ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — ITOSHI SAE X FEM READER

━━ arms of gold .

❀ ˎˊ- prompt: how they hold you in bed ❀ ˎˊ- characters: dan feng, dan heng, luocha, blade, jing yuan ❀ ˎˊ- warnings: heavy in physical contact, dan feng gets a little possessive whoops ❀ ˎˊ- a/n: scratches head hey guys !!!!!! writing this to make myself feel better, yes i still have some requests but i'll get to them! just need to find the motivation so let me write some sillies heart eyes (also im aware that IL is not dan feng but like i need to fit my aesthetic so. heart eyes. also yall can really see who i had inspiration for LMAOOO (sorry bladie :( )

Dan Feng is, quite simply, a brat, and a brat who won't let you go the second he's behind closed doors. The second that the day is done, and he's freed from the grasp of his title, he pounces and clings onto you like a cat, forcing you to drag him around the house whenever you want to get anything done.

Personally, I can see Dan Feng being very physically affectionate, although he would rather die than ever admit it. It's not like he needs to though, since everyone can see how he always has to be touching you, whether it being with his tail around your arm or his hand clinging to your sleeve.

In bed, Dan Feng prefers to be the big spoon, regardless of height difference. Only on rare occasions will he let go of his pride and allow himself to be held. So for the most part, your nights together are spent with him embracing you from behind, his mouth pressed right on your pulse as he wraps himself around you.

Sometimes you'll feel his horns bump against your head as he nuzzles you, their luminescent glow like a gentle nightlight. They glow brighter when he has good dreams, a low purr rumbling against your back as he slumbers. Similarly, his tail, taking up a good 70% of the bed, wraps around your legs while Dan Feng's are draped over your hips. Every part of him has to touch you, hold you, and remind you that you are his, and his alone.

Contrary to his previous incarnation, Dan Heng is shy when it comes to physical contact. For the first few months in which he'd slept in the same bed as you, he'd kept himself to one side of the bed, afraid of even touching you.

When the Express was warm, he could do this easily. However, on the rare occasion that the engine can't provide as much heat as normal, Dan Heng's cold-blooded instincts take over, and his body moves to you against his will. Safe to say, when Dan Heng woke up to you, entangled in his arms, he malfunctioned and probably kicked you by accident.

Dan Heng can work with being a big spoon or small spoon, but what's important is that he sees your face. When his nightmares strike, he needs to know that you're there, still breathing and still alive in his embrace. More than once has he traced your features while you slept, your breathing lulling him back to sleep.

But on the fluffier side, he also tends to nuzzle you as you cuddle. Just rubbing his nose against yours is such an innocent act, and yet it never fails to make him melt against you. Dan Heng isn't a very verbal person, so he prefers to show his affection for you in the subtle ways - whether that be in his acts of service, or the slightest of touches.

If the time ever comes that Luocha is comfortable sleeping next to you, it means that he's finally grown to trust you. Luocha is used to the guards he dons around others, unused to letting it fall in another's presence.

He prefers to be the one holding you, rather than the other way around. Don't get him wrong, he loves you and adores your embrace, but to completely submit into your arms is asking a bit too much out of him. But Luocha makes up for it by telling you stories of his travels as a lullaby, keeping you at his side as he paints adventure after adventure with his voice.

Sometimes, he'd tease you for sleeping before his story ended, flicking your forehead gently as he lazily smirks at you. Even if you complain at him, Luocha only chuckles good-naturedly at you, cooing out an apology as he rubs where he'd flicked you.

Luocha always makes sure to fall asleep after you do. His heart warms as he watches you doze against his shoulder, and he can't help but trace your cheek before kissing your forehead, and closing his eyes himself.

And yet, he isn't as good as waking up before you can. On more than one occasion have you woken up to Luocha's peacefully slumbering face, just like that of a fairytale princess. His carefully practiced smile isn't there, but it doesn't make him any less beautiful. On the contrary, he is gorgeous, raw and natural, and graceful all the same.

The first time you woke him up, Luocha had been startled, panicked even, despite how gently you did it. He wasn't used to being waked up by another, much less waking up next to another. But as time passed on, he slowly grew to anticipate your touches, the tracing of his face drawing him from his dreams.

So now, when you welcome him back to reality, Luocha greets you with a smile - a tired, yet fond smile, devoid of any insincerity.

He'll never admit it, but Blade needs to be held when he sleeps. Never does he take the first step, so unless you pull him into you yourself, he'll stay on his side of the bed, afraid of touching you and pushing the boundary.

But the second your arms are around him, he latches onto you, practically molding himself into your chest. You are his safe haven, in your arms, he doesn't need to drive away nightmares - for they never come.

His ears are always pressed against your chest, your heartbeat lulling him to sleep each and every night. His hands grasp at the back of your shirt, squeezing and kneading at your back muscles. Seldom does he ever look up at your face, content to keep his face buried in your neck, chest, or back. Yet he adores it when you run your fingers down his body, whether they trace his scars, his spine, or simply thread through his hair.

