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altumsomnum · 6 hours ago

Note

Hiii!! First off, I wanted to say i love love your works!! I absolutely fell in love with the mydei grovelling series (im a sucker for that trope) and wanted to ask if you could do something similar(grovelling) for phainon?🫶

PURE EXPERIMENT

Phainon x Reader

Warning: This work contains explicit NSFW content intended for mature audiences only.

When you, Caelus, and Dan Heng crashed down onto Amphoreus, it felt like the universe itself had spat you out into a place it had long chosen to hide.

Caelus was the first to move. His signature baseball bat rested against his shoulder, Dan Heng followed, you were right after.

You saw a figure stepping out. Caelus was barely prepared for what was coming. The man caught the bat with one hand. Dan Heng stepped forward next, but the man shifted his stance, brushed his cloak aside, and broke the spear in half.

Your gun was up, you fired several shots. The bullets were blocked effortlessly.

“I mean you no harm.”

You kept your sights on him.

“My name is Phainon. Welcome to Amphoreus.”

What came after blurred into a fog. He explained too much and yet not enough. In the end, the meaning was simple: you, Caelus, and Dan Heng were staying. For how long, you don't know.

Phainon regarded the three of you as if he’d been waiting for centuries. Behind you, Dan Heng said nothing, but the look he shot you said everything: Stay alert.

You tightened your grip on your gun, even if you knew by now it wouldn’t help.

“Come,” he said, “You three must be exhausted.”

You’d barely gotten used to the unsettling quiet of Amphoreus before it turned to chaos again.

Phainon claimed it wasn’t his place to interfere, yet here he was, striding beside you. You thought he'd be introducing you to someone else as a guide and then leave.

Then there's more fighting. You don't know why you always encounter these monsters thingy.

Between skirmishes, you caught whispers of Nikador. What was that? Titan?

On that path, you ran straight into Mydei.

He was tall, built like he’d been carved straight from the marble beneath your boots and you couldn’t help it.

“Woah... look at him..” you whispered under your breath, elbow nudging Caelus.

Caelus, predictably, chimed in with a grin. “That’s what I’m saying.”

That earned you both the look. Dan Heng’s narrowed eyes spoke first: Focus. You coughed, eyes darting away awkwardly. Caelus whistled under his breath, turning his grin into a tight-lipped hum. Mydei, for his part, just stared at you both.

Phainon glanced at Mydei, then at you. “What about me, then?”

Was he serious? Well, you were curious. And, well, fair was fair. So you stepped forward, a little too bold for your own good, pressing your hand to Phainon’s arm, just beneath the layered cloak. Solid. You pretended to check your wrist-guard as you withdrew your hand, face heating under Dan Heng’s silent judgment.

“Yeah, you’re… um. Sturdy.” You coughed again. “Moving on.”

With Mydei now at your side your group pressed deeper into the ancient corridors.

You met Castorice, she's beautiful in her own way, though she looked pale in your opinion. The fight was ugly. You mostly kept to the edges, rerouting your drone’s output, tossing makeshift barriers and feeding Caelus and Dan Heng the openings they needed.

When it was over, the ruins were eerily quiet again.

When you three stumbled back to your assigned quarters, you barely had the strength to peel off your gear before collapsing. Caelus snored first. Dan Heng slept near the door, half-sitting.

Hours later, you blinked awake to the low hum of the complex. No one else was up yet. Caelus drooled on his sleeve. Dan Heng’s breathing was as calm as ever.

Your curiosity wouldn’t let you stay still. You slipped your boots back on, checked your gun, and stepped out into the winding corridors.

You’d heard murmurs about a communal bathhouse here. You found it, well it was close to wherever you three are staying. You didn’t mean to linger, but the sheer number of people made you pause. Some bathed quietly, but most gathered around something in the middle, giggling and shouting.

That’s when you spotted him, a flash of silver hair slumped awkwardly near a low wall. His cloak was half undone, collar askew, eyes unfocused.

“You’ve got to be kidding me…” you muttered.

You pushed your way through the crowd and reached him just as he slumped sideways. You caught his arm, startled by how heavy he suddenly felt. His skin was burning hot where the steam had gotten under the layers of his uniform.

“Phainon? Hey! Don’t die on me!”

His eyes fluttered open, then squeezed shut again as you dragged him out through the haze, ignoring the curious stares behind you. Once in the open hall, you propped him against a pillar, pressing your palm to his forehead for a moment. Yes, still burning. You tugged at his cloak, loosening buckles and straps until he could breathe again.

After a few minutes, the sharpness returned to his eyes.

“I… appreciate your intervention.”

“What were you doing in there?” you asked, still holding onto his arm just in case he tried to tip over again.

“Observing..”

“Observing what? A sauna full of people cooking themselves?”

You pressed your palm to his forehead again. Still hot. You let out a sigh and leaned back, giving him space to breathe.

“Next time, observe from the doorway, yeah?”

Phainon just gave you a faint smile.

---

Caelus and Dan Heng were as reliable as ever, you knew that the moment you left them behind. If there were invaders left to chase off, they’d handle it. That freed you up to follow your own curiosity, straight into the heart of Okhema.

You’d heard whispers about the Chartonus Smithy. Rows of weapons lined the stone displays. You didn’t buy anything, not yet. But you ran your fingers along the crafted hilts, made notes like a kid in a candy store who knew they’d be dragging Caelus back here later to pick out something ridiculous together.

When you finally stepped back into Okhema’s streets, the dusk lights of Amphoreus caught the edges of the city, turning the rooftops to gold. Time to head back to your place.

You turned a corner and stopped dead in your tracks.

Phainon stood there.

“You shouldn’t be here, should you?”

“Shouldn’t I?”

“You look like you’re tracking someone. Or me. Which is it?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he glanced at the slip of alloy sticking out of your bag, a polished dagger blueprint you’d snagged at the smithy’s counter. His eyes lingered there, then drifted back to yours.

“I’ve struggled to protect Amphoreus for a long time,” he said finally, “Seeing others come.. it eases the burden.”

Your shoulders dropped a bit at that. The honesty surprised you.

You tried to wave it off, shifting your bag higher on your shoulder. “It’s nothing. It’s what we do.” You shrugged. “We’ll help however we can, for as long as we’re here.”

His eyes stayed on you. “I hope you can stay longer.”

You gave him a lopsided smile you didn’t quite feel. “Can’t promise that.”

A silence settled between you. The kind that made you think you might turn around later and see him still standing there.

You stepped backward, giving him a small wave as you turned to leave. “Go rest, Phainon.”

---

The Chrysos Heirs — that’s what people called them here. And right now? They're definitely busy. Busy having a break. One of those breaks was the so-called duel in the bath house. Honestly, duel was generous, it was closer to two bored dude bickering.

You’d stumbled in by accident. In the end, Mydei won.

When you rushed over, Phainon looked seconds from passing out. You muttered a few choice curses under your breath and hauled him upright, arm over your shoulder, ignoring how heavy he was draped across you.

But before you got two steps toward the corridor, Phainon straightened. His grip tightened around your wrist.

“I’m fine,” he murmured. “There’s no need—”

You knew that tone. The I didn’t lose, I allowed it tone. Which was exactly why your free hand slipped behind your back, reaching for the small device you’d been fiddling with at the smithy the night before, a short-range pulse tool, mostly for recharging drone cores but technically capable of shorting out a grown man’s nerves for a second if you calibrated it just right.

The zap cracked in the tiny space between you, a bright flicker of blue that danced up Phainon’s side and set his neat hair askew for half a heartbeat. His eyes widened, then rolled back as his legs buckled for real this time.

You caught him — again. Muttered another curse — again.

“Overly dramatic puppy.” you grumbled, dragging him back toward the hallways before anyone in the bath house could notice him knocked out cold in your arms.

You didn’t risk hauling him back to your own quarters. Instead, you nudged open the door to his room. You half-dropped, half-settled him onto the low-cushioned daybed near the window. Even unconscious, he looked like he’d chosen the pose on purpose - one arm draped neatly, hair falling across the pillow in a perfect arc.

You stayed for a while, not because you wanted to, you told yourself, but because you needed to see if your device’s timer actually held. Ten minutes? Twenty? Could you get thirty before the charge burned out?

So you sat on the floor beside him, back resting against the bed frame, your little shock device in your palm. You watched the slow rise and fall of his chest. And when his breathing hitched once, you flicked the switch again, just enough to send another soft pulse through the coils. He settled back down.

“Ohh, might be useful for future enemies. I'm a genius.”

You’d give him five more minutes before he woke up and pretended none of this ever happened.

If there was one thing you’d taken seriously from Miss Himeko, it was her cooking. Or at least, her unwavering faith that a good cup of tea could solve just about anything.

So when Phainon finally stirred awake, you decided to help him properly. You rummaged through the odds and ends you’d pocketed from the local market: dried roots, something like star anise, a vial of shimmering purple powder. You boiled it all together until the steam curled out of the tiny kettle. The result glowed a soft, suspicious purple. You sniffed it once. Himeko would approve, probably.

When you placed the cup in Phainon’s hands, he studied it like it might start to talk to him. Then he looked at you.

“You made this for me?”

You crossed your arms, leaning on the doorframe. “Miss Himeko says hot tea fixes everything.”

He raised the cup and took a sip. The steam curled around his hair, softening the angles of his face. He lowered the cup and gave you a polite nod: “It’s… exquisite.”

A heartbeat later, he froze. His eyes widened slightly. He blinked at the cup, then at you. Then he winced, one hand lifting to press at his temple.

“Phainon?”

He didn’t answer, just lurched forward off the bed, nearly knocking the cup from your hands as he braced himself against the sink nearby. A harsh, choked sound forced its way up his throat.

You swore under your breath. You grabbed his shoulder, steadying him as he doubled over. “Deep breaths, come on, out with it.”

When he finally threw up the shimmering tea, it looked like ink swirling down the drain. He coughed once, eyes watering, shoulders tense under your grip. You rubbed circles between his shoulder blades, muttering apologies.

When he pulled back from the sink, his skin was clammy, but then came a wave of heat.

“Stay still— hey, Phainon, stay still—” you muttered, pressing him gently back onto the bed. You swapped the empty teacup for a fresh one, normal water this time. You held it out to him. “Here.”

But he just stared at the cup, words slurring as he muttered something about the Titans.

“Phainon, focus!” You tapped the rim to his lower lip, nothing. He turned his face away with that dazed, stubborn grace that made you want to shake him and apologize at the same time.

You stared at the cup, then at him. Then you sighed, bracing yourself for the last terrible option.

You lifted the cup to your own lips, taking a sip of the water, just enough to hold in your mouth. Then you leaned down, one hand cupping the side of Phainon’s flushed face.

“Don’t bite me” you muttered under your breath, then pressed your lips to his.

The water passed slowly between you. When you pulled back, he looked at you like he wasn’t entirely sure where he was anymore. You wiped a drop from the corner of his mouth with your thumb.

When Phainon finally stopped fighting the strange haze in his head, you thought it was over. He lay back like he might drift to sleep for real this time. You’d done enough damage for one day, the cursed purple tea was out of his system, the water seemed to help, and the worst of the nausea was gone.

But the heat lingered. He shifted restlessly on the bed, one hand tugging at the collar of his robe as if it were strangling him. You grabbed the edge of his sleeve and shooed his fingers away, muttering under your breath, “Don’t you dare disrobe on me!”

He only cracked an exhausted laugh that faded into another low sigh, then his eyes flicked open,, focusing on you like you were the only thing that made sense.

“Your hand… is cool.”

You swallowed down the awkward knot in your throat and pressed your palm gently to his cheek, feeling the fever burning under his skin. You hesitated, then pressed your other hand to the side of his neck, fingertips brushing the rapid pulse beneath his jaw. He was scorching. He leaned into the touch like a cat.

But as the heat spiked, so did the strange flicker behind his eyes, his lips parted, mumbling half-formed words you couldn’t follow.

“Hey— Phainon! Focus.” you whispered, shifting to lift the water cup to his lips. He wouldn’t drink on his own, so you did it again. The moment the water touched his tongue he shuddered.

His hand slipped behind your neck pulling you into a deep kiss that startled the air right out of your chest. You yelped against him, your palm pressing instinctively to his chest to push him back. He didn’t flinch, only deepened the kiss, a muffled sound caught in his throat as your push pinned him halfway to the mattress.

Your mind reeled. What am I even doing. His heartbeat thundered under your palm, hotter than your own. His cloak slipped free under your elbow, half-off his shoulders now.

You forced yourself to break the kiss. “You’re— seriously—”

But before you could fully pull back, Phainon shifted, the weakened half-dream grip of a man whose body forgot its limits. He rolled, and suddenly you were the one pinned under him.

You bit down on the side of his neck, just enough to shock him. He flinched. You scrambled out from under him.

“Uh- So... I'll send someone over. Stay here.”

You needed backup. Reliable backup.

You ran as fast as you could, spotted Aglaea passing by.

“Aglaea— do me a favor—” you blurted. “It’s Phainon— he’s— got a fever. Weird one. Could you— maybe—”

You didn’t even finish.

“I’ll call for Hyacine.”

Good. You exhaled, pressing your palm to your chest where your heart still raced.

By the time Phainon’s fever finally broke, you’d half-convinced yourself he’d remember everything. But when he next found you, he didn’t bring it up at all.

----

When the three of you Caelus, Dan Heng got that flickering message from Himeko, it felt like your heartbeat had been dropped in ice water. « Be careful — that place… the records say—»

The signal flickered and died, leaving you staring at the screen.

Not five minutes later, your phone pinged with a new message - Screwllum: « Are you lingering on the Astral for a reason? »

You fired back: « Well, I'm on this place called Amphoreus — you heard of it? » The line flickered. The text bubble formed. Then it vanished mid-typing.

You found Phainon again later that evening at the Marmoreal Market. You almost missed him in the bustle, standing next to Mydei by a stall. Mydei’s massive arms crossed, whatever they talked about must’ve finished quickly, because Phainon glanced over your shoulder, spotted you, and gave Mydei a small nod of farewell.

Phainon approached. “I wished to apologize,” he said, “If… I did something that made you uncomfortable.”

There were a dozen ways you could answer, a dozen truths that might bury you both in awkward silence. Instead, you forced a shrug, ducking your head so he wouldn’t see how your ears turned pink. “It’s fine. Nothing happened. Nothing weird at all.”

Except for the fact I basically poisoned you and then made out with you to keep you hydrated.

Anyway, now that you mention it, I should test how you’d hold up against Himeko’s coffee next. If my tea nearly killed you, her brew might finish the job... Wait, what was I thinking...

Your mind drifted — flicking through Himeko and Screwlum’s message that never finished, something was definitely wrong. You barely noticed when Phainon reached up and plucked something from your hair. His fingers brushed your temple.

Your mind went traitorously blank. The sudden heat rose to your face before you could stop it.

“Gotta go— BYE!”

You clutched your phone tighter and ran off, reminding yourself Screwllum had tried to reach you for a reason.

A day after Screwllum’s message finally punched through the interference. Screwllum: « That place is not to stay. Leave before the link closes.»

Caelus and Dan Heng were already making plans, though they hadn’t said it outright yet. But you… you couldn’t stop thinking.

The more you learned, the more Amphoreus coiled around your curiosity like a living thing, and especially him. Phainon. What was he, really? A man? A machine?

You jotted down notes: — Flame Reaver: Dan Heng’s report. — Chartonus Smithy. — Phainon’s real identity.

Caelus and Dan Heng had left, Aglaea called them. That left you alone.

One thing you never told them both, you weren't a normal mechanic. Well, you like them, so you stayed on the Astral with a fake identity. You packed up your kit and were halfway to the door when you heard it: a soft click and the hush of robes brushing marble.

Phainon stood there. He held something carefully in both hands - small, round, cradled in a wrap of cloth.

“I knocked,” he said, “When no one answered, I thought… I would simply leave this.”

He extended it to you — an egg.

You took it.

“What is it?”

“A chimera.”

He turned to leave. But you didn’t want him to leave, not yet. Not when your mind was a tangle of answers half-buried in your notes. “Wait!”

He paused. You gestured him inside. “Tell me everything about the Chrysos Heirs.”

He hesitated at the threshold, that polite reluctance that said he would always defer if you gave him the chance. So you didn’t give him the chance. You set the egg down on your table then stepped closer. Close enough to see the faint blue shimmer under his eyes, the steady line of his throat.

He opened his mouth to speak and you moved first. Your palm brushed his wrist, pressing to the place you’d marked for this moment. You drew out the Dreaming Injector — your latest delicate invention. A click, the needle slid in. His knees gave way as the serum took hold, the last thing leaving his lips a soft exhale like falling rain.

