Boyfriend.
boyfriend.
yandere!female!riddle rosehearts x (female) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, obsession, implied (cyber)stalking, cheating, dub-con, alcohol/intoxication, characters written as 18+ note - riddle seeks to prune the filthy weeds from your life, starting with your ill-mannered boyfriend. // inspired by dove cameron's boyfriend.
i. i can’t believe we’re finally alone. i can’t believe i almost went home. what are the chances? everyone’s dancing, and he’s not with you.
Riddle has never traveled to this part of the city before—the seedy, unsavory sliver overshadowed by towering skyscrapers, illicit, perilous secrets tucked away in every alley. It’s not as if she’s here under duress. Although if you were to frame it from her perspective, it would feel less like an active, consensual choice and more of a you’ve-forced-my-hand choice. It’s blatant rule-breaking all the same, a stain on her delicate character. Blight on her shiny social status as a golden child, forever marked as the obedient one.
She’s lived her rebellious streak, was punished swiftly and accordingly, and strived to be better in the aftermath. It was one thing to slip out during independent study, and that fun had been trampled upon by a cruel, heeled foot. That was a child’s error. A lesson learned. A valid reason to sever all distractions and improve academically, consequently maturing with sharp, sparkling intelligence and abysmal social skills.
But Riddle is no longer that starry-eyed, impressionable child, and she does not make the same mistake twice.
Or so she’s always believed, but she’s willing to risk an unforgiving tongue-lashing and life imprisonment at the hands of her mother if it means she can fix things. No matter how she spins it, the truth remains the same: She’s fallen back on an old habit, sneaking out and keeping secrets. She’s an open book to Trey, though, who she’d taken care to message on the train ride into the city, her text mostly cryptic: Should anything happen, this is where I’ll be. It’s wrong to skirt around the truth, especially when it’s your closest friend. She knows this, but then she also knows Trey gives terribly good advice. The type of terribly good advice you often don’t want to hear.
Advice like: “You need to let her go.”
And Riddle can’t—won’t.
So she steps into the digital footprints left by that brash, brutish party animal you lovingly call your boyfriend, and she follows the string of social media posts like a diligent detective, flicking through each with manicured fingernails. She commits them to memory so that they remain imprinted in her mind before they’ll eventually expire at the twenty-four hour mark.
In the days leading up to tonight, Cater had taken her out for their usual self-care makeover day, which was really just a day dedicated to dressing up and gossiping at the salon. It was a monthly arrangement, and it kept the both of them entertained and sane. The latter of those two was called into question when Riddle, wholly out of character, selected black nail polish for her mani-pedi, which left Cater looking on with brewing curiosity. She gazed at him, pouty lips upturned slyly, and said, “I thought I’d give red a temporary break.”
“Oh, but red is so your color!” he insisted, raising his phone to capture both of them in frame.
Riddle smiled at the camera. “I know.”
It has always been her color, a staple in her closet. It’s a favorite she can never truly shake, hence why it stains her lips instead. Bright like arterial blood, a blossoming carnation, it stands out starkly on her pale countenance—the only splotch of color on her person. Cater took her shopping when he’d learned she was attempting to fit a new style into her wardrobe of prim, modest clothes. They ran up and down the racks, grinning at each other from across the store and holding up sweaters and skirts, weighing whether either would suit Riddle’s night out. In the end, she settled for the outfit she wears now: a red tube top, a cropped puffer jacket, a pencil skirt that doesn’t pass the fingertip test (not that she cares to follow that rule), tights, and knee-high heeled boots. To finish the look, she’s pulled her hair from its usual plaits, allowing it to cascade down her back like a crimson waterfall. Fingerless lace gloves adorn her hands, stitched with intricate patterns of roses and thorns.
Cater called it the Femme Fatale Friday fit. It’s a Saturday night, but it feels like Friday when she peers at her reflection in a pocket mirror, checking her makeup once more.
She will not make the same mistake twice. She’s a paragon of perfection—Riddle Rosehearts, for seven’s sake!
Stuffing the mirror into a matching handbag, she eyes the skyscraper looming before her, sleek with its metal framework and industrial glass. The bright cityscape reflects off of each window, dazzling with luminous specks of light. She considers the contents in her purse, reviews each with a critical eye, and inhales a steadying breath.
This is necessary.
She’s an adult now, nearly finished with her graduate studies. She lives on her own in a quaint, pet-friendly apartment with her hedgehog, and she works part-time at the café down the street, putting forth her best effort as she weathers the woes of university. Despite all of this independence, she doesn’t feel like an adult.
Not when she can hear her mother in the back of her head: You look ridiculous. Come home right now before you make a fool of yourself and sully my good name.
Riddle scowls at the concrete, curling her fingers into fists.
She’s an adult now. She is not her mother’s doll.
Leaving all hostility and self-doubt at the door, she steps through the lobby and beelines for the lift. It carries her to her destination—one of the highest floors. A penthouse suite.
And not just any penthouse suite. Floyd Leech’s penthouse suite.
Under normal circumstances, she would never willingly set foot in his territory. She survived four years of school with him, which was already a sickening amount, and in that time she watched him glide through his undergraduate with just barely passing grades. That wasn’t enough to stoke the red-hot embers of envy, though. It only made him seem even more like a cockroach, unable to be crushed by the weight of scholarly responsibilities, for he never took anything seriously.
For that reason, Riddle has never envied Floyd. But by the end of their third year, he had something Riddle didn’t.
He had you.
How he managed to settle into a relationship when all he did was slack off, party, and break the rules was beyond Riddle. He was a slippery delinquent, hardly deserving of your sweet affections, and yet you looked at him like he was the only one on the planet. Just where was the appeal? His manner of dress is sloppy. The way he carries himself is unpalatable and crude. The way he acts suggests his insipience is incurable. Even when he applies himself, he is still Floyd and that doesn’t clean his slate or shine his reputation. So in Riddle’s discerning eyes, he does not possess a scintilla of romantic appeal.
You don’t seem to agree with these sentiments, for you’ve been with Floyd for four long years.
Love is blinding, but Riddle has never been in love before and so she doesn’t have adequate data to prove this point. It was forbidden in her home. She’s only allowed to love the men her mother handpicks, plucking each specimen like they’re ripened strawberries from a bush. In the beginning she found all manner of minor details to excuse them from her life, insisting upon a nonexistent list of impossibly high standards. He was too tall. He was too forward with his interest. He wore contrasting colors. He didn’t like tea. These reasons were far too critical and childish, and each man had been sent away in a huff. Her mother would scold her, halving her with a nasty glare: “Are you planning to die alone?”
Yes, Riddle realized by the twentieth admonishment, yet another man cast aside. If dying alone means romantic freedom in life, I’ll do just that.
The elevator spits her out into the hall, which isn’t as silent as she thought it’d be. Bass shakes through the walls, reverberating all the way through her ribs as if it intends to stir up her organs. She catches her reflection in the windows, noting the dark, monstrous scowl, and smooths her face into something courageous. She means business as she clicks down the hall, preparing herself for the whirlwind that undoubtedly waits behind the door. Riddle starts to wonder how Floyd’s neighbors have yet to file a noise complaint and then stops, her thoughts cutting off abruptly. It’s a challenge to make complaints when your father holds parts of the city’s underground in his palms.
He’s got it easy, that spoiled pest.
Riddle’s gait slows to a halt and she reaches out to knock thrice. The door is thrown open before she can even bring her fist down. Soon she’s staring at a rosy-cheeked stranger, whose eyes trace her figure like he’s trying to paint her on his mental canvas. She’s prepared for the worst, having tucked the spray in her bag, its container disguised to look like lipstick. The strawberry keychain hanging from her purse is a self-defense alarm, ready to be pulled at a moment’s notice. His ogling does not frighten her, nor do his intentions, if he can even harbor any in that intoxicated brain of his. She’s braved scarier horrors. Like living out years of her life with her mother.
“Heyyy, you one of Floyd’s girls? Here for the party?”
Riddle suppresses the disgusted shiver threatening to crawl up her spine, swallowing bile. “Just the party.”
She is no one’s girl. Definitely not Floyd’s.
When she’s let inside and the stench of sweat and alcohol assault her nostrils, coupled with the too-loud party music, she considers retreating, her mother’s judgment echoing: You look ridiculous. Her fingers twitch towards her purse. One text and Trey would pick her up. One call and Cater would be on his way. But then she’d be forced to tell them the truth—would have to admit that she’s chasing the one person she can never have.
She hardens her resolve, pushes through the throng of bodies in an effort to find refreshments, and there you are, her perfect, pretty wallflower in a perfect, pretty silver dress. The dim neon lighting casts you in a luscious pink haze, and she watches you scroll through your phone, your eyelids falling and opening. You’re so beautiful—the sweetest thing she’s ever seen, more saccharine than a truckload of strawberry tarts. Her hand slides away from her purse, and she tamps down a gleeful smile, stepping over to you with newfound confidence.
“(Name)?”
You turn your whole body towards her, your gaze unfocused. She can smell the liquor on you, can see the hickeys not quite covered by a velvet choker. Her gaze narrows. He’s all over you, isn’t he? From top to bottom, you are covered in traces of him. Her nose scrunches. Just what do you see in him?
It should be her teeth on your skin, tearing it open, bruising it, tasting slick copper on her tongue. It should have always been her, but it’s not. Why did you have to settle for less when you’re entitled to so much more?
You peer at her like she’s something in a museum, perplexing and abstract. And then it clicks. You gasp, your mouth falling open in awe, and your words come out horribly slurred. She fails to hide her wince when you throw your arms around her, hanging off of her like a tote on a shoulder.
“Riddle! You…seriously showed up… Can’t believe it’s really you. It feels like it’s been forever.” You pull away, swaying with the motion, and place your hands on her arms. “Your outfit is suuuper cute.”
She’s blushing. She knows she is because her face is burning with heat and suddenly it’s much too stifling in here. “Oh. Ah, um, t-thank you very much… You look very nice, too.”
Really? Is that the best thing I could say? ‘You look very nice’? Honestly, Riddle…
But you smile, and the sight steals her heart all over again. You can have it. By all means take her heart. Take it and love it to pieces. That way it will be fair when she takes yours. An even exchange in accordance with the rules of love.
Or maybe it’s more so the rules of romantic warfare, carried out to the extreme on a chessboard. Or a croquet court. Something sporty and metaphorical, anyway.
“Where’s your boyfriend?” she asks, refusing to say his name lest she speak him into existence and tarnish her near-perfect evening.
Her question strikes a chord within you, and you heave an exaggerated sigh. You cross your arms over your chest, leaning against the wall for support. “Left me to go hang with the guys. S’not fair!” you whine, sliding further down until you’re sitting in a defeated heap.
Riddle bends down to your height, her tone as soft and sympathetic as her expression. “Does he always do this?”
Hurt flashes across your face, but you don’t say anything. So he does. Why is she not surprised?
Who in the world leaves their partner at a party, vulnerable and alone? Riddle thinks, anger flaring up in her chest. Someone could take advantage of you. You’re in no state to be standing here by yourself. That fool… He doesn’t know how to treat a lady at all. How have you put up with him for four years? Your patience amazes me.
“It’s not like…” You shut your eyes and rest your head against the wall. “Not like an always-happening thing…”
Riddle isn’t going to sugarcoat it. She wants her words to cut deep, all the way to the heart you’ve allowed Floyd to bind. “Whether or not he does it often, the fact still stands that he left you intoxicated in the corner of this room. That’s careless and unsafe.” She tilts her head, admiring the way you’ve done your makeup, the way your plush lips jut out in a miserable pout. And it just rushes out, words she’s thought but never had the courage to say. At least, not to the sober you. “I wouldn’t do that to you. You deserve so much better.”
Like me, she almost adds, but that’s too direct. And she’s not even sure the admission will land when you’re so out of it.
“Appreciate it…” You scrub your face, groaning. “Ugh. I feel sick…”
“Would you like to get some fresh air?”