The shuddered breathes Blade lets out when you caress him are not of fear nor of lust, but of content. His skin may goosebump, and his spine tingle, but he finds that it is with your hands that he is able to rest without his past chasing him.

Jing Yuan is somehow both the most annoying and the most comfortable cuddler here.

With Jing Yuan, there's no such thing as big spoon or little spoon. Whoever gets on the bed first is the pillow for the night, and if you're smaller than Jing Yuan, it'd be in your best interest to abstain from the mattress until the general himself decides to rest. Otherwise, you'd wake up with not one, but two lions draped over you as both Jing Yuan and Mimi keep you pinned to the bed.

But his weight isn't uncomfortable, as long as you can stick your head out to breathe (which can be difficult considering that both Mimi and Jing Yuan have a ridiculous amount of hair). On the contrary, Jing Yuan's large frame, coupled with the weight of his muscle on top of you makes you feel safe, protected.

When you're the one on top, Jing Yuan makes for one of the greatest, if not the greatest pillows on the Luofu. Whenever he breathes, his chest swells, taking you up and down with it in a rhythmic pattern. The tiniest snores he lets out rumble against you like the thunder he commands, and one arm is always around you, keeping you secured against him as he dozes in the Luofu's afternoon sun.

But be warned though, Jing Yuan is clingy, even more so than the others. His words of "5 more minutes" are really a translation for a few more hours, and it's difficult to say no to a face with his - especially if he starts pouting. You suppose it's fine, though, to be late once in a while, if it means you can see Jing Yuan's face visibly light up.

reblogs w comments are appreciated !!

i’ve become the villain’s lover!

summary: You have the worst luck in the entire world to be transmigrated into a novel as some faceless side character, where the most notorious villains in the story won’t leave you alone. (ft. Riddle, Leona, Azul, Jamil, Vil, Idia, Malleus).

notes: 12k words, scenario, fluff, mentions of violence, reader gets injured once, heavily based on my love of cheesy isekai/reincarnation/villainess manhwa 

All of your problems started with the book your friend lent you.

You didn’t even want to read it at first, but you took the copy because she wouldn’t stop pestering you and spamming you with texts. The title—I’ve Become the Villain’s Lover!—was embossed gold, and the cover picture had seven beautiful men lounging around a woman with brown hair, the woman gazing wistfully into the distance. In short, it was so cheesy it sent chills down your back.

You really weren’t going to read it. But that summer night was hot and humid and you had nothing better to do than stare at the television and stir around your half-melted ice cream. So when you saw the book on the edge of the kitchen counter, you thought, why not? and opened it up.

If it was bad, you would stop after a few pages. But the television kept droning on as you read, and your forgotten ice cream was now melted slush in its bowl, and soon you were halfway through the story.

The premise itself was simple enough: the heroine, Hera Winn, was the treasured daughter of a down on his luck baron. He sent her to the city to make her debut, and after a series of mishaps, she ended up running into the crown prince, Malleus Draconia, who fell in love at first sight. However, the crown prince was feared by his subjects, and rumors swirled around about his fearsome power and his family. To make matters worse, six other men fall in love with Hera. The cherry on top? All seven men were notorious villains, feared by people far and wide for their cruelty.

You were still a few chapters away from the ending when your eyes started drooping; it was impossible to keep them open, even though you were dying to text your friend. It was deliciously bad, in an over-the-top and campy way, and you appreciated how self-indulgent the author was. Seriously, why would seven villains even fall for an ordinary person? It was way too contrived.

Whatever. You could call her tomorrow.

You closed your eyes, and when you opened them again, you found yourself staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. Oh no. No way. This wasn’t what you thought it was, was it?

Conveniently, there was a hand mirror next to you, and when you stared into the frame, the face of a stranger stared back at you.

Your worst fears had come true. You’d transmigrated into I’ve Become the Villain’s Lover!

Shit. You were never going to read another book in your life.

Keep reading

Doctor’s Orders Navigation

Get Away From the Robot

Funeral Plans

Sick Day

Nights Like This

Broken Ends

I Care

Quality Time

Definition of Affection

Human

Pursuit

Something to Remember

Inevitable

Zaranara

Clone cheat sheet

( FYI: This series is both nonlinear and crack/ooc. Each piece can be read as a standalone and there is no particular order, rhyme or reason. It’s meant to be fun and not to be taken too seriously. )

DEEZ NUTS

↳GN Reader | Crack Humor

A/N: I just want to apologize in advance that my humor is questionable and hella immature💀 Also ayee writing for more characters! :D

crocodile's hair is down i repeat crocodile's hair is down

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐅𝐄 .ᐣ

a husband's call.

ᯓ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 .ᐟ neuvillette, jing yuan, ayato, sunday x fem!reader (separate), feat. fu xuan, ayaka, thoma.