You caught him, barely. He was heavy, you lowered him to the edge of your narrow bed. His hair brushed your shoulder as you eased him down, one arm draped awkwardly across your knee. Even unconscious, he looked composed. Like he could wake at any second and ask what you thought you were doing. But he didn’t.

You checked his pulse, breath, pupils. Good. The injector worked. You smoothed the wrap of his cloak aside. You sat beside him, your kit open on the floor. Maybe he really was just a man, but if Amphoreus had taught you anything, it was that nothing here stayed simple. Your pen scratched across your notes. Your other hand hovered over his chest, feeling that heat still radiating through the thin layers.

Just gather the data, you told yourself. Nothing more.

"I’m sorry for this." you murmured under your breath, not that Phainon could hear you. But you said it anyway.

You slipped your gloved fingers down the front of his robe. The ambient heat pulsed under your touch, your thumb brushing a peak where his skin twitched in response. Even unconscious, some buried instinct shivered under your palm, his breath catching once when your knuckles dragged lower.

You swallowed your hesitation. The reaction was there too, warmth stirring at the lightest press of your hand. You noted the sharp twitch, the faint flex of his thigh where it brushed your wrist.

Stimuli intact.

You leaned back, swapped tools, drew the next dose, a subtle stimulant mixed with your last calibration fluid. You pressed the injector to the soft skin of his inner arm. The serum vanished under his skin. He didn’t wake. Just breathed out, a faint shift of his hips against the bed. You smoothed his robes back down, the smallest shred of mercy for a test that probably made you worse than any invader he’d faced in centuries.

When he woke later, your chair was turned politely away, notes tucked under your palm. He stirred with a faint rustle of cloth.

“You fell asleep halfway through your story,” you said, “Long day, huh?”

You packed up your things, your mind already spinning ahead to what you might see next. He went back to his place.

Hours later, you sat crouched in a dim second-floor window across his room, your binoculars pressed to your brow. You were watching Phainon sitting rigidly on the edge of his bed.

The dose should have settled in by now. It shouldn’t hurt, you’d calculated that precisely, but you’d built it to test thresholds. How much could he really endure? The answer, apparently: a lot.

He stayed composed — back straight, hands folded in his lap. Once, he dragged a palm absently across his throat, his fingers curling tight, nails dragging at the fabric as if to bury the itch. But that was all.

You watched until the sky began to pale behind the roofs. By then, you already knew what you’d do next.

Morning, before anyone else stirred. You rapped your knuckles on Phainon’s door. A few beats later, it creaked open. He stepped aside wordlessly to let you in. He offered you water. You waved it off with a soft laugh, slipping past him into the small chamber that smelled faintly of last night’s candle wax.

“Actually — I’m here for a screw.”

You gestured vaguely at your wrist. “Fell out of my watch when you leaned on me, probably.”

Ever obliging, he dropped to one knee without protest, sweeping his long sleeves aside to check the narrow gap under the bedframe. You watched him carefully, the subtle tremor in his breath as he bent forward, the stiff line of his shoulders as the serum’s echo crawled along his nerves.

And when he reached deeper under the bed, his head turned away, you slipped the tiny vial from your sleeve, thumb flicking the stopper off the fine mist sprayer. A gentle puff — soft enough to vanish into the fabric of his collar. He froze mid-motion, then exhaled, body slumping, chin dipping to his chest as the soft, sweet haze pulled him down faster than the dreamer’s pulse had done last time.

You caught him again, steadying his shoulder before he folded fully onto the floor.

You glanced at the door, checked the latch, then let your eyes drift to the calm ruin of him sprawled at your knees.

Data first, you told yourself.

Amphoreus would keep its secrets, but you’d keep pushing.

You waited until his breathing evened out. The sleeping mist did its work perfectly. One test at a time. That’s what you told yourself, again and again, as you eased him fully onto the low bed. The stone floor was too cold, you needed him warm. Curse you, floor.

You pulled on your gloves. You tilted his chin up first, thumb brushing his lower lip open as you angled your penlight into the dark. No swelling in the throat, no unusual teeth. Normal. At least here. Good. You clicked off the light.

Next came the robes, it took you a while to get him ready. Layers peeled away carefully, the fabric folding into a neat pile on the bedside chair. He lay there exposed under the lamp. You can see the delicate line of muscle along his ribs, the faint twitch of a nerve under his navel. He was warm to the touch.

A light pinch to one nipple, your fingers rolling the peak until it stiffened under your touch. He didn’t flinch, but his breathing stuttered, chest rising sharper with each pass of your gloved thumb. Responsive. Normal. You noted the way his brow twitched, the smallest sound slipping from the back of his throat when your nails scraped lightly over the sensitive skin.

You worked lower, one hand bracing the sharp line of his hip, the other wrapping around him, fingers slick with carefully measured lubricant from your kit. You stroked him slow at first, watching for any sign that the dreamer’s haze might break. It didn’t. His hips flexed instead, instinct pushing up into your palm as your grip tightened, the warmth swelling under your careful press.

You tested the limits, the first pulse was quick, the sudden heat slicking your glove as he came with a soft, muffled sound caught behind his teeth. You paused, checked his pulse, brushed sweat-damp hair from his brow.

Sensitivity test.

You slicked your fingers again, pressed your palm flat against him until he twitched under the touch. The second wave built slower, hips rocking once, twice, a faint gasp curling from his throat as his body shuddered again.

“One more,” you whispered. “Just one more.”

You worked him mercilessly, every pass dragging him closer, your fingers slipping slick against his skin that twitched, flinched, begged silently with every low sigh that fell from his lips. When he came again, it was with a full-body tremor, sweat shining along his throat, his hands flexing uselessly against the sheets.

You checked his heartbeat again, fast, but steady. Good.

You sat back on your heels, taking your gloves off, your mind already cataloguing every tremor.

Nothing unsual spotted.

And yet, you couldn’t help the smallest ache in your chest when you brushed your knuckles against his jaw again.

One more test, you told yourself, then I’ll let him rest.

You opened the small velvet kit tucked in your bag. Sleek vibrators, custom-built, small enough to be hidden. You set them carefully, the metal still cool as you pressed the first tip gently in, watching the subtle clench of his muscles as you worked it deeper.

You left them off for now — invisible mode.

You climbed onto him carefully, straddling his hips, your knees bracing against the mattress, your weight pinning him in the softest mockery of control. He didn’t stir.

Next came the clothespins, well you were testing out your newest inventions so why not. You clipped one on each nipple, watched them darken and stiffen under the gentle pull. A soft, involuntary sound slipped from his throat.

You leaned forward, your tongue tracing the line of skin pulled taut by the pin, sucking gently until you felt him twitch under you. You worked them until they were swollen, flushed, helpless under your mouth. Then came the ointment, a thin layer brushed over each peak.

You shifted him upright, your palms bracing his shoulders, guiding his pliant body to sit half-slumped against the wall. One hand stayed wrapped around him, pumping slow strokes that dragged another low sound from his lips each time. When you felt him tighten, that subtle pulse that said the edge was near, you stopped. Let him twitch, breathe, whimper just once, then pushed him down again.

Ten times more, maybe. Okay maybe more than that, you couldn't remember.

Midway through, your phone's screen flickered Screwllum: « Report. Where are you? » You replied as your other hand curled around Phainon’s flushed length, stroking him halfway to another wave before stopping cruelly short. « Busy. Found the perfect specimen. Need more time. Will send results. » You set the phone aside.

When you were done, you wiped him clean. You dressed him carefully, layer by layer, you noticed his skin twitched at every brush of the fabric. The vibrators stayed hidden. You have no plan of using it now.

You slipped out the door, leaving him folded in sleep so deep he’d wake with no memory at all. You had results to file. And next time, maybe you’d see just how much further he could break.

----

You were talking about your theory with Dan Heng, but your mind kept drifting. To Phainon, obviously. Being a scientist, you couldn't rest until you find out the real cause of literally anything you set your mind on. You felt like you're just toying with him at the moment, but that wouldn't stop you from continue with whatever you're doing. You'll need to finish it yourself.

You three met Aglaea for the next urgent mission. Your eyes darted to Phainon. He seemed calm at first. But halfway through, you caught it: the subtle slackening of his posture, the way his eyes fluttered half-shut even as Caelus asked for explanation. You raised your hand before anyone could point it out. “Phainon looks exhausted. He can rest, we’ll handle the next target plan.”

No one questioned you. They trusted you with him.

You draped his cloak tighter around him, one arm at his back, guiding him through the halls while the stone corridors swallowed your footsteps. But once the others were out of sight, once you were sure no one would round the corner, your thumb slipped into your pocket and pressed the small hidden switch.

A silent pulse flickered through the signal in your palm. Deep inside him, the invisible hum answered. He slumped against you with a low, breathless sound, fingers digging at the fabric of your sleeve.

“Are you alright?” you asked, your tone laced with the faintest innocence.

You tucked him deeper into an alcove, your palm pressing flat to his chest to steady him. But you needed more. You glanced behind you, the old private bath just a few steps away. Perfect. You tugged him through, flipped the old wooden sign to tell people not to enter.

You pressed him to the wall, your hands running over his chest under the guise of checking his temperature, his heartbeat. His breathing hitched when you pressed your palm lower, brushing fabric that did nothing to hide the heat building underneath.

“Stay still for me.”

Your palm slid lower. When he came, it was muffled against your shoulder, his hips jerking once, twice, hot release soaking the fabric you pressed tight around him to keep it hidden.

“Close your eyes..” he whispered like it cost him everything to stay gentle. You obeyed. For a moment. Just long enough to peek again when you heard a desperate sound. Your eyes caught the subtle roll of his shoulders, the way he turned half-away, face flushed as he pumped himself.

He came again, the sound muffled in his palm as he locked eyes with you across the dim steam-lit corner.

“I didn’t mean to…” you started, but the lie faded when you stepped forward, your palm wrapping around him again, “But you need help, don’t you?”

He barely had time to nod when you sank to your knees, your fingers wrapping him tight as you guided him to your mouth. His gasp turned strangled when your tongue slid along him, the faintest tremor in his thighs as he braced against the wall.

He tried to stay gentle, you felt it, as if he didn’t dare break whatever fragile control still held him together. But when the vibrator inside him got the heat up, he bucked deeper as he spilled into your mouth.

“Spit it—”, but you’d already swallowed by instinct, “out..”

Your fingers pushed him back against the tile before he could say another word, your lips brushing the swollen peaks of his chest, tongue tracing the faint sheen of sweat until your teeth found the soft flesh of his nipple. He gasped, the sound half-strangled when you bit down, leaving a bright, sharp mark that would bruise if he looked for it later.

He shivered, twitching as you stroked him again.

“Stay still,” you murmured. “You’ll get better. Just trust me…”

Every new bite, every low hum of the thing inside him pushed him closer to unraveling completely.

“Keep your voice down,” you warned “You don’t want them to see you like this, do you?”

He shook his head, his fingers clutching at your shoulders. When you flicked the vibrator to its highest setting, the choked sound that left his throat told you everything you needed to know.

The private bath was warm, your breath misted faintly against Phainon’s flushed skin as you dragged your tongue across his chest one last time.

He shivered, hips twitching uselessly as you held him pinned with your knee between his thighs.

You pulled back just enough to reach for your next piece, a thin ring of metal. You don't know why you want to do this. Well, experimenting is never wrong. You stroked him once more, coaxing every last faint pulse of heat from him before slipping the device over him. He flinched and he realized how firmly it locked him down, no chance to rut into your palm again.

You leaned forward, your lips warm against the sweat-slick curve of his nipple, tongue circling slow until it hardened under your mouth. You sucked until he trembled, hips flexing uselessly under the trap you’d left him in.

“Y/n.. Y/n, please...”

His fingers tangled in your hair, a desperate tether as his head lolled back against the tile. When he leaned forward, you let him kiss you. Just as you expected, you pressed the tiny dissolving pill onto his tongue with your thumb, your teeth grazing his lip as you coaxed him to swallow it down. He obeyed instinctively, too far gone to think about the faint bitterness coating his throat.

You pulled back, your eyes flicking over his flushed chest, the tender peaks red from your teeth and tongue. You retrieved your next toys, some small, jelly-soft cups, one for each nipple. The suction was gentle at first, then tightening that made him twitch and gasp, hips jerking helplessly against the locked device you’d left on him.

When you were done, you stepped back. Nice. You nodded to yourself.

You helped him dress, cloak folded carefully to hide the subtle twitch of his body as the jelly cups pulsed gently under his robes. The pill already dragging him down into that soft, drifting sleep you’d planned for him.

You guided him through the corridors, one arm around his waist to keep him steady. He said nothing, just let himself be led like a half-conscious ghost until you reached his chambers. You laid him down on the bed, smoothed the hair from his brow, checked his pulse.

You settled in the chair beside his bed, your kit open in your lap, your notes spread out under the faint flicker of your penlight.

“Check, check.. Let's see what should we do next...”

You adjusted the signal on your tablet, the small receivers hidden inside the jelly cups and the ring sending back soft pulses of heartbeat, tiny electric signals mapping every flicker of his nerves as they twitched helplessly against the constraints you’d left him in.

Develop the senses, your pen scratching notes beside his steady, muffled breathing. Rebuild the vessel.

One test at a time, genius.

You finally showed a content smile.

“I'm so good at this.”

And when he stirred, shifting faintly in his sleep as the cups tugged at him, the locked ring humming its faint warning when his body tried to push uselessly for release, you only watched.

“Not now, Phainon.”

---

He woke slowly, the faintest tug at his wrists telling him he wasn’t free. Cool stone under his back, the faint hush of your breathing close. He turned his head, tried to speak, to ask why — but the words dissolved in the hush between you.

“Alright, I'm almost done. I'll be leaving soon.” You smiled “If you really don’t want it.. I'll let you go. But—” You leaned closer and loosened the restraints. “You don’t get to come. Endure it. Prove you can.”

He stared at you. You traced your finger under his jaw, then stepped back, letting him sit up.

You pulled the small illusion projector from your sleeve, flipped the tiny switch that shimmered the air around him in a gentle ripple of false cloth. On the inside, he was bare, every brush of the cool air across his flushed skin a reminder that only you knew he was like this.

“I invented this for a customer, I told him he was crazy. But seeing you in this, maybe it's not a bad idea.”

You guided him to the door, your hand pressing flat against the small of his back, you whispered against the shell of his ear. “Go on. Let’s see how long you can endure this.”

Outside, the Marmoreal Market, people come and go.

Then you flicked the signal. Deep inside him, the trio of slender vibrators buried where he couldn’t reach vibrated, making his knees buckle for half a second before he steadied himself with a sharp inhale. His knuckles whitened where he brushed a hand along the low stall wall, covering the way his hips twitched under the false drape of his projected cloak.

He nearly collided with a small cluster of children, three of them darting around him, giggling as they bumped against his side. You only smiled at him, stepping closer, brushing your palm along the curve of his lower back as if to steady him.

The pulse inside him grew stronger. Every few steps you’d let your fingers brush his arm, his ribs, the faint swell under his navel where the tremor inside him left his muscles taut. He breathed through his nose, relieved a half-choked gasp when you leaned close enough to whisper: “I'm not done yet.”

He made it almost to the edge of the market. So close. So close to passing your test.

You let him think he’d won, one more turn, a narrow corridor, then you pressed your palm to his chest, your thumb flicking sharply over the hidden peak under his clothes.

He buckled. A low, raw sound slipped free, half-moan, half-breathless choke as the trapped heat inside him surged. His hips stuttered, the illusion flickering faintly before the projector compensated, his real naked skin flushed under layers only you could peel away.

“Failed.” you murmured, your voice so soft it made his thighs tremble where they brushed yours. You hooked your finger under the choker at his throat, tugged him forward until your lips crashed into his, your tongue stealing every broken whimper before he could swallow them down.

Your other hand worked him mercilessly, stroking him slow at first, then faster, your palm slick with the heat you’d built in him. He broke the kiss to gasp your name.

“I thought you didn’t like this…” you breathed against his mouth, your thumb brushing the edge of his flushed tip, your grip stroking faster. “So why do you look like you’re begging for it?”

He shuddered, hips jerking helplessly under your touch, the hidden vibrators inside him now thrumming at their highest pitch.

You dragged your teeth along his jaw, nipping at the soft skin just under his ear as your hand twisted around him.

