Honkai Star Rail X Reader - Blog Posts

y’all. as a nsfw x reader writer that’s had a big following, i’m gonna say this here.

i shouldn’t have to say it but writing x readers/aus involving aventurine’s time as a slave, borderline romanticizing it and/or sexualizing it is not appropriate. writing him as being into master/slave BDSM is not appropriate. writing him where reader buys his freedom or is a “better owner for him” is not appropriate. writing stuff where you’re worshipping his slave branding and heavily sexualizing it is not appropriate. what the fuck is wrong with you. you should know better

y’all should have known better and i shouldn’t have to make this, but y’all really don’t know how to behave, huh

My first time requesting but I need a part 2 of Kilmer where aventurine adopts the reader (somehow) or gets the reader away from that awful man 🤕 angst with comfort and a bit of fluff in the end if its possible, Thank you!! :) (P.S. I love your works!!)

Shama

Aventurine | Child M. Reader (Platonic)

Part One | Part Two (You're here)

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"It's an all-or-nothing surrender!"

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No matter how many days, weeks, months have passed. The sight of that serial number on the neck of a young child has sear itself into Aventurine's mind. Images of his own past flashes before his eyes. Those times, those things he went through.. the thought of someone else going through the same thing at such a young age. Sends a chill down his spine.

Every time he ever met the man for business, his gaze would linger on the child much longer than the man he was having business with. That blank expression, those expensive and luxurious clothing on him. Like a little trophy. Just for show. A way for his caretaker--no.. owner to say "Hey! Look at this shiny new toy I got! Isn't he pretty?" Put in a glass box, a collection, a doll being stored on a shelf.

Every time he has to meet up with the man, Aventurine makes sure that he brings gifts. He doesn't mind buying gifts for clients. It's nothing really. Anything to make [Name]'s life more bearable... but his main concern, his main target is the trophy, the doll, the child, [Name]. And evert time he gave [Name] a gift, it's always met by complete silence and subtle glances directed to his owner. As if asking permission to take it.

"See this? This is a limited type of confectionery that everyone in the galaxy simply adores. There are only sixteen slices sold every day. Here, why don't you have a taste?" Aventurine says, his hand gestures towards a plate of slice cake. A very popular, very delicious dessert. One that he hopes the child would take it. [Name] glances over to his master, as if he's silently asking if he could, which earned him a firm nod. "Go ahead, it's rude to not accept gifts."

After contemplating over it, [Name] took a seat next to Aventurine, his hand reaching out towards the dessert plate, with his other hand the child use the utensil to eat his dessert. It was simply divine. It's no wonder this cake is a favorite of the people in the galaxy. [Name] had never tried anything this wonderful before.

The subtle light in the child's dull eyes make Aventurine smile widens.

Anything to make [Name]'s life more bearable.

----------

But even so, these gifts could only do so much.. he needs a plan. A permanent one. But it seems... he doesn't need to think of that anymore...

The "lifeless doll" had taken care of it.

Aventurine merely stare with widen eyes as the boy stood there in front of all of them with handcuffs on his wrist, the usually clean and tidy suit he wore is now messy with wrinkles and splashes of fresh blood, his neat hair now in shambles as he look at them through his hair strands with dull eyes.

As if what he had done didn't face him one bit.

It was a banquet, a normal banquet, nothing special, another day, another business. The waiters and waitresses handing drinks and foods to every patron. A normal business event.

And yet..

It had end in a massacre.

The trial went on and on. the trial took way too long for comfort, for every evidence and every alibi... the child is proven innocent. It took what felt like an eternity to finally gathered enough proof for him to be proven guilty. And yet..

The IPC showed him mercy. Finding it to be such a shame to lose such an asset. The length this boy went through, not breaking character as he slowly make his plan come into fruition.

This "lifeless doll" isn't as lifeless as he make himself to be.

For someone as young as him.. to be able to make elaborate plans and following it through till the end.. and creating evidence and alibies to prove himself innocent, whether if it's fabricated or not...

He's a mastermind.

And the IPC can't simply let such a valuable asset to simply.. cease to exist.

.

.

.

But that smile soon disappears once he heard the sound of someone entering the room, a man that he's well familiar with. There's no mistaken those eyes. He then approached [Name] before kneeling down in front of him.

At a vacant room, [Name] sat on the edge of the bed looking blankly at the wall in front of him, his gaze sometimes shifted between the wall and his still blood stained hands, along with the handcuffs on his wrists. The sight of it could make anyone feel uneasy and squeamish. But to him.. it brought a sense of satisfaction as a ghost of a smile made it's way onto his face. For his plan had come to fruition.

Giving him a sense of comfort he never thought he could ever feel.

"The IPC has pardon your crimes, but of course that still didn't erase the fact you had slaughtered a whole banquet of people... I'm afraid you have to work hard in order to clear your name.."

A soft and warm smile adorn on his expression as he stretch out a hand towards the younger. "In the meantime, you'll be under my care.."

"...Malachite."

— Eudialyte .ᐟ ʚɞ

✿ "Eudialyte has developed the nickname of “The Stone of the heartland” due to its connection to the energies of unconditional love"

Ft. Aventurine, written with male reader in mind but no mention of he/him, so can be read as gender neutral. wc: 1039

Content: teen! reader, reader works with the IPC, platonic relationship w/ aven, inspired by hnk; when phos lost his legs / after losing your legs in an accident and having to replace them with doll-like ones, you feel useless. Fortunately, Aventurine is here to remind you that your thoughts don't describe you. slight angst.

A/n: i was having big brother Aventurine brain rot, dont ask me how the legs work, even i dont know. Aventurine may be ooc

The atmosphere was peaceful in the vast garden that you were situated in, sitting on a stool that Aventurine helped you on. He said that you needed to get some fresh air, since after the attachment of the legs you couldn't move them just yet. That... made you feel like a burden, he had been helping you get everywhere these past few days.

Aventurine said he didn't mind, yet your thoughts were swirling in your head, you couldn't bring yourself to not feel like this. Your vision blurred with tears as you blankly stared down at your new legs, the material ran up to your mid-thigh then stopping and pressing against what was left of your flesh and bone.

Your knee joint was ultimately replaced with a ball joint that resembles one of a ball jointed puppet. Maybe it was the IPC's way of saying "you're just a puppet and we control the strings" — how despicable.

You furrow your brows in distaste and put a hand against the section that meets synthetic with flesh. "These things look kinda weird, huh?" you muttered, tilting your head to get a better perspective of the material that was now a part of you.

You sat there for a bit, but got fed up with being so still. You wanted to walk and run and jump! In a spontaneous motion you grabbed your knee and shook it desperately, "just move already!" you grunted tilting back a bit.

The stool tilted back as well, and with a thump you landed on your back on top of the green grass. a wince left your mouth as you tried to regain your breath.

breathe in...

and out.

You sighed in defeat while turning on your side, watching the blades of grass sway with the wind in a mesmerizing dance. “I’m completely useless…” you muttered in sorrow, tears welling up at the corner of your eyes. Footsteps broke you out of your trance and a familiar shadow covered your figure that was laying down, you looked up at the comforting face of the man that you considered a brother.

“I left for only 5 minutes” he chuckled and picked up the stool that had fallen down “how exactly did you end up on the ground?” Aventurine smiled cheekily as he crouched down to pick you up in a princess carry. He looked down at you in his arms and he noticed your teary eyes, his expression turned into a concerned one quite quickly. 

Aventurine gently sat you down on the stool once more and crouched down on one knee in front of you as he stared into your eyes. “What’s wrong, kiddo?” he softly spoke as he reached up towards your face and flicked away a tear with his thumb, one that was threatening to spill over.

You stared at him with a conflicted expression, you didn’t know how to tell him. As much as you wanted to let out the horrible thoughts in your head you felt as if you would be bothering him with your problems. More tears filled your eyes along with some flowing down your cheeks, you pressed the palms of your hands to your eyes in an attempt to stop your sobbing.

“Oh, (name)...” Aventurine whispered, he stroked your head while softly moving your arm away from your face. “Can you tell me what’s going on?” He asked as he held your hand, encouraging you to spill your thoughts to him. You sniffled, lightly rubbing underneath your nose, “i..” you paused. Your eyes trailed down to your legs that now donned those puppet like joints, your lips slightly quivered as you opened your mouth, hesitantly speaking. “Am I- do I bother you?”

Your hopeful eyes met his understanding ones, Aventurine’s eyes softened as he processed your words. “Of course not” he smiled reassuringly “you could never be of bother to me” his hold on your hand tightened a little. Once more you looked at your lap, your hair covering a significant part of your face, “i can't move my legs, i cant move around by myself…” you trailed off and pausing for a second then raising your head to meet his eyes yet again. “I feel like a burden to you and also useless at the same time, it’s… so frustrating.” you grimaced, slightly cringing at the words that tumbled out of your mouth. You never thought that you would spill everything like that.

Aventurine was shell shocked, although he had his suspicions of you feeling under the weather because of your loss of your legs, he wouldn't have predicted that it would impact you this much. Everytime he would come into your room to give you your dinner or to check on you there would be something off, such as your puffy eyes, tear stains on your pillow etc. 

Of course, how couldn't he have noticed it sooner? Aventurine reached up and cupped your cheeks in his hands, you could feel the warmth of his hands radiating from his palms. “You're not a burden, (name)” He answered, “I would take care of you for as long as it takes,” he said, his eyes determined. “Because I care for you, you have brought happiness to my world when I needed it most.”

“So, don’t cry anymore, kiddo”

Your breath hitched, teary eyes wide and filled with much needed relief. Suddenly you tackled him in a hug, your hands wrapped around him tightly as if he would suddenly disappear and you burried your head in the crook of his neck. Aventurine quickly caught you in his embrace, he chuckled and leaned his head on yours as he rubbed you back in comfort. 

In an instant your stomach grumbled, indicating that it was hungry. Your face heated up at the moment being ruined by your hunger. “wow, someones hungry” Aventurine teased as he leaned away from the hug, he snickered at your flushed face. “Hey! Don't make fun of me!” you exclaimed while lightly punching his arm, “haha, okay okay.” He smiled as he picked you up, “why dont we get you something to eat?”

“Can we have (f/f)?”

“Hmm.. i don’t know..”

“Aven!

“Alright, i'll stop. of course We can your majesty”

© mirrology — please dont repost or steal !

Yandere Memes Compilation (HSR)

I decided to try something new! I was giggling the whole time😼 I hope y’all like it! Lemme know if you want more!

This is hilarious, I love it😭😭

BEEP BEEP! YOUR RIDE IS HERE!

"𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘳."

Sypnosis: You ordered an Uber to get home— but something about your driver is… off. Not in a dangerous way, just weird. Genre: Fluff/Crack Characters: Blade, Boothill, Aventurine x gn!reader Warnings: NEVER let Boothill drive you around. Lots of reckless driving (keep your eyes on the road and follow traffic laws guys), Aventurine gambling addiction core, reader just gives up on Blade's part LMAO, a lot of cussing, this is pretty ooc😭 A/N: Heh...how long has it been since I last posted?! This has been rotting in my drafts for quite a while so take this as an apology [masterlist] [about me]

BOOTHILL

It’s well-known that Boothill has a reputation for stealing vehicles and disregarding traffic laws while he was in Penacony, so it’s safe to say he’s probably not the best Uber driver around.

But you were exhausted. Your feet were aching from walking around the city, and you were way too far from the train station. Besides, it was late, and at this point, calling an Uber seemed like your only option. You scroll through the app, frustration building as you realize there’s no one available to pick you up at this hour— except for one driver.

Boothill.

The name itself was odd, but you figured, why not give it a try?

That is, until you started reading the ratings and reviews. Now you’re regretting your decision and seriously considering texting your friends and family the car details, just in case.

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ 3 out of 5 stars. “A very odd fellow, and he almost got us both into a car crash!” ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ 2 out of 5 stars. “I was a drunk passenger, but honestly, I can’t tell if I was the one who was drunk or if it was him.” ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ 0 out of 5 stars. “Does this guy even have a license? He’s seriously reckless! But I’ll admit, he managed to speed across the streets and get me to my destination on time, even though I was running late.” >Cyborg69 replied: "Oi, don't cha think I should get at least 3 stars for that?"

You barely have time to read another review when a sharp honk pulls you out of your thoughts.

Beep!

"Hey, you the one who ordered an Uber?" A rough, almost drawling voice calls out, and you look up to see a man with black-tipped bangs leaning out of his car window. In all honesty, he looks pretty decent— well, as decent as someone can look when you realize they’re not exactly human. Penacony really does attract the strangest people.

His fingers tap against the car door, a playful grin spreading across his face as he gestures toward the vehicle. "Hop in! Front or back, your choice." he says with a casual shrug. You pick the back seat, deciding it’s the safest bet.

As you settle into the car, you’re immediately hit by the sharp, almost overpowering scent of gasoline. It catches you off guard, and you can’t help but wince. He notices your expression in the rearview mirror and lets out a low chuckle, rolling down all the windows with a flick of his hand. "Heh, sorry ‘bout the smell. Kinda rushed to... ya know, grab some fuel."

If his ratings didn’t already make you second-guess this ride, the way he spoke just sealed the deal.

“Oh! Uh, that’s fine.” You force a smile, nervously buckling your seatbelt as he starts driving. At first, everything seems normal. You keep glancing at him through the rearview mirror, your eyes meeting his for a few seconds before he quickly looks away, whistling casually.

"Don’t hafta keep lookin' at me, sweetheart. I ain’t no danger." He flashes a smile, but it doesn’t do much to ease your nerves. "So, headin’ home?" he asks, and you nod slowly, giving him an address near your place for him to drop you off.

As the drive continues, your gaze shifts to the interior of the car, and you can’t help but feel a little weirded out by some of the decor. A heart-shaped pillow? Really? That didn’t exactly match the vibe you’d expect. And a bottle of perfume— one that definitely looked like it belonged to a woman. Maybe he just liked the scent, but still, it felt… odd. After all, men’s perfumes could be strange sometimes. Who wants to smell like wolf shit and pig ass anyway?

Then again, he did kind of fit that description.

Maybe he liked the scent of blood— because suddenly, he floors the accelerator, speeding down the highway, earning a chorus of honks from terrified drivers.

“woAH!” you shriek, the force slamming you back into your seat. Your hands instinctively grab the handle above the door, knuckles white as the car swerves dangerously.

“Oops, sorry.” His voice comes out nonchalantly, but there’s no trace of remorse on his face— just that stupid grin. “Hold on tight! These folks on the road are way too slow.” With a wild yell, he floors the gas again, pushing the car even faster.

At this point, you’re just praying that if the car flips, you’ll go down with it. You didn’t want to survive whatever mess would follow if he really did manage to send the car tumbling. Your heart’s pounding in your chest, and you scream again in pure horror, watching him laugh as he skillfully dodges every car in his path.

“What the actual FUCK are you doing?!” you scream, feeling your life flash before your eyes.

“I’m driving! What else am I doing? Taking a dookie?” he retorts with a scoff, eyes flicking briefly to the rearview mirror. You glance back, and your stomach drops: blue and red lights. Are there cops behind you?

“Uh, ignore the cops, darlin’.” He waves his hand dismissively. “Pretend this is just some free clubbing lights for ya.”

You panic, a fresh wave of terror rushing over you. "I don't want to fucking club!"

"Woah there, panic at the disco, heheh."

You don’t find his joke funny at all when he suddenly misses the turn to your house, and for a brief moment, you actually consider choking him out from the backseat just to make him stop. But then, something heavy falling in the car catches your eye.

Wait. Was that a gun? Holy shit. Holy fucking shit.

He must’ve noticed your body stiffen in horror, because his free hand quickly rummages through his pockets. With a groan, he mutters, “Oh my Aeons— sorry, that’s my gun.” He clears his throat, and you can only deadpan at him, your mind racing. The reviews on his profile had to be way too generous. He didn’t deserve 0 stars. Hell, he should be banned, his license revoked, and his profile deleted.

But of course, he tries to reassure you. “Don’t worry, that’s, uh… a toy gun. For unruly passengers, ya know? Get it?” His sharp teeth flash in a grin, and you swear, for a split second, you see a glint of something dangerous. Then he curses some censored version of a swear word under his breath. “Ah, crap…I missed your turn.”

Yeah, you’re never booking an Uber again.

The car screeches as he whips it into a sharp U-turn, sending a cloud of smoke from the tires. You glance over to the police officer in the next lane— his bright blue eyes reflecting dim streetlights, a black-haired guy with an unreadable expression. But it’s the person sitting in the backseat that catches your attention. Two glowing golden eyes peer out from the window, face pressed against the glass.

“What the heck do they want from you?!” you scream, your body drenched in sweat as you grip the seat, heart racing.

Boothill shrugs nonchalantly. “Ehh... I dunno.”

Oh, he definitely knows.

He suddenly slams the brakes, and you slam forward, your face colliding with the back of his seat. Before you even have a chance to recover, you scramble out of the car, your breath ragged. But something catches your eye— there’s a pair of black heels in the backseat.

Wait. What?

“Think of this ride as, uh— on the house, ‘kay?” Boothill calls out from the window, giving you a thumbs-up with his metal fingers. You can barely catch your breath as you clutch your chest, your heart still racing.

“I’m kinda in a sticky situation— er…” His voice trails off as the sirens grow louder. He grunts, pulling the handbrake, but not before shouting at you as he slams the gas and speeds off.

“Remember to give me 5 stars on the Uber app!”

You stand frozen, staring in disbelief as his car disappears into the distance. Your mind is still reeling, trying to process what just happened, when the police car whips past you in a blur of lights and sirens. And then, you hear it— a panicked scream.

“HE’S DRIVING AWAY WITH HIMEKO’S CAR—"

AVENTURINE

After a long night of clubbing, you called an Uber, eager to escape the blinding lights and noise and head home. But what you didn’t expect was stepping into what felt more like another club than a car ride.

This didn’t feel like an Uber at all. The backseat was spacious, plush even, with a basket full of snacks— gum, chips, candy, just about anything you could imagine.

“Feel free to take whatever you want, yeah? It’s an accommodation,” a smooth voice drawls, and damn, you did not expect your Uber driver to be someone so... dazzling. A pretty blonde guy with striking purple and blue eyes, his gaze cool and calm. His cologne was strong but intoxicating, a heady mix of something sweet yet fresh.

"Are you sure I can take the snacks? No extra charge?" You raise an eyebrow, hesitating as you reach for a packet of chips.

"No extra charge," he repeats with a smirk, his hands casually gripping the wheel. He taps his fingers on the leather-covered steering wheel as he waits patiently for the car in front of him to move.

You mumble a quiet thanks before grabbing a few packets of chips and stuffing them into your bag, quickly buckling up your seatbelt. As you settle in, you start taking in your surroundings. One look at this guy, and it’s pretty obvious he’s loaded. The seats are unbelievably comfortable, and the extra touches in the snack basket are a little surprising. Alongside the chips, there are bottles of mineral water and other beverages, perfect if you’re parched. And judging by the brand of the snacks and drinks, it’s clear— this is first-class treatment. Something you’d expect to find on a luxury flight.

Suddenly, a tiny dice clatters against your leg. You freeze, slowly picking it up, unsure of what to make of it. He doesn’t seem to notice your hesitation, his grin widening as he speaks.

“Roll the dice,” he says, his tone playful. “The number you land on will decide where you’re going.”

You blink, completely caught off guard. “I’m sorry— what?” you stare at him in disbelief. “I just wanna go home, dude.” You hand the dice back to him awkwardly, hoping he’ll drop it.

He tuts, the sound almost childlike. “Ah, no, no, no. I offered you some wonderful snack choices, the least you could do is play along with my game.” He whines, like a petulant child, and you’re starting to feel uneasy. But there’s something about him that doesn’t scream dangerous— just weird. Definitely weird, like the one Uber driver you met last month.

“…And what is this about?” You furrow your brow, a little frustrated. “You’re an Uber driver, shouldn’t you listen to your customer on where they want to go?” You toss the dice back toward him.

“Please,” he suddenly pleads, slumping in his seat dramatically. “I have a gambling addiction.”

You raise an eyebrow, eyeing him cautiously. “What does that have to do with me?” You glance down at the dice now sitting in your palms.

He lets out a dramatic sigh, his eyes glazed over with a mix of frustration and longing. “My job banned me from going to casinos for a week,” he mutters. “So, I took this Uber job to kill time. The only way to salvage my boredom is to have my customers gamble for me.”

This Uber driver is definitely fucking weird.

“And what is your job, besides being an Uber driver...?” you ask, gulping slightly as you glance around his car, trying to pick up on any clues. His outfit, the decor, anything that might give you an idea of what’s going on.

“Well… I work for the IPC—”

“Okay, I get it now,” you quickly cut him off, your face twisting into an expression of judgment and unease. Those three letters were all you needed to hear. Of course, he worked for the IPC. All the people you've met affiliated with the IPC were just off. Like that strange Uber driver from last month? He was a huge IPC hater— and, oh yeah, he robbed a car. Then there was that girl you ran into last week, the one who casually introduced herself as an IPC worker. And trailing behind her? This bizarre creature that looked like an anteater... or a dolphin— you’re not even sure. You overheard it was her pet, but you’ve never seen anything like that in your life.

"Hey," he sighs, sitting up straighter in the seat. You’re desperately hoping he’ll drop the dice nonsense and just start driving already, but he stays put, even though the car in front of you has been long gone.

"I know the IPC has a bad reputation," he says, "but I promise you I’m not that bad."

"Yeah... not that bad for a guy who has a price on the IPC’s head," you mutter under your breath, and you catch the flash of recognition in his eyes.

“Oh! Boothill?”

You instantly regret even saying anything.

“I bumped into that guy last week— well, more like he crashed into my car,” he continues, seemingly unphased by your discomfort. “At first, he apologized. Then, out of nowhere, he pulled a gun on me and—”

Without thinking, you hurl the dice somewhere in the car, scramble to get out, and bolt for the door, heart racing.

"No tip???"

BLADE

It hadn’t even been five minutes in the car, and your driver was already chastising you.

"You're breathing too loudly in my car."

You freeze, immediately holding your breath, your hands clutched tightly in your lap. "I apologize—"

"Don’t talk."

You bite your lip, feeling your patience slip. Let me just fucking die then, I guess, you think, staring blankly out the window.

You glance over at the drawer in the car and notice a piece of paper peeking out. Curiosity gets the better of you, and you tug it out, only to find the words written in... lipstick?

“𝒲𝒽𝑜𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝐵𝓁𝒶𝒹𝒾𝑒 𝒾𝓈 𝓅𝒾𝒸𝓴𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓊𝓅, 𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝒶 𝓉𝑒𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓃𝒸𝓎 𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝒸𝓀𝓁𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝓇𝓎 𝓉𝑜 𝒹𝒾𝑒. 𝒟𝑜𝓃'𝓉 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓇𝓎, 𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝒶 𝒹𝓇𝒾𝓋𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓁𝒾𝒸𝑒𝓃𝓈𝑒!~"

What the hell? Why are all the drivers like this? You can't even begin to describe it anymore.

"If you're feeling afraid right now, I suggest you get off," his deep voice cuts through the silence, and without missing a beat, you nod— pushing open the door while he’s still driving and rolling out onto the pavement.

reader rn:

ugh this with dr. Ratio is 💋

https://www.instagram.com/reel/C3a001LPBKV/?igsh=dmRkazFnNHoxN3N5

𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚗𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚕 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚍𝚘 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚌𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚜𝚏𝚠 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚏𝚏. 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚍𝚞𝚕𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙸 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚗𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎.

𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 closed 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚜. (ANYTHING YOU WILL SEE ON HERE MAY OR MAY NOT BE FINAL. YOU WILL SEE THIS MESSAGE GONE WHEN THE MASTERLIST IS OFFICIALLY SITUATED.)

❥ GENSHIN IMPACT

𝙈𝙊𝙉𝘿𝙎𝙏𝘼𝘿𝙏 ["ᴛʜᴇ ᴄɪᴛʏ ᴏꜰ ꜰʀᴇᴇᴅᴏᴍ."]

𝙇𝙄𝙔𝙐𝙀

["ᴛʜᴇ ᴄɪᴛʏ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴀᴄᴛꜱ."]

𝙄𝙉𝘼𝙕𝙐𝙈𝘼

["ʟᴀɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴇᴛᴇʀɴɪᴛʏ."]

𝙎𝙐𝙈𝙀𝙍𝙐

["ʟᴀɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴋɴᴏᴡʟᴇᴅɢᴇ."]

𝙁𝙊𝙉𝙏𝘼𝙄𝙉𝙀

["ᴄɪᴛʏ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴜᴘʀᴇᴍᴇ ᴊᴜꜱᴛɪᴄᴇ."]

❥ HONKAI STARRAIL

(I HAVE NOT FINISHED HSR SO IT MAY BE IFFY)

𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝘼𝙎𝙏𝙍𝘼𝙇 𝙀𝙓𝙋𝙍𝙀𝙎𝙎 ["ʜᴏᴍᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇʀꜱ."]

𝘽𝙀𝙇𝙊𝘽𝙊𝙂

["ᴛʜᴇ ᴇᴠᴇʀʟᴀꜱᴛɪɴɢ ᴡɪɴᴛᴇʀ."]

𝙓𝙄𝘼𝙉𝙕𝙃𝙊𝙐 𝙇𝙐𝙊𝙁𝙐

["ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ ᴍᴜꜱᴛ ᴘᴀʏ ᴀ ᴘʀɪᴄᴇ."]

❥ JUJUTSU KAISEN

(WIP)

JUJUTSU SORCERERS

["ᴛʜᴇ 'ʜᴇʀᴏᴇꜱ'."]

CURSES

["ᴛʜᴇ ᴠɪʟʟᴀɪɴꜱ."]

❥ LEGO MONKIE KID

(WIP)

TEAM MONKIE KID ["ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴇꜱ ᴍᴏɴᴋɪᴇ ᴋɪᴅ!"]

CELESTIAL REALM

["ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛᴏʀꜱ."]

IN THE SHADOWS ["ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʙɪᴛ ᴛᴏᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʜɪᴍ."]

hehehe.... time for dangerous creativity~ o(｀ω´*)o

Hi :)

May I ask, what App/Website are you using for your HSR Text messages?

Have a good day/night <3

here you go !

mmmm nice :))))))

I just had the cutest and funniest idea, how would the hsr men react to their baby trying to breastfeed from them thinking they're the reader.

I'm doing this according to the characters who may/might have great personalities and assets.

Blade

Baby tries to latch on

He freezes. Completely. Soul leaves body for a moment. Then—"I am not… your parent/mother." Cue the most awkward, silent pause in existence. He gently, but very firmly, redirects the baby with a deadpan expression and dead eyes.

He tells no one. Ever. Not even Kafka. Especially not Kafka.

Jing Yuan

He stares down at the baby in mild surprise, then lets out a slow chuckle. "You must be terribly disappointed, little one."

He gently boops their nose with a finger and rocks them calmly, absolutely planning to bring this up to the reader later with that smug twinkle in his eyes. Bonus points if he sighs and says, "Looks like I’ll need to grow a pair after all."

Dan Heng

Instant red. The man turns into a statue. He gently pulls the baby away with both hands like he’s defusing a bomb and just... stares at it in mortified silence. Later, he’d overthink every single second of it. Won’t talk about it unless someone forces him to, and even then: denial.exe.

Welt

He adjusts his glasses with a slow sigh. "Ah… no, no. Wrong person, little one."

Handles it with mature, dad-like composure but absolutely brings it up at the next family meal like, “Reader, your child mistook me for you. It was... a unique experience.”

The baby loves him even more after. He’s their favorite uncle now. It's canon.

Luocha

He blinks, smiles softly, and calmly goes, “Oh? You’re hungry?” before realizing what they’re trying to do.

Cue a brief, very polite internal crisis.

He distracts the baby with a flower or a pretty trinket like nothing happened, but the internal monologue is just, "This is not in the medical texts."

Sunday

A pause. Then a quiet laugh, like soft bells in a dream.

"Ah… even your confusion is a kind of love, little one."

He would philosophize the hell out of that moment. Probably strokes the baby’s head, muttering something about how all souls long for comfort. Might even start psychoanalyzing the baby.

Still doesn’t know how to emotionally recover, though.

𝐄𝐗𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑. jing yuan x fem foxian! reader (nsfw).

In which Jing Yuan, a man renowned for his unwavering control and discipline, finds that resolve unraveling in your presence — your every move, every glance, every touch igniting a fire within him he can no longer contain discovering an intoxicating solace in the sensual art of your dance, each sway of your hips pulling him deeper into an obsession he cannot, and will not, resist.

word count : 12k (12k words of edging)

warnings: explicit sexual content includes detailed descriptions of sexual acts (fingering, oral—f receiving, dry humping, thigh riding, implied future penetration), obssesed jing yuan, possessive jing yuan, slight power imbalance implied, erotic dancing/ adult entertainment , sensory overload, marking.

minors are NOT to read this story. If you are uncomfortable with detailed sexual content or themes of dominance and obsession, this is not the story for you. please proceed responsibly and at your own discretion.

DO NOT REUPLOUD OR CLAIM my work as yours. i have taken a lot of time to write this and it would be very disheartening to see someone claim something i took so long to write and craft.

anways, please do enjoy and leave a comment :3 reblogs, likes and follows are high appreciated

— usagii-bun <3

The moon hung high, casting a silvery glow over the quiet, cobblestone streets of Aurum Alley. It was a place where the night whispered its secrets, and the air, thick with the heavy scent of incense and mystery, carried tales only the privileged knew. Tucked away behind a discreet set of bamboo doors was the establishment—a brothel veiled in silence but brimming with the hum of indulgence. Even a general like Jing Yuan, weighed down by the armour of responsibility, found solace in the allure of its hidden embrace.

His feet moved almost of their own accord as he made his way to the entrance. Tired eyes, burdened by countless battles and endless politics, sought release in the only way he knew how—a brief escape from the turmoil of his mind. The soft click of his boots echoed, barely audible against the gentle wind that danced through the alley. And there, the door opened, not by his hand, but by a woman’s, poised and serene.

The Foxian lady who greeted him stood in the doorway like an ethereal figure, her beauty transcending time. Her skin was porcelain, her long, raven-black hair cascading down her back like a waterfall, framed by the glow of lanterns. Dressed in silk, her robes shimmered in shades of crimson and gold, the fabric clinging to her form in ways both graceful and alluring. She held herself with an air of elegance, her fox ears twitching lightly with every movement, her tail curling behind her in soft, languid strokes. She was an embodiment of allure, wrapped in silk and mysteries, every inch a vision of untold desires.

"Welcome, General Jing Yuan," she said, her voice smooth as velvet, respectful yet laden with something deeper, something more intoxicating. "Please, allow me to show you the wonders within."

With a graceful gesture, she led him inside, and Jing Yuan, caught in the captivating pull of her presence, followed. The atmosphere shifted the moment he stepped over the threshold. The entrance was bathed in the soft glow of lotus lanterns, casting flickering shadows on the walls. The scent of incense—jasmine, sandalwood, and something sweeter—hung thick in the air, enveloping his senses like a warm blanket, clouding his thoughts and easing the tightness in his chest. The walls were adorned with delicate scrolls, ancient calligraphy curling like the wind in a lover’s embrace, telling tales of forgotten empires and lost passion. Red and gold adorned every corner, the hues rich like blood and treasure, a royal reminder of the power that pulsed through these hidden chambers.

The floors beneath him were smooth stone, cool and polished, reflecting the shimmering silk curtains that hung like veils, concealing whatever lay beyond. The gentle swish of the fabric was like a soft caress, a whisper of something forbidden. There were flowers everywhere—tiger lilies, peonies, and chrysanthemums—arranged in intricate vases, their fragrant petals drifting lazily in the air, mixing with the incense to create a heady perfume that seemed to linger in his very breath.

As they moved deeper into the establishment, the general’s eyes took in the sight around him. Men and women, dressed in delicate silk robes of every colour imaginable, wandered freely, mingling with one another. The silk shimmered in the candlelight, revealing glimpses of soft skin and delicate features. Women draped themselves over men, while men held women in their arms with equal parts reverence and longing. The air was thick with the hum of quiet conversation, with laughter and sighs mingling in a sweet symphony that seemed to be playing just for those fortunate enough to be here.

"Come," the Foxian lady said softly, leading him up a staircase adorned with red and gold lanterns. "If you wish, you may enjoy performance privately upstairs."

Her eyes, sparkling like the night stars, hinted at something playful, something dangerous. Jing Yuan, ever the composed general, only nodded, his lips curling slightly at the invitation.

The night stretched out before you, the rhythmic beat of the music setting the pace for the dance that would soon unfold. Your heartbeat in time with the soft melody, the flickering candlelight reflecting off your skin as you prepared to enter the stage. The room below you were full of people—men, women, all draped in delicate silks, moving among each other in whispered conversations and soft laughter. The atmosphere was intoxicating, thick with the scent of incense and roses, the air so rich with desire it nearly hummed.

Tonight, you were not just a dancer; you were a vision, a creature of silk and allure, meant to captivate every gaze that fell upon you. You had practiced this for hours, days, months—the art of seduction through movement. As you slowly ascended onto the stage, the soft rustle of your costume, the shimmer of the golden jewellery adorning your body, set the tone for the entrancing spectacle to come. Your tail swayed behind you, brushing against the floor like a soft whisper, your ears twitching with the anticipation of the performance to come.

The room quieted, the hushed murmurs dying down as you took your first step into the spotlight. The soft glow of lotus lanterns, their flames flickering in the dim room, bathed you in an amber hue. Your body moved, fluid and graceful, as if the music itself was a part of you, guiding your every step. You could feel the eyes of the room on you—every gaze fixated; each breath held in anticipation of your every move.

From the elevated room above, General Jing Yuan watched. The scene below him was nothing new—he had seen these kinds of performances before—but this time, something was different. As you danced, his attention was drawn to you, like a moth to a flame. There was something in your movement that was unlike the others. The grace with which you moved, the way your body seemed to flow effortlessly with the music, drew him in. It wasn’t just your physical beauty, though you were undeniably stunning—every curve, every movement was perfection—but something deeper, something intangible. It was the essence you exuded—the confidence, the strength, the raw magnetism that seemed to pull him closer despite the distance between you.

Your movements were slow, deliberate. Your arms flowed through the air, a soft trace of elegance, while your hips swayed in time with the rhythm of the instruments, your skin glowing in the soft light. Each step you took was an invitation, each flick of your wrist a silent promise, each roll of your hips a beckoning. It was erotic without being crude, sensual without losing its grace. You were a goddess in motion, a creature born to captivate and beguile.

As you moved, your eyes flicked upwards, meeting his gaze for just a moment. It was a brief connection—one that he felt more than he could explain. His breath caught in his throat as your gaze locked with his, your eyes filled with an emotion that seemed to pull him in, deeper than he ever expected to go. The flicker of awareness between you made his chest tighten, and his pulse quickened. It was like you knew exactly what effect you were having on him, like you could feel his gaze following every step, every motion.

Your body twisted and arched as you danced, the silk of your costume brushing over your skin like a soft caress. The jewellery you wore—delicate chains, pearls, and golden rings—clinked softly with every movement, drawing attention to the curves of your body. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine and sandalwood, intoxicating and heavy, as your tail swished behind you, swaying in perfect rhythm with your every move.

Jing Yuan, sitting in his private alcove, could barely tear his eyes away from you. He felt an inexplicable pull, a hunger that wasn’t just for your physical form, but for the energy you radiated. It was raw and untamed, a force he couldn’t quite explain, yet he felt it in every fibre of his being. His hands clenched at his sides as the tension built in his chest, a wave of heat spreading through him. His body reacted against his will, betraying him as he watched you.

You were no longer just a dancer. You were the embodiment of something else—something deeper, more primal. You were pulling him into a world he hadn’t known he was even willing to enter, and for the first time in a long time, he felt something—something he hadn’t felt in years. The weight of his responsibilities, his title, the endless wars and battles that had marked his life, seemed to fade into the background. They no longer mattered.

The music picked up, becoming more intense, the tempo quickening. Your movements followed suit, each step becoming more deliberate, more daring. The room was alive with the heat of desire, the air crackling with tension. Jing Yuan’s breath caught in his throat, your body undulating in a way that was both art and allure. You were making a show of it—of him—and for the first time in a long time, it was his turn to be caught.

The music slowed, and you took your final step, the dance reaching its end. Your body twisted, swayed, and your movements grew more subtle, teasing. As the final note of the music played, the room fell into a hushed silence. Jing Yuan remained frozen, captivated by your performance. His mind buzzed with a million thoughts, none of them clear, none of them rational. All he knew was that he needed to be closer to you, to taste whatever you were offering.