ᯓ 𝐜𝐰 .ᐟ hey guys look yet another fic that's prob been done before 😻, mentions of suicide, mentions of 'cheating' (literally nothing tho), mentions of torture and death (sunday is just a girl🎀), banter, fluff, crack, SFW, i am not very proud of this one (like wow my writing fell off here 💀), 2.7k words (yay a short one!!), god i love this trope, can y'all tell i really like sunday? 😔 rbs are appreciated!! <3

ᯓ NEUVILLETTE .ᐟ

𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 the residential wing of the Palais, swinging open the doors, marching in through the threshold and right for the parlour area.

The butler scrambled after him, frantic. “Monsieur Neuvillette, please, take a moment to calm do—”

“Where is my wife?” The Chief Justice’s voice thundered, and he continued storming through the halls. “I wish to see her. Now.”

“She’s—the Madame is in her study, Monsieur. She doesn’t wish to be distur—”

“No one is to interrupt us while I speak with my wife.” Finally, the Iudex stopped in his tracks and faced the butler. The usually calm, soft-spoken judge was icy and severe as he glared down at the frazzled attendant. “In the meantime, prepare the carriage.”

“Of course, Monsieur—but, may I ask why?”

Neuvillette heaved a sigh, and fatigue washed over his sharp features. “For the moment, please just do as I’ve ordered.”

“Oh, yes, of course…” The butler bowed three times before turning rushing off. “I shall have the coachman prepare it right away!”

The Chief Justice wasted no time in turning and heading down the hall for his wife’s study, and immediately entered without knocking.

You jumped in alarm at the abrupt slam of the door, and your book tumbled off your lap as you rushed to stand. “Neuvillette, what on ear—”

You hastily backed up as he charged toward you, startled and frightened. Oh no, what did I do? He looks furious!

“Do you know,” he began, extending a hand in a flash and grabbing your arm, pulling you toward him. Even though Neuvillette appeared utterly incensed, his grip was not bruising. It was gentle, and he swiftly curled an arm around your waist as he pressed you closely to him. “How utterly terrified I was when I received your letter?”

“What letter?” You placed a hand on chest, trying to calm him down. Those violet, slitted eyes of his were dark with untold emotions—fury, fear, and terror. You couldn’t fathom what had flustered the calm, gentle Chief Justice into such a raging state. What has happened to scare him so? You could feel his hands shaking as he gripped you tightly.

“This letter.” Neuvillette wrenched out a scrunched piece of paper from his coat pocket. “It is addressed to me from you. In your handwriting. Do you hate me so much, that you wish to torture me with such…such—”

“I never wrote this.” The contents of the letter was, yes, penned in your handwriting—at least, a very accurate forging of it—and it spoke of your apparent intentions to throw yourself off one of the cliff faces of Mount Esus. “What is this? A suicide note?” You continued reading, and you were supposedly expressing how discontent you were with being married to such an ‘exalted, unreachable’ man like Neuvillette and it had driven you into great depression.

Shaking your head, you looked up into the distressed face of your husband. “Neuvillette, I assure you, I would never write such a horrible thing as this. I’m not suicidal in the least. Not with you. You make me very happy.”

“I was scared. So scared.” The Chief Justice buried his face into the dip between your neck and shoulder, clinging to you like a frightened child would its mother. Rain lashed against the windows. One of his hands cupped the back of your head, fingers entangled in your hair. “I’ve never felt such terror in all my life. Who could be so cruel as to do this? What if they had kidnapped you, thrown you off the cliff, made it seem as if you really were miserable with me—"

You kissed the top of his head. “That won’t happen. How could you ever make me miserable? Do you know how long I prayed for a husband like you? You treat me like a queen.”

You could feel his erratic heartbeat drumming against your chest, and you threaded your fingers through his silvery locks gently. “Shall we spend the evening together? Just you and me? How about a weekend getaway?”

Butterfly kisses ghosted the skin of your nape and shoulders, and Neuvillette’s right hand dropped to clutch at your left hip. “Just as long as you’re at my side the entire time.”

“I’ll stick to you like glue,” you chuckled into his ear, and you wound your arms around his neck. “A little holiday in Liyue sounds nice. You need a break. How about it?”

“Mm,” The Iudex hummed appreciatively, emerging from your neck and he pressed his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. His unfairly long and curly lashes cast shadows across the apples of his cheeks. “Somewhere isolated?”

You tilted your head and pressed up into him further, eyes on his mouth. “Of course. I’ve been craving some real Crystal Shrimp. And proper Liyuean tea.”

“Oh, yes,” he chuckled lowly, and he leaned in, whispering against your lips. “…It’s stopped raining.”

“I should hope so,” you smiled up at him. “You’ve got nothing to worry about now.”

ᯓ JING YUAN .ᐟ

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑-𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 had been looking all over for you, and he was starting to get worried. He’d checked all your favourite places—garden, lounge, his office, your office, library, even places downtown—but you were nowhere to be seen.