“Be quick now,” you whispered, tongue flicking against the shell of his ear as your other hand tugged his choker tight enough to make him gasp. “Or someone might come around the corner. They’d see you like this.. fucked open and drooling for it. Is that what you want?”

He couldn’t answer. His body answered for him - thighs trembling, his voice lost in the soft echo of the corridor as he came apart in your hand, the illusion flickering just enough to let the raw flush of his skin slip through.

You caught his mouth again, swallowing the last shuddering sound as his knees gave way, your grip the only thing keeping him upright while his mind spiraled somewhere you’d built for him.

“Y/n L/n, member of the Genius Society. Pleasure to be working with you.”

----

The marble floors of his house were still warm from the afternoon sun when you shoved him through the door, your palm pressed flat between his shoulder blades, “Inside.”

He obeyed, steps echoing through the polished corridor until you pushed him through the bathroom threshold. You meant to wash him.

You turned on the taps, steam billowing as the water filled the carved stone basin. The moment you dragged a damp cloth over his chest, you felt it, the subtle twitch under your palm, the heavy pulse that told you he’d hardened again just from the heat of your touch.

Before you could push him down again, he moved, his hands wrapping around your wrist, pulling you forward so abruptly that you stumbled. The warm water splashed up your sleeves, soaking through your collar as he dragged you right into the bath with him.

The hiss of your slap echoed off the stone, his cheek flushing faintly pink where your fingers had left their mark.

“Don’t forget,” your fingers curling under his chin to force him to look at you. “I’m the only one who decides how far this goes. Not you. Understand?”

He nodded. He stayed still when you turned your back to him, slipping into the bath properly this time. But the moment your spine brushed against him, the slick heat of the water drawing your skin tight, he twitched again, grinding helplessly against you.

You let him, for a moment. Let him rut clumsily until the tremor shuddered through him and he came, soft and muffled under his breath, his forehead pressed to the back of your neck. You didn’t turn around. You stand, peeling off your wet clothes piece by piece, feeling his eyes drag over every inch of skin you’d hidden until now. You didn’t look at him as you cleaned yourself.

When you stepped out, you toweled yourself dry, then dragged him out too, wiping the damp from his chest, his throat, the faint pink welt still high on his cheek. You did feel guilty though, seeing him looking at you with such sad puppy eyes.

You pulled one of his shirts from a nearby hook. On you, it smelled faintly of him.

Later, you went out of the bathroom to take you kit. When you got in the room again, you pressed him back against the wall, flicked open your kit and released two small machine-bugs, slick and jelly-soft. They crawled to his nipples, the subtle hum of their tiny motors latching on, forming a soft vacuum that made him twitch.

You’d just adjusted the seal when a voice echoed faintly through the house. Mydei.

“You in there?”

Your head snapped up, your palm bracing against Phainon’s chest.

“Answer him.”

You slipped behind the half-open bathroom door, pressing your back to the cool marble as you watched him shuffle to the entrance. He cleared his throat once “Yeah, I'm busy.”

Mydei laughed, the sound drifting through the small gap. “Busy? Since when do you lock yourself up?”

You slipped up behind Phainon then, so quiet he barely flinched when your fingers hooked into the hem of your shirt, pushing it up just enough. You pressed against him, the softness of your hips fitting to his length again as you guided him lower.

“You can use me. But keep your voice down.”

He hesitated. Obviously, you just wanted to tease him, but he let the heat took over.

You clenched down around him, your breath catching as you forced him deeper, the quiet slide muffled by the soft fabric still tangled at your waist. His hands gripped the doorframe, words caught in his throat as you rocked your hips back, forcing him to grind deeper inside you.

Mydei kept talking. Every word blurred at the edges when Phainon choked out a reply. Each time he stumbled over a word, you clenched tighter. His breath stuttered, his words caught halfway through your name but he swallowed it down, sweat slicking his hair to his temple.

When Mydei’s footsteps finally faded, you didn’t let Phainon pull away. You dragged him back into the half-dark of the bathroom, your palm bracing his chest as you rocked harder, the slap of skin muffled under the hum of the bugs still latched tight to his nipples.

You pressed your mouth to his, swallowed the moan when he came undone inside you, warmth spilling deep while his chest heaved, the devices buzzing mercilessly until he collapsed half against the tile.

“Good job.”

When you told him to keep the bugs on, he’d nodded, obedient as ever.

----

Two days later, the signal from the Express had gone quiet again. Nothing went your way. You’d lingered at the edge of the Eternal Holy City, half-thinking about the flame reaver the boys had mentioned, half-lost in the memory of Phainon’s breathless gasps pressed under your palm.

You found him coming back to his place from somewhere, probably Aglaea called for him. You trusted in whatever she's doing, she's not a threat to you.

Phainon sort of paused when he saw you coming his way. You could see the faint flush in his cheeks, the soft tremor in his steps when he opened the door to you. He didn’t even ask why you were there, just stepped aside, letting you in.

“Sit.”

He obeyed, folding neatly to his knees at your feet, eyes flicking from the small cake to your face like he was searching for some hidden permission.

“Y/n... I... I want to do it.”

You turned, patted his head lightly.

“Later,” you hummed, half-turning back to the door. “I only brought you dessert.”

“Wasn’t I good enough?” he asked suddenly.

You paused, your fingers still on the door. Then you turned, dragging your eyes over the soft drape of his robes, the faint flicker of defiance trying so hard to spark under that half-ruined self-control.

You stepped forward, brushing his cheek. Then you reached for the slim tool strapped under your sleeve, the small, precise edge of your laser cutter flickering to life with a quiet whirr.

“Stay still.”

He didn’t move when you pressed the warm hum of the blade to the soft fabric at his groin, sliced a neat line where the heavy folds of his trousers hid him from your view.

“This still works, what a surprise.”

You ruined his clothes anyway.

You set the blade aside, lifted the small cake from its box. You caught his eyes, held them there as you dipped your fingers into the frosting, then smeared it, swirl along the length of him.

A faint, strangled gasp slipping out as the cool sweetness met the raw heat of his skin. Your thumb dragged, smearing the cream over the tip, pressing just enough friction. It didn’t take long, the soft smear of frosting mixing with the sharp warmth of him as he spilled against your palm, hips bucking helplessly into the slow drag of your touch.

You paused, studied him. Then you brought your fingers to your lips — the faint taste of sugar and salt on your tongue before you swallowed it down, eyes never leaving his. You hadn’t planned to, but the look on his face made you want him to know you’d taken everything from him.

He shuddered, a soft, helpless sound at the back of his throat that might’ve been your name. You pressed your palm to his cheek, then cleaned him up with a towel.

“On the floor.”

With his knees spread, back straight, eyes half-hopeful when he watched you uncoil the next piece from your kit.

A slender mechanical snake, slick segments glistening faintly under the light, a soft hiss of pistons when you primed the internal motor. It flickered in your hand. You pressed the smooth tip to him. You guided it down, watched it swallow him inch by inch, the soft internal chambers pulsing around him until he whined, hips rolling forward before your palm pressed him firmly back. The machine sealed tight, released cool fluid inside that made him flinch as it soaked him in artificial slickness, its sensors hidden in the inner rings mapping every twitch.

His hands clutching at the carpet, thighs trembling as the device squeezed around him. When he shifted like he wants to remove his clothes, you slapped his wrist away.

“Leave them on. I like you like this.”

Every time the snake contracted around him, milking him slowly, coaxing him to spill over and over, you'd record it through your pen to measure which area is the most sensitive of his.

Each pulse drew more heat from him, the faint sound of liquid cycling through the tubes as the device collected every drop. Your head tilted as you made more notes on your datapad, eyes flicking to his flushed throat where his choker still rested.

He came again, and again, until the soft mechanical coils slackened, the faint light inside flicking to green to signal its reservoir full. The hum faded, leaving only his ragged breath echoing in the hush of the room.

You reached forward, brushing your palm over his hair.

“Well done.”

You were setting the specimen cylinder down on the side table, carefully logging the seal with your thumbprint, your mind already shifting through what calibrations you’d run next. Right, his blood.

Then you felt it, the subtle noise as he moved closer. His palm ghosting over your waist at first, then it turned frantic. He easily tugged down piece of your clothing.

“Phainon—” you started, your hand flying up to push him off you, but you barely got the name out before his hips slammed forward.

His fingers dug into your hips, he rocked into you, each thrust clumsy and desperate, his forehead pressed to your shoulder as he panted your name.

“Stop—” your breath hitching as another deep thrust forced your body forward. “Phainon, stop this—”

But he didn’t, he didn’t even pause when you shoved at his wrist, only moaned your name louder.

Your voice dropped into a warning growl “Someone could come in— they’ll see you like this—”

But he only laughed, his hips snapping harder as his voice shivered against your neck: “Let them. I don’t care. You’re mine.” His words dissolved as he pushed deeper, the tip of him brushing so deep inside you.

When he came, the heat of him spilling deep enough you had to brace both palms on the edge of the bed just to hold yourself steady while he pulsed out every last drop. His breath came in ragged, his hands still clutching your hips.

You grabbed his hair, forced him to lift his head, “Look what you did.”

You turned, forcing him back with your palm, making him watch as you slipped your fingers in and scraped every warm drip of him back out.

You wiped your fingers clean, flicked the mess into the basin nearby, then reached for his shirt, the only piece left intact after he’d shredded yours. You slipped it on, the fabric hanging loose over your hips.

Then you pointed to the floor at your feet. “On your knees. Now.”

He listened, but his eyes never left yours as he lowered himself until he was kneeling where you pointed, his thighs spread wide enough that you could see the faint tremor still twitching along the base of him.

You stepped closer, lowered yourself, one hand tangling in his hair to yank his head back just enough to see your eyes. Then your other hand came down hard across the curve of his ass, the sharp crack echoing through the hush of the room. You struck him again, just enough force to see the pale skin flush red under your palm.

“You don’t get to take what you want,” your fingers digging into his jaw to force him to hold your gaze. “You’ll earn it. Or you’ll crawl for it.”

You gave another sharp slap, his hips jerking forward as the pain seared through him.

His apology came out as he knelt there, skin flushed, eyes glassy under the soft light glow. You tilted your head, pretending to listen, your fingers slipping down to brush along the slick head of his cock.

He flinched, hips twitching up into your touch before you pushed him back down. Your thumb dragged over the tip, enough to tease out another shuddering moan. When his hips bucked again — chasing your touch — you wrapped your hand around his balls instead, squeezing just enough that the desperate wave building in him slammed to a halt with a helpless, broken whimper.

“Not yet.” your thumb pressing firmly under the base to keep him from spilling even a drop. He trembled under your palm.

You brushed his shirt aside, exposing the soft, flushed peaks you’d come to claim as yours. You leaned down, lips wrapping around one nipple, tongue swirling in circles while your teeth scraped just enough to make him cry out.

The wet pull of your mouth, the faint suction, the way your tongue flicked until the sensitive peak tightened like it wanted to feed you something he didn’t even have to give. His voice cracked, your name tumbling out, raw and breathless as his hips rolled uselessly, desperate for the permission you still hadn’t given.

Your lips brushing the edge of his ear as you murmured, “Now.”

He didn’t hesitate, never did when you dropped the leash.

When he was all exhausted, you tucked him to bed and slipped free.

---

You and Caelus were following the clues sent by Screwllum.

The connection had been dead for days, but you were more than capable of getting it back in no time.

Caelus nudged your shoulder. “So… what’s with him?”

You followed his gaze, catching on the figure slipping closer.

Phainon, his hair was damped from sweat, uniform half-undone where new bruises bloomed under his collar. Probably back from a fight. But it wasn’t the bruises you watched, it was his eyes.

“Is he… angry at me?” Caelus asked, blinking at Phainon’s stare.

“Maybe.”

You caught Phainon’s eyes, tilted your head just enough to draw him closer, your fingers curling in a slow come here motion that made Caelus blink again in confusion.

“You go ahead,” you said to Caelus. “I’ve got unfinished business to handle.”

Caelus gave you a look — that half-teasing suspicion — but shrugged it off “Don’t take too long, or Dan Heng will chew us both out.”

You turned just in time to feel Phainon’s shadow fall over you. You reached up and brushed the stray lock of silver hair from his eyes. Your fingertips lingered at his temple, brushing the sweat-damp strand behind his ear.

He shuddered under that tiny touch. His arms slid around you, pulling you in until you felt the sharp tremor under his ribs. His forehead pressed to yours, his breath catching when your other hand slipped down until your palm ghosted over the heavy, twitching heat between his legs.

He gasped — a soft, broken plea spilling out against your cheek. “Please…”

You could feel it, the raw need pressed hard into your palm, the faint shudder when you squeezed, just enough to feel him pulse against your fingers.

You clicked your tongue, your thumb pressing firm at his base, forcing him to feel every ounce of your control as you leaned in close enough for your lips to brush his ear.

“Behave. Or I’ll make sure the whole city sees what you really are.”

You pressed one last, mocking kiss to his forehead.

Your work on Amphoreus was done. You’d carved out exactly what you needed from this place.

282 notes · View notes

altumsomnum · 19 hours ago

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Parker x someone named Simon and bY GOSH GOLLY GOD PARKER CANT NOT DO WHAT SIMON SAYS

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altumsomnum · 22 hours ago

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I had a dream about Phainon today and it inspired me (it was innocent okay 😭)

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altumsomnum · 22 hours ago

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hiii ate yukkiji!! I'm thinking of something to request—an Atsumu angst fic? Like their relationship is on the brink of a breakup because he's gotten so busy lately, to the point he forgot their anniversary. Then reader couldn't take it anymore. Can be hurt/comfort ot hurt no comfort, your choice!! Thank youuuu💕

when love isn't enough

you never stopped loving atsumu, but somewhere between his dreams and your patience, you forgot how to hold on to your own self

starring. miya atsumu x fem!reader

genre. angst.

wc. 6.3k

author's note: i'm sorry that this request took so long since eventhough i write angst, it's not really my forte huhu

The clock was ticking in the silence of your shared apartment.

You were sitting down at the dining table with the cake—a small one, barely enough for two. Vanilla, with strawberries on top. He always liked it simple.

Your makeup was still intact, somehow. Though your lashes were heavy, your lipstick was untouched. The dress—soft, deep wine red with a low back and lace detail—was something you'd kept hidden for weeks. Just for tonight. Just for him.

You imagined how his face would light up when he saw you in it. How his hands would sneak around your waist, tug you close, whisper something teasing in your ear. “God, ya look like a dream.”

But there was no hand. No voice.

Just you, alone in the dim light.

Your phone buzzed once earlier, a missed notification from a group chat. Not him.

You glanced at the clock. 11:23 PM.

You sighed softly, lips curling upward—not in joy, not even in amusement—but in that sad, pathetic way you smile when you're trying to hold yourself together for no one but yourself.

Then you leaned forward and blew out the candles.

The room felt colder when they disappeared. Quiet.

You reached for the knife and cut a slice for yourself. Not out of hunger. You hadn’t really tasted anything lately. But it felt worse to leave it untouched.

You took a bite.

You took your phone out, not expecting much—just the habitual numb scroll through stories, a reflex more than anything else.

Your thumb paused when you saw it.

Osamu’s story. Posted just a few hours ago.

It was a photo of a dinner table cluttered with empty plates and beer cans, laughter frozen in the shot. In the background, you could see Atsumu, head thrown back mid-laugh, still in his practice shirt, cheeks flushed from the alcohol and good company.

You tapped the sound on.

“Oi, Atsumu—don’t choke on that,” Osamu’s voice echoed over the short video. Someone else snorted in the background. Atsumu leaned in toward the camera, clearly tipsy, grinning wide.

“M’fine, shut up—ya’re all just jealous I got the biggest contract!”

The video cut out.

Your chest felt heavy.

He looked so...happy. Carefree. As if he had nothing waiting for him at home. No occasion. No you.

You set the phone down on the table, screen-down like it had offended you.

It wasn’t anger that burned in your throat. It was something quieter. He hadn’t just forgotten—he’d chosen where to be. Chosen where to pour his laughter.

It would’ve been fine if it was the first time. If this had been a one-off, a fluke in the chaos of his career. You could’ve forgiven that. You had, before.

But it kept happening. Again and again.

Late nights with no calls. Missed dinners. Canceled plans. You, sitting alone in places where he promised he’d meet you. You, keeping quiet. You, making excuses—for him, to him, even to yourself.

You’d tell yourself, he’s tired, it’s not easy being in his shoes, he still loves you.

But love stopped feeling like warmth and started feeling like waiting. Like being on the other end of a phone that never rings. Like dressing up for someone who never comes home. Like blowing out candles by yourself.