You shake your head, stubborn to a fault. “Can’t. Gotta wait for Floyd.”
Riddle frowns. “I highly doubt he’s coming back anytime soon.”
“Still.”
“At the very least, let’s get you some water.” She offers her hand, hoping and praying to the heavens above that you’ll take it.
You do. It’s a flawless fit. Her heart flutters, weightless and feathery, when her fingers close around yours. She wonders what moisturizer you use, what sort of lotions kiss your skin. Are they scented, or is that just your perfume? Or have you done away with perfume for tonight and is that a natural fragrance? Or maybe it’s the sweet scent of a fruity wine, printed on your tongue like a delicious tattoo.
She wants to kiss you.
“Just how much have you had to drink?”
“Like a cup or two? I…dunno. Does it matter?”
You stumble when she helps you up, grabbing at her shoulder for support. Riddle almost falls back, but the wall braces her. You place your palm right by her head, and suddenly you’re leaning in, inadvertently pinning her to the wall. Her pupils nearly eclipse her blue-grey irises, and her breath sticks in her throat. Oh, you’re so close. You’re a drunken mess, pushing yourself up against her, your beauty enveloping her like a chrysalis. If this is a dream, she never wants to wake, for the world that awaits her beyond this is cold and colorless.
Your head lowers to the dip between shoulder and neck, and she gazes heavenward. The ceiling is much nicer at this moment, if only so she can clear her own heady haze of impure thoughts.
There are people about, she has to remind herself, shaking off the urge to close her fingers around your chin and tilt your head up to meet her mouth. And she has a boyfriend. Just because I can doesn’t mean I should.
But the chance is much too beguiling. You’re right here, quite literally within her reach, and Floyd’s nowhere in sight. It’s too perfect. She can’t quite wrap you in an affectionate embrace—though that is an irresistible urge she must fight off—so she settles to rub circles into your back instead, dutifully reflecting the role of a concerned friend. It’s not the part she wishes to play. Rather, she’d gladly take on the title of boyfriend if it meant you’d feel loved. Every day, at every hour, for the rest of your life. She’d do all the things Floyd ought to do: care for you, appreciate you, protect you, stay by your side through thick and thin.
Love is a dangerous, thorny thing, but it’s the encroaching jealousy that kills.
Floyd doesn’t deserve you. If anything, he deserves a mouth full of soap to scrub every profanity he’s ever uttered. Just what does he tell you in bed? That you’re a good girl? That you’re soooo tight? That you can take it? Does he know which ways you like it? Does he know where to touch so you’ll unravel faster? Does he know how to get you properly, thoroughly worked up, so much so that it feels like your skin is aflame with potent want and desire?
Does he even know your anatomy, or are you simply a body for his avaricious appetite?
Like roses twining possessively around a trellis, Riddle holds you close in her arms, her hand sweeping across your lower back. Her glacial eyes scan the crowd, warding off anyone who may be curious with her most malevolent death stare.
“Mm… I need to lie down. My head is…spinning…”
With that, the murderous, overprotective haze sticking to Riddle like a poisonous fog dissipates. A sickly sweet smile widens on ruby-red lips. “Let’s find someplace quiet.”
Together, the two of you stagger-walk out of the room, leaving the party and its inhabitants behind. Crossing through the attached kitchenette, Riddle pilfers a bottled water from the fridge.
Her mind is sharp as a cut diamond. Her skin prickles with anticipation.
Down the hall you go, with Riddle supporting you with what minimal physical strength she has. A door looms before the both of you, cast in a comfortable glow from a neighboring skyscraper, and you struggle to pull your heels off while she pushes the door open. It reveals a messy room, clothing and candy wrappers strewn about sloppily.
Riddle feels like she’s on top of the world, and she is. Up in the clouds on the forty-third floor of this luxurious penthouse apartment.
ii. i could be a better boyfriend than him. i could do the shit that he never did. up all night, i won’t quit.
All throughout her undergraduate, Riddle pined. Hopelessly. Forlornly. Desperately.
Hungrily.
It was unbecoming to want something to such an obsessive degree. She buried herself in her studies to do away with lustful delusions, each more distracting than the last. But then you would crop up in her life when she least expected it and soon the two of you were studying together. Soon you were visiting her dorm to watch movies during the times in which she allowed herself the break (and she only did so because it was you). Soon you were spending nights in her room, sleeping sprawled on the floor even though she offered her bed time and time again. You’d get ready in the mornings, debating what the breakfast menu would entail. She’d watch your reflection in the floor mirror as you pulled your shirt up and over your head, eyeing the way you slid seamlessly into a lacy black bra. And then she’d change out of her nightgown, and you’d comment on her undergarments.
“We should go shopping sometime. You gotta get cuter stuff!”
“Why should I? No one’s going to see it,” she insisted with a flustered huff.
“I’ll see it the next time I sleep over,” you told her, smiling innocently as you stepped into a blue handkerchief skirt. “Besides, there are so many cute sets you could wear. You’d look so pretty in something red and frilly. You’re totally missing out.”
Riddle considered it back then. Your eager eyes had almost won her over, but she was firm in her decision. “I’m fine with what I have now.”
And the conversation ended there. She really wishes you would have pushed it back then because just a little nudge in that direction and she would have given in, entirely at your mercy.
Selfishly, she just yearned to be stuck in a changing stall with you.
All throughout her undergraduate, Riddle fostered a special sort of friendship with you. You’d stop by her dorm during finals to insist she take a break, your offer too tempting. She’s always been weak to sweets. You were close enough to exchange intimate details with one another. She listened to all of your dating woes, and conversely you’d sit still and bear witness to her ramblings about fascinating law facts. Sometimes she’d rant about her mother. You always listened. “She sounds like she sucks,” you said once. “How are you even related to her? You’re so nice.”
It was a pleasant three years. If she deluded herself enough, she could have pretended you were her girlfriend and then she’d have something to tell her mother to put an end to the countless attempts at scoring her a husband. I will never marry any of your options, she would think, playing the confrontation out in her head. I have a partner now and we’re very happy together. Sometimes Riddle imagined her mother tossing darts at a board with photographs of men attached to it, disregarding compatibility altogether in favor of upholding traditional rules. But then Riddle realized she’d have to die before she could ever admit her own romantic freedoms to her mother, and so that conversation only ever came about in daydreams.
I’d rather die alone than live life shackled in a loveless marriage. She wonders if her father thought the same.
Those three years had been a wonderful reality, filled with sugared, candy-coated love. A one-sided love, sure. But Riddle could settle for platonic affections, for that was just as sweet.
And then he arrived at the doorstep to Riddle’s fantasy cottage, kicking the walls down and sweeping you off your feet.
Floyd Leech has always been a nuisance. You were there to shoo him away every time he came knocking, all broad grins and vexatious jeers. He listened to you most days, a mutt without proper leashing, oddly loyal to you. As if you were his keeper of sorts. Riddle was amazed, befuddled, and worried all at once. Unlike her, you could keep your cool, could still smile so kindly even when Floyd was being an utter pain in the ass with his foolish nicknames. When he tried to pluck Riddle’s hairpin from out of her braids—a handmade gift you had given her for her birthday—she slapped him hard across the face and hissed, “Don’t ever put your filthy paws on me again.”
And maybe it was because you were there that she was able to recover shortly after the outburst. (Although she still meant that slap with every fiber of her being.) Maybe you were her collar. Maybe you were her keeper. Maybe she was meant to meet you so that you could color her world, lead her along into the friendship she’d been robbed of as a child.
Looking back, Riddle realizes that was the catalyst. Because when Floyd cradled his bright-red cheek, giggling like a maniac, you asked him, “Don’t you have anything better to do? Can’t you bother someone else?”
And then you were made the prime target.
What’s worse is that you reveled in it, adored every ounce of attention Floyd gave you like it was something holy, later admitting to Riddle during a movie marathon that you “wondered if Floyd was seeing anyone.” She wanted to retch. You, a seraph incarnate, with a devil like Floyd? Impossible. But your tone was so whimsical; you were dreaming of it. You liked him.
She couldn’t believe it. Didn’t want to believe it.
By the end of her third year, just as finals gave way to summer, you threw your arms around Floyd’s neck while he pressed you up against the trunk of a flowering tree. Pink petals fluttered to the ground, and with the falling blossoms came Riddle’s hope, crashing and burning in a heartbroken heap.
She won’t make the same mistake twice, which is precisely why, when you flop onto Floyd’s unmade bed, she turns the lock to keep all outside influences away. The party is but a mere muffle now, thrumming through the floorboards with reckless abandon.
Her nose wrinkles at the pile of dirty laundry. Slob, she thinks, brimming with hate. What does she see in you? You’re a mess, you’re definitely a criminal, you can’t keep a stable job, you throw obnoxious parties every other week, you leave your own girlfriend unattended… What part of that is appealing? She gazes at you next. You’re too good for him, (Name). You can do so much better. Raise your standards. Find someone respectable and attentive. Someone who’ll stay with you forever. Someone who won’t let you get stupidly drunk and then run off to Queen-knows-where.
“Someone like me,” she mutters.
You have to be coerced into drinking, and you’re so sleepy that the water dribbles down your chin. Riddle tuts at you, swiping the liquid away with her sleeve.
“You’re a mess,” she says, affectionate despite the barb.
You’re my mess.
She slides your heels off, casting them elsewhere. You look like a starfish when you lay sprawled, or maybe you’re more like a snow angel. Only rather than snow, you imprint yourself amongst wrinkled sheets. Riddle knows it’s wrong, but you’re right here. She’s waited so many years for a moment like this one.
It’s not fair.
She unzips her boots, kicks them off, and stands at the edge of the bed, locked in a fierce debate. You should have thrown your arms around her that day. You should have kissed her, should have spent the last four years with her, should have stayed in her life like the permanent fixture you were destined to be. She’s never wanted anything more than this. Not even a surplus of strawberry tarts. Not even the dreams she’s working tirelessly towards achieving. She’s only ever wanted you.
But Floyd took you away, and her world has never been the same since.
The mattress dips under her weight; she’s made up her mind.
“Do you remember the promise we made?” she whispers, running her hands up your legs. You lift your head to look at her, eyes glassy with inebriated exhaustion. “The one in which we’d live together after graduation? You said you’d want to live somewhere pet-friendly so we could get hedgehogs and name them Tweedledee and Tweedledum.”
You hum, your lashes fluttering.
“We could still do that. Just you and me. Without your boyfriend.”
“What?”
Her fingers catch on the waistband of your panties. “Hm?”
“Mm, no, nothing… You should get going. It’s late…” “Someone has to look after you.”
“Floyd can.”
She presses her thumbs into your hips and the tiniest gasp leaves your parted lips. “But Floyd’s not.”
“He will.”
“He won’t,” she snaps. Something flickers in your eyes, a flash of unrest. Riddle chews her lower lip. “He’s… (Name), what do you see in him? Honestly, truly, what is it? Please educate me. Please… What does he have that I don’t? What makes you stay?”
“Cuz he’s my boyfriend,” you mutter slowly, perplexed, “and I love him.”
“Do you?”
“Riddle, why are you so…” The words fizzle out on your tongue when her touch strays too close to home. “Wait… We can’t… Not in here.”
“Why not? It’s just one more mess. He won’t even notice.”
“That’s not it… Riddle, wait. I… I don’t like you in that—”
She collapses, anchoring herself to you, her manicured nails digging deep into your arms. And then her mouth is on yours, clumsy and uncoordinated. She doesn’t want to hear it—can’t bear to hear it. She knows the truth. It’s haunted her from the day she met you, a shadow looming like a guillotine’s blade. You were fated to be forever out of reach. Just like those strawberry tarts in the bakery window. The kiss is filthy, all desire and zero skill. Her tongue flashes into your mouth. It’s nothing like the way they describe it in fiction or portray it in films. It’s obscene. Sinful. Libidinous. Her lipstick smears; she tastes the wine in your throat, licks your teeth and nibbles your lip, delicate and gruesome all at once. She tries her best, unyielding.