As the lights dimmed and the room came back to life with murmurs and applause, Jing Yuan finally found his voice. He leaned forward, his gaze never leaving you. “Can I… request her?” His words were barely above a whisper, filled with an urgency that surprised even him.

The Foxian lady, who had been watching with knowing eyes, nodded with a smile. "Of course, General Jing Yuan. She is yours for the evening."

The air inside the private alcove was thick with a sensual tension, the dim light casting soft shadows around the space. Jing Yuan sat back in a velvet-covered chair, his posture commanding yet relaxed. His mind was still reeling from the magnetic performance he'd witnessed, but now, as he sat alone in this private setting, the anticipation built again.

The door slid open, and the woman who had greeted him earlier entered, guiding you with a gentle hand on your shoulder. Jing Yuan could now get a better look of you, the lingerie delicately adorns your body, the jewels that were placed on you still twinkled and shimmered under the dull lighting. Your fox ears were perked, stiff with nerves, and your tail swayed ever so slightly behind you, betraying your inner restlessness.

Your gaze never met his. You kept your head low, your expression unreadable, as if you'd become a different person. This wasn’t the confident, playful woman who’d mesmerized him with her dance. This was someone subdued, cautious, and perhaps even a little fragile. Jing Yuan’s brow furrowed at the sight, and a pang of something unfamiliar stirred within him. There was an undeniable sadness at the change, a realization that you were a contradiction, both in the freedom you’d shown during your dance and the restraint you now carried.

The woman who led you whispered softly to you as she passed by, "Take care of the general." Her voice was gentle but firm, as if entrusting something delicate to your care. She gave Jing Yuan a final look, a knowing smile before exiting the room, leaving the two of you in silence.

You stood in front of him, head lowered, eyes fixed firmly on the floor. The air felt heavier now, the sense of being watched almost suffocating, yet you remained still, as though obeying some invisible rule.

Jing Yuan studied you for a moment, trying to piece together the shift in your demeanour. His mind, clouded with the memory of your dance, struggled to reconcile the two versions of you. His large, calloused fingers lifted from his side, brushing gently beneath your chin, his touch soft but insistent as he lifted your face to meet his.

"Why do you not make eye contact?" he asked, his voice low, his words smooth as they hung in the air. His gaze was intense, capturing you as he locked his eyes on yours. You could feel the weight of his stare, the depth of it, and it sent a flicker of something through you—surprise, confusion, maybe even fear.

You blinked rapidly, trying to avoid his gaze, but his touch lingered, a slight pressure against your chin. You quickly averted your eyes, your cheeks flushing at the intensity of his attention.

"It is not allowed," you murmured softly, the words barely escaping your lips. "I am not allowed to look at the customer unless... unless told to."

Jing Yuan’s expression softened, but his curiosity remained, his gaze never leaving you as you stood before him, silent and restrained. His fingers remained on your chin, though no longer pressing, just gently resting there. He tilted his head slightly, considering your words. He couldn't help but be intrigued by the contradiction you presented: the woman who captivated an entire room with her dance now so reserved, so obedient.

"You are allowed to look at me," he said, his voice almost playful, though the undertone of command was still present. "But for now, I will permit your discretion."

There was a quiet pause between you both, as you silently struggled with the unspoken tension that now swirled in the room. Jing Yuan leaned back, his large frame sinking into the chair as he relaxed, his eyes never leaving you. "Come, sit with me," he said, motioning to the empty seat beside him. "Let us share a drink."

His invitation hung in the air like a challenge, but it was delivered with a calm, measured tone. You hesitated for a moment, still unsure of how to act, still feeling the pressure of his gaze as he observed you carefully. Finally, you took a cautious step forward, your body moving with the grace of a fox, and sat at his side, careful not to brush too close against him.

The room was filled with the scent of incense and flowers, but the closeness between the two of you heightened the atmosphere, thickening the air. Jing Yuan poured two glasses of wine, his movements slow, deliberate. He handed one to you, his fingers brushing against yours, and for a brief moment, the touch felt more intimate than it should have.

"You have a beautiful presence," he said quietly, taking a sip of his own drink. "But I can see there is more to you than what you show. Tell me, what is it you desire, in a place like this?"

You remained silent, unsure of how to respond, but Jing Yuan didn’t rush you. His gaze held a quiet intensity, as if waiting for you to let down the walls you’d so carefully constructed around yourself. The tension between you both lingered, a palpable force, as your bodies sat close together yet distanced by invisible barriers. Your heartbeat faster, your breath shallow. This was new territory for both of you. And for Jing Yuan, it felt like the beginning of something far deeper than either of you had expected.

You shifted in your seat, thighs brushing together under the soft silk of your gown, the sensation sending a faint shiver through you. The air between you and Jing Yuan was thick, charged with an intensity you could neither name nor escape. His gaze was locked on you, and every question he asked felt like it was unravelling pieces of you.

"Why here?" he murmured, his voice smooth, like the finest silk. "A place like this—it doesn’t seem to match your spirit."

His words hung in the air, and you found yourself twisting the fabric of your gown again, seeking some kind of anchor. "It’s... complicated," you whispered, your eyes darting away from his. But the way he leaned closer—close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him—made it impossible to hide.

"Complicated," he echoed, his tone laced with curiosity, as though he wanted to peel back every layer of meaning behind your answer.

You glanced up at him, and your breath caught in your throat. His amber eyes glimmered in the dim light, soft but piercing, holding you captive in their gaze. And then, he leaned in further, the space between you shrinking until you could feel his presence, overwhelming and intoxicating.

The scent of him—clean and faintly spiced—mixed with the sweetness of the wine he sipped moments before. The aroma seemed to curl around you, tangling with your thoughts. His lips were so close now, and you couldn’t stop your gaze from flicking down to them.

"May I?" he asked, his voice a hushed murmur, and his eyes searched yours, waiting. It wasn’t a command, as you’d expect from a man like him, but a request, gentle yet brimming with restrained desire.

Your throat tightened, and you nodded slowly, words escaping you.

His hand came up, fingers grazing your cheek before curling under your chin, tilting your face toward his. The touch was warm, firm yet tender, sending sparks skittering along your skin. Slowly, achingly, he closed the distance.

When his lips met yours, the world fell away.

The kiss was soft at first, a gentle brush of lips, testing, coaxing. But then, like a flame catching the wind, it deepened. His mouth moved against yours with a slow-burning passion, drawing you in, leaving no room for hesitation. You felt the firm press of his lips, the intoxicating heat of him, and your heart thundered in your chest.

His hand slid from your chin to cradle your jaw, his thumb stroking the edge of your cheekbone. It was such a careful gesture, but the kiss was anything but. His tongue swept against the seam of your lips, seeking entrance, and you yielded, parting your lips for him.

When his tongue slid against yours, a low hum of pleasure escaped you, your hands clutching at the silken folds of your gown as if it could keep you grounded. He tasted of wine, rich and heady, and the faintest hint of something sweeter, something entirely him.

His other hand moved to your waist, fingers splaying across the delicate fabric that barely covered you. The pressure was light, a silent promise of what could come, and yet it was enough to make your pulse race, your body alight with sensations you couldn’t control.

You couldn’t help but respond, your hands tentatively brushing against his chest, feeling the solid strength beneath his robes. His lips moved with a practiced confidence, but there was something raw in the way he kissed you, like he was holding back a storm, giving you only a glimpse of the tempest that raged beneath.

When he finally pulled back, his lips hovered just a breath away, his forehead resting lightly against yours. Both of you were breathing heavily, your chest rising and falling in rhythm with his.

"You’re... mesmerizing," he murmured, his voice rough and low, as though the words had been dragged from somewhere deep within him.

You opened your eyes, and his gaze bore into yours, intense and unyielding. His thumb brushed against your swollen lips, and you could see the faint flush dusting his cheeks, a rare crack in his usual composure.

"I’ve wanted to do that," he admitted, his voice softer now, "since the moment I saw you."

Your heart raced, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, the weight of his confession crashing over you like a wave. His touch lingered, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate patterns against your skin, and you knew—this was only the beginning.

Jing Yuan’s hands were impossibly large, their warmth seeping through the sheer silk draped over your body as they slid down, slow and deliberate. His touch felt like a whispered promise, each fingertip tracing a path that left fire in its wake. You couldn’t help but shiver when his palms grazed the curve of your hips, his fingers splaying possessively over them as he was now on his knees between your thighs.

The silk clung to your skin like dew, yielding under his touch as his hands lingered, pressing into the plush softness of your thighs. His movements were unhurried, deliberate, as though he wanted to savour every second, every inch of you that he claimed. His thumb stroked a languid circle against your skin, teasing the sensitive flesh just below the curve of your hip, and your breath hitched.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured, his voice a deep, velvety whisper that seemed to echo in the dim, scented air. His words held a teasing lilt, but his eyes were dark, heavy-lidded with something far deeper than amusement.

The room was quiet, save for the soft rustle of silk and the faint crackle of a distant candle. His hands moved lower, trailing down the sides of your thighs as if he were sculpting you from memory. He paused, his fingers flexing slightly, almost reverently, before sprawling over the fullness of your legs. The pressure was firm but not harsh, his touch grounding you even as it left you breathless.

Jing Yuan’s head tilted, his silver hair catching the dim light like threads of moonlight spun through shadow. He leaned closer, his breath ghosting over your skin, and his hands tightened their hold on you ever so slightly. The contrast of his strength and the tenderness in his touch made you feel both vulnerable and cherished, like a treasure he had no intention of letting slip away.

"You’re exquisite," he murmured, his voice soft yet weighted, as though the words carried a gravity only, he could understand. His thumbs traced upward, following the natural curve of your thighs, his hands mapping you with a deliberate slowness that felt like an exploration, a quiet devotion.

When his eyes flicked back to meet yours, his gaze was molten, heavy with desire yet tempered by something gentler, something that made your heart stutter in your chest. His hands stilled, settling like a question, a challenge, as if to ask how far you would let him go. And in that moment, you were weightless, caught in the intoxicating pull of him, the world beyond fading into nothingness.

Jing Yuan's fingers, warm and deliberate, slid down to the edge of your thigh highs, the lace soft under his touch. He let his fingertips dip beneath the delicate material, brushing against the bare skin beneath, sending shivers coursing through your body. The contrast of silk and skin was electrifying, his movements unhurried as though he had all the time in the world to explore.

Your breath hitched, and you gripped the silk of your gown, desperate for something to anchor yourself. The sensation of his hands so close, his strength tempered by the tender way he handled you, made your mind race. The General of the Luofu, a man revered for his authority and composure, was here, knelt before you, his hands on your thighs as though you were the centre of his universe.

His thumb traced lazy circles against your skin, the pressure both teasing and grounding. "You’re trembling again," he murmured, the teasing lilt of his voice sending a new wave of heat through you. His silver hair gleamed faintly in the soft, golden light, the contrast between his composed expression and the intimacy of his touch almost too much to bear.

Then, without warning, he leaned in, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your thigh. It was a feather-light kiss, soft yet searing, and it stole the breath from your lungs. The warmth of his mouth lingered, a silent claim that left your heart pounding.

Your mind spiralled, the weight of the moment crashing over you like a tidal wave. This was the General—the General—his broad shoulders and imposing presence now knelt before you in an image that burned itself into your memory. The sight of him, his head bent, his lips on your skin, was something you knew you’d never forget.

Your pulse quickened as his hand slid higher, his palm pressing into the softness of your thigh with a deliberate slowness that made your body hum with awareness. He tilted his head slightly, his golden eyes flicking upward to meet yours, his gaze heavy with something that made your heart stutter.

"You’re beautiful like this," he murmured, his voice low and rich, the words wrapping around you like silk. His fingers flexed against your skin, and you swallowed hard, feeling as though the world had narrowed to just the two of you. The scent of incense, the warmth of the dimly lit room, and the weight of his attention made it impossible to think of anything else.

Your breath hitched as his lips lingered against your skin, so close yet unbearably distant. A soft whimper escaped you, unbidden, the sound trembling on your lips. "General..." The word was barely a whisper, carried more by instinct than thought, but it was enough.

Jing Yuan’s golden eyes gleamed at the sound, a primal intensity overtaking his usual calm. That composed facade he wore so effortlessly cracked, revealing something raw and untamed beneath. His lips curved into a slow, almost predatory smile, and you felt the heat of his gaze burn against your skin.

He leaned closer, his broad shoulders dipping as his face moved towards your clothed pussy, the faintest warmth of his breath ghosting over the flimsy material of it. The sensation was maddening, a tantalising promise that made your thighs tense under his hold.

Your ears twitched uncontrollably, betraying your spiralling emotions. You tried to steady them, but they betrayed you with every sharp intake of breath. Your tail curled and flicked at the edges of the plush cushions beneath you, the movement erratic, mirroring the storm building in your chest.

Jing Yuan noticed everything—of course, he did. His gaze flicked to your twitching ears, and the corner of his mouth quirked, a dark satisfaction dancing in his eyes. His hands remained steady, sprawling over the plush of your thighs, fingers pressing just enough to ground you while still making your skin tingle.

"You’re so responsive," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the air. "It’s captivating."

The warmth of his breath fanned over the delicate fabric again, sending a shiver racing up your spine. He paused, his lips so close yet maddeningly still, his eyes watching every tremble, every twitch, every unsteady exhale. You felt utterly laid bare beneath his gaze, a mixture of vulnerability and desire tangling in a way that left you breathless.

"Tell me,” he said softly, the words a mere whisper against the heat of your skin. "Do you always react this beautifully... or is it just for me?"

Your entire body felt as though it had been set alight, the heat rushing from your cheeks to the very tips of your ears as Jing Yuan's lips hovered ever so teasingly over your cunt. The blush that painted your skin deepened, spreading like wildfire, your hands clutching the silken material beneath you in an effort to steady yourself.

And then, his lips pressed softly against your pussy—through the delicate fabric that barely served as a barrier. The kiss was unhurried yet deliberate, and the sensation made you gasp, your heart leaping into your throat. Your thighs quivered slightly beneath his strong, steady grip as your body betrayed the flood of emotions overtaking you.

Jing Yuan closed his eyes, the scent of you filling his senses as though nothing else in the world existed. Sweet and heady, with a potency that made his mind spiral, it was unlike anything he had imagined—and oh, had he imagined. His fingers curled slightly against your skin as if grounding himself from the overwhelming allure.

The sweetness of it mingled with something darker, more intoxicating, and utterly unique to you. It was pungent but not overpowering—an earthy, sensual fragrance that clung to the air around you and pulled him deeper into the haze you created.

His breaths grew heavier, his mind clouding as the scent wrapped around him like an invisible tether, binding him to you in a way that felt both maddening and necessary.

"Addictive," he murmured, his voice low and rough, the single word almost swallowed by the quiet intimacy of the room. His lips brushed against you once more, this time lingering a second longer, his tongue darting out briefly to taste the fabric.

A groan rumbled deep in his chest, and his grip on your thighs tightened ever so slightly, his composure slipping as he inhaled deeply again, utterly consumed by the fragrance of you. His golden eyes, now darkened with something primal and insatiable, flickered up to meet yours—a blush still staining your cheeks, your wide-eyed gaze unsure and yet filled with undeniable need.

Jing Yuan's tongue pressed firmly yet gently against the thin fabric, a deliberate movement that sent shockwaves coursing through your body. The sensation was unlike anything you had ever felt, the warmth and softness of his mouth combining with the teasing pressure to ignite every nerve in your skin. Your toes curled instinctively, the sheer intensity of the moment leaving you breathless, as though the air itself had thickened.

His large hands, splayed across your trembling thighs, gripped you tighter, his fingers pressing into your soft flesh in a way that left you aching for more. The contrast of his strength against your vulnerability only heightened the whirlwind of sensations overtaking you. He groaned softly, a deep, resonant sound that seemed to vibrate through you, as if he too was succumbing to the weight of his desires.

Jing Yuan’s gaze lifted, drinking in every detail of you. The flush that coloured your cheeks, spreading down your neck and disappearing beneath the thin fabric of your gown. The way strands of your hair had fallen loose, framing your face like a delicate painting. The rise and fall of your chest as your breath quickened, each exhale shaky and unsteady.

He felt an unrelenting need to unravel you, to witness you laid bare, in every sense of the word. His hands moved slightly, his thumbs brushing slow circles against your skin, grounding you and driving you to the edge all at once.

His tongue pressed against the fabric again, this time with more insistence, and his lips followed with a lingering kiss. The heat of his breath seeped through, and it felt as though he was marking you with each touch, his presence imprinted on your very soul.

“Do you feel it?” he asked softly, his golden eyes locking onto yours as his hands squeezed your thighs again. “The way I want to devour you—piece by piece—until there’s nothing left of this composure we’re pretending to hold on to?”

Jing Yuan's grip on your thigh loosened as he let his hand slip away, only to settle firmly on your shoulder. The weight of his touch grounded you, but the intensity in his golden gaze sent your mind spiralling into chaos. His other hand moved with a deliberate slowness, two fingers brushing against the fabric that separated him from you, as though he were savouring the act of uncovering you.

He pushed the fabric aside, exposing your glistening skin beneath. The air felt cool against the heat of your pussy, and the juxtaposition made you shiver. Your scent—intoxicating, sweet, and unmistakably you—filled the space between you, strong and pungent in a way that made his breath hitch. His eyes could not leave the sight of your cunt, your clit throbbing, clear liquid oozing from between your glistening folds as he glances at your face, lips swollen and eyes teary – a sight that made his cock leak.

His eyes darkened, a glimmer of something primal flickering in their depths as he took you in. You were fluttering, every part of you trembling in anticipation, and it made his lips curl into a faint, knowing smile.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low and reverent, yet laced with raw hunger.

His hand tightened slightly on thigh, grounding you further, while his gaze remained fixed on you as though you were the most captivating sight he had ever encountered. The vulnerability in the moment only seemed to embolden him, and the way his breath fanned against your exposed skin made your thighs tremble under his hold.

Jing Yuan's tongue pressed against your clit, lapping up the sweetness that spilled from you with a deliberate, unrelenting pace. The warmth of his mouth against such a sensitive part of you was overwhelming, sending jolts of pleasure rippling through your body. His eyes, golden and intense, never strayed from your face, watching every twitch of your expression, every blush that spread across your cheeks, and every soft whimper that escaped your lips.

A low hum of approval resonated from him, vibrating against your core as he worked, his large hands gripping your thighs firmly to hold you in place. Each stroke of his tongue was purposeful, slow at first, then more insistent, as though he were a man on the brink of starvation, and you were the feast he'd been denied for far too long.

Your fingers clawed at the leather couch beneath you, the cool material a stark contrast to the heat building inside you. Your hips bucked slightly against his face, but his strong grip kept you steady, his mouth never faltering.

"General..." you whimpered softly, the word barely audibles through the haze of sensation.

At that, his eyes gleamed with a feral satisfaction, something primal and wild flickering within them. He groaned softly, the sound muffled as he devoured you, his tongue exploring every inch with unyielding hunger. The sight of him—so composed, so regal—reduced to this raw, unrestrained desire sent your mind spinning, leaving you trembling under his touch.

Jing Yuan's tongue dragged deliberately against your slick folds, his pace torturous yet intoxicating. Without a word, two of his thick fingers slid down, pressing against your entrance before sinking into you without warning. The stretch was immediate, a mix of pleasure and intensity that tore a loud whimper from your lips. Your body arched into his touch, thighs trembling uncontrollably as your breath hitched.

"General... General..." The title fell from your lips in a broken chant, each syllable a prayer as your mind spiralled. Nothing else existed beyond the overwhelming sensations he wrought upon your body—his tongue flicking expertly up and down your slick heat, his lips closing around the sensitive bud that made your vision blur.

His fingers curled inside you, finding that spot that made your entire body jolt. He pressed into it mercilessly, dragging a sob from your throat as your thighs quaked against his face. His other hand gripped your thigh tightly, holding you still as he worked with relentless precision.

The wet, obscene sounds of his tongue and fingers filled the air, mingling with your soft cries and whimpers. Your world narrowed to the molten heat pooling low in your belly, each flick of his tongue and curl of his fingers sending you closer to the edge.

He sucked on the swollen bundle of nerves, his tongue circling with maddening skill. You sobbed his name again, your thighs trembling, your body barely able to keep up with the intensity of his actions. Through the haze, you felt the curve of his lips against you—a smirk, as though he took pride in unravelling you completely.

Your vision blurred, tears threatening to spill as a tight knot in your stomach coiled and twisted unbearably. Each thrust of Jing Yuan's fingers pressed against that devastating spot inside you, sending shockwaves through your trembling frame. Your eyes rolled back, a broken cry escaping your lips as the tension snapped, pleasure washing over you like a tidal wave.

Your entire body quivered, your thighs shaking uncontrollably as the release tore through you, leaving you gasping and breathless. But Jing Yuan didn't stop. His fingers maintained their relentless rhythm, coaxing you through the aftershocks, prolonging every moment of your bliss.

You felt his warm tongue, soft yet firm, trailing along your folds as he licked up every drop of your release. His eyes, golden and piercing, never left your face. He seemed captivated by the way your lips parted, the flush painting your cheeks, the glazed look in your eyes.

"You're beautiful," he murmured softly, his voice thick with reverence and desire, the words vibrating against your sensitive skin as he placed a soft kiss against your fluttering clit. His gaze was heavy with pride and satisfaction, as though committing the sight of you undone to memory. He slowly moves up your body, Jing Yuan’s lips traced a delicate path up your neck, each soft kiss like a whispered secret against your skin. The air between you thickened with warmth, every subtle movement drawing you deeper into the moment. He paused just below your ear, his breath mingling with yours, before he reached out for the bottle of alcohol and took a slow, deliberate swig of the sweet alcohol. He placed the bottle down and he finally met your gaze, something unspoken passed between you.

With a gentle but firm pull, he lifted you, as if in a trance, and brought your lips to his. The kiss was tender at first, like a soft brush of silk, but then it deepened, becoming something slower, more languid. The sweet taste of the alcohol seeped into your mouth, dribbling out of the corner of your lip as you moaned when his tongue brushed against yours, the alcohol, sweet and intoxicating with the taste of your essences mingled between your tongues, each shared taste adding to the heat building between you. He tasted you and you tasted him, the kiss a slow, sensual exchange, each second stretching out as if the world outside ceased to exist.

You could feel the warmth of the alcohol in your veins, but it was nothing compared to the warmth that spread through your chest as his hands held you close, pulling you deeper into him. The kiss deepened, became more desperate, yet still slow—each movement deliberate, a beautiful rhythm of lips and tongue, a dance that belonged only to the two of you. Time seemed to stretch, the room fading away as you lost yourself in the sweetness of the moment, the alcohol, and the slow burn of his kiss.

Jing Yuan’s lips lingered against yours for a moment longer, his breath warm on your skin, before he slowly pulled away. His tongue tracing the bit of alcohol that dribbled out of your mouth, gaze intense and molten. The world seemed to pause for a heartbeat, leaving you suspended in the air between his touch and his gaze. Your heart pounded in your chest as you waited, uncertain of what he might do next, but instead of drawing you back into his embrace, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, the gentle gesture so tender it made your breath catch in your throat.

He pulled away just enough to meet your eyes, and in that moment, there was a strange, knowing calm about him. “Thank you for the... meal,” he said, his voice low, smooth, and unhurried, as though savouring the taste of the drink, you and the moment.

His words hung in the air, unexpected and enigmatic. The meal? You blinked, a flush creeping up your neck, your heart fluttering in confusion. Was that truly all he wanted from you? Was it just a fleeting moment, a passing indulgence?

Your gaze dropped to his chest, your eyes tracing the contours of his form—strong, unwavering. His shirt clung to him in a way that made you acutely aware of the man standing before you. And then, your gaze caught something—he was...

Your breath caught, and your eyes snapped back up to his, meeting his with a quiet intensity that made your pulse quicken. But he only smiled softly, almost like he understood the storm brewing within you, before gently reaching up to pat your head, a small, affectionate gesture that sent a wave of heat rushing to your cheeks.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his fingers brushing against your hair, making your fox ears twitch involuntarily. The touch was so casual, yet somehow it deepened the flush that spread across your face, your heart racing at the intimacy of the moment. It was a small, almost teasing action, but it made you feel as though you were suddenly laid bare in front of him.

His smile softened, his eyes warm yet impossibly distant, as though he were saying goodbye without words. “I enjoyed your company,” he said, the weight of his words settling between you like an unspoken promise that felt both comforting and impossible to decipher. “I will be anticipating another dance soon, until than darling.” His voice smooth as honey, your face turning crimson at the word ‘darling’.

His gaze lingered on you for a beat longer, filled with a complexity you couldn't understand, before he turned and left the private area. The soft sound of his footsteps faded, but his presence remained, lingering in the air, as if he had never really left at all.

You stood there, the room suddenly feeling too large, too empty. ‘Did I do something wrong?’ The question echoed in your mind, drowning out the quiet hum of the space. He had seemed so... needy, as though there was something more. And yet, now he was gone, leaving you with nothing but his words and the warmth of his touch.

Why didn’t he want more? You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was left unfinished, the desire you felt mirrored in the air between you. Why had he stopped? Why hadn't he sought what you had both seemed to crave? It was as if your body had been aching for something deeper, and yet he had held back.

As the silence grew heavier, your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening. The owner stepped inside; her voice sweet like honey but with an edge that sent a chill down your spine.

“You’re done for the night,” she said, her smile thin but knowing. “You can go home now.” Confusion clouded your thoughts. “But... I thought you only let me go after twelve?”

The owner’s smile grew, as though your question amused her. “I won’t be needing you until I call for you,” she replied, her tone light but filled with something more. A finality? You weren’t sure. The words left you unsettled, uncertain of what she truly meant.

She reached into her pocket and handed you something—a silky pouch. The weight of it felt strange in your hand. “Here’s your pay from the General,” she said, her voice dripping with a sort of satisfaction that you couldn't place. “You sure did make him happy.”

Your mind whirled. Made him happy? The words bounced in your skull, unanswered questions stirring within you like a storm. What had just happened? What had you been to him? The idea of him leaving with only that—just that—felt like a question mark lingering in the air. He had seemed so close, so wanting, and yet he left.

The thought of the lingering kiss, the sweet warmth of the alcohol shared between you both, made your chest ache. He had left with a soft smile, but you couldn't shake the sense of something unfinished, something unspoken. Had you misread the moment? As you looked down at the silky pouch, the weight of it felt more symbolic than ever. The pay was there, yes, but the ache, the unanswered longing in your chest—it was something deeper, something that the money couldn't soothe.

The owner’s grin widened as she stepped back, her eyes gleaming with that same knowing look. You were left with the pouch, your heart full of questions, but no answers.

Jing Yuan hadn’t been himself lately, and he knew it. No matter how many duties he fulfilled or how much paperwork he completed or the many sneaky naps he took, his thoughts consistently drifted back to you. He couldn’t erase the memory of your skin beneath his hands—soft and warm, the kind of touch that lingered even after parting. Nor could he forget the taste of you, intoxicating and sweet, or the way your body moved with such elegance and allure during your dances.

It had been nearly a month since Jing Yuan began seeking you out, yet with each encounter, his fascination deepened into an obsession. He couldn’t get enough of you—the way you moved, the sound of your voice, the way your presence filled the room and consumed his thoughts. After every performance, he would reward you in ways that left you trembling, his mouth devoutly working between your thighs, tongue lapping at every drop of your arousal as his fingers thrust deeply into your slick heat. Yet, he never allowed you to touch him, never let you return the favour. His pleasure came solely from your moans, the way your body responded to his touch, and the sight of your unravelling beneath him. He would grind against his own restraint, rutting against his pants, hard and aching, but never crossing the line. He wanted to wait for the perfect moment, the right time to claim you fully—a moment that would be as unforgettable as you were to him.

It wasn’t just your beauty that consumed him, though it had ensnared him first. It was the quiet calmness you exuded, a soft-spoken grace that contrasted so deeply with the fire of your movements. The way your tail swayed behind you, how your ears twitched in subtle reaction to the world around you—it was as if you were always caught between serenity and mischief. The thought of you was a constant hum in his mind, an ache he could not shake.

He found himself wandering the streets of the city more often now – much to Fu xuan dismissal, hoping to find distractions from you. Yet even his usual escapes held no relief. And today was no exception.

As he strolled through Aurum Alley, the faint clinking of porcelain caught his ear, drawing his attention to a small tea shop tucked into the corner. He stepped inside, the familiar scents of herbs and dried flowers wafting over him, soothing but unremarkable—until his eyes fell on you.

You were standing near the back, your head tilted slightly as you admired the display of teacups arranged on a low wooden shelf. The dim lantern light cast a golden glow over you, highlighting the soft fur of your ears and the elegant sweep of your tail swaying absently behind you. You were dressed in a delicate white dress, its

fabric light and airy, brushing against your knees with every movement. The dress was adorned with tiny floral embroidery, dainty and unassuming, much like the way you carried yourself.

Jing Yuan’s breath hitched. He hadn’t expected to see you here, not outside the confines of your world of silk and candlelight. Here, you looked softer, more natural, yet no less captivating. It was a sight that made his chest tighten, as if the universe had conspired to remind him that you were always just out of reach.

You seemed unaware of his presence, your attention wholly captured by a teacup you held delicately in your hands. It was a beautiful piece, adorned with intricate floral designs, vines curling around painted blossoms, the base glimmering faintly with gold. You turned it slowly in your fingers, your tail swishing with a faint, almost wistful rhythm.

The sight of you, so enraptured by something so simple, made his heart clench. And when you set the cup back down with a small, defeated sigh, it took all of his willpower not to close the distance between you immediately.

Instead, he lingered, watching as you hesitated, your fingers brushing against the rim of the cup one last time before you turned away. Jing Yuan didn’t need to guess why you’d left it behind—the soft downturn of your lips told him everything.

He stepped forward then, his presence a shadow that fell over you before his voice, low and smooth, broke the silence.

“Admiring something, are we?”

You startled, your ears twitching at the sound. Turning to face him, your eyes widened briefly before you quickly averted your gaze. “Oh, General,” you murmured, your hands clasping nervously in front of you. “I didn’t see you there.”

He allowed himself a small smile, though his golden eyes remained fixed on you. “It’s a charming shop, isn’t it? Something here seems to have caught your attention.”

You hesitated, glancing toward the shelf where the teacup sat. “It’s nothing,” you said softly, your voice tinged with embarrassment. “Just a pretty cup. I was… just admiring it.”

“Just admiring it?” Jing Yuan repeated, stepping closer, the faint scent of his cologne filling the space between you. “And yet, you look as though you’ve left a piece of your heart behind with it.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you shook your head. “It’s beautiful, but it’s not something I can…” You trailed off, gesturing vaguely, unwilling to say the words aloud.

Jing Yuan’s eyes flickered with something unreadable—part amusement, part something darker. “A beauty such as that shouldn’t be left behind,” he said, his voice dropping lower, softer, as though he were speaking to himself as much as to you. “Nor should one such as you.”

Before you could respond, he moved, his hand reaching out to lift the teacup from the shelf. With a smooth motion, he turned toward the shopkeeper, the transaction over before you could protest.

“General—”

“Consider it a gift,” he interrupted, his tone firm but kind as he handed the cup to you. His fingers brushed yours as you took it, the brief contact sending a jolt through you.

“Thank you,” you whispered, clutching the cup to your chest. Your tail swished nervously behind you; your ears flattened slightly as you avoided his gaze.

Jing Yuan watched you with a quiet intensity, his smile never faltering. Yet, beneath his calm exterior, his mind raced. Seeing you here, holding something he’d given you, made something primal stir within him. You were no longer just a fleeting obsession, no longer a memory confined to dimly lit nights. You were here, real and tangible, and he wasn’t sure he could ever let you go.

Jing Yuan couldn’t help himself. The moment you stepped outside the tea shop, clutching the intricately designed cup he had bought for you, he was already glancing back at the shelves. He ended up purchasing an assortment of things—fine tea leaves, a brewing set that complemented your cup, and even a small silk pouch embroidered with a motif. It wasn’t about the items themselves; it was the thought of you using them, of you remembering this moment, that drove his actions.

He exited the shop with a bag in hand, catching up to you with ease. The sun cast a warm glow on the cobblestone streets, and your figure seemed to glow in the light. Your white dress fluttered softly with each step, and your tail swayed gently behind you, a detail he couldn’t help but admire.

“You didn’t have to get more,” you said softly, glancing at the bag he carried.

He chuckled, his deep voice warm. “It’s no trouble at all. Tea is best enjoyed with care, wouldn’t you agree? Besides, you deserve nothing but the finest.”

Your cheeks turned the faintest shade of pink, and you glanced away, your ears twitching. “Thank you… General.”

“Jing Yuan,” he corrected smoothly, his golden eyes gleaming. “When it’s just us, there’s no need for formalities.”

You hesitated but nodded. “Thank you, Jing Yuan.”

As you walked together, he took the opportunity to get to know you better. It started with small questions—your favourite teas, if you frequented the shop often—but soon, the conversation deepened. He found out that you were passionate about dance, your eyes lighting up as you spoke about it, despite the soft-spoken nature of your words.

“It’s always been something I loved,” you admitted, your fingers brushing the edge of the teacup you still held. “But… the work I do now, it’s not exactly what I envisioned.”

“Oh?” he prompted, his gaze sharp but gentle, encouraging you to continue.

You hesitated, glancing at him briefly before looking back at the path ahead. “The dancing I do now… it’s to pay off my father’s debts. It’s… different from the dancing I dreamed of as a child.”

Jing Yuan’s jaw tightened, though his expression remained calm. The thought of you, someone so poised and graceful, burdened by another’s mistakes, ignited a protective streak within him. He didn’t press further, sensing you weren’t ready to elaborate, but the knowledge lingered in his mind like a seed waiting to take root.

When the time came for you to part ways, you stopped at a small intersection, turning to face him. Your hands clutched the teacup tightly, your expression shy but sincere. “Thank you again, Jing Yuan. For everything.”

His smile softened, and for a moment, his golden gaze held yours with an intensity that made your heart race. “I’ll see you later,” he said, his tone leaving no room for doubt. You blinked, your cheeks heating up as you realised what he meant. You gave him a small, flustered nod before quickly excusing yourself, your tail swishing nervously as you hurried away.

Jing Yuan watched you go, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips. He would see you later, of course, but not just as part of a crowd. No, when you danced tonight, it would be for him, and he would make sure you knew it.

The brothel exuded an even more sinful opulence. Red and gold fabrics draped like cascading rivers of silk from the high, arching ceilings. The air was thick with the intoxicating scent of sandalwood incense, mingling with the faint sweetness of lotus blossoms arranged in ornate porcelain vases. The walls were adorned with intricate scrolls of calligraphy, their elegant strokes illuminated by the flickering glow of countless candles. Every corner seemed steeped in temptation, every detail carefully crafted to blur the lines between reality and indulgence.

Jing Yuan sat alone in a private room; a sanctuary veiled by velvet curtains. The plush cushions beneath him did little to ease the tension coiled in his body. A lacquered tray before him held untouched tea and delicate fruit, but his golden gaze never wavered from the stage below. The brothel’s ambiance—a sultry blend of murmurs, soft music, and rustling silks—faded to nothing as you stepped into the spotlight.

Your presence commanded every eye in the room, but his was the only gaze you truly felt. You were a vision of raw, untamed allure. The outfit you wore left little to the imagination, sheer fabrics clinging to your every curve, your skin gleaming with a faint sheen of sweat under the dim, golden light. Crimson painted your lips, a bold invitation, while the smoky shadow around your eyes framed them like a weapon. Your tail swayed with each step, teasing, enticing, an extension of the sensual rhythm that seemed to pulse from your very being.

The music began, slow and sultry, and you moved with a deliberate grace, every step a calculated seduction. Your hips swayed in time with the haunting melody, and the way your hands glided over your body had the audience mesmerized. To him, however, it was something more—a torment, a fire that spread through his veins and pooled low in his stomach.

Jing Yuan’s usually serene expression was gone, replaced by a raw intensity that darkened his golden eyes. He leaned forward, his broad shoulders filling the dimly lit alcove as his focus narrowed solely on you. His fingers tightened on the armrest, his chest rising and falling in steady, heavy breaths. The soft sheen of sweat glistening on your skin, the subtle arch of your back, the sway of your hips—it was more than he could bear, yet he couldn’t look away.

The room disappeared for him; the murmured conversations, the soft laughter, the flickering candles—all of it was drowned out by you. Every slow, sensual turn, every flick of your tail, every teasing brush of your fingers across your skin seemed crafted solely for him.

When your eyes lifted and met his, just for a moment, the tension snapped taut. That fleeting connection sent a visceral thrill through him, a silent challenge in the way you quickly looked away. His lips parted as though to speak, but no words came. The denial—the way you teased and withheld even your gaze—was maddening.