And tonight, you couldn’t lie to yourself anymore.

This wasn’t about a forgotten anniversary.

This was about being forgotten at all.

You settled down the plate with the finished cake, your fork scraping gently against the porcelain as you pushed it aside. Quietly, you stood, wrapping the rest of the untouched dessert and placing it into the refrigerator with mechanical motions—one hand, one breath at a time.

The apartment felt colder now. The silence was no longer peaceful—it was hollow.

You turned off the kitchen lights and walked down the hallway, the soft click of your heels echoing against the wooden floor. Your bedroom was just ahead. All you wanted now was to take off the dress, wipe away the last of your makeup, and disappear.

Then the entrance door creaked open.

Your steps froze mid-stride.

Keys clinked against the bowl by the door. A bag dropped with a dull thud. You didn’t turn around.

“Shit—why’s it so dark?” came his voice. Slurred slightly. Tired, maybe. Maybe tipsy. Maybe both.

You didn’t speak. Just stood there in the hallway, fingers curling slightly against the fabric of your dress.

Atsumu stepped further inside, the shuffle of his sneakers muffled by the rug. You could hear him notice the faint scent of candle wax, the leftovers of something special long since put away.

Then— “Wait…fuck.”

He realized.

You still didn’t turn around. Not yet.

Not when it was too late.

Atsumu saw you standing at the end of the hallway, your silhouette bathed in the faint amber glow of the bedroom light behind you. You hadn’t moved—frozen in place, arms wrapped loosely around yourself, like you were holding in whatever strength you had left.

His gaze trailed over you—your hair still done, makeup intact, and that dress. That dress. The one he remembered saying he wanted to see you in someday. And tonight, you’d worn it for him.

“Baby… you’re all dressed up,” he said softly, as if it only just dawned on him what tonight was supposed to be. His steps faltered. “Shit, did I—was tonight—?”

“Don’t,” you whispered, voice barely audible over the distance between you.

He blinked. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t act surprised.”

Your voice was calm. Too calm. The kind that came after hours of holding everything back.

“I waited,” you said. “From sunset until now. I waited with the cake. With candles. With music. I waited dressed like this, hoping you'd just come home.”

“Baby, I didn’t mean to—”

“But you did.” Your eyes lifted to meet his. “You meant to go out. You meant to stay out. You meant to laugh and drink and forget what today was.”

He stepped forward, reaching out. “I didn’t forget—I just—things ran late, and I—”

You stepped back. “Don’t lie to me, Tsumu. Not tonight.”

The silence that followed was sharp.

“I saw Osamu’s story,” you said quietly. “You looked happy. Carefree. Like nothing was waiting for you back here.”

His face crumpled slightly, but no excuse left his lips.

“I didn’t ask for anything big,” you continued. “I didn’t need a hotel or a five-star dinner. Just you. Just your time. Just us.”

He opened his mouth—then closed it.

“I don’t even know why I bothered dressing up,” you laughed bitterly. “You didn’t even notice the damn dress until now.”

“I did. I notice. I swear, I do,” he said, desperation lacing his voice now. “You look beautiful.”

“It’s not about looking beautiful, Atsumu.” Your voice cracked. “It’s about being seen.”

That shut him up.

You turned then, fingers trembling as they reached for the zipper at the back of your dress.

“Where are you going?” he asked, like the question wasn’t too little, too late.

You didn’t face him.

“Packing up my things, Atsumu.”

Silence. Then—“What? No, wait—what are you talkin’ about?”

You stepped into the bedroom, pulled open the closet with practiced restraint. The rustle of fabric, the scrape of a suitcase being dragged from under the bed—it all sounded too loud in the quiet that followed.

Atsumu appeared in the doorway, disheveled and wide-eyed, like the weight of it was only just starting to land on him.

“You’re not serious,” he said, voice unsteady. “You’re not leavin’, right? Baby, please. Just—just talk to me.”

You folded a blouse. Then another.

“I’ve tried talking to you,” you said, your voice dull, tired. “For weeks. Months, even. But you were never really here.”

“I’m here now—”

“Now,” you cut him off, sharp. “When I’m finally done. When there’s nothing left to celebrate or salvage.”

You turned to face him then, eyes shining—not from hope or love, but from exhaustion. From the way trying to hold onto him had worn you down, thread by aching thread.

“Atsumu, this isn’t the first time.” Your voice shook, and so did his breath.

“I would’ve forgiven you. God, I wanted to. I tried. I tried so hard to understand everything—to be patient, to tell myself you were just busy, that it wasn’t personal, that you’d come back to me.”

You took a shaky step closer, not to close the distance, but to be sure he heard every word.

“But I’ve been understanding you for so long I forgot how to stand up for me.”

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“I swallowed the loneliness. I let it rot in me quietly. I blew out birthday candles alone. I celebrated small wins by myself. I’ve cried into pillows so you wouldn’t hear when you finally came home.”

Your voice cracked then, just once. But it was enough.

“I kept loving you even when you forgot how to love me back.”

His expression shattered, grief spilling out too late, too loud, too broken.

“I never stopped loving you,” he choked.

You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes.

“Maybe not. But you stopped showing it. And that’s what made the difference.”

Atsumu stepped closer before you could pull away, before you could put another wall between you and the love that used to be enough. His arms wrapped around you from behind—tight, desperate, trembling.

You froze.

The heat of his chest pressed against your back, his head bowed between your shoulder blades like he couldn’t bear to look you in the eye.

Your shoulders felt damp.

It wasn’t until you heard the broken inhale that you realized—he was crying.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice wrecked and hoarse. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry, baby.”

You stood there, breathing uneven, heart thudding painfully against your ribs. His fingers dug into the fabric of your coat like he was terrified you’d slip through them if he loosened his grip.

“I thought I had more time,” he choked out. “I thought I was doing enough. I didn’t—I didn’t see how far I was pulling away.”

You closed your eyes. The tears on your shoulders burned.

“It’s not just about tonight, Tsumu,” you said quietly. “It’s about all the nights you never showed up.”

“I know,” he said, barely audible. “I know I messed up. I know I don’t deserve you waitin’ anymore, but please—don’t go. Don’t go like this.”

His voice cracked on the last word, and you felt it—his chest trembling against your back, like his whole body was unraveling, collapsing inward under the weight of everything unsaid and far too late.

And it hurt.

God, it hurt.

Because you still loved him.

He was still the man you fell for. The man who made you laugh until your sides ached, who held your hand under café tables, who promised you the world in quiet moments between games and crowded arenas. The man you built a future around—shared toothpaste with, shared mornings with, shared dreams with.

He was still the man you loved.

And that made it worse.

Because love wasn’t the problem. It never had been.

It was everything else—the silence, the absence, the way you kept reaching out and finding nothing on the other side. It was the dinners eaten alone. The anniversaries forgotten. The promises that turned into excuses.

It was the fact that love wasn’t enough when it wasn’t shown. When it wasn’t fought for.

And now, here he was, breaking down behind you, arms clinging to you like a lifeline he’d only just realized was slipping away.

But you weren’t sure if you could save him this time.

Not without losing yourself.

“I’ll fix this, baby,” he pleaded, voice shaking as he buried his face against your shoulder. “Just—don’t leave me. Please.”

His grip tightened like he was trying to fuse himself to you, like holding you hard enough would somehow erase the nights he didn’t. His breath was ragged, his words rushed and uneven.

“I know I fucked up,” he whispered, “I know I did. But just—give me a chance to make it right. I’ll do anything. I’ll change everything. Just don’t walk away from me.”

Your eyes fluttered shut.

Because god, hearing him like this—raw, wrecked, desperate—it tore you apart. A part of you wanted to turn around, to wrap your arms around him and say it was okay. To say you’ll be okay.

But that would be a lie. And you’d told yourself you wouldn’t lie for love anymore.

You swallowed the lump in your throat.

“Atsumu,” you said softly, not cruelly. Just honestly. “You keep saying you’ll fix it. But every time I stay, I’m the only one trying.”

He didn’t say anything—he just held you tighter, like silence could make up for everything.

But it couldn’t. Not anymore.

You turned around and faced him.

His arms dropped to his sides as if the simple act of looking at you knocked the breath from his lungs.

His usual cheerful self—so loud, so bright, so undeniably Atsumu—was gone. No smirk. No cocky charm. No playful glint in his eyes.

Just him. Raw and devastated.

Eyes red, lashes damp, lips parted like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how. His brows were drawn tight, and the crease between them—the one that only ever showed when he was truly overwhelmed—was deep.

It hurt.

It hurt in ways you couldn’t name.

Because even now, even after everything, your heart still twisted at the sight of him like this. He looked like a boy who'd lost his way. Like someone who only just realized the warmth he’d taken for granted was now standing with one foot out the door.

“Atsumu...” you whispered, voice cracking around his name.

He looked at you like you were the last thing he had left to hold onto.

And maybe you were.

But your heart didn’t know whether to reach for him or finally let go.

His eyes were glassy—a mirror to yours. A reflection of every quiet night you'd spent holding back tears, of every moment you'd stared at the door wondering if he’d remember to come home. Now he stood in front of you, eyes just as broken, just as full.

You inhaled shakily, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I love you so much, Atsumu.”

And you did. Even now, even after everything. You loved him in a way that made your chest ache and your hands tremble. Loved him so deeply that walking away felt like tearing your own heart out.

His breath hitched, lips parting as if those words physically struck him.

“Then don’t leave me,” he said, stepping closer. “I’ll leave volleyball if that’s what you want. I swear—if that’s what it takes to keep you, I’ll walk away from all of it.”

Your eyes widened, the weight of his words crashing over you like a wave.

“Atsumu,” you said, pain threading your voice, “I never asked you to give up your dreams.”

“I don’t care about the game if you’re not in the stands anymore,” he said, voice cracking. “It means nothin’ if I come home and you’re not here. None of it matters without you.”

You shook your head, tears slipping silently down your cheek.

“That’s the problem,” you whispered. “You only remembered what matters when you were about to lose it.”

“My dream is being with you,” he said, voice trembling, eyes desperate—like if he said it enough, you’d believe him more than he believed it himself.

You reached up, brushing away a tear that had finally slipped free.

“I know, Tsumu,” you whispered, “but volleyball is also your everything.”

“I can leave it behind,” he said quickly. Too quickly. Like it was a decision he’d throw out just to keep you from walking away.

“Atsumu, no.”

He flinched at the firmness in your voice.

You took his hands, slowly, gently—like holding something fragile.

“I might mean as much to you as volleyball does. Maybe even more right now. And that’s… that’s everything to me. But I never asked you to stop.” You blinked back the burn in your eyes. “I never wanted to be the reason you gave up the thing you’ve built your entire life around.”

His fingers curled around yours tightly, as if he was scared letting go meant losing you completely.

You looked up at him, voice soft but resolute.

“I wanted to grow beside you. Not be what you sacrificed.”

He swallowed hard. “But if it’s the only way I get to keep you—”

“It’s not,” you cut in, shaking your head. “What I needed wasn’t for you to quit. I just needed to stop feeling like I came second.”

And for the first time, he understood. Not just with his ears—but with his heart.

You didn’t want to take his dream away. You never did. All you ever wanted was to be included in it. To be remembered when the crowds faded, when the court emptied, when the adrenaline wore off.

Your chest ached as you looked at him—tear-stained and silent, eyes pleading like he didn’t know how to exist without you.

You reached up and cradled his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing against the wet streaks on his cheeks. Your lips quivered as you leaned your forehead against his.

“God, Atsumu,” you whispered, voice breaking. “I love you so much it hurts.”

And it did. Deeply. Fully. Enough to make this harder than anything you’d ever done.

He closed his eyes, like he wanted to live in those words forever.

But you weren’t finished.

Your voice softened to something even more fragile. Something that barely made it past your lips.

“But if I continue to stay, Atsumu… I’ll lose myself.”

His eyes snapped open.

“I’m already slowly losing it,” you said, a tear slipping down your cheek. “Every time I choose to understand you and push my needs aside, every time I wait and hope and pretend it doesn’t hurt—I disappear a little more.”

He shook his head slowly, hands trembling as they gripped your waist. “No… no, please, don’t say that.”

“I have to,” you whispered. “Because I need you to hear it this time. Before it’s too late.”

Atsumu looked at you—really looked at you—and his heart splintered at the sight.

Your tears were falling now, slow and silent, tracing the curve of your cheeks like they had nowhere else to go but down. There was no yelling. No dramatic breakdown. Just quiet, aching sorrow. And somehow, that made it so much worse.

It hurt.

God, it hurt him to see you like this.

But what tore him apart—what made his throat tighten and his knees weak—was knowing he was the reason. That the person standing in front of him, shattered and exhausted, wasn’t crying because of the world or some cruel stranger.

It was because of him.

And that broke every part of the boy he used to be.

He remembered. High school. That day he found you crying behind the gym after some girls said something cruel about your clothes. About how you didn’t belong. How you weren’t enough.

He’d held your hands then—smaller, shaking—and he’d made a promise.

“I won’t let anyone make ya cry ever again, y’hear me?”

You had smiled through your tears. Believed him.

And here you were now, years later, crying again.

Because of him.

His breath hitched, and he stumbled a step back like the weight of it knocked the air out of his lungs.

“I promised,” he whispered, more to himself than to you. “I swore I’d never be the one to hurt you.”

You smiled softly, a small, broken thing that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“I know, Tsumu,” you said, your voice gentle despite the weight in your chest. “You did.”

And you meant it.

You remembered the sincerity in his eyes when he made that promise all those years ago. The way his hands clutched yours like he could shield you from everything that could ever go wrong. Back then, he meant every word.

And maybe even now, he still did.

But love wasn’t just about meaning well. It was about showing up. Choosing. Not just once, but every day. And somewhere along the way, he stopped choosing you in the ways that mattered.

So your smile lingered, tender and aching all at once, like a goodbye dressed in love that still hadn’t faded.

Your hand grazed Atsumu’s cheek, fingers brushing against the wetness of his tears. His eyes fluttered shut at the touch, as if it grounded him, as if it was the only thing keeping him upright.

You leaned forward, slowly, carefully, your forehead pressing against his for a heartbeat, your breaths mingling in the quiet space between you.

Then you kissed him.

Soft. Lingering. Gentle.

It wasn’t hungry or rushed or desperate. It wasn’t about fixing anything or making promises you both weren’t sure you could keep.

It was a farewell. A thank you. An I love you and I wish things were different all tangled in one final kiss.

Atsumu kissed you back like he knew.

Like he felt the goodbye in it too.

And when you pulled away, your hand still resting on his face, you looked at him one last time.

“I’ll always love you, Atsumu,” you whispered, voice barely holding itself together.

His eyes searched yours, frantic, full of panic he was trying to keep down.

“We need to find ourselves once again, Atsumu,” you continued, your thumb brushing against the corner of his mouth, shaky and tender. “And maybe… just maybe, we’ll still end up in each other’s arms.”

Hope flickered across his face. His hands tightened around yours.

“We can do that together,” he said quickly. “We’ll figure it out—side by side. We don’t have to let this fall apart.”

You shook your head gently, sadly. “No, Tsumu. By ourselves.”

He froze.

“Right now, we’re holding on so tightly we’re bruising each other,” you said. “We keep trying to fix things while we’re still breaking. It’s not love anymore—it’s survival. And that’s not fair to either of us.”

His mouth opened, but nothing came out. Just pain.

“If we stay like this,” you said softly, “we’ll keep hurting each other.”

And the worst part?

You knew you were right and so did he.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he whispered, voice cracking as his hands trembled in yours. “I’m so sorry I made you feel this way.”

You looked at him, eyes soft, tired.

“I know,” you said quietly. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. None of it was intentional.”

And that’s what made it worse.

Because there was no villain here. No betrayal, no cruel words or shattered trust. Just neglect born from love stretched too thin. Just silence where effort used to be.

It hurt, Atsumu—God, it hurt—that despite everything, despite the missed calls and lonely nights and the way you were made to feel invisible, you were still understanding. Still trying to hold compassion in the same hands that held all your aching.

And he saw that now—how deeply unfair that was.

How you kept bending while he kept assuming you’d never break.

And now here you were, broken, still loving him. Still gentle with the pieces.

“I’ll send you off,” he said, voice barely holding itself together, like the words physically hurt to say.

You looked up at him, your suitcase by your side, your coat already on, and gave him a soft smile. One full of memories and endings.

“I’ll be fine, Atsumu.”

It was simple. Quiet. Final.

And it shattered him more than any scream ever could.