The technique doesn’t matter. Not now, anyway. It’s just blind, unrequited passion. She’ll learn it eventually and when she does she’ll kiss you drunk. It’s just another thing she’ll master. And she will because that’s just who she is. Give her a textbook and she’ll have it memorized. Give her a kiss and she’ll return to practice it to perfection.
She pulls away, panting, her lipstick in disarray. It’s all over you, smudging on the corners of your mouth. Running a hand through her hair, her figure outlined in the tantalizing glow from the city lights, she licks her lips.
“Riddle…”
Spoken soft like prayer, it’s a whisper she’ll treasure. Over and over, without end, repeat it like a mantra.
“Riddle, please…”
“He doesn’t know anything about your preferences, does he?” Your dress is slid up next. She traces a heart into your bare stomach, capturing your navel in invisible lines. You shudder under her touch, grabbing at her wrist with a limp hand. She brings it up to her lips and presses a chaste kiss to the top of it. “I know you much better than he does. I always have.”
To prove it, she presses two fingers to your clothed pussy. You whine, reedy and high-pitched. “But…”
“I read it takes fourteen minutes for women to reach their end during partnered sex.” She levels you with a half-lidded stare, smirking. What she lacks in skill, she makes up for in raw confidence. “I’ll only need less than that, so you won’t have to feign anything for my sake. I know you well enough, my rose.”
A wide range of emotions waltzes across your countenance. Your arm falls over your face next. It’s defeat or hesitant acceptance, but to Riddle it’s love.
“Ten minutes,” you whisper, conceding. “And then…you need to leave.”
She makes you cum in just five, covers you in lipstick prints, each kiss a sly cover-up. Floyd may be all over you, bites and bruises blooming new and old, but he’s not inside you, wringing you out like a sodden towel. You sob like you’re in heat when she sinks her fingers into your slick warmth, scissoring so slowly, until you’re begging her to make you cum again. Your fluids soak through the sheets. The scent of sex and sweat hangs heavy in the air. She’s alive, wildly untamed, a knight who’s just rescued the princess and slayed a bloodthirsty dragon.
Her head is between your thighs next, her hands braced on either leg to keep them apart. You watch her with glazed eyes, soon throwing your head back when she slides your hood up to reveal your pretty, pert clit. Experimentally, she licks a teasing stripe up your slit. You shiver and dig your fingers into her scalp, imprisoning her there. It’s where she’s always wanted to be.
“Tell me,” she murmurs, the words fanning across your pussy, “if he’s so good, why haven’t you proven it? Is this the most you’ve ever cum in a night? Does he please you or do you please him? If he’s everything you’ve ever wanted, why are you still so unsatisfied?”
“Because… B-Because!”
Your protests are fragmented and spotted with gasps. That’s arguably more telling than a detailed response.
Riddle smiles like a Cheshire, her eyes narrowed victoriously. Spidery digits creep along your thighs. Her thumbs dip into your pussy, spreading it wide for her viewing pleasure. “Don’t think of him. Tonight, it’s just you and me. I’ll give you what you’re owed. That and so much more.”
Like a fragile statue, you topple. Right into her, bucking against her mouth like the world is ending, and she’s there to steady you.
She always is.
iii. i’m gonna steal you from him. i could be such a gentleman. plus, you know my clothes would fit.
“Sooo… Gimme the goss. How was your night out?”
Riddle looks up from an assortment of nail polish colors, each one more red than the last, and says, “It was more enjoyable than I thought.”
“Yeah?” Cater prompts, brows raised. “Don’t be so vague! I wanna know all the juicy details. It’s rare for you to stay out so late. And to go to a party, of all things, in the city? Hello?! New Riddle, who’s this?”
“I was only meeting an old friend.”
“That’s what they all say.”
The technician asks her to pick a color. “This one,” she says, pointing. “The one named Sanguine Sunrise.”
“You’re totes keeping me in the dark!” Cater whines, dramatic. “At least give Cay-Cay some hints! Something! Anything! Spare change, please?”
Riddle smiles smugly. Pride drips from every syllable when she speaks next. “My friend will be spending this Valentine’s Day alone.”
“Bummer.”
“Not quite. She’ll have me and half-priced chocolates. A rather charming combination, no?”
Cater laughs. “GL. I’m rooting for you.”
You don’t need to, she thinks, tracing the love bite stamped into her skin, hidden under the soft fabric of her blouse. Because I’m already winning.
Her phone buzzes with a text: about last night… if i did anything weird, i’m so sorry. i was way too drunk.
Riddle turns it over, dips her feet in the heated water, and settles into the massage chair, pleased as a peach. “It was one bad decision. Four years of bad decisions, but it’s forgiven. We all make silly mistakes when we’re lovestruck. Hopefully her silly mistake disappears for good and we never have to speak of him again.”
“You’re so scary, Riddle. Remind me to never get on your bad side.”
Another message arrives: i think we might’ve kissed last night. i’m really super sorry.
There’s a brief delay.
ok this is gonna sound weird coming from me but maybe we can do it again??? floyd’s kisses are sorta… :/
Her phone vibrates for the final time that afternoon.
actually i’m just gonna stop talking omg i’m crazy. i have a bf and everything. sorry riddle please ignore all of this kk tysm ttyl <3
wait one more text before i forget,, if you wanna meet up for tea i wouldn’t mind. we should definitely catch up when i’m not hungover. kk bye fr this time <3
A start is a start. You can’t grow a rose tree without first planting a seed.
More Posts from Pandora-n1ghts and Others
cw//‼️spoilers from Loki the Series‼️curse words ahead‼️ grammatical errors (English is not my first language, I apologize)‼️
Just finished watching Loki episode 1. Yeeyy.. honestly, I am exhausted. Just from the first few minutes, I was already reading up because of all the clips I've watched. I knew for a fact that something angsty was gonna come blowing sand at in my eyes.
And I was right.
Seeing Loki just so, oh God how do I describe this? Uh, confused? Torn? Idk honestly, but that expression alone made me cry. When he kept asking what kind of place was TVA, I felt a little heartache. And when he saw how his mother died–FUCK. I couldn't stop myself from sobbing my heart out. He was in pain. And it fucking hurts through the screen.
I just wanna know; what's so important about the titles as a 'hero' and as a 'villain'. What made people think, that if you save someone then you're automatically a hero. I just don't understand really. I wanna know how these titles were created and what makes these two words so different. In fact, in my opinion they're not that different at all.
Remember the saying: "A villain is just a victim whose story hasn't been told."? I wholeheartedly believe that. I can't find myself to immediately dislike someone who is labelled as a 'villain'. And I also can't find myself to like someone labelled as a 'hero'. At least, not until their stories have been told. Everyone has their stories. Whether they're unfinished, scattered, hidden, ending or just starting.
Helloooo, it’s really cool to see a new writing blog here!! I always get excited about scenarios/hc, especially when I have hyperfocus. Can I request Furin (Suo, Ume, Sakura, Kaji) + Togame reacting to the reader (gn or fem) looking at them intensely and they ask what the reader is looking at and the reader says "I'm admiring my future husband" (I'll leave it up to you whether this will be in front of others or when they are alone). The reader says it more as a joke (or not?) to see their reaction (although it doesn't sound like a joke)... Just established relationship, they already have a good level of intimacy. I hope this isn't confusing... Stay hydrated and stay well 💚
•⊹💌₊˚✩dear future husband ₊˚⊹♡ w/ the wind breaker boys
✿ featuring: haruka sakura, hayato suo, ren kaji, hajime umemiya, togame jo ✿ fluff, f!reader (mentions of being called their 'wife') ✿ a/n: hi cutie~ @kuppuru thank you for this wonderful request and for the warm welcome ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ had so much fun making this, made myself laugh a couple times while writing these silly wb boys aaaa i wanna bite them!! hope you like it! ✿ wc: 1.4k
— you place your hand under your chin, posing all cute and dreamy-eyed, admiring your sweet, handsome boyfriend. when he catches you staring, he asks you why, and you tell him “oh, i’m just admiring my future husband.”
ʚɞ sakura -
“h-husband?! y-you want t-to get married to me!?” his face heats up instantaneously, and you could have sworn you saw a little steam coming out of the top of his head.
“whenever you react all cute like that, i kinda do!" you exclaim, happily smiling at his crazy and very red reaction.
his imagination goes wild, and a bunch of different scenarios of what sakura pictured married life with you was like began entering his brain without his consent.
“sakura…?” he imagines you in a wedding dress holding a huge bouquet, walking down the aisle towards him, all prim and proper.
“sakura?” he imagines you two kissing as newlyweds in front of all bofurin members (umemiya is of course bawling his eyes out and yes, even his sworn “frenemy” sugishita was there as one of his groomsmen) on your wedding day.
“sakura.” he imagines coming home to you after a long day, you welcoming him back with home cooked omurice, wearing a cute little apron, and warmly embracing him as you ask how his day went.
“sakura!” he imagines going on a honeymoon with you, you two on the bed, your cute voice calling out his name, your fleeting touch caressing him all over -
all over. it was all over, sakura has blacked out. you poke his cheek multiple times, and still nothing.
“guys, sakura has crashed. error 404 unresponsive page.” you called out to suo and nirei, who were observing the whole thing, how sakura gets redder and redder every time you called out his name, and the both of them have probably figured out more or less why he was reacting that way.
“maybe that’s his way of saying, “till death do us part.” suo remarks, and you couldn’t stop giggling.
ʚɞ suo -
he tilts his head and chuckles. a little “oh?” escaping from his mouth. he was certainly curious on what made you decide that you wanted him as your “future husband” or you so claim. it was usually him that pulled some smooth talk like this, so he was surprised that you suddenly became so – bold.
you were so cute if you thought this would fluster him.
it made him determined to retaliate and play along with your moves, as he found you ever so amusing as always. “my, my, how mature of you. already ready to take the next step?” suo teases. “i’ll be waiting, then.” he smiles. it was your turn to be flustered. you were at a loss for words, as you expected him to be a little playful, but not this much.
“cat got your tongue?” he leans in closer, and his lips capture yours in a chaste kiss. he repeats this at least three times. you tried to lean in for a more passionate one, but suo raises a finger and touches your lips. “no fair, hayato. what are these baby kisses you’re giving me?” you pout. suo looks at you affectionately. “let’s save the mature kisses for when i become your future husband, hm?”
these kind of one-liners were his specialty. his forte. and you were in his territory, so of course suo, the competitive little devil that he is, wastes no time to put you in your place.
ʚɞ kaji -
he looks at you for a moment, as if in deep thought. kaji finally stands and says: “im leaving.”
you worry that you might have tested his patience for some reason, as you have been trying out some pick up lines on him nonstop since this morning. he was used to your antics, so he either ignored you or waved you off but this was the only time he actually responded.
kaji looks back at you, as if waiting for you to stand up and follow him. “are you coming with me or not?” he extends his hand in invitation, motioning for you to take it.
“where?” you were so confused. kaji clicks his tongue, reaching out and grabbing your hand.
“to go buy you a ring.” he says, as if it were the most obvious thing.
you hold your hand up in protest. “wait, what?! i said future, ren, future! and i was joking!” he pretends to have heard nothing, putting on his headphones to tune you out and does not at all pay attention to your explanation. you couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not, but ren kaji was always full of surprises, using metaphors to get his point across, so you just waited to see what he would do.
he drags you off to the convenience store, told you to wait outside, comes back out with a small paper bag. reaching into it, he opens his hand and unveils a wrapped candy.
a ring pop.
he puts the ring pop on you, and you admire how the oversized candy diamond looks on your ring finger, almost sparkling in the sunlight. “i’ll get you a real ring in the future, but for now, this will do.”
you jump up and hug him. he buries his head in your shoulder, trying to hide his small smile.
you couldn’t stop gushing at how lucky you were and how ren kaji is as sweet as the ring pop he “proposed” to you with.