You spun again, your bold crimson lips parting as though whispering secrets to the air, your hands brushing over the curve of your waist. The sheer fabric clinging to your body teased him mercilessly, every contour revealed in the flickering candlelight. His golden gaze roamed over you hungrily, his breaths deep and deliberate as if trying to anchor himself against the storm of desire you had unleashed.

The sweat glistening on your thighs, the way your hair clung to your neck, the confident arch of your body—it was intoxicating. Jing Yuan could feel the heat rising

within him, his control slipping with every second. You were temptation incarnate, and he was utterly, completely ensnared.

Jing Yuan's hand moved to rest against his thigh, but the tension in his body betrayed the calm demeanour he fought to maintain. His fingers flexed, slowly drifting, palm pressing lightly against the growing ache beneath the rich fabric of his robes. The weight of his breath was deliberate, measured, but his chest rose and fell with an intensity that mirrored the fire coursing through him.

His gaze remained locked on you, unwavering, devouring. The way you moved-every sway of your hips, every arch of your back, every tantalizing flick of your tail-was an exquisite torment.

You were more than a dancer; you were an artist, painting desire across the room with your body as the brush and the music as your canvas. The strain in his muscles was palpable, his golden eyes darkening with an unspoken hunger. Yet even amidst his rising heat, there was admiration- appreciation for the elegance and mastery of your movements. The way your body told a story, the way your presence commanded the room, it was more than alluring; it was transcendent.

But the intensity of his desire could not be denied. The hardness beneath his robes grew, a throbbing reminder of the effect you had on him. His jaw tightened as his fingers pressed harder, a fleeting attempt at control. Every step you took, every glance you spared his way, only served to unravel the restraint he so desperately clung to. Jing Yuan's breath hitched, his usually steady composure unravelling. The beauty of your art left him enraptured, the sensuality of your dance leaving his mind clouded, his body heavy with need. You were a siren, and he was helpless against your call, a prisoner to the exquisite torment you inflicted upon him.

As your performance came to its crescendo, the room seemed to hold its breath. The music faded into the background, muffled by the pulse pounding in Jing Yuan’s ears. His hand twitched against his thigh, his entire body taut with unrestrained tension as you stepped down from the platform. Each movement you made was deliberate, a purposeful seduction that left his chest heaving, his golden eyes drinking in every detail of you.

And finally, you were upstairs in the room with him.

The space between you closed, and Jing Yuan felt his pulse quicken, a rare break in his usual calm demeanour. His fingers clenched briefly before releasing, as if bracing himself for the storm that was you. You stopped just shy of his seat, your eyes meeting his, bold and teasing, yet softened by something unreadable. The flick of your tail and the slight quirk of your lips only stoked the fire inside him further.

He didn’t wait.

Rising from his seat in one fluid motion, Jing Yuan closed the distance between you in a heartbeat. His large hands found your waist, pulling you to him with a fervour that left no room for hesitation. The moment his lips met yours, it was as though the world fell away. The kiss was urgent, demanding, and possessive. It wasn’t soft or tentative—it was fire and hunger, consuming and overwhelming.

His lips pressed against yours like a man starved, tasting, exploring, memorizing every inch of you. One hand cupped the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair, while the other splayed firmly across your lower back, pulling you impossibly closer. He tilted his head to deepen the kiss, his tongue sweeping across your lower lip before slipping inside to claim more of you.

The taste of you was intoxicating, a heady mix that made his restraint crumble. Every small sound you made—a whimper, a sigh—drove him further into madness. The way your soft hands gripped his robes, clutching at him like he was your anchor, only fuelled his need to devour you whole.

Jing Yuan’s mind raced; his thoughts consumed by you. The way you moved, the way you felt pressed against him, the way you yielded under his touch—it was all too much and yet not enough. His hold tightened, his fingers pressing into your skin, as if trying to etch the memory of this moment into his soul.

He wanted more.

No, he wanted everything.

The desire coursing through him wasn’t just lust—it was something far deeper, more consuming. He wanted to know every part of you, to uncover the layers of your soul as thoroughly as he wanted to explore your body. The thought of you with anyone else sent a possessive heat surging through him, and the idea of keeping you close, of having you as his, was a temptation too powerful to ignore.

He broke the kiss only when breathing became a necessity, his forehead resting against yours as he tried to steady himself. His breaths were ragged, his chest heaving, but his hands never left you, as though afraid you might vanish if he let go.

“You’re driving me mad,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, barely above a whisper. His golden eyes bore into yours, intense and filled with something that bordered on obsession. “Do you know what you do to me? How every moment I spend away from you feels like an eternity?”

You didn’t respond—not with words. Instead, your lips found his again, softer this time but no less heated, as though silently answering his unspoken question.

Jing Yuan’s grip softened, his thumb brushing along your jawline with a tenderness that contrasted the fervent need in his kiss. He pulled back just enough to study your face, his gaze tracing every feature as though committing it to memory.

“You have no idea what you mean to me,” he said, his voice quieter now but still laced with that same raw intensity. “But I’ll show you. One day, I’ll show you.”

The promise lingered in the air, heavy and unspoken, as he held you close, the room around you fading into nothingness. For now, in this moment, you were his entire world.

Jing Yuan's gaze darkened as his hands slipped to the hem of your lingerie top, his breath heavy, his movements deliberate. With a fluid motion, he pushed the delicate fabric up and off, revealing the soft curve of your breasts. His eyes lingered, golden and molten, as though the sight of you alone was enough to undo him completely.

"You're beautiful," he murmured, voice thick with reverence and desire.

Before you could reply, his lips descended, capturing one pert nipple between them, his tongue swirling feverishly. He suckled with an intensity that left no doubt of his hunger, his large hand cupping your other breast, kneading, and teasing. Every soft moan and gasp that escaped your lips only seemed to spur him on, his groans vibrating against your skin as he lavished attention upon you.

His kisses trailed down, wet and open-mouthed, over the curve of your stomach, lingering at your navel before he retraced his path back up. His lips found yours again, searing and demanding, his hands never leaving your body, holding you as if you were a treasure he refused to let go.

Without a word, Jing Yuan sank down into his chair, his strong form commanding even in the act of sitting. His hands gripped your waist, lifting you effortlessly to place you astride his thick thigh.

The moment your clothed pussy settled against him; his sharp inhale betrayed just how much he could feel. The thin fabric separating your body from his was soaked with your arousal, a warm, damp heat that sent a pulse of need through him.

"You’re already so wet for me," he rumbled, his voice a deep, velvety growl. His hands gripped your hips firmly, guiding you to grind against his thigh. "Go on. Show me how much you want this."

The friction was delicious, the firmness of his thigh pressing against your most sensitive spot. Your hands clung to his broad shoulders for balance, your body moving instinctively to his rhythm.

Jing Yuan’s eyes never left you, his intense gaze locked on your face, drinking in every expression of pleasure. His lips quirked into a sinful smirk as he watched you lose yourself, your breath hitching, your movements growing more desperate.

"Good girl," he murmured, his words a heady mix of praise and possession. His fingers dug into your hips, guiding you faster, harder, his own breath growing heavier as he watched you unravel. "Let me see everything. Don’t hold back."

You trembled in his lap, your soft, perky nipples pebbled from the cool air and the intensity of his gaze. Jing Yuan’s large hands skimmed down your sides, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His golden eyes flicked lower, settling on the thin scrap of fabric that barely covered your most intimate place.

The sight made his breath hitch—a damp patch spreading across the delicate fabric, clinging to the shape of your pussy lips, leaving absolutely nothing to his imagination. The thin barrier split against the firm muscle of his thigh, framing you in a way that sent his thoughts spiralling.

Jing Yuan's jaw tightened, his head tilting back for a moment as he groaned low and deep. The image of your leaking cunt pulled taut around his thick cock flashed unbidden in his mind, the mere thought causing his grip on your plush hips to tighten.

"Not yet," he muttered under his breath, his voice rough, his restraint hanging by a thread. His arousal throbbed painfully beneath his robes, but he refused to let the tension break—refused to give in until he had you entirely, in the only way he could truly claim you.

His hands flexed against your flesh, fingers sinking into the soft curves as he guided you to move against his thigh again. His golden eyes burned with raw want, but there was something deeper there—something possessive, primal, and utterly consuming.

"You’ll have me, but not like this," he rasped, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his breath warm and heavy. "The only way I’ll give you my seed is when I’m inside you. Completely. Do you understand?"

The words sent a shiver through you, your body trembling even more as his intent settled over you like a tangible weight. You nodded, unable to form words, lost in the way his hands and his voice claimed every part of you.

Tears welled in your eyes as Jing Yuan’s strong hands gripped your hips, roughly guiding you against the firm muscle of his thigh. Each drag of your soaked core over the thick fabric sent shockwaves through your body, your clit throbbing with an ache so overwhelming it made your head spin. You clung to his broad shoulders, gasping for air, your cries a mix of pleasure and desperation.

Jing Yuan’s mouth found the delicate curve of your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin before he sucked hard, determined to leave a mark—a vivid bloom that declared you his. The sting only heightened the sensations coursing through you, and your moans spurred him on, his movements growing fiercer, more relentless.

“Good girl,” he murmured against your skin, his deep voice sending a tremor down your spine. His golden eyes, darkened with unrestrained hunger, never left your face, drinking in every reaction, every sound, every shudder of your body.

Your back arched, a broken cry spilling from your lips as the tension in your core snapped. Waves of pleasure crashed over you, your thighs trembling uncontrollably as your release soaked through the flimsy fabric barely clinging on you. Jing Yuan’s large hand splayed across your lower back, holding you steady, his grip firm yet comforting as he guided you through your climax.

You collapsed against his chest, your body spent and trembling. Your underwear, a soaking mess as Jing Yuan’s arms enveloped you, his large hands moving gently now, one rubbing soothing circles along your back.

“There we go,” he murmured, his voice low and tender, a stark contrast to the possessive fire that had consumed him moments before. “I’ve got you.”

His lips brushed against your temple, the touch grounding you as you nestled into his embrace, your breaths coming in shallow, uneven gasps.

Jing Yuan’s hand glided gently along the soft, velvety fur of your tail; his touch light yet deliberate. A small, breathless whine escaped your parted lips, your cheeks warming as you instinctively nuzzled into the solid warmth of his chest. His scent, calming yet intoxicating, filled your senses, easing the tension in your body while making your heart race.

“M-My tail... it’s sensitive, Jing Yuan,” you murmured, your voice barely audible, shy and muffled against him.

He paused, his golden eyes glinting with curiosity as a faint smirk curved his lips. “I see,” he replied simply, his tone smooth, holding an edge of playfulness. Instead of lingering, his hand shifted to rest on your back, his large palm moving in slow, soothing circles. Though his touch remained comforting, the knowing look in his gaze hinted that he had filed away this discovery for some other time.

All Jing Yuan wanted, with every fibre of his being, was to bury himself deep into the irresistible warmth of your slick, aching pussy, to lose himself entirely in the pleasure you could give him. But he could not—not yet. Not when he knew you deserved more than just raw passion. He wanted to show you his devotion; to prove he was a man worthy of claiming you fully.

His chest rose and fell with effort as he reined in the primal urges clawing at his restraint. The soft tremble of your body against his own pulled him back to the present, grounding him in the tender moment.

Jing Yuan’s large hand moved to thread gently through your hair, his fingers combing through the strands with a soothing rhythm. “You did so well,” he murmured, his voice low and comforting. His other hand continued to rub light circles on your back, coaxing you to relax as your breathing slowly evened out.

When he finally pulled back slightly, his golden eyes softened, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Would you like to go to dinner with me?” he asked, the question tender, yet filled with an underlying intensity that promised this was not a mere casual invitation.

The warmth of his gaze and the sincerity in his voice made your heart flutter. You blinked up at him, dazed and blushing, but managed a shy nod, your voice barely above a whisper as you replied, “I’d like that.”

His smile widened, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek. “Good,” he murmured, already envisioning how he would make the evening one you would never forget.

Author’s Note:

Part 2 ? Dinner turns into a full-on session of raw fucking cause reader got her heat ? :3

reblogs, likes, comments, and follows are highly appreciated <3

also check out my masterlist if u are interested in any of my other works <3

if you want u can check out my ko-fi <3

let me call you mine, just for tonight | 𝙚𝙢𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙤𝙧! 𝙟𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙮𝙪𝙖𝙣 𝙭 𝙖𝙨𝙨𝙖𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙣! 𝙛𝙚𝙢 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧. [𝙉𝙎𝙁𝙒 — 18 + | smut]

request by : @goddessofdestructionsposts

credits to them for the idea and qoutes, i really loved writing this, so i hope yall enjoy <3

summary : im which emperor jing yuan sets up a ball to catch you — his assassin disguised as a court physician—but ends up fucking you instead.

warnings : nsfw 18 + , rough sex, vaginal fingering, oral (fem receiving) , possessive jing yuan , squirting, spanking (like once), doggy style, dom! jing yuan , some angst.

word count: 7.8k words!

The imperial palace of Luofu was nothing short of breath taking that night. Chandeliers hung from the high ceilings like glittering jewels, casting a golden glow over the sprawling ballroom. Opulence dripped from every corner—the polished marble floors, the lavish silks draped along the walls, and the clinking of crystal goblets raised in toasts from nobles adorned in their finest attire. The music floated delicately through the air, a soft waltz that barely masked the tension simmering beneath the surface.

Emperor Jing Yuan had made sure everything was perfect.

You could feel it—this wasn’t just any ball. It was a stage, and you, the assassin sent to end the emperor's life, had walked right into the heart of it.

Disguised as his court physician, you had spent weeks moving through the imperial halls, observing him, waiting for the right moment. But every attempt to poison him, every plan meticulously laid out to rid your empire of its most dangerous foe, had failed. Not because of a mistake on your part, but because he knew. Jing Yuan always knew.

There were times when you would mix a deadly tonic into his tea, only to watch him drink it with a smile, golden eyes twinkling with mirth as though he were in on some secret joke. You had given him a draught meant to put him into a deep, dreamless sleep, only to find yourself slumped at his bedside, drowsy and dazed, while he watched you with that infuriating, knowing gaze. It was as though he had been toying with you all along, allowing you to get close, but never close enough to succeed. Other times, you'd find yourself alone with him, hand brushing against the dagger hidden beneath your cloak, only to be paralyzed by the weight of his gaze.

But tonight… tonight was different. He had thrown this ball—a grand, sweeping affair—and the unspoken question haunted you as you moved among the guests: Was this his way of mocking you? Was this all just a game?

You scanned the room, your pulse quickening when you spotted him across the sea of nobility. There he stood, his broad shoulders relaxed, one hand wrapped around a glass of wine. Jing Yuan’s presence was a force unto itself. Tall, commanding, and impossibly serene, he looked almost disinterested, as if none of this mattered to him at all.

But you knew better.

And now, like a moth drawn to a flame, you were pulled toward him.

Your eyes followed him across the room. His presence was undeniable, commanding yet deceptively gentle. He moved with the grace of someone far too large to be that light on his feet. He seemed… untouchable.

For all the indolence in his posture, you knew better. Jing Yuan was sharp—dangerously so. There was a reason he had survived your many attempts, and there was no doubt in your mind that he knew exactly who you were, and why you were there.

But tonight, something was different. The atmosphere felt heavy, charged with a tension that made your skin prickle. And then, as if sensing your gaze, his eyes met yours from across the room. A shiver ran through you. His smile widened, but there was something predatory behind that lazy expression, something dangerous. He knew who you were—had always known.

Heat flooded your cheeks, and you immediately looked away, cursing yourself for letting your emotions slip. You were here to kill him, not admire him. But your heart betrayed you, thudding erratically in your chest as he began to make his way toward you.

With each step, the crowd seemed to part for him, a sea of nobility giving way to their Emperor. His tall frame and broad shoulders filled your vision as he approached, his lips curling into a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Jing Yuan was in front of you, towering over you. His imposing frame dwarfed your own, and the intoxicating scent of his cologne filled your senses, muddling your thoughts.

“Physician” he greeted you, his voice deep and smooth, carrying a dark edge of amusement.

Your pulse raced, but you kept your expression neutral. “Emperor Jing Yuan.”

“You came,” his voice was smooth, velvet over steel. “I was beginning to think you might avoid me tonight.”

You offered a smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “It’s an honor to be here, Emperor Jing Yuan.”

He tilted his head, his golden eyes flickering with something unreadable. “You seem rather tense tonight. Perhaps you’re in need of a little… distraction.”

He looks at you with those sharp, golden eyes. They held a mixture of amusement and something darker, something that sent a thrill down your spine.

“Dance with me.”

It wasn’t a question. His hand extended toward you, palm open, waiting. The weight of the room seemed to shift, all eyes subtly trained on the Emperor and his court physician, the woman who had been quietly watching him from the shadows all night.

The murmurs of the surrounding courtiers faded when the emperor extended his hand to you in front of everyone. There was no refusal in a moment like this. Not without drawing suspicion.

So, you placed your hand in his, your breath catching as his fingers curled around yours. His hand was warm, larger than yours, and there was a subtle strength behind his grip as he led you onto the ballroom floor.

The music swelled, and he pulled you into his arms with such ease that you barely had time to think. His hand slid to your waist, pulling you closer than was appropriate for a formal dance, but no one would dare question the emperor.

Your heart pounded as your body pressed against his, his warmth seeping through the thin fabric of your gown. His size was overwhelming, and though you tried to stay focused—tried to remind yourself of your mission—it was impossible to ignore the heat building between you. His hand was firm, guiding you effortlessly across the dance floor, and your breath hitched as his thumb traced small, lazy circles against your lower back.

“How has your stay been?” he asked, his tone conversational, as though your body wasn’t molded to his, as though he wasn’t dragging his thumb along the edge of your spine in a way that made your knees weak.

“It’s been… interesting,” you managed to reply, your voice steadier than you felt.

“Oh? And in what way?”

His gaze locked with yours, the golden depths drawing you in, making it difficult to concentrate on anything but the feel of his hand on you. You swallowed, trying to keep your head clear.

“Well… I've had to tend to many things during my time here,” you said, carefully choosing your words. “You’ve kept me quite busy.”

“I’m sure I have,” Jing Yuan murmured, a hint of amusement in his voice. “But you’re not here to discuss work tonight, are you?”

His hand slid lower, his fingers grazing the curve of your waist. It was a subtle movement, but enough to send a rush of heat through your body. You bit your lip, fighting the urge to pull away—or to lean into his touch.

“Why did you throw this ball, Emperor Jing Yuan?” you asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from the dangerous territory it was heading towards.

“Why not?” he replied with a small shrug, though his eyes never left yours. “It’s been a long time since we’ve had something… festive. Besides”—his voice lowered, and he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear—“I enjoy seeing you like this. So… tense, so poised. Trying to resist the urge to kill me.”

Your eyes widen, your blood ran cold. His eyes shine now with a dangerous glint as he moves his face closer to you, his lips now graze the lobe of your ear. Your heart raced. He knew. He had known from the moment you stepped foot in his imperial palace.

"Tell me," Jing Yuan continued, his voice dropping lower, "are you truly here to kill me, or is there something more you’re after?"

His golden eyes now bore into yours, searching, and for a brief moment, you felt exposed, as if he could see through every wall you had carefully constructed. You had come here with a mission—to eliminate him. But now, standing in his arms, his breath warm against your skin, his touch sending heat coursing through your veins, doubt began to creep in.

Could you do it? Could you really kill him?

"I don’t fear death," Jing Yuan whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. "But I wonder… do you?"

The tension between you crackled like a live wire, each second ticking by as you danced together, his hand sliding further up your back, his thumb pressing gently against the base of your neck. His words hung in the air, a challenge, a question that you weren’t sure you could answer.

Your fingers twitched toward the hidden dagger beneath your gown, but you hesitated. His gaze never wavered, his expression calm, almost expectant. He was daring you to make a move. To finish what you had come here to do.

But instead, you found yourself leaning into his touch, your breath catching in your throat as his hand brushed the nape of your neck, his fingers sliding through your hair in a slow, deliberate motion. His grip was firm, yet there was a tenderness to it, an intimacy that sent your mind spinning.

The tension between you was thick, palpable, as you moved together in the heart of the ballroom. The candlelight flickered, reflecting off the gold embroidery of his robe, illuminating the sharp line of his jaw, the way his lips curled into a knowing smile.

"You play a dangerous game," you whispered, your voice steady despite the flutter in your chest.

Jing Yuan chuckled softly, his fingers tightening slightly on your waist as he guided you through a smooth turn, the movement drawing your bodies even closer together. His eyes never left yours, a silent challenge lingering in their depths.

"Perhaps," he murmured, his tone a mix of amusement and something darker, something that made your breath catch. "But you’ve already walked into the lion’s den, haven’t you?"

You could feel the heat of his body through the thin fabric of your gown, and for a moment, it was impossible to focus on anything else. The scent of incense hung heavy in the air, the gentle hum of conversation around you drowned out by the pounding of your heart as his hand slid up your back, his touch deliberate, possessive.

The ballroom was a spectacle of imperial wealth—massive golden chandeliers dangled from the high ceilings, their crystals sparkling like stars above. Marble columns lined the room, each intricately carved with ancient symbols of power and protection. The floor beneath your feet was polished to perfection, reflecting the light of a thousand candles that cast the entire scene in a warm, intimate glow. Nobles in lavish silks and embroidered robes spun gracefully across the dance floor, but to you, it felt as though the world had narrowed down to just the two of you.

Jing Yuan's voice was a low murmur, his breath warm against your skin as he tilted your chin upward, his golden eyes locking onto yours. "You are here to kill me, yet every time you spoke to me, touched me…" He paused, his hand tracing the line of your jaw gently, as if memorizing every detail. His expression softened, something vulnerable flickering in the depths of his gaze.

"There was no malice. No hatred. Only something I couldn’t name but felt every time you were near. It made me question everything. I’m drawn to you, like the tides to the moon, and I can't stop myself."

You felt a tight knot form in your chest, an undeniable tension between you, but you steeled yourself, forcing the flutter of emotions to quiet. Swallowing hard, you scoffed lightly, keeping your voice steady despite the way your heart pounded in your ears. "Oh, so you invite assassins to your balls now? Quite the thrill for an emperor, isn't it?"

He chuckled softly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, but the intensity in his gaze never wavered.

His smile widened, a slow, deliberate expression that made your stomach twist with both dread and something far more dangerous. He guided you through another turn, his hand sliding further up your back, sending shivers through you with each movement.

"I welcome all sorts to my palace," he said, his tone light but layered with meaning. "And I am rarely caught off guard."

This entire ball—this dance—had been his way of toying with you, drawing you in, testing your resolve. But why? Why let you get this close?

Jing Yuan’s smirk held steady, a small, knowing curve that barely betrayed the storm brewing beneath his calm exterior. As he stepped closer, the air between you seemed to charge with electricity. His towering form loomed over yours, not in intimidation, but in a way that felt impossible to ignore, like gravity itself was drawing you in. His hand found your waist, the touch subtle at first, a reminder of how easily he could command the space around you, you could only focus on him—on how his fingers tightened ever so slightly around you, how his breath seemed to mingle with your own in the quiet, secluded corridor.

"You know why you're here," he murmured, his deep voice a soft rumble in the dim light. His lips were near your ear, so close that each word brushed your skin like a secret. "But do you know why I haven’t stopped you yet?"

His question cut through your thoughts like a blade, leaving you momentarily speechless. Before you could form a coherent answer, Jing Yuan gently pulled you out of the ballroom, his fingers still firm on your waist, guiding you with an ease that made it clear he was in control of every step. The hallways outside were dimly lit, the soft flicker of lanterns casting shadows along the walls, heightening the sense of intimacy in the air. The soft hum of music and laughter from the ball grew faint, the silence between you filled with an unspoken tension that seemed to thrum beneath your skin.

He stopped, turning to face you fully now, and his eyes bore into yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. His tall frame seemed even larger in the narrow corridor, his presence overwhelming in a way that both excited and unnerved you. "You came to kill me," he stated, his tone light, as though he were discussing something as mundane as the weather. "Yet here you are… with me."

You opened your mouth to respond, to deny, to say anything to break the growing tension, but the words stuck in your throat. His hand slid from your waist to your cheek, fingers brushing your skin with a gentleness that made your heart pound. "You’re trying so hard to fight this," he murmured, his thumb brushing the corner of your lips, smudging the carefully applied lipstick. "But you know… You can deny your feelings all you want, but you can't resist me."

Before you could protest, Jing Yuan's lips crashed against yours, but it wasn’t the kiss of a desperate man—it was controlled, deliberate, a slow burn that sent a shiver down your spine. His lips moved against yours with a measured precision, coaxing rather than demanding. His tongue slipped past your parted lips, teasingly exploring, tasting you in a way that made your knees weaken. The kiss deepened, his tongue curling against yours in a sensual rhythm that left you breathless, your body betraying you as you leaned into him.

You could feel his smirk against your mouth as one of his hands snaked up to the back of your neck, pulling you even closer until your bodies were flush. The fabric of your dress felt far too thin between you, the heat of his body seeping into yours as his other hand grazed the curve of your waist. His fingers lingered there, pressing into the softness of your skin through the layers of fabric, his touch possessive, yet restrained.

Your mind screamed at you to regain focus—to remember your mission—but the warmth of his hands on your body, the intoxicating taste of him on your lips, was too much. For a fleeting moment, you let yourself get lost in the sensation, your hands finding their way to his broad shoulders, fingers curling into the fine fabric of his robe. He was so much larger than you, his presence overwhelming in the best way, every inch of him exuding strength and power, yet here he was, kissing you with a kind of tenderness that made your heart stutter.

He broke the kiss only to trail his lips down your jawline, leaving a burning path of sensation as he nibbled lightly on the sensitive skin of your neck. His breath was hot against your skin, sending shivers down your spine as his lips found that spot just beneath your ear, biting down gently. You gasped, and his grip on your waist tightened in response, as though he was waiting for that exact reaction.

"Let me call you mine, just for tonight," he whispered against your skin, his voice so low and husky it sent heat pooling in your core.

Your lips parted, but no words came out. You didn’t need them. The faint nod you gave him, the flush on your cheeks, the way your body instinctively pressed closer to his—all of it gave him the permission he sought. A soft growl rumbled from his chest, and without another word, Jing Yuan scooped you into his arms effortlessly, cradling you as though you weighed nothing. In the dim light, you could see the raw intensity in his eyes, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered in that moment.

Your heart raced as he carried you through the winding hallways, each step echoing the rapid beating of your pulse. His touch was still gentle, but there was an urgency now, a hunger that simmered beneath the surface. You barely registered the door to his chambers swinging open, the soft light from inside casting shadows across his face, making him look even more imposing, more irresistible.

He laid you down on the edge of the bed with a surprising tenderness, his large hands brushing over your arms as he leaned over you. The room was bathed in a soft, warm glow, the scent of sandalwood filling the air, and yet all you could focus on was the way Jing Yuan looked at you, his gaze full of something raw and unspoken. His thumb traced your swollen bottom lip, smudging your lipstick even further, his eyes drinking in the sight of you—flushed, breathless, utterly undone.

His thumb pressed gently against your lip before sliding it away. His hands trail down your body, large hands grazing against your breast as he finally stops at the edge of your dress. He let his hands slip beneath them as his hands made contact above your knees.

A soft moan leaves past your lips when he gave the skin their a gentle squeeze, Jing Yuan’s eyes darkened with a dangerous glint as his hands, warm and firm, trailed their way higher up your thighs. Every slow, deliberate touch sent shivers across your skin, each graze of his fingers feeling like tiny jolts of electricity, making your breath quicken involuntarily. His grip tightened ever so slightly, a teasing press against your flesh as his hands continued their sinful ascent. Just when you thought you could no longer bear the tension, your breath hitched as his fingers paused, resting against something cold and metallic—the hidden dagger strapped against your thigh.

He let out a low, amused chuckle, the sound vibrating through the space between you, his eyes gleaming with a mix of curiosity and amusement. Slowly, with a deliberate flick of his wrist, Jing Yuan pulled out the dagger that had been meant to end his life tonight. The weapon glistened ominously in the soft glow of the room, its sharp edge reflecting the candlelight.

"Ah, so this is what you were planning to use on me?" he murmured, his voice teasing but laced with dark intent. He twirled the dagger lightly in his hand, studying it with an almost casual detachment. The sight of it in his hand—the very weapon you were supposed to use—made your heart skip a beat. For a moment, fear flickered in your chest, but the look in his eyes told you that he had no intention of letting things go so easily.

He brought the blade closer, the cold metal brushing lightly against your bare skin. Your breath hitched again as you felt its sharp edge graze your thigh - enough for you to feel it but also to not leave a mark on you. His other arm, strong and unwavering, held you firmly in place, pinning you beneath his body with ease.

“Scared?” he asked, his voice a low rumble, eyes locked on yours with a predatory intensity. There was something dangerously thrilling about the way he held you down, his gaze never leaving your face, the blade hovering just inches away. The weight of his body against yours left you feeling both vulnerable and completely ensnared in the moment.

Before you could muster a response, without warning, Jing Yuan moved swiftly, the blade slicing through the delicate fabric of your dress. A sharp gasp escaped your lips as the material gave way, falling apart in an instant. The air hit your exposed skin, leaving you clad only in your revealing underwear while he remained fully dressed. The contrast between the two of you—him still composed, his robes immaculate, and you laid bare, your body exposed under his heated gaze—only heightened the tension that crackled between you.

He discarded the dagger with a careless flick of his hand, the metallic sound of it hitting the floor barely registering in your mind. His attention was solely on you, his golden eyes devouring every inch of your exposed skin. His hand returned to your waist, fingers digging in with more need, his grip more possessive than before.

Jing Yuan leaned down, his lips finding yours again in a kiss that was nothing like the first. This one was filled with raw, unrestrained hunger. His tongue slid past your lips, exploring your mouth with a fiery intensity that left you dizzy. His teeth grazed your bottom lip before biting down lightly, drawing a gasp from you as he deepened the kiss. His hand roamed your body, squeezing the softness of your thigh, tracing the curve of your waist, his touch everywhere at once.

You could feel his need, his want, in every press of his lips, every rough caress. He was overwhelming, his presence all-consuming, and yet you found yourself clinging to him, losing yourself in the sensation. His lips trailed down to your neck, teeth nibbling at your skin, leaving marks that would linger long after tonight.

Jing Yuan shifts into an upright position, effortlessly pulling you onto his lap. The heat between you is undeniable, his hardness pressing insistently against your barely-clad core. Your body trembles as his lips trail slowly down your neck, sending waves of anticipation through you. His hand moves skillfully behind your back, and with a deft twist of his fingers, your breasts are exposed, the fabric slipping to the floor.

His gaze darkens as it falls on your soft, supple skin. His eyes flicker between your flushed face and the curves of your breasts, desire clearly written across his features. Without warning, one of his large hands envelops your breast, his grip firm yet intoxicating as a moan escapes your lips. His mouth quickly follows, latching onto your other breast, his tongue swirling, and his teeth grazing your nipple as your voice trembles in response. His free hand pinches and twists your nipple, eliciting sharp gasps as his relentless mouth sucks and nips at your sensitive skin.

Your breathing grows ragged, each sensation heightening your pleasure. His other hand ventures downward, and with a swift tug, he tears away your underwear. A low groan rumbles in his chest as your slickness coats his fingers, the heat of your desire seeping through. His hand leaves your breast, moving to his trousers as he frees himself, revealing his thick, hard length. Your eyes widen at the sight, but before you can catch your breath, he presses the tip of his cock against your folds, dragging it slowly along your sensitive skin.

A shudder ripples through your body as the thick, swollen tip brushes your clit, pulling a sharp moan from your lips. Jing Yuan’s gaze is clouded with lust, his breath coming in soft, ragged pants as he leans in to latch his mouth back onto your breast. His free hand toys with the other, while his hard length continues to tease you, gliding against your slick lips, building the tension between you to an unbearable height.

Jing Yuan’s movements were unhurried, almost torturous, as he continued dragging his thick length against your folds, teasing your entrance without giving in. Every graze of his cock sent jolts of pleasure shooting through your body, making your breath hitch and your thighs tense around him. His mouth was relentless, lips and tongue working your sensitive breast while his other hand kneaded the supple flesh, sending wave after wave of heat pooling in your core.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low, almost a purr.

A flush crept up your neck, your heart racing as your body responded despite the conflict in your mind. His teasing was merciless, and the pressure building inside you was unbearable. Jing Yuan seemed to revel in your reactions, his fingers trailing down your sides, every touch deliberate, calculated to leave you breathless.

Without warning, his grip on your waist tightened, and with a sudden shift of his hips, he pressed the full length of his cock against you, harder this time. You gasped, feeling the intensity of his desire as it mirrored your own, your pulse pounding in your ears.

“Let me indulge in you,” he whispered, his lips ghosting over the curve of your neck, “just for tonight.”

You barely had time to process the words before his mouth was on yours, his kiss wild and hungry, tongues tangling in a passionate frenzy. His hands roamed your body, squeezing your hips and your breasts, pulling you closer to him as if he couldn’t get enough.

Each touch set your skin ablaze, the heat between you overwhelming, the tension snapping as your body pressed desperately against his.

Your mind felt hazy, lost in the sensation of him, of his tongue in your mouth, his hands grazing every inch of you. When he finally pulled back, your lips were swollen, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. He stared at you for a moment, his thumb brushing across your lip, smudging the remnants of your lipstick.

“There are no words in this world,” he murmured, his gaze intense, “that can describe the beauty you hold.”

Gently, yet with the assurance of someone who knows exactly what they want, he lifted you into his arms and laid you down on his plush bed, as if you were the most precious treasure in the world. The undergarments that still clung to your ankles were swiftly removed, a final barrier between him and what he craved most.

You were pressed back against the cool silk sheets, and his lips returned to your skin, a trail of kisses that set your body ablaze. Starting at your chest, he kissed every inch with a reverence that made you shiver. His mouth lingered on your breasts, teasing your sensitive nipples, alternating between soft nips and warm, lingering kisses. Each touch left your skin tingling, your breath catching with each motion.

He kissed down your neck, his hot breath sending goosebumps along your flesh. Every brush of his lips was slow, deliberate, like he was savouring each second. His kisses trailed up to your ear, the soft lobe now between his teeth, and then down the line of your jaw, every inch of you claimed by his touch.

“Jing Yuan... please...” you breathed, the words barely leaving your lips in your dazed state, the need growing insistent.

This was the first time you had uttered his name without his title, his gaze flicking over your body, a spark of hunger igniting in his golden eyes. He was ready, and so were you. His hands moved with practiced ease, ridding himself of his robes and pants in one fluid motion, the sound of fabric sliding and soft breathing filling the room.

“What a sight you are,” he whispered, his voice deep, the words dripping with admiration and lust. He leaned in close, lips brushing your ear as his hands slid down your body, feeling the way your skin trembled beneath his touch. “To have you in my hands...”

Your body reacted to him in ways that left you breathless—hips rising, muscles twitching, a soft moan escaping your lips as you gave in to the sensations overwhelming you. You were lost, a whirlwind of excitement and anticipation, helpless under his spell.

“Please... I need you,” you whispered, voice heavy with desire as you spread your thighs wider, silently begging for him to end the sweet torture.

His deep chuckle reverberated through your body as he moved lower, kissing the line of your stomach, each touch of his lips sending waves of pleasure through you. His mouth found the place you ached for him most, he pressed a delicate kiss againts the folds of your pussy, your eyes widening in pleasure as his tongue now gently pushes through your puffy lips— teasing, tasting, the sensation too much to bear.

You moaned, gripping the sheets beneath you as he worked with relentless skill, each movement driving you closer to the edge.

Jing Yuan's tongue was buried in your pussy, lapping up your sweet nectare. You couldn't see but his hips where rutting into the bed like an animal in heat, his groans being muffled by your pussy as he ate you like a starved man. The pleasure built and built until you were barely holding on, your body shaking, breath hitching with each stroke of his tongue.

Just when you thought you couldn’t take anymore, Jing Yuan inserts a two thick fingers into your fluttering hole, his tongue now licking and nipping at your sensitive clit, your moans started tumbling out of your mouth as you gasped like a fish out of water from the overwhelming sensation.

His hands squeezes tightly on your hips when you tugged on his silver hair, elicting a groan from him. You could feel it, your toes curled as your vision turned white almost screaming as you came in Jing Yuan's mouth. Your thighs trembling around his head, your clit now sensitive but Jing Yuan let you ride your high on his tongue and fingers until your body started to squirm.

He didnt let you go instead he started moving his fingers again, your pussy squeezed tightly on them as you shake from the over stimulation as he hears you crying and squealing.