You stepped forward, one last time, and pressed a kiss to his lips—gentle, lingering, full of everything you couldn’t say anymore.

His eyes fluttered shut, like he wanted to freeze this moment, live inside it just a little longer.

When you pulled away, your hand stayed against his cheek for a second more. Just enough.

“Good luck with everything, Atsumu, okay?” you said, voice steady despite the way your heart was breaking. “I’ll still be cheering you on.”

A tear slipped down his cheek, and you brushed it away with your thumb.

“You’ll always be my number one star.”

You gave him a small smile, one that wavered at the edges.

“I love you, Atsumu.”

Then you turned and walked away—

And this time, he didn’t stop you. He just stood there, watching the love of his life leave with grace, and all the pain in the world stitched quietly into her goodbye.

Once the door shut, silence filled the apartment.

It was loud in a way silence shouldn’t be—pressing, hollow, unforgiving.

Atsumu stood frozen in the entryway, staring at the door like it might open again. Like maybe you'd come back and say you forgot something—your charger, your earrings, his heart.

But you didn’t.

You were gone.

The echo of your laughter, once so full and bright, no longer danced through the walls. It was just a memory now—soft, distant, fading fast.

And the space that used to be warm with your presence felt unbearably empty.

He sank to the floor slowly, back pressed against the door you had just walked through, like maybe if he stayed there long enough, he could still feel the warmth of your goodbye.

His head fell into his hands, fingers tangled in his hair, and for a while, all he could do was sit in the stillness you left behind.

Then he looked up.

The hallway stretched before him, dim and familiar—but suddenly unfamiliar all the same.

The pictures of the two of you hung neatly along the wall, framed snapshots of better days. Your beach trip. A blurry shot from his first pro game. A birthday dinner where you wore that green dress he loved.

You were smiling in every one.

So was he.

But now—now that he really looked—he saw it.

The difference.

Your smile back then was bright. Unburdened. It reached your eyes, curved your whole face into joy. It wasn’t just happiness—it was peace. Safety.

And lately… your smile had been quieter. Smaller. As if you were trying to hold it in place. As if it had become something you gave to him, even when you had none left for yourself.

How did he not notice?

How did he miss the way your joy had faded in real time, right beside him?

Atsumu pressed a palm to his chest like that would stop the ache from spreading, like if he held himself hard enough, he could keep the pieces from falling apart. Like maybe—just maybe—he could rewind time with sheer desperation.

But the clock kept ticking.

He rarely cried. Not even after a loss, not even when the whole stadium turned quiet in defeat. He was the one who gritted his teeth, slapped backs, cracked jokes to mask disappointment.

But now, with your scent still lingering in the air and your last words echoing in his head, the tears came. Quiet at first, then sharp—like everything he had been holding back all these months suddenly collapsed under its own weight.

What hurt the most wasn’t just the silence.

It was the truth.

Everything you said—every single word—was right.

You did wait. You did understand. You did try to hold both of you together when he couldn’t be bothered to look up from his schedule. He thought love was enough to cover the distance. He thought you’d always be there.

But love needed showing.

And he hadn’t. Not when it mattered.

Atsumu curled into himself on the floor, tears soaking the sleeves of the jersey he hadn’t changed out of. Not because he didn’t care—but because he hadn’t realized until it was too late.

And now the person he loved most had walked out the door…

And this time, she didn’t take her heart with her.

She left it behind—cracked and aching—right in his hands.

The following morning came, slow and unforgiving.

Light spilled through the curtains, soft and golden, but it brought no warmth. Only the reminder that time kept moving—even when hearts didn’t.

The bed beside Atsumu was empty.

Sheets untouched, cold.

He turned his head, almost instinctively, hoping for the weight of you, the shape of you, the soft sighs you made as you stretched into the day. But there was nothing. Just the pillow you used, slightly indented, still holding the ghost of your presence.

The room still smelled like you.

Your perfume—his favorite. The one with soft notes of jasmine and vanilla, the one he’d always picked out for you whenever he went overseas. He used to joke that it helped him find you in crowds, that you always smelled like home.

Now it haunted him.

He sat up slowly, staring at the space where you used to lie. Your hair would’ve been fanned out against the pillow. You would’ve mumbled something sleepy, pulled the blanket tighter around yourself.

But there was only silence now.

Atsumu brought a hand to the sheets, gripping them tightly, knuckles white, as if holding onto the fabric could somehow summon you back. Could somehow pull you out from the spaces you’d left behind. From the warmth that used to be there—now gone cold.

The door creaked open.

“Did you finally fuck up?” came Osamu’s voice from the doorway, quiet but sharp. Not unkind, but not sugarcoated either.

Atsumu didn’t look at him. Just nodded, eyes fixed on the hollow beside him.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Fucked up big time.”

Osamu stepped inside, taking in the room—the perfume lingering in the air, the suitcase no longer by the closet, the untouched side of the bed. The silence.

He sighed, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

“She texted me last night,” he said, voice low. “Told me to check on you. To make sure you didn’t do anything stupid.”

Atsumu finally looked up at that, his throat tightening.

“She still loves you, Tsumu,” Osamu continued, gently this time. “Anyone with eyes could see that.”

Atsumu blinked hard, jaw clenched.

“But she was right,” Osamu added, his voice firmer now. “She needs to find herself first again. And maybe… maybe you do too.”

Atsumu dropped his gaze again, fingers still curled in the sheets, the scent of you wrapping around him like a memory that refused to leave.

And for the first time, he didn’t argue.

Didn’t make excuses.

He just sat there—quiet, aching—finally understanding the cost of not noticing until it was too late.

“It was never your intention to hurt her, Tsumu,” Osamu said, his tone gentler now, the edge softening as he looked at his brother—slumped, hollow-eyed, and surrounded by absence.

Atsumu didn’t respond, just pressed his palm to the mattress again, as if it might still give him something. Anything.

Osamu hesitated before adding, “She also said something else… about a letter. Told me to remind you. Said you’d find it in the bedside drawer.”

Atsumu’s head turned slowly.

His heart dropped.

He reached across the bed with trembling hands and pulled the drawer open. It creaked softly, like it, too, had been holding onto something it didn’t want to let go of.

And there it was. A folded envelope with his name on it—written in your handwriting, the one he knew like his own breath.

He stared at it for a moment. Afraid to touch it. Afraid to open it and see the goodbye you hadn’t said out loud.

But he picked it up anyway.

Because part of him still needed to hear your voice, even if it was only in ink.

Atsumu opened the envelope with shaking hands, the paper soft and slightly wrinkled—like you had held it too long before tucking it away. Like maybe part of you didn’t want to leave it behind either.

His eyes scanned the first line, and already his throat tightened.

My darling Tsumu,

I don’t know how to start this without crying. But then again, I’ve been crying for a while now. Quietly. In rooms we used to fill with laughter. In restaurants where I sat alone, pretending I was just early, when really, I was just forgotten.

I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. I know that in your heart, there’s never been anyone but me. And I want you to know, I never doubted that. Not once.

But love doesn’t survive on intention alone.

Do you remember that day I waited at the café for three hours? It was the first time in weeks we’d both had a free afternoon. I picked the place because you said the view reminded you of one of your old training camps. I kept the seat across from me open, ordered your favorite drink, kept looking up every time the door opened.

You never came.

You forgot, Tsumu.

Do you remember when I got the call about my job offer? The one I’d worked so hard for? I called you first. And when you didn’t pick up, I waited. I waited because I wanted to celebrate with you—only you.

But you were on a flight to an away game you never told me about. I found out through the MSBY's account story later that night.

I opened a bottle of champagne by myself. Toasted the ceiling.

Pretended it was enough.

And then there was that night I got sick—really sick. I called you, barely able to speak, asking if you could come home. You said you’d try. I fell asleep on the bathroom floor waiting for you. You never came.

It wasn’t about one missed moment, Atsumu.

It was how those moments kept piling up.

It was the way I kept belittling myself to make room for your world, while mine was slowly fading in the background.

It was the way I became quieter, more patient, more forgiving—until I realized I was starting to forget what it felt like to be seen.I still love you. That hasn’t changed. Maybe it never will, but I need to remember who I am without waiting on a door that doesn’t open. I need to find the version of me that doesn’t flinch every time the phone buzzes with a maybe.

And I think…

I think you need to find the version of you that remembers how to show up.

Please don’t hate yourself. Please don’t let this break you.

You’re still the same boy who held my hand when I was scared of thunder. Still the man who kissed my forehead before big meetings, even half-asleep. Still the star I looked up to, even when you forgot to shine for me.

I hope someday we find our way back to each other—with brighter hearts, and steadier hands.

And if not…

I’ll still be cheering for you. Always.

The letter slipped from Atsumu’s fingers, landing softly on the bed.

And this time—He didn’t try to hold back the tears.

It was rare—painfully rare—for Osamu to see his twin like this.

Atsumu had always been the louder one, the bolder one. The one who puffed out his chest, who cracked jokes even after losses, who grinned through pressure and acted like nothing could touch him.

But not now.

Now, he was quiet. Folded in on himself like something sacred had been taken from him. His eyes were swollen, cheeks wet, fingers clenched around the edge of the bed like they were the only thing keeping him from unraveling completely.

And Osamu—he just stood there, watching, helpless.

Because God knows how much Atsumu loved you.

He saw it.

He saw it from the very beginning—back in high school, when Atsumu used to stare at you across the gym instead of focusing on drills. When he’d grumble about how annoying you were one minute, then show up the next morning with your favorite drink from the vending machine like it was nothing. Like it hadn’t taken him three buses and an early wake-up just to get it in time.

He saw how Atsumu lit up when your name popped up on his phone. How he bragged about you to teammates, to reporters, to anyone who would listen. How his eyes always scanned the crowd until they landed on you.

And he saw it shift, too.

When the schedules got tighter. When the dinners got postponed. When your laughter, once so constant, started to come around less and less.

He saw you dim.

And he saw Atsumu not see it.

Osamu ran a hand through his hair and let out a slow breath, stepping closer, his voice low but firm.

“You really loved her, huh?”

Atsumu nodded without looking up, his voice hoarse.

“Still do.”

Osamu glanced down at the letter still resting on the bed, its words bleeding into the silence like a wound that wouldn’t close.

“She didn’t leave ‘cause she stopped loving you, Tsumu,” he said gently. “She left ‘cause you stopped showing her you did.”

And Atsumu, for once, didn’t try to defend himself.

Didn’t argue.

He just sat there in the ruins of everything he’d taken for granted—

Grieving the girl he loved, and the version of himself she no longer had the strength to wait for.

“Fix yourself first, Tsumu.”

Osamu’s words weren’t cruel. They weren’t said to wound, or punish.

They were soft—quiet in the way truth often is when it’s spoken by someone who’s watched everything unravel from the sidelines. Someone who’s held back his own words for too long, waiting for the right moment to say what needed to be said.

Atsumu’s eyes stayed fixed on the floor, jaw clenched, but his walls had already crumbled hours ago. There was nothing left to hide behind.

He nodded slowly.

Because he knew.

He knew that no amount of begging could bring you back right now. Not when he hadn’t even learned how to be present. Not when he’d forgotten how to love without assumption—how to choose you again and again, instead of just expecting you'd always be there.

So for once, he didn’t say I’ll fix it.

Didn’t say I’ll make it right.

Because this time, the fixing had to start with him.

And maybe—just maybe—when he found the version of himself who didn’t take love for granted, he could finally be the man you needed when you stopped needing to heal from him.

173 notes · View notes

altumsomnum · 22 hours ago

Note

Hey! Could I request a Johnny Splash x fem reader? After he was realised, comes home from a show and just wants to unwind with you.. in a NSFW way of course. Thank you<3

Date requested: 7/15/2025

Fandom: Date Everything!

Type: one-shot

Warning: Oral, overstimulation, praise, possessive talk, lots of love and slick tile metaphors

Johnny Splash x fem!Reader

You barely got the door open before he stumbled through it—jacket half-undone, cape trailing behind him like smoke, eyeliner smudged and sweat glistening across his collarbone.

“Baby,” Johnny rasped, voice still half-coated in stage glitter and heat. “Sugar.”

You caught him by the lapels as he wrapped both arms around your waist, pressing his face into your neck like a man starved.

“I missed you,” he groaned, hoarse. “I was up there singin’ about heartbreak and body heat, and the whole damn time I’m thinkin’, ‘She’s at home. Probably wearin’ that little robe. Probably all soft and sweet and smellin’ like vanilla conditioner.’ And here I am, singin’ to strangers, when I coulda been on my knees for you.”

You smiled and brushed his soaked curls back. “You are dramatic after a show, huh?”

He gave a broken little chuckle and kissed your collarbone.

“You don’t get it, sugar. I’m buzzin’. I’m still high on lights and sound and hands reachin’ for me—and none of it means nothin’. Not compared to you.”

His hands gripped your waist. Firm. Possessive. Hungry.

“You waited up for me?”

“I always do.”

“…You wearin’ nothin’ under that robe?”

You laughed, but didn’t answer.

He groaned.

“Sweetheart, you know what that does to me.”

You trailed a hand down his chest, fingers dipping under the edge of his half-buttoned shirt, still damp from his set.

“I thought you were tired,” you teased.

“I am,” he murmured, lifting you by the hips with a fluid, practiced movement that made you gasp. “But baby, when I’m this worked up? Sleep ain’t what I need.”

⸻

He laid you out across the bed like you were the encore he never got to sing. Reverent. Almost trembling.

Johnny peeled your robe open slowly, like unwrapping a gift he’d been fantasizing about for hours.

“Look at you,” he whispered. “Warm skin. Soft thighs. Eyes all heavy like you want me to ruin you.”

His lips dragged along your stomach.

“You remember every night I spent as a shower, huh? Just… sittin’ there. Steamin’. Burnin’.”

You threaded your fingers through his curls and gasped as his breath hovered right above your core.

“I’d play it cool,” he whispered. “Hum a little tune, let the steam hide how hard I was. But I was losin’ my damn mind, baby. Every drop of water rollin’ down your body—mine. I hated that I couldn’t touch you”

And now?

Now he could.

Johnny’s tongue dragged a hot stripe along your folds and you moaned, back arching. He groaned like it was his relief, too.

“Sweet like hot water and honey,” he panted. “Like summer storms and sweat on satin.”

His mouth was relentless. Eager. Hungry.

He licked you like a man dying of thirst, arms wrapped around your thighs to keep you still as you writhed and gasped and bucked into his face.

You tugged on his hair and he groaned, hips grinding into the mattress like he was getting off just from your taste.

“C’mon, baby,” he murmured. “Give it to me. Let me feel you. I’ve been waiting.” (Insert Cbat song…)

Your orgasm hit fast, you hadn’t expected it, not so soon—but Johnny knew. He moaned into your clit, sucking hard, eyes fluttering as he felt you fall apart on his tongue.

“Thaaaat’s it,” he drawled. “That’s my girl.”

You trembled, still panting. But Johnny didn’t move.

He was staring at you like he was starving.

“Again,” he whispered.

You blinked, dazed. “What—?”

His fingers slid into you slow and deep.

“Again, baby. I want another. And then one more. And maybe one for every song I sang thinkin’ about this sweet little pussy.” (Cbat…)

You whimpered as his tongue found your clit again, and his fingers curled just right.

“I’ll put you in the shower after,” he murmured, mouth hot against your heat. “Turn the water to your favorite setting. Hold you up while you moan my name. But right now?”

He kissed your thigh, slow and lovingly.

“I’m gonna make up for every goddamn second I spent waitin’ for this moment.”

109 notes · View notes

altumsomnum · 22 hours ago

Note

Pls dad!chance….add a pinch of breeding…pls…

Y'all I love this prompt so much. Gimme more of that breeding kink! I know that D20 craves it.

Another One

synop: It's you and Chance's fifth wedding anniversary. After having your first child, you now feel something missing. Realizing you want another kid, you bring it up to your husband who is more than willing to fulfill that wish.

words: 5.5K

includes: chancexfem!reader, dad!chance, dom!chance, sub!reader, modern au, parenting, marriage, breeding kink, squirting, smut, creampie, multiple orgasms

a/n: Truly, the sexiest part of this is the fact that the reader and Chance can afford a house and two kids in this economy. Also, this is a very smutty fic, no minors! Let me know your thoughts!

Shrill giggles could be heard as you walked down the hall to your daughter's room. Peeking your head inside you spotted your two favorite people snuggled up in her bed. Between them sat a book, The Hobbit. Of course. Chance always loved his fantasy. The apple didn’t fall too far from the tree it seemed. Your eyes gazed around your daughter’s room. An orange glow from her bedside lamp illuminated the various children’s drawings of dragons and unicorns haphazardly taped onto the wall. A mural of a castle was painted on the wall her bed was up against. Spotting you in the doorway, Chance gave you a warm smile. His eyes widened as he took in the outfit you were wearing.

