s the baby?” You ask, clearing your throat.

Baizhu sits at the edge of your bed and smiles beneath his mask. “The baby is healthy and safe. You, however, have a head cold and need plenty of rest,” Baizhu replies.

Baizhu reaches for your hand and gives them a gentle squeeze. You sniffled and smiled at him weakly, squeezing his hand in return. You had the unfortunate fate of babysitting a sick Klee. You didn’t mind taking care of Klee while she was ill, but you kept forgetting that the children in Teyvat are still children whether they have visions or not. Klee got you sick, and thankfully, it’s only a head cold, not the flu.

A knock at the door pulls you from your thoughts. Tighnari walks to the door and opens it, revealing Thoma with a food tray in his hands while wearing a face mask. Oh goody, your food is here! You can smell the food behind your mask, feeling your stomach grumble at the delicious smell.

“I have arrived with soup! It’s chicken noodle soup; simple, but should be enough for you and the baby to stomach without an issue,” says Thoma, entering your bedroom.

You take your mask off and, with the assistance of Xiao and Baizhu, sit up. You put your mask on your nightstand while Thoma places the tray of chicken noodle soup on your lap. Your head is hurting, and you don’t think you have enough energy to lift your hands to use the spoon. You feel like you could collapse at any moment. Gorou quickly sits beside you and have you rest your head on his shoulders while he combs his fingers through your hair.

You close your eyes, exhaling through your nose. You hate being sick, and you hate being sick while you’re pregnant. It makes everything worse, and it makes all twenty-five of your boyfriends even more worried about you.

Gorou rubs your swollen belly while combing his fingers through your hair. “Are you alright? If you’re not hungry, you can eat your soup later,” Gorou suggests, kissing the side of your head.

You and Gorou feel the baby kick in response. You chuckle and crack your eyes open, rubbing your belly.

“The baby has spoken. It seems like this little bean wants me to eat,” you murmur.

You reach for the spoon and scoop the chicken noodle soup into the spoon, bringing it to your lips and blowing on the hot broth. The chicken noodle soup smells amazing. So good that your stomach starts to rumble with hunger. After the first bite of the soup, you begin devouring the soup like you haven’t eaten in days. Well, your devouring food like that is normal since you’ve been doing that since the start of your pregnancy.

Fifteen minutes later, you finished your food and leaned against the headboard of your bed, rubbing your full belly. You and the baby are officially satisfied; both tummies are full and satisfied. You tilt your head back and close your eyes, slowly leaning on Gorou’s shoulders while he continues to rub your arm.

“Ah, ah, ah! Don’t fall asleep yet! You still need to take your medication,” Tighnari says, standing at the edge of the bed and poking you in the arm.

You crack your eyes open and see Tighnari holding out cold medicine toward you. Your face immediately pinches up with disgust when you realize it's liquid medicine. To be more specific, it’s orange flavored, and you hate medicine that tastes like orange. You reluctantly take the medication from Tighnari’s hand and stare at the orange liquid medicine. You pinch your nose and down the cold medicine, your lips trembling at the sour taste while your face scrunches with disgust.

Pantalone sits on the other side of you and hands the small measurement cup to Tighnari. He grabs the glass cup from your nightstand and passes them to you. You give Pantalone a strained smile and take big gulps of water, hoping to wash the taste of orange-flavored medicine from your taste buds.

“How are you feeling right now, sweetheart?” Pantalone asks, wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing your jaws.

You hum in response, basking in Pantalone’s affections. “I’m feeling full, but the taste of the orange medicine is disgusting. It sort of made my stomach churn a bit after I ingested the medicine,” you reply, your nose scrunching with disgust.

“Now that you have eaten and taken your medication, you should get some sleep now. You look exhausted, and we shouldn’t be keeping you up any longer,” Capitano says gruffly.

You frown and reach for your face mask behind Pantalone and put it on. “What if I’m not feeling sleepy? It’s boring being in my room all day and having to sleep for who knows how long,” you said.

“You say that now, but once your head hits the pillow, you’ll be out like a light,” Pierro comments, the corners of his lips quirking up.

You stare at the first Harbinger for a moment before snuggling up against Pantalone, bringing Gorou with you. Gorou rests his head on your chest, making sure to be gentle. He wraps his arms around your waist, trying his best to ignore Pantalone’s arms around your waist. The day has just begun, yet here you are, bedridden and forced to rest. Why do you have to rest a lot? What if you’re feeling restless or full of energy? Actually, sike, you’re never full of energy because being pregnant is draining, and you feel more like an incubator than a human sometimes.

You’re excited to be a parent, yes, but often times there are people that treat you like a breeding cow rather than a human. Your boyfriends never make comments like that, but it’s the way random men (and sometimes women) in Teyvat would make comments about you being an incubator for the twenty-five men, and not only is it disturbing, but it also makes you feel uncomfortable.