“J-Jing Yuan p-please s-stop! it’s t-too much, fuck!” you cry out, tears stream down your face as his fingers pound in you, hands fisting the sheets as overstimulation quickly washes over your body.

Jing Yuan watches you as steady tears roll down your cheeks as you beg and beg. your body is glistening with a fine sheen of sweat, Jing Yuan could tell you was about to cum again from the way your body twist and turned in his tight hold.

“f-fuck, fuck, fuck! i’m cumming again!” you wail, back arching off the bed as you cum once more. your body stiffens and this time, a stream of clear liquid shoots out of your pussy, drenching Jing Yuan's chin and the sheets even more.

your eyes are heavy and lidded, your chest heaving and nipples aching when Jing Yuan slowly removes his fingers from your pussy, you whine as you feel your juices slide down your ass.

Jing Yuan gently makes his way up your body, your body glistening with sweat as your breath heavily, your eyes solely focused on him as he gently kissed your neck.

"Turn around for me." He whispers gently, hand pushing aside a strand of hair that fell across your face. Your breath hitched as you tried to let out a sound of protest but the look in his eyes — dark, filled with need caused you to slowly turn around, your arms and legs trembling as you went on all fours. You could feel his body heat againt yours, your arms trembling to hold you up as your pussy throbbed.

You gasped as you felt his large hands cage your waist, your body trembling at the contact. Your eyes widen when you felt the thick head of his cock pressed agaisnt your opening, your body jolting from the overstimulation and pleasure as he preps your neck with kisses.

Jing Yuan let out a guttural groan, before positioning his head at your entrance and then slowly pushing his hips forward. You both let out shaky breaths at the new sensation. Your pussy gripped tightly onto his head, a hiss escapes his mouth as let's his teeth sink into your shoulder causing you to let out a choked moan.

"M-more, please" you whimper, your eyes glazed with tears meets his.The look in his golden eyes shifted from surprise to an intense hunger, making your heart race. Without a moment’s hesitation, he responded, thrusting deeper into you, his movements becoming rougher and more urgent.

“Look at you, begging for me to fill you,” he grunted, his voice low and laced with a teasing authority that sent shivers down your spine. “After months of playing hard to get who would have thought the assassin that was sent to kill me would be writhing beneath me." His words were both demeaning and intoxicating, igniting a fire within you.

His taunts made you tremble, your body instinctively fluttering around him as he drove into you. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, leaving you gasping and moaning loudly, the sound filling the room.

Jing Yuan’s pace was relentless, your arms giving up on you as you fall flat on the pillow, your face stuffed in it as you moan in pleasure. This causes Jing Yuan's big arms to cage your head, his teeth nipping your neck and back as his cock slammed into your battered pussy.

"Ah a-ah ! I'm close ! I'm close! " You screamed, your fingers grasping the silk sheets tightly as Jing Yuan started to go even faster in you. Tears escaping your eyes as your pussy clamped hard on Jing Yuan's cock as you came, yoru fluids drenching the bed below and his abdomen. Your body feeling weak as you go numb from the mind blowing orgasm.

Jing Yuan groaned at this, without warning he slapped your ass causing you to yelp from the stinging pain, suddenly, you felt him twitch inside you, that unmistakable signal that he was nearing his peak. Instinctively, you tightened around him, clenching your muscles as if to draw him deeper, eager to prolong the moment.

“you're mines.” he hissed, his breath hitching as he struggled to maintain his composure. “You’re mine to ruin, mine to break, and mine to piece back together.”

His thrusts became sloppy, the rhythm lost in a haze of pleasure, and you knew he was close. You could sense the tension in his body, the way he strained to keep himself together. He twisted your face towards his, capturing your lips with his, your mouths crashing together in a messy, fierce kiss. You swallowed his loud moan, the taste of him mingling with your own desperation, filling you with exhilaration.

As he released, warmth flooded within you, filling you completely. You felt his body shudder, every muscle tense and trembling as he rode out his orgasm, lost in the pleasure you had both created.

Jing Yuan broke the kiss, breath come out in short spurts. His eyes lingers on you as he preps a kiss on your shoulder. His rough hands knead your hips, causing a soft moan to leave past your parted lips as he slowly pulls out of you, his cum about to slip out but he pushes two thick fingers in you causing you to skirm from the feeling as he lays on the bed and pulls you on top of him.

You were entirely lost in him, every part of you surrendered to the intoxicating pleasure he gave. There was no escape, but you didn’t need one. All you desired was him—his hands on you, his body against yours, and the possessive whispers that claimed you.

Neither of you spoke, but as your eyelids grew heavy with sleep, your heart swelled with emotion. The steady beat of Jing Yuan’s heart against your skin was soothing, lulling you into a peaceful slumber.

As the morning light filtered softly through the curtains, you stirred from sleep. The remnants of last night flooded your senses — the heat of Jing Yuan’s touch, the way his lips had devoured yours, the overwhelming passion that had swept you both away. But now, as you blinked into the light, something felt different.

Your hand trailed down your body, feeling fabric that didn’t belong. You were no longer bare instead, a simple white gown clung to your form. The room was tidy, all traces of what had transpired wiped clean. The intimacy of last night, the fire, the heat—it was as if none of it had ever happened.

Your heart raced as you sat up, your mind spinning, trying to make sense of it all. Did you imagine it? But the phantom touches on your skin and the ache in your muscles told you otherwise. Something real had happened between you, and now it seemed to have vanished into thin air, as though you had been dreaming.

Before you could gather your thoughts, the door creaked open. Your blood turned cold as Jing Yuan stepped inside, fully dressed in his military attire, his presence commanding as always. But it wasn’t just him. Two guards flanked him, standing rigidly behind, their eyes trained on you.

The tension in the room was suffocating. You clutched the thin fabric of the gown tightly around you, your heart hammering in your chest. He stepped closer, and his calm demeanor sent a chill down your spine.

“Awake, I see,” Jing Yuan said softly, his voice betraying none of the warmth or passion from last night. His eyes, though still intense, held a distance that you hadn't seen before. “You must have many questions.”

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. "What is this?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “What happened?”

He gazed at you for a moment, his face unreadable, then he spoke again, his tone firm, almost indifferent. “You are here for a reason, aren’t you? You came to kill me.”

Your breath hitched, and the truth, the mission you had pushed aside in the heat of the night, crashed back into you. But there was something in his voice, something underlying the cold exterior—a flicker of something deeper. Regret, perhaps?

“Last night,” you began, but your voice faltered. You weren’t sure what to ask. Did it mean anything to him? Was it all just a game?

Jing Yuan’s gaze softened for the briefest moment, but he quickly composed himself. "You played your part well,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “But I’ve always known who you were."

Your chest tightened as his words sank in. You had been a pawn, a piece in his game. The passion you shared, the intimacy—it all felt tainted now, like a trap you had willingly walked into.

“I didn’t—” you tried to speak, but your voice cracked under the weight of your confusion. How could he speak so calmly, as if last night had meant nothing? As if you were nothing?

The guards behind him moved forward, their steps deliberate, and your pulse quickened. Betrayal clawed at your insides, twisting with each breath you took.

“You were sent here to assassinate me, and now…” He paused, looking at you, his expression unreadable. “Now, your mission is over. You will be taken to the interrogation room, where we’ll discuss your future.”

Before you could protest, the guards seized your arms, pulling you to your feet with a force that made you wince. You looked to Jing Yuan, searching for something—anything—in his eyes that showed he felt more than just cold calculation. But his face remained stoic, betraying nothing of the man who had held you so tenderly just hours before.

As the guards began to lead you out of the room, he spoke again, his voice carrying that same underlying emotion. “Leave her there. I’ll come soon to… interrogate her myself.”

His words sent a shiver through your body. You felt like a fool for letting your guard down, for letting your feelings cloud your judgment. The man who had made you feel alive in his arms now stood by as if you were nothing but a threat to be neutralized. The betrayal was palpable, and it stung in a way you hadn’t anticipated.

As the door shut behind you and the coldness of the hallway enveloped you, all you could think about was the way Jing Yuan had looked at you that night, the way his lips had moved against yours, and how you had fallen for a dangerous man who played by his own rules.

But even as the guards led you away, one thought lingered—was there more to his coldness than met the eye? Did he feel the weight of what had passed between you, or was it all just another part of the game?

As the guards led you down the cold, unfeeling hall, memories of your failed assassination attempts flooded your mind. Every time you had tried, Jing Yuan had been one step ahead — or perhaps it was you who had hesitated.

You had mixed poisons into his drinks on multiple occasions, but they had always been mild, too weak to do any real damage. It wasn’t a mistake; deep down, you knew it had been a choice. Your resolve had faltered with every passing day, each time you saw the gentle way he handled matters, his kindness to his soldiers, his quiet strength. How could you kill such a man, one who seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders yet managed to offer kindness to everyone around him?

The nights you had crept into his chambers, dagger in hand, you’d been met with the rise and fall of his chest, so peaceful in his sleep. Each time, your hand had stilled, the blade hovering above him, your mind whispering that he didn’t deserve death, not like this. His kindness, his calm, his presence—it had disarmed you in ways you hadn’t anticipated.

But now, as the weight of betrayal settled like a stone in your chest, you felt like a fool. A fool for letting your heart think for once, for letting emotion cloud the sharpness of your mission. You had let yourself be swayed by the man behind the title, and in return, he had used your vulnerability against you.

He knew, you thought bitterly. He had known all along that you had a soft spot for him, that your heart wasn’t as cold as it should have been. That every failed attempt on his life hadn’t been due to his strength but your own weakness.

And now, here you were—trapped. You had let your guard down, let your feelings get in the way, and he had played you. The same hands that had held you so tenderly last night now orchestrated your capture. He had been so gentle, so kind—and it had been a facade. The realization cut deeper than any blade you had ever held.

Your heart ached as the image of him, standing stoic and indifferent, replayed in your mind. You had thought, for a moment, that maybe—just maybe—there had been something real between you. But now, his calculated words echoed in your ears, a bitter reminder that you had been nothing more than a pawn in his game.

How foolish, you thought, your chest tightening with every step the guards forced you to take.

author's note:

this is my first time writing a proper s3x scene so please forgive! anyways i hope this was okay! please do like, reblog and comment <3

—usagiibun 🐇

Rawrs

Intimacy records

synopsis: what kinds of horny stuff they have in their phones and which is the favorite?

pairing and characters: Aventurine, Blade, Boothill, Dr Ratio, Gallagher, Gepard, Jing Yuan, Loucha, Sampo, Sunday (separately) x fem!reader

tw: SMUT, established relationship (marriage/dating), consensual recording of lovemaking, nudes, oral, lingerie, fingering, masturbation, public sex, breast play, shibari/blindfold, sex machine, creampie

word count: 4.3k+ words

Aventurine

Undoubtedly this man has a whole separate folder for intimate stuff. Of course, he demands you send him something on a daily basis - doesn’t matter if it’s a quick snap of your choice of lingerie in the morning, or recordings of touching yourself - but never enough to cum, it’s his job. Naturally he loves having reminders of you being at his mercy - thus there are also videos of you both (with primarily established consent). All that to say - he has quite the collection, so it’s really hard to pick a favorite, the most desire-arising one.

Maybe it’s a category actually - self-made media created out of bet. Who’ll cum first? Can you keep going without tearing up from pleasure for longer than 10 minutes? Is he patient enough not to touch your sexy self, while you masturbate in front of him? Who is going to be louder this time? These kinds.

”I hope you are ready to lose,” your lover smirks, making himself comfortable between your legs. Camera floats a little, as you chuckle behind it. With a momentary adjustment, the focus is on his face again and he winks, before turning to trail a little path of kisses across your thigh. The image jumps, when he sucks on the skin, and slightly trembles as you let out a sigh. Then it’s firm, as Aventurine wraps his arms around your thighs, his nose teasingly rubbing against your clit. Suddenly there is a lick, then your breath hitches…. And then he buries his mouth into your pussy. It doesn’t take much time for the image to begin shaking wildly, almost matching your debauched noises. There is squelching, there are award-winning male moans, muffled by your heat, soon there is a hand, your hand, reaching down and grabbing his hair. Phone strangely angles, hardly supported by just one hand, until it falls camera down onto the shits. After that, there are just delicious screams of yours, chanting the name of your lover and begging him to stop, while he doesn’t listen, taking his reward for yet another win.

Yeah, he proved you can’t keep the camera focused while he is eating you out in that one. It’s truly a pity, that more than a half of what was going on, didn’t get recorded in image. Maybe next time you'll do better - oh... That's actually not a bad idea at all… Looks like you are in for another bet.

Blade

His situation is… quite peculiar. First of all, he has so little care for his own phone outside using it to get info for the mission, to the point ANYONE from the Stellaron Hunters can just take it and do whatever with it (Silver Wolf and Kafka practice it a lot). Even your relationship doesn’t change it much, he messages you rarely and quite shortly, preferring to save the conversation for personal interaction. 

However recently, Kafka has been putting a plan into action - the first step of which was banning everyone from getting into his phone (herself excluded). Then she’d start sending her colleague an occasional picture of a set of lingerie she’s oh so sure would look wonderful on you. Blade never answers, but he doesn’t tell her off either, and by the snooping she knows that the pictures get bookmarked, the links for the shops she attaches are visited, and sums of money are being spent.

Oh, and by checking the chat… She knows you get them delivered. Does she text you to shower you with compliments? She does. At first it was a little embarrassing and you asked Blade if he could, maybe, pay better attention to his phone??? But soon, when your lover started showing the telltale signs of jealousy... It became pretty hot (plus praise from THE Kafka? Ego-boosting).

Blade doesn’t voice it, but more than seeing you all pretty for him, he loves seeing you ruined for him, and doesn’t complain when you ask him to take a picture with your phone of whatever part of you, focusing on the marks, or the torn crotch of your panties, or something alike… There are times when he would text you with a simple ‘send me pictures with torn stockings’ or ‘yesterday. open nipples bra. now’ , because he knows you have them, and you deliver, because you know he loves them. 

Has his favorites:

Depicts your thighs, bitten and opened wide, while the black panties are pushed aside to let two thick, scar-covered fingers dive into your pussy.

Your body after one of the sessions - bra roughly pushed down under the mark-covered breasts, panties missing, one stocking still on the leg, but with multiple holes in it, and the other tying your wrists above your head.

A small video you insisted on recording of the man tugging onto your garter belt whenever he wanted your hips to push towards his thrust, threatening for the thin elastic material to snap.

Even though he doesn’t save them, he knows how to get an easy access to them, so for Blade it works quite fine (and Kafka’s plan does too, making Blade look less intimacy-repulsed and spicing up your relationship).

Boothill

A cyborg, whose only human part of the body is the head, and sex life… How can this be possible? 

Oh, trust me, it can. Sure, his bodily reaction differs, but he still is excited to get nudes from you, finally able to express through the text what he really thinks with that foul mouth of his. A voice recording of you dirty talking to him? Awesome. A video? You can bet his engine is overheating and vents are whirring.

But in all honesty, the ones he truly loves and returns to are the recordings of him doing stuff to you. Call him self-conscious, it’s not like he can bite back with a swear, but the reminder that he can bring you pleasure even now is sometimes necessary.

The lights are intimately dimmed, not enough to bring the room into utter darkness. Two bodies are lying almost intertwined with your back turned to the camera. The metal arm of your lover has sneaked under your side and around your waist, fingers digging into the plush glob of your ass, tugging on it, to further the spread which is created by your leg thrown over his hip. Your pussy is perfectly presented to the camera, puffy and slick, with two gray plated fingers massaging it. Digits slide up and down your labia, occasionally staying on the clit, to rub tight circles on it and elicit some sweet moans out of you, only to return to their previous ministrations, dipping the tips juuust a little bit into the quivering hole. Your back arches and body deliciously shivers from the contrast of his cool and your heat, and you softly whine, when he releases your ass cheek to give it a spank and then grab it again, unwilling to let the sight of your cunt escape his phone’s camera. You whimper something, muffled by his chest, but he remembers by heart what you were begging for. ‘Please, put your mouth on me.’ He will, in a minute, but right now he pushes both fingers to the second knuckle in, making you jolt in his hold, but not letting you go anywhere.

It’s captivating, how his inhuman digits disappear and reappear with every thrust he makes; slick-covered they look shiny, as if you polished them, and the cyborg shudders, imagining your tongue running around them. That’s one dangerous video, he may just give in to his want to see you and abandon the mission he was assigned to…

Dr Veritas Ratio

Unsurprisingly, Veritas’ phone doesn’t contain that much stuff in general. Maybe some downloaded articles, notes to put down later, if he doesn’t have a piece of paper at the moment, and very few pictures, mainly of his writings on the chalkboard. Don’t be discouraged though, of course he has pictures of you. Some selfies you took after “borrowing” his phone and ones he doesn’t have a heart to delete (but he will scoff at you, should you decide to tease him), and some very well-thought images he took on his own accord - he needs reference for when he decides to let his mind rest from research and focus on sculpting.

And one might think that such a reserved and cold man will not entertain storing anything explicit on his phone. Well, he indeed does not have any pictures and videos saved - if he wants, he can either find what you sent him via your chat or just demand your assistance. However… There is something that strangely became his way of concentrating when doing his research…

”Oh! Mh- *thrust* Veri- ohmygod! *thrust*”

“Wait- Aaah! I can’t! I’m sore! MmmmMMM!” “No, you can and you will. Now hold still, I can’t eat you out if you keep thrashing around.” “Oh Aeons!”

*Slick sounds of you going down on him, gurgling and choking on his girth, occasionally gasping to catch your breath, only to have his cock buried in your throat again*

“Baaaby… I miss you so much… Can I come to your office? I promise to be good… Just need to cockwarm you - nothing else I swear. Let me keep you company pleeease. Imagine how nicely it'd be to have your cock buried in my pussy, while you are working… Need to help you with stress-relief, it's gonna feel so-so good.”

“Oh fuck, o-oh, love, I'm cumming, I'm cumming, I’mcumMIN-” “Ngh, s-so…tight…” “Aaaaaaah~!”

“Veritas Ratio, if you come home in ten minutes, I will give you a nice massage and then ride you damn cock, till the only thing you can think about is not your work, but me. If you fail to do so though… I wonder if my threat to use some toys instead will work. Just know that your wife is very mad. And horny.”

It doesn't matter if the audio was taken while you were intimate or it was something you sent to him and he saved - he thoroughly enjoys everything your voice has to offer to him. And if instead of concentrated it accidentally makes him horny - he'll just play the next one, while undoing his pants.

Gallagher

Oh, this man is a menace. And a huge ass-lover. His gallery is full of pictures of your booty: clothed, just panty-clad or bare. There are shots with your body clearly being bent, ass up and back covered in his load. Videos of him fucking you from behind, with cock sliding in and out of your pussy? Obviously. Recordings of it jiggling as he spanks you? Would’ve been strange if they weren’t there.

However, in that vast collection of his, there is a video that’s most peculiar - one might say scandalous. It was one of those nights when he took over the bar for Siobhan and you came over at some point, all enticing and so sexy in that little dress of yours… He could not resist taking you right there once the establishment was closed. And it got on security camera...

Moans so loud, that they are reaching the recording device, are still of the delicious kind. Your back is arched over the bar counter, arms lifted and wrists tied by none other but Gallagher’s wine-red tie, and held by his own hand for good measure. The front of your dress is pushed down, revealing your pretty breasts, jiggling with every thrust of the man’s hips, and the hem of it has ridden up, baring your stomach and mark-covered thighs. Your lover is barely unclothed, pants and boxers pushed down just enough to free his cock and the tie, obviously, missing. The hand that is not holding your wrists, is grabbing onto your leg, under the knee, lifting it for a better angle, and showing off a lewd detail - your black lace panties hanging on your shin. You are looking positively debauched, and he is no better, groaning and cursing, with an occasional exceptionally rough trust that makes you scream and whine. There are teeth-gritted ‘slut’s and huskily chuckled ‘bad girl’s with your pleading ‘sir’s and ‘Gal’s, all of that deliciously seasoned with the clapping of the wet skin colliding. But nothing beats the moment of you cumming, depicted by no less than three cameras from all of the hottest angles…

Of course this footage was ‘confiscated’ by him with some dumb excuse for Siobhan (he doubts she believed it, given the knowing look and shit-eating grin she gave him), with all traces destroyed except just one copy thoroughly hidden on his phone. He thinks you two should repeat that - this time, however, he’d love to bend you over the counter with your back facing him…

Gepard Landau

Gepard would die if someone took his phone and got into his gallery. Poor man has to change the password weekly to throw Serval off his case (she was only teasing, but that made her brother paranoid). There is a reason for such behavior - while he is way too sweet and gentlemanly to suggest making sexy pics or, Supreme Guardian forgive, videos, he can't help but to be too whipped for you. 

This man dutifully saves every single photo and video of yours - nudes included.

You don't send them very often - you don't want to kill your darling husband. But sometimes the yearning is unbearable, and there is a suffocating need to show Gepard what he is missing while away on duty (you always leave a warning message though, so he could check it while alone and undisturbed).

No matter how red and embarrassed he gets, the man timidly admits that he enjoys this kind of attention. He is not beyond the earthly pleasures - he too has a favorite theme, that recently became more present in what you send him…

At first you looked so absolutely cute and domestic with his huge sweater on, the one you personally knitted for him - the beginning of the video didn’t look all that different from the photos you sent him just minutes before. But soon it becomes clear why you asked if he was alone, because once you position the phone and climb onto the bed, your full attire gets revealed. White stockings are replacing your usual home pants, and as your fingers grab the hem of the sweater and tug it up, the white panties from a matching set start peaking. The view is both pure and alluring, with the way your legs are spreading wide, and the sweater being pushed further up, baring your braless breasts. The hem gets secured between your teeth and both hands teasingly run down your sides, index fingers drawing circles around the tits, before squeezing them; as one remains right there, the other slowly slides down your stomach, disappearing under the hem of those flimsy panties. Imagination paints wild images - every next is hotter than the previous, and only your muffled moans of his name and rapidly rising chest are indicators of how good you feel with fingers pushing in and out of your pussy. And that damn sweater… You are not taking it off.

The Captain of the Silvermane Guards has one guilty pleasure - you, wearing his clothes. Domesticity, longing, finding comfort in something of his touches his heart and heightens his love and desire for you, almost making him consider taking a regular day off.

Jing Yuan

This man literally worships the ground his wife is walking on, so OF COURSE he wants to have as many pictures and videos of you as possible. It gets so boring and lonely when he is at work, after all. But don’t be fooled by his sweet and innocent smile, there are not only cute shots of you both or just you, he has sexy stuff too.

Man is obsessed with your chest. It’s his favorite pillow (thus so many pictures of him snuggling his face right between your breasts), his best stress-relief (photos and short videos of his big veiny hands cupping and squeezing your girls, with an occasional swipe of the thumbs over the erect nipples), his favorite place to leave marks on (no one can see them under the clothes, but just one tug of his finger on your collar and he is met with a delicious sight. Plus the photos he asks to send occasionally).

Loves, loves, loves, purchasing lingerie for you and when you demonstrate your bra-clad tits. He immediately wants them in his face, but there is the phone screen keeping him away.

But oh does he love recordings of playing with them.

Your body is steadily bouncing on your husband’s lap, creating a beautiful melody of skin slapping against skin. There is an occasional peak of his thick cock, covered in your juices, that immediately disappears again, undoubtedly swallowed by your pussy. One strong arm is wrapped around your waist, supporting you, while the other hand is palming at your left breast. The right one has fallen victim to his eager mouth, lips wrapped around the nipple, sucking on it tenderly, tongue toying with the overstimulated nub. His eyes are half-lidded when he looks up at you, moaning around your breast, when you tug on his luscious locks, trying to push him away, to give you a small rest. He is drawing back indeed, planting a soft kiss to the valley between the jiggling globes, and you sigh in relief, deceived by his affectionate action. Only for you back to arch and mouth hang in a loud moan, when Jing Yuan brings your other breast to his awaiting tongue, dropping both hands to your hips to aid you in speeding up your riding, sensing your nearing orgasm.

Maybe next time you should try recording him making you cum by playing with your chest only… Ah, just the thought makes his cock swell.

Loucha

As much as Loucha enjoys your company and more often than not allows you to accompany him in his journeys, there are times when he can’t take you with him. Which means he leaves for weeks, or sometimes a couple of months, going through the days without a single touch from you. Before getting into a relationship with you, he could survive without intimacy just fine, but now, since he knows the taste of affection and being spoiled by you, it’s getting hard.

That’s when recordings on his phone come in handy, especially when there is no opportunity of a video call to indulge. And there is one he most frequently returns to…

Your chest is rising and falling, pretty breasts with perky nipples brought together by a wrap of a rope. Red and purple marks bloom on your skin akin flowers, some fresh, some from days before. Sweat shines on your hot skin, indicating just for how long the blonde has been torturing you with pleasure and denial. There is a small shake of the video, as your lover is establishing his phone, having just started the recording, and softly making you aware of how good you look - you wouldn’t know with that blindfold covering your eyes. Once the angle is perfect - capturing your arms, tied above the head, the arch of your back and thighs pushed together for stimulation, the man is joining you on the bed. It is cock-hardening, how you lift your head to find his lips, when you sense him leaning down, needily allowing him to indulge in a kiss before the game of orgasm denial continues. His hand meanwhile is creeping down your body, starting with caressing your cheek, fingers sliding down your neck, over the swell of your breast, thumb pushing against the nipple, eliciting a moan out of you right into his mouth, and then palm splaying on your stomach, traveling even lower, before it disappears between your thighs.

Loucha is a man of foreplay. There is nothing more satisfying to him, than indulging into your body before sinking his cock into your warmth. He loves making you squirm, completely at his mercy, drawing you right to the edge, and then denying you the sweet release, just to make you yearn, just to stretch the process out.

Sampo Koski

Sampo is nasty and that is not a secret. I am sure, if you were up for it, he’d suggest filming porn just for the giggles (and extra cash, come on, you both are fucking hot). There are teasing nudes and intimate videos, and it’s not a rare occasion of either of you texting the other with some found porn with a caption ‘let’s try it?’ and you do, frequently recording the process to compare later, and claiming that your performance is better.

However, sometimes it tends to not go according to the script (not like you usually have one). Sampo is chaotic and it’s not hard to lose focus with a lover like him, and these exact moments are Koski’s favorite. Despite being a Masked Fool, during these times he himself looks so sincere, it’s as unnerving, as it is exciting. Rewatching such videos and seeing how you mirror the look in his eyes, giggle with him, even crack a joke, all without ruining the mood - makes him believe he’s found his soulmate (and if you did film porn with him, he’d never share this level of intimacy with your viewers, it solely belongs to you two).

You are giggling, shaking your head with a wide smile, all the while lying on your stomach between his toned mark-covered thighs and leisurely fisting his hard, leaking cock with an angrily red tip. 

‘Sampo, please, be a little serious, we are trying to be sexy here.’

‘We are sexy! What’s not hot in shaping my and your pubic hairs into the lips?? They could kiss, when we fuck!’

‘You are unbelievable,’ you snort, trying to save the last bits of your composure, and leaning forward to mouth at his tight balls. This makes your lover pornographically (how ironic) moan, throwing his head back.

‘Mmm, yes, right there~ Oooh… If am soooo unbelievable, it must mean I am dreamy? How about I bring you to a Penacony, to a Dreamscape? I bet in your dream I’d be as good in bed as I am in reality.’

Your resolve snaps and you burst out laughing, letting go of his sack and pressing your face to his thigh, shaking, dropping the hand from around his cock. Sampo whines.

‘Come ooooon, I was so close!’

‘Shu-ah-ha-t-ah-uh-p,’ you manage through your laughter. The man pouts, but the gaze of mint green is summer-warm as he is looking down at your trembling form. Your voice is pretty, your cackles are pretty, and oh damn he is laughing too.

And these are just the first few minutes of the last video, the thing has a duration of half an hour, so, obviously, you didn’t stop there. That’s what Sampo Koski loves - no matter how cringe you become, it’s never a reason to stop the whole process. If anything it’s something to spark an even longer and intimacy-filled one.

Sunday

Keeping personal stuff on his phone is quite dangerous, given Sunday’s position. That’s why he owns two phones - his work one, and one to mainly contact you, his sister, and a small circle of the most trusted people. He is extremely good at handling the owning of two separate devices, never mistaking one for another, that people are often convinced he has only one.

But it’s his personal cellphone that interests us. Oh, does he have a whole collection of photos and videos of you, one folder in particular hidden just for good measure. Sunday is a collected and regal man, yet it doesn’t mean he has a hard time enjoying your teasing. Quite contrary, sometimes he welcomes it, loving the photos you send him from an outing, shopping for clothes, or better yet, lingerie, sending him multiple shots of different sets and asking him which he loves most, and which he’d like to see on you tonight. 

There are videos too, especially when he’s been extremely busy, and you are oh so needy, sending him short recordings of touching yourself, sighing out his name, begging him to come and help you. However, there is one he particularly likes…

Big silicone cock is being pushed in and out by the machine he purchased for you to quell your need when your husband can’t be there for you. You are on your stomach, with hips slightly raised and pushed backwards, chasing the toy, and he can see the perfect outline of your pussy, outer lips swollen and puffy, covered in a sticky substance, opening and constricting in attempts to accommodate the girth. Your moans are sweet, so-so sweet, hitting a high pitch, when the dildo falls out and a thick glob of cum substitute escapes your pussy. And then another, and another, messing your thighs even more, ruining the towel underneath you. Yet you don’t stop, reaching behind, and pushing the tip back into your tight warmth, making the toy pick its pace again. It’s squelching, it’s so dirty, but it’s so hard to look away. You give yourself creampie, after creampie, sometimes stopping to collect the substance and push it inside with your digits, fingering, moaning and whining for your husband, wishing it’s his cum sploshing between your walls, breeding you.

Yes, it’s his favorite, almost 4-minute video. Ever the neat freak, he can’t deny you look heavenly when ruined, on an equally ruined bed, begging for his attention and semen. You have to forget about the machine for some time, however, because since then Sunday has been truly devoted to breeding you.

Sunday x Reader (Drabble?)

Sunday’s only regret was you. 

He’d tried his best to suppress any feelings he had for you, smothering them within him, keeping them tucked secretly away behind his breast pocket, in the innermost reaches of his heart. 

Of course, he would not spare you from the sweet dream. Only he needed to suffer, for everyone else to partake in the sweetest of dreams, cocooned and safe from the harsh realities of the monotonous drudgery of life. He’d alone remain strong, so all the weak could indulge and live life as they wished. 

He presided over these dreams, but he did not know the ins and outs of them all, did not know what each individual person wished for, nor what they lived out in the comfort of safety. 

And he couldn’t stop his curiosity, you, his sweet little secret respite; what life did you truly wish for above all else? 

With the promise he’d never invade the sanctity of your dream again, he peered down, seeking you out amongst a sea of others. 

Only to be met with his own visage. 

In your dream, you were with him. Laughter and sweet nothings spilled between you, love curled into your forms as if you’d always been together, as if you’d always loved him. As if you needed no other. 

With a heavy heart, what if’s and what could have been on the tip of his tongue, he pulled away from the comfort of your dream, bitter on his palate like medicine. 

He returned to his gilded cage, hoping for you to remain peacefully asleep in the safety of your dreams.

Sparkle x (Gender Neutral) Reader

NSFW, 18+ only

Warnings: overstimulation, dub-con, Sparkle being Sparkle (crazy but she loves you), use of her Mask/powers

I actually posted this yesterday before the Sunday one-shot but for some reason it wasn't showing in tags?? So trying this again rip

Your vision went dark, and you yelped at the sudden intrusion; a pair of hands cupping over your eyes as you could feel someone pressing into your back. “Guess who?” There was only one person who could get into your house and sneak up on you without making a sound. It startled you every time she did it, but you were more than half certain that your reactions were the reason she did it in the first place.

You breathed a sigh of relief, “Sparkle,” You twisted in her grip, smiling at her. “You’re home.” You pulled her into a hug, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“Blegh, c’mon cut it out.” She squirmed in your grip, breaking away to look at what you had cooking on the stove instead. The weather was getting colder so you were craving soup, and luckily it was just about finished. She peered into the pot, sticking a finger in to taste it. “It needs more salt.”

“Babe, you’re gonna burn yourself doing that,” you chastised.

She sighed, shrugging as she spoke, “I come home after a long work trip and you’re already nagging me. Lighten up.” You’d feel bad if there was any modicum of sincerity in the statement, but she was a Fool afterall, and she loved to grace you with any number of masks, always making you guess which was the real face beneath.

Sparkle started dishing up the soup, and the two of you sat at the dinner table to eat together. It was a rare occurrence to be able to have these quieter, domestic moments with her, as she was always flitting about traveling everywhere and you didn’t want to tie her down. Not that she ever could be. But it was becoming increasingly obvious she wanted you to join her on her excursions, even if she’d never directly ask.

“How was your job?” You asked. She hadn’t disclosed many details, but you knew it involved the Stellaron Hunters, so it couldn’t have been a particularly easy time.

She smiled at you, her eyes playful even though her smile was sharp. “Everything went off without a hitch. I’m taking you to Penacony soon. The Planet of Festivities is quite a sight.”

“I’ll have to take time off work,” you replied.

Sparkle’s smile widened, an obviously fake cheer added to her voice as she spoke, “Work this, work that, can’t we talk about something else? I can always kill your boss to get you time off.”

You tried to stifle a giggle, knowing if she thought it’d make you laugh she’d actually do it. “C’mon it’s not worth all that.”

She propped her head on one of her hands. “You don’t even need a job.” This is about as direct as she’d ever be. She was always peculiar about expressing her desires to you, either telling you nothing or telling you a million and one things, making it impossible to guess which were true and which were not. She was like this in most things, intimacy included. Sometimes, she’d insist on being so close to you it was suffocating, like you were trapped in a spider’s web, and sometimes she refused to touch you. Everything was always a part of the game, the play, a Masked Fool to the end.

As always, she was right though. She always deposited money into your account regardless of whether you wanted her to or not. So you didn’t really need a job, though it was one of the only threads to the past you still had from before you met her. Sometimes you thought it made her nervous, other times angry, others still, sad. You weren’t sure which was correct, though at the end of the day it didn’t matter, since it seemed to make her feel some way.

“I was actually thinking of quitting soon,” you admitted. You’d been thinking about it for a while, since Sparkle had first insinuated she wanted you to, and you couldn’t think of a good reason to stay. You’d rather explore the stars with her.

“Oho, and here I thought I was destined to walk about the universe by myself.” She clutched a hand to her chest dramatically, tilting her head down and closing her eyes. “I’d resigned myself to kidnapping you away with me, but I see my plans were futile. You’d instead join me of your own volition, how wonderful!”

You laughed at her overdramatics, before pausing, her words sinking in. “Wait, were you really planning on kidnapping me?”

Sparkle giggled. “What do you think?”

Honestly, you wouldn’t put it past her. She’d stolen you away on surprise trips before, pushing you to go with her and abandon your life for a handful of days to instead spend time with her. “Well, no need for all that,” you said, your voice fond despite the subject.

It seemed she was getting bored of the conversation as she pushed away from the table, coming to stand in front of you, bowing low with a hand held out. “My love, may I have this dance?”

You grasped her hand, and she pulled you out of the chair. Despite there not being any music playing, you two danced in rhythm. You followed her lead, and the two of you waltzed across the room, she spun you around, dipping you low to the ground, pressing you close and spinning you out.

Eventually, she seemed to tire of the dancing, instead tugging you towards the stairs, up and towards your bedroom. Being with her was always a guessing game and sex was no different. Her first night home in particular was a whirlwind. She rarely felt like being gentle, instead she would take you hard, fast, rough, all manner of toys or roleplay on the table, always, always down to try something new. Sometimes you’d fuck her and sometimes she’d fuck you. But other times she wasn’t even interested in sex when she came home, going straight to sleep. Though, she didn’t sleep regularly, so instead she’d just watch you sleep. You’d made the mistake of mentioning that to someone before, forgetting that most people would find that sort of behavior creepy, not romantic.

With the fervor in which she started pulling off your clothes, you knew she was definitely interested in something tonight, the gleam in her eyes alerting you that she had some sort of scheme.

“Something you’re wanting to try?” You asked.

She hummed, her smile unwavering as she started shucking her own clothes off. “Don’t know what you mean.” She pushed you down on the bed. “Face down,” she said as she fished around in the bedside table.

You turned over without resistance. It was apparent something new was on her mind and she didn’t feel like sharing what it was. Although it made anxiety swell in your gut, it also sent a bolt of arousal through you. If you wanted some sort of stability, you wouldn’t be with her. Instead, you loved the impulsivity she bore. You trusted her implicitly, probably more than you should if you were honest.