“Hi, Mommy!” Your daughter perked up when she saw you.

“How’s the book?” You asked, walking over and sitting on the edge of the bed.

“It’s sooooo good, Bilbo just got a ring that turns him invisible!” Her eyes sparkled at the thought of magic and whimsy.

You gave her a soft smile.

“That does sound pretty cool.” You gave Chance a knowing smile. You had read the book many times before.

“Oh, you should show Mommy your Golem voice.” He gave you a grin. “We’ve been practicing!”

“Lay it on me!” You let out an airy laugh.

Your daughter hunched her shoulders, shifting her face into a grimace.

“My preciousssss…” She shifted her form again, going wide eyed. “Eggses!” She let out a giggle when she finished her impression.

You and Chance joined in the laughter.

“That was a good one, lil goober.” Chance pinched and wiggled her nose.

She let out another giggle.

“Don’t steal it!”

“Not tonight. I don’t need your nose as a snack. I’m taking Mommy out for dinner.”

“Awww.” She pouted, crossing her arms.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Grandma’s gonna keep an eye on you while we’re out.” He pecked a kiss on her forehead, making her smile.

Earlier in the evening Chance’s mother came over to watch your daughter. An act you greatly appreciated, but she also very much wanted to see her granddaughter. So, a win-win.

After putting your daughter to bed, you and Chance exited the room. Quietly shutting the door, you turned to your husband with a grin. With red blooming on his cheeks he took in your appearance. Letting out a low whistle, he leaned in to kiss your cheek. You gave him a confused look.

“I didn’t want to ruin your lipstick.” He gave you a sheepish look.

“It’s actually a lip stain.” You rubbed your finger over your lips to prove your point.

“Well in that case, don’t mind if I do.” He cupped your chin pressing a deep kiss to your lips.

You hummed against him, enjoying the pleasant feeling of his lips against yours.

When he pulled away, you felt your heart swell. Pure adoration glimmered in his eyes.

“You look beautiful. Perfect, as always.” He rubbed his thumb along your cheek tenderly.

“And you look absolutely dashing.” You placed a peck against his lips.

He didn’t allow you to pull back. Instead, holding your jaw to press a deeper kiss to your lips. His tongue slipped into your mouth with a soft groan. You playfully pushed him away, nodding to your daughter’s bedroom.

“Perhaps we should wait till we’re at the hotel, hmm?” You gave him a lustful look.

Licking his lips, he nodded. His eyes trailing over your body once more.

“Sorry love, I can’t seem to help myself around you.” He pulled you into one more kiss, his hand playfully squeezing your ass.

“Chance…” You mumbled against him admonishingly.

“I know, I know.” He pecked one final kiss on your lips.

The two of you headed out of your house with some overnight bags. You and Chance stopped by the living room to give his mother a goodbye.

Feeling as giddy as teens in love, you packed up your car and drove to the city.

It was you and Chance’s wedding anniversary and it had been much too long since you had a night to yourselves. Life gets pretty busy when you have a kid and two full-time working parents. Date nights often turned into, “Do you just want to stay in a laze around while the kid’s at their grandparents’?”

Deciding to somewhat liven up your romance, the two of you actually planned an anniversary date. A long weekend in town at a nice hotel. A fancy dinner, seeing a show, and a trip to a game shop since Chance hadn’t been in awhile. Sounded like a perfect weekend.

First stop was your fancy dinner. Some well renowned steak house that Chance managed to nab a Friday night reservation at.

As you drove to the city, Chance placed his hand on your exposed thigh. Thumb tracing circles sending shivers up your spine. Some local rock station was playing low on the radio, though you weren’t paying attention to the music. Instead, watching your husband with adoration.

As cliche as it was, you couldn’t help but be reminded at how lucky you were that you had managed to bag the hunk of a nerd. On his side, he thought he was the true lucky one. Never imagining once he could date someone like you, much less get married. Now here you were, eight years together, five of those married with your four-year-old daughter.

It was lovely, and things were going well for your little family. Chance was just a few months out from being tenured in his psychology professor position, you had recently received a promotion, and your daughter would be starting kindergarten at the beginning of the next school year. Despite all of these positives, there was something eating at you. The feeling of something missing.

It started when you had put away holiday decorations. In your storage, you spotted a bin filled with old baby clothes. Pulling it out, you let out a soft sigh. You picked up a bright yellow onesie. Memories of when your little girl was just a baby flooding your mind. Behind you, Chance glanced over your shoulder. He gave a soft smile at the items in your hand.

“Looking to donate things?” He asked.

“No!” You said abruptly, unsure of why you were so abrasive. “S-sorry, no. Not yet.”

“Alright.” He placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Everything okay?” He asked.

“Yes. Sorry, it’s just a bit hard to let go of things sometimes.” You reached for the hand on your shoulder, giving him a soft smile.

When he left you alone you couldn’t help but feel the beginnings of that missing piece.

The next time was when your family was playing in the living room. Bluey playing in the background as your daughter and Chance acted out a wacky scenario with a hodge podge of My Little Pony and dragon toys. Something along the lines of Pinkie Pie causing a coupe to overthrow the monarchy so she could bake as many cupcakes as she wants. Due to your daughter’s wild imagination and Chance’s improv skills, the storylines tended to be a bit difficult to follow. Still, you managed to get the gist.

“Sister! How could you betray me yet again!” Chance said in a feminine voice as he moved the Princess Celestia toy vigorously.

“Because I want to be queen!” Your daughter said in an “evil” voice.

After she pretended to shoot a magic beam at the other princess she paused. Eyes lighting up when they looked between you and Chance.

“Will I ever have a sister?” She asked with that innocence only a child could have.

You and Chance’s eyes widened. Sure, you probably should have expected this question sooner than later. However, it was still surprising.

Composing himself, Chance cleared his throat.

“Why’d you ask, sweetheart?”

“Cause I want a sister.” She said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Oh.” Again, probably should have been an expected response.

“Why do you want a sister?” There goes your husband. Always trying to figure out the reasoning behind your daughter’s thoughts.

“Because Jessie told me that I’ll be lonely forever, cause she’s got a sister and I don’t.”

You held back rolling your eyes. Jessie’s mother had a habit of saying ridiculous things to her, you were pretty sure that’s likely where this came from.

“Lonely forever? But you’ve got your Mommy and Daddy?” Chance motioned between you and him.

“I said that to Jessie! But she said that Mommies and Daddies aren’t your friends, but sisters are.”

“Oh sweetheart, I hope you know that’s not true.” Chance opened his arms, offering her a hug.

She gladly took the opportunity, racing into his arms with a thump. Chance pulled her in with a deep squeeze. She squirmed in his arms giggling.

“Daaaaadyyy! I can’t breathe!” She squealed.

“How else am I gonna convince you you won’t be alone. Gotta make sure you’re hugged so tight you meld with me! Together forever!” He let out a dramatic evil laugh.

“Mooomyyy! He’s squeezing too hard!” She complained while still letting out shrill giggles.

“Don’t worry, honey. I’m here to help!” You said as you joined Chance. Wrapping your arms around her you also squeezed.

“I just love you so much, I gotta meld with you too!” You gave her a smooch on the cheek.

“Together forever, together forever…” Chance began to chant.

You joined in with him, your daughter giggling at your antics.

After a moment, you released her from your grasps. She sucked in a deep breath dramatically falling to the floor. Perking up, she hugged both you and Chance as much as she could with her small frame.

“We’ll be here.” You rubbed her head, kissing it softly.

“Will I still get a sister though?”

You looked over at Chance, unsure of what to say.

“Your mommy and I will talk about it. Okay, little goober?” He reached for her nose, giving it a wiggle.

She giggled, batting at his hand.

“Ooohhkaaaayyy.”

Later that night, Chance looked over to you. Teeth worrying his lip, he contemplated how to start this conversation. Sure, you had the “kids” talk ages ago. However, you hadn’t had the “do we want more?” talk yet.

“I have a question.” He started.

Pausing your nightly reading, you turned to him with an expectant look.

“You tend to have many of those.” You teased with a smirk.

“Heh, I suppose I do.” He cleared his throat, now feeling parched. “About what our little girl said earlier…”

His words sent a jolt to your heart. Setting your book down, you gave Chance your full attention.

“Go on…” You motioned for him to continue.

“Well, have you thought about it? Having more kids?” He didn’t know why he was getting so flustered about this.

“I have. Have you?” It seemed like you were both tiptoeing around revealing your opinions on the matter.

“I have.”

“Okay.” You waited for him to continue.

After a long moment of silence, Chance spoke again.

“I would like to have another one.” He geared up for your response.

Letting out a sigh of relief, you giggled. What felt like such a high stakes conversation now falling into a comfortable back and forth.

“I would too.”

He lit up at that, leaning over to plant a kiss on your lips. With a finger, you paused his attempted kiss.

“However, there are some things I’d like us to have done financially first. We’re in a good spot right now, but adding another person will burden us if we don’t make some changes.”

Chance’s shoulders deflated, but he nodded. You were right. It wasn’t the best time to add another member to your family. With some planning you could hopefully manage to put yourself in a better spot.

It had been about six months since that conversation. Now, you and Chance had made some good changes. With that knowledge, you felt ready to move forward with growing your family. The only thing was, you hadn’t talked to each other about it yet.

As you sat in the car with him, you wondered if bringing it up this weekend would be appropriate. Now was as good a time as ever, right?

Chance pulled into a parking garage downtown. Ever the gentleman, he had you wait for him to open your door. Escorting you with an offered hand. The two of you walked down the street. Eyes trailing around, taking in the city sights.

After a few minutes you ended up in front of a fancy steakhouse. Chance opened the door for you, and you made your way to the host stand. A young woman was scrolling through a tablet with a phone held on her shoulder.

“Uhuh, uhuh. Okay. We’ll see you tomorrow at seven Mister Smith. Buh-bye!” With that she placed the phone back on the receiver. Looking up, she smiled brightly as she noticed you.

“Welcome! Do you have a reservation?”

“Ah yes, it should be under Fortuna.” Chance said.

The woman scanned the tablet, then tapped it.

“Fortuna, table for two at 7:30.” She gave him a sweet smile.

“That’ll be us!”

“Wonderful!” She reached and grabbed some menus. “If you’ll please follow me.”

You and Chance followed the woman to your table. A cute little two seater by the window with a view of the city. At the table sat empty drink glasses and plates along with a candle centerpiece.

“Your waiter will be with you in a moment.” She handed you the menus. “Here’s our menu, and here’s our wine list. Have a wonderful meal.” She gave you a nod, then walked back to her stand.

Pulling out your chair, Chance motioned for you to sit. You let out a soft laugh.

Your husband had always been the chivalrous type. Opening doors for you, escorting you with an arm, and pulling out your chairs. Not that he didn’t believe you couldn’t do them yourself. No, his mother had instilled the behavior in him and it clearly stuck.

Picking up the menu, you scanned for something appealing. Chance also looked over the menu. His fingers tapped his chin as he determined what he wanted.

A waiter walked up to your table with a pitcher of ice water. He flipped over your glasses and poured the water in.

“Good evening, I’m Neil, I’ll be your waiter this evening. Is there anything you would like to drink?”

Chance ordered a bottle of red to the table. The waiter brought over some bread and butter before taking your orders.

“Get whatever you want, love.” Chance said, knowing you would try and be frugal. He gave you a look of warning.

You gave the waiter your order, deciding to pick what you wanted.

As you waited for your food, Chance lifted his glass to yours. You smiled, lifting your own. Clinking them together, you shared a cheers.

“To a wonderful five years of marriage with my beautiful wife.” Chance said, eyes filled with adoration.

“And to many, many, many more.” You said back, feeling your heart swell.

The waiter returned to your table with your meals and more wine. The two of you enjoyed your food, occasionally chatting between bites. As the night went on, you found yourself growing anxious. You needed to talk to him about it.

“Chance…” You trailed, finger tracing around your wine glass.

“Yes?” He looked at you over his glasses

“I’ve been thinking…” God, why couldn’t you just spit it out.

“Thinking about?” He smirked knowingly, having a feeling he knew where this was going.

“You know that conversation we had a few months ago?” You bit your lip.

“We’ve had many conversations, I’m going to need you to be more specific.” He took a bite of his meal.

“The one about kids.” You looked at him with an intense gaze.

He set his fork down, placing his fingers under his chin. A dark gaze in his eyes as he looked at you intensely.

“And what have you been thinking about?”

“I think it’s time we try for another.” You took a sip of your wine.

“Is that so?” He cocked his head to the side.

“It is.”

Interrupting your conversation, the waiter had returned to your table.

“I heard that you two were celebrating your anniversary? Would you care to enjoy a complimentary dessert?” He asked with a sweet smile.

“Mind if we take it to go?”

When you made it to your hotel room, you found yourself pressed up against the door, Chance’s lips hot against yours as he desperately kissed you. He moaned into your mouth as his tongue tangled with yours. Pulling away, he stared deeply into your eyes.

“Are you sure?” He pressed another hot kiss to your lips. “About having another baby?”

“Y-yes, ah!” He kissed down your throat, leaving a soft bite against your sweet spot.

“Positive?” He paused, looking at you with a serious gaze.

“I am.” You let out a deep breath. “Plus, I might have gotten off of my birth control.” You said sheepishly.

“Oh.” A flush bloomed on his face.

Thankfully, you had made sure to not have had sex with Chance since you had gotten off, but you were hoping he would be on the same page.

“We’re in a really good place financially. You’re gonna be tenured soon, I got that promotion, and we refinanced the mortgage.” You listed things out, pointing to each of your fingers. “Plus with our girl going into kindergarten, we won’t have to worry much about the cost of daily childcare.”

“You know, I love it when you speak fiscal responsibility to me.” He teased with a kiss. “Guess we’ll have to get a larger life insurance policy?” He waggled his brows suggestively.

“Mmm…enough money talk. I wanna make this baby.” You pressed your lips to his.

“As you wish.” He grabbed your hand giving it a soft kiss. The tender action made you blush.

Gently, he pulled you to the bed. He sat down, eyes trailing over your body. His hands reached for your hips, pulling you between his legs. Tracing circles on your hips, he made you shiver.

“As much as I love seeing you all dolled up for me…” His hand trailed to the hem of your dress, lifting it up slightly. “I would love to see you take it off.” He gave you a cheeky grin.

“Oh yeah?” You leaned down, you pressed a kiss to his lips.

“Oh, very much so.” He leaned back, motioning over your outfit. “So please, if you will, strip for me.” His low timbre had you shivering again.

Nodding, you reached for the zipper at the back of your dress. Slowly, you pulled it down. Leaning on his legs, Chance watched you intensely. Licking his lips in anticipation as he watched you slip off the first strap of your dress. Ever so slowly you pulled down your other strap, then began sliding down your dress. Clad only in some special lingerie, you looked for Chance’s reaction. The man groaned as he looked over your body.

As if on instinct, he lunged for you. Pulling you into a heated kiss, his hands ran over your body. Fingers teased over your barely clothed breasts, fingers tracing over your nipples. You keened at his touch, pressing your chest against his.

Against your lips he spoke lowly.

“Is this all for me?” He pulled you tightly against him. “Gettin’ all dolled up just so I can give you another baby, hm?” He growled, pressing another hot kiss to your lips.

Oh, that’s right. You almost forgot how much he enjoyed this.

While your sex life had always been quite exciting, Chance’s specific enjoyment was something else. Remembering the last time you were trying for a baby, the man had been insatiable. Practically every moment you two had alone ended up with Chance rutting into you. Even once taking you on his office desk when you decided to pay him a lunchtime visit. Not that you minded. The man had the things he enjoyed, but he most enjoyed making sure you felt amazing. And you couldn’t deny, his hunger to pump you full of his seed was quite appealing.

Now, you had a feeling that hunger had not faded whatsoever. Spread on the bed, Chance was pawing at your body. Warms hands trailing over your breasts and down to your soaked panties. Groaning as he pet over your clothed sex.

“You’re drenched. You really do want me to get you pregnant, yeah?” He breathed hotly against your throat, trailing down kisses and love bites.

He unclasped your bra, tossing it to the floor. Hands cupped your breasts as he continued to mouth at your throat.

Moving down, he kissed your torso. Stopping to tease your nipples with his teeth and tongue. The actions making you press against him with a whine.