ʚɞ umemiya -
you don’t think you’ve ever seen umemiya smile this big at the mention of the word “husband”. his blue eyes all sparkling and lit up.
the thought of you wanting to marry him in the future or even mentioning it made him so excited, he considers the townspeople and members of bofurin as his family, but of course, you were different. you two already do lots of domestic things together, like helping him tend to his garden, cooking together (you even knew the recipe for his special umemiya soup), tucking him into bed whenever he falls asleep with his glasses on and a book on his face, and of course very intimate things that are only shared between the two of you. you’ve seen many sides of umemiya, but this one is definitely a first.
“oh, baby, the thought of that would make me so happy! i have so many siblings, and now i will have a wife too! now all that’s left is children! i wouldn’t want them to get lonely, so how’s ten?” he picks you up and spins you around, then hugs you tightly.
“you’re not even my husband yet, and now you want to be a father?!” you giggle, peppering his adorable face with kisses.
ʚɞ togame -
he does not utter a word, but togame stares back at you with the same intensity, his bright green eyes making it difficult to look away. it’s as if he has captured you with his soft gaze.
he mimics your position, his chin also resting on his palm. the two of you now looked like you were having a staring contest, but much closer and much more intimate.
you blink. “hello? why are you looking at me like that, jou?” you ask him, a perplexed look on your face, waving your hand in front of his face.
“don’t mind me, i’m just admiring my future wife.” he remarks. “and how beautiful she is going to look on our wedding day.” he smiles, almost slyly. he was being so charming lately, always praising you and telling you how much he’s so grateful to be yours.
you were almost tempted to be the one to get down on one knee and propose to jo togame and ask him to be your husband right there and then.
Oi oi can’t get kaji being in a fight and absolutely loosing it and he can‘t let go of his rage so hiragi has to go get reader so she can calm hin and snap him out of it out of my head
welcome back. [kaji]
you were scared of a lot of things — the dark, bugs, long alleyways, sudden loud noises, violence; kaji, on the other hand, wasn’t scared of anything. he had no issues walking through the dark, didn’t mind when bugs flew by him, braved alleyways as if it was no different than taking a stroll through the park, never winced at a loud noise, and didn’t shirk away from violence like you did. how ironic (yet on par with the pattern) it was that the one thing you didn’t fear happened to be the only thing kaji did.
a/n: okay so this is also sorta combining two similar requests (one was more angsty so I added some angst in here) but like… I just love this idea??? like oml I’m falling hard for kaji like head over heels and back again.
wc: 1.3k
c/w: fem!reader, established relationships, angst, hurt/comfort w generously sprinkled fluff, fairly graphic depictions of violence/blood, kaji 🫠, language, I think I tagged everything but if you notice something pls lmk
you were scared of a lot of things — the dark, bugs, long alleyways, sudden loud noises, violence; kaji, on the other hand, wasn’t scared of anything. he had no issues walking through the dark, didn’t mind when bugs flew by him, braved alleyways as if it was no different than taking a stroll through the park, never winced at a loud noise, and didn’t shirk away from violence like you did. how ironic (yet on par with the pattern) it was that the one thing you didn’t fear happened to be the only thing kaji did.
kaji had briefly expressed this fear to you; but when he did so, it never seemed to feel very deep to you — like it was only something that affected him on a surface level, not something that had burrowed deep into his bones and constricted his very being on a day to day basis.
it wasn’t until a battered-looking hiragi had dragged you nearly half-way across town and straight to a scene that would have been more appropriate within a horror movie than in the middle of a sunset-drenched town that you realized just how cavernous this fear of kaji’s was — and why.
“what is—?” you could barely even produce words — your eyes were wide as you took in the sight before you; battered bodies lay scattered across the street, and if it weren’t for the multiple groans rising from them you would have assumed them cadavers, what with the amount of blood that covered them — and in the center of the carnage was none other than kaji. your muscles felt as though they were gripped by large, icy claws, chilled and immovable.
his headphones had been discarded from his head, laying feet away from him, the plastic cracked and scuffed from an obvious rough impact. thwacks and cracks split through the air as kaji rained a fist down on the face of the man he was currently straddling; the man was clearly unconscious, body limp and lips producing no audible sounds. even from the distance, you could see the sheer damage inflicted to the man’s face, and it was mortifying.
if kaji didn’t stop, he was going to kill him.
“I haven’t been able to snap him out of it,” hiragi panted beside you. “when I tried he just — turned on me. I was thinking if you called out to him, it might work.”
“what?” you croaked — you couldn’t understand why, but your throat felt thick, and your eyes burned with heat. you felt like you couldn’t breathe — was this fear? it felt similar, but…
“there’s no time, okay?! just call his name, quick!” hiragi barked, and you shook yourself harshly. you could do this — you just had to call out to him. kaji would listen to you. he would.
“kaji,” you tried, but your voice came out weak — small, as if your body didn’t want it to be heard. damn it, if you didn’t do something… why were you even scared? this was kaji!
“kaji!” you screamed, and the fist that was poised in the air stilled — kaji didn’t look in your direction, but the fact that he hadn’t yet thrown the punch meant something, didn’t it?
that weight atop your chest lightened and you swallowed past the lump in your throat. your lip quivered slightly when you gently ventured, “it’s over now, kaji. just come back, okay?”
kaji didn’t move. his entire body was frozen. that feeling that had frozen your feet to the cement seemed to disappear entirely, and you took a few steps towards kaji —
hiragi’s hand flashed out as quick as lightning and his fingers wrapped around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea just ye—”
hiragi wasn’t able to finish his sentence; in what seemed like less than a second kaji had abandoned the man he was straddling and was now right in front of hiragi, his hand crushing his wrist in a brutal grip.
“don’t you fucking touch her,” kaji snarled, lips drawn back — from this proximity, you could see liquid saccharine of blood smeared across his lips; but he had no visible cuts, so where had that blood come from?
you didn’t have any time to worry about that — kaji’s eyes were narrowed, nothing but sharp steel daggers as they locked onto hiragi; with the intent to kill. kaji’s grip had caused hiragi’s fingers to release your wrist, and in a move that you were sure could have been stupid you wrenched yourself between hiragi and kaji.
you wrapped your arms around his ribs and buried your face into his chest — the strong, pungent scent of copper had you wrinkling your nose and your stomach twisting; part of you wanted to wrench away from it, but beneath that overwhelming scent was kaji — sweet powdered sugar and fresh-linen detergent, a combination that had soaked into your pillow from the various nights he’d stayed over. the very scent that cradled you sleep when he wasn’t there. the very scent that, no matter how often it wafted into your nose, you craved to smell in your every waking moment.
this was still kaji.
it was kaji’s heartbeat thundering in your ear, it was kaji’s breath tickling the top of your head, it was kaji’s warmth soaking into your body from beneath kaji’s sweatshirt.
your kaji was still there — you just had to bring him back.
“kaji, it’s okay,” you murmured into his chest. “I’m okay. it’s just hiragi. I’m safe, kaji.”
you weren’t sure why you had worded it that way; it was simply what your rapid heart had told you to do. but it worked — kaji dropped hiragi’s wrist you heard the older boy stumble back with a grunt.
kaji’s arms fell limp to his sides and his breath shuddered his ribcage. you kept your face pressed against his chest and your arms tightly wound around him. something wet plopped onto the fabric of your shirt, soaking into it and wetting your skin.
it took you a moment to realize that that wet warmth was coming from kaji — and that his ribs were shuddering from the force of barely-contained sobs, not heavy breathing.
“kaji?” you whispered, pulling back to look up at him. fat tears rolled down his cheeks and his brows were pinched tightly together — his teeth dug into the plump flesh of his bottom lip; it was an expression of pure agony — but not agony felt on a physical level.
your heart constricted in your chest and your very soul shook, the need to wipe that look away and smother all the pain within overwhelming your entire body. before you could think about it you unwound your arms from his ribs and brought your hands up to cradle his face.
you surged upwards and slotted your lips against his; you may have been squeezing his cheeks a little too hard within your palms, and you knew that the salt you were tasting on your tongue wasn’t from kaji’s tears alone — but you had to tell him. you didn’t know what you had to tell him; but you prayed with every fiber of your being that he’d hear it, that he would understand and believe it.
kaji seemed to, at least on some level, because his shoulders slanted and his hands met the curve of your hips. his fingertips dug into the meat there as if it were a lifeline — and with the way he pressed his lips back against yours, you knew it was.
only when you felt your message had been received loud and clear did you pull your lips from his, but you kept your hands firmly in place on his cheeks. you pulled his face down slightly so that you could press your forehead against his and feel his breath fan over your lips.
“welcome back.” you whispered, a sentiment meant to be shared only between the two of you, one to be understood and deciphered only by kaji— and it was, evident in the way his voice was thick with emotion when he murmured,
“thank you.”
I hope I conveyed what the sentiment is~ I’m not too good at really emotional things like this but it was very very fun to give it a try! I kinda teared up a bit ngl
also, there’s a lot more kaji content to come! I’m so excited for it!
⌕. WIND BREAKER
⟳. “ DID I IMPRESS YOU? ”
how would the wbk boys impress you to catch your attention or they want you to praise them?
character/s : sakura haruka , suo hayato , togame jo , kaji ren , umemiya hajime , kiryu mitsuki .
warning/s : suo’s part is like 50/50 so uhm !! you can decide if it’s part of it or not ! , ooc characters ( im sorry sighs )
word count : 100+ each
note : i have motivation to write so might as well make the best of it !! i’m also planning to make suo’s part a separate fic uhm..
sakura haruka — 119 words
i don't know but i think sakura would try to impress you by showing how he’s good at fighting but when you praise him for that or he got your attention because of that he gets flustered easily and tries to brush it off saying he’s not doing it to impress you when it’s clearly written on his face.
you can only laugh when he says that you’ll probably won't even believe anything he says and just look at his face to see if he meant it or not.
“ where have you been all these years my knight in shining armor? ” you teased him, your hands clasped together in return he looked away with a blush on his face.
suo hayato — 165 words
bro doesn't even need to impress you because you’re already impressed by him !! he’s a gentleman everyone knows and that’s also how you're already impressed because why is he so gentle? so whenever you two are together people will mistake that you and suo are dating because of how considerate suo whenever he’s with you.
you’ll never even catch him irritated whenever you let him carry your school bag or the things you bought, he’s just there following you with a smile on his face.
“ why are you doing this every time we are together? ” you asked as you take a spoonful of ice cream in your cup and eat it. “ i’m close to falling for you, you know. ” you said half jokingly when he chuckled as he wiped the ice cream from the side of your mouth. “ i’ll wait for the day you fall for me. ” he replied making you speechless and a blushing mess as you just continue to eat your ice cream.
togame jo — 118 words
did a bit of research and seems like he plays go and shogi so uh he would probably invite you to watch him play with shogi with someone.
he knew he would win it and obviously you are in awe saying how good he was at shogi so you invite him to play with you after he plays a couple of rounds. you weren't good at playing shogi but you wanna test out your skills.
he beat you once or twice then after that then lets you win every round. “ wow, togame i didn't know i’m the only one who can beat you! ” you quip making him chuckle as he nodded. ” guess you're too good at this game. ”
kaji ren — 166 words
you heard that the music playing in his headphones are something that can damage his eardrums but it seems like his ears don't even hurt so you would let him try one of your favorite music to see if he likes it.
when you two were taking a walk around the town, you were rambling about your favorite band and how cool and good their music are. kaji didn't let that slip in his mind and listened to their music when he got home.
the next day, you suggested one of their songs and his response was he had listen to it and taking a liking to the song and it was now on his playlist. your eyes widen and smiled. “ really? its a good music isn’t? you got a good taste in music! ” you praise as you pat his back as if he’s choking on something. it just made you more even happy that he has one of your very favorite song in his playlist.
umemiya hajime — 195 words
you helped him plant some seeds in the rooftop since you don’t have anything to do and everybody knows that umemiya is a man that cares for everyone. let’s imagine umemiya has like one of those portable stove hidden in the rooftop 😭😭 so you were flabbergasted when you just saw him casually take out a portable stove. he remembers that he doesn't have enough ingredients to cook something so he apologizes for that and quickly run into kotoha’s cafè to get a few ingredients. when he got the ingredients you just watched him.
you watch the white haired man cook something in front of you — you didn't even know he has the skills to cook! clearly you’re impressed since you can’t cook to save your life. ( if you would even cook it’s burnt. ) he probably learned it with kotoha. when he finished cooking he gave you a portion of food he had cooked for you two. you gave it a ten out of ten. it was delicious as you thanked him for it.