She settled behind you, shoving your legs apart with no care to be gentle. She poured a generous amount of lube directly onto your hole, causing you to shudder. She pressed a finger into you, humming in appreciation as she added a second finger in. “You feel so tight. Neglected yourself while I was away, huh? Or are you just nervous?”

“B-both,” you stuttered, hips rocking back as a moan left you as she hit a sensitive spot in you.

She chuckled. “Don’t be nervous baby.” Sparkle moved herself up a little, straddling your thigh as she rocked down, teasing herself while she prepared you. It felt like she was everywhere. Her presence was all encompassing, she always seemed to overwhelm your senses.

She pressed another finger into you, scissoring her fingers to open you up. Her other hand trailed your spine, causing goosebumps to erupt on your skin. Gently, she traced your skin.

You yelped in pain as her nails suddenly dug into your back, raking down, leaving red lines in their wake. The pain melded with your pleasure as she abused your insides, her fingers pressing in and out of you faster and faster. Her other hand trailed back up your skin, before she tapped at your mouth. She smiled as you opened up, and she gently pressed them into your mouth, roving inside, petting your tongue and the inside of your cheek. So gentle, even as her other fingers drilled into your hole, bullying every spot within you.

You could feel heat build within you, the contrast between her ministrations turning you on further. She forced you to orgasm, not stopping even as you whined in overstimulation, spit spilling out from around her fingers in your mouth.

She didn’t stop until tears clouded your vision, and then she pulled away so suddenly it made your head spin. You gasped for air, unable to form a sentence as your ragged breathing filled the room. You could still feel her grinding into your thigh, her sticky wetness coating your flesh. She leaned forward, licking at the tear tracks on your face as she finally pulled away from your thigh, instead settling herself between you again.

“You look so cute with tears in your eyes,” Sparkle cooed. She moved, caging you in with her arms, her hands settled by your shoulders as her knees kept your legs spread. She kissed at the back of your neck, nipping at the skin here and there, and sucking bruises into your flesh as she fostered the flame of your desire. She pulled one of your hands up, lacing your fingers together.

Suddenly, you could feel something shift. She seemed to take up more space, her hand heavier where it sat atop yours. Adrenaline rushed through your veins as you felt the body of a man drape over you, the hard line of a cock digging into your back.

Your brows furrowed, your head turning enough to see what she’d done. Instead of Sparkle, the visage of one of her friends, (coworkers?), Sampo, greeted you instead. It was disconcerting hearing her ragged breathing in your ear, her normal voice replaced by one several octaves deeper. “Sparkle, what are you doing?” you asked, your previous anxiety knotting up your stomach.

Instead of answering you, she simply chuckled, the noise grating your nerves. You wiggled beneath her, trying to dislodge and get out from under her, but she simply pressed further into you, laying all of her weight on you as she pressed you into the bed. You kicked at her legs. “C’mon cut it out,” you said. Despite your protesting, you could feel your arousal spike, warmth building beneath your skin at the situation.

She kissed your ear, her lips rougher than you were used to. “Shh, it’s okay,” she said.

You could feel your heart jump to your throat as she pressed her cock to your hole, teasing for now. “Sparkle stop, let’s talk fir- Ah!” She cut you off with a rough thrust in, sheathing herself in your heat in one thrust. Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes, the rough stretch burning into you. It was a lot to take at once. You had no idea if her copy was, uh, exact to Sampo’s real size, or if she’d made it the size she wanted, but if it was an exact copy then you had to admit the guy had a huge dick. You felt like you could feel it in your throat, as she roughly pulled out before slamming back into you, punching a moan out of you at the harsh treatment.

She grinded into you, pulling whimpers out of you at the insistent movement. Hearing her moan caused guilt to spike in you, hearing her voice - Sampo’s voice - like this felt like you were intruding on him in so many ways. Guilt settled heavy in your gut, you felt guilty getting off to this, to someone who wasn’t Sparkle, even if it was actually her doing this to you, pulling your head apart in such a way. Your tears finally spilled down your cheeks, the guilt of the situation causing them to fall one after another.

Despite everything, though, arousal still burned in your veins. Which became all the more apparent as she began to fuck you at a steady pace. You felt trapped beneath her, where normally there were soft lines and curves, you had dense, hard and heavy muscle caging you in, pressed against you as she practically smothered you beneath her, forcing you to just take what she was giving you, nowhere to run.

Her cock scraped you raw, physically and emotionally draining as she pistoned into you, directly targeting your sweet spots. It didn’t take long to bring you close to cumming, but you tried to hold yourself back, not wanting to cum, not like this, not when she wasn’t herself.

The hand that held yours pinned to the bed squeezed your fingers, and her other hand trailed to your neck, pinning your head to the bed as you felt her breath caress your ear as she spoke, “I can feel you clenching on my cock,” she purred, punctuating the statement with a particularly hard thrust, forcing a whine from your throat. “Go on, cum. Cum to someone who isn’t me.”

You choked on a moan, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks as you snapped, cumming and clenching down onto her cock. You felt gross afterwards, and you knew your face was a mess from the crying.

Sparkle didn’t stop though, continuing to fuck you through your high and through your regret and through your guilt and shameful arousal. She chuckled, the sound deep, the vibration rocking your chest. “So cute,” she said, staring at your fucked out face and tear tracks. “Gonna make me cum at this rate.” Her pace picked up as she fucked you into the bed, not letting you move even as you shuddered through overstimulation.

She moaned into your ear, the sound going straight to your core. You could feel her cock twitch within you, and as she finally came, her cum spilling deep into you, she bit down on your shoulder, teeth sunk deep into your flesh. You whined as she pulled her teeth out, instead licking at the wound before biting into another spot.

You thought after she came she’d stop fucking into you, but as she fucked her cum deeper into you, her cock still rock hard, you could tell she had no intentions of stopping yet. Your hand grasped at the sheets, trying to ground yourself as she bullied your insides until you saw stars.

“You like getting fucked like this?” Sparkle asked. “Like you’re just a stupid toy for me?” You whimpered, your cheeks heating up at her words.

The pleasure seemed to be never-ending, until she completely withdrew from you. For a second you thought maybe she’d grown tired of this, that she'd given you mercy, but then she half forced you into flipping over onto your back.

It was so much worse being able to see her like this, Sampo’s sleazy smile taunting you as she watched you like a hawk. Being able to see the flush on his cheeks, his disheveled hair, finally seeing the flushed cock between his legs. “It’s rude to stare.” Sparkle said, nudging herself between your legs, grasping her cock and guiding it to your hole again, slowly pressing into you as you hissed in pain from overstimulation.

Strong hands grasped beneath your knees, pushing your thighs up, up, up, until your muscles screamed at the strain and they laid flat to your chest. Your face contorted in pain, the position tweaking your muscles, but that only caused Sparkle to let out a throaty laugh.

“I just want to eat you alive,” she said. She pressed further into you and your breath left you all at once as her cock forced itself further into you, the new position allowing her to hit deeper into you, causing your hands to fly to her back to hold onto something. Sampo was way broader than Sparkle, bulky in a way your girlfriend definitely wasn’t. Hard back muscles flexed beneath your fingertips as you dug your nails into her back.

She leaned forward, trying to kiss you, but you tilted away, not wanting to kiss her like this. Her smile slid away, a frown tugging at her mouth. “Don’t be a brat,” she said, tugging your chin until you faced her again and she could press your lips to hers.

It felt rougher than usual, her lips slightly chapped. She snapped her hips, the sudden movement causing you to moan in surprise and she took the opportunity to shove her tongue into your mouth.

She fucked into you once more, her cock bullying you open hard and fast as she pressed into you. The kiss wasn’t any gentler. It was barely kissing at this point, instead she was practically tongue fucking your mouth. She was overwhelming you, wholly and utterly. Normally, you loved being overwhelmed by her, but guilt still pressed into you, roiling in your gut, blending and braiding into your arousal until it was impossible to separate them.

Your third orgasm came out of nowhere, hitting you hard as you clenched down onto her, milking her cock as you moaned around her tongue. Your nails raked down her back, causing her to whine at the sting. Your eyes flew open, locking with hers as she was already watching you, her eyes half lidded as she watched you as a predator stalks its prey.

You couldn’t stop your noises, whining and whimpering as overstimulation held you firmly in its grasp. Sparkle shoved her cock into you, upping the ante as she pulled her mouth away, fully bracing herself before snapping into you even faster, harder than before. You yelped, sobs leaving your throat as it turned truly painful.

Her cheeks were red, her gaze piercing as she watched you cry, a smile creeping onto her face as she shuddered. That expression was so delightful. Her nails dug into your thighs, as she thrust into you. Her hips stuttered as she came again, but she didn’t stop yet, fucking her cum deep into you until she was satisfied.

Finally, she pulled out of you, gently lowering your legs back onto the bed as she shifted, laying on to her side as she gathered your broken form into her arms. You felt a bit hollow, your hole empty as you felt cum spill out. Her illusion finally fell away as she pressed close to you, her arm wrapped around your waist.

She pressed apologetic kisses into your shoulder and neck. “Too rough?”

“No. Just caught me really off guard shifting like that,” you admitted.

You could feel her smirk on your skin. “But it was good.”

“Felt good, just hurt a bit because it was you but not.” You could feel her smile drop, as she hummed at your confession.

Sparkle’s voice was low as she spoke, “Sometimes I forget you really love me. Sorry.”

You grabbed her hand, lacing your fingers together. “Love you,” you murmured. You were exhausted after all of that.

She hummed in appreciation but Sparkle didn’t say anything. Though, the way she squeezed you tighter to her spoke volumes.

You started to drift to sleep but the only thing you could think was that although you were excited to start traveling with Sparkle, you really hoped she wouldn’t take you to see Sampo any time soon. It’d be really hard to look him in the eyes.

Sunday x (Gender Neutral) Reader

Warnings: nothing really, ig maybe a little bit of angst but more hurt/comfort, you are the Astral Express medic, you're supposed to be a fallen angel but that's not really necessary to understand this and will p much only become relevant if I ever follow up this one-shot w the same reader x Sunday (which I might bc I love this idea of fallen angel x Sunday), also this is not intended to be canon to Sunday's true form or anything since it's unconfirmed if Halovians have multiple sets of wings or not

Word Count: 1726

As the de facto medic of the Astral Express, since you were the only trained doctor, you made it your top priority to always know how every one of the passengers was doing, physically and mentally. Currently, your most challenging case sat before you; Sunday, former head of the Oak Family and newest passenger aboard the train. 

He sat stiffly, spine straight and hands crossed together neatly in his lap as he sat on your examination table. His head was facing straight but instead of looking at you, his gaze was on his hands. You’d always felt a kinship with the Halovian, whether it be due to your own (miserable) past, or the fact that you both shared avian features. Your own wings twitched, feathers fluffing slightly as you tried to puzzle out the best way to help him. Getting him to even admit he needed help was akin to pulling teeth, but you were determined to be patient. 

“Sunday, I just need to look them over, okay? I won’t do anything you don’t want me to,” you said, your voice soft as you tried your best to coax him. 

He squeezed his hands tighter together, his voice barely audible as he spoke, “I know. I-” He cut himself off, pressing his lips closed as he refused to say anything else. Instead, he uncrossed his hands, and began disrobing his top half, unbuttoning his shirt and sliding the material off until his torso was bare. 

His wings, a dark purple akin the nightingales you’d seen on Penacony, were on his lower back, further down than your own black wings which sat between your shoulder blades. His sat around his waist, and they were very obviously neglected. They were tightly wrapped around his torso, and the feathers were dull and in disarray, it was clear they needed to be preened. Most alarmingly, his flight feathers were clipped on his left side. It made you wonder if the piercings on his upper wings weren’t of his own volition, if they were perhaps a reminder that he was a flightless bird. 

You made your way behind him so you could observe the wings fully. Sunday himself was exceedingly skinny, and you made a mental note to talk to him about that another day; when he wasn’t so shaken up. The connecting muscles to his wings were underdeveloped, making it apparent that even if his wing wasn’t clipped he still would be unable to fly. 

“Is it okay if I touch them?” you asked. Sunday gave you a shaky nod. Instead of immediately beginning a more thorough examination you spoke, “I’m going to try to stretch them out, okay? I’ll be gentle, but it’ll probably be painful or uncomfortable. Please let me know if I need to stop.” 

A rush of breath left him, before he nodded again, his hands gripping onto the edge of the examination table to brace himself. You started with his left wing; it would be the most troublesome to deal with. 

You took it slow, gently prying his wing away from his torso, stopping whenever he’d hiss in pain. It probably took the better part of a half hour to get the wing fully stretched out, but once it was, Sunday heaved a sigh of relief. 

You examined the wing more thoroughly, trying to give him a break before you worked on his other one. His flight feathers were in worse shape than you first thought; many of the primaries had been clipped, including the ones used in landing. It was quite barbaric. You briefly wondered how many times the feathers had been clipped, how long it took Halovians to grow them back in, how many times had he endured such treatment? 

The muscles in the wing were atrophied, and you knew you’d have to help Sunday set up a strict physical therapy regimen if he had any hope of ever flying again. You massaged the joints, helping to relieve the tension from being so cramped. 

You gave him another moment’s reprieve, gently kneading the area where the wing met his back, before you began working on the other wing. This one didn’t take as much time to straighten out, and you gave it just as much care as the other one, rubbing away the aches and pains that lanced through him. 

Hearing a bang, your wings shot out, wrapping around Sunday’s form before you turned to the door. “Hey- oh! Sorry, sorry.” March said, scratching at her head as she realized she was interrupting something. You could feel Sunday tuck into himself, his wings twitching as you felt him barely stop himself from wrapping them around himself. Thankfully, your wingspan was larger than his, mostly covering him from March’s view. “Um, I was just going to ask if you’d seen Dan Heng, but I’m guessing not, so I’ll leave.” she said, giving an awkward laugh. 

“See you later March,” you said as she ducked out the door, giving it a firm shove shut. You could hear her voice carry through the door, speaking to the Trailblazer, before the two wandered off, presumably to find the elusive archivist. 

Your wings settled back into place, tucking them against your back as you sighed. “Sorry, Sunday. Are you okay?” 

His breath was shaky as you peered down at him, his face flushed from embarrassment. You weren’t sure if he was embarrassed at the thought of March seeing him in such a vulnerable state, or if it was because you’d wrapped him in your wings. After a long moment, he responded, “Yes, I am…fine. You may continue.” 

You hummed in acknowledgement before giving his wings another once over before you pulled away. “I won’t lie to you, they’re in rough shape.” You moved back to the otherside of the table so you could look at him as you spoke. “You need to stop constricting them immediately. The blood flow is severely damaged, and your joints are in less than ideal shape from the abuse. The bones themselves are doing well, but the muscles are atrophied.” You took a deep breath before continuing, “It’s going to take a lot of work to get them healthy again, but after strengthening them, and once your flight feathers grow back in, it could be possible to fly again.” 

His face seemed to crumple at your words. This…was not an expression you’d ever seen on him before, especially considering he’d tried his best to appear perfect, hiding away any perceived flaw away from prying eyes. You had to stop yourself from reaching out, uncertain if he’d be appreciative of any physical contact, even if all you wanted to do right now was comfort him. All at once his expression dropped, his eyes downcast and gaze dead as he spoke, the whisper so low you weren’t sure he meant for you to hear, “Do I even deserve…?” 

You sighed. “Forget whether you deserve it or not, do you want it?”

Sunday raised his head, looking you in the eyes, though his gaze remained far away as his lips parted. “I don’t know.” His expression turned pained as he licked his lips, nervous, as he finally seemed to see you again. “Can you help me fix them?” 

You smiled, nodding. “I have some general ideas on what needs to be done, but I’ll do a bit more research on Halovians specifically to help, just give me a day or two to figure out a plan. For now though, we’ll need to get you some better fitting clothes, and the feathers need to be preened. If you’d like, I can do that, or I can leave you to your own devices.” 

His cheeks slowly flushed again, the wings by his ears fluttering nervously, and you had to suppress the desire to cup his face in your hands. He was so pretty it was unfair, but you wanted to help him, and it wouldn’t do to admit any budding feelings you had for the Halovian. It was obvious he needed a friend, and you didn’t want to jeopardize the fragile trust built between the two of you. 

Sunday cleared his throat. “If you truly would not mind, your help would be appreciated.” 

“Do you want tea or anything? This may take a little bit of time,” you said. 

He shook his head, “That is unnecessary.” 

The two of you situated on the examination table, you had your own legs crossed together as you found the most comfortable position. You began your work; gently opening pin feathers and brushing out old feathers that were stuck, all the while carefully avoiding any blood feathers, lest you injure him. 

As you worked, tension seemed to seep out of Sunday, and every once in a while he breathed a sigh of relief. You wondered when he’d last been preened by anyone else; his smaller wings by his wings were taken well care of, his own handiwork you presumed, and the way he shuddered at each gentle touch of yours, each delicate caress as you dutifully worked through the plumage, was telling enough. 

It took over an hour to completely finish, and your hands and fingers ached, but it was well worth the effort. You stretched your hands, your joints popping as you did. “Alright, you’re good to go,” you said, sliding off the examination table to once again stand in front of him. 

“Thank you,” he murmured. 

“Of course.” You smiled at him. “Just ask if you want me to preen them again, okay?” He nodded at your words, giving you a small smile in return. “Plus, if you’d like, you’re welcome to return the favor one of these days.” 

His eyes widened at your offer. “You would trust me to preen your wings?” 

Your brows furrowed as a slight frown made its way onto your face. “Yeah. It’s not that surprising is it? I trust you, Sunday. We’ve all done things we aren’t proud of, and I’m not going to condemn you for yours. The Express is about starting over, about not letting your past weigh you down. Instead, blaze the trail, see the stars, do what you want.” 

A soft smile seeped back onto your face as you spoke once more, “Trust, and be trusted in turn, by your fellow passengers. There’s a whole universe waiting for you, Sunday.”

HSR CHARACTERS X AEON READER?? THEM BEING YOUR FAV???? LIKE GENSHIN SELF AWARE AU???

Aeon of protection?? Like protecting all life forms and objects of humanity?? Respecting each other??? Like just a protection path?

Bro idk but bus thoughts kick different

(S/O) "Heh, I'd buy that for a dollar-"

I get that reference it's from Robocop! aka my favorite movie

Asta's s/o jokingly says it would be nice to have their own soaceship... They then have to physically restrain her from buying them one

(Honkai: Star Rail) Asta's S/O trying to stop her from buying them things

Asta doesn't like using her money, since many people would try to take advantage of it.

But when it comes to the people she cares about? That's a different story.

Arlan, S/O, and a few others have the privilege, and burden, of having access to Asta's wealth.

S/O has to be careful with their wording, as whenever they mentioned it'd be nice to have something, Asta would take that literally.

(S/O) "Heh, I'd buy that for a dollar-"

(Asta) "What are you getting? I can help out if you need it-"

(S/O) "W-What? No, that's just a saying-No, Asta! Put down the phone!"

Asta becomes absolutely flabbergasted whenever S/O offers to pay her back for a meal, or gets her something instead.

To the point she'd be willing to buy them something grandiose to show her affection.

(S/O) "We already said goodbye to the Astral Express?"

(Asta) "Yes, they're out travelling the galaxy now."

(S/O) "Heh, I wish the two of us could go exploring in our own ship."

(Asta) "...Do you need one?"

(S/O) "Hm? Well, It'd be nice to have but-Asta, don't you dare."

S/O reaches for her arm before she can even grab the phone.

(S/O) "How the hell do you even order a spaceship from an app anyway?!"

(Asta) "I can show if you-"

(S/O) "NO!"

Softening Armor

I am so tired, but I have dedicated myself to one fic a day (૭ ｡•̀ ᵕ •́｡ )૭ so eat well my children!!!

Disclaimer: This is like an everyone-is-alive au? The official trailers......I just can't .·°՞(っ-ᯅ-ς)՞°·. I need everyone to be in a place where they are happy. So they're all demigods but WITHOUT the fighting or trauma. Take it as a uhhh......succession kinda thingy like Janus did with Tribios where they just gave their coreflame to her. Now enjoy!!! (๑>؂•̀๑)

‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋

The halls echoed the clanging from the new king's armor. Yet he remained careful as to not make too much noise, lest it awoke his beloved that rested in the royal chambers.

He made his way to his wife-now his queen-to come cuddle sleep together with his wife. The female Kremnoan solider whom he positioned as his wife's personal guard looked up as she took him in, carefully analyzing him to make sure it was him and not some doppelgänger who was on his way to assassinate their benevolent queen.

Once she confirmed it was their revered king, she bowed as she allowed him to pass through the doors.

"Is the queen asleep?" he demanded.

"She had retired to the chambers moments ago, your Majesty. She had also ordered for a change of clothes, and I haven't heard from her since."

He hummed in acknowledgement as he crossed the guard to step into his and his queen's shared space.

He walked past the small study and library he had built upon the insistence of his queen, a tranquil haven for the both of them.

As he entered the bedroom, his shoulders visibly relaxed from the tense posture they were in the whole day.

There she was, bundled in layers of blankets and pillows. His beloved queen.

He approached side gently and quietly, despite knowing his wife would sleep even if Nikador were to be reborn and wreck havoc onto Castrum Kremnos and Okhema again.

He removed one of his gauntlets to pet her soft hair, gently moving them away from her face. He didn't dare to rouse her from her rest, knowing she was the one handling all internal affairs of the city.

If he doesn't wake her up now, she would get angry at him tomorrow for not letting her know when he has arrived. How could he, when she slept like an earth-bound angel? (albeit, drooling a bit perhaps due to her deep sleep)

Alas his wish to let his wife sleep more was shattered as her eyes fluttered open, her drowsy gaze falling on his imposing figure.

"You're back." She drawled on, barely getting the words past her yawn.

Times like these is then Mydei has an uncontrollable urge to take her cheeks and squish them as hard as he could. Of course, he wouldn't hurt her, although the urge to squeeze her to show her how much he adored her was ever present.

"Are you having cuteness aggression towards your own wife, Mydei?" Aglaea asks him as she measures his arm for a new pair of gauntlets. "Tch, we do not have that word in the Kremnoan language," he casually brushed it aside, "also it is not I who is at fault here, it completely her fault for being........" "Irresistible?" the demigod of Romance chuckled as she amuses herself with teasing the new demigod of Strife. Tribbie, who's nearby, peeks their head in the fitting room, their mouth full of the apple tarts Mydei had just cooked for them as a reward. "Oh De~" they say, "You cannot possibly hide your affections in front of the literal god of Romance!!"

His queen emerges from her blanket cocoon, immediately crawling into his arms to seek the lost warmth from the blankets. "You came earlier than expected, I would've asked the maids to-"

He shushed her with his bare hand as he used his teeth to undo the straps off of his other one. His armor was custom built, and strong. Aglaea made sure it was as comfortable as it was sturdy. He was grateful for it, of course.

Although, in times like these, all he wished is that she had made them more easy to remove.

He dropped the other gauntlet to the floor of their bedroom, now using both his hands to steady his wife onto his lap with both his hands now.

"i am back from war, Wife. Will you not be so kind as to reward me with your presence?"

A partially asleep you looks at him, still wondering whether this was your Mydei, your king, or a dream you had decided to indulge in due to missing him so much.

As if hearing your thoughts, the King of Kremnos tightened his grip on your waist, snapping you out of your daze.

"I requested a reward from you, my Queen." He claimed as he moved you closer to his broad chest.

"Mhm. Heard you." You said as your voice muffled into his chest. "i am just....very sleepy to fulfill your wish at the moment Mydei."

Realizing this wasn't the moment to get coddled, or coddle his own wife, he pushed her away from his chest, kissing her lips gently.

'The word coddle doesn't exist in the Kremnoan Dictionary' he had to remind himself. But who cared what the Dictionary contained?

He pulled away, softly pecking your lips again. "Alright then," he whispered, rubbing at your arms to warm them where they were exposed to the nightly chill, "I shall settle with this for now. Although, you must promise that you will accompany me to breakfast tomorrow and take the day off."

"Mhm, I promise. Just......let's sleep now. I missed you." You mumbled as Mydei tried to get both of you back onto your blanket cocoon.

With a brief kiss to your lips, and a peck to your temple, he gathered you in his arms, surrounding you in his warmth, scent, strength and his everthing.

Mydei didn't say a word of how he missed you. But the way he had removed his armor and embraced your form tightly, as if even the nightmares of his subconscious would steal you away, spoke a thousand.

︶꒦︶꒷︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶꒷꒦‧ ₊˚・︶꒦︶꒷︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶꒷꒦‧ ₊˚・︶꒦︶꒷︶︶꒷

I am so so so eepy and tired, realizing I might've self-projected here, but what gal ain't eepy and tired (っ˕ -｡)ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 However I refuse to sleep without uploading something ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

I will take tomorrow off my elves, I have a test to study for ( ˶°ㅁ°) !! I WILL be back to writing as soon as I can though!! So keep em requests coming!!

Not beta read. I am running on pure caffeine and sheer willpower rn ( ◡̀_◡́)ᕤ

© 2024-2025 whimsicalwritingfeline all rights reserved.

ABOUT MYSELF

•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• •┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• •┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈•

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

My name is Nessie!! I am a 21+ afab bisexual female <3. Welcome to my corner of the internet! Coffee addict, book lover, and gacha game enthusiast! Cat Lover!!!!! Engineering Major, even though I enjoy literature much more. I will write anything under the sun!!!! (As long as it's reasonable of course :3)

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

Requests are OPEN!!

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

The fandoms I will/might write for:

Hoyoverse games (HSR, Genshin, ZZZ)

Wuthering Waves

DC (Mostly BatFam and Teen Titans)

Love and Deepspace

May add more stuff as I discover my interests!!

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

Rules for my lil' elves!!!

I write fluff, smut, angst, hurt/comfort. Most of my fanfics will be x fem!reader or gn!reader, but I also write for fandom ships ✮⋆˙

All the characters I write for are 18+ and above ✮⋆˙

May write yandere upon request, but I am not into it that very much ✮⋆˙

MINORS DNI, I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU CONSUME ON THE INTERNET ✮⋆˙

Please be respectful of everybody in the community ✮⋆˙

All Rights Reserved ©. These works are mine and mine alone.

PS: This blog may also feature reblogs from other creators—all rights belong to their respective owners ✮⋆˙

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ───────

Well that's all for now!! I will start posting from tomorrow onwards and gradually take in requests ✧｡٩(ˊᗜˋ )و✧*｡

I will be looking forward to see what everyone comes up with in the requests box!! ฅ/ᐠ˶> ﻌ<˶ᐟ\ฅ

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶

Veritas Ratio HSR X Reader

“Stubborn, Stubborn, Stubborn.”

masterlist

You’re apart of the crew and an aspiring scientist. Though focusing in the forensics field to help out on missions.

📜🪶𓍢ִ໋🀦✎ᝰ. You hunched over a cluttered desk inside Herta’s Space Station, scribbling notes that looked more like deciphered codes than legible science. The quiet hum of machinery served as a backdrop to your forced concentration, punctuated every so often by the sharp scratch of a pen.

Dr. Veritas Ratio sat a few feet away, posture rigid, eyes sharp beneath a veil of bangs, hand flying across the pages of his own leather bound book like a man possessed.

This wasn’t what you imagined when you signed up to “shadow the renowned Dr. Ratio for advanced forensic learning.” You wanted to expand your skills, help the crew better on field missions because for some god forsaken reason, every time you stepped foot on a new planet, you were the one knee deep in clues, bodies, and mysteries no one asked for. It only made sense to sharpen your mind where it counted. days in and Dr. Ratio had barely acknowledged you unless he was critiquing your logic like a middle school science project.

Still, you tried again.

“So,” you started, voice casual, “when you said the neural pathways respond to stimulation, were you implying synaptic frequency increases even without cognitive awareness, or?”

“I was referring,” he interrupted at lightning speed, “to the involuntary oscillation of signal transmissions under external influence, something any second year biologist could tell you. Your phrasing was inaccurate, misleading, and honestly bordering on theoretical idiocy.”

You blinked, stunned into silence not because you were offended, but because his words were fired off like bullets from a gatling gun. You couldn’t even keep up enough to be offended. Still, you smiled, brows raised. “Right… of course. That’s what I meant. Totally.”

He didn’t look up, didn’t acknowledge the sarcasm. Just kept writing. You sighed, staring at your notes and trying to find the motivation to continue copying something down about tissue decomposition in altered gravity conditions. But your thoughts were elsewhere specifically: “The brain is a muscle, my ass,” you thought bitterly. “This man is a stick in the mud.”

You tried once more, adjusting your chair just enough to glance at him. “Hey, uh… Ratio?” He didn’t stop writing. “I just wanted to let you know it’s my last day here. The Express is taking off tonight.”

He paused. Pen hovered in midair. For the first time in hours, he turned to look at you. “Then I suppose this is farewell,” he said evenly. “Any mind still desperate to learn more is worth a modicum of effort.” You blinked. That actually sounded… almost like a compliment? “But you remain, unfortunately, idiotic.”

There it was.

You couldn’t help the dry laugh that escaped. “Thanks, I’ll take that as the most affectionate thing you’ve said all week.”

“There is no affection in scientific discourse,” he replied, already back to his book.

You exhaled hard through your nose. There’s no pleasing this man. Still, you gathered your things, slung your bag over your shoulder, and gave him a nod. “Appreciate the time. Really. Maybe next time, I’ll come back knowing enough to offend you less.”

Ratio didn’t look up. “Unlikely, but your optimism is statistically entertaining.”

You paused at the door and gave one last look over your shoulder. No goodbye. Just the steady scratch of pen on paper. Annoying. Insufferable. Condescending. You had plenty of normal conversations with Ruan Mei, Screwllum, even Herta who could be a little unhinged but at least talked like a human being. you couldn’t say you didn’t learn something. Even if you wanted to shove him into a simulation chamber and press “random.”

Sighing, you stepped out of the lab, muttering to yourself, “The man needs a personality transplant. Or at least a nap.” Time to go back to the Astral Express. Hopefully, without being called an idiot in five different academic dialects.

📜🪶𓍢ִ໋🀦✎ᝰ. Dr. Veritas Ratio stood alone in the silence of Herta’s Space Station lab, the ambient hum of machinery now a mere background to his thoughts. The room still carried the faint trace of your presence a slightly skewed chair, a half empty data pad left untouched, a worn notebook you used with mismatched doodles and scientific scribbles alike. He stared at the door for longer than he intended after you had left.

“Hmph.” His voice echoed softly in the quiet room, as if irritated by his own lingering stillness.

With a sharp breath, he returned to his seat, flipping open the leather bound journal he had been writing in not his own research logs, but something far more… unwieldy.

A chronicle. An account. An observation. You. You, the girl who barged into his space several days ago claiming she was eager to “learn more about forensics” so she could stop playing amateur detective across the galaxy like some kind of self declared interstellar sleuth. The girl who stood there in front of him bright eyed, annoyingly persistent, armed with nothing but a notepad and a smile that dared him to reject her.

He should have said no. Really. He meant to.

Entry One:

She is insufferably stubborn.

From the moment she entered, she challenged my authority not with words, but with that relentless, aggravating optimism. It’s like trying to teach science to a golden retriever that insists on wagging its tail every time it gets a basic equation right.

She surrounds herself with the imbecile crew of the Astral Express each of them so charmingly flawed that one would need earplugs just to survive a conversation. She listens. She stares at equations like a brain dead dog. if puzzles are worth solving, and when she gets them wrong…

Ratio’s pen slowed for a second.

Entry Three:

I threw a book at her.

She botched a rudimentary breakdown of spatial decay honestly, I still don’t understand how someone confuses atomic diffusion rates with heat based deconstruction and I threw a book at her.

He tapped the end of the pen to the page.

She didn’t cry. Didn’t storm out. She laughed. Actually laughed. Rubbed the back of her head and said, “Should’ve known you’d have better aim than that,” before flipping back to her notes and reworking the entire equation.

Stubborn. Stubborn. Stubborn.

He underlined the word twice.

Entry Five:

She got something right today.

Not just right. Brilliant, actually. She identified a miscalculation in a gravitational bleed pattern I hadn’t even caught yet. I told her it was “adequate.” She beamed like I’d handed her a Nobel Prize.

Ratio exhaled slowly at the memory. There had been more moments like that. More times than he cared to admit where he’d look at her work and see genuine understanding growing like a slow, tenacious weed through cracked pavement.

She was undisciplined. A jumbled mess of deduction and instinct. But she was learning.

He flipped to the last few pages in the book, where neat bullet points were written in his precise hand. Not for himself. For her.

• You need to stop jumping to conclusions without sufficient data.

• Emotion clouds deduction. Maintain detachment until evidence is confirmed.

• Your spatial awareness is strong. Consider pursuing work in trajectory and motion based forensics.

• Your memory recall, while clumsy, is oddly adaptive. You seem to remember patterns more than facts use that.

• Stop doodling in the margins.

And then, written softer, smaller, like it embarrassed him:

• You are better than you think. Just… be better still.

He hadn’t meant to go into so much detail. It was just supposed to be notes. Brief, simple. A few guiding remarks she could use once she returned to playing Sherlock on alien planets. But the longer he spent around her, the more the book filled. He would’ve given it to her. That was the plan. Hand it off as a cold farewell and return to his own work, alone, uninterrupted.

But when she said she was leaving, a strange ache settled in his chest. He had closed the book instead. He told her she was idiotic. That was easier than saying anything else. He wasn’t built for sentiment.

But now, in the sterile quiet of the lab, he opened the book again and stared at the last empty page. His pen hovered for a moment before he wrote:

You were the most tolerable nuisance I’ve encountered.

He closed the book. Folded his arms. And sat there, in silence. Holding the only piece of you he could.

📜🪶𓍢ִ໋🀦✎ᝰ. The Astral Express had settled into its familiar rhythm a quiet lull between the catastrophe that just occurred. You sat in your room, sprawled on your back atop your bed, legs dangling off the side as a small packet of data chips and half doodled notes littered the floor beneath you. The lighting was dim, and soft music played in the background something March had been trying to get everyone into. Bubblegum pop something or other. You didn’t mind it.

Then, your terminal lit up with an incoming call.

Caller ID: Dr. Veritas Ratio

You blinked. Seriously? The last time you’d heard from Ratio was months ago, back when you’d finished your “training” with him at Herta’s Space Station. He hadn’t called. He hadn’t sent a single follow up. Hell, you figured he forgot you existed. Which was fine. He’d called you idiotic more times than you could count. You got the message.

So why the sudden contact? You leaned over, smacked the “Answer” button with your palm, and sat back again, letting the hologram flicker to life. The familiar sight of Ratio appeared sharply dressed, arms crossed, and already mid glare.

“Have all of you completely lost your minds?” he barked.

“Wow, no hello? You’ve really softened over the months,” you drawled, stretching your arms above your head and letting out a long yawn.

Ratio ignored the comment. “You brought it on board. A Stellaron. A living, breathing, ticking time bomb and you you let them install it into the crew roster like it’s a decorative lamp!”

“Not me,” you replied casually. “That was Himeko and Welt’s call. I was too busy teaching March how to tell the difference between a footprint and a crater.”

He leaned closer into the hologram, voice sharp as shattered glass. “And you didn’t stop them?”

You tilted your head, gaze flat. “Ratio, I’ve learned many things in my life. One of which is: you do not argue with Himeko unless you want to be questioning your own sexuality.”

“This is reckless. Irresponsible. Foolhardy. Welt Yang used to be logical.”

“He still is,” you said, picking at a thread in your blanket. “Realistically, this was the safest option.”

“Oh?” Ratio lifted a brow, sarcasm soaking every syllable. “Yes, why not keep the volatile Stellaron host onboard the most advanced dimensional train known to man? Surely the best place for a cosmic disaster seed is inside the space equivalent of a floating museum.”

“See? You do have a heart,” you said, smiling slightly. “You’re worried about us.”

“I’m worried about the structural integrity of your ship, and the illogical stupidity of a crew that includes people like well, like you.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

Ratio scowled. “You’re not taking this seriously.”

You rolled onto your side, cheek pressed to your pillow, gaze on the projection of his furious form pacing like a scientist on the edge of an aneurysm. “No, I am. I just also live on a train that is fully capable of going against the Antimatter Legion, hunted by robots, and now has an amnesiac walking stellar bomb with a winning smile and a personality March immediately adopted like a stray puppy. You’ll excuse me if I conserve my panic energy.”

Ratio paused, folding his arms. “You’ve grown bolder.”

“You called me idiotic for a week straight. I had to evolve or die.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then, softly so softly you barely caught it he muttered

You blinked, eyebrows lifting. “What was that?”