Scaramouche plops at the edge of your bed, staring at you worriedly. “What’s on your mind?” He asks, nudging you with his foot.

“Do you guys see me as an incubator?” You ask, looking around the room.

Kaveh raises his eyebrows at you. “Why would we see you that way? You’re human, not some breeding sumpter beast,” Kaveh replies, crossing his arms over his chest.

“We want to start a family with you, yes, but we’re not going to get you pregnant every time you pop a baby out. Your body changes drastically when you’re pregnant, and we don’t want you to get pregnant twenty-four more times after the first baby is born. You need a break from pregnancy. We won’t make you pop a baby out for each of us. That would be weird,” Cyno answers, sighing softly.

Pantalone presses a kiss on your head. “Who put those thoughts into your head? Name them, and we’ll take care of it,” Pantalone murmurs, rubbing your swollen stomach.

You puff your cheeks out and shake your head. “Just a bunch of randoms in Teyvat. I don’t know their names, unfortunately.” You whisper, chewing on the inside of your cheeks.

“Describe their physical appearance and what region you were in when you encountered them! Shouldn’t be hard for us to track them down,” Childe says, giving you a fake smile while cracking his knuckles.

You shake your head again. “Not going to happen, Childe. I don’t want you to get in trouble before the baby is born,” you said, stroking your swollen belly mindlessly.

Childe opens his mouth to retort, but you shake your head for the umpteenth time. “Drop it, Ajax. I’m serious; this is for everyone in the room, not just Childe. Understood?”

“Oooh. Not the real name,” Itto whispers, making a ‘yikes’ face.

You give the men a look.

“Understood,” the men reply simultaneously, nodding in response.

You take a deep breath and run your fingers through your hair. Archons, this is embarrassing. You hate being strict or acting this way with the twenty-five men. Your emotions are all over the place because of your pregnancy, but the men understand. They never get upset with you when you snap at them unintentionally. They know it’s because of your hormones and the changes going on with your body that is making you feel overwhelmed and stressed.

You let out a shaky sigh. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be so strict and firm about this. I understand you all want to protect me and make me feel comfortable with my body while I’m pregnant. Still, I don’t want any of you to get in trouble with the law before the baby is born,” you whisper.

Itto opens his mouth to reply, but you quickly cut him off. “Or in general,” you add.

Itto closes his mouth with a pout. Diluc rolls his eyes at Itto’s reaction and gives you a small smile.

“There’s nothing to apologize for, [Y/N]. We understand where you’re coming from. We promise this pregnancy will be smooth and stress-free, but some of us,” Diluc looks at Childe and Itto with a pointed look, “are hard-headed.”

“Don’t forget that things aren’t always going to turn out how you plan for them to go,” Gorou adds, leaning up to kiss the side of your head.

Your sickness lasted a few days, and as time flew by, you found yourself in your ninth month of pregnancy. You and the men are anticipating your labor, and you’re very nervous, but perhaps not as nervous as the men. You’re very tired, and your body is under a lot of strain than it was when your pregnancy first began. You also have a hard time holding in your pee, so you’re always going to the bathroom. You’re pretty sure the baby once kicked your bladder, almost making you pee your pants.

You step out of the bathroom, clutching your giant pregnant belly. “This is so embarrassing,” You grumble, walking past the men to toss your shorts and underwear into the washing machine. “This is the fifth time I peed my pants, all because this baby kicked my bladder and because I’ve had a hard time holding in my pee,” you grumble.

Kaeya ruffles your hair and kisses your head. “Hey, it’s okay. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I heard it happens to pregnant people often. You’re not the only one that experiences this kind of stuff,” says Kaeya.

Your lower abdomen starts to hurt, making you squeeze kaeya’s arms and clench your eyes shut. Kaeya looks at you worriedly, watching your hand fly to your swollen belly, your head ducking down while taking deep breaths.

Ayato steps forward. “Should we go to the infirmary to check and see if you’re okay?” Ayato asks.

You nod, reaching out for Ayato’s hand while Kaeya helps you walk forward. “It’s best that we go see Baizhu. I don’t know what’s happening, and it hurts,” you grunt.

When the other men hear about you visiting the infirmary in the estate, they all rush to the other side of the building and cram into the examination room. You’re laying on the examination bed, hands on your swollen belly, face pinching up in pain every other minute when the same feeling hits you again.

“What’s going on?” Zhongli demands, standing by your side and holding onto your hand.

You immediately squeeze Zhongli’s hand, leaning your head back on the headrest and closing your eyes. It hurts. You’re in so much pain, and even if it was brief, it still hurts so much and feels very discomforting. You take a deep breath and let out slow exhales, trying to remain calm and ignore the pain that appears every now and then.