“ never knew you could cook, maybe i’ll hire you as my personal chef in the future. ” you said jokingly making umemiya snort.
kiryu mitsuki — 145 words
if you invite him to play a game with him he will accept it without hesitation even if you're bad at it or you just started playing he would help you and will still play with you even if you’re the worst player in the game.
would probably try to impress you to fish out some compliments from you and it works like a charm. “ damn, didn’t knew you’re so good at this! ” you would say as he just laughed wholeheartedly.
he probably won’t even try to hide that he’s trying to impress you. “ i should be good at all these games so i can carry you and impress you, y’know. ” he says that with a smile plastered on his face.
if you two are not talking about games or anything you’re gonna comment about how good he smells because of the perfume he uses.
date posted 062324
my idol : masterlist
synopsis: kunikuzushi was your loving boyfriend. while others saw a loser striving for something useless which was his dream of becoming an idol, you saw his beautiful passion in it. it wasn't long before he dropped out of school and went to pursue that passion. with his looks and talent, he quickly became one of the most famous idols under the stage name scaramouche and the idol group 6WIRL. but the climb to fame made him cut you off now that his ego grew bigger, only to regret his choice later on. what happens when he catches you on a casual walk outside when he's in an attempt to escape paparazzi?
pairing: idol!scaramouche x gn!reader
contains: modern au, idol au, angst, fluff, mentions of infidelity, lovers to exes to?
status: ongoing [started on wed.22.mar.]
taglist will always be open!
ACT l : LET'S DO SOME CATCHING UP
OO1: yearning for you
OO2: they have a what!?
OO3: scara's gossip aunties
OO4: takes one to know one
tba...
the bit you wrote about sakura and how he would stick out his hand and it being "a silent and nervous plea for you to come and hold his hand" had me AWWWWWWING.
THATS SO FREAKING CUTE I CANTTT, love how you write him :)))
original post here! sfw, 700 word count.
my beautiful nonnie you are so sweet and i love u for sending this ask so i wrote this lil blurb for you ! <3 thank you :>
"huh? sakura?"
he wishes he never chose to stick his hand out the second he turns around to meet your gaze, heart thumping wildly against his chest when he sees the way you’ve tilted your head a bit, innocent eyes staring into his as you wait for an explanation. “what are you doin-”
“f-forget it!” his words stumble out of his mouth before you finish your sentence, palms clammy as he shoves them deep inside his pockets, pace quickening as he turns and walks away.
it was unlike him to do something like that in the first place. you’ve always been the one to initiate things like this, never failing to bring a furious blush to his face with each act of affection you shower him with. he doesn’t know what came over him in that moment… or how you were even supposed to understand his silent plea in the first place, but he’s confident that he wouldn’t be able to handle the dizzying heat in his head getting any worse than it already was now.
“wait!” your voice cuts through the air, and he finds himself slowing down his pace for you before he even realizes it. with how close your footsteps sound, he knows he doesn’t have enough time to fight this persistent blush. he can feel the heat continue to spread from his cheeks to the tips of his ears at the thought of you holding him—
“…you okay? sakura?”
the sound of your voice pulls him out his thoughts, and it takes him a second, a couple more blinks to realize that you’re now directly in front of him, face inches away from his to inspect his expression with a curious hum.
there’s a strangled noise of surprise from him before he’s jerking back violently, sleeve coming to hide the bottom half of his face as he gasps. when did you get so close? he pushes his nose against his forearm, seeking some sort of comfort from his makeshift shield. a part of him hopes it’s enough to mask the embarrassment written all over his face, but deep down, he knows that it’s pointless with you.
“you did that because you wanted me to hold your hand, right? sorry, i didn’t get it at first…” you continue with a giggle, and he only manages a weak nod, words stuck in his throat as he forces himself to remember to breathe.
“i—” he tries to speak, but his voice catches in his throat again. it seems to be enough of a confirmation for you though, because you stick your hand out with a cheerful smile. “it’s okay. give me your hand, sakura. let’s go.”
his breath hitches in his throat when he hesitantly takes his hands out from the bottoms of his pockets, laying it lightly on yours. the feeling of your fingers interlacing with his right after has his stomach turning inside out, and he tears his gaze from you when he catches a quick glimpse of the soft smile you’re giving him.
the walk home by your side is painful, to say the least. his mind is stuck on how nice your hands feel against his, and he’s just trying to walk straight at this point. each step is more of a challenge than the last, stiff and forced— and he thinks it’s because his mind has been consumed by the thoughts of you and the overwhelming emotions swirling inside him.
he feels so warm.
“hey, sakura…?” your voice breaks the silence, and he stiffens at the subtle change in your tone, his mind beginning to race right away. was he too harsh earlier? did he push you away? his heart sinks at the thought. he just wants to be closer to you, to be someone who can reciprocate the affection you shower him with so easily, but he struggles to let his guard down.
“..what?” he blurts out, words tinged with hesitation. his heart pounds loudly against his chest as he waits for your next words, unsure of what to expect.
“did you want a kiss too while we’re at it?” the smile he’s so familiar with returns to your face, and the world seems to stop as he processes your question.
𝐖𝐑𝐀𝐏 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐒 ( wind breaker character )
a/n: hiiragi sends my tingling into overdrive whenever i see him
consists of : fluff, gender neutral reader, reader is called princess in endo— how the windbre boys carry you
𝐇𝐈𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐈 𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐀, though sharp and all tough on the outside, hiiragi will and will always be a softie inside. won't allow a single thing to harm you, his precious s/o. so hiiragi will carry you in his arms, in a princess carry, that way he can always keep you safe no matter what. his arms caging you in safely, your head nuzzling under the crook of his neck and smelling the familiar scent that keeps your heart beating in a lovely manner that it always sing when you're with your boyfriend. “y/n?” he takes note of your silence, perhaps you were feeling stomach ache? “it's nothing.” you provided, there's nothing more sweet than you being in his arms, after all.
𝐊𝐀𝐉𝐈 𝐑𝐄𝐍, there's a lot of things that kaji finds troublesome—but one of you isn't amongst them, maybe sometimes, he'd proclaimed at your face which is always rewarded by an adorable look of upset that he's quick to quell. he's used to his headphones around his ears, silencing the world, but you offering him the same thing he sought for feels wrong—the silence he so despise. he shifted your position on his back, wishing to hear you ramble once again next to his ear. he has a prominent frown on his face, he doesn't like your silence. “sorry..” he whispered, fixing his hold under your knee, “won't do it again.” so please, talk his ear off like how you used to.
𝐊𝐎𝐓𝐀 𝐒𝐀𝐊𝐎, “tch.” sako clicked his tongue, a blush has settled on his cheeks when you had insisted for him to carry you. as ridiculous as that sounds, even if sako looks like he wants to refuse, he is simply a soft lil blushy boy in front of you. “fine.” he's not used to this, still not, this affection that you offer to him so simply always gets his brain mushed up. shishitoren named him someone who could care less but before you is someone who cares a lot that he's willing to do any requests you want. sako scoops you in his arms, trying to sport a nonchalant look despite your thighs on either of his side and your arms looped around his neck. clinging onto him in a koala position.
𝐘𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐎 𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐎, you always get into fights because of him, his reputation and attitude just sets a lot and you being his s/o makes you an easy target to many. endo never stops though, he likes to see you all riled up, that way he can scoop you up in his arms, your stomach always ending on his shoulder as you dangle and try to make him drop you back down to the ground, fists curled and hitting the low of his back. he is carrying you like nothing but a sack of potatoes. “ah ah ah, stop squirmin' if you don't wanna get hurt.” endo would chuckle, lifting a hand to spank your behind. “stay seated, princess.”
ART OF THE BEDCHAMBER | part 1
"Dual cultivation with you wouldn't be very useful. You might have extraordinary qi as a Vidyadhara, but it's sealed when you're in your human form." Dan Heng stares at your fingers, deliberates as you trace the invisible paths of his meridians. "Then," he says, "what about my dragon form?" (Or: Dan Heng dreads the thought of outliving you and will do anything to help you achieve immortality. If that means fucking you in his dragon form, then so be it.)
6.5k words. smut, fluff, established relationship, xianxia elements. semi-explicit sexual content (only with dan heng in his human form in this chapter, sorry). reader is gender neutral, afab — they have breasts and bomb pussy game. cultural notes: "yinyue jun" is the chinese equivalent for "imbibitor lunae". please see the end notes for information on cultivation. other notes: this is set pre-1.2. 风月 was based on this fic so some things may feel very familiar! network: @trailblazernet. MDNI.
When Dan Heng—in a rather unexpected move—fell in love with you, he didn’t foresee all the agony that would come with it.
Shockingly, you aren’t the direct cause of this agony: a remarkable fact, given your routine of pestering him for as many hours as the day will allow. Dan Heng often complains about your many inconvenient behaviours (e.g., trying to cuddle with him in the archives, trying to kiss him in the archives, trying to have sex with him in the archives), but to the amazement of his fellow trailblazers, he never actually does anything about it. After getting over his initial embarrassment at such public displays of affection (this took quite some time), he’s come to tolerate it.
You often like to tease him for his leniency, all playful smiles and lilting tones: You don’t have to act so shy, Dan Heng—I know you enjoy the attention. My Heng'er likes to be spoiled, huh?
He always rolls his eyes in response. Consider it a miracle that I haven’t kicked you out yet, he’ll usually say, flicking you on the forehead. He never tells you if he means kicking you out of the archives or if he means throwing you out of the Astral Express itself, right into the vacuum of space. (Most bystanders are astonished that the latter hasn’t happened yet. So are you.)
He also doesn’t tell you how wrong it feels when he isn’t listening to the background noise of your shameless flirting. Or how wrong it feels when he doesn’t get to humour you with a kiss every once in a while.
Which brings him to the root of the problem: the wrongness that he’s feeling right now. The emptiness of the archives without your laughter, the tasteless quality of his food when you’re not there to dine with him, the restlessness of trying to sleep without you—it’s all wrong, wrong, wrong. Wrong enough for it to be a little agonizing, now that he’s nearing one hundred and twenty days of this.
You often have to leave the Express for many months in a row, so Dan Heng is no stranger to these unsettling feelings. Neither are you. If I could spend more time with you, I would, you’d said before leaving last time—and the time before that, and the time before that, and the time before that. But I can’t avoid going into seclusion. It’s part of the whole Cultivator gig, y'know—gotta go to a mountain somewhere and meditate for a few months. That’s just the price of immortality if you’re a measly human. Then you’d given him a little smile, pecked him on the lips. Most people do it for years at a time, but I wouldn’t be able to leave you alone for so long.
The first time you’d pointed this out, Dan Heng was startled by the relief that flooded him. Vidyadharas have an intuitively different sense of time compared to human beings, and two or three years should feel like nothing to him: relative to the centuries he’d lived as his previous incarnation—or the decades as his current one—it would be only a fleeting moment.
But in your absence, it would feel like an eternity.