“Nothing.” He cleared his throat. “Still. You would be wise to proceed with caution. The Stellaron may not act today or tomorrow, but entropy is inevitable. One misstep, and it could unravel every layer of existence you so casually nap on.”

You smiled lazily. “I missed your bedtime stories.”

“You are insufferable.”

“You called me.”

Ratio paused. For a flicker of a second, his expression shifted barely visible, like a crack in marble. Thoughtful. Frustrated. Maybe even… hesitant. “you have a brain. And I don’t like seeing it wasted.” He gestured vaguely in your direction. “You’re tolerable when you’re being cautious.”

“And you’re tolerable when you’re not actively trying to kill me with a migraine.”

The hologram began to glitch slightly signal fading as the Express entered another sector.

Ratio’s voice cut through one last time before the line ended: “Just don’t get comfortable. You may not always have time to brace for the explosion.”

Then the screen blinked to black. You sat there, the weight of his words hanging in the room like smoke.

“…Still didn’t say goodbye,” you murmured, grabbing your tea and taking a slow sip. You weren’t worried.

📜🪶𓍢ִ໋🀦✎ᝰ. Herta’s Space Station was bustling with its usual polite chaos researchers skittering around with datapads too big for their hands, drones zipping above heads, experiments sparking in sealed chambers. The scent of metal and burnt circuitry lingered faintly in the air. A strangely nostalgic aroma, really.

You had come here for one reason and one reason only: to visit Screwllum. The robotic genius had promised to show you a new forensic simulation model, one that could track theoretical blood spatter in zero gravity. You were deeply interested, and by “deeply interested,” you meant giddy like a child with a crime scene coloring book.

You weren’t expecting to see him. Not as you rounded the corner of the central archive, passing Herta’s projection arguing with itself, and almost bumped headfirst into a tall figure already ranting at a researcher over some miscalculation involving quantum probability flow.

“Dr. Ratio,” you breathed, blinking once.

He turned toward you slowly. You immediately put your hands over your mouth, gasped dramatically, and staggered back a step. If he gets to ghost you, why cant you have fun yourself?

“Veritas? Is it really you?” you cried, voice shaking like a widow in a play. “The universe said you were lost to the abyss of academia, never to be seen again! I we I waited so long!”

Ratio stared at you, expression unreadable but very much unimpressed. “You’re being absurd.”

“Absurdly in love,” you swooned, grabbing his arm with faux desperation. “I swore I’d wait, no matter how long the stars turned. You you arrogant bastard you came back.”

“Stop being ridiculous,” he replied flatly. “Ill have you know that if you even tried i would’ve answered. You were simply too busy pretending to be a detective on every rock you stumbled across.”

“not one letter. Not one call. Do you have any idea how I’ve suffered? Ive missed my stuck up asshole of a husband”

He raised an eyebrow. “You were messaging Screwllum memes less than twelve hours ago.”

You blinked. “Screwllum loves my memes. Don’t derail me trying to make you look like a bad husband.”

“I should’ve let you fail the entropy unit,” he muttered, brushing your hands off like you were a particularly annoying layer of dust.

You laughed, arms crossing over your chest. “Still as insufferable as ever, Ratio. You really know how to make a girl feel welcome.”

Ratio returned to his datapad. “If by ‘welcome’ you mean ‘tolerated,’ then yes. I remain consistent.”

There was a beat of silence. The usual static hum of the station pulsed around you. You tilted your head slightly, observing him not just as a former mentor or your favorite verbal sparring partner, but as someone you honestly missed.

You stepped a little closer, voice dropping. “Hey… could we catch up a bit?”

He paused. His fingers hovered over the datapad. Just for a second. Then, slowly, he looked at you out of the corner of his eye.

“why”

You smiled. “Ok big guy is asking the questions, I suppose I just want to see how you’re doing.”

Ratio’s lips twitched, the faintest ghost of a smirk. “I suppose… some minds are worth the occasional recalibration.”

“Is that your way of saying ‘yes’?”

“It’s my way of saying you’re still stubborn and prone to foolishness but slightly less irritating than most of the imbeciles I suffer daily.”

You beamed. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Ratio glanced away, resuming his work. “Don’t get sentimental.”

But you saw the way his posture shifted less tense, a fraction more open.

📜🪶𓍢ִ໋🀦✎ᝰ. Ratio’s quarters were exactly what you expected and somehow even more Ratio than you thought possible.

Minimalist, sterile, everything arranged with sharp symmetry almost clinical, like the man had tried to recreate a science lab in the shape of a bedroom. The lighting was dim, a soft overhead hue that neither strained the eyes nor dared to be comforting. Shelves upon shelves of books lined the walls, but not a single one looked even slightly out of place. His desk had no dust, no loose wires, no snacks just data pads, models, papers arranged in brutal harmony. despite all the perfect order, there was something kind of… homey about it. Or maybe you were just losing your mind. Probably the latter.

“I’ll return shortly,” he said earlier, stepping out with a brief mention of fetching something from Screwllum or threatening Herta’s projection into silence you weren’t sure which. His voice was already vanishing down the hall as you nodded absently, too curious about seeing this inner sanctum of his to stop him.

Which is how you ended up alone in the room and your eyes landed on the book. You hadn’t seen it since your time as his reluctant partner slash student slash mental punching bag. Leather bound, its corners slightly worn, it sat there on the desk like it had been placed just for you to find it. An artifact of a past so recent it still itched under your skin. You told yourself to leave it alone. You didn’t. Fingers brushed the cover. You opened it.

The first few pages were filled with sharp, scathing commentary written in Ratio’s precise, aggressively legible handwriting. Your early days of working together where you barely kept up and made mistakes that, according to him, “required divine intervention to unsee.” You scoffed, flipping forward.

There were notes, not just about your blunders, but about what you’d done right. Diagrams you’d drawn that he’d annotated, not with insults, but improvement suggestions. Questions you’d asked that he’d praised though usually in the most begrudging tone imaginable.

You flipped further. Dates from after your training had ended appeared.

She let that walking disaster <Stelle> on board. Of course she did. Her loyalty to the crew is stronger than her self preservation. Idiotic.

…Though, if she’s the one monitoring it, perhaps there’s hope it won’t implode immediately.

Your brows lifted. Another entry, this time sloppier, less rigid:

Saw her solve a multi layer deduction test from Ruan Mei’s simulation. Beat the projection time by five minutes. Either she’s improving rapidly… or cheating. I doubt the latter. Annoying. Impressive.

And then:

You were the most tolerable nuisance I’ve encountered.

You stared at that line for a long time, blinking. Your heart gave the smallest traitorous flutter. Ratio? Writing that down? In his own personal notes? Voluntarily?

“Veritas Veritas Veritas,” you whispered, amused, letting the book rest gently on the desk again, “you’re so down bad and you don’t even know it.”

You glanced around the room with new eyes now. Not just a workspace. There were signs of you scattered in the margins things you’d said that he’d scribbled down verbatim, questions you’d asked, observations you’d made. There, in this sterile haven of knowledge, you existed. When the door slid open again with that same low mechanical hiss, you didn’t turn immediately. You kept your hands at your sides, innocent, as Ratio entered holding a datapad and a cup of something that definitely wasn’t coffee.

He raised an eyebrow.

“You moved things,” he said bluntly.

You turned, grinning. “I breathed in here. Hope that’s not too much.”

Ratio’s eyes zeroed in on the open book like a hawk spotting a wounded animal. The datapad in his hand made a dull thud as he dropped it to the desk beside you.

“You read it,” he said, voice low, clipped. It wasn’t a question. It was a fact delivered like an accusation.

You opened your mouth, but he was already moving, closing the book in one motion that was more violent than necessary. His eyes flicked to you, sharp with something between irritation and disbelief. “That book was for me. My documentation. My evaluations. Not for you to comb through like some sentimental schoolgirl with a crush.”

You just raised your hands a little in mock surrender. “Okay, first of all ow. Second, maybe don’t leave emotionally repressed love letters in plain sight if you don’t want them read.”

His scowl deepened. “You are not the center of my notes. You were a case study in irritating persistence.”

You smiled. “A tolerable nuisance, if I remember correctly.”

“I regret ever writing that.”

“You do not.”

Ratio looked like he was about to snap again, but your tone shifted before he could. A little more sincere this time. Less teasing.

“Look, before you combust into quantum dust or something, I’ve been doing the same thing. Kind of.”

That made him blink. His arms crossed tightly, jaw clenched.

You shrugged. “Whenever there was news. Whenever Screwllum or Herta mentioned something cool you did. Whenever you published something with Ruan Mei. I’d log it in a little virtual journal. Notes, quotes, observations. Even drew a diagram of your frustrated face once. It was very detailed.”

“You tracked my activity?” His voice was dry with disbelief.

“Kept tabs,” you corrected. “I mean, you did teach me how to observe patterns and record data. I thought it’d be fun to apply it to you.”

Ratio stared at you. Hard.

You grinned again, stepping closer now, just into his space, enough to make him instinctively stiffen. “So, if you like me so much, Veritas…” you tilted your head, voice dipping into a teasing lilt, “it doesn’t have to stay theoretical.”

The room went dead silent. Ratio’s eye twitched.

“I do not like you.”

You leaned back with a smug hum, hands slipping behind your back. “Sure. That’s why you wrote, ‘perhaps there’s hope it won’t implode immediately.’ About me and the crew.”

“That was in reference to the logistical risk of hosting a walking bomb, not an emotional attac—”

“You said impressive, Ratio.”

“I said annoying right before.”

You shrugged. “And still impressive.”

Ratio turned away from you, muttering curses under his breath in a tone too quiet to catch. But he didn’t tell you to leave. Didn’t shove you out or erase his notes or block access to his quarters. Instead, he sat, flipped open a new file on his datapad, and typed exactly three words

Emotional interference: persistent.

You laughed as you settled in across from him.

“Glad I’m still in your data set.”

Sunday HSR X Reader

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ SNOW DAY! ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱

masterlist

part 1

its a little bit of a different format!! be warned because i know the first part was well loved

this is technically a part 2 though its a little more angsty but I tried to still hold the same dynamic. Sunday having some self doubt is a warning. You don’t need to read this part but you’d need to read the first part to make this make sense.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ Something cold brushed your cheek. You stirred, barely, burying your face deeper into the couch cushion. The blanket someone had kindly placed over you was warm and smelled faintly of lavender. The lights in the Parlor Car had dimmed. The stars outside twinkled lazily, unmoving.

“HEY! HEY! WAKE UP!!”

“AAAHHH” Your body spasmed upright as your eyes flew open in a panic. You blinked wildly, sleep still clawing at the corners of your vision. Something someone was screaming directly into your ear, high pitched and furious and

“We’re about to make a jump! All passengers must be prepped and present! Did you think this was a nap train?! Come on, come on!”

“PomPom?” you croaked, eyes wide and dazed, hair in complete disarray. the tiny conductor screeched, arms flailing, foot tapping with enough force you swore you could feel it through the couch. “We jump in fifteen minutes! FIFTY FIVE SECONDS of that are already gone! Do you want to arrive half dreaming and in pajamas?!”

You blinked again, your heart now racing for a whole new reason. The blanket slid off your shoulders. Across the room, seated calmly with tea in hand, Welt Yang gave you an apologetic nod as if this sort of thing wasnt normal. Beside him, Himeko, already dressed in her usual beautiful self with not a single red strand out of place, smiled gently. “Good morning, sleepyhead. You should hurry. These jumps can be disorienting if you’re not prepared.”

“Right. Yes. Okay. Jump. We’re jumping.” You stood too fast. The blanket tripped you. Your leg knocked into the table, rattling Himeko’s teacup. “Sorry! Sorry. I!”

“Just go get dressed!” PomPom wailed. “You’re embarrassing me”

You scrambled out of the Parlor Car, heart pounding, brain trying to catch up to your body.The halls of the Astral Express were softly lit, calm in contrast to your internal panic. You stumbled into your room, kicked the door shut behind you, and launched into the most frantic wardrobe selection of your life. Pajamas off. Shirt on backwards. Fixed. Pants? Where were your pants? Oh god, you’d slept in one sock and now you were wearing mismatched ones but there wasn’t time to change. You brushed your hair with your fingers, tied it up…. was that a feather from last night still in there? You stopped. Looked in the mirror. Your cheeks were flushed. There were faint sleep lines on one side of your face. But your eyes were awake now alive with motion, with chaos. And as you adjusted your jacket and took one last breath, you had a glimpse of something else.

The navy blue blanket where you’d tossed it before rushing out.

Sunday.

You paused, just for a moment. The memory of his soft voice in your sleep though you hadn’t really heard the words lingered faintly, like a dream half remembered. Had he really just sat there and let you rest? You smiled without meaning to, but only for a moment. Pom Pom’s voice echoed from the hallway again.

“FIVE MINUTES! And not a second more!”

“Coming!” you yelled, grabbing your boots and stumbling out of the room like a storm with arms. You arrived at the boarding deck just as the others began gathering. Caelus was still tugging on his coat, March was fixing her scarf as if her entire existence depended on the perfect loop, and Dan Heng had been ready fifteen minutes ago and clearly didn’t understand why the rest of you looked like you’d been hit by a comet. Sunday was there too. Fully dressed. Elegant even in simplicity. His hair was slicked back, a calm expression on his face as he glanced your way and then, just for a second, something softened in his gaze when he saw you.

“Sleep well?” he asked quietly as you joined the group.

You nodded, tugging your jacket into place. “Yeah. Thanks for the blanket.”

He tilted his head. “Seemed like you had an adventurous night?”

You blinked at him. But his eyes sparkled, just a little. The floor beneath your feet gave a small rumble. Lights along the ceiling began to pulse with color. Pom Pom stood atop the central platform, now fully in Conductor Mode, voice echoing with more authority than their small frame should’ve ever allowed.

“Next stop,” Pom-Pom announced, “an old and well met planet, we are visiting Jarilo-VI again”

The ship jumped. You barely had time to brace, but this time, it didn’t feel so disorienting. Maybe because you were surrounded by them. Your crew. Your friends. Or the fact that next to you in the parlour car, Sunday is always taking in the works around him like he was just born. So much wonder made you feel so fortunate. You weren’t entirely sure when that started to feel comforting. But it did.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ Jarilo-VI welcomed the Astral Express crew with its usual frosty greeting icy winds sweeping the platform, snow clinging to every rooftop and ledge, and that quiet stillness in the air that only came with winter.

You stepped off the train behind the others, watching your breath fog in front of your face. The city beyond still stood proud despite its scars. Belobog had changed since you were last here less tension, more movement. There was life in the people’s steps now. A subtle, growing hope.

March was already snapping pictures of Caelus helping a local child shovel snow off the street, her voice excited and dramatic. “Sometkme i look at him and wish I had that drive but he does stuff like he has daily tasks or commissions”

Caelus was half buried in a snowbank but gave a thumbs up. Dan Heng, coat already pristine and zipped, muttered something under his breath and walked ahead toward the Administrative District. He’d been assigned to assist with a few lingering logistics, as had Himeko and Welt. The grown ups, as March dubbed them. You? You had been told absolutely nothing.

No tasks. No missions. Not even a clipboard. Which was exactly why, once everyone else had scattered, you stayed behind. Your eyes trailed over the rooftops dusted with white, the distant roads sloping down into familiar territory. Serval’s workshop, maybe. Or even a chance run in with Bronya or Gepard. Heck, you’d even take a weird monologue from Sampo as long as you weren’t standing still in the cold. You adjusted your coat and turned to sneak off “You’re not going alone, are you?”

You flinched and turned around quickly. Sunday stood just behind you on the platform, arms folded loosely across his chest, eyes squinting slightly at the sun reflecting off the snow. Still in his usual attire, not a shred of weather appropriate attire in sight. He blinked slowly, then added, “I thought I might accompany you. If you don’t mind.”

You hesitated. He didn’t ask why you were going. Just wanted to tag along.

“Sure,” you said, smiling, “but not like that. You’ll die in five minutes.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’ve survived much worse.”

“Yeah, sure. luxury suits. Come on.”

You motioned for him to follow and dragged him back into the Express, heading straight for the storage closet where everyone’s winter gear was kept. You shoved open the door and started rummaging. He watched you with amused patience as you returned with armfuls of thick clothes. You tossed a jacket at him navy, heavy, with silver trim. He barely caught it before you were already looping a scarf around his neck, standing on tiptoe to reach properly. “Arms up,” you ordered, like he was a kindergartener and not a six foot tall enigma.

“You’re very particular about this,” he murmured as you tugged the sleeves over his arms and zipped the coat halfway up his chest.

“You probably haven’t even seen snow before,” you muttered, voice muffled as you fixed the scarf, “Pretty boy like you? I bet Penacony was all dream beaches and sun.” You tugged a beanie over his perfectly styled hair. “This would eat you alive.”

“I think I’m capable of”

“There.” You stepped back, satisfied, and grinned. “Now you look like a fashionable marshmallow.” Behind you, a suppressed snort cracked the silence. You didn’t even turn. “March, if you even think about saying anything, I’m throwing snow down your coat.” More giggling. Retreating footsteps. Sunday glanced in the direction of the sound and then looked back at you, blinking under the knit hat you’d shoved onto his head. “Am I… presentable?”

You pretended to examine him, chin in your hand like an artist judging a sculpture. “You’ll survive. If only just.”

His smile was subtle, but it reached his eyes. Together, you stepped off the train and began your slow descent into the city. Jarilo-VI was still beautiful in the way icy sunlight catching on rooftops, the clink of tools and laughter echoing from a few shops that had reopened. As you both walked, you explained what each building had been during the whole event when the astral crew were all there, and how things had changed. Sunday didn’t speak much, but he listened. Genuinely. His hands stayed in his pockets, but his eyes followed every movement children pulling sleds, old workers salting roads, steam curling from chimneys.

“It’s different here,” he said softly after a while.

You hummed. “Cold?”

“it feels like fresh air.” His breath fogged in the air. “I used to think eternity would be the only path to peace”

You turned to look at him. He shook his head. “Its so nice to see people out.” His gaze dropped to the footprints the two of you left behind in the snow. You smiled.

“Also,” he added lightly, “I haven’t felt my fingers in the past twenty minutes. So perhaps you were right.”

“Well no duh” you grinned, and bumped his shoulder gently. “Welcome to winter, dream boy.”

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ Eventually, you ended up outside Serval’s workshop, laughter and music spilling from the inside. She was strumming her guitar for a cluster of teens, everyone bundled up with hot drinks and wool scarves. The moment Serval spotted you, her eyes sparkled with mischief and she called out, “Hey! You brought a date?”

You flushed immediately. “He’s not”

“I’m here by choice,” Sunday cut in smoothly, tugging his scarf down just enough to speak clearly. His voice was calm, a slight smirk on his lips. “Don’t let her flustered denial fool you.”

You shot him a look, but he only raised a brow in amusement.

One of the teens whispered, “Is that guy famous or something?” Another murmured, “He looks like he owns a whole company.”

You buried your face in your scarf.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ Later, as the sun dipped and shadows grew long, the two of you sat at the edge of the city, the rooftops of Belobog glowing gold beneath a dusky sky. You handed Sunday the last bit of your hot drink without looking at him. He accepted it, hands brushing yours, and took a sip.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice more serious now. “For letting me come along.”

“I didn’t do it for you,” you muttered, gaze fixed ahead. “I just needed a tall coat rack.”

There was a pause, then a soft chuckle. “Then I hope I’m fulfilling my purpose admirably.”

When you didn’t reply, he added, quieter, “I don’t take your time for granted. I’m glad to be here with you.”

That made your heart skip. You looked away, flustered, and he didn’t push. The stillness wrapped around you both like a blanket, snowflakes drifting lazily in the air. You leaned back on the bench, exhaling slowly.

“Hey! Hey, there you are!”

You both turned to find Lynx bounding up the road, scarf trailing and cheeks pink from the cold. “There’s a frozen lake just outside the city! We cleared it for skating come join us! Serval’s already out there bullying Gepard, and I need backup.”

You stood, grinning. “Say no more. I’m in.” You glanced at Sunday. “C’mon.”

He blinked, surprised. “I’m sorry what exactly are we doing?”

“Skating.”

“…That’s like walking but more dangerous?”

“You’ll be fine.” You patted his shoulder. “You’ve survived worse.”

“I’m not convinced this counts as survival.”

You were already walking, but he didn’t hesitate long. He stood with a quiet sigh, resigned but not unwilling. “I assume you’ll mock me if I fall.”

You smiled over your shoulder. “Respectfully.” You smirked. “Come on. We’ll get you moving.” He hesitated but only for a second. Lynx clapped her hands and turned back toward the main street, clearly expecting you both to follow. You tossed Sunday a look, and he reluctantly stood with that soft little sigh of surrender he always gave around you. In retrospect the lake wasn’t far just past a ridge near the edge of Belobog’s perimeter. It was tucked away like a secret winter garden. A large sheet of glassy ice shimmered in the moonlight, surrounded by snowy banks and pine trees dusted in white.

A few lanterns had been strung up between wooden poles, casting golden halos onto the lake’s surface. Music played faintly from a small speaker on the snowbank, something upbeat and old school that you suspected came from Serval’s collection. And there they were: Serval, skating backwards with way too much confidence, trying to start a conga line with a group of teens nearby. Gepard, already red in the face as he stumbled along the ice, attempting to catch up to her. You were pulling on your skates before Sunday even had a chance to decline. Lynx offered to help him get into his pair, but you shooed her off.

You stood on the lake first, gliding across the surface like it was second nature, your balance steady and posture relaxed. Lynx clapped excitedly as you looped around her, grabbing her hands and pulling her onto the ice.

“Wait wait wait!” she squealed, trying not to fall as you twirled her.

You laughed freely, cheeks flushed and heart light.

“You’re weirdly good at this!” she cried.

“I have secret skills,” you said with mock seriousness.

“I literally live here, how are you like this.” Lynx replied. you winked. Gepard was the next target.

“Hey, Captain,” you called, skating up beside him with a wide grin, “Race you to that snowbank.”

He narrowed his eyes, the same competitive spark you remembered lighting up in them. “You’re on.” Two seconds later, you were both flying across the ice, skates slicing through it with sharp precision. Three seconds after that, you crashed spectacularly into the snowbank, laughing as you rolled over onto your back and blinked up at the stars.

“You okay?” Gepard asked, snow clinging to his uniform.

“I’ve been better,” you wheezed, still laughing. Serval skated over next and dropped onto her knees beside you. “You die?”

“Spiritually.”

The next ten minutes were a blur of white flurries and screaming as Serval roped you into a full scale ambush on the Landaus. Lynx betrayed you instantly. Gepard tried to remain neutral. It didn’t work. You laughed until your stomach hurt, until your hair was full of snow and your gloves were soaked and all the while, Sunday watched from the sidelines, sitting alone on the bench near the treeline. His winter coat bundled around him, scarf you wrapped earlier still snug around his neck.

His eyes followed your every move. Your joy was loud. Free. Untamed. He watched as you threw snow with both hands, collapsed in a heap of laughter, and got back up just to do it again. Your smile wasn’t measured. It wasn’t perfect. It reminded him of what should have been. Of what he never had. His own sister had never laughed like that. Robin had smiled, yes, but it was always rehearsed duty bound. Everything in Penacony was orchestrated. Everything was planned. Conditional. watching you here, he felt it again, that strange ache. That pull toward something… unconditional. It made his chest tight.

“You’re not gonna sit there all night, are you?” Serval’s voice cut through his thoughts. He turned slowly to see her smirking down at him, hands on her hips. “Why don’t you get out there? She’ll catch you if you fall.”

“…I have no experience skating.”

“Exactly why you should.” She leaned in slightly. “You two act like you’re not into each other, but you’ve got the tension of Bronya and Seele after seeing each other for too long” His eyes flicked up to her.

She winked. “Go on, dream boy.”

You were in the middle of trying to help Lynx build a snow cat when a shadow fell over you. You turned. Sunday stood awkwardly in borrowed skates, hands in his pockets.

“…I believe I require assistance.”

Your brows lifted. “You’re actually going to try?”

“I was… encouraged.”

You snorted and skated over. “Okay, come here.” You held out your hands, and he took them without hesitation.

“Bend your knees slightly,” you instructed, “and keep your core tight.”

“I feel like I’m being trained for battle.”

“well trying anything new kinda feels like that.”

His feet slipped, and he lunged slightly but you caught him. You laughed, and he stared at you. “I will admit,” he said quietly, “the company makes it tolerable.”

You felt your smile soften. You pulled him gently along the ice, step by slow step. He clung to your hands like they were lifelines. Lynx waved at you two from across the lake. Serval gave a not so subtle thumbs up. You pretended not to see them.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ warmth immediately spilled into your bones, melting away the bite of the Belobog chill still clinging to your coat. You stepped inside with Sunday beside you, arms still linked, boots dripping faint traces of snow onto the polished floor.

His scarf was still a little uneven where you’d adjusted it earlier, and his cheeks held the last blush of cold. His steps were careful, as they had been all night, but steadier now. You were guiding him more than anything. Not that he’d admit it.

You glanced at him as the doors closed behind you.

“You know,” you started, “I think you’ve set a record for the most times someone’s fallen in one walk.”

“I would prefer it not be the legacy I leave behind,” Sunday replied, smooth and quiet, a faint wryness in his voice. “Though you seem particularly fond of recounting each incident.”

“I’m preserving history,” you said, stifling a laugh. “Someone has to tell the tale of the Great Trip of Ten Feet Past the Bench.”

His gaze shifted down toward you, expression unreadable but fond. “If I recall, you were laughing too hard to be of any assistance.”

“I got there eventually,” you said innocently. “Besides, you falling over is weirdly elegant. Like watching a tree try to curtsy.”

That pulled a quiet breath from him, something like a laugh but more reserved. “It was… a good night.”

You smiled at that, more to yourself than anything. “Yeah. It was.”

The two of you walked a little slower now, letting the soft lights of the Express guide your path past the Parlor Car. Himeko’s voice murmured faintly from the direction of the tea table. Someone probably Dan Heng had left a book open on one of the lounge chairs.

You and Sunday paused in the corridor just before it branched off into your rooms. The moment hung there, gentle and still. He looked at you, his tone quieter now. “Thank you… for inviting me.”

You tilted your head, a little amused. “Pretty sure you invited yourself.”

“I did,” he admitted, “but you didn’t send me away.”

Your smile lingered, warm. “Wouldn’t have, even if you asked.”

He gave a small nod, the weight of the day still visible in the curve of his shoulders, but there was ease there too like something heavy had been left behind in the snow.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said.

You didn’t let go of his arm right away, but when you did, your hands brushed one last time. He turned with quiet steps and disappeared down the hallway toward his room, the soft rustle of his coat fading behind him.

You stood there for a moment longer, just listening. The train hummed, steady beneath your feet. The stars drifted lazily outside the windows. Eventually, you turned and wandered toward the main lounge where March was curled up on the couch with a blanket, swiping through pictures on her camera.

She looked up as you walked in and grinned. “Okay. You have to see this one Bronya mid fall. her arms are doing this dramatic flailing thing. I swear, it’s like ballet.”

You laughed and plopped down beside her, glancing over at the tiny screen. “She did try to defend her honor.”

“Yeah, and then immediately ate ice again,” March said, beaming. “And you and Sunday? how was that today… nothing out of the ordinary…”

You rolled your eyes, reaching for a throw pillow. “You’re imagining things.”

March wiggled her eyebrows. “Sure I am.”

You stayed a few minutes longer, sharing stories, teasing each other in the soft glow of the lounge, until your body finally reminded you how tired you were. After promising to join her again tomorrow for more photo reviews, you stood with a stretch and padded quietly down the hallway. The lights dimmed slightly as you reached your door, and in the stillness, you caught yourself thinking back on the day. The snow. The skating. The way Sunday had looked at you when he said he didn’t mind being useful if it was to you.

The crew slept quietly around you. The hum of its systems was softer in the middle of the night, like even the machine itself had tucked in. You hadn’t meant to stay up this late but after tossing and turning in bed, your sweet tooth had convinced you to sneak down to the kitchen car. Just something small. A cookie or two. Maybe something warm to hold for a while.

You were on your way back now, satisfied and relaxed, your steps light as you padded barefoot through the dim halls. Most of the lights had dimmed to a faint glow, golden enough to keep the shadows at bay but soft enough not to wake anyone. A few stars shimmered lazily beyond the train windows, the galaxy at peace. Everyone else had already turned in. You were on your way to do the same when a quiet sound halted your steps near the guest car a space meant for travelers passing through, those not quite crew but not strangers either. Sunday stayed there.

Your hand hovered over the handle to your room, ready to turn in at last until you heard it. A sound. It came from the guest car just around the bend. Your brows furrowed. Everyone else had already turned in. You were on your way to do the same when a quiet sound halted your steps near the guest car a space meant for travelers passing through, those not quite crew but not strangers either. Sunday stayed there.

You stayed still, holding your breath. There it was again. A stifled breath. The kind someone might mistake for a cough if they weren’t paying attention.

But you were paying attention. It was the sound of someone trying not to cry. Your first instinct was to leave him be let him have his space, his privacy. But the image of him skating with shaking knees and guarded pride, of the way his eyes had softened during the snowball fights, lingered too vividly. The fondness you felt for him wasn’t something you could ignore. You stepped away from your door and moved toward his.

The door to his room was slightly ajar. You didn’t call out. Probably should’ve knocked. You just stepped inside quietly, drawn by something you didn’t have the words for. The room was dim, lit only by the faint starlight filtering in through the window. Sunday sat upright on the edge of the bed, his coat shrugged off and draped over the chair. He hadn’t changed for sleep. His eyes were red, his shoulders trembling just slightly. He was turned away, both hands clasped as if trying to hold himself together.

You simply knelt in front of him, your knees pressing into the floor, eyes searching his face until he finally looked down. His breath hitched at the sight of you. His lips parted like he might try to speak, but nothing came. So you offered your hand. No words. No expectations. Just your hand, palm up, waiting. He stared at it for a moment. Then, slowly hesitantly he reached out and took it. His fingers were cold. His grip was light at first, like he didn’t quite trust himself to hold on. But then he exhaled, the breath catching at the end, and he interlocked his fingers with yours. He didn’t cry again, not right away. He just breathed. Slow. Shaky. Like the pain had found a safe place to settle.

Minutes passed. And then, quietly, he spoke. “…You looked so beautiful today,” he whispered. “With the others. With that girl… her laugh reminded me of Robin’s.”

Your thumb gently brushed over the back of his hand. “She always tried to laugh like that,” he said. “But it was always… restrained. Like it had to be measured. Beautiful, but… not direct.” His voice broke. “Not like yours.”

You stayed still, grounded, letting the silence hold space for him. “I kept thinking… if she had a life like yours… if I had” He stopped, trembling again. “Every time I look at you, I learn something else I never knew I needed to value. Every gesture, every laugh, every time you reach out for someone like it’s nothing…” He shook his head, a small, helpless sound. “It teaches me what I missed. What she missed.”

You lifted your other hand to rest gently against his knee. His grip on your fingers tightened, like he needed something to hold on to.

“I’m afraid,” he admitted. “That the more I see, the more I’ll realize how empty everything I had really was. And yet, I can’t look away.”

He looked down at you again then, and in that moment, he didn’t look composed or mysterious or sharp. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “You shouldn’t have to see me like this.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” you said softly. “Im sorry for barging in.”

He exhaled again, a little steadier now, and lowered his forehead to rest gently against yours. There was no need to say anything else just yet. You were here.

You stayed like that for a while his forehead resting lightly against yours, his hand warm and solid in your own. The silence wasn’t heavy anymore. Then, slowly, you shifted. Still kneeling, you leaned forward, resting your head gently on his legs. Your cheek pressed to the soft fabric of his trousers, and your fingers relaxed around his.

Sunday froze, just for a moment. His breath hitched again, but not from pain this time. Then his hand moved. Carefully. Tentatively. Fingers brushing through your hair. He stroked it once. Then again, slower.

The movement was gentle like he wasn’t sure he deserved to touch you this way, but needed to anyway. Like this moment was fragile, and he was terrified of breaking it. You let him comfort himself in the rhythm of it, in the quiet press of your presence. The train hummed softly beneath you both, as if it too understood the importance of silence right now.

His hand paused only once just to curl lightly at the ends of your hair, like he was memorizing the texture. Then, after a while, he shifted forward, leaning down just slightly.

His hand cupped your face, thumb grazing along your cheek with a reverence that felt almost sacred. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. He didn’t say anything after. He just stayed there, his hand still against your cheek, his other resting in your hair.

Eventually, he sighed, a sound almost reluctant to disturb the stillness.

“…If you stay like that much longer,” he murmured, voice low and hoarse from emotion, “your neck is going to ache terribly.”

You hummed softly, not moving just yet. Still, the smallest smile ghosted across your lips.

Boothill HSR X Reader

“Im Just Baking Cookies”

Boothill LOVES how you are so quiet but still tries to sound mean.

MASTERLIST

ᡕᠵデ气亠. The scent of warm vanilla and butter hung in the air like a soft lullaby. The kitchen of the Astral Express was cozy, golden light pouring in from the windows that overlooked the glowing dreamscape of Penacony. The others were out exploring, no doubt causing a mess. You’d opted out this time. From Caelus running around all the time and Dan Heng being the most cynic you’ve ever met. you needed a you day

You stood at the counter, a smear of flour on your cheek and a whisk in your hand as you mixed the batter with care. A batch of cookies cooled beside you while the next round waited patiently for the oven. The rhythmic sound of metal scraping against the bowl was oddly soothing.

You didn’t even hear the door open. You didn’t hear the soft boots on metal. But you did hear the voice. “Now darlin’, I gotta say, I didn’t think the Express came with an angel in the kitchen.”

You jumped, the bowl nearly slipping from your hands. You spun on instinct, heart rocketing up your throat. Without thinking, you pointed your whisk like it was a weapon. Boothill stood in the doorway, hat tipped low, a roguish grin cutting across his face like it had been carved from charm itself. He leaned one shoulder against the doorframe, lazy and at ease, like he hadn’t just snuck onto the Astral Express uninvited.

And yet, there was no panic in your chest. Just annoyed disbelief. “You lost?” you said, tone flat, though your grip on the whisk didn’t loosen.

His grin widened. “Nope. Think I found exactly what I was lookin’ for.”

He strolled further into the kitchen, bootsteps slow and deliberate. He moved like a man who knew his effect on people. With every step closer, you felt your expression harden. But your stance never wavered. “You’re trespassing,” you said. “Which means you’ve got about five seconds to explain yourself before I chase you out with a kitchen utensil.”

Boothill paused a few feet away, giving the whisk a curious once over. “Now hold on there, sugar,” he drawled, voice thick with that warm southern charm. “Didn’t mean no harm. Just couldn’t help followin’ the scent of somethin’ sweet. Turns out it wasn’t the cookies.”

You stared. Said nothing. He chuckled, low and velvety, hand reaching up to tilt his hat back. “You always this silent?”

Still, you didn’t respond. You raised your whisk a little higher, narrowing your eyes as if sizing him up for a duel.

Boothill blinked, then gave a small, amused whistle. “Well, I’ll be. You’re a real pistol, ain’t ya?”

He took another step forward. You jabbed the whisk at him not quite a threat, slowly taunting over. He stopped. “Easy now,” he said, palms raised. “Ain’t here for a shootout. Just figured… if the rest of y’all were out, you might enjoy some company.”

You glanced at the oven. Back at him. “I was enjoying the lack of company.”

Boothill didn’t flinch. “Sure you were. But look at it this way you keep bakin’, I’ll keep talkin’. Maybe I’ll even convince you I ain’t all that bad.”

You stared a moment longer, weighing your options. Finally, you turned back to your bowl with a soft sigh, lowering the whisk but only slightly. “Stay out of my way,” you muttered. “And don’t touch anything.”

Behind you, Boothill gave a triumphant hum, the grin still stitched to his face “No promises, sugar.” But he didn’t touch anything.

He just leaned against the wall, arms folded, hat tipped low, and talked and while you didn’t flirt back not once your silence didn’t push him away either. You kept your back to him, the sound of the whisk hitting the sides of the metal bowl grounding you as much as it filled the silence. Well not quite silence. Boothill kept talking, weaving lazy words in that smooth, southern drawl of his, like he was just killing time on a front porch somewhere.

You weren’t listening. Not really. But you also hadn’t kicked him out. “What is that smell?” he asked eventually, voice a little closer now. “Somethin’ sweet. Kinda like you.”

You rolled your eyes finally turning to grab the small bowl of buttercream frosting you had chilling on the side. You dipped a spoon in, then held it out toward him wordlessly. “Try it,” you said. “Since you’re so good at judging what’s sweet.”