Reaching your panties, he snapped them with his finger. Earning him a surprised yelp. Using his teeth he pulled them down, then off of your body. While he greatly appreciated you dressing up for him, he desperately needed you.

With strong arms he pulled you to the end of the bed, lips trailing up your legs. Teeth lightly scraping against your thighs had your body jolting. Sparks of pleasure shooting through you, making you get even wetter. Eyeing your sex, Chance let out a groan. The man loved nothing more than knowing you were feeling good. So he would make sure you would you feel utterly amazing. Leaving you in any state besides shaking and satisfied would be an affront to him. No, he would make sure he ruined you into pure bliss.

Kissing up your thighs, he planted a light one against your puffy clit. The action made you cry out. His tongue lapped at your weeping cunt as you continued to writhe and moan. It felt good to actually be able to make noise now, and your husband seemed to be enjoying it as well. Groaning with every sound that escaped your throat at his ministrations.

A heat was growing in your belly with each lick against your pussy. By now, Chance had you memorized. Knowing every part of you that made you tick. Expertly, he lapped away at your wet folds, drinking in every moan and whine he could elicit from you. Each sound of your pleasure made his cock twitch in anticipation.

God, he couldn’t wait to breed you. First, however, he needed to make sure you were prepared to take him.

Chance watched as you writhed and moaned. Humming contently at the sight of you in bliss.

With kitten licks to your clit, you felt your orgasm on the horizon. Fast flicks of his tongue to your sensitive bud made your hips jolt. That familiar warmth had grown tenfold by now. Unconsciously your hips moved with Chance’s tongue, chasing your high. Your husband continued this pace, knowing you would snap at any moment.

A lick to your clit had you moaning loudly. Thighs clenched around Chance’s head, suffocating him in the most delicious of ways. Your release splashing over his mouth, which he licked up greedily.

As you came down from your high, Chance lightly lapped at your folds. Helping bring you down as little sparks of pleasure made your body jolt.

When your body relaxed, he pulled away. Leaning over your shaking body, he gave you a deep kiss. Forcing you to taste yourself on his lips. As you kissed, he unbuttoned the rest of his shirt. When he dropped it, you appraised his appearance. Eyes trailing over his fit broad chest, thick strong arms, and that lovely bit of tummy with a happy trail leading to right where you wanted him. Then his hands moved to his belt, quickly unclasping and removing it along with his pants and boxers. You let out a soft whine at the sight of his hard cock. Thick and red at the tip, just the perfect length to fill your wanting cunt. You felt yourself clenching at nothing at the sight.

Turning your body, you brought yourself to the edge of the bed. As you reached out for him, Chance grabbed your wrist.

“Sorry, sweetheart. As much as I appreciate you wanting to reciprocate, I need to fuck that perfect pussy of yours.” He kissed your hand. “I don’t want a single drop going to waste.”

He proceeded to maneuver you to lay on your back. Between your legs you watched as he lined his length with your dripping cunt. He tapped the tip against your overstimulated clit teasingly. Grinning at the way you shuddered with each touch. He slid his cock between your folds, groaning at the feeling of your slick. The head of his cock caught the entrance of your pussy, and he began to push in. Groaning at the feeling of your tight, wet heat.

“F-fuck. You feel so good.” He moaned, as he bottomed out.

Looking down, a satisfied smile came to his face. He admired your shaking body beneath him. Cunt stuffed full, hitting your sweet spot deep inside.

“Chance…” You whined.

“Yes, beautiful?” He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

“Please move.”

“As you wish.”

He pulled out, then snapped his hips into you harshly, making you yelp. Beginning a brutal pace that had you moaning with each brush against your gummy spot. The way your soft walls fluttered around him had him moaning loudly.

With strong hands around your hips, he pulled you back into him with each thrust. The friction of his pelvis against your clit had you crying out. Pleasure so intense it had your eyes screwing shut, but Chance couldn’t have that. He reached a hand around your throat, squeezing on the sides lightly. Opening your eyes you moaned at the lustful gaze he gave you.

“My love, I need to see you. I need you to watch me as I fill you. Again,” he thrust into you for emphasis, “and again.” He growled as he felt you clench around him.

Fuck, he needed you to cum. It wouldn’t be long before he burst inside you. So he decided to use his expertise of your body.

Strong arms wrapped under your thighs, throwing your legs over his shoulders. He folded you over, cock pressed deeply inside your cunt. The mean mating press he had you in made you cry out. Knowing that he could pummel your sweet spot with precision, Chance fucked into you fast and hard. Hiccupping gasps escaped you as the pleasurable heat had returned to your center once more. Building and building with each thrust to your gummy spot. All you could do was take what he was giving you.

Chance watched as you writhed under him, moaning as you clenched and unclenched around his cock. Each brutal hit inside of you bringing you to your peak quickly. He could tell you were going to climax soon. Telltale tightness inviting his length to keep pummeling into you over and over was warning you would soon finish.

“Cum for me.” He commanded. “Come for me and I’ll fill you up. Breed you nice and full.” He growled, nipping your ear.

His words had you blabbering incoherently.

“Mmph! Ah! Fill me, ah I-!”

You couldn’t speak any further, not when your second orgasm crashed through your body. It left you shaking and screaming as Chance chased after his own release. Each pump of his cock drawing out your orgasm, making you tremble. Chance moaned at the feeling of you clenching around him. His balls tightened, then released as he filled you with warmth. Both of you moaning at the feeling of him filling you full of his seed. It almost seemed like he couldn’t stop coming. His cock shooting rope after rope of cum into your greedy cunt.

When he finally stopped, you could still feel the aftershocks of your orgasms. His cock twitching against your gummy walls while your pussy spasmed around him.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pulled him in for a deep kiss. One he gladly accepted. Sloppily, you tangled your tongues. Groaning at how good the other tasted.

Slowly, Chance unfolded you. Keeping his cock pressed deep inside as he laid you down gently. The two of you loved the feeling of him plugging you up full of himself.

As you came down from your highs, Chance pressed soft kisses over your face and neck. Whispering sweet nothings that had you smiling. You returned his affections, pressing a deep kiss to his lips. Trailing your tongue along his bottom lip, then meeting his.

After a moment, Chance paused. Eyes widening, he shuffled inside you.

“I’m still really hard.” He said.

You giggled at his shocked expression.

“Yeah?” You thrust your hips up against him, making him groan.

Sure, he was very overstimulated, but he still very much wanted to go another round. A hunger returned to his eyes.

Swiftly, he pulled out of you. The quick action made you whine at the feeling of emptiness. However, Chance had other plans.

Eyeing around the room, he spotted something that piqued his interest and made his cock twitch. Across from a small table was a full length mirror. Licking his lips, he grabbed your hand.

Pulling you up with him, he dragged you to the table. Loving the way he manhandled you, you allowed him to manipulate your body. Pushing you face down on the table, Chance lined his cock up with your sopping entrance. Appreciating the slick dripping down your thighs. In a quick thrust, he filled you up once more. You cried out as he slammed into your sweet spot.

A strong hand grabbed at your hair, forcing your head up. In front of you, you watched yourself and Chance. His brows furrowed as he thrusted in and out of you. In the mirror he caught your gaze, a smirk crawling to his lips. Leaning down, he nipped at your earlobe and spoke lowly. Eyes still locked with yours.

“Look at you, taking me so well.” He bit at the sweet spot in the crook of your neck. “Feels like you need me to breed you, fill you up till you can’t take it anymore. Hm?” He tugged on your hair, waiting for you to respond.

“Y-yes! Ah!” He slammed into your sweet spot once more.

“God, you’re so beautiful.” His hand slid down your front, fingers circling your sensitive clit. “You’re gonna look so good full of me.” He kissed your neck, making you shiver.

“I-hah-I love it when you fill me, Chance.” The way you said his name, the desperation in your eyes had him shivering. His cock twitching inside you.

“I love you.” He twisted your head to kiss you, tongue sloppily tangling with yours.

“I love you!” You exclaimed as he thrusted hard into you.

Another orgasm was just on the precipice. Each thrust and swirl over your overstimulated bud had you nearing the peak.

Chance could feel his own orgasm growing, but yet again, he needed you to finish first. To feel you clench around his length once more before filling you again.

“C’mon, beautiful, I need to feel you again. Then I can fill this pretty little cunt up.” He groaned at the feeling of you tightening around him at his words.

“Y-yes, please.” You breathed out.

Looking back at the mirror, Chance groaned at the sight of you. Cock stuffing you full as your body lay limp in his arms. Eyes glazed over and mouth hung open letting out a string of moans as he fucked into you.

One final flick against your sensitive clit had you screaming and clenching around him. Your orgasm hitting you hard, making you spasm against his body. Following behind you, Chance bent you over the table. His release filling you with warmth as his seed filled you again. He groaned against your shoulder, hips still thrusting against you as he came down from his high. Each overstimulating thrust shooting sparks through your body, making you let out hiccupping moans.

Eventually, he stopped. Pulling out, he groaned at the sight of his spend mixed with your release trailing down your legs. With thick fingers, he gathered up the fluids, stuffing them back into you. You groaned at the feeling.

“Gotta make sure it takes.” He kissed softly down your back.

“Mhmm…” You mumbled, unable to move.

Ever so gently, Chance carried you back to the bed. Body now boneless, you lay there. Allowing Chance to clean you up as he peppered you with kisses and praise.

“You did so well, so perfect.” He purred, kissing up your neck. “Can’t wait to see you so round and full again.”

You sighed against him, enjoying his warm caresses along your spent body.

“You’re such a good mom, you’re gonna do so well.” He kissed your forehead.

“You’re a good dad, you know?” You mumbled softly.

“I am?” He smiled softly, looking down at you curled against his chest.

“Mhmm… It’s kinda hot.” You let out an amused huff.

Chance chuckled, caressing your face lovingly.

“Guess we’ll really have to make sure it takes then.” He planted a soft kiss against your lips.

“Mmm, guess so.” You snuggled into him.

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altumsomnum · 22 hours ago

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me when I'm too stress to eat anything except water and hot pockets for 10 years and my missing brother came back to force me to eat udon.

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altumsomnum · 22 hours ago

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There's something so funny about the idea of a sagau/sahsrau where your favourite character (or characters) manages to find a way into your world through your phone but the problem is, they cross over right when you're in the middle of an anime convention so now they're desperately trying to convince you that no, they're not just a really good cosplayer. Especially since if their powers don't work in your world, all they can do is use their words to convince you.

Using Scaramouche as a random example...

Y/n: Wow, your cosplay is so good. You look exactly like him!

Scara, getting increasingly annoyed by the second: For the LAST TIME your grace, I am NOT a "cosplayer". You seriously can't tell the real thing from all these fakes?

Y/n: ....

Y/n: Oh. Are you also one of those 'roleplayers' who get really into the character you're cosplaying?

Scara: ...You've got to be shitting m-

And if they try to point out that their physical features are different from the people in your world, and are indeed natural, imagine reader just stubbornly thinking that wow, this person is such a good make up artist. Are they a professional or something?

Scara: I HAVE NATURAL PURPLE HAIR AND EYES. What more proof do you POSSIBLY need?!

He exhales in frustration, pulling at his hair in annoyance which in turn lets you know that he's indeed not wearing a wig.

Y/n: Whoa...I've heard of people dying their hair to match their favourite character, but I looks even cooler up close! And your makeup is perfect, too.

Scara: I only have red eyeliner on!

Y/n: Huh...but it looks so convincing.

Y/n: Wait, *whispers* did...did you get some sort of cosmetic surgery to look like a fictional character...?!?!

Scara: ....

Scara: Why does all of Teyvat worship you, again?

Idk man, this was just a thought I had and I'm so amused by it lol.

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altumsomnum · 22 hours ago

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“what’s the wi-fi password?” you ask tooru. more accurately, you ask tooru’s back, because he’s busy turning on the tv and setting the channel to JSPORTS.

“oh, your name,” he says, “and then 13.”

you snort at his predictability. your name is kind of sweet, though, you remember watching it with him as teenagers, the tears running down his face and his thick denials that he totally wasn’t crying at the end.

Incorrect password for “Oikawifi.” your screen reads.

“it didn’t work,” you say, leaning over the back of the couch and stretching your arm out towards him. he’s standing about a foot from the screen with his left hand on his hip and the remote in the other, looking vaguely reminiscent of a father trying to navigate technology.

“dumb-dumb,” he turns to you, “did you forget how to spell your own name?”

“eh?” you say. “your name?”

“no, your name,” he says your forename then, and you color brilliantly, or at least it feels like it, your face hot, suddenly unable to look at him head-on. “and then 13. like—“

“josé blanco, i know,” you roll your eyes fondly, a defense against whatever this reveals about him. “you’re gonna get hacked.”

“no way, blanco will protect me,” he says. “and you. you’d protect me, wouldn’t you? since i put your name as my password and all?”

“uh-huh,” you say, distracted as your phone accepts the password combo. “hey, is your bank account password my name too?”

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altumsomnum · 22 hours ago

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⋆ cw ; sex, fem! reader, rin’s ability to say something ridiculous no matter the situation.

Rin taps his foot when he’s about to cum.

It’s a habit. One he’s not aware of. For the longest time it slipped under your radar too. The only moments you would’ve been able to notice it, a.k.a. riding him or sucking him off — are spent focused on the cock inside you.

One night, in the master bedroom, Rin’s pinned you to the wall. Palms braced on the smooth surface, ass pushed out to arch your back. He’d started out by clutching your hips, thumbs flexing and digging into your skin every few lazy thrusts.

“Rin,” you moan, breathless. “Right there — fuck, right there!”

His hips smack even louder against your ass with the next thrust, cock hitting your g-spot. Rin pants and laughs. “Right there Rin, right there!” He teases as he slips an arm around your stomach, bending to press his warm sweaty chest to your back. His other hand comes up to rest on the wall nearby.

Your head drops between your shoulders, the mocking sending a hot rush up your spine. Toes curling in your socks. “You’re gonna make me cum, Rin,” you whine, pussy tightening.

Rin moans deep in his throat. “Fuck me,” he says through his teeth. “Play with yourself babygirl, wanna feel you cum.”

It’s instant, the way your fingers fly to your clit. Rubbing tight, fast circles, pussy squeezing and releasing over and over. Rin’s breath hitches then blows out warmly over your neck.

Your eyes start to roll and then flicker towards the floor, catching Rin’s sock covered foot tapping in a steady rhythm, almost silent on the hardwood floor.

Mind numbing, syrupy warmth rushes through your limbs, lower belly knotting up. The force of it brings you to your toes, your husband’s name falling from your lips.

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck,” Rin babbles, voice splintering as his foot taps faster. You’re sinking down to the balls of your feet when Rin thrusts again and stops, grinding his hips hard. His cock throbs as he cums, an overheated forehead resting on your shoulder.

Five, ten, however many minutes later, as you’re cuddled in bed, you remember.

“Your foot taps when you’re about to cum, Rin. Like a bunny. Did you know that?”

He doesn’t move, boneless in the sheets. Naked as the day he was born. “I mean, I was fucking you like a rabbit.”

Rin laughs as he’s smothered with a pillow.

ᯓ★ dividers created by me.

master list

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altumsomnum · 22 hours ago

Note

Can we have some texts with daichi please and thank you (˶' ꒳ '˶)

shoutout to u for waiting so i made these xtra cutesy

texts w bf! daichi sawamura

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altumsomnum · 22 hours ago

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you're in a crisis !! the crisis being there's only one bed

content tags — featuring: hsr men (not everyone though) | fluff, whatever thing is going in on your relationship, except they have a little crush on you, kind of crack, headcanons | wc: 1.2k

jellyfish notes — guys my phatass cat wont stop hoarding the bed

Phainon is gaslighting himself into thinking that the floor looks the most comfortable even if it actually wasn’t. He absolutely thinks it’s the superior option—sure, his back will hate him tomorrow but at least his dignity remains intact. He avoids admitting that the bed is fine as if he would die the moment he utters his predicament. When you finally drag him to the mattress after what seems to be hundreds of years of insisting, he lies so rigidly he could practically become a table at this point. The barrier of a single pillow between you is a joke. He hates how hyper-aware and sensitive he can be of every shift you make, every rustle of fabric, and when morning comes, he’s a sleep-deprived mess staring at the ceiling. “This is fine. We’re fine. Everything’s fine.”