It surprises him how much he hates the crawl of time without you. Dan Heng had never before been a needy person: solitude and isolation had always been the norm for him, in a lifetime absent of human touch—first imprisoned from birth, then exiled from the first moment he got to see the sun. Even after leaving the Alliance, he hadn’t allowed himself to become particularly close with anyone: it would have been too complicated because of the sensitive matter of his past, and he simply didn’t feel deserving of it anyway. Nor was he in need of it.
Then he met you.
Then he met you, and he became accustomed to the sound of your laughter, and then your offhanded, warm touches, and then your smile as you sat in the blue glow of the archive floor and poured baijiu into everyone’s cups. (Scalding, bitter; you had laughed as he made a face and warmed up huangjiu specifically for him next time, and it was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted.) And then he became accustomed to talking to you—to letting you unearth things he’d buried for decades, to revealing his suffering and receiving your compassion, to the gentle feeling of your hand on his shoulder. Then the tender, nervous look in your eyes, then the silky press of your lips, then the closeness of your unclothed body, and then the breathless warble of your voice—Dan Heng, I’m close, I’m so close, please—and then the euphoria of having you arch and fall apart so beautifully in his arms.
And then the afterglow. He hadn’t only grown used to that: he’d become addicted to it. Warmer and headier than huangjiu, something that he’d have never been able to imagine while growing up in the night-dark prison of his childhood.
Even the memory of his first taste of sunlight aboard the Luofu pales in comparison to the feeling of having you in his arms. The first time he’d had the privilege of holding you, he caught himself thinking: If paradise is but a dream, then I wish to sleep forever.
And now, each time he lies awake on his futon, alone except for the glow of artificial stars, Dan Heng becomes acutely aware of the emptiness left by your missing form.
He isn’t exactly deserving of your companionship. He knows that.
But he is in need of it.
After one hundred and twenty one days of seclusion, you are ready to return to the Astral Express.
Time moves differently when you cultivate behind closed doors. The act of such intense meditation and training distorts the flow of the world for you, makes entire months feel like days. Emerging from seclusion always comes with a certain anxiety: Are your friends well? Have they forgotten you? Has the Express continued its journey across the galactic railroad, or has some terrible event happened to your home—a supernova, a meteor shower, the destructive force of a stellaron?
And, most importantly: Did anyone murder your boyfriend while you were away?
There is at least one intergalactically wanted criminal who's tried to kill Dan Heng a number of times, and an entire alliance consisting solely of his haters. Half the reason you take your cultivation so seriously is to prepare for the inevitable day that someone is going to seriously attempt to murder him in front of you (probably the aforementioned criminal). You want to be strong enough to one-hit KO Arbiter-General Jing Yuan himself, if it ever comes down to it.
Of course, the downside is that the murder attempt might happen while you're off training, but you're hoping that March 7th and Caelus can cover for you in that case.
Still—while you have nothing in confidence in Caelus’ abilities (you adore March, but will not comment on hers), you sigh in relief when your phone begins to buzz.
> Are you out yet? We're on our way. > Get something to eat if you haven't yet. I'll make sure something is ready for you on the Express too. > I know you can practice inedia, but you're still a human at the end of the day. Please get something to eat as soon as possible.
No hello, no I missed yous, just plain, practical concern—as always.
You are not a practical person.
> GEGE! > GEGE GEGE GEGE > DAN HENG GEGE > come fast i want to kiss u > i'll die if u don't kiss me soon > i missed you!!!!!! > did you miss me??????
You can more or less imagine the expression on your (hopefully unharmed) boyfriend's face: deadpan exasperation. The first time you came out of seclusion during your relationship, you texted him no less than twenty times in a row from a new number, and he reflexively flagged it all as spam. He's since told you to tone down the double texting (and triple texting, and quintuple texting, and dectuple texting…), but always replies anyway.
> The Express is about to warp. We'll be there soon. > I'll do whatever you like, please just eat.
You watch as an ellipsis appears at the bottom of your chat window, then disappears, then appears again. When he finally sends his text, a smile stretches wide across your face.
> And yes, I thought of you the whole time you were gone.
With your return to the Express, you make Dan Heng engage in all your usual couple activities. Which is to say: you act disgustingly sweet with him and the other passengers experience varying degrees of shock and entertainment at his complacent behaviour.
You surprise him as he works in the archives, looping your arms around his waist and pressing against his back so you can whisper things into his ear: Gege, pay attention to me! or Dan Heng, can't you take a break now? or Heng'er, are you really going to ignore your lover like this? So cruel!
Dan Heng doesn't react during these moments, but he also doesn't push you away. Sometimes he'll shove a stack of books into your hands and say, If you have time to mess around like this, then you can work on digitizing these for me. You always agree, but wheedle a kiss out of him in exchange for your hard labour.
(Welt Yang walks in on one such kiss, coughs loudly, and walks back out. Dan Heng pulls away from your lips to stare at the door in abject horror.)
You give Dan Heng a number of books and films from your travels, and keep him company as he dives into them. He always gravitates toward the latest Xianzhou novels first, especially the ones that give mention to everyday life on the Luofu. You suppose that he's never been able to rid himself of his curiosity about the life that he'd been denied, enthralled by visions of night markets and starskiffs, teahouses and cross-talkers. You can see his longing in the crease of his brow, the softening of his eyes as he reads.
Seeing his wistful expressions, it is impossible to stop yourself from keeping him company. You press into his side, resting your head on his shoulder—something that will comfort him, you hope—and read alongside him. Sometimes the two of you fall asleep like that, wrapped up in each other on the archive floor.
(March 7th stumbles into one of these moments and can't help but snap a picture of the two of you. Dan Heng later pales when he sees your lock screen, where your slumbering, entwined forms are clearly visible.)
You often convince Dan Heng to have a proper, sit-down dinner with you in the dining car. He won't ever do it for food from the kitchens, preferring to eat in the archives instead, but he'll do it for food you cook together. The two of you enjoy your meals while watching the interstellar scenery roll by outside, stargazing at distant galaxies. Sometimes you savour the tangy-sweetness of tomato-egg stir fry (your handiwork); sometimes you enjoy the rich broth of delicately steamed xiaolongbao (your boyfriend's handiwork); sometimes the both of you sweat over the punishing numbing-spice of malaxiangguo (a combined effort and favoured couple's activity—right up there with building furniture).
The other passengers wave whenever they see you, impressed that Dan Heng has emerged from the archives. They joke as they greet you: I guess you're the only one that can pull him out of his cave!
(The older ones—Himeko especially—laugh and talk fondly about young love when they spot you. Dan Heng's expression stays as stoic as ever, but the tips of his ears go red and he accidentally burns his tongue trying to eat his own bao.)
You address Dan Heng with an astonishing number of pet names at an alarming frequency; your excuse is that you need to make up for the four months you couldn't call him anything. Mostly you call him 'Gege' in public, which he usually doesn't mind as it saves him considerable face relative to all the alternatives, but this changes when Caelus starts teasing him about it.
Morning, Gege, he starts saying at breakfast, drawing a long stare from Dan Heng. Gege, can you help me with finding these records? he asks whenever he strolls into the archives. Before expeditions, he starts turning to Dan Heng and using his most sugary voice: You'll protect me, right, Gege? And Dan Heng turns to Himeko to flatly state, I will not be held responsible if he dies.
Eventually, Caelus grows bold enough to join you both for dinner: Gege, he asks, do you want me to hand-feed you these noodles too?
Dan Heng replies by rising from his seat and walking straight out of the dining car.
(Your long-suffering boyfriend eventually says, during one of your reading sessions, that Caelus is quickly becoming unbearable with this new habit of his.
Well, you muse, since he’s just teasing you about the way I talk to you, I could stop calling you ‘Gege’.
Dan Heng stops. He looks almost hesitant, like he wants to protest, but his expression flattens into a deadpan when you continue: I could always call you 'baobei' instead. What, you don't like that? But Heng'er, you're my baobei, my xingan baobei, my little little apple and beloved husb—whoa!
You laugh hysterically as you dodge the book he chucks at you.)
Sometimes you do get him to reciprocate your actions. Shockingly—despite his reserved and conscientious disposition—you have the greatest success with this whenever you tease him while he's working. You find it works best to crawl into his lap and kiss at his jawline, whispering into his ear while he tries to focus on his screen.
I’m so pent up, Gege, you often start with. I've been trying to take care of myself, but my fingers aren't enough. You like to straddle his hips as you talk, grind a little if you think you can get away with it. You whine if you do, pressing your face into his neck—right beneath his clenched jaw. Won't you give me some attention? Just ten minutes on this desk is all we need.
Dan Heng can only ever endure about fifteen minutes of this before throwing you over his shoulder. You inevitably find yourself being flipped over in a fireman's carry, being lectured in a flat tone. I don't know where you get off lying like that, he usually comments as he makes his way to your room, ignoring your yelping and kicking. 'Ten minutes'? Every time you act like this, you end up taking up my whole evening.
(He does, in fact, spend the rest of his night in bed with you, making it clear that there is no need for you to ‘take care of yourself’ so long as he’s around.)
But despite all the grief you give Dan Heng with your public, grand displays of affection, your favourite moments with him are the private ones. The ones where you sit next to him on his futon, sharing a pair of earbuds and listening to the latest hits from the various worlds to which you’ve travelled. The ones where you make dumpling skins together during the quiet hours of the kitchen, flour dusting your fingers as you roll out the dough that Dan Heng has kneaded. The ones where you spend lazy mornings in bed together, Dan Heng holding you as you talk at length about nothing at all.
The ones where you pause in your long-winded ramble to find him staring at you, his gaze fond and fully attentive. Met with such tenderness, you have no choice but to lean in and kiss him, long and deep and smiling—and in the privacy of your room, your boyfriend is more than happy to return it.
Some weeks after you return to the Express, Dan Heng gives you a long look after one such moment and says, "You should spend more time with me."
You raise a brow. "Eh? I already spend plenty of time with you, Heng'er. I've been bothering you 24/7 now that I'm back on the Express… It's a wonder you aren't sick of me yet."
"Of course I'm not sick of you," he replies plainly. "I could never be."
The admission makes you blink. Heat prickles the back of your neck. It's not often that Dan Heng is so straightforward with his feelings.
"And I mean"—he looks away, the red paint along his waterline hidden by his lashes—"that it'd be nice if you didn't have to leave the Express so often. If you could stay here all year round."
You can't stop yourself from frowning. "You know I don't like leaving you, but I really don't want to compromise my training." Your fingers sweep gently at his brow, brushing away his hair. "I wanna be strong enough to protect you, Gege. After I get to that level, I promise I'll be around more often." Then you smile a little. "And if I'm lucky, I might even get a long life out of it!"
Dan Heng's brow dips. "A 'long life'? The whole point of cultivation is to achieve immortality, isn't it?"
"Sure, in theory. In practice, almost no human ever becomes immortal by these means. If cultivation were so easy, then people wouldn't turn to shortcuts like magical elixirs or blessings from Aeon Yaoshi." You purse your lips, voice starting to colour with derision. "Not that I'd ever be shortsighted enough to chase either of those things, mind you. I'd rather work hard, have a long and healthy life, and die and reincarnate properly if it comes to that. Immortality isn't worth the strife caused by any other method."
Dan Heng studies you closely, his eyes steadfast on yours. "Then… what do you consider a 'long life'?"
You hum, thinking. "If I don't slack off with my training, I have maybe eighty to a hundred years of youth before I kick the bucket."
"Eighty years?" Dan Heng's eyes go a little wide. You aren't used to seeing it.
"Yes?" You shift, fidgeting. "But that's only if I'm lucky. Pushing for anything more would be tough. I could undergo a qi deviation and die… or I might just not be talented enough to reach that stage of cultivation and pass away from natural causes… someone could also just kill me at any time, given my lifestyle. I've got a lot of options for dying, you know."
Dan Heng doesn't reply, nor does he look at you. It occurs to you that this whole conversation might be unsettling for him, given everything that's happened with the Xianzhou Alliance, with the matter of his past life and that vengeful monster he seems unable to kill. The mere thought of immortality must be painful for Dan Heng.