He grinned like a devil given permission. “Well now, don’t mind if I do.” Boothill stepped forward, real slow. He didn’t take the spoon from you. No, that wouldn’t have been too easy. Instead, he leaned down and tasted it mouth brushing the edge of the spoon like it was something far more intimate than sugar and butter. His lips curled as the flavor melted on his tongue.

He took another step forward. Then another. Until the air between you thinned, stretched taut like a wire. He was close now too close. You hadn’t moved, hadn’t flinched, but your hand was still midair holding that spoon, and Boothill was standing in the halo of soft kitchen light like a man who knew exactly how to make it all feel too much.

His eyes locked with yours glinting with that same wild. “Now that,” he murmured, voice dipped in honey and danger, “is the best damn thing I’ve tasted in a while. And trust me, sweetheart, I’ve tasted a lot of things in my time.”

You breathed out quiet, shaky. The kind of breath you didn’t mean to let slip. The kind that betrayed something deeper.

He smiled wider, a knowing tilt of his mouth. “Didn’t mean to leave you speechless, sugar. But I gotta admit… it looks real good on you.” Your hand finally lowered, the spoon forgotten. Your other tightened slightly around the whisk at your side like it could anchor you. You weren’t flustered you weren’t. But the warmth in your cheeks? The way your heart tripped in your chest?

Still, your voice came back to you, steady despite the hitch a second ago “You’re standing too close.”

Boothill didn’t move. He just leaned in, just enough for his words to graze your ear. “Funny,” he said lowly. “Feels like I’m just where I oughta be.”

You didn’t push him away. But you did tilt your head just slightly, eyes narrowing.

“watch yourself,” you warned, “I’ll shove that spoon somewhere frosting doesn’t belong.”

Boothill laughed quiet and genuine, like you’d just made his whole day. He finally stepped back with both hands up again. “Got it, sugar. No touchin’. For now.”

You exhaled once more, this time through your nose. Then turned back to the bowl, ignoring how warm the kitchen suddenly felt. You heard him lean against the counter behind you.

When the last batch of cookies cooled and the frosting was tucked away in a small container, the adrenaline had finally worn off. The rush of being snuck up on, the intensity of his presence, all of it settled into a quiet buzz at the back of your mind. Boothill hadn’t left not that you’d asked him to anymore but the kitchen had grown calmer. Now you sat beside him on the small bench by the kitchen window, legs pulled up slightly as you bit into one of your cookies. The sweetness was warm, rich, buttery. Comforting.

Boothill, meanwhile, was still talking. Something about Penacony. Something about how the colors were too bright and too fake. Something about a guy he once knew with “a mustache that could lasso a comet.” You weren’t really following. You just nodded occasionally.

But as you chewed slowly and let your thoughts drift, something clicked in the back of your mind. Wait… if his whole body’s robotic everything but his head then… He can’t eat. Not really. Not like this. Which means… he can’t feel. No nerves, no receptors. No warmth, no pressure. No pain. No pleasure.

Your eyes narrowed faintly in thought. So… theoretically, he couldn’t You glanced sideways at him, a half laugh puffing through your nose at your own internal joke. He probably can’t even get horny. Not that you were planning on testing that theory. Ever.

Boothill kept yapping, completely oblivious to the odd train of thought you’d gone down. His arms were folded behind his head now, hat tilted back slightly as he rambled about something that might’ve involved a gunfight on top of a moving train. Or maybe a bar fight. With him, it was hard to tell.

As he went on, your eyes landed on the way his hair had slipped down into his face again. It was long too long, really, for someone so full of motion and swagger. It fell in front of his eyes, almost shielding them. A curtain of copper and gold. Without thinking, you reached out and brushed it aside just enough to tuck a few strands behind his ear.

And that’s when he stopped. Mid sentence. Mid word. Just… froze. His whole body stilled like someone hit a pause button. You blinked, suddenly realizing what you’d done. Boothill’s eyes slowly met yours.

You lowered your hand, unsure for a split second. But Boothill didn’t look away. Didn’t say a word

Maybe not in the way most people did. But there was something in that simple moment your fingertips brushing his temple, sliding the hair from his face that made the air feel a little sillier.

The expression on his face wasn’t cocky. It wasn’t charming. It was just… still. You took another bite of your cookie, suddenly feeling like you’d done something much more intimate than you intended. Boothill finally cleared his throat, a flicker of motion returning to his features. The grin came back but it was softer now “Well,” he said, voice a little more low pitched than before, “that was… somethin’.”

You just looked out the window, letting the taste of sugar and frosting linger on your tongue, and felt the weight of that quiet between you both. For the first time since he’d stepped foot on the Express, Boothill wasn’t talking.

You reached for another cookie, already bracing yourself for Boothill to launch into another absurd story something about a bounty, a jailhouse escape, maybe even a mechanical rattlesnake this time because he always did. You thibk by now he knows you’re not the biggest talker in the world. But just before your fingers brushed the plate, his hand caught yours.

Your breath caught in your throat. His touch was firm but not harsh. Metal fingers curled gently around yours, cool and seamless, humming faintly with life. You didn’t even have time to react before he brought both your hands up… and pressed them to his face.

The contact was immediate.

The warmth of his skin, the faint vibration of the robotic parts moving beneath it all sank into your palms as he leaned in, into your touch and he just kept talking.

“Well now, this reminds me of the time I went toe to toe with a fella named Colt McGraw big ol’ gunslinger, real sore loser. Got hisself stuck in a barrel of moonshine after I tricked him into thinkin’ I was a ghost long story.”

His accent was as thick and honey smooth as ever, drawling like he hadn’t just casually stolen the most flustering moment of your entire day. Your hands stayed there, pinned softly to the sides of his face. His hair tickled your knuckles. His skin, the only flesh left on his body, was warm beneath your fingertips. And those vivid eyes sharp, playful, aware were half lidded in a way that made it worse. So much worse.

You sat completely still, back straight, staring at him like someone had just pulled the floor out from under you. Your face burned. It crept up from your neck, flushed across your cheeks, and hit the tips of your ears in a matter of seconds. He knew. He had to know.

But he just kept rambling, voice slow and syrupy. “Y’know, I gotta say, ain’t every day someone can be so on guard and make me feel this way. Makes a cowboy feel like a person again.” He smiled. “Kinda nice.”

You opened your mouth. Nothing came out. You tried again. Still nothing. Your brain was static, your thoughts replaced with a single screaming line of internal monologue: what is happening what is happening what is happening.

Boothill didn’t seem fazed in the slightest. If anything, he looked relaxed. Comfortable. Still holding your hands to his face like they belonged there.

And you flushed, frozen, helplessly red just sat there, cookie forgotten, wondering how the hell a man made mostly of metal could make you feel this warm.

ᡕᠵデ气亠

Boothill’s words kept rolling, painting images of outlaw duels and near death standoffs with the kind of ease that came only from experience or embellishment. Probably both. But he never let go. Your hands stayed cradled against his face the whole time, his metal fingers wrapped gently around your wrists like he wasn’t ready to let the moment end. He leaned into your touch time and time again.

Eventually, though, the story began to wind down. Something about escaping a collapsing bridge with nothing but a grappling hook and “a prayer to whoever was listenin’.” He chuckled at his own punchline, the corner of his mouth curling in that easy, boyish way that somehow made everything worse.

Then, slowly reluctantly he let your hands go. He lowered them from his face with a gentleness that didn’t match the brashness he wore like a badge. His fingers slid away last, like he was memorizing the shape of you with the tips of his metal hands. When he looked at you, his eyes were steady.

“Lil’ darlin’,” he said, voice low and warm like sunbaked earth, “you got hands that feel like home. I ain’t sure what kinda trouble you’re stirrin’ up in that head o’ yours, but I reckon I’ll be thinkin’ about this for a good long while.”

He tipped his hat just slightly and started to turn like he meant to leave. Your eyes dropped to your lap for half a second before you stopped him.

“…I really liked your stories,” you said softly, barely above a whisper.

He paused in the doorway. You hadn’t meant to sound so genuine. So raw. But it was too late to take it back. Boothill glanced over his shoulder, just enough for you to catch the smile tugging at his lips.

“Yeah?” he murmured. “Well… guess I’ll have to come back ‘round and tell you another sometime, huh?”

And just like that, he was gone. Leaving behind the faint scent of old gunpowder and desert air and a heartbeat in your chest that didn’t quite know how to settle down.

Boothill: So… if I “accidentally” kissed you, youd fall in love right?

You: If you “accidentally” kissed me, I’d “accidentally” reload your gun with glitter and watch you die fabulous.

Sunday HSR X Reader

꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ Get used to it ꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱

masterlist

part 2

a small drabble with him as a passenger of the astral express…… and march being a fangirl

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ The Astral Express gym wasn’t exactly high tech, but it had everything you needed: open space, training mats, and just enough echo to make your footsteps sound cooler than they actually were. Sunday stood on the mat already, stretching his arms slowly. He was always composed. polished words, a little distant but never unfriendly. A recent addition to the Express, still settling in. You figured sparring would be a good way to break the ice. Or, at the very least, make him sweat a little.

“You ever sparred before?” you asked, rolling your shoulders as you stepped onto the mat across from him.

“Once or twice,” Sunday replied, giving you a look that was polite. “I assume you’ve done this more than that.”

You shrugged. “Yeah, a bit. We do it sometimes, just to stay sharp. Helps keep my mind quiet too.”

That made him pause for a moment. “I can understand that.” There was a brief stretch of silence as you both settled into your stances. You smiled.

“Alright. Light spar. First to three taps?”

“Fair enough.”

Then you moved. Sunday was careful. Precise. He didn’t rush or overstep, but you could tell he was reading you watching how you shifted your weight, how fast you reacted. You responded in kind, your movements smooth and quick, not showy like usual. This wasn’t about flair. It was about rhythm, connection, learning someone without needing words. The first tap came when you managed to slip behind him and brush his shoulder. He looked surprised. The second came quickly after his palm barely grazing your side as he dodged your next strike.

It was fun. Quietly fun.

Somewhere in the middle of the third round, things shifted. You both moved at the same time your foot angled to pivot, his shifting forward for a counter. It wasn’t anything dramatic, no wild kick or spin, just a split second misstep.

You felt your foot catch his. His arm moved quickly, instinctively reaching to steady you. Too late. Your balance tipped forward, his backward, and gravity did the rest.

The two of you landed with a dull thud on the mat. For a second, neither of you said anything. You opened your eyes to find yourself sprawled over him, chest pressing lightly against his, palms braced on either side of his shoulders. His arm was still around your waist where he’d tried to catch you.

Your faces were close. Close enough to count the tiny flecks of gold in his eyes. Close enough that his breath, warm and even, brushed against your cheek.

“Oh.” The sound escaped before you could help it. Not exactly graceful.

Sunday’s eyes didn’t move away from yours. His expression wasn’t annoyed, or embarrassed. If anything, he looked… thoughtful. Still. Like he wasn’t sure what to make of the moment either. You felt the weight of the silence more than the fall.

“I, uh” You shifted slightly, meaning to push yourself up, but your hand slipped against the mat, and you instinctively leaned closer to steady yourself. Now your nose almost touched his.

His hand, still on your back, tensed faintly just a twitch. But he didn’t move it. You laughed under your breath, a little breathless. “This probably looks worse than it is.”

“Maybe,” Sunday said, voice low, not quite smiling but not pulling away either. “But I’m not complaining.”

That made your heart skip a beat. You looked at him again, There was something softer in his face now. you realized you weren’t in a rush to get up. Not yet.

“…You okay?” you asked, quieter this time.

He nodded once. “You?”

You nodded too, eyes not leaving his. “Yeah.”

Another beat passed. You could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing under your hands. Not hurried. Just… calm. You slowly pushed yourself up and off of him, offering your hand once you were upright. He took it without hesitation. His fingers were warm.

Back on his feet, Sunday brushed some dust off his sleeve, but his eyes lingered on you longer than before. There was nothing more to say right then. So he just smiled and walked away.

“God I need a cold shower after that”

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Turns out it wasn’t a cold shower but nevertheless, a shower. The steam from your shower still clung to your skin as you stepped into the parlor car, toweling your damp hair with one hand, dressed in your usual cozy nightwear. You’d taken your time lingering under the hot water, trying to shake off the strange feeling that had settled in your chest after the spar with Sunday.

It was the way he looked at you. Still. Quiet. And how you hadn’t wanted to move. You exhaled, trying to shove the memory aside. Maybe it was just adrenaline. Heat of the moment stuff. Totally normal when you faceplant into someone’s lap. Right?

As you rounded the corner into the parlor car, voices floated up from the seating area. You paused half curious, half wary.

“…I’m telling you,” came March’s unmistakable whisper. “They were on top of each other. Like, full on dramatic slow motion fall. And neither of them moved for a good ten seconds. It was so weirdly quiet. I thought they were gonna kiss.”

Your stomach dropped. Your face lit up like a reactor core.

“March.” That was Dan Heng. His tone had that deadpan flatness that meant you’re being ridiculous again.

“No, I’m serious!” March hissed. “It was intense. They were looking at each other like… like in one of those cheesy holo dramas. And she totally forgot I was there. I had to back out slowly like I was interrupting something.”

“Maybe you were,” Caelus muttered under his breath.

“EXACTLY,” March said. “I mean, I always thought something might happen, but not this soon. And with Sunday? He’s like… all elegant and mysterious”

“I heard that.”

Three heads whipped around at once. You stood in the doorway, arms crossed, still towel drying your hair, blinking at them like you’d just caught them stealing cookies.

March squeaked and jumped three inches off the couch. “You! When did you get there?!”

“Long enough,” you said flatly, stepping fully into the car. “Long enough to hear my public execution.”

March scrambled to explain herself, hands flailing. “No no no! It wasn’t an execution, it was it was a friendly dramatic retelling! Like bedtime gossip!”

You stared at her. Dan Heng looked like he was rethinking every decision that led him to this moment. Caelus was trying very hard not to laugh.

You pointed at March. “Next time, announce the playbill if you’re gonna perform my personal life in three acts.”

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way!” March said, now clutching a cushion to her face. “Honestly, I thought it was kind of cute!”

“March.”

“Okay! Okay! I’ll stop talking!”

You plopped down into the seat beside her, stealing the cushion from her arms to bury your face in it.

“I hate everything,” came your muffled voice.

Dan Heng finally looked up from his book. “So… did anything actually happen?”

You didn’t answer. When you pulled the pillow away, your face was still pink. You shrugged. You slumped into the seat and closed your eyes.

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

You walked along the glowing path of the new planet’s market district, your boots clicking softly against the polished stone. Lanterns floated above the crowd, casting a warm shimmer over everything, and strange alien wind chimes tinkled softly in the breeze. It was one of the calmer stops for the Astral Express no explosions, no urgent missions. Just exploration, some research, and a little breathing room.

You sipped your drink a fizzy, spiced thing with a color that probably wasn’t natural and hummed to yourself as you trailed behind March and Caelus. They were arguing about the best souvenir to bring back for Pom–Pom.

You lingered by a street vendor selling constellation shaped pastries when a man tall, smug, and clearly very into himself sidled up beside you.

“You look like you could use some company,” he said, his tone low and confident, like he thought he was the main character in a romance drama.

You blinked, startled. “I’m uh, I’m good, thanks.”

But he didn’t get the hint. He smiled wider, stepping just a little closer. “You sure? Someone like you shouldn’t spend a night like this alone. I know a place nearby quiet, private. Just you and me, maybe some music”

“Wow,” you interrupted, trying to laugh it off. “That’s… forward.”

“Life’s short,” he replied smoothly. “Why waste time pretending?”

You took a step back, now officially uncomfortable. “Really, I’m not interested”

“She’s not.”

The voice came from behind you, calm and steady. Sunday. You turned your head just as he stepped into view, his hands in his coat pockets, expression unreadable but voice just sharp enough to cut tension.

“She’s my girlfriend,” he added casually. “She’s not into that sort of thing.”

Your eyes widened. Girlfriend? Oh.

The guy blinked, his confidence faltering. “Oh I didn’t realize…”

“Now you do,” Sunday said, still polite, still calm. “You can move along.”

The man muttered something under his breath and walked off, melting into the crowd like smoke.

You exhaled slowly. “Okay. That was…”

“Uncomfortable,” Sunday finished for you, tilting his head slightly. “He wasn’t taking the hint.”

“No kidding,” you muttered. Then, with a faint smile, “Thanks for the save.”

He looked at you, eyes softening just a little. “You looked like you needed one.”

You nodded. “I did. But also ‘girlfriend?’ Really?”

“Seemed effective,” he replied without missing a beat. “Was I wrong to assume you wouldn’t want to go home with a stranger tonight?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No, definitely not wrong. Just… caught me off guard.”

He gave a small shrug. “You can correct the record if you want.”

You looked at him, thoughtful now. The lantern light played against the sharp lines of his face, but his gaze was gentle, open.

“Nah,” you said, voice light. “Let them think I’ve got someone.”

Sunday gave the smallest smile. And then, almost too quiet to hear. “Maybe someday they’ll be right.”

You turned to him but he was already walking ahead, hands still in his pockets, calm as ever. You blinked. Then grinned.

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

March wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. Not really. She had just been browsing one of the cute trinket stalls on the edge of the plaza admiring some heart shaped glass charms when she heard your voice from the next row over. You sounded… awkward. Uncomfortable.

Curious, March peeked around the corner, just in time to see some local guy lean in too close to you. His tone was oily, confident in that blech kind of way that made her want to throw a glowing pebble at his head. You were clearly trying to shake him off.

“She’s my girlfriend.”

March’s soul left her body.

Sunday’s voice was smooth and even, not threatening, but with that finality that made the creepy guy instantly freeze. He stepped up beside you with this casual calm, hands in his coat pockets, expression unreadable but there was no doubt in his tone.

“She’s not into that sort of thing,” he added coolly. “You can move along.”

The guy mumbled something and slinked away. March’s brain started loding the spinny ball of death.

Girlfriend? GIRLFRIEND?!

She didn’t even mean to gasp aloud, but it happened. Thankfully, no one heard. She ducked back behind the trinket stall, crouching like she was dodging a security drone. Her heart thumped against her ribs. When she peeked again, you were talking to Sunday, flustered and blushing. He stood there like it was nothing, like he hadn’t just set the local rumor mill on fire with one casual sentence.

March didn’t wait another second. She took off sprinting.

“I’M SORRY BUT THIS IS AN EMERGENCY.”

Caelus and Dan Heng both jumped in their seats as March burst into the tea shop, nearly knocking over a decorative lantern in her haste.

Dan Heng put down his cup with a sigh. “Let me guess.”

“No no guessing. Just listen.” March bent over the table, panting dramatically. “Sunday just called her his girlfriend. To a random guy. Who was hitting on her.”

Caelus blinked. “Wait. What?”

“You heard me! He said it without hesitation., ‘She’s my girlfriend.’ Boom. IT WAS SO KNIGHT IN SHINNING ARMOUR.”

Dan Heng raised an eyebrow. “And she didn’t correct him?”

“Not at all! She blushed! She just stood there blushing!”

Caelus slowly grinned. “Huh. I thought we were still in the pining phase.”

“That’s what I thought too!” March wailed, dropping into a seat across from them. “I thought I had time to mentally prepare for the will they won’t they!”

Dan Heng leaned back. “Maybe they skipped to the good part.”

March glared. “This is a story, Dan Heng. There’s a structure.”

Caelus sipped his tea again, amused. “BUT LIKE he did that just to protect her. Im sure we would do the same thing”

“Shhhhh are either of you wanting to marry her and want to look longingly at her.”

Dan Heng muttered, “I don’t think that that matters when you’re watching out for someone”

March just pointed toward the plaza. “Mark my words. Those losers are happening .”

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

March 7 lay curled beneath her mountain of pastel blankets, one leg sticking out, mouth slightly open, a bubble of drool forming with every breath. She looked… innocent. Unaware. Vulnerable.

Perfect. You stood at the edge of her bed, Caelus beside you, both cloaked in shadows and silence. “She sleeps like someone who hasn’t committed crimes,” you whispered.

“She sleeping like she didn’t fully diss Dan Heng and I for just existing,” Caelus murmured, smirking. “She called me a coward yesterday for not pushing you two together faster.”

You narrowed your eyes at the blissfully unaware March, a mischievous grin tugging at your lips. “Your time of reckoning is over.”

And then, like a flash of divine vengeance, the pillow came down. WHUMP. March jolted awake with a squeak, arms flailing, hair a tangled mess. “WHAT WHO”

“JUSTICE,” you declared, striking again, this time dual wielding pillows like a vengeful sleep deprived warlord. “FOR PEACEFUL EXISTENCE.”

“TRAITOR!” March screamed as another pillow hit her in the face, this one clearly Caelus’s, who was now leaning against her dresser and howling with laughter. “You were supposed to be neutral!”

“I was never neutral,” Caelus grinned, tossing another pillow into your hands like a loyal arms dealer. “I just picked the winning side.”

“You picked VIOLENCE!”

“You picked CRAZY

Pillows flew. March kicked off her covers and dove behind the mountain of backup pillows she had an arsenal you knew too well. She emerged like a pink haired general, dual wielding plushies shaped like various alien mascots.

“I DID NOTHING TO YOU CAELUS!” she shouted, flinging one at Caelus’s head. “I THOUGHT YOU SHIPPED THIS LIKE ME! AND THIS IS HOW YOU REPAY ME?!”

“I WAS trying to make it happen, March!” you cackled, blocking her throw with your arm. “but you’re crazy lady.”

“Because SOMEBODY has to!”

The room became a flurry of feathers and yells, the floor littered with fabric casualties. March screamed something about “romantic sabotage” while Caelus used a star shaped cushion as a shield and tried not to collapse from laughter. Eventually, panting and half buried beneath a pile of glittery pillows, March flopped onto her back.

“This isn’t over,” she wheezed. “You might’ve won the battle…”

You sat on the floor, leaning against her bedframe, heart light and cheeks aching from laughing too hard. March peeked at you with a sleepy, dramatic glare.

“Just admit you like him,” she muttered.

You grinned. “No comment.”

Caelus snorted. “So that’s a yes.”

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The corridor was quiet, save for the distant, muffled thumps echoing from March’s room. Sunday padded down the hall in soft slippers, wrapped in a navy blue pajama set that still looked oddly regal despite the sleepy looseness of it. The collar was slightly askew, and his curls had lost their typical styling, falling gently across his forehead. He wasn’t sure what had drawn him toward the commotion curiosity, perhaps. Or maybe instinct.

The door to March’s room was open just enough. And there you were. Mid laugh, caught in the middle of a pillow war that had clearly escalated. Caelus was ducked behind a wardrobe like it was a bunker, March stood on her bed like a self declared queen of feathers, and you glorious in your pyjamas were twirling a pillow like a blade of justice.

Feathers floated through the air like snowflakes. Sunday didn’t move. He leaned against the doorframe, half in shadow, just out of your view. And he watched. And he smiled. He’d grown up in rooms where laughter felt rehearsed. Where joy was reserved for ceremonies, and everything had meaning, even the silence. He had known peace, yes but the kind that was still, stagnant. Like a pond reflecting stars instead of the sky itself.

Robin had always tried to shield him. Kept him wrapped in the comfort of his ideals, gave him a dream so beautiful he forgot what real light looked like. Messy, loud, brilliant life. The way your hair stuck to your cheek with sweat, the way your eyes gleamed as you dodged March’s wild throw, the unfiltered, unashamed joy in your voice as you shouted something absurd about “pillow fueled vengeance.”

He’d never seen experienced this feeling. Sunday’s heart thudded quietly in his chest, a rhythm that didn’t belong to the Family or any script he’d ever memorized. He liked that you weren’t afraid to be ridiculous. That you laughed freely. That you made others laugh.

He liked that you didn’t seem to carry your burdens in front of him not because they didn’t exist, but because you chose, for a moment, not to let them define you. he liked that when you were with your friends like this, you looked entirely untouchable. Unreachable. He wanted to reach anyway. But he stayed still. Let the moment stay yours. A feather floated past his cheek. Sunday blinked once, then quietly turned, retreating back down the hall before anyone noticed. He didn’t need to be in that moment to be part of it.

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Feathers still drifted in your hair. Your arms ached from swinging pillows like weapons of mass destruction. March had declared herself “the rightful queen of shipwide shipping” before collapsing in a pile of her own making, and Caelus was last seen crawling down the hallway muttering something about betrayal and glitter.

You didn’t make it to your room. Your legs had carried you halfway down the train, and then… gave up. The Parlor Car welcomed you with soft lights and the hush of starlight outside the window. It was quiet here. Peaceful. And most importantly there was a couch.

You barely noticed the figure already sitting there. You just dropped into the opposite end of the long velvet seat with a graceless thump, curling onto your side and sighing like the soul had been knocked out of you. Your hair stuck to your forehead. Your shirt was rumpled. You didn’t even bother taking off your socks.

Sleep claimed you within seconds. Sunday, seated near the center of the couch with a book resting gently across his lap, blinked slowly. He hadn’t even heard you come in. His eyes drifted from the page, tracing over your sleeping form. The way your chest rose and fell. The faint smudge of pillow war aftermath still clinging to your cheek. One of your shoes had fallen off somewhere on the way in your foot dangled off the edge of the couch, sock half hanging.

You looked peaceful. He closed the book without a sound. He stood, quietly padded over to the small linen cabinet near the entrance of the car, and pulled out a soft, navy blue blanket. One of Himeko’s spares, likely. He unfolded it carefully, draped it over you from shoulders to toes, and adjusted it so it wouldn’t slip off during the night.

Then he knelt beside the couch, brushing a stray feather from your hair with a light, careful touch. in a voice only the walls heard, he murmured,

“Sleep well. May your dreams never be burdens.”

He lingered for a moment, hand resting just beside your shoulder. Then he moved to the nearby armchair, sat down, and tilted his head toward the stars just outside the wide train windows. His book remained unopened in his lap, forgotten. He didn’t need it. Tonight, the soft rhythm of your breathing was enough.

Caelus X Reader Honkai Star Rail

“Another Me in Another World”

Masterlist

pov you come from a timeline where you and caelus loved each other. Though now thrown into this world you don’t remember anything.

:0

ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ The moment the warp settled, a shiver laced down Caelus’ spine.

They stood at the edge of a crumbling city floating in a pocket of broken time what Herta dubbed a “dimensional fault zone,” where history bent like glass under pressure. Fractured towers loomed above, suspended by unseen strings. The air crackled, distorted. But none of it compared to the static in his chest. She was here. He didn’t know how he knew only that the moment he stepped off the Express, his heart started pounding like it remembered something he didn’t. Then he saw her. She was standing alone at the edge of a fractured platform, long coat fluttering behind her like a shadow. Mask half lowered, a Stellaron Hunter insignia stitched boldly across her sleeve. And when her gaze met his sharp, unreadable his world tipped on its axis.

“…You,” Caelus breathed.

You didn’t blink. “So you’re the Express’s precious Trailblazer.” His title sounded foreign in your mouth, like it didn’t belong like you didn’t want it to. But your fingers twitched slightly at your side, as if muscle memory betrayed you. Behind Caelus, March and Dan Heng tensed. “Careful,” Dan Heng said lowly, “she’s one of Kafka’s.”

But Caelus stepped forward anyway. You didn’t move. Not when he stopped a few feet away. Not when he tilted his head, searching your eyes for something you didn’t even know you’d lost.

“There’s something familiar about you,” he said softly.

Your lips curved into something like a smirk but it didn’t reach your eyes. “I hear that a lot before people try to shoot me.”

“I’m not going to shoot you.”

“And I’m not going to hesitate if you become a threat,” you replied coolly, though something in your voice faltered at the end. Just a little.

A pause stretched between you.

Then he said it, almost like a confession to the wind “I’ve seen you before. In dreams.”

The expression you wore froze. You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Your throat tightened, because you’d seen him too every night since you woke up in Elio’s care, with a name you barely remembered and a void where your past should’ve been. A silver haired boy with amber eyes, reaching for you just as you disappeared. And now he was here, real and breathing and looking at you like he knew your soul.

“I don’t know you,” you said, a bit too quickly.

“Maybe not,” Caelus said, a small smile tugging at the edge of his lips, “but I think… I loved you, once.”

Your heart missed a beat. Behind your back, your fingers curled into a fist and you backed up. You hated the way his words made your chest ache. Hated the way the cold mask you wore suddenly felt too heavy. Because if what he said was true if you had loved him once then fate had played a cruel trick and you didn’t know if you had the strength to undo it.

ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ The world returned in fragments like shards of a broken mirror pressed too close to your eyes. At first, there was only the hum. Low, metallic, steady. Then light. Blinding. Cold. You gasped. Air surged into your lungs like you hadn’t breathed in centuries. You jolted upright with a strangled sound, hand instinctively reaching out for something someone.

But there was only silence. You blinked furiously, vision adjusting to the sterile, glass panelled room around you. Pale walls. A console blinking with unreadable data. You were lying on a bed no, a containment pod, cracked slightly down the side. It smelled like ozone and dust.

“Easy little one.” A voice. Calm, smooth, a touch amused. You turned sharply.

Kafka stood at the foot of the pod, arms crossed, one brow slightly arched. She looked completely unbothered, as if this was routine. As if you were routine. You stared at her like she might be part of the dream.

“Who…?” Your voice rasped out, raw. “Where…?”

“Questions already?” Kafka mused.

You opened your mouth to retort and froze. You didn’t know your name. No, wait you did. Barely. It floated to the surface like a whisper. You clutched it like a lifeline. “…My name is…” You hesitated. “I think it’s [Y/N].”

Kafka nodded slowly, like she was testing the shape of your name against the air. “It suits you.”

You sat there, stunned. Trembling slightly. “What… happened to me?”

She shrugged, a glint in her violet eyes. “A warp event. Something… untraceable. We found you drifting between coordinates with a fractured signal and half a heartbeat. Elio said you’d be important.”

“Elio…?”

“You’ll meet him eventually. For now, it’s just us.” You looked down at your hands. They felt wrong. Or maybe the world did.

“I don’t remember anything,” you whispered.

“No,” Kafka said. “But your instincts remain intact. That’s the part that matters.” You flinched when she stepped closer, but she only placed a hand on your shoulder gentle, grounding. Her smile softened, just slightly.

“Listen to me. You were meant for something greater. A fate rewritten by stars too scared of your potential. Elio saw it. And I do too.”

You stared up at her, desperate, haunted. “Then why do I feel like I’m… missing something?”

Kafka tilted her head, curious. “Missing someone, you mean?” Your breath caught. Because for all the blanks in your memory, there was one thing one constant you couldn’t explain away. Amber eyes, filled with light. A boy smiling at you like you were his entire world. Reaching for your hand as everything around you crumbled.

“I don’t know who he is,” you whispered. “But I see him when I sleep.” Kafka didn’t answer right away.

Then, softly “Maybe one day, you’ll remember. Maybe one day, he’ll find you.” You never remembered the moment you met him. There was no clean origin, no first conversation etched in time just the feeling. Like gravity had shifted in your chest. Like your soul had turned its head toward someone and said, “There you are.”

Even in the days after waking, long before Elio whispered of fate and purpose, you carried that strange ache. It sat beneath your ribs, subtle but persistent. As if your heart had memorized a rhythm it could no longer hear and still beat along with it anyway. And always, him. A boy reaching for you through dreams. Sometimes smiling. Sometimes calling your name. Sometimes standing still at the edge of a world collapsing in gold. You never saw his full face, not really. It shifted with every dream like your memory was afraid to settle. But the feeling stayed the same. Safety. Sadness. Love.

Kafka called it a side effect of a damaged warp phantom memories stitched together by a soul that had jumped too many coordinates, too fast. Elio said nothing. He only looked at you, eyes unreadable, and murmured “Even in broken timelines, some threads find each other again.”

You didn’t know what that meant. Not then. But now standing in this fractured city, staring into Caelus’s eyes you do. Because it’s not a coincidence. Not a trick of dreams or Stellaron interference. It’s older than memory. Deeper than fate. A bond written somewhere before the stars. You and Caelus are mirror souls two halves born in the same cosmic breath, scattered by a universe that didn’t know how to hold you.

Maybe you boarded the Astral Express, once. Maybe you stood beside him, laughed with him, loved him. Maybe you were torn from that path by a warp gone wrong, or a choice you never knew you made. But your souls remember. They reach for each other still in dreams, in battles, in silences where your fingers almost twitch toward his before you stop yourself.

You were meant to walk together. But the universe split you. Now, you’re on opposite sides of a war you don’t fully understand. But the bond? It hasn’t faded. It can’t. Because no matter how much memory was taken, how many times your paths diverged. You are still drawn to him. Still tethered by something ancient and unfinished.

And when Caelus whispered, “I think I loved you, once,” your soul didn’t hesitate. It whispered back “You still do.”

ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

At first, you didn’t speak to anyone. You woke, you trained, you followed instructions. No questions. No smiles. No attachments. That was how it started. The other Stellaron Hunters didn’t mind. Blade said nothing, as usual. Silver Wolf barely looked up from her screens. Sam never came close enough for conversation, and Kafka was always watching.

She never pushed, never pried. Just watched, like she already knew the storm inside you and was waiting for the clouds to shift. But it was her, in the end, who pulled you into the rhythm of this strange place. It started with a game.

“You’re watching me again,” you muttered one evening, eyes fixed on the holographic wall map you’d been pretending to study for the last ten minutes.

Kafka leaned in the doorway, arms crossed. “I do that.”

You turned, half expecting mockery in her eyes. Instead, there was something softer faint amusement, edged with quiet interest.

“I’m not broken,” you said flatly. “You don’t have to treat me like I’ll crack open.”

“I never said you were,” she replied, and then, after a pause, “But you are still unfinished.”

“Unfinished?”

Kafka stepped forward, her coat trailing behind her like a slow moving shadow. “You remember fragments. Dreams. Pieces of another life. You haven’t decided yet who you want to be in this one.”

You clenched your jaw. “Maybe I already have.”

“Have you?” she asked, too gently.

You didn’t answer.

Later that night, she left something outside your room.A data pad. A short file. A simulation: sparring tactics against hypothetical enemies. Paired drills. On a whim, you ran the simulation. when you did, it loaded a preset with Kafka’s movement patterns coded as the partner. Every step she made was measured, confident. Every time you moved, the code adapted like she was anticipating you. Like she already knew how you fought. You didn’t sleep that night. Not because of fear or anxiety, but because you became entranced

From then on, things shifted.

You stopped avoiding the others in the corridors. Started nodding back when Silver Wolf greeted you with a lazy two finger wave. Listened when Blade offered one word advice during training. Responded when Kafka teased you, even if it was just with a dry, “Don’t push your luck.”

You began asking questions quiet ones, when no one was around.

“What’s Sam’s story?”

“Why does Blade meditate with his blade drawn?”

“Does Silver Wolf ever lose in those games?”

And every time, Kafka answered. Not always directly. Sometimes with riddles, sometimes with little smiles that said, You’ll figure it out. But she answered. More than that she listened. When you told her about the dreams again, she didn’t tell you to ignore them.

She only asked, “Do you want to remember?”

You did. Even if it hurt.

Weeks passed.

Your coat bore the Hunter insignia now. You walked with purpose in the base’s dim halls. You learned their methods how to dismantle systems, how to fight in sync with someone you weren’t sure you trusted, how to exist beside people who had no need for sentiment, but somehow left space for it anyway. Kafka didn’t change much.

But you started to see the way she lingered when Blade was injured. The way she glanced at Silver Wolf with a sisterly fondness when she thought no one noticed. The way she always made sure you got the missions that aligned with your strengths.

“Why do you help me?” you asked once, after a particularly clean victory where the two of you fought side by side, flawless.

Kafka didn’t miss a beat. “Because I remember what it feels like to be lost. And because Elio says you’re important.”

You scoffed. “You always follow Elio’s predictions?”

Kafka’s lips curved. “Only when I agree with them.” despite yourself, you smiled back.

ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ Kafka’s voice was calm over the comms.

“Quick in, quick out. Eyes open, [Y/N]. The relay’s still broadcasting faint traces of encrypted Express data. Elio wants to know why.” You crouched behind a collapsed support beam, hand tightening on your weapon. Your breath fogged slightly in the cold air. The station’s artificial gravity pulsed irregularly, like the heartbeat of something half dead.

“I don’t like it here,” you murmured. “Too quiet.”

“You’ll get used to that,” Kafka replied. “Most haunted places start that way.”

The door groaned as it opened rusted metal, reluctant hinges. You stepped inside, Kafka at your back, the hallway stretching before you like the throat of a dying star. The walls were scorched. Burned out terminals flickered and fizzed with leftover sparks. Bits of fabric clung to jagged debris passenger coats, maybe. You stepped over a half buried nameplate that read T78–Celestial Relay: Astral Express Docking Site.