Anaxagoras sees nothing worth panicking over—he raises an eyebrow at your hesitation. “It’s just a bed,” he says, “the both of us will just sleep on it,” he says. Unless you want to complain, then you should go sleep on the couch or the floor or the bathroom even. It is as simple as that (he’s on that nonchalant sh). The problem is he hoards the blanket as if he owns it. The man literally has it trapped under his weight like a wrestler pinning an opponent and you’re left shivering with what you have, wondering why you ever trusted him.

Before you could even say anything, Mydei is already walking to the couch and flopping down on it. When asked if he’s going to sleep on the bed later, he’ll only say that it’s all yours to have. Discussion closed. If you toss a pillow at him, he’ll catch it without opening his eyes before tucking it under his head—that’s the most you’ll get from him.

You should have known what a little shit Caelus is. He'll opt for sleeping on the floor, right close to the bed where you can completely see him, even though there is a perfectly fine couch over there that is possibly more comfortable than the ground he insists on. He is committed to the bit, escalating his performance into Oscar-worthy height, sprawled all over the ground like a fallen hero in a musical. “The aching," he moans, clutching a throw pillow to his chest like a deathbed prop. “UGH, my back! If only someone is so kind as to offer me something warm… like a bed. This is not directed to you, [Name]. How could I ever be so scandalous and greedy to take something away from you.” Except he’s being scandalous. Is this his way of making you feel guilty? Yes. Is it working? Terribly so.

It’s hard to tell what Dan Heng is thinking at the moment, especially with his silence. But suddenly, he moves with the precision of a mechanical robot, prepares the bed and tells you that you’ll have it while he sleeps somewhere else. However, it takes three logical appeals—“The chair will ruin your back"—, one impulsive grab at his sleeve, and his own traitorous exhaustion before he relents and lies down. It’s a little quiet, don’t you think? Is he already asleep? Apparently not, because the ceiling looks more interesting than any kind of dream right now. Eventually, you’ll find yourself asking him random questions to which he answers anyway until you fall asleep. Dawn reveals him exactly where he started, spine straight, hands folded on his chest, as if he’s some kind of a display. The only evidence he ever moved at all is the blanket now tucked over your shoulders.

Jing Yuan finds some kind of delight or entertainment in this situation. He’s having way too much fun with this, so much so that he teases you so much and you have to smack him repeatedly until he stops—he doesn’t though, and you’re so close to just grabbing his lips with your hand. Grinning, he’ll say: “But why would I sleep on the couch? There’s a bed over there.” or something like, “Oh, you’re sure you don’t want to share?”. In the end, you cannot completely win against him so the two of you end up in the same space, only a few inches apart because as fate would have it, there’s only one pillow too.

Give Sunday a moment to just process and look if there are any other beds in the room. When he finally realizes there’s one and nothing else, yeahhh… flustered at the thought of being on the same bed as you? Maybe, but he still tries to be a gentleman and offers for you to take the bed’s comfort and he’ll look for something to work with for his sleep. He is just so close to cracking—his princely composure fading into nothing as he debates the ethics of sharing versus his very obvious crush. "Perhaps… if we both face opposite walls?" he suggests weakly, like that’ll somehow erase the tension. When you finally tug him onto the bed, he lies so still you’d think he’s in a coffin, hands clasped over his chest like a vampire praying for restraint.

Yeah, you and Boothill are sharing that bed despite you insisting that the two of you would not fit in it. You have no choice at all. And somehow, your crisis went from where to sleep to how to sleep because he moves a lot like he’s in some kind of boxing competition in his dreams. He is a one-man apocalypse—he is both the zombie and the survivor, flipping, rolling, and doing everything but not giving you peace. You ended up kicking him out of frustration, perhaps a little too hard because he nearly fell to the ground—-amazingly, he didn’t wake up. Annoyingly, he just comes back like a boomerang and by morning, you’re a shell of a person, while he stretches like he had the best sleep in his entire life.

That is no problem at all because Blade does not fucking sleep. Somehow, that stresses you out.

Dr. Ratio would sigh and ask whether you prefer the bed, the floor, or the couch (if there is any). Whatever you choose, you’re sleeping there, although it seems kind of stupid to give you the illusion of choice because he’ll scold you if you choose anything else other than the bed. Say what? You’re choosing the couch? Okay, have fun sleeping on the bed. Unbelievable, he has logicked you into submission. And when words fail and you still protest, he lifts you like a misbehaving kitten and drops you onto the mattress (those muscles are not just for display). "Go to sleep," he commands, looming over you like a crazed professor.

With the ever-loving gentleman Argenti, you’re always taken care of and considered by him. He is just insufferably chivalrous. "A flower as delicate as you deserves the finest rest," he’ll say, gesturing to the bed like it’s a throne. He’s draping you in blankets, tucking you under them like you’re some kind of fragile artifact, then afterwards, he prepares to rest on a single-cushioned chair. He will not be swayed no matter what you say, so just go sleep and don’t worry about him.

One bed? No worries, Aventurine will just get another room for himself. No room either? Guess, you’re stuck with him now. “What’s the harm in sharing, friend?” What you imagined to be a night of fine wine and dinner ends up in a mess of pillow-fighting after you threw one directly on his face, to which he retaliated, and you, too, also retaliated until it ended into this chaos. Finally, when you grudgingly settle in and resigned to your fate, lounging on your side of the bed, you fall asleep to the sound of his laugh and his whispered words of goodnight. You’ll wake up baffled, however, as you see him curled on the couch, one arm dangling off, having silently relocated sometime in the night. The audacity of this man to play chivalrous after wrecking the room.

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altumsomnum · 22 hours ago

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︶⊹ all beauty, no beast | phainon x reader

summary: phainon, for whatever reason, refuses to reveal his demiurge self, up until the very moment you manage to get him to crack. notes: WRITTEN BEFORE THE 3.4 UPDATE!! if this ends up ooc at all i'll cry. i love phainon and freaknon so much that i ended up listening to an indulgent worm whispering that i should make a fic where you get to hug demiurge phainon. so now we're here. word count: 2.2k ao3 link: here!

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ ⋆ ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

“I... really don’t think you should see me like this, partner.”

There was an anxious waver lingering within Phainon’s voice as he addressed you from behind the nearby wall; a broken, unsure cadence familiar to your ears, but deeply foreign as it rang forth from his lips.

It was hard not to frown at his desperately uttered sentiments, but it didn’t come as a complete surprise. After all, upon the days that followed both the retrieval of Kephale’s Coreflame and the subsequent beginning of Era Nova’s end, Phainon had grown increasingly distant.

It had stung, of course, being gradually pushed away by the very man who had already sworn nearly everything to protect you from whatever turmoil that’d erupt—and was, already, erupting—upon the disintegrating planet, not realizing that he was actively hurting you in the process, but you tried to regard the circumstances with as much understanding as your wounded heart would allow.

Still, never once did you suspect he’d ever go so far as to physically avoid you, too.

But despite all your growing fears of abandonment and the countless streams of resentful thoughts that had trickled forth from them, you swallowed down any trace of the biting poison that resided upon your tongue, and lathered your words with the patience you knew was far more productive to possess.

The vile aftertaste of the hastily downed bitterness had burned your throat, but you knew it was only a small price to pay to maintain a bond once so sweet.

“You’ve avoided me for the past few mornings,” you finally stated, silently praying none of your deeply bruised feelings would surface. “You’ve hid behind pillars, slipped off into abandoned corridors...” you trailed off with a frown. “Whatever it is, it can’t possibly be as dire as you so clearly fear.”

A small, shaky chuckle from the other side proved he was still there, still listening.

“You’re right,” Phainon agreed, and it had lifted up your hopes for only a second, before they were chased back down with a weary sigh. “...it’s worse.”

“Phainon.”

The stubborn man didn't yield, even at your utterance of his name. “I know,” he whispered, despite his own cluelessness. “I know what you're thinking—that we’ve stuck to each other's side through thick and through thin, rejoiced in both our highs, and tried to cheer the other up at both our lows...”

He took a breath before he continued. “But, this is... different. This-”

“Phainon.”

You were pleased by the silence that had followed—it always was hard for him to outshine your own obstinance, after all.

“...amidst all this chaos and all this uncertainty, I really just wish to see you again.”

In light of your earnest sincerity, Phainon allowed for nothing to escape in response; not a word was uttered, nor did even a single sigh escape past the separating barrier. All you could hear was a series of light tapping noises against the surface—rhythmic, yet hurried, steady, yet unassured.

This time, his silence had worried you.

“I think,” Phainon continued after moments had passed, as if he had taken the time to deeply mull over your words. “...that if you’re trying to avoid any sort of ‘chaos’ in your life, then I’m right, and I really should stay behind this wall.”

“Oh, please.” you brushed his words off with a huff, growing weary of your unwilling role in this endless song-and-dance. “...how bad can it really be?”

You swore you heard a soft gulp.

“...very bad?”

It had taken an arduous amount of restraint to force down a harsh groan that, judging by Phainon’s current tone alone, would’ve certainly deflated him into a completely pitiful pile, but you willingly did it for his sake.

“My love,” you uttered the endearment abruptly, before softening your voice down to a pleading whisper. “...please.”

It was a terribly cheap tactic, but it was one you had indeed learned and mastered from the indirect guidance of the very worst. After all, the master must’ve surely been even the slightest bit fallible to the very weaknesses he exploited?

The small, hushed ‘that’s hardly fair...’ you heard Phainon whisper—whine?—underneath his breath already allowed you to picture the pitiful expression upon his features, from the slight frown upon his lips, to the widening of his pupils as he immediately yearned to rectify his mistakes.

“...I never could say no to you, could I?”

Upon his confession, a bitter, resigned sigh had escaped him, as if Phainon had finally accepted his own fate.

“But... you can’t say I never warned you.”

Even amidst such a dire situation, you couldn’t help but crack a weak smile at the familiar words. It was a phrase that once would’ve forced a loving wince out of you in happier times, but now, you were just thankful to be even brief acquaintances with a fleeting touch of normalcy at all.

As expectant as you were to hear approaching footsteps, tapping against the shared ground beneath both your feet, you were taken aback by the stillness that followed. Even if you could somehow sense that Phainon’s presence was drawing near, you weren’t certain as to how that was.

That was, of course, until Phainon finally revealed himself.

What stood—moreso hovered, really—in what you had expected to be Phainon’s place, was a floating figure that strongly resembled a man of similar stature, if not just the slightest bit taller.

The first difference you had recognized was his hair, once a comforting shade of snow-white and lightly fluffed, now a glowing hue of pale gold, unruly and tousled about. Phainon’s sudden lack of the typical armor that adorned his body was the next thing you noted, as unfamiliar wings of black and gold shielded his form away from your perception, the shiny, nearly mechanical plumes wrapped around his torso like a curtain that hid away all of his shame.

You finally looked up to meet his eyes, hoping to still see the same pair of aquamarine you’ve familiarized yourself with, only to gaze upon shimmering gold instead.

The man who levitated before you might’ve looked so vastly different compared to what you’ve always known, but despite all the physical changes that might’ve separated one from the other, deep down you could tell it was still him.

And as you cast your gaze upon the spiked, gleaming halo that clung behind Phainon’s head and bathed his form anew with warm, ethereal light, you swore he was a sight ripped straight out of a myth of old, a celestial vision bestowed upon only a select few.

You weren’t scared like he had feared you to be, no.

Matter of fact, it was hard to feel anything but downright awe at the sight.

Still, in light of your sudden brush with speechlessness, Phainon’s lips obliviously downturned.

“...you must think it’s pretty bad, too.”

Phainon’s voice, despite his tensed features, was still soft, as if he had already resigned himself to the likes of his false beliefs, yet remained so dejected because of them.

It was then you swore to yourself you never wished to hear the once-beaming man sound so uncertain ever again.

“What? No, you look-”

“Like a monster, prepping himself to strike?” he guessed.

“No!” you cried out, your boiling frustrations over his lack of understanding starting to spill over into your words. “We’ve both seen monsters before. We’ve both seen the depraved hunger in the eyes of the creatures consumed by the Black Tide, the crazed bloodlust radiating off the corrupted Titankin—we’ve even both been on the receiving end of the Flame Reaver’s blade!”

You paused, hastily chasing after the air that eluded you upon your spiel.

“We’ve both seen the very epitome of evil before, my love—”

Even as your gait trembled, with every step more cautious than the last, you stood before him, closer than either of you expected to be.

“—and I’m positive you couldn't look anything less alike.”

Phainon had froze at your words, a slightly hitched intake of breath giving his surprise away.

The silence that fell upon the atmosphere was solely broken up by the pattering of more careful strides towards him, all gentle in their approach, treating him as if he were a wounded stray at high risk of snapping forth to protect himself.

But even despite his new, slightly imposing visage, Phainon remained incredibly docile.

“You really are breathtaking.” you whispered with earnest reverence.

Phainon chuckled weakly before he shook his head. “You know, if I were you, I’d... probably be running away from me in utter fear.”

“Right, well,” you clicked your tongue, unable to prevent the smile that soon formed. “...you’re also sometimes an idiot, so...”

Cautiously, you lifted up your hand and cradled Phainon’s cheek against your palm, the surface of his pale skin surprisingly warm against the thumb you stroked it with.

“...maybe it’d be for the best if I didn't always listen to what you’d do in my shoes, yeah?”

It didn't take long for Phainon to lean—no, melt, into your soothing touch.

As your fingers reached skyward to thread themselves through his mussed locks of ivory, it was if your presence alone had been what finally stilled him, as Phainon all but clung to you like a scared, helpless puppy would still cling to a beloved tattered toy, his arms firmly wrapping around you and pressing you closer against him as if you were the very fragile, fraying tapestry that upheld what little remained of his diminishing stability.

Maybe because to him, that's nearly what you were.

And as you basked in the comfort of his embrace—even if it had, indeed, felt far stronger than the likes of the ones he bestowed from his other form’s arms—you willingly molded yourself against Phainon’s frame in kind, bathing yourself in the pleasant, perfect warmth that radiated from his body, breathing in the sweet scent of the morning's dreary dew that had bonded itself to his skin.

Phainon soon turned his head and pressed fleeting kisses to the skin of your palm, his eyes squeezed shut, as if this were a blissful dream he had no desire to rouse from.

“I’m sorry for avoiding you.” Phainon murmured, further sealing his apologies against your hand with another press of his lips, the brief touch nearly trembling, as if he’d rather soon perish than to allow for even a mere inch of your palm to go unloved.

You deeply loathed the waver that remained in his voice.

“It’s alright,” you tried your best to soothe, hugging him ever closer. “...the past few days have been absolute living nightmares. I could never fault you for falling prey to any stressful whims.”

Phainon didn't respond further, stiffening at what you presumed was the reminder of all the discord that wreaked havoc upon the surrounding world. Before you could apologize for bringing such a depressing topic up, however, the man had scooped you closer and floated down until you both rested upon the ground, propping you upright against the wall that once separated you, before choosing to rest his head against your lap.

You froze.

Hesitant to break the tranquility of the moment, and even more reluctant to shatter the peaceful expression upon Phainon’s features that had only grown to be an increasingly rare sight as of late, you didn’t dare question his actions, choosing instead to resume rubbing soothing circles against his warm scalp.

“...angel?”

Your fingertips stilled at the abruptly whispered name, and you were quick to glance down towards the source.

What had met your gaze was the precious sight of Phainon looking up at you through long lashes, his softened, golden eyes gleaming—tenderly, pleadingly so—with the same levels of potency as the bright blue you’ve always known. He then grabbed onto one of your hands—utterly careful with exactly how he had grasped it, solely so that the gilded claws of his armor would not penetrate your flesh and draw pointless blood—and squeezed it within the confines of his own, firm enough to ground himself in the moment, firm enough to remind himself that yes, you truly were there with him.

Phainon’s throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“I never wish to live a life where you’re not there by my side, you know.” he confessed quietly.

It was such a profound thing to admit so suddenly, but you knew why he had done so; Phainon’s life had always been dotted and dashed with countless loss after loss, and so he must’ve feared that you...

You squeezed his hand in return.

“I... I don’t think you ever will.”

Of course, you both knew that neither of you could ever wholeheartedly afford to keep such a lofty promise, but you were more than willing to take your chances upon whispering flimsy sentiments none could ever fulfill, if it meant your beloved hero could finally find some temporary semblance of rest.

And it must’ve worked, because the tension that had once left Phainon’s shoulders haggard seemed to have ebbed away at your reassurances, which only encouraged him to hold you even closer, his arms now lazily draped over atop your legs.

“Mm, good.” Phainon finally whispered against your thighs, his voice slightly muffled.

Your heart warmed at his sleepy murmur, your hands still idly playing with his hair.

“Why 'good?'”

“...because you really were my greatest miracle.”

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