"I'm sorry, Gege," you say. "It's insensitive of me to talk about these things with you. Anyway—I'm not seriously trying to become an immortal, so you don't have to worry about me. I'm not looking to break any taboos."
Your lover gives you a long, unreadable stare before replying, "Right. Of course. Nothing good can come from the pursuit of immortality." Cinnabar paint flickers as he looks away. "Human life should be as morning dew—fleeting and ephemeral."
Dan Heng starts to behave strangely, after that. Quieter and withdrawn. Not just subdued in his affection, but absent in it.
When you bother him in the archives, he no longer scolds you or distracts you with any work—merely continuing with his tasks, completely immersed in them. When March 7th and Caelus tease him about his many pet names, he doesn't get flustered—only rolls his eyes and ignores them. When the other passengers catch sight of the two of you dining together and fondly comment on your relationship, he hardly reacts. He only continues eating, staring absently at his dish—usually something you've made, because he seems uninterested in eating anything else these days.
(Are you sure you don't want actual food from the kitchens instead? you ask once, studying what's supposed to be dough for fried breakfast buns. For whatever reason, you can't get the consistency right. The Express chefs are way better than me, you know.
No, he insists. You made it, so I want to eat it.
You don't need to be so polite!
I'm not being polite. He looks down at your fingers, dusted snow-white with flour. It's just what I want.)
You wrongly assume, for a little bit, that he's somehow lost interest in everything but your cooking. It only feels like the logical conclusion, especially when Dan Heng gets into the habit of ignoring you for most of the day despite your use of every trick in your arsenal—from kissing him to teasing him to begging him for sex. He simply tells you that he'll entertain you later, and is otherwise too deeply absorbed in his work to pay attention to you.
"Is something wrong, Dan Heng?" you eventually ask, voice small. "Is it that you don't feel the same way about me anymore? Do you want to break up?"
Dan Heng goes stock still when he hears this. Without saying a word, he puts down his tablet, locks the door, and kisses you long and hard. And then—for the first time in your relationship—he proceeds to actually fuck you in the archives. He rails you next to the terminal for the better part of an hour, forces an earth-shattering orgasm out of you that ruins the carbon-fibre surface you're laid out on, and then he fills you up to the point that his spend starts trickling down your thigh.
Hazy and fucked out, you wonder idly if it's dripping down onto the phosphorescent tiles below. Dan Heng will probably make a fuss about it, especially since this is technically a public space, and the terminal is its most high-traffic area. He'd have a stroke if anyone ever saw this mess.
When he stands up, you assume that he's getting right to cleaning, like usual. The guy can hardly ever relax.
You don't expect it when he gets onto his knees and puts his head between your thighs.
"Gege?" you say, solidly confused, but before you can ask him what he's doing, you feel the press of his tongue against your dripping entrance and then all you can do is moan.
By the time Dan Heng is done with you, the two of you are messy and breathless, collapsed and tangled up in each other on his makeshift bed.
You stare at the ceiling, mind whirring even in your exhaustion. It had been hard to process the situation while your boyfriend was railing every thought imaginable out of you—but now that he’s finally done, the shock is settling in.
Holy shit, you think, Dan Heng never gets this nasty. Something really is wrong!
You think of broaching the matter, but Dan Heng beats you to it. He turns to you, says, "I don't want to break up," and then gets back on top of you for another round.
You decide to put your foot down.
The next night, you invite Dan Heng into your bedroom. You're all business this time. There's no whining, no teasing, no Heng'er, you don't want to touch me? There are no desperate and indirect plays to get his attention while you simmer in anxiety about what he's hiding from you. (This change is not because of your own strength of mind—of which you have none, when it comes to your boyfriend—but because you're now sure you won't break up, whatever happens.) Instead, you seat him at your table and regard him with a firm expression.
You're careful to keep your voice gentle, but you still don't hesitate: "I know something's been bothering you, Dan Heng. Can we please talk about it?"
Dan Heng is prepared for the question. "I'm sorry I've been neglecting you," he says instantly. "It won't happen anymore. I'm very serious about our relationship, and I have no wish for it to end."
You know he's being earnest. After spending the rest of his night fucking you—slow and sweet in your bed, rather than the desperate way he'd done it in the archives—he'd woken up this morning and gone back to normal. Paid attention to you, paid attention to others, humoured your public displays of affection and initiated his own in private. Acted like the past two weeks never happened, and that nothing’s been weighing on his mind.
Were he anyone else, you'd assume that you're simply being strung along for sex, or perhaps being distracted by it. But Dan Heng isn't anyone else: he has absolutely no interest in physical intimacy without the emotional kind. He'd slept with you as an affirmation of his feelings for you. (He probably also did it because you kept begging to be fucked, but that's neither here nor there.)
Still, as much as you liked having your back blown out in the archives, semi-public sex isn't exactly a healthy way to deal with relationship problems.
"I know you'll be more mindful of my feelings now," you reply, "but I'd still like you to tell me what's been bothering you. I won't force it out of you, but if you did tell me, we could maybe fix it?"
"It is unfixable," he replies, "and not a problem to begin with. Simply the nature of things that I must accept."
His tone is neutral. Factual. Certain of the insignificance of whatever the issue is, even though you know that he's not the type to be bothered by insignificant things.
You frown, confused. "If it's the nature of things, then it won't hurt for me to know."
Dan Heng isn't looking at you anymore, instead fixated on the view beyond your window. Peering at the many moons of this galaxy, he finally relents: "'The night-blooming cereus flowers only once.' This is how Vidyadharas describe human life."
You consider his words, contemplating the bittersweet air of the idiom.
"Because human life feels ephemeral to you?" you discern.
"Yes. The lifespan of a human is but a fraction of ours. It's never bothered me before, but"—he's finally looking at you now, and his expression guts you—"four months without you feels unbearable. I can't imagine four centuries."
You go quiet.
Dan Heng is right: this is the nature of things. Skilled as you might be, you aren't likely to be one of those rare few humans who can ascend to immortality without Yaoshi's fruit. He’ll likely need to spend the better part of his life without you, and then every lifetime thereafter. Such is the reality for a Vidyadhara choosing to love a short-life species.
“...I’m sorry, Dan Heng,” is all you can bring yourself to say, but he shakes his head.
“There is no need for you to apologize," he says plainly. "I should have prepared myself for this eventuality when I chose to commit myself to you. It cannot be helped."
Dan Heng loves this phrase, you think to yourself. It cannot be helped that I had to live alone for so many years. It cannot be helped that I was exiled from my home. It cannot be helped that I was punished for the sins of Yinyue Jun.
It cannot be helped that you will someday leave me.
A splinter digs into your heart. You reach out, squeeze his hand, and wish that you could do more.
"It cannot be helped," you agree, "but that doesn't make it any less painful."
Dan Heng does not speak, but the way that he closes his eyes is enough of a reply. No matter how unfeeling he makes his voice, his pain is evident.
You wait for him to collect himself. Listen to his breaths—deeper than usual, meditative, reflective. There is hesitation in his eyes when he finally looks at you. A weakness that he only ever shows at night, after waking from a terrible dream.
"...I know it's a cruel thing to ask of you," Dan Heng eventually says, and the bitter edge to his words surprises you, "and perhaps a sign that this soul of mine will never change in its sins, no matter how many times it is reborn—but is there no way for us to spend a life together?"
You forget how to breathe.
What he's asking you is not just heretical for him—it's traumatic. An echo of the crime he'd committed in his past life, the tragedy that marked him for suffering in this one. He must be desperate for an answer if he's voicing the question at all.
You struggle as you think through your options.
"Seeking out the Peaches of Immortality is out of the question," you start. "And Sanctus Medicus is just a bunch of nutjobs—no way could they make me immortal. Demonic cultivation is another Path, but I don't think you'd like the thing I'd become by the end of it."
A brilliant river of stars streams past the window, like the one in that ancient folktale about the bridge of magpies. You can see the reflection of your lover's face in the window: muted, sorrowful, already mourning you. And of course he's mourning you long before your death, with how much he'd lost long before his birth.
Oh, Heng'er, you think, even if I drank from Meng Po's bowl and lost every memory of you, I'd still find my way back to you in my next life.
It would be too cruel to say aloud, so you remain quiet—merely staring at the galaxy before you, hoping quietly to see some kind of bridge.
Then a nearby sun flickers, and you remember something.
"...I guess there is another option," you say slowly, "but I can't imagine you being happy with it."
He straightens up. "What is it?"
"Well…" You take a deep breath. "Sometimes people practice dual cultivation as a way to extend their life. It's quite safe, but would be difficult given our relationship."
Dan Heng stares. "What exactly does it entail?"
"Well… it's basically cultivating by having sex. If I slept regularly with an immortal being with highly refined qi, I could probably exchange energy with them and achieve longevity that way." You make a face at the thought. "But it's not exactly easy to find an immortal who'd want a lifelong friend with benefits… and I'd really rather not have sex with anyone other than you, anyway."
It would probably make him miserable.
You're surprised when Dan Heng looks thoughtful, rather than disturbed. He studies you for a long moment, considering.
"Vidyadharas are immortal," he says, "and the qi of a High Elder is much more powerful than that of any other species. Is it not helping that we're already coupling so often?"
"Not really." You reach out across the table, hold out your palm, and he knows to give you his hand. You turn it over, tracing a finger along the length of his wrist. "Dual cultivation with you wouldn't be very useful. You might have extraordinary qi as a Vidyadhara, but it's sealed when you're in your human form."
You feel for the warm glow of his meridians, even though you already know what you'll find—an ordinary, unremarkable life force coursing through his body.
Dan Heng doesn't seem discouraged, though, when you look back up at him. Only curious.
"Then," he says, "what about my dragon form?"
It doesn't end up being very straightforward.
For a full ninety minutes, Dan Heng sits in your room and listens to you discuss the mechanics of dual cultivation, also known traditionally as the 'art of the bedchamber'. As its name would suggest, there are quite a few nuances and technical considerations involved: different positions enhance your qi in different ways; certain acts are more useful than others; mutual pleasure must be attained for the greatest possible benefit.
It isn't just a lecture that you give him. You take out one of your cultivation manuals and show him various diagrams and poses. You whip out your tablet and visit "questionable websites" for "video demonstrations". You quiz him intensively at the end of each unit.
At around the seventy-minute mark, you catalogue Dan Heng's expression—thousand yard stare, stiff posture, red ears—and decide that you're overwhelming him. So you tell him the most important takeaway, which is that one thing he must absolutely do is—
"—finish inside you?"
"Mhm." You sound completely unbothered. "As much as possible. And as many times as possible."
He gives you a long, blank stare, and then crosses his arms. "...all of this is just a ploy to get me to do one of your favourite things in bed, isn't it."
"What? No! I wouldn't lie to you about something like this, Gege!" You're being truthful. Though your sex drive can sometimes drive you to try insane things, it never drives you to be cruel. "I'm being dead serious right now. This really will extend my life. Those cultivation manuals were proof!"
Dan Heng considers you. "You're right. You wouldn't lie about something like this."
"Thank you."
"You're already so shameless about begging for it—I don't think you'd see the need to come up with an excuse."
Wow.
"...okay, yes, but you're also pretty shameless about giving in."
Dan Heng clears his throat, and you try not to laugh. "Well, I've never had a reason not to, since we don't need to worry about pregnancy…" He tries very, very hard to assume some semblance of dignity as he deflects: "Anyway. I think I understand the gist of it. You more or less want me to do the usual things."
"Yes—but while you're in your original form, of course."
"Right." His eyes narrow, and his expression becomes uncertain: something you've only seen a handful of times. "...I do need you to know that taking that shape… complicates things. There is a reason why my powers are usually sealed."
You nod. You've known for a while now that Dan Heng hates invoking his Vidyadhara powers—he considers it as taboo as much as a Xianzhou native would. Truthfully, it did occur to you some time ago that exchanging qi with a dragon would make your cultivation progress leaps and bounds, but after learning about how much he despises that form of his, you'd scrapped the whole idea and put it out of mind.