I want to play chess with her. Jing Yuan always had to be around you. That was the fact of the matter. If you weren’t around, he was down in the dumps. He was so besotted with his wife, even after centuries of marriage.

After going around in circles for a little while, the General finally came across Yanqing. “Yanqing, do you know where my wife is?”

His retainer blinked up at his master. “Uh, yes, general. She’s with Fu Xuan, in the garden. Playing chess.”

“Without me?” Jing Yuan couldn’t keep the inflection of a whine out of his tone. I’ve already checked the garden, and she wasn’t there! But, that was a few hours ago now. Aheming, Jing Yuan righted himself. “Ehem, that is to say—thank you, Yanqing. Go take a break.”

Yanqing eyed his mentor warily. “…Yes, general.”

Ignoring his novice’s look, Jing Yuan immediately made his way back to the estate gardens and searched through the hedges for you. Soon, your lovely form came into view, and the General picked up the pace.

“—Thrashing Jing Yuan,” Fu Xuan was saying, casually moving one of her chess pieces across the board. “He’s probably wandering around looking for yo—oh, General. Here you are.”

Two strong arms encircled your waist, and you were abruptly tugged into the warm chest of your husband. His shock of ivory hair brushed over your left cheek. “You promised you’d verse me later.”

“Oh, I don’t recall.” You grinned at Fu Xuan, who rolled her eyes at the General’s blatant affection as he nuzzled into your nape. “Did I? My goodness, must’ve slipped my mind.”

“Do you like Fu Xuan better than me?” he lamented, clutching you tighter. “You do, don’t you? Well, why not marry her, then?”

“I have your blessing?” You bit back your laughter, waggling your eyebrows at the huffing Diviner sitting across from you. “Well, then, don’t mind if I do.”

“Verse me in chess first,” your husband murmured, nibbling at your neck. “Then you can wed her.”

“No, I think I’ll see myself out,” Fu Xuan sighed, gathering up her things. She looked like she was about to throw up. “You two make me nauseous. Have fun, I guess.”

You bid her a chipper farewell while Jing Yuan petulantly ignored her, too occupied with you to bother paying respects to the Master Diviner of the Divination Commission. Patting his arm, you leaned your head against his comfortingly. “Alright, my future wife is gone now. We can play chess.”

Instead of letting you go and taking a seat across from you, Jing Yuan picked you up, sat down in your spot, and situated you nicely on his lap, before burying his face back into your chest. “You’re a tease. I practically turned the entire Luofu upside down looking around for you. For hours. Hours, you hear? Only to find you cheating on me with that pink-haired Diviner.”

“Cheating’s a bit of an overstatement, my dear. You want to play chess, or are you going to fall asleep on me again?”

“Chess, of course.” He made no move to follow through with it. The man was practically purring into your chest. “I won’t go easy on you.” “Like you ever do.” You lightly massaged his scalp with your nails, running your fingers through his lovely hair, making him preen at your attention. If this man was a cat, he’d be purring like an engine right about now. “Sure you’re not going to take a quick nap first?”

“Absolutely.” Jing Yuan’s cheek was laid on your right breast, a fully innocent gesture. “Shall we?”

“We shall.” You continued gently massaging his head, feeling quite content yourself. You gave the man one minute before he fell asleep. And you were right.

You let him sleep. It was bliss—peaceful, sitting together like this. Something that, even after centuries of marriage, you could never grow used to.

ᯓ AYATO .ᐟ

“𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐒 my wife, Thoma?” The Yashiro Commissioner rummaged about his coat sleeves and pulled out two bobas, striding through the halls of the Kamisato Clan’s estate with purpose. “I have some bubble tea to share with her.”

Thoma smiled to himself, following behind Kamisato Ayato. “She is with Lady Ayaka at present, my lord, in your chambers. I do believe your wife will be overjoyed at your return.”

“I’ve missed her dearly.” Ayato hurried along, taking a turn and making his way toward your shared bedroom. “If you would accompany Ayaka for the rest of the afternoon while I spend time with my wife, it would be much appreciated, Thoma. I’ll get you some boba another time.” “Don’t worry about it, my lord.” The head housekeeper tried not to grin too much at his boss’ unending antics around his beloved wife. “All that matters is you having a relaxing time with Her Ladyship.”

“Absolutely right. See? This is why you’re so reliable, Thoma. You always know exactly what to say.” Lord Ayato is in a particularly good mood today. No wonder. He just arrived home from a long trip overseas and the first thing out of his mouth once he set foot in Inazuma again was his wife’s name.

The duo stopped before a door and Ayato swiftly lifted a hand to knock. There was a shuffle, quiet words from the two women behind the door, and the patting of socked feet upon wood. The door slid open, and there you were—still in your jinbei.

“Ayato!” You exclaimed, flinging your arms around him. “It’s been months! You’re finally home! Oh, how I’ve missed you.”

“Are you alright, my dear?” Ayato didn’t get a chance to thank Thoma for quickly plucking the two bubble teas from his hands so he could hug you back. “You sound stuffy, like you’ve got an awful cold.”