“The pain [Y/N] is feeling are contractions. How do I put this without setting you all into a panic?” Baizhu murmurs, stroking his chin.

Thoma looks at Baizhu cautiously, holding his hand up. “What do you mean by setting us all into a panic?” Thoma asks cautiously.

“[Y/N] is currently in labor, but their water hasn’t broken yet,” Tighnari replies.

Everyone around your starts to panic and speak over each other. You lightly smack yourself on the forehead and watch the men debate on whether you should give birth at the estate or go to a hospital somewhere in Teyvat to give birth. The contractions hit you again, making you tense up and suppress a groan, your nails digging into the palm of your hands.

“Guys, can we please not argue right now?” You call out, breathing heavily.

Dainsleif turns to Baizhu. “We need to get them to the hospital. The estate’s infirmary isn’t made for delivering babies. What if [Y/N] has difficulty giving birth naturally? They’ll need to have a c-section, and the estate’s infirmary is not equipped for that either,” Dainsleif crosses his arms over his chest.

“He’s right. And looking at [Y/N]’s current condition, we need to get them to the infirmary as soon as possible before their water breaks,” Albedo interjects.

Albedo walks over to where you’re lying and helps you sit up. You wince and slowly get off the examination bed, clutching your baby bump. You signed up to be a parent, but you did not sign up for the amount of pain you’ll be feeling for the next however long this is going to go on. Labors can last up to over nineteen hours, and that is something you’re not prepared for. Hell no.

Do you know what else you’re not ready for? The doctors have to cut your entrance to your butthole for the baby to have an easier way out. Heck, sometimes the doctors don’t even have to do it; it can rip on its own while you’re giving birth. Now that you think about it, maybe a c-section is the better option than feeling the pain of natural childbirth.

“Wait! If we’re going to take [Y/N] to the hospital for the delivery, what region are we going to go to?” Venti asks, scratching his chin.

“Does it matter? [Y/N] is in labor right now!” Aether hisses, nudging Venti in the ribs.

Heizou hums, rubbing his chin with his thumb and index finger. “I mean, I would prefer [Y/N] to give birth in Inazuma,” Heizou comments.

You sigh out of frustration, leaning against Albedo and hugging your bump. Not another debate on where you’re going to give birth. You don’t care what region the baby is going to be born in! Does it really matter?

“I think we should have [Y/N] give birth in the region where the baby’s father is from!” Dottore interjects.

You stare at the men in disbelief. You close your eyes and shake your head, your body tensing up momentarily when the contractions kick in. Putting that aside, you think Dottore’s suggestion is a bit… unrealistic. You say that because there are men whose nations are destroyed and no longer exist. Albedo gives your arm a comforting squeeze, pulling you close to his chest.

Kazuha gives Dottore a fake smile. “I don’t think [Y/N] cares about what region the baby is born in. They just want to get to the hospital as soon as possible and prepare for the delivery,” Kazuha states, looking over at you.

You nod in response, letting out a shaky sigh. “I don’t care what region the baby is born in. Just take me to a hospital and let me pop this dang baby out!” You hiss, reaching for the nearest person and shaking them.

You stop shaking Xiao when you feel something wet gushing down your legs. Your hand flies to your belly, and you look down at the liquid pooling around you. It’s not blood, thankfully.

“Oh, no,” you whisper.

“What just happened?” Al Haitham demands, pushing through the crowd of men to try to get to where you’re standing.

You groan and tap on Albedo’s chest frantically. “Isn’t it obvious? My water just broke! We need to go to the hospital immediately! I don’t care what region the hospital is in! Just let me get this over with because it hurts so much!” You plead.

Xiao yanks you from Albedo’s grasp and sprints out of the estate’s infirmary with the other men following behind. You didn’t think you would go into labor so early, but unfortunately, pregnancy is unpredictable. You’re prepared to be a parent. You’ve read many books and made sure you’re informed. What you’re not ready for is how long the labor will last and finding out who’s the father of your soon-to-be-born newborn baby.

Archons, you and the men are not prepared for you going into labor. Kaveh and Capitano will have to return to the estate once you get checked into the hospital to grab necessities. Who knows how long you’ll be in labor.

Note: Idk why I got a sudden burst of inspiration for this fic, but it's here, and it's out! Hopefully, this is the last of a lengthy fic regarding pregnancy. If any of you want a glimpse of the parent life with the reader and the Genshin men, feel free to ask me in my inbox once I open them! I'll be opening them soon and answering any questions. Requests are still closed, so keep that in mind. Oh, and regarding the Burning Desire fic, I will be closing the Google Form very soon. So, vote for whichever Gensin man you want to start off the new smut series before I close the form! To my new and/or returning readers, please keep in mind that I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!

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