You're surprised that he's even consenting to this, all things considered.
Noticing the tension in his body, you leave your teaching set-up (tablet, an annotated cultivation manual, and smartboard with various stick figures you've drawn) to rest a hand on his shoulder.
"I don't know if we have to worry about that. The Alliance only sealed Vidyadhara powers due to historical reasons relating to the Sedition, right?" you try to console him. "Rather than anything to do with your nature in this lifetime, I mean. You aren't inherently dangerous."
You can see the conflict in his eyes; your words run exactly counter to everything he must have heard while imprisoned on the Luofu.
"I don't know," Dan Heng finally says, "but for better or worse, things are still different when I take my true shape. I'm no longer used to it." He frowns a little. "The amount of power feels overwhelming to me now. It's fine in normal circumstances, but—" He struggles for a moment. "...I don't know how I'll behave in… these circumstances with you."
"Ah, I see. You're worried that you won't be able to control yourself while fucking you're me, huh?"
He gives you a disgruntled look. "Do you have to use such crass language?"
"Sorry, Gege. I'll try to speak eloquently like you: Yinyue Jun may fall to his base instincts once he's crossed the threshold of the chrysanthemum gate, right?"
His expression turns from disgruntled to disdainful. Evidently, he's not a fan of your erotica novel slang.
"Please be serious for once. We need to be careful if we do this. I might behave impulsively—do something rash. Accidentally hurt you."
You hum, considering his words. "That's surprising. I thought dragons were generally supposed to be pretty calm and wise…" Then you think about how you couldn't walk this morning. "Though I guess you weren't particularly calm yesterday."
He snorts. "Well, I usually am. Unfortunately, I find it exceptionally hard to control myself around you, with how much you like to provoke me," he says plainly. "It'll just get worse if I switch forms."
You try not to stare at him, shocked at how unbothered he is by these admissions. You suppose that multiple rounds of semi-public sex might have forced him to cross an event horizon of shame, and now his face is finally getting thicker.
"It isn't just my behaviour I'm worried about," he continues. His arms cross again, and his brow furrows. "You might find my form… unattractive. You probably won't like it."
You frown. "I can't imagine that. I bet the real Cold Dragon Young is super handsome."
It's a testament to his anxiety that he hardly reacts to your stupid comment. He just studies you carefully, uncertain. Apprehensive.
"I guess we'll find out."
END PART 1
notes: for those unfamiliar, this fic is set in the same universe as fengyue. fengyue was actually based on this fic, but due to my inability to manage deadlines, it came out way ahead of this LOL
i'm sorry there was no dragonfucking in this part when i have been promising dragonfucking for ages on this blog. but i am 12.5k words into part 2 and i can assure you that there is an excessive amount of incredibly nasty dragonfucking in it, so please look forward to that
this was written way before 1.2 came out (and in fact, before I had even caught up to 1.1 content). hopefully the characterization still holds up ok!
big, big thank you to @petrichorium for helping me navigate canon lore and riffing w me on this piece. please go check out their works, they have banger star rail content!
cultural notes:
cultivation is the practice of using martial and spiritual arts to cultivate one’s qi, gain spiritual powers, and attain immortality
dual cultivation is the act of refining your qi through having sex
I will be honest. I cannot remember the other cultural refs I dropped because I just kind of blindly write them in so please let me know if you have any questions about things LOL
translation notes:
gege is a term meaning "older brother", though it is often used for non-familial relationships that are very close; it can come off as either flirty or childish. heng'er is a diminutive of dan heng's name.
“If paradise is but a dream, then I wish to sleep forever” - this was a reference to the chinese version of dan heng’s ult line. in english, he says “this sanctuary is but a vision”. however, in chinese, he says “洞天幻化，长梦一觉” which is closer to something like “paradise is an illusion, reveals itself to be a long dream”
"The night-blooming cereus flowers only once" - this is how I rendered the idiom "曇花一現", which describes thing that are short-lived
"Human life should be as morning dew" - this is how I rendered the idiom "人生如朝露", which describes the ephemeral nature of human life
yes I really made dan-gege break out the chengyu and poetic speech... I'm not sure how he sounds in english but my man has his super literary moments in chinese haha
NOT A CHANCE
ft. Sakura Haruka, Suo Hayato, and Togame Jo
—Someone seems a little too eager to ask you out on a date… somehow missing your boyfriend’s sharp glare from beside you. How is the situation handled? (1.4k words)
Cw) gn!reader, getting hit on, cursing, flirting, kinda suggestive in suo’s part at the end, reader is shorter than suo in his part, reader can fight + mentioned bullying in togame’s part, some of this might (definitely) be ooc but i wrote this with 2 hours of sleep and a redbull, so its okay ..
Sakura gets aggressive…
Haruka has never been ignored like this before.
He’s been excluded, sure. But ignored? Never. With looks like his, it’s nearly impossible to turn a blind eye to him. While he might’ve been accepted for his unique traits since coming to Furin, it doesn’t erase the fact that they’ve been the very bane of his existence for the past 16 years.
Oddly enough, he’d rather have his pale eyelashes and hair ridiculed again than sit through another minute of this.
“Ah, I’ve been rambling for too long, haven’t I?” your self-proclaimed ‘childhood friend’ apologized discreetly. “How about this, you give me your number and we can plan a day to catch up without constraints. Does that sound good?”
You cringed from the guy’s insistence, but before you could turn him down, Sakura interjected.
“That sounds awful,” he scoffed; wrapping his arm around your shoulder to pull you closer.
The male before you merely rolled his eyes. “I don’t recall asking you anything.”
Sakura’s brows furrowed, and you felt his loose hold ok you tighten in an attempt to keep himself somewhat grounded. This guy was pissing both of you off, but more so Sakura due to the blatant ignorance your “friend” was displaying.
He shifted his gaze back from Sakura to you, and slightly tilted his head. “Clearly there’s some competition here.”
“A competition you already lost,” your boyfriend grumbled under his breath.
“So tell me, what’ll it take for you to give in?”
Your previously nonchalant expression morphed into one of annoyance. You might’ve known this guy from when you were younger, but he’s practically a stranger now after so many years. His sly smile struck a nerve, not to mention his attitude towards the boy that stood next to you. All of it ignited a strong flame within you, one that made you wanna-
“Ah- Shit! What the hell is wrong with you?!” your old acquaintance cried from the ground.
Sakura’s arms were tense at his sides, ready to throw another punch if needed. He stood in a fighting stance you were familiar with, but this time, it was for your sake.
“Take a hint, man. Don't you get it?” your boyfriend spoke, retreating back to your side with a sharp glare aimed at his current arch nemesis.
He interlocked his hand with yours, holding it with a firm grip. “They’re already taken, not to mention uninterested!” Sakura barked with displeasure. “And if you don’t want that face of yours to get fucked up even more, I suggest you scram.”
The other male whined from the ground, hastily scrambling away in fear whilst clutching his bloody nose. Of course, he spouted one last insult once he was far enough.
“You’re crazy! You Bofurin shits are all out of your minds!”
You and Sakura could only turn to one another and laugh in amusement.
Suo becomes flirtatious…
Suo’s a relatively calm man. He always kept a small smile on his face, rarely allowing it to fall no matter the situation.
Although right now it was slowly starting to falter.
He stood next to you, hands behind his back with a threatening gaze towards the other man before you. Seriously, neither of you expected that this guy would start flirting with you after helping him gather his belongings that just so happened to fall to the ground as you both walked by.
But he seemed to believe it was “fate.”
“Thank you so much!” the stranger said with glee. “I really oughta take you out to show my gratitude. Is there any place that’d you-“
“Nah, I’m good,” you interrupted, rejecting his advances before anything could escalate.
Suo felt a brief wave of relief wash over him at your words. You were very much capable of standing up for yourself, but he still kept his guard up incase anything were to happen. While you were very clear about turning this guy down, he wasn’t ready to give up.
“Are you sure? I’ll take you anywhere you want! All you gotta do is name a place!”
Suo’s eye twitched.
“I’m quite positive. I’m sure my boyfriend here can do all that for me and even more, so if you could kindly back off that would be wonderful.” you placed a hand on Suo’s shoulder with a grin, displaying affection to get your point across.
“This guy? Seriously?” the stranger grumbled in disbelief.
“Yep, that’s me,” Suo started. “Your offer is kind, but you should know when to back down, yeah?”
“I think she should be grateful I’m offering anything, and the nice thing to do would be to take that offer,” he taunted.
Suo chuckled at the boy’s insistence. “She doesn’t owe you anything.” he stayed sternly. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”
You felt flustered at the sudden pet name, not to mention the feeling of his arm slowly slipping around your waist teasingly.
“Yeah, that’s right,” you responded, accepting your boyfriend’s display of affection as you both emphasized your point.
His grip on your waist tightened, and he slowly leaned down to plant his forehead against yours. His eye was half-lidded, and you could feel his gaze on your lips. Just as he was about to lock his lips with yours, the other male let out a noise of disgust.
“Oh god okay- I get it!” he gagged. He stepped away, bags you helped him gather in hand as his face scrunched up. “You don’t need to start making out! That’s gross! You’re both gross!”
He rushed off, turning the corner to never be seen again. Suo pulled away from you, leaving his touch to linger around your face and waist. You couldn’t help but feel embarrassed, flustered, confused, and annoyed all at once.
“I didn’t think you had something like that in you~” you teased playfully.
His hand went to rub the back of his neck. “Neither did I… I don’t think I can do something like that again. I just needed to get him to back off.” he replied bashfully.
“But you did leave me hanging there. Am I gonna get that kiss or what?” you asked genuinely, tilting your head in curiosity.
Suo sighed, and guided the back of your hand to his lips to plant a kiss.
“You’ll get the one you’re waiting for when we get home, yeah?”
Togame is amused…
Usually, Togame would be ready to swing by now. However, he’s too enamored by your pretty face as you spew a number of insults at your middle school bully.
“After all you’ve put me through back then, do you really think I’d wanna sit and chat with you like nothing ever happened?” you shouted in the middle of the sidewalk, catching the attention of numerous passerbys.
“I’ve changed!” he shouted back, arms thrown up defensively. “Don’t you believe in change? Or do you think everyone stays the same their entire life?”
You rolled your eyes with bitterness. “Just forget it, we aren’t speaking ever again.”
“Now just wait a second-“
“Didn’t you hear them? They told you to forget it,” Togame stepped in front of you protectively.
“No, Togame. Let me handle him.”
“Oh? Well if you say so,” he replied, stepping aside for you. He knows you’re capable of holding your own, so he’s not too worried. Still, he kept his fists balled up at his sides incase he had to step in at any point.
The boy you’ve known since junior high scoffed at your actions. “We ain’t fighting, pretty.”
“You don’t get to call me that,” you fumed.
“Oh? Does that mean only your boyfriend here can compliment you?” he taunted, a smirk forming on his face.
Togame sat back and watched with a sly smile, admiring the way your face scrunched up in anger. He had no problem with others complimenting you. In all honesty, he liked it. It filled him with pride. Others could want you all they want, but only he could have you.
And he loved that.
You threw a hard punch at the male’s face, knocking him off his feet and onto the ground. Togame only whistled from behind you in praise.
You crouched down to the other’s level, grabbing him by the hair to keep eye contact. “I don’t wanna hear shit from someone like you, that’s all.”
After dropping his head, you stood up proudly.
“Sorry I didn’t let you handle it, Jo.” you apologized meekly.
“Nah, don’t worry about it.,” he brushed off whilst waving his hand. “Besides, that was pretty hot.”
You punched his shoulder lightly with a slight smile. “Of course that’s what you were thinking.”
He hummed. “If you ask me, anything you do is hot.”
© enassbraid 2024. i do not permit plagiarism, translations, or reposts of my work on any platform.
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