You sniffled, and then coughed. Then you snivelled again. “Yes. I caught the flu two days ago. Ayaka’s been keeping me company.”

There was a soft flash of grey-blue and there his sister was behind you, beaming up at her brother. “Welcome home, brother. I trust you are well?” “Quite well. I did not expect to come home and see you sick as a dog! Have you been taking the appropriate medicine?”

“Ayaka almost throttled me trying to get the horrid stuff down my neck.” You turned and waddled back to your and Ayato’s comfortable futon, sitting up against the pillows. He followed after you like a lovesick puppy, accepting the two bobas from Thoma. Sighing, you put your face into your elbow and coughed. “It’s…” You wheezed again. “Working.”

“We’ll leave you two to it.” Ayaka placed a hand on Thoma’s shoulder and they turned to leave. They both smiled back at both of you. “Rest up. Both of you. Brother, make sure she drinks that tonic.”

“Will do,” he said, ignoring your aggravated groan. He brushed back your hair from your forehead, and the door clicked shut. “Want some boba?”

“I love you,” you immediately said upon him handing you your bubble tea. “Marrying you was the best decision ever.”

“As long as I have boba on me, huh?”

“I can make a few exceptions.”

Ayato smiled, poking your cheek, before leaning in, heading right for your mouth. “Can I have a ki—”

A hand smacked him away. “No! You’ll catch my cold. And I’m all snotty at the moment. Drink your boba.”

“I can just get sick with you.” He shrugged. But he yielded to your request and crawled in under the covers next to you, chewing away at some tapioca pearls. “Now, tell me. What have you been up to while I was away?”

“Keeping the entire Commission afloat,” you snarked, no bite behind your words. “It was so boring without you. I didn’t have anyone to go horseback riding with in Chinju Forest.” You had a sip of your bubble tea, wiping your nose with a tissue. You relished the caramelly taste. “Anyway, how did the meeting go? Since you acted as Ambassador to the Dawn Winery, was it?”

“I did, and the relations went exceptionally well, if I do say so myself. Inazuma is bound to have an onslaught of dandelion wine within the next month.”

“Wonderful. I could use a good glass of wine.” You sighed and relaxed against your husband’s shoulder. “…I’m glad you’re home.” “I am, too.” Ayato nuzzled you. “Are you warm?”

“Very.” You closed your eyes. You had another sip of boba. He laced your fingers together, and you smiled. Even bedridden, you were content as could be.

ᯓ SUNDAY .ᐟ

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 Head had his icy moments, but nothing compared to this. Every staff member was scared witless, shaking as they were dismissed from his presence, leaving him and his victim alone. The poor soul on the receiving end of Mr. Sunday’s placid wrath was visibly shaking.

“Now.” The Head of the Oak Family stood with his hands held tightly behind his back, staring frostily down at his target, halo glowing, having just recited his incantation for the light of the Harmony, calling on THEM. “I will ask you once more, and you will have no choice but to answer honestly. Question: where is my wife?”

“I—I don’t know! I swear—argh!” An expensive shoe pressed down on the sobbing man’s hand harshly, Sunday’s golden eyes frozen to a murderous amber. The man clutched at his head in agony. “It hurts! It hurts! Please, stop!”

“It won’t hurt if you tell the truth.” The Family Head’s voice remained as calm as an arctic sea. “Yet, you continue to refuse. Must I bloody my hands to extract my wife’s true whereabouts from you?”

“N-No, just—please…” THEIR light was shredding at the man’s thoughts. “I really don’t know!”

“Question: is your hirer a lackey of the IPC?”

“Argh—yes…” Sunday’s victim fought for breath. 

“Is my wife alive?”

“…Yes…ugh…”

“Is she unharmed?”

“…I don’t…know.”

“Do you know where she is?”

“…I don’t—hngh! Yes…”

“Where is my wife?”

“I can’t tell you!”

And then the man let out a wail, mental state driven to the brink. Sunday’s fists tightened into two white-knuckled balls. “Oh, yes, you can, and you will. The Harmony rejects you. THEY reject you. Tell the truth.”

“Sh—She is…your wife is…”

“Where?”

“She’s on Penacony. Hidden in a…ugh—warehouse. Guarded. Not in the Dreamscape.”

“Where is this warehouse?”

“That…I honestly don’t know. That’s all they told me.”

Sunday narrowed his eyes, glacial, before whirling around and marching for the doors. He flung them open, and called his men in. 

They stood to attention. Sunday coldly regarded each of them. “Send this man back in pieces to the IPC. Warn them that if they do not reveal my wife’s whereabouts within the next twelve hours, they will have a very big problem on their hands.” He threw a repulsed look back at the screaming man. “Shut him up for good. Make sure that all IPC delegations and influences in the Dreamscape…” The Family Head approached his desk. “Are cut off, imprisoned—or, better yet, killed.”