You froze. Astral Express. The words rang in your head like a forgotten lullaby.

“Something wrong?” Kafka asked.

You stared at the nameplate, unsure what to say. “I… I think I’ve been here before.”

Kafka didn’t answer right away. She simply stepped beside you, gaze trailing over the ruined corridor. “Maybe you have.”

You pressed your hand against the wall, fingers brushing a faded imprint someone had drawn stars here once. The paint had nearly chipped away, but you could still make out the rough lines of a train and what looked like… a tiny figure standing at its edge. Your heart clenched. And then A whisper. Soft. Unmistakable.

“–[Y/N], you coming? We don’t leave people behind–”

You whipped around. No one was there. The hallway behind you remained empty, Kafka standing still as a statue beside the doorway.

“What did you hear?” she asked quietly.

You blinked. “That voice. I… I knew it.”

Kafka turned to face you, her expression unreadable. “What did it sound like?”

“Warm,” you whispered, before you could stop yourself. “He called my name like it meant something. Like I was his… crew.”

A slow beat of silence passed. Kafka stepped forward and reached up gently pressed two fingers to your temple. Not unkind. Not forceful. Just enough pressure to draw your attention.

“That’s not just a memory,” she murmured. “That’s a tether.” Your breath hitched.

“I don’t understand.”

“You will,” Kafka said. “Elio predicted this. A place would wake the memories. A name. A sound. You weren’t meant to forget it all. The universe just… paused you. Stalled the connection.”

You turned toward the hallway again. In the distance, barely audible, came another voice. Fainter this time. Familiar.

“Don’t wander off again, [Y/N]…”

Your lips parted. You could see it, just for a second flashing gold windows, March’s laughter, the faint hum of the Astral Express engine purring beneath your feet. It faded as quickly as it came.

“I… was with them,” you said softly, gripping your sleeve. “Before. Before all this. I can feel it.” Kafka studied you with something like pride.

“You’re remembering who you were. The question now is who do you want to be?”

You didn’t answer. Not yet. Instead, you turned back down the hall and whispered, like a promise only the stars could hear,

“I’ll find you.”

ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ The first time he saw her, it was in a dream. She stood at the edge of a broken platform, surrounded by stardust. Hair swaying in a nonexistent wind, face turned away, just slightly. The light around her bent like it knew her. Soft, reverent.

She didn’t speak. Caelus woke with his chest aching. At first, he chalked it up to warp sickness. Another leftover hallucination, maybe Stellaron residue playing tricks on his head. It wasn’t new. Flashes of unfamiliar places, déjà vu that made no sense. The usual.

But this was different. Because the girl didn’t fade. She kept showing up. Not just in dreams now, but in thoughts. In echoes. In odd moments where he’d catch his reflection in a terminal screen and think She’s looking for me. He missed her. This random girl.

Without knowing her name. Without knowing if she was real. He missed her. Like his soul had once been stitched to hers, and something some event, some warping twist of fate had torn it in half.

“Hey,” March’s voice snapped him out of it, “you okay?”

He blinked. Realized he’d been staring out the train’s window for who knows how long. The stars looked endless tonight. Cold. Unreachable.

“Yeah,” he lied. “Just thinking.”

“About what?” she teased, leaning in. “Don’t tell me you’re finally getting poetic about the stars. Welt’s going to cry.”

He tried to smile. “Nothing important.”

But even then, he heard it.

A whisper, not quite sound, threading through his mind like a thread through fabric:

“Caelus…”

The way she said it wasn’t scared. Or urgent. It was warm. Familiar.

Intimate.

He rubbed at his temple. “It’s happening again.”

March sobered. “The dreams?”

He nodded. “She’s… everywhere. But I don’t know her.”

“You’re sure she’s not someone we met on another planet?”

“I know I’ve never met her,” Caelus murmured. “But it doesn’t feel that way. It feels like I’ve always known her. Like I’m forgetting something I should never have forgotten.”

March frowned, stepping a little closer. “What does she look like?”

“I don’t know. Her face is always in light. Or in motion. Or…” He sighed. “She’s always just out of reach.”

March crossed her arms. “Sounds like a cosmic love story.”

“Or a curse,” he muttered.

He meant it.

Because it hurt, missing someone you didn’t even know. It made no sense, but she had become a presence an ache under his ribs, a name he didn’t know how to speak.

That night, the dream changed. He was on the Express but not this one. The colors were warmer. The crew felt familiar, yet different. And there she was finally facing him. This time no blur and no haze.

She smiled, soft and sad. Like she knew something he didn’t. Like she’d watched him from afar for a long, long time.

He took a step forward. She held out her hand.

The sound of shattering glass. Light tore across the dream like lightning. Her image cracked, distorted, fell apart.

He screamed her name Except he didn’t know it. He woke up gasping.

He stood in the hallway outside the passenger car now, gripping the rail, heart pounding. The stars outside flickered like they were trying to whisper something back.

“I don’t know who you are,” he murmured, voice rough. “But I think I’m supposed to.”

Though he felt he had loved her once. that love got lost between the stars. But it was finding its way back. He could feel it.

ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

The moment hung between you like a heartbeat suspended in air fragile, trembling, too afraid to fall.

You didn’t speak.

Couldn’t.

Because if you did, something would break.

Maybe it was the persona you’d built. Maybe it was the invisible wall that Elio insisted you keep between yourself and the rest of the galaxy. Or maybe… it was the feeling you’d been running from since the day you woke up in Kafka’s care:

The ache of knowing someone you’d never met.

Of longing for something you never had.

Of being seen when you had no memory of who you were supposed to be.

And Caelus saw you.

Not the mask. Not the weapon. You.

He stood there, closer than he should have, amber eyes gentler than any soldier’s had a right to be, and you hated how your resolve cracked around the edges just by looking at him.

“I don’t want to fight you,” he said, voice barely above the whine of static in the air. “I just… want to understand.”

Your mouth opened then shut again.

The wind shifted between the broken towers, pulling at your coat. You turned away first. Because if you kept looking at him, you weren’t sure you’d be able to hold your ground.

“I don’t care what you dreamed,” you said finally, trying to sound cold. Detached. “Whatever you think we were… I’m not that girl anymore.”

“I know,” he murmured, and that was somehow worse.

Because he meant it. And he still looked at you like that.

Like he was remembering you, even if you’d forgotten yourself.

Before you could respond, Kafka’s voice crackled in your earpiece.

“Darling. We’ve got what we need. Time to disappear.”

You inhaled sharply through your nose, nodding to nothing. for a second, just before you moved, your hand twitched again reaching out, purely instinct. But then you turned.

You vanished into the fractured skyline, not even a ripple left in your wake. Caelus didn’t follow. He just watched you go, a strange, hollow kind of sorrow nesting in his chest.

“She didn’t try to kill us,” March 7th said flatly.

“Progress,” Dan Heng deadpanned.

Caelus didn’t laugh.

He sat in silence, watching the universe drift past the train’s window. His reflection stared back at him, eyes tired and heart somewhere lightyears behind.

She didn’t remember him.

But her fingers had twitched when she said his name. Like muscle memory. Like muscle memory aching to reach out.

She was the one he’d been dreaming of. The one who didn’t board the Express. The one who was never supposed to walk the path she was on. The one fate had twisted away from him.

Later, after the brief standoff after Kafka led you away with a smile and a smug wave, and after Himeko called the mission a partial success Caelus sat alone in the Express observatory.

He stared out at the stars, but they felt different now.

You were real. And you knew him.

Not just knew of him. You knew him. The way your eyes lingered. The subtle way your fingers twitched when his voice hit the air. The way your name still escaped him but your presence didn’t.

“You okay?” March leaned in from behind, holding a cup of cocoa.

He didn’t turn. Just nodded. “I met her.”

March blinked. “Her?”

“…The one from the dreams.”

Her brows shot up. “Wait, seriously? That’s the girl?”

He nodded again. “She’s with Kafka.”

March made a face. “Of course she is. That explains the cool and mysterious aura coming from your weird head.”

“I don’t think she remembers me fully,” he said softly. “But she said my name.”

“hmmmm this feels kinda crazy,” March said, sitting beside him. “This is like some weird soulmate thing.”

Caelus glanced at her. “Is that even possible?”

She smirked. “With us? Anything’s possible.”

He turned back to the stars.

Somewhere out there, on another ship, or in another world, she had stood beside him. He knew it.

And even if time or fate had pulled them apart he was going to find his way back.

ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

It was stupid.

Dangerous.

Kafka had already noticed.

“You’ve been requesting missions in Express protected zones a lot lately,” she said one evening, her tone lazy, her gaze razor sharp. “Coincidence?”

You didn’t answer. Just kept cleaning your gear with surgical precision.

“…You saw him again, didn’t you?”

You paused, hand tightening on the cloth.

Kafka smiled like a cat who’d just cornered a bird. “I knew it.”

You didn’t look up. “It’s nothing.”

“Sweetheart, if it were nothing, your hands wouldn’t be shaking.”

They weren’t until she said it.

You shoved the cloth into your bag and stood. “Give me a mission.”

“Where to?”

You hesitated.

“Doesn’t matter,” you lied. “Anywhere near the Express.”

Kafka didn’t tease you. She just tilted her head, watching you like you were a story she already knew the ending to.

“Alright,” she said, voice soft. “Just try not to break his heart too fast.”

You rolled your eyes but your chest twisted. Because you didn’t want to break anything. You just… wanted to see him again.

Even if it was across a battlefield. Even if it was a few glances stolen between chaos. Even if it meant pretending you didn’t feel like the universe was holding its breath every time your paths aligned.

‼️‼️‼️

“Trailblazer, are you sure you need to scout that sector again?” Himeko asked, not unkindly.

“Yes,” Caelus said immediately. “I have a feeling.”

Dan Heng raised a brow. “A feeling.”

“Yeah.”

March grinned. “It’s her, isn’t it?”

Caelus didn’t deny it.

He didn’t know what he was expecting maybe another cold stare, another few seconds of standing too close without touching. But every time he caught a whisper of your presence on a planet, his heart pulled like a compass needle snapping to true north.

lately? You’d been showing up a lot. He started waiting on rooftops after missions, lingering longer than necessary. Hoping. Searching.

One time, he swore he caught your silhouette vanishing behind the smoke of a blown power core. Another, he spotted a shimmer in a crowd just a flicker of your coat as you disappeared into a ship.

You never stayed. you were always there.

You crouched at the edge of a ruined dome, watching the Express land below like a ghost too afraid to knock on the door.

Your comm buzzed.

Kafka: “You just gonna stare again, or say hi this time?”

You didn’t answer. Because you didn’t know how to explain it. That this wasn’t love…. at most you don’t know what that word even meant

He felt like It was gravity. He was the center of something you couldn’t name, and every time you stepped close, the past stirred in your bones like a song you once knew.

And still, you stayed. Watching him laugh with March. Watching him glance over his shoulder, like he felt you nearby. Watching him wait.

ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

The stars above the shattered dome flickered like dying embers dim, faraway, forgotten. The observatory was dead, a relic from a time when people still believed the cosmos could be mapped, understood, controlled.

Now, it was just quiet. A perfect place to hide. You didn’t know why you were here. Not really. The coordinates had come through a scrambled data trail supposedly a scouting point for a Hunter op. But Kafka had said nothing. She’d just smiled when she saw the file and said, “Go.”

So you went. You didn’t expect him to be there too. But the moment you stepped through the cracked threshold, you knew. The air changed. Like the world itself paused to take a breath.

And then you saw him.

Caelus stood by the remnants of a collapsed telescope, bathed in soft starlight filtering through the fractured glass above. His coat rustled quietly as he turned.

His eyes widened.

“…You.”

You didn’t move. You should’ve run. Should’ve vanished like you always did. your boots felt rooted to the floor, and your chest was tight with something you didn’t have a name for.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” you said, voice low.

“I know,” he replied. “But I hoped you would be.”

That stopped you cold.

“…Why?”

“Because I can’t keep pretending you’re just a dream.”

Your heart stuttered.

He took a slow step forward. You didn’t stop him.

“You keep showing up,” he said, quietly. “And every time, I think maybe it’s just a trick. Just my mind trying to make sense of something it can’t remember. But then I see you. And I know.”

You swallowed hard.

“There’s a reason we remember each other,” he went on. “Even if we don’t know how.”

You looked away. “You don’t know who I am.”

“I don’t have to,” he said. “Because when I see you I feel peace. Like the galaxy makes sense for a second.”

That… hurt. Because you didn’t just feel peace when you saw him. You felt everything else. Hope. Ache. Fear. That sharp, impossible longing like something inside you was trying to claw its way out just to reach him.

“I shouldn’t be here,” you whispered.

“well that shouldn’t feeling kinda doesn’t apply here,” Caelus said again, gentler.

Silence stretched between you fragile, sacred. Then, softly, he asked, “Can I come closer?”

You nodded.

He stepped toward you, slow and careful, until there was only a breath between you. For a moment, neither of you moved. Then gently, so gently his hand reached out and hovered near yours. Not touching. Just waiting.

And your fingers… trembled.

You didn’t take his hand.

But you didn’t pull away either. It was the closest you’d been. Not physically emotionally. Soulfully. And for the first time since you woke up with no memories, you didn’t feel lost.

You felt… found.

It just hovered there between you, caught in some invisible tension neither of you had the words to sever. Caelus stayed still too, though you could tell he wanted to say something his eyes kept flicking to your expression, like he was trying to read stars in a language he used to know.

Then, very softly, he chuckled.

You blinked.

“What?” you asked warily.

“I just…” He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, expression going a little sheepish. “I was trying to think of something poetic to say. You know, something like, ‘Even across galaxies, I’d find you,’ or ‘Your eyes remind me of starlight before a warp jump.’” He paused. “But that would be cringe, right?”

You stared at him.

And then against your own instincts you laughed. It was small, quiet, almost disbelieving, but it escaped you anyway. “That’s so cringe.”

“I knew it!” he grinned, victorious. “See? March would’ve roasted me for it too.”

Your lips twitched. “You really are a dork,” you muttered.

“I prefer charmingly knight super cool amazing, thank you very much,” Caelus said, placing a dramatic hand to his heart. “Besides, you were about two seconds away from touching my hand. I saw the twitch. Don’t lie.”

You rolled your eyes, but something in your chest… eased. He noticed. And that dumb little smile of his softened into something quieter.

“I’m not trying to pressure you,” he said. “I just wanted to see you. Talk.”

You didn’t answer right away. The truth was you didn’t know who you were now. Not completely. But sitting here, with the moonlight dusting your boots and this ridiculous boy talking about bad pickup lines in the middle of a ruined observatory. You didn’t feel like a Stellaron Hunter. You didn’t feel like a traitor or a mistake. You felt… normal. For the first time in forever.

Your fingers inched just slightly toward his. Barely enough to count. But Caelus noticed. He grinned.

“So,” he said, voice light again, “should I keep going with the pickup lines, or have I impressed you enough for one night?”

You exhaled slowly.

“…Let’s just sit.”

He nodded. “I’m good at that. Sitting. Part of my best skills.”

You shook your head, but you didn’t pull away when he finally sat beside you close, not touching.

ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

Caelus couldn’t stop smiling.

It wasn’t his usual half grin or smug little smirk it was a real smile. One of those stupid, giddy ones that made his face hurt and had absolutely no business existing after a trip to a dead observatory.

But here he was. Practically skipping down the corridor of the Express like a guy who’d just gotten a love confession and a puppy all in one day.

He didn’t get what was happening. But he felt it. That weight in his chest that had been following him since the warp it was lighter now. Not gone, but gentler. Like seeing you made the ache less unbearable.

Even if you’d only laughed once. Even if your hand had hovered, not held. Even if you still looked like you were ready to vanish at the first sign of a threat.

It didn’t matter. He’d seen the crack in the mask. He’d seen you.

“Okay, you’re smiling. That’s never a good sign,” a voice called.

Caelus turned just as March 7th leaned dramatically over the back of the lounge couch, a mock suspicious look in her eyes. “Did you get hit on the head, or are you in love?”

“What?” Caelus blinked, then coughed. “Neither!”

“That was the most unconvincing response I’ve ever heard in my life,” March grinned.

“Didn’t even try to lie properly,” Dan Heng muttered from behind his book, not looking up.

“Oh my god.” March gasped and pointed at him. “You’re blushing. Are you blushing?!”

“I am not blushing,” Caelus said, very obviously blushing.

“You totally are!” she squealed. “You went somewhere, didn’t you? You did the secret meeting thing. The ‘forbidden connection across enemy lines’ thing. Like star crossed lovers in a trashy space novel!”

“I just… I ran into her,” Caelus muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “We talked. That’s all.”

March narrowed her eyes. “Define ‘talked.’”

“…There were words.”

“Ooooh. There were feelings,” March declared. “Dan Heng, he’s so doomed.”

Dan Heng sighed without looking up. “I’ll alert the press.”

At the front of the Express, Himeko sipped her coffee until she tilted her head toward Welt with a smirk. “I think the kids are gossiping again.”

Welt glanced up from the terminal, raising an eyebrow. “Should we be concerned?”

“Well, considering our dear Trailblazer seems to be falling for a Stellaron Hunter, I’d say yes,” she said with a knowing smile. “But also… not yet. Let them feel something. They’ve earned it.”

Back near the lounge, Caelus flopped onto the couch beside March and groaned into a pillow.

“I didn’t mean to like her,” he mumbled.

“That’s how it always starts,” March said with faux dramatic flair. “You ‘accidentally’ develop feelings for the mysterious, emotionally complicated girl who may or may not be working for a morally grey space cult.”

“She laughed at one of my dumb jokes,” Caelus admitted, muffled.

March gasped again. “She laughed?! Oh, it’s over for you. You’re done. Pack it up. Go write her name on your locker and doodle hearts in your journal.”

“I don’t have a locker.”

“its a metaphor you stupid hoe,” she said solemnly.

And as the Express continued its course through the stars, the crew kept teasing, bickering, and beneath it all watching over each other. Even if they didn’t say it, they all felt it.

ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

This sector was too close to the Express’s patrol route, and Kafka had given you a very specific order to avoid unnecessary contact with the crew for your own good, allegedly. But “allegedly” didn’t stop your feet from wandering. And it sure didn’t stop him.

Because Caelus was already there, poking his head around a half crushed console like he was looking for snacks and not violating multiple interdimensional boundaries.

“Psst,” he whispered, ducking behind a pillar like a badly disguised spy.

You stared at him, deadpan. “You followed me.”

“I think the term stumbled across you like fate intended,” he said, peeking out again with a hopeful smile.

You folded your arms. “You almost got spotted by Silver Wolf’s scouts. If I hadn’t looped their surveillance…”

“Okay, so maybe I’m not great at stealth,” Caelus admitted, sheepish. “But I am great at being incredibly charming in the face of mortal peril.”

You opened your mouth to tell him off but then he crouched, balancing on one leg with his arms out like a chicken, and made a dramatic caw noise.

“See? You can’t stay mad at this level of grace.”

You stared. Then pinched the bridge of your nose. And yet… your lips twitched. Damn it.

He grinned wider, clearly catching it. “There it is! The tiniest smile. I knew I could break through that scary, cool Hunter persona.”

“I’m not scary,” you muttered.

“You’re terrifying. In a hot way.”

You rolled your eyes, turning away to hide the heat rushing to your cheeks. “You’re a really weird guy.”

“And yet you keep meeting me,” he said, stepping closer now. “Isn’t that funny?”

It wasn’t funny. It was frustrating. It was dangerous. Every second spent with him risked blowing your cover, ruining your mission. Staying away from the people that hindered the stellarons hunters wishes

But every time he smiled at you like that like you were the only real thing left in the galaxy. You forgot what side you were on.

“Caelus…” you started, voice wavering.

“Yeah?”

“Why do you do this?” Your eyes locked with his. “Why do you keep chasing me when we’re supposed to be enemies?”

He hesitated, surprised by the weight in your voice.

Then he shrugged, quietly this time. “Because even when I close my eyes, I still see you. And I think… if I stop chasing that, I’ll regret it forever.”

Something in your chest cracked open. The longing. The ache. The static in your blood. It surged all at once.

You didn’t think. Didn’t plan. You just grabbed his collar and kissed him. Hard. The impact startled him his hands flying to steady you, your fingers curled in his jacket like you’d fall apart if you let go. It was clumsy, fierce, desperate.

You felt his breath hitch. Felt his fingers tighten. Though suddenly. The static surged. Your knees gave out and the world tilted. You collapsed into his arms, your consciousness slipping like smoke.

“Whoa! Wait!” Caelus caught you before you hit the ground, wide eyed. “Okay, not how I imagined our first kiss going hey, are you okay? Are you? Oh god, did I break you?!”

He knelt, cradling you gently, brushing hair from your face as your breathing steadied but your eyes stayed shut.

“…You kissed me,” he whispered, stunned.

Then, more softly.

“…Please wake up so I can tell you how i really feel”

A few moments pass and you’re still completely knocked out.

“She’s not waking up. She’s not waking up. She’s not okay okay it’s fine, I’ve definitely… totally… handled something like this before…”

He hadn’t. Caelus was not fine. You were unconscious in his arms, and he had no idea why. He was racing back toward the Express through dimensional shrapnel and twisted corridors like he was running from the universe itself. Every few seconds, he glanced down to make sure you were still breathing.

You were. Shallow, but steady. Thank every star in the sky.

“I mean, you kiss a girl, and she immediately collapses that’s gotta be a record, right?” he muttered, mostly to keep from screaming. “Cool, Caelus. Real smooth. She finally kisses you and the stellaron hunter gets beaten by a kiss. note to tell Dan heng to use that on blade later”

His foot snagged on a floating stone, and he nearly tumbled. He tightened his hold, shielding your head.

“Sorry, sorry gotcha,” he said softly, eyes flicking to your face. “You don’t look hurt. You just… fainted? Did I do something wrong? Was it the hair? Be honest, you hate the hair, don’t you?”

No answer. Just the soft, steady rise and fall of your chest.

The Express came into view. Warm lights. Familiar hum. A tether back to sanity. He bolted inside, panting. “Emergency! Kind of! I mean, not me okay, yes me, but mostly her!”

March’s head whipped up from the couch. “Is that?!”

Dan Heng appeared instantly at the sound of frantic footsteps, and Himeko turned from the navigation console.

“What happened?” she asked sharply, crossing the room. “Isnt she that girl youre always talking about?”

“I I don’t know! I mean, I do, but I don’t she’s the girl from the dimensional fault. She kissed me long story and then she just collapsed.”

“You kissed the enemy?” March asked, voice pitched somewhere between scandalized and amazed. “Oh my, Caelus!”

“She kissed me!” he hissed, glancing down at you. “And then passed out, which is not how kisses usually go right? That’s not normal?”

Welt Yang stepped in, grave and composed as always. “Where exactly did this happen?”

“Fragmented zone, a relay station near the collapsed ruins. She was fine then not. I didn’t know where else to go.”

“You made the right choice,” Himeko said gently, already checking your pulse.

“She’s… she’s okay, right?” Caelus asked, voice cracking as he dropped to his knees beside you.

Welt nodded slowly. “Stable vitals. No external trauma. But her energy readings are odd.”

“Odd how?” Caelus asked.

March peeked over Welt’s shoulder. “Like Stellaron odd? Trailblazer odd? Or, like, cute girl with dangerous secrets odd?”

Welt exhaled. “Yes.”

Caelus swallowed hard. He looked at your face again. Still so still.

“Hey,” he murmured, taking your hand carefully. “You can’t just… leave me hanging like that. You can’t kiss me and ghost me in the same breath. That’s rude.”

March elbowed Dan Heng. “Yo i love the guy but has he ever been serious”

“I don’t think so,” Dan Heng replied dryly.

“I’m serious,” Caelus said, voice softer now. “You gotta wake up soon. I don’t care who you are. Or what you think you have to be. I just… I want to know you. The real you.”

Your fingers didn’t twitch.

But your heartbeat, quietly, began to quicken. The cabin of the Astral Express felt too quiet. You were still unconscious, resting in the medbay with March standing guard just in case you woke up and decided to, you know, unleash chaos. Dan Heng was nearby, arms crossed, calm but clearly on edge.

And Himeko… was doing something no one expected.

“She’s calling Kafka?” March whispered, wide eyed. “That’s… wow. That’s like dialing a volcano and asking it politely not to erupt.”

“I’m not asking,” Himeko said smoothly, tone neutral as she tapped into the comms. “I’m informing. She’s going to want to know her operative’s alive and on board. I’d prefer that information come from us than from, say… a surveillance drone.”

“Or a giant explosion,” Caelus mumbled from where he slumped against the wall.

March shot him a look. “You really kissed her, huh?”

“She kissed me,” he repeated, quietly now. “And then she collapsed. Not exactly the grand romantic moment I imagined.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘cursed,’” March offered helpfully.

Before he could spiral further, Welt Yang appeared beside him and nodded toward the back car. “Walk with me?”

Caelus didn’t argue. They ended up on the observation deck, stars stretched out endlessly through the glass windows. The silence was nice. Heavy, but nice.

“You’ve been quiet,” Welt said after a while.

“Trying not to panic,” Caelus admitted. “Not doing a great job.”

Welt studied him with the patience of someone who’d seen too many wars and too many versions of the same story. “You’re allowed to panic. But you’re also allowed to hope.”

Caelus leaned his head against the window, watching a comet streak by. “She was… cold. Distant. But when she looked at me, it felt like someone lit up the whole room. Like a puzzle piece finally clicked, even if it didn’t make sense.”

“And the kiss?”

“Unplanned. Very… wow. And then terrifying.”

Welt chuckled quietly. “Feelings can do that. Especially when they come from somewhere deeper than memory.”

“You think she’s really?”

“I think the universe has a way of trying again when it gets something wrong,” Welt said gently. “You two… may have been pulled apart by something beyond your control. That doesn’t mean you can’t find your way back.”

Caelus swallowed the knot in his throat.

“I just what if she wakes up and remembers who she is, and it means she leaves? Or worse, tries to finish what she started?”

“Then you face that moment with the same bravery you faced her now. With heart.”

Caelus looked up at him.

“…You’re good at this.”

Welt smiled, faint but kind. “I’ve had practice.”

The silence stretched between them comfortably this time. Then March’s voice crackled over the intercom.

“Uh, guys? So… Kafka responded. She’s coming. ETA fifteen minutes.”

Caelus stiffened.

Welt simply exhaled. “Well. Time to prepare for company.”

“And by company,” Caelus muttered, “you mean the scariest lady who might murder me for smooching her agent.”

“She might also say ‘thanks,’” Welt mused.

“…That would be a miracle.”

ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

She came with the wind. No ship announced her arrival. No screeching engines or blaring alarms warned the crew. Just a sudden, eerie stillness like the Express itself recognized the presence walking its halls and chose to hold its breath.

Caelus stood in the medbay doorway, arms crossed tight against his chest, heart hammering like it still hadn’t caught up to the kiss or the collapse that followed.

You hadn’t stirred. Not once. He didn’t know what terrified him more the silence from your body… or the way he wasnt sure what everything meant

Then she appeared. Kafka stepped through the door like a queen entering her court graceful, confident, her long coat fluttering gently with her stride. Eyes sharp and knowing. Expression unreadable, but tinged with something… fond. Like she’d expected this.

“Well,” she murmured, surveying the scene. “You’re earlier than I thought, Caelus.”

He blinked. “You… expected this?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, her gaze fell on you, lying still and pale on the cot, a faint glimmer of light pulsing beneath your skin where your mask once was.

Kafka smiled softly.

She walked closer and crouched beside you, brushing a gloved hand over your forehead in a rare moment of gentleness. “She always did overdo things when emotions were involved. Even across timelines, some things stay the same.”

Caelus stepped forward, jaw tight. “What happened to her?”

Kafka tilted her head. “She remembered you. More than she was supposed to. More than her mind this version of her was ready to accept.”

“What do you mean, ‘this version’?” Caelus asked slowly, dreading the answer.

Kafka looked up at him. “She’s not from here. Not exactly.”

Silence. Dan Heng, March, Welt, and Himeko stood nearby, tension bleeding into the room like fog.

“She’s a splinter,” Kafka continued. “A fracture of someone that once existed in a timeline that was… erased. In that version of the world, she boarded the Express. Just like you. She was one of yours.”

“…Ours?” Caelus echoed.

“You were happy,” Kafka said with a smile. “Close. Devoted. She loved you, Caelus. More than duty, more than fear. Enough to leap across timelines when fate collapsed around her.”

His breath caught. Kafka rose, brushing imaginary dust from her gloves. “Elio found her adrift. Not quite nothing, not quite whole. And I well, I’ve always had a soft spot for lost causes.”

March folded her arms. “So… you knew she didn’t belong with the Stellaron Hunters?”

“She belonged where her heart led her,” Kafka replied coolly. “We never forced her to stay. She chose to remain. But I knew the day would come when the two of you would meet again. Some things are inevitable.”

Himeko narrowed her gaze. “Then why bring her in at all?”

Kafka looked at her. Smiled. “Because sometimes, a storm needs a place to land.”

“…That’s not an answer,” Dan Heng said.

“No,” Kafka replied, unbothered. “It isn’t.”

She turned back toward Caelus then. Her tone gentled. “She found you again. Against all odds. And even without memories, her soul still remembered.”

Caelus swallowed. His voice felt hoarse. “So what now?”

“Now?” Kafka took a step toward him, something unreadable in her eyes. “Now you wait. Be patient. She’s strong. Stubborn. She’ll come back to you.”

Then, a pause deliberate and teasing. She leaned closer. “And be good, Caelus.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Be. Good,” she repeated with a sly smile. “Or I’ll steal her back.”

He flushed. “she came to me, you know.”

Kafka’s grin widened. “Soulmates do that. No matter the odds. No matter the sides.”

He stared at her. She softened. Just a fraction.

“Even when she was one of us,” she said quietly, “she still looked at the stars and dreamed of you. You’d think that kind of devotion would die between timelines, but… it doesn’t.”

Caelus’s chest ached.

“She loved you then,” Kafka whispered. “And if you’re lucky, she’ll love you again.”

Her gaze turned thoughtful.

“Opposing sides don’t mean much to the heart. What matters is how hard you’re willing to love, even when the universe tries to tear you apart.” Then she brushed past him, heading toward the door.

“Wait,” Caelus said. “Are you just going to leave her?”

Kafka smiled over her shoulder. “She’s exactly where she needs to be.” And with that, she was gone. Silence returned. Caelus stood there for a moment, eyes on your still form. Then, quietly, Welt stepped to his side again.

“Well,” he said gently, “you heard the woman.”

Caelus exhaled shakily. “Yeah…”

“She’ll come back.”

Caelus nodded. “Yeah.” And when she does, he thought, I’m not letting go again.

ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ It starts with light. Soft, golden, and endless. You’re weightless, drifting. Not through space through memory. Through pieces of yourself you didn’t know were missing. At first, the visions are disjointed, blurred at the edges. Like film caught between frames. A laugh. Your own. It’s bright, full of something warm. Something forgotten. You’re standing in the Astral Express kitchen, sleeves rolled up, flour on your cheek. March 7th is beside you, wielding a spoon like a sword. Across the counter, Caelus is dramatically pretending to faint as he eats a cookie you baked.

“It’s so good,” he gasps, flopping over a chair like a dying man. “I’m ascending Himeko, if I die, bury me with ten of these.”

You hit him with a dish towel. “Eat like a normal person.”

“I am! This is how Trailblazers eat. enjoying every second of this. Very cool.” You’re smiling so wide it hurts. The scene melts.

FLASH.

You and Dan Heng are leaning over a terminal together. He’s explaining star coordinates, but your attention keeps drifting. Not because you’re bored but because you’re waiting. Waiting for that familiar, goofy voice behind you. Sure enough.

“You’re cheating on me with star maps again?” Caelus says, mock offended.

“Jealous of numbers?” you tease, turning to him.

“I’m jealous of anything that takes your attention for more than thirty seconds.” Dan Heng clears his throat, but you swear he’s hiding a smile.

FLASH

It’s night. Or what passes for night on the train. You and Caelus are sitting on the edge by the door, legs dangling over the edge. Your heads are tilted toward the stars, shoulders touching.

No words. Just the sound of the universe breathing between you.

“I think I found home,” he whispers.

You blink. Look at him.

He doesn’t turn to you, but his hand finds yours in the dark.

“I think,” he continues, voice quieter now, “it’s not a place. I think it’s a person.”

“did you read that in a romance book?”

“shhhhh, you’re crazy you’re thinking too much. close your eyes and just embrace it”

You squeeze his hand back.

FLASH.

Battle. You’re bleeding. Something had gone wrong on a mission fight with a Fragmentum creature. You’re cornered, dizzy, staggering but then Caelus is there. Always.

He pulls you back against him, shielding your body with his own, teeth gritted, eyes wild with fear.

“I got you,” he pants. “Stay with me, okay? Just don’t go.”

You look up at him.

You smile.

“Like I’d leave you, dummy.”

FLASH.

You’re in the observation car, curled on one of the long benches. The stars are streaming by, casting the room in slow, celestial motion. Caelus walks in with two mugs and stops in his tracks when he sees you. You feign sleep. He sits beside you anyway. Then, softly, with that grin you’ve always hated because it makes your heart ache.

“I don’t know what I did in the past to deserve you,” he says, voice like a secret, “but I’d do it again. A thousand times.” Your heart clenches. Because something inside you remembers.

FLASH.

That ruined city. The fault zone. His face. You hear his voice again.

“I’ve seen you before. In dreams.”

“I think… I loved you, once.”

And for the first time, your consciousness stirs. The dreams fracture. Like mirrors catching too much light. The voice calling you back isn’t Kafka’s. It’s his.

Caelus.

You try to reach. To swim toward the sound. But something holds you back like the universe hasn’t decided if you’re ready to wake. Then, one final whisper reaches you. Not a memory. Not a dream. Just a feeling, laced in the warmth of amber eyes.

“Come back to me.”

You move.

There was no light when you first stirred just warmth. A soft hum beneath you. A scent in the air like metal and tea. And someone breathing. Slow, steady, near. Your eyelids fluttered open, lashes blinking against the low glow of the Astral Express’s medical bay. Everything felt strangely quiet thick, like sound and time had been layered under water. You blinked again. Once. Twice.

Then you saw him.

Slouched in a chair beside the bed, head tucked in his arms, was him. Caelus. He looked so much softer like this. Asleep, or maybe just resting his eyes. Hair slightly mussed, coat slipping off one shoulder, mouth slightly open like he had passed out mid thought. Your heart gave a small, traitorous flutter.

You whispered, “…Caelus?”

His head jerked up so fast you thought he might give himself whiplash. His amber eyes locked onto yours in an instant, and something shattered across his face. He bolted upright, nearly tripping over the chair in his scramble to get to your side.

“Hey hey! You’re awake! You’re actually awake! Not, like, fake half awake. Awake awake.” His hands hovered awkwardly over you, unsure if he was allowed to touch. “I Himeko said it could take a week, or a month, or uh, anyway, it’s been three days, and I’ve been sitting here the whole time and” You reached up and gently touched his wrist.

“I think…” you murmured, voice hoarse but steady, “I think I love you.” He froze like you’d physically unplugged his brain.

“W what?”

Your body ached, your throat still burned, and your thoughts swam like drifting stars but the feeling in your chest was real. Unmistakable. A tether that led back to him, no matter the timeline. You sat up slowly he instantly reached out to help you, like you might fall apart again and when you moved forward to hug him, his arms instinctively opened.

“Waitwaitwait!” He pulled back with sudden panic, palms bracing your shoulders like a human seatbelt. “Are you gonna kiss me again? Because the last time you did that, you passed out in my arms and scared me half to death. Not that it was a bad kiss honestly, it was amazing, I’m still recovering but I don’t want you to, like, die on me again. My heart can’t take it.” You stared at him. Then laughed. Softly. Genuinely.

Even now when he was clearly shaken, clearly not over what happened he was still him. A little weird. A little dramatic. A little too honest. It calmed you. Grounded you. You leaned in again slower this time and pressed your forehead against his.

“I’m not yours,” you said quietly. “Not the one you have ever met

He nodded, eyes dimming slightly. “Yeah. I figured.”

“But you…” You closed your eyes. “You’re not my Caelus either.”

A breath passed between you. And then, you whispered, “But I think… you’re still my home.”

His breath caught. He didn’t say anything at first. Just stared at you, that chaotic, sincere expression melting into something gentler. Something he hadn’t let himself hope for.

Then, his hand brushed the side of your cheek tentative, reverent. And he smiled.

“…You really know how to knock a guy off his feet, huh?”

You leaned into his touch, eyes fluttering shut.

“You’ve been doing it to me since before I even knew your name.”