“Yes, sir!” One man back knocked the IPC thug out, dragging him away. 

Sunday coolly clicked his pen. “Send a clear message that consequences for any inaction on their part will be dire. I want my wife back, and I want her back by tomorrow.”

all rights reserved © kisstrela 2024. do not copy, repost, redistribute, translate, plagiarise or modify my work(s) in any way on any platform. thank you.

when you were five, you stole rin’s soccer ball.

you had no malicious intention, really. but rin didn’t realize that and ended up saying some nasty things (“you’re a stupid and annoying poo-head!”) to you, which ended up had you sobbing while you explained that you were really just cleaning the ball because of the grime and dirt on it. rin ended up feeling bad and buying you an ice cream.

when you were eight, you stole rin’s glances.

he was always looking at you, and even when he was supposed to look somewhere else, his eyes stayed on you. like a moth drawn to a flame, he followed you around. he hid when he got shy, blushed when he got caught, and smiled when you talked to him. the reason for it was simple: he realized that you were pretty and nice, and so he liked you.

when you were eleven, you stole rin’s breath.

when he looked at you, his heart would quicken, he would go red, and he almost stopped breathing every time. he always found his heart skipping a beat and his breath quickening to the point where they were non-existent whenever you smiled. he didn’t understand it, it was weird. he wanted to ask sae about it, but he had already left for spain, so rin just assumed he was sick.

when you were fourteen, you stole rin’s first kiss.

it was just experimental; you had seen so many other classmates have their first kiss, and you had to admit that you felt a bit jealous. you wanted to have your first kiss too, but you wanted to save it for someone special. rin, not wanting to see you upset, awkwardly muttered that he was fine with kissing you. he didn’t know how to word it correctly, but it ended up okay in the end. you were both inexperienced and didn’t know how to kiss properly, but it was only a short and soft kiss after all.

when you were seventeen, you stole rin’s heart.

at this point, with the (unwanted) advice from stupid isagi and bachira, rin finally realized that he fell deep down the rabbit hole of being in love. his heart felt like exploding when you touched him, even if it was something as ridiculous as your fingers brushing accidentally. whenever he sees you, in all your ethereal glory, cheering for him in a game, he feels like he can score 50 more goals. the media had never seen the cold and calculating itoshi rin act like this, although the paparazzi and journalists enjoy every moment of his soft look whenever his eyes land on you.

when you were twenty, you stole rin’s virginity.

self explanatory, although rin was surprised he ever got it taken in the first place. it was an awkward first time for the both of you, and although you both had little to no idea of how the hell you do it, you both pulled through. after the session, rin only seemed to fall for you even more. even after he turned into this cold and rude soccer obsessed person, you never left him, and now you’re here, in front of him, sleeping softly in his arms after doing the most intimate things two humans can do with each other.

when you were twenty-three, you stole rin’s last name.

it was a day of tears, love, and eternality. rin’s eyes gleamed with tears when he saw you in that snow white dress, looking like the most beautiful woman that he had ever seen and ever will see. hearing someone call you by his last name, seeing you laugh and talk with his mother, seeing you holding a pastel bouquet of flowers while walking to him, they were all rin’s dream aside from winning the world cup. the shared kiss had much more experience and passion than the one from nine years ago, and you almost cried knowing just that.

finally, when you were twenty-six, you stole rin’s genetics.

okay, maybe you didn’t. he sort of gave it to you in a way…but your kids sure stole his genetics. bright teal eyes, exceptionally long underlashes, and an undeniable passion for soccer. even at 3 months old, your daughter can’t sleep without holding a soccer ball. rin has never been happier, his soccer career at it’s peak, being with his beautiful wife and daughter, and not heaving to worry about you stealing everything else, because you had already stolen everything from him.

and rin prefers it that way.

"stop looking at me like that."

"like what?"

they can't help but stare at you.

luka, jing yuan, gepard, dan heng ♡ gn!reader

warnings: graphic descriptions of love (crude imagery), pre-established relationship, reader is a nameless (dan heng's part)

notes: Can u tell my fav based on how much i write for them? (Its luka)

no matter where you are, luka's azure gaze will always find its way to you. even when he's in the midst of one of his matches, luka can't help but sneak a tiny (that, in reality, is not so tiny) glance at you, eager for your approval.

such a "tiny" glance lands him on the floor, his opponent landing a punch square on luka's jaw. pain reverberates throughout his body, sending waves of heat rushing to his face.

"ouch," he groans, narrowly avoiding another hit. he recovers quickly, his gaze now fixated wholly on his opponent.

adrenaline courses through his veins, his movements smoother than usual as luka apprehends his opponent in a matter of seconds. even as he's in the midst of putting someone in a headlock, his vision blinded by the lights of the fighting rink, luka's eyes find you.

he doesn't know how to explain it—his eyes are just naturally drawn to you. no matter where you are, luka will find you, and he will adore you. even if the spotlights blur his vision, just your silhouette is enough to satisfy him.

(maybe, when he was created, and when the aeons pieced together bits of his eyes, they carved his irises with the intention of beholding you. maybe, when luka was blessed with sight, it was because the aeons wanted him to witness you.)

even now, as the referee raises his arm in order to declare his victory, luka searches for you in the crowd. his grin widens as he waves at you with his free, mechanical hand. luka adores you; it's evident in the glimmer of his azure eyes and the way he immediately rushes to celebrate with you.

"i didn't think you'd come,"—but he'd still search for you anyway—"i'm so glad you did!" luka rubs the back of his head bashfully, the adrenaline pumping throughout his body beginning to wear off. only now does luka realize you're there, and that you just watched him fight!

his eyes never leave your frame. luka observes you under the muted lights, fluorescent bulbs flickering as if they became anxious in your presence. he supposes that he's not your only admirer, with the way the lights dim and the crowd's cheers fall silent, the way the world quiets to heed your words.

(what he doesn't realize is that the lights never dimmed, that the crowd never quieted. luka felt things that never happened, he envisioned a spotlight on you that never existed—but to him, it did. the world really did wait for you.)

"you were great out there, luka!"

you smile, and luka feels something flutter within him. his heartbeat travels from his chest, suddenly echoing throughout his body, making itself known even in the tips of his fingers and the rush of his ears.

something flutters within him, and luka thinks he's fallen for you. again.

"interesting move," jing yuan states. he rests his cheek against the palm of his hand, his lips curling into the slightest of smiles as he stares at you shamelessly.

"you weren't even looking at the board."

he chuckles. "you got me."

despite being caught red-handed, jing yuan's amber gaze never leaves your face. his eyes trace over the flutter of your lashes, the bridge of your nose, memorizing the features he's already so used to. the features that you're sure he's seen a thousand times before.

even with your piercing glare, jing yuan continues to marvel at you, not bothering to hide the way his pupils scrutinize your frame. he stares at you like he can see your soul, like—within the depths of your irises—he can see your dreams, your wishes.

"move a piece," you say, unamused. "and stop staring."

"i'm not staring," jing yuan responds matter-of-factly. he continues to observe you, never tearing his gaze away. you shrink under the general's gaze, suddenly becoming self-conscious of the way you sit and the way you exist.

jing yuan notices this, and he frowns.

"why are you doing that?" he asks. his index finger comes up to poke your forehead, urging you to ease the furrow of your brows.

"'cause the so-called chess master isn't making a move," you comment blandly. jing yuan chuckles.

"just pretend the so-called chess master,"—he still doesn't look down at the board—"is thinking. and isn't looking at you."

"you're making it kind of difficult to do so," you respond, unamused.

"give me five minutes." jing yuan pauses. "actually, ten will do."

"make a move!" you exclaim impatiently, pointing at the table in order to redirect jing yuan's attention. he feigns ignorance to your frustration, opting to observe the pout of your lips instead.

"cute," he mutters, not caring if you hear.

"are you even listening?"

"yeah," he says; it comes out more like a dreamy sigh rather than a proper response. with soft, adoring irises and a sickly sweet smile that makes you wonder if it's fake, jing yuan looks as if he has been possessed by cupid himself.

"ugh, why do i even try with you?"

jing yuan hums. "twenty minutes."

gepard swears he isn't staring at you on purpose.

but the more he looks at you, the more he notices. he notices the way you furrow your brows whenever you concentrate, the way your eyes twinkle when talking about something you enjoy. gepard notices the way you bite your bottom lip whenever you're frustrated, the way you tilt your head when you listen to someone speak.

aeons, he thinks, watching you exist, aeons. gepard swears he isn't staring at you on purpose—it just so happens that his gaze is on you. it just so happens that his gaze is always on you.

it's not his fault, really!

"hello? geppie?" serval says, waving her hand in front of the man's awestruck eyes. he blinks in embarrassment, his mouth hanging slightly agape as he looks down at the countertop, observing the splinters of wood with utmost attention.

"yes, serval?" he replies, struggling to find his voice. he winces at the way it sounds, the way his voice seems to dismember itself in your presence. gepard hates the way he acts around you, the way he becomes conscious of things like the way he walks, the way he talks.

it's humiliating, really, the way you reduce gepard to a flustered mess. he hates the way your eyes make him weak in his knees, the way you smile at him with that smile of yours. it makes him want to love you and love you, loving 'till the end of time, 'till the stars fall.

gepard wants to love you so much it hurts. he wants to love you to the point where his love turns into a knife, carving his heart out, taking it apart by its chambers. he gives you one chamber, then two, then three, then four, and all of a sudden, he's missing a heart—but what does it matter, whether or not he has a heart? in the end, it belongs to you.

"looks like someone's got a crush," serval says with a smirk. her vibrant cerulean eyes follow her brother's, fixating on your expression as you flip through pages of a travel guide gifted by the nameless. she doesn't notice how your lips tug into a frown, how your brows furrow ever so slightly.

gepard does, though. gepard seems to notice everything about you.

"don't say it here...!" gepard exclaims, trying to keep his volume low. serval, on the other hand, has no regards for secrecy. she slaps her hand against the counter, getting a good, hearty chuckle from her brother's beet red face and the way his eyes are wide with panic.

"right, right!" she laughs, clutching her stomach (gepard doesn't get why she's acting like he just made the best joke in the universe—it's not that funny). the floorboards creak with her movements, as if they too were finding amusement in gepard's predicament. the captain's gaze is not lingering in front of him for long, though, because in a matter of seconds, he finds himself staring at you. again.

he thinks you look ethereal basking in the daylight, the golden glow clinging to your skin. gepard thinks that, like him, the sun adores you. it's in the way its rays trace over your features, adorning your eyes with fragmented light, slipping your irises in between its shattered reflections and making you its own.

your eyes glimmer.

"dan heng!" march 7th yells, slapping the aforementioned man's back harshly. "stop staring and get working! [name] doesn't like useless men!"

dan heng bites his tongue, swallowing his words (and insults) as he returns to wiping down the train's furniture. it was your idea to help pom pom out by dedicating a day to clean up the express, which dan heng thought was admirable.

they're thoughtful, he muses, absentmindedly scrubbing at a coffee stain left by one of himeko's five thousand mugs. really thoughtful. but dan heng already knows that—it's in the way your voice drops to a whisper whenever he's reading, the way you always buy him souvenirs and beverages from places you visit.

although you're a nameless like him, you often travel on your own accord, making stops as you please and wandering the universe as if it were yours.

(maybe it is, dan heng thinks, entertaining the idea, maybe the world really is yours. frankly, he wouldn't be surprised if it was. it would make a lot of sense, actually. how is it possible for things to be so beautiful, if not belonging to you?)

"useless men?" you suddenly echo from down the hall, appearing around the corner with a mop in hand and a bucket in the other. dan heng rushes to you, his palm outstretched as he urges you to give him the bucket and split the weight.

"o-oh," march stutters, suddenly becoming speechless, "f...fancy seeing you here!"

you raise a brow. "i live here?"

"is that so?" march echoes, laughing stiffly to herself. "how funny! i didn't know you could hear what i was saying..."

"only the 'useless men' part," you say, shaking your head. "what's wrong with useless men?"

"well, for starters," dan heng answers, "they're useless."

"that's okay," you respond. "sometimes, being useless is fun."

is their type useless men? dan heng wonders to himself, suddenly feeling insecure. should he put this bucket down? will you find him useless, then?

"so... you like useless men?!" march asks, pointing accusingly at you. dan heng grimaces—just why does march have to be astute in the worst of times? why did she figure out who dan heng liked, if she usually struggles adding decimals?

you blink owlishly. "uh, not really? i'm just saying they're not that bad."

dan heng's grip tightens around the bucket's handle. i can work with that, he thinks, suddenly strategizing.

"what's your type, then?" march questions, stepping closer to you. "blonde, perhaps? ginger? blue?"

she didn't say black hair, dan heng thinks, about to reach for a tuft of his own.

"maybe dark hair?" you respond, your eyes narrowed in thought. "i like it when they make it obvious they like me, though."

"like if they stare at you a lot?" march asks, leaning in.

"yeah!" you reply. "that'd be cute!"

"oh, good!" march exclaims, pleased with herself. "dan heng here does a lot of that!"

"what?" both you and dan heng say in unison. while your tone is confused, dan heng's tone is disbelieving, as if he really did not believe that march just outed him like that.

(march did, in fact, just out him like that.)

you exchange glances with the man, but much to your surprise, he's already staring.

something tells you he's been staring for a while, it's just that you only noticed now.

sleeping positions. yan!hsr.

lunae

he knows you hate him, but something in him refuses to stay away from you. so dan heng wraps his tail around your wrist, or leg, or waist, if he feels you won't protest too badly. he hates being away from you for too long - 'too long' meaning any duration longer than a second, and so he always likes to have some part of him in contact with you.

sampo

he's horrible (affectionate). he likes tucking you into him back first, one arm locked around your waist - never mind that it's summer, and the both of you are sweating through your clothes. sampo's only goal in life seems to be making you as uncomfortable as possible.

jing yuan

you often find yourself waking to a scene out of a fantasy romance novel - jing yuan, his hair golden under the early morning light, gentle smile full of affection, one arm draped lightly over you. he's surprisingly comfortable to sleep with, and doesn't make you feel like you're being held hostage - i mean, you are, just not to the bed.

blade

a menace, and tough to boot. he crushes you to his chest with both arms, leaving you no room to move and barely enough to breathe. he seems to have no concept of how strong he is, and it takes a combination of cajoling, kisses, and kicks to his shins to get blade to let up a little. good luck going to the bathroom in the middle of the night.

THE GANG'S ALL HERE